"And to all a Good Night!"

And now for something completely different from my other contest story--more like a Christmas cookie. Happy holidays!

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"And to all a Good Night!"

She watched the team and sleigh sail away in the deep blue night, off to make their appointed rounds. Soon, they were only a distant silver line reflecting the moonlight. She blew a kiss as they disappeared, as her window fogged over, leaving the winter outside.

So intent was she that she hadn't registered the secret scurries, jostles and rattles in the room behind her. Only when she turned to the warmth of the fireplace that did she stop and cock her head.

Too late!

A small body, half the size of her own, sailed through the air and onto her chest. Tiny fingers curled around the hem of her décolletage, and as the body slid to the floor, the front of her bodice ripped away.

"What the...?"

As she bent to scoop the torn fabric and cover her exposed breasts, a diminutive foot kicked her ample bottom with the sound of a water-filled bass drum: BOIMM!

"Oh!" She teetered to maintain her footing.

Little bodies emerged from behind the furniture, and streamed in from the side rooms, until they filled the parlor. Dozens of elves, boisterous and randy. Shoving his way to the fore was their leader, Dundollo, his inky eyes glistening. It was obvious: They'd been drinking the grog.

She knew you must put some steel in your voice when they are like this. "You devils."

"That's not very nice," Dundollo said. One of the others was attempting to juggle objects from the fruit bowl: an apple, an orange and a walnut. Dundollo snatched the apple and took a sharp bite. It rolled out of his small hands and fell with a thud. "You used to invite us in, remember?"

She looked down, without an answer. There, before her, the heavy elf, Grundig, jumped up and up, barely leaving the ground but trying to fix his mouth on her breasts. This one was relatively docile but single-minded: There never was any stopping him. Now, with Dundollo to deal with, she let Grundig have them, but slapped the top of his head. "Not with your teeth."

"Where is Herrick?" Dundollo called. "Find me Herrick."

"Here he is!"

A surge of bodies pushed through the room, many arms gleefully nudging a central figure to the head of the pack. Red-headed with long meaty sideburns, Herrick was otherwise not so very remarkable in looks or size. Even his air was listless, contrasting with the enthusiastic pats and congratulatory arm-pulls from those around him. Why, even Dundollo brightened, cracking a boyish grin as he rushed to Herrick's side, pulling him along by the elbow.

"There's a lad." With his free hand, Dundollo fished through the front of Herrick's green felt trousers, extricating the penis. The room erupted as he led Herrick like a prize elephant.

When Herrick reached the head of the room, all the others could see and applaud. Herrick's prick was a stout crimson peg, the size of a forearm with a red, knotted fist. Dundollo's fingers fit around it no better than the apple, yet he exhibited it this way and that, and ended by giving it a waggle. The penis hardened and arched with the shaking. The room convulsed in an uproar.

In the face of it all, the woman planted her hands on wide hips. "This is impressive? You can take that childishness outdoors with you." She leaned into her words and put some real what-for behind them.

Dundollo stood his ground. "Nothing doing." He stepped forward and spun her by those very same hips, pushing down her torso. "You should have thought of that before."

"Oh!" She yelped as her dress of red velvet was thrown over her back.

Dundollo's pudgy fingers delved squishy-squish between her fair fleshy thighs. Grundig pulled at her dangling udders. Her buttocks quaked. What could she do at this point? They were jealous and always extremely horny, the way they used her.

Dundollo pulled out his fingers, oily and sweet. Then he signaled his cohorts, taking special pains to guide Herrick into the prime spot. "You shouldn't have done it," he admonished her privately, his voice frosty with jealousy.

She knew he meant she shouldn't have pursued Dundollo's nemesis, her husband. But she did what she had to do--after all, these boys only worked for hand-to-mouth wages. What she really shouldn't have done was open her door to them and their swaggering, roguish charms in the first place. So, they thought this would be a yearly thing, did they? Oh, she had a few choice words for him!

When she opened her mouth to give him a tongue-lashing, a cord of sperm shot into her throat and she gagged as it coiled around her uvula. Those little imps hopped merrily around her head, pulling their pricks and sniggering.

Strings of semen slapped her flushed cheeks. "My glasses!"

The glasses were snatched away, and resurfaced again straddling a rigid penis like a long nose with a brushy mustache. For a moment, she was eye to eye with it while its head swelled and

SPLOOSH!

Ropes of hot jism began crisscrossing her face. She closed her eyes and it sealed her eyelashes. She dipped her tongue in the saltiness. Then there was Herrick--

"Ah-argh!" She had to exhale to accommodate him.

Herrick's hips slapped against her generous buttocks. He was a relentless bulldozer, plowing her pussy, driven by merciless thwacks of Dundollo's doubled-up belt on his backside. Underneath her thickening white mask, she saw stars.

The whole scene was magnificently filthy. My heavens, she thought as she settled on her elbows, but I seem to have backed myself into yet another pickle!

While Harrick stirred up ancient tidal undercurrents of deepest, muskiest enchantment, the woman used her final lucid thoughts to calculate the number of days her husband need rest after his big trip and whether she would be healed. There was only one problem.

That damned Grundig was using his teeth!