Shaded Whisperings: Playing St. Nick

by J. L. Foster

  "Okay, Momma,” he grinned, twitching slightly as he waited for her to deliver. “Give it to me."

  Softly, Jasmine pulled her hand out from behind her and carefully transferred the object to him. As he started to clench his hand closed into a fist, she stopped him, holding his fingers open flat.

  "Careful,” she cooed.

  Dylan opened his eyes and stared down at the object in his hand. A brief moment of puzzled curiosity floored over him, and then he shifted his eyes wonderingly from the object to Jasmine's wide, brown orbs.

  "A pregnancy test?” he asked, nearly breathless.

  Without a word, Jasmine hurriedly nodded her head back and forth. He could see she was fighting back tears.

  "So this means—"

  "Yes!” she shouted finally, bouncing up and down on the tips of her toes. “Yes! Dylan! I'm pregnant! We're pregnant!"

  "Holy shit!” he shouted in joy, pulling his wife into his arms and lifting her off the ground, spinning her around in the air. Then, quite suddenly, he sat her down on the floor and took the coffee from her hand. “Oh, no! I shouldn't be spinning you around like that. That might not be safe for the baby. And this coffee—not until we find out if it's okay for you or not. Oh, my god. There's so much to do! We have to find room for a nursery. We have to go shopping for clothes and food and, oh jeez, we've got to call Mom. I promised if the moment ever happened, I'd call her. And what about your mom? She'd definitely be hurt if we didn't let her know too."

  Dylan was talking a mile a minute, but Jasmine heard not a word of what he said. Her thoughts were on the child that was beginning to live within her—the child she had wanted all her life. Now, in a way, she knew her life would be perfect—even though all of the years she'd been with Dylan she had considered perfect. Despite their financial troubles, she loved him more than she had ever loved anyone, and she wanted nothing more than to have a family with him and to grow old with him. Now, that dream was beginning to turn into a reality and there were no words to describe the joy that she currently felt.

  It took a long moment, and during that time, Jasmine reclaimed her coffee and sipped, but eventually Dylan came back to his senses and calmed. When his attention had stabilized back to the here and now, she took him by the jaw and kissed his perfect lips.

  "The coffee stays,” she whispered sweetly and with a smile. “At least until we hear otherwise from a doctor."

  "Deal,” he agreed, nuzzling his forehead against hers and kissing her on the nose. “And thank you. That was the greatest present you could have ever given me."

  "Well, crap. Now what do I get you for Christmas?” Fawning a look of intrigue, she chortled a bit and kissed her husband again.

  Dylan pulled away with sudden urgency. In a rush, he began to search around him.

  "What's wrong, D?"

  "What day is this?"

  "Wednesday. The nineteenth."

  "Shit."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I've got an interview at eleven thirty for a job that would be perfect for me, but I have to get across town in time to get there."

  "Then what are you waiting for, stud?” she exclaimed, slapping him on his bare rear and pushing him along. “Go get cleaned up and go get that job."

  "You sure you don't mind me going right now?” he asked, knowing that there was nothing more that he wanted than to be in bed with her once again.

  "The sooner you get a new job, the sooner you can quit playing St. Nick,” she stated smoothly as she rubbed a hand over his chest. “Santa Clauses should be old, fat men who go ‘ho, ho, ho’ and need to shave. You, my love, are one sexy stallion."

  "You say the kindest words,” he remarked, kissing her again, “and damn it if you're not right. I'm gonna get cleared up and score us a new penthouse, baby!"

  "Show ‘em what ya got, tiger!” She growled after him, slapping his ass one more time as he hurried from the kitchen toward the hallway and bathroom. As he stepped into the hallway's shadows, she watched the muscles of his ass clench tightly with his movements, and it made her realize how wet she had grown below simply by thinking about him. If soul mates truly existed, Dylan Wylde was hers.

  Standing just over six feet tall and weighing around a hundred and eighty pounds, he was the chiseled example of fit perfection. Having never spent a day in a gym, he trained his body in other methods of exercise and diet. Jasmine had never seen a body so exquisite. His hair was short and curly, the color of rich chocolate and as healthy as the body it accompanied. From the powerful curves of his arms to the immense strength of his thighs and legs, there was not a physical aspect about him that was flawed. Even his testicles hung low and heavy.

  There were times when Jasmine wondered what he was doing with a woman like her, but then she remembered that she, too, was quite stunningly beautiful and had a few worthwhile traits of her own. Bred from a black mother and a white father, Jasmine had been born with extremely delicate mocha colored skin. Her complexion had been flawless from the get-go, and her high cheekbones gave her a distinct caliber of sophistication. Her hair was long, black, and wavy, and it reached from the top of her head down to just above her full and voluptuous ass. Although she was not very tall, what she lacked in height, she made up for in breasts. Large and ample, they were her prized twins. Completely all natural, they had been the apple of many young men's eyes, but only a few had been fortunate enough to have sampled its sweet nectar. Dylan had been the one to earn it and keep it.

  From the shadows of the hallway, Dylan stepped out into the warmth of the living room. He stood clean, dressed, and proud. His hair was slicked back into a nice wave, and his smile shone brightly with pearly, freshened teeth. Dressed in his best black suit and tie and with his most expensive pair of shoes—recently polished—he was the image of success.

  "You look fantastic,” Jasmine observed with awe. “You're sure to wow them in the interview."

  "Well, if I don't get a move on it, I'm sure to miss the interview,” he chided, rushing up to his newly pregnant wife and placing on her lips one of the most fantastic kisses she had ever experienced. When he broke away, she remained in her puckered state, faint to the world around her. “I promise to hurry back immediately after the interview's over."

  "I'm holding you to that,” she breathed—her words almost a whisper. Opening her large, brown eyes, she stared again at the beauty of her heart's desire.

  "I'll see you soon.” Kissing her one last time, he grabbed his heavy coat from the back of the couch and darted to the front door. Dylan looked at his wife again as he stepped outside. Pulling the door shut, he shouted, “I love you, Jasmine!"

  "I love you, my prince,” she sighed merrily as the door closed and her husband ventured off to possibly land his perfect job.

  She knew that she was making a fuss about the Santa gig over nothing. In her heart, she could have cared less if he was Santa Claus or a pauper panhandling on the street. As long as he returned home to her each night, she had all that she needed.

  But Dylan was talented. Jasmine knew this. He had a mind for technology and data that most people would have killed for. It had been brilliant enough to strike gold once with ScanTronics. It had been because of his ingenious ideas that the company had become a success, and she knew that it could easily happen again.

  The fact of the matter was now they were pregnant. They were bringing a child into the world, and playing Santa Claus—or even a pauper on the street—would not bring in enough money to support them. Besides, there were hundreds of men playing St. Nick in New York City. His genius could never stand out from beneath that red and white costume.

  Jasmine hated to be separated from Dylan for even a moment, but she hoped with all her heart that this job interview would be the one. And she knew from the look in her husband's eyes every time he had to leave for work that he hated playing Santa Claus.

  "I suppose I should shower,” she mumbled through a yawn and crossed through the miniscule living room and into the hallway,
which ended at the bathroom door. Inside, she shut the door, turned on the shower faucets, and gazed into the mirror while the water heated. Yesterday when she had performed this very same ritual, she had looked rough and a bit tired. Now with the news of her pregnancy, her reflection seemed to glow.

  The room began to fill with steam, and softly she stepped into the waiting tub. Drawing the curtain closed, she relaxed and shut her eyes under the pressure of the hot, massaging water. Blindly, she took the bar of soap from the small ledge beside her and began to rub it over her stomach, sides, and breasts. Thick lather formed where the soap had traced, and it ran with the flow of the water down to the v of her thighs, mixing with the warmth of her vagina. While one hand began to caress her breasts and her hardening nipples, the hand with the bar of soap followed the running trail of lather down her stomach, over her pelvis, and into the warmth of her thick, yearning lips.

  Taking a rounded edge of the soap, she circled it around her perky clit before sliding it into the wetness of her cunt. She moaned with pleasure, relaxing her back against the wall of the shower and letting the hot water continue to pound against her eager flesh. Replacing the bar of soap with her finger, she entered deep into her warmth, touching the regions where Dylan's seed had recently wet. She rolled the hand on her breast down to her stomach and thought of how much of her husband's semen she had wasted by letting it seep out of her so quickly. She knew that she was ever so fortunate that one of his troopers had still managed to invade her mother ship.

  Letting the soap slip down to the floor of the tub, Jasmine imagined that her finger was Dylan's cock, pressing and pushing inside of her and then pulling out before plowing back in again. She moved rapidly, repeating the process repetitiously with first one and then two of her long, slender fingers. With her left hand, she began to tease at her right nipple again, panting heavily as her knees weakened and she slowly began easing down the wall into the tub.

  Her head jerked upward and her jaw snapped open, releasing a broken, raspy scream as her orgasm flooded throughout her soaked and trembling body. The water continued to beat against her, cleansing her. Jasmine pulled her fingers out from her sopping cunt and rested her head against the lip of the tub. Opening her eyes, she felt both relief and exhaustion.

  She turned the water off and climbed up from the tub, careful to hold onto the railing so that she would not lose her balance and fall. With a fresh embryo in her womb, she had to be careful of her movements. Her feet safely touched the cloth rug outside of the tub and she snatched her towel from the rack to the left. After drying her body, she wrapped her hair in the towel and crossed over to the mirror, rubbing the fog away. Her naked body glistened clean and refreshed in her reflection. A smile that she had previously been unaware of was locked over her face, and she could not remember the last time she had appeared so joyous. She'd never been unhappy while with Dylan, but she had never felt this much internal excitement. There was something new within her—something that would deliver brand new adventures for her and her husband.

  In the bedroom, she searched for the perfect outfit to greet Dylan in when he returned home from his interview. Hopefully, she would be congratulating him as well. She chose a pair of red tights with a long sleeved red dress that showed enough of her cleavage to satisfy any man and had a hem that stopped at the underneath of her buttocks. With black boots and borrowing Dylan's red and white work hat, she decided that if he was going to play Santa, she would be a good Mrs. Claus and share in the role play.

  Over the course of the next hour, Jasmine treated herself to the finer things in life—or at least those that they could afford. She sipped hot green tea with honey and curled up on the sofa, taking the opportunity to catch up on her favorite soap opera. She'd never really been big on the soaps, but her mother had watched this particular one when Jasmine had been but a small child, and so she had practically grown up with it. She had seen it on and off for nearly fifteen years now, and oddly enough, very few of the characters had changed. Some of the actors playing them had been replaced from time to time, but the characters, plots, and bad writing had all remained consistent.

  She had nearly dozed off by the end of the show and the sound of the door opening startled her. Lifting off the couch, she turned to see Dylan stepping through the threshold with his chin hung low. He was not wearing the smile she had hoped to see.

  Remembering that she had dressed up to look sexy and please him despite the interview's outcome, she kicked one foot out in front of the other, placed her left hand on her hip, and wrapped her right index finger below her bottom lip.

  "Welcome home, stud,” she purred, taking slow but easy steps toward him. “Mrs. Claus has a tasty treat for her big, strong Santa."

  "The interview was a bust,” he pouted, unable to crack even the slightest smile for his wife, who he knew was trying her best to ease his visible pain. “They'd already hired someone else by the time I arrived."

  "Oh, I'm sorry, honey,” she whispered as she moved close to him and rested her head against his strong, heavy chest. “I know how much you wanted this."

  "What am I going to do?” His voice held a quiver as he pulled his wife into his grasp and held her close. “I can only play Santa Claus for so long. Once the season's over, I'll be out of a job again."

  "Don't you even think about that right now,” she insisted. “You've had enough worries today. Why don't you sit down and I'll pour you a beer."

  "You're the best, baby.” Lifting her chin, he kissed her briefly and released her from his grip. “And you look awfully hot, too."

  "Go get out of that stuff suit and I'll get your beer ready."

  "Will you use one of the frosty mugs from the freezer?” he asked with a puppy dog's pout embraced over his face.

  "You bet."

  Jasmine smiled at her husband as he ventured down the hall and into the bedroom to change. She knew he was heavily disappointed in not getting the job, but she was pleased with herself for being able to make him feel somewhat better. As she ventured to the kitchen and began to pour the beer into one of Dylan's special frosted mugs, she wished there was more she could do to ease the tension that he was feeling.

  Beer in hand, she turned around to find Dylan standing behind her, dressed in his Santa Claus suit—minus the stuffing, beard, and wig. His eight inch erection protruded mightily from his red velvet pants and he held a devilish grin over his lips.

  "Mrs. Claus has been too good this year,” he growled sensually as he approached her. “Santa wonders just how naughty she can be."

  Chapter Four

  Nearly forty miles outside of the industrious New York Harbor, a ship struggled desperately to hang on to its freight. There were no storms this day. Aside from a slight wind and bitterly cold air, nature was calm. Their struggle was with the sea, as it seemed to be trying to prevent them from pulling their newfound cargo up from the depths of the water.

  "Pull!"Professor Harold Bishop shouted in instruction for the crewman to try again with the automated draw on the hook. Whatever the hook had become attached to wasn't going to give up its fight for freedom so easily. “Again. Pull!"

  "You want some of my men to swim down there and see what the problem is?” the handsome head of the ship asked in an offering.

  "No, Captain, they've already been down there once when they hooked the monstrosity in the first place. Perhaps we could try to tug it to shore on the chain?"

  "If it's this heavy and hard trying to pull it up, we won't be much more successful trying to drag it to land."

  "Well,” the profession groaned, adjusting the glasses over his nose. “I know this is the cargo that holds the ancient Spanish artifacts that I've been searching for years to find, and I refuse to let it go now that it's in my grasp."

  "What makes you believe Spanish artifacts are inside there, Professor? We're a long way from Spain."

  "I've searched more water in my forty-four years of exploration than I guarantee you will ever see, Captain.
I've discovered Egyptian artifacts outside of London. I found Aztec tools near Africa. I bet if I searched hard enough, I could find the lost city of Atlantis off the coast of Florida. But mark my words, Captain. Inside that steel crate down there, there is an infamous Spanish artifact just waiting to be uncovered."

  "I'm glad you seem so sure of yourself,” Captain James Hills snorted unconvinced. “The rest of us think you're pretty much a kook."

  "I paid you for your ship, labor, and time, Captain. Not to insult me."

  "So noted."

  "I think it's budging, Captain,” the mate from behind the large iron machine called out as the chain began to pull inward. “It's coming up!"

  "I've waited for this my whole life,” Professor Bishop murmured deep in his aged throat and rubbed his hands together with greed. He could finally see the twisted, larger than life box erode from the ocean's depths and emerge out into the open air. Although more warped than he had imagined, it was magnificent. An ancient trunk direct from one of Christopher Columbus's infamous ship. There was no telling what wonders it held inside, but Bishop knew that it would bring him fame and fortune. Turning his attention back to Captain Hills, he asked in his roughest voice, “Can't they hurry it along any faster?"

  "My men are moving as quick as they can, Professor,” Hills responded coolly. “I've got five of ‘em under water with that thing, helping it ease as quickly to the deck as it can. There's no telling how much it weighs."

  "Or what it contains,” the impatient historical professor added beneath his breath.

  He watched as minutes passed and the men and their iron machine raised the distorted, infamous crate into the air.

  "Everyone, get out of the way,” the man behind the machine ordered as he began turning the crane to bring the trunk on deck.

  Bishop's eyes were wild with bewilderment and greed.

  Just as the heavy chain that hoisted the heave crate snapped and broke apart, the crate landed on the deck of the ship with a heavy crash. One of its corners broke through the deck, forcing one sailor to fall from his feet.