Stevie Washington

Silent Night

Lon Welstone stumbled down the street, cursing his bad luck. He'd just had the worst week of his life and now had nothing to show for it. It had seemed like an easy job at first. The department store had a sign up in the window advertising for someone to play Santa Claus for the week prior to Christmas. It seemed to Lon that it would be an easy job; all he had to do was sit on a chair and listen to kids tell him what they wanted. The fact that he did not much like children didn't bother him; he just lied during the brief interview and they'd offered him a fair sum to play the part.

But it had not worked out well. First of all, the suit was hot, hotter than he had expected. The store was heated because of the cold weather outside and while this was fine for the children and their parents who could just take off their jackets, he was stuck inside this massive red coat and with a fake stomach to boot. The fake beard and white wig itched him and sweat constantly ran down his back. But as bad as that was, listening to the kids was worse.

They wanted this and they wanted that. They absolutely had to have every Barbie doll or Nintendo game known to man. They were rude to him, pulling at his beard and pinching his leg. One brat even had the nerve to tell him that his breath stank. The fact that he'd been drinking the night before did occur to him, but even if his breath was a little off, it was very rude of the boy to say so.

In truth, most of the children were well mannered; it was only perhaps one in ten that misbehaved, and some of them only did so because they could see right through his disguise and tell that he was a fake. Not just that he was a fake Santa Claus; many of these kids knew that there was no real Santa Claus, or if there was, he didn't hang out in two-bit department stores, but they knew he was not a nice person. Lon being the type of person that he was, though, he only remembered the rude children. By Christmas Eve, he could not wait for six o'clock to come so he would be set free. He'd get his pay and go off and celebrate. His only family had been his mother, who had raised him in a trailer park, but she was long dead. In fact, her son's juvenile delinquency had hastened her death, but Lon never bothered to care. The woman had been a slut and he was quite glad she was gone.

An hour before he was due to get off, he took an unauthorized cigarette break. He should have waited until his shift was over, but he was having a nic fit and needed to calm his nerves. Some little cunt had just informed him that he'd better bring her a bunch of Beanie Babies, and not just common ones, either. He was nearly done when his supervisor surprised him.

"Welstone! What the hell are you doing out there. You see how many kids are lined up? Get back in there!"

He'd startled Lon so much, he'd dropped his cigarette. The supervisor went back out front and Lon stood up to join him when he smelled burning. His coat was on fire! Quickly, he put it out, but there was a large burn mark on the side of it. Covering it up as best he could, he went back out to finish the hour.

At last, he was done and went to get his pay. That was where the trouble started.

"What have you done to the suit?" the man demanded. Lon tried to say that it was already there, but that was obviously a lie. After much yelling, the man told him that the suit was ruined and that he'd be taking out of Lon's pay. Lon threatened to sue him, beat him up, even to kill him, but the man simply called security and had him thrown out. After the price of the suit was deducted, Lon only had a few dollars for his week of hell. He wasted no time getting to a bar and drinking that up.

Now it was after nine and he was making his way back toward his dirty apartment (which he was behind with the rent on).

He was walking through an unfamiliar neighborhood and he noticed that the houses were quite nice. Not mansions in any sense of the word, but upper-middle class dwellings. As he looked inside the windows, he started to feel deep resentment. It wasn't the homey sights of Christmas; Lon didn't believe in Christ, much less Santa Claus, but just that inside people had things and he didn't. Behind those walls were bratty kids who had been lucky enough to be born to rich parents and all they had to do was open their fat mouths and they'd get whatever they wanted. Well, what about what he wanted? He wanted money, he wanted booze, he wanted drugs. Who was going to give him anything? As he walked down the street, his resentment grew. He'd probably had to deal with most of the kids in this neighborhood and hadn't even been paid. These people owed him something and he decided to take it.

The perfect situation came up just two blocks later. There was a two-story house all in darkness except for the kitchen light and a colourful Christmas tree. There was no car in the driveway of the house or either of the next-door neighbors. They may as well have hung a sign saying 'Nobody's Home'. It was that obvious.

Lon had done a bit of burglary before, but that had been a few years ago. Still, he saw no signs of dogs and no plaques advertising alarm companies. It was worth a try. No one was looking and so he crept around the back. The windows were closed, but he found one in the laundry room that he could force and climbed in. Savoring the warmth of the house, he made his way into the dimly lit living room.

"Santa Claus?"

The voice made Lon jump a mile. More shock than good sense cause him not to yell. He turned his head and saw that the voice had come from a small boy, who was laying on the couch and had raised his head up to consider the intruder.

"Aren't you supposed to come down the chimney?" the boy asked with a touch of suspicion.

"The chimney is blocked with soot," Lon said quietly, recovering his wits. "Are your parents here?"

"No. They're down the street at Uncle Jimmy's. They told me to go to sleep, but I wanted to see you. I knew I could stay awake long enough," the boy added proudly.

Lon's mind was now working. Obviously the boy was home alone, but his presence made him realize that he could not just pillage the place and walk off. He'd have to be dealt with. Dark fantasies started to fill his head. This boy was probably just like the little brats he'd had to deal with all week. As for the parents, they should not have left him alone, it they didn't want him hurt.

"What's your name, little boy?" Lon asked him in as polite a voice as he could manage.

"Peter," the boy answered.

"Peter what?" Lon pressed, sounding slightly impatient.

"Peter Connors."

"Well, Peter, have you been a good boy this year?"

"Yes Santa Claus," he said politely.

Lon shook his head slowly, making a tut-tut noise.

"Lying to Santa is not a good idea, Peter," he said.

"But I have been a good boy," Peter protested. "Really."

Lon pulled out the receipt from his paycheck and pretended to study it.

"That's not what it says on my list here," he said with mock seriousness. "Next to the name Peter Connors my elves have written 'Very Naughty Boy'."

"But that's not right," the boy argued, "I've been good most of the year!"

"Ah! Most of the year? You just said you'd been good all year! So you admit that's a lie. Santa thinks lying is one of the most naughty things a boy can do! What other lies have you told this year?"

The boy's mouth fell open and he tried to stammer out something, but Lon was having none of it. He reached down and took the boy firmly by his skinny shoulders.

"Do you know what Santa does to naughty boys?" he asked.

"They get lumps of coal in their stockings?" Peter said in a shaking voice.

"No." Lon said curtly. "They get punished. And do you know how Santa punishes them?"

Peter just shook his head. Already tears were starting to flow down his face. He'd cry plenty more before Lon was done with him.

"They get spanked, that's how," Lon informed him. "On their bare bottoms. And then if Santa thinks that they're really sorry, then he gives them a present."

Peter tried to pull away, but the man held him fast.

"I-I don't want a present," he stammered. "I'll just try to be better next year."

"Oh, but that's not the way it works, dear boy," Lon hissed. "You don't get a choice. You've been a naughty boy and so Santa is going to have to spank you. But if you don't fight him too much, you might still get your present. So if I were you, I wouldn't put up a fight."

Lon harshly twisted the boy around so that he was facing the other way and then marched him into the kitchen. There was a dim light on over the stove and it was enough for him to look for what he needed. He pulled oven several drawers, rummaging through them until he found something suitable for the task at hand. Pulling out a large wooden mixing spoon, he held it up and examined it. It was sturdy enough and he could see that it would sting like hell. He showed it to Peter and then flashed him an evil grin. Even in the faint light, he could see the boy turning pale. Holding him by the scruff of his neck, he started marching him back to the living room, when he saw a small bottle of olive oil on the counter. Realizing a use for this, he slipped it into his pocket then resumed driving Peter onward.

The wind had picked up even more; it was howling a gale outside. That combined with the fact that this was a well-insulated house with thick walls meant to Lon that he could do whatever he wanted. No one would hear a thing.

The couch was best, he decided, and dragged the boy over there with him. He sat down, but kept him standing up. Peter was shaking with fright, but Lon felt no pity.

"Like I said before," he growled, "Naughty boys get spanked on their bare bottoms. So it's time to get you bare-bottomed."

With a hard tug, he pulled the boy's pajama bottoms down to his ankles. He thought about taking them all the way off, but the way they were held Peter's legs together and restricted his movement. That would be better. The pajamas were, in fact, a bit small. The top had only just come to the waist of the pants and was not now covering anything. Seeing the boy half-naked aroused Lon's raw, animal lust.

"What's this?" he said slyly, taking Peter's hairless cock between his thumb and forefinger.

"It's-it's-it's my thingy," Peter said in an embarrassed whisper.

"It's not a 'thingy', it's a cock," Lon grunted. "And it's a very small one at that. Say, 'I have a very small cock.'"

At first the boy balked, but Lon responded by squeezing his fingers together, making him yelp in pain.

"Say it!" he commanded.

"I have a very small cock!" Peter said in a rush.

"Peter," Lon said with a cold grin. "'Cock' is a bad word. Adults can say it, but little boys never should. It's very naughty. I'm going to have to spank you extra hard for saying that."

"But-" Peter tried to say more, but his voice hiccuped and he couldn't finish.

"It's also naughty to talk back. I'm afraid that this is going to be quite some spanking."

He let go of the hairless member and swiftly pulled the boy across his lap. Lon had been on edge all night, but he was now much farther gone. To him, the pale white bottom that was shining up at him didn't just belong to the quivering boy over his lap, it represented all of the bratty kids he'd had to deal with over the past week. In a rush, he remembered every whining comment, every spoiled little shit who thought that they were owed something. He knew what they all deserved, and he was going to give it to them. Holding the spoon firmly, he brought it down on the defenseless little bottom.

Peter screeched. It was a good thing the weather was so bad, or else someone surely would have heard and Lon was so lost in a daze, he wouldn't have cared. It was time for punishment!

Up and down went the spoon on the round globes, turning them first pink, then red, and then almost purple. Lon didn't even hear the screams; his entire world existed only of the relentless up and down motion of his arm and the circular target in front of him. Each time he thought about stopping, he remembered another child who had angered him and he kept on.

When he finally did stop, it was because his arm gave out. He thought for a minute about switching arms, but that would have meant repositioning the boy. Lon's haze left him and he realized just how badly he'd beaten the kid. Not that he felt any regret; as far as he was concerned the boy deserved it. Peter's breath was coming in quick hitches as he struggled to fill his lungs back with air.

"Oh, quit moaning," Lon told him heartlessly. "You deserved all of that and more. Still, you didn't fight me and so I think I'll give you a present after all."

At this stage of the game, Peter didn't care. He understood that this cruel tormenter was not Saint Nick. Nothing in the Christmas mythology suggested that Santa Claus would ever do something like this to a boy. However, he couldn't quite grasp the idea that this was only a sadist in a suit and had latched on to the possibility that this was sort of an Anti-Santa, the Satan to Christ. With this in mind, he wanted no present from him. And what transpired next convinced him that his instinct was quite correct.

Lon pushed the boy down onto the carpeted floor. All of this had given him a raging boner and he wanted to do something about it. His first thought was to fuck the boy's ass, but he was so keyed up that he would come right away if he did that. He wanted to savor taking the boy's virginity and so he decided to so something else instead.

"Let me get your present," he said as he fumbled with his zipper, "It's right here in my pants."

With his dick free, he reached over and picked Peter up by the scruff of his neck, holding his face in front of his crotch.

"Here's your present," he said with a laugh. "My hard cock. And it's all for you!"

Peter looked from the raging boner to the man's face, mortified but also uncomprehending. Lon saw that he'd have to explain things to the innocent boy.

"It's like a lollypop," he said. "You have to suck it."

Now Peter understood, but his revolution increased. Lon had sweated quite a bit that day. This combined with the amount of alcohol he drank plus the fact that his hygiene was lousy anyway meant that his crotch was absolutely putrid.

"Do it!" Lon yelled suddenly, loosing his patience.

Peter couldn't. It was like the time that his mother had tried to make him to try okra. She'd told him if he didn't, then he'd have to miss going to a movie that he badly wanted to see. His brain had told his mouth to open, but his lips just would not cooperate. He understood instinctively that if he tried, he would be unable to control his gag reflex. The time before, he'd eventually thrown up on his plate (and his mother had let him go see the movie, feeling rather guilty about the whole thing). Peter knew that throwing up on this man was the worst thing that he could possibly do and so he just froze.

"All right, brat," Lon said as he picked him up and dropped him on the couch again. "I'm going to beat your ass again. And I'm going to keep doing it until you do as you're told!"

He picked up the spoon and went back to work on Peter's ass. The boy howled in renewed pain as the wood hit his already bruised flesh. Lon gave him twenty hard licks before he stopped again.

"You ready to suck your present yet?" he asked.

Peter's nose was now running so much that his nasal passages were completely blocked. Now that he couldn't smell the stink, he thought he might be able to do what the man wanted.

"Then open up your mouth and cobble my crank! And don't you dare touch me with your teeth, either."

Closing his eyes, Peter did as he was told. It was only after he wrapped his young lips around the fat, cheesy, uncircumcised head that he realized the problem. Not only could he not smell, he couldn't breathe. He opened his mouth to suck in air, but Lon was having none of that. He grabbed the child's short brown hair and jammed his cock down his throat.

Peter's scream was muffled by the big cock that was now raping his mouth, but it had the effect of blowing some of the mucus out of his nostrils and allowing him a little precious oxygen. It Lon noticed the boy's predicament, he certainly did not care. He bucked his hips, smashing the boys pink lips against his teeth and scratching his nose with his sweaty pubic bush. Peter tried to get away, but he felt faint from lack of air. The relentless cock was bashing his throat and felt like his mouth was going to be torn inside out. The man was pulling his hair so tight, he was actually pulling some of it out. He was lucky in one respect. Lon was so keyed up, that he came very quickly.

"Oh! Fuck! Yea!" Lon said, punctuating each word with a deep cockthrust in Peter's mouth. He exploded in the boy's throat and as deep as the head of his prick was when he came, Peter had no choice but to swallow the salty spunk.

Feeling momentarily satisfied, Lon threw the boy back on the floor again and looked at his watch. It was not yet 10 o'clock. He should be safe for a while yet. At worst, if he heard a car pull up, he could just run out the back. No doubt he would not be pursued right away and his Santa Claus disguise would keep him safe. The boy's virgin asshole still awaited him, but he needed to recharge a bit first.

"Did you like playing with your present?" he asked the crying boy at his feet.

Peter considered saying yes, but as one of the supposed reasons he'd been beaten was for lying, and so he croaked out the word 'no'.

"That's too bad," Lon said with mock sympathy. "Perhaps we didn't play the right game with it. Maybe I can have some fun playing with yours."

He reached down and grabbed Peter by the ankles. The boy's pajamas were still bunched around his feet, but Lon now wanted them off. After he'd gotten rid of those, he pulled the boy's legs up into his lap, so that his head was still resting on the floor while his crotch was within easy access. He had no desire to even attempt to give the boy any pleasure, but it suited him to debase him some more.

"I don't think I've ever seen a cock as small as this," he said conversationally, "Are you sure you're not a girl? This little nub is about the size of my last girlfriend's clit."

Of course, Peter had no idea what the man was talking about, and was in no shape emotionally to respond. He just hated feeling the hot, sweaty finders handling his most private areas.

"These balls, on the other hand," Lon continued. "Are a bit more interesting. But they must be just for decoration, since there's no real cock for them work with."

He squeezed the tight, wrinkled sac and was rewarded with a new cry of pain from Peter. A perfectly wicked idea had occurred to him.

"Yes, that's just it. They're for decoration only, just like Christmas tree ornaments, but there's just nothing for them to hang from. I'm surprised that they haven't fallen off yet, but maybe I can do something about that."

In addition to the main Christmas tree, there was a mini one on the table at the end of the couch. Lon reached over and removed two of the small silver balls that hung from it and then detached the metal ornament hangers.

"This will make sure that they don't go anywhere," he said.

He pinched a flap of skin from the left side of the scrotal sac between his fingers and took the end of one of the hooks and started pushing it against the skin. It was not easy; the bent metal was not made to go through anything more resistant than paper and he had to force it. Peter howled as his body was penetrated and tried to kick his legs about, but Lon had him held too well. At last the hook popped through and Lon bent it correctly so that would not come off. Peter's body was twitching in agony and he was incoherently babbling. Lon waited for him to calm down.

"Peter," he said, "You have two balls. I can't risk the other one falling off, so I'm going to have to put a hook on that side, too."

Of course, that started the boy right up again, which was Lon's intention. Now that the boy knew the suffering he was about to experience, it made it that much worse. He took his time, letting him feel the cold metal against his balls before he pulled up the skin. Nor did he pinch the skin too tightly; he didn't want anything to mask the pain of the boy's balls being so inefficiently pierced. When the wire popped through, he was almost disappointed that it was over. For good measure, he wrapped the top ends of the two hooks around the base of Peter's stubby penis, restricting his circulation and causing him more pain. Lon's boner was back in force, but he wanted a bit more foreplay.

"Peter, do you like candy canes?" he asked. When the boy didn't answer, he pulled on the hooks and made him scream.

"Do you like candy canes!" he shouted. This time Peter nodded as speech was beyond him.

"Well, then, I have a treat for you."

He went over to the large Christmas tree and took off one of the big candy canes. It was quite thick, about as big around as Lon's thumb and then some. He peeled off the wrapper and started to suck it. He wasn't wild about the taste of peppermint, but he just wanted to get the thing slick. Peter was crawled up in the fetal position, sucking his thumb and looking fearfully at Lon.

"Oh, stop that," he growled, "I'll give you something else to suck on in a minute. Now get on your hands and knees."

Silently, Peter did as he was instructed. While he had no idea what was going to happen next, he knew that it wouldn't be good. When he felt Lon's hands on his battered asscheeks, he started to cry louder.

Lon spread the hot, red mounds and got a good look at Peter's little boycunt. It was pulsing in ignorance of its immediate fate. He took the spit-slicked candy cane out of his mouth and pressed the end of it against the clenched orifice. At once Peter tried to move forward, but he held him fast. Despite the lubrication, he had some trouble fitting it in. It was, after all, a bit wide. He pushed harder and Peter's sphincter gave way, admitting the intruder. The boy cried out as the hard candy was shoved deep inside his bowel. Hotter than ever, Lon pulled it in and out, frigging the little ass with delight.

But this was just the pregame. He took it out and gave a few raspy licks to the candied crack. Then he moved around and offered the candy cane to Peter.

"Suck it," he told him grimly. Of course Peter knew quite well where it had been, but somehow found this less gross than the last thing he'd been made to put in his mouth. He opened his lips and took the candy.

"Don't you spit it out, either," Lon warned as he moved back behind the boy. He had the olive oil from the kitchen and he coated his sausage with it. Then he took hold of the boy's hips and placed his missile against the quivering boyhole.

"You're going to get FUCKED in the ASS, little boy!" he proclaimed with savage relish. Of course, Peter didn't really know what that meant, but he understood what was about to happen to him. The hot, hard presence between his parted cheeks was a dead giveaway after what had just been inserted up his backside. He just sobbed as he continued to suck on the candy cane.

Lon shoved his way inside and was not gentle. His thick, mushroom-shaped head plowed against the puckered flesh and tore it. At Peter felt the stabbing pain rip through his body, his teeth bid down involuntarily, snapping the candy cane in half, but Lon didn't even notice. He pulled the boy's hips back further and buried himself in to the hilt.

"Oh, you have such a tight boyass," he moaned in ecstasy. "And it's goodbye, cherry!"

He started to lunge in and out. The end of the candy cane fell out of Peter's mouth as he screamed in torment. His arms collapsed as the man leaned against him and his face and chest were rubbing against the carpet. Another deep thrust and his legs went too. "All right, I'll fuck you like this, then," Lon growled as he laid down flat on him. The heavy weight of the man was crushing Peter and he found it hard to breathe. Apart from the raping cock that was deflowering him, his legs were spread so wide, he thought he was being torn in half. The hooks in his balls were now tangled up in the carpet, and as the relentless thrusts jerked his small body around, they pulled painfully at his scrotum.

Because Lon had already cum once (and since he was something of an alcoholic), it took him much longer than before. Peter developed rug burns on his tummy, knees and (most painfully) the head of his little dick. He no longer waited for it to be over, he just lay there and took it. He was drooling when he felt the size of the huge thing inside him grow even bigger.

"Take my cum, little slut!" Lon grunted as he creamed Peter's violated anal passage with his second load. His cock shrank quickly and he pulled it out, causing it to make a popping sound as it came free. He stood up and looked at his watch. It was time to go.

Peter felt the wetness dripping out of his ass, down his thigh and onto his pieced balls before running onto the floor and assumed that it was blood. And he was partly right; the brutal rape had torn him quite badly. He could not move without great pain, and he just lay there pitifully.

Lon had wanted to steal something, but didn't see anything of value that he could carry by hand. Now that his lust had been satisfied, his preservation instincts were kicking in. He looked at the crying boy and felt his resentment flare anew. What was his problem? So what if he got fucked, he'd still be rich tomorrow while Lon would wake up in a cold, shitty apartment. He kicked the boy in the ribs in disgust.

"Merry Christmas," he said in a pissed off tone as he turned and left the room. The last he saw of the boy, he was still laying there with Lon's spunk all over him. Good, let his parents find him that way. Teach them to leave him home alone, even if they were just down the street.

He went out the back door and made his way to the street. He felt somewhat better than he had before, but inside he knew he was no better off. So what if he'd blown a couple of loads in some rich kid, he was still broke. He turned off the road to cut across a park.

About half way across, he saw another man dressed as Santa standing by a light. At least he wasn't the only Santa who'd been in the neighborhood; now he knew for sure that he'd never be found out. His path took him past the other man, but as he got close, the hair on the back of his neck started to stand up. Did he hear the faint sound of tinkling bells over the wind?

"So you're playing Santa for the season," the man said conversationally as Lon came up next to him.

"Yea, it's a job," Lon grunted. He really didn't want to get into a conversation.

"Did you like the job?" the other man asked.

"Kind of a pain in the ass," Lon replied as he went to move by. He was stopped when the man reached out and took hold of his wrist. He seemed to have a very strong grip.

"A pain in the ass? Don't you like bringing joy to children?"

Lon looked the man in the face. Unlike so many Santas, this one actually looked old in the face. Plus, his white beard appeared to be genuine. Something about his eyes unsettled Lon and he resolved to get away right now and screw being polite.

"Let me go, you old fool," he grunted, "I did this to bring joy to me, but I got little of that. Screw the children."

He tried to pull his arm away, but the old man's grip was like steel.

"A pain in the ass? Screw the children? Interesting choice of words. I wonder what you've been up to while dressed as Santa."

Now Lon started to get very worried. Had this man somehow seen what he had done? No, that was impossible, but he still had to get away.

"Let me go!" he yelled, increasing his struggle. He started to look around for help, but the only thing he saw was a pack of dogs coming from behind a bush by the old man. No, dogs didn't have antlers.

"Since you like playing at being Santa Claus so much, I think I'll help you a bit," the old man said. Lon felt his grip loosen a bit and he pulled his arm free. He turned to run, but he saw the old man bring his hands together and clap them. There was a tremendous boom and then a moment of sickening disorientation and everything around Lon went gray. He tried to scream, but there was no air. He shut his eyes in reflexive horror.

It was less than five seconds later that he re-opened them. Even before he looked, he could tell that something had changed, something significant. The wind was still blowing, but it was much harder now, and certainly much colder. It burned his lungs as he breathed it in. At first he thought that there was no light at all, but when he looked up, he saw the stars. The streetlights and the trees in the park had all vanished and everywhere he looked, he saw an endless field of ice. Thrusting his suddenly freezing hands into his pockets, he tried franticly to reason out what had happened to him. Obviously the old man had hit him with something, probably some drug. Then he must have taken him out into the wilderness somewhere and dumped him.

But that made no sense. This wasn't just wilderness; this was ice. Where in the United States was there so much ice? And how did the drug work? He pushed his cuff back just far enough to see his watch. The pale glow informed him that it was only a few minutes past 11PM on Christmas Eve. What was going on?

He looked out over the ice, looking for some kind of shelter where he could rest while he figured this out, but saw nothing. It was then that he started to get a real idea of where he might be. It was impossible! Still there was only one way to check, but Lon found he didn't have the nerve. Shaking with fear as well as the freezing cold, he slowly started to lift his eyes back toward the sky. When his head was tilted all the way back, he saw what he had most feared.

Shining above him was the constellation Ursa Minor, the little bear. And directly overhead was the star that represented the end of the bear's tail, Polaris. The North Star.

Lon was at the North Pole.

His scream traveled for miles over the frozen wasteland, but there was no one there to hear it. He started moving, hoping that he could somehow walk the hundreds of miles to Greenland or Russia or somewhere, knowing all the while that it was completely hopeless.

He made it quarter of a mile before he tripped. His face stuck to the ice and he began the unpleasant experience of freezing to death.

Meanwhile, Peter was still laying unmoving on the floor. The man's cum had now cooled and the sticky liquid was making him shiver. The tearing pain had diminished somewhat, but had been replaced by feelings of shame and helplessness. He thought he heard something on the roof, but assumed that it was just the wind. It wasn't the noise that finally made him move, more a feeling that he was no longer alone. He lifted up his head and turned in to the side. Standing in front of the fireplace was Santa Claus.

There was never any doubt in his mind as to who it was. It wasn't just the fact that he'd come down the chimney, or that he could hear the clop of hooves on the roof. It wasn't even the kindly face and warm eyes. What convinced Peter thoroughly in that instant was the warm aura that the Saint projected.

"Santa," he whispered, both in awe and as a plea.

"Poor, Peter," Santa said, as he came across the room. He bent down and scooped the little boy up in his arms. At his touch, all the physical pain fell away from Peter and for the first time in hours, he smiled.

"He hurt me, Santa," he said.

"Shush, Peter, I know what happened. He'd been taken care of and he'll never hurt you or anyone else again."

Santa carried him into his bedroom and laid him down on his bed. He took of his white gloves and ran his bare hands lovingly over Peter's body. Everywhere he touched, Peter felt a warm tingling and the bruises vanished from his flesh. He slid his fingers inside the crack of Peter's ass, but to the boy this did not feel like a violation. It was, in fact, one of the most pleasant feelings he'd ever had in his young life. As the warm glow spread up his boy hole and the tissues mended, he felt his little member suddenly stiffen. Santa saw this and shifted his fingers to Peter's front. The ornament hooks vanished as Santa gently tickled his balls, and the holes where he had been pierced closed up.

"You're a bit young for this, but under the circumstances, I think I can make an exception," Santa said with a merry grin. Peter felt Saint Nick's fingers move up until they were on his hairless boner. When the warm tingling hit his penis, he gasped in unsurpassed pleasure. As Santa stroked him, visions of all his favorite things danced in his head. He knew only that the feeling was growing more intense and it suddenly peaked, making him cry out softly in release. Santa moved his hand then, but Peter was quite content. Santa produced his pajama bottoms, although Peter did not remember him picking them up, and he held his legs up to help. After Santa had him dressed again, he pulled back the covers and tucked Peter in.

"Sleep, Peter," he whispered in the boy's ear as he kissed him on the cheek. "Sleep, and forget."

And sleep Peter did. He did not wake up half an hour later when his parents came home to find the living room exactly as they had left it. Nor did he wake as they slipped into his bedroom separately, each assuming that the other had drunk the milk and eaten the cookies. When he finally did wake up, it was Christmas morn, and he rushed into the living room to open his presents. His parents got great delight watching their son open his gifts, but the one thing that bothered them was the big box without the tag. Inside, Peter had found a spectacular plastic spaceship from the Star Wars movie, something that he'd wanted quite a bit, but had been sold out in the stores. With all of their relatives accounted for, they could not figure out who had left this gift. Peter, of course, though he remembered nothing, knew that it was from Santa Claus, but when he explained this to his parents, they just smiled politely. After all, they knew there was no such person as Santa Claus. Was there?

The End