Santa Claus: Sex Addict

I was as surprised as anything when a fountain of semen shot out of his penis and all over my hands. I paused for a second but he grunted, "No, don't stop!" So I kept cleaning, and he squirted a few more times, letting out a long croaking groan. Then he slumped back in the tub and unceremoniously fell asleep. I smiled. I was happy that I could give Santa pleasure like that. Maybe now he'd forgive me for doubting him. I looked at his sticky cum on my hands. I sniffed it, thinking it might smell Christmassy somehow, you know, cinnamon and spice, but it didn't. I licked it off my fingers. It was kind of salty.

As Santa snored, I washed him some more, making sure to clean the crusty dried food out of his beard. I even cleaned out his ears, which were almost stopped closed with hair and gunk. Then I waited for him to wake up, making sure to keep the water nice and warm. I played with his balls, because it made him hum in his sleep. His cock got hard, then soft again, in response to my touch. That was kind of fun! I made a bit of a game out of it, seeing how many ball tickles it took before he was stiff again. He woke up an hour later. He seemed a little embarrassed and at a loss for words. He just mumbled, "Thanks, girlie".

I helped him get out of the tub. He was kind of creaky and old. I started to wonder how a man this weak could possibly control a sleigh or climb down chimneys or do any of the other strenuous activities required of Santa on Christmas Eve. I watched him dry off, and now that he was clean... well, he just didn't look as Santa-ish as before. He asked if I had any gin. I offered him eggnog instead. When he drank it I knew I'd made a mistake. He spit it out! Can you imagine? Santa Claus... spitting out eggnog? This old bum was probably expecting it to be spiked with some sort of alcohol, like my aunt used to do. But I preferred it right out of the carton, just like Santa.

Well, that was a sore disappointment, I can tell you! But he was my guest, so I made dinner for fake homeless Santa. He ate it all up, but when it was over he grabbed my bottom and asked if I'd like to give him another bath. How rude! I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he shouldn't look a gift reindeer in the mouth and ushered him out of my apartment.

I suppose I should have learned my lesson. You know the one about not judging a book by its cover. But I didn't.

I tried to put my life back together. I got a job outside of the Christmas industry, and I tried not to think about Santa. But every time I spotted a white bearded fat man on the street, or in the subway, my heart would soar, and my gray world would grow brighter. I'd usually follow him for a while before deciding he probably wasn't Santa. If he looked particularly jolly... well, I found myself getting turned on. Sexually turned on. It was disquieting. I'd never had those kinds of feelings for Santa before. Later that spring I started having erotic dreams in which I was Mrs. Claus. These dreams would usually end with Santa and I making love in a pile of snow, under the aurora borealis. I would wake up turned on but terrified. So I stopped Santa hunting and concentrated on my job all through the summer.

After Halloween, the Christmas decorations started going up all over town, and boom, just like that my obsession was back. I started wandering the streets, chasing anything in a beard. Now when I woke up after one of those vivid Santa dreams, I'd lay in bed, sometimes for hours, masturbating. I began to reconcile myself with the fact that I had the hots for Saint Nick. After all, I wasn't a child anymore. I was a 27-year-old woman. What's so terrible about being attracted to a vital, handsome, generous, jolly old elf?

One day I saw a street corner Santa ringing a bell next to a donation pot. He had a real beard, not one of those fake ones. And his Santa suit was beautiful! Real leather boots and everything. And the way he said "Ho, Ho, Ho!" Well... I knew the moment I saw him, that this was Santa! The real Santa! Oh, yeah, it was definitely him! No doubt about it! And he was so sexy, the way his belly bounced when he swung his bell. I started wondering if he was a good kisser... if his penis was as big as homeless Santa's had been... if it would feel just as hard and meaty in my hand... if it would spurt just the same? I got so turned on I could barely breathe.

I watched Santa until he was done for the night, then I followed him through the dark streets. I half expected that he'd go around a corner and hop on a waiting sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer, so I stayed close, treading softly so he wouldn't hear me. But he walked up to an apartment building and opened the door with a key. Before he could close it behind him, I ran up and pushed my way inside.

"Santa," I said, "I..." but I couldn't think of anything to say.

He looked at me with a perplexed expression and said, "What?"

I stared at him and tried like mad to think of something, but my mind was a blank.

"Well, spit it out, girl. I ain't got all night!"

I wanted to thank him for all the toys and presents he'd given me over the years, even that last one, the lump of coal, because it had taught me a valuable lesson about holding on to your faith in a world full of cynics.

But instead, I kissed him.

Yeah, that's what I said. I threw my arms around him and kissed Santa Claus right on the mouth. I couldn't believe I was doing it, but there I was doing it anyway. And he was stunned... shocked into immobility. My kiss was close mouthed at first. But... well, I don't know what came over me... maybe it was the smell of cinnamon in his beard... but I stuck my tongue in Santa's mouth. And doing that made me go mad with desire, I was panting desperately and hugging him tightly, making him stumble backwards into the foyer. I pushed him until he fell onto his back on the staircase, and I clambered on top of him, my little body rubbing like mad all over his big fat belly.

After a while he began kissing me too, sticking his tongue in my mouth and rubbing his gloved hands all over my back and squeezing my ass. I was wearing a plaid skirt that night, and his hands reached right under it, and he started rubbing my crotch through my panties! His magical fingers found the nub of my clitoris, and soon he was fingering me to heaven. Oh, Saint Nick, it felt great!

Anybody could have seen us from the street or the stairwell, but we didn't care, we just made out like two desperate snow bunnies. He yanked his glove off his right hand with his teeth, his eyes crazy with need, then reached down around my ass, and I felt Santa's naked fingers slip under my panties and into my pussy!

"Oh, Santa!" I moaned into his mouth. I felt his hardening penis poking up into my crotch, and I rubbed myself against him so hard, if we were made out of wood, we would have burst into flame. All the while his fingers delved ever deeper into me. I reached under his fat belly, desperately searching for his zipper, but his fly had buttons, and I couldn't figure out how to undo them. He took his fingers out of my vagina long enough to unbutton himself, and before I knew it, his hard, huge cock was inside me!

"Oh, Santa!" I shrieked in joy.

His cock wasn't nearly as big as fake homeless Santa's, but it didn't matter. I hadn't had sex in almost eight years, so he felt huge inside me! And he was sooooooo hard! I grabbed the stairway banister with one hand and his beard with the other. I began to thrust my self forward and back, banging my trim little belly into his huge flabby belly, driving his North Pole deep into my nearly virgin vagina!

"Oh, Santa! Santa! Oh, you feel so good inside me!!"

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" he said, because I was pulling his beard with every thrust. But he didn't tell me to stop. Maybe he knew that his beard was turning me on... probably more than any other part of him. I didn't take my eyes off him the whole time we fucked. I just ate him up with my eyes, amazed and astonished that this was really happening. His suit was so red and fuzzy, his face so jolly and sexy! He was Santa Claus! I was fucking Santa Claus!

I started shrieking, feeling the first orgasm of my life ripping through me.

"Oh... God! Santa!! Saaaaantaaaaaa!!!"

He put his hand over my mouth to muffle my cries. If anyone had opened their doors, they'd have seen quite a sight! Well... for all I know people might have seen us. I wouldn't have noticed. I was blinded by the Christmas spirit.

Soon after my orgasm, Santa grunted and grabbed my ass to stop my gyrations and held me down, as if I might fly away. Then I felt him cumming inside me. The feeling of it, so intensely intimate... it drove me wild!

"Oh, Santa!!" I yelled, my eyes popping out of my head, "You're cumming inside me!!!!!" I shrieked loud enough to wake everyone in the building, if I hadn't already. After he was done with his spasms and his arms went limp, I just sat there, feeling his cock softening inside me. I looked down into his dazed, sweaty, amazed face... my heart filled with love. I petted his curly white beard with my hand and leaned over to sprinkle his face with little kisses.

"I'm sorry about the cookies, Santa." I said softly. Hoping he'd forgive me.

"Wha... what? Cookies?" He said breathlessly. "Fuck, I'm burning up in this suit!" He was sweating profusely and reached up to take off his Santa hat.

He was bald!

Oh, no! I did it again! Santa isn't bald! But this guy, whoever he was, was as bald as a cue ball! I didn't say a thing. I just stood up and walked right out of there, leaving him lying on his back on the stairs, wondering what the hell had just happened. As I walked quickly down the street, overcome with disappointment, I could feel his cum oozing out of me and down my leg. It didn't disgust me... actually, I kind of enjoyed the sensation... but it wasn't Santa's cum. That's what I really wanted. I wanted to make love to Santa, not some random geriatric in an expensive Santa suit!

Thank goodness for the morning after pill. The last thing I needed was to get pregnant... at least not with some fake Santa's baby.

But a few days later I started to wonder if maybe I'd been wrong to judge that man based on having no hair. Why was I so sure Santa had a full head of hair? Maybe he wore that big pointy hat for a reason. Maybe my original instincts had been right, and now I'd rejected Santa twice! I had to find out for sure. So I went back to the street corner where he worked. There he was, ringing his bell, just as sexy as ever. I felt the same tingling in my nether regions as I'd felt before. I went up to him, and when he saw me he just about fell over.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I was surprised that Santa had a potty mouth.

"I just wanted to..." but I couldn't think of anything to say. So I jumped up into his arms and kissed him, breathing in his cinnamon smell again. But after a few seconds he pushed me back and held me at arms length, looking left and right nervously.

"Look, the other night... that was... fuckin' amazing. But you should know... I'm a married man."

"Of course you are," I replied. "Everybody knows that. I just..." but I trailed off again. Nothing came to mind. So I tried to kiss him again, but this time he held me at bay with his bell.

He whispered under his breath, "Really, I can't do it. I'd love to, don't get me wrong. But I shouldn't have done it in the first place. I mean, you're a nice girl, I'm sure, but I love my wife. She'll kill me if she so much as suspects I've been fuckin' around. She'll kill you too. So, do us both a favor and go find some other Santa Claus to screw."

I looked at him, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. That didn't sound much like Mrs. Claus. I doubted she could kill anyone. "I might just do that, Santa... if you really are Santa. I just want to ask you one question first. Do you like eggnog?"

"Do I what?"

What was he, deaf? "Do. You. Like. Egg. Nog?"

"Fuck no. Can't stand the stuff."

How disappointing.

But I took his advice and started checking out all the street corner Santas I could find. This was New York City. There was one on every corner. I looked at hundreds of Santas over the next couple of weeks, trying to be a little more circumspect than I'd been the last time. No, I didn't fuck any of them. For one thing, most of them were obviously fake. Fake beards, fake bellies, fake ho, ho, ho's. I could easily rule out Black Santas, Hispanic Santas, and Asian Santas. Not because I'm a racist... it's just that Santa's white. Everybody knows that.

But some of them had real beards. They were so cute! I didn't think they were the real Santa, like I had the first guy, but I needed to be absolutely sure. So I got in the habit of kissing any street corner Santa who had a real beard. I'd just walk right up to them and plant my lips on theirs. I could usually tell right away that they were fake. But it wasn't always that easy. On at least a dozen occasions I had to make out with a would-be Santa for a long time before making up my mind. Not that every Santa let me kiss them. I suppose some of those guys were gay, others shy, or maybe in love with their wives. But it was obvious to me that any Santa who didn't want to kiss me just couldn't possibly be the real deal. Anyway, none of those street corner Santas inspired me to take it farther than making out.

Well... that's not true. I did give a double blowjob one night.

About three weeks before Christmas, I came across two very convincing Santas who were working right across the street from each other. They looked to be in their late sixties, early seventies and had long curly gray beards, little rosy cheeks, and twinkly eyes. Their Ho, ho, ho's were impressive, easily cutting through the traffic noise. They were wearing identical suits... in fact; everything about them looked the same. I couldn't decide which one was best, so I picked out one, totally at random, walked up to him and kissed him on the lips. He looked at me with surprise in his big blue eyes. But he kissed me back, not missing a beat. Maybe he'd heard stories about the notorious 'Santa kisser' that had made the evening news. He was a pretty good kisser. He smelled like he'd recently eaten a piece of pumpkin pie. Nice. I knew right away that he was the real Santa. I'd found him at last!

But then I thought about the other Santa across the street. He looked just like this one. Maybe I'd made another mistake. So I broke away, crossed the street and kissed the Santa Number Two. He reacted almost exactly like the Santa Number One and was just as good a kisser. This one was definitely the real Santa! I was certain of it! But...his eyes... his face... well, they were almost identical to Santa Number One. I felt intense confusion.

I went back across the street and kissed Santa Number One again, this time really making out with him, tongues entwining. He hugged me and I loved the feel of his flabby arms enveloping me. He even squeezed my ass, which made my pussy tingle. It felt like magic. After a nice long kiss, probably five minutes, I skipped back across the street to French-kiss Santa Number Two. By this time both of them were smiling, wondering what the hell was going on and where it all might lead.

Santa Number Two's kiss was virtually indistinguishable from Santa Number One's. The only discernible difference between them was that Santa Number Two smelled more like applesauce than pumpkin pie. But that wasn't enough of a difference for me to decide between them. So I figured that it was better to be safe than sorry. I crossed back over to Santa Number One, took his gloved hand in mine, and started to pull him across the street.

"Whoa," he said. "I can't leave my donation box."

"Gosh, Santa," I said, "I was thinking about giving you a blow job. But if you'd rather not..."

"The hell with the donations", he said, a definite Santa-like twinkle lighting up his old eyes.

I led him across the street to Santa Number Two and took his hand in my other hand. I started to lead them toward a nearby alley.

"Hey, what's going on? I can't leave my..."

"Trust me," said Santa Number One, "Leave it. Just, leave it."

I walked hand in hand... in hand with the two Santas into the alley. I stood them up against a brick wall between a couple of dumpsters. It doesn't sound very romantic, but there was a nearby window rimmed with multicolored Christmas lights, illuminating everything with a magical colorful glow. I looked at their faces appraisingly. They really did look amazingly similar to each other, even from up close. One of these men was the real Santa; I knew it with all my heart, but which one? It was a real conundrum.

I kneeled on the snowy ground at their feet. Santa Number Two said, "What the hell..."

Santa Number One said, "Shhhh. Don't fuck this up for me. Oh... fuuuuuuuck."

He said that last bit because I had pulled his pants and tidy whities down with a nice solid yank. Then I pulled the Santa Number Two's pants down. They both had long red coats on, so I tucked the fuzzy white tails up into their big black belts, so that I could compare their penises without anything hanging in the way. Number Two's penis was not visible at all, actually. It was turtled back in his fatty balls. But Santa Number One's penis was already emerging from hibernation and getting larger and longer by the second, probably because he'd had longer to think about what I was going to do to him than Number Two.

I took Santa Number One's cock into my mouth first. It was so tiny, my chin was buried in his balls, and his big belly was resting on top of my head. But I felt him growing against my tongue, and fast! I'd never sucked a guy before, although I'd seen pictures and movies. But seeing and doing are two different animals. I sucked and slurped and was amazed at how fast his cock was getting harder and longer and fatter. It was doubling then quadrupling in size. It was magical. I took Santa Number Two's teeny little wiener in my fingertips, and he too started growing and hardening. It was quite fascinating. When Number One was about five inches long, I switched to sucking Number Two and enjoyed the sensation of his cock swelling in my mouth just like Number One's had. I could actually feel the warm blood coursing into it from his excited body.

After a minute or two, I went back to sucking Santa Number One, and now he was rock hard and almost seven inches long, but still growing. What an amazing transformation! I felt Number Two's cock hardening to exactly the same length in my hand. When they were both as hard and as long as they were ever gonna be, I took another look. Freaky. They had the same exact cock. Not just the same size (almost eight inches), but the same pattern of veins ran down their shafts in the same places. And boy, were they beautiful. Although these guys had wrinkly faces their cocks were smooth and sleek. There was nothing old about that part of their anatomy (except the white curly hairs that surrounded them).

Santa Number One was impatiently watching me just look at his cock, so he grabbed my short black hair and pushed himself into my mouth again. I looked up at him with my elfin eyes, and he looked down at me over his belly, and I felt an amazing rush. I was sucking Santa Claus's dick! It's something I'd dreamed about many times, and now I was actually doing it! Then I felt Santa Number Two poking his dick against my cheek so I went back to sucking him for a while. Looking up at his intense, jolly, wrinkly, fat, old face, I was certain that I was sucking the real Santa's cock... but the other Santa was just as real to me! It was really quite trippy. I started going back and forth between their warm, steamy cocks, giving each one maybe three or four sucks while jerking the other one with my hand. I did this in the fairest way possible because I wouldn't want to offend the real Santa by showing too much attention to the fake Santa. It was fun, actually, trying to keep them both excited at the same time.