Don't Mess with Santa!

Naked, he was tied face down to the dining room table.

Strings of merrily blinking Christmas tree lights had been wound around him until he was as snug as a turkey in a corset.

The center leaf on the table was missing, and his manhood projected downward like an auger about to strike oil. The tie snugged around his most precious parts was red with a hula girl swaying upon it, and his balls were as red as apples that looked ready to burst.

And, to top him off, a beautiful, blue, crystal Angel, the sort that normally adorned the tops of Christmas trees, was inserted between his spanked, red cheeks.

The rest of the room looked like Christmas terrorists had tried to blow the place up.

Wrapping paper, crumpled and ripped to shreds, covered the floor.

The Christmas tree, bent and broken, had been shoved into a corner like a drunk would park a car.

Gifts had been ripped out of boxes and tossed about like leaves after a hurricane. Broken plates and glasses littered the floor like confetti.

And the man on the table stared, a wild look in his eyes.

And he listened to the rhythmic, bumping sound that came from the upstairs bedroom.

And the sound of moans, and wet, sloppy kisses, that came down the stairs.

And the man suffered.

How did it happen?

How did Bob come to be naked, tied, and penetrated in the comfort of his own home?

For that answer we have to go back, back, almost to the beginning of this tale.

Bob's hand hovered over the keyboard.

Delete? Or send?

Hell, it was all a myth anyway, this Christmas stuff.

He tapped a finger down.

Send.

Quickly, the computer screen winked and blinked to indicate that it had done its job, and Bob smiled as he pushed back from the computer and stood up.

Typing done, he was about to solve a mystery.

He was supposed to be on a business trip, but he had arrived home early in the morning, snuck up the stairs, and spent the night in his computer room.

Nobody knew he was home, and now he was going to find out what was happening.

Why did his family talk over him? Gently deride him? What was behind their secretive glances? Their sly and knowing looks?

By listening carefully to their conversations, Bob had ascertained that whatever it was they were planning, he was not included, and so he had included himself.

Smiling, he tip-toed down the stairs.

He had heard the family stirring an hour before, and he had given them plenty of time to get busy on whatever it was they were planning.

Reaching the landing, he listened around the corner and grinned.

Christmas music was playing, and the sounds of conversation had been reduced to what sounded like grunts and groans.

Bob jumped out into the living room, and froze.

Ryan, his son, home from the army, was cock deep in his wife. His strong buttocks slammed back and forth, his surging pole went in and out, and Bob's wife held on for dear life and moaned in ecstasy.

Jill and Cindy, the nineteen year old twins, home from college, were sixty-nining on the couch. Their creamy flesh interlapped, their large breasts bounced and jiggled, their long blonde hair wound around their bodies until he couldn't tell where the hair stopped and started.

And Frank Sinatra crooned over the stereo.

I'll be home for Christmas...

How long he stood there, Bob had no idea. He just knew that he was fixed in place by the bouncing, thrusting, moaning, slithering bodies, by the large, pink tipped tits, by the sight of his family madly working their luscious bodies against one another. And he couldn't move; and he had no sense of time. And, heck, he might have stood there all day, except that Tammy, his wife, opened her beautiful, blue eyes, and then opened her eyes wider.

"Bob?" Her eyes were now the size of eggs, and the blue of them was surrounded by a porcelain white. Her sweet voice, surcharged with sexual desire, penetrated the haze of the others.

Like moles in a whack-a-mole game, children's heads all popped up.

"Daddy?" The twins chorused as one.

"Pop?" blurted Ryan.

Bob was like a toy soldier that had been wound too tight. He turned and staggered on stiff legs across the living room towards the gun cabinet.

"Daddy?" his girls cried, their breasts shaking in fear.

"Pop?" repeated his son, his son who was up to his balls in his wife...his wife....

"AAAARGH!" Bob groaned.

"The gun cabinet!" his wife suddenly screamed, realizing where he was going.

Bob reached the gun cabinet. He tried to turn the key in the lock, and suddenly a body slammed into him.

Ryan had performed a full body tackle, and Bob, not prepared at all, flew across the room and smacked into a wall like he had been thrown, which, in a sense, he had.

"AAAARGH!" Bob howled. He worked out on a regular basis so as to stay in shape for hunting season, and now he sprang up from the wall and prepared to fight his way back to the gun cabinet.

Ryan, however, was on the wrestling team at college, and he picked up his father and body slammed him down on the couch.

Bob bounced off the couch and skidded towards the dining room table. Dazed now, Bob still struggled to his feet; his eyes were still on the gun cabinet.

The girls were screaming, his wife was yelling, and Ryan picked him up again.

Crash! Ryan body slammed him again, this time onto the dining room table. The impact of Bob's butt busted out the center leaf, which splintered in two and fell to the floor.

Bob tried to sit up, but Ryan grabbed him in a headlock and flipped him over.

"Quick! Get something to tie him with!"

The screaming sisters, being rather blonde, just kept screaming. Tammy, however, being the wife of a card carrying carrying Republican, had her wits about her. She grabbed at a bit of electrical cord laying on the ground and handed it to Ryan.

Unfortunately, the tree was attached to the electrical cord, and it toppled with a crash.

"Help me, girls!" ordered Tammy, and the twins, fearful, stifling sobs, finally began to move.

Over and over the tree flipped, looking like a yo yo coming unwound, and the string of treelights unspooled. Round and round the electrical cord went, wrapping Bob's body to the stout table. Then his hands were secured to the thick posts, and his feet. And there he lay, face down, trussed tighter than a fat lady in a midget's girdle, surrounded by his naked family.

"Gosh!" burbled Cindy, now that the fright was over. "Was he really going to shoot us?"

"Your father's been a little strange ever since that last hunting trip," replied Tammy.

"The one where he thought he saw Bigfoot?" asked Jill.

"AAAARGH!" moaned Bob.

"I think that means 'yes,' observed Ryan.

Suddenly, Cindy knelt down. "Wow! Look at his penis!"

During the struggle Bob's pajamas had been torn, and now his thick, fat weenie hung down.

The whole family hunkered down and stared at the thick trunk of meat.

It hung there, semi-flacid, a minature baseball bat, fat with fluids ready to discharge.

"Wow," Ryan blinked. "It looks like he hasn't squirted in a long time!"

"A long time," confirmed his mother. "After that last hunting trip he seemed to lose interest in my pussy. That's why...that's why...."

"That's why we all started doing each other," Cindy giggled.

Jill slid forward and peered at the red, upside down fire helmet, the veined shaft, the big, hairy balls. "Can I touch it?"

"AAAARGH!" growled Bob, from atop the table.

"Sure," said Tammy. "Somebody might just as well. I sure haven't been."

Tentatively, a little frightened, Jill reached a manicured finger forward. She touched the bulbous head.

"AAAARGH!" Bob tried to bow his back upwards, but the tangle of electrical cord held him tight. A shock went through his penis, up his shaft, and straight into his balls. It had been a long time. His penis went from semi-flacid to full, pulsing, raging hard on!

The girls giggled.

Cindy scooted forward, turned over so her mouth was pointed upward, and, slowly, fearful that her mother might say no, began raising her face.

Tammy said nothing. She was starting to eye her son's mighty pole. She had been right on the edge of having a humungous orgasm when Bob had made his appearance. And, well, orgasms should be completed, shouldn't they?

Cindy's hungry, wet mouth slowly engulfed Bob's dong, slobbered up the pole one tender millimeter at a time, and her soft, red lips finally reached his swollen balls.

"AAAAH!" grunted Bob. "AAAAH!"

Now, in spite of his earlier behavior, his tendency was to arch his back downward, to place his surging penis deeper into Cindy's hot, sucking mouth.

Cindy, however, was having none of that quickness. She lowered her head, inspected the now dripping sperm bat with satisfaction, and giggled.

Jill reached up and grabbed Bob's balls and felt them. Her fingers worked over the hot flesh and kneaded it gently.

"Wow," she said, as Bob grunted and groaned and tried to wiggle, "These feel like overstuffed basketballs!"

She scraped a long, red fingernail down the shaft, Bob howled, and Cindy took his head in her mouth and swirled her tongue around it.

"Hunh! Hunh! Hunh!" Bob suddenly felt like he could come. He could feel the semen boiling within.

"Tie it off, girls!" Tammy shouted. She had been hand pumping Ryan's fat meat with her hands when she had noticed the cock-eyed look on Bob's face.

The twins looked at her blankly.

She tossed them a bright, red tie with a hula girl on it. "He made me go without...so I'm making him go without."

Bob glared at his wife. Oh, she was beautiful, there was no doubt. The full lips, the heavy breasts that he had spent so much time (before Bigfoot) sucking, and fondling and feeling and working, the large nipples that had fit so perfectly in his mouth, that he had sucked on and worked his tongue on, sucked in and out and in and out, pushing her to the high pitch of sexual desire before...before...and then there was the soft skin between those breasts, that he had worked his penis in, and the long hair that he had wrapped around his penis and jacked off in.

Heck, staring at his wife, in spite of being tied down (or, let's face it, maybe because of it) and because of the way his daughters worked their gentle, insistent, hot hands up and down his shaft, and squeezed his balls, and suckled on his manliness, Bob suddenly felt lust, hot lust, lust that had been on the wane since Bigfoot, surge through his big semen pistol.

Unfortunately for Bob, there was an expression of haughty disdain on his wife's beautiful features. She had, after all, for months been denied by him, and, in spite of Ryan's efforts to complement her, she had missed her husband's attentions. Thus, let's face the hard, undeniable truth, there is no dissatisfaction like the dissatisfaction of a woman denied.

Underneath the table the girls looped the tie around Bob's manhood and built a knot. Within short order the evil noose was being tightened, the balls were swelling, the juices were all stopped up, and the penis was bulging.

And Bob's eyes bulged.

"Not too tight, girls," cautioned Tammy. "We don't want a eunuch."

The knot was loosed, and Bob let out a ragged breath of relief.

For a long moment they all sat and stared at the hula girl swaying from Bob's big, fat, engorged, pulsating prick.

"What now?" Ryan finally asked.

Tammy turned to her son. "Now we continue with our celebration."

"Aaaargh?" came from Bob, lying above them.

"But what about Pop?" asked Ryan.

"Eh, who cares," and Tammy slapped Bob's penis negligently.

Bob's penis swayed like a little speed bag, and Bob's moan seemed a bit high pitched, but the family, guided by their loving mother, merely thought it humorous.

"Girls, get the eggnog. Ryan plug my dripping hole."

Giggling, laughing, the girls ran for the kitchen. Ryan helped his mother up and bent her up over the table.

Bob turned his head and blinked. He had a porn's eye view of his wife's wet snatch, of his son's big missile coming in for a docking, and then the table was lurching back and forth, groaning under the wet, sloppy sounds,

"Oh, oh!" Tammy grunted to the impact of her son's hips. "Fuck me, you big stud! Fuck me like your father can't!"

The twins re-entered the living room, and they were carrying a large pitcher of eggnog, four glasses, and a length of clear tubing.

Working quickly, the girls filled tall glasses and passed them around.

Taking a break from plunging into his mother, Ryan asked, "What's the tubing for?"

"Oh," explained Jill brightly, "We figured Daddy might like some eggnog."

Tammy, moaning and writhing as she clung to her son, managed to down a good portion of her eggnog. Ryan, hard, young stud, gulped his down, and the twins, theirs. Then Jill began massaging Bob's nether region with a finger coated with vaseline.

"Uh! Uh!" Bob was reminded of his hunting trip, and of how Bigfoot had reamed his back door.

Jill grinned and poked her finger in and out of the brown pit, she worked it around and around, feeling the walls, the crevices, making everything slick, slick, slick.

Then Cindy began feeding the length of tubing between Bob's ass and into his devil's door.

Bob groaned. The feeling of being penetrated by the long, slick tubing was incredible; it felt like a long, thin penis; it just kept slithering and sliding, working along the tender inner walls, rubbing every nerve this way and that. Cindy, seeing the effects the tube were having on her father, began working it in and out, back and forth, up and down.

Jill went under the table and began massaging her father's penis with teasing, tantalizing, tormentingly slow, downward strokes. The vaseline still on her hands increased the sensation of flesh being gripped and slipped, and Bob twisted on the table, tried to push his penis down into his daughter's slick, grasping hands, tried to get his butt up to engulf more of the slick, delicious tubing; God, there was nothing he wanted more than to paint the floor white with his seed. But the tie, the dancing hula girl, stopped him, stopped him, stopped him.

"Wow!" murmured Ryan, taking another healthy slug of eggnog, "Look at him go!"

"Come on, let's get him drunk." Tammy took a big swig of eggnog, held it in her mouth, and expelled it down the tube. Ryan quickly followed suit.

Gulp, gulp, Bob's ass worked back and forth and drank the slimy stuff.

Inside Bob's asshole, the eggnog began to penetrate through the thin walls. The girls being experienced in such matters, hadn't used much alcohol, for that would have been dangerous. But they didn't need much, for even a little bit of spirits, entered into the body in such fashion, caused riotous behavior.

Bob hiccuped, was cross-eyed, and within sixty seconds, began to sing. It was an old Alvin and the Chipmunks song.

Christmas, Christmas time is near....

Everybody laughed, and joined in, and the party began to swing into high gear.

Ryan banged his mother joyously, and Tammy squealed and bit her sons shoulder.

Jill and Cindy camped under the table and played with their father's cock. They took turns stroking, watching the hard tube swell and turn red and drip, drip, drip.

Then they would exchange wet, sloppy kisses with the purple knob between their delicious lips, spank the balls, and above them, Bob would roar in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"OH! UNTIE ME!" He would yell.

But the girls just kept suckling and tormenting him, building him to higher and higher heights. Giggling and stroking the shaft, running down it with their beautiful nails, working the balls and the head with their soft, voracious mouths.

Above them, Ryan and Tammy were reaching the big crescendo. Tammy was flattened again and again by Ryan's boring bulk. His balls slapped against the edge of the table, and the length of manmeat drove in, out, in, out.

Next to Ryan and Tammy, Bob's face turned purple, and his balls felt like they were about to become a supernova.

"Don't you dare let him cum!" screamed Tammy, and then she let go. She went a gusher. She exploded like an egg in a microwave.

"Gah! Gah! Gah!" the sounds came out of her.

"MOM!" screamed Ryan, and he went a gusher.

He froze, his hips thrust forward, and his joy juice spurted deep within.

"Chestnuts roasting on a open fire!" caroused Bob, "Jack Frost nipping at your dick!"

Roaring with laughter, Tammy moved over to her husband and smashed her semen filled twat against his head. "That's for not making me cum, you bastard!"

"Gah!" yelped Bob, and white seed was smushed against his hair, slathered across his face, even slickered into his mouth.

And the party went on.

Ryan fucked both sisters in front of Bob, and Bob watched in awe as his studly son came a second time. Then Jill and Cindy swapped goo, and then slobbered it all over Bob, kissing him soundly, sharing equally with him.

And they all took turns working his shaft, mouthing his second head, kneading and spanking his monster balls.

And somebody, Bob had no idea who, worked something into his butt.

But, never...never was Bob allowed to come.

Brought to the edge, time and again, he could only suffer and try to move, but the tie was tight and nobody was about to loosen it.

And finally, as all parties must come to an end, the family moved upstairs.

Bob lay on the table, his cock feeling enormous and deprived.

And the alcohol slowly wore off,

And he listened to the sound of flesh smacking in the bedroom above him, and he heard the sounds of lips kissing and sucking, and he imagined the bodies lurching and pounding, and he tried to figure out who was with who.

But there was no telling, and Bob could only lay on the table and listen. His mouth slack, and drooling, and other liquids draining out of him, and he was stunned, and dazed, and then...then...

Soot trickled down the chimney.

Soot?

The chimney?

And Bob watched in awe as a boot lowered, and was followed by a large, sausage-like leg.

And the pudgy leg, wrapped in red, lowered to reveal a body that just seemed to get larger and larger and...like a balloon that had been squeezed through a garden hose, Santa Claus sprouted out of the chimney and onto the hearth.

For a fellow who had just squeezed down a six inch flue, Santa was amazingly fat. He looked like a big, three hundred pound turnip. A bright, red turnip, trimmed with white fur that looked like icing. His beard looked fluffy and full, and his face was plump and jolly and red in the cheeks.

And Santa being Santa, a most magical and mythical being, soot didn't stick to him. Not to the red suit, nor the white lining, nor to his face or beard, not to anything. Even his boots were clean and shiny.

And popping out of the chimney right behind him, literally popping, was a big, brown sack. And the sack was filled with toys and goodies and all manner of nifty, little things. And, heck, all manner of nifty, big things.

And Santa stepped off the hearth, into the living room proper, and his twinkling eyes took in the scene of devastation

"My goodness! Ho ho ho! What a party! My goodness! Ho ho ho! My good-" He froze. His eyes became beady, little dots and he stared at Bob.

Bob, immobilized as he was, stared back.

Santa slowly turned his head sideways to better look at Bob.

"Bob?"

"Hi, Santa," said the Bob. His voice croaked and his eyes swung back and forth in the sockets.

Santa shook his big head back and forth in amazement. "I have never, ever, seen such a thing in my life. And I've had a long life!"

"And I've never seen Santa," said Bob.

And Santa gulped, and stood up straight. "Uh oh."

"What?" asked Bob.

"Well," said Santa, "I'm not supposed to get caught. Nobody's ever caught me before."

"Oh," said Bob. "Sorry."