tagMatureChristmas Hard Case Birthday Ch. 01

Christmas Hard Case Birthday Ch. 01

byHarveyMarcus©

WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.


* * * * * * * * * *

This is the tenth in my “(insert holiday name) Birthday” series. This time, Mr. Marcus is solicited to help convince a Bible-toting young lady that sex is a normal part of growing up. Mr. Marcus remembers that it is better to give than receive, and is only happy to give Loretta’s niece a lesson. But first, he has to play Santa.

* * * * * * * * * *

Scene One

“Daddy, it’s for you. But make it quick, huh. I’m expecting a call.”

Anna, my daughter, is always expecting a call. I wasn’t.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Mr. Marcus, this is Betty Blanton. Marci’s mother.”

Ah yes, Marci, my sweet Easter treat who fucked like a bunny while I was in my rabbit suit.

“Yes, Mrs. Blanton. How are you?”

“Fine. I hope you haven’t forgotten about your promise.”

Promise? I didn’t remember making a promise. She’d interrupted our foreplay and caught me like a deer in headlights with my erection stuck in her daughter’s tight pussy. Only Marci’s short bunny helper skirt hid the deed.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

“You told me you were practicing with Marci for your Santa Claus portrayal. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. It’s been so long, I’d forgotten.” Long and firm. “Yes, of course, Santa.”

“Well, I was just calling to make sure. I’m in charge of preparing your schedule of appearances. You’ll use the suit we purchased a couple of years ago. It’s been freshly cleaned, not like that Easter Bunny outfit. Pheeew, it stunk to high heaven. I don’t know how you tolerated it.”

Fucking her daughter while wearing it helped. “Thanks for the reminder, Mrs. Blanton.”

“Betty. You’ll pick it up from Loretta Gunford. Her husband played Santa last year.”

Loretta was Sally’s mother. I’d met her the night I’d violated Sally’s friend Ruthie. Small, tight Ruthie. My erection didn’t fade, then or now.

“Right, pick up the suit from Loretta. Bye.”

At least young women like Marci or Ruthie aren’t likely to show up, wanting to sit on Santa’s knee, asking for an erotic present. The crowds would help, too. This might turn out okay, without incident.

“I’m off the phone, Anna,” I shouted.

“Thanks, Dad,” she called back.

“Who was that?” my wife Harriet asked.

“Betty Blanton, Marci’s mother, reminding me I’d volunteered to be Santa this year.”

“You did? I don’t remember that. Well, maybe I’ll get what I want this year for a change.”

She ran her hand up between my legs. She smiled at what she found. Did she think I was responding to her?

“Harriet! What if Anna walked in?”

“Oh, she probably knows more than we think.”

Yes, and some of it she learned from me during the Betty Boop incident. “You’re probably right.”

The phone rang again. It was useless to try and get to it before Anna.

“Daddy! It’s for you again. Since when are you so popular? Hurry, huh?”

“Okay, sweetie.” I grabbed the instrument I’d just put down. “Hello?”

“Harvey, this is Loretta Gunford. You remember me, I hope?”

Who could forget her flick of my belt buckle?

“Of course I remember. What can I do for you?” Or to you?

“I have the Santa suit ready for you. And, need a favor. Could you come over this evening? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Uh, sure. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Harvey.”

“Now what?” asked my wife.

“Loretta Gunford, Sally’s mom, wants me to pick up the Santa suit now.”

“What’s her hurry? Oh, you might as well get it over with.”

#

Scene Two

I make the quick trip and parked in an empty driveway. Loretta met me at the door.

“Thanks for coming, Harvey.”

“Sure thing.” I followed her swaying hips into the living room. A large box overflowed the edges of the coffee table. She sat down on the loveseat, so I joined her. Her blouse was half unbuttoned and her skirt slid up on her thighs as she crossed her legs.

“Do you want to try the suit on? To make sure it fits?”

“Nah, it’s just a matter of figuring out how many pillows to make up the difference. You said something about a favor?”

Loretta leaned back. Her skirt slid higher, exposing the dark color at the tops of her pantyhose. Her black bra was in clear sight, supporting a nice pair.

“I don’t know where to begin.” She wiggled around on the short couch, pulling her skirt even higher. “I know what you did that night, when you watched Sally and Ruthie.”

“You do?” Those kids! I never should have trusted them to keep their mouths shut. I was going to jail for sure.

“Yes, and I was relieved. For some reason, I couldn’t do it myself.”

How was Loretta going to take Ruthie’s cherry? Was she a man in drag? I looked close at her crotch for a bulge. No sign.

“Sally told me that your sex talk with them really helped.”

Talk?

“Oh, I’d gone over the basics with Sally, birds and bees stuff. But Sally told me you talked to them about technique in a way I’ve never been able to. You really made an impression.”

Yeah, about eight inches deep. “Well, I’m glad you’re not angry. Some parents would be, you know?”

“On the contrary. I need for you to do it again.”

“Again? But they already heard the, uh, lesson.”

“My niece Christina. She’s a hard case, that one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Somehow, Lord knows why, she’s become a conservative, Bible-toting introvert. She’s missing out on her youth, for Christ’s sake! Someone needs to do something. My sister Irene is at her wit’s end. I thought that you might give it a try, seeing as how receptive the girls were to you that night.”

Receptacle was more like it.

“So, what do you say? You can come by to drop off the suit after your last appearance. I’ll make sure we’re out to dinner and Christina is home alone. That won’t be tough. She doesn’t celebrate the holidays and is a vegetarian. So will you, please?”

Loretta uncrossed her legs, leaned forward and put one hand on each of my knees. I looked directly into her deep cleavage, then scanned down. The skirt was useless as a covering, retreated to her upper hips. “I’ll be very appreciative.”

As I studied her face, she licked her lips. Her hands moved up my legs towards my solid erection.

“Afterwards, maybe you could tell me about those techniques. Arthur isn’t very good about those things.”

Just as I started to raise my hands and take her demanding breasts into my hands, I heard a door open.

“Ma, I’m back.” It was Sally.

Loretta quickly sat back, pulled down her skirt and fumbled with her buttons. I pulled the costume box into my lap.

“Oh hi, Mr. Marcus. What’s in the box?”

“I’m playing Santa this year.”

“Great! I’ll come by and sit on your lap.”

If you do, I’ll cum.

“You’re a little too old for that sort of thing.” said Loretta.

“You’re never too old to believe in Santa Claus,” Sally responded. In a flash, she was gone.

“I guess we’re done. Thanks in advance for talking with Christina. I’m sure you’ll make a difference.”

“Just how into the Bible is she?”

“Oh, she’s quoting it all the time. Seems everything anyone says has a relevant Bible passage. Really gets on my nerves!”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And, Harvey, afterwards, I’d like to say thank you personally.”

#

Scene Three

I sat in a large wooden chair in a stuffy Santa’s house, finishing up an exhausting shift with an infinite line of young children, all of whom wanted the latest and greatest toys that had been pitched to them on TV. I almost knew the names by heart, names that were anonymous the day before. It was just about closing time. My elf helper, a young man embarrassed to be wearing tights and pointed shoes, was about to shut the door when two females entered, in matching lamb shearling-lined suede vests over frilly white blouses, short pink ruffle skirts, and black patent leather shoes.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” said my elf.

If it hadn’t been for the older companion, I would have agreed with the elf and shooed them away.

“Ho, ho, ho, I can see these last two.”

“But Santa, I have to get to, uh, the toy workshop.” The elf tapped on his watch.

“Ho, ho, I can close up. Go on, and let the other elves know I’m counting on them to keep all the promises I made today. Ho, ho, ho!”

My elf departed without hesitation.

“Come here and sit on Santa’s knee.” I hoped the older one would take me up on my offer. The young girl, probably five or six, eagerly approached. I helped her up.

“And what is your name?”

“Allison.”

“And have you been a good girl, Allison?”

“Oh yes, Santa. Very good. Haven’t I, Tara?”

Tara, her older twin, was in her teens. With the short skirt and make-up, it was difficult to be precise.

“Yes, you have, Allison. Now tell Santa what you want. We’re already late to meet Mom,” Tara said.

So they were sisters. Allison leaned over and whispered a familiar doll’s name in my ear. Not very imaginative, but consistent with the day’s requests.

“Ho, ho, ho, I’ll order an extra shift so I don’t run out.”

I lifted Allison from my knee. She ran over to her older sister. I started to stand.

“Your turn, Tara,” said Allison.

“Don’t be silly. I’m too old for Santa.”

“Nobody’s too old for Santa, silly goose.”

I chose to take Allison’s opening. “That’s right, Tara. Now come over here and talk to Santa.”

Her sister was dragging her towards me. Was this my gift for a long shift?

“Oh, all right. Let’s get this over with.” Tara took a precarious seat on the end of my knee.

“Scoot up. No one has fallen off my lap all day, and I don’t want you to ruin my record. Ho, ho!”

Tara moved closer, smoothing her skirt under her butt, perching on my leg. Most of her shapely thighs were exposed. The erection that had started when she walked in was now almost at full length, snaking its way down my pant leg under her. If it got any harder, it was going to “Tara” hole in my costume.

“So, Tara, have you been a good girl this year?”

“Yes, Santa.”

I bet, good and sexy. How many young men had her on their lists?

“And what would you like Santa to get you for Christmas?”

Tara intertwined her fingers and put her balled fist at the junction of her legs. Her skirt rose even higher. She leaned closer to me and whispered.

“What I really want is to have sex. I’ve been putting it off because I’m only seventeen, but my birthday is the day after Christmas. How’s that for a request, huh Santa?”

She was trying to gross me out. I ran my left hand down her back and wedged my fingers under her butt. I couldn’t feel much through my gloves and her puffy skirt. I was still looking at her thighs and the promise they guarded.

“Yes, Tara, I think I can arrange that.” I wiggled my fingers.

“Oh! You’re a horny Santa.”

I raised my head to face her. She had started to lean over and kiss me. Instead of my cheek, her lips met mine. They were barely touching. I didn’t move. Tara began to lean towards me, putting more pressure on what had now become an urgent kiss. With her center of gravity shifting, she started to fall forward. My right hand came up to grab her shoulder as she put her hands down to steady herself. Her left grabbed my knee. Her right got a handful of erection, running along my thigh. She rubbed my erection and nibbled my lower lip through the fuzzy white beard.

“Santa would like to make your gift more personal, if that’s all right with you.”

“Oh yes, Santa, I want a personal gift.” Squeeze of my dick.

“But next year, when you’re eighteen.”

“A whole year? But how will I know it’s you? I don’t want to wait that long and end up with some other Santa’s dinky gift.” Squeeze.

“Next year, tell Santa you want a comic book gift. If Santa says a Dick Tracy watch, it’s me.”

“Huh?”

“I want to watch you trace-y your fingers along my dick.”

“Leave it to me to get a smart ass Santa. You’re on.”

Tara got up and took her sister’s hand.

“I’m going to tell Mama you kissed Santa Claus,” Allison whined.

“You do and I’ll make sure you don’t get that Betty Beauty doll you want!” Tara replied.

They took their argument outside, allowing me to lock up for the night. I had a weekend of Bible studies ahead of me.

#

Scene Four

I stood at the Gunford’s front door, fully dressed as Santa with a small bag hanging over my shoulder, and rang the bell. My mind was spinning with the phrases I’d tried to memorize. The door opened. It was Loretta’s niece, as promised.

“You’re a couple of days late, fat man. Forgot where you parked your sled?” she asked. Black sweater and black slacks. Dressed for a funeral, her face was pretty without makeup. “You can catch the north-bound Mettrans bus on the corner.” The door began to close.

“Uh, I’m Mr. Marcus. I’m here to return the Santa suit. Loretta told me someone would be home.”

The door reopened. “I know. She mentioned it before they went to dinner. Come in.”

I made sure the door was locked behind me.

“Aunt Loretta left the box in her bedroom. You can change there.”

She walked down the hall, book in hand. Does she carry a bible around with her all the time? I’d better be better than good.

“Wait a second. She probably has jewelry and other valuables in there. I don’t know her very well,” I said. That would change if my mission was successful this evening. “I don’t want to be accused of stealing anything if something comes up missing.”

She looked at me with a blank stare.

“Could you come in while I change, like a chaperone?”

“Oh, all right. She must trust you a little, or she wouldn’t have told me to let you in. You do have something on under there, don’t you?”

“Certainly. What do you take me for?”

She sat on a padded window seat.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I said.

She looked up from her Bible. “Chris.” She returned to reading.

“As in Christine?”

“No. If you must know, as in Christmas.”

I grabbed my stuffed belly. “Ho ho ho, I should have made an effort to meet you sooner.”

“You can drop the act. I’m not a believer.”

“In Christmas?” I maintained my Santa voice.

“In the commercialized pseudoholiday everyone celebrates. Christmas is a time for prayer and reflection, not an excuse to go into debt buying inappropriate gifts that just get exchanged anyway.”

I pulled off the red hat with white trim and threw it on the bed. “You study the Bible?”

“Religiously. I mean, every day.”

“That doesn’t leave much time for sports or extracurricular activities.”

“I get exercise. I’m in pretty good shape.” The baggy clothes didn’t confirm her claims. “And I’m not interested in any of the activities they offer.”

I pulled the beard strap back and removed the phony whiskers. “If you haven’t figured it out, those activities are a ruse.”

She squinted.

“They’re an outlet for socializing, so you can meet the opposite sex in a structured environment.”

“Makes no difference. I’m not interested in boys.”

“You’re not? A pretty young lady like you?”

She tilted her head. One eyebrow raised. “Aunt Loretta put you up to this, didn’t she? She didn’t get anywhere with me, so she arranged to give you a shot while she was away.” She stood up and stepped towards the door.

I’d been made. Time for a dose of honesty, but just a small one. “Okay, you found me out. See, I’m being honest, all right? Your aunt is worried about you. She doesn’t think you’re growing up normal. You should be hanging at the mall with friends, pushing the limits on clothing, going out on dates. At your age, most of your classmates have already been intimate.” I should know. “Instead, you’ve got your nose buried in a book.”

“It’s not just any book.”

“Yes, I know, she told me. You’re dedicated to the Bible.”

“Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“No, except you’ve got it wrong.”

“How do you mean?” She returned to her seat at the window.

“If you think that the Bible tells you to stay away from boys.”

“Corinthians 7:34 So also the woman that is unmarried and the virgin is careful for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit: that ye may attend upon the Lord without distraction. Seems pretty clear to me.”

She was good. I would have to be better.

“But you forgot. Or know ye not that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit which is in you, which ye have from God? and ye are not your own: glorify God therefore in your body. Corinthians 6:20 “

Her eyes were wide open, her jaw slacked. “You know the Bible?”

“Of course.” After cramming a dozen or so relevant passages over the weekend.

“You don’t look religious in that fat suit.”

“We are all true to God in our own ways, just as each of us are individuals.” I made that one up.

“But glorifying God doesn’t mean necking at the movies.”

“So tell me. I want to understand. How are you glorifying God in your body?”

“You mean besides prayer?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes drifted up as she searched for an appropriate citation. I excused myself. As promised, Loretta left an open bottle of wine in the fridge. Hmm, she had excellent taste. I grabbed the bottle and two glasses. On the way up the stairs, I saw the thermostat on the wall. I cranked it up a little.

Chris was still thinking, flipping pages.

“Got an answer yet?” I asked.

“I’m working on it.”

I poured. “Here, maybe this will help.”

“I don’t drink. It’s a sin.”

“Wrong. Timothy 5:23 No longer drink water exclusively, but use a little wine for the sake of your stomach and your frequent ailments.”

She took the glass hesitantly. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“You wouldn’t go against the Good Book, would you?”

“Of course not.” She sipped the cold red liquid. “Would you mind if I read out loud? It would be a nice change of pace from praying alone.”

“Go right ahead.”

I pulled back the white trim on the front of the jacket and worked the buttons. By the time she finished one selection, the coat was on the bed in the box. I stood there in the pants, pillows showing, thumbs hooked in the suspender straps.

“What religion do you practice?” she asked.

“I’m Jewish.”

“With a name like Marcus, I thought so. It’s just that you quoted from the New Testament.”

I pulled the pillows from my pants and threw them on the floor. “Can I help it if I love the Bible?”

Her smile lit up the room, a combination of pleasure and alcohol.

“Let me make a toast. L’chiam!” I moved my glass forward to clink with hers. Surprised, she pulled her glass away. Red liquid splashed over the lip of my goblet onto her lap.

“Oh, sorry. Stay right there.” I trotted to the bathroom and grabbed a handful of tissues. “Here, let me soak it up.” I placed the tissues on her lap and patted them down. Anywhere on her lap was fair game.

“I don’t think it’s coming out,” she said.

“Take them off. I have an old family cure.”

She hesitated, as if she knew what I’d asked wasn’t quite right.

“Come on, before it sets!”

The wine suppressed just enough common sense to allow her to complete the deed. Even her panties were black.

“Just sit and study. I’ll be right back.”

I found a bottle of dishwashing liquid soap in the kitchen and hydrogen peroxide in the bathroom cupboard. The combination was poured on the stain as a presoak. On the way back to the bedroom, I turned the thermostat knob a bit higher. Chris was wiping her brow as I entered the room.

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