Festive Frolics: Just The Sexy Bits, #1

By Lucy Lynx, Elza Wilde, Rowena Revel and 2 more

On the 6 th day of Christmas… Enjoy 6 hot holiday hookups!
From cowboy kisses to baker's wishes, on-the-job action to exclusive holiday parties in a sex dungeon,
this steamy little anthology is sure to add sparkle to any woman's festive season, from almost-innocent
kitchen flirting to feather-light bondage to hot 'n heavy multiple orgasms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JTSB Shorts
• Release date: Dec 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781738904112

Book preview

Foreword

By Tracy Montgomery

I’ve been reading erotica since I was tall enough to get away with browsing in the ‘adult’ section of my local second-hand bookstore. Long before I had actually done sex, I had experienced the power of fantasy and pleasure, and just how nice a bit of ‘naughty’ could be.

Now that I am a certified somatic sex educator, I understand why: humans need pleasure to thrive!

Whether it’s happening in the moment or we’re fantasizing about it, when we access pleasure, we are flooding our nervous system with serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin. This elevates our mood, promotes relaxation, boosts our immune system, raises our self-esteem, and helps us feel centered and connected. And doesn’t that sound like the perfect antidote to the stress that comes with creating all the holiday magic?

This collection of stories is a sparkling celebration of women’s erotic imagination, offering a delicious buffet of delectable treats, just in time for the holidays! These talented authors put the XXX into X-mas! Did you ever imagine that baking Christmas cookies could be so sexy, or what the elves get up to in Santa’s village when the children leave the mall, or that maybe the gift you really wanted was the cowboy, not the pony…. This holiday season, I'm skipping the eggnog and going straight to bed with this book!

I invite you to let your erotic imagination frolic this festive season, too.

Yours in pleasure,

Tracy

Tracy Montgomery is a lifelong teacher and learner who knows that life is supposed to feel good. A somatic sex educator and somatic experiencing® practitioner, she is passionate about supporting folks to come home to their bodies and into joyful life experience. She is past president of the Somatic Sex Educators Association and Adjunct Faculty at the Institute for the Study of Somatic Sex Education. Tracy loves spending time with family and friends, and delights in dancing, singing, sex, coffee, books, hugs, community, quality pens and chocolate, not necessarily in that order. She works and plays uninvited on the traditional lands of the Anishinaabe Algonquin peoples, colonially known as Ottawa, ON. You can connect with her here: www.tracymontgomery.ca

FESTIVE FROLICS

SMOKIN' SANTA

By Elza Wilde

Bad Santa leered. In that short skirt, girlie, your legs look good enough to lick.

In your dreams, asshole, I muttered at his retreating back. He’d waggled his crotch at me suggestively in the Santa Hut earlier. Ick. But a job is a job, and despite the long hours on my feet, the fretting parents, and the occasional deeply terrified child, I preferred being Santa’s Helper over retail work in December. Even customers willing to scream at salesgirls generally maintained a little bit of decorum in front of all those wide-eyed kiddies in the Santa lineup.

Coming for a beer? Josie, our photographer, packed her gear into the cupboard inside the Santa Hut.

Why not?

So, after I ditched my irrationally short-skirted and cleavage-enhancing Helper outfit for my normal jeans and sweatshirt, we spent a relaxing hour in the mall’s main bar, bitching about Bad Santa and men in general, and how neither of us had gotten any sex, let alone good sex, for longer than we really could remember. But neither of us were desperate enough to take up offers from the off-shift retail workers or the scattering of managers in off-the-rack suits anxiously staring at the hockey game over our heads.

The only TV we could see was silently showing local news, specifically a flaming, disintegrating display of Christmas trees near the Chamber of Commerce. As the last flames vanished, the tallest firemen pushed back his big helmet and grinned, showing off white, even teeth, bright blue eyes, tanned skin. Josie pointed to him.

How come we never meet guys like that? I bet he could handle himself in bed. Strong hands, strong arms, probably thighs like tree trunks. Think of the possible positions…

Probably married, I told her. And anyway, men like that come to the mall to buy presents for Mama or their boyfriend, if they’re not dads checking out my ass in the lineup.

He could check out mine any day, said Josie.

We silently watched the fireman roll up his hose. After that I kind of lost track of the news as the usual post shift fatigue set in.

I’m going home, I told Josie, and was soon curled up on my couch in my jammies, drinking hot chocolate spiced with lashings of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky and watching a Christmas movie so morally sanitized it was impossible to imagine any sex ever happening. Bo-ring.

The next day, Bad Santa showed up with whiskey breath. We made it through the morning without incident, but when I complained, our designated assistant mall manager only said, Don’t make trouble. We’ll never get a replacement Santa a week before Christmas. Like it was my fault Bad Santa was taking this route to rosy-red cheeks.

Over lunch break, he passed out in the Santa Hut. Ass Manager threw his hands up and stomped off to make phone calls. Over his shoulder, he ordered me to put up the Closed sign for the afternoon.

But don’t leave yet, he yelled back. We might get lucky later this afternoon.

While I was resetting the photo area with its throne and stacks of fake presents, a vaguely familiar face appeared, attached by one long arm to the hand of a cute little guy about four years old. They both smiled politely, so I responded in kind.

Can I help you?

Where’s Santa? the tot yelled.

Indoor voice, said the man.

I crouched down. I’m sorry, but Santa isn’t feeling well this afternoon. He has to rest up so he won’t be sick at Christmas.

I gave the youngster a mini-candy cane as I stood up, only to find myself gazing at a pair of delectable dimples that bracketed a blindingly white and even smile. A vaguely familiar smile. Tanned cheeks. Those deep-set blue eyes. I’d seen them somewhere recently. Maybe if he was wearing a hat… and then I realized.

Hey, you’re the fireman on the news. When the Christmas trees burned down. Some clips made it onto my socials. With lots of innuendo about his hose-handling ability, but I wasn’t going to mention that.

He blushed a little. Internet famous huh? The station crew will never let me live that down.

The kid, who’d been looking around and slurping on his cane, caught part of the conversation.

You’re on the Internet, Uncle Vic? Can I see?

Uncle, huh? I pulled out my phone and crouched down again, calling up a video with no lewd voiceover.

Here’s your uncle.

When the kid had watched a few times and laughed and pointed, I stood up. My leg cramped and Vic put his hand out. I grabbed it thankfully and steadied myself as I waggled that foot to get the blood flowing.

Thanks, I said.

Least I could do. Vic’s intense blue gaze peered into my eyes. Not a hint of cleavage-creeping. But no Santa today, huh?

You dodged a bullet, I murmured over the tot’s head. Hopefully the replacement will be better. Or at least sober. Try again tomorrow.

Like he would. He’d head to the next mall and the next Santa, and the only polite, attractive, seemingly single guy I’d met all year would be gone forever.

The next morning, I awoke late to a message that a new Santa was inbound. I scrambled but my bus was held up by a crane replacing Christmas trees outside the Chamber of Commerce. When I finally reached the mall, New Santa was already inside the hut, getting into his costume behind the curtain. I grabbed my abbreviated elf outfit off the rack and hurried to the staff bathroom to change. Josie called after me.

Sorry, I called. I’ll be right back.

When I got back, New Santa was already in his beard and whiskers, settling into his throne. We whipped through the morning without a hitch. New Santa stayed in character, calmed even the most terrified toddlers, and got beaming smiles from all the moms. There was, predictably, no sign of Vic and his cute nephew. Eventually Santa took his lunch break, heading off to the staff room where he wouldn’t be spotted sans beard. Josie locked up the camera and we rushed off to grab snacks in the food court.

As soon as we were well away, she said, You should see Santa out of his beard. He could be a male model. Maybe he is. He looks familiar, anyway. Could be from an ad somewhere.

Underwear model, I suggested.

I wish. She glared at a burger-flipper who was trying to look down her shirt. You aren’t old enough for this magnificence, kid.

Back we went for the afternoon shift. New Santa ho ho ho’d at all the appropriate moments. I handed out candy canes and collected parent contact info to send their tots’ Santa photos to. Josie took the pictures. But we were so busy that