Out of the Claus-etbyAnna_Malia75©
Copyright 2007 Anna_Malia75. All of the sex depicted in this story is between people over the age of 18.
Damn it to hell, it was Christmas Eve. I was curled up in my favorite chair listening to Bruce laugh his way through "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" while I sip my second glass of Shiraz – could it get any better than this? Of course it fucking could. For one thing, Stephen could have not been assigned as first officer on a three-day to Australia. And for another, he could have fucking taken me with him, the asshole.
Instead, I had to settle for wearing one of his favorite flannel shirts, along with a pair of my favorite silk panties. I reached for the remote, to change the fucking burning fireplace log to some other equally useless channel, when I felt my eyes begin to close. I jerked awake once and shook my head. It was barely eight o'clock. Maybe I should switch to Chardonnay. Reds always made me sleepy. Too late. This time I was off for good.
The song was still playing when I started to wake up, although I slowly became aware that it was a somewhat different version.
You'd better watch out, you'd better not cry You'd better not pout, I'm telling you why Santa Claus is going to town Santa Claus is going to town And Mrs. Claus is cumming tonight.
She's making a list, she's checkin' it twice She's gonna find out whose naughty AND nice Santa Claus is going to town Santa Claus is going to town And Mrs. Claus is cumming tonight.
She sees you when you're sleeping She knows if you're awake She knows if you've been bad or good - better be good for Rachel's sake You better be good for Rachel's sake...
"Speaking of knowing if you're awake, welcome, honey."
It was the dark, honeyed voice of the woman who had been singing along with Bruce ever since I'd recovered consciousness. I could see her dancing around the darkened room, lit only by the roaring fire in the giant fireplace on the wall behind her and, incredibly, by the reflection of thousands of stars off a bare field of white snow that came in through the large windows on the other wall.
"Where am I?" I asked hesitantly. "Who are you?"
"Where are you, baby? The North Pole. I heard a snap of her fingers and the room was filled with light. It was an enormous room, with dark, hardwood floors covered with various rugs. There was a beautiful Persian rug underneath the dining area that adjoined the shiny stainless steel kitchen, and a deep blue, shag rug beneath the furniture that was grouped around the fireplace. It was a peninsula of a room, in fact; the windows on three sides looked out on the snow, with only one door near the kitchen that appeared to connect the room to some other part of the house.
"Who am I? Mrs. Claus, of course. But you can call me Rachel."
"What the fuck is going on?" I demanded. I tried to stand up, but found myself almost stuck to the chair. As my eyes got used to the light, I was finally able to make her out: a gorgeous woman with long black hair, porcelain skin, and red, pouty lips. She was obviously dressed for bed, in a red silk top lined with fur and tied in a big bow at her chest. The matching G-string made some sense; the matching hat looked a little odd.
"Funny you should put it that way," she said with a giggle. "What the fuck indeed."
"Look, lady, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you better let me out of here."
She sauntered over to stand in front of me. "Who the hell I am is Rachel Claus. And since Nicky's gone for the night, I finally get to use my own list of who's been naughty and nice."
She reached down and unerringly touched a tip of her finger to my right nipple, still covered by flannel. It was like an electric shock.
"Oh, God," I gasped.
"And you seem to be very nice," she continued. "Nice blonde hair, nice lips, nicely pointed tongue, nice talented fingers."
I stared at her as she giggled again.
"They seem to come in handy when you're naughty, too." A giant projection television flickered to life just to her right. "Like when you got yourself off at the Chicago Symphony last month. And when you sucked off that friend of Stephen's while he was flying a trip to England in August."
Stunned, I realized that the television was broadcasting the very images she was describing.
"You're perfect," she said. "Just the right combination of naughty and nice."
There was a very sexy depth to her timbre that told me exactly what she had meant by that.
"I – I don't do girls," I stammered and shook my head. The whole thing still seemed much too unreal. "Anyway, aren't you a little old for this?"
"Do I look too old?" she asked. She stood in front of me, her legs spread, and slowly pulled the bow on her top. It fluttered slowly to the ground. Her figure was flawless. Her breasts were magnificent, like those of a particularly well-endowed eighteen-year-old girl who never found time to study the law of gravity. "I keep in pretty good shape. Jazzercise, yoga, reindeer games. What's a couple of hundred years, after all?"
I was still powerless to move as she pushed my knees apart and knelt between my thighs. Delicate fingers, their nails the same color red as her lips, carefully teased apart the buttons on the flannel shirt.
"Look, bitch," I said. "I told you, I don't do girls."
"No? That's not what my list says. It says you and – what was her name, Kara? – were the hottest thing going once upon a time."
By now she had pulled apart the sides of my shirt, and I knew she was well aware of the hot flush spreading across my torso.
"Everybody did it in college," I mumbled.
"Everybody didn't enjoy it quite as much as Samantha and Kara did. Or do it quite as often as you two."
I watched in horror as the screen shifted to a video of Kara and I writhing naked on the beds that we had pushed together our junior year, a finger in each other's pussy. And then a picture of Kara and I kissing in the school pool, where we had found a way to sneak in.
"Stop it!" I screamed.
"Stop what?" she asked softly. I looked down and realized that she had just pulled her lips off of my breast, leaving a circle of wetness around my brownish areola.
"Everything!" It was less a command than a whispered plea.
She laughed again, a deep, throaty laugh. "So at least we know you like girls, don't we?"
She brushed a finger across the crotch of my panties, letting me know exactly how wet it had become there. Then she moved it up to my nipples, stiff as little thimbles. Finally, she traced it across my mouth, and I found my lips part and suck it inside. My eyes widened and hers laughed at me. It had already been a busy little finger.
"Sorry," she said. "Had to start without you. So I like girls, you like girls. Seems pretty easy, huh?"
"No," I gasped. "I . . ."
"Stephen likes girls."
There was something in her voice that drew my eyes back to the television, where I saw Steven lying on a gloriously sunny, sandy beach. It was Stephen's ass, anyway. Lying on his stomach, with his head buried between the thighs of a redhead whose hands were twined in her hair, I couldn't see much of his face. Still, I knew.
"Those Aussie girls are cute, aren't they?" Rachel asked. She was working my panties over my hips. I was able to lift up slightly and they easily slide down my thighs and over my knees. I picked up my feet, one after the other, and she tossed the tiny piece of fabric aside. She leaned forward and I felt an exhalation of hot breath across my obviously well-oiled opening.
"Rachel," I moaned. "It's still . . . still too fast."
She stood up and laughed again.
"I am an impatient little bitch, aren't I? But if the only girls you got to see all year were a bunch of tiny elves, you'd probably be in a hurry, too."
She wiggled her fingers and I felt myself free of whatever invisible restraints had been holding me in place. She walked over to a cabinet next to an enormous fireplace whose logs had suddenly burst into flame. Pulling out a bottle, she poured two glasses and handed one to me.
"I shouldn't," I said.
"Oh, you've only had two," she said.
"I'm not gonna ask how you know that," I said, taking a sip of the best red wine I had ever tasted.
"Nicky's been gone since about three o'clock your time. And you were on the top of my list. So I watched you for a bit while I had dinner. The elves always treat me nice when Nicky leaves. 'Course that's only once a year. So I do try to make the most of it."
She had moved over to a couch in front of the fire and was lying back against one of the arms. She gestured to the other.
"Come on, Sam. I won't bite. Not if you're over there, anyway."
I took another sip and felt fire spreading through my belly. This wine might be a little stronger than I was used to. I took another drink and joined her on the couch. I sat a little more demurely.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm being awfully rude, aren't I?"
"Rude?" I asked. "Outside of the kidnapping, and those mental restraints, I haven't noticed any rudeness." I smiled at her.
"Here I am, encouraging you to prance around naked in my house while I'm still dressed." She stood and pushed her panties to the ground, and then returned to her seat. Now, as she leaned against the arm, and extended one of her long, muscled legs along the back of the sofa toward me, I tried not to stare at the intricate design she had trimmed into her pubes.
"The, uh, song that was playing when I got here?"
"Bruce and the boys? I invited them a couple Christmas Eves ago. They were happy to record me a personalized version. That was a fun night, although getting that many guys home was a bitch. Especially that big fellow with the deep voice. I thought the girls were gonna have a fit."
"The girls?" I was still stalling for time, struggling to make sense of everything that was happening.
"Mrs. Donner? Mrs. Blitzen?"
"Of course, they're reindeer. Do you know what my life would be like if I had to stay here all fucking year? I've got a nice two-deer sleigh that gets me everywhere I want to go."
"So that's how you brought me here?"
"Nah. You're a lightweight. I brought you back bareback. I could just wish you here, of course, but what's the fun in that?"
"Wish me here?"
"Of course, Samantha. It's the North Pole. Where all your wishes come true. Fortunately, Nicky never figured that all out. He could just transport all those kids' presents and then he'd never leave the damn house."
She broke out in laughter again. She was a jolly little slut, I had to give her that.
"So, um, you flew me here?" I asked, looking away suddenly.
"Nervous, Sam?" she asked.
I looked up again quickly.
"Sam, if you want to look, just look."
I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward, and the scent of her arousal filled my head. I felt myself spinning, and yet I still couldn't make it out.
"What is it?" I whispered.
She raised her other leg to put one thigh on either side of my head, taking care not to touch me.
"Mistletoe, silly. I wish you wanted to kiss me underneath it."
Her tone was teasing, almost mocking. But at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to kiss Rachel Claus right below where the mistletoe ended. I had honestly sworn off girls after college, convinced that my heart wasn't in it, and that I would never be happy unless my partner had a cock. Maybe it was just the ending of my two-year long love with Kara. When that ended, I was devastated, and happy to accept that it had just been a youthful experiment. Now, at age 29, I was at least willing to consider the possibility that I had made a mistake.
Perhaps it was her almost hypnotic voice. Perhaps it was her intoxicating aroma. Or perhaps it was just that I had simply missed the smell and taste and touch of another woman.
Whatever the reason, there was no hesitation. I slowly kissed my way up her stomach to those luscious breasts, and then slowly teased her with just the tip of my tongue. She had been quite right before. I did have a very delicately tipped tongue, just perfect for drawing thin little concentric circles on Rachel's breasts, getting ever closer to the bulls-eye each time. By the time I pursed my lips to suck in a nipple, it was as hard as a little bullet. Rachel closed her legs on me, gently squeezing my waist with her thighs.
I kissed my way back down her belly, sampling her elegantly curved hip bone, filling the indentations of her body with my wet saliva. By the time I reached her mons, she was moaning in pleasure, holding blonde tresses in each of her hands.
"Mmmm," I whispered in a husky voice. "Rachel likes?"
"Rachel loves," she answered, hissing a sibilant "yes" as she watched me through heavy eyelids.
"Samantha loves, too," I said. I reached my hand up and pressed the palm against her labia, spreading my fingers atop the mistletoe. I pulsed it slowly against her, and felt her grind herself back against me in response.
"Rachel does love it," I said, smiling at her as I looked between her thighs.
"Rachel wishes you would stop teasing her and get busy with that tongue again."
My mouth was glued to her pussy by the time she finished exhaling. I was lapping at her slit, tickling her clit the pointy tip of my tongue while applying suction to her beautifully swollen lips. With my arms wrapped around her thighs, I used my thumbs to massage the skin just below the spots where her creamy thighs met her cheerily decorated mound. I looked up at her again, watching her writhe, watching her back arch, watching her breasts and nipples surge skyward. I slid my hands up, wrapping both of them in my grasp and squeezing them gently in the love line that ran up the middle of my hand.
"Samantha," she said, as much supplication as acknowledgement.
I began kissing my way back up her body, kissing her belly, her slender ribcage, her breasts, the sweet spot at the top of her collarbone, and her lovely neck. In a few minutes, I was kissing her cheek, and feeling my pussy push against hers, and hers back against mine.
"God," I whispered. "I wish I had a strap-on for you."
I froze, for just a second, as I felt a pair of straps materialize around my thighs. But I didn't know what had actually happened until I saw Rachel's face dissolve into a stunned "O" of pleasure as she felt the dildo filling her up. Her eyes widened suddenly, and she stretched her hands toward me.
She clung to my upper arms, her body quaking in answer to the rhythmic thrusts that I was slowly beginning to give her.
"Fuck me, Sam," she said, her voice no more than a squeak. "Fuck me."
"I will," I responded. "I wish you'd cum for me, too."
"Oh, fuck!" She screamed as her body shook with orgasm. I couldn't believe that she had climaxed that quickly. And then I knew what was going on. When she opened her eyes the next time, eyes soft with peaceful pleasure, I was ready.
"You know what I wish?" she said quietly, a smile flitting across her face.
I put a finger on her mouth to shush her, and spoke to her through a big smile of my own.
"I wish that you wouldn't be able to wish any more," I said.
Her eyes were just as wide, her mouth just as rounded, as they had been before.
"You fucking bitch!" she screamed.
I grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the bed. She squeezed me again with those powerful thighs, trying to throw me off by rocking from side to side.
"Now, now, Rachel, I wish you'd cut that out."
The rocking stopped. Her legs relaxed. Her arms no longer pressed at mine.
"Apparently you forgot we were at the North Pole, huh, Rache. Where all your wishes come true. I wish I had your body, come to think of it, and you had mine."
I felt my breasts swell, my thighs strengthen, and my skin tighten.
"I wish Santa – what did you say his name was; Nicky? – I wish that Nicky remembers me in your place." With a silent wish I flicked on the television, and looked over my shoulder at the picture of a smiling Santa Claus. "For that matter, I wish he looked a little more like George Clooney."
I got up and pushed myself off of her.
"And now, Rache, honey, why don't you head home to my apartment to wait for Stephen. I wish you good luck with that."
She vanished, and I walked over to the cabinet to pour myself some more of that wine. After all, it was Christmas by now.
This is my first submisssion, so please let me know what you thought of it! Whether it's naughty or nice - or both! Thanks so much for reading. Anna