17 comments/ 124291 views/ 48 favorites Waiting Up For Santa By: Rob_mDear Please forgive me now. This story was written for fun, in the spirit of fun. If it bothers you, please just write it off as not your thing, and don't just jump to the end to give it a bad vote because I defiled your image of Christmas. But yes, I know, I'm getting coal in my stocking for the rest of my life. ~ ~ ~ It was dim and dark, with that inherent, musty smell of a half-basement bar. It was more of a cave than a pub, virtually sealed off from fresh air and light. Small, festive decorations were visible in random, unexpected spots, with a snip of fake plastic mistletoe here and a small, scuffed-up, stuffed Santa over there. Perhaps the greatest tribute to the season came from the assortment of low lamps and colorful neon beer signs on the walls that reflected in little twinkles in the glasses and bottles arrayed behind the bar, like some sort of alcoholic's dream of a Christmas tree. Kristen watched nervously as the small group of young men moved over to the wall near her stool at the corner of the bar. She tried not to look, holding her gaze instead straight ahead, as if staring through the rows of liquor bottles before her, each filled with clear or amber or brown liquids that warm the body, sooth the nerves and cloud the mind. She immediately felt self-conscious about how awkward and cold her rigid, forward-looking posture must appear. She tried to relax her neck, back and shoulders as she looked down into her drink. Too quickly, by far, she picked it up, took a sip, and put it back down. The liquor felt warm slipping down her throat but it didn't ease her too easily triggered nerves. She could feel her palms starting to sweat. Nothing had even happened yet and she already felt like she was fucking it up, sending all of the wrong signals. Without looking she could sense them all checking her out. She arched her back, pushing her bosom forward to accent her figure, then immediately thought the provocation too obvious and slouched again, while feeling she'd done that wrong, too. The short, pudgy one was cute. He had a constant, beaming, effervescent smile. There was no way he'd approach her. His type never did and Kristen didn't know what to do to tempt him to try, or to even let him know he had a good chance of success if he did. She closed her eyes to take another, longer sip, trying to relax and calm her nerves. "Your drink is almost empty. Can I buy you another?" Kristen froze, barely glancing at the guy to her side. It was the tall one. He'd moved in fast. Of course it was the tall one. He was the only one of the group taller than she was. He was handsome, but with that too cool to smile air about him. It was sexy, but not what Kristen was looking for in a man. It would be better than nothing, though. She just had to keep from boring him or otherwise scaring him away. She shook her head quickly no, still without looking at him, stared straight ahead, then immediately wondered why she'd just done the exact opposite of what she'd told herself she should do. She preferred the cute one, yes, but there was nothing wrong with this guy. And by talking to him, maybe she'd get to meet the short one. Why did she always freeze up like this? "Are you waiting for friends?" With an almost one eighth turn of her head she flashed him the beginning of a half smile that died as soon as it had been born. She shook her head no. Even looking sideways into her eyes she felt as if he could see right through her, into her soul. She felt like she was parading naked in front of all of them. Inside, she felt herself trembling, and she was sure that he could see it. She hoped he wasn't already silently laughing at her. As quickly as she could she looked away to compose herself, staring away towards the far end of the bar. When she realized she'd pretty much turned her back to the guy, maybe the worst thing she could have done, she tried to nonchalantly turn back to stare straight ahead at the row of cold, lifeless liquor bottles. She took another quick sip of her drink, leaving the glass empty. She was trembling in side. She had no idea what to do now. The guy stood there for a long minute, as still as stone, seeming neither uncomfortable nor particularly motivated to do anything more. Maybe this one would have the patience, and the interest, to force her past all of her innate awkwardness. Maybe tonight, of all nights, on Christmas Eve, he was going to be a man who could see past her frightened, first mis-steps and stick with it long enough that she could show him the sort of person she was, deep down inside. She tried to silently will him into saying something more, or offering a second time to buy her another drink so that he'd have an excuse to stay and keep trying. Maybe his friend would come over. She'd feel more comfortable with him. She might be able to do this, if they just tried harder. She'd calm down eventually, she was sure. They just had to bear with her. And then he was gone, drifting away back towards the wall with his friends. He said something, with his back to her, and they all laughed together. The short, cute one glanced her way, not laughing at all with the rest. She thought she recognized something in his expression, a sort of distant, shared sorrow. Then the tall one moved between them and he was lost from sight. Kristen started fumbling through her purse for some bills to leave on the bar. She quickly wiped the tiniest of tears from the corner of her eye. It was from stress, not disappointment, she told herself. It didn't matter. Tonight was a bad night to meet someone anyway. She had other plans, important plans. She had to get home. That's what she told herself, but she knew deep down that was never going to meet anyone. She didn't know how to do it. She didn't know how anyone did it. Talking to people was so damned hard. She never should have left Mom and Dad and home. She dropped the bills on the counter, tossed down the last few drops of liquor that had by now pooled into the bottom of the empty glass, then hurried towards the door and the cold with her back to the cluster of guys that no doubt laughed at her as they watched her leave alone, yet had no idea what sort of special woman they were missing. * * * At home Kristen half-sat, half-sprawled on the sofa beside a tree that was much too large to fit inside her small home. Her house was a simple, small, one story affair, with nothing more than a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen and a bathroom. It was all that she could afford and really all that she needed. But the tree filled the room and made it almost feel as if one were living within a forest. Honestly, it was hard to figure out how a tree so large might even have been squeezed through any of the doors or windows to get it inside, or how its peak kept from punching through the low ceiling above it. A visitor might look, squint, look again, rub his eyes, and look again, trying to make sense of exactly how a tree so large could fit into a space so tiny, yet clearly it had, so eventually there was nothing more to do but to accept it. A visitor would think just that, if she ever entertained any visitors. Kristen languished on the couch, admiring her tree and waiting with what could certainly not be breathless anticipation, even if that was how she felt. Every Christmas for her, even as an adult, was spent feeling like a child, ever so eager and restless to see what presents and delights Christmas would bring, except that now that she was an adult her presents always came on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day. As the night came and went, it left her with a wistful and happy but deeply longing feeling come morning, because it was over and she had to wait another, long, lonely year to experience it again. She lived her whole life for Christmas Eve these days. Every year, all year long, was just time idly passed waiting for Christmas to arrive so that she could spend time with her father. This was her third year away from home, and she didn't think she could survive a fourth. She'd been so lonely since Mom had thrown her out of the house, not even being allowed back home for the holidays. Her only chance to see Dad was Christmas Eve. He always worked all night then, probably as much to get away from the nagging shrew as anything else. But he could afford to take a break and stop by to visit his daughter, and it was their one chance all year long to spend some meaningful time together. Kristen stared into the fire, waiting for its flames to die down, leaving only the glowing embers of the logs behind, until those too would be snuffed out and no hint of its cheery, red warmth would remain but the blackened wood and pale gray ash the flames left behind. But fire or not, Santa's magic would allow him slip down her chimney and into her life. She smiled at the magical thought as she drifted into a pleasant but restless half-sleep, marred by her anticipation of the night to come. * * * Kris Kringle closed his eyes as his body floated, bounded and zoomed gently down the chimney, all at the same time. He'd done it many billions of times without ever getting entirely used to the feeling. The walls of the chimney pressed against him, crushing him as if he were wedged tightly in and could never be freed. The ridges of the bricks and mortar that made up the walls scratched and tugged at him as he fell. Yet despite these sensations he slipped smoothly, continuously downward without hesitation or any hint of faltering. The descent took only a moment, yet lasted for untold minutes. He neither fell nor flew, scraped nor slipped, wafted nor whooshed. There were no words for how Santa went down a chimney. He just did. To pass the endless, brief time he played games with himself, trying to test his memory to see if he could remember the exact layout of the home he was entering, all the way down to a recollection of the very ornaments used to decorate that particular family's tree and where each ornament had been placed last year. Sometimes he tried to guess how the ornaments might be rearranged this year, or what new sort of ornament a particular family might have added this time. If he guessed right, he let himself take an extra bite of cookie and an extra swallow of milk from the plate and glass they left for him, as well as an extra swig from his flask. None of that was necessary for this house. This was a special stop on his annual journey, a place to which he looked forward with unbounded delight every year. It wasn't actually the place itself that appealed to him but rather the lone, special, beloved occupant that held his interest and stirred something he'd long ago thought had died inside of him over the countless, monotonous, unending years of lists and presents and deliveries. Dim amber and orange light below flickered, grew and brightened as he saw the fire at the bottom approaching and the square opening of the fireplace looming larger. The fire was low and soft beneath him, but still burning, not that that mattered to him. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, bothered not by the sight of the flames and mortar racing to meet him but instead by the queasy, nauseating sensation he always suffered as his body morphed, slipped and twisted in impossible ways so that, without breaking his spine or rupturing his intestines, he could be one moment falling but not falling down a straight, narrow chimney shaft and the next moment standing on his feet, clean and bright eyed with only the barest traces of soot on his bright red and white suit. One minute he was falling, and then morphing, and then there he stood, in all of his Saint Nicholas glory, fat, round belly thrust ahead with a heavy bag of presents slung over his shoulder behind his back and a merry twinkle in his eye. As soon as he felt solid floor beneath his feet, he unclenched his eyes to expose the magical happy twinkle in his black pupils. Normally it didn't matter, as there should never be anyone there to actually see him, but he knew that this time, in this house, she would be right there, wide awake and eagerly waiting for him. His eyes opened to behold the most beautiful woman he had ever met. She was tall, much taller than he. The eyes that looked shyly and hesitantly back at him were glacier ice blue, just like his own, with a shy twinkle to complement the gregarious sparkle that he sported. Her hair was platinum blond, almost silver-white, pin-straight and so long that it fell down across her firm but not overlarge breasts, past their smoothly curving bottoms and further down, almost to her sexy little belly button. The nipples were round, pinkish red and achingly erect. He could see them because the girl — woman — wore a very sheer, red baby doll trimmed with thin strips of shiny black leather and soft, fluffy, white fur, much like his own traditional suit. It made him smile that she'd found such an apropos outfit this year, for him. His eyes traveled down the marvelous curves of her body, clearly and wantonly exposed to him within the diaphanous material. Her broad shoulders and V shaped torso narrowed to a delightfully dainty waist for a woman her size, and then spread to form the round, feminine swell of full, tempting hips, all perched on long, athletic legs made even more shapely and lengthy by the tall red heels upon which she balanced. She stood, staring at him in silent, wide eyed anticipation, legs together, arms at her sides and back ram rod straight, like a soldier awaiting inspection, or a wind-up toy waiting to be set into animated motion. "Well, well, little girl, what are you doing up so late on such an important evening?" He said it with his deepest, sternest voice, even though he could still hear the unspoken "ho, ho, ho" behind it all. A stern, disciplinary tone of voice had never come naturally to him. He'd had to work at it, to develop it when he became a parent, and even then it took concerted effort. He was too out of practice. But that would change. She didn't respond at first. She just held his gaze as he stood awkwardly staring back at her, waiting for a response and drinking in her beauty like a wino straining to resist gulping down the finest vintage he'd ever sampled. He waited patiently but eagerly until she finally spoke. "Hello... Daddy." * * * Kristen held his eyes with hers. They each waited all year, every year, for this one, long night together. She worked in a meaningless job, selling toys at an upscale toy store downtown. With her knowledge and talents she could easily have taken the position of manager, or even set her sights higher, if she could just deal with people a little better, but it held no interest for her to even try. She had what she always wanted right here, right now, before her. Her hands slipped subtly across her thighs, feeling their smooth, sensuous skin with her finger tips as she shifted her weight provocatively to one foot, swinging her hip outward the other way. She held that pose, and her father's gaze, for one long moment before she sauntered forward, swinging her hips slowly and hypnotically from one side to the next as she advanced on him. She could see his breath quicken. She allowed herself a small, predatory smile before replacing it with the shy, breathless expression of half-parted lips and languorous, drunken eyes that she knew he found so irresistible, and that had worked for her once upon a time in sparking their long, sordid affair into life. She advanced on him until they almost touched. Standing a bare inch apart her blue eyes stared down into his. She eased her mouth forward towards his forehead, where she planted one long, warm, lingering kiss. As she pulled back, the red stain of her lipstick remained there, a red mirror image of her lips branding him as if he now belonged to her — which he did, heart, body and soul. His arms came forward then, snaking around her waist to pull her up against him. She felt his bulges, that of both his large stomach and his cock, pressing erotically against her. "Give your father a proper kiss hello," he said to her, as he tipped his head back and moved his lips meaningfully towards hers. His voice was commanding, having lost that merry edge that he sported so often. It was not a request. It was an order, from a stern father to an obedient daughter. Kristen felt her knees weaken at the sound of it. She trembled in his arms, as she always did. Her face and lips slipped down to his, like a puppet under his control, powerless to resist his charming demands. Her lips met her father's in an electric union of pent up longing, love and lust. Santa's tongue came quickly out, forcing its way between her slightly parted lips. She'd invited him in, really, giving him that opening, but he took it so soon, so suddenly and boldly, that she felt wonderfully violated by his quick, lusty invasion. His arms no longer rested gently on her hips. Instead they swept up against her back and splayed flat as they pulled her form hard against his. She felt the round bulge of his fat belly pressing against her own. She felt her breasts squashing flat against his suit as his lips drank her in and consumed her. She belonged to Daddy. Then and there, her father held and kissed and owned her, as he did this same night every year, as he'd done for the past two years, giving her an incomparable pleasure that no other man could ever hope to match. Kristen was so bad that she wasn't even on the naughty list. She had a list all of her own, with only her name on it. No one else could ever be on that list with her. Daddy had a nice list, and a naughty list, and Kristen. He owned her, and she belonged to him, and she'd instantly do anything he told her to do, the more wicked, the better. Every thing she did with him and for him was bad, very, very bad, and it was also good, so very, very good. * * * Santa felt his daughter's lips pressing timidly against his own, as if she were afraid to move. No matter how many times they did this she was always so shy. She always took some coaxing, at first, to come out of her shell. He pulled her firmly against him, reveling in the wonderful curves of her body against his. His lips worked tirelessly against hers. His mouth opened wide, forcing her to open her mouth further to match his. He sucked hard on her full, pouting lower lip, taking it between both of his. He traced it with his tongue, spurred on by the soft moan that he felt build and hum from deep within her throat. He loved bringing his little girl such pleasure. He took his cue from her growing sounds, driving his tongue between her lips again, searching for hers so that he could tangle and wrestle and dance with it, forcing her to change from passive to active lover. As he wished, as if he'd commanded it, her tongue came alive against his, bonding and binding incestuously with her father's. Her own arms had been draped loosely on his shoulders, at first, but now they moved so that her fingers slipped upwards into his hair. It shot waves of pleasure through him to feel her gentle touch against his skin. Her hands soon lost their tender nature, instead grasping at his scalp, hungry to pull his lips more firmly against her own. For his part, he let his own meaty hands slip around to her front and upwards. He cupped her wonderfully young, firm, round breasts, one in each hand, and squeezed, gently at first but then more possessively and aggressively. Kristen's beautiful tits belonged to Daddy. Her moans became less subtle. Their kiss broke momentarily as her lips parted, her mouth drifted open into an erotic, perfect circle, and for her part active involvement in the kiss came to a sudden halt. Waiting Up For Santa "Oh, Daddy... I've missed you so." She voiced the words, tinged with an excited tremor, breathless and high-pitched, before her lips fell on his again. All pretense of shy hesitance was gone. She kissed her father back the way he kissed her, with the ravenous hunger of a parched and lonely lover. His hands fondled her breasts, alternately softly and brusquely, with his thick, fat fingers finding and pinching those marvelous nipples, twisting them the way he knew she loved, the way that would light a fire in her cunt and make her eager to do whatever Daddy demanded of her. Santa moved his mouth off of her lips to the ridge of her chin, then under, then down her neck. She breathed and moaned in his firm, almost harsh grip, trembling under his touch, as he worked his mouth down her collar bone, down further to the bare tops of her marvelous breasts. "Oooh, Daddy. Daddy..." Through the fabric of her baby doll he took her nipple between his lips and tugged. As he did so, his tongue came out to press against the hard, resistant nub in the center, much like a finger pushing a button to activate a mechanical toy. He was rewarded with a delighted squeal of delight. With his lips still locked on her nipple, his hands reached up to her shoulders to pull downward, firmly signaling to her what Daddy wanted now. Slowly, smoothly, but unhesitatingly his daughter slipped down to her knees. In moments she held herself there, looking up at him with a sweet, pensive expression, peeking over the protruding bulge of his round belly with wide, blue, innocent eyes. "Do you have a present for me, Santa? A big present?" "Unwrap it." He said it with that deep, commanding voice that only her own father could project, the voice that struck at her innermost soul and was never, ever to be disobeyed. The depth and timbre of his baritone voice echoed in the silent, empty room. He saw her reaction reflected in her eyes and expression, as a wave of fear, and eagerness to please, passed over her face in response to his tone more than his words. Her hands, trembling slightly, reached up to the large, square, brass buckle on his black, patent leather belt. Her eyes held his, frightened and timid, as she clumsily undid the buckle. In return he held her blue eyes with his own, stern and commanding, silently demanding that she show him no reluctance or pause. Their eyes were their bond, their unbreakable joining, a metaphysical preface to the way they would soon merge in body as well. In moments his cock, hard, red and angry, stuck out before her like the stiff prong of one of Prancer's antlers. Santa closed his eyes in rapture as his daughter's soft, cool, loving hand wrapped its small, gentle fingers around his shaft. He waited in the blackness behind his lids in anticipation of her hot, little mouth pressing her lips and tongue against the smooth, taut skin of his engorged cock. As he felt the first touch of those moist, plump, warm lips pressing against and then raking across the length of his cock, Santa let loose with a moan of his own, opening his eyes to watch his beautiful, young daughter at work. To his delight her bright blue eyes now twinkled up at his, filled with their own joy, looking up at him past his belly and the shaft of the cock that was so delightfully nestled in her greedy little mouth. Holding his cock in one slight hand, she rubbed it over her face as she smiled up at him with eyes closing in rapturous contentment. "Yum, Daddy. I've missed you so much. I've missed tasting you so much." Santa growled wordlessly in response, before finding the control to better voice his feelings. "Fuck, Sugarplum, Daddy has missed you, too. Keep using that luscious mouth on Daddy's aching, lonely cock, Sweetheart. Don't stop. Ever." WIth that he watched her mouth form a wide, precious "O", then watched some more as his cock disappeared into it like one of the presents that he delivered being dropped into his bag. The fiery bath of the insides of her mouth scorched, soaked and then hugged his cock as she sucked hard, tugging on him with all of the power her lungs and cheeks could muster. "Oh, Yes, Sugarplum. Kristen, my darling, you are so very good at being naughty for Santa. Such a fucking naughty little girl..." At his words, the sounds of her slurping ministrations increased. She visibly worked more eagerly at his cock, trying her best to please her daddy and to give him what she knew he craved. "That's it, little girl. Suck Daddy's cock like the hungry little lover you want to be for him. Suck every drop of cum you can get from Daddy's cock. Swallow it all." On command, his little girl took as much of him into her mouth as she could. He felt the soft, wet flesh of her mouth covering more and more of his cock, until its head pressed against the back of her throat and she gagged. She quickly jerked back, taking just a moment to recover, before pushing her head forward again. This time Santa reached down with his hand to hold her head in place, adding pressure to show her that she needed to take him more deeply into her mouth, whether it was comfortable or not. The darling girl had never learned to truly deep throat on her own, but that didn't mean that she couldn't or shouldn't continue to try. And right here, right now Santa had a burning urge to thrust his cock as far down her throat as he could. It took all of his self-control not to ruthlessly fuck her mouth now, just like he wanted to fuck her hot little cunt. He had to hold himself back, and to make it last, as much as he wanted to virtually rape her sweet little mouth and body right away. She gagged again as he held her in place, listening to hers gurgling sounds as she struggled to control herself, and to breathe. After a few moments, before she could panic entirely, he released his hold on her, letting her pull back. Her hand came up to wipe the spittle from the corner of her mouth as she gathered herself, but being the attentive, obedient daughter that she was, she returned immediately to her task, looking up at him as if pleading for forgiveness even as her beautiful red lips parted and consumed his cock again. Santa smiled at her, adding a touch of wickedness to his natural, jovial air. He wondered exactly how his sinfully merry twinkle looked to her at this moment, with his cock in her mouth, before she closed her eyes and set her mind wholly to the task of pleasing her father. To help subdue his urge to take things too far too quickly with his beloved Kristen, Kris Kringle let his gaze wander around the room. He found the coo coo clock on the wall, formed like a traditional birdhouse with a tiny, blue door above a swinging pendulum shaped like three bronze leaves. The time said 1:03. He couldn't spare too much time from his night. The population of the world had exploded to 7 billion people. They didn't all believe in Christmas, and even the ones that did believe didn't all get presents, but that didn't matter. Belief had nothing to do with giving, receiving, wanting, needing or deserving. Or course he didn't have time to visit them all, nor would he try. If he delivered presents to everyone the jig would be up. Instead, he had to pick a chosen few, delivering little present here, something extra and unexpected there. As often as not no one noticed his addition amidst the riot of gifts, but for the person who received it it meant something very special. Sometimes, if others did notice, Mommy thought that Daddy had bought it, while Daddy assumed that Mommy had included it. Or they all just put it down to good luck, something that inadvertently wound up in one of their shopping bags, and they didn't think about it again. That was part of Santa's Christmas Delivery Magic. One way or the other, Santa left something special for hundreds of millions of people, young and old, around the world. Every year he touched in little ways the lives of hundreds of millions of deserving souls in need of just a little magic. Kristen sucked hard on his cock again, then pulled it from her mouth to run her lips and tongue up and down the length of his shaft. He loved it when she did that, and she knew it. Santa stopped his train of thought to watch her at work. She was such a marvelous cock sucker. This was exactly what she had been doing, just this way, the day that Mrs. Kringle had caught them at it. Santa closed his eyes. Kristen sucked her daddy's cock. Christmas Bells, the girl could suck daddy's cock. He felt the cum building in his shaft. She'd barely been at it at all, and already she had her daddy so close to the edge. He felt no need to hold back any more. They had enough time to do so much more, especially if he cheated this year and kept his southeast Asia stops to the bare minimum, and cut back on some of the tedious frills like adjusting ornaments on trees and such. "I love you, Daddy." Her words pushed him to the very brink. His hands again fell to her hair, where he gently but firmly guided her mouth back onto his cock. He pushed it between her lips and then controlled her pace as she bobbed, back and forth on his shaft, coating it with her wet, shining spit. The sight and feel of it became more than he could take. "Take Daddy's love, Sugarplum. Swallow all of Daddy's love!" He bellowed the words as his cock exploded in her mouth. It stiffened and jerked, followed by a blast of liquid love shooting straight into her hot, little mouth. She pulled away, as she so often did, so that his second spasm sent a ribbon of gleaming silver-white semen across her closed eyelid and the bridge of her nose. Her mouth opened wide, head tipped back, to catch her daddy's third streamer of cum across her greedy lips and tongue. She held herself there, prettily posed, with his rivers of cum stretched across her face, as well as small pools of it on her lips and tongue and teeth. It had been a very long time since Santa had come, so there was a lot of it for his sweet little girl to wear. She smiled contentedly, eyes closed and relaxed, looking beautiful and sexy for her daddy with her daddy's cum so copiously spread across her face. "You decorate me so well, Daddy, like only Santa could," she said, with ribbons of cum hanging from her nose and chin like strands of tinsel on a tree. She laughed then with a sound like the bells on his sleigh. "I missed you so much, Daddy." She said it, quickly, then set her tongue to licking across her lips, ostentatiously gathering what cum she could easily reach to pull it into her greedy, sexy mouth. Wide, innocent blue eyes looked shyly up at his, with a strand of white goo stretched across her brow and nose. The lights of the Christmas tree and the fire together flickered within that sinful mirror. "You're such a good little girl, Kristen." She beamed a happy, proud smile at him. "Thank you, Daddy. Am I on your nice list now?" He had to fight to hold back his trademark "ho, ho, ho," giving her a warm chuckle and a long, loving gaze instead. * * * Santa glanced at the clock, which still read 1:03, while he listened for the sound of water as Kristen turned on the tap in the bathroom. It would take her just a few minutes to clean the cum from her face, then he and she could sit down at the table and catch up on things. He was so eager to see if this year had worked out better for her than the last. She'd been so sad and lonely last year, he didn't think she could last much longer. While he waited for her to get cleaned up he figured he could visit at least twenty or thirty thousand homes. He'd head northwest, then arch south, then sweep back in a quick, short circuit. He did the whole nose twitch thing, the tedium of which had at one time started to piss him off, but by now, after all of so many centuries of mindless repetition, it was just something that had to be done. He clenched his eyes shut, bracing himself for the twisting, warping sensation that was the exact and still unbearable reverse of his arrival. His body morphed and changed, and to him the world morphed and changed around him, so that his stomach felt more than just queazy. It was as if it were suddenly outside of his body, as if he'd been turned inside out, upside down, and left-side right all at the same time, while being impossibly stretched and squashed and twisted, again paradoxically all at the same time. He was here, moving that way, and his stomach was there, staying right where it was while at the same time moving that way, and then suddenly it was shooting past him and he was struggling to keep up. Sometimes he really wondered why he didn't lose his milk and cookies each and ever time he did this, and yet he did it countless times in one night, year after year. In fact, that was the reason he needed the milk and cookies. It had a mollifying effect on the damned unsettling, sickening nature of chimney transit. A moment later he was falling up and then out of the top of the chimney, ready to spend a few weeks visiting homes, falling down and up chimneys, and delivering presents before he returned to his beloved daughter as she exited the bathroom. He returned 23,753 houses later, feeling a little tired and harried, but with a cock that had recovered and was eager to bed and please his loving daughter as soon as their conversation allowed. He did the whole fall-morph-almost-puke thing until he stood, once again, in front of Kristen's fireplace. He brushed off the small patches of soot. He wished he could fine-tune the magic, but the soot was an added cosmetic touch, for style rather than substance, and there was no easy way to vary it. Kristen's clock now said 1:06. He moved to the kitchen to get out a carton of eggnog, two glasses, and a round tin of cinnamon cookies. The water in the bathroom stopped running, then moments later the door opened. She beamed a smile at him across the room, looking every bit a lovely, sexy, full-grown — if young — woman who glided towards him, emanating love and lust and admiration for him as she approached and took her seat at the table. He smiled contently as they sat together to snack and talk. * * * "Have you met anyone, Sugarplum?" Kristen's eyes rose to search his own. She looked sad. He couldn't tell if she was hurt by the question or the answer she had to give, but he knew in his heart that it was a little of both. "No. Why, do you want me to?" That particular response surprised him. He hadn't really expected her to be hurt, as if she were jealous, or doubted how much he loved her or being her lover. "No. And yes. Of course I want you to be happy. I hate thinking of you out here all alone." "I'm not all alone. I've got the toys at the store." "Toys aren't friends, Kristen. Or lovers. Or husbands." "I don't need a husband, Daddy." He stared at her in silence for a while as she pushed her glass of eggnog around on the table, just as she'd done when she was a little girl. "Your mother wants grandchildren." Kristen looked up at him, again searching his face before letting a small, wry smile creep over her own. "Well, that doesn't look like it's going to happen soon. Unless you do it, Daddy." She didn't say it, but Santa could hear the "please" at the end of the sentence. He was ready for this. She'd touched on this idea during last year's visit, evoking utter, stammering shock at the time, so it didn't catch him entirely off guard now but even so he sat up a little straighter. "Yes, well, we both know we can't do that. You need to find a boyfriend, a husband, and have babies with him. It would help your mother a lot, I think, to see happy, laughing children about again. A lot of happy, laughing children." He twinkled a smile at her, trying to make light of her suggestion, as if neither of them really were seriously considering it, even though he knew she most certainly was. He received a stern look from her in return. "Well, that won't happen if I find a husband here, Daddy. It's not like I can bring him and the kids back to your workshop to live." He opened his mouth to tell her that of course she could, but she was right. How was that going to work? She'd just tell him one day that her father was Santa, and they had to move up to the North Pole, where there's no sun for half of the year? Just so Grandma and Grandpa could see their grandchildren? As it was, he and Mrs. Kringle never should have raised her up there, with no one to socialize with except for silly, jovial, hard-working, toy-centric elves. Now that they had, and she was here in the "real" world, she was ill-equipped to live on her own, to make friends, and more importantly to meet that special someone. * * * "Lie on your belly under the tree." Kristen hesitated, not because she didn't want to, but exactly because she wanted to make Daddy cross, and to have him angrily make her do as he wished. She loved it when he got angry, and forced his formidable will on her. It only took a moment for him to change his mood, and to demonstrate it with his words and his tone. "Get down under that tree!" Kristen bit her lower lip. As Santa moved to take a step towards her, she finally freed herself from her timorous pose and moved, quickly, to do as he bid. "Lie down!" Kristen knelt, facing the tree, with her back half-turned towards her father. She looked pensively over her shoulder at him. "I said lie down. Lie down and lift that pretty, little ass up in the air." His voice was deep and stern and loud. His voice was very loud. Kristen was moved, now, almost against her will to instantly do as she was told. She leaned forward, immediately but slowly, until her chin and shoulders touched the cold hardwood floor. Her tree was covered with bright, colorful lights, almost too many for the tree to bear, and the tree itself was already so very large. She focused her eyes on their reflections, completely covering the expanse of brown, shiny, oiled hardwood floor like the fading, scattered remnants of a dozen shattered rainbows. "Wiggle it." Kristen closed her eyes. She pictured her daddy behind her, watching her ass and her exposed, bare pussy, as she gyrated it from side to side and around and around, like a baby bird searching for a worm to eat. Daddy's worm. Daddy's big, hard worm. She heard his footfalls as her daddy approached, knowing that she was about to be wonderfully, forcefully fucked. She was so wet for Daddy, so very, very wet. She could sense him kneeling behind her. An electric thrill ran through her as she felt the soft, tickling whiskers of his mustache and bushy, gray-white beard brush between and against the cheeks of her ass as he moved his mouth close to her dripping, lonely cunt. "Daddy is going to fuck your tight, young cunt, Kristen." The rumbling words seemed to flow through her, into her exposed pussy, up into her womb, through her tingling breasts and from there through her own throat and up to her ears from the inside. Her daddy filled her with his sexy, intrusive, commanding words, the same way he was about to fill her with his thick, forbidden, pleasure-giving cock. "Is that what you want, Kristen?" "Yes, Daddy." The words had barely left her lips when they were trailed by a high pitched squeal as she felt her daddy's beard and jaw spreading her ass cheeks, to be quickly followed by the feel of her daddy's tongue pushing its way into her open, inviting slit. "Tell Santa what you want, little girl." His words were muffled by her own wet cunt covering his mouth. "Fuck me, Daddy." He growled into her body as his mouth and jaw went crazy. His lips tugged on her labia. His tongue pushed its way inside of her. It hunted around, twisting and arcing this way and that, in search of her swollen, sensitive clit. When he found it Kristen smiled in happiness. She lay there for what seemed like hours as Santa pushed his way into her cunt and her heart with his lips and tongue, preparing her for her daddy's cock. Waiting Up For Santa In time he pulled away. She felt the cold wetness of his soaked whiskers as he brushed them over and into her smooth, round ass cheeks, using her own skin as a towel to dry at least some of her copious juices from his now soaked and matted beard. When he'd finished he moved up over her. She felt his fat, soft belly brushing over her ass and then pressing down into her back. Kristen braced herself for her beloved father's entry into her body. "Tell Santa what you want, little girl." "Please fuck me, Daddy." Her words came out in a quiet, breathy whisper, in sharp contrast to his own soft but firm tone of voice. "Have you been a good little girl this year?" "Yes, Santa. Yes. I've been good." "Has anyone else fucked your tight, dirty little hole while Daddy was away?" "No, Daddy. No, Santa. No one has fucked my hole. Not any of my holes. They all belong to Daddy." She pictured him smiling cruelly above and behind her as she felt his cock-head press against her wet, hungry opening. The bulge of his prick pushed against and then into her, spreading her tight slit wider as it forced its way inside of her. Kristen squinted her eyes closed as she succumbed to the joyous the feel of his entry. After so very, very long, she had her daddy inside of her once again. After such a long, lonely year, Daddy was fucking his beloved Kristen again, the way he should, the way they were always meant to do. They were the perfect lovers together, she thought, absolutely perfect. Kristen felt the smooth, cool, hardwood floor pressing against her tits, flattening them into her ribs, as her daddy's massive round belly pressed down into her while his cock pushed up inside of her. The curve of his belly fit snuggly into the arch of the small of her back above her rounded ass, much as his thick cock fit snugly into her narrow cunt. With steady, even strokes her daddy drove his cock in and out of her aching, pulsating pussy. She help her thighs firmly together to make her cunt as tight and small for him as she could. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself against the amazing, overpowering sensations he gave her. His cock felt magnificent, filling her in the way that she'd craved all year long as she waited and waited in her loneliness for Christmas Eve to come so that Santa could deliver to her her most treasured and anticipated present. "Will you use your Chimney Magic now, Daddy? Please?" He ignored her plea, as she knew he would. He'd make her beg before he gave in, as if he begrudged her the pleasure or the effort. That was good. She knew that he would never refuse her anything. She wanted to beg for him. But she knew that he couldn't wait to give her what she asked for. He was Santa, after all. But she loved begging for more from him. She whimpered and whined as much for her own pleasure as for his. "Please, Daddy? Please? Please use Chimney Magic in my pussy, Daddy. Please. I need your magic cock so badly, Daddy." With those words his pace increased. His only other response was to grab a handful of her hair in his hands to pull her head back, as if he were reining in the reindeer pulling his sleigh. Kristen laughed with a happy, wicked, sound, before changing her pleas to spoiled, whining, almost childish demands. "Do it now, Daddy! Do it now! Use Chimney Magic now!" She knew what she wanted, and she couldn't wait any longer. Daddy had to give it to her. Santa had to bring her what she asked for. Her father released her hair, letting her sink back down to spread her arms and splay her hands against the smooth, cool surface of the wooden floor. Her eyes opened as she looked across at the presents before her head, all stacked and scattered underneath the tree. She could see up into the branches, looking at the ornaments and lights from beneath, an unusual point of view that she experienced only this one night of the year with her daddy. His stiff cock slipped in and out of her tightly clutching cunt. Daddy's cock wasn't small, but it wasn't big. Not now. Not as big as it could be. Not quite yet. Daddy thrust himself into her, burying his cock in her to the hilt. His hips crushed the soft flesh of her ass, pressing it flat against her pelvic bones. She squealed, once, as his cock reached up into her further than he had yet tonight, delivering a tingling, electric sensation to her womb that quickly continued, shooting throughout her body. Then it happened. Santa's cock started to grow. It thickened and lengthened inside of her, filling her and filling her more and filling her even more. Her daddy's cock grew so that she felt first stretched, then stuffed, then like she was almost to the point of bursting, to the point of literally exploding from the inside out. "Oh, fuck, Daddy! Fuck! Fucking, Yes, Daddy! Oh, fuck, I so fucking love you, Daddy! I love you, Santa. I fucking love you!" WIth that, her daddy started to pull his cock from her, so that the thick, full length of him rubbed and tugged at her pussy, as if it were pealing her from the inside out. The time it took for him to withdraw, pulling on her cunt lips the whole way out, let her know how very, very big he had become for her. Even as he withdrew, the Chimney Magic faded, and his cock shrank back to mere human size, but only long enough for him to hold himself steady before thrusting back into her, hard and deep. And then he grew again. "Oh fucking fuck, Daddy! Fuck! Fuck! My daddy, my lover-daddy! Oh, fuck, yes, Daddy!" His cock grew inside of her. She felt like no other woman on earth would ever feel. No other woman on earth would fuck her daddy, Santa. No other woman on earth would be filled with magical Santa daddy-cock. She was special. She was Santa's loving and beloved daughter. Her daddy fucked her and filled her in this most amazing way, over and over again. She felt empowered and beautiful and desirable, but most of all she felt utterly and completely dominated by the most powerful and loving man she knew. Her hands reached out and about, frantically searching the smooth floor for anything to grab, for something to hang on to. She felt like she was falling, tumbling through a twinkling, colorful void, and if she didn't catch herself she would surely crash and die. Her fingernails scratched across the waxy sheen of the wood floor in frustrated desperation. As happened every Christmas Eve with her daddy she felt her body starting to spin out of control. The thought and feel of him inside of her drove her to the brink of sanity and beyond. Her daddy was ripping her apart with the most magical, magnificent cock that any woman has ever felt, and the one cock that Kristen knew she should never, ever crave, let alone actually feel inside of her. "Your cunt belongs to Daddy, Kristen." She screamed. "Your hot, tight cunt belongs to Daddy, and only to Daddy, my little girl." She clawed at the wooden floor with her fingernails, digging for purchase, trying to find any way to hang onto reality as her mind spun loose. She lost herself in a torrent of screams, wails, and unbearable pleasure. Every fiber of her being cried out to make it stop and a the same time to somehow have more. She wanted to come over and over, and to stop coming as soon as she could because the intense pleasure of it threatened to snuff out her very existence. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" She cried the words out over and over as he fucked her ruthlessly with the biggest cock any woman could ever imagine taking, and truly more cock than any woman had ever actually had in her life. When she felt like she could not possibly take any more, when it felt like she really was about to explode from inside, one final, wrenching orgasm struck her dumb. Her words died as her throat constricted and every muscle in her body tensed and froze in place, as if rigor mortis had instantly set in, and then she felt it all begin to subside. Her eyes hovered, half-closed, as she lay in a near exhausted trance. In the back of her mind she knew that he had, in a final moment of fury and might, come deep inside of her. His, her daddy's cock, was shrinking now, retreating back to its merely human, wonderful form. Santa subsided, laying atop her, the sweat from his exertions making a slippery matt between his belly and her back. His mouth found her neck, kissing her tenderly there until she turned her head and his lips wickedly found hers, drinking her in with a deep, loving, incestuous kiss that tickled her cheeks and chin with his fluffy, scratchy white beard. As she kissed him she became conscious of the flood of sticky cum pouring out of her pussy. It was the most wonderful feeling. Along with Chimney Magic Santa had used Delivery Magic on his cock, the magic that allowed him to pull millions of toys from a single sack. Not only had his cock felt almost unbearably big inside of her, but his cum was multiplied ten fold as well, so that he pumped what seemed like gallons of it into her, leaving it to leak and pour out of her tormented cunt in a virtual torrent as his cock subsided and released the flood. Nothing in the world made her feel as fertile and taken as volumes of her daddy's magical cum gushing out from inside of her, while knowing that for every drop she lost, another remained inside of her womb and with her forever. "Merry Christmas, Sugarplum," he said fondly. "Merry Christmas, Daddy." * * * Santa half-dozed as the sleigh jerked to a halt on another rooftop. He shook his head, trying to clear it enough to at least robotically go through the motions. No one in the world appreciated how repetitively, monotonously boring this job was. A hundred million rooftops. A hundred million chimneys, or their equivalents. A hundred million trees or rows of stockings or whatever. Notes and carrots and cookies and milk. Over and over and over again. A hundred million times in one night. Except for him, it wasn't one night, it was around two hundred weeks, give or take. That was how long it took him, in "personal Santa time" using Clock Magic to make all of his Christmas Eve deliveries. The ordeal for Santa started around eleven PM these days, and it finished at about 5 AM, but more than two hundred weeks later to him. It did work to his advantage with Kristen, though. It left him with a lot of time to think, as well as to recharge between sessions. For Kristen, only minutes or at most fractions of hours, if she needed to nap, were passing. For Kris, it was weeks and weeks. But that meant that every time he saw her again he was more than raring to go, and she bore the full force of his pent up passions. What mattered more to Santa now, though, was Kristen's loneliness. After they'd been caught, Mrs. Kringle had raged that Kristen would never be allowed home again. If she could have she might have thrown Kris out on his jiggly ass, too, but throwing Santa out of his North Pole workshop was hardly ever an option. More to the point, she needed Kris and she knew it. If she lost him then she lost her last lifeline with the living world. She could never manage her illness on her own. So Kristen lived alone in Milwaukee. She struggled through life in a world for which they'd never prepared her. She didn't know how to relate to people. It was actually amazing that she'd found a job that suited her, selling toys in a toy store, except that she related better to the toys than she did to the people around her. Admittedly, the fact that the toys could talk back did not make that as crazy as it sounds, but still. Of course she wanted a baby. She was a growing, mature, vibrant woman. Santa knew that. Fuck, he knew that better than anyone, he thought, as he remembered the cute, chirping demonstrations of her orgasms in his mind. Her body had come to life, and every aching fiber in her body cried out to be fertile and have children. But at the same time, her psyche needed it, too. She was lost and alone in a vast, foreign world. She needed one person, even an infant, to make her feel less alone. * * * Kristen watched as her dad methodically dipped the very edge of his cookie into his milk, brought it to his mouth and nippled just that corner that he'd dampened. She watched him chew it, then realized that he was watching her watching him, and smiling back at her with those damned, wonderful, warm eyes of his. "I love watching you eat cookies, Daddy. It reminds me of home." Santa scowled then, not much, not so much that anyone else would have noticed, but Kristen did. "How's Mom?" He looked at her and his eyes filled with sadness. It was a heart-wrenching sight, the most heart-wrenching sight on earth, perhaps, to see Santa's eyes fill with sadness. "Nothing's changed. No, that's not right. She's gotten worse." Kristen pictured her mom, sleeping past noon, then getting up in her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers to make a cup of tea, which she'd silently sip, alone at the table, before going back to bed for a few more hours. "For a while she'd really been hell on the elves. No one could do anything right, anymore. But then even that stopped. It wasn't that she accepted it. She just stopped caring. I almost wish she'd start yelling at them again." Kristen stared into her own glass of milk. She didn't know what to say. She knew what he meant, and how it must make him feel. She felt so sorry for him. It had been hard enough to grow up with that, in that kind of environment, but now at least she was out. She didn't want to be. She wanted to be back home, with Dad. But not with Mom. She missed her, but she couldn't live that way anymore. * * * Santa fucked her brutally, thrusting in and out of her tight, young cunt with his huge bulk and stiff cock like a man who hadn't had sex in weeks, and who had barely had sex at all in hundreds of years — because he hadn't. "Take Daddy's cock, Kristen," he growled. "Let Daddy show you that he loves your sweet young body more than any man has ever loved a pretty, little girl. Come for Daddy and show him how much you love his cock, too." Kristen writhed around beneath his bulk, with her long arms and legs wrapped as far around him as she could manage, holding him close to her as he lost all control. Her fingers scrabbled and clawed across his back, hunting for something, anything to grab hold of. Together, under his weight, she sank deeply into the mattress of her bed, which creaked and moaned itself under the tumultuous burden of Santa's driving thrusts. Her moans and squeals were heavenly to Santa's ears. He loved giving. He loved making people happy. But nothing made him feel more complete, more loved and like he was giving as well as receiving more than fucking this sweet, beautiful creature that he and Mrs. Kringle had brought into the world twenty plus years ago. She was so beautiful, so sexy, and she made her poor, tired, harried father feel more loved than any other woman on earth ever could. She was just so fucking sexy, it was impossible to resist her. Santa listened to the sounds of his daughter coming in his arms. It was absolutely magical. She would start to sing, a soft, even tone, which would suddenly rise in pitch and then abruptly catch in her throat, like the chirp of a small, beautiful bird, as if she didn't dare to voice what she was feeling at that climactic moment, or as if there was no sound on earth to match what she felt. Then she would sigh as she exhaled. She did that, over and over, singing, faltering, and sighing, singing, faltering and sighing, as she came over and over with her fathers loving, thrusting cock inside of her. Her cunt was so tight. It squeezed his cock with powerful, constricting spasms that sent him over the edge. The girl was so strong she could have squeezed lumps of coal into diamonds. She squeeze his cock as she chirped in frenzied, excited climax. Every time she did that, Santa came. Every time she made those precious, perfect noises, her daddy came inside of her. Santa felt the cum welling up inside of his balls again. For the fifth time this hour, from Kristen's point of view, his cock burst inside of her, releasing a torrent of gushing cum. He filled his little girl with the very seed that had created her. He pumped his daughter's womb full of cock and cum, groaning and growling himself in triumph, as she moaned and screamed wordlessly beneath him. Santa emptied his cock into his daughter. He felt himself jerk and pump, pushing blasts of cum into her, and feeling that sense of pleasure and power with each pulse of his cock. Four times his cock jerked and gushed. With each jerk he thrust his hips forward, crushing Kristen further down into the mattress and holding them both there, with his cock stabbed into her to the hilt. After he came he did it again, twice, as if hoping to feel again that wonderful, pleasing thrill of emptying even more cum into his daughter. He wanted to lie here in her arms now. He wanted to hold her lovingly in his arms and to tell her over and over how beautiful she was, and how special and loved he made her feel. He wanted to tell her that of all of the women on earth, she was the only woman who did or could do this for him, and who made his heart ache this way. He should feel guilty. He couldn't really tell when he'd become a hollow man. Years and years, many hundreds of years by his count, were spent taking the same, tedious steps over and over again. It all started to run together. It was all empty, and eventually he was empty, too. For a long time Mrs. Kringle helped to keep him in line, until she got out of kilter herself. Things went dark after that, for her and for him. Kristen brought some brief joy into their life, an antidote for their shared monotony and loneliness. For a long while she was actually more important to he and his wife even than Christmas itself. That had lasted for quite a while. It was a wonderful, joyous time, up until Kristen started to grow into a woman, and to rebel against her own, lonely lot in life. Somewhere in there she went from being their blessing to his only vice. Santa squinted his eyes closed. She was a horrible, unforgivable vice for him. Sometimes the thought of what he'd done, and what he was doing, shook him to the core. But he wasn't hollow any more. She was the only gift he'd received himself in hundreds of years. She changed him back to who he was. She filled him up and fattened him up in a way that no one could ever understand. She brought him back from the brink. She was the only woman on earth for whom he was a man and a lover, instead of jolly old Santa Claus. He wanted to stay with her now, but he couldn't. Not yet. He was enjoying this too much, and he was going to see it through. He pulled his cock from the bathing, clutching warmth of his daughter's wonderful cunt, and he lifted his body from hers smoothing and quickly so that for one instant that was not contact at all between them. Time stopped for Kristen. She lay frozen there before him, with her arms and legs still outstretched and raised like a bug who had died on its back, legs curled up before it. Kristen was out of Santa-Time now, and back in the time-flow of the real world. Kris sighed loudly as he pulled himself from the bed. He stared at her for a long while, admiring her beauty and the raw sexuality she exuded, even here and now, so artlessly and clumsily captured in mid-motion, locked in place in a moment of passion. Her face was contorted in a sort of agonized scream, but there was a trace of a smile there. Her back was arched, thrusting her tits forward as if begging her daddy to suck on them. Waiting Up For Santa Her cunt glistened, not only with her own, slick juices, but now her daddy's cum was starting to leak out, too. He'd fucked her so many times in a row, his cum was dripping out of her pussy in long, shimmering rivers. The bed sheets beneath her were soaked with a large, round stain betraying the illicit, wonderful love a father and daughter felt for each other. It was hard to leave her, but it wouldn't be for long. He would go take care of a day of deliveries. When he came back, his cock would quickly get hard at the sight of her. He would crawl back onto the bed, into the same position he'd just been in. He would touch her, and she would slip back into Santa-Time with him. His cock would plunge into her again and the fucking would resume. She wouldn't last too much longer. For her, it had been over an hour of fucking. She might be able to last for one more, but not much beyond that. She'd been coming non-stop for daddy for most of that time. Eventually she would pass out. She'd eventually pass out with her daddy's cum cascading out of her cunt in a flood, the cum from ten or fifteen consecutive fucks, and Daddy would leave again to do another few weeks worth of deliveries, while she slept and recovered, and Daddy returned to her to make love to her again. Santa loved Christmas Eve. It was his chance to give his daughter more love than any other woman on earth could ever experience. It was his chance to use his Christmas magic in the most sordid, twisted and wonderful way he'd ever conceived. * * * Santa stared up at the security camera. In a fit of humorous rebellion, she smiled and flipped it the bird. There was only about a one in ten thousand chance that his image would be caught on a single frame of the film, and then almost no chance that anyone would ever notice that single frame. If they did, they would certainly write it off as a clever and untraceable joke by a bored technician at the security firm. He rummaged now through the packages in the unclaimed bin. Pain killers, analgesics, antibiotics, and more. People filled their bodies with chemicals for more and more reasons these days. Each time he came across something Mrs. Kringle could try, like Prozac or Abilify, Santa pulled it out and stuffed it in an inside pocket of his thick coat. He hated stealing, but he more than made up for it with what he left behind for the pharmacist, and he changed the computer records, too, so that no one would get in trouble for his petty crime. They'd just put it down to some mixup and whip up a new batch. Pockets bulging with anti-depressants, Santa moved to the heating vent, a sad and disconcerting substitute for a fireplace. Using them was the absolute worst of all. He hated it. It probably wasn't even worth the effort, either. She'd probably refuse to try any of these, or claim they didn't work if she did, or else declare that they gave her headaches or stomach cramps or bowel problems or gas. She'd do anything to stay stuck where she was at, and to keep him stuck with her. With that thought, he twitched his nose, and the twisting, wrenching, vomit-inducing process of exiting the pharmacy began. For one brief eternity, Santa's eyeballs felt like they were the size of beach balls, crammed into the holes of a salt shaker, filled with enough hydrogen to float a zeppelin, and then ignited. As the flames seared his toes, he felt the sneeze coming on. It started in his nostrils, where it felt like four thousand ants had initiated a flash mob. He felt his own neck arching back like a king cobra preparing to strike, and then all at once, in perfect imitation of the most evil creature in existence snatching candy from a baby, it was gone. Just as the ultimate release, achieved by sneezing the ultimate, total sneeze, was finally about to embrace Santa in the grandest, most majestic act of sternutation in the history of being bless, it was gone. Santa was left feeling empty and cheated, like a whore who'd been brought to the very brink and then paid, only to find she'd even been shorted on the bill. An instant before the whole thing started, it was over. It never happened, but it never happened forever, and the memory of it all never happening was seared into Santa's brain for the billion, trillionth time in one hundred years. He really, really had to start using the door, at least once in a while. * * * Kristen straddled her daddy as he lay on his back. For her part, she half-sat with her knees forward and up, heels down on the ground and almost sitting on her haunches, with his cock pushed up inside of her. His belly rose like a great, round ball between them. He bucked upward and rocked on occasion, driven by his lust while restrained by his own, hefty bulk. Kristen herself mostly controlled the action in this position. She rested her palms for the moment on his large, round belly, fingers splayed, actually helping it to move and shake each time he did try to thrust up into her. He'd heave himself up, grunting as he did so, and in so doing lift Kristen slightly up into the air, while thrilling her with the feel of his manhood pushing more deeply inside of her. As he fell back down his belly would shift and then shake. Kristen would give it an extra push, helping to exaggerate its wonderful motions. "Like a bowl full of jelly," Kristen laughed, with a sound like tinkling bells, teasing him. He didn't mind, she knew. He was proud of his fat Santa-belly, and more than that Kristen loved it and he knew it. Kristen loved that fact that her daddy was so large, so that there was more of him to love, it made him look bigger and more powerful, and at least in that way he made her feel like a slight, tiny elf herself. She closed her eyes so that she could focus on the feel of his cock inside of her. He was so hard for her. She loved Christmas Eve, when Daddy came to fuck her all night long, over and over and over again. No other man could ever give a woman a night the way Santa did. No other woman on earth, Kristen knew, had ever been fucked so many times in one night by the same man, let alone by her own loving daddy. Kristen leaned forward, letting her hands slide from his belly to his chest to his neck, until they found and ran through the soft, long hair of his beard. She studied the gray white strands, watching as her fingers disappeared into its depths. "Kiss your father, Kristen. Give your pretty little lips to Daddy." She looked into his eyes. The twinkle was there, but it was faded, clouded over with his lust and love for her. She let her lips drive forward and down to his. Their lips met. His were warm and soft, moving gently over hers in a loving, teasing way, thrilling her beyond all reason. His whiskers brushed her nose and chin and cheeks, even as she continued to play her fingers through his beard. They kissed with passion. Their lips parted and tongues met, playing about like little birds flitting around a nest. Abruptly, he thrust up into the air again, lifting her up and filling her further with his cock. She moaned into his mouth at the feel of him, while hanging onto his beard with her hands to hold their lips together and maintain the kiss. As he dropped back down she felt his belly shake beneath her own. The image of it in her mind made her smile, which made her break the kiss. She pushed herself upright again, keeping her hands in his beard and letting her arms squeeze her tits together, making them rounder and pushing them out to tempt him with her nipples. It had the desired effect. His eyes locked onto her there. She didn't wait for him to move, but instead leaned forward to offer them to him. As if on command he lifted his head up, then pushed himself up onto his elbows, and found one nipple with his mouth. His whiskers brushed the flesh of her breasts. She pushed them more eagerly into his mouth, cupping them with her hands as she fed them to him, first one, then the other. He fell back away, moving his own hands to rest on her thighs as he looked up at her with love. She could feel the same foggy, lusty expression she read on his face covering her own. "What do you want for Christmas, little girl?" He said it without a smile or hint of humor. He was too overcome with lust for her, and that more than anything excited Kristen. She wanted so much to be a woman for him, and she was. She was something for him that no one else in the world could be, and he was that and more to her. "I want to have a baby, Santa." The words came out without thinking. She hadn't meant to say it. They'd been over this. If she was to have a baby, it had to be by finding a lover, and preferably by making him a husband. That was part of the reason she was hear in Milwaukee. Part of the reason. He looked at her with sadness. To escape the sudden mood swing, Kristen pushed herself up and leaned backwards, bracing her own arms on his thighs while she arched her back, thrusting her tits upward towards the ceiling. The posture drove his cock even more deeply up into her body. She writhed there, gyrating and undulating to move him inside of her as she listened to the sudden onset of moans and groans he made from that the pleasure that she now gave him. He began to buck and thrust up into her again, now with more energy and ferocity, threatening to topple her over. She pushed herself forward again to cover his belly with her body. She hugged him tightly, lowering her mouth again to his, wanting to show him through a deep kiss how much passion he inspired in her as well. Before their lips met, she dared to voice her wish again. "Give me a baby, Daddy. I want to have a baby." Before he could even think of answering, her kiss smothered his mouth and her cunt clamped down on his cock, squeezing it and milking him to use her passion to drive all reason from his mind. * * * "So the first elf says, and I'm serious, this is exactly what he says, "WTF, Santa, I know I'm short, but I'm not that short!" Kristen laughed for what seemed like the first time in months. The story wasn't even that funny, but Dad's laugh was contagious, and Kristen felt light and airy and so at ease. She realized she hadn't felt like that all year, not since last Christmas. This sucked. She knew it was a problem. She knew it was something that she had to work on, that she had to overcome. But the fact was that no one in the world made her feel as happy and at ease as her dad. Okay, so he was Santa, he made everyone feel that way, but this was different. He was kind. He'd always been there for her. It was probably hard for other women to see, but he was sexy. He was everything to Kristen, and now more than ever she felt like nothing. She felt like nobody, in a sea of somebodies, terrified of being noticed and yet terrified of never being noticed. She didn't know what to do or how to do it. She felt like everything she tried to do or say came out wrong, or would come out wrong if she could get up the courage to try. She rarely did. Except with Dad. She could stare into his easy, bright eyes all day and feel like she never wanted to be anywhere else. And he made her feel sexy, too. "So have you given any thought to letting someone share your load? To give you more time?" He looked at her sternly, and yet still with a touch of a smile in his eyes. "No, not really. I'm not ready for that. I'd never be able to live with myself if they messed up a delivery." "Dad, it's not that important. Not any more. They've got robotic factories and mass production. Toys are the cheapest things in the world to make." Santa snorted. They'd discussed this a hundred times, and his dismissal of modern "toys" was plain. "Dad, you know it, too. You barely visit one tenth of the houses anymore." He looked at her with those same twinkling eyes, but she could see the sadness behind them. Times were changing, whether he liked it or not, and the fact was that he should like it. Santa was getting old. He was older than the hills, yes, but his spirit was bound to sag some day. "Well, who do you propose to help me. You?" "You know I didn't get any of your magic, except being able to talk with toys. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really your daughter." "Oh, you are. You have my temperament." Kristen looked at him. She wondered if he was ever as shy as she was, but she knew that in a way he was. He hid it behind the suit and the laugh and the whole routine, but it was there. He'd had plenty of time to find another lover, and Kristen was sure that there was more than one woman who would wait for him each Christmas Eve the way she did. But he couldn't do it. He didn't know how. It was too hard to put himself out there. Somehow, she and he were perfect for each other. Somehow, she knew, he was the only man she would ever truly connect with, and she was sure that she was the same for him. This was their destiny. She knew it was. She just had to keep loving him and showing her love for him, in every way she could, until he admitted it to her and himself. "Oh, Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Kristen writhed under his bulk, withstanding a torrent of powerful, thrilling thrusts, magnified a hundred fold by Santa's artful use of Chimney Magic. With each filling stab she felt as if she were going to be ripped in half, only to find every nerve of her body infused with rapturous tingles. Her mind snapped. Every thought in her mind burst free with no chance of restraint. "Fuck me full of babies, Daddy. Please fuck my tight cunt full of your babies! I want to make babies with you, Daddy. Make babies inside of your little baby. Make babies inside me." His passion increased ten fold. His mouth found her breasts. She arched her back, pushing them firmly into his face. The scratch of his whiskers there sent shock waves through her body. The hot, wet feel of his lips on her nipple sent waves of pleasure coursing through her. "Fuck your baby full of babies, Daddy! Please? Please?" He growled then. She knew he was coming, and the knowledge of it sent her into spasming, contorting, heart wrenching orgasm with him. She wanted to keep begging and pleading with him to give her her heart's desire. She wanted him to know what she truly wanted from him, and to scream it to the world as she came for him and with him. She wanted to, but the ability to speak coherent words left her. She was left screaming, in a state of total, confused rapture, knowing only that right here, right now, she had exactly what she wanted, from the only man in the world who could give it to her. * * * Yes, he and Mrs. Kringle made mistakes in her upbringing, but they had done their best — especially him, when the depression fell on Mrs. Kringle soon after Kristen was born. They did their best, but with time she matured and they drifted apart, as he fell into his work to escape the sorrow and anger from Mrs. Kringle's depression. Kristen handled in her own way, with rebellious anger but no where to run. Then one day, she was a beautiful woman. He didn't know when it happened, but it did. He started to see her for what she was, and hated himself for the desires she evoked in him. But it was done. He fell in love with her, and he desired her like no man should ever desire his own daughter. And yet she was perfect. She filled a gaping hole in him, and in time he learned that he did the same for her. It was inevitable. They were meant to be together, like this. This had to be right, because it was so wonderful and fulfilling. She made him happy again. He made her happy. They were everything to each other, and he never, ever wanted to let her go, or to be without her. * * * The third zombie almost got him. Santa was out of ammo on the shotgun anyway, so he tossed it aside and pulled a grenade. In his head he screamed "Eat frag, dirt bags!" In reality, he gritted his teeth as he pulled the pin, tossed, ducked and rolled behind a crate. There was a zombie waiting for him there, one that quickly, gorily and graphically, with a maw gaping supernaturally wide and only half-filled with yellowed, rotting teeth ripped at his throat and ended his adventure. Santa tossed the controller down in disgust. He needed to find the power-up on this level if he was ever going to get by this particular horde. Purely out of habit he looked at the clock on the wall, which still read 2:34. He looked back at the screen. Fuck, this was one great toy. He didn't like a whole lot of modern crap, but these things were awesome. They were a great way to vent his frustrations during the long, toy-making year, and on Christmas eve they afforded him an occasional break from the tedium of his deliveries. He glanced at the clock again. 2:34. It was time to move on. He'd sat here long enough, and gotten through 8 more levels. A few days worth of deliveries would get him to Anthony Weaver's house. He had the same game. Santa transferred his personal info to his own memory card, took it out, and began to put things back the way they should be when he hesitated. Shoot, give the kid a thrill, he thought. On a whim, he left his screen name — Kris Kringledeath — not only loaded on the game, but right there on the screen. Mr. Vanderheim was going to have a hard time explaining to his son how he'd gotten through 23 levels of Storm of the Dead in a single night, just as an elaborate joke to make it look like Santa played video games. Little Andy Vanderheim was also gong to have a hard time convincing his mom and dad that he hadn't been up all night playing instead of sleeping. Only Mrs. Vanderheim was going to get away scott free. Santa smirked. It took another half hour, but he played his new character name, MomHammer, all the way up to level 17 before he quit, moved to the fireplace, squeezed his eyes shut and endured the trauma of chimney travel once again. * * * His cock felt so good in her mouth. Kristen closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of the satiny smooth flesh of it pressing against the inside of her cheek. She moved her tongue over it, exploring it like a blind man exploring the face of a lover. She closed her eyes, focused her will, and tried again. She eased forward, feeling her father's cock head brush and then press against her palate. It slid further back as Kristen eased herself forward. The shaft of his cock brushed her lips as she eased it in, further and further. He let out a soft moan, drawing on from Kristen in return. She hummed her passion into the shaft of her father's cock. Kristen so loved giving him pleasure. "Oh, Baby. Daddy is so lonely. You make Daddy so happy, Sugarplum." His words encouraged her to try even harder. She wanted to do this so badly. His cock head touched the roof of her mouth at the back of her throat. She willed herself to stay calm. There was no gag reflex yet. She eased herself further forward. His cock head pushed her tonsils aside as her lips slipped further and further down towards the base of his shaft. She felt his fingers slip into her hair. "Oh, Kristen, that's it. Suck Daddy's cock. Make Daddy come for you." It started as a tickle. Kristen recognized it, reacting with instant detachment, trying to ignore it the way one tries to ignore the onset of a sneeze. She tried to think of nothing but calm. Kristen eased further forward, feeling his cock head pushing down her throat. She was doing it. She was almost there. She tightened her lips on his cock, trying to squeeze him like the tightest cunt he'd ever fucked. That was too ambitious. The gag reflex hit her before she knew it. She tried to resist it, to ignore it, but it was too late, and the sensation was too strong. She started to choke. Waiting Up For Santa His hands on her head now gripped her firmly. He held her in place against her will, raising her panic as his cock pressed against the soft flesh in the back of her throat. She began to struggle. He abruptly released her. She pulled back quickly, feeling the length of his cock slipping out of her lips, leaving her with a pang of regret. She'd gotten so close. "I'm sorry, Baby. It felt so good." "It's okay, Daddy. I don't mind." "You've been at this for a while, Kristen. Why don't you rest." "No, Daddy! I want to do this. As a Christmas present for you. Santa never gets anything he wants." He was silent then. He'd been more sullen this year than ever before. She wondered what was happening at home. She spent so much time feeling sorry for herself, she forgot how much more difficult it all was for him. She set herself to her task again, swearing she would succeed this time. She went, slowly and methodically, through the process again. His cock pressed into her throat, further than it did before, with no hint of discomfort. There wasn't the slightest tickle. Her lips pushed down, down, down all the way to the very base of his shaft. His cock felt huge in her mouth. It completely filled her throat, pressing against her cheeks, pushing her tongue down flat and spreading her lips as wide as they could bear. Daddy was cheating! He was using Chimney magic. Kristen pulled back, sucking her way along the length of his cock before releasing it. "Cheater." He laughed as his hands found her hair again and pulled her mouth back over his cock, driving her forcefully onto it as his hips thrust up, brutally fucking her face. Again there was no hint of tickle. His cock felt gigantic, as if it could not have fit in her mouth if it were a fraction of an inch larger. It slipped all the way down her throat until the hair on his balls tickled her chin and nose. He held her there, with his cock impaling her face, as her lips worked lovingly on his shaft and she hummed her delight. He was cheating, but this was fun. She'd work on her skills another time. Sooner or later she'd do it without magic. But this was too much fun, and Daddy did enjoy it so much. She bobbed on his cock now, fucking it easily, using her lips and tongue and throat to give her daddy the most wonderful blow job any Santa could ever ask for. Daddy's hands reached out to grab her thigh and pull her to him. Before she knew it, his tongue was inside her with some Chimney magic of its own. It pushed deeply into her, feeling as big as a cock, but far more agile, moving around and around, stretching her and pressing her in the most luxurious way. In moments Kristen was coming for her daddy. It all felt so perfect, with the colored lights of the tree painting the room, with both of them moaning loudly in their passion, and with Daddy's cock right where it belonged, deep, deep down Kristen's throat. His groans grew louder. He was going to come soon. He was going to come with her. She released his cock to struggle through squealing a special request. "Use Delivery magic, too, Daddy. Please?" She fell on him again. As soon as the last word left her mouth, his cock was inside of it, filling it and plunging more deeply into her. She felt his balls tighten in the palms of her hands. His groans grew louder, and more gruff. Readying for his explosion, she pulled back so that she held the head of his cock in the cavity of her mouth, just on the tip of her tongue. Daddy came for her. His semen flooded into her mouth like a dam breaking. In moments it had completely filled her mouth. She was forced to swallow some of it, to keep from gagging, as even more forced its way past her lips, dripping down her chin onto her tits. And still there was more. It was like a garden hose had been turned on and left to run. Her mouth filled with cum, which flooded out over her lips like a garden fountain, running down over her tips with the warm, silky feel of caramel syrup. She had to pull his cock from her mouth to breath, swallowing as much as she could while letting much of the rest flood out onto her chin and chest. She aimed his cock at her forehead as he continued to come, covering her entire face with his white, soft, loving semen. Kristen pushed one hand up to wipe a palmful of cum from her face. She pushed it quickly down, shoving her cum covered fingers up into her cunt. She repeated the act, over and over, transferring her father's loving cum from her face and mouth up into her pussy. She jammed her fingers as far into herself as she could, as if she were finger painting the inside of her cunt with her father's cum. His impassioned groans filled her ears. Kristen whimpered back, overcome herself with love and lust. "Oh, Daddy! I love you so much!" She could almost make out his own declaration of unquenchable and forbidden love for her, between the tortured and contorting sounds of his ecstatic moans. In her head, with his cum filling and covering her, she heard it clearly. "I love you, too, Sugarplum. Daddy loves you so much." * * * Kristen lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, coldly accepting that her adventure was over for another year. Through the magic of Christmas, Daddy had fucked her non-stop for days on end, giving her just enough time to eat and nap between long, rapturous episodes of feeling his wonderful cock inside of her. Every pore of her body was literally dripping with his cum. She imagined that she couldn't walk without feeling it sloshing around inside of her. It made her feel amazing, beautiful, loved, special and, most of all, confident. Daddy made her feel like a sexual, sensual woman, a feeling that utterly evaded her every other day of the year. She felt wonderful, but at the same time she felt more lost, alone and stranded that she had all year long. * * * Deep inside Kristen's pussy a single, white figure hurried along, with a large, round white head and a long, long, white beard. The beard wiggled, back and forth, as the head swam up, up, and up on a long, monotonous journey to use Chimney magic to squeeze into a tight place without breaking it and in so doing deliver a magical, wonderful, Christmas Eve present. * * * His sleigh passed over row upon row of rooftops, arranged beneath him like the steps of a continent-long ladder that he had to climb to make his way to the North Pole. These were all done. He was backtracking, now, finally on his way back home, his nearly year-long evening finally ended. Kris leaned back, closed his eyes, and snoozed. They knew the way home. There was no reason to "drive" the sleigh from here on. What would the world think, Santa wondered, if they knew that the one thing that still kept Christmas coming every year, letting Santa overcome is ennui and his exhaustion, the one thing that kept Santa coming, was his love and lust for his own, beautiful daughter? He wished he could be there, too, when Kristen discovered that Santa had finally given her what she had asked for, needed, and truly wanted. He hoped he'd done the right thing. He hoped that finally maybe they could all find a little more happiness, not just at Christmas, but all year long. He hoped they could all find a way to be a little more than they were yesterday, and take joy from that, and from each other. And he knew he'd see her soon. He'd see her before Christmas, this year, and everything would work out for the best. It had to, damn it. He was Santa. * * * Okay, okay. I know that now I'll be on Santa's naughty list for all time, and I apologize to anyone who's mental image of Santa is now permanently and horribly twisted beyond recognition. Still, the story was fun to write, and I hope fun to read. If not... well, I'll be getting nothing but coal for many a Christmas, I think. — Rob m'Dear