by Skye Warren
I look into her eyes as my cock slides into her. Everything falls into place, right before my very eyes. “Holy shit,” I whisper, and she knows just what is happening to me. She reaches below and cups my balls. She tenderly touches me, unlike any woman ever has. “It can’t be,” I whisper, eyes widening.
She nods. “Cum for me, daddy. Cum harder than you have ever cum before. Fill me the fuck up.”
“Yes,” I whisper, muscles tensing up. “God yes.”
Everything is like pins and needles within me. My hairs begin to rise from my skin. “Oh, Noel,” I moan. I kiss her and let myself give into her. Men don’t want to admit it, but I’m actually man enough. When you cum for a woman, you’re giving everything that is yourself over to the woman. She is in control. It’s always been this way. It always will be.
“Fuck!” I scream, clutching at her breasts. It comes in waves of ecstasy as I unload inside her. It’s like a never-ending stream of pleasure. If my death were to finally come at this moment, it would be okay. If I’m with her, it’s all okay. I fall into muscular spasms. My cock moves, up and down, and I can’t bear to pump her any longer. I fall out of her like I fell into this life. I lose it all and she bears witness.
And when I’m finished with my tremors, she gazes into my eyes knowingly. I say, “How?”
She smiles, “Because this is how it always goes. This is how it has to happen. Year after year.”
“You’ve been Mrs. Claus all along,” I say, taken aback with the knowledge and understanding that she was never gone from me. “But, how? What about your life down there?”
“You said the words. You always say the words. A man as powerful as you must know that he holds the key, right?” she asks. When I don’t respond, speechless, she adds, “Once you realized what you needed to do, my life became a false image. It was an illusion all along, a nice one I’ll add. But an illusion nonetheless.”
“What the fucking fuck,” I stare blankly at her. The room dissolves and I’m back in my snow kingdom, next to my warm fire. My head falls instinctually against her lap and I feel the velvet red and white against my face, the calming pulse of her heartbeat, and the perfect kiss against the top of my head.
“I’m Mrs. Claus,” she nods her head. “I will always be Mrs. Claus.”
“You were dead,” I whisper. “You were gone from me, taken from immortality.”
“You honestly believed that shit?” she smiles. “I was never dead. But this place does like to play tricks on the mind. After all, the world we live in has to do something to keep you with me for all time. You never get bored with me, do you?”
“You’re as fresh as silk,” I mutter. “How could I ever get bored of you? This? You’re perfection.”
“Exactly. And you never will get bored of me,” she smiles, looking pure as a fucking angel. Together we are perfection. I give her the world and she gives me so much more. She gives me purpose. She reaffirms who the fuck I am, and who I always will be.
“You’re king of the world,” she says.
“And you’re my queen,” I idly mutter. The realizations just keep coming. This all is like clockwork and I’m a piece of that machine, despite being the one who pulls the levers. It’s a massive contradiction of time, but that’s how it has to be. It’s perfect. It’s Christmas.
“Together,” she says, massaging my scalp. “Always rediscovering ourselves to bring joy across the world.”
“When you cum, everyone wins,” I smile. “When we both lose ourselves like that, the children get their wishes. The parents fulfill their dreams. Christmas can continue.”
“You’re everything to me,” I repeat. “Everything.”
Come spring time, she’ll leave me again and I’ll leave her. And we’ll be stuck in our lonely prisons within our own minds. She’ll be that yearning girl again, the one who sought endlessly for me. And I’ll be that melancholic figure, locked away with his alcohol and angry elves. I’ll fuck the pain away. I’ll do everything that I can to turn my life into pleasure, but nothing will satisfy my hunger. Nothing but her.
And I’ll wait for the day she comes back to me. The day that life becomes complete, once again.
Epilogue: Ernest
Short and simple. Steamy as sin and with the lightest touch of sweetness. For all the readers out there who didn’t believe, it’s time to realign your vision. I mean, seriously, get your shit together. You think the world out there is all work and no play? Get some imagination, dammit. Go out and find the Santa of your dreams and fuck his brains out!
That’s the real message here. You don’t have to be nice to get what you deserve. You can be naughty and get everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Think of all those fantasies you’ve kept locked up, since you were all little boys and girls. You know you have them. You know they can be a little too much to bear at times.
But I’m telling you now. You don’t have to be afraid any longer. You can be the slut you’ve always wanted to be. This Christmas, we should all think about Noel and Santa. We should think about the struggle they went through to fall back in love.
Sure, this shit happens every year to them. It’s an endless cycle. But it means everything to them. During this Christmas time, we have to think about everything we’ve done to the person we love. The good, the bad, the downright disgusting. All those cocks… Yeah, I feel you.
But all those bad times can be worth it if we can learn to fall in love again with that person, over and over again. Just remember the good times. Remember all of the perfect memories, from the beginning. Try and remember when you first fell in love. Remember how ideal it was? It was like the fucking Garden of Eden, wasn’t it?
Tonight, as you’re reading this, try to hold onto hope and love, and everything else that makes you feel better than that candy cane you stuck up your ass. That, boys and girls, is the story of Christmas.
THE END
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Part XXIII
Naughty Night by Linnea May
Chapter 1
Sybil
How pathetic am I? It’s Christmas Eve, approaching 4:00 p.m., and unlike everybody else, I have nowhere to go. While everyone around me is getting ready to go home to their families, I’m in my office’s kitchen, helping myself to another cup of tea. I’m going to be here all evening, and I need my green tea to get through.
Outside, a thick layer of snow is covering the neighborhood in its white coat of tranquility. We rarely get a white Christmas in this city and I'm loving the sight of it. There’s a cozy sense of home and comfort to it, even here, so far away from home.
The sound of familiar footsteps echoes through the silence and causes me to turn toward the door.
“You’re still here?” my coworker Melanie asks. She’s standing in the doorway, dressed and ready to go, holding the paper bag with the present our boss gave to everyone today in her hand. Mr. Stark made sure that everyone got one and every bag was the same size, so I assume that we all got the same assortment of expensive chocolates or some kind of decorative knickknack from a designer store that none of us could afford. I haven’t even opened mine yet.
“Yeah, Mr. Stark asked me to finish up on some files before the holidays,” I tell her, hoping that I don’t sound too pathetic.
“But, the holidays are starting now,” Melanie insists, cocking her head to the side. “It’s Christmas Eve! Everybody is going home.”
“I’m not,” I say. “At least not today. I’m not leaving for my parents’ place until tomorrow afternoon.”
I regret my words as soon as I say them. Melanie’s eyes widen in shock and empathy.
“Oh my God, Sybil, I’m so sorry to hear that,” she exclaims, as if I’d just told her that someone died. “If I had known, I would have invited you to stay with us tonight and-”
“It’s okay, really,” I try to calm her. “I have so much to do, and I get to see them tomorrow. Besides, Mr. Stark is paying me
overtime, and I could really use the money.”
“Oh, I see,” Melanie says, not even trying to hide how sorry she feels for me. “Well, he better pay you double extra for this.”
She pauses and checks if anyone else is around before she leans in closer and whispers: “I mean, I know it’s hard to say to 'no' to him, but asking you to stay late on Christmas Eve is really something, even coming from Mr. Stark. Especially when he’s not working himself.”
“I was actually glad for the opportunity,” I tell her, and that’s the truth. When Mr. Stark asked me if I was willing and able to work overtime right around Christmas, I didn’t hesitate to tell him I was. And it was not because I have trouble saying no to that gorgeous man, but because I really need the money. This city is expensive and that whole making-it-on-my-own dream won’t get very far if I can’t pay my rent while paying off my substantial credit card debt at the same time.
Melanie wishes me Happy Holidays and disappears down the hall. While carrying my freshly brewed tea back to my office, I realize that she must have been the very last person to leave the office tonight. I’m all by myself.
“Well, this is a first,” I whisper, my voice breaking through the silence in an odd way. It’s strange to hear my voice without anyone responding to it, even though I’d developed this habit of talking to myself a long time ago. I’ve received some unwanted attention because of it more than once, and I might be known as quite the weirdo among my coworkers.
But I don’t care. I have enough to worry about and can’t be bothered by their gossip for more than a moment.
The snow continues to fall outside, holding my attention as I sip on the tea. Now that everyone has gone home, and the city is about to turn into a scene that looks like it’s straight from a Christmas movie, I do feel it. The loneliness, the pathetic sensation of feeling sorry for myself, because I’m still here working, while pretty much everyone else is enjoying the first of many holiday dinners, complete with children, grandparents, a friendly dog, maybe even a warm and cozy fireplace with stockings hanging from the mantle.
I don’t have any of that. Even if I was home with my family tonight, there would be none of that picture perfect Christmas atmosphere. It would just be my drunken father, my overly concerned mother, my slightly racist grandparents and my insufferable brother with his pregnant wife. And all of them would be throwing reproachful looks in my direction, for leaving Jack, the perfect son-in-law. He was perfect looking, perfectly nice and even more charming, the perfect man to impregnate me and grant me eternal happiness.
Except that he wasn’t any of that. He was an abusive asshole who treated me poorly, because he knew he could. I’d lived with it for long enough and I’d told myself for way too long that I deserved to be treated like a cheap servant. He lacked the most basic respect and it’s a surprise that he never hit me. I should have left him a lot sooner, long before my family could fall for his fake game and fall in love with him the way they did.
I could see the disappointment in my mother’s face when I told her that I would be leaving Jack and moving to the city for a new job. I saw, in her expression, all her hopes and dreams for me fall apart as she stared at me with disbelief. They had all been expecting us to announce our engagement at any moment, but instead I delivered that final blow.
It's been nearly a year, and I have yet to be forgiven by any of them.
I, on the other hand, have never felt happier or as free as I do these days. I moved to New York City on my own, I have a cute little studio apartment that is just mine, I have a social circle and a job that I like and that still has so much potential for more. I’m working as a paralegal for one of the biggest and most respected law firms in town.
I’m working for Landen Stark, for God’s sake. His father built an empire and he’s not only keeping it alive, but making it thrive on his own. He’s stupidly rich, but he still works his ass off.
And he’s so dreamy! Only a few years older than I am, Mr. Stark radiates a confidence and wisdom that is beyond his years, and so damn sexy. He’s very tall and even in his suit it’s easy to tell that he works out regularly. His custom-tailored jacket stretches over his strong biceps when he gestures while he’s talking and his shoulders are so broad that even I feel like tiny gazelle next to him, even though I’m anything but short myself. His strong jaw is somehow always speckled with a three-day stubble and his eyes are of a very unique color, I can never tell whether it’s green or more of a gray tone. He has a very intense way of looking at people, which makes all the female employees think that he must be flirting with them. I’m no exception. When I first met Mr. Stark, I was so confused by his intense way of looking at me while we were speaking that I even found myself avoiding eye contact with him altogether. It felt as if he was unraveling me with his gaze, looking right at the depths of my soul, seeing all the dirty little secrets that I like to hide from the outside world.
As if he would see all the naughty things I fantasize about when I see him. I can’t help it. He makes me wonder. I wonder if he’s as assertive and commanding in the bedroom as he is at work. Watching him during our monthly division meeting is a secret joy of mine. He’s so eloquent, so powerful and influential.
When he looks at me it’s as if he’s thinking about it, too. As if he’s thinking about controlling me as he pleases…
Of course, all of that is nonsense. It’s just how he is. But this is what Melanie meant when she said that it’s hard to say no to him. She’s absolutely right, but Mr. Stark's demanding aura is still not the reason for me to be here tonight.
It’s the tough reality of my independence. I have no one to take care of me anymore, like Jack did. Part of his abusive behavior was to make me completely dependent on him, so I never really had a real job until I finally left him. Earning my own money was the most liberating experience in all of this, but it’s also tough when you're just starting out, especially in combination with the high living cost of Manhattan.
I pull myself back to reality and out of my daydream. There are not that many files left and if I get to work instead of letting my imagination run wild all evening, I might actually get to go home earlier than expected. Who knows, I might even have time to see the Rockefeller tree downtown on my way home.
Chapter 2
Sybil
Two hours have passed since Melanie left the office and I became the only remaining soul on this floor.
That’s why the unexpected noise coming from the hallway scares me this much.
I hear the main glass door to our floor being opened, then steps. Masculine steps that are approaching my office with a firm certainty.
I sit at attention, my heart racing. Who could this be? The cleaning team usually comes in the early morning hours, and I don’t think they would stroll through the hallway like this.
What if it's a thief? My heart almost stops at the thought. If this person is here to rob us, then he certainly won't be happy to see me sitting here. What if he attacks me? I hastily look around to see if there's anything within reach that could serve as a weapon to defend myself. A pen? A ruler? Scissors! Just as I grab them, another thought pops up.
He opened the door with a key. Whoever this is, he does have a key to our division. Maybe it's just one of my coworkers who forgot something?
But why on earth doesn't he say anything? The steps are approaching my door and the intruder must see that this is the only office where the lights are still on. Wouldn't a normal person announce himself and say something?
Maybe I should say something?
"H-h-hello?" I croak. For the first time ever, my voice breaks beneath the silence and I sound as if I'm scared of my own shadow.
The steps pause and I listen for an answer that doesn't come.
The intruder—I'm pretty sure it's a man—has stopped mid-stride, but he doesn't say anything.
I'm so freaking scared. I never understood why women have a tendency to faint when they are startled or scared, but now I do. T
his is nerve-wracking. Why is he not saying anything? Why did he stop moving?
As if he's heard my thought, the steps continue as he approaches my office.
Fuck!
I hold on to the scissors and turn around to face the door, holding the scissors up next to my face. I'm breaking a sweat and trembling like a leaf. This is ridiculous. Even if he were to attack me, I would probably manage to hurt myself with the scissors before I managed to do any damage to him.
The steps are getting closer and closer and a mere moment before the man reaches my office door, he finally speaks up.
"Miss Young?"
I gasp in surprise.
It's him.
Just as I realize that this deep and pervasive voice belongs to none other than my boss Landen Stark, he appears in my doorway, looking as dashingly handsome as always.
His eyes widen when he sees me and he raises his hands in defense.
"Whoa, there!" he says, calm but loud enough for me to flinch.
I realize that I'm still holding the scissors up in the air, ready to attack him. I blush and lower my hand while letting out a huge breath in relief.
"God, you scared me!" I tell him, before covering my mouth with the palm of my hand. I shouldn't be speaking to him like this, it's his building after all.
But Mr. Stark just chuckles, now leaning against the doorframe with his hands buried in his pants pockets. Just as he does every day, he's wearing a dark suit and a tie, but tonight's ensemble appears to be a bit more upscale than his everyday suit. The black suit hugs his masculine frame perfectly and the silver silk tie looks as if it cost more than my monthly rent. It probably did.
"I'm very sorry," he says, casting me one of those gorgeous smirks that make all the women in our office giggle like school girls. "I didn't mean to scare you."
