2 comments/ 4779 views/ 5 favorites "Santa's Elves Will Do WHAT?" Ch. 02 By: ClodiaP You realize that soon I'll be telling you only what I HEARD happened to the "elves" on their gigs? Only my own experience is first-hand; actually, I considered telling only my story, and, you know, maybe I will. It has GOT to be the most extreme. It may be a warning to bright, idiotically naïve high-school girls about playing elves from Camel Toe Village and waltzing into Christmas Eve gatherings of strange guys. The five of us met again after classes, in the same conference room of the library, for a report on the project: raising money for our pathetically undersubscribed Christmas fund by hiring ourselves out to Christmas Eve stag parties. We all had assignments from the first meeting, when Chairwoman Lana Erickson ended up convincing us to strip as a pledge to go through with this...um..."plan." We had stood around this same conference table—the library was closed-bare boobs projecting and pubic triangles pressing the table's edge—depending on how long our legs might be. Five Knights of the Round Table pledged to help hospitalized and institutionalized kids this Christmas. Oh, fuck, read chapter 1. Meeting two. All of us dressed in respectable school-day skirts and blouses—there's a dress code at Iron Mountain Regional—except a guy who sat silently beside Lana. Kevin Rondo is tall, built, blond, and supercilious beyond enduring... Just what we needed, I figured. But Lana had worked him over, apparently, so he just sat staring at his lap. "Right," said Lana. "Thanks for coming, girls. I have a lot to report. I've had 25 enthusiastic responses to my email to potential Christmas Eve gatherings of mostly men." "Fuck," said Georgia, drawling out the word. "We goin' to get the whole senior class involved?" "No," said Lana. "We are not. If it gets that big, and the whole thing becomes public, then, as some anonymous pessimist put it—'all hell will break loose.'" She looked around. "As a footnote, here, I said 'mostly men' responded. But there are bound to be SOME women at these gatherings. So think about their reactions, girls, so you can be ready." "Oh, my God, right..." I said slowly. "Women just loathe younger women who are getting all the men's attention. They're going to want us burned at stake." The always weird Georgia said, knowingly, "Or like maybe impaled on an 11-inch dildo, with a 10-pound weight hanging from each tit." "Shut up, Georgia," snapped Gerry. "Who needs your pornographic fantasies?" "Ain't a fantasy, honey," said Georgia in a tone of weary wisdom. "Happened to a friend of my older sister, Jen." "That's what they do girls in South Carolina? No wonder you left." "Nope, happened in New Orleans, whore house in the French quarter. Bunch of Texas guys. Ended up paying her 25 grand for the inconvenience. Couple months, her tits were about normal." Lana had leaped to her feet. She brought down both fists on the table. I hadn't seen her lose it like this. "WHY are we arguing about this CRAP?" "Yeah, it can't be that bad in a Boston suburb," said Marcia doubtfully. "Get on with it, okay?" "Right," said Lana, with a long exhalation. She sat down. "The 25 are too many. I got back to them—in person"—she looked up and grinned. "I told them we had limited resources, this was a charity, so we thought the size of the gift should be the deciding factor." "But how many?" I asked. "Just the six of us," said Lana "This has GOT to be discreet. I told disappointed customers that next year is a possibility, IF this is kept under wraps..." "Mind telling us the so-called 'bottom line'" drawled Georgia. "Bottom line, there are six groups willing to pay—I mean, donate—15,699 to the kids' fund for our services." She looked up, that adorable Swedish girl's face, with the perfect skin and deep dimples, framed in chestnut hair, radiant with pride. "Shit," said Gerry, with her thoughtful frown. "What do they want for THAT kind of money?" "I made clear we are not selling sexual services," said Lana. "Indeed, in one case I had to mention that just to suggest a price for sexual services violates state law." Gerry had glanced at Kevin, first, but now was looking down blushing. "I don't mean that, so much," she said. "But for that kind of money they want us to bulge, right?" Marcia said, with her usual want of delicacy, "You mean your tits won't be big enough?" Gerry gulped, redden further, but nodded. To our astonishment, the subdued Kevin looked up at Gerry with I think a rather adoring grin. He said, "Gerry, with these guys a bare chest, a décolletage, and a pretty face are going to be a sensation. Are you ready for every guy in the room to stare at your chest and look love sick and never, ever stop yearning to bed you?" For Kevin, that amounted to a speech. Lana turned to him. "That was very nice, Kevin," she said, "and I agree. And since no one has asked, I remind you that I said, "'Six groups.'" She nodded, smiling, "I had one, I guess, liberated women's group—a local chapter of a well-known pro-choice organization—that was VERY upset with my offer until I said I could provide a..." she frowned. "Well, a male elf." She said, looking down at the agenda, "I spoke with Kevin Rondo about assisting in our charitable efforts for the children of Iron Mountain and he generously agreed to be screened for involvement. She turned to him, smiling, and said, "Kevin, just take off your clothes." She might have dropped a 10 pound dumbbell in his lap. His head whirled to her. "WHAT?" "I said we had to screen you for suitability. I know all these girls have sexy bodies..." "This is an interview?" He sounded dazed. "Kevin, dear..." Lana's voice was soft as fingers sliding over sensitive flesh, "we're all your friends, here. How long have you known us? But this woman's group is donating—she glanced down at her notes—2,500 for the bulge in your green elf jockstrap-just as the guys are paying for the well-filled bra..." "Here," she said, and stood up. With a grin at him, she pulled her black sweater over her head; she didn't even bother to unhook her bra. She dragged it down rather roughly, so her boobs popped up, the nipples stiffening a bit from the treatment. I actually began to get excited myself. "Okay?" she asked. Kevin stared, stood up, and slowly his hands moved to his belt. He muttered, "Oh, jeez, but now I have..." "So? My tits are stiff." Abruptly, ask one yanks off a bandage, he shoved down his pants and underwear. His legs were long, pale, with some light freckles. Got to admit, the view was breath-taking—I mean, for me, anyway. This was THE hunk in our grade. To our shame, not one of us acted like demure ladies. We STARED at it. Very thick and very long, as pale as ivory, rising from a bed of light blond hair. And this thing was actively stirring, now. As we all rudely stared, it was rising, arching back, the foreskin withdrawn so we saw the glistening dark berry. "Oh, Christ," said Kevin, his face about as red the head of his penis, and his voice shaking. He pressed his hand tight over his eyes. Lana reached down and gave the rigid dick a playful slap, which made Kevin jump up about three feet, and his stiffo was bouncing. She said, "It passes, Kevin. You are part of the team." She became businesslike. "Okay, costumes. As I said, Kevin will wear a green jock strap, with cloth tucked-in all around so a fringe of light and dark green triangles point down? Got it?" "No," said Georgia in that sleepy voice of hers, "I don't. Can't picture it." "This might help," said Lana. She slipped a large color photo out of her folder and held it up, two fingers pinching either side. "Oh, fuck," I said reverently. It was the girl's version of the costume. Essentially, a green thong and a tiny bra, each with a very small fringe of light and darker green triangles pointing downward. And dangling at front and center of both top and bottom were two suggestive green strings. Just pull them and the bra or panties opened and slid off?" Utterly unnecessarily, I said, "that's you?" "Duh," said Lana. I hate that word but I couldn't believe what I saw. Kevin was staring at it with his mouth open. Finally, just to break the silence, I said, "Nice little hat, though. Kevin's wearing that, too?" "Sure," said Lana. That's our trademark. Georgia drawled, "Honey, I'll wear that. But we're all gonna get raped. You know that, right? Wear your diaphragm and don't fight it." I wish someone had laughed. "Santa's Elves Will Do WHAT?" Ch. 03 Christmas Eve. In our little town, just north of Boston, snow flew, slanting down in white slashes against the night. But everywhere were lights, electric candles in black windows, bright wrappings of colored lights around evergreens in front yards, vertical rows of lights across roof lines and planters and framing picture windows. The town was proclaiming the good news of the birth of our Savior, or, perhaps, the arrival of Santa, or, perhaps, just doing what their families always had done. In the rear of cab-not one well heated—I was in my heavy overcoat. Beneath it was only the elf get-up: a thong with a fringe around my waist, a mini-brassiere that revealed more or less all but my nipples, and the little hat with the pointy ears, which was pinned to my long blond mane so it would stay on. I was shaking. Because of the cold, maybe. Dressing, I had scrutinized my image. Let me avoid blasphemy at Christmas. For Pete's sake, my ass cheeks were bare, the crack just filled by the green thong. My belly was naked to just above my pussy; actually, not even. I had had to shave a little. The skimpy bra held up my breasts, all right, but barely. I tried to imagine the ripe perfection of our chairwoman, Lana Erickson, in this outfit. What had she been thinking, for...um...Pete's sake? Maybe it was okay if you had perfect skin, a flawless shape with a dreamy torso, those svelte Swedish hips, and... It pissed me off. I could picture her tits suggestively lifted by the little bra. Well, I was bigger. It felt as though I was hugging to my chest a small basket with two jumbo melons. My hips were too big, too. And my butt... I shuddered. With the chill, I think. "Can you turn up the heat?" I asked meekly. "All this thing does, lady." "Oh." Do you know that "Kappa Kappa Kappa" is the oldest fraternity in America, founded in 1842—18 years before the Civil War—at Dartmouth College, then popping up, two year later, at Yale? That's right. Very distinguished. And they had donated $2,500 to the Iron Mountain High School Christmas Fund. And in return, they wanted my body at their Christmas Party. What was I supposed to do that was worth that kind of money? "Just be adorable, fun, flirty, and appropriately off color," Lana had said at our final briefing, "like an elf." "Ask for 'Jason,'" she had told me. "He will take care of you." "Here it is, lady," said the cabbie, swerving to the curb. Wow. An almost Medieval edifice of dark brick with chimneys, a porch, rows and rows of symmetrical windows, and a grand entrance. All set back among dark evergreens decorated only with snow. Generations of faithful Kappa-Kappa-Kappas had shelled out for this. Maybe they were really gentlemen? I paid, leaped out, scooted up the long walk—shoveled, but now filling-in rapidly—scooted up three flights of brick steps, grabbed the big cast-iron knocker...and held it, hesitating. What the fuck was I doing here? I'm a high-school senior, barely 18. These are college guys. Where the hell are their co-eds? I was feeling sorry for myself. You know what? At our last meeting, Georgia had said, "Wear your diaphragm." Advice a little out of date, but I had made sure I took my pills every day that week. Too cold out here. I gave the knocker a loud, demanding slam. My heart was ready to jump through my chest and go skittering over the snow like a scared hare. "Hi, Ellen, welcome. Come on in. The party has started." And, as I stepped into the light, "Oh, you really are cute. So great you are here." "Oh, thanks. You're Jason?" I managed a really warm smile. "Yep, and you're Ellen? Where will you disrobe?" "Disrobe?" the beginning of alarm. "Get into the Santa's Elf get-up, you know?" "Oh, sure..." I paused. "Just take my overcoat, that's it." "Really? Weren't you freezing?" I am handing him my overcoat, I am transformed into Santa's Elf. I try to smile warmly. He is staring down, speechless, at my bod. The bra seems to have slipped, a bit. One brown nipple is peeking above it in a little costume malfunction. "Oops," I gasp, laughing, and jerked up the wretched thing. "Meet the guys, Ellen" Suddenly, they are clapping, all around a big, very impressive room, with a huge and radiantly lighted tree in one corner, a picturesque blaze in the fireplace, and high drifts of gifts under the tree... Lots of guys on couches, standing around, walking in and out of what looked like the kitchen. But all of them had stopped, now, and were scoping out every inch of my body, clad and unclad. I straightened, stuck myself out, smiled, and waited. And then, I chirped, "Can I get anyone a drink?" "I'll show you where," said one gorgeous hunk—sorry, what happened is a blur, all I know is the guy was attractive—and he slipped his arm around my shoulders, smiled into my eyes, and steered me toward the kitchen. "You at the college?" "Hope to be," I said, thinking that was the right thing. "Senior year in high school, now." "Oh," he said, with an even wider smile, "very mature young lady." "Oh, you," I said, managing a laugh. All the booze bottles, ice, shakers, glasses, and snacks were laid out. At least I had some experience. I knew what everything was and how to make a few drinks. I said, "I didn't get any orders..." "Oh," said my chaperone, "half of them drink beer, half of them drink bourbon—or both. Maybe a girl or two will want something special." And then, as I stood at the counter, drawing the beers from the big metal keg, and pouring the Jack Daniels over the ice, I felt his hand, softly as a summer breeze, sliding over my mostly bare ass. It felt so fucking good. If this stuff was starting already, however, the gang bang was coming at about 8:00 p.m. I tried to be light. I looked up at him, giving all the smile I had, and said: "Not in my contract, sir. I'm an elf that follows the rules. And so must you." That was one thing Lana suggested we might say. "Sorry," he said. "Your ass is totally to die for, elfie." I loaded a tray and headed for the main room. I corrected my posture, lifting my chest, and put a smile on my face. This was a lot of fun. I swept into the room and asked, "Who wants beer and who wants Jack?" One of the few girls said, "And who wants her?" I just smiled, the perfect lady. I asked graciously, "Do you want something else? I can make anything?" "Especially hard-ons" she said. I absolutely ignored her, serving beers and bourbons. "Can you make a hard-on?" asked one tall, slim guy, who bowed a little as he took his beer. I smiled, "Not in my job description, unless that is a mixed drink. Never heard of it though." "You made this one," I heard from across the room. "Right here, baby." I glanced over. Yes, he had it out of his pants. It was big, stiff, arching back, and someone was saying, "Eric, put it away. That's disgusting." But the rest were laughing. And the two or three girls? Clapping. What bitches. I figured I was a few minutes away from becoming a topless, bottomless waitress. I look around the room, breathed deeply, summoned a calm voice. "Jason, I think I should leave. This is against the rules that Lana explained when you spoke." I moved to set down the tray. "All right," said Jason, raising his voice and his arm, also. "Billy, get it back in your pants or get out." He looked around, shaking his head slightly. "There are rules for fraternities on this campus, guys. You want to get us closed down? The Kappa-Kaps our pay the rent, here, would love that." Obediently, Billy was trying to stuff seven inches of dick into five inches of open zipper. I couldn't help it, I saw it. Do you know how few dicks I had ever seen? "Thank you," I said primly. "I'll get some snacks." As gracefully as I could manage, shoulders back, I made for the kitchen carrying the tray. Jason was right behind me. He came over and stood facing me, one hand around my shoulders, resting on my bare back. "I'm so sorry about these buffoons," he said. "You must be pissed?" He was gazing down into my face. I was looking up, smiling, and, frankly, didn't turn my face fast enough—or actually, at all—when he lowered his face and his lips pressed mine. His hand on my back gently pulled me against him. We were still separated, of course, but unfortunately it was by my big boobs pressed against his chest. Down below, however, with my mostly bare belly, I could feel the long hard shape inside his pants. I raised my hand, in alarm, maybe to push him away, but somehow it came to rest, very softly, on his shoulder. He bent me a little farther back. It occurred to me that I could solve this whole problem by having a stroke. But please, not until we finished this kiss. I was a goner. Elf down, Lana. Come get me.