Father Christmas' Great Red Coat Ch. 02

Later, upstairs Malcolm donned his nightshirt. He stood in the darkness of his bedroom before getting into bed looking out of the window at the moonlit scene. The snow was falling heavier now. He rather suspected a lot would fall by morning. A white Christmas, at least up on the moors. Back at his flat he might well, at that time of night, been standing at his window with penis pressed against the glass watching Sylvie and Elvin cavort upon their bed. This night they were in the same cottage as him, two doors down the landing. Might they be copulating now -- or already asleep? Malcolm lifted the cotton and allowed his newly erected cock to come out and touch the glass. It was cold but not enough to dampen his arousal. If they were copulating, would they mind him coming to watch? He did not think Sylvie would mind at all. Indeed, he looked at his bedroom door half wishing there to be a knock and she inviting him to come and see all. Malcolm stroked himself as he looked out upon the snowy landscape, his cock so delightfully turgid in his hand. Might he simply ejaculate upon them or join in? What was it going to be like when they did all have sex together? Elvin would not have come to the cottage; Sylvie would not have come if that was not really in prospect. Might Elvin offer his Sylvie rather more formally, even though he knew what Sylvie and Malcolm had done at the store. Perhaps not just a verbal invitation but a physical one. The idea of Elvin grasping Malcolm's cock, stroking it a bit, and then actually putting it in his woman; holding it around the shaft and pressing Malcolm's swollen knob against Sylvie and making it penetrate, watching the soft folds give against the big shiny bulb of Malcolm's penis and the penis begin to disappear inside her. Might he perhaps hold Malcolm's balls as he fucked? It was always good to have your balls held.

A wetness against the cold glass, a leaking from Malcolm's big knob.

Of course, he wanted release -- he nearly always came before bed. But not this night. He should keep it in ready for the next day. He had great hopes of that. He lifted the material of the nightshirt back over his cock and got into bed.

Two o'clock in the morning Malcolm awoke as he had planned and tiptoed out and to the other bedroom. There they were, the two snuggled together under the covers. Malcolm would like to have lifted the covers, inspected to see if copulation had occurred, felt between Sylvie's legs; peeled back Elvin's soft cock and felt for stickiness; perhaps even sucked upon it; the feel of a soft penis between his lips -- he had not felt that for many a year.

Between the folds of his robe his hard cock peeked out.

It was all very much Sylvie's idea of Father Christmas. It was very much Malcolm's idea of Father Christmas. He reached down, grasped, and slid the smooth skin. Father Christmas wanking as he stood in the young people's bedroom. Of course, he had thought of the idea before. Throwing fairy dust or something over sleeping people and engaging with them as they slept. He had certainly had thoughts of some of the young mothers at the department store when they had brought their youngsters to sit on Father Christmas' knee. Had thought of turning up at their house and slipping down the chimney with his fairy dust. Of course, to leave presents in the little one's stockings or pillowcases, but most definitely also to leave something else with the young mothers! Oh yes! Sprinkling that 'fairy dust' to keep the young mother and probably young father asleep whilst Malcolm took his pleasure. Him silently creeping into their room, a peak around the door and then a sprinkling of fairy dust.

A sprinkling of fairy dust before revealing his cock. It would not, of course, be white bearded Malcolm dressed in that modern 'Santa' suit of red trousers and short red mock-fur lined jacket but in the long traditional red coat, just as at the department store. And, of course, nothing else underneath but his long black boots. Malcolm liked that idea. The idea of exposing himself in the young couple's bedroom, slipping his long red coat from his shoulders like a woman might let slip a negligee and standing there stark naked but for black knee length boots. Standing with his large cock rigid beneath -- well, his somewhat portly stomach. Malcolm's physique was not that of a young man. It would very much Father Christmas, all rotund with large belly and a considerable amount of snowy white hair, but not really like the popular conception of the fairy tale of a genial old gentleman scattering presents -- not with that good, upright, and rather large cock rearing as he pulled back bedclothes from the sleeping couple.

Sleeping soundly with the fairy dust. What delights might he see -- and feel? How might he like to find them? Like dark Sylvie and rather small Elvin or quite different. A tall, statuesque blond woman, perhaps naked or with nightdress rucked up revealing an exciting triangle of blond curls, an equally tall, perhaps taller, strongly built man with a penis even larger than his own. How good to find it erect, massive and chunky, perhaps even with the woman's hand upon it in sleep. Wonderful to find as he parted the young mother's legs to find her blond-hair strewn sex almost awash with earlier deposited semen.

The man virile enough to be aroused in dreams even after a fuck not an hour or two before. What fun Malcolm would have. What fun would Father Christmas have with the young couple's fairy dust sleeping bodies. His penis would touch, how it would touch the young mother, how it would rub. How he would bury his face in her blond curls and lap liquid femininity with an added male spice.

How he would enjoy holding, squeezing and playing with the young father's generative organs. Clearly potent and virile. How good to stroke, how good to wank and, before he too ejaculated, make the man come -- so good to see. And finally, of course, mix his own white curls with her blond curls, intimately and wetly mixing before insemination.

A so delicious emptying of his balls into the young mother, swollen cock on fire and his nipples tingling.

There was wetness at the end of his erection, almost dripping on the carpet as Malcom stood over Sylvie and Elvin and wanking to his thoughts.

A near ejaculation -- Father Christmas 'on the edge.' But Malcolm had not come into Sylvie and Elvin's room to scatter fairy dust and play. Whilst good to stand there wanking -- as he did so often to the sight of them, but never in their bedroom with them before -- he was really there in his traditional role. He was leaving presents -- real presents at the end of their bed. They would have his cum most likely in the morning but for now two filled stockings needed placing on the end of their bed -- long socks filled with all sorts of little presents he had bought more as fun than anything else. Heavily traditional with sugar mice, tangerines, walnuts, chocolate in the shape of... Father Christmas, and more modern useful things like pens, a dressmaker's rule, a penknife and... jolly winter socks.

Stockings deposited but no other deposit made, a still tumescent Father Christmas, substantial penis poking out through his robe, crept from the bedroom.

Morning came and Malcolm rose and looked out of his bedroom window. It had snowed heavily in the night, the landscape a winter wonderland. A white Christmas indeed, there on the moors, an achingly pretty but cold picture postcard scene. He dressed and went downstairs to relight the fire and prepare breakfast.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, mug of tea steaming in front of him when his guests appeared down the stairs. Excitement as if they were little kids -- Christmas Day, the snow outside and the fun of what they had found in their stockings. Arms around Malcolm and a big hug and kiss from Sylvie, her soft body against him. Malcolm got to work cooking a hearty breakfast.

"You didn't come into our bedroom in costume, did you Malcolm?"

"Ho, ho, ho," he replied in a deep voice, "of course I did."

"And we didn't wake!"

"Sound asleep, tucked up like good little elves."

It was Sylvie who suggested it later after breakfast, but had it not been her who had talked of him wearing his red coat at the cottage. He had said they should go for a walk and the idea had been taken up with enthusiasm.

"Can we, Malcolm, can we go out with you in your coat and boots? We could dress too."

"I don't think it really is the day for wandering around in the all-together!"

He might have thought that but... But Sylvie meant she dressing up too in her elf costume.

And so Malcolm came down the stairs a little later dressed as if for work -- at the department store. He was, though, wearing rather more under the great faux fur trimmed robe. Vest, shirt, woollen pullover, thick socks inside his black boots. Thick thigh length woollen socks in fact. But he was taking a little bit of a risk with his rather male equipment. No underpants, no trousers. In that he was just like being at the department store. He was swinging free. After all he did not know if an elf might slip a hand under his coat at some point -- did he?

Malcolm stepped outside. The snow had certainly fallen in the night, his car a large snow-covered blob, the track he had driven up hidden under a carpet of snow. Snow everywhere, virgin snow with just bird claw prints and the odd animal track to be seen. It seemed almost wrong to step further and make footprints. Which route to take? He knew the landscape even under snow. Knew where to walk.

Behind him his visitors came out into the morning. Sylvie in her green pinafore corduroy dress but rather more than her usual red shirt underneath. She was padded up a bit by at least one more shirt and a jumper. Brown walking boots on her feet, scarf around her neck and her hair back into pigtails under her bright red woolly bobble hat. Sylvie the elf out in the snow. But she was not alone. Another elf with her. It was all rather pleasing; certainly, to a rather randy old gentleman like Malcom. Long red socks. Elvin in Sylvie's spare but shorter green corduroy dress. And it did not look like he was in drag. It appearing simply as a tunic. A red shirt with, again plenty beneath. On his feet shiny black Wellington boots seemingly polished, the straps done up tightly clasping his legs and no doubt containing at least two pairs of socks. And what covered his knees and thighs. Were those really tights, thick green tights? A red bobble hat, a scarf and, as with all of them, gloves completed the outfit.

Father Christmas and two attendant elves setting out, unfortunately without sleigh. Now wouldn't that have been fun. A horse drawn sleigh rather than reindeer drawn. Not a lot of reindeers in Yorkshire!

A few flakes fell as they set off on their walk but on the horizon a crack of light suggesting the sun was going to break through. Sun on snow, perhaps even blue sky, and certainly it was remarkably still as they trudged along often boot deep in snow. In a hedgerow they spotted a robin jumping about even joining them for quite a way, landing on the snow and looking at them. Was it hopeful they might start digging and unearth 'delightful' titbits for it? There was the occasional wren too, out and about searching for food. Maybe in the night it had huddled together with other wrens, somewhere sheltered, the birds perhaps a dozen at a time rotating around each other to benefit from their shared warmth.

It was not that cold, particularly as the party was moving, stomping along through the snow. They met no one -- of course. But wouldn't someone have been just a little surprised at the appearance of the party. They were not exactly blending into the landscape. Not with Malcolm's great red coat. Might they have been seen from far off? What a sight. Father Christmas and his elves on the fells in the snow and the sun. Three quarters of the way around the route they came down into a little dell. It felt warmer there, perhaps the sun's rays a little trapped.

It was Sylvie who started it. A snowball fight. Perhaps not a normal Christmas card scene with Father Christmas and two elves throwing snowballs at each other. Energetic and fun. Warming even. Sylvie and Elvin scampering around in their dress and tunic. All at once, Sylvie with flushed face and sparkling eyes exclaimed, "I've never been fucked out in the snow."

An invitation if ever there was one and again, not the likely scene on a Christmas card. Elvin looked at Malcolm as if seeking permission -- permission to fuck his girlfriend!

"I know what you elves are like." Malcolm chuckled, rather like Father Christmas really, "Go on, get to it you two." Already his cock, his thick rubbery cock that had been swinging from thigh to thigh in the warmth under his great coat was stiffening, readying itself in possible anticipation.

"Oh no, Father Christmas," said Sylvie, "you too. You must join in. Two cocks are better than one. Show Elvin what you keep in your sack."

'Join in' -- indeed! Join with Sylvie, join their two bodies in that wonderfully carnal way. Elvin to join first and then Malcolm.

The 'sack' Sylvie was referring to was not the big red sack of presents Father Christmas slung over his shoulder -- 'Ho, ho, ho' -- but the fleshy sack that swung between his thighs. And he was hoping to deliver a lot of 'presents' from that to Sylvie and perhaps Elvin over the visit to the cottage.

The two elves in green and red were standing there looking as Malcolm undid his great black belt, before drawing the leaves of his great faux fur trimmed robe apart revealing himself. It would have been more impressive had he not had a woollen pullover and shirt on, but even so his rotund stomach projected and what projected the more was his erect penis. Thick and strongly upright -- and beneath his hanging scrotum with his balls so very obvious.

"Oh Sylvie, I see what you mean." Elvin open mouthed at the sight.

For Malcolm just wonderful to be seen like that. Not just Sylvie looking on but Elvin as well.

"Who's going to raise my dress? Father Christmas?"

With cock poking out of his robe, poking out in the bright sunlight, Malcolm came up to the turning Sylvie, her gloved hands reaching out to a wall as she bent forward arching her back and sticking out her bottom. Such a pleasure, and would be to any man, to reach and lift Sylvie's green corduroy dress up and over, so the tops of her woollen long socks were revealed just above her knee, exposing naked thighs and then a wonderfully pink and rounded bottom unclad in any sort of knickers whatsoever. Not thick woollen knickers or long frilly underdrawers, just naked bottom, somewhat spread thighs and an uninterrupted route to her sex and feminine entrance. How warm, hot even, it would be inside.

"After you, young elf," said Malcolm to Elvin. The young man was still looking at his cock. Seemingly rather mesmerised by it. Perhaps by the sudden appearance of the erect organ, perhaps by its size.

"Get yourself out, or should I help?" Malcolm may really have been a ladies' man but he had no illusion that he would enjoy lifting Elvin's tunic and getting his penis out of his tights. And if it was not hard enough, he well knew he would enjoy ensuring it grew firm and capable. His penis twitched at the thought of bringing his large hand up under Elvin's tunic and feeling him through the green tights.

But Elvin reached and lifted his own tunic, up around his waist revealing through the green coloured tights his own erection, not large but pushing against the nylon, its shape so clear. It was something Malcolm had seen before but at a distance and through binoculars. A glance up at Malcolm's jolly and smiling face, his cheeks reddened by the walk and the cold. Undoubtedly with red hood and snow-white beard Malcolm looked so like the benevolent, merry, jovial face of the children's fantasy story of Father Christmas. Elvin pulled his tights down, releasing his erect penis from its confinement.

"It's not much," said Elvin clearly a little over-awed by Malcolm's size.

"Come on," called Sylvie, she after all had her whole lower region out in the snow.

"It looks just the job, Elvin," said Malcolm, "Well up to the task. Like a nice fat cigar. I'd like to draw on that! Go on, fuck the girl!"

And Elvin did. Plenty of practice after all. Up behind her bottom, dipping and clearly slipping in. His thighs and hips up against her, flesh to flesh and now keeping Sylvie warm. Hanging dress to the front, warm lad behind.

Indeed, it would now by Elvin feeling the cold not Sylvie, his bottom rather exposed. A nice bottom, Malcolm thought, perhaps he might have opportunity later of fondling it -- perhaps as he spanked both Sylvie and Elvin together. What a thought -- but for what reason? Would he need a reason? Two young bottoms over his knee. A pleasing thought.

Good to watch the copulation. Malcolm naturally reached for his cock to stroke and then remembered his hand was gloved and a bit snow covered from the snowballing. Best perhaps to simply await his turn, allow just Sylvie's silky smoothness, hot and wet, to do the caressing, not his cold gloved hand.

Elvin pulled back. Had he come? Malcolm did not think so and certainly whilst Elvin's upright cock looked very wet it did not seem to have that male creaminess upon it that would surely have come. The young man looked a bit uncertain,

"Mr Butterid... Malcolm, would you like to... would you like to fuck Sylvie?"

"If, if I may?"

"Um, yes..."

Of course, Elvin had not seen Malcolm do that before. Had heard from Sylvie all about it but not seen. He had not seen the, frankly, old man stick his large cock in the girl.

"It's so... just what you might imagine Father Christmas... I mean -- your white, snow-white curls!" Did anyone really imagine that? Did anyone imagine what the old gentleman with the merry smile and rosy cheeks had under his coat? Did anyone imagine the purple fringed helmet and thick shaft sticking out between the leaves of the great red coat?

Malcolm's smile at Elvin was broad as he stepped forward, keen to get his erection out of the sunlit cold and into... the warmth, under the pinafore dress. Perhaps keen to show Elvin that his hefty cock would go in little Sylvie.

Done before with Sylvie but not like that, not out in the open. So good to dip and push against hot wetness, a little resistance -- after all Elvin had not exactly stretched Sylvie. Malcolm's rounded knob pushed at her entrance, overcame the resistance, and simply slid up into the silky-smooth heat.

"Ah!" he breathed and begun to fuck. Not his bare bottom exposed in the snow. All rather private really -- if not for the rather loud sounds of intercourse. The sounds of a tight-fitting piston!

Father Christmas fucking one of his elves out in the snow. So good. The scene, the snow scene with the stone walls and carpet of white quite wonderful. And the contrast of the cold to his cheeks -- his rosy cheeks above his beard -- and the heat around his cock striking.

Good to hear sounds from Sylvie that showed the little elf was appreciating the very male attention she was receiving.

It wasn't quite like the sound of a cork out of a bottle but there certainly was a sound as Malcolm pulled away, extracting his near cumming penis with a cry and heavy breathing. The cold on his wet penis felt immediately.

He swung around towards Elvin the two erections almost knocking at each other.

"Better get back in, Elvin, it's cold out!"

Clear by his nod that Elvin thought so.

Perhaps he should have pulled up his tights or at least dropped his tunic. Clearly grateful to push back into Sylvie's warmth and equally clear by Sylvie's squeak that she had felt the temperature difference.

Not quite like having a rounded icicle, all penis shape and dildo like, pushed into her. But not as warm as Malcolm had been.