This is an erotic story. If you are underage or if you do not enjoy eroticism, then please do not read.
Almost hypnotized by the multi-colored Christmas tree lights reflecting in the window, I watch the snow lazily drifting in the darkness. It's going to be a long, lonely night — my first Christmas Eve since my husband, Todd, left me.
Sighing, I pour myself another bourbon — my fourth — and wander over to the CD player. Having nothing else better to do, I flip through the CDs while sipping my drink, taking comfort in the liquid heat sliding down my throat, warming me from the inside out.
I come across Eartha Kitt's "Santa Baby" and load it into the player. After making sure the volume is turned down low enough not to disturb my two kids sleeping snug in their beds upstairs, I press play and shuffle over to the sofa. As the familiar music begins, I curl up on the sofa with a throw, a pillow, and my bourbon.
"Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree, for me," I softly sing along with honey-voiced Eartha. "Been an awful good girl . . ."
Damn right, I have! And look where it's gotten me — all alone on Christmas Eve while my former husband lives it up in Hawaii with his new bimbette.
According to the clock on the mantel, it's almost midnight — almost Christmas. Starting to feel the effects of the bourbon, I put the glass on the end table and snuggle deeper into the sofa, letting my eyes drift closed.
"Santa baby, a '54 convertible too, light blue," Eartha sings, asking Santa for everything from a yacht to a platinum mine.
Wouldn't it be great if there really was a Santa Claus? And he'd grant your every wish? Your every desire?
Of course, what would I do with a yacht? I get seasick in the bathtub. And a platinum mine? Not unless it comes with some scantily-dressed studly miners.
"Think of all the fun I've missed, " Eartha croons. "Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed."
You can say that again, sister!
In my dreamy semi-conscious state, my mind wanders and wonders. What would I ask Santa for — if there really were a Santa, that is? A decadent fantasy slowly comes to life.
"Mmmm, wouldn't that be nice," I murmur sleepily.
Suddenly, a loud scraping sound jolts me back to reality and I bolt upright on the sofa, my heart skipping a few beats before picking up again — triple time. Did I really hear that? Or was it just part of some bizarre dream? But then I hear a thud from above. And then another!
I scramble off the sofa, my mind racing almost as fast as my heart, searching for an explanation for the unusual sounds. Maybe the kids fell out of bed. Or maybe a frozen tree branch snapped and fell on the roof. But a much more frightening possibility makes me shiver with cold dread. What if it's a burglar?
I've never considered myself a skittish female, but this is one of those times I'd love to have a big, brawny male around to protect me. Okay, so protection isn't the only reason I'd love to have a man around, but now's not the time to be thinking about my libido.
I grab my son's baseball bat from the hall closet and slowly make my way upstairs, Eartha's voice dwindling to a faint murmur the further I get from the living room. It isn't until I've thoroughly searched the upstairs and found nothing amiss that I breathe a sigh of relief and my heart returns to a calmer rhythm.
Silly girl, it probably was just a tree branch hitting the house. At least it didn't cause any damage — on the inside anyway.
"You need to get a grip, Emma," I mumble to myself as I go back downstairs.
When I enter the living room, I immediately notice several things. Eartha's stopped singing, which isn't all that odd; the CD simply could've ended. The fireplace going out is much harder to explain since there were fresh logs burning before I went upstairs. But what's even more shocking and unexplainable is the rather rotund man in the middle of my living room — wearing a red suit, wide black belt, larger black boots, and a floppy red cap with white trim over his long white hair — bending over a huge black sack.
Brandishing the baseball bat still clutched in my hands, I growl, "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?"
As casual as you please, he straightens and turns around to face me. His blue eyes flicker with amusement over his chubby, rosy cheeks and his red lips — barely visible beneath his long, thick, white beard — spread into a broad smile displaying a mouthful of gleaming white teeth. "Hello. I’m Kris Kringle. I'm leaving gifts for your children, of course. After all, I am Santa Claus."
"Yeah, right," I say with a disbelieving snort, "and I'm the Easter Bunny."
His loud, boisterous laugh fills the room. "I don't think so. You're much too sexy to be the Easter Bunny. A Playboy Bunny maybe."
Is this guy for real? I don't know which is more unbelievable — that he's really Santa Claus or that he really thinks I'm as sexy as a Playboy Bunny. Tod sure as hell hadn't felt that way.
Then it suddenly hits me. "Wait a minute. Did Tod send you?"
"Tod?" he asks, his smile turning into a confused frown.
With a sigh, I lower my baseball bat. "I suppose this is all some extravagant stunt he cooked up to ease his guilty conscious, because he's not here for his children on Christmas. Well, it's much too late to entertain the children, so just leave whatever expensive gifts he sent and leave."
"Oh, Tod! Your ex-husband, right? No, he didn't send me. Tod's been a very bad boy. He won't be getting anything except a big lump of coal. You, on the other hand, have been a very good girl," he adds with a wink.
Once again wary, my grip on the baseball bat tightens. "If Tod didn't send you, then why are you here?"
"I told you," he says, spreading his arms almost as wide as his grin, "I'm Santa Claus! I'm here to deliver holiday cheer!"
My brow arches skeptically. "Oh-kay . . . if you're Santa Claus, what did you bring me for Christmas?"
He snaps his fingers and — poof — suddenly, instead of a jolly fat man in my living room, there's a living, breathing — and very naked — sex God. “Well, me, of course,” he purrs.
In his mid to late thirties, tall with smooth, tanned skin covering a taut, athletic body, he is truly magnificent. He has a full head of shortly cropped snow-white hair and a handsome, clean-shaven face with laugh lines bracketing his wide, very kiss-able mouth and at the corners of his twinkling blue eyes. My eyes leisurely take in his broad shoulders, the white hair dusting his powerful chest and trailing down his flat stomach and well-defined abs to the dense thatch at his groin . . .
"Oh my," I rasp at the sight of his very impressive erection.
"Do you like what you see?"
"Wh-h-o are you?"
"I thought you'd like this form better, but I'm still Santa," he says walking towards me.
Nervously, I retreat backwards. "W-w-what do you want?"
Still walking towards me, he says, "To grant your Christmas wish."
"What wish?" Running into the sofa, I stumble backward and land in a tumble on the soft cushions.
I struggle into a sitting position, but before I can get up again, he leans over me and braces his arms on the back of the sofa, caging me between then. "The wish you made just as you were falling asleep earlier," he says, his warm breath fanning my face, his intense blue gaze never leaving mine. "While you were listening to that song."
My muddled brain finally realizes what he's talking about and I can't stop myself from blushing furiously. Could he really know what I wished for? No, he couldn't! Even though I saw his magical transformation with my own eyes, I still couldn't — wouldn't — believe he's Santa Claus.
He smiles as if he'd read my mind and sensed my lingering doubt. "None of those materialistic wishes appeals to you, did they?"
Swallowing my surprise, I fight to maintain my grip on reason and common sense. Dammit, there's no such person as Santa Claus!
"No, not you," he continues, brushing a long lock of my auburn hair from my face with his finger and carefully tucking it behind my ear. "You want something much more precious. Something you should've received years ago. Something your idiot ex-husband should've given you."
Shaking my head stupidly, I tell myself it can't be true. That it's impossible.
"More than anything, you want to know what it feels like to be a desirable woman. Isn't that right, Emma?"
"Yes," I admit breathlessly, unable to tear my gaze away from his.
"Emma, " he says quietly, leaning even closer, "you are an incredibly desirable woman and it's long past time someone showed you how much."
Then his mouth captures mine in a mind-searing kiss, obliterating any protest I might've offered. A sensible woman would've been scared by a strange naked man invading her house and making lustful advances. Obviously, I'm not sensible, because in no time my body's quivering and my heart's slamming in chest with excitement and anticipation — not fear. He thoroughly seduces my mouth with his lips and tongue as surely as he's seducing my entire being.
When he finally lifts his mouth from mine and I slowly open my eyes, he says, "Your so gorgeous . . . from those whiskey-brown eyes to your exquisitely sexy body."
Hit with a sudden wave of self-consciousness, I look away from him. "Todd always said I was too fat."
He gently urges me to face him again. "Emma, you're lush and curvy, not fat. Real men would fall on their knees for a chance to explore a voluptuous, womanly figure like yours. Not those walking toothpicks with tits." I can't help laughing at that and he grins at me wickedly. "That's more like it."
Kneeling at my feet, he promises, "I'm going to make you feel so good your going to have trouble remembering you own name, let alone Tod's."
He deftly removes my robe and nightgown so I'm as naked as he is. The obvious admiration I see flickering in his blue eyes as he visually explores my body incinerates any lingering self-consciousness and infuses every cell in my body with raw desire. He eases my body lower toward the edge of the sofa and I go willing, allowing him to spread my legs wide apart so I'm completely open and vulnerable.
Growling low in his throat, his nostrils flaring with pure male intent, he trails scorching kisses up the insides of my thighs, working his way to my eager cunt. I've never been this enflamed and aroused. His tongue snakes out and licks the length of my drenched slit from my asshole to my clit, making me cry out with delight.
"Mmmm, you taste as good as you smell," he murmurs in between fiery swipes of his velvety tongue. "I'm going to eat you whole."
Tossing my head back, I moan, "Oh, please."
"Please what, Emma?"
"Please . . . I need more. I'm so close."
"I know you are, baby," he says as his long, blunt-tipped fingers carefully separate my cunt lips so he can delve deeper. He takes another broad swipe of his tongue through my slit, and another, before his lips lock onto my clit and he sucks it into his hungry mouth. Then he licks a path down and plunges his tongue deep into cunt again and again. He drives me so crazy repeating this process — sucking my clit and fucking me with his tongue — that soon I'm writhing on the couch, gripping his short white hair with my hands while I grind my cunt against his face.
"I need to come so bad," I pant. "Please let me come."
As if awaiting my plea, he latches onto my clit once again, alternately sucking and flicking it with his tongue. Sensations I've never felt before assault my body, driving me closer and closer to ecstasy. I feel one of his fingers slide into my slick tunnel. And then another. Expertly, he hones in on my most magical spot and massages it until I shatter from the most brilliant orgasm I've ever had, making me cry out with the intensity of it.
While I'm coming back to earth, he rises up and passionately kisses my mouth, letting me taste my own sweet juices on his tongue. As earth-shattering as that orgasm was, it isn't enough. I ache to feel his cock buried in my cunt.
Trailing my hand down his chest and stomach, relishing the silky skin covering taut muscle, I eventually find his cock and take it in my grasp. It's so hard, hot, and already leaking semen. Tearing my mouth from his, I look down at the most beautiful cock I've ever seen. Heavily veined and so engorged its rounded head is scarlet, it's long and so thick I can barely circle it with my fingers.
Stroking his length, I beg, "Please fuck me with your cock. I need to feel it in me so bad."
"You're such a hot slut," he growls, pushing me onto my back so I'm lying on the sofa. "I'm going to fuck you and make you mine."
Making room for him so he can settle his weight between my spread thighs, I say, "Oh, yeah. Please fuck me."
Propped up on his elbows, his incredibly male body over mine, he looks down at me with raw lust burning in his eyes and rubs his cock up and down my throbbing cunt. "That's what you want, isn't it? You want to be my slut."
"Yes, please, make me your slut."
"Say you wanna be Santa's slut."
"I wanna be Santa's slut!"
With that, he thrusts his cock into my wet sheath, filling me like I've never been filled before. I can feel him pulsating inside me as he fucks me, sliding his cock in and out of my cunt with slow, powerful thrusts, gradually getting faster and harder. Arching my back, I slam my hips against his, eagerly meeting every one of his forceful thrusts.
"Oh, that feels so good," I moan. "Fuck me harder, Santa. Fuck me harder."
Gripping my hair, he pulls on it, forcing my head back while he pounds my cunt. "Yeah, you want my cum, don't you. Beg for my cum, slut."
"Please give me your cum, Santa. Fill my cunt with your Santa cum."
As another mind-bowing orgasm reverberates throughout my body, he buries his cock in me one last time and pumps my womb full of his cum.
"Thank you, Santa, thank you," I say, trying to catch my breath. "That was . . . fantastic. No one's every made me come like that."
"But we're just getting started, my little slut," he says with a wicked grin and I realize he's still very hard and ready for more fucking.
Slowly withdrawing from me, he eases his body off mine. "Turn over and lean over the arm of the sofa."
Even though my limbs feel heavy and languid from our vigorous fucking, I'm curious to see what new and thrilling sensations he has is store. So I follow his directions and kneel away from him, supporting my folded arms on the overstuffed sofa arm.
"Mmmm, you have a magnificent ass," he says, fondling my ass cheeks with his large hands. Then his cock enters me from behind and he fucks me until my body's quivering for release and I'm begging him to make me come again.
I gasp when I feel his fingers spreading our juices over my asshole. Snapping my head around, I ask, "What are you doing?"
"Nothing you won't love," he says with a roguish smile.
"But I've never done that before."
"Shhh, I promise, I won't do anything you don't want me to do. Now, turn back around."
Biting my lip uncertainly, I turn around and close my eyes. He's given me more pleasure than I've ever experienced in my life, so despite my wariness, I trust he won't hurt me.
He withdraws his cock from my cunt and slips in his fingers, coating them with our juices. Then his fingers rim my asshole again and I'm surprised how good it feels. I'd never thought of my asshole as an erogenous zone, but I'm really getting turned on. So much so, I begin pressing back against his fingers, encouraging him.
His fingers push more and more until they easily slide past the tight, muscular ring. I couldn't have imagined how amazing it would feel to have my ass penetrated. My prolonged moan of unadulterated pleasure turns into a surprised gasp when both his hands come around me and cup my tits.
If both of his hands are on my tits, what the hell's in my ass?
"Your ass feels so good on my cock," he groans in my ear.
"That can't be your cock! Your cock's much bigger."
"And it will be again. Just as soon as you get used to me fucking your ass."
Slowly, he withdraws his cock and pushes back in, over and over. As my pleasure builds to heights I'd never thought possible, I feel his cock gradually getting larger, stretching my ass wider and wider until his cock feels enormous again. All the while he's fucking my ass, his hands knead my tits and pinch my nipples, making me so hot and wild I arch into him and slam my ass back against his thrusting hips, urging him to fuck my harder.
"Ooooh, Santa baby, that feels so great. Fuck my ass, Santa. Fuck it good."
"Your such a hot slut. I knew you'd like having your ass fucked. Tell me you want my cum in your ass too."
"Yeah, give me your cum, Santa. Fill my ass with your cum!"
One of his hands slides down my body to work my clit while he fucks my ass harder and faster, sending me over the edge into a orgasm so powerful I collapse onto the arm of the sofa a completely sated mass of fresh and bone. Just before I lose consciousness, I feel him stiffen and ejaculate my ass full of him cum.
Shortly before dawn, I wake up alone and find myself curled up on the couch with the throw covering me. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I noticed the fireplace is blazing once again and "Santa Baby" is softly playing in the background.
Was it all a dream?
Then I realize I'm naked beneath the throw and that my robe and nightgown are still on the floor where Santa threw them. Knowing every bit of it had been real, a broad smile curves across my face.
Hearing the unmistakable sounds of my children awake upstairs and about to come down, I quickly get dressed. By the time they run downstairs and straight to the mountain of presents under the Christmas tree, I'm all set to rights.
"Mommy, mommy, Santa came, Santa came!" my children exclaim while attacking their presents.
"Oh, Santa came all right," I say, grinning like an idiot when I feel his cum trickling down the inside of my thighs.
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And I secretly hope he comes again. Real soon.