Father Christmas

"How many elves do you have?"

"I don't 'have' the elves, they are just there," Santa laughed. "But I think there are a good bit more than seven thousand these days."

Mary's eyes widened in wonder.

But her hand on his forearm had returned, and was now massaging him sensuously. She bit her lower lips cutely and leaned in again. "I'd like to help you too, Santa. Maybe with something little elves can't?"

Santa looked at this lovely, young, Christmas-obsessed woman. She was wonderful. And she was very, very hot.

"Will you take a walk with me?" Santa asked in reply.

They left the bar. No check ever was presented or paid. The bar would make a little more money that night on other things than usual. A little less liquor with be consumed for the number of drinks sold. There would be less waste. And Cliff the bartender would eventually figure out what to do with the two troy ounces of .999 pure silver bullion he would find in his jar at the end of the night.

As they exited, the snow had begun again.

"We never get this much snow at this time of year," Mary exclaimed, dancing briefly in a circle, before clinging again to Santa's elbow. "It has to do with you being here, doesn't it?" she asked in conspiratorial wonder.

"I suppose," Santa said. He seldom paid attention to the minor effects of the magic that surrounded him. Though he did enjoy fresh powder under his skis in the morning...

They strolled peaceably through the town of Aspen, talking little, and enjoying each other's company. Mary did not stop with the questions about Christmas, but she did begin to press herself more and more firmly against Santa's powerful frame as it towered above her.

He paused, and she looked up at him. "This is my hotel," Santa rumbled softly.

Mary looked up into his eyes and somehow led him into leading her inside.

They walked up the stairs to the second floor, and as they entered his room, Mary turned to him. "I know you are lonely Santa. You have to be, with what happened. But tonight, at least, I'm going to make sure you aren't lonely." With that, she tugged her sweater off over her head, pulling the light turtleneck underneath with it.

She wore no bra, her delicate breasts could get by without, though Santa found himself surprised that her incredibly pert, eager nipples had not made their presence visible before, through the light fabrics of her shirt and sweater. His hands rose, almost of their own volition, and caressed those delicate buttons. Mary shivered in pleasure. She rose on her tiptoes, and Santa drew her against him, pressing his lips to hers. Mary kicked her bare feet free from her fur-lined boots and reached around to clasp Santa's backside firmly. Her fingers dug into his powerful muscles and she groaned happily. Santa's tongue slid into her mouth, and hers flicked back in response.

"Oh, Santa," Mary said, releasing his backside to fumble at the fly of his fir green trousers, "you are going to stuff my stocking so good tonight..."

"Ho ho whoah," Santa cut himself off as Mary slid to her knees and had his suddenly needy manhood in her mouth in a single, smooth action.

"Ohhhh," Mary sighed around his shaft, her eyes lidding in elation at having Santa Claus in her mouth. Her hands cradled his personal sack, caressing him gently yet tantalizingly, but her mouth went to work with a breath-taking fervor. She sucked and licked and kissed, tracing Santa's blue veins with her tongue, capturing his tip between her lips, and bobbing him in and out of her mouth with wild abandon.

Santa was groaning happily in a jingle. He rested his hands atop Mary's head, his fingers caressing her silky hair, and she somehow redoubled her efforts.

"I..." Santa gasped, and he felt himself empty into Mary's mouth. It was a single, tremendous spasm of pleasure, weakening his legs and making his eyes war between opening wide and clenching shut. Mary swallowed all his treat, or tried to. There was so much it forced its way out of the sides of her mouth. Keeping his meaty shaft between her lips while she swallowed again, Mary at last gasped and released him, though her hand was reluctant to let go and she leaned back in instantly for a last lick.

"Wow, Santa! That was... you taste incredible," she exclaimed happily, eagerly wiping her chin clean, sweeping the spilled gift back between her lips.

Santa smiled down at her and caressed her cheek. "You were the incredible one, Mary," he said softly, his voice flowing with power.

"But you really are magical," she said, rising lightly to her feet. "I mean, of course you are, but... how can your stuff taste like hot buttered rum?"

"Ho ho ho," Santa chuckled at that. Even he did not understand all the magic.

But he suddenly did understand something. This encounter with Mary was not a stop in the middle of The Ride. Santa had time for this young woman. He had all night.

He suddenly swept her up into his arms, her slender, feline build a negligible burden for his powerful physique. They shared a deep kiss as he blindly but effortlessly navigated through the hotel suite to the huge bed. Santa could navigate a toy-strewn floor filled with bells, squeakers, and boxes of metal parts, all by the dying embers of a fire. The open hotel room was no problem.

Gently, he laid Mary down lengthwise, her head going perfectly to rest on the pile of luxurious pillows. Standing over her, he tugged his sweater and shirt up and over his head, his chest flexing as it was revealed.

"Oh, Santa! You should not be such a... stud," Mary breathed lustily... but Santa perceived a tiny flicker of disappointment as well. She really was disappointed that he wasn't what she expected, in a tiny, conflicted way.

He would have to make it up to her for not being chubby.

Wordlessly, he crawled over her on the bed. Her hands lifted to caress the dark-haired expanse of his chest, tracing his taut pectorals. She was clearly not that disappointed in his physique! Santa in turn caressed one of her elegant, delicate breasts, teasing the nipple briefly, before he slid his fingers gently down her belly, which jerked and sucked in involuntarily, taking her stomach from flat to caving in. Her spasm left a narrow gap between her skin and the tight waistband of her white ski pants. Santa's fingers slid swiftly into that space, and Mary moaned softly.

His thumb flicked the snap open, and that was all he needed to swiftly slide the whole fitted but stretchy, sexy garment down off her hips. In a moment, it had been cast aside on the floor, leaving Mary beneath him, clad only in a sexy little black lace pair of panties that covered next to nothing.

It had been so long, Santa mused as he bent down between her legs and began to kiss her inner thighs while staring up toward Mary's wondering face.

"Oh my! Santa's going to... Oh my!" Mary babbled as Santa did indeed proceed to. He nibbled his way up her thigh, pausing to draw in the rich, eager aroma of her, then kissing right between and under her legs, right on the narrow strip of lace that protected her charms. His teeth gently tugged at that fabric, and he lifted her hips easily. He pulled back, tugging at the panties with his mouth. Mary liquidly lifted her legs up high so Santa could draw her last garment free along them. As the panties popped off her ankles, she draped her legs back down, leaving them bent at the knees and spread wide.

Santa grinned at her with the panties still in his teeth. Then, with a hearty, "Ho ho ho," he tossed his head, hurling the scrap of black lace to the floor, and dove back between her legs.

Her flavor and aroma were exact matches, and Santa tasted a woman on his lips for the first time in oh-so-horribly long. He made up for lost time, tongue exploring every nook, crevice, and contour of her sex, while Mary writhed and squealed softly in utter joy. As his tongue circled her bud once more, Santa let a powerful finger caress, then probe into Mary. As he stroked into her dripping depths, he added a second digit, spreading her wide and drawing fresh, more powerful squeaks from the slender woman.

His fingers stroked, and his tongue tasted, and Santa thrilled to the sensation of making Mary weep with arousal. Her release, when it came, was powerful and penetrated her to the core. She did not scream outright, but her voice was musical as it babbled her joy. Santa kept right on pleasing her right through it all, until her body began to sag and lose its spasmodic expressions of pleasure.

Santa lifted his silver-maned head and smiled up at Mary, but left his fingers gently inside her.

"My, Santa!" Mary gasped, her body still panting. "That was... You are..."

"Not finished," Santa interrupted and bent to go at her once more.

Mary yelped as his lips clamped about her bud, the one feature on her petite body that was even a tiny bit larger than usual, and he sucked, then suckled upon it. His fingers twisted now, exploring her depths, but always returning to stroke her where the gift he was giving her was best.

"Not fair..." Mary gasped, already twisting and turning in pre-orgasmic bliss once more. "Oh... thank you. Thank you! THAAAANK YOUUUUU!" Her whole body rippled and danced against Santa's face, then went very stiff as she keened quietly. She sagged once more, settling back to the mattress, light as a feather, and let out a deep and satisfied sigh.

Santa did fully release her this time, letting his fingers slide free and lifting his head fully. "Ho ho ho! Aren't you a polite little girl," Santa chortled, reveling in the results of his work, still coursing as they were through Mary's lean body.

"Thank you, Santa," Mary said, in a small but very adult voice, then she curled up almost involuntarily and drifted into an exhausted sleep. Santa smiled down at her and ruffled her hair. "I see you when you're sleeping," he told her quietly.

Her youthful body recovered swiftly, and Mary awoke to the gentle, perfect caresses of Santa's fingers across her hips, and breasts, and chin. She smiled up at her idol, and said softly, "I need you Santa. Take me, please. Take me now..."

Santa's arousal had never left him as he had gazed down at her sleeping form, and he was only too eager to comply. He slid over her, his massive frame resting but lightly upon her, and he shifted his hips so that his staff rested eagerly between her legs. Mary's hands fluttered in anticipation across his back, tracing the mighty sinews. Both fingers and muscles alike were tense in anticipation.

His tip found her opening, and Santa pressed upward, entering her just a bit at first, then a bit more. Her insides were slick and welcoming, and Santa worked his way slowly inside her firm embrace.

Suddenly, her hands were grasping his backside, and pulling him further. Her strength was negligible against his, but he let her pull him deeper, and with a gasp from the both of them, he was fully inside her. Santa moaned at the sensation, feeling her body clamp around him, and Mary moaned in turn, louder, as he began to thrust.

Again and again, Santa withdrew, then buried himself once more inside her. Still, he took his time, and each stroke was a long, slow, glorious passage as he slowly pleasured them both.

He kissed her deeply as he worked, and Mary's tongue desperately thrust up and into his mouth, its tip curling up to caress the backs of his perfect white teeth. Santa sucked gently on that tongue.

But then he began to accelerate his efforts, and soon the kiss became impossible as Mary was breathing too hard, and Santa's back began to arch upward with effort and arousal.

Mary lifted her elegant legs and wrapped them around the small of his back, crossed ankles brushing the curves of his powerful backside. Still, Santa drove into her. Stroke after stroke, they drove each other to the pinnacle of the tree.

Mary broke as Santa's thrusts became feverish, and she keened yet again amid joyful release and fulfillment, while Santa just kept hammering away, until, just as Mary was flagging, he erupted into her depths. The first mighty explosion almost dimmed his sight, but threw Mary's eyes wide and she began to come yet again. Again and again, Santa erupted, each mighty pulse drawing a fresh cry from Mary.

Suddenly spent, even Santa's boundless energy deserted him. He rolled to his side, pulling Mary's exhausted body with him, and the two drifted almost immediately to sleep, his shaft still inside her.

When he woke, but a little time later, it was to find himself once more inside Mary's mouth...

They did indeed have all night.

But in the morning, Santa realized that it was time for his vacation to be over. There were toys to be made, and wrapping operations to oversee. The latter were even more off the rails this year than they had been right after Mrs. Claus had died.

"I have to go," he rumbled to Mary.

"I understand Santa," she said softly, regretfully. "But maybe... someday... I could come with you?" she added with a hopeful gaze that almost rent his heart.

He could take her back with him, he knew. She would be deliriously happy all her days. And she would make him happy as long as she lived. But to Santa, hers was a mayfly existence, and he would never take her away from living it to the full. With him, hers would be just a cotton candy span. The Magic would not grant this woman long life, as it had Eleanor.

He knew that, because Mary did not love Santa. She loved Santa Claus. And for the first time in centuries, he had the context to realize that the two were profoundly different things.

He loved Mary, of course. But it was the love he held for all good girls and boys alike, no matter their age.

As Santa rode northward, he knew that Mary would be happy in her life. He didn't complete her, not as someone else would. Someone would soon, unless he missed his guess. And Santa never missed his guesses.

But he would miss her body, Santa admitted to himself. Just as he was missing Wendy's, and Sophia's, and Greta's. Santa laughed at himself.

Would this be his life now? Would the tales of Santa throughout the world begin to include the sadness of the loss of Mrs. Claus? Would the saucier Christmas songs include allusions to extra treats from good, grown girls who waited up on Christmas Eve? It would not be the rich life he had enjoyed with Mrs. Claus. Not only had she been a better lover than any of these women, in ways that frankly beggared comprehension, but she had fulfilled him in ways none of these marvelous girls had even touched upon....

But, grinned Santa into the bright, cold Arctic summer, with loneliness like this, he could bear up under the burden...

*

The loss of Mrs. Claus did begin to ease, or at least to become a little numb. Santa slowly stopped dreading as much going home to their little cottage in the heart of the valley. What little sleep he needed was less frequently ruined by pangs of loss.

The work helped. And there was so much work. Everyone, Santa and elves alike, had always respected the contributions of Mrs. Claus to the smooth, happy operation at the North Pole, but even still, no one had quite appreciated just how critical she was to everything that went on.

Still, Santa held things together. And drank in joy at the long days, and close shaves, as he labored to make sure the next Christmas would be The Best Christmas Ever™. The elves were all troopers, of course, and their leadership teams all wracked their brains for ways to improve operational processes to smooth things out again and improve productivity...with limited success.

Changing operations in mid-flow was hard, and sometimes more disruptive than it was worth. And even among the happy elves, tempers became an issue.

In August, as things teetered on the edge of going pear-shaped as they had the prior year, Santa quietly shelved his plans for his August vacation to Miami.

Or so he thought.

One evening, as he tromped tiredly back to his cottage to settle in for the night, he found Tottsie standing in the middle of the living room, with a packed suitcase beside her, and her arms crossed determinedly.

"Ho ho ho, Tottsie," Santa chuckled uncertainly. "I don't think we can afford for me to go off..."

"We can't afford for you not to, Santa," the sweet little, indomitable elf growled. How she had managed to pack and move the huge suitcase beside her into this position was a mystery to even Santa. "You are looking worn already," she scolded him. "I can't spend all my time worrying about you not having enough left for The Ride, nor can the rest of us. You will go. You will recharge. Hopefully, you will get up to whatever you've been getting up to lately with some more good, grown, little girls," she added with a decidedly un-elfin leer.

Santa blushed. "Now, Tottsie..."

"Whether you do or don't is none of our business," Tottsie said truthfully, "and none of us want to know any details," she added, blatantly lying to Santa as only an elf could get away with. "But whatever you do or don't do on those sandy beaches, you need to get out of here and do nothing about work for a few days. And you need to go now. It is already past time for you to check in at your hotel. The sled should be outside already.

"But I did not even make a reservation," Santa tried to complain.

Tottsie just rolled her eyes. Even her kitchen operations had felt the lack of Mrs. Claus, but even Santa wasn't out-maneuvering her with a feeble trick like that!

With a sigh, Santa grabbed the bag and went back out to find that his ride had indeed pulled up outside just as soon as he had entered his cottage. Tottsie was not the only one who wanted to give him no excuses. Dasher and Dancer had the duty this time, and they both looked ready to cut him off if he made a break for anywhere other than the sleigh they pulled.

*

Dutifully checked in, Santa spent half an hour watching the sky darken as the sun set behind him, all from the 20th-floor balcony of his penthouse suite overlooking the long stretch of sand that was Miami Beach between the Art Deco district and the water.

With a sigh, he changed into a white, double-breasted suit with just a red teeshirt underneath, and headed down to seek some dinner. He would have looked like Crocket from Miami Vice, except the suit was exquisitely tailored around his statuesque form.

Santa walked down the beach to a lovely little restaurant that he and a frail Mrs. Claus had found, on their last vacation together in Miami. It remained largely unchanged, with the same owner, who had the same darling little daughter, though she had become just a bit too old for Santa to visit this last year.

The food was delicious, if a bit lonely. After dinner, Santa went to the bar for a nightcap, and to chat with the bartender. The young man by the name of Chet, who was new this year, had in his day been a reasonably good little boy, though when he was seven, Santa had had to correct his appearance on the automatically generated Naughty List. Chet had meant no harm, even if there had been a $900 repair bill.

Chet also made a very fine French 75 cocktail, which was always worth points in Santa's book.

Chet was excellent company, in that he left Santa alone when he was thinking, and found time to chat when he was feeling jolly. They talked about the Miami Dolphins mostly. Chet was pensive about his team's chances in the upcoming season, but Santa reassured him that they would be good this year. Chet's 'Fish' hadn't been competitive in a while, but the elves were readying for a spike in demand for Dolphins gear this Christmas, and they were seldom wrong about such things. Fortunately for Las Vegas, Morty did not gamble.

As Chet was helping a crowd of people, Santa perceived himself being noticed across the sparsely occupied bar. Tina Everett, 23, short, red-headed, and charmingly built, had suddenly recognized him as Santa. He saw her suddenly wince in sympathy, then straighten in resolve. She slid around a crowd and headed his way.