by Skye Warren
“Shit,” I grab a bottle of whiskey and down its contents. “I just miss her is all.” The old woman was the love of my life, what can I say? Sure, she wasn’t the best piece of ass, but she was my woman. She completed the whole Santa thing. Now, I’ve got no one to rely on. Hell, Ernest just likes to bust my balls on a daily basis.
“It’s been three years!” he screams. “The rest of the elves are ready to strike at any moment. If you don’t get off your ass and find a new Mrs. Claus, we’re done here.”
I throw the bottle of whiskey against the wall and walk over to the bench press. I lift the 300 pounds and do a big set, until I feel my heart start to race. “Fine,” I sigh, sitting up and grabbing a towel. “I’ll do it. I’ll find another Mrs. Claus.”
“I’ve compiled a list for you, Santa,” he says, grabbing a sheet of paper from his green briefcase. He sets it in my hands and I eye it very carefully.
“All of these women are boring,” I sigh. “Can’t you find someone with some curves?”
“Look, right here,” he says, pointing at a Darlene in Texas. “She’s got curves!”
“She’s 63,” I throw the sheet at him. “What the fuck, Ernest.”
“You’re over a thousand years old!” he jumps up and down, stomping his little green shoes. His hat goes flying off in his fit of rage.
“Look at me, Ernest. Does it look like I’m a thousand years old?” I ask him. I don’t need to flex my muscles for him to know I could fuck his wife if I wanted to right now. He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, dumbfounded.
“Look, find me someone hotter and maybe a little closer to how I feel,” I say. “I get it. I’m as old as time itself, but that doesn’t mean I need someone on their last leg. I need a Mrs. Claus who can keep up with me, preferably someone who won’t die in a few years. I’m going to the North Saloon. If you need me, you can find me there.”
I walk out of my office and into the bitter cold, headed toward the only bar in this godforsaken place. Sure, I get to live forever, but the job is awful. I just hope he can find someone worth it. It’s either that, or I quit.
Chapter 3
Noel
When I go to the mall, I buy the sexiest lingerie I can find and I buy it almost immediately, wearing it underneath my long jacket. Today, I’m not only out to buy myself a Christmas present. I’m done playing the good girl. Deep down, I’m bad. This year, I’m being naughty.
I’m almost out of the mall, when I see him. Santa. He looks exactly like the commercials on TV, which tells me he’s not the real guy. Still, maybe he has some clues. Maybe he can direct me to the real Santa.
I wait in line for almost two hours. Even with all the screaming children, my anticipation gets me through it. I’m going to meet one of his hired actors. I’m going to finally find out where Santa really lives! My guess is that it’s somewhere in Santa Monica. There’s no way he actually lives in the North Pole, right?
When my name is called, I hesitate to walk up. What if he can’t offer me anything? What if the real Santa gets angry with me for sitting on this man’s lap instead of his? Still, I have to find the real Santa. I know everyone thinks he’s make-believe, but I know he’s real.
I walk up, my high heels clicking against the marble mall floor. I see the big man sitting next to some elves and he smiles, saying, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Who is this nice, young lady? Come, sit on Santa’s lap!”
I know it’s wrong of me, but this man isn’t the real guy. He’s some creep who’s hoping to get his dick sucked in the back room. Still, I walk over, looking incredible, and I sit on the old man’s lap.
“What do you want for Christmas this year, young lady?” he smiles, staring at my tits.
“Look, Santa,” I sigh. “Drop the act, okay? I’m not being a good girl this year. I’m going full naughty on this bitch.”
“I can handle naughty,” he smiles, salivating. “Naughty is perfect.” He squeezes my ass and I jump up slightly.
“I’m not here to blow you, jerkoff,” I reply angrily. “I’m here to find the real Santa! I know you know where he is.”
The guy looks around us, eagerly. “The real Santa?” he asks. “Ho! Ho! I’m the real Santa!”
The kids around us cheer. The moms are glancing at me angrily. “No, I mean the guy in the North Pole. I need to get there. I need to meet him. Now!”
“Come on, lady,” he whispers. “There’s no such thing as Santa. Everyone knows that. Now, stop teasin’ me and get off my cock.”
I jump up and shout, “I know he’s real! Every Christmas my cookies and carrots are eaten. I’m tired of playing nice. I want to see the real Santa.”
“Get this woman out of here,” Santa says to the elves.
I jump back and shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll show myself out,” I say.
I stomp my heels right out of the mall and sit down on a bench outside, catching my breath. “Dammit,” I sigh. Now everybody thinks I’m crazy. But I know I’m not. I know Santa is out there and I know he’s not like they say he is. Santa is strong, wise, and magical. How else could he deliver all those toys around the world that quickly? I can only imagine the kinds of things he can do with his mouth…
“Hey, miss! You forgot your purse!” I hear a voice shout from the mall doors. I look up and find myself looking at… an elf!
“Um, thanks,” I smile. “Sorry about the scene I caused.”
“It’s no problem. The guy’s a perv,” he says. I smile out of courtesy and begin to walk away, feeling completely letdown. I guess this Christmas is going to be another repeat.
“You’re not crazy, you know,” he says. I stop, but don’t turn around. “I know you think you are, but you’re not. Santa is real. And I can prove it.”
My jaw drops as I turn around. “Bullshit,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re just trying to fuck with me, right?”
“No,” he says, looking from side to side. “I’m not.”
“Come back on Friday and I’ll show you everything you’ve been looking for.”
Chapter 4
Santa
“I can barely fucking see straight,” I laugh. “Has the North Pole gotten warmer lately?”
That son of a bitch, Ernest the Elf sighs loudly. He hates it when I get belligerent. In fact, he just about hates everything I do, to be honest. “I guess so,” he says. “It does seem about two degrees warmer than normal.”
“It’s that damn warming!” I shout, slamming my fist on the table. “If this keeps happening, I’ll be fucked out of a home.”
Ernest rolls his eyes and orders a shot of absinthe. He downs it without even reacting. “Cheers,” he mutters.
“Anyway,” I sigh. “Who cares, right? I’m not going to get what I want this Christmas. Everybody in the world gets their lists ready. But me? I never get any gifts any more. Not since Mrs. Claus passed.”
“Santa!” a smaller elf runs in, out of breath. “I’ve found it!”
“Found what, dammit?” I shout. “Can’t you see I’m drinking?”
“I’ve found what you’ve been looking for,” he says, choking on air. “Her name’s Noel. She’s perfect!”
“You’re lying to me,” I squint my eyes to try and read him better.
“I’m not, sir. She’s one fine piece of ass. You need to see her,” he says, smiling.
“She’s hot?” I ask him, starting to feel my heart race. It’s been so damn long since I’ve banged a real human. All these elves just aren’t the same. “Tell me more.”
“She’s beautiful,” he says, eyes lighting up. “She’s perfectly thick, with curves that extend out to her round ass. Her tits… Santa, you just need to see her. She’s been looking all over for you. She even sat on a mall-Santa’s lap.”
“She sat on another Santa’s lap?” I step off the barstool and walk toward the elf. “What the fuck!”
“Hey, you can’t blame her, can you? She’s tried everything to find you. She’s willing to do anything to get
to you,” he says.
“Anything?” I reply.
“Anything,” he repeats himself.
“What’s your name, son?” I ask him, stumbling over to him.
“It’s Snowflake, sir. Remember?” he asks.
“Snowflake?” I burst out laughing, despite how rude it is. “What the hell. Couldn’t they have thought of a better name for you?”
“You gave me the name, sir. I used to be called Max,” he says, shyly.
“Well, Snowflake. You’re Max again. I want you to bring that woman to me as soon as possible. No! Better yet, I want to see her first. Can you give me her coordinates?” I ask him.
“Most certainly,” he says.
Chapter 5
Noel
Energy surges throughout my body. I’ve never felt this excited about anything before. I’ve got my fireplace on and I’m sitting on my rug, right before it. I can’t stop thinking about what it’s going to be like to meet him. What is he going to say when he sees me bent over, spreading my legs for him? What is he going to do to me? How is Santa going to fuck?
I close my eyes and picture his bulging muscles and ripped abs. It’s odd that every ad wants to portray him as a nice, jovial fat, old man. I suppose if they saw the real Santa, they might be afraid.
I saw him once. When I was a little girl, I saw him coming down that chimney. His body was chiseled and he walked with a certain smug arrogance, only a man who’s lived for a thousand years could walk. A level of fear shot up through my body as he turned and glanced at me. He just laughed and waved his finger at me, saying, “Be a good girl, now. Run back to your bed, darling.”
Darling. I was too young back then for him to even think about being with me. Still, I fantasized about it every single night. Now, in my twenties, I know I’m right up his alley. I know he’ll want to take that big cock of his and penetrate me.
My eyes closed, I keep imagining him hovering over me. I feel the weight of his strength crash against me, his light stubble against my wet pussy. He inserts three fingers and devours me. He makes me cum over and over again.
In reality, I’m in my house and my legs are wide open. I touch myself and I’m already soaking wet. Endorphins shoot throughout my body. Winter always makes me like this. It’s hard for me not to think about him watching over me. Santa knows all, even when you make yourself cum.
He knows your thoughts, which is why I know he’s watching right now. Or at the very least, I hope he is.
I spread my hand over my lips, using my wetness. I insert three of my fingers, pretending it’s him doing it. I run my other hand over my clit. I start to rub slowly, while breathing quickly. “Yes,” I moan. “Santa.” If anyone were to see me right now, they would think I’m crazy. But I’m not crazy. I know it.
I keep circling my fingers around my clit until I feel my body start to tremble and pulsate. I push my fingers in harder, against my g-spot, and use my other hand diligently. Faster. Even faster. Harder, I move them, until I can barely stand it anymore. Something inside the core of my being clicks and I’m done for.
I cum like I’ve never fucking came before. In my head, he unloads on me. He drains himself inside of me, and slips back into my chimney. I open my eyes again and I’m left staring at my empty house.
“Friday,” I whisper. “I’m going to meet him Friday.” I just have to keep thinking about that. Until then, I’m going to have to keep dreaming.
Chapter 6
Santa
“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath. “Get out of the room, now.”
The elves who handle all of my intel just stand there, staring at me and the screen in front of me. There’s this woman, Noel, and she’s fingering herself to the thought of… me.
“Out!” I scream at them. The little bastards go scurrying out of the room. I quickly move toward the door and lock it behind me.
I can’t contain myself. This woman is perfection. She’s thick and juicy, and fuck, I need her now. Still, I know it’s better to wait. Friday is coming up and that’s when I’ll meet her. I can wait until then.
As for now, I unbutton my pants and my cock comes springing out against my abs. A woman hasn’t made me this horny since Mrs. Claus, and that’s saying something. Mrs. Claus, despite what people may think, was a perfect 10. This woman might be an 11.
I spit down on my thickening shaft and start stroking myself. “You were born to fuck, weren’t you?” I find myself saying, smiling the whole time. “You want all of Santa, don’t you?”
She starts whispering, “Yes! Yes!” She’s going to cum for Santa now. That’s how powerful I am.
“That’s right, baby,” I whisper, watching the screen in front of me. Her stomach pulsates, as well as that sloppy cunt, and I start stroking faster and faster.
She moves her fingers around her clit and then she stops, as her whole world begins to crumble before her very eyes. She cums like I’ve never seen a woman cum before. It lasts for a full sixty seconds, maybe even more. I watch with a certain glee as she writhes against her bearskin rug.
“Noel,” I whisper. “Such a good girl. So naughty.” She doesn’t give a fuck about the standard rules the elves have given the people. No, she wants to get fucked by the big daddy himself. And, really, can you blame her?
I thrust forward, imagining how her wet cunt would feel around my throbbing cock. I feel myself start to lose it and, finally, after a minute or so, I cum bullets. It shoots across the desk, my eyes widening and toes curling. “Fuck!” I bellow.
When it’s over, I still can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t even know this woman, but I know that I haven’t gotten laid by a real woman in years. Who knows, it could have been a lifetime. Time flies so fast these days.
I zip up my pants and stand up, looking at that screen one more time. She looks lonely, but it’s nothing Santa can’t take care of. That’s what I’m here for, after all. To make people happy. To spread my joy across the land.
Chapter 7
Noel
“You’re losing it, Noel! Seriously,” my friend Trisha says, while drinking her mimosa at breakfast. “Santa isn’t real.” She’s trying hard not to laugh, out of courtesy to me. However, I know that she just doesn’t know. She’s grown too old. She’s lost the magic. For me, there’s something that keeps me going. It’s the belief that Mr. Claus and I are meant for each other.
“Whatever you want to say,” I laugh. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t fuck him if you could?”
“He’s not real!” she reiterates my point. I roll my eyes.
“Sure. Fine,” I shake her off. “But if he was, would you fuck him?”
“I don’t think I even understand the question,” she says, finishing the rest of her drink. She motions at the waitress for another and turns back to me. “You’re asking me whether or not I’d fuck Santa Claus, if he was real, which he isn’t. Am I getting that right?”
“Yes,” I smile. “Like, if he came down your chimney, would you let him pack your stocking?”
She laughs and closes her eyes tightly. “Oh, God. Gross,” she says. “Pack your stocking?”
“I’m joking, of course. But you still haven’t answered my question,” I say. She exhales sharply, plenty annoyed by this little game. “Come on, don’t be such a prude. You never fantasized about him when you were younger? You know, that song, Santa Baby? That never got you thinking? Even just a little?”
“I guess so,” she says, shrugging. The waitress pours her another mimosa, while I stare blankly at her. When the waitress leaves, she leans forward. It’s as if she’s about to admit something real for once in her life. “I mean, yeah. I guess I fantasized about it. It’s that whole idea of some mysterious man coming into your house at night. It’s a little hot, I guess.”
“See!” I exclaim. “You would totally fuck him.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that he’s imaginary. He’s a product of advertisement. That’s it,” she says. “Besides, let’s speculate a
nd say that he was real. He’s a fat, old, and balding man. I know that’s some girls thing, but I’m into a different type of guy.”
“What if he was a hunk?” I laugh, loving her reaction, even though she’s dead wrong.
“A hunk, huh?” she blushes.
“Yes! A total hunk. What if he had a ripped set of abs? What if Santa was naughty instead of nice? You know, like a real bad guy. Someone who holds you down and ties you up while fucking your brains out. Would you do it then?”
“Is Rudolph watching?” she laughs.
“No. Rudolph is out in the snow somewhere, munching on some fucking carrots. Answer the question,” I say.
“If Santa looked like that guy over there,” she points at a really hot guy, over at another table. He’s sitting alone, drinking shots of whiskey. I noticed him earlier, but tried my best not to stare out of courtesy to Santa, who I know is always watching.
“If he looked like him,” she continues, “I’d let him bend me over the bar counter right now.”
“Trust me,” I say. “Santa isn’t bald. He’s not old. He’s immortal. You think he ages like us?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugs.
“Well, when Santa proposes to me, you’re going to be jealous,” I smile.
“When he proposes to you, pigs will fly and unicorns will run freely in the wild,” she says. “But if it happens, I guess I’ll be forced to believe it.
“I’m paying for the drinks,” I tell her, slapping some money onto the table.
“You?” she raises her eyebrows at me. “Since when do you have money?”
“I’m meeting Santa tomorrow. I don’t need money anymore,” I tell her proudly, knowing full well that I sound like a lunatic.
