A couple celebrates with their own special brand of bacchanalian behavior.

“We have about 7,000 movies to choose from,” Jason called out from the living room. “Want to come in here and scroll through them with me? If I do it all by myself, you’re going to eventually start asking questions and make me scroll through them again.”

I sighed as I arranged the hot sausage dip on the dining-room table. It sat there nestled amongst a pound of steamed shrimp, a veggie platter with onion dip, a box of our favorite pastries from the local bakery, and a cheese plate.

“Don’t be that way,” he said, catching the sigh.

“I’m fine,” I told him.

I couldn’t help it. Something about New Year’s Eve always gave me a melancholy feeling. Part of it being, I supposed, that so many people loved the holiday and I — well, I truly did not.

“You’re moping.”

I sat next to him on the sofa as he scrolled through our online choices: everything from fairly recent blockbusters we hadn’t seen to B movies that were so bad I hoped never to see them. I released another long sigh, and Jason put his hand on my thigh.

“Buck up, baby. We only have to do the dreaded New Year’s Eve once a year.”

“It’s so … bleh,” I said, dropping my head against his shoulder. “We get invited to parties. We don’t go.”

“Did you want to go—”

I cut him off. “I so do not want to go.” I waved my hand around trying to find the words. “We don’t go, and we do our own thing. But the whole night has a feeling of ick to it. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Jason favorited a movie featuring zombie beavers of all things. Then he turned to me. His blue eyes were bright as he smiled. “So we need to do something different … ”

His hand slid over my knee and up my thigh. He brushed the tips of his fingers across the crotch of my velvet leggings and leaned in to kiss me.

“Like what?”

“Something … ”

He paused, smoothing the flat of his palm down my other thigh. Another kiss, then a small, soft kiss on my collarbone. “Debaucherous?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Debaucherous? Us? We’re hardly the type.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I think we could be. We’ve had our moments.”

His fingers were back at the place between my thighs, and he was stroking me through my leggings. I felt the subtle pressure and stroke of his fingertips across my clit through the fabric.

“Go on … I’m listening.”

“New Year’s is about new beginnings. About breaking free. It’s why people get drunk and act like lunatics on New Year’s Eve. Because they want to start off fresh the following day. They want to become something else. Maybe what they feel they’re supposed to be.”

He hooked a finger into the waistband of my leggings as he spoke. He pulled the fabric away from my body, peered inside and cocked an eyebrow at me. His tone had shifted. His voice itself had grown deeper. And I found that my tongue was sealed to the roof of my mouth, I was so entranced.

“And … ?” It was all I could manage.

“So, what did we have planned for tonight?”

I waved a hand at the table full of food in the next room.

“The usual. A ton of food we’ll hardly put a dent in. Wine. Movies. Watching that damned ball drop and then bed. Maybe fucking.”

“Hmm … ”

He leaned close to my throat. He didn’t kiss me. Didn’t deliver any of those little love bites that always drive me nuts. He simply sniffed me from just below my ear, down my neck, across my shoulder and my clavicle. The sensation was truly maddening. The feeling of this new intense energy of his mingling with mine. His breath hot on my neck, his lips close to my skin but never touching me. I barely repressed a shudder, and he smiled, drawing back.

“Let’s be debaucherous. Let’s do something … raw and wild and totally unlike us.”

“Like what?”

His gaze went right to the dining-room table. I thought of the food. What did he want to do? Lie down in the middle of our banquet and fuck on the table? Eat shrimp off my naked body? The idea almost made me giggle. When he stood, I watched him. He strode into the next room where only a single light burned and then stood before the table. In the center was a lone pillar candle in a hurricane lantern. Fit down over it was a pair of horns his sister had made us. She’s an artist who constructs things from driftwood. The horns were set onto a driftwood crown, meant to be put around a candle as a centerpiece, she’d told us. Jason lifted it carefully from around the hurricane and turned to study me.“Come here,” he said. I almost waved him off. Almost told him he was insane. But something in his eyes, something in his voice — something about the way he held his body — told me I’d be wise, pleased even, if I obeyed.

My feet felt slightly numb as I moved toward him. My heart was pounding like a sacred drum in my chest. I stood there, staring at him holding the crown of driftwood. Jason studied me.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Here?”

“Oh, yes. And it’ll get better. Or worse. Depending on how you see it,” he said.

The statement unnerved me. But his words did something more. They excited me. I pulled off my leggings, damp between the legs now, and dropped them. Next, my sweater, then my bra. I stood there naked but for socks, which I promptly toed off. All my clothes sat in a modest bundle at my feet.

“Bow your head.”

I did it. The crown came down on my hair, fitting damn near perfectly. The thing wasn’t meant to be worn, but when I straightened up, there it was: a crown with horns on my head. I caught my reflection in the dining room’s antique mirror, and something in me stirred, woke up, flexed.

Jason lifted the open wine bottle from the table and poured a glass. I’d pulled out the fancy green glass ones for the night.

He filled the goblet about halfway and said, “Drink, wine goddess.”

“Wine goddess?” I smiled.

He pushed his finger to my lips. “Shh … drink.”

I drank. As I did, his hands smoothed along my skin, following the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. He stroked my thighs until goose bumps sprang up and then his fingers trickled, featherlight, down my calves. He wrapped his hands around my ankles, squeezed, then tickled my toes. His hands took a maddeningly slow tour up the backs of my legs, his face level with my pussy, his breath hot on my sex. I continued to drink, trying not to go too fast, but his actions distracted me. He kissed my mons, his tongue, demoniacally taunting, darted out to give my clit one quick flick. Just one. Just enough for me to want to drop the wineglass, cradle his head in my hands, and drive my hips forward.

Then his tongue ran along my outer lips, licked across my hipbones. He kissed softly along my thighs. By the time I was done with the wine I was flushed, trembling and desperate to know what he had in mind. I held the glass low so he could see it from where he squatted.

“Done,” I managed in a strangled voice.

He stood, took the glass and filled it to the same point.

“My turn,” Jason said, kissing me once on the lips.

It was almost chaste, that kiss, and it made me want him in a way I never had before.

I thought he’d drink the wine all at once. Swig it down the way I’d seen him do before. Instead, he tipped the cup above my breasts and poured the wine down my body. I almost pointed out the hardwood floor, but I was too far gone to truly worry about the mess.

He began at my breasts, licking the rivulets of wine from my body. When he reached my nipples, he cleaned them with his tongue with great concentration. Then paused to give each nipple one hard suck. The sensation shot straight through the center of me, through my belly, and pooled warm and urgent in my cunt.

He continued downward, licking hot lines along my sides, over my belly, along my hip, lapping at the trail of wine. When he reached my pussy, he licked all around the seams where thighs met pubis. Then on to trace my labia with the tip of his tongue. My clit got special attention, but only long enough to make me shake with the effort not to force things to go my way.

He flicked my nub exactly three times with his tongue and then sucked — a long draw that caused pleasure to coil up inside me, desperate to be sated. But that wasn’t the plan.

Jason continued on down my thighs, down my calves and across the tops of my feet. I had to fight to catch my breath. He took my hand, pulled me forward a step, and then stood. With a small smile, clearly showing indulgence, he took a tea towel from under one of the hot dishes on the table and swiped up the wine from the floor. He dropped the towel near my discarded clothes and then regarded me.

“Here’s the deal, wine goddess … ”

I almost laughed at the title but then became aware of the crown on my head. I’d utterly forgotten it was perched there as he’d cleaned the wine from my skin. I waited, holding my breath.

“I’m going to set you loose on our property. If I catch you, I get to do whatever I want with you.”

My mouth popped open to protest — it was January. It was cold. But Jason raised a hand to silence me, and I held my tongue.

“If you evade me for the next half hour, I’m your willing slave. I do whatever filthy thing you want.”

I glanced at the clock. Eleven o’clock. By eleven-thirty, I’d be frozen. Or would I? It had been a mild winter. It was about forty-some degrees even this late at night. If I was running … He touched my pussy, slipping his fingers between my folds, driving two of them into me with ease. I was so wet; I hadn’t even realized.

“Are you in or are you out? We can be wild … ” Another cruel and beautiful smile. “Or we can be normal and do the same thing we do every year.”

I glanced at the table, the sofa, thought of the movie choices we had. His fingers drove back in me and curled against my G-spot. Heat and pleasure swirled deep inside me, and my mind was made up.

“I’m in.”

“Good. I’m sure you’re glad right about now we bought this old farmhouse and that our nearest neighbors are a mile off.”

“Fuck yes,” I said, laughing.

The noise died a moment later when he began to remove his clothes.

“Not quite fair unless we’re both naked, right?”

He dropped his clothes next to mine. His cock stood out, hard and ready. I’d never wanted him more. I considered begging him to call off the game and fuck me. But then something inside me rustled with excitement. Jason nodded toward the kitchen door that led outside.

“Go on. You have a ten-second start.”

My mouth popped open again to say ten seconds was nothing. But then he started counting.

“Ten … ”

I took off, feet flying across the hardwood floor of the dining room. I skidded onto the linoleum of the kitchen floor and wrenched open the door as I heard him say, “Seven … ” I was clutching the crown tight to my head as I ran.

My feet hit the cold concrete porch, and I raced down the steps to the yard. We have more than an acre of property, and I dashed back toward the box garden we’d built together last summer.

From the house I heard Jason roar, “One!” and fear, anxiety, excitement and lust all hit me like a potent cocktail. I heard myself squeal, and I was running faster, cold air licking at my naked skin. My heart was beating so hard I swore he’d hear the sound and locate me.

By the box garden, I paused and looked back at the house to see the shadowy form of Jason descend the steps and freeze. Then his body language said he’d spotted me. He raised a hand and pointed toward me, and my heart leapt. I took off toward the potting shed, feet racing across cold grass and dead leaves we’d missed when we raked in the fall.

“I see you!” he bellowed and another wild squeal escaped me. I held my now beloved crown to my head and ducked behind the potting shed. Then I took three big lateral steps and crouched behind a wheelbarrow upended for the season. I heard his footsteps pounding. Heard his breath ragged and harsh. I held my own breath but then could barely hear his advances because of the pounding of blood in my ears. I was wet — so unbelievably wet — I could feel the tops of my thighs damp with my juices.

I heard Jason round the back of the potting shed.

Then he whispered, just loud enough to reach my ears, “I see your horns, goddess … ”

Shit. They were poking up. I gave a cry and dashed off before he could move toward me. I passed the lawn furniture we use when we have outdoor parties. Then I spotted the stone oven Jason had built right after we moved in. I hid behind it, knowing the oven was tall enough to obscure my crown. I could have taken it off. Dropped it as I ran. But oddly, I didn’t want to.

I heard Jason stalk around the patio furniture. “Where could she be? Where did she go?” he sang like a haunting lullaby, and I was as quiet as I could be.

I was cold, but not freezing. The activity was enough to keep my blood flowing. The most discomfort I felt was the pounding, swollen need between my thighs. God, how I wanted him—how I craved him.

“She’s not here,” he said. “Where could she be hiding her pretty, naked self?”

His voice was growing closer. I wanted him to find me. I wanted it more than anything. I gasped — whether intentional or not, I have no idea — but the sound made him chuckle. His footsteps advanced and I froze, unable to move, unable to run. He peeked behind the oven, and I let out a squeal: an animal hunted and now found.

“There she is, which means … ” He rushed toward me, a big man-shaped shadow in the darkness. “I win!”

He scooped me up, tossed me over his shoulder and moved quickly toward the house. One rough hand came down hard with a smack on my ass cheek that sounded like a gunshot in the cool, silent night.

Excitement flooded my entire being. By the time Jason got the kitchen door open and deposited my bare ass on the butcher’s block by the phone, I had parted my legs. Ready. Willing. Beyond desperate.

He kissed me, anchoring me in place with one hand buried in the hair at my nape. My crown had gone askew, and I didn’t care. I tried to drag him toward me between my legs, and he shook his head.

“You’re mine,” he said. “On your knees.”

I went willingly, clutching my driftwood horns. He pushed his cock between my lips. I drove my mouth down over his shaft, sucking and licking, trying to do it all at once in a frenzy. My skin was quickly warming, and the place where he’d smacked my ass burned with the temperature change. I tongued his balls, then went back to sucking the tip of his cock. He held my head, thrusting deep and filling my throat, before grunting and drawing me up from the floor.

“I don’t have the patience for that,” Jason said, lips pushed to my ear.

He hiked me back up onto the butcher’s block, knocked my legs wide and plunged into me. He shoved his hands beneath my ass, angling me just so. His thumb brushed my clit as he drove into me, his face buried in the crook of my neck. I gripped the edge of the table and held on as I drove my hips forward to take him.

“Coming,” I whispered. “God, fuck, I’m coming.”

Pleasure hit me like a phantom bullet — a shuddering shock of release that made my legs go weak as breath fled my lungs. He grunted again, and the sound caused me to picture him stalking me through the dark. Grabbing me. Capturing me and hauling me inside. A smaller orgasm shook me right on the tail end of the first one, and I groaned.

Jason withdrew quickly, and I gasped at the sudden and obvious absence of him inside me. He helped me down and turned me around, positioning me so my hands were braced on the old, faded wood.

“Ass back,” he said.

I shivered. I knew where this was going, and my body warmed and cooled simultaneously. Jason dropped to his knees. He pushed his face against my ass, his tongue seeking and finding my clit. Pleasure thumped through me, and my knees sagged. He usually eats me from the front, but there was something so dirty — so debaucherous, to use his word — about this way it added to the whole scene. He used his fingers to gather my copious wetness, spreading my juices liberally around my back hole. He teased me over and over until it took everything I had in me not to beg. His finger pushed into my ass, his face pressing, pressing so he could reach me from behind. I arched my back for better access, driving his finger deeper.

When he stood, he kneed my legs apart and put his hand on the small of my back, pushing until I was bent forward to his liking. He dragged his cock-head across my back hole, circling but never entering me. I heard a whimper and realized it was me. My crown hung askew, one of the driftwood horns wedged against the kitchen wall, which was probably the only thing keeping it on my head. But the crown didn’t matter, and the wine didn’t matter. The chase didn’t matter. Nor the remainder of cold I still felt a little under my skin. What mattered was this. Now. And him slowly, finally, pressing into my ass one inch at a time.

“I want you to touch yourself when I tell you to. I want you to come with me. Understand?”

I nodded, the crown wobbling and nearly toppling off my head. His hands held my hips hard and tight. I gripped the far edge of the butcher’s block as he started to move. Slow even strokes at first, allowing my body to adjust and accept him. The feeling of fullness, the new angle, the way his cock thrust and drove against my most needy places had me trembling. I was mumbling something, but I had no idea what and he didn’t seem to either.

Jason pressed my back, and I bent more, driving myself toward him to take him at that point. Relishing every stroke of his cock in my ass. His fingers dug into the meat of my hips, and I chewed my lower lip, waiting for him to tell me to get myself off—praying for it.

“Touch yourself now,” he growled.

The tone, the pitch, everything about his voice in that moment sent a thrill skipping up my spine. I lowered my head, pushed my hand between my body and the table and began to stroke myself. Every casual revolution of my slippery fingers across my clit was bliss. My motion picked up speed, increasing my pleasure. Every thrust of his cock in my ass shut my senses down further and further. The whole world was gone but for the feeling of the two of us joined this way and the smooth wooden crown on my head.

“There’s my goddess,” he muttered. “Did you know that when you’re about to come your ass gets snug just like your cunt?”

I gasped. He chuckled. Three more deep, hard strokes of his dick, and he said it, “Now. Come with me.”

I didn’t have to be told twice. I let my head fall forward, the crown finally tumbling, and my body tightened as the orgasm slammed me down and under only to buoy me back up again a second later. He stayed in me, his cock softening.

When he leaned over and kissed my shoulder he whispered, “Not your average New Year’s Eve, eh?”

“Ringing in the new year with a bang,” I whispered back.

He laughed and returned the crown to my head.