I Saw Stepmom Kissing Santa Claus

All characters are over 18. This is a work of fiction, and all characters, locations, and events are imaginary.

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It was a cold and wet evening in mid-December when I unlocked the front door to my home and opened it, to be met with a blast of Christmas music. It was Bing Crosby, as usual, but far louder than I was accustomed to. I'd driven home a day earlier than planned, because I'd finished my finals and was sick of dorm food, and I was looking forward to meeting up with my old friends. And my dad and stepmom were only a few hours away, so here I was, home again.

And there she was. Denise, my stepmom, was wearing the skimpiest sexy elf costume I'd ever seen while decorating the Christmas tree. She had on a tight green bustier and a sinfully short green microskirt, with high heels, white-and-green striped thigh-high socks, and a green fur-lined Santa-style cap. As she bent over at the waist, knees together and legs straight, I knew two things for certain: she wasn't wearing any underwear, and I was going to be on the naughty list this year.

But maybe I should slow down a bit and give some backstory.

Two hundred years ago, my great-great... just kidding. My name's Gerold, but I've gone by Jerry since I was young. I was in my sophomore year at college, pursuing a degree in business. I know, that's generic as hell, but I really didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, and I figured that would open some doors for me as I made up my mind.

I'm tall and thin, a runner but not a weightlifter. And yes, I'm a nerd and always have been. But in high school and for two years in college, I'd had good luck with the ladies. I'm told I'm good-looking, though I still find that hard to believe. I wish I could say I had an enormous cock but the truth is I'm just above average there. Still, I like to think I make up for that with enthusiasm and stamina. But then I imagine most young men like to tell themselves that, so who knows?

My dad, Paul, divorced my mom when I was little. I barely remember her. They didn't part on good terms. He doesn't like to talk about her, but Denise tells me my mom cheated on my dad more than once and broke his heart. Then when they divorced, she wanted nothing to do with me. So I figure, to hell with her.

Dad started dating Denise when I was 10, and she's always been amazing to me. She's the sweetest, kindest, smartest person I know. And yes, before you ask, I've had a crush on her more or less as long as I've known her. But then she's only 15 years older than me, which makes her 15 years younger than Dad. It's weird to think that she's as close to my age as his.

I'd had fantasies about Denise since puberty. I'd always been respectful and never spied on her, though I dreamed of accidentally walking in on her as she showered, or accidentally passing her open door as she changed, or accidentally, well, you get the point. None of those things happened, but I thought about them all the time, and I spent many lonely evenings stroking my cock and thinking about her.

I'm not going to pretend I'm not biased here, but I think she's the most beautiful woman in the world. She has long silky brown hair and bright green eyes that sparkle, and her smile lights up the room. And, yes, she has an hourglass figure and pert firm little B-cup breasts and the cutest butt ever. I'll admit I knew her cup size because I used to go through her underwear. And when I say "used to", I mean that I stopped while I was away at college, but in all honesty I was planning to do that again at the first opportunity.

So yeah, I was a pervert, and I was obsessed with her, but you couldn't blame me if you knew her. Denise moved like a dancer, always graceful and composed and purposeful, and she was always happy. She'd sing and hum and smile at nothing and everything and I'd find myself smiling just being in her presence. I loved her, with all my heart, and she was the perfect woman in every way. I'd dated and been in love, but none of my girlfriends could hold a candle to Denise.

Which made it all the more startling to be looking at her pussy and ass as she bent over and hung a candy cane on the tree. I could see tiny wisps of soft brown hair framing her labia, with what looked to be a neatly trimmed bush above, and her heart-shaped ass was the only present I wanted that year.

I felt guilty, knowing I wasn't meant to see this, this perfection. So I stepped back outside and closed the door softly, then rang the bell and waited ten seconds before I unlocked the door again. Denise was nowhere to be seen, and the music was turned down to more normal levels.

"Hi!" I yelled out to the house, "I'm home!" I had a backpack over one shoulder and a duffel bag in one hand, and I figured my forbidden vision was sadly at an end, so I headed upstairs to my room.

Everything was as I'd left it when I visited over Thanksgiving, of course. My bookshelves were starting to overflow, but I still kept them alphabetized by author. My floor and desk were clean, and my walls had a few Impressionist prints, Monets and Renoirs. I turned on my computer and let it boot up as I started to unpack, and put on some Coltrane, just loud enough to cover the sound of Bing singing about his dreams of Christmas snow emanating from downstairs.

I checked my email then logged into Discord, letting the guys know I was home. Jim and Todd weren't back yet but Dave was, so he and I made plans to hang out the next day. By the time I was done, Coltrane was finishing up with his rendition of My Favorite Things, which amused me when I realized that was arguably a Christmas song, too.

I was a bit tired from the drive, but I was also hungry, and I really wanted to see Denise again. The memory of her perfect ass, of her pussy peeking out between those thin thighs, of the glimpse of her butthole, puckered skin slightly darker than the light cream she bore everywhere else, haunted me. I didn't think I'd ever stop thinking about it, and I realized I was too hard to go down to see her. I tried to think of anything else, anything to distract me, but my mind kept returning to that image, of Denise bent over like that. Not squatting, but gracefully supple and perfectly balanced as she bent at the waist.

Fuck, I was hard. I imagined myself going in instead of leaving, and her smiling that bright delightful smile of hers and unlacing that bustier and slowly exposing her perfect breasts. I unzipped my pants and pulled my cock out and stroked it as I imagined her, and I closed my eyes as Coltrane's sax gently wailed to "Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye", and I reached for a tissue to cum into but the box wasn't where I expected it to be. I opened my eyes to look around and to my horror Denise was there, with the door cracked open and her eyes wide, staring right at my cock.

She shut the door quickly, saying, "Oh! I'm sorry," and in that moment of agonizing embarrassment and arousal I came, spurting all over my pants and my desk and my shirt. It took me a while to clean everything up. I even got some in the damned keyboard. Once I'd finished cleaning and had changed, I headed to the bathroom to wash up. Gathering my courage, I went downstairs.

Denise was wearing a robe and pouring two glasses of egg nog. She looked troubled, which was an incredibly rare event, and I felt crushed. I was such an idiot.

"Hey, Jerry," she said, and held out one of the glasses for me. "I'm really glad you're home. I'm so sorry I intruded like that. I was just so excited to see you. I knocked but didn't wait for an answer, and that was rude and I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

"Denise, it's not your fault, I'm the one who should be sorry," I replied. I hated to see her down like this and I'd say anything, do anything to cheer her up. "I wasn't thinking. Please don't be sad."

"No, it's your room, and I should have," she paused and blinked, then grinned and continued, "well, I should have remembered what young men are like." My heart lifted to see her smile and I walked over and hugged her hard.

She always felt so good. And she smelled like flowers, like a sunny afternoon in a meadow on a hilltop. I breathed her in and held her for a bit then released her. "I came home early," I said, foolishly, finally taking the glass she was still holding out.

"I can see that," she replied with a twinkle in her eye. "I saw more of that than I expected, in fact. Are we good?" She was always so direct, so thoughtful, and her making light of it helped me to let go of my tension.

I blushed, chuckling ruefully, and replied, "Yeah, I imagine you did. And yes, of course we're good. You know you're my favorite person in the world. I could never be unhappy with you, with anything you did."

"Well, good, because you're still my favorite person, too." We'd been saying that to each other for years. I knew she loved my dad but it made my heart sing to hear her say that. She always knew what to say to make me feel better.

She sat down at the kitchen table and sipped her egg nog, and I sat across from her and tasted mine. It had a bit of a kick, and I raised an eyebrow. "Is there RUM in this? Are you... corrupting a minor?!" I pretended to be shocked and aghast, and she giggled.

"There is, and I suppose I am. Take me away, officer." She sighed dramatically. "I thought he was of age."

"Likely story, miss. Off to the big house with you." I paused and tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Welllll seeing as it's the holiday season, maybe we can let you off with a warning. But don't let it happen again!" I leaned in and held the back of my hand up next to my mouth as if hiding my words from some imaginary onlooker and added in a stage whisper, "You can let it happen again, I won't tell."

She laughed, that high delightful peal of bells that sent shivers down my spine. I was so happy to be there with her again, looking into those bright green eyes, watching her smile, knowing she was genuinely happy to be there with me.

Her robe was thin silk, and I could tell that underneath it she was still wearing the elf costume. I tried not to look, but my eyes kept dropping down despite my best intentions. When I looked back up, she was smiling with amusement. Did she know what I saw? Oh God.

I started to get hard again. Stupid dick, cut it out! I kept telling it to sit back down and behave but it was having none of it. Denise was so lovely, and she seemed to sense my turmoil, and she was ok with it, or so I imagined, which only made it worse.

"Your father should be home soon," she said. "I'm going to get a few things ready. He dressed up as Santa for the office party and I wanted to surprise him when he gets home."

That's a hell of a nice surprise, I thought, but what I said was, "Oh, of course. I'm happy to be home, Denise. I've missed you."

'Awww. I've missed you too, Jerry. The house is always a little empty when you're away." She got up to go, and laid her hand on my shoulder affectionately. I could feel the heat of her hand and smell the flowery perfume she wore and I was hopelessly lost in her beautiful eyes. I smiled weakly back at her and she went back upstairs, which gave me an opportunity to head up myself a few minutes later without exposing my raging hardon.

I checked Discord again then wasted some time on the internet, idly poking through social media. Soon I heard voices, and I knew my dad was home, so I headed down to see him.

He was dressed as Santa, and Denise was there, in his arms, pressed up against him. She still had her robe on, but I knew what was underneath, and more importantly what wasn't. She was on her tiptoes, kissing him, and his hands were on her waist as he pulled her in. Her hands were around his neck, draped gracefully, and she pushed her whole body against his. She whispered something in his ear, and from the top of the stairs I could see him sigh sadly and shake his head before whispering something back. Her hand stroked his cheek softly, lovingly, over the fake long white beard, and she nodded and whispered something more. I wondered what I was seeing. There was a clear sense of wistfulness to the scene, not the passion I expected.

"Hi Dad," I called out as I descended.

He smiled and released Denise unhurriedly, moving to grab me in a big bear hug. "Hey Jer. Glad to have you back with us." The costume smelled a little of mothballs. I wasn't sure where he got it but I didn't think he owned it.

My dad's a great guy, always thoughtful, and as we all settled down in the living room he asked me about college, about my friends, about my classes. Denise watched us, smiling happily, exuding genuine joy as always, as I answered. My friends were doing well, my classes were ok though I was worried I might get a B+ in my American History elective.

"And who's our little heartbreaker dating now," Denise asked with a twinkle in her eye. "Still with Marcella? You couldn't stop talking about her over Thanksgiving."

"Oh, um. No. I mean, maybe? We're on a break, over break, and I'm not sure." Her eyes were such a startlingly bright green, and I couldn't look away. I wanted to disavow all other women and tell her that I was hers alone, always and only hers, but I kept my stupid mouth shut somehow.

"Well, she'd better not hurt our Jerry, or I'll have to come down there and give her a piece of my mind!" Denise wagged her finger, pretending to be fiercely angry, and I grinned, knowing she was joking. But I still felt touched that she'd even say that. Denise always looked out for me. And I loved that she was possessive and protective of me.

We talked for a while, catching up, then my dad said it was time to get out of the costume, so they went upstairs together and I went back to my room. I wondered if she was changing out of her costume, too. I imagined them talking, chatting about his day at work as she undressed slowly, revealing more and more of that breathtakingly beautiful body. I imagined it in such detail that I got hard again and started stroking my cock through my pants. She was such a goddess. And she was probably naked, as I was thinking about her. Maybe she and Dad were...

Well, that was a mood killer.

I grabbed a book and headed back downstairs to the kitchen to read. I was hoping Denise would be down soon to start dinner, and I could spend some more time with her. Thankfully, that's exactly what happened, and I watched her avidly over the top of the copy of Kevin Kruse's "One Nation Under God" that I was hoping would help improve my understanding of mid-century American history. I really wasn't paying any attention to the book, because my 20-year-old body was locked onto Denise like a pointer dog signaling a bird. She'd changed into a long demure orange dress that really set off her eyes nicely, and while it didn't show off her amazing figure, I could picture so much of it so much more clearly now that I'd seen so much of her.

She was humming as she cooked, moving around the kitchen confidently, like every step had been choreographed to make her look as lovely as possible, every movement a masterclass in sensuous unselfconscious presentation. She was making minestrone, my favorite, and assembling a salad as the soup simmered. My stomach was rumbling, but truth be told my heart was even hungrier.

"Not enjoying the book?" She was chopping carrots and looked up and smiled at me. God, I'd missed that smile.

"Huh? I mean, it's ok. Why?" I blinked twice in confusion.

"You haven't turned a page in over five minutes," she replied, as she moved to the spice cabinet and opened it, never pausing. As she pulled two small bottles out, my brain caught up with what she'd said and I realized I was just staring at her.

"Oh, I was. I was thinking," was my barely-articulate reply. I realized I was blushing and quickly looked down. What was this chapter about again? I'd completely lost track.

"Gotcha," she replied, and I couldn't help agreeing internally that she had indeed. "Do you want dinner rolls or garlic bread?"

"Garlic bread please," I replied, and tried to read. But my eyes kept being drawn to Denise's movements as she swirled around the kitchen, and my mind kept picturing her in that elf costume. Periodically I flipped a page, pretending to read, but I don't think she was fooled.

All too soon, my dad joined us, and I finally stopped staring. We sat down to eat, and the food was of course absolutely delicious. Denise was an amazing cook. I liked everything she made, but this soup was divine.

Halfway through the meal, my dad started frowning and looked pale. I put my spoon down and asked, "Are you ok, Dad?" He grimaced in response and said, "It's just the angina again. I'm on some new medications to help with that but sometimes it still flares up."

He had a heart condition and had experienced a bad heart attack two years before, though everyone said he was far too young for that. Then last year he had a ministroke at work, and I missed a week of classes just so I could be around in case anything else happened. I hated to see him in pain like this, and it worried me.

Denise held his hand and smiled at him quietly, and after a moment his expression changed, like clouds yielding to sun again, and he smiled back at her. "Your father's doing great, Jerry. The pain doesn't happen as often now and doesn't last for long. He's going to stay with us for a long time yet." As she said this, she emphasized the last bit, looking into his eyes, as if she were giving him a command, but she was smiling and her concern and love were obvious.

We ate for a few minutes in pensive silence, then Denise said, "On a lighter note, I started a new holiday tradition this year, Jerry. We have one of those elf on a shelf dolls, and we can all move it around the house and pose it in funny positions to share a bit of Christmas mischief."

My dad grinned and chimed in, "That little guy's already gotten in a lot of trouble in just a couple of days." He and Denise shared a look that said there was a lot more to that story than I knew.

We finished dinner and I cleaned up as they settled down in the living room. My dad had a recliner that was good for his old back injuries, and Denise preferred to curl up on the couch. Naturally, that's also where I wanted to be. It was a long leather couch, which Denise festooned with throw pillows and a soft blanket.

My dad wanted to watch "Elf", and Denise and I readily agreed. It was a bit silly to let him choose a movie because he always fell asleep within the first half hour of anything we watched, and would remain out like a light until Denise went and shook him awake and led him to bed. Still, we all enjoyed the adventures of Buddy the not-really-an-Elf so it sounded fun.

What I hadn't remembered was Zooey Deschanel's character Jovie. From the first moment she showed up in that elf costume, I was vividly reminded of the spectacle that greeted me earlier, and I kept wanting to look at Denise but forced myself to look straight at the screen. My face was hot and I wondered if she noticed. My dad obviously didn't, as he snored softly in his recliner.

And then came the scene where Jovie showered and Buddy sat outside and sang with her. It's not even a particularly sexy scene, but I was thinking about Denise's flawless skin and everything I saw earlier, and the predictable and lamentable source of embarrassment arose in my pants. I struggled to reposition myself without making it obvious, but ended up squirming like an idiot until I grabbed a throw pillow and put it in my lap. I glanced over, and Denise was watching, a warm smile on her face.

"She's very pretty," Denise noted softly. "You don't need to be embarrassed about liking her. It's a normal healthy reaction."

I was at a loss. It wasn't Zooey that I found attractive, but of course I couldn't say so. "Her? Um. Yeah, I guess so. Thanks." My cheeks were flaming hot and I imagined I was blushing so hard I was practically glowing.