Amy Meets Santa's Naughty Elf

Author's Note: This is my entry in the Winter Holidays Story Contest 2023 contest. I appreciate your taking time to leave your rating and comments at the end; your positive responses if you enjoy the tale, and constructive feedback of any kind is always welcome.

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Amy's breath catches as the burly, bare-chested sailor bursts into her cabin with lust in his eyes. She shrinks against the wall, fear causing her blood to race. Her eyes dart from side to side, seeking some avenue of escape from the brute; she'd been under the pirate captain's protection since her capture, but she didn't know what would happen now. She's been living under constant fear of sexual attack or rape for the past three days.

"Cap'n wants ya," the man says menacingly. "Now." He grabs Amy around the waist and throws her unceremoniously over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. She makes a half-hearted attempt at struggling but realizes it is futile in her position, so she relaxes. The sailor trundles along the passageway, expertly shifting his weight with the ship's rocking, and knocks on the Captain's cabin door.

"Come," the Captain's gruff voice calls from the room. 

The sailor enters and roughly dumps Amy onto the floor. "Present for ya, Sir." 

Amy scrambles back to her feet, looking about frantically. However, when she meets the Captain's eyes, she is instantly captivated by his firm, chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and steel grey eyes. Eyes that penetrate hers with a promise of erotic delights. He is handsome and powerful, and Amy feels drawn to him, wants to feel his strong arms around her body, his lips on hers. Her belly flutters under his gaze, and she feels a warmth in her loins that is both disturbing and pleasurable.

The Captain approaches her with the confidence of a large cat stalking its prey. Amy is his to do as he pleases; she is to serve his every whim. Amy's breath grows shallow, and her pulse races, but not out of fear. Instead, she craves the man, wants to submit, to be enveloped by his virile, masculine aura. An unfamiliar but intoxicating sensation floods her body. 

Amy feels a gush of wetness from her vagina. She stands still, unable to speak or move, as the Captain slowly unties her bodice, his eyes locked on hers. Amy takes heavy breaths, and her belly undulates as the Captain pulls open her bodice and reveals her bare breasts. Her nipples harden in the open air--she wants him to touch her, to take her. A jolt of pleasure quivers in her sex as his fingers brush her nipples, and he cups her soft globes.

Someone talking outside the cabin distracts Amy, and she wishes they would pipe the hell down and leave her alone. She focuses on her racing heartbeat and the moisture seeping between her legs and longs for the Captain's touch. He is going to take her, ravish her body, and revel in the pleasure of her flesh... except for the annoying voices. Voices interrupting, wrecking the mood.

"Can't fit this all here; think I need some help," someone calls out in the distance.

Amy looks to the cabin's door, frustrated at the intrusion of sounds. She turns back to the Captain... he is by his desk, but she doesn't notice him moving. The room swirls into darkness, and she is confused. The Captain is gone. She realizes that her eyes are closed; she doesn't remember closing them or why she did. 

*******

Amy fought to open her eyes, driven by a primal need to be awake and alert. There was some sort of danger present. She opened her eyes to a dark ceiling. Not a ship's ceiling. She was not in a ship's cabin; she was in a room on a bed. She wore a short flannel nightshirt, which was pulled up to her waist, and her bare pussy was sodden with her juices. Her hand rested on her vulva, fingertips glistening and slippery.

Amy sat up abruptly and looked around the room. Yes, in bed--but not her bed. Her sleepy brain fog cleared as if blown by a gentle wind, and she remembered where she was. Her brother's house. She was spending the night--Christmas Eve--at her brother's. She was alone over the holidays, so her brother and sister-in-law invited her to join them. They and her niece and nephew were spending Christmas Eve with her sister-in-law's parents and then would be back Christmas Day with Amy.

A dream. Just a dream. A sexy, salacious dream that was just getting hot. Amy struggled to remember, to pull herself back into her fantasy, but it eluded her. The more she tried to reengage, the more the details drifted away, out of reach, forgotten.

Amy lay back, intending to sleep again, when she heard voices again. Real voices, not dream voices. Voices inside the house. A split second of mental processing instantly shocked Amy fully awake. Oh, my god, someone's in the house--sounds like at least two people. Shit, they are probably burglars, or... whoever they are, they're not supposed to be here. What do I do?

Amy crept out of bed, her breath shallow, skin and nipples tingling with goosebumps, and her heart racing--this time from fear and nerves instead of arousal. She didn't have a plan other than to quietly investigate and hadn't considered the possible dangers she might encounter. Still in her short nightshirt and bare feet, she cautiously and nervously descended the back staircase. In stealth mode, towards the voices.

The voices were coming from the living room. Amy padded silently to the doorway, peeked around the corner, and froze, wide-eyed and confused. Her heart raced, and her skin prickled as her brain struggled to process the scene she encountered because it made no sense.

Instead of the expected burglars, Amy saw a man dressed up as Santa Claus and a child dressed as an elf; they looked like they had just come from the Christmas Village display at the Mall. They were sorting and doing something with wrapped boxes--most likely stealing presents, Amy presumed. But what the fuck? Why would burglars dress up like Santa and an elf to rob houses? A disguise of some sort?

Amy was temporarily immobilized, trying to reconcile what she saw before her with her own sense of logic. So she stood and watched, nerves on high alert, fear tempered with curiosity.

"Santa" turned and spoke to the little assistant while glancing in a battered leather notebook. "Dringle, make sure you don't forget the Duplo set for little Hunter; he's been wanting that for months now." His voice was deep and rich. "And the American Girl doll for Katie; she's been very good this year."

"Will do, Santa," said Dringle. Amy was taken off guard by the unexpected timbre of Dringle's voice--a man's voice, not a child's.

Amy found the ostensible normality and casualness of the situation mystifying. The pair behaved as if breaking into someone's house dressed in holiday costumes was not unusual. And, incongruous with her assumption that they were there to rob, from what she could work out, they were not stealing anything but instead leaving presents. Her mind raced with thoughts, images, and emotions, all tangled and confused. Nothing made sense.

How do they know Hunter's and Katie's names and what they want for Christmas? And what are they doing here? I don't understand any of this. They don't seem dangerous, just... bizarre.

Amy scrutinized the men themselves from her hidden vantage point. One was older, slightly heavy-set, with thick white hair and a beard. He wore a red hat and suit with white fur trim, black boots, and a black belt with a large silver buckle--obviously going for the stereotypical Santa look. 

The other man, apparently called 'Dringle,' was more challenging to work out. He was short, well under five feet, and had snowy white hair, but was clearly not an old man. And he was certainly not a child as she had initially thought. Probably closer to late twenties or thirty years old, with startling blue eyes and quite good-looking. He wore a pair of expertly crafted pointed ears that looked authentic, which was a nice touch and showed fine attention to detail.

Dringle wore a green jacket with gold fur and oversized gold buttons, topped by a red hat trimmed with green and gold. Below the bottom of his breeches, just past his knees, red and green striped stockings lead down to red curved-toe shoes. Amy assumed by his costume his character was supposed to be Santa's helper, an elf. 

He was a handsome elf with strong features and a twinkle in his eyes. Something about Dringle's vivid blue eyes caused a flash of an impression from her interrupted dream to race through her mind. Not quite there, nothing concrete, but enough to cause her belly to flutter and a warm tickle in her vagina.

Based on what she saw, Amy reasoned that the two men were not burglars. Which still did not explain what the men were doing there. Amy shook her head as if to clear extraneous thoughts and tried to deduce their purpose since they were definitely not stealing things. At least not at the moment. It never passed through her head, even for a nanosecond, that she might actually be seeing the real thing.

The men continued their activities: filling stockings, setting out presents, and, to Amy's amazement, Santa somehow made a broken string of lights on the mantel flicker and flash back on. 

Amy looked on, mesmerized, her recent dream-induced arousal fading into the melange of sensations, confusion, and conduct she was witnessing. She took no notice of the cold wood floor on her bare feet, of her erect nipples pressing against the fabric of her nightshirt, or the tightness on her inner thighs where her copious pussy juices had flowed and dried. 

She instead took in the scene without fear, her alarm replaced by befuddlement and fascination. She wanted to see what would happen.

Santa and Dringle were unaware of their private voyeur watching them. Santa had an inkling something was amiss, but he sensed no alarm, so he paid the feeling no heed. And he had a monumental task to complete that night.

"Santa?" Dringle asked. "I need to pee again."

Santa shook his head. "So go ahead, no one's stopping you." His inflection suggested a verbal eye-roll and a hint of bemusement."

"May I use the human toilet? I can go upstairs to a big one. They're so fun, and I never get to play with them."

"No, we don't have time for your shenanigans," Santa said. "It's Christmas Eve, and we have much more to do tonight." Santa pointed to the festively decorated tree next to him. "Just pee on the tree, as usual."

Amy crunched her face in disgust and bewilderment. Pee on the tree? Gross, what the fuck? I won't stand by and let this guy make a mess by peeing all over my brother's tree. But can I stop him? I don't know what to do. Shit.

"I won't take long," Dingle pleaded. "I am so bored with the same-old, same-old, pee on a tree, magic it free, repeat, repeat." He stamped his foot like a petulant child. "I want to play with the human toilet--stream and splash, flush and sing." He danced around with heavy feet as he spoke.

Amy shook her head. This guy's nuts, for sure. What the hell is he going on about? The last remnants of her earlier fear dissipated. She felt like a third party watching a peculiar and unorthodox play, having ceased trying to reconcile what was going on with any rationale frame of reference.

"Well, you have worked hard," Santa said to Dingle. "Let me check my notebook. Hmm. Brad and Sandie have gone to Sandie's parents with the kids for an overnight with Gramma and Gramps, so they're not home."

Dingle hung on Santa's words, looking hopeful. Amy held her breath in anticipation, not understanding why she would even care.

"OK, go on, then, have fun," Santa chuckled. "Make sure you magic away any mess and catch up with me along my route. I must keep moving; I have much work to do tonight."

"Yay, thanks, Santa." Dingle clapped his hands, then hopped in a circle, singing. "Pee, glorious Pee; hot, streaming and splashy; I get to see, how fun, far and..." He stopped abruptly, looking perplexed. "Hm, forgot the words." He looked at Santa. "OK, see you in a while. I'll make sure I clean up if I make a mess--but I have excellent aim, so there'll be no mess anyway." Then Dringle skipped off to the front staircase up toward the second floor. Humming to himself.

He didn't notice Amy hiding behind the opposite doorway, watching and standing thunderstruck at his antics. She took a moment to sort out her thoughts. I definitely prefer my sexy pirate captain dream to this blizzaro-world... whatever it is.

Then Amy registered the implications of what Dringle had been talking about and where he had just gone. Amy's pulse quickened, and she took a huge breath as her instincts kicked into protection mode. She wanted to get upstairs and stop Dingle from destroying anything or making a mess. 

A small part of her--unarticulated and unacknowledged-- was also curious to see what he had in mind, how peeing in a toilet could be so captivating and beguiling. These guys are turning me into a pervert--I absolutely should NOT be at all wanting to watch a man in an elf costume pee, but I kind of want to see what he'll do.

Amy raced up the back stairway as quietly and quickly as possible, her bare feet barely making a sound. She heard a door click at the far end of the hall and saw a light blink on in the bedroom next to the guest bedroom where she was staying. 

The bedroom that, until a few minutes ago, she had been sleeping and having wonderfully erotic dreams of libidinous adventures on the high seas. Until she was rudely interrupted and thrown into the surreal dream she was apparently stuck in.

Before Amy reached the top of the back stairs, Dringle crept into the first bathroom he encountered, a large "Jack and Jill" bathroom shared by bedrooms on either side. His eyes lit up with delight as he took in the glossy white tiles, series of mirrors with dimmable LED lighting, a large soaking tub, walk-in shower, and, to his delight, a fancy Toto toilet.

Dringle skipped in a circle, then snapped his fingers--his pants, stockings, and shoes instantly vanished from his body and appeared folded in a tidy pile by the sink.

He stood tall on the balls of his feet and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His green jacket ended at his waist, leaving his lower half nude. A shock of pure white pubic hair crowned his flaccid penis, which flopped back and forth as he swiveled his hips. 

Then Dringe faced the mirror and watched as he made his cock rapidly swell to fully erect, then deflate to flaccid, then hard again, then soft, repeated several times. He smiled, pleased with the visuals.

Amy had crept down the hall and entered the bedroom opposite the one Dringle had passed through. The door to the bathroom was not fully closed. She quietly padded to it, pressed her eye to the narrow opening, and peered into the shared bathroom. She was surprised and fascinated to see Dringle, naked below the waist, repeatedly make his dick hard and then soft as if inflating and deflating a balloon.  

Amy noted Dringle's snowy-white pubes--the same color as the hair on his head. As the guys say, 'The carpet matches the drapes.' She grinned wryly at her own clever wit.

Dringle stepped toward the toilet. Its lid automatically opened, and a mist of water coated the inside of the bowl: ready for business. Dringle beamed with delight. Oh, just like a magic potty--fun for me. He stood about three feet from the toilet and lifted his penis, and pointed it toward the bowl. 

Then he clenched his butt and pressed his hips forward, and projected a strong arc of urine in a thin line up, over, and into the open vessel, making an arch like a rainbow. He cut off the stream, and the liquid impossibly followed the same trajectory to the end and landed without hitting the rim or spattering anywhere. 

Amy watched in amazement at Dringle's antics. She had never seen a man pee in person and found it fascinating. She always felt men had it easy to be able to piss standing up, aim it, have sword fights, or put out campfires--activities all heard about third-hand from friends.

But despite her lack of male peeing experience, her eyes widened at Dringle's "free throw" points. I'm not a physics expert, but I'm pretty sure it should have fallen when he stopped peeing.

Dringle was pleased with his performance but intended to improve his technical accomplishment. He stepped back several more steps, almost to the opposite wall of the bathroom--over ten feet away--and retook aim. He puffed his chest with a deep breath, then exhaled sharply as he shot another strong stream of pee. As before, the stream arched high and far and landed perfectly in the toilet.

Amy realized her mouth had dropped open and shut it with a click. This is impossible and the weirdest dream I've ever had. At least I think I'm dreaming. 

Then, three things happened almost simultaneously. Dringle suddenly turned his head and looked directly at Amy; his arch of pee stopped and hung in mid-air as if frozen, like a three-dimensional snapshot; and the door Amy was hiding behind flew open as if caught in a strong wind.

Amy's eyes widened with disbelief at the sight of Dringle and fear of being caught. Then, to further baffle her mind, Dringle turned to face her--and the rainbow of urine stayed in place, hovering in the air as he moved away from it. Amy clenched her eyes closed, then open again as if trying to reset her vision. Reset the impossibility before her.

"Ah, mmm," Dringle said. He closed his eyes as he lifted his chin and sniffed deeply, his nose twitching. "I thought I'd smelled the ambrosial scent of an aroused human female." He opened his eyes, and his gaze fell on Amy. "Oh, and such a beautiful woman, my goodness. Such a pleasant surprise." A broad, genuine smile of appreciation spread across his face.

Dringle locked his luminescent blue eyes on Amy and drank in her appearance. She stood about a foot taller than he, and her wavy auburn hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing the curve of her full breasts, which pressed against her cheery, red flannel nightshirt. Deep green eyes--wide with bewilderment--shone above her cute little nose and full lips. Her short nightshirt revealed her bare legs well above mid-thigh.

Amy stood riveted to the spot, myriad thoughts and emotions coursing through her. She wanted to turn and run, but at the same time, she glowed with warm pleasure at Dringle's words and appreciative appraisal. Not sure what to do--what she wanted to do--she stood, meeting Dringle's gaze. 

As she held Dringle's gaze, Amy's nipples hardened and pressed against the soft flannel covering them, causing a tremor of pleasure to ripple down into her loins. Dringle's vivid blue eyes drew her in, captivated her, and made her want to be near him. 

A gush of wetness spilled out of Amy's pussy, and her breath shallowed under Dringle's licentious scrutiny. He seemed to have the power to arouse her with only a look. And she loved the look and sexual response it engendered; it made her think of more things she would love. If I'm reacting like this to his gaze, I wonder what his touch must be like.

The sexual attraction was two-sided. Dringle's cock swelled at the sight of Amy's smooth bare legs, short sexy nightshirt, swollen nipples, and sensuous lips, but mostly in response to her residual and latent arousal. The pheromones that radiated from her body were detectable to the elf's sharp sense of smell and caused an irrational urge to copulate to satisfy the primal urges shared by both elves and humans.

Amy dropped her eyes to Dringle's exposed manhood. She involuntarily licked her lips as she watched his cock swell, thicken, and lengthen to full attention, standing straight up in front of his patch of downy, snow-white pubes. Dringle appeared quite well-endowed, but that may have been because of his cock's relative size to his more diminutive stature--he was probably closer to the average for a taller man. Perfect size for me.