“Ho Ho Ho,” his gruff voice scratched against my ear.
I had taken my little brother to see Santa before he met up with his friends. Apparently he had reached the age where it was uncool to believe and even less cool to hang out with your sister at the mall. Not that I had planned on sitting on the old man’s lap cooing like I was still in middle school, but when Sebastian had seen one of his friends hop in line a few families behind us his cheeks became redder than Santa’s suit.
Being the amazing older sister I am, I stepped and sat down. His knee was surprisingly boney for a large man. The effortless way he bounced me suggested he was definitely still spry. It wasn’t until he whispered in my ear that I looked at his face. His eyes were a deep hazel green like a forest of pine trees. His skin, whatever was visible behind the well groomed, oversized Santa beard was a little creased around the eyes, but smooth and clear.
I thought about how it would feel beneath my hand. Sebastian groaned.
“Sabby,” his voice low and strained. “Do I have to?”
I shifted my focus back to my brother.
“Yes,” I said.
Probably louder than necessary, but I wanted to make sure that his dorky friend heard loud and clear.
“We promised! Besides, maybe if you ask Santa there’ll be a new game thing for you.”
I turned my head back toward Santa. His eyes boring into mine bringing the smell of pine cones to life in my nose.
“Sorry Santa,” I said softly, “I’m not sure how you feel about bribery, but he was excited to see you until his friends got in line.”
Heat pressed against my back awakening a slew of tingles down my spine. It was his hand, Santa’s hand. His fingers touching my side; how easily it covered the small of my back. I shifted. His thigh hardened underneath my ass. He had to be made of muscles.
“Come on Sebastian other kids are waiting. Let’s go,” I said. “Santa is a very busy man lots of joy to spread.”
His grip tightened around me for a moment. My eyes glanced over to his for a moment before returning to my brother, who head down was finally making his way over. There was a naughty twinkle in them. I thought about what I had said. I felt my own cheeks redden now. Lots of joy to spread.
“So Bastian,” Santa’s voice boomed, “your sister tells me you’ve been a good boy this year. Has she been a good girl?”
More shivers ran down my back. Was I really getting turned on my this old man? Ripped old man with clear skin and magical eyes.
“No,” Sebastian said. “She hasn’t. Our parents were happy she turned 21 because they figured it was one less thing they had to worry about her getting busted for.”
“SEBASTIAN,” she whispered harshly. “It was a joke, clearly one not meant for eleven year olds,” she clarified for Santa.
Santa laughed. They both shook upon his knee.
“Over here, say SLEIGH RIDE,” the photographer called out.
Both Sebastian and I looked over. I wasn’t sure if I smiled or grimaced, but my brother was laughing right along with Santa. My smile became real. It would make both our parents so happy. It was the kind of picture Susan would print out in a hundred different formats over the years, the kind that would be included in both of our graduation ceremonies — my college one next year, Sebastian’s high school one in the not too far off future.
“Now, what do want for Christmas?” Santa repeated at Sebastian.
“Other than the new. . .,” he started.
“Yes,” Santa nodded.
Sebastian lifted his hand and waved his fingers. Santa leaned forward and tilted his head. His ear was positioned for Sebastian to whisper into, but those damn eyes were angled up at me. My body tightened and released. I could see that beard splayed out over my thighs.
“That’s a lovely Christmas wish,” Santa said.
His full, pink lips pushing through his beard into a smile. Could he feel me, hot and wet on top of his lap? This will be last time I ever sit on a mall Santa’s lap, I scolded myself internally.
“And for you, Sabby?”
My name sounded like heaven on those beautiful lips. There were a lot of things I wanted in that moment, namely him.
I swallowed, nearly choking on my own spit.
“Whatever you give me is more than enough.”
I tried to keep my face in some sort of smile. I was so lame.
“Come on, Sebastian,” I said, “we have to get going now.”
“Bye Santa,” he whispered.
“Merry Christmas,” Santa bellowed.
The dash to the exit was short. Sebastian was able to avoid his friend and I had been able to not say anything stupid to the mall Santa, who was probably older than their father. Not that I cared about age gaps. My dad was already widowed and in his 40s when he met still in her 30s, never been married, Susan. When they had my brother I was already 10. None of it changed how I felt about the little guy or Susan. They’re my family.
And Susan would be jazzed about the picture. I showed it to Sebastian, who agreed. We all looked great.
“Must have been a Christmas miracle. You’re headed to Game Stop to meet your friends?”
“No Sabby! We’re meeting at BK in the food court then we’re going to Game Stop.”
I couldn’t see the eye roll, but it could definitely hear it. If anyone needed proof that he was my brother, there it was.
“Well, get going before they give away all of the crowns to the other little kids,” she teased.
“You’re so lame,” he said.
I watched him as he turned in the direction of the escalator.
“All part of being an older sister. Seriously Bastian, be careful and I’ll meet you at the Starbucks in four hours. Got it?”
“Yes mom!”
His tongue jutted out before he ran off. That kid was a goober sometimes, but he was her goober.
“Now to get to Game Stop before they sell out of those consoles”
~
Thankfully I had gotten there just in time. They had three left and only two after I checked out. Christmas miracles indeed. I had just sat down at the bar when Emma jumped around the bar stool.
“Gahhh,” I said catching the menu I had dropped. “Are you still going to be doing that when we’re in our 80s?”
“Absolutely,” my best friend from high school chimed.
We had made plans to grab a drink or two while my brother was off galavanting the mall with his friends.
Four hours was enough time to teeter on the edge of buzzed and drunk before being sober enough to responsibly and soberly drive home. We decided on a charcuterie board and two glasses of a buttery Chardonnay.
The saltiness of the cured meats tickled my tongue. For a moment I wondered if Santa’s sack would have had a similar tang.
“What?!”
Emma’s hold fingers jolted me back to reality.
“Nothing. . .”
I let me voice trail off. There really wasn’t anything.
“Nothing my ass,” she said before polishing off her glass of Chardonnay. “That’s the look you get when you’re thinking about a boy.”
My eyes rolled at her cooing.
“Seriously Emma, it’s nothing. There’s no one.”
The waiter came over. I breathed a small sigh of relief. I wasn’t good at hiding things, part of the reason Sebastian’s joke about my parents from earlier was only partly a joke. I knew I was especially shit at hiding anything from Emma. While there was nothing to tell, I still had mixed feelings about my earlier encounter with Santa.
Who got their jollies off to Old Saint Nick? Especially in the form of mall Santas. . . not that I had gotten off. Maybe later those hazel eyes would be reflected back at me when I —
“Sabby? You in?”
“Of course!”
Shit, I had no idea what I just agreed to. I flashed my brightest smile and winked at Emma and the waiter. At least I could sell it like I did.
“Yay,” Emma clapped.
The waiter smiled and walked away.
“So, while you were totally daydreaming about No One,” Emma pressed, “our waiter switched our check since he’s off shift.”
I knocked back the rest of my wine, and smirked. Knowing Emma there was more to the story.
“And he’ll back to join us momentarily,” she laughed. “Fair game?”
I nodded.
“Standard rules?”
“Five minutes, open flirting. Whoever he shows more interest in after that has first dibs.”
Emma winked and broke into an evil laugh at something behind me. Before I could turn around a small tray with five shots was placed on the table.
“Emma,” I started. “I have to drive.”
“Not for another three hours. Besides, you’ve had one glass of wine. Here,” she said handing me a piece of bread. “Shoot your shot and carb load.”
I took the bread and plucked one of the shots from the tray.
“Tequila?”
“The things I do for you,” Emma said breathily.
Her gaze wondered up the body of the waiter.
“Well,” she leaned further across the table, her face titled up as mouth hovered at the level of his belt buckle, “Dylan. Are you going to make yourself comfortable?”
The question was framed more like we were in her off campus apartment and less like a public forum. Dylan pulled out the chair to join us.
“To jingle bells and ho, ho, hos,” Emma said lifting a shot glass.
“To new friends,” I added reaching my hand out toward Dylan.
“The more the merrier,” he chimed in.
If he was aware of the innuendo, the kid was certainly ballsy. It wouldn’t be the first time Emma and I played in each other sandbox, apparently there were ways this game could end in a tie, but player three was exceptional. Dylan was just another guy.
I keep playing along, letting Emma and Dylan take the second shots. It’s clear he way more into Emma than me. Besides, I can’t seem to get into it. Every time I say something over the top flirty I keep hearing that gruff voice: has she been a good girl?
Dylan excused himself to go to the bathroom, clearly excited at the prospect of heading out with Emma. I watched as he turned the corner, before he had disappeared from sight Emma leaned forward eyeing me like a cat near a fish bowl.
“Congrats on the win,” I said, nodding. “We’ll grab the check and then I’ll say my goodbyes?”
“Later tonight I’ll call you for more information on No One. I’ve never seen your throw a challenge, outside of high school gym, and certainly never a round of Fair Game.”
Before I could protest, or even remember that ladies with nothing to hide don’t protest too much, Emma filled her glass and then threw the last of the wine in mine.
“Already paid the check,” her hand waived, “and the tip. You get breakfast this Sunday. We’ll swap stories?”
Dylan appeared around the bend.
“Fine, quick over or under.”
“What’s your guess?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes trying to remember anything Dylan had said while at their table.
“A strong 5.”
“I’m going over,” Emma whispered surely.
“Wishful thinking or do you know something I don’t?”
We were both on the brink of tears as Dylan pulled out his chair.
“Seems like I missed something good,” he said still standing.
“Depends on who you ask,” I said. “It was lovely to meet you Dylan.”
I picked up my wine glass, in two swallows it was gone. Emma stood up at the same time I did. Hugs and pleasantries were exchanged.
“Em, your wine!”
My finger pointing accusingly at the near full glass.
“Oh, it’s okay.”
Her voice sounded like a fairytale princess’.
“I’ll sit with you, if you wanted to finish it?”
“That would be great, Dylan. If you don’t mind?”
He shook his head. His dirty blonde shag swaying with the motion.
“You guys have fun! Bye!”
I pushed my chair in, making sure I grabbed the console and my purse, and walked away. I hadn’t reached the door when I heard Emma’s familiar giggle.
At least one of us would be getting laid. I was fairly certain that I had left all of my accoutrements at school. God blessed me with 10 fingers and I planned to use at least 4 of them later.
Unfortunately, in addition to sex I’m now craving a cigarette. Damn wine. I keep thinking to myself about everything I bought home with me and everything I left at school. There’s a no smoking policy in Dad and Susan’s house. It’s one of the few rules I don’t break since my mom died of lung cancer. She had never smoked a single cigarette a day in her life. I didn’t plan on being a smoker forever, but social smoking in college was fun. After sex was nice too.
I still have two hours before I grab Bastian. We’re supposed to grab hot chocolate and then have an impromptu drive around town to look at the Christmas lights in town. I’ve been around the block long enough to know our parents are planning some crazy Christmas surprise, but I don’t think Bastian knows. I smile to myself.
Thankfully everyone is so absorbed in their own holiday hecticity I’m sure no one notices.
I can stop and buy cigarettes from the convenient store on the second floor, or I can swing by my car and see if there are any hidden stashed in the glove compartment. The few slices of prosciutto and cubes of cheddar along with the one piece of bread I had weren’t holding up to the two glasses of wine and a shot of tequila.
If Emma was here we would be walking and laughing, window shopping and probably real shopping for last minute gifts, which was how I did most of my Christmas shopping. I’d be too distracted to realize how horny I was.
The entrance where we came in is close. The line for Santa is still wrapped around the corner. Just what I need, another glance at Mall Santa. It had definitely been too long since I last had sex. What other explanation was there for the wetness between my legs?
I exhaled a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding as I walk by and see Santa’s on his break. My abs relax too. Not that I have to suck my stomach in, not that I usually do, but since I can’t lay down in the middle of the mall and arch my back just enough to give the illusion my barely B cups are really C cups —
My hand slaps against my forehead like I forgot something. Must have been my brain. I’m not even home yet and I’m starting a fantasy. Tequila.
It’s not like Emma knew it had been a minute, but that’s not stopping me from ordering the fluffiest, butteriest, glorious pancakes she can’t have when we go out to breakfast. Evil is as evil does.
I make my way out of the door. It’s one of those weird entrance/exits that former mall employees and people who are only stopping in for the restrooms seem to know about or use. Those days at the candle store still haunt my olfactory organs.
There’s no one around, which is both good and bad. It’s still early enough and there’s still streaks of sunlight holding back the dusk. I check my key ring and my pepper spray is no where to be seen. Probably in my nightstand drawer next to my cigarettes and Willie Nelson, my half glass, half silicone s-shaped vibrator.
I open the trunk popping the game console in underneath a blanket that’s been back here from at least two boyfriends ago. Hopefully the flaky white stain I left facing outward would deter any thieves. They don’t need to know it’s actually from a glazed donut.
The wind feels cold against my teeth. I stop smiling and unlock the passenger’s side door. Unlike the big candy apple red truck next to the driver’s side, there’s no one parked on this side of my car and it’s easier to dig through the junk that’s accumulated in the glove box and center console.
Underneath a bundle of napkins I see the white and gold box. I cross my toes and reach in. There are three cigarettes in the pack.
“Score,” I say under my breath.
I go to put the napkins back in the glove compartment but they’re hard. Like something stuffed inside them hard.
It would probably be smart to throw it out, whatever it is, but my curiosity has already gotten the better of me.
Each layer crinkles a little as I peel it back. It’s like whatever was put inside had been wet or maybe dried off with the napkins and then shoved in the box. I take a stilted breath and cross my toes again.
It could be… it is. There in the middle of the napkins is the small tear drop shaped vibrator this girl got me. We were going on a first date, to some action-adventure-superhero movie that Bastian probably would have enjoyed more, and she handed me a small wrapped box. I rocked the device, she manned the remote, and it was probably the most fun I’ve ever had on a first date at the movies. We lasted about as long as the date. As the night ended and the sun came up over the city skyline that we wouldn’t be strangers. Maybe when I get back to school I’ll give her a call. See if she’s seeing anyone, if she is, if they want a third for the night?
My eyes roll. I’m ridiculous. My purse and the pack of cigarettes are sitting on the seat, and I’m wiping the vibrator down with new napkins and the water bottle I swore I would actually drink.
I slide into the passenger seat, moving my stuff to the floor, and close the door behind me. I didn’t even check to see if the damn thing was charged before my jeans are unbuttoned. I’m not sure where the remote it but I can find it later. If I remember correctly there’s a button that powers the device on, but if you double tap.
Oh god, it still works. It takes a few minutes to position it exactly where I want it. It’s not life changing, but it will definitely help push me over the edge I seem to be hanging out on today. A car door closes nearby.
The device is made to be remote, I laugh to myself. The buzzing muffles as I zip and button my jeans. I’ll walk over to the smoking section, have a quick cigarette, and then hit the bathrooms to clean up. If I haven’t gotten off by then, Santa flashes in my mind, sitting in his oversized chair, I’ll take this baby for a walk around the mall.
I go to open the door and the pattern of the vibrations changes. My breath catches. It’s still a setting or two away from the one I like best if I remember correctly. But I thought I needed the —
Outside of my door there is a person in a black and red coat pressing the button on the remote. I stiff a moan as the device shakes against me, caressing my clit at just the right angle. I don’t want to move, but I am not having my orgasm manipulated by a stranger.
I open the car door and slide out. The stranger is now aware of the movement and turns.
On second thought, if a stranger was going to ring my bell, it would have to be this one.
Tall, jacked, with a bone structure Greek gods would kill for. His lips are full and his eyes are dark swirls, mostly his pupil has pushed the color right from them.
“Um, hi,” I say caught off guard. “That’s my remote. That you’re holding.”
He looks between me and the remote. He presses the button again and the vibrating intensifies. The only sounds I hear are my breathing, straining to not be completely erratic, and the hum of delight.
“Oh,” his voice is gravelly.
Not like a smoker’s but like someone who has been presenting all day. The way my old lit professor used to sound when he would teach 5 classes in a row and then have our advisor meeting, which he always pushed back to Friday’s at 4:30 pm. Happy hour indeed.
I’m trying to keep it together, but it feels so good. I watch as his eyes travel down from my face to my pussy and back up. I feel the color rising to my face with his gaze. The pressure is building. It’s really been a minute and there’s something about this man, watching, knowing.
“You probably want it back then,” his voice lingers.
He goes to hand it to me, the plastic hard but smooth compared to his rough, tattooed fingers. The button clicks and I accidentally grab his hand instead of taking the remote from him.
A small moan catches in my throat. I try to speak but I don’t trust myself in this moment.
I look up at him, into his eyes. They were gorgeous, and so familiar. The soft/hard, slow/fast/pause vibrations were taking over.
“I could give you an orgasm for Christmas, Sabby, but if I’m going to do that there are other ways I’d like to.”
Recognition seeps in between the small waves of pleasure cresting.
“Santa?”
He nods. His 5 o’clock shadow glistens in the dying sunlight and the dark ruffles of his hair move softly.
“Would you like me to give you your Christmas jollies, Sabby?”
I remember how his hand felt on my back, the strength of his leg as he bounced me. He was sexy as Santa and hot as fuck out of costume.
“Yes, please.”
My voice is barely audible.
He clicks the button. Whether it was the timing or the setting I like, I feel like I’m going to —
It stops. I pull my eyes away from his and down to his hand. His finger is still holding the button.
“It’s too bad you’re on the naughty list, Sabby. Would you like to try to be a good girl instead?”
I feel myself dripping.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes, Santa,” he corrects.
He takes my hand and guides me gently back into the seat. With his fingers still laced through mine, he uses his other hand to pop the button and free the zipper on my jeans. His fingers tease me as the skate right above my flesh, between the damp cotton on my thong and my slit. Without truly touching me he removes the device.
“We won’t be needing this. Only good girls get toys and you’re not a good girl are you?”
I shake my head, breathing slowly and deeply through my mouth.
“No, Santa.”
“Maybe we can change that,” he winks and let’s go of my hand.
My pants are fastened and he’s standing before me. From the glaring bulge in front of me, I would say Santa is going to utterly destroy my stocking when he goes to stuff it.
We close up my car, I remember to lock the trunk, at least I think I do, and we walk back into the mall. Instead of heading straight into the chaos of shoppers, he takes my hand and we walk through the employee only door and into the secret hallways of the mall.
I’m in trouble. I would follow this man just about anywhere, currently I am following him, but it’s hard not to. From the moment by butt planted itself onto his knee there’s been a pull. Maybe it’s the magic of Christmas or I really do have a thing for authority figures, I’m not sure.
Trailing behind him has given me time to really take in what I’m seeing. Underneath that red and black coat are dark blue bootcut jeans that his ass and toned thighs are trying to break free of and a waffled long sleeved shirt. He looked more like a construction worker in a porno than a mall Santa.
We got to small closet. From the crowd of people outside I wondered if we were close to Santa’s workshop.
He slid a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. It was a small dressing area with an even smaller bathroom. Hanging from the door was a large, beefy black bag.
“Sabby,” his voice lowered. “Do you know how girls like you end up on the naughty list?”
I watched him as he moved around the room. He hung his coat on a nearby hook. His leather work boots, probably steel toed, were off and tucked neatly beneath the coat. His hands worked the fastening of his belt buckle.
“No,” I said mesmerized.
“To start it’s the brash sense of independence. You sat on my lap, told me what you wanted for Christmas, and before I could give it to you, you tried to take it for yourself.”
His breath washed over the back of my neck sending chills down my spine. I could hear the soft crumple of jeans behind me, the clanking of his belt hitting the floor.
Something velvety brushed against the back of my hand. It was hard and warm. It pulsed against me. As I turned my head to look something soft touched the side of my face directing it to look the other way.
The side of his fingers dragged across my bottom lip. I wanted to turn my hand, to feel his cock throb in my grip. Somehow I knew better. He would tell me when I could. The ache of delayed gratification pounded in my chest, in my panties.
I exhaled as softly as I could. I shuddered as his hand moved down my arm.
“I was going to give it to you.”
His finger nails pushed into my clavicle. My breath came in sharp. I pushed my body against him. Feeling him hard, digging into my back. I tried to stand on my tiptoes but he pushed down.
“I want to give it to you, Sabby. I want to reward you for being a good girl, but first you have to prove to me you are.”
I nodded. His nose pressing through my hair into my scalp. His lips a whispered touch against the skin of my neck.
He leaned in further, the full size of his body pressing against mine, wrapping around me like a cloak. He whispered, his voice still deep but without the steel and growl of before.
“If it — if I — get to be too much, just say Rudolph, okay?”
I nod again. This time my shoulders dance as I shiver. This man is like a searing hot flame and a heating pad at the same time. If I didn’t know better I would say Christmas miracles might actually be real.
“Close your eyes and tell me what you were thinking about earlier when you popped that cheap piece of plastic inside that wet pussy.”
My voice waivers for a second as I feel the space between the two of us growing cold.
“I was thinking about the girl who gave me that piece of plastic.”
I feel him closer again now. His fingers brush my hair over my shoulder and down the front of my chest. He is unbuttoning my shirt.
“If you stop, I stop.”
That’s the last thing in the world I want.
“I was thinking about calling her to see if she wanted to hang out.”
The buttons are opened on my shirt, there are only three and they’re a bitch to close, but it’s one of my favorite shirts. Perfect for pictures with Santa. His fingers are gently tugging the material up out of the band of my high waisted jeans.
“And before that?”
His voice drips into my ear and I can feel every unspoken word between us. Somehow he knew. He stops, holding my shirt under my breasts. The air from the room perks ups my nipples.
I can’t quite remember what exactly I was thinking before.
“Nothing really —”
A sharp stinging crosses the side of my ass cheek. I can feel it jiggle back into place. The stinging settling in.
“I saw you,” his voice rumbles against my ear. “In the parking lot, searching for something. What had you so turned on, so dripping that you needed release in that instance?”
Slickness builds between my legs. Knowing he was watching makes me want him even more. My back is still arched from the smack across my ass. I’ve never begged before and if he doesn’t touch me soon. I might start.
“I wasn’t searching for the vibrator until I thought I had found it.”
His hand enveloped the side of my ass he spanked as he began to rub it. Chills broke out across my body. Every part of me was tingling for him. Not wanting it to stop, I continued.
“I had a few glasses of wine and a shot of tequila. I kept seeing these stunning green eyes and feeling strong hands across my back.”
My voice was breathy and filled with desire. His hand kept caressing my ass sliding up and over the ridge of my jeans, dipping his fingers under the waistband, teasing me. With his other hand he pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. I tiled my head back and rested it on his muscular chest.
The textured flesh of his calloused hands teased the sensitive part of my nipples and tickled the skin around my ribs. His hands were those of someone who worked, but still soft across his palm and the back. Every sweeping movement I felt closer to madness.
“How strong your thighs are, how they would feel in my hands.”
His body pressed against mine. His smooth skin soft against my back, yet strong like a wall made of stone. I didn’t know when his shirt had come off and I didn’t care. I wanted more of him. He unfastened my jeans and they slid to the floor.
“How your face would look sandwiched between my thighs.”
The velvety softness of his underwear pressed against the thin strip of my panties. He was contained and still he felt so big.
My pants are bunched around my ankles and my boots are still on. I still haven’t touched him yet, not with my hands, but I know he’s down to his skivvies as well. His hands are moving all over me now. One of them is pushed against me, my wetness, his other is moving up my body, over my small breasts, my sternum.
I lose my breath as his hand tightens around my throat.
“And you thought instead of coming to wait for me, you would play pretend?”
He squeezes against the moan trying to escape me. One of his fingers is pushing my thong between my lips. I feel myself, dripping wet, rolling down my own thigh.
“I’m so disappointed in you, Sabby.”
My body quakes beneath his weight. He releases some of the pressure and I take a greedy breath.
“I had something I wanted you to unwrap. Something special to stuff your stocking with.”
His voice trailed off. He was still touching me, driving me insane. I shifted my weight, hoping to guide his hand.
His grip tightened. My head pushed against his chest as he applied pressure.
“You did good, telling me the truth. Good girls tell the truth. Don’t they?”
I nodded with my eyes, blinking them rapidly.
A smile warmed his face, illuminating the deep tones of green in his eyes.
“I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to sit on the floor and wait for me to tell you when you can unwrap your present.”
My body relaxes as he lets go, but instantly wishes he was back on me, holding me, touching me, anything as long as it means I can feel him.
I drop to the floor, positioning my still on jeans under my ass the best I can. Sexy Santa or not, I still have enough wherewithal to want to avoid sitting on the mall floor.
He steps around me. The first thing I see is the clear definition chiseled into his thigh. Its roughly the size of my head and if its not made of stone, it has to be made of steel. Poking out several inches between his thighs as he walks is a deep red velvet thong trimmed with white fur. It matches the hat he’s wearing. His chest is as smooth as the skin under his eyes looked and he is covered in tattoos.
I want to trace them all with my tongue, learn what each of them is and what they mean to him. Mostly I want to remove that piece of velvet and choke myself on his candy cane.
“Sit on your hands, Sabby.”
My head tilts on its own. He wanted me down here to unwrap a present and now he wants me to sit on my hands. I shift my weight to the front and raise my butt far enough off the ground to place my hands underneath.
He is glorious. I can’t wait to run my fingers along his body. If he doesn’t let me touch him, than I will taste him. The saltiness of cured meats and the fiery pull of tequila permeate my mouth. This man’s cock has me salivating.
“Yours hands got you in trouble before, touching things that belong to me.”
He licks the inside of his hand, the one that was pressed against my center.
“But your mouth told the truth, earned you a taste of what good girls get. Go ahead. Use your mouth to unwrap your present.”
I lick my own lips and exhale sitting straighter my tongue traces the edge along his thigh. Then I move to the next one. I stop for a minute with my mouth agape in front of the head of his cock. Following instructions, not wanting my present to be taken away before I even have a chance to play with it, I work my tongue under the edge and pull the fabric into my mouth. Once I have a grip on it I tug down like a lioness ripping off meat from a bone. It slides down but gets caught on his hardness.
Shifting I work the other side until finally he springs free, bouncing against my chin as he stands firm and erect. I sit up to admire my future stocking stuffer.
A small bead glistens on the tip. I look up past the ridges of muscle and into his eye. I don’t have to speak, my eyes are pleading enough for me. He smirks, and I tighten as a reflex. My eyes wander down his body again stopping at the top of his pelvic bone where a meticulously detailed line drawing of mistletoe is inked.
If even he doesn’t answer, I’m taking it as a sign to proceed. If I’m wrong he’ll punish me, and bad girls can have just as much fun as good ones. If I’m right I have the pleasure of tasting his precum against my tongue.
My mouth lines up with his head and my tongue swirls against the small opening. He gasps and with no warning slams himself against my throat. I gag, tears fill my eyes and my throat constricts. He makes small, harsh thrusts, into the lining of my esophagus.
I want to grab his thighs, dig my nails into him to push him away and pull him in closer. I’m not even being touched and again I’m close to my own delight.
He grunts and moans as I move my tongue along his shaft. He can’t fit all of himself in my mouth, but that’s not stopping him from trying.
He pulls out slowly. Long strands of saliva hang between his shaft and my lips. I lick them up.
“That mouth of your is a star,” he says hungrily. “One I love having to top my wood.”
It a terrible pun, but if it means he’s going to choke me with his cock again then it’s my favorite pun int he whole world.
“Did you like that,” he asks.
Before I can answer he’s back inside my mouth. Something has slid between my legs. I can’t see what it is, but it’s thick.
“It feels like you did,” he growls.
The thing moving between her thighs seems to be the lower part of his leg. The fine hair from years of being suffocated by tall socks tickles me, teasing me. I slid forward pushing him as flat as I can against myself from this angle.
“Are you going to grind yourself against my leg?”
I stop moving my body, sure to keep the back and forth rhythm I had going with my head and neck. He is still pumping aggressively, each thrust trying to get further, deeper.
“Are you a brat or a good girl?”
Frankly, I am sure I can be both, but I don’t know which is the right answer. I just know that I want to choke on him until we both cum and I’m so filled with his eggnog it leaks from my mouth.
His hands move to my neck. One is pressed against the front and the other is tangled in my hair.
There is a swift pinch of pain. The air moves around me, something cold is against my ass and my back. In front of me is a wall of toned, tatted skin. A deep reservoir above a pronounced collar bone and a mountain of muscles above that. I might have come a little.
“Which are you, Sabby?”
“I’m a good girl,” I say slowly. Blood is rushing through my body and I’m not sure how much of it is making it to my head.
“Louder Sabby. I need to know that you understand.”
“I’m your good girl, Santa.”
“Oh yes, Sabby, you certainly are my good girl.”
His hands are sliding up my thighs. My boots and jeans are off. The only thing between us is a thin cotton thong that is beyond soaked.
He lowers himself until he is eye level with my center. His hands pull me close to the edge of what seems to be a desk.
“Do you know what good girls taste like?”
I shake my head. My breath shakes audibly and I gasp as his finger runs up my slit. His touch is physically cold and yet I’m on fire.
He places his fingers against my lips, parting them as he slides them into my mouth.
“Like egg yolks, sugar, and sweet wine,” he chuckles softly.
I swallow. Before I can process what he’s said his I feel myself stretching out over him. His two fingers practically filled my mouth, and I can only imagine what two of his fingers pressed inside of me will do. Already I’m rapidly falling to the edge.
His feels further inside of me, his thumb working my clit like a mini joystick. My body is melting against his. With each wave of ecstasy, I can feel myself letting go.
“Come for me Sabby, cover me with your juices.”
He slides a second finger inside me, still manipulating my clit. My eyes roll as my head pushes back against the wall. I do what he says. Somewhere far off I can hear me dripping out onto the floor.
His hat brushes against my legs as he laps at me. He sits up straighter, his fingers so deep inside my his palm is flat against me. The tops of his knuckles pressing against my rim.
“Look at me,” he commands. “Focus on me.”
I lift my head and try to keep my eyes on his. Everything is swimming in and out of focus, I can feel and that’s about it.
I’m not sure what he does, but it has me moaning. My eyes close and my head lulls back again.
“Sabby,” he warns. “Look at me, now.”
I try again. His chin is shiny as light reflects off the mess I’ve made of his face.
“Whose pussy is this?”
“Santa’s,” I breathe.
“Such a good girl,” he moans as he rips my panties off. The pinch of fabric pushes me closer even though his fingers are no longer inside me.
His hands are behind me, sprawled out across my back and my ass. Again I’m in the air but this time when I touch ground it’s warm and fuzzy. I’m on my hands and knees. The floor is red with white trim. It feels amazing against my skin.
I lower myself so my forearms are flush with the floor. My knees are spread hip wide apart. His fingers gather in my hair guiding my head back and up.
“I’m going to fuck this perfect pussy until you scream my name.”
Tension is building inside me. I’m going to come too quickly, I want to say something but before I can I feel the head of his cock pressed against my walls. The only sounds I’m able to make sound like wild beasts who run through the forest.
I feel myself being spilt down the middle as he enters me. My head drops forward and he pulls it back.
“Keep squeezing my tighter, pull me into you.”
I’m panting, breathlessly crying out. When he’s fully seated inside me I’ve already come at least once. I don’t know how I can take anymore.
He leans forward. His breath wet against my ear.
“You like having me stuffed inside you, Sabby?”
“Yes, Santa,” I moan.
In the slightest movement of his throbbing cock inside me sends tremors through my body.
“I think you’ve earned being on the Nice List this year. So now I’m going to fuck you like the dirty little slut you are, Sabby.”
I shudder, already I feel myself adjusting to his size as I slowly shift back and forth.
“Whose dirty little slut are you?”
He pulls out a little, there’s still so much of him inside me.
I can’t speak. He slides a little further out.
“I won’t ask again. Whose. Dirty. Little. Slut. Are. You.”
It’s not a question.
“Santa’s,” I cry out as he slams the full length of himself inside me.
He rides me like this, with one hand alternating between being wrapped around my throat or tangled in my hair. With the other he grips my hip bone using it for leverage. Occasionally he spanks my ass sending sparks across my body. I buck like a wild horse. I scream and cry out. Moaning unintelligibly until he flips me over.
He stuffs something underneath me and pulls me closer. My hips are in the air, my pussy wide open and dripping wet for him. He leans forward and runs his tongue from my taint to the tip of my slit.
“If we had more time, I would devastate you. Leave you utterly broken for any man but me. Such a beautiful and stunning creature you are, Sabby.”
My jaw is quivering and I still can’t see straight as he pushes inside of me. Through my fluttering eyelashes I can see his body working as he drives into me. The looks of pleasure and hunger dancing across his face.
“I’m going to fill you with my come until I drips out,” he growls.
“Yes please,” I moan.
His tongue runs itself along the inside of my ankle as his hands pinch my nipples.
There’s a pull low and heavy building inside of me.
“Choke me, Santa. Choke me until you come,” I gasp.
He’s driving into me, his mistletoe tattoo stimulating my clit as he thrusts full inside me. Both his hands are wrapped around my neck. The pressure is surreal. My vision is focused on his eyes, those beautiful devilish eyes. The world around him is graying and suddenly I feel him shoot against me, my own body pulsing in response.
He releases his grip on my throat and I scream out “Santa Daddy!”
Everything is vibrating. It feels like a million Christmas mornings at once. Complete and utter joy have taken over.
We lay there for a minute next to each other. His fingers lightly tickling the side of my thigh.
“Oh, holy shit,” I finally whisper.
“I believe you’re looking for Holy Night…”
I turn my head to the side. He’s just as handsome when he’s not at least 9 inches inside me. He’s also funny.
“Did you say something about time?”
I start to panic when he hands me my phone.
“Thank you” I mutter.
Three texts, all within the last five minutes.
I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“Everything’s okay.”
It’s not really a question. Almost like he already knows.
“Yeah,” I answer anyway. “My parents need some more time so they’re letting my brother see a movie with his friends. Operation Secret Santa is still ago.”
I blush and look at him closely. It’s hard to place his age, probably in his 30s but he could be younger or older. I really don’t care, so I don’t ask.
“Can I be your secret Santa?”
“I believe you already are.”
He winks. I wink back before rolling my eyes.
“One serious question, then I need to get ready to head back.”
I nod as I sit up. My feet are crossed underneath me and I’m definitely slouching, but I’m comfortable emotionally and physically. I decide to embrace it instead of worrying.
“If you could have anything for Christmas, what would it be?”
My eyebrow shoots up.
“Meaning, you can’t bring someone back from the dead or turn back time. Just something to have or experience,” he continues.
“Okay,” I offer a soft laugh.
My heart swims for a moment in the memories I have of my mother before she died. Not that I would wish for her back, I miss her, but without her I wouldn’t have Bastion in my life. It’s just not possible to chose between your mother and your brother, at least not for me, so I don’t.
“Don’t I have to sit on your lap for this? Or since there are rules, do you have a lamp I should rub?”
“If you sit on me, I’d prefer it to be my face, and we definitely don’t have time for that or for you to rub my lamp, which coincidentally…”
His voice trails off. Again I feel a smile spread across my face.
“An English Christmas,” I hear myself say. “Somewhere where they’ll get snow, preferably the countryside. Just me and a bunch of books and a ton of hot chocolate. Maybe not on actual Christmas, but yeah. That.”
“No boy — or err — girlfriend? No family? No friends?”
“Maybe if I had someone I loved, but since I don’t right now, just me and the English Countryside.”
“I’ll see what I can do, I am Santa after all and we’ve already established that you are definitely on the nice list.”
~
It’s been almost a week since Sebastian and I went and got our picture taken with Santa. Fucker has officially ruined the holiday for me.
In addition to having bought a new half glass, half silicone s-shaped vibrator appropriately named Kris Kringle, I also have replayed our tryst countless times. Every day I thank God Kris is rechargeable because I’m sure I would have run through all the batteries Susan and my dad keep in the emergency kit.
I also haven’t heard from him, something I usually wouldn’t mind. A one time thing is a one time thing, but everywhere I look there’s another red suited, white bearded Santa jingling his bells and spreading his jolly. Before I know it I’m wet and gooey even when it’s not him, and it never is. Not that I’m obsessing or anything.
Emma shot me questioning looks throughout our entire breakfast and both Susan and my dad have asked in private if there’s anyone new in my life.
Most people assume Sabby is my given name, and when they realize it’s not, they can’t fathom how to pronounce it. Yet somehow he knew what it tasted like. Just like he seemed to know what I exactly what I wanted, at least sexually, and what my offhanded noises meant.
Oh god, the noises I made. Heat flushes my face and I feel the heaviness start. I look at the alarm clock on the table. There’s not enough time to replay the whole scene in my head before I have to be downstairs for Christmas breakfast and presents.
Not even I’m that selfish to make my family delay the festivities for me to have my hundredth orgasm this week. Though I was late for dinner two nights ago.
I sigh and force myself up and out of bed. Throwing on the Christmas pajama set that Susan left in my room last night, thankfully she did it while Bastian and I were cleaning up dinner and not after. Would she have been in for a shocking surprise had she snuck in last night. While the rest of my family was having whip creamed topped hot chocolate and freshly baked cookies for dessert I was thinking about Santa whipping me before his cream glazed my cookie.
Before leaving my room I plug Kris Kringle for later. Better to be satisfied to the Nth degree than have to wait for the power to be recharged.
We’re each allowed to open one gift from Santa before breakfast. Bastian’s younger so I let him go first.
Our parents got him a spot at some winter sports came something. You have to be a talented kid to get in, and Bastian definitely is, but the committee is super selective. When letters came around Bastian got a fake one, written by yours truly, rejecting him. The kid was heartbroken, but handled it like a champ. Made the sacrifice of offering my Christmas budget to go to his haul even more worth it. It was one thing to get to go to the camp, but it was a Christmas spectacular for him to get all new equipment too.
This also meant that whatever is under this tree from Santa (ie: my parents) will be heartfelt but small potatoes. I looked at the pile figuring it was best to start with the small of the small, I didn’t want Bastian to get even a whiff of the tom foolery our parents had set up. They had spent all of yesterday setting up this epic Christmas scavenger hunt for him, all while I was getting my brains fucked out by the man in red himself, or at least one of the approximately 2 million mall Santas in this country.
Bastian was still whooping it up over the new console he unwrapped. My father and Susan looked at me when he was running over to our 100 year old bulldog, Maverick. I smiled and shrugged, what did I know?
I opened the card, ignoring the look exchanged between my dad and Susan. They could pretend all they wanted but there was no way I was buying that neither of them knew where this card came from. Though based on the elaborate script my name was printed in, I had to guess it was Susan.
The card was simple: an idyllic country scene dusted with snow and a tiny cottage with a chimney where large billows of smoke were puffing out from.
Inside the same handwriting, not as large, but still just as pretty.
“What did you get Sabby? Just a card?!”
Bastian said running over to me.
“I told Santa that you weren’t really bad this year. Does it say why you only got a card.”
I look up to him, the sincerity in his face is almost enough to distract me. My eyes shift over to our parents, who are just as curious as and confused as Bastian and I seem to be.
“Apparently Santa got me an English Christmas in March…”
I wait for a spark of anything in either of their faces.
“Literally what I’ve always wanted,” I continue.
Finally my dad walks over, “let me see that.” He and Susan look at it closely. Taped to the back of the card is a plane ticket — for first freaking business class — and the name of the limo company that will be taking me to my cottage. I’m floored.
It’s a full minute before I realize I haven’t said anything. Bastian is already back to examining his gaming thing and Maverick is already back to deep, sleep snoring. Susan is smiling to herself, but she’s always doing that, and making her way into the kitchen.
“Wait,” I say. I run up to both of them, “thank you guys so much! Really, it’s too much. Thank you.”
Before they can respond, dad’s eyes are already welling from the hug, I break off and head back upstairs to find my phone.
There’s one new text from SANTA:
It’s the busiest time of year for my family, my brothers and I are learning the tricks of the trade as they say. I’ll be free in March. See you then, Sabby. Just don’t forget whose good girl you are… 🎅
I open the text up and there’s no contact information. Before I can grab a screenshot, it’s gone. I steal a glance at Kris Kringle, charged and ready for action. Maybe I’ve been having too much of a good time this past week. Can too many orgasm deprive the brain of vital oxygen?
Susan calls upstairs. Breakfast will be ready in a few. I open my laptop and check the flight details and the limo company. It’s all real. Whether it’s with some hot mall Santa, some secret agent vigilante type, or the real deal I’m going to England next year.
Merry Christmas to me!