On Christmas Eve, it's tradition for my wife Samantha and I to have a quiet night at home in front of the fire. We'd both always been fond of Christmas, and enjoyed spending the day trimming the tree and baking cookies. This year, as always, we had decided against giving each other any presents. It was a practical decision, but it did leave the tree looking a bit lonely in the corner of the room.
As the evening pressed on, I sat in my recliner and Sam laid out on the sofa across from me. We didn't say much, just sat and enjoyed the peacefulness of our cozy little home.
I'm not sure the time, somewhere around midnight, I found myself rapidly becoming drowsy. Normally, this would be a sign that it was time to move to the bedroom, but suddenly my body felt too heavy to move. I could see that Samantha had already fallen asleep on the sofa, so I resisted any urge I might have had to push back sleep, letting it come over me, deeply and immediately.
I don't know how long I slept, but it seemed like days. When I awoke, my eyelids felt like 50 pound weights; raising them was a herculean task in itself.
When I finally managed to open them, I gazed slowly around the room, which was bathed in a warm, orange glow. The fire that had been dying out when I fell asleep was now roaring cheerfully. My vision was blurry, but I could see movement across the room. It took me a few seconds (or maybe an hour) for my eyes to clear enough that I could see what was happening.
There was Santa Claus, standing in front of the sofa, turned to the side so I was seeing him in profile. I couldn't explain how, but I knew immediately and inherently that this was not some man in a faux Santa suit: this was the genuine Claus himself. I was so astounded that it took me a long while to notice that he wasn't alone. There, sitting upright on the lip of the couch was Samantha, her round tits pulled out through the neckline of her pajamas, her soft lips pressed thin as they stretched around Santa's long, fat cock.
Somewhere deep in the back of my mind I knew that I should be experiencing shock, what with finding out that Santa Claus was real and seeing my beautiful wife sucking his big dick. More than anything, though, I felt exhaustion. Exhaustion so powerful that I couldn't so much as open my mouth to gasp.
I glanced at the clock on the mantle: the second hand was frozen in place. Aside from the fireplace and Samantha blowing the jolly old elf, the room seemed to be frozen in time.
Santa reached over and grabbed the glass of milk off the side table, taking a long draught as Sam continued to service his meaty cock. He took one of Samantha's heavy globes in his leather mitten-covered hands, squeezing it firmly as she gave him some truly world-class head, far exceeding the skills I'd known her to use on me in spite of how much longer and beefier Santa's cock was.
My eyelids were painfully heavy. I let them slide closed, enjoying the relief.
