tagNonConsent/ReluctanceSanta's Helper

Santa's Helper

bysatinlvr_mwf©

Author's Note: Constructive comments and/or critiques are welcomed. Otherwise I don't care what you have to say, especially if you post anonymously. Just shows how spineless you are about backing up your own words...

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Santa's Helper

The holidays were here, and that meant time to do community things. Help the less fortunate, and work in fundraisers to get money for charities, things like that. I sometimes wondered why only the end of the year was the only time the focus was truly on such efforts, that they should be year-round, but that was for another time. This year, my community group was helping a charity get toys for children of military families. They needed a helper, to play one of Santa's people, elves, I guess you could say, to move children along, get them to smile, and generally do what things needed to be done. So I volunteered, thinking what I could do worse for a Saturday, and the answer turned out to be plenty.

The uniform I was asked to wear was like one would see at the Santa's picture booth in a shopping mall. Short red and white skirt, black boots, a jacket, and a Santa hat. I was late doing my shopping, and struck out when I went to get the right kind of outfit at a costume store, and so when I called the event organizer, she said not to worry, that she had something I could use, and to come over. I made the cross-town trip and made the pick up, the poor woman obviously harried as it was so close to the event, that I didn't even bother to examine the costume. I just grabbed it with a wave and went home. It was there I found that I had a small problem. It didn't fit.

It was so small, it didn't really fit anywhere. The skirt waistband, I could actually squeeze into, if I held my breath, but the hemline was way too short, despite the fur along the bottom. My husband loved it, as it only came part-way down my butt, and left the lower third of my cheeks exposed, not to mention my vulva, but there was just no way it was going to work. The jacket was even worse, in that no matter how hard I exhaled, the buttons were just not going to allow it to close around my 34C breasts. In short, the costume was just too small! Taking everything off, and standing there in just my panties, I hmm'd and hawed over how to fix it, when my husband piped up.

"Just wear something close... the kids aren't going to care, they're going for Santa, not you!" As his common sense approaches went, his words of wisdom were quite right, and who would care what I wore? I mean, if I wore blue jeans and down parka, it wasn't like I was going to get complaints. Besides, I was volunteering, and it wasn't like I could get fired, so I folded the costume up, and began to dig through my own wardrobe.

The easiest thing to solve was the black boots. I was going to wear mine anyways, so it was merely a matter of pulling my black patent-leather stiletto boots from the back of the closet and giving them a quick once-over. Or, in this case, dusting the darn things off. Setting them aside, I looked harder to see what I could see. My fingers indexed through dresses and long skirts, and a few made me smile, only because of how ridiculous they would be. A crimson formal satin gown wouldn't be very appropriate, nor functional, and a gingham-pattern cotton summer dress in red wasn't going to work, either. Mrs. Claus might be a homebody, but it was going to be cold out!

Switching sides of my closet, and shifting the big sliding doors, I began to look at other clothing, and my brain began to wrack. Then it hit me like a truck. I didn't need to wear anything with fur-trimming! Suddenly, my options opened up, and I found two options. One was a maroon satin halter dress, with the skirt hemmed at my knees. The bared shoulders and back would be a problem, but I would be indoors, and so I could maybe just wear my white sweater. The other was my bright red satin circle skirt, and matching red and white cowgirl blouse. The hem was just above my knees, and the seams were white piping, and I would normally wear it with my white boots, but it was red, it was white, and it would fit! I checked on my black belt, just to be able to finish the ensemble. Relieved, I nodded to myself and closed the closet, the issue settled.

Two days later was Saturday, and time for the event. I awoke and got cleaned up, deciding to put my blonde hair side-swept and over my head, leaving the longest tresses to fall past my shoulders, and making me look about two inches taller than I really was. But at five-foot four inches, I needed the extra height. With the boots, I could manage a passage five-eight, and that helped me deal with some of the troublesome parents I was told to expect. A little blush, and some red lipstick to match my clothing, and I would be ready to get dressed.

Sliding the blouse on was done out of habit, for I'd worn the combination many times. So often, in fact, that I forgot to wear my bra. I usually go bra-less, so I didn't even realize that problem, until I was at the event, and the first cold wind of the day shot through my top like it was see-through. I had the presence of mind to wear red panties, though, red-shiny silk, as those are what my husband likes most. Bikini-cut and high over the hip, they would almost look like I was wearing a thong, if I bent over. With a black patent-leather belt to match my boots, I rather looked like Mrs. Claus, or perhaps even Miss Claus?

The first thought that I was not wearing enough came when I was walking across the lot, a cold Santa Ana (no pun intended) wind blowing, while I was carrying two stacked boxes of supplies and not only were my nipples hard and erect, but my skirt was flying about. My hands being full, I was helpless to prevent my hemline from showing more than I wanted, a couple of times giving a complete glimpse of my panties as the satin hemline flew up above my waist. I was never so glad to be back indoors, my skin flushed with embarrassment and from the cold. Only a couple of people made comments, one of them an older lady who spoke loud enough that I should know better. And perhaps she was right.

Things were uneventful for a while, parents shuttling kids about, and our jobs rotated to keep things interesting, although my nipples remained clearly hard and erect the entire time. The gentle rubbing of the inside of my silky-soft blouse, and the cool temperature were keeping them at full attention. I was first to help kids on and off Santa's lap, and trying to get them to smile, then it was my turn to hand out the photographs, and lastly, it was to sign-ups. It was there I started to feel some eyes upon me, and I noticed when I bent down to read and initial the customer receipts, that the men seemed to be staring at me a little harder. More than once, I caught a guy either trying to peer down my blouse, or sneak a peek under my skirt. If I met eyes with a guy, I would give a smile, and if a woman was glaring at me, I would try and be disarming. After an hour and a half of this, I was getting tired of the people, the leering eyes, and I needed a break, and a bathroom.

I didn't have to wait overly long to get a replacement, and I walked to the nearest bathroom, which was down the hallway separating two stores in the strip mall. For those not in the know, Southern California is littered with these mini-malls, and they have accesses and parking in front and in back, and sometimes, communal restrooms, rather than store-dedicated facilities. So to find the bathroom was to walk back outdoors, this time with my hands firmly on my skirt, and head down the line of shops, and down the exterior hallway to the back of the mall, and to the bathroom. This hallway was actually more like a tunnel, and the winds came through it at tremendous force. There was nothing I could do about it, other than grimly hold one hand to my crotch, and the other behind me, and let the rest of my skirt flap in the wind. Exiting the wind tunnel, I had to walk past three younger men, sharing some sort of talk, and making a rude comment or two as I passed them. Of course, the door to the ladies' room was so hard to open, it took both hands, one on the wall, and one on the door handle to open it, and I had to let my skirt loose for those few seconds as I did so, fighting the door closer and the wind. I only heard a partial loud offer from one of those guys, something about offering me ten bucks for ten minutes, as I let the door shut firmly behind me, glad to have the wind out of my hair, or skirt at least.

I finished my business, and exited the bathroom, ready for my next assignment, whatever it would be. I had to push against the door, using most of my weight, and it gave way grudgingly, as the stiffening winds were fighting me. Once back outside, I let the door slam, and I made my first act to work my hands to my skirt. I turned, to find the three hoodlums standing there, right at me, with one in front of me, and one to either side. From left to right, they were all Hispanic, bald, skin-head sort of toughs, with tattoos, and despite the fact it was freezing, to me at least, they were only wearing those extra-long shorts and a shirt, with sweat jackets. I suddenly gulped, as the one reached for my wrist and grabbed it, and then the other, nearly simultaneously, yanking my hands from my skirt. It immediately began to fly in the winds, and expose my panties, which the cretin in front decided he would reach for. Cupping my mound, he clenched his fingers, snagging some of my trimmed public hair in his fingers, at the same time he began to yank at the front of my panties, stretching them, until he could get a better grip on them, by twisting his wrist. His free hand went to my throat, not really choking me, but keeping my torso at bay so I couldn't even bite him.

Yanking hard, he was trying to tear my panties from me, as I was writhing in their grip, trying to shake them off. I felt my panties being pulled, the back pulled fully between my cheeks, and the thin fabric now forced between my labia, as the pull began to lift my feet off the ground. Flailing my legs, I felt myself begin to fall, and I finally found my voice, and screamed, as loud as I could. As I went down, my attackers did the same, holding my arms in a hard grip of my wrists, while their leader began to change direction, and pull my panties down. The vile man had managed to descend to his knees, inside my boots, and he was beginning to use his free hand to grope my breast through my blouse. Soft, shiny satin was no match for the guy's grip, and he got a full handhold on my body, the rough skin of his palm beginning to tease my nipple, as my heart hammered, and my eyes were wide open in fear. I managed to scream two more times, before one guy shoved his handkerchief into my mouth, stifling me. I was so afraid that my cries would have been lost in the howling wind!

Hands began to paw at me, and the leader finally just lay his body on mine. I grunted as I felt his weight, my thighs forced apart, and one of his hands still trying to work his way past my panties. I felt his shaft bared to me, and he began to dry-hump me right there in full view of the back of the strip mall. All it would take was one lucky thrust, and his cock would force its way past my panties, and into me. And he almost did. He finally just aimed his cock at my vagina, and began the push, using all his might, as I lay there wriggling under him, my arms still in a vise-like grip, and my legs trying to kick. His hammer began to forge his way into my pussy open by pushing against my panties, and the thin fabric began to stretch, down my mound, and he pushed about an inch of my panties into me, as his cock thrust. It was so painful, I could not help but scream into the gag, my muscles fully tensed and taut as I felt my core being violated. He had retreated, and thrust again, my eyes wincing in fear and pain, when suddenly the two hands holding my arms released me, and I suddenly felt him lifted from me.

I opened my eyes, and saw two men from our group, and one of the women, the men trying to subdue the would-be rapist, and the women watching in some sort of shock, it seemed, amazed at everything. Their struggle did not last long, though, as the gangbanger managed to free himself, and my last sight of him was as he pulled up his shorts and covered his cock, while trying to run. By then, the other woman was at my side, trying to comfort me, and the men joined soon after, helping me to my feet. In short order, I was ushered into an office of one of the stores, and I was talking to the event organizer. Hot coffee was thrust into my shaking hand, and I was given a blanket, taken from, or donated by, one of the other merchants.

What happened? Why didn't I yell for help? I was asked about calling the police, did I want to file a report? How was I? Did I want to see a doctor? What was my husband's cell number? How could they help? The questions came at me so fast, so furious, that it actually made me angry. Here I was, a near-rape victim, and these well-wishers were nearly assaulting me with their good intentions. I finally just snapped and said I was alright, and for them to leave me alone, and I would be out in a second. Taking heed, the small throng left, except for the event organizer. She offered to wait outside for me, and give me the time I needed.

I sipped the really bad coffee, trying to get it past my lips three times before declaring it hopeless, and I then rose, letting the blanket fall over the chair, and took stock. I looked at my outfit, and was surprised to find that other than a few extra wrinkles, it was actually in good shape. Nothing was torn, although the top button of my blouse was missing, I suppose when one of them tried reach inside my blouse to molest my hardened nipples. My boots had a couple of scuffs on them, as did my belt, but the rest seemed in amazingly good shape. I lifted the front of my skirt, and gently slid my panties down to my knees, and looked at them more carefully. The elastic was rather strained, and they would probably have to be thrown away when I got home, but the only real problem was the wetness in the crotch. I don't know if the guy had a control problem, or if I all the wetness there was my own lubrication, or a combination of both, but it looked like I was ready for a gang-bang. I pulled my panties back up, and reset my skirt, brushing it off, front and back, until I felt presentable. About then< I heard a knock on the door, and it was the organizer, her voice full of sympathy.

She was asking if I was alright, and if I wanted to go home. But something in her expression told me something was up, and she was really asking for something else. So I shrugged, and told her I would be fine, and that there was no serious damage. I told her I could stay on, and go back to the photo booth. What she said next was surprising...

(More in the next chapter- Merry Christmas!)

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