A Very Backdoor Christmas Read online

  LESBIAN HOLIDAY ROMANCE

  A Very Backdoor Christmas

  Nicolette Dane

  Copyright © 2015 Nicolette Dane

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All romantically involved characters within this book are consenting adults over the age of 18 and are not related by blood.

  To check out Nico’s full catalog, head over to her Amazon Author Page and be sure to click on the big yellow “Follow” button!

  Your “Look Inside” Quickie

  Anne-Sophie threaded her fingers into my knickers, stretching out the elastic and pushing them down over my ass. With my knickers halfway down my thighs, I grinded down on top of her, loving the feeling of her hands running over my cheeks. It was then that I felt her fingers drop down into my crack, trail through the crevasse tenderly, one fingertip settling directly on my asshole and beginning to fondly rub it in smooth circles.

  “Oh God,” I moaned. “What are you doing?”

  “I want to feel your ass,” Anne-Sophie buzzed as she again kissed me lustily on the lips. “Have you ever done that before?”

  “Only to myself,” I said between kisses.

  “It feels very nice,” said Anne-Sophie. “I want to show you.”

  I simply nodded and buried my face into her neck, kissing her soft flesh and nestling into her warmth.

  Anne-Sophie pushed her finger against my rear, tracing her fingertip up and down over my little knot, massaging its folds and clefts. With her other hand, she spread my ass open by pulling on a single cheek. I moaned as she fondled me, feeling my pussy start to drip and my breath quicken as Anne-Sophie gave my asshole a tender rub down.

  “Oh, I love it,” I sighed. “It’s so sensitive.”

  “Get your knickers off,” she said, slowly pulling her fingers from my ass, letting them sweetly trail over my ass cheek.

  “Okay,” I said, sitting up now and quickly ushering my knickers down my legs and off my feet. Anne-Sophie remained lying on the bed, watching me and smiling, her fingers running lazily through her soft pubic hair as though she were teasing herself.

  YOU MAY ALSO ENJOY

  Backdoor In Our Dorm

  Backdoor Ready For More

  Black Babe Backdoor

  Her Pregnant Backdoor Fling

  Enter The Backdoor

  Lick My Dot

  Backdoor In My Bed

  Desperately About To Burst

  My Pregnant Stepsister

  A Milky Mess On My Dress

  My Lesbian Stepsister Got Pregnant

  Anna Is 18, Pregnant, And Has To Pee

  The Only One Who Gets Me

  My Own First Time Lesbian Experience

  The Ballerina: A Novella

  A VERY BACKDOOR CHRISTMAS

  “How much longer do you think?” said Anne-Sophie in a French accent, looking out of the window of the train. The sun was beginning to set over the Midwest countryside, glimmering off the full sheet of snow that covered the terrain. The chugging and clacking of the railway was a constant sound as the train traversed through the late December evening. It was Christmas Eve and we were heading to my family’s home in Michigan.

  “No more than an hour,” I said, checking the time on my phone. I smiled at my college friend, a girl I had only met a couple months back in our film class. As fate would have it, Anne-Sophie and I sat next to each other in the auditorium on our first day and became fast friends. She was from France, studying business marketing at our well-known university in Chicago, and didn’t really know anybody in the States. As the holidays approached, I discovered that she was unable to fly home for Christmas and naturally I invited her to come home with me.

  “This scenery,” she started, her gaze lingering out the window for a moment before she turned and looked at me. “It reminds me of my family’s farm near Tours. The snow is very comforting.”

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it back home,” I said. “But I’m really excited for you to see where I grew up.”

  “Oui,” said Anne-Sophie, a smile growing on her lips. “Thank you, Lorna. I would most certainly be sad staying in the dorm for Christmas.”

  When I first met Anne-Sophie her beauty blew me away. Her brown hair hung long down her back, thick, with big natural curls and waves. Her face was perfectly sculpted, high-cheek bones and a little button nose, full lips, a visage that was suited for a model. Anne-Sophie’s body was shapely and voluptuous, a thin waist making way for an ample chest, curvy hips, and a nice firm butt. One time in her dorm room I saw her in only her bra and knickers and I couldn’t believe that someone could have a body like hers in real life. She looked straight out of a magazine.

  And when she spoke my heart fluttered. I was totally floored by her thick French accent. As we sat there in film class on the first day, getting to know each other, grinning and laughing, poking fun at the professor’s hair, I had felt something exciting brewing within me. I wanted to be with Anne-Sophie. I wanted to kiss her. Make love to her. I wanted to run my hands along her smooth skin, to feel her warm flesh, and to make her feel my lust for her all throughout her body.

  By now you’ve probably figured out that I had some ulterior motives in inviting Anne-Sophie home with me for Christmas. Guilty. But if she had told me that she was totally straight, I never would have tried to take it this far. Instead, she told me that she had indeed fooled around with other girls before, that she enjoyed it, and that she considered herself a bisexual. I lit up once I gained this knowledge. I knew I had a chance. One weekend evening at school, the two of us had a few glasses of wine and went exploring the beach of Lake Michigan together. Both a little tipsy, we ended up kissing sweetly, holding hands, goofing around in the sand. It was magical.

  I wanted more.

  That little evening fling was the only time the two of us had gotten romantic. I broached the subject with Anne-Sophie a few days later, wondering what it all meant, trying to get something more from her.

  “I enjoyed it, Lorna,” she had said to me when we sat down to talk about our romantic encounter. “But I must focus on my studies.”

  “You’re not interested in taking it further?” I said. “Not even a little bit?”

  “I—“ Anne-Sophie said, pausing to find her thought. She smiled at me. “I don’t know.”

  After that, our friendship was mostly platonic with the occasional handhold, single kiss on the lips to say hello or goodbye, or lingering touch that communicated more than just a friendly camaraderie. It all culminated that fateful day that she changed in front of me in her dorm room, demonstrating to me how sexy she was underneath her clothes. She had worn only a small white pair of cotton knickers and a blue strapless bra and she danced around her room, screwing around, pretending to sing into a microphone. It was all too much for me to bear and I knew I had to touch her, kiss her, feel her, or I was just going to burst open.

  I had lost track of the number of times I pleasured myself to thoughts of Anne-Sophie and I couldn’t stand having an orgasm without her anymore. This Christmas trip home was going to be the time I finally made my move. But I had no idea of what lusty experiences truly lied ahead for Anne-Sophie and I.

  Back on the train, Anne-Sophie looked over to me lovingly and reached her hand out for mine. Eagerly, I placed my palm in hers and we tenderly held each other, smiling at one another as the train chugged along and the waning daylight began to disappear from our little window.

  My heart fluttered.

  *

  The taxi sp
ed off as Anne-Sophie and I, each with a packed duffle bag, traipsed up the walkway toward my family’s house. The driveway and residential street were packed with cars belonging to my various family members in attendance of my parents’ annual Christmas Eve party. I took a deep breath of the chilly December air and smiled to my friend as we approached the door.

  “I apologize in advance for how weird my family can be,” I said, a sheepish grin spread across my lips. “Brace yourself.”

  “Oh Lorna,” Anne-Sophie said with a laugh. “I’m sure they are wonderful.”

  “I’ll remember you said that,” I said. Looking at Anne-Sophie bundled up tightly in her black puffy winter coat, a scarf around her neck, a knitted cap haphazardly hung on her head allowing her curls to spill out from underneath it, I sighed happily, eager to spend the holiday with her and get even closer to her.

  I opened the front door to my parents’ house and as we walked in together, a group of my family noticed us and gave an excited cheer at our arrival.

  “Heeeey!” a couple of them said in unison.

  “They’re here!” I heard come from the crowd.

  The first person to approach us was my uncle, a jovial older guy, red in the face from too many spirits but smiling nonetheless.

  “I’ll take those, ladies,” he said, reaching for our bags.

  “Take those upstairs,” ordered my mother, speeding up towards Anne-Sophie and I with a beaming smile on her face, pushing past my uncle who began to slink off with our bags. “Lorna!” she exclaimed, leaping out to hug me.

  “Hi Mom,” I said.

  “And this is your friend?” she said, stepping back and looking to Anne-Sophie.

  “This is Anne-Sophie,” I said. “Anne-Sophie, this is my mother.” The two of them hugged tightly, a light dusting of snow gracefully falling from Anne-Sophie’s coat as my mother squeezed her.

  “Charmed,” said Anne-Sophie, giving my mother a warm smile.

  “Give the girls some space, Brenda,” I heard through the party’s revelry. Coming up to us was my father with a wine glass in each hand. “Give me your coats,” he said. “And take this mulled wine.”

  After a number of greetings and introductions, some small talk and school updates, Anne-Sophie and I found ourselves sitting together in my family’s living room in a big leather chair. Rather, she sat in the chair, relaxing into it wearing a comfy-looking black turtleneck sweater, a herringbone skirt, and black stockings, her dark brown hair pinned up lazily in a bun. I sat atop the large chair arm, fondling my wine glass in my fingers, loving the warmth of the roaring fire just a few feet away from where we sat. The room was festively decorated and comfortably lived in, a large Christmas tree off to the corner sparkling with lights and ornaments. I noticed Anne-Sophie smiling as she looked around the room, taking it all in.

  “This is nice,” she said to me after taking a sip of her mulled wine. “Your family is quite amiable.” The way she spoke with her French accent killed me, so cute and proper.

  “After a bit of wine,” I said. “I can begin to tolerate them.” Anne-Sophie laughed at me.

  “At least you get to see your family at Christmas,” she said. “Be thankful for what you have.”

  “I know,” I said bashfully. “I’m just teasing.”

  “You look very beautiful in the firelight,” she said, raising her glass to toast me and then taking another sip. I could feel my pulse quicken with her words and I followed her lead of drinking from my glass, tasting the seasonally inspired spice of the wine. Reaching my hand back, I fluffed at my blonde hair and fiddled with my bra strap underneath my dress.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying not to blush.

  “You should wear your glasses more often,” said Anne-Sophie, referring to the dark black plastic frames atop my nose. More often than not I wore contacts, but the long train ride tired my eyes out and I had switched to my glasses once we arrived.

  “You think so?” I said, scrunching up my nose and fussing with them.

  “They’re cute,” she said. “You look very modern.”

  Anne-Sophie’s compliments gave me a tingling feeling inside, an expectant anxiety that made blood rush through me. I felt myself growing a little woozy, and perhaps the wine had something to do with it, but the look on Anne-Sophie’s face, a warm and caring and affable expression, lead me to question who was really in charge for this Christmas visit home to my family’s house.

  Suddenly my father appeared out in front of us, holding a full carafe of wine, sloshing it merrily back and forth with a smile on his face and a tune in his heart.

  “It’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with yooooou,” he sung, grinning and holding carafe out for us. “More mulled wine?”

  “Yes please,” said Anne-Sophie, holding out her glass as my father filled it. “Thank you very much.”

  “Lorna?” he asked, looking to me as I continued to sit on the arm of the chair.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “You girls won’t want to stay up too late,” said my father as he filled my glass. “Santa might skip over our house.”

  “Dad,” I said, looking away with some embarrassment.

  “Have you been nice, Anne-Sophie?” he asked. “Or naughty?”

  “Nice up until now,” she said with a grin. “But there is still time to be naughty before Santa arrives.” My father laughed.

  “Well, maybe Santa won’t notice tonight with all the work he has to do,” he said, wagging his finger at us. As he walked away, he returned to singing the same carol he was when he approached, adding stilted emphasis on certain words for humorous dramatics.

  “He’s drunk,” I said, swirling the wine around in my glass and smiling at Anne-Sophie.

  “I am on my way there,” she said, taking a big gulp of wine.

  As the evening wore on, family members began saying their goodbyes and filtering out. Hugs were exchanged, well-wishes, Merry Christmases, waves from the doorway as the flurries of snow fell down the night sky and thickened the accumulation on the ground. Inside the fire had started becoming dim, the sound of jovial voices faded, and before we knew it the party had come to its natural end.

  My mother and I closed the door on the final guest and then we hugged, while Anne-Sophie hung of to the side taking the last sip of her wine. I looked over to her as I embraced my mother and Anne-Sophie’s dark eyes bounced with fire, alight with something I hadn’t seen before in her, a kind of passion that was usually reserved for the most intense lust. Releasing my mother, we both stepped back and smiled.

  “Your father is already passed out,” she said with a snarky look on her face. “He’s been drinking wine since two in the afternoon.”

  “Is there any more left?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “There’s still a half carafe in the kitchen. If you girls want some more, go for it. I’m going to clean up and then head to bed.”

  “I think we’ll be going upstairs shortly,” I said, looking over to Anne-Sophie and grinning.

  *

  As we stepped into my childhood bedroom, each with a full glass of wine in our hands, Anne-Sophie looked around to take in the space. At the far side of the room was my large bed, made up and ready for our arrival and opposite the bed was a small pullout couch, its own bed removed, setup, and adorned with blankets and pillows. Our duffle bags were sitting together on the floor butted up against a wall and the light throughout the room was low and warm.

  Anne-Sophie took a few paces into the room and set her glass down atop my dresser, spinning around and smiling, looking at the arrangements.

  I closed the door to my bedroom firmly and swiftly locked the knob, trying to do so without much noise.

  “This room is so… you,” said Anne-Sophie sliding up to me in her stocking feet.

  “I did live in it for a very long time,” I said.

  “Let me take that,” she said, reaching out and taking the wine glass from me. Anne-Sophie took a sip of it and then
moved back to the dresser and put my glass next to hers.

  I watched her turn around again and smile at me seductively. I was speechless. I could only observe, standing there half-frozen.

  “Lorna,” said Anne-Sophie, once more slinking toward me, almost sashaying as she approached. “I know what you are up to.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Really,” said Anne-Sophie as she saddled up next to me, reaching out her hands and gently hanging them on my sides. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  “Yes,” I said shyly. Anne-Sophie had turned the tables on me, taking control of my little plan but nonetheless steering it in the direction I wanted it to go.

  Without another word, she slowly leaned in and tenderly pressed her lips against mine. I could taste the spice of the mulled wine on her lips, I could feel her warm breath, and a heated and anxious sensation began to build up inside of me, keenly anticipating where this sultry kiss could lead.

  We embraced and kissed, standing there in my bedroom, Anne-Sophie leading the charge. My heart raced as our kiss went on and I could feel myself growing moist down between my thighs, a soft subtle creaminess leaking out of me and onto my knickers.

  “How was that?” asked Anne-Sophie as she pulled back from our kiss. My head was abuzz, my heartbeat quickened, and all I could think of was how much I wanted to touch her again.

  “You’re so amazing,” I said, nuzzling my nose against hers. “That kiss was just like I remembered all those months ago on the beach.”

  “I’m sorry that I turned down your advances,” said Anne-Sophie, taking one step away from me and reaching a hand behind her body. She casually unzipped the top of her herringbone skirt and let it fall down her legs, standing there now in only her sweater and black tights. Through the sheerness of her tights, I could vaguely see her knickers. I wanted to be inside of them. I wanted to kiss her.

  Anne-Sophie stepped out of her skirt and turned to the side, showing off her ass and grinning.