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