A True Believer

"You cannot be serious!" I was flabbergasted. Just a few moments ago, my mother--a forty six year old woman!--told us that she still believed in Santa Claus. Neither Deb--my sister--or I still believed in Santa, and I could not begin to imagine how Mom still did.

Dad was the one who broke the news to me, when I was twelve. That about fifteen years ago. Of course, we still got into the holiday spirit, and always joked about Santa delivering the presents, but that's just what you do on Christmas. Or so I thought. I never would have guessed Mom still believed in him.

We--that is to say my parents, my sister, her husband, as well as my own wife--were gathered around the Thanksgiving dinner table. It was getting pretty late, and Zoe, my five year old daughter, was already sleeping on the couch in the living room.

"No, I'm telling you, he is real!" Mom protested. Her brows were furrowed, and blue eyes looked me and Deb pleadingly. "Arthur, back me up."

"If your mother says he's real, then he's real," Dad backed her up. Behind her back, he shot us a warning glare, and shook his head.

"Thank you," said Mom, and gave us a pointed I-told-you-so look, as if the matter had been settled.

"But Mom, who do you think buy--oof," Sarah--my wife--elbowed me in the side. I looked at her, confused.

"Alex, you were just saying you could make it this year?" asked Dad, trying to change the subject. He was referring to our christmas plans this year, which was how we got on the subject of Santa Claus in the first place.

"Yeah, we'll be here this year," I confirmed. We alternated where we celebrated Christmas every year, and last year it had been with Sarah's parents. Luckily Sarah was Canadian, so her parents celebrated Thanksgiving on a different date.

Conversation shifted to other subjects, and after dinner, I pulled Dad aside.

"Are you seriously telling me Mom still believes in Santa Claus?" I asked, out of earshot of everyone else.

"Yep," he answered.

"Seriously? How?"

"Her parents were very serious about it, and never told her the truth. She just kinda kept believing it."

"But all these years, I mean you told me and Deb. How did Mom not find out? Didn't she buy presents for us?"

"No, I always did all the shopping on my own, and hid all the presents in my workshop. Then I set them under the tree after Beth went to bed."

"Wow," I was amazed hearing this. I couldn't believe my own mother, a forty six year old CPA, actually, truly believed in Santa. "We've got to tell her."

"I brought it up once, when Deb had just started talking. I asked her if we should raise you guys to believe in Santa, or to tell you the truth, and she nearly cried. I just didn't have the heart to make her see different. I love her, and I don't care if she's a little quirky."

Quirky was not the way I'd have described her. Growing up, she had always been on the stricter side, part of her strongly christian upbringing. Dad had always been the one who clowned around with us, while Mom was the voice of discipline and restraint.

"Listen, Alex," he continued, "you can't tell her, ok?"

"Fine. We haven't told Zoe yet, either. Maybe Mom can help her write a letter to the north pole," I snorted, and Dad clapped me on the shoulder.

***

Later that night, back at the hotel room, I climbed into bed beside Sarah. My parents house was small, and after we moved out they had converted Deb's old room into an office. Deb and her husband were staying in my old room, so the three of us stayed in a hotel.

"Can you believe my mom still believes in Santa Claus?" I whispered quietly. Zoe was sleeping in the other bed, and I didn't want to wake her up.

"Why not? I've heard of stranger things, like thinking wearing your team's jersey makes them play better," she said, mocking my sunday night football tradition.

"But...it's Santa. Santa! I'm thinking about telling her some time this weekend. It's not right."

"Don't you dare," she rounded on me, angrily. "Don't you fucking dare!"

"Why not? You think it's ok for someone to believe in a lie like that?"

"I think it's sweet, actually. Sometimes I wish I could believe in something magical like that."

"Weirdo."

I kissed her goodnight, and we fell asleep.

Over the rest of Thanksgiving weekend, I felt conflicted. I had the sneaking suspicion that my dad was trying to play a trick on me. That would be something he'd thoroughly enjoy, but I wasn't sure. If I was wrong, I don't know if he--or Sarah for that matter--would forgive me. The thought kept nagging at me, and a plan formed in my head how I could find out the truth.

***

It was the morning of the 24th of December, and I was driving with Sarah and Zoe to my parents house. In the back of the car was our luggage, along with a giant pile of wrapped presents. Unbeknownst to my wife, I also packed a Santa costume in my bag. I've had it for years now, these kinds of things just invariably show up in your attic when you're parent.

We arrived in the afternoon, and checked into the hotel before driving to my parents. Dad was already in the process of setting lights around the house. We usually waited until Christmas eve to do it, because that way Zoe can help, and Dad didn't want to do it alone, since in recent years he had developed lower back problems.

Zoe, our very own highly energetic Christmas elf, zoomed around the house relentlessly, trying to help everywhere at once, but actually just distracting everyone. Sarah and I hung lights above the garage and front door, while Deb and her husband decorated the tree. Mom fed us all amazing homemade cookies, and prepared dinner.

We ate, we drank, we sang, we laughed. But the entire time, I kept thinking about my plans for later.

At nine o'clock, Sarah pulled me aside. "I'm really tired from all the driving. Zoe keeps dozing off, too. Why don't we go back to the hotel?"

"Dad wanted my help with the presents, actually. You know, with his back and everything."

"Oh, can't Deb help?"

"I don't know. How about you get a cab back to the hotel, and I'll follow later?"

"Mmm, ok. Do cabs even drive today?"

"Yeah, welcome to America."

Sarah rolled her eyes, while I called a cab. I gave her plenty of money for the drive and a massive tip. The rest of us kept talking for a while, reminiscing about days gone past and eating cookies. Time flew quickly, and around eleven my mom proclaimed she was tired, and went off into her bedroom. Deb and her husband excused themselves as well, and retired into guest room. It was just me and Dad now.

"Dad, can I help setting up the presents this year?"

He looked surprised, but said, "Yeah, I suppose so. Sure. Why not?"

We waited a few minutes until the others settled down a bit, then went into Dad's workshop that was attached to the garage, and transferred the large pile of presents to the living room. When we were done with those, we got the ones out of my trunk. Looking at the dozens of gift-wrapped boxes, lying neatly under the tree, I asked him, "And all these years, Mom never knew?" Maybe he had decided his little joke ran far enough by now, and would drop it.

"Not a clue." Well, that meant I would go ahead with my plan.

"Guess I'm gonna take off, then. Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, Alex. Drive safe."

I got in my car, and started driving. A few streets down, I parked, and got out my cellphone.

"going 2 be late, might crash here tonight, pick u up tmrw love u" I texted to Sarah.

Two minutes later, she responded with "k xoxo." I set my alarm for 1 a.m., and sat in the car, listening to the radio. I felt bad about lying to my wife, but I knew she would never approve of what I was about to do. If everything went as planned, nobody would ever find out anything happened.

***

The alarm rang, startling me awake. I must have dozed off. I got out of my car, and the icy cold New York air woke me up all the way. The Santa suit looked pretty much like you would expect. A rich red velvet, with white fur trimmings, along with a black belt, and to top it off, a thick white beard. I dressed myself in the empty parking lot, freezing my balls off. The only thing that was missing was stuffing for a big belly. It would have been a lot harder to pack that without Sarah noticing.

During the short drive back, I thought again if what I was about to do was right, but I just had to know for sure. I parked just around the corner, and walked the rest of the way. All the lights, including the decoration, were off. Electricity isn't free, after all. Fortunately, that made my job easier. I walked as silently as possible through the snow, and unlocked the front door. Inch by inch I pushed it open, praying it wouldn't squeak. I felt like a burglar, and hoped none of the neighbors were looking out of their windows right now.

Before entering, I took off my boots, and carried them by hand to the kitchen, where I used a towel to wipe them clean. In the living room, which was carpeted, I put down my boots, and turned on the decoration for the christmas tree. They were far too bright, but fortunately I was able to dim them down to a level where you could still see everything in the room, but just dark enough not to be able to make out any incriminating features.

Just beside the fireplace was a glass of milk, and a plate of cookies. I chuckled to myself, and grabbed one. It was delicious.

Then came the hard part. Dad--because of his back--always fell asleep with sleeping pills, and I knew for certain that he wasn't going to wake up, no matter what happened. My only concern was Deb and her husband. Luckily, the guest room was on the other side of the house, and from what I remembered, Deb was a pretty sound sleeper. Unlike my mother.

I crept silently towards my parents' bedroom, and lightly knocked twice. Then I rushed back into the living room, and slipped back into my boots. At first I couldn't hear anything, but after a minute I detected the faint footsteps of my mother's slippers on the kitchen's hardwood floor. I grabbed a present from under the tree, squeezed it under my arm, got another cookie from the plate, then waited with my back to the entrance.

As soon as I heard a faint gasp behind me, I spun around in mock surprise, cookie in mouth. Mom stood there, in a plain off-white nightgown. Her long blond hair flowed freely over her shoulders, and her eyes were wide open in shock.

"Santa..." she managed to whisper. I was just a hair's breadth away from bursting out with laughter.

"What are you doing, M--Bethany?" I asked in in the deepest voice I could muster, almost slipping up and calling her "Mom."

"How do you know my name?" she asked.

"I know the names of everyone in the world, Bethany. I know whether they've been nice or...naughty." My heart started beating faster in excitement. Time to test her resolve. "And you, Bethany, have been a very naughty girl this year."

"N-no, no," she stammered. I couldn't tell if she was serious or just playing along.

"Oh yes, Bethany. Don't you know it's naughty to spy on Santa Claus? I was going to deliver all of these presents, but now I might just have to take them back."

"No!" she gasped, "You can't. Please!"

"Oh yes, I can! I'm Santa Claus, remember?" I was annoyed that she was still playing along.

"Please," she begged. "Only punish me, but not my children." Tears welled up in her eyes, and she looked dismal.

I decided to go for broke. If this wasn't going to dissuade her, then nothing would. "Alright, but you know what naughty girls deserve. They get a spanking." I set down the present I was carrying, and sat on my dad's favorite sofa chair, then patted my knees.

Mom immediately rushed over, her nightgown billowing behind her. With every step she took, her breasts bounced up and down, not supported by a bra. She knelt down at my feet, and I saw tears rolling down her cheek. She laid down across my legs.

"Please," she sniffled, "do it quickly." I was about to call off the whole thing, this was further than I had ever intended to take this. But then Sarah and Dad would find out, for sure. And Mom would find out Santa isn't real. I hesitated, considering it. "Oh, I'm sorry," squeaked Mom, "I forgot." To my shock and horror, she reached down, and pulled her nightgown up to her midriff.

Even more of a surprise was that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her bare ass was exposed to the air, and despite whose it was, I admired the roundness of it. Just around the end, I saw the bulge of her vulva, covered in fine blond hair, barely visible in the dim light. I held my breath. There was no way I could break it off now, it would be far too embarrassing. It would be better to go through with it, get the hell out, and forget it ever happened.

I raised my arm. Could I really do this? My heart started beating faster. Better not to think about it. My hand came down, and bare skin made contact with her ass cheek, harder than I had intended. The slap reverberated through the room, and Mom yelped in pain. I slapped her again, this time not as hard, and again. Every time my hand made contact with her skin, I heard the sharp intake of her breath.

That should be enough, hopefully. Her ass was starting to turn red, and I felt incredibly uncomfortable. Mom made no move to get up.

"Do you, uh, do you think you learned your lesson, girl?" I asked, in my deep voice. I expected her to say "yes," and then we could both get on with our lives.

"No," she said instead. "Please, I want to make this right. You barely hit me, but I know what I did was really bad. Hit me until I'm good again." I groaned inwardly. Not only did she still believe in Santa, but she was moral, too. Maybe I was wrong to spank her so weakly. If I hit her really hard a few times, she'd be glad to get out of here.

I raised my arm again, and this time spanked her with full force. My hand crashed down on her ass, and she gasped for air. My own hand was burning with the pain of the impact, but I already raised my arm again. I slapped again, and again. Every time, she jumped, and I felt her breasts thump against the side of my legs.

I spanked her one more time, for good measure, but at the same time she squirmed around, and I missed my mark. Instead of striking her supple ass cheek, my hand hit just a bit lower. My fingers wrapped around her thigh, and the tips laid at the entrance to her warm--and incredibly wet--pussy. Public hair tickled my tips. I pulled my hand back immediately, but it was too late. Mom gasped, which turned into a moan midway. The tips of my fingers were coated in her juices. Why was she wet? Was she getting off on this?

"What the hell?" I didn't even mean to say it, it just slipped out. This had to stop. I pushed her off my legs, and stood up. She fell onto the soft carpet, and laid there, on her back, her legs spread wide open. The nightgown was still hiked up to her belly, and I had a view of her exposed pussy. What I could see of it, anyway. Most of it was covered by a full bush, trimmed only on the sides. Her vulva was covered in the light fuzz. Her lips were parted, displaying the pink interior.

For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off the sight. It was bizarre, watching my mother's naked form, glinting with wetness, on full display. Against my better judgement, I started to get an erection.

"I'm so sorry, I know I'm a naughty woman. Forgive me, please. Give me another chance, please," she begged, and scrambled to her knees. She grabbed the sides of my pants, and yanked down, boxers and all. My semi popped out, and I was too stunned to react. She wrapped her lips around the head of my cock, and circled it with her tongue, then sucked on it. It felt amazing, and for a moment I forgot that it was my mother who was doing it. My erection grew, until it was fully engorged and rock hard.

She took it in, all the way to the base. I watched in fascination as her head bobbed back and forth. She looked up at me, seeking approval. I looked directly into her blue eyes while my cock disappeared into her throat. That was the moment raw lust took over, and I stopped caring that it was my mother pleasuring me. I stopped caring about how wrong it was. At that moment, I just wanted more.

I pulled out, and sat back down on the sofa chair. "Take off the nightgown," I commanded, and Mom immediately pulled it over her head. Her body was in amazing shape for her age. "Stand up and turn around." She did, presenting me with her ass. Both cheeks had still red marks all over them. As hard as I could manage, I slapped her right ass cheek.

"Aaaargh," she yelped, and I hoped nobody else in the house heard that. I grabbed her hips, and pulled her down on my cock, with my legs spread wide. My cock slid right into her wet cunt, gripping it firmly, as if someone had tailored it to be a perfect fit. She put her hands on my knees, and moved up and down. Each time my cock slid in all the way, she let out a moan. At this rate, I was going to cum soon, but I wanted to see how far I could take this first.

"Stop." She froze, halfway impaled on my dick. "Get up. Turn around." Juices were running down the inside of her thigh. "I want to look at you while you fuck me." She knelt on the seat, one leg to each side of me, and lowered herself down. My head was already inside her again, when I said, "Stop. The other hole."

Mom froze, and looked at me. "What?"

"I want to fuck your ass."

"P-please...you can't. I don't even let my husband..." Sarah doesn't want to do it either. And now I was about to do it with my own mother, when not even Dad had.

"I thought you wanted to be a good girl," I said, still using my Santa voice.

"But..."

"Do you want me to leave and take all the presents with me?"

"No!" She hoisted herself up, and scooted forward a bit, then settled back down, with the top of my cock pressed against her sphincter. I licked my lips in anticipation, and pressed upwards with my hips, while she lowered herself down. My head worked its way into her opening, excruciatingly slowly. My head went in all the way, her muscles closing in behind it immediately, making it an incredibly tight fit. I groaned.

Mom had her eyes closed, her face a mixture of pain and pleasure. Ever so slowly, my cock slid deeper into her ass. Her pussy lips were spread open on their own, displaying their pink treasure in between. My cock was in all the way into her ass. I started thrusting with my hips.

"Ow, ow, ow," Mom started wincing at first, but it soon turned into moans of, "oh, oh, oh." She started playing with herself, furiously rubbing her clit, and I picked up the pace, getting close to an orgasm. I was deep inside her, when I felt her legs clamp against my body, and all the muscles in her ass contracted, massaging the length of my dick all at once, pushing me over the edge. I came hard inside her, shooting spurt after spurt of cum deep into her, pumping her ass full of my seed, experiencing one of the best orgasms of my life.

She relaxed again, and my cock was rapidly deflating. In the grim reality of post orgasmic awareness, I remembered where exactly I was. And who I had just fucked. My own mother. "Get up," I barked, forgetting to use my Santa voice.

"What's wrong?" she asked, but got up nonetheless. My dick slid out of her asshole, and plopped down limply. "Was I not good?"

I pulled myself together. I only needed to keep up the pretense for a little bit longer. "No, Mo--Bethany," I corrected myself, back to the Santa voice. "You were great."

"Oh thank you! Thank you!" she said, and sighed a breath of relief. I rose from the seat, and pulled my pants back up.

"I need to finish delivering all the presents, you should go back to sleep. And don't tell anyone you saw me, that would be naughty."

"Yes, Santa." Mom picked up the nightgown, and draped it over her head.