Hallowiener

PART IV

It had been a little over a month since my adventures in Mr Hamilton's classroom, and Becca hadn't bothered me for more 'favours'; Although in the back of my mind I kind of wished she had. Maybe that was a premonition as to what was ahead because no sooner had the season of miracles and granted wishes drifted in with a fresh blanket of snow, Becca came a calling.

The weather was getting mighty chilly as December rolled in. Everyone was busy putting up decorations and commenting on how "It doesn't seem that long ago since I was taking these down." The kids in school were getting noticeably excited talking about what presents they hoped they would find under their trees in a few weeks. Tom and John, on the other hand, were excited about other things.

"So Dan, looking forward to my Father's Chrimbo do?" Tom mumbled through his sandwich. "He's decided to make it a street party this year."

"It's going to rock... and roll." John added whilst he shovelled a load of chips in his mouth.

"I guess." The truth was I didn't feel Christmassy in the slightest. I really wasn't feeling the yuletide fun at all.

"Listen to the Grinch. He'll be saying bar-humbug and giving us lumps of coal next." Tom laughed nudging John's arm. "Dude, we'll sort you out in no time. We're going round to Mr Marshall's tonight after school. You know the Principal Marshall's old man, the one who used to do Santa in the shopping centre. This year he's put up a grotto in his driveway, elves in costume; the works. He's even got pressies."

I must admit Tom's enthusiasm was starting to rub off, and part of me was kind of looking forward to the night's festivities. "Ok, sign me up, it's Friday after all, not like I have anything else planned."

The day passed without too much drama and the final bell rang to signal the end of class. Snow was just starting to fall again as the light of the day ebbed away. Pulling my backpack onto my shoulder and buttoning up my parka I suddenly felt a sharp tug on my arm and my body involuntarily hurled itself sideways into a nearby closet.

"Hey what the fuck..." I tried to protest as the light bulb flashed, almost blinding me.

As my eyes adjusted, there stood Becca beaming one of those unforgettable smiles that told you immediately that she needed something.

"Hi Danny," she cooed, "or do you prefer Danielle these days?"

I glared back at her, but in some dark corner of my mind, I felt a twinge of warmth by hearing the name of my alter-ego. "What do you want bitch?"

"Oh don't get catty with me sugar," she said pursing her lips and applying some dark red lipstick, "however, I do need a little, teensy favour from you."

"Ok, let's hear it then?" I said with a deep sigh, knowing full well I'd hate whatever it was she had planned.

"You know Mr Marshall's having a Santa's grotto thing tonight at six? Well I was supposed to go help him with it, but I can't make it, and I know he'll be so disappointed if I don't show up, but I thought that maybe," she paused looking at me with pleading eyes, "you could...?"

The question was left open-ended, hanging in the air between us for a moment as I tried to work out what she meant. Then it clicked. "Hell no! I'm not waiting on a bunch of snotty kids all night. Forget it!" I huffed reaching for the door handle. That was until Becca spoke again.

"Ok, if you really want my brother to know that his best friend was fucked by his own father, then you go ahead and open the door. I won't stop you."

My heart sank and my head drop, a moment later my hand dropped too, away from the door handle. "Please, don't tell him," I begged softly.

"It's ok, I won't," Becca stroked the back of my head gently and whispered into my ear, "as long as you do as I asked, I won't tell a soul."

"What do I have to do?" I whispered back in resignation.

"Just go to Mr Marshall's at six and help him with the whole Santa's grotto, kid's thing. Nothing too difficult." Becca said with renewed cheer. Reaching for the for the door handle she said over her shoulder, "Your outfit is in that grey duffle on the floor."

My eyes shot up to hers and then down to the bag and back up in quizzical horror. Before I had a chance to even mutter an objection I saw her blonde tresses dart out of the door and the click of the latch falling in place.

I stood there staring at the back of the door for what seemed like forever. I couldn't even look at the bag, let alone pick it up. I must admit I was scared of what might be in there. Just then my phone buzzed in my backpack and I fished it out. "I hope you like the costume Danielle, I made sure the skirt was just your length, Mr Marshall loves it when you flash a bit of ass. - Becca"

I felt my pulse quicken with every word I read. "She's done it again." I thought, grabbing the duffle-bag angrily and almost tearing open the zipper.

Red and green bits of fabric spewed out as I pulled them out of the compartment until I could make out what looked like pleats of a skirt. I dropped the bag and fiddled with the garment holding it up in front of my face.

"Oh fuck, Becca, flash a bit of ass? This'll be a hell of a lot more than a bit."

I felt dejected and low. I was pissed at Becca for once again fucking me over, but I knew I had no way out. Tom would go mad if he knew his Dad had fucked me that night. If he did find out I wouldn't be surprised if the whole college did sooner or later. I had no choice. "Suck it up, Danielle!!" I said to myself but couldn't help but laugh as my mind quickly drifted back to Mr Hamilton's classroom. "Just be careful, you know what happens when you do 'Suck it up'" I muttered with a smile.

The walk home was cold but I didn't take too long. I was starting to get quite eager to see exactly what my outfit was, and by that, I mean, 'how I looked in it.'

I knew my parents weren't going to be home for a few hours, so I had the house to myself. Just as well really, considering what I was about to change into. I ran up the stairs and kicked my shoes off before I got to the door. Throwing my school bag down in the corner, I pulled open the duffle-bag once more and upended it, spilling its contents all over my bed. Quickly sorting through the various pieces I found one green, form-fitting bodice, one green and red pleated skirt that I found earlier, green and red stockings, a little green and red pointy hat, a pair of green, curly-toed slippers with bells on, and last but not least, a long dark red coloured wig, and the tiniest of tiny thongs you could imagine. "At least there's no ears." I thought to myself chuckling.

Glancing at my alarm I could see it was a little before five so I had time to kill, and I decided to jump in the shower. My mind started to circle the possible events of tonight's bit of fun, and I started to feel rather excited by the whole thing. As I washed my legs I felt the wispy hairs and with no small amount of trepidation grabbed my mother's razor sitting on the side of the bath and steadied my hand. By the time I was finished my legs felt silky smooth and I had to admire how lovely they looked under the soft spray of the shower. A light tan from the days at the beach last summer was still clinging to my young skin, and as I ran my fingers up my thighs I was actually surprised at how hard my cock was as a result of these little daydreams. Reluctantly I pulled my hands from my cock and shut off the shower, washing the last of the soap off my body and pulled the curtain open.

Walking back into my room my outfit awaited me, lying where I'd left it, on my bed. I picked up the tiny thong and laughed, but at the same time, I felt my cock begin to throb back to life as I imagined what it would be like to wear. "What the fuck are you waiting for, put it on!" My mind screamed at me.

The moment the soft cotton pulled up between my cheeks I gasped. Gently covering my tiny balls and cock with the front triangle, I adjusted the back giving it a tiny pull upwards causing me to gasp once more.

"Oh fuck!" I moaned and I felt a familiar twinge that had started shortly after that wonderful Halloween night. "I'm going to need to go see Mr Hamilton again soon if this carries on."

Mustering as much courage as I could I stopped playing around and pulled on the stockings one by one, letting each elastic top to snap around my shapely thighs. Quickly I stepped into the skirt and fastened it, feeling a gust of air caress the bottom of my bare cheeks, sending a shiver down my spine. The bodice was a little tougher to get into, and I had to breathe in quite a bit to get it tightened, but once I managed it, the snug fit kept everything in place and it began to feel really comfortable. Satisfied that the main parts of my outfit were done I decided to leave putting on the wig, hat, and more importantly, the shoes until I reached Mr Marshall's.

I put the last few bits into the duffle-bag and grabbed my trainers. Looking around my room for any missing pieces I glanced at the clock once again, 'five-forty-eight', it read. I froze in place as my eyes looked over the flashing red digits again and again. "Shit!" I screamed trying to dig out my phone. 'seven-twenty-three', flashed up on the display. "Fuck! Shit! Bollocks! He's going to kill me."

Throwing the bag over my shoulder and grabbing my parka I ran from the house. Ducking down a side road I frantically rushed through the dark, winter streets and alleys until I came to the back gate of Mr Marshall's house. I unlatched the gate and pushed it open, trying to stop it from creaking, I quickly closed the gate behind me and ran up the path to the back of the garage.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" came the booming voice of Mr Marshall, or should I say Santa, from inside.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I pulled out the wig and flicked it over my head, covering my ears and trying to straighten it as much as I could. Then came the hat which I clipped to the wig and then with a soft jingle, the slippers. My whole body trembled as I sat down on the snow-covered step to pull on the slippers. The quicker I could stand again the better.

With the last adjustments done I tried to steady my breathing and stepped into the rear door of the garage, brushing through some dangling snowy decorations, I peered into a darkened space filled with twinkling fairy lights, and luminous reindeer. Amongst all the crushed, snow white, mounts of sheeting, was a large backed chair, with giant cardboard fir trees and more fairy lights. As I tried my best to sneak around I realised the front of the garage was shut. There were no voices but the occasional "Ho! Ho! Ho!" From whoever was sat in the large throne in front of where I was standing. Shuffling gently forward I could just make out a large thigh dress in a red velvet cloth. As I rounded further I could make out the dark boots, and white fluffy edges. Moving further round the full sight soon revealed itself, as Mr Claus came into view. However, this wasn't quite a Mr Claus the kids might have wanted to see.

Slumped in his throne, Mr Claus clutched a bottle of eighteen-year-old scotch in his mittened hand and swigging generously. It was during one such moment that I shuffled a little too eagerly forward and my little belled slippers made the most unbelievably loud noise to break the silence. Causing Santa to gasp into his bottle and jump up from his throne.

"Who the hell are you, elf?" his voice made me shudder and I fell back into a pile sheets.

I gazed up at Mr Marshall in all his glory as he towered over me. Being a former fireman showed. He was easily over six-foot tall and his shoulders were broad, his thighs were thick and sturdy. Even in the fluffy red cloth, it was obvious he was a solid man. He stood with his hands on his hips, the bottle still in one of his clenched fists, staring at me over the rim of his black-rimmed spectacles. I couldn't remember whether he normally wore glasses or not, but the beard was all him. It was one of the reasons he used to volunteer to be Santa in the local shopping centre each year.

"So, speak up girl, or don't you know how?" He peered down at me, blinking several times as if trying to focus. "You're not my normal girl, where the fuck is Becca?"

"She couldn't make it, so she asked for me to stand in." I tried my most girly of voices, which happens to be quite easy when you have an angry guy, three-times your size, standing over you.

"Did she tell you when to be here? Because you're fucking late, and everyone's gone home." Mr Marshall reached out his arm and put the whiskey down on the counter and without taking a step, he bent down and grabbed me between his large hands and lifted me up and off my feet. "Pretty little thing though, aren't ya? Always had a soft spot for redheads."

He placed me back down on my feet and took a step back, looking me up and down. "Thank you," I said meekly, looking down at the floor. "I'm sorry for being late, my clock was broken and shaving my legs must have taken longer than I th..." the sentence died in my mouth as the inappropriate nature of what I was about to say hit me.

Mr Marshall said nothing. He simply stepped up onto the platform and took a seat back in his throne. I could tell he was looking at me. He was making a lot of approving sighs and I could have sworn I heard a groan. I was feeling very uneasy, stood there being examined like that, but at the same time I couldn't help but be excited by the whole thing. I had never really been looked at like that. Sure, Mr Hamilton gave me a good eyeing, but he was more laid back, more interested in getting down to business. Mr Marshall was making me feel nervous, on edge, and it was turning me on. Something deep down inside me told me he like doing this. He liked making me feel awkward. Like a cat toying with a mouse, before eating it whole.

"Give me my whiskey girl." His voice broke the silence, making me jump. I grabbed the bottle with both hands and shuffled over to where he sat, making little tinkling sounds as I went. "Not much of a timekeeper but obedient, that's good to know."

"I try my best Sir," my voice trembled as I spoke, not helped by the sudden cold draft that whistled in from the back door straight across the top of my thighs and my snow-chilled butt.

"Cold are we girl? Let Santa warm you up." I wasn't able to object as he lurched forward and grabbed my wrist. Pulling me forward and up the step, I tripped into his lap, both hands landing squarely on his thick, muscular thighs. I looked up at the barrel-chested Santa just about to apologise when I noticed he wasn't looking down at me. Instead, he was looking behind me, and behind was just right. My skirt had flown up as I fell and my rosy red cheeks separated by just that thin string of cotton were on show for all to see. A deep groan burbled out from somewhere in the large man's chest, so deep and drawn out that I swear I felt it through my fingers.

He was looking at me so intently and I didn't want to anger him further, so I just stayed still, I even arched my back a little to push my butt further out for him to see. This was greeted by another deep groan of extreme manly satisfaction, a sound I was quickly becoming to enjoy. I had to stop myself from laughing when I tried to picture us. Santa, drunk and obviously horny, with an elf knelt between his large thighs, with her butt on show, must have been some sight. However, the more I pictured it, the more it began turning me on. I began to move my back from arched to straight, bobbing my butt up and down ever so slowly. Then I started a gentle swaying motion, squirming my hips from side to side. This elicited another deep guttural moan from Santa's big round belly. I concentrated as hard as I could to keep the big man entertained with my seductive sways and twirls. I glanced up for just a moment but my attention was caught by something else, something moving. The large bulge in the soft red centre of Santa's trousers was rhythmically throbbing and making the velvety mound twitch.

"Oops, I'm so clumsy, always falling over, but looks like I can still move about ok," I said flipping my skirt back over my butt. Putting my hand back onto Mr Marshall's strong thigh I began to push off, lifting myself up, but allowing my hands to slide slowly up his velvet trousers. Just as my legs straightened my hands reached the crux of his crotch, in that area that most men love and hate for tickling so much that it almost hurts, but a feeling you can't deny you crave. I looked straight ahead into Mr Marshall's deep brown eyes and whispered, "I should be more careful, can you imagine how funny I'd have looked if I had fallen face first into your trousers?"

"That would be, umm, funny, yeah. Tell ya what, why don't you do that and we can both have a good laugh..." His voice was becoming hoarse as his large hand pressed down on my back, and although at that moment what he had in mind was exactly what I needed, I wanted to draw this little scene out as far as I could take it.

"Oh you, silly Santa," I smiled as innocently as I could and gently batted his hand away. "Besides, my poor knees are sore after my fall, how about I sit down here?" With that, I bounced onto the step and sat down on Mr Marshall's right thigh.

The poor man still looked rather dumbfounded as I perched myself down, dangling my feet in the air, which just made me realise how much truly larger he was than me. Trying to keep the momentum going I glanced around with a puzzled look on my face for a moment.

"So, Santa, when you're seeing the girls and boys, how do you stop them falling off your knee?" He still looked perplexed. "I mean it's an awfully long way down for a little girl like me." I kick my legs up in the air as means of a demonstration.

"I... I normally hold on to them like this." Slowly his large mittened hand cradled my ribcage; He had such a gentle touch for such a big man.

"Oh that is much better, but I wonder if..." I said wiggling my butt into his thigh and my back into his arm. Reaching down my side I unfastened the clasp to his mitten and pulled it by the fingertips clearly off his hand. "There isn't that better, you can really take hold of me now... you know, in case I fall or something Santa."

His look began to mellow, it was a look I was hoping for, it was a look I'd seen in countless porn films over the last few years, it's the look a guy gets when he realises the girl he's hoping to fuck is so naïve that he could probably suggest fucking to save the planet, and she'd believe him.

"Right here, is that good for you my little elf?" He said, his momentary confusion abating, he placed his hand back where it had been.

"Almost, maybe a little lower?" I said looking thoroughly invested in the science of Santa-lap-safety.

"Here?" he asked again after moving a few inches lower to just above my hip.

"Umm, maybe just a little lower, to here maybe?" I pushed his hand down passed the waistband of my skirt and firmly on to the top of my butt. "How's that Santa?"

"Yes. I think that will do perfectly." His voice had regained its booming baritone, I felt it all the way down into my tummy, "So have you been a good girl this year?"

"I'm always a good girl Santa," hearing those words sent a shock of electricity up my spine causing me to shudder against his thigh, and that familiar twitch in my downstairs to start up again. "I promise." I shuffled in his lap and put my left hand down, planting it firmly on that spot I'd found before, only this time much closer to the large lump.

I tried my best not to flinch as Mr Marshall slowly slipped his hand under my skirt and squeezed my butt gently, but I did flinch, it was getting too much for me. I was struggling to keep things going.

"Santa?" I said jumping up from his lap. Standing with my back to him I reached up on tip-toes and bent forward slightly, knowing full well he was getting another peek at my butt. Looking over my shoulder I had to smile at the lusty face he was pulling staring at my ass, swigging from his whiskey bottle. "Can we take a photo, you know, me on your lap?"