Christmas Eve Tradition 750 Words

Finally, the house was quiet after a boisterous Christmas Eve, and the children were in bed. Pouring myself a glass of eggnog, I sat down on our sofa, letting my thoughts drift while waiting for my wife to join me. I watched the lights on the Christmas tree and listened to the crackling wood in the fireplace as the clock on the mantelpiece slowly edged towards midnight. I heard the sounds of Jill's red satin marabou mules click-clack on the parquetry, and she appeared in the doorway, wearing her sheer, floor-length, black gown. She walked towards me, teasingly with every step she took, letting my eyes feast on her body, but as she approached, my thoughts began to slow, and I found myself in a state of hypoactive delirium, finding it difficult to move, to respond to her words even though I clearly could see and understand her.

Jill sat beside me, taking my hands into hers, and she smiled. Seeing her beautiful face and the scarlet red lipstick on her luscious lips, I wanted to kiss her, but my body did not respond to my wanting, my desires. She never wore that lipstick on any other day of the year but Christmas Eve, and just before midnight, even though I had asked her to do so many times just to be told it was only on Christmas Eve and no other times.

"It will be alright, Jim," she said, squeezing my hands, and I slowly nodded my head, so I thought. "You know I love you. I always will. Nothing will ever change between us. We have been married for... How long? Fifteen years, and it has never changed anything."

I tried to reply, but no sound left my lips. Instead, a knock on the front door could be heard, followed by heavy steps until a large man appeared in the doorway, donning a Santa suit.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas," he bellowed with a deep voice that sent shivers through Jill's body.

She kissed my cheek and walked to the man who appeared to be larger than life. Without a word, Jill wrapped her arms around his neck, and she melted into his body. For long seconds, they gazed into each other's eyes then kissed passionately with the intensity of lost lovers. I could do nothing but watch them; feeling paralysed, my limbs did not react to my commands, but my brain clearly registered what I saw. For fourteen years, I asked the same question that I was asking again, "Who was this man?"

Jill told me he was Santa, but could that be true? He had not changed over those years, but who could say it with all that white beard? He could be anyone, and I wondered if this was a way for her to have her "free pass". But why I did feel the way I felt every time he arrived, I could not explain. In the beginning, I thought I was drugged, got myself checked out, but nothing was found in my body, yet I felt the same way year after year. "Could it really be Santa, making love to my wife every Christmas?" I asked so many times.

Talking to Jill did not give me the answers I looked for either. I tried to confront the man, but the more I tried, the more paralysed I became. Eventually, I accepted my fate, and just like on this Christmas Eve, I sat on the sofa watching them walk out of the room, arms around each other, when Jill looked back from the door.

"I love you, Jim. I'll see you in the morning," she said, beaming.

I could hear their moans and groans, Jill's loud squeals, coming from our bedroom until I blacked out. I often wondered about the children who never woke by the sounds of fucking even though it rang through the house.

Waking in the morning, I found myself in my bed, lying beside Jill. Seeing no signs of anything out of the ordinary around me, I hoped once more, it was just a dream until I pulled back the sheet, exposing her naked body, only to be faced with the signs of her rough night; her breasts, her body were covered in bruises and bite marks, her pussy was bright red, looking swollen and raw. The Santa tattoo on her clean-shaven mound, that always disappeared by the end of Christmas day, told me it was not a dream once again.