Naughty or Nice?

by Alison Tyler

  It was only a few minutes drive back to my parents’ house. Tom kissed me good night, and as I walked up the driveway, falling snow still changed the world. The colored lights and the white lights everywhere cast a glow that matched how I felt inside.

  Tom didn’t promise to call me, and I didn’t ask him to.

  I lingered on the front steps a while, clutching my brown bag, sitting like I had as a kid, reluctant to go inside. I was cold, but I didn’t care. I could hear voices inside the house and my parents’ stereo faintly from the living room. It sounded like they had the Jazz Christmas album playing. It was nice. I knew I should go inside and be sociable, but I just wanted a few more minutes alone in the quiet, magic night.

  That was five months ago. Now, it’s spring already, and the big city that I returned to after Christmas is long past the cold and black nights of winter. Trees are budding green, the afternoons are warm, and I noticed my neighbor mowed his lawn last Sunday.

  It’s been crazy at work, and I’ve been busy at home, too. That snowy evening in Tom’s truck reminded me of what I’d been missing, and I vowed I’d get out more, even if only with girlfriends.You never know.

  I started meeting friends for drinks, a movie, a walk in the park, despite the grinding schedule at the office. I’ve dated a little, but haven’t met anyone special.

  It took a while, but I finally noticed the box of Kotex under the bathroom sink was sitting there untouched. Sometimes you’re so busy doing and thinking of other things, you don’t notice that you haven’t had a period in two months. Then three.Then I knew.

  I hope it’s a girl. I’ve crossed my fingers for a girl, just because I don’t know how I’ll cope with a boy. Boys are snakes and mud puddles, toy guns and other things I don’t understand. But I do understand that things happen, sometimes for a reason and sometimes not.

  It’s my choice, and I’ve made it. Part of that choice is that Tom will never know what his best Christmas gift was, on that snowy night.

  Stocking Stuffers

  T.C. Calligari

  Sylvie was curious about Santa. It was the end of the second week, still not quite mid-December, and she was bored. Santa had to be, too; there weren’t many kids coming through yet, as parents didn’t want to build the fever too soon.

  Which meant Sylvie needed to create her own fun. She’d volunteered to do her part for charity, but being Santa’s elf was more tedious than she had imagined.

  But Santa, well, he was an enigma.Was he old or young, fat, slim or muscular? Sylvie only ever saw him as Santa: big belly, fleecy white hair and beard, and the crimson suit trimmed in white fur. The elves had complementary outfits: The guys were in knee-high black boots, red shorts with suspenders, tight shirts under little red jackets with white fur trim. The girls, Janine and Ashley, besides Sylvie, wore black, high-heel ankle boots, short red skirts trimmed with fur and with suspenders, and the same tight shirts and little jackets with a flounce. The elves were there to help put out the wrapped stocking stuffers for each child after their visit with Santa, and to give parents something to look at while their kids were waiting.

  Sylvie walked back behind the curtains to grab a few more gifts. There was curly-headed Ian kneeling in front of Kevin and pulling down his shorts, nuzzling into the hardening bulge.

  Sylvie stopped and rolled her eyes. “Must you do that here?”

  Ian turned to look at her, Kevin’s cock firmly in his hand. “Jealous, honey?”

  She sighed, “Yes.”

  Kevin laughed and guided Ian’s head back to idolizing his growing prick.

  “Just keep it down,” she muttered. “You don’t want to scare anyone who might happen up to see Saint Nick.”

  Kevin smiled, his eyes closing as he leaned back. Ian’s mouth made a moue and slowly opened as he slid Kevin’s cock toward his throat.

  Sylvie just had to watch for a bit. The boys had been picked for their physiques and looks, and she couldn’t help but admire Kevin’s muscular thighs as he leaned against the wall, his bald head shining like polished marble. Ian’s angelic head of curls slid slowly back and forth, his mouth distended about an amazingly thick penis, moaning in pleasure.

  They obviously weren’t worried about anyone watching, but Sylvie turned away. She was getting too hot. Maybe she could pass that on to Santa, see how bothered he would get. After picking up a few packages wrapped in “boys” gift wrap, she pushed out past the velvet curtain. Santa was just sitting there watching people walk up and down the mall. Nobody was coming up the red carpet at the moment.

  Packages for the boys went to Santa’s left, and for the girls, to his right. Sylvie crossed in front of him and turned her back, then bent from the waist to put the packages down. She took her time, knowing that in that position the short skirt revealed her white fishnet tights over the white G-string and, consequently, her buttocks. Several times she rearranged the packages to make sure Santa couldn’t miss the view, and then stood when she heard a child scampering up the ramp. She spun and flounced past Santa, giving him a wink. He stared at her and had to work hard to tear his gaze away to the little boy who fidgeted in front of him.

  He did have the most amazing blue eyes. It made sense, since Saint Nick hailed from an icy realm to the north. Still, what did Santa, or the man beneath, really look like? Was he worth Sylvie working him up? Could she get him to melt? She had asked Ian what Santa looked like, but Ian said they usually left before Santa took off his belly and beard in the change area. Tomorrow, she would have to up the ante, to see if Santa would lose his cool.

  The next day, Sylvie wore black fishnet tights for better contrast with her olive skin, and no underwear. It was only a Tuesday and still slow, so how far could she entice Santa? She had to be careful; it might not end up to be the fun game she wanted.

  In the afternoon, the photographer arrived.This was after Sylvie had flounced by Santa a few times, bending down in just the right way to give a glimpse or more of her fishnetted thigh or hip. A perfect time for a group photo for publicity. Ashley, Ian, and Janine were away, so it would only be Kevin, Michael, and Sylvie. The photographer arrived just after the busy lunch hour and started directing them into their places. He wanted a frolic-filled picture, so Kevin was asked to lean over Santa’s left shoulder, holding a gift aloft. Michael knelt at Santa’s feet, staring out at the crowd, and Sylvie propped herself across Santa’s right knee. She perched, really, because she needed to lean out and forward. Santa’s arm helped hold her in place, and she realized his hand gripped her thigh.

  As the photographer positioned everyone, Sylvie felt Santa’s fingers squirm under her thigh. With no underwear, the fishnets were little barrier, and she felt a warm flush start to spread through her limbs. Santa’s finger nuzzled through the fishnets, tearing a hole, now delving into the gathering wet of her sex. She didn’t dare move for fear of drawing attention, but Santa was a sneaky one. He waited till the photographer was directing someone before he burrowed a bit deeper.

  “All right, folks, one last one for fun.You,” he pointed at Sylvie, “the female elf. Stay where you are but put an arm around Santa’s neck. Place your cheek beside his and give us a big smile.”

  As Sylvie made the small adjustment and pressed her cheek to Santa’s fuzzy beard, his finger made the last maneuver, tearing the fishnets a bit more and slid inside her. Her whimper was barely audible, and she whispered, “Oh, Santa,” as the photographer snapped the last shot.

  They all stood, except Santa, and Sylvie felt the slow withdrawal of his finger as she stood. She shivered, with the waves of pleasure still moving through her. Santa casually looked over at her and then licked his finger, giving a hearty “Ho-ho-ho” after.

  Sylvie went behind the curtain since Michael would spend the next shift out front with Santa. She grabbed Kevin’s arm and asked,“Are you sure you’ve never seen Santa without the outfit?”

  A wicked little smile played over Kevin’s face. “Well, he’s jovial, has white hair…”


  She gave him a light smack on his arm. “No, smartass. The guy playing Santa. Any idea what he looks like under the getup?”

  Kevin gave her a look. “Sorry, honey, he’s always last into the lockers to change, and we’re usually gone by the time he removes the mystery. So just what are you checking on your list?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just curious.”

  “Naughty or nice?” Kevin laughed and went back to get some gifts.

  On Wednesday, Sylvie had the late shift until store closing. Ashley and Ian were also in. When she walked out front, Santa smiled at her and said, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite elf. I have something for you.” He held up a small, flat, rectangular package.

  “What’s this?” Sylvie asked.

  “Just a little stocking stuffer for being such a good elf. To replace what I damaged.”

  She raised an eyebrow, then smiled and went behind the curtain to open it. She removed the paper to find a pair of fishnet stockings, black and silky, to replace the tights he’d torn.They came with a lace garter, much sexier than the tights had been, though they had their own mystery. Just imagining wearing the stockings gave Sylvie a little thrill and made her legs tremble with anticipation. Santa couldn’t go much further than he did yesterday, and Sylvie was willing to toy with him a bit more.

  During her break in the early evening, she changed, getting a little moist at the thought of wearing nothing but the stockings and the short skirt. She had also worn a red satin bustier under her shirt and decided to take the shirt off and stow it in the locker. The top three buttons of the jacket, she left undone, just giving a peek of curving breasts, no more. She couldn’t get too risqué.

  The rest of the evening passed with enough kids coming through that Sylvie could only give Santa an occasional, tantalizing view.The mall started to clear, and they shut down the North Pole booth, putting away the gifts and other items, closing the curtains and turning off the lights. Everyone else had left, and Sylvie was about to go to the change rooms. She sat for a moment on one of the sorting tables, taking a sip from a glass of water, when Santa entered.

  Her heart gave a little thump when he stopped and looked at her and walked over.What would he do?

  He began to remove his gloves and said, “Ah, there’s my elf. Did you enjoy my stocking stuffer?” He moved closer to her and stood right in front, nearly touching Sylvie.

  Not feeling quite so bold suddenly, she stopped swinging her legs and said, “Yes, thank you, very nice.”

  “And are you wearing it?” Before she could reply he moved forward, pushing her knees apart with his body and placing a hand on either side of her thighs, under the skirt. His thumbs ran over her hipbones, and her breath caught. He ran a hand down the outside of one thigh and then up the inside. His other hand came away for a moment.

  As his hand moved to the top of her stocking, tickling the flesh there, Sylvie tried to slow down the action. “Why don’t you remove that beard and belly?”

  He smiled, his icy blue eyes twinkling. “What makes you think they’re not real?” And his hand slid farther up between her legs.

  Sylvie bit her lip as his fingers brushed over her pubic curls. “No one has hair like that,” she gasped.

  He moved as close as the table would allow, one hand now burrowing into her cleft. “Ah, but you wouldn’t want to open your present too soon.” He wiggled his hips and pushed her legs farther apart. Sylvie felt she was slipping and set the drink down, reaching out to grab his shoulders, whether to hold him off or pull him close, she wasn’t sure. But before she could complete the move, he pulled her to the edge of the table so only her buttocks rested on it. She was only stopped from falling by her legs being around him and his hands on her hips.

  Sylvie started to protest when Santa pressed his lips, synthetic beard and all, over hers, and then she felt the heat slide between her labial lips.The hard bulb of his cock slid over her clit, and down, slicking her with desire.

  She wrestled with herself. Who was he under the beard and red suit? He could be anyone: the geeky courier guy at the lab where she worked, her mailman, the angry neighbor who lived below her. Sylvie’s rational thoughts were losing to the slippery pleasure pushing against her pussy. Wasn’t it just a bit more naughty, not knowing the true face of the man about to fuck you? And she had started the whole escapade.

  He pushed at the same time as he pulled her forward, a hand around each thigh. Sylvie gasped, then moaned, losing her weak fight with temptation. Her stocking-clad legs went around Santa’s suit, belly padding and all. Then he lifted her off the table and slowly embedded his thick, hot cock in her slick cunt. She slid down, her vaginal muscles clamping in spasms of ecstasy, and it was his turn to moan.

  Impaled on his cock, Sylvie clung to his neck for a moment, her face buried in the fake white hair. Beneath it, she could smell a muskiness reminiscent of earth and trees.A wild, healthy scent. She groaned into the beard, hoisting herself up on his delicious rod, to slide down again.

  It wasn’t an easy position, but he held her and helped lift her to slide down again. Sylvie trembled as much from the exertion as from the heat emanating from her core. One last ember of reason had her pant out, “Won’t we get locked in?” before they succumbed to a piston play of lust and muscle.

  Up he hoisted her, and down she slid, again and again, the heat of their friction slicking them both with her juices. Sylvie tore at his hair, dislodging hat and wig and beard—but not seeing, for the haze of passion and heat blurred her vision in the low light.

  They moved in rhythm, up and down, in and out, their breaths gasping as one, their sweat mingling, moans joining as their flesh fit each other perfectly. Sylvie’s eyelids fluttered as her heart hammered loudly. Her whole body shivered and clasped his as her orgasm erupted. He convulsed and thrust harder into her, and light exploded behind her eyes…a thousand shattering snowflakes, sparkling points of pleasure and passion cascading around them, slowly settling, as the vibrations of their bodies slowed.

  As her senses returned, Sylvie realized it was the moment of truth. Her face was still buried near his neck, but she had torn away the disguise. Slowly, she pulled back and sighed, then opened her eyes. Santa stood before her or now, rather, a man in a Santa suit. He had black hair and those amazing blue eyes. His chin was slightly pointed, and his eyebrows had a nearly elfin upswing at the corners. He smiled at her.

  “Well, my little elf, you unwrapped your present a little early.”

  “Mmm.” She closed her eyes for a moment as he sat her back on the table top and pulled out of her. “I thought that it was you who unwrapped your present first. But we should get going.We’ll be locked in for sure now.”

  He zipped up and then removed the Santa belly, revealing a trim, not overly muscular body. Sylvie liked the look of her present, and a flush of relief ran through her. “Oh, we don’t have to be worried about that. I’m head of security for the mall. I just volunteered to help out.”

  She laughed and said, “Me, too. The volunteering, that is. I work at the lab across the street. This elf’s name is Sylvie.”

  He dropped the padded belly and came up to her and kissed her, “Well, elf Sylvie, I’m Michel, and thank you for such a lovely stocking stuffer. If you play your cards right, there could be a few more early presents before the big day.” He helped her off of the table, his warm hands nearly encircling her waist.

  Sylvie laughed again and straightened her clothes. “Oh, really? Don’t you have a list, and aren’t you checking it twice?”

  Michel cocked his head to the side. “Most definitely, and you’re in both columns. Naughty and nice. So what say we get changed and I’ll buy you a few drinks?”

  Sylvie nearly wriggled with delight. It was going to be a very good Christmas, indeed.

  Dangerous Fruitcake

  Anonymous

  “Don’t be mean,” you tell me. “You know she loves us.”

  “Of course, she does,” I say, tearing ope
n the package. “That’s why she sends us the same thing every Christmas.”

  The package comes open, and I sit there regarding another fruitcake, a rock-solid block of snail-mail granite.

  “She bakes it herself!” you say defensively. You’re so protective of your aged grandmother—even her fruitcakes.

  “Of course, she does,” I say.

  “You’ve got to taste it fresh,” you mutter sadly.“It’s delicious.”

  “I’m sure it’s nice when it’s fresh.”

  “It’s succulent. Moist and delicious.”

  I take the fruitcake out of the wrapping, hold it in my hand, pound it against the table.

  “Amazing what three weeks in the cargo compartment of a 747 can do to ‘moist and delicious.’ ”

  The problem with grandma is that she was raised in the Depression. She mails everything fourth class.

  “We have to keep it until Mom comes,” you say. “We’ll wrap it in cellophane and put it under the tree. It makes her happy to know we got one, too.”

  “She likes to share the pain.”

  “Stop,” you say. “She means well.”

  Hefting the deadly fruitcake, I look at you and smile. It’s two Saturdays before Christmas, and you’re wearing your weekend lounging-in-bed, drinking-coffee-and-reading-The-New-Yorker clothes. Long, white T-shirt, thin with wear, damp with sweat from the hot blow of the space heater. Panties underneath, peeking at me invitingly.

  “You wouldn’t,” you say, clutching your New Yorker to your chest.

  “I would,” I say and reach for you.

  “Let go!” you shout as I seize your shirt, dragging you into the middle of the bed.You start to giggle as I get my arm under yours and perform a neat wrestling move that you’d never let me get away with if you weren’t distracted by the fruitcake. I thrust you over my lap and hold you there, pulling up your long white T-shirt and raising the fruitcake like a paddle.