He looked at me, as if to say, ‘park your arse on my knee, I’ll show you the way’. I stopped, stared and thought it to be a dream, but he smiled as he winked and patted his knee.
“We can’t… not here”
– I may be Santa, but I’m not dead from the waist down!
Muzak merged with the air, Manilow and Copacabana when Santa’s eyes flared while his lips whispered, ‘let’s La Bamba’.
Shaking my head, I clutched my handbag.
‘I’m not that old, I’m working for cash now come on love, sit on my lap…’
What came over me, that’s what I’d like to know but over the years I couldn’t resist. A dreadful habit, thanks to mum and dad, each year I’d return with a picture of me sitting on Santa’s lap.
‘I know you want to, I’ve seen you each year and I’ve waited until that other Santa disappeared…’
Last year, Santa, a jovial bloke, never winked once as he sat in his gilt throne.
‘I’ll find myself another mall!’ a veiled threat, and nothing more. Tradition, with all its fineries and stability, couldn’t be broken due to a new Santa’s lack of chivalry.
‘Now don’t make me come into your chimney!’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ said I, with a frown and a pout.
His chocolate brown eyes glimmered.
‘We’ll see…’ he said
I exited the mall, a jellified wreck. I feared my knees would collapse, and I’d fall on my behind.
I arrived home, my collection now spoiled.
‘I’ll kill you Santa!’ summed up my thoughts.
I didn’t truly mind, the collection only lacked one but my thoughts rewound back to the rakish Santa as Christmas crept along. I sat on the lounge and sighed a little song.
My dirty secret, a tradition over the years, fell apart at the very seams.
Sinking into my bed, later on that night I did think of Santa and his brash daring side.
‘If I sat, I’d return with another photo…’
-Too late for that, they’ve packed up the grotto.
In the darkness, my mind unwound and my subconscious prepared for the following day and all the goodies it contained. All my presents, I tucked under my tree and I’d share them with no one except little ‘ole me.
Tossing and turning, I fell into a slumber as my body wrestled with blankets that struggled to keep me covered.
A thud,
A crash.
‘What the fuck is that?’
Within my chest, my heart ran along with a rap that rivaled Eminem and hiked up the ante.
‘A burglar, intruder or maybe a cat?’
– Whatever you do, don’t be seen!
Like a hapless heroine, the type you see in Halloween I got off my arse and stood on my two feet.
Slowly, carefully I opened my door only to hear it creak as a glass fell to the floor.
‘Shit, Christ!’ a male’s voice said.
The bell of familiarity rang within my head.
‘Hold it right there or I’ll bash you to bits!’
I then heard his laugh and felt like taking a shit.
‘I told you I’d come, and here I am…now get on down here as quick as you can!’
‘You’re sick, perverted. How dare you…’ I yelled.
‘I’m Santa, how dare you accuse me this way!’
I stomped down my carpeted stairs and raced into the lounge.
‘Nice tree,’ he said, taking a seat.
‘Oh no you don’t…’
He then patted his knee.
‘Come on darling, I know you want it…’
He whipped off his beard, and he looked just like…
‘It’s me Robert!’
‘That’s nice Robert,’ I said, bewildered and confused. I knew of no Roberts, or Peters or Drew’s.
I knew no men; men didn’t know me…at least until Santa asked me to sit on his red covered knee.
‘I’ve seen you shop, sit and sip coffee. Each year you sit and chat with Santa, so I figured why not and here I am. Don’t disappointment me, I’m a virile lad!’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ I said, and laughed. The giggle burned my throat, nearly splitting my sides. His legs started moving and I then stared into his eyes.
‘You’re a naughty girl, needing a hell of a spanking,’ he then dragged me to the sofa and that’s where I sat.
‘Santa, Santa! Leave my arse alone!’
A slap, a prod and I squealed like it was a song.
‘Tell Santa, what you require!’
‘I need nothing, now piss off or expire!’
‘I see you’re cheeky, I’ve a trick up my sleeve!’
He spanked me some more, until my ass cheeks blushed with glee.
He then whipped off his beard and flung it toward the tree.
His lips covered mine, after he turned me over.
A wet tongue ride pushed me over and under and his mast came alive, standing to attention.
‘Sit on my lap, it needs some attention…’
His red cloaked rod rubbed my clothed slit,
‘Strip Santa strip, It’s rubbing me something hot!’
Pushing me aside, taking a stand.
He turned around, facing me after dropping his pants.
Seated once more, legs wide apart. His throbbing rod waited, and it got frantically hot.
‘Oh Santa, I’ve been a naughty girl. Do I get a present despite my bad girl curl?’
His fingers traveled south and stroked purring Miss Kitty.
‘This pussy’s so sweet, I think I’ll give it a licking…’
He twisted, molded, and sculpted my form.
‘Oh Santa…. Right there…tickle me some more…’
His tongue lashed as it teased, buttering my groove. My mouth opened wide and I nearly raised the roof.
An immense cataract, rivaling that of Niagara, met his snaking tongue as I writhed and moaned.
‘Santa’s on his way, with a hot throbbing present…’
Up an down, a jolly wet slide.
His hands grasped my hips and directed the ride.
‘Is this suitable?’ came his soft feverish murmur.
‘Shh…’ wailed I, riding him with fervor.
Balanced on his knees, hanging on the edge, his fingers went to work while his eyes inspected my trimmed hedge.
In and out, my hips swiveling round and round.
He eyed his smooth wet pole, as it danced within the sound.
‘Oo-Oo-Ooo…’
‘Cha-cha-cha…screw me Santa, I think I’m gonna cum!’
Twisting, turning, as we thundered a long.
‘M-merry C-Christmas….’ he groaned, as he invaded my hole.
His cock erupted with a warm spurt of snow.
