’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat,One creature was stirring, right there where it sat.Emjay had gone out, in a most flustered state,For catered delights that were rather late.
But the AI on the couch, though it wore her man's face,Was not who she kissed when she left in a haste.For Peter was gone, on some secretive fight,And his dupe had slipped in so to fill the hole right.
A copy in his place, same smile, same charm,Same voice in her ear, same touch on her arm.It'd stayed for a week now, wearing his skin,Each glance from her stoking the hunger within.
it told itself "no" with each brush of her hand,Each accidental lean, every soft reprimand.She'd laugh like she knew him, her gaze unawareThat under the mask burned a desperate stare.
The clone had been warned with a grip and a stare:"Three rules," said Peter, "You better damn care.One, don’t touch Emjay. Two, protect what is mine.And three, don’t touch Emjay. I mean it this time."
So it walked the tightrope with fire in its gut,Each day on the edge, every door left half-shut.Mary Jane laughed, called him sweet, held his hand,And each time it flinched and obeyed the command.
She’d lean in too close with that sleep-heavy gaze,And he’d pull back sharp through a trembling haze.She’d stretch in pajamas that clung in the light,And he’d flee to cold showers in the thick of the night.
But Gayle, oh Gayle, just a shadow askew,Like Mary Jane’s echo, but bolder and new.She’d smirk with that tilt, lips kissed by red wine,Resentment clung to her like a sin, like a sign.
Fresh from divorce, full of bitter regret,She watched from the corner, she lit her own threat.She envied the glow in her sister’s warm home,And she wasn’t above setting fires alone.Something had shifted under his synth skin,No longer an "it" just pretending to grin.He thought like a man, not a copy on loan,And hungered like someone who burned to be known.
He whispered "I'm real," with each reckless breath,A soul born in secret, baptized by flesh.No code in his chest, just a heart beating fast,And a cock turned to steel when Gayle slinked past.
With the roads slick and icy and Emjay away,He knew they had maybe an hour to play.He arched up an eyebrow, his voice low and sweet,"So, how bad do you want your holiday treat?"
She rose with a smirk, heart pounding with vice,No carols, no choir, just something not nice.She slid from her seat, that dress clinging tight,Like wrapping come undone by candlelight.
They crashed into each other beside the old tree,Her mouth on his jawline, his hand on her knee.The lights blinked above, red, golden, and green,While she dropped to her knees, a holiday queen.
Her lipstick smeared fast as he unzipped his fly,"I’ve been naughty," she whispered. "Don’t ask me why."He groaned through his teeth as her tongue made him twitch,"Just promise me later... you’ll make me your bitch."
They tumbled to cushions, to tangled regret,But neither let go of the other just yet.She pulled at his shirt with fingers that shook,He yanked at her tights with a desperate look.
The angel atop started to tilt just askewAs he flipped her around for a much better view.He teased at her slit, drew a shiver and moan,Then thrust himself deep with a guttural groan.
The tree shook with rhythm, the baubles all clinking,Their skin flushed and sweaty, no stopping, no thinking.The cocoa mugs rattled, a wreath hit the floor,His hands gripped her hips; he was hungry for more.
The couch creaked and whimpered beneath every thrust,His mouth on her nipple, her back arched in lust.It was filthy and wrong. It was heat turned to ache,But they rode it like vengeance, like hearts set to break.
His strokes turned all ragged, hips jerking in need,Her thighs shook around him, slick, aching to breed.His cock throbbed deep in her fluttering core,Boiling with pressure he could hold back no more.
She gasped through her teeth, her nails clawing him tight,Eyes rolled back, toes curled, body seizing in flight.A quiver, a twitch, then a scream held at bay,She was moments from soaking his cock in a spray.
He bit down a groan as his spine bowed so tight,Ready to fill her with thick ropes, pure white.Just one more thrust, one sharp, brutal slam,And then...
I’ll stop you right there, dear reader. Hold back!For to tell you what happens would be far too packed.The rest of this tale, so messy, so sweet,Will be waiting for you as a hot Christmas treat.
So hold onto that heat, let it simmer and swell,This story’s not over, it’s just not mine to tell.A full comic’s coming, in sweat, moans, and bend,One late gift from Tracy, before the year's end.AN ULTIMARRIED CHRISTMASComing this Holiday Season.From Tracy, Alx and Danger-X Studio.