AUTHOR'S NOTE: A
Literotica 2021 Winter Holidays Story Contest
submission. Please rate to vote.
All elves featured in this story are at least 100 years of age or older. More than old enough to get up to the debauchery you're about to read.
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"Is he gone?"
I squinted out the thin panes of the frost covered window and watched as that Most Famous Little Red-noser Of All guided the dilapidated, overloaded sleigh skyward, flying out of sight into the foggy Christmas eve.
"He's gone!" I bellowed.
The workshop filled with squeaky, high pitched cheers.
We'd busted our ass for three hundred and sixty-four consecutive days. And we had just under twenty-four hours before that red suited fat fuck would return. It was time to party!
Seasons greetings. I'm Willy, or as most others around here call me, ''Big Willy."
There are two reasons they call me that. The first is that I run this sweatshop, have for the past five hundred years, give or take. Santa gets all the credit of course, but his only real responsibility is reading through the endless Naughty Or Nice list...when he's not off banging whores on a beach in Barbados, that is. I manage all the actual production work.
By the way: Hate to break it to you, but Santa doesn't read your letters, kids. He throws them unopened into the fireplace that is our only source of heat in the workshop. He'll sure as fuck eat all those cookies you dumb little bastards leave out for him, though.
The other reason they call me Big Willy is that, at a whopping three and a half inches, I'm the most well hung elf in the North Pole. Only Santa might be bigger, but trust me: no one, including that ripe jolly old elf, has seen his cock, buried as it is under his bowlful of jelly, since the mid sixteen hundreds.
Tonight, I intended to dip my massive Christmas Pole into as many ho ho hoes as possible.
But first: I needed to get shitfaced.
My second in command, Hermey, came up behind me, patting me on the shoulder. "We did it, boss. Congrats on another successful season."
He handed me his flask and I drank heavily, then spat in disgust. "What the fuck is this? Eggnog??? Get this swill away from me!"
I headed back to my bunk to break out the secret stash in my foot locker.
One of the perks of working for a guy who can travel the world without the worries and constraints of borders or customs officials is that you can have just about anything smuggled in if you knew the right people.
Uncut Peruvian cocaine, psychedelic mushrooms from Spain, pure China white heroin, moonshine straight from the Black Hills of Dakota, and only the best strains of weed from Australia, Kazakhstan, the Netherlands, and the good ol' U.S. of fucking A.
I grabbed a bottle of Chivas Regal and a tightly rolled Cuban to start, then directed Hermey and his lover Twink to begin distributing the rest of the party favors to the already holly jolly staff.
By midnight, the party was in full Beast Mode.
Dinky the DJ had the tunes pumping full blast. No Silent Night or Jingle Bells here, kids. Just some of the hottest vinyl from the likes of Parliament Funkadelic, Curtis Mayfield, A Tribe Called Quest, The Roots, Public Enemy, etc. The only Christmas song allowed was the one by Run D.M.C.
Milly, Tilly and Lilly, known collectively as the BJ Sisters, were already performing a lewd, topless bump and grind on the makeshift dance floor, wreaths of mistletoe strung from the ceiling above. (Side note: Originally, the tradition was to give blowjobs under the mistletoe. You can thank the puritanical Christians who appropriated the pagan custom for ruining that for you.)
Lines were already forming to the left, middle and right of them as the guys waited, pointy ears twitching expectantly, for the girls to get high enough to begin what would become an all night bukakke party. I didn't bother waiting in line; as a senior staff member, everyone knew I could cut in and give all three of them a taste of my Yule Log whenever I wanted.
But first, I wanted to find Noel. She was my secretary, and a damn good one. She deserved a big Christmas bonus, and I planned on giving it to her personally.
I found her at the bar, sipping a frozen Margarita. Why the fuck anyone living in the Arctic would want a frozen drink was beyond me, but hey, whatever got her lubricated, right?
She was looking fine in her short green skirt and red fringed sweater. Her long blonde hair flowed from beneath her bell topped cap, and when her baby blue eyes saw me coming, a devilish grin formed on her ruby red lips.
I bellied up to the bar beside her, my hand sliding casually under her skirt. If she'd started the day wearing panties, she sure as hell wasn't now. "Good," I thought as I teased her bunghole, "one less thing to have to take off."
"Hey, Boss," she cooed as my fingers now explored her already wet slit. "Been waiting for you." Noel kissed me, her tequila flavored lips tugging at mine as she lifted her knee and placed her hairless cunt against my crotch, dry humping my rapidly expanding bulge.
"Slow down, baby," I growled, "Daddy needs a pick me up first."
Grabbing Noel by the hips, I lifted her onto the bar, threw up her skirt and spread her legs like an angel's wings.
I pulled out a glass vial and proceeded to pour out two long, fat lines of blow directly on her bald mound. Noel held steady as I leaned in and snorted them one at a time, then licked the crystal remnants off her hot flesh.
The adrenaline rush kicked in immediately. After eight hundred years of living in a constant fucking blizzard, it was the only snow I actually enjoyed.
I poured another line directly over her cunt this time, inhaling it along with her musky scent, a curious mix of sensations. I lost most of the blow to the moisture seeping from her cleft, but it didn't matter; I had plenty. I licked it from her, tasting her slick coppery flavor for only a few moments before the coke numbed my tongue.
Noel was squirming impatiently. "You gonna fuck me, or just torture me all night?"
I pulled out a small silver spoon and gave her a toot for each nostril before reaching down to unbuckle my black leather waist belt, freeing my pantaloons to drop around my pointy shoe'd feet.
My three point five inch monster was raging like an Abominable Snowman. I satisfied it by plunging deep into Noel's dark, damp cave.
