The Christmas Retreat

The winter holiday theme has given me the chance and motivation to recall a Christmas experience which had a big effect on my life and relationship at the time. I'm writing this from memory and will fill in as much detail as possible so that my readers get as true a taste of events as I can possibly relate. The story's quite long, but it's genuine and I hope you find it rewarding, erotic reading. This is my account of a Christmas past which I doubt I'll experience the likes of again...

It was only five years ago. I was in a steady relationship, in my mid-twenties, and busy trying to launch my own consultancy business. My girlfriend of two years at the time was a slim and pretty strawberry blonde - of course I'd claim beautiful - called Lucy. We'd co-habited in our modest apartment for a year and got on well. Each of us had our own daily lives to attend to but we made the most of our time together. Lucy was quite shy, though not cold – we had our passionate moments like any young couple but nothing kinky; she had always been quite restrained sexually. Only once had I seen her let loose in any sort of way, which was after her graduation party when she and a few other drunk girls flashed their boobs for laughs at the male revellers. I got quite a kick from even that minor daring.

Lucy had a perky set of breasts with nipples which reacted in a charming way to the cold. A nice handful, her boobs complimented her neat figure. She had a great little bubble-butt and toned, sexy legs. Altogether, she was perfectly proportioned. Her big bright green eyes, wide pearly smile and shoulder-length blonde bob were a great advertisement for the sexy female package I was happy call my girlfriend.

She always came across as chirpy and intelligent – assets which gained her plaudits and an accounting position at a vibrant private firm with plenty of upward opportunity. I say firm, but the company, which specialised in overseas retail was on the verge of going plc and acquiring a stock-market listing. As a result, that Christmas the boss man was giving a lavish pary at his country retreat with all staff and partners invited.

Lucy and I spent Christmas day apart – each with our respective families in different parts of the country. So when we met up two days later to head for the big party we were feeling a bit frisky. Although I was reticent about the occasion, knowing no-one, and Lucy a bit nervous about all the networking and office politics that would no doubt be lacing the evening, we reckoned our own personal heat would see us through. We were due to stay over – the place had apparently enough guest rooms and guest chalets to house forty-plus – so I was quite buzzed about getting some of my girl's delights in a strange place.

The drive was to take us two and a half-hours so we set out early, eager just to get there, change into our party clothes and relax, if possible, into party mode. However, the weather worsened and by the time we'd been on the road two hours snow was falling in flakes big enough to crush a mouse. Conditions were near whiteout. Driving was hellish, and we got lost twice. Eventually, after much swearing, and frantic map reading, we got there.

The retreat was a converted farm – a huge modernised farmhouse with all angles of glasswork, extensions and developments bolted-on. It all looked rather spaceship-like, spectacularly lit, set in grounds which, I suspected, under the snowfield were beautifully manicured. As we approached up the wide drive, ground-set floods illuminated old barns and outhouses which had also been converted to living quarters and all were joined to the 'mothership' by corridors of floor-to-ceiling tinted glass. It was like somebody's private hotel on Mars rather than a home.

At the main door of the big farmhouse a girl ran out to greet us sporting an ubrella for shelter;ours, it turned out. She was one of the staff employed for the night and she ushered us in from the cold. We saw nobody else as we were escorted along those umbilical corridors to our room, a tastefully decorated suite with a big four-poster bed. The girl – a curly-haired brunette called Vicky, wearing a black pencil skirt and tight white blouse which showed my sex-starved eyes a very firm set of breasts – politely asked we change for the evening and make our way back to the main house where she'd take us into the party.

Both Lucy and I were now looking forward to the event more than our anxieties could detract enjoyment from it. The place was spectacular, the mood and time of year just right for merriment. I knew I could put up with numerous office bores just for one night if it meant a whale of a time at someone else's expense and I never doubted Lucy felt any different. We both dressed for fun in double-quick time with smiles on our faces.

My smile widened as she appeared from our en-suite bathroom ready to rumble. Lucy's slim figure and high, jaunty boobs never looked better in the tight little black party dress she wore. She giggled and flashed a black stocking-top at me – I felt my heart jump and my groin tighten at the sight of sallow thigh flesh; I knew it led up to the small black lacy panties I'd bought her as part of her Christmas gifts. I gave a small growl of approval. I glanced up to catch sight of the matching bra, but she was tutting and striding past me, grinning cheekily.

"Later, Andy. Later. We've got some partying to do first." Lucy walked out into the hallway, smiling back. Then she flipped up the back of her dress and I got two perfect tight butt-cheeks shaken at me as she disappeared round the door. I followed at speed.

Vicky met us true to her word and led us through a vast hallway towards the ever-increasing sound of music. The entire place was very festively decked-out. We went through a large room with a dancefloor incorporated in the centre which then opened out into an expansive living area – a big open hearth fire warmed a room floored with expensive rugs of both Persian and animal skin, laden with enough couches and cushions scattered around to seat a small football crowd. There was no-one using them, however. The only human life was at the other end of the room where huge bay windows opened onto a stretch of garden brightly lit in the fading daylight by halogens mounted roof and floor. A massive Christmas tree sat to one side of the windows, dripping with glitter and glimmering multicolours. The gathering of guests ceased their conversation as our presence became notable. The low murmur of chatter gave way to the ambient music.

Vicky introduced us. Lucy was all smiles and familiarity. I followed her into the small throng, fixing my best neutral grin and bestowing season's greetings.

There were three other couples, mingling with drinks in hand. One was about our age. The guy was a bit reserved, eyed me up and down. I nailed him for office asskisser; definitely one to sneak to the boss about you in benefit to his own career. His wife was a stunner, however. She was a dazzling, statuesque, short-bobbed blonde, all lips and sparkly eyes. There was something inherently Scandinavian about her. She wore a green figure-hugging dress which accentuated her long, strong legs and really firm-looking bust. I took a guess from her skin-tone that she liked the sun a lot – natural tan, not sunbed. She was Helene, and that snidey hubby of hers went by the name of Peter. Lucy introduced him as something to do with acquisitions, but I wasn't really listening or caring.

In that whirlwind way, I was sidled over to another couple, this time some fella called Tony with an overtly-trimmed moustache who rather forced himself on you. Too in-your-face for my liking, and a distinctly false manner. He also gave Lucy's ass a rather naughty pinch as she kissed his cheek. I'd heard about him before, though his name and face hadn't matched until now. Tony was the company pain-in-the-ass, one of a few the female employees tolerated with a forced grin but avoided getting into one-on-one situations with. I think he believed himself some latter-day Clarke Gable. I exchanged some meaningless banter with him, and then met his wife, Linda. She was just about what you'd expect Tony to have as a partner: A brunette with straight hair which crested her shoulders, slightly over the top with make-up and fake tan, and sporting almost as much glitter as the damn Christmas tree. She did have a great build though – all pushed up cleavage in a sparkling low-cut crossover top, and a tight pair of white pants which drew your eyes due to their hint of transparency and the immediately-flagged thought that there can surely be no room for underwear beneath them.

I took a deep breath and forced my eyes back up to the third couple. The guy met me first, shaking my hand warmly and with no little relief, I sensed. He was Colin, younger than me – I placed him around twenty-one – fresh-faced, and looked a little out of his depth. I asked him what he did in the firm, just to get the formality out of the way. Turns out he wasn't anything to do with the company at all – he was an electrician by trade and like me, a partner of the invited guest.

That happened to be his girlfriend, who was talking to Lucy with the same underlying relief as Colin had shown to me. Lucy broke off to introduce me, and I was welcomed with a warm smile which revealed a perfect set of teeth adorned by beautifully sculpted lips. I make a point of remembering those lips, as they deserved a special memory all of their own. You know the ones you might glimpse on billboards advertising lipstick or lipgloss, or some other sensuous product? Well, those lips of Annabelle's – yep, got to her name eventually – were the poster child lips for any male oral fantasy ever concocted. They were definitely a triumph of nature, and fascinating to any red-blooded male. The fact that they were in no way let down by the girlish face upon which they rested and the beautiful jawline which underscored their exquisiteness, only served to make Annabelle all the more appealing.

She was young, a bright spark nineteen going on twenty with a talent for academia which had won her a potentially prestigious placement in the company straight from college. Cynical as I am, I was in no doubt that her looks, like Lucy's, were also a winning career-card, played with subtlety and charm. Annabelle wore her ringleted dark brown hair up in an architectural whorl, with two or three strands strategically falling about her smooth ivory-skinned features.

Although quite dazzling of appearance in a pure way, I noted her demure manner carried into her dress-sense. She wore a shiny, bustling number – a party dress which did not in any way draw attention to the figure it clothed. I tried to gauge her physical appeal even further, but cannot honestly say right here for the purpose of these memoirs that I could place any comment on her body at that first close-quarters meeting; only that she was tall in a languid way and not as imposing as Helene.

We kind of shot the bull in a polite way amongst us for a time. Then conversation got to who was coming and who had called off. Between them, Lucy and the company staff reckoned something was amiss as time was dragging on; it was almost dusk and as yet our little gang was the only party in town. Where were the reinforcements?

Moments later we got our answer, and I got to meet the hosts at last.

The boss man, Ian strode in, gregarious and welcoming. His wife followed with Vicky, the hired staff member bringing up the rear with a fresh tray of champagne.

Ian was a big fellow, heavyset, grey to the core, in his mid-fifties. His wife Nicole was about forty or so and was an impressively sophisticated woman of average height but classically attired in an expensive designer dress of fine cut which enhanced her big bust and caressed her full ass I noticed when she had her back to me, tossing her auburn locks between her shoulder-blades as she chatted to Tony and his wife.

After pleasantries, Ian explained, rather crestfallen, that the party was a wash-out, or rather whiteout. Roads were closed due to snow; all the other guests had run into problems because of the time they chose to journey. The eight of us who'd made it were the only ones with sense to set out early enough. Even the band he'd booked couldn't get there and as for Vicky's other waiting staff – the coach that had dropped her at the retreat to begin organising things and then gone to collect the other hired help had never made it back. Ian and Nicole had spent the past hour on the phone fielding call-offs and disappointment.

There was silence as he finished his explanation. I don't think anyone knew what to say, or do. Was the evening still going ahead? Nervous, awkward glances were exchanged.

But Ian was no big player for nothing. He rallied our spirits with gusto, pointing out that they had a damn big spread of food to go through and enough drink to scuttle an ocean liner. Vicky was happy to stay and serve as long as she got to join in with out merry little band. Of course, our jolly host insisted that was part of her duties!

So the music was changed to some livelier tunes, the fire turned up and we spent the next couple of hours dining on a scrumptious buffet, with more wine than we needed, crashed out on the plethora of couches and cushions. Everyone relaxed and enjoyed the banter, even office titface Peter who became actually quite convivial with me, I remember.

As the evening had turned out to be more intimate a gathering than anyone had anticipated it seemed to bring about an effect of greater and quicker relaxation. Any networking or politicising evaporated into the simple enjoyment of five couples and one stranded waitress making the most of things. The environmet helped as much as the copious and varied amounts of alcohol we imbibed. Inside was glamour and warmth, outside a very festive picturesque scene, crisply snowbound, illuminated beneath a clear starry sky.

The beautiful carpet of snow left by the day's fall stretched as far as the outside arc of artificial light allowed. I glimpsed a different, darker shape in the penumbra at the far edge of the light's glow and asked Ian about it.

"Oh, that's the pool out on the lawn," he answered. "Cover's over it – that's what you can see; the snow's weight's sagging it a bit."

"A hundred bucks to anyone brave enough to skinny-dip," called out the over made-up and over-the-limit Linda, giggling and shaking those upthrust boobs.

"A hundred won't cover the funeral expenses you'll need if you jump in there tonight," quipped Tony to his spouse. I thought the look that passed over his face hinted at a tiny bit of pleasure that thought gave him.

"Ah, no chance of the boys doing that," sneered Linda back. She wiggled her little finger. "Shrinkage, huh, Tony?"

There were a few catcalls and laughs. Tony grabbed at his crotch in mock freezing-pain.

"Hell," Ian grinned, "I'll put up a thousand for any girl brave enough to run out there in her underwear, never mind skinny-dipping.

Now the males whooped a bit. I glanced at the women. Nicole was shaking her head indulgently at her husband's cheek. Linda was shouting something unintelligible at him. Helen was laughing along. Annabelle was laughing too, but nervously, glancing around. Lucy sat with a big grin, sipping wine.

"I'll do it."

Silence. Everyone turned to the source of our shock.

Vicky had returned from the kitchen or cellar or from wherever she had fetched more booze. She was drinking from her own wine glass, then suddenly gulped down the remainder and firmly planked the glass down on the nearest coffee table. She placed her hands on her hips and asked emphatically, "Well?" arching a dark eyebow at Ian.

The women broke into cheering and applause.

Ian said to Vicky, "Hey, don't worry, I'll be paying you extra for all this. No need to..."

"A thousand, you said."

"Yeah, but I was. . ."

"A bet's a bet," Vicky smiled, coy but challenging. She kinked her hip sassily too, and I was suddenly very interested in seeing that figure sans uniform.

So I chirped up, "Hey, the girl's got a point."

I hoped I didn't sound too cheeky, but everyone was well merry by then and all I did was give the office boys some bravery.

"Yep, she's got you there, Ian," added Tony.

Peter made his point too, and young Colin clapped his support, nodding seriously. Annabelle nudged him in the ribs. She was reddening about the face; a bit of both embarrassment and alcohol taking effect I thought.

"Bloody hell, fair enough," said Ian. " But I'm not responsible for hypothermia, right?" he grinned at Vicky.

She pouted back. "Ok, let's see the cash."

Ian jumped up and disappeared at speed, letting us know he'd be back with the readies in a few moments. While he was away, Vicky's task was agreed upon – to run up to the edge of the pool, touch it and then back to the house. In her underwear, of course, the original bet. That was the last stipulation, and there were some eager male eyes on her as she nodded her agreement.

Then, very coolly, Vicky started to undo the buttons on her blouse.

"Woah, woah," called out Ian rushing back into the room. He couldn't drag his eyes off her but still managed to pull a wad of notes from his pocket and slam them down on the tabletop, placing Vicky's empty wine glass atop the loose pile.

"Ok, gorgeous, the bet's on," he beamed.

I was sure I saw some healthy bills bulging in his pocket where that little lot had come from. I fleetingly wondered what he was planning. Then Vicky started to strip and I nearly started to salivate.

She slipped out of her blouse, peeling it back behind her – a deliberate move, executed with a pout and a sly smile; it forced her breasts forward. They looked a full 36C cup at my guess encased in a dark blue bra with lace trim. The overbulge of her tits above each cup gave the nicest little shudder as she shook her arms free of the blouse and let it drop to the floor.

"Nice bra," said Linda quietly, and someone giggled.

Vicky kicked her small heels off and reached under her thin skirt, hiking it up enticingly. But she was not teasing, just removing her dark pantyhose first. She revealed a shapely pair of bare legs.

"Great," Ian commented absently. Nicole gave him a playful slap.

Then Vicky undid her skirt and wiggled out of it slowly. I think then she was really enjoying the attention. She had lovely, shapely hips and taut thighs, and wore a pair of thong panties to match the bra, just trimmed with lace at the edges. She slipped her shoes back on. As she turned to face the window and walked towards it, her firm, naked ass undulated enticingly. The thong string was lost between her cheeks, like she was bottomless. It was definitely getting hotter in the room. I wondered what the hell outside was going to feel like.

Ever guy had a lascivious grin on his face, every woman sporting either enjoyment or reservations in some cases – definitely Annabelle, and a bit in Lucy.

Ian slid open one of the big windows enough for Vicky to slip through.

"You ready?" he asked.

She gave a theatrical shiver, which shook those fine breasts, and then a thumbs up.

"Okay. Go!" Ian shouted, and Vicky took off.

Everyone yelled and cheered as we watched her race, stumbling in the snow. She lost a shoe, then gave us a tremendous view of her ass and legs as she bent, then crouched down to retrieve it. She made it to the pool edge, almost out of the light. Then came the amazing sight of her running back towards us. It must have taken her a full minute to wade/churn through the snow with as much grace as she could muster, eventually taking both heels in her hand and going barefoot for speed.

As Vicky got closer to the house, she took one final stumbling lunge. Her left tit popped out of her bra. The boys cheered; the girls shrieked with laughter. She was still trying to fit it back in as she scrambled, wheezing, through he window space back into the warm house. I was closest to her and remember the thrill of her big left nipple puckered up just within touching distance.