Mommy Kissing Santa Clause

Once, when I was a little girl, I awoke in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve and got up to see if Santa had visited our house yet. Sneaking down the stairs as quietly as I could, I peeked around the corner of the entrance to our living room and my eyes went wide. I saw my mother standing with Santa Claus by our Christmas tree!

Mom wore a pale pink nightie that I'd never seen before. It showed off her long legs and she looked beautiful to my young eyes, but I wondered how she didn't get cold wearing so little. As I watched from the hall, my mother stepped closer to Santa and placed her palms on his shoulders as she gazed up into his piercing blue eyes.

They spoke to each other in whispers that I couldn't make out, but my mom looked utterly blissful. I watched in awe as Santa's gloved hands slipped under the flimsy little skirt of my mother's negligee and pulled her into him. Mom wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed deeply.

The cat chose that moment to startle me by affectionately brushing up against my leg. A little squeak escaped my lips, and I quickly pulled back from the living room entrance. Not wanting my mom or Santa to catch me out of bed on Christmas eve, I ran back upstairs to my room and dove under the covers.

The next day, I asked my mom how long she'd known Santa. At five, I wasn't old enough to know that she shouldn't be kissing anyone other than my father, at least not like she'd been doing the night before. She acted upset when I admitted that I'd seen her talking to him in the middle of the night, and she insisted that I'd just been dreaming.

I started to argue, but I dropped it when I saw Mom getting angry. My father appeared amused by the whole thing. By the time he presented me with my Christmas tree shaped pancakes, my mother had cooled off and sat down with us to eat. I didn't bring it up again, but it just seemed too real to have been a dream.

Around age ten, I learned the actual meaning of the song 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus'. That's when I came to believe that it had been my father dressed as Santa. It was only as a teenager that the image still frozen in my memory grossed me out as I realized it must've been some sort of kinky, sexual roleplay not intended for my young eyes.

I became grateful to the cat for interrupting before I saw anything that might scar me for life. Eventually, I put that memory aside as I met a great guy, got married, and had my own children. In fact, I forgot all about the whole thing until last Christmas Eve.

Everything started out normal enough. After attending the family Christmas party at my parents' house, my husband and I drove home and tucked our kids in with promises that if they went right to sleep, Santa would bring them all sorts of presents. Dave had had too much to drink at the party, a common occurrence when dealing with my stepdad, and he went right to bed. My husband probably passed out before our daughters did.

I didn't have that luxury. Things had gotten a little away from me, and I still had over a dozen presents to wrap. Changing into my flannel pajama pants and a red hoodie around midnight, I began hauling the gifts I'd already wrapped from their hiding place in the basement.

After arranging them under the tree, I went to my bedroom and retrieved the bags of unwrapped presents in my closet. Once I had everything I needed spread out on the family room floor, I flipped the switch that lights our gas fireplace. The warm glow of the fire and the lights on the tree provided plenty of light to work by, so I didn't bother with a lamp.

I hadn't even finished cutting the wrapping paper for the first present when I heard a strange buzzing in my ears. The tree's lights glowed a little brighter as if from a power surge, except they didn't dim again. I stood up and tried to figure out what was happening, and my heart raced as the fear of the unknown gripped me in my dimly lit, deathly quiet home in the middle of the night.

My body froze in shock as the fireplace abruptly transformed. The glass seemed to evaporate, and the opening expanded by several feet to the sides and toward the ceiling. As the fire died down, a pair of black boots descended into view.

I stood there transfixed as a man dressed in red bent over and climbed out of the fireplace. Standing on the tile hearth, he idly brushed soot from the white fur trim of his jacket. Taking off his pointed red hat, he beat it against his thigh to clean that as well.

When he finally looked at me, I lost the ability to breathe. I'd seen images of Santa Claus all my life. The rosy cheeks, the enormous belly, the long white hair, the fatherly smile... the advertisers had it all wrong. This was the Santa I'd seen with my mother thirty years before.

"Hello, Beth," he said in a deep baritone that reverberated in my chest just like the bass at a rock concert. He spoke just above a whisper, but it felt as if he' blared the words at me with a pair of thousand watt amplifiers. I'd lost the ability to speak, so I remained mute as the impossible played out in front of me.

Rather than a big belly that shook like jelly, this Santa had a barrel chest like an old time wrestler. Well over six feet tall, he towered over me as I gazed into his intense, icy blue eyes. Everything about him practically screamed power, confidence, and goodness.

His neatly trimmed beard and closely cropped hair appeared more grey than white. Frankly, he looked more like a Navy SEAL in his forties or fifties than the image of the elderly Santa we all grew up with. This guy wasn't jolly grandpa so much as he was all man.

His dazzling eyes twinkling, Santa pulled a few wrapped gifts from his enormous sack. After placing them around the tree, he took a bite from one of the cookies my eldest daughter had left out. Setting his sack by a roaring log fire in the now transformed fireplace, he turned to me again.

"Why don't you come warm yourself by the fire?" he asked kindly.

It wasn't until that moment that I realized how cold the room had become. Taking a step toward him, I nearly fell off my heel. Confused, I looked down and discovered a pair of white, five-inch stilettos on my feet.

My head swam in confusion as I also saw that I no longer wore my comfy flannel pajama pants and hoodie. In their place, only a white babydoll nightie covered my body. Gooseflesh broke out on my exposed skin, and I swallowed hard as I carefully teetered over to the fireplace on those impossibly high heels. In the mirror over the mantel, I noticed that my hair had been inexplicably put up in pig tails like a little girl.

Standing before Santa's imposing figure, I noted that the sexy shoes left me almost as tall as him. I still didn't quite believe any of this could be real, and I reached out to touch him, half expecting this vision to disappear as my delusion dissolved into reality. With both my hands on his shoulders, I could tell that not only did he exist, but he concealed a mass of hard muscle beneath that bulky, red coat.

I flashed on what I'd seen when I was five. At that moment, we stood just as my mother and he had three decades earlier. My nightie, while a different color, appeared to be of the same sheer material and cut. I briefly wondered if it must be a dream, but it simply didn't feel that way.

"You've been a very good girl," he praised me, and I instantly felt five years old again. Santa's compliment made me feel proud, but his commanding voice humbled me at the same time. "I thought you deserved a special present this year."

"Th-thank you, Santa," I stammered, noting that he smelled like freshly baked gingerbread cookies. My mouth had gone completely dry, but I can't say the same for my sex. My mystifying attraction to his man overwhelmed me as I lost myself in his brilliantly blue eyes, which seemed to have little snowflakes dancing around within them.

I felt Santa's strong hands, still encased in their black leather gloves, roam my body under the delicate little skirt of my negligee. When he pulled me into him, our bodies melted into each other like I'd found the other half of myself. Desperately wrapping my arms around his neck, I opened my mouth to accept his kiss.

I tasted peppermint as his tongue passed my lips, and I even experienced the same sharp yet hollow sensation I get when I bite into a Life Saver candy. I inhaled through my mouth, and the cool sensation spread throughout my body, leaving me tingling all over. His tongue felt warm and comforting as it explored my mouth, and I didn't want that moment to ever end.

When he broke our embrace, I instantly felt lonely and needful. Thankfully, he placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed lightly down with an almost stern expression that left me feeling completely dominated. Taking the hint, I submissively dropped to my knees and eagerly looked up at him.

Kneeling before Santa in my girly nightie and pigtails, I bit my lip impatiently as he slowly unbuckled his black leather belt and set it aside. He casually opened his big red coat and dropped it on the floor as well. Standing over me in his red pants, leather boots, and a white tank top, he smiled and gazed down at me docilely waiting for him to tell me what to do.

He'd felt solid under the coat, and now I saw why. Though he didn't have the pec definition of a weightlifter, his broad chest created the perfect base for the sculpted roundness of his massive shoulders and arms. His carved biceps looked almost as thick as my thighs, and even his forearms looked powerful and solid.

He bit the fingertip of one of his leather gloves and pulled his hand out. For some reason, that move made my sex clench. After tossing his gloves atop his red coat, he reached for the top button of his fly.

My mouth actually watered as I watched him undo the four buttons that kept his trousers on. When he let the red velvet slide down his legs to his boots, his lack of underwear surprised me. Not, however, as much as what had been hiding under his pants.

His thighs looked thick and powerful, and I briefly wondered how much force they could produce when taking a woman. His hefty testicles lacked any hair, but a neatly trimmed salt and pepper bush framed the base of his meaty manhood like some sort of lurid wreath. However, it was that semihard cock that held my full attention. Much thicker and longer than my husband's average penis, it hung down tantalizingly by my face.

I've always seen penises as sort of goofy and awkward looking as they flopped around in front of their owners, but not Santa's. The mushroom shaped head looked vulgarly swollen, and the thick shaft had a vein that made it appear menacing. Weirder still, I found it beautiful despite how much it intimidated me, and I couldn't wait to experience it.

I'd given blow jobs before, though mostly to my husband before we married. It had always been something I did for the guy. I certainly never got anything out of it, but my attitude about them changed that magical Christmas Eve.

As Santa reached back with one massive arm to pull his tank top over his head, I leaned forward to take the head of his semi-flaccid manhood in my mouth. To my surprise, it had the texture and taste of fine dark chocolate. I sucked on it greedily while looking up into his mesmerizing, azure eyes.

I grasped his now stiffening cock in both hands and stroked him. It felt so good in my mouth, and my hands felt more like labia than palms and fingers. It seemed as if my entire body had become a sexual organ, and his touch unnaturally stimulated me no matter where or how we made contact.

Frankly, I couldn't get enough of his cock, and I became a little overenthusiastic. Santa put his hand on my head to calm me, and soon he controlled the action more than I did. By the time he'd become fully erect, he'd grasped my pigtails with both hands and had begun fucking my mouth roughly.

Instead of feeling hurt or violated, I would've begged him to be even rougher if my mouth hadn't been full. The tip of his cock began pressing past my tongue, and I instinctively leaned forward and lifted my chin to make going deeper possible. I didn't even gag as he pushed past my uvula into my throat.

As his large balls slapped against my chin, it seemed as if the head of his cock had reached down into my chest. I felt my neck with one hand, and it seemed much thicker than before. Oddly, my lack of breathing didn't bother me, and his assault on my mouth and throat felt better than any sex I'd ever experienced.

I felt an orgasm building as he continued to use my limp body in a decidedly unnatural way. I'd quickly become his willing vessel of pleasure, and I felt no need or desire to stop him from taking whatever he wanted. I might've called out when I climaxed if my mouth hadn't been stuffed full, but I'm sure he noticed me crying after I felt more intense pleasure than I'd imagined was even possible.

That's when he pulled back so that the bulbous head of his cock lay on my tongue with the shaft still stretching my lips. Though sobbing from the tremendous release of tension and emotions brought on by my powerful orgasm, I again sucked at his cock like my life depended on it. In less than a minute, his seed filled my mouth to overflowing, with the excess streaming down my throat, forcing its way up into my nose, and spilling out my lips onto my chin.

Even as I swallowed, he continued ejaculating and refilling my mouth again and again. I could feel it dribbling down my chin and landing on my breasts as I lost the battle to swallow it all, but everywhere it touched me felt like someone lightly licking my clit. Even the lining of my esophagus and stomach felt orgasmic as I continued gulping as much of his cum as I could.

Then there was the smell and taste, which seemed incongruent. The sharp aroma of cinnamon filled my nostrils, but his seed tasted like dark chocolate and sea salt. With much of my insides and outsides feeling like hundreds of excited clitorises, I began losing my grip on reality.

I experienced another powerful climax, and Santa hadn't even touched my sex. He pulled his cock from my mouth, and I swallowed the last of his semen just so I could breathe properly. The delicious taste and extraordinary smell didn't fade even after I'd cleared my mouth of his wonderful nectar.

I opened my eyes, and he now knelt before me, leaving us face to face. As Santa gently pushed me backward, I let him guide me under the tree. With my head resting on the presents I'd bought for my children, I heard myself begging Santa.

"Please! Fuck me!" I hissed, using a word I'd never used in my life. "I need you inside me!"

Santa tore the little G-string from my body and tossed the torn scrap of mesh aside in his urgent rush to take me. I braced myself for intense pain as he pressed that massive cock against my labia, but he slid in with surprising ease. Still, even without the anticipated tearing, I felt so stretched that I thought he might split me open at any moment.

I needn't have feared. As he used his massive forearms and weight to brace my knees against my shoulders, Santa thrust into me with supernatural abandon. Unable to resist him in that vulnerable position even if I'd wanted to, I accepted his assault on my sex just as I had the one on my mouth.

I felt keenly aware of all the semen on my chest and belly as our bodies ground against each other. Normally, I'd see that as a dirty thing, but in my state of mind at that moment, dirty seemed perfectly wonderful. Massaging his magical cum into my breasts made them even more sensitive, and I found myself using my arms to pull him even tighter against me.

Each time Santa forced his full length inside me, it felt like he pushed my cervix up into my throat, but it felt so amazing that I no longer cared if he did any damage. I'd become completely irrational, but I take that as a blessing. Obviously, some sort of magic was involved here, and my break from sanity probably allowed me to enjoy what normally would've killed or maimed me.

I didn't believe anything could feel better than the two orgasms I'd experienced while giving him a blow job. I couldn't have been more wrong. His cock seemed to fill my body and soul completely, and I experienced a mini-climax with each hammering thrust. When Santa came, I felt his seed splashing the walls of my womb, and I had the oddest sensation that my body had split into a million different dimensions, all of them pleasure inducing.

I could hear myself calling out, and a voice in my head warned me not to wake my husband and children. However, my incoherent screaming soon drowned out that voice completely. Instead of stopping after he'd cum, Santa merely maintained his relentless, methodical tempo, and I began to go mad from feeling so good. As he came inside me over and over, everything just meshed into one long orgasm that obliterated reality. I experienced an eternity of ecstasy that may have changed my brain chemistry forever.

When I finally recovered, I awoke to find myself sitting in Santa's lap in the rocking chair my husband had bought me for my birthday. We were both dressed, and my nightie showed none of the cum stains or damage done while we'd been making love. I know "fucking" might be the word you might use, but if you had experienced what I did, you'd know it was far more than that.

Santa didn't just enter my body. He'd entered my soul, and I'd never be the same again. Literally being filled with the Christmas spirit changes a woman for the better. At least it did for me...

Once he saw that I'd recovered, Santa pushed me off his lap and retrieved his sack. I ran to him as best I could in those ridiculously high heels. Kissing him deeply, I felt the urge to beg him to stay but knew he had other things to do. I didn't want to think about the perhaps thousands of other moms he might pleasure that night while he made his rounds.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"If you're a good girl," Santa replied as he gave my bare buttock a little pat. He kissed me one more time, and then disappeared up the chimney.

Early the next morning, I awoke refreshed and happy. Realizing it had all been a dream, I laughed at myself for being so silly. I'd woken up before the kids for a change, so I decided to use the bathroom and run a brush through my hair before all the chaos erupted.

"Wow! Merry Christmas to me," my husband said haughtily as I crossed the room.

"What?" I asked, confused as I turned to face him.

"Man, if I'd known you were going to wear that, I wouldn't have drunk so much last night."

Looking down, I realized that I still wore the white babydoll, and then I saw the high heels on the floor by the foot of the bed. Everything I'd done on Christmas Eve came rushing back, and I had to face the fact that I hadn't been dreaming at all. The mere thought of what I'd done with Santa Claus brought me back to full arousal without any foreplay. That has continued to be the case ever since.

"Do you think we have time before the kids get up?" my husband asked hopefully as he waggled his eyebrows. Before I could answer, we heard our daughters squealing.

"Apparently not," I replied as I grabbed my frumpy housecoat off the hook on the bathroom door. I could've changed into pajamas, but I liked the thought of my husband thinking about what I had on underneath my ratty old robe.

We had a wonderful Christmas, but it felt odd to watch my children tear into their gifts in the exact spot where just hours before I'd had the single greatest sexual experience of my life. I also noted that the gifts I hadn't wrapped all had paper and bows I didn't recognize. Santa had taken care of that for me as well.

I never told my husband about my experience. He wouldn't understand, and it would just cause problems in our marriage. Besides, I get wet and needful any time I even think about Christmas, and he certainly benefits from that.