My Year With Santa Claus

All characters are 18 or older.

***

I was lying on the couch in the living room Christmas Eve, laptop on my tummy, all the lights out except the lights from the tree. It was pretty. It was peaceful. It was boring.

But at least it was quiet - my younger siblings were nestled all snug in their beds, while mama in her kerchief and dad in his saggy tightie-whities were settled in for their long winter's siesta after six glasses of cheap Walgreens wine. I was browsing dirty hypno Tumblr on my laptop and getting progressively hornier, so I shucked off my sweatpants and started stroking.

When suddenly I heard a jingling and a twinkling on the roof, as of the prancing and pawing of little hooves. And then, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a shower of soot on the floor, and the fireplace full of Santa Claus himself.

My long pale bare legs splayed, my sweatshirt hoisted up over one small teenage boob, and my sticky fingers covering my crotch, I must have been a sight. But all I said was: "I'm not cleaning that up."

I guess it takes a lot to surprise Santa. His mouth hung open for a minute or two, but he quickly recovered - dropping his sack of toys and fumbling with his big belt buckle.

"Do we have time for this?" I whispered.

"Silly child," he said. "Time is never an issue." He threw a handful of gold dust in the air and instantly, time seemed to stand still. The clock stopped between ticks. The sprinkles settled on my bare body, and on my face, and tingled wherever they hit. I mindlessly slid forward off the couch and onto my knees, as a wave of peace and joy warmed my mind and hardened my nipples. He pulled my sweatshirt off as I gazed up at him, completely naked, my smile spreading as he stripped off his furs.

I gotta say, I was expecting an old fat man - a right jolly old elf - but I have been MISINFORMED, y'all. Turns out Santa is big, yes, but it's almost all muscle. And he's a silver fox - silver hair, short silver beard ... with tattoos ... "NICE" on his left forearm, and "NAUGHTY" on his right. And his name isn't actually Santa, it turns out - but Sander...

His cock was impressive, majestic, and it tasted like cinnamon. His precum was like frosting, so sweet - undoubtedly from all the cookies. I sucked and slurped as he stroked my hair, and moved gently in and out of my mouth. It felt so good to serve him, to please him ... then he picked me up as if I weighed nothing, and settled my dripping cunny on the head of his cock.

"It's so warm!" I whispered. "It's like you're burning me up from the inside!"

Sander grinned, and there was a twinkle in his eye. "That's me," he said. "I'm Mr Hundred-and-One."

He used me like a toy, but gently and lovingly, filling me so full with every thrust. He lay me back down on the carpeting, under the tree, and I looked up at all the pretty lights, in a daze, as he pumped into me for what seemed like hours ... until finally Santa came down my chimney. Again and again, he came down my chimney.

I lay there panting as he dressed all in his furs again. I wasn't sure if I could form words. When he knelt beside me, I whimpered like a broken doll. "Do you have to go?"

He smiled, shaking his head, and took out a sprig of mistletoe from his coat pocket. He held it over me. "I'm taking you back to my workshop, my dear. I'll fix you up there ... then I'll bring you back here ..." He broke a mistletoe berry under my nose. My eyes rolled back, and in an instant I was unconscious.

The next year passed by in a blur, a candy-colored, peppermint-flavored haze of sex and sweets. (If it was only a year - but I had my doubts about that. It seemed like it was always "nearly Christmas" around Sander and his people, and it was a perpetual aura of excitement plus exhaustion.) Time ceased to have any meaning. I learned to serve the elves. I made cookies with Mrs Claus - a process she enjoyed very much. And the things I ate and drank filled me with Christmas cheer, in different ways.

Some chocolates seemed to chip away at my intelligence. Some fruitcake seemed to leave me in a drugged-out blissful stupor for hours. Sometimes I seemed sharp and alert, but the only thing I could think of were the Christmas carols playing over and over in my mind, accompanying thoughts of various sex acts.

"Try some of this," Mrs Claus would say as we cooked and baked together in her kitchen ... And I would find myself licking the sugar from her hands, then sucking on her fingers, then going down on her snatch of silver-and-gold.

"Look into my eyes," Sander would say, and I would gaze into his eyes for a while, smelling his breath of peppermint and pipe tobacco, but somehow not hearing the words he spoke into my unresisting ears ... until I would awaken with "NAUGHTY" choking my throat, just a little bit, while "NICE" was kneading and stroking my sex.

I was his favorite toy. He loved finding new games to play with me, to make me entertain him, or the others ... or to make me happy. One of his favorites was turning me into a snowman. "There must be some magic in this hat I found," he would say, then he would plop it on my head, and I would instantly freeze. He and the Missus would play with my body, and it would respond, but I could barely feel it - I was nearly numb, and the arousal would be far away. No matter what, I couldn't cum. My eyes would leak in my frustration, but I couldn't move, and could barely feel, a frozen snowman ... until they removed the hat. Then everything would flood back into my body at once, and I would scream and shake and almost pass out from the explosion inside every cell.

Once, Sander hypnotized me into believing I was one of the reindeer. My name was Olive ... Olive the other reindeer. He took a red thread, and he tied some antlers to the top of my head, then he led me into the stables. He left me there for hours ... playing all the reindeer games.

I ate sweets and I breathed magic. I learned ... I grew ... I changed. My ass rounded and my breasts filled out as I grew older, more womanly, no longer a teenager. The elves would use my body for hours, as if they had never seen someone as tall as me, never had access to sexual partners before ... as if they needed the practice. I loved letting the elves practice on me, my holes, my tits ... it was like being swarmed by sex-starved puppies, and I loved it.

But the day finally came when Sander told me he needed to send me back to the world. It was almost Christmas again ... though whether it was the same Christmas I had left, or the next one, or any other Christmas, I neither knew nor cared. I wept, and Father Christmas held me close. "I will always know when you're sleeping, and when you're awake," he whispered. "I'll know if you've been bad or good - so be good and naughty."

"Yes Daddy," I nodded, sniffling.

He touched my tears, with wonder and concern. "What's this? What's this?"

I sniffled.

"Santa baby?" I asked. "Could I make one wish, this Christmas?"

I could, and I did. I wished not to go back to my family, but a different one. He even let me pick one out. It took some time, and some research, but it was worth it.

Then, when I was finally ready, he gave me a cup of hot cocoa. I sipped it, then felt the sugar plums and fairy music swell. "Say ... what's in that drink," I murmured as I lost consciousness.

So ... here I am. Under the tree, dressed in lingerie and a cute little Santa hat - switched "off," ready to be turned on by love and Christmas magic when the family come downstairs in the morning.

I picked a kind looking widower named Bob, who had to raise several kids on his own. The youngest, Tim, is sickly, but has made it to age 18, and I know I can make him, and his brothers, and their father, all happy. It gives me sexual pleasure to serve... so I'll cook, and clean, and bake the best cookies they've ever had - and fulfill their sexual fantasies too. Sander even left instructions and trigger words for some of the games we've played, and modes he's installed. I know I can make them all very happy.

I will miss elf practice, though.