Hullo, Santa

"You can go now, Sandra," said Santa, finally relaxing. "I'll shut up the grotto."

The last whining brat was gone. No more screaming toddlers and arrogant older children. No more snivelling little mongrels wiping their noses on him and threatening to throw up on him. No more incontinent monsters deciding to piddle as soon as they sat on his lap.

He was free.

He kicked the grotto door closed behind the departing Sandra and just sat back on his Santa throne and relaxed.

He should, he realised, have locked the door after Sandra, not just kicked it closed. He should have locked it, barred it and put out quarantine signs.

He glared at the young woman who had dared to sneak into the grotto. Not very effectively, he knew. It was hard to glare when you're dressed as Santa and your face is cover in a beard. It was also hard to glare at a pretty young thing in yoga pants and a tight top, even if she did have a baby in a pram.

"We're closed," he said. "Come back tomorrow."

"You're closed tomorrow," said the young woman. "It's Christmas day. It's now or never for Bobby's first Santa photo. I have to have one."

"But we're closed," said Santa. "Sandra, my photographer has gone home. If you look, you'll see a whole lot of nothing where the camera is supposed to be."

"That's OK," came the quick reply. "All you have to do is hold Bobby. I'll take a picture with my smart phone."

Santa glared at her. Again. With the same lack of effect as his original glare. He did the maths. Spend ten minutes arguing with her and probably loose or spend ten seconds holding a baby while she took the shot. The ten seconds won.

"Fine. I'll do it. Give me the kid. But first, lock that damn door before someone else comes sneaking in."

With a big smile the woman turned and locked the door. Then she picked up Bobby and started arranging him on Santa's lap.

"Fair warning," said Santa. "If you poke him to wake him up for the photo, I'll hit you on the head with him. Let him sleep."

The woman, who had been about to poke Bobby awake, froze and hastily stepped back.

"I had no intention of waking him," she said with dignity. "Now if you'll just smile and look this way. . ."

A couple of flashes and Bobby's first Santa photo was incarcerated in its electronic prison. The woman was all smiles and Bobby slept on.

Santa carefully returned Bobby to his pram and then considered the woman. He shrugged. You couldn't get shot for trying. Or fired either, as this was the end of the gig.

"Why don't you set that thing to movie mode and prop it up on that shelf. Then you can come and sit on Santa's knee as well and have matching pictures, you and Bobby on Bobby's first Christmas."

The woman paused, head tilted to the side while she considered this. Then she giggled.

"Why not?" she said.

She made a few adjustments to her phone, propped it up on the shelf and walked over to Santa.

"Well, where do you want me to stand?" she asked.

She hesitated a minute and then spoke again.

"Uh, just what do you think you're doing?"

"Right now I'm admiring the curves of your pussy," said Santa blandly. "I see you shave. It's nice to see a well-shaped and clean shaven pussy like that."

Santa had calmly taken hold of the young woman's yoga pants and panties and pulled them down, the sheer arrogance and superb self-assurance that he'd radiated leaving the woman stunned. She still couldn't believe it, looking down and seeing herself half naked.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, standing there in shock, the idea of pulling them back up apparently not occurring to her.

"Because," said Santa, undoing his big black belt and dropping his Santa trousers, "when you sit on my lap I want to be sure you're properly seated."

Reaching over, Santa took the woman's arm and guided her to the Santa throne. Sitting down, Santa turned the woman to face away from him, placed his hands around her waist and lifted.

Suddenly the young woman found herself sitting on Santa's knee, her pants and panties around her ankles and Santa's erection pressing hard against her back.

"Wait a moment," she gasped. "You can't go around doing this sort of thing."

"Ho, ho, ho," said Santa, and lifting her again he drew her closer to him.

Now when she started to settle back down onto his lap the young woman found Santa pressing intimately against her. She grasped the arms of the throne, holding herself balanced for a moment, Santa's erection pressing firmly against her slit, trying to move in.

"Ho, ho, ho. What's your name, little girl?" asked Santa.

"Susan. I'm Susan," she gasped.

"Hullo, Susan," said Santa. "Now why don't you sit on Santa's lap?"

"This isn't supposed to be the way it goes," gasped Susan, then she gave a little squeal and relaxed, settling firmly onto Santa's lap. And, incidentally, finding Santa's erection spearing straight up into her.

"So what else do you want for Christmas?" asked Santa, starting to bounce his visitor on his lap.

"I haven't got any special wishes," Susan gasped, finding herself adjusting to the rhythm and bouncing along with Santa. "I'll just be happy with whatever I get."

"Oh, good," came the laughing reply. "Then you'll be happy right now because you're certainly getting something."

"Ahh," gasped Susan, as an extra hard bounce hit home. "That's not what I meant. You're Santa. How can you be doing this to me?"

"With a great deal of pleasure," gasped Santa, bouncing even harder.

At that point the conversation died down. Not the bouncing though. That continued, hard and fast, both of the participants putting some serious effort into it.

Santa's hands slid up the back of Susan's top and unclipped her bra. From there it was a short journey to find and close his hands upon the globes in front of her. Squeezing them tightly, Santa went into overdrive.

Susan was making soft squealing sounds as Santa drove his cock up into her, faster and faster. She was gasping in between squeaks, bobbing up and down frantically, desperate to reach her finish before Santa was through.

Suddenly Susan was shuddering, shaking as her climax swept over her. She could feel Santa was ejaculating into her and she squeezed him hard, milking him.

Susan was still sitting on Santa, exhausted, when she felt him doing up her bra. She turned, smiling, to thank him.

Santa grinned back, then nodded past her.

"Bobby seems to have woken," he said. "He's watching us."

Flustered, Susan disengaged, hurriedly pulling her clothes up.

"What the hell just happened?" she yelped. "How could I let you do that?"

"It's the Christmas spirit," said Santa. "Ah, you may want to check your camera before you show the pictures to your husband."

"Done. No more Santa until next year," thought Santa, watching Susan and Bobby make their getaway. "Fortunately, that doesn't mean no more Susan until next year. I recognised you, even if you didn't recognize me. You'll have to be careful, Susan. Santa knows if you're naughty or nice. And you've shown you're nice and naughty."