"Silk Scarves... for Christmas?"

Clasping his torso, I plunged onto his swollen shaft, "Still, I put them to good use."

Tied to an Eames chair, I smouldered into Rory's helpless eyes. Naked, rampant... and born on Christmas Day.

"Your birthday and Christmas presents were always combined?"

Gagged by my drenched panties, he nodded animatedly.

Standing, my husband would wait.

Rory shivered like a cold kitten. Warm in my embrace, my slick cunt revelled in his engorgement. A rapid smear of my hips forced his groans, and he pulsed with the vitality of youth.

"Good boy," I purred, "Happy Eighteenth Birthday."