A Fairytale Of New York free porn video

A Fairytale of New York by Circe The full moon was low in the cloudless evening sky as the horse and carriage meandered through Central Park. Far away, yellow cabs honked their horns and festive music was piped out onto bustling streets. Here, the only sounds were the clip clop of horses' hooves and the sound of snow turning into slush underneath the faded red wheels of the carriage. The driver of the carriage glanced back at his passengers, under the pretense of checking a corner turning. The couple were snuggled under a thick plaid woolen blanket, draped from their legs up to their chests. The girl had her head rested on her partners shoulder and was smiling with her eyes closed. Her partner looked around as the park passed in slow motion, careful not to shift too much to dislodge the girl. He was a tourist, the driver decided. The girl though, she was a New Yorker. The driver had been running carriages for three years now, and had seen a lot of couples - a lot of tourists too. The blanket shifted as the carriage turned and gave a lurch. He liked running the carriages, even on crisp nights like this. At least the weather had let up from all the snow. Manhattan, he had decided a long time ago, was two places, right on top of one another. There was the place he lived in, with his ex wife, and his launderette, and his daily commute. And there was the place that the couple behind him lived in with all its wonder, romance and light jazz soundtrack. If he could help someone live in that Manhattan, he was happy. He sneaked another glance. Well, he thought. The girl he wasn't sure about - she seemed to be in both places too. They were a cute couple. The young man was well dressed, well groomed and full of wonder. His cashmere coat alone probably cost more than you'd make running carriages all day. The girl was pretty, with handsome features and short blonde hair tucked into a white wool hat. She shifted under the blanket and rubbed up against her partner, giving a little purr. They were on the home stretch now, climbing a little rise before the long stretch back to the collection point. The sounds of the zoo could be heard amongst the clip clop and the traffic and the slush. He wondered what was going on under the blanket, and whether the young man's hands were wandering - or the girl's. They didn't seem that sort of couple, but it hadn't been the first time. Just to be sure, he gave the same warning he always gave as the tour drew to a close. "Are you guys okay back there?" "Yes, thank you," the young man answered, his accent clipped and very English. "Are you sleeping?" he whispered to his partner. The coach driver smiled. "No, it was just so romantic," the girl answered softly in a slightly eastern European accent. "I got you something," the young man said, pulling out a small box, and handing it to the girl. "Just... Merry Christmas." There was a pause while she opened the box, and a small gasp. "Oh Johnny, it's so pretty. Thank you." The carriage creaked as she shifted her weight and kissed the young man. The driver pulled up the horse and dismounted the carriage, grabbing a small metal staircase as he went. He dropped the stairs noisily on the ground, the clatter lost among the traffic noise. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked as the couple pushed down the blanket and straightened their winter clothes. "It was so beautiful. Thank you. What's your horse's name?" the girl asked as she stood, tugging down the hem of her short brown woolen skirt over her thick white leggings. "This girl, she's Sally," the driver lied, patting the male horse on the flank. "That's Harry over there. They always start the night apart, but end up together. Isn't that funny?" The girl laughed, covering her mouth with a leather-gloved hand and hiding her dazzling teeth. "That's so lovely. Did you hear that Johnny? It's like the movie." "It's very sweet," he agreed, following behind her as they dismounted the carriage. He shook the drivers hand, pressing a bill into his palm as he squeezed. "Thank you," the young man said. The driver watched the couple slowly walk away their arms linked as they passed on into the other Manhattan. He smiled and turned towards the queue where another boy and another girl waited nervously in the cold. * * * * * "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch." The flat-screen TV hung on the wall, a lackluster swag of tinsel hanging from corner to corner, obscuring the top of the picture. Sally was curled up on the couch opposite, wearing a pale blue fluffy housecoat and pink flannel pajamas. She watched the cartoon with a happy smile, pausing only to fish into a cardboard container of Chinese food with slender chopsticks. The apartment was small and oddly shaped, with a living room and kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. None of the rooms were rectangular, and many of them had the odd nook or small section sticking out of, or cutting into the walls. These little boxes had now become the home to various bits and pieces: a candle here, a teddy bear there. The living room, where Sally was currently relaxing, was very long and narrow and so was dominated by the frayed three-seater sofa, which took up one wall. An Ikea coffee table took up the space in front of it and was covered in magazines, old coffee mugs, a few bottles of nail varnish of various shades, and a Chinese take away menu. The front door clicked just as Sally finished off the last of her noodles, and she set it down on a mostly flat section of the coffee table. She kept watching TV as the various locks and catches were attended to until, finally, the door triumphantly swung open. A girl stamped in, rubbing her hands to drive out the cold. She took off her white woolen hat and gloves and hung them on a nearby radiator and run her fingers through her short blonde hair. Wordlessly, she undid the oversized buttons on her coat, and hung it on a nearby peg. "How'd it go?" Sally asked, turning to watch the girl unzip and pull off her fleecy Ugg boots. "Amazing," she answered, giving a little grunt as the boot came free, revealing thick grey woolen socks over her thick white leggings. "He loves me I think." The girl padded over to the couch and sat down heavily, the skirt of her dress crushed unceremoniously under her as she did so. She brought up her legs and stuffed them under Sally's blue fluffy housecoat. "He gave me this." Sally took the box and examined the ring. "Tiffany's. You think it's real?" The girl nodded enthusiastically. "Good score." "Thanks! I think we can get a few grand for it, easy," the girl said, her accent shifting from slightly Eastern European to American. "He's asked me to spend Christmas with him but..." she trailed off. "You think this is as good as it gets?" Sally asked. "Yeah, just a feeling. I mean, his credit rating is good, but... I think we should quit him while we're ahead." Sally nodded and put the ring on the coffee table, next to three other boxes of various shapes and sizes. "You need to pick your mark for Christmas Eve soon. You're running out of time." "I know. I've still got a couple of guys on the go. Still, bye bye Anastasia," she pouted, her voice returning to the heavy accent. The girl reached up to her hair, running her fingers through the crown. With a slight fiddle, she tugged and the wig came free in her hands, revealing a tight nylon wig cap. She dropped the wig down on the arm of the chair, stroking it as she did so. "Is there any food left?" she asked, bending over to look at the contents of the table. "I didn't know when you'd be back, sorry." "I probably shouldn't eat this stuff anyway. Not 'til after Christmas," the girl grumped, rubbing her slender tummy. "Guys don't make passes..." Sally began in a singsong voice. "At guys with fat asses," the girl finished, giving her own shapely behind a slap. "I'm going to get changed." She said, slipping her feet out from under her friend's housecoat and standing up. She walked through to the one bedroom, swinging her hips as she walked on tiptoes past the TV, picking up the abandoned wig as she went. Sally turned her head to watch the performance, and watched a smile appear on the girl's lips as she strutted. The girl pushed open the bedroom door with a theatrical flourish, and dropped the wig on the large double bed within. Still standing in the doorframe, the girl reached down to the hem of her brown wool dress and wriggled it upwards over her round hips, pulling it up over her body in one smooth motion. She stuck her hip out to one side as she let her arms drop back to her sides, dropping the dress at her feet. Sally applauded, and the girl curtsied, her back still facing the living room. "Encore!" "That was just my overture," the girl replied, twisting her torso round and talking over one shoulder. She winked and then walked normally into the bedroom, disappearing from view as Sally heard the bed creak. She watched, as one leg appeared sticking straight out, the white leggings peeled off slowly and carefully. A second leg joined it, and Sally let out a giggle at the display. In the other room, the bed creaked again. "What are you laughing at?" the girl asked, sticking her head around the doorway. The wig cap was gone now, and her hair was short, black and plastered to her head with sweat. Sally made an innocent face, and then closed her eyes in surprise as something was thrown at her. She shrieked as she was hit in the face, opening her eyes again to see a bundled up pink nylon thong. "Ew!" she giggled, throwing the underwear back through into the bedroom at the retreating figure of her housemate, her round bottom now very naked. "You're not going to close the curtains either then?" she called through, watching as the girl effortlessly unhooked the matching pink brassiere and slipped the straps down her narrow shoulders. "We went to all this trouble," the girl said, moving one arm to cover her bust, "and he didn't make a move. Someone better appreciate it." Sally watched as her housemate closed the door and removed a silk dressing gown from the peg behind it. She dropped her arm for a moment as she pulled it on, showing off her curvy nakedness for just a second. She winked at Sally before closing the curtains, and padding through to the bathroom - stopping only to give the reclined girl a kiss on the forehead. "Need a hand?" Sally asked as the girl stepped into the bathroom, turning on the light, illuminating the huge mirror and vast array of bottles and creams. "In a second," she replied, opening a large plastic bottle and applying some of the clear liquid inside to a ball of cotton wool. She carefully dabbed the soft ball on her face, around her neck and chin and behind her ears, stopping occasionally to drop the cotton wool ball into the sink, pick up another and apply more liquid. After a few minutes she stopped, reaching up with shaped fingernails to the seam, which had appeared at her hairline. The mask came away reluctantly, and required several further applications of a solvent to be completely removed. The girl's face landed in the sink. The face underneath was very different. Where there had been narrow eyebrows and a round button nose, there were no eyebrows, and a very small pointed nose. The cheekbones were far lass pronounced, and the lips much less full. This new face was also red and blotchy, and covered in sweat and a light dusting of stubble across the chin. "Help!" The figure in the bathroom called through happily, undoing the robe and letting it fall to the ground. The voice still very much a girls and incongruous with the face from which it came. Sally pulled herself up off the couch and fastened her housecoat around her middle. "You do your front, I'll do the back," she said, taking up a triangular sponge and dabbing it across the small of the back of the shapely body in front of her. She worked the sponge around her waist, and then began on her lower thighs - picking what would seem like arbitrary areas of her body, had she not applied the liquid latex that kept the seams invisible just hours before. "I meant to tell you, I ran into your namesake tonight." "Oh?" Sally asked, working the sponge between the figures thighs. "In Central Park. One of the horses is called Sally, and there's another called Harry. I thought it was cute." "Are you calling me a horse?" Sally asked, looking up to see a slender hand cupping a breast. "Do you want some alone time?" She giggled. "No! Please get me out this." The two worked carefully in well-practiced motions, and soon the skin at the top of the chest was peeled down, and the full round breasts with it. Finally, Sally was able to slip her hands inside the previously invisible waistband of the bottom prosthesis. She slowly worked the makeup down the figure's legs, taking with it the shapely bottom and wide hips. Soon it was carefully dropped in the bath with the breasts and facemask, while the skinny boy left behind removed his contact lenses. "I'm going to take a shower," he said in a girlish voice, "and wait for this to wear off." Sally glanced down his starved body, red, sweaty and blotchy where it had come into contact with the solvent. The bathroom was filled with his musk, mixing sweetly with the perfume the girl had worn. She watched with a smirk as he untucked himself, and quickly stroked himself hard. "Need any help?" she asked. * * * * * "Welcome to the North Pole," the elf said happily, bending down to smile at the little boy and girl as they approached. "Santa's really excited to see you." The children blushed and beamed and scurried away, bursting with the excitement of the season. The elf's smile stayed in place for a fraction of a second, and vanished as quickly as it had come. She straightened up and looked around at the queue. It was quiet tonight, but then it was midweek: just tourists to contend with for the Santa factory. She busied herself by moving baubles around on one of the hundreds of fake trees, hiding the clicker in her hand as she counted the visitors who passed her. Another elf, at an earlier point in the queue, caught her eye and gave her an eye roll. It wasn't too bad working the lines. When it was busy the children were really excited, and the elves could play and juggle and say corny Christmas phrases. The elf was happier here than manning the photo queue, where bored kids started to act up, and parents started to huff and argue. She'd rather be at this end of the factory, where the happiness was. It was like living in Christmas Eve. A couple rounded her corner of the queue, and she finally understood the eye roll. The kids she loved, the cute couples she hate?another reminder of her own failed love life. This couple seemed worse than usual: they were both wide-eyed, and full of wonder as they pointed and giggled and laughed together. "Hi!" The elf enthused as they approached. "Santa loves seeing the big girls and boys. Merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas!" the woman replied, flashing a toothy grin and squeezing her boyfriend's hand. They were an odd match: he was middle aged, slightly overweight with a goatee. Late thirties she'd guess, but well dressed in a suit and thick woolen coat. His date was younger - probably mid to late twenties. Her shoulder length black hair was definitely a dye job, but it suited her pale skin, and went with the white wool hat and bright red coat she wore. The fur trim of the coat reached her mid thigh, but even that wasn't long enough to show the skirt or dress she wore underneath, so much so that it appeared she was just wearing hose and knee length boots. The elf watched the couple go, absently taking down a large red bauble and then re-hanging it inches away from its origin. She wondered which Santa they'd get. Curious, she stepped down from her perch and handed the clicker to another nearby elf before ducking down behind a large pile of presents, and through a heavy black curtain. The room she entered contained six garden sheds, all made up and decorated for Christmas. Inside each, a carefully vetted Santa Claus met with little boys and girls. The elf hung back and waited. Suddenly, three was free, and the loved-up couple was escorted hurriedly into the small wooden hut. "Why hello," Santa boomed from inside the cabin. "I do love when the grown-up boys and girls come to visit. Would you like to sit on my knee?" The elf walked confidently to the entrance to the hut, and stood smiling, as if part of the show. Another elf, inside the hut and carrying a camera, shot her a look, but carried on smiling. She watched as the woman flashed that toothy smile again and wriggled onto Santa's waiting lap. "Come on James, do you not want to sit on Santa?," she teased in a heavy English accent. "It's fine," he replied. "You go first." "And what would you like for Christmas?" Santa asked, peering down at the woman over his half moon glasses. She leant back and then whispered into Santa's ear. The elf watched as Santa blinked. "Now, have you been nice or naughty?" Santa continued in a jolly demeanor. "Or maybe you shouldn't tell me." "I'm never naughty," the girl smiled, looking over at her boyfriend. "Well... almost never." "Come over here James," Santa said, "and tell me what you want for Christmas." The older man took off his coat and carefully sat down on Santa's other knee as his partner wriggled over. They both smiled as their photograph was taken. "I can tell you what she wants for Christmas," Santa said with a laugh as the camera flashed. "I hope my elves can afford it." * * * * * It was nearly closing time, and the bar was deserted except for a few hardy souls scattered around. The Pogues played on the jukebox as the barman looked up, trying and failing to keep his expression of weariness in check. He sighed and looked back down at his music, picking up a pencil and continuing to mark his score. The subterranean bar was a traditional Irish pub and popular with tourists. It had been refit recently to make it look older. Dark and heavy wood lined the walls, mixed with portraits of famous patrons and the odd clich?d object. A faint green glow radiated over everything, illuminated from an incongruous neon clover that hung over the main door. The barman looked round, checking that he wasn't needed. Only one of the six booths were occupied, with the last band of brothers of a work night out it seemed. Two of the tables had young couples, sitting sipping Guinness. Sean, as always, sat at the bar, reading his book and drinking whisky. His glass was almost empty, and the barman considered going over to refill it, but decided against it, turning the page of his score as he made to get back to work. The door opened with a bang, propelled by the wind, and a blast of super cold air shot through the bar like a dart. A girl walked in on her own, tightly wrapped in a red coat that reached her knees, a thick white hat, scarf and gloves. Her skinny blue jeans clung to her legs, and were tucked tightly into her black boots. She tramped over to the bar and hopped up onto a stool, gratefully pulling off her hat, her right copper hair spilling over her shoulders. "Hi,' she said warmly as the barman came over. "Can I get a Guinness and a whisky?" She spoke with an American Irish accent. "Coming right up," the barman smiled, and started to carefully pour the pint. His concentration wavered between the beer pump and the girl. She was pretty, with almost white skin that glowed. He watched as she untangled herself from the scarf, took off her gloves and unbuttoned her coat, the whole act a deliberate and careful endeavor. He looked down and swore to himself as he realized he had almost messed up the pint. He quickly pushed the pump forward and let the beer rest, two-thirds of the way full in the glass. "What whisky would you like?" he asked, making sure to select a newer glass, with fewer dishwasher scratches on it. "What do you have?" she asked breathlessly, taking off her coat one sleeve at a time, revealing a green v-neck woolen sweater. She bent down to hang the coat on one of the tiny brass pegs underneath the bar counter, and the barman's eyes followed her down, watching her large round breasts shifting as she moved and catching a glimpse of her white underwear from the cleft of her sweater. "The girl asked you a question," Sean said suddenly from the other end of the bar, not looking up from his book. "Sorry, we have Jack Daniels, Wild Turkey, Bells, Teacher's, Glenmorangie, Laphroig..." "She'll have a Laphroig," Sean said. "Oh will she?" the girl asked smiling. "She will. And so will I when you're done." "Are you buying?" she asked. "Sure. What are you selling?" The girl laughed and crossed her legs, leaning forward on the barstool to watch the barman pour two fingers in each glass. "Ice. Water?" he asked, but the girl shook her head, turning back to Sean, who had resumed reading his book. She tilted her head and looked down at the cover. "What's the book?" she asked. Sean put his finger in between the pages and held up the cover to show her. "A Christmas Carol? Can't beat a bit of Dickens." "I was in the mood for some festive cheer," Sean said, returning the book to the bar and opening it again at his saved place. The barman finished pouring the Guinness, deciding against drawing a shamrock in the foam. He set the pint down in front of the girl next to her whisky, taking the opportunity to again glance down the front of her top. "How much?" she asked, gratefully taking the pint in her hand and taking a drink. She set the glass down again, her bright red lipstick smudged against the glass. "I'll get it," Sean said, fishing in his pocket and dropping a crisp twenty-dollar bill on the bar counter. "Thanks," the girl said. "I'm Kirsty." "I'm Sean." * * * * * There was a delighted scream as Kirsty fell on the ice, her legs flying out from under her as she giggled helplessly. "Help me," she pleaded, reaching out with white-gloved hands to Sean, who stood looking down at her with an expression of pity. "Well, at least you've got plenty padding to cushion your fall," he said, offering her his hand. "Plenty?" she asked, withdrawing her hand with an offended expression. "Ample?" he suggested. She considered this for a moment, and smiled, extending her hand again which Sean took gladly. With a mischievous grin she tugged, and pulled the Irishman down towards her. He cried out as he fell and threw out his hands, managing to place them either side of the prone girl's head, and landing as lightly as possible against her wrapped-up body. They started at each other for a moment, unblinking, their faces level and their lips inches apart. She felt him relax onto her, his weight pressing against her chest and lower body. "Was there enough padding?" she asked. "Ample," he said with a grin. He kissed her then, gently pressing his lips to hers and, feeling her responding warmly, with more force. He felt her wrap her arms around him and he rolled as they embraced, covering his back with ice and ending up with the slight girl on top. "I've been wanting to do that for a while," he said. "It was pretty good." She hit him, her soft woolen gloves cold against his cheek. "We should come here again; it's so peaceful," she said, her eyes not leaving his. The park was almost deserted, and the two were alone on the ice. The rink had been closed for hours, but they had snuck in, giggling and brave with drunkenness. They had "skated" in their shoes, slipping and sliding across the ice to the middle, before crashing together in a romantic heap. They kissed again, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies as they pressed together. Kirsty smiled as she felt him hard against her - this was going to be easy. "I should be going," she said, pulling away and making to stand up. "It's very late and I'm very drunk." "No no no. It's very early, and you don't yet have a hangover. Very important distinction." "Even so," she said, still trying to stand up, but trapped in his embrace. "I'm not letting you away. Sorry missy. Of all the boys I've kissed, you're by far the prettiest." She stopped struggling. "Excuse me?" she said, all playfulness gone from her voice. "It was a compliment. You're very pretty." "Not that, the other... you said I'm a boy. I'm not. I'm really not," she pouted. "Its fine, I'm not prejudiced." "You're not ... " she began, her mouth open in shock. She changed tactic, pressing her the full weight of her body down on him. "`Do I feel like a boy to you?" "Well, to be honest, it's hard to tell through all them layers you're wearing, and I'm so cold I don't know if it's my cock that's hard or yours." He smiled at her teasingly and kissed her again, this time forcing his tongue between her plump lips. "I'm a girl!" Kirsty spluttered when she was free. "I'll prove it to you." "Well, can we do it somewhere warm, I'm losing the feeling in my arse." Sean released her from his embrace and Kirsty took great care in standing up, making sure she leaned down on him as much as she could. When she was standing, she folded her arms across her chest and refused his pleas for help. They continued to tease each other as they left the park, which transformed into tickling and kissing in the yellow cab. They held hands as they climbed the stairs to Sean's apartment, trading insults as they went. After a good five minutes spent watching Sean fumble with his keys, he finally got the large wooden door open. "Welcome to my humble abode," Sean gestured, holding the door open. "I need to pee, I need to pee!" Kirsty bounced; squeezing passed him into his hallway. "Third door on the right," he said, watching the grateful girl clip clop up the hallway. "Don't leave the seat up!" He called after her, closing his front door and receiving two upright middle fingers for his trouble. Kirsty locked the door behind her and quickly unbuttoned her coat, shrugging it off onto the shiny tiled floor and throwing her gloves down after it. Her jeans were unzipped and tugged down with her panties in one motion, and she sat gratefully onto the toilet, sighing as she released, feeling the pressure on her bladder diminish. As she sat there, she looked around what was obviously a very plush bathroom. It was larger than her living room for starters, and was papered with wallpaper probably more expensive than her rent. She smiled, remembering why she had chosen Sean. Her face fell, this was all wrong. "Shit, shit, shit," she muttered, rooting in her purse and pulling out her mobile phone. As expected, a message from Sally: Everything OK? No. No it wasn't. There was a simple rule: treat them mean, keep them keen. It didn't work with Sean, the meaner she got, the more he charmed her. She should have ended this ages ago. She sent a message back: Think so. She dried herself, and stood, flushing and pulling up her jeans and underwear and wriggling them back up over her bottom. In the mirror, she checked her appearance, dabbing a long stick of lip-gloss over her lips all the while checking for seams. The makeup was flawless. How could he know? She twisted and turned in the mirror, admiring her curves as she sprayed perfume on her neck and between her breasts. Finally, she took a blast from her inhaler. "I am a girl," she said to her reflection. "I'll show him." She took off her hat and fluffed up her hair, licked her teeth and reached into her bra cups one at a time, lifting each breast up to appear fuller. She tentatively emerged back into the hall, leaving her coat, scarf and gloves behind. Sean was nowhere to be seen. She stopped for a moment and marveled at the high ceilings and pristine hardwood floor. Pristine except for the trail of salt and slush that ran from the door to the bathroom. She looked down guiltily and unzipped her boots, tugging her feet free and abandoning them in the middle of the hall. "Sean?" she called, quietly. She heard a clink, and noticed light spilling out from underneath one door. The door opened easily on well-oiled hinges. Inside, Sean stood in his rumpled suit, pouring two drinks into heavy glass tumblers. The room itself was massive: home to three couches, a large rug and a grand piano. Sean looked up as she closed the door and grinned, walking over to her glasses in hand. "Here you go," he said, handing her a glass and looking her up and down. "Here's to the power of makeup." He clinked his glass against hers and took a thoughtful sip. Kirsty sipped her whisky, enjoying the warmth as it spread through her body. She was determined not to lose control. He was clearly loaded - think of the gifts he'll buy you to get into your panties. "I'm not wearing much," she said. "Just some lip-gloss, so your lips taste nicer." "That's why I gave you the whisky," he said, "to counter that cheap whore perfume." "You prefer your girls drunks than whores. That surprises me." "Ah, but as we've already established, you're not a girl. I mean look at you. " "Oh really?" "Yeah." "Really?" "Yeah." Exasperated, she put her drink on a nearby table and rested her hands on her hips. "What about me? What about me screams boy." Sean took another sip, his face thoughtful. "Well lots of things. Your beard!" "My.... Come here." She walked over to him and took his hand, running it against her soft smooth cheek. "No beard, see." "I meant your lips, sorry. They're very boyish." "These lips?" She rolled her eyes and kissed him, making sure to keep her touch as soft and light as possible. They continued for some time as they wrapped their arms around each other and leant in together. She felt his hands slide down her back to rest on her bottom and she responded by pressing her breasts into his chest. He suddenly pulled away. "Sorry, did I say lips. I meant tits. Sorry, but they are very boyish. Manly, even." "My boobs," she giggled, trying to keep a straight face. "Are boyish. Now I know you're pulling my leg." "Oh, sure, they look good enough to eat, but I've heard what you female impersonators can do. Hell, I've been with real women with boobs almost as beautiful looking, and once the bras off and they're not pushed up and padded and wired and all that they've ended up smaller than mine. I'm wise to your ways." Kirsty smiled and took a step back. "You just want me to show you my boobs?" "Hey, you're the one who said you could prove you were a girl. I didn't ask for proof," he added, taking off his suit jacket and dropping it to the floor. "So just admit that I was right. You must be dying to get out of that corset though I'd have thought." "Fine," she said, reaching down with both hands and working the tight sweater up his stomach and over her breasts, which jiggled in their white cotton cups. She pulled the sweater over her head and threw it to one side, leaving her hair a tousled mess as she struck a pose. "No corset." "Well, that doesn't prove anything," he said, taking a drink and unbuttoning his shirt. His skin underneath was tanned and smooth, and she found she watched transfixed as his muscled torso was revealed. "Your mouth is open," he added, his eyes never leaving hers. Wordlessly she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, holding the shaped cups against her bust as she slipped the straps from her shoulders. She let the bra fall, exposing her round and full breasts to him. His eyes broke first, flicking downward for a sneak look, and staying there, transfixed. "Your mouth is open," she said sweetly. "Well, I think that settles it." She turned and bent down to pick up her underwear and sweater, making to leave the room. Before she knew it, he had grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her stomach and pressing his flesh against her back. He kissed her neck and shoulders and she moaned, exposing more of her neck to his willing lips. His hands found her breasts, gently cupping them at first before massaging and squeezing them as he nuzzled. She panted as she watched his fingers catch a nipple, and then felt him stroking her underneath each breast. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Checking for surgery scars," he replied breathily. "Oh for Gods sake!" She spun around, wriggling free of his embrace. "These," she said, grabbing her fake breasts with both hands, "are real. They contain no artificial products or additives. And, before you say anything, so is this," she slapped her round behind with both hands. "There is no clever padding or torturous underwear. It's just my arse. Look!" Kirsty unzipped her tight blue jeans and bent over as she tugged them down her smooth legs. She worked them down, taking care to pull off her thick woolen socks as she did so. Standing in just her panties she twirled, sticking her thumbs into the lacy waistband. "And these, these are too flimsy to keep a raging hard-on at bay, wouldn't you agree?" The panties too fell to the ground, and she stood there, naked in front of him. "So, you can see, I'm not a boy. Boys don't have my lips, or these boobs, or these curves or this arse or these legs. And, as you can see, no cock. Your mouth is open." Sean stroked her hair and kissed her hungrily, and she felt his hands on her waist. She returned the kiss gladly, reaching down to fumble with his trousers and free his cock from within. In moments they were both naked, and falling against the nearest sofa, their hands exploring and caressing. Underneath her disguise, Kirsty was almost painfully turned on, her hidden penis hard and straining against its confines. "Wait, wait, wait," Sean said, leaving her for a moment and fishing in his pile of discarded clothes. "What is it?" she asked, pulling her feet up onto the couch. Finally, he gave a triumphant noise and produced his wallet, removing two condoms. He turned to look at her, and resumed his search, this time bringing out a camera phone, and taking a picture of the girl on the sofa. He dropped the phone and went back to her, tearing open the packet and rolling the condom down his hard member. "I brought one for you as well," he said with a grin. * * * * * The sun had risen when Kirsty arrived back home. Sally grunted as her housemate slipped into bed beside her, instinctively pulling away from the coldness of her legs and feet. Kirsty persisted, pressing her body against Sally's, looking for warmth. "You are freezing." "Sorry." "What happened?" Sleepily, Kirsty told her friend the whole story, taking special care to point out that she had been tricked, and was worried that she had been discovered. "So, as he was fucking you, didn't you think maybe he was just teasing you to get into your panties?" "By that point I was so horny I just... I'm sorry. No one has ever got to me like that. You know that. You and me, we've been doing this for years." "Exactly, and you know the plan. Find a lonely rich virgin, make him want you, he buys you off with gifts, we sell those and you dump him. It's foolproof. And the big prize is Christmas Eve. You can't see him again." "But," Kirsty looked over to the folders on the floor, stuffed with credit reports and profiles. "He's the big fish. He owns half the Irish pubs in the city. His house was huge." "Doesn't matter. He's fucked you now. So he'll either never call you or he'll want to fuck you again, which he knows he can without buying you anything. We need money!" "I know, I know." "James called. He wants to know if you want to go to the ballet tonight. I said yes, but that you didn't have a dress or jewelry nice enough. You're to meet his secretary at lunchtime and she'll take you shopping." "Okay," Kirsty answered sleepily. "No, not okay. It's great. Eyes on the prize!" Sally shook her friend awake. "Come on, you need to get out of that makeup and shower, and sober up, and get into character." "Five minutes," she begged. "And don't think about Sean Nisbet again. You're Carole Bates, you're 35, you're here on holiday, recently divorced. Got it?" "He thought I was a boy," Kirsty muttered, falling asleep. * * * * * Carole sat at her dressing table, leaning forward into the mirror and squeezing hard on her eyelash curler. She counted to five in her head and released, switching to her other eye. As she counted a second time she glanced quickly at her phone, checking the time: she had forty minutes. She set down the chrome curler, and unscrewed her mascara brush, fluttering her lashes over it as Sally had taught her. Sally had taught her everything. They had met at drama class, both idealistic youngsters fresh out of school destined for fame. Sally had already finished a course at beautician school, and had decided she wanted to turn her considerable makeup talents to the stage. She was the first makeup artist he had had. Carole set down the mascara and checked her eye makeup. Her black eyeliner was thick, but brought out the shocking white of her eyes, blending perfectly with a warm red eye shadow. Perfect, she thought. She rummaged for her lip liner pencil and leaned closer still to the mirror, starting to outline her kissable lips. "Here you are sweetheart," Sally said as she entered the bedroom, carrying a polystyrene head. Balanced carefully on top was a black wig, styled to perfection and elegant with loose curls. She set it down carefully next to her semi-naked friend. "Thank you," Carole said as she outlined her cupids bow, her male voice at odds with the pretty face in the mirror. Not for the first time since Carole had returned from her shopping trip, Sally again opened the jewelry boxes with their stiff hinges. "These are beautiful," she said, fingering a diamond necklace. "Seems almost a shame to wear them." Carole shifted in her seat, reaching down to her thighs and tugging on her hold-up stockings. She had considered a garter belt, but didn't want to risk ruining the line of the beautiful dress she had bought. Or rather, had been bought. After a mad scramble to get ready, she had spent a lovely two hours in the company of James' secretary Ros, who had turned out to be the same age as Carole, and who wasn't shy of trying on anything she fancied. Lipstick was next: a dark and Christmassy shade. On the table, her phone vibrated. Sean. He had messaged her twice already, once when she had been in her underwear between dresses, and Ros had almost picked it up. That had been careless. "Ignore him," Sally said, closing the jewelry box. In truth she could think of nothing else. Sat at the dressing table in her black strapless bra, black thong panties and stockings she felt like a girl dressing up as her mother. She had spent the day being Kirsty, pretending to be Carole. Now, as she puckered her lips, she dreamt of kissing Sean, of feeling his hands on her again. The thought that he had wanted her because of her disguise was making her giddy, and putting on another disguise was exciting her almost as much as the first time. She wasn't sure if it was an act, a cute line to reel in pretty girls, but it had worked on her. He was a great kisser. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and squeezing her thighs together. "I might borrow this after tonight," Sally said, taking the dress down from its hanger. "Your taste is great, as always." Sally and Carole were the same size, just as Sally and Anastasia were, and Sarah and Claire and Jessica before them. Kirsty too. To save on buying multiple wardrobes, and also because they had had a life model to take advantage of, Carole's body was based on Sally's. She had her measurements - her bust, waist and hips - but also her freckles and dimples. Carole checked her teeth and smiled. She looked great: warm and attractive. She reached for one of the jewelry boxes and removed a pair of dangly diamond earrings, and easily attached them to her small lobes. With no hair in the way, the necklace clasp too was no problem. The diamond cluster sat cold against her chest, gesturing expensively towards her enhanced cleavage. Carole stood, straightening her panties and hauling at her strapless bra to force her breasts up further still. Sally unzipped the dress and Carole stepped carefully into it, letting her friend zip her up and fuss with the fabric until it sat perfectly: the heart-shaped bodice presenting her breasts, the top of the skirt square across her hips, the zip tucked away, the long slit from knee to ankle. Carole squatted in mid air as Sally attached the wig to her head, fussing with the curls and wisps to frame her face and show off her earrings. The shoes were next, an extravagant Manolo purchase that raised her two inches. Checking the time she quickly filled her small clutch purse, spraying her neck and wrists with perfume as she dropped the small vial into the bag. Her inhaler was next, and a short blast of that felt cold against her neck. She felt her throat tingle as her voice changed, and resisted the urge to cough as she rounded up her lipstick, lip-gloss and mascara. Finally, keys, phone and a twenty-dollar bill. "How do I look?" She asked, her voice now a warm contralto. She instantly changed her bearing and posture, standing straighter with her bare shoulders thrown back. She smiled, tilting her head as she did and felt the cold impact of one of her earrings against her neck. "You look great," Sally said. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine," she said, still smiling. "I'm looking forward to a night at the ballet and I'm wearing six thousand dollars. What could be wrong?" Sally blew her friend an air kiss as she breezed out the door, and set to tidying up the chaos left in the wake of any transformation. In the yellow cab, Carole sat back, watching the city go by and ignoring the vibrations in her clutch purse. * * * * * James took his date's arm as they left the warmth of the theater, smiling as he felt her snuggle against him against the cold wind. He had been smiling all week in fact, and could scarcely believe how lucky he was to have met Carole when he did. It must have been fate, he decided, that had put such a beautiful and well-matched woman in his life. It had been so unlike him to have offered to help her, but she had seemed so lost, and he had been a little tipsy, staggering home from his company night out. She had asked him for directions, and he had escorted her to her hotel, making small talk and connecting on so many levels - their love of classical music, a passion for sculpture. She was here on holiday, ready to enjoy Christmas in New York. So, once she was checked in, and they had shared a drink in the hotel bar, it seemed natural to arrange to meet again. He was a native after all. "What are you thinking about?" she asked in her adorable English accent, reaching up to kiss him sweetly on the cheek. "You," he answered honestly, squeezing her around the middle. He was running out of reasons to meet up with her, but had chanced upon a flyer for the Nutcracker at the Met, and had jumped on the free tickets and box he had access to. It had been a magical evening, and she had held his hand all night as she watched the ballet, even letting him rest his hand on her thigh, where the skirt of her dress was split. "What about me?" she asked. "Just how beautiful you are. And how lucky I am to have met you," he said, stuttering to get his practiced words out. Carole did look beautiful, and the dress she had bought made her look even more appealing. He had told his assistant to spoil her, and had been so pleased when she had told him how happy Carole had been. She had given him the receipts (he was hoping to write this off as an expense) and he had enjoyed looking them over. The lingerie especially - such exciting and foreign items to him - had excited him no end, and he flushed now thinking of her wearing the same stockings he had read about. "You're so sweet," she said. "And this city is so beautiful at Christmas. You're so lucky to live here. " They stopped suddenly, pausing to look in a shop window with a particularly festive display. James felt suddenly uncomfortable as he looked in the window at the mannequins, dressed in skimpy teddies and panties. "Do you think I'd look good in that?" she asked, teasing him. "You'd look good in anything," James said quietly, unsure where to look and feeling his embarrassment rising. Carole kissed him then, taking him by surprise. Her lips were as soft as he had imagined, and her touch was so tender. It was over in a moment, and he realized he had just stood there, letting it happen. He grabbed her by the shoulders, fearful that his courage would leave him and kissed her again, pressing his lips against hers. "That was nice," she said, smiling as she pulled away. "Thank you for spoiling me today, I feel like a princess. And the ballet was so lovely. Did you like it?" "Very much," James said, taking her hands and gazing into her eyes. "Can I ask you something?" "Of course you can," Carole said, laughing. "What did you ask Santa for?" "That's what you want to ask me?" she replied, giggling. "I can't tell you - you know that! Why, do you want to buy me a gift? You've got me quite enough." "It's worth it, every dollar. I like spoiling you." As she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, James took a deep breath, drinking in the smell of her. "What would you like to do now?" he asked gently, careful not to touch her hair. "I thought," Carole said, burrowing into his shoulder, "you'd like to see everything you bought today." * * * * * Carole drew her coat around her as she stepped off alone into the night. She walked with a steady determination, her eyes not leaving the sidewalk as she put one foot in front of another, away from him. She wanted nothing more than to be away, and to take off these horrible clothes that he had paid for. It hadn't been rape - not technically. She hadn't said "no." She hadn't said, "yes" either, and he had attacked her with such force she had felt deeply afraid. Had her breasts and buttocks been real they would have been bruised purple with his grasp. She was grateful that it was all pretend, and tried to live in the walls of the character she had built, but it was no use. Carole would be crying by now. It was her own fault, Carole had been distracted with thoughts of last night and the tenderness and fun Kirsty had with Sean. She had been proud of the strip tease, and James had sat there with a stupid expression on his face, as he tried not to stare. But then he had snapped, and forced himself on her, promising her the earth as he pinned her to the bed. There had been no foreplay, no care, just sweaty violent fucking, and violence as he squeezed and kneaded her. It was a mercy that he had come quickly. Carole tried and failed to hail a cab and turned a corner, choosing another direction to go. She thought of the pretty girls in their tutus she had seen earlier - how beautiful and graceful they all were. It had been so long since she had been on the stage. So much for Broadway. Not that every day didn't bring a new performance. She passed by a couple, giggling and cuddling in the cold and smiled at them as they scurried by. He wanted to meet her tomorrow and spent Christmas Eve with her, promising her a wonderful Christmas gift. She needed a shower. Carole saw the bar and stopped. It should be no surprise that she ended up here, her feet working automatically, but she was still shocked. Sean's bar. One of Sean's bars. She opened her clutch purse and fished for her phone, deciding to read the messages for the first time. "A Gin and tonic please," she said to the bored barman as she sat down, taking care to gather her skirts around her. The barman nodded and poured the drink, reaching for the more expensive gin without prompt. "Happy Christmas Eve," he said, setting the glass down in front of her and returning to his music score. "What are you studying?" she asked, taking a sip. "Messiah," he replied, holding up the thick book. "Singing it next week." "Where? I might come." "I wouldn't," said a voice from the end of the bar. "He's a better barman." She turned and looked at Sean, sitting exactly where he said he would be. "See you tonight? I'll be in my usual spot," his message had said. "Thanks for the tip." He nodded and went back to his book, and she noticed he was almost finished. What had she expected, that he would recognize her instantly? She had a different face, and he wasn't looking at her. She looked back down at her mobile phone, reading again the first message he sent her: "I've got a feeling this year's for me and you." Carole finished her drink in silence. * * * * * "Come on you, it's Christmas Eve!" Sally threw back the covers of the bed, revealing the scrawny naked boy sleeping within. He groaned and tucked his smooth legs into a fetal position. "Come on! Big date tonight." "I'm not going," he said, making a grab for the covers and failing. "You've got the jewelry, and the rings and the dress. That'll do wont it?" "Yeah till like March. Let's make it like last year, we were set 'til August." She jumped on the bed, bouncing and causing the boy to shake. "You're such a good little actress." "I could have had a proper career you know," he said. "On stage, or something. I could have been someone." "Well, so could anyone," Sally said, getting off the bed and shouting through from the other room. She returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of coffee. "When we first did this, you said it was just for once. You said Broadway was waiting for me." "And it is!" she said, handing him the mug and throwing open the wardrobe doors. "Just after tonight." She pulled out a bright red dress. "You're a bitch," he said under his breath. "Bum," Sally shot back. "Slut." "Cheap, lousy faggot!" The boy sprang up then, grabbing a pair of panties and tugging them on, followed by a T-shirt and jeans. He avoided looking at her as he stormed out the flat, shouting, "Merry Christmas. I hope it's our last!" as he slammed the door. Sally threw open the window angrily, and leant out, waiting for the boy to emerge into the street. "I'll go instead," she shouted as he emerged. "They're my tits anyway!" The boy appeared to ignore her as he hugged himself against the cold, and trudged off into the city. * * * * * The Rockefeller center was bustling as shoppers weaved in and out of the wicker angels that lined the streets. The ice-rink was a mass of bodies colliding, and a male voice choir provided an appropriate festive soundtrack. Sally walked nervously, a black wool coat over her tight red dress. She kept fussing with her long black scarf, which kept falling and shifting as she walked, revealing her plump breasts to the cold. She caught her reflection in a shop window and smiled. Carole's face smiled back at her. How hard can this be, she thought to herself. She'd show him. She was late, and was distracted as she turned the corner, and so didn't notice until it was too late the person standing there. "Carole," James said, grabbing her tightly round the waist and kissing her roughly. Sally fought the urge to hit him, and swallowed her anger, trying to relax into the kiss with this stranger. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Nothing," she said in a practiced English accent. "I'm just surprised. It's good to see you." "Oh, good," he said, shrugging and squeezing her again. The dinner was awkward as Sally struggled to make conversation. She knew nothing about their dates, or their previous chats about music. Fortunately, he seemed to be happy to just stare at her boobs as they threatened to burst out of her dress. As dessert was served, she had to remain calm as she felt his hand on her thigh. "I bought you a Christmas present," James said, taking a small box from his suit jacket pocket. Carole's eyes lit up as she took the box and opened it. The ring inside was beautiful: Gold and inlaid with the largest diamond she had ever seen. "Oh James, it's beautiful," she said, and she meant it. "It's an engagement ring," he said. "The girl in the shop said it was the best." "Engagement? Oh James, it's quite sudden," she said, taking the ring from the box and trying it on her slender finger. Before she knew it, he had pushed back his chair and was kneeling in front of her. "Carole, will you marry me?" The ring sparkled. "Of course, yes," Carole said, glancing at the ridiculous man. She was only dimly aware of the applause that rippled around the restaurant. They walked arm in arm back to his apartment, a sense of dread growing in Carole's stomach. She didn't know how to get away. He kept grabbing her, squeezing her bottom and touching her as they walked. She distracted herself with the weight of the ring on her finger. James was rougher in his apartment, not even letting her take off her coat as he groped and grabbed her. "Can't we just kiss?" she suggested, as he practically tore the dress off her. "I like kissing," James said, planting his face in her chest and nuzzling her breasts. Carole was scared now. This was terrifying and she had no control. "Please stop," she begged, her accent lost in the panic as she tried to push him away. "But I love you," he said, pushing her backwards and forcing his hand up the short skirt of her dress. "No, please no," Carole begged again, her voice growing increasingly shrill. She went for his hand and tried to stop him, but only succeeded in scratching him, the large diamond cutting into his flesh. "You little cunt," James shouted, slapping her hard across the face. She screamed and tried to run, making it to the front door and struggling with the lock to open it. She felt him coming up to her as she pulled the door open, and was relieved to see someone there, standing in the doorframe. The boy reached out and grabbed her, wrapping himself around the torn and disheveled girl. "Who the fuck are you?" James yelled at the boy. "I'm her friend," he said, wrapping his red jacket around her trembling shoulders. As they walked away, Carole slid the ring from her finger, letting it fall to the ground as she muttered, "I'm sorry" over and over again. * * * * * The church bells were ringing on the edge of her consciousness as Sally awoke to Christmas day. She opened her eyes quickly and checked her surroundings, and sighed relief - she was home. 'Happy Christmas," the boy said, entering the room with a mug of steaming coffee. "Happy Christmas," she said, sitting up and taking a sip. "I love you baby." "I love you too," he replied, jumping into bed next to her and cuddling in. "I'm so sorry." "So am I." The day was spent quietly, watching TV and ordering in Chinese food for lunch as the two friends sat lying on top of each other, slobs in flannel pajamas and dressing gowns. "Come on," Sally said eventually. "Let's go out. It's Christmas." "I don't feel like it," the boy complained. "Come on, It'll be fun. Please!" she begged. He untangled himself and made for the bedroom before Sally shouted after him. "Not so fast - I need a girlfriend to go out with." The boy grinned and bounded into the bathroom as Sally smiled, reaching over to pick up the mobile phone that was stuck between the cushion covers. Sally wasn't surprised when it was Kirsty who emerged from the Bathroom - she never wanted to see Carole again - and the two girls began to gossip and chat easily. Small talk was what she needed, and as she helped the girl take shape, she began to relax and enjoy herself. They both dressed together, swapping clothes and stories as they did. Finally, two hours and a bottle of wine later, they left the apartment, Sally in a pleated woolen skirt and jumper, and Kirsty in a tight black mini dress and purple leggings. They walked arm in arm, and jumped in the first taxi they saw, Sally giving the driver an address in the lower east side. The cab pulled up outside a bar Kirsty had never been in before. She swung her legs out and tugged down her dress as she left the taxi, turning round to see her friend staying put. "Happy Christmas," Sally said with a grin, settling back into her seat. "What's going on?" "Enjoy your date with Sean. If you get into trouble, give me a call." "And what about you?" "I'll see you when you get in. I'll be fine. Have fun." Kirsty bent down and reached into the cab, hugging her friend tightly and kissing her on the cheek. "I love you." As the taxi sped away she pulled out her compact and checked her face. Kirsty looked back at her. She took a deep breath and walked into the bar.