Authors: V T Vaughn
THE CHRISTMAS EXHIBITION
V T VAUGHN
The Christmas Exhibition
Copyright: V T Vaughn
The right of V T Vaughn to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
The story is set in the United Kingdom and British English is used throughout.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Uncertain Cuckold Series of Novels
The Unwilling Cuckold (coming soon)
Stand Alone Novellas Featuring Matt & Jill
St. Patrick's Day Lesbian (coming soon)
Thank you so much for purchasing The Christmas Exhibition. If this is the first time you have read one of my stories, I really hope you will enjoy what lies ahead. And if you are a returning reader, well thank you very much again. How kind of you to come back for more. I hope The Christmas Exhibition meets your expectations.
The Christmas Exhibition features two of the main characters from my Uncertain Cuckold series of ongoing novels and is set approximately six years earlier. Technically a prequel, your enjoyment of The Christmas Exhibition should be no lessened if you have not read The Uncertain Cuckold. There is no continuity between the two stories. The Christmas Exhibition stands alone.
The characters within are Matt and Jill, a couple in the early stages of their relationship. Their trust has not yet been cemented. Their jealousies not yet ironed out. There is so much between them they have each yet to discover.
So let's explore their insecurities and their fantasies together...
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I coughed, then threw my hand to my mouth. The electric fire was my only source of heat in the living room. The radiators were working, but the oil from our fuel tank had been stolen by a ruthless thug I never did manage to catch. Christmas lights lined the window. Snow was falling on the driveway outside our terraced house. Or Jill's house, as it was at the time. We had been together only a matter of nine months and I had yet to move in with her.
I tapped the end of my cigarette over the ashtray on the coffee table, reached out for a tin of
and downed more lager.
My eyes refused to settle, returning their gaze to the clock on the mantelpiece. Why wasn't Jill home? It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening.
I shook my head and insisted I behaved. She was on her Christmas dinner with her work colleagues, most of whom she barely even liked. Yes, there would be drinks. Sociable drinks. She wouldn't get drunk. She wouldn't do anything stupid. She wouldn't...
She was beautiful.
My doubts were disgraceful.
She was irresistible to any man she met.
Jill's behaviour in our relationship from the beginning had been impeccable. I had no reason to distrust her.
wasn't the one I was worried about.
I stood, warmed my hands by excessively rubbing them together, stifled another cough and wished I could remember where I had left my scarf. I heard singing from the neighbours' house. I didn't know the family. A married couple with young children.
was a looker. A sophisticated, always impeccably dressed lady in her mid-30s.
somewhat bereft of manners and with, I wouldn't have been surprised to discover, a hint of a God complex. They joined their kids in a rousing rendition of
I caught my lonely reflection in the mirror. Perhaps I was just jealous.
I laughed. I wasn't lonely. I was 23.
I just wished Jill was home.
Music played softly through the walls from the neighbours' house. I recognised Dean Martin crooning
Let It Snow
. The electric fire remained the limits of my delight.
What was keeping Jill? She had told me she would be home about half seven. It was now after nine.
My heart beat a little faster and I swallowed. Swallowed the miserable, miserly fact that I had some issue. Some low-down, distasteful issue with trust. With self-esteem. With worth.
I pinched myself.
Jill was the most stunning girl I had ever met in my life. What she saw in me was beyond the scope of my mind. My reckoning. My heart.
I shook my head.
Whatever she saw, she saw it in me. Jill's eyes were for me. For me alone. She would never stray. She wasn't a slut.
The tyres of the taxi crunched the gravel outside. I heard the flirtatious laughter of my girlfriend. A muffled “Merry Christmas.” The slamming of the taxi door. Her stiletto heels clicking on the driveway. The multicoloured lights flashed on and off, reflecting in my eyes as I discreetly closed the blinds and curtains. Jill hadn't noticed I was watching her.
The front door opened. The living room door followed.
My jaw dropped. My tongue fell forwards. My cock stood to prominent attention in my trousers.
Jill stumbled and stood, propped against the frame of the door, in a fine, sexy pair of black knee-high boots, fishnet tights and a figure-hugging black dress under a fluffy white coat. She pouted, failing to bury the clues of her drunkenness.
“Hi, gorgeous,” she said, her look completed by a Santa hat she didn't appear to realise was on her head.
“You're...” How could I shroud my tone in anything but an accusation? “... Late.”
Jill was twirling, her hands on her hips. “How do I look?” she asked, taking an accidental additional step as she stopped.
I stood up from the sofa. “You...” I moved towards her. “Look...” I reached out, slipping one hand to her waist. “Absolutely...” The other around the back of her head. “Amazing.” I pulled my girlfriend's mouth to mine and tasted the alcohol on her breath, the vodka on her lips and the seduction on her tongue.
Jill moaned into my mouth, her taste as intoxicating as her physical appearance. She broke the kiss suddenly, and stepped back. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, pressing her forefinger on my chest.
I breathed and heaved against her touch.
“Come on, baby.” Jill altered her stance, so her legs were farther parted. “I've been drinking and I'm feeling very horny.”
I swallowed. “What would you like me to do to you?”
Jill closed her eyes. Frustration filtered through fire. “You really are so young, sometimes, Matt.”
I seized her finger in my palm, turned it and forced it down to her belly, further to her groin and finally under her dress.
Jill wriggled her digit free from my grasp.
I worried not, and pressed my hand into her crotch. I could feel the white linen of her panties over her fishnets. “I like these,” I said, smiling.
Jill bit her lip, then threw her hair back on her shoulders. “Go on, baby,” she teased. “Show me why I made the right decision when I agreed to go out with you... A younger man.”
The fingertip of my middle finger found the underside of her lips, before the gap between her pussy and ass, clad under the linen.
“When I set aside the fact you were
My thumb pushed on the hood of her clit.
Jill elicited a sensual gasp. “... Compared to me.”
I silenced her torture, my tongue like a vice on hers, snaking and swallowing her into my mouth. She murmured and motioned somewhat against me, her protest a disjointed contusion caught between joy and affliction. I probed my girlfriend's mouth, wilfully and without reckoning or warrant.
The first of my fingers sneaked between a gap in the fishnets.
So did a second.
“Shit...” Jill's words were whisked away in a whirlpool of wonder. “Let me-”
My front teeth caught the top of her tongue. My bottom set underneath. My eyes were open. Jill's were delirious and widening, gazing back.
“Mmmmmm,” she fired, unable to summon a message of more solidity.
I reached my fingers inside the lining of her panties, and pulled them carefully to the side of her pussy.
Jill's white coat fell from her arms to the floor. Her pupils blazed and enlarged. Her tongue shaken and populated by little dotted goosebumps.
I slowly and sensually released her from my teeth, rolling my tongue against hers as I did. My eyes implored her to relax. To relent. To rely.
“Jesus!” Jill cried.
I hammered my fingers into her cunt, my actions forceful and explicit. My mind daring and implicit. My touch crushing and complicit.
Jill gripped the elbow of my ravishing arm for support. Her eyes fell backwards in her head. Her lip fastened under her tooth in suppressed pleasure.
“That's it, isn't it, Jill?” I said, tightening a taut grasp within the confines of her vagina. “That's the spot that shuts your mouth.”
She nodded sheepishly, shivering as the pom-pon of her Santa hat flicked from left to right.
I tugged an intake of breath, scenting the warring concoction of luscious perfume and light-hearted intoxication. The tantalising prospect of seduction and the promiscuous promise of inebriation.
Jill's fishnets ripped around my hand, freeing my wrist to wrestle her insides. I pushed past her moist lips, thumbing her clitoris and clinging my free hand around the small of her back. She released an illustrious, howling show of strength and desire in her throat as I lowered her onto the sofa and wrenched her legs wide apart. The tear in her fishnets revealed her white linen panties to the side of her soaking pussy. Her dress had slipped north to her waist. I twitched on her internal sponge and sent her body into a roving tidal wave of tension, invoking spasms and involuntary evocations of lust. Jill was becoming more wordy in her warbles. More wanton in her wanting. More treacherously creative in her cravings.