Santa's Sex Toy

You stand in Sarah Finkle's bedroom, watching the pretty girl sleep. You've already been there far too long and you can hear that the reindeer are getting restless on the roof. "Quiet Rudolf" you think, and the clattering of hoofs ceases as the telepathic message is received.

Sarah stirs in her sleep, then rolls onto her front. You hurriedly sprinkle a little fairy dust over her to keep her from waking. You place a sprig of mistletoe on her bedhead. Marvellous stuff, mistletoe. Let's you get away with all sorts of stuff at Christmas. You stroke her red hair gently and give her a kiss on the cheek.

"You've been a very bad girl this year Sarah," you whisper. "In fact, you're right at the top of my naughty list. You're very lucky to be getting a present at all."

Your trembling hand pulls off Sarah's bed covers and you admire her sleeping form. She's wearing a lacy silk nightdress, very short, that has ridden up and barely covers her curvy bottom. One knee is bent at ninety degrees, twisting her body and thrusting that gorgeous arse towards you. You breathe in sharply and slide a hand down the front of your big red pants to stroke your stiffening cock.

Every year you permit yourself this little indulgence. Like many travellers far from home you are tempted to stray. Mrs Claus has really let herself go lately — she's even fatter than you now and more interested in bon-bons than your Yule log. You are confined to the North Pole for three hundred and sixty four days a year, consumed by work and constantly dealing with mischievous elves, all while struggling with natural needs and desires that can't be satisfied. The situation is so bad that, just last week, you caught yourself admiring Prancer's well-toned hindquarters.

You reach out with your free hand and place it on Sarah's tempting bum cheek, feeling the soft curves through her silky sleepwear. Gradually you permit your hand to roam further, until you are stroking and groping her firm arse all over. Your cock is rock hard now and it's getting difficult to wank inside the confines of your suit. You unbuckle your wide black belt and wriggle your pants and polka-dotted boxer shorts down to the top of your boots.

You resume fondling and stroking Sarah's buttocks with one hand while you pump your cock with the other. Gradually her nightdress rides up to her waist, revealing her naked arse in all its glory. "No panties Miss Finkle?" you whisper, giving her bottom a little smack. "Such a naughty, naughty girl!"

You slide your hand between her legs and start stroking her pussy. She feels completely hairless down there. Sarah moans and spreads her legs wider, giving you better access. She starts wriggling her bum and gently thrusting her hips as her whole body responds to your magic touch. Your fingers start to get wet with her juices and you slip two inside her.

This is further than you've ever gone before. You pump your dick faster while finger-fucking her, preparing to shoot your load over the naughty redhead's bottom before making a quick getaway. But then Sarah suddenly moans and rolls away from you toward the other side of the bed, ending up on her back with her legs spread wide apart.

You stare at Sarah's bald pussy as she writhes around restlessly. One of her hands slides up her stomach and over her breasts, pulling her nightdress up with it, leaving her big tits completely exposed.

Your giant cock is harder than it's been in two hundred years, your big hairy balls almost bursting with good tidings. "Maybe we should unwrap your present early," you whisper, your mouth dry.

You reach into your sack and pull out her present, then tear the wrapping from it. The tag falls to the ground. It reads "To Sarah Finkle, with lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of love from Santa. XXX OOO XXX"

Inside the box is an eight-inch vibrating dildo. You spend a good five minutes extricating it from the blister packaging and undoing a dozen twisty-ties. "Bloody over-zealous elves!" you curse. You'll have a word with them on your return.

With one eye on Sarah's busty, near-naked body you turn on the vibrator. Nothing happens. Batteries not included. "Ho, ho, holy mother fucker!" you shout. In frustration you sprinkle it with fairy dust and it roars into life.

You climb on to the bed next to the sleeping Sarah and caress her inner thigh with your fat, warm hand. Then you rub the vibrator up and down her hairless slit and press it hard against her clit. Her body tenses up and she arches her back, breathing rapidly, her big bazookas high and proud on her chest.

You ease the buzzing dick into Sarah's dripping cunt and pump her hard while your free hand gropes her boobs. She starts talking in her sleep. "Oh Santa, that's it. Oh yeah. Fuck me Santa!"

This is too much for you to resist. "Sorry Mrs Claus," you mutter, discarding the vibrator over your shoulder as you clamber on top of the pretty girl. With one eager thrust your cock penetrates her tight, moist depths. Your immense bulk forces her legs wide and she exhales loudly as the air is forced from her lungs.

It's been so long. You prop yourself up on straight arms in an attempt to keep most of your weight off her, then start frantically fucking the helpless Sarah, causing her big boobs to bounce back and forth dramatically. "Ho, ho, ho" you groan. "Take this, you little ho!"

Your fitness isn't what it once was. Soon your face is bright red and dripping with sweat. The thick warm jacket and hat aren't helping either. You start to worry that you might have a heart attack.

You roll off Sarah and take some deep breaths. Desperate for some Christmas cheer you clamber up the bed and press the tip of your engorged penis against her mouth. Her soft lips part and you slide it inside. Cradling her head in your hands you gently move her back and forth, slowly fucking her face. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as Sarah reflexively suckles your shaft.

"Oh Jesus!" you groan, then unload what feels like gallons of eggnog-flavoured jism down Sarah Finkle's throat. She swallows squirt after squirt as you force her head down on your rod, her nose buried in your snowy white pubes. The excess spills from her mouth and runs down her cheek onto her pillow. You make a half-hearted attempt to wipe it off with your knob, but only end up dribbling more on her.

Panting, you survey the damage. Sarah is lying dishevelled on the bed, her silky nightdress bunched up under her arms and all her charms exposed. Her face is dripping with more custardy goo than a Christmas pudding.

Never fear, it's nothing that a sprinkle of fairy dust can't fix. You reach into your pouch and curse when you find it empty. Sighing with resignation, you summon your elf assistant down from the sleigh.

The little fellow arrives quicker than expected and catches you tugging up your pants. After surveying the scene he gives you a disapproving look.

"Keep this to yourself Gluggagaegir, or I'll tell the other elves how you like it up the arse."

With the elf's help, Sarah Finkle's ravaged body is quickly restored to an unsullied condition and you are on your way. Your feelings of shame eventually disappear as you occupy yourself with the delivery of the next billion presents. By the end of the night you find yourself looking forward to next year. It's all that frigid Mrs Claus's fault, after all.