June was standing in the line for the mall Santa Claus, crushed between crabby, stressed out parents and their whining kids. She was trying to keep her niece and nephew under control and failing miserably as they kept running off toward any little thing which caught their attention. Fed up with them, June yelled, "Goddamn it, stand still you brats!"
After she gave voice to her frustration, there was a hush as the entire line seemed to hold its collective breath in response. June weathered a barrage of withering stares of parental disapproval. She bit her lip, blushed and felt as if she had shrunk several feet. After that, she decided to let the kids run amok.
"I'm not even supposed to be here!" June complained to no one but herself. Anyone could tell that by looking at her. She stood out as a beacon of trendiness in a ocean of parental frumpiness dressed fashionably in a sweater, mini skirt and boots and flailing abundantly lustrous, corkscrew curly black hair.
And, in truth, she wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be on a secluded South Pacific beach with her fiance. Only the day before they were set to leave for the trip, he announced that he had met his soul mate--a big breasted, brilliantly blonde Swedish stewardess--and abruptly broke up with June. After that, June wasn't psyched to go anywhere. To make matters worse, June's sister foisted her kids on June for the day since she wasn't going on vacation and had so much free time on her hands. So here June was stuck with her out-of-control niece and nephew, edging along at a near glacial pace toward Santa.
"I need to get seriously drunk!" June thought as the approached the miniature alpine house, set in the mall's main courtyard, that served as Santa's workshop.
June changed her mind when they the house. "No, I need to get screwed." She decided.
June and company finally arrived at their destination, jolly old Saint Nick, sitting in a large throne-like chair. By this time, June had become more explicit in her wants, "I need to get fucked. Seriously fucked." She thought to herself with determination.
Santa looked up from June's niece who was sitting on his knee as she prattled off all the dolls she wanted for Christmas. He studied June for a moment. June's heart nearly dropped to her feet. Had she spoken aloud? She looked around nervously to see if anyone else was looking at her but the tired parents nearby were all preoccupied with their own kids. When she turned backed to Santa, he was sending her niece on her way with a "Ho, ho, ho" and otherwise oblivious to her.
June sighed in relief. She herded her niece and nephew to the exit. As she was about to leave the workshop, she felt dizzy and leaned against the doorway.
"Hey, kids." She murmered. "Wait a minute."
June rubbed her eyes and collected herself. She was just about to leave when she realized the mall had become quiet. She looked up to find the workshop door closed and she was alone. She felt a substantial amount of cool air against her skin. When her eyes fell to look at her body, she gasped. She could see a lot more skin—her smooth and blemishless and firm skin—because she was now dressed in a whole lot less. Instead of her sweater, she had a green, fur-lined crop top that squeezed her breasts together to create and highlight a deep crevice of cleavage. Her nipples peaked over the top like twin rising suns. Below her exposed midriff, smooth and hard from a devotion to Pilates, was a sassy fur fringed green mini skit, barely held up by an ornamental wide black belt with a bright silver buckle. Her fashionable boots had been replaced by green high heeled go-go boots with fur at the top. There was something on her head now. She took it off to see what it was. It was a green Santa hat.
"This has got to be a dream." June told herself, amazed by her get up. "I've been under so much stress. I probably fainted. Oh my god, fainting in the mall. That would so embarrassing!"
"Hey, elf. Santa needs a little help." A voice boomed behind her.
"Oh great!" June moaned. "Santa is hitting on me. That is just so wrong!"
June turned to face Santa's chair, but instead of the jolly old chubby Saint Nick stereotype who had been there before, there was someone else--a large handsome man dressed in a long, red robe, with a thick, white fur fringe. The robe hung loosely from his powerful body, leaving his broad, tanned muscular chest exposed. His face was friendly and his eyes twinkled merrily. Long dark brown curls danced by the handsome features of his face and beneath a holly wreath set here and there with icicles.
"Ok, that is some dream." June thought aloud. She thought about running out of the workshop but the only thing she could think of worse than being stuck with this strange man was being caught in the mall in so revealing a costume.
"Come closer, June, and know me better." Santa beckoned to her.
With that gesture, June felt her whole body become a lit with tingling. Her skin became peppered with goosebumps. The strangeness of this encounter was ebbing as if the suddenness of her new garb and this man's transformation had become as inconsequential as a holiday sale. As her surprise and anxiety faded, her lustful appreciation for the man's comely features grew without inhibition. She felt the urge to feel his skin with her own, her lips against his, her tongue in his mouth, tasting him. Without even realizing it, she was moving slowly toward him, her hips swaying slowly.
"Look upon me." The man commanded.
For a moment, June tried to shake off the surging arousal that was taming her mind, but her feeble attempt at resistance crumbled before his jolly eyes and playful smile. Her body was leaving reason behind and becoming manipulated by an almost primal desire that Santa had created within her. She fell to her kneels before him and opened his robe like a curtain revealing a stage.
The man was nude underneath and his masculinity stood like a mighty tower. It was hard and solid as if a fifth appendage, bobbing like a mighty oak defying the force of a hurricane's gale. It was tan as the rest of his skin and its surface was velvety smooth as a rose petal. She had seen enough men nude in her day not to be surprised but where those others had had the mere symbols of maleness, his was a work of art, an icon, a holy relic of masculine fertility. It seemed to have been molded for mutual pleasure. She felt the overwhelming compulsion to have it in her, in her mouth, between her legs. She leaned up to it but he waved a finger in her face.
.... There is more of this story ...