Toy Maker

Tony Tinsel looked at the veiny, long toy in his hands and felt horny.

He walked over to the window and reflected upon his surroundings. He had always lived here in the desolate North Pole. Here with the famous ice. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel horny.

He watched the snowflakes come down, looking at his own reflection in the window. Holding the toy in both hands, watching the bulge in his little green pants expand. As his crotch grew, the elastic cuffs of his pants rose, tightening against his hairless calves.

Tony had had a good month. He had been promoted at the workshop, now instead of working on the assembly line making toys for naughty (yet nice) girls and boys, he worked from his own office, drawing up designs for the toys. He was perfectly qualified, as secretly the most perverted staff member. He knew exactly how to make the kinkiest gifts for those deserving to play with later on Christmas night. He thought to himself how fortunate he was, getting to test out his ideas all year, given by the boss an unlimited supply of batteries to keep the inspiration flowing. He was more than happy to take his work home with him, something few other professionals could say about their jobs.

He smirked and thought about all the "overtime" he was able to claim during the past month. Just then, he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Santa Claus, red velvet contrasting the white field. Santa was known for his nice, engorged back hole and wet, curvy mouth hole. Santa was the boss, the executive, the landlord and the owner of everything within a 100-mile radius. Santa was in charge, and Tony knew it.

Tony gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. Compared to Santa's confidence and famous toy-making prowess, Tony was just a lusty, little, egg nog drinker with a moist, brown back hole and squat, pursed mouth hole. His friends saw him as a determined, but he was also a notorious dark diaper boy. By comparison, Santa had once brought a dirty elf to the brink of death and back with powerful orgasm. Every elf has a special talent, the jolliest elf seemed to have all of the talents.

Not even Tony, the lustiest little toy-maker, was prepared for what Santa had in store that night.

The snow flurried like plowing reindeer, making Tony excited. He was sweating now, anticipation welling.

Tony stepped outside and Santa came closer, he could see the exuberant smile on his face.

"I am here because I want affection," Santa bellowed, in a cute tone. He slammed his fist against Tony's chest, with the force of 1444 baby seals. "I fucking love you, Tony Tinsel."

Tony looked back, even more excited and still fingering the veiny long toy, holding it out of sight behind his back. "Santa, I want you inside me," he replied.

They looked at each other with jolly feelings, like two purring polar bears. Santa took Tony by the hand and commended him for a job well done in the toy shop. Tony blushed, grasped Santa's hand tightly, and led him inside. Cocoa was poured and toys were brought out and discussed.

What commenced next became a blur, this lonely night had undergone quite a plot twist. A very entirely hard Christmas Eve, Holiday music playing in the background , two bulging jolly elves humping to the beat. Soon, Santa's velvet slid away, and Tony's elastic pants were flung across the room. Curtains were drawn, the fire was stoked, then toward the bed ran two figures, one in green underwear, the other in red. The underwear seemed to collide and then cascade into separate corners of the room. At that point of collision, two forms were left, groping beneath a wool blanket. Kisses were exchanged.

Tony couldn't believe his luck. He had always wanted this to happen with the boss, ever since he was a young elf. He never had told anyone about his dirty thoughts for fear of being shunned. Perverse desires about the man in charge were not acceptable in elf society. Santa was more than just the patriarch of the North Pole, he was the religious leader of the elves, and the visionary dictator that kept their world intact. While the rest of the world warred and its citizens seemed to get naughtier and naughtier each year, the elves lived in a frozen utopia, albeit a well disciplined one.

At a young age, Tony had pushed away his desires though secret masturbation. The unattainable Santa didn't get any less appealing as Tony grew older. Eventually, this vice led him to become a master masturbator, ultimately qualifying him for the dream job he had now. And it seemed apparent that his performance at work had attracted the eye of Santa, who obviously had a perverse side himself. Tony had never once believed that St. Nick himself could have feelings for a male elf, but that hadn't stopped him from fantasizing about it, plunging toys into himself thinking about Santa's yearly cum load. Finally, his fantasy was realized. He gingerly pulled away Santa's red briefs, happy as a child on Christmas morning, excitement spilling from his being.

Tony studied Santa's engorged back hole, puckering and gleaming. It was every bit as beautiful as he imagined it would be, a perfect wreath with just the right amount of twinkle. He began staring and salivating. Eventually, after a significant pause, Santa turned his head around and faced Tony.

Tony watched as his curvy mouth hole contorted and wriggled, Santa was saying words but Tony couldn't focus, couldn't make sense of the sounds. His heart started beating fast, his erection became painful. The sweat was back, but this time it wasn't excitement, it was panic. The world was spinning, Tony stepped away and started hyperventilating. His clammy hands grasped his face and he fell into a crouch, shaking near the floor. He stayed curled up for what felt like hours before he was able to calm himself.

Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you affection," he explained, in pitying tones. He stood up and looked Santa in the eye.

Santa looked naughty, his body raw like a victorious, vigilant vibrating toy. It took a moment before the realization set in and his devious expression melted, making way for a mask of embarrassment.

Tony thought he could actually hear Santa's body shatter into 8206 pieces. Then that constantly aroused giant man became a big tubby baby and hurried away, dejected. His face revealed his distress, he avoided eye contact as he hastily made his way around the small room. Not a word was spoken as Santa threw on his red garments and paced toward the door.

As he made his way out, Tony could swear he heard weeping follow the notoriously horny jolly old elf into the distance. Watching from the window, glimpses were caught of Santa hobbling, pants around his ankles, dragging his feet in the snow. Tony's own reflection stared back at him, and his member was entirely deflated, like a stocking with nothing in it.

Not even a gallon of egg nog would calm Tony's nerves tonight.

THE END