All I Want for Christmas

Happy Holidays! Thanks for reading. My wife and I, who collaborate to write these stories, are not Winn and Will. They are not real people. While real headlines and events may be referenced for setting, our stories depict FICTIONAL events and people, and ALL characters involved in sexual situations are consenting adults.

---

It was dark in the bedroom except for the barely-perceptible flicker of the LED string lights circling the bed, faintly illuminating the prone form lying on the bed.

Had the lights been slightly brighter, the man's pounding heart would have been visible on his bare chest. Will, wearing nothing but a pair of garish green, red, and white candy cane boxers, tried to relax his clenching fists as he waited for midnight, and his Present.

---

His partner Winn had set an alarm on his phone that first wonderful Christmas Eve in 2009, at the exact same time--12:00 a.m. He woke confused by the barely-audible chirp to find a note.

They'd been partners at work for almost two years. Finally overcome by their constant proximity and flirting, they'd given in and slept together a month ago. It had happened again only once more in the intervening time. Now, feuding with his own parents, he was living with her small family during Will and Winn's shared winter unemployment.

The note read: "Ms. Claus is stuck under the tree. Do what you want to her. Merry Christmas! -W" She had taken great care to draw this last character lasciviously.

Will, then 21, had to admire the artistic skill she demonstrated already at the age of 19. Her traditional 'W', which had already looked subconsciously seductive, looked flat-out pornographic. She had added little flourishes to make the character look like a first-person view down her sexy stomach, complete with a trim bush made with a red fine-point marker. It was incredible.

---

Will checked his watch, his only adornment besides the festive underwear: 11:55. So close.

---

He had excitedly wiped the sleep from his eyes, opening the door and walking without a sound from her childhood bedroom into the living room. He strode silently, hoping not to wake her mom or Grams, who were sleeping at the other end of the house. Had either of the modest women needed the restroom in the middle of the night, they were sure to be caught, and he would probably be kicked to the curb.

He arrived at the living room to find an addition to the sparse furnishings. "Ms. Claus" was in what he knew from Winn's excessive yoga talk to be called "child's pose," her head and lower arms "stuck" under the Christmas tree. More accurately, she was not bound, just partially hidden under the dark-green skirt around the fresh blue spruce pine tree. Her petite rear end, covered in a red silk miniskirt with a wide fluffy white band along the top and bottom, was sticking out from under the tree and resting on her feet. She was wearing red fishnet stockings that traveled up as far as he could see.

Directly next to his petite partner was her family's small wooden coffee table. On it lie a small paper plate with cookies and a wrapped boxy package. That first year, she had made him chocolate chip cookies and given him an adult video featuring petite redheads like her, much to his delight. In his inexperience, he had quickly pulled up the miniskirt, finding that she wasn't wearing any panties, and did his best to stab his thickening member into her barely-moist slit.

He didn't learn until later to recognize the subtle signs that he was causing her pain or distress, but she remained motionless and soundless, still playing along for his benefit. Reaching climax quickly without a condom, he felt a familiar tightness and, much too late, began to think: just how was this supposed to end? He knew she was on the pill as backup, but she hadn't let him come inside her before.

Running out of time, his body made the decision for him, and he shoved his hips as far forward as his mate's accommodating position would let him. He came very hard, his body rigid as his hands tightly gripped her silken hips. She tensed as she felt his hot seed enter her, but remained soundless, unmoving. It set the trend for his yearly Present: she let him do what he wanted, and she didn't stop him. Merry Christmas, indeed.

---

She was now "Mrs. Claus," but the tradition remained: cookies and a sexy gift every year. It was, and would forever be, their Christmas Present. She never spoke as he finished whatever he had planned for the year, and his boldness escalated annually from the quickly-completed thrusting that first year. She eventually allowed herself to move, though. His sexual prowess improved rapidly due to their frequent practice, and he took great delight in making sure that from the second year on, that she got her quivering, faintly groaning Present, too, even as she stayed in the same pose under the tree skirt the whole time.

His watch beeped midnight. Fucking finally. He heaved himself off of the motorhome's lone bed. They were wintering in the small Class C at South Padre Island, and it had been a mild season at the campground here. Slipping his feet into warm fleece slippers to insulate against the cold floor, he opened the accordion door, the lone barrier between the horny Clauses.

It was dark in the small front room of the RV. That's a new one, he thought. Normally they cut a fresh pine tree and decorated it together with lights, but there were precious few of those fragrant triangles in this sunny climate, so they had used a potted palm and strung bright colored lights around its trunk.

Tonight, their Christmas Palm was turned off, and it was pitch black. Strange. No matter, he thought to himself. It was time for his Present, and if he wanted to pull off his plan, he'd have to focus.

Carefully, he raised an arm in front of himself to avoid smacking his face on anything in the crowded vehicle. He swept his feet out, first left, then right, subconsciously closing his eyes against the dark to help them adjust, feeling his way so that he did not step on Winn. He knew that she'd be almost directly in front of him; there weren't any other options!

Suddenly his slippered foot bump against hers, which he knew was covered in her sexy red thigh-high fishnets. The room, despite not holding a pine tree, held a distinct, curious pine odor. He reached down to feel for the small fold-out table that he knew held his cookies and gift. They'd be taking them "to go" tonight.

Feeling the plate, Will was surprised to find the normal stack of cookies replaced with a single, small cookie surrounded by the remaining sprinkles from one that Winn had clearly eaten. In the dark, the cookie felt familiar: it was an edible.

Nice! he thought to himself. Winn wouldn't take them often, and when she did, the experience for both of them was always fantastic. It would also help lower their inhibitions for what was about to take place. He popped the cookie into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. Mmm, gingerbread.

Ignoring Winn, he reached into the cabinet directly above the table. He felt for the objects he had hidden there: half masks for each of them, themed like Santa and Mrs. Claus, and two pairs of comically-fancy elf shoes, his and hers. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the pitch he was about to make, and knelt, not behind her as he had every year, but beside her head to the right.

Leaning forward, he began, whispering in her ear through the stolen family tree skirt and causing her nipples to tingle: "Merry Christmas, Winn." He paused, even though he knew she wouldn't speak. "I love you very much, and I'm sure you know that Christmas Eve is my favorite night of the year." Pause. "I always love my Presents, and I'm sure you've noticed that I've asked you to trust me a bit more each year. Well, I want to take a big leap this year. It is my Present, after all." With this, he finally allowed himself to touch her, just his left hand on her back, which was clad in the same sexy red silk top with the white fluff that she had worn every year. Except the first? He didn't remember.

The sudden unexpected palm made Winn jump, her first movement of the night. He didn't know if it was from the surprise or from the tension. He could smell the scent of her pussy from up here near her face and decided to take advantage of her exposure for the first time. He slid his hand slowly down her silky top and over the raised line where her miniskirt started underneath it. Continuing, his hand pressed firmly, following the dip between her glutes, and split her legs apart. Feeling the fluffy bottom of her skirt brush his wrist, he found his target.

His hand touched the edge of the warm, glistening-wet skin he knew he'd find there, causing Winn to jump again. "It's cold outside. I'd better put on a glove." Boldly, he cupped his hand around her uncovered mound from the back, feeling the heel of his hand press against her ass, his middle finger firm against her prominent clit. Reaching his thumb around, he pressed firmly against her lower back, squeezing her thin torso in his strong, calloused grip.

Winn sucked in her breath sharply at the sudden intrusion, tense. Will had suspected that she would be too sensitive yet for that movement. Catching her attention, he spoke: "We're going over the river and through the woods, and I'll have you wishing for Grandma's house before this is over."

Winn tensed even more, and Will worried that maybe his "script" for tonight was too heavy-handed. He waited briefly, hoping that he would be able to continue, but soon he realized that it was not fear but excitement he saw. His statement had caused her lips to moisten even more in his hand. The rest of her body shook imperceptibly, stock-still.

He hoped he had read her body language correctly; the last thing he wanted to do was ruin the Present. "I want you to trust me. Put this on." He slipped her Mrs. Claus mask underneath the tree skirt and was pleased to see movement right away. "Good," he thought. This part was supposed to be the easy sell.

She had tried to get him to fool around outside before this, but it had always been too crowded at their campsites. Now, at just past midnight, his worry had been that she would find it too cold. His luck held out: it had been unseasonably warm today, and it was 60 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Too cold for comfort, but not unbearable.

He slipped on his own mask and put his stupid-looking shoes on. Winn was motionless on the floor. Hooray for slip-on shoes, he thought. He put them on her feet and paused, considering how he would get her to their destination. Committing, he took a deep breath. He leaned down and wrapped his wife's lithe, folded form in a bear hug, grabbing each of his own wrists with the opposing hand. Straightening, he lifted her carefully to avoid removing her mask with the tree skirt. He had more than 70 pounds on his wife, and years of physical labor made it easy for Will to pick up this sexy red-and-white package.

Surprised by the sudden change, Winn let out a strangled "oh!" before clamping her pursed lips shut again. Robbed of stability, she grabbed his crossed wrists tightly with each hand to steady herself in his grip. He chuckled, realizing that they probably made a funny sight: it looked like he was carrying a festive crash test dummy or something. He turned to push his way out the door, having subtly unlocked it on his way to the front of t RV. But Winn's left hand suddenly tapped his wrist three times in rapid succession, and he paused. "What?"

After a few seconds of stupid silence, he realized that she wasn't going to answer him. He would have to figure it out. Did she change her mind? Was that what the death grip was about? Did she want a jacket? Realizing his sin, he turned and rested Winn's contorted body on the back of the dinette bench, which was just wide enough to hold her.

He let go with one arm, shedding Winn's grip and grabbing the simple gift box from the table. He put it in her constricted lap, then he wrapped his muscular upper arm back around his helpless wife like a human Matryoshka doll. She resumed her hold, and he lifted her easily in the air.

Packed for their midnight ride at last, Will leaned their combined bodyweight against the door release handle. The two naughty, nearly-naked Noellers navigated into the night.

---

He had left the exterior light off purposefully to mask their departure from the crowded campground. Around them were roughly 75 RVs, fifth wheels, campers, popups, and miscellaneous other vehicles filled with mostly college-aged vagabonds and senior citizens. Fast asleep with sugar plums dancing in their heads, if we're lucky, Will thought, feeling the chilly night air. Damn, maybe it's too cold for this.

He reassured himself as he left the door open: he'd prepared well. Pepper, one of the retired singles who called their beautiful shared locale her semi-permanent home, had agreed to come out at 11:30 p.m. and get the bonfire started in exchange for a bottle of spicy whiskey and "mint sticks." They were difficult to find. Unworried about her curiosity, he told her the truth: he planned a romantic fireside evening for himself and his wife.

A fair trade for losing a bit of sleep, he thought. Speaking of sleep, he hoped that Pepper had set herself an alarm. Nothing to put a damper on their lust like starting a fire and waiting fifteen minutes to feel their extremities while she feigned being "stuck!"

But turning the closest corner around a grove of unpotted palm trees, Will noted with relief that the fire was roaring 100 yards away. It was visible from here, but not the campground, just like he planned. He felt Winn relax in his arms, realizing that he wasn't being a psychopath and had, in fact, prepared a bubble of warmth for their rendezvous.

Will strode quickly, his arms tiring. He had carried his wife almost 200 yards, and he was feeling like this was less romantic gesture, more unnecessary burden. She was a small woman, but damn, this was a long way. He gritted his teeth, struggling through the final tortuous steps through the shallow sand to the blanket, where he all but dropped her back into her traditional pose.

Gasping for breath, he paused, then flipped the corner of the blanket over Winn's head and arms. She paused as well, then folded it back off of herself. "Thank God!" he said, rasping out a laugh and composing himself. But she was frozen, apparently unwilling to give him more than this consideration.

Now painfully aware that he'd carried her, wet crotch exposed, for 200 yards in December, he wrapped immediately around her, drawing both sets of their arms in around her abdomen to lock in their precious body heat. He scooted them as close to the fire as he could stand.

She shivered slightly for a minute before relaxing. He could breathe now, and he glanced around to gauge their privacy. There was another blazing fire over a mile down the beach, surrounded by small, silent specks, but there was nothing else in sight.

Realizing that they were sufficiently warm, Will moved them further from the fire and reached out for the bag of supplies he had left with the blanket. Time to spread my own warmth and cheer, he thought. He grabbed a slip of paper from the small bag first, straightening while straddling her resting form. Alright, he thought. Here goes.

Reaching his free hand behind him beneath her skirt, he placed it over her pussy again. She was dripping, and he thought he could feel her pulse hammering on her clit, which had hardened.

He read aloud, achingly slow in a confident, if muted, voice:

"WANTED: EIGHT TINY-TITTED REINDEER AND THEIR RINGLEADER, RUDOLPH"

At each alliterative phrase, he gently stroked near her clit with the pad of his middle finger, causing her to hump against his hand.

"Going by names known for centuries upon centuries across the globe, these minute mistletoed miscreants and their ruby-nosed ringleader are being sought for continuing crimes against Christmas! If seen, these dangerous deviants are to be PHOTOGRAPHED", he emphasized this last word and paused as she squirmed under him, "and if possible, speared piercingly through the rear!

They can be identified by their pale skin, strawberry-blonde mane, and soft underbelly." He paused to allow her to catch her breath, then increased his intensity on her button. "Please provide paperwork for all nine ne'er-do-wells now. Whereabouts of these whippersnappers is unknown at Present." The silly ad he'd written to tease his wife's nub ended on this loaded word.

Following were eight diagrams, which he had added in case the heat of the moment caused him to forget and lose it atop his soft-underbellied mount, ruining the plan he'd put together. They were each labeled with the name of a reindeer and a yoga pose. His wife had been practicing for several years now, and he knew that she'd play along, especially when they took a moment to "feel" each pose for a few minutes. His plan for Rudolph, to be photographed last, one might have suspected.

The only question that remained was whether she'd allow him to strip her, exposed here on the beach and illuminated by the fire. If anyone was around, they'd certainly be seen. And probably watched. He checked around them again, hoping they would look to any observers like two silly hippies ringing in the holiday with some stretching.

He placed the slip of paper back down on the blanket, thankful that there was no wind. He pulled their DSLR camera from the bag--not fancy, but enough for these low-lit shots. Placing it carefully next to them, he wrapped her in his arms again. He could feel her shoulder blades brushing against his nipples, which were hard from the cold and company.

He spoke quietly, comfortingly: "I love you. We're alone; I've looked several times, and I'm going to keep checking." Her face, though uncovered, was buried in the blanket. "I'm going to take off your clothes and mask, now, but I want you to Ripcord if you need to." He watched her carefully for her reaction: "ripcord" was the word they promised to utter if they were feeling uncomfortable and wanted to parachute out of delivering each other's Presents. The other was obligated by their pact and mutual love to stop and, if necessary, get them back to the North Pole.

She turned her head to the right and nodded easily, assuring him that she knew the rules. He needn't have worried; she was so turned on, she would be unlikely to make it to Vixen before becoming a mewling one herself. She kept her head turned to the right on the blanket. He noticed now that her face was beet-red around the edges of the mask. Looking at the mask and, suddenly feeling guilty being gazed upon by the gifting godmother herself, he removed it. Winn's rosy face was revealed, beautiful as ever, but her eyes remained closed. So that's how it was gonna be.

Noticing how relaxed she had become, he realized that he, too, was feeling the effects of the THC. A pleasant buzz, more than just the normal endorphin rush that came from mounting his pint-sized wife, radiated through his body like pleasant static. Icicle-shaped zaps of electricity coursed through his face and scalp as he removed his own mask.

For several minutes after the physical exertion of carrying his wife, he had been soft, recovering his wits and breath. But reading the ad and fingering Winn had caused him to tent his green-and-red boxers again--he was as hard as he could remember being in a long time, despite masturbating twice earlier so as not to end the "hunt" too early. Damn, better be careful, he thought.

Will felt like he ought to be the one who got naked first in this novel Nativity scene, so he removed his hand from Winn's fiery pussy carefully and leaned backward. Checking his surroundings yet again, he pulled the boxers down in one swift motion, lifting his feet in the air and rolling toward his back to remove them. He regained his footing and crouched, setting them within reach. He bent over her and slowly kissed up her back.