Father Christmas

"I suppose you know what has me suddenly freaking out. I'm so sorry."

"I just asked you a question, the answer to which will last for hundreds of years. Maybe forever," Santa said. "I want nothing more than for you to be sure." He leaned back in the chair, his powerful body appearing relaxed, but Samantha already knew him far too well for that. "But I do not know what this is about. Remember?"

Samantha gulped. Oh, yes. She was her own woman, secure in herself.

She wished she had a table to bang her forehead on...

"There is one thing couples usually talk about before... they decide to tie the knot... if they want to make sure they will be happy," Samantha said. She took a deep breath.

And she took another. Then she took the leap.

"What about children?" she whispered.

Santa's face fell, in anguished compassion, and in frustration. He leapt to his feet and slammed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "How could I be so stupid?" he berated himself.

"Samantha, my darling, my life, I am so sorry! There is no more important discussion, and I was so happy, so sure, I completely forgot." He paced swiftly, and Samantha waited for him to keep going. "This really could be bad," Santa said, rushing over to her. He knelt beside her. He was not proposing now, he just wanted to hold her hand.

"I apologize," he said again, his deep, rumbling voice as tense as Samantha had ever heard it. "I, we... Eleanor and I came to our decision on this soon after we met. It had become so ingrained, I just forgot the tension it could cause." He took a deep breath again. "I do not know if you want to have children, but I know I must not. If you feel you must, then I guess you shall just have to be my unattainable management consultant after all, Samantha. I hope that you will find someone to give you a child in that instance." His face was carved in stone as he spoke those words.

"Why?" Samantha said, her mind struggling with many thoughts.

"I, and we, if we marry, will have millions upon millions of little children around the world, Samantha. They will not be our own, but they will be ours, in a real and special way. If we were to have a child of our own, it would not be fair to all those other children, and it would just as truthfully not be fair to our own."

Samantha stared at him silently. It wasn't fair to Chris to leave him hanging there, babbling, but she could not find a way to speak herself, and through the tension, there was nothing that soothed her more than his voice.

"I am in no hurry," Santa said softly. "You must make your decision in your own time. May I just ask that you let me be here for you while you do? I don't want to be alone for however many days or weeks you need. Please don't go away while you work this out--even though I was very unfair to you to just assume you could accept my path."

Samantha looked at him, and both their eyes watered.

Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him as mightily as she could. "Oh, you good and glorious man," she sobbed. "I will be yours forever, I need you to know that." She grabbed his massive shoulders. "I am going nowhere, not least because my mother is already plotting to kill me right now, and would carry it out if I left here for any reason."

They both shared a chuckle at that, though Santa's ho ho ho was still tinged with sadness.

"You are right, of course," she said gently, brushing his cheek. "And I think I knew it even before I found myself freaking out. I have always thought of myself as a good potential mother, even though before I met you, I had already begun to think it was not going to happen for me. I needed to talk about it some more. To grasp the enormity of this little decision."

"It is not..."

"Shut up, Santa," Samantha said, laying her finger on his lips. "My crisis here. I decide what is little, and what is enormous." He subsided. "I should be in an existential crisis, my love," she went on. "But I am finding out quickly that I am in fact not. Your logic is unassailable, but since when is logic immediately effective in the face of wild emotion? Nevertheless, I am already feeling its rightness. Not," she said tartly, "because of your limitlessly persuasive nature. Don't get too proud, Santa. But..." she paused, thinking furiously, examining herself.

"But I feel it because I feel the rightness of the decision you and Eleanor made all those long years ago. And I feel it because already, before I become your wife, I am beginning to feel all those good little girls and boys throughout the world, and the way they truly love you. And amazingly, the way they are already coming to love me, even though they have not yet even heard of me. You are right. They are becoming mine. If I feel this way now, I can only imagine how I will feel about them in the months and especially years to come."

"You are right, I cannot split my motherhood." She hung her head. Then she looked up with a spunky smile. "This is the part where you realize that this is very, very good news for you, Santa."

"Ho ho ho," he said, his face creasing into its laugh lines as deeply as she had ever yet seen. He pulled her out of the soft chair and on top of him, both of them rolling onto the soft furs before the ever-blazing fire.

They kissed madly, each trying to force their way past the other's equally insistent tongue. At last, Samantha found herself atop Santa for the moment and she pushed herself upward. With a naughty giggle, she reached out to ruffle his perfect hair. Her fingers luxuriated in the magnificent mane, leaving it a wild mess.

And even as she grinned at the tousled results of her assault, her eyes widened as his hair swiftly began to move on its own, sliding effortlessly of its own accord back to his perfect coif. Despite their desperate mashing of faces, his beard was also perfectly groomed.

"That is just not fair!" she complained as she took in this, yet another tiny, everyday miracle.

"My hair?" Santa asked. "Ho ho ho, my dear! Your hair is already doing it too. Look."

A mirror was on a low table, just within his reach, because, well, he needed there to be one there. Samantha took it from him and looked at herself.

Her hair was perfect, more perfect than she used to be able to get it after an hour's work. Her auburn tresses practically glowed as they curled around her face. And even her makeup seemed utterly untouched by Santa's exertions. She shook her head... which made her hair bounce enchantingly.

"Chris," she said happily, "I have to say, it still seems problematic."

"Oh?"

"Well, given what you are supposed to get out of sex, in the basic analysis, not having children seems pretty... unproductive for the way things are done here at the North Pole."

"Ho ho ho! I hope you plan on lots of unproductive efforts," Santa said, reaching for her.

"But dear," Samantha mocked happily, swaying out of his reach, "what will the elves think of such unproductive behavior?

Santa laughed so hard, he didn't even ho ho ho. "We all work hard, you likely will as much as me, my darling. But you haven't seen what it is like around here when a good prank war breaks out. We excel at gloriously unproductive behavior too."

Samantha laughed and tickled him. He rolled her over onto her back before the fire and growled, "In fact, ho ho ho, I propose we engage in some highly unproductive behavior right now!"

Samantha shrieked in glee. Then she sighed, "You're the boss, Santa."

He shook his head as he unbuttoned her dress. It was the green version of her favorite, the coat dress she had picked first, on that first day. "I was the boss... for almost two horrible years. I'm glad that's over." His face buried itself between her breasts.

"Well, if I'm the boss, then I'm going to reassign you, Santa... lower," Samantha said.

"Ho ho ho," muttered Santa as he ecstatically complied.

Samantha had felt that she might want something very special that day, and had chosen her underwear accordingly, picking out the, well, the most accessible garments the elves had provided. The white bralette lifted but did not cover her breasts, and the scarlet panties were quite deliberately missing a crotch. Mother Christmas was pretty good at planning for the future already.

Santa's tongue snaked out, tasting the wetness that had been coursing inside her since the moment Santa had whirled and produced that ring from nowhere. Samantha sighed as his fingers caressed all around her, then slid up on each side of her labia as his tongue teased, then tortured, then devoured her.

This was... this was transcendent. The courses of erotic energy she was feeling were... not a substitute for a child. But she did not need that. She felt the love of children in her actual bones, seeping into her bodily essence. But the energy, the love, both physical and deeply emotional alike, that she felt from Santa was utterly mind-bending. And body-bending as well.

Samantha shrieked out in blissful joy as her body flexed and crescendoed in passion. Her voice caroled the joy of her final fulfillment. To be the object of this man's desire, to have him there to fulfill hers. And to live and work with him, to share the mission, the calling, the absolute fun of his life... of their life...

She collapsed as the rolling waves crushed her and swept away.

She woke... later. She did not know how long. Santa was leaning over her, grinning in the absolute pinnacle of male, smug, self-satisfaction. "How are you, my love?" he rumbled.

She seized him and kissed his face, redolent as his lips were with her own bouquet.

"Take me," she whispered hoarsely, her voice still raspy from her earlier cries. "Take me now. Utterly. Forever."

And he did.

His manhood pierced her, deeply, completely. More than ever before, she felt him meld with her, becoming, as he thrust within her, a part of her, her idol and her worshipper in one.

Her body, so recently wrung of its final erg, was once more on fire, undulating beneath him. Her inner folds clung to him with each entry and withdrawal, clutching his shaft for all its magical worth.

And she knew now her worth, felt it to her core, the importance she held for... for Santa Claus. He was a legend. A Myth. A power beyond understanding.

And he was hers. Hers to worship. Hers to be cherished by. Hers to manage. Hers to be brought hot cocoa and bacon by on a lazy morning. Hers to partner with in the greatest enterprise on Earth. Hers with whom to care for the children of the world.

Hers to come like an absolute banshee with.

"Chris!" Samantha gasped. "You are forgetting... something!"

"Wha...? What?" Santa moaned, short on breath himself, even his mighty body desperate to maintain his tremendous efforts.

"You need to ask me again, now," Samantha said, her legs clamping about him desperately.

"I... what? Oh!" Santa floundered, never ceasing his powerful drive.

"Samantha," he gasped, teetering on the edge. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she gasped. Then, as a rolling tide of ecstasy suffused her body, "Yes! Oh holly berries, YES!YEEESSSSSSSS!!!"

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Merry Christmas, everybody! Comments under the tree would be nice Christmas presents for me. Also, this is part of the Winter Holidays Story Contest 2023. There is lots of good stuff among the entries, so I'd very much appreciate your voting support if you liked this little story. Happy New Year!