Carol's Christmas [redux]

"What!? Why should I hang Dereks?" She takes it back to the table and throws it in the box, then scoops up all the left over decorations from the table and dumps them in on top. She packs away the tree box and puts the decoration box with it in the bottom of the closet. The closet is where she has hidden the gift she bought for her former sweet heart, wrapped already and stuffed behind some old bags in the top. She reachs behinds them and gets it out, now starting to feel the negative emotions cracking through her smiles.

She walks with it back to the living room and puts it on the sidetable beside the couch. She pulls the card off it and opens it. She hadn't had time to write anything in it before Derek came home the night she'd bought it, but had planned to do it in secret. I'll write my note to Santa, she smiles again but with more difficulty this time. If that asshole can leave me like this... a tear begins to well in the corner of her eye. Then i'll have this and i'll leave Santa a treat too.

From the small bar in the corner she picks up two scotch tumblers and a serving plate, puts the plate on the side table and the glasses on the plate. Then she goes to the kitchen and brings out a packet of Christmas mince pies, absently putting them on the arm of the couch. Slumping onto the couch she picks op the fat tube parcel and holds it in her lap, then starts to pick at the edge of the tape holding the paper closed. Frustrated at the slow progress and angry at Derek, she stabs her thumb nail into the paper and tears it off. The box is a 21 year old Glenfiddich.

She pops the metal lid out of the box and slides out the bottle. I don't normally drink it, but under the circumstances... She finds the little pull tab in the foil covering the cork and yanks it out. Twists out the cork, puts the open neck of the bottle under her nose and takes a deep breath of the heady aroma. Standing, she pours a measure of the brown liquid into each glass. One for Santa, one for me. Drinking. Wow! That burns. Looking down at the glass she replays the breakup in her mind. Could I have done something to stop it? How long had he been seeing her? The questions keep coming but without answers.

I'll just write my note to Santa. I've been a good girl, haven't I? She picks up the card and a pen, having another sip of the scotch. "Dear Santa," she begins to write. "For Christmas I would like a..." The pen stops moving as the thought trails off into more black thoughts. A man. A man who wont leave me, a loyal man. A man who isn't off somewhere fucking another woman. A man who isn't fucking... FUCK!

The tears roll down her face, uncontrollably now. The pain breaks through the facade of happiness she has tried to build and she slowly falls to the floor, sobbing. For a minute, two, three, four, five. She cries until eventually she feels the pain subside. Wiping away the tears she gets back to her feet, picks up the glass and drains it. Refills it and drinks it in one gulp, ignoring the fire in her throat as she resolves, i'm getting fucken drunk this Christmas. It's a Wonderful Life plays on the TV, she sits with another refill and begins to watch.

Her eyelids are drooping already when George saves his brother from drowning and stops the pharmacist, Mr Gower, from prescribing poison to a child. But the warmth in her belly has sent her into a drunken slumber before Harry, the brother, makes it to graduation.

* * *

Jingle, tingle, tinkle, jingle.

The bells on Santa's sleigh play their delicate music as the reindeer gallop through the sky to their next destination. Banking, Santa directs the reindeer down through the clouds and towards the bright lights of the city below. Pulling a large scroll from a case on his belt, he unrolls it to scan through the names for the city below and chuckles a happy chuckle.

"Ho, ho, ho, here we go, it's the house right below."

The sleigh swoops through the air and pulls tightly into a left turn as it lines up with the crest of the roof below. Then slowing to a gravity defying walk the troupe of deer alight on the eaves and trot forwards until the sleigh is hanging only a few feet beyond the edge of the roof.

"Let's get going!" Santa says, as he vaults over the edge of the sleigh onto the roof. He reaches into the back of the sleigh and with a flick of his wrist a huge sack comes flying up over the edge. With a deft twirl and a graceful turn that belies his bulk, the sack settles on his broad shoulders and Santa is marching towards the narrow stainless steel chimney projecting from the roof.

As he nears the stack he takes a double step and leaps into the air, coming down with his feet towards the chimney. Looking for all the world as if he's going to crash into the chimney with his black boots, Santa is suddenly caught in the air and begins to stretch into a long ribbon as he is sucked into the chimney and down into the house below. In a flash he is gone and only the big black sack is left one the roof, poking out the top of the chimney like a giant lolly pop on top of a tiny stick. With a noise like water running down a drain, the swollen sack begins to shrink and shrivel as it is sucked into the chimney and with a sudden POP, it is gone too.

In front of the fire, old Saint Nick yanks one last time on the end of the sack and it comes swirling out of the flue and up into the air, inflating to the size of a large beach ball before flumping onto the carpet. Santa turns and surveys the room, lit only by the glow of the late movie on the TV set. Between the fireplace and the TV is a Christmas tree, currently home to no happy, enticing presents. In the middle of the room is a couch, complete with sleeping young woman, obviously she had thought to stay up and catch Santa at his work! A plate with a tumbler on it rests on the bar opposite the TV and there Santa spies the wish list card he has been looking for.

He crosses the room and picks up the card, opens it and reads the message inside.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Chuckles Santa, raising his eyebrows. He looks back towards the sleeping girl, red hair falling around her face. She stretches across the couch, one long leg hooked over the arm, the other stretched out towards the fire. A second tumbler rests on the floor, inches from her fingertips. The Master of Puppets graphic on her t-shirt hugging the contours of her breasts.

Santa picks up the tumbler on the bar and pokes his nose inside, sniffing deeply at the rich aroma. Smiling he puts the glass to his lips and tips it back.

"A very nice dram," he smiles, approvingly.

He reaches for the scroll on his belt once again and quickly finds the girls name in the list. He reads the notes that accompany her name and frowns. This is not how a Christmas should be! He returns to the sack and opens the top. Rummaging deep down inside he finds a parcel and puts it under the tree, then returns to the sack and continues to search.

"Well, little Caro..."

"Santa!" Carol almost squeals with excitement.

"Ho, ho ho! No, little girl you are just dreaming, go back to sleep so Santa can finish his work," he laughs in a deep baritone. The trick usually works and the child who has woken to see Santa is quickly back to sleep, dreaming of all the presents they will be opening in the morning. This time it doesn't. Carol's mind is still hazey from the Glenfiddich but the excitement of seeing Santa has given her a burst of energy which was stronger than the magic meant for children.

She jumps up from the couch and almost immediately falls as she finds her legs aren't ready for the sudden movement. Lurching towards Santa she throws out her arms as she stumbles, old Nicholas steps forwards and catches her in a strong pair of arms. Still overcome with excitement, Carol is soon jumping up and down in his hold, unrestrained breasts bouncing, crosses on the t-shirt riding up and down with them.

"This is incredible," she slurs. "You're much taller than I thought you would be," she says looking up at him. He is a head taller than her and broad, with thick strong looking limbs. He wears the traditional red suit, trimmed in white fur. Black boots and a fur trimmed red hat. His beard is long and thick, his face friendly and open. "Come. let's have a drink!" She pulls him towards the couch and pushes him to sit then gets his glass from the bar.

"It was going to be a present for my bastard ex!" She says, too loudly. Grabbing the bottle she slops another dram into each glass, most of the scotch makes it in. "Drink up, it's good!" She takes a gulp from her glass and snorts as the liquid once again burns it's way down her throat. "Can I sit on your lap, like in the malls?" She flutters her eyelids, without realising the cuteness of her affectation.

"Of course you can, little girl," says Santa cheerfully, unable to break from character after so long presenting himself this way. He pats his thigh and Carol quickly jumps onto the sofa, standing up infront of him, legs only a breath from his face, pink knickers peeking past the edge of the old shirt, Santa can't help but feel a stirring in his trousers.

"Ooomph." Just as quickly as she had jumped up she drops down, landing heavily in his lap, only spilling a little of the scotch. T-shirt riding up her thighs Santa finds his gaze drawn to the space between her legs, tightly wrapped in their own pink wrapper. Carol lifts her left arm and throws it around his neck. Santa suddenly realises how hot the room is, with his winter clothing on and this supple young thing clinging to him.

"So I tell you want I want for Christmas now, right?" Carol mind is clearing and so are her words but she is still so excited that she can barely think.

"Yes, that is what the children usually do. But I think you are a little older than normal, ho, ho." Unsure where to put his hands, he decides that putting his right behind her on her hip and the other to hold the drink will do. He takes another drink and empties the glass. "What would you like for Christmas, young lady?" Her asks, remembering the words in the card on the bar.

"Well, I wanna... oh, you finished your drink! I'll get you another," she cries enthusiastically, grabbing his glass and leaning forwards for the bottle. She picks it up from the floor where she'd put it earlier and refreshes his glass, pushing it back into his hand. Then remembering the fruit tarts she had brought from the kitchen some hours ago she continues, "you wanna fruit pie thing too?"

Not waiting for an answer she begins to twist in his lap, looking for the packet. Her movements knock it off the arm of the couch where it had still been sitting from earlier in the evening. "There they are, hold this will you," she gives him her glass and turns further, almost falling, as she reachs over the side of the couch. "Neeeearly," she bends, reaching down to the floor, one leg stretching behind her for balance. Old Nick's eyes trace the line of her leg, up and over the curve of her calf, the hollow behind her knee then up the sweep of her thigh. Her high, round butt, clad in the thin pink cotton, bobs closer and closer to his face as she reaches further over the side of the sofa for the mince tarts.

"Got them," she says, spinning back to face him, plonking into his lap. She concentrates on opening the packet, then having succeeded, pulls out a pie and peels the foil tray off the bottom. "You want?" She barely pauses as she pushes it towards his mouth.

The sight of the long legs and full round arse pressing ever closer to his face has caused Nicholas to feel the heat in the room even more and he is soon pulling on his collar to let out some heat. A few beads of sweat form on his forehead as a flush spreads across his face and blood rushes to his manhood. He tries to adjust himself underneith Carol as she shifts around, only adding to the stimulation. Seeming to notice his discomfort Carol asks, "are you hot? Why don't you take off your jacket?" She tugs at the lapels briefly before, "or that hat."

Before he can react, Carol has reached behind Santa's head and grabbed the trim on the red, velvety cap. There is soome resistance, as if it is pulled tightly down on his crown, before the hat comes away in her hand. She gasps as she sees that Santa's beard is no longer on his face. Looking at the hat in her hands, she sees what looks like a false beard attached to it. Confused she looks back at the man whose lap she has been sitting in for the last few minutes. "What? Are you really Santa?"

"Well, now you know my secret! It's part of the disguise. You don't think I really look like all the cards show, do you?" The face looking at her now is younger, a strong jaw and neck visible where the beard was, only a slight stubble on his chin now. "I wear the hat and the beard when I work, that way I can live a normal life the rest of the year."

"Oh." She says, taking in this latest surprise. "I guess that's a good idea. Can you still bring people presents when you are... not beardy Santa?"

"I'm still Santa," he says easing his jacket open a little. "And i'm getting hot in here, that's a mightly strong fire there!"

"Hehe," she giggles, musically. "I've got the furnace on too." She kneels on the couch, one leg either side of him and undoes the belt around his portly belly. Once it is loose, he leans forward and lifts his arms, she pulls the jacket up over his head and throws it on the floor in front of the fire.

"Huh! Santa!" She looks down at the man in front of her. No longer the portly old man but now a broad muscular man, middle aged but with a look of strength and power about him. Wearing a long john under garment, his belly no longer bulges over the trousers but is nearly flat and his chest and shoulders belong to a regular gym goer. "Also part of the disguise?"

"Ho, ho," still the same voice. "Thats right. People have certain expectations of how I should look. I use a little magic to maintain the image."

Carol smiles, she still feels comfortable with this man, despite him looking somewhat different to only a few minutes earlier. I guess I should tell him what I want for Christmas then. She settles back into his lap and puts her arm around his neck again, leaning close, feeling secure in his arms. He waits for her, ready to listen.

"I want... For Christmas this year I...", she can't find the words. She was going to say a new car, a new dress, a better job but all she can think of is Derek and the hole he has left. She loved him, loves him, but he has left her. Left without warning, left her alone in the world after so long together. She tries again but the memories fill her mind, until they are smothered by the returning pain. "I want... *sniff* *sob* *sob*..."

"It's ok child, you can cr... " he begins but is unable to finish as her tears come. She wraps both arms around him, she can only reach his head, and pulls him close as she begins to cry again. She holds him tightly to her chest, her breasts pressing into his face. His vision is blocked by the two mounds of hot flesh squashed against his face, his nose pressed flat he opens his mouth to gasp for air. She's almost suffocating me! But what a way to go!

Carol continues to cry, like she had done earlier in the day. It doesn't last as long as the first time and she soon realises that she is pressing her breasts into Santas face. She relises that the hot feeling on her right breast is his breath as her nipple and half of the fleshy mound press into his mouth. The warmth excites her and her nipples are soon hardening, Is that his tongue I can feel? She doesn't realise the effect the pressure of her lithe body has had on the man, doesn't realise that his manhood has been pumped with blood, that he is throbing with desire for her.

She doesn't realise this until she releases her grip on his head and sits back into his lap. And still slightly clouded from liquor, she still doesn't realise what has sudddenly made that lap uncomfortable.

"What's this?" She says, reaching below her. "Have you got some keys in your pocket?"

Grabbing at his crotch she soon has her hand wrapped around his thick member and begins to yank it around, trying to move the hard obstruction from his pocket to somewhere more comfortable.

"Oh, ho, ho. Young lady, you should let me adjust that..." he says, trying to extricate his pulsing cock from her grip without revealing the embarassment of what she has a hold of.

Suddenly her mind is clear, Oh my god, I've just grabbed Santa Claus's cock! He's in my living room and he's got a hard on! She lets go with a start, pulling her hand back as if she touched a hot coal. Their eyes meet, both faces redden in a blush, hers almost matching the colour of her hair. Santa laughs nervously but Carol is revisited by the memory of her moment of self loving in the afternoon and realises how much more satisfying than the dido would be the tool in the trousers now beneith her legs.

She adjusts her position on Santa's lap, pressing closer to him, feeling the hard rod through the cloth. She puts her hands on his neck and leans closer, her bust close to his face. Her legs straddling him, pussy pressing against his cock, only a few layers of fabric between them.

"Santa," she whispers into his ear, "I know what I want for Christmas now..."

"Oh, ho?" This is not what is supposed to happen but he knows he can't resist, the feeling of her body pressed against him is an extasy. Every moment causes his cock to throb more fiercely, he feels hard as steel. His hands move, as if thinking for themselves. They are on her thighs, moving up to her hips, around behind her and sliding down under her ass. He grabs both cheeks and squeezes, moves one hand up her back, inside the thin t-shirt.

Her hands craddle his face and she looks into his eyes. His grip is strong on her back, her ass, she feels the excitement build in her body. He is about to say something but she moves the short distance forwards and presses her lips against his. She kisses him again, then again, then opens her mouth a little to let his tongue find hers. Sliding over each other like soft moist snakes their tongues roll around each other, writhing in each others mouths.

She reaches between their close bodies and inside his trousers. The old fashioned underwear hinders her but she finds that is has a buttoned up flap and slips her hand inside. She wraps her slender fingers around his hot, throbing manhood and presses it upwards against her mons. Rocking her hips, she rubs her pussy through their clothes against his cock. Her mouth fervently active on his, sucking his tongue into her mouth, biting his lip.

Giving in totally, Santa slides both hands up Carols back, pulling the black shirt up and over her head. She pulls one arm out and lets the shirt hang around the wrist of the hand holding his shaft. He yanks at the buttons holding the long john shut across his chest then, buttons popping free, his chest bared, he pulls her close to him. Her breasts flatten against his strong chest as he holds her tightly for a moment. Then he pushes her back and moves his hands to her breasts. One hand on each, both able to surround, completely encompass each breast. He squeezes them, lifts her up and pulls first one then the other to his mouth. His tongue flicking across each hard nub in turn. He sucks hard on the tender flesh and bites gently at the proud nipples. Rolling her head back she moans, a long low moan, as she feels the pleasure wash across her.

With a start she jumps up, stands in front of him and looks at his broad shoulders and powerful arms. He is big, like a man used to heavy work but without the hard looking surface of a body builder. She drops to her knees and grabs his boots, yanking desperately at them until he leans forwards and undoes the buckles holding them on. She pulls off one, then the other and tosses them into the corners of the room. Then she stands again and leans forward, puts her hands inside the waist of his trousers and pulls him upwards, he raises his hips from the sofa and she pulls the trousers down his legs, off his feet. The long john follows next and she admires his pulsing meat in the flickering firelight.