Oz Beach Boy's Very Own Xmas Angel

"Where are you all from?" I asked. "You're here travelling?"

"Yes, we are touring around Australia," Eline replied. "We are all from Amsterdam in Holland. Are you employed as a Sexy Santa, Matt? Is this your job on Christmas Day here? You are very handsome."

"Thanks...oh, no," I laughed. "I just thought it might be fun to come to Bondi dressed in this silly Santa suit that I got while doing some volunteer work at a hospital."

"Oh, you are spreading Christmas cheer with your Santa suit," Marit laughed dirtily, "and your great body underneath. We can see your big, muscular arms, Matt. You are no jolly fat man!"

As I walked, I then surprisingly felt Marit's amusingly probing hand on my butt. With a giggle, the naughty Dutch girl gave my right butt cheek a very firm pinch and squeeze, and then slid her fingers partially into my arse-crack. Something told me things were going to get out of hand, but I just couldn't resist. I was well and truly in the thick of it now.

"Marit, please," I said with mock indignation. "A little respect for Santa, please! What about Mrs. Claus?"

"Fuck Mrs. Claus," Eline chimed in. "Santa's coming to play with some naughty Dutch elves today!"

When we walked up to Eline and Marit's group of friends, the eight Dutch girls roared with laughter and excitement, clapping and cheering my arrival with hoots and hollers. They waved their arms amusingly in the air.

"Sexy Santa!" whooped one of the girls in a thick Dutch accent. "Sexy Santa! Sexy Santa!"

"Let's get a photo!" hollered another. "Sexy Santa with all the ladies!"

"Get in the middle, Santa," shouted another. "We will surround you! All the ladies and one man! Sexy Santa!"

I waved hello and quickly scanned my eyes across the group of very attractive Dutch girls, all of whom looked to be aged in their early to mid-twenties. Though they were all blonde, the girls were pleasingly varied when it came to body shape: some were tall and lean, others shorter and more curvaceous, and a couple could have been safely described as BBWs.

I like women of all shapes and sizes, ages, nationalities, and religious and political persuasions. I don't have a "type", so to speak. These ten Dutch girls looked absolutely great, and were all pretty and appealing in their own particular ways.

All the Dutch girls wore Santa hats, teamed with revealing bikinis of varying colours and styles. About half the girls were wearing skimpy g-strings, fully revealing glorious butt cheeks, and clearly suggesting pube-free, smoothly waxed vulvas.

The tall and long-legged Eline and Marit were undeniably the most attractive and likely the most confident girls in the group, with their long, blonde, wavy hair, big blue eyes, curvy hips, and big, heavy, fleshy breasts. They had enormous smiles, and their g-string-clad butts were wonderfully smooth and round.

As I smiled and walked right into the midst of these ten clearly drunken Dutch tourists, I was getting increasingly excited. Eline lightly, gently pushed me from behind, guiding me into place for a photo.

Eline quickly grabbed her phone from her beach bag laying on the sand, and then directed her friends to crowd in around me while I stood casually with my arms lightly flexed by my side.

I instantly felt the warm, pneumatic bodies of the Dutch girls slowly begin to press against mine as they moved into the shot. I felt warm hands on my shoulders and soft, spongy breasts pushing into my sides.

"Okay, girls," Elina giggled, "smile and say, 'Penis!'"

"Penis!" the Dutch girls all laughingly yelled in unison and smiled broadly for the camera.

"That's fantastic," Eline laughed, and snapped off a series of shots. "Now, what do we think, ladies? Maybe one without the shirt?"

"Hell, yes!" came a loudly shrieked relpy.

There was a huge gale of laughter, and then I felt a swarm of hands grab at my silly satin Santa shirt. I was pulled back and forth for a few moments, confused at how quickly this situation had devolved into something potentially very raunchy.

I heard a loud ripping noise, and the buttons of my Santa shirt quickly popped off and went flying into the air. The Dutch girls then literally tore the flimsy shirt apart while pulling it aggressively from my body. I looked around in deep concern and saw my shredded Santa shirt thrown gleefully into the hot summer air like red confetti.

"Hey, come on," I said in mild protest as my bare torso was revealed. "My shirt..."

"Oh, you don't need that shirt," a thickly accented female voice said soothingly from behind me. "It's so hot! You're better off without it! Relax, Santa! It's summer in Australia! We're not at The North Pole!"

"Look at that body!" Eline howled. "You really are a Sexy Santa! Oh, my god! Merry Christmas!"

"There's no fat belly on this Santa!" laughed another voice from behind me, and I felt long-nailed female fingers rub my rock-hard abs from behind. "This Santa has a six-pack, girls!"

"Show us those big muscles," Marit giggled from beside me. "Do a pose, Santa! Muscle man!"

Surrounded by this horde of excited, wildly laughing, bikini-clad Dutch girls, I obediently did what I was told, holding up my arms and flexing my bulging biceps in the classic bodybuilder pose while Eline photographed us all.

With hot Dutch women all around me, I immediately felt female hands clasping my muscular arms and rubbing my smooth, bare chest as the girls moved in even closer to me. I gradually felt my temperature rise.

Jumping slightly in surprise, I then felt several hands on my butt, naughtily pinching, rubbing and squeezing my taut, tensed cheeks. I felt fingers daringly venture right inside my butt-crack, and then the points of long fingernails edging around my butt-hole.

These ten drunken Dutch girls were truly wild and out of control. I'd really gotten myself into it this time...and that's saying something. I've had some wild sexual experiences, and this was quickly shaping up to be another.

Different groups of guys and girls walked past us on the sand, watching what was unfolding with great amusement, and giggling loudly at the precarious predicament in which I'd foolishly but still excitingly placed myself. There were lots of seemingly concerned giggles from everyone that walked past.

"Be careful, Santa," said a big guy in a thick German accent. "You're completely outnumbered, ja?"

Though I was undeniably nervous, I loved it. Even the smell of the Dutch girls turned me on: it was a heady mix of sunscreen, alcohol, sweat, sea water, vape smoke, perfume, soap, deodorant and, well, sex.

"Who wants to sit on Santa's knee?" Eline screamed out to a cacophony of cheers. "Tell Santa what you want for Christmas! Get down on one knee, Santa!"

I reluctantly got down on one knee in the warm sand, and a gorgeous Dutch girl immediately sat down on my muscled thigh and audaciously put her arm around my neck. I could smell her body odour. She leaned into me and I felt her warm breath on my neck as she whispered into my ear.

"Hey, Santa," the Dutch girl said quietly in a thick accent. "For Christmas, I would like your cock in my mouth. I would like to suck it for you."

"Oh, my god," I giggled, and the Dutch girl gave me a light kiss on the cheek, and then jumped up, to be quickly replaced by another girl.

"Hi, Santa," the next Dutch girl laughingly whispered, and the sour smell of alcohol on her breath was overpowering. "What do I want for Christmas? Santa's big cock in my sweet little pussy! That's what I want! And maybe in my bottom too! Right up there!"

The boozy-breathed girl got up with a giggle, and then grabbed at my dick with her right hand. She got a good hold of it, and then gave my enormous member a big, naughty squeeze through my satin shorts and underpants, laughing uproariously the whole time.

As this very naughty girl got up and moved away with a dirty giggle, another sexy Dutch girl went to sit on my knee at the same time, which threw me off balance. I fell gently sideways onto the ground. My face hit the warm sand, sending my fake beard off-kilter and pushing my Santa hat down over my eyes.

My legs splayed out on the sand, and I was suddenly lying on my side on the ground. My sudden increased vulnerability must have been obvious, because two of the Dutch girls closest to me instantly fell to their knees and then reached for my red satin Santa shorts.

The two Dutch girls got a grip on the bottoms of the loose, flimsy shorts, and then started to pull them down. I grabbed desperately at the waistband of the shorts, but the two Dutch girls were too quick. They already had my shorts down around the middle of my thighs when their friends caught onto what they were so naughtily doing.

Two more Dutch girls hit the ground, sending sand spraying everywhere. They grabbed at my shorts too, and there were suddenly four pairs of hands ripping at the light, flimsy fabric. I was in real trouble now...but undeniably sexy trouble indeed.

"They're pulling off Santa's pants!" a thickly accented call came from within the heaving group of Dutch girls. "Oh, my god! Sexy Santa is losing his pants!"

I tried to struggle up off the sand, and watched helplessly as the four mischievous Dutch girls easily ripped my baggy shorts right off my legs. I saw more of my thighs appear, and then gazed in shock as the red satin shorts were yanked down my muscled calves and then right over my bare feet.

With an obvious grimace, I watched as the four girls tossed my stolen shorts to their friends, who grabbed them and then proceeded to literally tear them apart right in front of me. Though I still had my Santa hat, sunglasses and fake beard, the rest of my silly Santa outfit had been completely destroyed.

I felt an actual pang of sadness ring through me when I watched my Santa suit so violently torn to pieces on the beach. Sure, I'd always looked like an idiot in the silly thing, but that ridiculous Santa suit had certainly helped me get a lot of action this Christmas. I had legitimately grown fond of it.

Sprawled on the beach and publicly pantsed, I was now clad in just my ridiculously skimpy, "Santa's Sack"-emblazoned bikini briefs, and I knew there was no way these girls would just let me leave in those.

I'd been in enough kinky situations to know that my underpants would be next, and I would eventually be left completely naked on Bondi Beach, which was packed with Christmas revellers.

Undeniably turned on but also quietly terrified, I knew I had to get out of there. These drunken Dutch girls would be after my underpants next. My cock and balls would be on display for everyone to see.

Though I love being completely naked in front of women, I always like to retain a measure of power and control in the situation, and also remain soundly safe and out of real trouble.

I don't like being stranded in public without my clothes. It's happened to me before [See Stories: "Oz Beach Boy Pantsed By Joggers" and "Oz Beach Boy's Epic Nude Run"], and though the experiences were admittedly extremely arousing, and even highly sexual, they were also deeply, profoundly unsettling.

If these girls got me naked on Bondi Beach, god knows what they would do to me. Though the concept of being gang-fucked by female Dutch tourists in public on Christmas Day was certainly enticing, I could also end up in custody on public indecency charges. I only had one option: run!

"Look at his underpants!" shrieked Marit with a huge smile while pointing at my crotch. "Santa's Sack!"

"Oh, my god, look at his muscles," howled another girl, "and the bulge in his panties!"

"Let's rip them off!" shrieked Eline with one fist raised triumphantly in the air. "Let's see him totally naked! Let's see Santa's dick!"

"Yes, yes!" added Marit with a shriek. "Let's take everything Santa has! Nothing left! Let's see that dick!"

There was loud laughing and yelling from the ten Dutch girls, who then came at me as one big, amorphous whole, all blonde hair, Santa hats, tits, tummies, barely concealed pussies, butt cheeks, outstretched arms, and clawing hands.

"Let's get him!" shrieked another voice. "Come on, girls!"

"No mercy!" howled another. "Everything off! I'm going to grab that dick!"

"I'll squeeze his balls!" laughed another of the Dutch girls. "Hard!"

Agile and extremely fit, I quickly jumped up onto my knees, and then turned and ran. I could feel the warm sand kicking up behind me as I tore up Bondi Beach at a breathless pace, my legs pumping hard as I headed for the walking promenade in the near distance.

Though one of my knees is slightly damaged from an old injury, I got off to a fast start and left the drunken Dutch girls in my wake. I could still move quickly, and I was also being energised by sheer fear and desperation.

I ran hard and fast, and looked quickly over my shoulder to see the ten Dutch girls chasing after me, their heads down and their legs moving and pumping hard with a surprising sense of purpose.

I could hear the girls shouting and bellowing in Dutch to each other as they ran, their breasts bobbing up and down in unison. Eline and Marit, the tallest and leggiest of the group, pulled ahead from their friends and started to gain on me.

I thought if I could get off the sand, onto the large concrete walking promenade, and then up to the strip of parking road that runs the length of the beach, the Dutch girls might eventually give up and let me go.

Then it would be a fifteen-minute trek back to my car dressed in just my ridiculous "Santa's Sack" underpants. I'd likely get a lot of attention, and possibly more trouble, but it was better than being left naked in the middle of the packed and bustling Bondi Beach.

I continued to burn up the sand, getting closer to the ramp that led up to the promenade, and then to what I deeply hoped was some form of safety. I even would have welcomed the sight of a police patrol, with the cops possibly and hopefully sympathetic to my absurd, self-created plight, and likely eager to prevent a bizarre public stripping incident on Christmas Day.

"We've got him," Eline panted breathlessly from behind me. "We've got him!"

The very naughty, very sexy Eline and Marit were indeed right behind me. Their pretty, sweaty faces were twisted in exhaustion, and their wavy hair flew behind them. They moved fast up the sand, and were then eventually upon me.

In a bizarre feat of enthusiasm and desperation, both girls launched themselves into the air, attempting a kind of rugby tackle, their toned, tanned arms stretched outward in front of them, and their full red lips crinkled with determination.

When they came down through the air, Eline and Marit didn't manage to grab me, but they did each get hold of my skimpy underpants. The girls pulled them downward as they spiralled toward the ground, and then both crashed face-first into the warm sand, sending yellow crystals everywhere. They grabbed at me again, but I'd managed to pull away from the two Dutch girls.

I kept awkwardly running and looked over my shoulder to see Eline and Marit hopelessly sputtering and rolling in the sand in shock, desperately trying to get up, but constantly tripping over again in their drunken state.

I looked down to see my underpants wrenched down and caught hopelessly around my knees. My big, thick, ropy, uncircumcised cock and wildly swinging, shockingly pendulous ball-sack were hanging free, dangling impressively in the hot summer air.

As I reached down to hurriedly pull my underpants back up and quickly cover myself, I noticed a group of about twenty Brazilian girls laughing as they walked down the beach toward me, carrying bundles of food, towels, and drinks, and waving Brazilian flags.

When they caught sight of me desperately pulling up my underpants with my cock and balls slapping around and on full, salacious display, the group of sexy South Americans all pointed at me and then literally fell about laughing, grabbing and pushing each other wildly while staring at me in shock and amusement.

"Look at Santa's pau!" one of the Brazilians yelled. "It's so big!"

"Look at Santa's balls!" howled another. "They are swinging like coconuts!"

"Those blonde girls are chasing him!" yelled another. "Look at them! In the Santa hats! I think they are trying to take his underpants right off! They want to strip Santa! Santa will lose his pants!"

I looked over my shoulder to see Eline and Marit finally getting up off the sand, and now joined by their eight equally determined friends, who all continued in their relentless pursuit of me.

Sweat literally poured down my face and all over my smooth, waxed, bare torso. I finally pulled my underpants all the way back up over my errant cock and balls while the horde of Brazilian girls laughed at me with wild abandon.

I ran right around the Brazilians, who all whistled at me and laughed outrageously. I then bolted up the ramp and onto the hot concrete of the walking promenade. The desperate Dutch girls were still running back on the sand, but they were gaining on me.

As people watched in surprise and confusion at my state of near-nudity and the absolute absurdity of my tiny little novelty underpants, and perhaps the outrageous bulge of my cock too, I raced up a set of small concrete stairs, and then finally onto the hoped-for safety of the parking road.

I pulled up suddenly in front of what looked like a 1970 Monaro HG GTS 350, an extraordinary slab of seventies vehicular muscle painted in bright red with green pin-striping up the middle of the hood and across the doors. The beautifully restored muscle car was loudly idling in the hot summer sun.

Blaring out from the beautiful Monaro's booming, ear-pounding sound system was Keith Richards' Christmas rocker "Run Rudolph Run." This really was some kind of souped up, super-cool Christmas mobile.

I know so much about cars and vintage rock music thanks to Hank Lowensohn, one of my best foster carers as a kid, and a man obsessed equally with classic cars, classic rock, and his classically beautiful wife Stacy. He taught me everything I know about cars and rock music.

The classic picture didn't end there. Leaning up against the Monaro right at the front wheel was an even more extraordinary sight. With a cigarette loosely and sexily dangling from her pouty red lips, a tall, lean, incredibly beautiful girl gave me a sly and very knowing smile.

The girl's jet-black hair was cut into Suzi Quatro-style bangs, and she was wearing reflective aviator sunglasses, just like my own. Likely in her early thirties and dressed incongruously in bootleg denim jeans with a big, silver buckle, and scuffed brown cowboy boots, this girl oozed confidence, charisma and cool. She looked like a rock star reluctantly on summer holidays.

The Monaro girl had mid-sized breasts and was wearing a tight-fitting black t-shirt emblazoned with a photo of a mean-looking Santa Claus holding a big candy cane over one shoulder, and threateningly pointing a.45 automatic at the camera. Under the photo in a ragged, punk-style font was the hilarious message "Have a Merry Christmas, motherfucker...or else!"

"You look like you might be in trouble, Santa Claus," the girl said in a deep, throaty, mind-blowingly sexy purr, and then took a drag on her cigarette. "Maybe you should get in my sleigh, big man?"

I looked around and saw the Dutch girls noisily running up the ramp and onto the promenade. To make matters worse, they'd been joined by the crew of Brazilian girls, meaning there were now thirty girls pursuing me.

"I think you should get in," the Monaro girl said. "I won't hurt you...I promise."

"Okay," I smiled. "Thank you...thank you."

As the Monaro girl opened up the driver's side door and slid behind the wheel, I ran around the back of the car, and then quickly pulled open the passenger side door and jumped into the car. I noticed on my way round that the Monaro's number plate curiously read "Be Merry."