Father Christmas

Santa winked at the boy, and raised his finger to his lips with a silent 'shhh'!

Now co-opted into Santa's secret conspiracy, Roshon smiled, made a shh-ing gesture of his own, and nipped silently back off to bed. In a few years, he would no longer believe his own memory.

There were always a few children who accidentally saw Santa each year. There were even one or two parents, including Cyrus Djokin in Belgrade. He wandered sleepily into the living room just as Santa popped out of the chimney. Santa smiled at this man who had become a father late in life. Cyrus just grunted, turned to his little bar table, and poured two shots of Slivovitz. Handing one to Santa, they clinked glasses and drained them. Then Cyrus muttered something about thanks, and good job, and wandered sleepily off back to bed.

And then something new happened. Something that had never happened before.

Santa found himself slipping into a small, one-bedroom apartment in Berlin. A small tree with its LED lights twinkled by the radiator. Santa pulled a single gift from The Bag. It was large and heavy. Usually, he laid the presents down without conscious thought, only good wishes, and was on his way. But he realized this was a PlayStation in the wrapping paper. It twigged in his mind that this was an unusual gift for a family in such a cramped abode. Then his regal eyebrow shot up as he realized that this name, Greta Willem, had appeared on the list only this year. Reappeared actually, after disappearing from it 18 years before. This was the rare gift for an adult. Santa had not even checked her name once, in this year's rush.

"Ho ho ho," he chuckled to himself, wondering what magic had prompted the young woman to wish in the right way for a gift.

Then he turned to see if she had left any snacks, and froze.

She had left out some brownies, lovingly but inexpertly baked. The sort of snacks he would but take a nibble to prove he was there. But she had left out a note as well, and something else.

"Dear Santa, I hear you had a terrible loss, and I know you must be sad. I have loved you always, and want so much to give you a present too. I wanted to stay up to see you come in, but it has been a long season at the shop. So I unwrapped your present and went to bed. Please let me give it to you. Love, Greta"

Santa's hand reached out slowly to what lay across a corner of the note. It was a delicate, black lace pair of thong panties. He found himself lifting them up, finding that they were small, both in terms of how much they would have been covering just a little while before, and also simply in their general size. Greta must have grown up into quite the tight little package.

Santa had never encountered such a note, or the suggestion of such a gift.

Ever.

But before, there had always been Mrs. Claus.

He found for the first time in ages, that he didn't know what to do.

This was ridiculous. He was Santa Claus. Father Christmas. Women did not offer him gifts, especially not via notes beside home-made brownies.

Women with such fetching underwear...

And he certainly was not going to accept the apparently offered gift. What would... She would not...

She was gone, and Santa found himself dealing with the sort of temptation that usually only came back at the North Pole, from a second slice of Poppsie's figgy pudding.

His nose caught a whiff of the panties he had unconsciously brought closer to his face.

Oh, my. Greta had already been very eager to give Santa a gift, back while she had still been wearing these!

He looked over at the door to the little bedroom... and stepped toward it.

He opened the door as silently as only he could, and leaned in slowly.

Santa froze. Greta would be twenty-six in less than a month and had grown up from good little girl to teutonic bombshell. She lay on her bed, beautiful face in repose, surrounded by a cascade of blonde locks. She was not under the covers, and she was utterly naked. Full, rich breasts rose and fell with her easy breathing, their small pink nipples somehow erect, even in sleep. Her belly was flat, and her legs long and sinuous, and between them nestled a cute tangle of hair, equally as blonde as that atop her head.

He was unable to move. Greta was stunning all on her own, of course, but also... Mrs. Claus had died almost eleven months before, and even before that, as her body betrayed her, slipping into old age, she had less and less been able to share with Santa their physical love that had once been so searingly hot for centuries.

It had been more than eight years since the last time...

Slowly, Greta's eyes opened, and she smiled. "Santa," she smiled, flowing up to sit on the edge of her bed, upper arms squeezing her bountiful breasts together. Then, as she looked at him fully in the minimal light of the moon, she exclaimed, "Santa!" in a lower register. Greta licked her lips absently.

It was unseasonably warm in eastern Germany that Christmas, and Santa wore only his sleek, insulated red trousers and the sweater over his massive torso. Greta licked her lips again and beckoned Santa Claus.

Eight years.

Santa found himself walking forward without any real thought, moving like a small child heading off to bed after catching St. Nick.

"Ho ho... how?" Santa chuckled nervously.

"Did I know?" crooned Greta, her hand massaging the front of Santa's pants. "A girl just sometimes knows when a man has had a terrible loss. I want to help the most wonderful man in the world," she added, tugging at the front of his pants.

The zipper parted, and Greta worked it open, delicately but surely working Santa's very erect penis free from its suddenly uncomfortable coverings. All ten of Greta's fingertips fluttered along his length before she grasped him in both hands, cradling him gently.

"Santa, I went to bed dreaming of you coming here, but I never dreamed that you'd be so... so..." and then she interrupted herself by sliding her rich lips around his tip and sucking him in as if he were the best tasting candy cane she had ever had.

"Ho ho ohhhhh," Santa sighed, still not quite sure what to say or do at this crazy development. But Greta knew what to do. She did indeed know quite well. She began to rise and fall along Santa's rod, taking more and more of his length into her mouth. Her hands massaged the root of his penis and his testicles with care and erotic energy, and she began to choke a little as his tip probed the back of her throat.

Greta pulled off him for a moment, smiling up with compassion, and care... and a little hunger in her eyes, then she gulped in a strange way, and slid him back inside her mouth, deeper this time, and Santa felt himself diving down into her throat. He wordlessly moaned, his body feeling energy and arousal it had not in a very long time. Santa was a being of unspeakable power and incredible age, but he was still a man after all.

Suddenly his penis was free, and Greta looked up at him with bright, loving eyes. "Let me make you happy, Santa! Give me one, extra, wonderful present," she entreated, and suddenly he was back in her mouth, deep in her mouth. His rod slid down her throat easily this time, until her nose nestled among his luxuriant silver pubes.

Sucking hard, Greta rose and fell along him, her finger teasing and pumping along with her efforts. It was a wonderful job. It did not have five hundred years of experience behind it, but it was her all, her gift. Santa's whole body throbbed in almost forgotten pleasure, and he placed his hand gently on Greta's head, caressing her golden mane.

"Such... a good... girl," Santa gasped and his hips bucked gently as his penis pulsed, and Greta swallowed eagerly as he shot first down her throat, then into her mouth as she pulled back to taste his offering. She in turn groaned in happiness as his seed filled her mouth. She swallowed, then swallowed again as his ecstatic flow ended.

"Oh, Santa," Greta sighed, rising to stand before him and drape her luscious body against his. She wiped a tiny trickle from the corner of her mouth back between her lips. "Gingerbread? Really?" she asked with a giggle, savoring the taste.

Santa just shrugged and chuckled a gentle, "Ho ho ho."

But he had already been here in this apartment for a very long time, such as it was...

"I know you have to go, Santa," Greta said, snuggling tight against him. "I just had to help. If I can ever do anything else for you... Anything. Ever... I will be here for you. You can come any time of year," she pled gently.

Santa smiled down at the girl in his arms and ran gentle fingers through her hair. He desperately wanted to caress those delicate mounds on her chest, but knew if he let himself, he would be there long enough to need a few more backward time jumps. The job came first. All those good little boys and girls came first.

He kissed Greta softly, winked, and turned away, his pants magically back in place. She followed him back into the living room of her little apartment. "Merry Christmas, Greta," Santa called, in his deep, rich baritone, and she almost swooned once more.

As he disappeared, he heard her exclaim, "Wait! You actually got me the Playstation?!?"

Santa reappeared by his sleigh to find himself under some hard gazes from the reindeer. Dasher, the lead, would have been pointedly looking at his watch... if he wore one.

But then they all say the slightly goofy tinge to Santa's always jovial expression and they looked at each other significantly. Vixen actually whuffled a laugh at him. Santa hustled sheepishly to the sleigh with a, "Let's go, team! No time to waste!"

They were behind schedule now, but Santa found that he had new energy that was more than enough to push to make up the delay. If really good cookies could help him push through The Ride, what Greta had served him was astoundingly more effective.

The rest of Germany swept by in a blur, as did the rest of Europe and Africa. So many of his total stops were in that narrow north-south band, he had to make his first scheduled time reversal as the sleigh rocketed over the Mediterranean Sea toward Cairo.

As he finished in Cape Town, Santa was almost exactly on time, but he still expended some energy on a tiny second bump backward against the time stream as the team swept over the frigid waters of the Southern Ocean toward the Falkland Islands and then Tierra del Fuego. Better safe than sorry he thought this time, though he seldom made the effort to get actually ahead of schedule. Santa was in a good mood.

In Rio de Janeiro, he found himself in a huge neighborhood of larger but still humble homes, dashing from roof to roof, surfboards and scooters and toys galore flying from the bag.

Near-equatorial South America was also a big concentration of stops for him, and it was very warm that Christmas Eve. Santa had gone beyond his layers and now wore his favorite red board shorts with the outlines of Christmas Trees and Stockings all over them, and a green and white teeshirt. He even had given up his suddenly sweaty boots for sandals. He still kept the hat on, of course. Santa never got Hat Head.

It was hardly the classic Santa look for him, but if anyone had seen him, as did little Emma Gonzales, age four, in Paraguay, he was still instantly recognizable. She would love her doll in the morning.

In this neighborhood, Santa progressed smoothly from house to house. It was the kind of area where he was checking off names at a rapid clip and he got into a rhythm.

Then he sprang down the utterly pointless chimney in one of the larger homes. The sort of idle memory that sometimes sprang to Santa's mind told him he had been visiting this house for a very long time, as the family had had many children over the course of a long and happy life so far.

The oldest had been a daughter, he mused as he bent before the tree, then he stiffened. He had gotten into too much of a routine...

He whirled, suddenly flushing for some reason, to find himself being watched by a young woman, curled up under a blanket in an easy chair across the room. She had been watching since he came in. Sophia, he suddenly knew. That oldest child. The last present he had brought her had been a bicycle. That had been a while ago...

She smiled as she saw him realize she was there. "I finally caught Santa," she giggled to herself, perfect teeth flashing in the light of the tree. Her face softened sadly. "I heard you lost your wife, Santa. I am so sorry," she said with genuine grief of her own. "But I wanted to stay up and see you. To see what I could do for you."

Santa's eyes widened. It was happening again.

Sophia stood, letting the blanket fall away, and she too was utterly naked underneath. Her bonze skin betokened a definite affinity for the golden beaches of Brazil, and the tiny patches of pale skin over her breasts and smoothly-shaven privates betokened an affinity for very tiny bathing suits.

And either she or someone else, though certainly not Santa, had given her a present of the most exquisitely crafted breast enhancements one could imagine. They were tremendous without being comical, hung in the natural sweep of firm breasts a third their size, and her nipples stood out in stark, erect contrast to the creamy skin of her pale, tanless triangles.

She would not turn nineteen for another month.

Santa made no move to get away as she approached, and she kissed him gently, grasping and lifting one of his hands, with no resistance, to place it upon one of those enchanting breasts. Santa helplessly caressed it, marveling at the yielding softness of its curves.

"Ai, Santa," Sophia murmured, tickling him under his beard so silvery white. "No one should be lonely on Christmas Eve," she murmured. Her hand left his on her breast and slid down to tug at the waist of his shorts. She worked it, trying to free it over the tangling obstacle of his body's eagerness. She dropped her other hand as well and worked the waistband free, pushing the shorts to the floor. Sophia groaned happily as she took him into her soft grasp.

"Oh Santa, you are so very ready not to be lonely, aren't you?" the girl asked happily. "I have a special present for you," she giggled, sinking to her knees.

"Ho ho ho, I can see that you are a very good little girl indeed, Sophia," Santa gasped. It was indeed true, he realized. Sophia was indeed a marvelous young woman. She was happy and worked hard on her studies, and in various charitable works for Rio's many poor. She was not rich herself, but she knew exceptionally well, for one of her youthful years, how much better she had it than others.

And almost unreservedly this time, Santa was looking forward to how good she could be to him. It had been eight years...

He expected her to take him into her mouth as Greta had done, given how she knelt before him, but instead, Sophia took his manhood in her grasp and began to run it gently over the curves of her chest, pressing its hardness into her soft curves, and flicking it over the hard nubs of her nipples. The girl had moisturized herself incredibly thoroughly, and their body parts slid against each other with erotic frictionlessness.

"Give it to me, Santa," Sophia urged, pressing his shaft between those fabulous breasts and squeezing them joyfully around it. Her brilliant smile shone up at him as Santa began, almost involuntarily to slide between her curves.

The sensation was incredible with each thrust he made, her warm flesh lovingly embracing his wildly ecstatic member.

"Here it is, Sophia," Santa said gently. "Thank you for asking for it." He rested his hand against the side of her neck and stroked her jaw with his thumb as he let his body drive between her breasts. She squeezed them even tighter around him, and he moaned in response.

He didn't last long, but then his schedule did not leave him long to last, and after too short an experience, Santa found himself groaning, "Ho ho here we go!" His body throbbed with ecstasy and his shaft pulsed joyfully as he sprayed up and out over Sophia's chest, streaking her tanned throat with white.

"Ai, Santa!" Sophia gurgled happily, looking down at his still-thrusting member. In return, she received another rope that arched up against her face, and yet another. As Santa sagged, feeling spent at last, she lifted her face again, eyes wide and mouth smiling to beat the band, her cheeks streaked with white.

She laughed at how she must look, and Santa ho ho hoed back in exhausted reply. She licked her lips, slurping in some of his present, and she giggled again. "I would not have expected you to taste like such a nice eggnog, Santa. Especially not with a hint of some cachaça!" Sophia exclaimed.

Santa staggered back and Sophia let him go, wiping her hands over her chest and throat to taste more delicious holiday treats. He was a little bemused at both young women's perceptions. Mrs. Claus had always told him he tasted of fresh peppermint.

They shared a smile as Santa righted his outfit and finished putting presents under the tree. He even found he had a tiny box for Sophia. He hadn't checked her name on the list either. In the morning, she would open it to discover a pair of elaborate costume earrings to wear in a Carnival parade. He suspected that she would not wear much else...

"Whenever you are lonely, Santa," Sophia said, embracing him from behind with her naked body, "I am here for you."

The reindeer were outright amused this time, as Santa returned from the house. Blizten shoved his massive haunches against Donder as if he had won a bet. Santa produced the eight stalks of celery that Sophia had had ready, and the crew decided they all liked her better than Greta. Santa was making no comparisons. They were both shining stars in his mind that night. Sophia had indeed exhausted him, but he felt reinvigorated as well, as he leapt back into the sleigh.

On the night went, flowing back north.

A mass of cold air was in possession of most of North America, and many parts of the United States were experiencing their first or deepest White Christmases in the record books. Santa was back in his full winter kit by Atlanta.

As much unlooked-for joy as Santa had received this Christmas Eve, he started being more careful. And as he did so, he realized that he had probably just been lucky to miss some other young women lying in wait for him through the evening. He slipped away just in time from Tanisha in Boston, and managed not to wake Angela in Chillicothe, despite her clever placement of bell-equipped cat toys all over her living room floor. In Rapid City, the crazily lush naked body of Ray, curled up on the floor beside her tree had almost made Santa wake her.

The memories of Sophia and Greta would keep him happily awake for many nights.

Then, in a mountain cabin in Idaho, with fresh snow falling beautifully outside its huge windows, Santa slipped one more time. The A-frame cabin was not a home, just a single large space, warm and inviting, with the glowing embers of a once roaring fire lighting the room, along with the LEDs of a massive, all-white Christmas tree. The roof was too steep for even his sleigh, and he brought it down beside the building. His consciousness flicked out for any naked bodies within, but there were none, and he bounded in. Already inside, he realized that he had but one present for this place, and he winced as he realized the garment-sized box contained an adult's pink sweater.

"Santa!" a bell-like voice cried out from the raised bed platform in the corner, and Wendy bounded toward him, her jet-black curls bouncing as she ran toward him. She was sure enough not naked, but the clingy silver nightgown, with transparent lace over her breasts, left no doubt of the stunning beauty of this thirty-year-old woman. "You came! Even here! I knew you would," she burbled with childlike enthusiasm. She threw her arms around him and hugged him, suddenly somber. "I am so sorry for your loss. We all are."