A Night Visit from St. Nick

Reading her book as a Christmas Eve passes,
She sits in her easy chair, sipping her tea,
All that remains in the fireplace is ashes,
A thick, woolen comforter covers her knee.

The breeze ‘cross the windowsill dances the curtains -
An illusion of merriment in her still room -
Did she hear a sleigh bell? She cannot be certain.
Perhaps there are carolers out in the gloom.

Silent as snowfall, he slips up behind her,
Unwinds from his waist a long, black leather belt,
Then in a twinkling he strips her and binds her,
She’s shocked by a lust that she’s dreamt but not felt.

He tastes and he teases her ass with his tongue
As she licks and she kisses his thick, jutting pole,
He turns her and slides its full length in her bung
And she whimpers and cums from the depth of her soul.

Her senses like leaves in a hurricane fly,
Her firm breasts are heaving, her legs are like jelly,
He slides his cock out and she cries a soft cry,
Then he turns with a jerk and blasts cum on her belly.

He gently unties her and kisses her ear,
His curly white beard softly brushes her face,
She begs him to promise he’ll come back next year
And he nods, then he’s gone without leaving a trace.

She closes the grate ‘cross the fireplace - too late -
And puts on her flannel and crawls into bed,
She kisses the lips of her still-sleeping mate,
But it’s visions of Santa that dance in her head.

***