"My, Santa...what big...gifts you have."
I almost hit my Santa hat on a tree bough, startled by the interruption from behind me as I stashed presents under the tree at about 3 a.m. Christmas morning, long after my well fucked wife was sleeping soundly, the combination of Christmas Eve dinner, midnight mass, and vigorous sex having done her in.
The teasing tone sounded almost but not quite like my new wife, right down to the pregnant pauses, which emphasized the fact that my bride loved me not just for my wit and wisdom, but also because even in my fifties, my physical endowment truly was a gift, one she liked to unwrap frequently. Just those words spoken that way were enough to cause my body to react automatically, blood flowing to my groin, engorging my organ, my balls roiling in their sac, ready for action.
Then I realized that I was about to meet my new eighteen year old stepdaughter, Emma. She had been studying abroad in Australia, on a full year scholarship. Money was tight, and she would not have been able to fly back for the wedding even if there had been time and warning. Since her mother and I had actually gotten hitched on a whim during a convention in Vegas just three months earlier, she had all the more reason not to have attended.
We had spoken on the phone, and even Skyped a bit, but her focus of course was on her mother, and there was a bit of natural reticence about this new old guy who had blown into her mother's life like a hurricane. Potential hostility was avoided by the fact that I had not broken a home - Emma's Dad had run off with his secretary about a decade ago, moving across the continent, keeping in touch mostly via support checks - and by Emma knowing that at least her Mom had known me for years, even if Emma had never met me. The Vegas wedding might have been sudden, but my bride and I had been friends with benefits for most of the five years that I had been regional sales manager of the company her Dad- Emma's Grandpa- owned. Until the wedding I had been based in a nearby city with a better air hub to visit the branch offices. The boss' wedding gift to me had been a promotion and relocation to head office. As Vice President Sales I worked closely with my wife, the Executive Vice President for Marketing, and my immediate boss.
Maybe that's why I was going even further out of my way this first Christmas together to impress my wife, who was also my boss. Although we had discussed buying a new home that was truly ours, at this stage we were still in the house Emma had grown up in - they hadn't moved after her dad left, hoping to comfort the youngster with familiar surroundings. Continuing that theme, Grandpa had flown Emma half way around the world for one last holiday season in her childhood home.
"When did you get home? I thought you were landing at dawn." I asked as I turned half way around, cautiously, knowing that Emma was not used to men in her home, and might have been headed to the kitchen without being properly clothed. I also noted that realizing it was Emma not her mother referring to my gifts had done nothing to reduce my arousal. My cock was about half erect, more than enough to bob up against the fabric of my pajamas.
"I got an earlier connection from the coast. You and Mom must have been at church when I landed, so I got a ride with the neighbours - their son was waiting for luggage at the same carousel."
I immediately knew she was referring to Morris Albertson, whose father Moses was a nerdy accountant in Grandpa's factory. Morris was off at Harvard, headed toward business school. The apple had not fallen far from the tree. But for some reason I was wondering whether Morris had ever tried to get into Emma's pants, and, even more, if he might have succeeded. An image of Emma crowded, an extra in Albertson's Honda Civic, perched on the young man's lap, his pimply face brushed by her hair, his clammy palms accidentally on purpose bumping her breasts, flickered in my brain, overheated under the Santa cap. My cock appreciated the thought, twitching toward fullness.
My head had turned far enough to get my first live glimpse of my stepdaughter. All the pictures were two or three years old, and had shown a nervous, scrawny bespectacled gal with braces and pigtails. On Skype, I had learnt that time had made Emma more mature, more confident, with a trendy haircut. I was not prepared, though, for how much her body had bloomed. What had been a boyish figure now had rounded nicely into curves, hips and breasts even better proportioned than in that brief fantasy image of her being pawed by the neighbour boy.
Once again my little head proved that it was faster than my big head. My fully erect cock was tenting my flannel. It took all my willpower not to look down at it. That meant though that I was looking right at Emma, and saw that her eyes were wide, and not meeting mine. Her jaw dropped in shock. I could not help but notice though that her nipples puffed out, pressing themselves against a sleep T emblazoned "Aussies do it better". The double entendre was undermined by the iron-on surfing cartoon underneath.
"Sorry to startle you," she muttered after a moment that seemed like forever. "but when I was a little girl, I used to try to sneak down and catch my Dad playing Santa."
I saw a tear form in the corner of her eye.
"Did you ever succeed?" I asked, hoping that chatter would distract her from the sadness that still lingered all these years after her Dad had abandoned her. Also that my cock might shrink while she was busy answering.
"No," she chuckled, "I always ended up just drinking the milk and eating the carrot that my Mom left out for the reindeer. The closest I came was when I was really little - about four I think. I got to the turn in the stairs and heard voices. When I peaked around the corner I saw Mommy and Daddy on the couch, their clothes all mussed. I ran back to my room. Now that I'm older I realize that I almost interrupted them making love."
'Yes,' I thought, 'her Mom does love sex all over the house.'
Picturing my wife, fifteen years younger and riper, fucking on the couch, did nothing to reduce my tumescence. I briefly considered snatching the Santa hat off my head to cover my excitement, but instantly realized that would only be more embarrassing for both of us.
Emma spoke again, after a throaty sexy chuckle which reminded me again of my wife's sensuality.
"Somehow though, I doubt that my Dad ever delivered for my Mom like her new Santa."
"What?" I blurted in shocked response.
"After they split up, Mom used to refer to Dad as 'Mr. Little Dick' , though she did concede once late at night after drinking that his new girlfriend probably was happy with his magic tongue. I was still too young to really understand."
"But now you know."
I heard me say the words, but was shocked that I was having this intimate conversation with the stepdaughter I barely knew. Emma's blush confirmed the inappropriateness of my response. Saying she started it would be a feeble excuse -- I was the adult, not quite her parent, but even worse, married to her mother.
"Well, sort of," she stammered. "that is I know in theory what she meant, but..."
The silence hung between us, both of us able to complete her thought. My nubile stepdaughter had just told me, a virtual stranger, that no man or boy had even eaten her pussy. Instantly. I wondered if it was possible, in this day and age, that such a hot young woman might actually still be a virgin. I knew her mother was a lusty sex goddess, but I also knew that my wife had spent much of Emma's adolescence too busy raising a daughter to date.
As if reading my mind, Emma explained.
