Title: Twas The Night Before Christmas . . .
Santa could smell the cookies before he could see them. Fresh baked, still gooey in the center. Their aroma wafting into his nose like a friendly ghost.
“Aaahhhh thas’ good . . .” Santa fell into the large comfy nearby recliner and licked his fingers of cookies crumbs.
Peanut-butter. Mmmhhhmmm. Melt in your mouth goodness. Still warm, oh those were nice. A sprinkling of cookie caught in his beard. A glass of milk and a tiny little kettle of what smelled like heaven, hot black fresh-roasted espresso were ready at hand. Santa kicked back the recliner and really took a load off.
Santa tiredly worked off his boots, plopping heavily on the floor. The feeling of release was beyond decription. Dusted with snow already starting to melt. He took long pulls off the coffee and groaned with satisfaction.
Oh, this was a delight. Perfect. Christmas Eve was always a long night.
Another holiday ‘in the bag’. Santa was in rare form tonight! Delivering presents at a preposterous break-neck speed. Thousands of homes all over the continent, all at once. Santa grabbed at another cookie from the tray.
A Ginger Snap! Dusted with sugar and cinnamon! The ginger made his tongue tingle. Oh these people were terrific. Another glass of hot brown soon followed the first. The fireplace bright and hot enough to fill the room with a cozy glow. A rainbow of primary colored Christmas lights twinkling outside the window. All around the livingroom were family photos. Graduations, vacations, weddings—wreathed in tinsel, tinkling bells. A kind and glittering in a shrine of familial affection.
The tree went right to the ceiling and wore baubles on every branch. A stained-glass star at the top and a forest of gifts below. Santa was touched. He had the same feeling as a proud parent. THIS was a family that understood the true meaning of christmas.
It felt amazing to take a break. Infallible and hundreds of years old, Santa took pleasure in cracking his back and taking looooooong glorious yawns.
Looking around, Santa found a glass bottle of whiskey and Irish cream liquour. They soon found their way into his thermos. Riding behind a crew of flying reindeer was thirsty work. An other cookie—oh christ—this one was like a slice of pumpkin pie, in cookie form.
Christmas was going GREAT. No one did it up big like Santa Claus. NO ONE. Billions of houses, all in one night, and no one could prove it was him. The number one real OG. How many kings—how many presidents and prime ministers decorated their palaces in deference to me? How many world leaders pause their wars for ME, if only for the day.
And how did Santa use his power, his position as an immortal being at the top of the pyramid? By distributing toys to children all over the world. And he fucking crushed it. No one gave out gifts like Santa Claus. Santa took one final sip of his coffee and chuckled to himself, his great big belly shaking like a tub full of jelly. Misses Claus was going to GET IT tonight!
There were still a few hundred million houses in the south pacific left to go, so Santa put down his plate of treats and began hiking up his boots. The key word these days was ‘sanity model’. You know, taking five minute breaks here and there, really helps clear the mind. Helps remind you of the things you really enjoy about the job so it’s not all just rushing through innumerable millions of houses dropping off presents and gagging behind a whole team of flying reindeer.
Life’s about the little things. Family. Friends. Homemade cookies for instance.
“All done.” Santa said, swiping crumbs off his coat. “Time to go—”
“Sa- . . . Santa?”
Santa froze. OH NO.
“Santa!?” Santa spun around to find young woman with mounting urgency in her voice.
FUCK. Twenty years without being detected. Oh my god, I’m going to have to do another round of Tim Allen movies.
Because he knew everyone, Santa knew her name was Christina. Santa knows everything and everyone, keeping meticulous lists of who’s naughty or nice, when they were sleeping or awake. He checked them often, at least twice. She was Christina, home for winter break, her first year at college.
“What the fuck is a SANTA CLAUS—” The reality of the situation seemed to be closing in on her. A crazy person in a santa outfit was raiding their kitchen for booze.
Santa silenced her with a thought.
“First—” Her body slid wordlessly towards him, as if carted through the air. “I am not A Santa Claus. I am THE Santa Claus.”
Christina nodded her head, a little frightened. Wide-eyed.
“Second—” This time Santa lowered his voice to a whisper, letting her in on his little secret. “I’m not trying to be found out.”
Santa gave Christina a sheepish look, clearly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Santa’s aren’t supposed to get caught.”
“You’re REAL?!” Christina blurted out.
“Of course I’m real!” Santa was taken aback. Did people not think he was real? “Who told you I wasn’t real?”
“No one.” She lied.
The question had become a point of contention at school one day, Christina refusing to budge when one of the bossy girls in her class made fun of her for defending santa. HE IS REAL! She remembered crying.
“Look, I’m sorry about all this.” Santa tone softened. He was like a cheerful grampa, a paternal blanket of warmth and protection. “Let me make this up to you. You’ve been a very good girl this year! I saw your report card.”
Santa booped her nose as he said it.
“Th-thanks—” Christina stammered. It had been a lot of hard work but she managed to ace all her classes.
“So before I go, just think of what you really want for Christmas this year, and maybe Santa will have a ‘special’ gift for you.” He pulled a candy cane out of his pocket as he said it. A rod of perfect peppermint sugar, ringed with beautiful ribbons of red and green.
“Thanks.” Christina gave it a tentative lick. It was unbelievably tasty.
“Anything I want? Like . . . like a genie in a bottle? I get one wish?” She asked, almost certain that’s not how Christmas worked.
“A what?” Santa asked, confused.
“A genie. From Aladdin . . . ?”
Santa kept his blank stare of ignorance. He sat back down on the chair and patted his lap. “Anyway, take a seat. Tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”
All of a sudden, Christina felt like a little girl in the mall again. Sparkling Christmas lights, the crackling of a fire. The cozy velvety feeling of his red jacket and fuzzy white lining against her PJs. Looking up at his gentle eyes, his rosy cheeks, and that friendly loving smile.
“Anything.” He had the voice a benevolent pastry would have. A seductive, masculine pastry.
Everything was happening very quickly and Santa was asking some pretty big questions. What did she really want for Christmas? An electric kettle was the first thing that came to mind but she pushed it away. This had to be something big. Something special.
A new car? Maybe her own apartment. Some new clothes. That internship Christina wanted, could Santa do that? Could Santa just give her a job? Or . . . a boyfriend?
A little thrill of naughtiness passed through her. Could she just ask for some dream date of a person?
Santa subtly checked his watch. His lead on the clock was rapidly diminishing. How could he have been so stupid! Getting caught like this. It was amateur hour stuff. Back in the day he would have just taken her as an elf-slave and set her up building toys for all eternity in the North Pole. Nowadays children didn’t go ‘missing’ quite so often as they used to. There would be questions.
Christina’s head was still spinning with ideas. A new computer. Could Santa make her insta-famous or make her like . . . an expert at something? Could she just become a violinist if he just gave her the perfect violin? Maybe she could just ask to be the very best-
Santa looked at his watch again. At this rate there were going to be a lot of underprivileged non-christians with empty stockings come Christmas morning.
Could she ask to be thin or beautiful or- Christina knew she looked fine and really liked how she felt about her body—at the same time—there was some kind of magic man looking to do her a favor. So far the top choices were: a place of her own, a job, a new car, a boyfriend, maybe changing something about her body, a new-
“Done!” Santa beckoned her off his lap. Christie quickly hopped off.
“Done?” Christie choked.
“Done.” Santa said with a wink, hauling his enormous knapsack of toys over his shoulder.
“But I didn’t say anything—”
“Oh no I heard you. I think I got the gist of it. New house, new car, fancy job, boyfriend. Done. It’s yours.”
“Oh thank you Santa!” Chrissy jumped into his arms, kissing him hard on the lips. It was all so crazy and overwhelming. This was the best Christmas ever!
She was so happy, so giddy and lightheaded, Christie didn’t even think about slipping in some tongue. It just kind of happened all on it’s own. Santa responded in kind, gripping her ass through her PJs. His mouth tasted like that candy cane.
“Oh Saaanta . . .” Chrissy came up for air, but quickly dove back in. Santa was a surprisingly good kisser. She loved the feel of her naked breasts brushing up against his furry vest. His fingers exploring the gap between her thighs, rubbing gently at her pussy. She squeeked and clutched onto his shoulder. His gloved hand felt amazing pushing against her cunt.
Her CUNT. Her leaky stupid slutty fucking cunt.
“What the fuck—” Christina looked down at her body, feeling dizzy. Her tits were out and her nipples tightened into exciting little nubs of pure pleasure in the cold night air. Her boobs were big and round and teardrop shaped and she wanted to grab her nipples and tweak them like a horny goat. Wanted to pull and squeeze and pinch them until they fucking burned, panting and moaning on her knees as guy after guy blew his hot load all over her face and in her mouth-
“What the fuck did you do to me?!” Christina held her head in her hands- frustrated, angry. Her hair was silky and clean with soft natural curls. Not the scatterbrained bedhead she expected.
“I gave you what you wanted. A new job, new clothes, your own place. Removed your sexual inhibitions, turned up your libido about ten thousand percent. Anyway see you next year!” And like that he was gone, sucked up into the chimney. A faint tinkling of bells and his boisterous laughing ‘HO HO HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!’ faded into the night.
“Wait!” Chrissy rushed to the window but he was already gone.
“I’m not a slut!” Banging on the glass, but her arms were soft and reedy. Her voice high pitched and whining. She sounded like an exasperated bimbo, a helium sniffing teenage slut. Already she could feel her pussy growling. Not in a heated ladylike way, but in a barking—yapping—vicious little dog way. Rumbling and aching with need. Demanding to be stuffed, to be played with, a horny little clit buzzing rudolph red.
Chrissy couldn’t think—couldn’t move, not without slipping down a finger and beating it around. Instantly she started to giggle.
She’d never been this wet before. Christina didn’t play with herself a lot, but normally when she was aroused she tended to just unfurl, her pussy lips blossoming open. However now her PJ bottoms were soaked. A creamy viscous fluid trickled down her thighs. Chrissy couldn’t resist tasting herself. Couldn’t resist sucking her fingers down to the knuckle.
She had to get help. Had to tell her parents. Something terribly wrong had happened-
Then she noticed something about the family pictures scattered about the room. Chistrie had her tits out—in all of them. At the park. At home. It seemed everywhere they had ever gone, there was Chrissy flashing her tits or her ass. Sometimes she had cum on her face. Sometimes she was in the background, naked, getting fucked by strangers.
“That’s not . . . me . . .” But it was her. She remembered that day in the park. Remembered the home movies of her masterbating on the couch whenever her parents left the house. Blowing all those guys at school-
“I didn’t—” Her brain hurt. Suddenly it was much too hot in the room. Even without a shirt- WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SHIRT?!
Her stocking above the fireplace overflowed with dildos. She snatched at one and made her way to the stairs. This was all so fucked up. She had to call the cops. Tell the government. Santa had turned her into a slut. A fucking SLUT!
Chrissy plunged the dildo inside herself and collapsed at the foot of the stairs. It was so good, it was so FUCKING GOOD! Way bigger than anything she’d ever tried before, yet she easily pushed it all the way in up to its round rubber balls. She fucked herself with it like a man would, slumped against the stairs. Just like a man would fuck her. Hard and fast and scooping her out completely. Jamming his big fat cock in pussy, towering over her, his strong body crashing into her, fucking her wild, his dick making her pussy gush.
When she came, she saw stars. In the distance a chorus was singing Christmas carols while Chirssy convulsed on the floor, squirting the carpet and feeling too shaken up with the most tremendous climax of her life to care. Her hand was drenched and her pussy trembled, quivering in ecstacy, still clutching its prize and drooling profusely.
The house didn’t look entirely familiar. Where the fuck were mom and dad?
She remembered the long arguments about having to wear underwear, to stop playing with herself all the time, and getting expelled for blowing guys in the bathroom again. Explaining to them through the sobs that she couldn’t help it, that guys just turn her on and all she can think about is dicks and sucking them and putting them in her vagina.
Eventually they resigned themselves to her insatiable horniness. If they wanted to have a real relationship with their adult daughter, they were going to have to come to terms with the fact that she needed a vibrator to get herself off once or twice every few minutes and fucked a lot of guys. All the time.
Christina began to crawl up the stairs. Back to bed. Back to sleep. Tomorrow was Christmas. The best day of the year. No one was so terrible that they would do a bad thing to her like this, the night before Christmas! It was unconscionable. Nothing bad should ever happen on Christmas Eve.
She pulled herself up with one hand, the other buried deep in her PJs. Mashing the rubber dick tenderly. Trying to think about things that were real. About her fullride scholarship to Deepthroat Academy. That electric something or other she wanted . . .
Of course her Christmas list this year was just expensive sex toys and video equipment. Vibrating staddles running upwards of a thousand dollars. Mechanical fuck-machines developed by entrepreneurs like herself online. Right out of high school she singlehandidly spearheaded an erotic cam-show attracting thousands of followers and came with an income greater than both her parents combined.
A lot of guys on the internet were apparently fascinated by her flawless sexy body and the biological insanity of her hair-trigger orgasms that could go on one after another for hours—as a whole rotating stable of specially selected donors fucked her. Her growing wardrobe of nothing but sex-wear and other outfits too scandalous for the club.
Chrissy took an orgasm break halfway up the stairs. Her breathing heavy with desire. Her mind flooded with long parades of writhing naked bodies. The memories of her old life were inseparable from this hypnotic slut. This holiday tramp. This horny slutted up fuck-fantasy elf bitch-
She squirted on the floor again, pistoning the dildo like mad. Fucking herself like she were climbing up a lifeline thrown into the sea. Clinging to a rope thrown by a boat full of hunky sailors on a yacht called ‘Fuck Me!’. Rave music so loud it roared over the waves.
Her state Spelling-Bee championship was already reshaping itself into a tri-state wet t-shirt contest on her eighteenth birthday. The trick was to just go fully topless. She could feel it changing in her mind. The thrill of spelling a word correctly transforming into thirdplace at the blowjob competition. The judges slowing sounding out the words syllable by syllable, her tongue swirling around their cockheads—cum splattered all over her face. Looking up at the hottest guy ever grimace and his nuts shiver against her chin as he splashed her mouth with boiling hot cum. She got farther on the deepthroat portion than any of the other girls.
Chrissy crawled the rest of the way to her bedroom—what now seemed like a master bedroom—pushing open the door and trying hard to ignore the crown of mistletoe lining the doorway. Even in the dark, she could make out the glossy posters of boybands and hunky half-naked dudes in tight little undies on every wall. Abercrombie models showing off their bulges. Muscled, clean, handsome cuties, smiling and flexing. All of them mouthwatering and well-hung. Thumbs looped under waistbands. Big-dicked monsters looking down on her, jeering at her. Daring her not to touch herself, to ring that doorbell in her panties. Ring it again and again.
Her parents didn’t let her date boys so she just fucked all her friends. And their brothers. And their dads. And whoever asked. She loved the taste of cum and the feeling of two guys inside of her at once.
Chrissy sat down on her bed heavily, too horny to breathe.
“ . . . whassup babe . . ?” A sleepy figure turned over under the blanket.
Christina immediately recognised the shirtless, steely, broad-chested dreamboat in her bed as ‘Jacob’. They’d been dating ever since that frat party: the pimps and hoes dance. The only time she had ever been to a college. She’d fucked all kinds of guys there, part of some kind of initiation ritual. Jacob reached out on social media the next morning to say she had a great ass. It was really sweet of him.
“Come back to bed.” He patted the empty spot next to him.
“What’s going on?” Another husky, manly voice croaked out from the darkness.
“I—” Christie began. Unsure of everything.
“Tina thought she heard Santa . . .”
“Did she find him?” The second guy snorted, wanting to go back to sleep.
Chrissy’s pussy leaked. Her pipes bursting at the seams, her tea kettle shrieking. There were two men in her bed. Two grown men. Two hairy, burly, charming, HOT men with dicks size of cookie dough rolls. They shared her every night, plugging her as best they could—ten times a day. They went through cartons of condoms every month.
“Best Christmas EVER. . .” Christina murmured to herself snuggling in between them.