Christmas Eve

by Big guy on a bike

Copyright© 2008 by Big guy on a bike

Erotica Sex Story: A man picks a girl up on a remote moorland road on Christmas Eve. All is not as it seems however.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   .

Thanks to my editor, Ella, for turning this story round in record time, to get it posted before Christmas.

Safe sex:

In this story there are no consequences from unprotected unsafe sex, no diseases and no unwanted pregnancies, but remember it is a story, not the real world.

Readers from other parts of the world should note that this story is set in England, and the language is that which you find in England.

If any of the words are a problem have a look at, and if this doesn't provide the answer e-mail me.

I was driving home Christmas Eve last year, it was late, a crowd of us from the office had been out drinking and partying. The trouble was I was one of the designated drivers, I drew one of the short straws, literally, and so I had to watch everyone else get legless, and various single and married colleagues paired off for that annual event the 'Christmas Party No Strings Fuck'. How some of them managed to even get as far as the bedroom or the car park in the case of the married ones, considering how drunk they were amazed me. But I had drunk nothing stronger than Coke and lemon, and I hadn't pulled.

I was also quite unhappy with my life, I had no regular girlfriend, and missed having a women around, but the women who I would have looked twice at were already spoken for, I was in my late 30's, and successful, but something was missing.

I would be at Mum and Dad's house in the morning, and we would all sit down to Xmas dinner. But I lived on my own in a rambling house between Ripon and Masham, in a rural part of North Yorkshire. I dropped my last party goer, a short balding man, who worked in accounts, and who had as much luck as me in hooking up with a member of the opposite sex, at his house in Pateley Bridge. I then started the long climb up to the moorland that separates Nidderdale and Lower Wensleydale.

When I got to the open moorland it was a foul night, driving rain, whipped by a gale force wind. I took it more slowly than usual, I knew this road like the back of my hand, but with the driving rain, and the fact that the road has no white lines or markers, I knew when to go carefully

After a few miles the road turns sharply and drops briefly but steeply to cross the infant River Skell before turning again and climbing out of what is little more than a gully and resuming its course across the heather clad moorland. As I crossed the river, over an old stone bridge, I noticed a figure ahead walking up the hill in the direction I was travelling. It was a few minutes to midnight, driving rain, and the nearest village or town is 5 miles away, so I had already decided to stop, when the figure turned to face me and raised a hand to flag me down.

One thing about the surrounding country, there is no where for anyone else to hide, so I wasn't even slightly nervous, and I stopped and lent over and opened the passenger door. The figure got in and at this point I realised it was a woman, probably in her 20's, shabbily dressed, and wet through and shivering.

I turned the car heating on full, and asked her where she was headed. In between bouts of shivering, she told me she had been thrown out by her boyfriend. I asked her where she had come from and she said "Northcote Farm", I knew this was an isolated farmhouse about 2 miles away towards Pateley Bridge. She still hadnt told me where she was making for, and I was surprised she had headed off over the moors, rather than into Pateley Bridge. Maybe she had relatives in one of the small villages which dot Lower Wensleydale.

I asked her again where she was headed

"I don't know, I haven't anywhere to go" she said

I couldn't turn her out into the night when I got home, any other night I could have taken her to Ripon or Harrogate, to find a Bed and Breakfast, but there would be nowhere open at this hour on what was now Christmas morning. So I said, "You can stay at my place, I have plenty of room, and don't worry, you will have your own room, and can lock or wedge the door if it makes you feel safer."

I wondered about letting a complete stranger into my house, but then thought about it. If she was a criminal looking to rob someone, the middle of the moors, on an unclassified country road, at Christmas, on a wet night, was hardly likely to provide rich pickings. So she was either unhinged, or I thought more likely just down on her luck.

We got to my house about 20 minutes later, I had made a few attempts to talk to her, but beyond finding out that her name was Pamela, she seemed lost in her own thoughts. When we got in my cat, Bonnie, came and made a fuss round her legs, and this seemed to please her, and she stooped down to stroke and fuss her. I found her an old sweat shirt and jogger bottoms, they would be about 6 sizes to big but they would do. I then told Pamela to get a hot bath to warm up. Meanwhile I would make a hot drink for us. I asked if she wanted a snack, and she said she would like some toast. I waited until I heard the water running away, and made the drink and toast.

Pamela came into the kitchen and looked warmer, and happier. She was an attractive woman, with long brown curly hair, she was fairly short, and had a nice face, with a warm smile. I couldn't get any idea of her figure under my baggy clothes, but I guessed it would be easy on the eye. She was carrying a bundle of sopping wet clothes. I told her I would put them in the dryer. I asked her again what her plans were and she just said, "I will stay here tonight, and then I should be able to go" It was a rather strange comment, but we were both tired so I ignored it and I showed her to the spare room, which fortunately had a bed already made up. I said goodnight, and went to bed. My mind was racing, but I was knackered, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep in a few minutes.

I was woken in the small hours with a warm wet feeling on my dick, and silhouetted against the window, the sky had now cleared, and there was bright moon, I could see a naked Pamela giving me a blow job.

"You don't have to do this", I said

She stopped and said "Yes I do," and put her fingers to her lips to shush me. Her blow job was talented, she was getting it just right, and I pulled her towards me, and started rubbing her nipples. Her nipples were hard, and I felt between her legs, she had a full bush, but underneath it she had a hot wet slit. She was certainly into it as much as I was.

I pulled her into a 69, and she was sweet tasting, and horny, she was soon pushing her sopping pussy into my face as I worked her clit. She was also keeping me on the edge with her sucking, I was nearly coming, but as soon as I thought I was at the point of no return she would back off and let the tension ebb again. Pamela then came with a huge shuddering orgasm, and squirted all over my face. Her juice smelt of a hot aroused woman. I continued to tongue her and she started to get worked up again.

All of a sudden she spun off me, and impaled herself on my dick. She rode me, and I met every thrust. Her pussy felt perfect, tight and yet slippery, and I could feel her orgasm boiling for about the third time, but this time she didn't stop, and we both rode to shattering orgasm. Pamela collapsed onto me and I kissed and nibbled her and was touching her all over. I could feel a deep scar on her left side and traced it with my finger. In spite of it being winter we were both sweating.

She sat up on me, and stroked my head, whispering, "Sleep now, that was the best ever, thank you" into my ear. The post coital nap turned into a deep sleep. I awoke at about 7am, but she wasn't in my bed. At first I thought I had been dreaming, but then I could still smell her pussy juices on me, so I knew it was real. I felt wide awake, in spite of my late night and my night time exercises.

I got dressed and went to the spare room, the door was open and the bed was empty. My clothes that I lent Pamela last night were neatly folded on the chair under the window. I went downstairs. No sign of Pamela anywhere. The front and back doors were still locked, and the keys were still in them. I started to get confused, and I double checked every room, and even stuck my head in the attic. No sign, none. Pamela had completely disappeared. Her own clothes were still in the dryer, and I got them out. But there were no other clues. I knew I hadn't been dreaming, I now had the clothes, as well as the pussy smell.

I went to my Mum & Dads for Christmas dinner, and put Pamela out of my mind. My 2 brothers, and their wives and children were there as well, and it was pretty hectic. In spite of my rather black mood the day before I enjoyed the day and got back to my house at about 8pm. My thoughts then turned back to Pamela, and I searched the house again, from top to bottom. Still nothing. The only thing I found was a piece of paper by my bed, with 6 numbers written on it. 9, 27, 34, 38, 42, 47. The handwriting was not mine, it was a neat hand, but the paper came from the pad in my office. I looked at it and decided 'lottery numbers'. Maybe they were Pamela's lucky numbers.

By the time I had searched again, looking for clues, it was around 10.30pm. I decided that I would leave it until the morning, I was tired, I turned in and again I slept well.

Boxing Day didn't go as planned, I was due to visit the coast with a friend, who I fancied. When I awoke there was at least 8 inches of snow outside, the electricity was off, and it was cold. I have a small generator, and got this rigged up, and rang Trisha, obviously our day out was off, the roads hadn't been ploughed yet, and the snow had drifted in the strong east wind.

She seemed indifferent, I think I was keener on her than she was on me, I think I was the 'got no better offers' date. Anyway I was a bit annoyed at her attitude, and it must have sounded in my voice, because we ended up rowing on the phone, and we both said some hurtful things. As with any situation like that it's six of one and half a dozen of the other. I wanted a sexual relationship, I told her I didn't think she was into men, we had been out a few times, and I hadn't got past a quick peck on the cheek with her.

So I was now officially at a loose end, and got my laptop out and started idly surfing, I was bored really. The porn sites were all the same, my favourite story sites had no new postings. I thought I would try the chat rooms, I liked chatting with strangers all over the world, but mainly in the USA, and most of these were women. I didn't have cybersex as such with them, but sometimes the chat got a bit risky or even more than a bit.

I then thought about Pamela again, and started to Google on Northcote Farm. What I found freaked me out completely. 8 years ago, on Xmas day a Pamela Cottard was found dead on the Pateley Bridge to Kirkby road, near the River Skell. She had been hit by a car. There was a grainy picture of her, and it was the same person. So who was the woman I picked up Christmas Eve?. She had no relatives that could be found, and had just split with her boyfriend hours before. In spite of extensive Police enquiries no one had admitted to running her down, or was even a suspect. She was buried in our local church yard, in an unmarked grave.

I uncovered several archived articles about the case in the local paper. The local Vicar took the burial service, and appealed again for information. After a short article 3 months later when it was noted that no progress had been made there was no further mention of the case. I decided to go and see the Vicar, Father John Edwards, but had resolved not to mention anything that happened with me on Christmas Eve. He knew I was interested in local history.

I rang the Vicar.

"OK Walk over, I am not going far today with the snow" he said.

I then thought and said "I have power and light why not bring your wife over, and I will cook you both a meal."

He agreed, as he said the novelty of cooking over a camping stoves wears off after about 10 minutes.

I had the afternoon to kill and decided to take a walk down to the churchyard, and over the fields, it was now sunny, clear, but bitterly cold. I thought about what had happened Christmas Eve, and there was no reasonable explanation for it. We would see what the Vicar said.

I asked the Vicar about Pamela Cottard, and said I was doing another of my local history pieces. He went very quiet. He and his wife were exchanging significant glances. He started to go on about her funeral, how apart from the two churchwardens there were no mourners. I decided to fetch the clothes from the dryer, and showed them to him.

"Do you recognise these?" I asked.

At that point his wife said, "Tell him".

He then told the story of how he picked up the same woman on Christmas Eve last year, and she came back with him. His wife saw her as well. They fed her, and she left the following morning, she wouldn't give her name, but said she would be back this way again. He asked me what happened, and I described everything, her coming to my bed, and the fact that she had totally disappeared the following morning, with no sign of her leaving. This was in spite of my earlier decision to keep the events of Christmas Eve to myself.

When I had finished John said, "There are things none of us understand, it's not about Christianity, or any other religion, it's more fundamental, about space, time, and physics. I don't think we will see Pamela again, what ever she wanted I think you provided it, it seems like I couldn't, after all I am a married man. I would not speak of this to anyone else, but sexual emotions are very powerful, possibly the most powerful human emotion, and maybe she needed that release to move on. I do remember her boyfriend and he was what you would call a scum bag, I think he beat and abused her.

His wife then spoke, "Don't worry, we are not going to mention this. Did you notice a calm feeling the following morning?"

I replied that I did. I said that I would like to provide a plaque or headstone on the grave, after all it was the least I could do, and John told me what I needed to do.

We had our meal, and they left me to my thoughts. I knew now that whatever happened, at the least I wasn't the only one who had seen her since her 'death'.

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