“Ho ho ho, you don’t recognize me?” the big man chuckled.
“…Santa? No way. Whoever you are, get out, before I scream.”
“What’s the matter, Anna? I thought a midnight visit from ol’ Saint Nick was right at the top of your list this year.”
“Um, but Santa isn’t real, so…” Her eyes were adjusting, and the moon had come out behind a cloud. She could see now that the man intruding in her bedroom certainly looked the part. He was wearing the traditional red cap with white trim and pom-pom, a wooly red coat with white trim to match the hat, and a big thick black belt with a golden buckle that glinted in the dim moonlight. His pants were red velvet with the white trim, and his large black boots were shiny and polished. He was wearing a pair of reading glasses halfway down his nose. His beard and his hair were white, thick, and long. He looked old, but not senile, and his smile was kind. He was rather large, and his stomach stuck out from his torso. As she gazed upon Santa, Anna was starting to find him sexy, and felt herself getting warm between her legs. God damn this fetish of hers.
“Wait just a minute. Who told you such a thing? Santa doesn’t exist, indeed! They’re going on my naughty list right away!” He was now standing over her bed, looking down at the adorable young woman. “Although you’ve been a bit of a naughty girl yourself, haven’t you?”
“What the fuck-”
“Apart from such foul language from such a pretty little mouth, I recall a certain young lady expressing interest in Santa Claus ‘stuffing her stocking’, and I thought I’d help make her Christmas wish come true,” Santa told her. He sat down on the bed next to Anna. “Or at the very least, you can sit on my lap. Ho ho ho!”
Anna was regretting the four glasses of wine she’d had with dinner, because despite her brain telling her to scream and run, her body was telling her to get ready for a different kind of sleigh ride. And honestly, when you’ve been drinking, when do you listen to the sensible part of your brain?
“Okay…So…Santa’s real, and he wants to fuck me?”
“Well, I know you certainly want to fuck Santa,” he replied.
Anna couldn’t lie – not to Santa, of all people. “I can’t rely deny that, Santa…” She unbuttoned her flannel top, her nipples immediately hard in the cold winter’s night. She slipped her pyjama top off her arms and let it fall to the floor bedside her bed. Against all logic and common sense, the 22 year old girl was now topless in front of Father Christmas himself…and she was incredibly turned on. She watched Santa as he peered over the top of his small round reading glasses and stared at her modest B cup breasts with lust. A smile grew beneath his long, thick white beard.
He reached out with both hands, covered in black gloves, and caressed Anna’s perky little tits. A soft moan escaped her lips, and she arched her back in response to his gloves’ leathery touch. He delicately squeezed her breasts, running his thumbs in circles around her areola and erect nipples.
“Oh Santa,” she moaned.