Mr. C's Return
The Man comes back to rectify a Christmas problem. He doesn't like the bad P/R he's been getting. This will take care of that. No sex, but they talk about it. This is in response to "Mommy Kissing Santa Clause" by SookieHaze7. Not my favorite, and it would appear, a lot of other people didn't like it, too. This is in "Loving Wives" where the other two Mr. C stories were. As I've said before, this is the Big Leagues of Literotica.
Please, enjoy. Happy Holidays!
Mr. C was sitting in his office. It was February 1st, and it was cold and nasty, even by North Pole standards. Mr. C was pissed. Santa Clause? Pissed?? WOW!!
Yeah, he was pissed. It was a month and a half since Christmas, and the bad news kept coming up.
Mr. C was going over some very disturbing reports on Christmas Eve happenings reported by his Elf Security detail. These were elves that circulated around the globe, checking up on things that happened on the Greatest Night of the Year. Several reports had come in of 'sexual improprieties' on Santa's exploits while conducting business. This was bad. More than thirty allegations of sexual adultery with married women, many with children. His law firm was scrambling to cover everything, covertly, because 'everyone knows that Santa Clause doesn't exist!'
'This is outrageous. Ridiculous! Crazy!!' He looked around, and then, uncharacteristically, yelled, "THIS SUCKS!!!" His intercom beeped and Cassie piped up.
"Dad, Mom is here."
With that, Mary, Mrs. Clause, entered and walked up to her husband's desk with a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows -his favorite. She placed it on his desk coaster pecked his cheek and perched on the end of his desk. She was his all, his world. The 42-year-old Jersey girl, the mother of five now considering she had adopted Mr. C's two stepdaughters, was still attractive. She looked about 34 due to the Mantra, North Pole magic, and Cassie and Esmy's ministries, and was very comely. But in a sedate manner. But she only had eyes for Mr. C, and she never let him forget it.
"Chris, what's wrong? Surely you don't believe these reports. I don't. I know you're not like that. You're a good man. Besides, you're mine, and mine alone. Santa isn't naughty," she said, running her hand across his tight chest, "Except in my presence," she added with a sly smile.
Just then, the intercom beeped again.
"UH, Mr. Clause, there's a gentleman here to see you. He says it's urgent!!"
'Mr. CLAUSE? Cassie never called me MR. CLAUSE. Dad or daddy, sometimes boss if it was official. But MR. CAUSE??'
"UH, who is it, Cassandra?"
"AHEM, He says it's err, uh, ahem, he says it's Saint Nick, sir."
WHAT??
"Send him in and call security. STAT!!"
Mary rose with an incredulous look on her face. Chris rose to face the door, as it opened, revealing-
An elderly, tired man, with a long grey beard, dressed in ecclesiastical garb from around 1000 A. D., holding a silver crosier in his right hand, and caressing his beard with his left. Behind him was a small man in clerical garb, carrying a leather satchel, probably more antique than the North Pole. Uh, Oh.
This was Saint Nicholas of Myra, Asia Minor. The original Santa Clause, if you will. From around 270 A.D. to 343 A.D. A pious man who went out of his way to help the poor and less fortunate.
(Works for me.)
My predecessor had told me a bit about him, but even he had never met him. I wasn't even sure he was still around. But here he was, in my office, sitting in front of my desk. Yeah, you can't put anything over on me.
The holy gentleman smiled at me and said, "Please, sit, Chris. And you must be Mary. (addressing my wife) Your reputation precedes you as well, my Lady. Your work with the Gaza refugees and the orphans in Uganda is well thought of, in Heaven."
Mary blushed down to her chaste peasant blouse and beyond and diverted her eyes, smiling.
He turned to me.
"As is your good reputation. The recent 'unpleasantness' not withstanding."
He held up his hand as I started to protest.
"Christopher, Christopher, you don't think anyone believes these stories, do you? As a matter of fact, that's why I am here. The Lord is extremely displeased with the stories being spread. And His Son even more so, especially on his birthday. So much so that Saint Michael had the Archangel Tactical Squad take over the incidents. Now, it did not make the media, but there were 32 incidents, all across the United States. All the individuals were visited by angels, and the necessary evidence was gathered and processed. The females involved were suitably admonished and reprimanded. Then the aggressors were tracked down and visited."
"Visited? What do you mean, 'visited'? And by whom??"
The holy man chuckled again.
"Why, Michael sent seraphim to 'talk' to the miscreants. Imagine, if you will, being visited in the middle of the night by several tall, muscular young men, garbed in armor with leather battle skirts, and sporting three-foot-long flaming swords, while sporting large wings. Impressive, no?
"The individuals to a man broke down and confessed. They voluntarily turned themselves in to the applicable authorities. I understand that the confessions matched the crime reports, but their stories of contrition were not believable.
"I mean, Angels, with swords?
"The authorities were not swayed. But the confessions were solid. I am also led to believe that 27 of them are still in some sort of mental facility due to the extreme trauma. All of them will be charged and probably convicted. So that part is 'handled', as they say. This brings us to the 'rest of the story'."
