Sammi Elf Gets Her Stocking Stuffed

Hey all! This is my first time submitting for a contest, so I'm excited to start with the

WINTER HOLIDAY 2024 contest

! While I started this last year, the contest made it so that it was the first story I ever finished on a deadline, since I'd not picked it up again until a few days ago. Hope you like it!

+++++

"SAMMI THE SHELF ELF GETS HER STOCKING STUFFED"

+++++

It was the start of the Christmas season, and everyone at the North Pole was excited. No one, however, was as excited as Sammi was. Because only Sammi had a Tommy.

---

"Tommy, are you home from college yet?" Sammi asked as she slipped into Tommy's room via the hidden way.

"I know you said the fourteenth, but you also don't always tell the truth," she said, flickering over to his desk to look over his calendar. Her calendar, really, at this point.

Around the fourteenth she'd drawn a big heart. She'd written the words "Tommy comes Home!" on the date itself. Sammi knew that that was too much, that it was almost begging for attention from the farsiders, but she couldn't resist. Tommy was hers, and she didn't care who knew it. From a certain point of view, he was just one of the many boys and girls she watched for Santa. From Sammi's point of view, which is the one that mattered, he had ALWAYS been hers, ever since her beginning.

---

Sammi was a Christmas elf. A Scout elf, to be specific. She was NOT a "shelf elf," no matter how many times Tommy called her that. Her job was to watch over the boys and girls who believed in Santa and Christmas to make sure that they were being properly nice. It was in the story, after all, and Sammi knew how the story went. It was bound into her being, her very essence.

Like the story said, at the start of December, Santa sent them out, from the North Pole to the farside lands on the other side of the veil. Out into the world, the real world.

Like the story said, they would listen to the children, never responding, never saying anything, but always remaining alert, smiles plastered to their faces and painted on their souls.

Like the story said, they went back each night, telling Santa what the children had done, and Santa listened, then sent them back out again.

Santa didn't like it, because he thought it was too invasive, but there wasn't much he could do to stop it now the story existed. He could only control how it functioned. So Sammi, and Stanley, and Suzi, and Skippy, and Siobhan, and Reginald Fitzpatrick the Third, and all the other Scout Elves, did the job Santa gave them, and only went to places that had their visage in doll-shape, and nowhere else.

Sammi knew how the story went. It was bound into her elf-self, her very core as a spirit of Christmas. Once she arrived, and took up habitation in her visage, like the story said-- at least, how it was supposed to go, is that, well, Tommy, as her first child, got to name her. She didn't like that part of the story. Hated it, actually. She was Sammi. She was who she was. Even if that meant she was, otherwise, just like everyone else, she was at least going to be just like everyone else in her way.

Maybe that was the difference. Or maybe the difference was with Tommy. Regardless, that first night, after having been at her post all day, but before she reported back to Santa, and just as she'd left her visage to stretch after having been in the same pose for many hours, Tommy, then all of five years old, saw her. Really, truly saw her.

In both of their defenses, their respective screams weren't that loud, and they were more from surprise than fear.

---

"You're alive!" Tommy had shouted.

"You can see me!" Sammi had shouted at the same time.

"This is so amazing!" he'd said, excitement filling his voice.

"I am going to get in so much trouble," she'd said, dread filling hers.

"You must be the real Rex!" Tommy said, his eyes wide.

Like the book said, he was the one who named her.

And he'd chosen to name her 'Rex'.

"No. I'm Sammi," she replied. "Just because the book says you can name me doesn't mean you can." That was ... wrong. She could feel the magic pushing back at her as she spoke. Everything about this was wrong, really, but that was REALLY wrong.

But Santa hated the book. Hated the idea of sending 'spies' out, hated the idea that kids thought of him as 'some sort of magical CIA Spook'. His words. So she stood her ground, and, eventually, the magic stopped pushing.

Tommy was more straightforward. "That makes sense. Sorry," said Tommy, apologizing.

"It's ok," she said, accepting it.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Sammi. I'm Tommy," he said, smiling now.

"I know. I've been watching you all day. But it's nice to really meet you," Sammi replied, smiling back at him.

At that moment, Sammi's world seemed to tilt, like she'd not been a person until then. She was still herself, still Sammi, like she'd always been, but now she was Sammi to Tommy too. And he wasn't just another elf, or North Poler, or even a veilsider. He was a human. A farsider human. A curious farsider human at that.

He had questions, and she had answers. Mostly. Sometimes she didn't have an answer because she didn't know what the answer really was, and she didn't want to lie. Lying was bad.

Sometimes she'd never thought about the question before. And he had answers for her, too. He told her about humans, about life on the farside, about his family. They were up until late talking about everything and nothing, almost until it was too late for her to be on time. Not quite, but almost. It was one of the happiest nights of her life, even if she did get in trouble for it from the other elves for it.

Not from Santa. He was quiet about it, and just took the report she gave. But she thought she saw Santa smiling and laughing as she left.

---

In the Christmas seasons that followed, Sammi found that she was drawn to the homes of other children, too. Sometimes they'd catch sight of her, but usually not. In each one, however, she was Sammi, or Sammy, or Sami, or Sam, or any number of variants of that, and never anything else. She was Sammi, and that was that.

But Tommy was always her first visit of the season. Her closest visit. Her longest visit. Her most special visit. He was hers, and no one else's. And she was--

-----

"Is that me?" she'd asked when she first saw the picture.

Tommy, eleven years old, just like her, blushed crimson. "It's ... kinda, yeah. I just was looking at-- well, and I thought of-- I mean, yeah. It's you. It's supposed to be you, at least. A bigger you. Taller, I mean."

Sammi laughed. "A you-sized me, you mean."

Tommy nodded and looked away. "What I think you'd look like my size, I mean."

Sammi didn't know what came over her when she announced "I bet we could find out, if you want. What I'd be like big. I think I can do that."

She didn't feel red and hot in her cheeks, like he did, since she wasn't really alive like he was, being a Christmas scout efl, but she knew that if she looked in a mirror, her cheeks would be bright red. Tommy's had certainly gone red again.

That night was the first time Sammi ever wondered what being Tommy-sized would be like. What being Tommy-sized would feel like. It wouldn't be the last time she wondered.

---

As they got older, it seemed as if their lives were determined to take them further and further in different directions. But still, they made time for each other and supported each other's interests and obsessions, no matter how odd they might be.

For a while, it was all about trying to prank each other. As a magical being, Sammi should have been able to beat Tommy every time. Should have been, that is, because Tommy turned out to be a master of surprise. Be that with popping out of nowhere, zings, or even jokes. Never hurtful, or mean, but Sammi wanted to beat him.

She wished she could fart on his head, or give him a wet willy, or any number of silly biological things that he could do, but she had as many bodily functions as a Barbie doll did. She didn't, couldn't, eat. She didn't need to use the restroom. She certainly knew that she didn't smell like anything, no matter how many times Tommy told her that she smelled like winter and love and christmas.

She'd used the shower, Tommy's shower, and Tommy's shampoo, once, because he'd gotten her really dirty, but that was dirt. Dirt was different. That it had been a delicious, almost forbidden treat was just frosting on the cookie.

Once, when they were in their late teens, Sammi had the chance to surprise him. She'd gone farside early, just before Halloween, a hair before the season really turned in her favor. She'd had to work really hard to get strong enough to pass over before her time, but she managed it, all without sending any signs of her progress to Tommy. He was good at picking up on her progress at getting better at Christmas magic, which was wonderful, albeit unhelpful when it came to out-pranking him.

She flickered and fluttered over to his house in stealth, never leaving a hint of Christmas as she went. More progress, which she was also proud of. When she arrived, she was able to climb, not fly, up to his room on the second floor, another thing she was proud of. She peeked into his room.

Tommy was busy at his computer, looking at something he'd made using a digital art program he had. His hand was moving, hiding something she couldn't see.

"Oh, Sammi," she heard him say. "Oh, god, Sammi."

She blushed crimson, in her way, as she realized what he was doing, and what he was probably looking at. Past crimson, really; she was almost violet.

She didn't end up surprising him that day. She sometimes wished she still had.

---

Today wasn't a day for regrets, though, because today was when Tommy came home from college.

Even if he wasn't actually home yet.

Sammi took one last look at the heart on the calendar, then flickered around Tommy's room again.

She'd arrived wearing the same thing that every other scout elf wore: a red onesie, a red Christmas hat, white mittens, and a white pleated collar, her hair cut into a pixie cut. Or an "elf cut" as Tommy called it.

She thought she looked like a goober.

Tommy thought she looked cute.

Sammi opened his closet and slipped inside. There wasn't anything nefarious in there that she needed to look for, but he usually had a-- there! An old hoodie, crumpled in a corner. It was only sort of clean, considering how long it must have been there, but it still smelled like Tommy. She slipped out of her elf clothes and into his hoodie.

She'd grown up, and was nearly two and a half feet tall now. The other scout elves were still mostly in the one foot range, and none of them seemed to have grown or changed at all. She'd hoped that maybe this year it would fit her close to properly. It didn't, but that was fine. Fit wasn't what really mattered. What mattered was how it felt, and it felt right.

It felt like safety, and comfort.

And, of course, it felt like Tommy.

A side effect of wearing his hoodie was that she didn't have to wear her horrible, horrible uniform, which she'd left in the closet. She was suddenly aware that that meant that she wasn't wearing anything under the hoodie. She'd done it before, and Tommy never seemed to notice, but still. It felt exhilarating.

Not for the first time she wished that Tommy had a mirror in his room, so she could at least attempt to shift her haircut into something cute. He'd once had a computer at his desk, with a webcam built in, but he'd all but forbidden her to use it after she asked him about it.

---

"I don't need you going through my browser history or anything like that, it's private," he'd said, his face going bright red, and that had been that. Not that she'd wanted to look at his browser history. Well, before he'd banned her from looking at it, she didn't want to. Afterward, she'd been filled with boundless curiosity about it.

---

"What secrets are you hiding, Tommy?" Sammi asked herself as she slunk around his room as best she could in his hoodie, using all the magic she could muster to make it fit even a little bit.

Chances like this were rare. In the past, Tommy had always been near when she was at his house. She didn't mind, really, but snooping for secret naughtiness was hard when you were busy getting cozy with-- when you were busy keeping an eye on your charge.

-----

Tommy's computer wasn't at his desk anymore. Sammi didn't know where it was exactly, but she assumed that he'd taken it with him to college. But that was fine. It wasn't really his computer she was interested in. She flickered over to his desk, nearly slipping out of his hoodie, accidentally, and began to look it over. He usually kept them-- There!

There, on the bookshelf by his desk, were Tommy's old art journals. His secret art journals, that is. The ones she wasn't supposed to have found out about.

-----

Tommy was an athlete. He played football, was the quarterback, had gone to university for it, even. But he told Sammi that she made him want to "do art." Cameras couldn't capture her. They'd tried. So he sketched her.

He drew her as they spoke, or "captured the essence of your image," as he put it. And he had those with him nearly always. He'd draw her in fashionable clothes, or in funny costumes, all sorts of things. New things. Things she couldn't wear because she was too small, or because his having them would be too suspicious.

-----

She'd seen his other sketches. His art. But his secret art, that was something she only saw in passing. His secret art was also of her, but it was ... spicy.

That wasn't why it was a secret. He'd drawn other spicy pictures in other notebooks.

It was a secret because the ones that weren't visually of her were almost always unbelievably raunchy.

And she loved it.

He'd drawn her in form fitting clothes, bikinis, sometimes ... sometimes in nothing at all. And it was full of passion. She loved it. He hated that she knew it existed, and he'd blush each time she caught a glimpse, but that just made her love it all the more. Because he made it with passion, and he made it for her.

Even if they weren't all visually of her, they were spiritually of her. And, as an elf, she could see the spiritual impressions of his art, the meaning of it, the desires that drove its creation.

And he had nearly filled it up with smut, all with her in mind.

She pulled it out, and opened it up. There was one image in there that Tommy liked more than any of the others that he'd drawn. It wasn't the cleanest, or the purest, or even the raunchiest. But it was her favorite.

In the image, she was laid out on his bed, wearing nothing but a Santa hat and a couple of bows. In the image, she was looking at the viewer, at Tommy, with what Sammi could only describe as lust.

Sammi laughed a bit as she looked at the image. "What a goober. What a horny, horny little goober." She tried and failed to fight back a pout about how that horny goober, her horny goober, was supposed to be here by now.

Sammi sighed, then flopped back onto his bed, and continued to flip through his sketchbook. She felt hot. Flushed. She wanted to grind, to writhe, to rub up on Tommy's bed like a cat marking its territory with its scent. Not that she had a scent. But if she did, she'd make sure everyone knew that Tommy was hers.

She looked to the window, out at the Wishing Star, only just visible, sighed again, and wished.

"I wish that I could really be real. As real as Tommy. Even if it was just for one night."

It was a good wish. But Sammi knew that even elf wishes made on the North Star only worked their magic as well as human wishes made on it. Which meant the odds of anything coming of her wish were slim to none.

And on any other night, at any other time, that would have been the case.

She would have sighed, and waited for Tommy, who would be by shortly, and they'd talk, and catch up, and dream of being able to really connect like they wanted to connect, and that would be that, unless she could sneak to his room again.

Tonight, though, things were different.

Tonight, the world was in flux, and the veil along with it.

Tonight, Sammi's wish got a response.

Sammi watched as her wish flew up into the sky, towards the Wishing Star. She sat up and stared when it stopped, changed direction, and was suddenly jerked down from its skyward journey, towards the heart of the great city the humans had built nearby, along with many other wishes, hopes, and dreams.

She watched as all those wishes and hopes and dreams swirled about, like corks caught in a whirlpool. She didn't know what was happening. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

And then, just as suddenly as her wish had gone into the city, it came back to her, answer in tow.

And the answer was: Yes.

The changes came fast.

First, she felt herself grow taller. From two and a half proud feet, to three, to four, to almost five, and not a bit more. Still shorter than Tommy, but less so.

She felt her body grow out, curves coming in more where they'd lacked before. Not like the curves she had in his pictures, but the curves she and he had imagined her having after that moment on Halloween. Just enough curve to hold and still be very her.

She felt her insides tumble around, like batter in a blender, then stop, and settle. She felt exposed, wisps of air touching her in places it would have been impossible to touch her before.

And last of all, she felt her senses expand, explode.

She could feel her blood pulse. She had blood that could pulse! She had a tummy, a tummy that began to growl for food. And she could smell.

She could smell her Tommy's smell, really smell it.

And it smelled good.

She tried to move her arms around, to better whiff him, but suddenly couldn't. She looked down and saw that, in her growth spurt, her arms had become trapped at her sides. She bit her lower lip, feeling the bite for the first time, and decided, blushing, really blushing, for the first time, to just strip the hoodie off and be naked.

Nudity was liberating. Thrilling. She wanted to see herself, to explore herself, but first, she wanted to better smell Tommy. So, she held his hoodie up to her nose, and inhaled.

"Oh, Tommy," she said, moaning as she inhaled. It was him. It was like he was here.

Her hand drifted downward, almost on its own, and she found that, where there once had been nothing, there was now a bush of hair, and a slit. A moist, wet slit.

She inhaled again, and her hand, almost on its own, began to explore the slit. Her slit. There were parts that felt good. There were parts that felt really good. And then--

"Oh!"

She found the parts that felt best of all.

Clutching his hoodie close, she began to rub and feel at those parts, doing her best to make them feel good, moving her hand across her slit and inside it moaning Tommy's name all the while.

"Oh, oh, oh Tommy, oh, sugarplums, oh yes!" cried, moaned, Sammi. Christmas felt good, but it had never felt good like this before.

She was on the verge of something, something wonderful, something she wished Tommy was here for, when suddenly there was a cough at the door.

She threw the hoodie at Tommy's desk, readied a bit of "forget me" Christmas magic, and saw that, to her surprise and horror, Tommy was here. Standing inside his room, in front of the closed door, staring at her like she was the Krampus.

"Who-- Sammi?" blumbled Tommy, staring at her nude form on his bed. "How'd-- What?"

"Tommy!" she cried, and, forgetting that she was stark naked, she cast aside the "forget me" magic, leapt up, and pulled him into a hug. "You're home! Surprise!"

"I'm home, and surprised!" responded Tommy, hugging her back in turn. He lifted her off the ground a bit, and spun her around. It was different, now that she was bigger, but better different. She liked it.