His plan was devious, but also brilliant. Ever since he and his sister were kids, their father had dressed up as Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, so that if the children got too curious and snuck downstairs, they would see St. Nicholas himself placing presents under the tree.
Dad had kept this tradition alive for a good eighteen years; and at least seven years after the children had "stopped believing" in such frivolities. Brad often wondered why his father still went to the trouble of donning the heavy fur and satin suit. But two Christmases ago, he discovered why: his parents enjoyed the role-play.
When Brad was 18, he had been invited to a Christmas Eve party that his friends from school were having. When he got dropped off, it was late, and he tip-toed down the foyer towards the stairs. Stopping to gaze into the living room and admire the angelic glow of his family's Christmas tree, he heard a familiar giggle coming from the kitchen.
They're still up? Brad thought, peeking his head around the corner of the hall into the kitchen.
There, under the mistletoe, he saw his mommy kissing Santa Claus...well, his father dressed as Santa Claus. Brad had to smile. The song was a favorite of his parents, and now he knew why. But has Brad was about to make his way to the stairs, he saw a little more than just a harmless traditional kiss under the archway. His mother, who in her early 40's still looked gorgeous, placed her back up against the side of the doorframe and lifting one leg, placed her foot on Santa's chest. The jolly old elf didn't hesitate, and began to roll his mother's stocking down her long shapely leg. Next came the other leg, and after his mother was panty-less, his father placed one leg on each shoulder, inched closer up her thighs, and disappeared under his mom's skirt.
Oh my god! He's eating her pussy!
Now it should be said that no teenager enjoys the mental image of their parents having sex—especially oral sex. Most teenagers would rather believe that a stork dropped their baby selves in the laps of their parents, leaving all mating procedures completely out of the picture. But as Brad watched from the shadows his mother in the throes of ecstasy, it was somehow tolerable, because his father did not look like his father at all. Rather, the person going down on his hot mom was, for all practical purposes, that dirty old man from the North Pole himself: Chris Kringle.
Feeling guilty, Brad pulled his eyes away, and quietly moved to the staircase. But on the landing, he turned back again. He was farther from the kitchen now, but could still see the figures clearly, and now in the dark shadows of the landing, Brad felt at a safer distance to watch the scene unfold.
He had secretly had a deep crush on his mother Catherine from a very early age. She worked out on a regular basis, and kept her perfect figure. From a distance—and even up close—his mother could have passed as the sister of his own teenage sister; full round breasts, silky brown wavy hair, and a devilish smile. In fact, it didn't help that Brad had two beautiful women in the house. If he couldn't have sex with his hot mom, he had to at least try to bed his sister. But he knew that both goddesses were strictly "off limits".
But there was something about his mother that made his passion burn more than his teenage sister. Was it the fact that she was the un-obtainable? (At least his sister wasn't married). Or was it the fact that she was the older woman, and the more experienced. Regardless of the reason, Brad now watched as Santa moved his mom to the kitchen counter and began to fuck her hard, making the Christmas candles rock precariously back and forth. As his mother reached orgasm, it was too much for Brad. He quickly took out his iphone from his jacket pocket, and zooming in on his mother, cutting Santa almost completely out of the frame, he recorded the last few seconds of his mother's spasmic climax. Then, dashing up to his room, he stripped off his clothes, and played the video over and over, imagining his cock buried deep in his mother's twat.
But that was two years ago to the day. Upon arriving home for Christmas break from college, Brad had found his father's Santa Claus suit among the other holiday boxes in the attic.
Did Dad finally give up the tradition?
As an extra precaution, Brad made sure his father had a generous portion of rum in his egg nog —so when dad's head hit the pillow, it would be a "long winter's nap" indeed.
"Dad's sloshed," Brad's sister Kimberly said with a wink.
She was looking incredibly cute in her tight red sweater, but Brad remained focused on his target: Mrs. Claus. Brad eyed the clock—11:45pm.
"Well, I'm off to bed," he announced, and climbed the stairs behind his tipsy father.
That night, Brad didn't dream of sugarplums. He stayed awake, listening for sounds of his mom descending the stairs with presents. He knew that someone had to put the rest of the gifts under the tree, and since his dad was passed out, he knew it would be her task.
At half past twelve, he heard her familiar footsteps in the hall. Brad leapt from his bed, and quickly through on the Santa suit. Luckily, he was roughly the same height and build as his father; they even had the same color eyes. With beard in place, Brad stepped in front of the mirror to give himself a quick once-over, then quietly opened his bedroom door.
