"For it is in giving that we receive." - St. Francis of Assisi
As part of an unending corporate effort to improve its public image, John's employer, ColossalCo, was operating a "Christmas Community Charity Raffle", selling tickets for twenty dollars a pop with 'all net proceeds' loudly advertised as going to a local children's charity. John had volunteered "us" to work the company's Christmas Eve booth at a local outdoor shopping center. He'd done so without asking me beforehand but helping kids at Christmas sounded like a worthy cause and it sounded like a fun activity for us, so I was cautiously enthusiastic.
The problems started when I learned that John had roped me into participating without telling me that we were expected to dress up; he simply showed up after work one day with two bags containing our outfits. I was taken further aback when I saw the costumes we were assigned to wear. John would wear a traditional Santa suit, with plenty of stuffing to fill out the red crushed velvet jacket and pants over his scrawny frame. Meanwhile, I was expected to dress as an elf, except my costume deviated wildly from family-friendly TV depictions of the North Pole workshop. The bodice of the sleeveless green velvet dress stopped abruptly above the bust (barely), with narrow shoulder straps and then a lace-up back that ended in a giant candy-cane bow atop my butt. I also raised an eyebrow noting that the red faux-fur trim of the flounce stopped above mid-thigh.
"But it's cold at the North Pole; don't you think the elves would at least wear sleeves?" I had asked John that night as I tried on the outfit. He shrugged and suggested that Santa's workshop was indoors and probably heated. "Yeah, okay... I'm still surprised the costume isn't more 'family-friendly' since we'll be at a mall. Like, it says 'Naughty Elf' right here on the package..." I said as I turned in front of the mirror, minding how the flared, "fur"-trimmed hem danced dangerously high up my hamstring as I spun. I craned my neck to check the knot of the back-tie panel, which had required John's assistance to securely tie the red laces. The green and red Santa hat refused to stay put on top of my head as I moved, and I concluded it would need to be clipped in place the actual day of the event.
John grinned devilishly as he approached me, waddling theatrically under the artificial belly of his costume, his eyes fixated on the reflection of the bursting seam of the dress' bust. "Oh yeah, you're Santa's naughty little elf, all right." He wrapped his arms around my waist and pushed his awakening crotch against my backside as he whispered huskily in my ear. "And after a day of charity, you can come back here and 'ho ho ho' up and down Santa's chimney all Christmas Night." He nipped my earlobe enticingly, but just as I saucily lifted my skirt, eager to take a ride on his sleigh, his phone rang with a call from his boss. With a bashful shrug of his shoulders, John was gone to the other room to work.
Annoyed as I was by yet another interruption from his work, it was exciting to see John so riled up by an outfit. I decided not just to abide by his employers' outfit choice, but to take it a step further, just for John. This required a special pre-Christmas shopping trip. When the credit card carnage was settled, my outfit for our charitable outing was set.
For the visible additions, I matched the revealing elf costume with candy-striped red and white stockings and a festive pair of tall, cartoonishly glittery green pumps. I also painted my nails in alternating red and green. However, with an eye towards giving John a couple special presents to unwrap on Christmas Eve, beneath the green velvet costume, I corralled my swollen D-cups into a seasonally themed bra of candy cane-striped fabric and red lace with a matching skimpy scrap of a thong.
That morning, as John drove us to the mall, I hiked up my skirt and divulged to him one hint of my outfit Christmasexy surprise: the festive striped hose were thigh-highs adorned with a delicate red bow affixed to the elastic top. He nearly drove off the road staring at that ribbon, plowing through puddles of melting watery slush on the shoulder in the abnormally mild mid-morning sun.
As we set up the table, I reviewed the stack of flyers that lay on the table alongside the promotional tees and other assorted marketing items to be given away. It seemed curious that a giant, global company like ColossalCo would partner with such a tiny local charity, but the leaflets clearly displayed the intimidating intertwined red and black "CC" logo alongside the charity's emblem of a childishly drawn multicultural trio of kids' faces. I read down to the list of prizes; it was a lot of CC gift cards, but at the bottom came the grand prize, a monstrous, top of the line television. Pointing to the picture of the TV, I remarked that there was only one prize worth winning on the list. John's guarded response to my observation made me suspicious.
"John, why are you acting so goddamn weird all of a sudden?" It was an unseasonably warm afternoon, warm enough that I had left my jacket in his car, but John had broken into an intense, nervous sweat at the mention of the TV. He continued to avoid my eyes as he adjusted the red and green bows decorating the stand. Finally, I grabbed the crimson sleeve of his jacket and cornered him against the table to force an explanation.
"Yeah, so, we don't haaaave a TV for a prize, uh, yet... or at all, really. But - legally - the language on the flyer clearly advertises that participants 'could' win 'the chance to be eligible for' the grand prize. The office bought a sufficient number of tickets that those odds are reduced to a matter of academics, and then there are other eligibility steps in the fine print..."
"That's really fucking weak, John!" My eyes widened angrily, and I crossed my arms over my ample chest in disgust, forgetting in my anger that I was dressed as a slutty elf. The red pom at the end of my green cap bounced on my flushing cheeks; I irritably batted it away with the back of my hand. "Does the charity know that you're using their name in this shell game?" He reddened further, focused intently on straightening pens in a CC mug. I impatiently cleared my throat until he looked up.
"... okay, so, Happy Holiday Kids doesn't technically know that they're involved in this fundraiser." I furiously pointed a shaking index-finger at the festively decorated lockbox that already contained more than a thousand dollars in donations. He swallowed hard and fought to reassure me, "They'll get a check! Well, not a check. The company takes in the money raised through this raffle, then, after adjusting for overhead and expenses, we give them a contribution in the amount of the net value! I think in stock... Anyway, that's what the flyer promises: 'all net proceeds!'"
I pinched the bridge of my nose between trembling thumb and forefinger, squeezing my eyes shut against the thundering stress of these revelations. Ordinarily I preferred the holiday charities I participated in to keep their operations further back from the line between "illegal" and not. John continued to hand out tickets and accept money from contributors. As my breathing calmed, I quietly but sternly gave John my final terms on the subject as more families, steered by unexpectedly charitable dads, flocked to the table to donate.
"First of all, this is dishonest, if not fraudulent, and, as things stand, I am not participating next year." He nodded shyly as I took over ticket distribution, to the rapt delight of the male-half of the assembled parents. "I will also handle and account for all the collected donations. And then I'll do what's right and make sure the money goes directly where it belongs, without first collecting on ColossalCo's tax return." John opened his mouth to object but wisely reconsidered under the withering side-eye glance I shot him while smiling warmly and wishing a bubbly "Merry Christmas!" to a grinning dad and scowling mom.
"Uh... is there anything else?" He timidly refolded a t-shirt bearing a holiday-trimmed globe with "COLOSSAL" stamped menacingly in red across the Northern Hemisphere, the letters stretching over the North American and European continents. Below the corporation's name, the message in smaller, Christmas-colored text "Spread Love and Joy!" seemed an afterthought.
"Yes, one more thing." After casting a quick glance over my shoulder to confirm we were alone on our stretch of sidewalk, I turned towards him. Leaning over the table, I dipped my shoulders and felt the bustline of my dress droop, granting John a tantalizing glimpse down my top. I flexed my biceps in and forward, alluringly plumping my breasts until they threatened to burst out of the low-cut top. Running the tip of my tongue over my candy-pink lips, I breathily whispered, "You're stuffing your own stocking tonight, Santa."
John's crestfallen expression was evident even behind the costume beard and glasses. His jaws again opened to protest but he was interrupted by his ringing phone and he stepped away to answer. He returned from the call, now even more sheepishly refusing to make eye contact. His voice cracked with an increasingly nervous stutter as he explained that his boss had called and demanded that he come to the office for a project emergency. My mouth dropped open in stunned disbelief, but I quickly found my voice and volume.
"On Christmas fucking Eee-" I cut myself off abruptly. My base layer of anger at the charity malfeasance was threatening to boil over and now John had further provoked me by deserting me to complete his company's dishonest errand alone. Only the nearby families completing their last-minute holiday shopping stopped me from blowing my top. I swallowed my rage reminding myself of my costume. We weren't going to have a public blowout while dressed as Santa and an elf; this wasn't SantaCon! Besides, any spirited displays of emotion in my flimsy outfit ran the risk of accidentally exposing my sugarplums to crowds of holiday shoppers.
A dark calm came over me, and in that moment, I didn't care if John left. In fact, it was probably better that way. "It's fine. Go. Pick me up when you're done."
He leaned in to kiss my cheek as he left, but I twisted away, carelessly smacking him in the eye with my pom-pom as I turned my head. His expression of hurt - couple with his enduring disappointment of losing the evening's lay - was the last I saw as he waved weakly and drove away. I pretended to be engrossed in conversation, only watching his departing car from the corner of my eye as I talked to a pair of college boys who felt suddenly moved to holiday altruism.
My anger lingered through the afternoon, simmering just below my comely surface as I sold ColossalCo's charity sham to shoppers. But beneath that anger, my own disappointment was fermenting. With my costume embellishments and plans for letting John "unwrap" me later tonight, my libido had been screaming since I woke up; now my temper and conscience had slammed that door in its face. As I smiled and spoke to a customer, my hand casually fell to my thigh. I felt the bow on my thigh-high through my velvet skirt and my desire throbbed warmly, remembering why I was wearing them. I handed the man his tickets and stuffed money into the box as my pussy moistened in secret.
Crowds thinned and the temperature dropped as the afternoon passed into twilight. Shivering in the waning light, I looked around for my jacket, then remembered I'd left it in John's car. The realization set off a fresh flurry of frustration and blame aimed squarely at him.
Since the day's donations seemed to be coming to an end, I started counting the collected money and auditing the figure against the raffle ticket stubs. We'd issued more than six hundred tickets, and the resultant money for donation matched perfectly; I triple-checked my twin columns of figures to make sure I was right. I was rather satisfied with myself and my sales efforts, even if much of that success could be attributed to the elf costume's bustline. With the money counted, trying to keep warm, I started packing the remaining promotional gear into boxes. Bending at the waist with my back to the sidewalk as I rearranged mugs in the crate, a frosty draft nipped up my short skirt. Amidst the clattering of porcelain, I missed the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Excuse me. Do you represent ColossalCo?" the deep-voiced inquiry startled me. Spinning as I stood, my hands instinctively flew to my rear to hold down the billowing flounce of my skirt. The tall black man wearing an unzipped grey fleece vest over a blue long-sleeve shirt stared back at me as he stood on the other side of the table.
