Santa, Baby

Author's note: Yup, this is Santa porn. Enter at your own risk. 

Also, Santa, if you're reading this, I have been a VERY GOOD GIRL.

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I love Christmas. Not, like, oooh, Christmas is cool. I FUCKING LOVE CHRISTMAS. And you're right, I'm not Christian - so much the better. Christmas wasn't Christian to begin with, either, between Saturnalia, Mōdraniht, Yule and the Wild Hunt. Besides, what could be better for a witch with a praise kink than a holiday celebrated with lighted trees and a man who brings you presents based on how good you are? AND he's large and bearded? Perfection.

This is how I find myself, on Christmas Eve, stretched out in front of the fire on a pile of blankets with my saucy book. I'm the only one in the house, but I've still gone through our Christmas Eve ritual of hanging mistletoe and leaving goodies out on the hearth: some cookies, a mug of almond milk, a beer for the road, and a couple of carrots for the reindeer. I don't fuck around.But I also didn't expect to find out.

I drift in and out, enjoying the play of the firelight across the hearth, the inside of the fireplace, that little stretch of wall I can see without lifting my head - and the feel of my hand sleepily cupping my hungry little pussy under the blankets. It's in this half-awake state that I think I see a shadow. If I'm honest, it looks EXACTLY like a large man stepping from the fireplace. But I'm also half drunk on eggnog, less than half awake, more than halfway to orgasm, and.... highly suggestible anyway. Did I mention I fucking love Christmas?

I roll on to my back, one arm above my head, the other moving deliberately across my mound, cupping, squeezing, rolling, but otherwise avoiding any consistent movement that might get me off. It just feels good. I swear I feel someone moving around the room, but I cannot pull my focus off of the dreamy dance of the firelight and feel of my hand. 

A heavy weight on the arm above my head should be a shock. I know it should, I should be screaming, panicking... But all I feel is the warm safety of being held down, of someone else taking control. The smell of burned cinnamon and ashes tickles my nose as a black-gloved hand comes from above to push my blankets down, revealing my own guilty little hand over white cotton panties. The glove is leather, worn and well-cared-for, and as he reaches across I can see the furred cuff of a sleeve pull back to reveal tattoos I can't quite identify, but I'm quite sure contain runes and other symbols of power. "Show me." Who am I to argue with a mysterious presence on Christmas Eve? 

I keep teasing, playing. I squeeze my vulva hard, still through my panties, rocking my hips into the pressure. I bend my knees, pushing off from the floor and up into my hand when he tells me to wait. That same black-gloved hand, the same smell of something warm and burnt and only slightly frightening, and my oversized sleep shirt is being pulled up."And these." My nipples tighten and pebble at the attention and I reluctantly let go of my pussy to cup one, then the other breast, rolling my nipples between my fingers and returning to the same slow rock of my hips.."I..." My voice is husky with disuse and just a small case of nerves. "I want more.""Of course you do."

But nothing changes. Still that same delicious weight holding me down, that same sense of being observed - seen - known, that same sense of fullness in my breasts, and that same, well, escalating, sense of emptiness in my cunt.

"More, please."

"Good girl."

Fuuuuuuuuck. He pulls my playing arm up over my head to join the other and I'm absolutely sure those are his legs holding me down as my head tips back to take his cock in my mouth. What I'm not sure about is if the softly furred sensation I am now aware of on my arms is him or the pants. But that's not where my attention is for long because this... is perfect. My mouth is full, but my jaw isn't cramping. He's just pushing at the back of my throat, but I'm not going to gag. And I still want more. His body shakes a little with laughter as his cock grows in my mouth, stretching me and pushing against the back of my throat in a way that makes it hard to breathe. "Be careful what you ask for." 

He rocks gently, torturously, in and out of my mouth. One gloved hand, then another, pull at my nipples before squeezing, just exactly hard enough, on my whole tit to make me groan. Where did my sleep shirt go? I push my hips higher, spreading my knees wide and hopeful, and feel that same chuckle roll through his body again. Wasn't I also wearing panties? I was... but when his gloved hand comes down, hard smack, no warning, on my wet pussy there are definitely no more panties.How does he do this? I don't care...My body gives me away, throat opening, hips pushing up for more. There will be no pretending I don't desperately want this. 

As his gloved hand falls repeatedly, intensely, on my pussy, I feel my whole body warming, wanting. I try it again, thinking to myself, "More," and very nearly choke myself as his cock expands again in my mouth - in far more than the usual way. Yes, this is what I want, but not where. His hands spread my lips uncomfortably wide, peeling me open to slide in one thick finger, then another. Even this feels impossibly large. Is it the gloves? Did his hands grow, too? Is it just how wide open he's holding me... I want to die, to pass out, I can't possibly take this another minute and I. still. want. more.

His fingers are gone and he pulls his fat cock out of my mouth with a wet plop before I can hurt us both. Too bad. This time, he lays back on my nest of blankets, and now I can see his black boots, more well-cared-for and well-worn leather, the soft red pants tucked in to the boots but pushed down around thick furry thighs, which support a suspiciously average-sized (what magic is this?!) cock under a generous belly framed by his open red coat. As my eyes continue to climb, I see thick nipple rings peeking out from under his beard, a full lower lip curving in a smile at my hungry observations, and eyes that sparkle exactly like Santa's should. His hand reaches toward me, an easy invitation, "Come here, my greedy girl." 

I climb on, wet pussy settling over Santa's cock as I rock back and forth, teasing us both as much as I can stand (it's not much), before bracing my hands on his belly and rising to take him into me. Again, perfect... just enough pressure that I know he's there, neither so long nor thick that there's any discomfort, just perfect... I rise and fall, enjoying the slick slide, before I catch and hold his eyes, thinking, again "more." His slow smile becomes a devious grin as he lengthens and thickens in me, my rise and fall taking more, giving more, stretching more. "Yesss." I hold on to the delicious rise and fall, in and out, just as long as I can, his hands cupping my tits hard, then guiding my hips, I'm so close.

As my movements settle into a slow grind, just on the verge of a colossal come, I hold his eyes and find my voice again, asking, "More." He obliges. I'm full, so fucking full, each movement stretching me almost impossibly. His hands grip hard on my hips, my grind speeding up, hungry, needy, I'm no longer asking, I'm demanding, "More!" over and over again as I come, the stretch in my cunt pulling my clit hood back, the rocking motion pushing him deeper and grinding over my exposed clit all at the same time. The orgasm goes on forever, shifting and pulling like taffy and rolling itself out like waves that eventually take me under.

I come back to myself draped over his soft belly. Legs trembling, tears on my lashes, cunt full of Christmas cheer. I shift my hips, just a little, and feel him still hard and huge inside me. "More?" he asks with a twinkle. I don't even have to consider my answer.

"More. Always more."

"Sweet, greedy girl."

His bowl full of jelly shakes under me as his strong hands reach down to pull my ass cheeks apart. I push my hips back, just a little, indicating my openness, literally and figuratively, and feel a slick, wet, thickness slide between my spread cheeks. He pulls me wider, just exactly uncomfortable enough, just exactly exposed enough, just exactly what I want. Even as I am wholly sure his thick cock is still lodged tightly in my tender cunt, I feel a pressure on my asshole, opening me, just entering, and, pausing as I look up with not unpleased surprise. "You?"

"Santa magic."

I lay my head back down, tipping my hips, bearing down to make his entry easier. He's already taking up most of my insides and the pressure is absolutely fucking delicious. That dark vulnerability, that radical openness, and then he's inside and I'm well and truly skewered. I swear he's buried so deep, I can feel him at the back of my throat and, for the moment, even I am satisfied, content to just bask in the sensation of fullness. But then his hands are on my upper arms, directing me to sit up, and back, and the movement pushes him even deeper. I can't breathe and I want to scream. His hands move down to my hips, lifting me up and letting me fall back down onto both cocks, keeping up the movement even when I couldn't possibly maintain it on my own, pushing me through orgasm after orgasm, watching me with that same sweet, devious twinkle in his eyes forever asking, "More?" 

Between contractions, barely a whisper in my throat, raw from moaning, but I won't be denied, "More!" I feel him shift again under me, inside me, lengthening miserably, impossibly in my ass, stretching my cunt painfully, impossibly wide, and dragging my swollen clit back and forth across something that feels suspiciously like teeth and if I thought I was flying before... It starts low in my back and feels like rain, this impossible orgasm. The pushing, the stretching, the dragging, every movement prolongs the orgasm past its breaking point, and well past mine. I think I know why they call it coming now, because that's exactly what's happening, I'm coming apart, reduced to each singular sensation and hope for breath.

This time, when I come back to myself, I'm naked and alone in my little nest of blankets, rolled to face the embers of the fire. As I reach for the scrap of paper next to the now empty plate, every part of my body aches with delicious evidence of my magical visitor. The paper reads simply "More," and under that, my name crossed off for the year. Warm wishes from Mrs. Claus cascade in a glittery scrawl across the bottom. I fucking love Christmas.