Of The Santa Persuasion
Christmas Erotica by Cara Sutra
Ahhh, who was she kidding. She’d be stirring all night. She wished it was for better reasons. Yes, she could just do with the full body relaxant properties of an explosive orgasm right about now. Unfortunately, the only finger movements her evening looked to have in store were the back and forth motions of her pen over the lined paper.
Coursework. Or, homework, as she rather cutely – or so she thought, anyway – referred to it. It had been due in before the holiday season started, but her teacher had allowed her to work on it over Christmas as long as it was handed in the very next working day. There was such a lot to do..
If only she wasn’t such a naughty, procrastinating girl, she thought to herself, for about the 16th time that evening. She should be spending Christmas Eve tipsy on mulled wine in front of festive TV, not scratching out fuddy-duddy ideas on lined paper with a chewed-off biro.
Time passed eventually, as it has a habit of doing. Her head nodded so much that, combined with the low lamplight she was soon asleep at her bedroom desk. She’d not even saved enough energy to be able to make it to the bed on the far side of her spacious bedroom.
Despite the tiredness which had shot her down mid scribble, a rustling and shuffling noise alerted her to a mysterious presence at some time around midnight. She was a sensible girl, if not a very well behaved one, and what she saw upon opening her eyes had her in a state of shock at first, rather than the more appropriate excitement.
Sat in the armchair, near the edge of her bed, was Santa. Santa himself, not one of his many ‘assistants’. Black boots, red suit, white beard, hat, mince-pie-filled tummy – the lot. This was Santa, in her bedroom.
Santa appeared to be immersed in thought, poring over a large book simply entitled, ‘The Lists’. This thick tome must weigh a ton, yet Santa, with his strong, large hands, used one to support the spine and the other to quickly finger through the ink-filled pages. He was searching for something. Suddenly, she knew. He couldn’t find her! Was she naughty, or nice?
“Good girls get their homework done on time.”
She nearly hit the ceiling, she jumped so high. She didn’t think he’d noticed her, and if he had, noticed that she’d woken up. But of course, he was Santa. he knew all things. Except for the answer to her naughty or nice question, of course.
He looked up then, right at her. Years of experience seemed to beam across the room, his wisdom entering her soul through her eyes and searching her soul, revealing every weakness, bad habit and filthy thought she’d ever had. She felt naked, in all ways.
That’s when she made the decision. She needed to convince Santa she really was a good girl.
Slipping off her desk chair, she found she didn’t dare tear her eyes away from his searching ones, even when she was on hands and knees crawling across the plush, carpeted floor towards his glistening black boots.
Her floaty nightie rode up around her middle as she crawled, exposing her white cotton panties over her round, swaying this-way-and-that bottom. Threats of dampness surged, as her breasts, loose beneath the nightdress, swung with the motions of her crawling across the floor to this most charismatic character.
Reaching his feet after what seemed an eternity, she sought relief in the blackness behind her eyelids, letting them flutter closed. She put her head to rubbing with a sense of urgent affection against those black boots, as sleet-damp and chilled as they were.
“I’m still not convinced you’re a good girl, little one…”
For a man who was supposed to be full of compassion, he did seem to take pleasure in tearing her mind quite viciously from any semblance of relaxation. Her eyes flew open with a start, and her large eyes threatened to fill with liquid sadness as she turned those chocolate brown pools tremulously up towards his unusually serious face.
Placing her hands carefully on his knees, hardly daring to touch the man himself, she slid his legs apart to move closer to him, between them. Below his heavy paunch, underneath the wide black band of a belt and the thick white fur of his jacket hem, her fingers soon found the zip which she undid, her fingers shaking with nervousness.
He may have been an old man – to her, at least – but his cock was as rigid and thick and ready as any young stud. Her endeavours crawling across the floor towards him, over the generous amount of floor, hadn’t been in vain, judging from the warm pulsing through the stiff member she soon held in her hand. Moving through instinct, as this was her first time pleasing a man, she lowered her head to the well-proportioned wonder and nuzzled it with her face, rubbing it over her and giving gentle little kisses all over the shaft and around and over the exposed, shining tip.
Licking her lips to ready them, spurred on by his increasing in volume sighs and heartfelt moans, she finally placed that tip between her soft, young lips. Her tongue met with his older, wiser flesh and tasted the salty essence of man. It was like nothing she’d tasted before, and the taste was doing strange things to her insides, not to mention her crazed mind.
Sucking Santa. Here she was, the naughtiest girl in her class, proving that very point. Or was she? Santa seemed to think she needed to prove she was good, in order to get on the nice list, deserving of reward. Good at being bad. Well, whatever you turn your hand – or mouth – to, make sure you put your heart and soul into it.
So she did just that. Sucked and lapped and wrapped her tongue around Santa’s cock, suctioning every bit of pleasure from him and to him that she could, experience or no experience. It’s what her mouth was made for, to take him in; teeth firmly out of place except for teasing with the edges here and there, just to swirl over the gently nibbled flesh with firm strokes of her tongue, the large flat area then the tip working its way around the collar and underneath.
Santa’s thighs were alternating between tensing and relaxing around her torso as she kneeled up, her hands at times on his legs, at others steadying his proudly rigid rod and just about stopping it from provoking her gag reflex too harshly at the back of her throat. Each time it hit her tonsils despite her best efforts to avoid it, she couldn’t help but feel a sympathetic echo of what might yet be, deep within her pussy, against her cervix. It only served to make her suck and lick with even more determination, determined to please him, this man who sat in his throne of judgment.
His moans had turned to grunts that she was sure should wake the household. Her heart pounded with a strange but addictive combination of fear and excitement. Suddenly his deep voice full of wisdom, came to her once more, directed down at the top of her head:
“Oh, you definitely are a very good girl…. good at being naughty. I think you deserve a very special Christmas present, my dear.
Get on the floor, you adorable little Santa slut…”
So she did, of course. Pulling away and without the chance to even tuck him back neatly, she was all but shoved to the carpet with legs roughly thrown apart as he towered above her, ready to give what she was very happily going to receive.
She learned quite a few new things that night. She learned that Santa definitely comes a lot more than once a year, and in even tighter spaces than chimneys. She learned a few alternative uses for candy canes. She also learned that she loved anal, even though it hurt like a bitch – and that Santa can even magic up the lube required to fist with those incredibly large hands of his. Plus of course, many other invaluable lessons over the night of festive fuckery.
The next morning came all too soon – unlike Santa, of course – but wait. She was in bed, tucked up, alone. A dream then? It had to have been. She laughed softly at herself. Stupid, overworked girl. Fancy such imaginings!
She stopped short catching sight of something glistening on the floor next to the bed.
3 torn foil wrappers, strewn on the carpet. Red and green stripe decoration on each wrapper, made up with italicised writing. She leaned over to read what the repeated tagline was:
‘Protect your North Pole’
Hardly daring to believe, she pulled her eyes away, catching sight of the pile of wrapped presents and a bulging stocking at the end of her bed.
Seems this naughty girl had managed to persuade Santa, after all.