It was December 24 and little Timmy was tucked up in his bedroom wide-awake. He knew that Santa Claus would be coming to visit him tonight. This year, he was going to be sure to see him. Ever since he was a little boy, his mom told him stories about how Santa Claus would fly all over the world delivering presents to good little boys and girls on Christmas Eve night. She also told him that he wouldn't come unless Timmy was fast asleep in his bed, but Timmy thought he was smarter then that. He turned out all his lights and lay completely motionless on his side. Even when his mom slowly opened the door to peek in on him, he made sure to not move or make a peep. He learned from years past that pretending to be asleep would quickly make him fall asleep, so this year he ate plenty of sweets at the Christmas Eve Dinner at his aunt's house. He also snagged some sugar packets from various restaurants that his mother liked to keep in the fridge so in case he got drowsy, he could pop one in his mouth to keep him up. They were all already opened and hiding under his still arm so that if he needed one, he'd move as little as possible in getting to it.
Now let me explain something here. "Little" Timmy is not exactly little anymore. At 18 years of age and standing 6'2" tall, he's a rather big kid. But Timmy's mom, Sarah, was a very peculiar woman. His mother fed him well to keep him healthy and fit. She cut his dirty blonde hair every weekend to keep it short and trimmed. And she snipped his nails at the end of every month to keep them short as well. She home-schooled Timmy all his life and kept his outside influences to a minimum, especially around the holidays. Timmy would have to stay home or at his aunt's house. In fact, the only time he got to go anywhere was for his birthday where they'd dress him up in a nice suit and take him out to dinner. And so, at 18 years old, Timmy still acted like a naive 14 year old. But Timmy loved his life, he thought his parents were the best people ever, and his aunt always had the best games to play when he visited her. His mother told him how cruel the outside world was with their lying and cheating and stealing, and Timmy found no reason to want to be apart of it.
As for Timmy's dad, well... he didn't really say much. He was just as tall as Timmy, with a bit more weight in his pouch, and shaggy brown hair. Everyday he went to work at 7 AM and was home by 6 PM. They'd sit down for dinner and Sarah would tell them about what she and Timmy did that day and how big and strong her little man was getting. And Tom, Timmy's dad, would nod his head and smile happily at his son. After dinner, they'd play a game, or sing songs, or watch holiday movies on TV. This was generally the routine for Timmy, but he couldn't imagine it any other way.
Sarah was a young woman. She gave birth to Timmy when she was only 16 and married his father, Tom, 2 years later. She moved them all to a nicely furnished cabin in the woods where they've lived ever since. She was about 5'6 and 130lbs with straight blonde hair that'd reach her butt if she ever let it out of the tight bun atop her head. She had emerald green eyes and an angelic face. Around the house, she often wore a light dress, and she loved to cuddle under a blanket by the fireplace and read her books. Her chest stood out at a prominent 36D, but Timmy never really took notice. With the long, flowing dresses concealing their size and any cleavage, and his child-like innocence, Timmy saw Sarah as simply his mother and nothing more.
And so it was that Timmy was tucked up in his bed pretending to be fast asleep as he anxiously awaited the arrival of jolly old Saint Nick. He stared at the blackness in his room for what seemed like hours and he was beginning to think that maybe Santa Claus really did know when he was sleeping and when he was awake.
As Timmy's eyelids began to get heavy, he felt a stirring in his trousers. He slowly and quietly got to his feet and crept out of his bedroom. As he turned the hall towards the bathroom, he noticed that there were shadows moving along the wall. "It must be Santa!" he thought to himself. He tiptoed down along the wall as quietly as he could until he reached the end of the hallway. And what to his wondering eyes should appear but Santa Claus in the flesh! And on top of that, or rather on top of him, was Timmy's mom!
At first, Timmy thought she was just sitting on his lap telling Santa what a good mommy she'd been and how she'd hope that he brought Timmy all the things he asked for. But something was strange about it all. Sarah wasn't sitting on Santa's lap at all; she was straddling him and bouncing up and down on his lap. In fact, all the muffled talking wasn't talking at all. His mother was moaning with her face pressed right into Santa's fluffy white beard. Timmy had never seen such things before. Sure he'd kissed his mother all the time, but they were always short and fleeting. In fact, he'd never even seen his mom kiss his dad the way she was kissing Santa.
Watching the scene, Timmy began to feel another twitch in his trousers, but it was different from before. He reached down to hold himself and realized that his penis had swollen. He was a little panicked, but it felt good when he touched it. He slid his hand up and down along its length through his pajama bottoms.
Just then, his mother threw her head up from Santa's beard. Her long, blonde hair was a mess as she bounced on Santa's lap. But what's worse, she was looking straight into Timmy's eyes.
"Timmy! Young man," she shouted, "I thought I told you to go to bed and fall asleep!"
