The Russian's Christmas Present

Roan and Alice had a destination wedding here in Costa Rica eight years ago, and Martel and I fell in love with the geography, the culture, the vibe and the people. Two years ago, for our own Russian Christmas, we came back and he surprised me with this place. It sits on forty-two lush acres, right on the ocean, with an open courtyard in the center of the house and enough bedrooms for our entire family, friends and then some to come and stay.

We have monkeys and birds on the windowsills and sometimes inside, snatching fruit from the kitchen and making the kids squeal with delight.

“Wishing for others to be jealous of what you have isn’t kind.” Martel reaches over to put his hand on top of Sonya’s head. “And you are a kind girl. You just need to choose your words better.”

“Sorry, Papa.” She gives him a smile, her blonde hair moving in the breeze, and I admire what an amazing father he’s become.

“Now, go watch your brothers. Bring me back the best shells you can find. No going in the water yet, not until me and Mommy are with you.”

“Come nowwww,” she implores, pulling on his hand.

“Give us a minute. We’ll be right there. Go.”

She pouts but goes running down the sandy pathway through the palms, to the beach where her twin brothers, Mikhail and Randolph, are fighting over a stick. They were born almost a year to the day after she was, and having three kids that close together almost killed us, but we wouldn’t have our life any other way.

It was tough, keeping up with them, with Martel running the businesses and me going to school, but as a team we juggled it all. He became an expert at diaper changes and getting them to sleep at night, and after a year he quit working every day because he said he couldn’t bear missing out on their lives.

They learn and grow every day, and Martel sold the business last year, which gave us a nest egg that will last the rest of our lives. He’s still invested in the real estate ventures with Roan, and the passive income from that is more than we can figure out how to spend every month anyway.

I ended up starting my own bridal and formal dress design shop in Regentside, a growing affluent area about ten miles east of our home. It’s not Milan or New York, but I don’t think that’s what I would have wanted now that I have Martel and our kids.

I get to make my own hours, enjoy each design and see the joy in the faces of my clients. Sometimes, bigger is not always better.

Life is good.

Better than good.

It’s Christmas every day.

“Come here.” Martel’s voice is thick, and from the enormous bulge on the front of his shorts, I know what’s coming.

No pun intended.

It’s been ten years since I won him at the bachelor auction, but he’s as lustful for me as ever and I am for him as well.

“On your knees.” Martel positions himself behind the wall around the patio. Kneeling down, I’m out of sight, and so is the dripping erection Martel is holding to my lips. His cock is magnificent, thick and veined, and I take a moment to admire him before he presses the slick tip to my lips. “Suck,” is all he says, and already my pussy is dripping.

I love when he orders me around.

My lips pop around the swollen head and he guides the length to the back of my throat. I suck and lick, making him slick with saliva, and before long it’s the sound of gagging and grunting and I’m so turned on by the face fucking, I’m on the edge myself.

“Finger your pussy,” he grunts from above, and I obediently slide my hand into the top elastic of my yellow bikini bottoms to find my clit, making me moan around him. “That’s a good little girl. Horny slut for me.”

I can already taste his salty cum on my tongue, and it makes my center tense. I slide my lips up and down until I feel his body go rigid as the helmet of his cock grows in my mouth.

His hands are tangled in my hair as my fingers swirl on my clit. He shoves himself into my throat, making me gag and choke, but he knows it’s what I want.

It makes me cum every time.

I go off, soaking my hand as I feel the base of Martel’s cock twitch and he holds himself deep on a lusty groan.

“Fuck,” he grits out from above as my orgasm swirls inside of me, and the first hot, sticky jets of his release coat my throat.

We come together in twitches and gasps, the ocean breeze cooling our skin, as content as I’ve ever been.