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It was a week before Christmas. Nora, my wife, had come across a newspaper article listing a number of places where you could cut your own Christmas tree, thereby eliminating the middleman. “Look at the money we’ll save,” my wife pointed out. “And besides, the exercise will do you good.”

I had to admit that the idea had merit. Like Nora, I disliked having to deal with the holiday hustlers who materialized every year to sell Christmas trees at grossly inflated prices. Yet it was hard to envision myself, ax in hand, tramping through the snow in a pine forest in search of “the perfect tree.”

But Nora’s enthusiasm won me over, and on a cold, overcast Saturday afternoon, I set out for a farm about an hour’s drive from the house. By the time I arrived, I was feeling kind of like a woodsman of yore and even looking forward to the exercise. The fellow who owned the farm was an amicable middle-aged guy named Walter who, after some chitchat, directed me to a field of trees out back.

It had snowed heavily a few days earlier, and there was still about five inches of snow on the ground. Ax in hand, I started toward the trees, smiling inwardly as I recalled my wife’s request for a tree that was neither too tall nor too short, full all around, and with a nice top. In short, “the perfect tree.” There were others looking for the same tree, couples mostly, with their kids, and when I came upon what I thought fit my wife’s description to a T, I felt like I had won a kind of competition. Fifty-year-old muscles went into action as I started swinging the ax, the seven-foot tree eventually toppling to the ground.

Pleased with myself, I dragged the tree back to the stand in front of the farmhouse. I sawed about an inch and a half off the end of the trunk, and then Walter roped the tree and helped me secure it to the top of my car. It was then that I noticed the cabin, little more than a shack, really, across the road. In front was a misshapen snowman, and parked at one side of it was a green van. “I can’t believe anyone is living there,” I remarked to Walter as I handed him cash for the tree.

Walter shook his head. “Damn thing’s an eyesore. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. Just sittin’ there. Then last week this beat-up old van comes along with a guy and a girl in it. You would’ve thought it was their dream house or something. I mean, they moved right in. I don’t know what they’re using for furniture, but I saw ’em draggin’ in a mattress a few days ago.”

I stood looking at the old, weather-beaten shack, my curiosity growing with each passing second. Then, even as I told myself it was crazy, I drove the car up the road out of sight of the farm, parked and then started back on foot. I left a trail of boot prints in the snow as I took a circuitous route to the rear of the shack. It was already getting dark, and there was a light in the single window.

I suppose that, deep down, I was hoping to catch them in the act. And my good fortune thrilled me. Nice, too, was the fact that they were a good-looking couple. He was reed-thin with angular features and a mop of curly black hair. She was a tall, slender blonde.

The cold was forgotten as I unzipped my fly and pulled out my swelling cock. I took a quick look around, although I knew that because there was nothing behind me but a vast expanse of snow-covered field, I wouldn’t be discovered. Again I peered into the tiny room, just in time to see the man pull out of the woman and flop down onto his back. Moments later she was crouching at his side and licking his cock.

Fully hard now, I slowly stroked my cock while keeping my eyes fixed on the blonde. No novice at fellatio, she occasionally took all but an inch or so of her lover’s cock in her mouth and down her throat.

After several minutes, the blonde mounted the cock she had been sucking with such relish. Fortunately, the couple was positioned so that I could see his cock going in and out of her pussy as she bounced up and down on him.

They fucked like that for a while and then changed positions, the blonde putting herself on all fours so her partner could do her from behind. Now, unfortunately, my view was not the best, as all I could see was the man’s back, his hips pumping as he fucked the woman doggy-style.

I gave silent thanks when the couple returned to the missionary position. This, apparently, was to be the grand finale, for the man wasted no time establishing a hard, fast rhythm. I was close to coming myself.

I was both surprised and delighted when, instead of shooting his semen into her pussy, the man suddenly pulled out and quickly straddled the blonde’s chest. She lifted her head just in time to catch the first syrupy spurts in her mouth. She gulped down as much as she could, the overflow spilling out around the man’s cock and dribbling down her chin. That was it for me. I started spurting come all over the snow at my feet.

Stuffing my cock back in my pants and zipping up, I started back to my car with the happy thought that I had been given an early Christmas present. After all, ’tis the season!

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Good Cheer

It was a week before Christmas. Nora, my wife, had come across a newspaper article listing a number of places where you could cut your own Christmas tree, thereby eliminating the middleman. “Look at the money we’ll save,” my wife pointed out. “And besides, the exercise will do you good.”

I had to admit that the idea had merit. Like Nora, I disliked having to deal with the holiday hustlers who materialized every year to sell Christmas trees at grossly inflated prices. Yet it was hard to envision myself, ax in hand, tramping through the snow in a pine forest in search of “the perfect tree.”

But Nora’s enthusiasm won me over, and on a cold, overcast Saturday afternoon, I set out for a farm about an hour’s drive from the house. By the time I arrived, I was feeling kind of like a woodsman of yore and even looking forward to the exercise. The fellow who owned the farm was an amicable middle-aged guy named Walter who, after some chitchat, directed me to a field of trees out back.

It had snowed heavily a few days earlier, and there was still about five inches of snow on the ground. Ax in hand, I started toward the trees, smiling inwardly as I recalled my wife’s request for a tree that was neither too tall nor too short, full all around, and with a nice top. In short, “the perfect tree.” There were others looking for the same tree, couples mostly, with their kids, and when I came upon what I thought fit my wife’s description to a T, I felt like I had won a kind of competition. Fifty-year-old muscles went into action as I started swinging the ax, the seven-foot tree eventually toppling to the ground.

Pleased with myself, I dragged the tree back to the stand in front of the farmhouse. I sawed about an inch and a half off the end of the trunk, and then Walter roped the tree and helped me secure it to the top of my car. It was then that I noticed the cabin, little more than a shack, really, across the road. In front was a misshapen snowman, and parked at one side of it was a green van. “I can’t believe anyone is living there,” I remarked to Walter as I handed him cash for the tree.

Walter shook his head. “Damn thing’s an eyesore. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. Just sittin’ there. Then last week this beat-up old van comes along with a guy and a girl in it. You would’ve thought it was their dream house or something. I mean, they moved right in. I don’t know what they’re using for furniture, but I saw ’em draggin’ in a mattress a few days ago.”

I stood looking at the old, weather-beaten shack, my curiosity growing with each passing second. Then, even as I told myself it was crazy, I drove the car up the road out of sight of the farm, parked and then started back on foot. I left a trail of boot prints in the snow as I took a circuitous route to the rear of the shack. It was already getting dark, and there was a light in the single window.

I suppose that, deep down, I was hoping to catch them in the act. And my good fortune thrilled me. Nice, too, was the fact that they were a good-looking couple. He was reed-thin with angular features and a mop of curly black hair. She was a tall, slender blonde.

The cold was forgotten as I unzipped my fly and pulled out my swelling cock. I took a quick look around, although I knew that because there was nothing behind me but a vast expanse of snow-covered field, I wouldn’t be discovered. Again I peered into the tiny room, just in time to see the man pull out of the woman and flop down onto his back. Moments later she was crouching at his side and licking his cock.

Fully hard now, I slowly stroked my cock while keeping my eyes fixed on the blonde. No novice at fellatio, she occasionally took all but an inch or so of her lover’s cock in her mouth and down her throat.

After several minutes, the blonde mounted the cock she had been sucking with such relish. Fortunately, the couple was positioned so that I could see his cock going in and out of her pussy as she bounced up and down on him.

They fucked like that for a while and then changed positions, the blonde putting herself on all fours so her partner could do her from behind. Now, unfortunately, my view was not the best, as all I could see was the man’s back, his hips pumping as he fucked the woman doggy-style.

I gave silent thanks when the couple returned to the missionary position. This, apparently, was to be the grand finale, for the man wasted no time establishing a hard, fast rhythm. I was close to coming myself.

I was both surprised and delighted when, instead of shooting his semen into her pussy, the man suddenly pulled out and quickly straddled the blonde’s chest. She lifted her head just in time to catch the first syrupy spurts in her mouth. She gulped down as much as she could, the overflow spilling out around the man’s cock and dribbling down her chin. That was it for me. I started spurting come all over the snow at my feet.

Stuffing my cock back in my pants and zipping up, I started back to my car with the happy thought that I had been given an early Christmas present. After all, ’tis the season!

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