Santa's Special Delivery
Chapter 9

Copyright© 2010 by Lubrican

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 9 - Bob was a cop, but his hobby was playing Santa every year to find a family that deserved a little help. Then he and his friends helped them. This year, though, things went wrong during the delivery, and Santa suddenly had to go back to being a cop. In the process, Santa got a present too.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Reluctant   Pregnancy   Slow  

I woke in the night with a raging piss hardon, and fumbled my way to the bathroom. When I got back she was awake and her hands and lips were waiting for me. She pulled me on top of her this time and we made short, violent love. I made sure she came once, and then gave in to temptation and let myself cum. We fell back to sleep still in each other's arms.

The next thing I knew Timothy was poking me on my bare shoulder.

"You lied to me," he said accusingly. "You are my mother's boyfriend!"

"Timothy!" moaned Eva.

"I guess you talked us into it," I said.

"Are you going to stay here? Like that other man?"

"No," I said, sitting up. Eva pulled the covers to hide her nakedness. "At least not very often."

"That's probably good," he said. "That other man was nice at first, but then he was mean."

"I won't ever be mean," I said. "Not to either of you."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay, then," he said. "I'm hungry."


He was hungry because Eva and I had slept until he woke us up at eight thirty. He'd gotten up and watched TV for a while, and then come to see why his mother was still in bed.

She told him to go to the kitchen and she'd be right there.

"I'm sorry," I said, when he had left. "I should have left last night."

"I'm not sorry," she said calmly. "And no, you shouldn't have."

She got out of bed and went to the bathroom. I heard water running and she came back and put on a robe.

"I needed you last night," she said. "Thank you."

"I have to admit I was surprised," I said.

"I was too," she said. "I didn't plan that."

"It's not why I brought you the cake," I said.

"I know that, silly. That's probably why I got all out of control again."

"Am I to take it that you still feel somewhat conflicted?"

"Am I horrible?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"You make this so fucking hard!" she snapped. "Couldn't you at least be an asshole once in a while so it would be easier to resist you?"

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

She stopped and came to climb on the bed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just feel like I've been burned so many times. It's hard for me to trust."

"Not a problem," I said. "I'm used to going without sex for months on end. At least this way I don't have to get to know some new woman just so we can have sex once and then I never see her again."

"You can be an asshole!" she said brightly. "Thank you!"

"Any time," I said.

"Not any time," she countered. "But maybe more often than once every few months."

"Progress!" I sighed. "There is hope for the future."

"I have to go," she said.

"I do too."

"You're not staying for breakfast?"

"I think not. I think you and he need to have that time together, to make him feel secure," I said.

"Okay. Thank you."

"Oh, believe me, it was my pleasure."

"I know," she said. "You make a girl feel good."

Then she got off the bed and went to take care of her son. She didn't even kiss me goodbye.


The next week flew by. Wally got assigned Casper Buckridge as his public defender. I found this out when I found a post-it note stuck to my monitor that said "The Ghost wants to talk to you." Casper was referred to routinely as "The Ghost" for obvious reasons. I called him and he wanted to interview me.

"You've got my statement and the report already," I said.

"That's what everybody tells you too, but you always insist on talking to them again," he said. "When can we do it?"

"Pick a time," I said, knowing it wouldn't do any good to resist further.

He offered to let me take him to lunch and I said I'd meet him at the Taco Truck that parked on 2rd and Broadway every day for lunch. Then I called Denny Stuart and told him about it.

"Just be careful what you tell him," said the prosecutor.

"How can I be careful?" I asked. "He asks the questions and I tell the truth. I don't get to pick and choose which questions he's going to ask."

"Just don't give him anything to derail my carefully constructed trial," said Denny.

"How about if there's anything that could derail your carefully constructed trial, you just have me investigate and get you the evidence to fix the problem," I said. Denny could be a pain in the ass sometimes.

"I'll call you if I need you," he said, and I knew I had been dismissed.


Casper was the worst kind of defense attorney. That's because he had been a prosecutor for fifteen years before he found out he had convicted an innocent man. From that point on he flipped sides and was tireless in his attempts to defend his clients. He wasn't in it for the money. His motto was "Better a guilty man goes free, than an innocent man's freedom is withdrawn." The fact that that followed precisely from what the founding fathers had in mind for a criminal justice system didn't cut much mustard in the 21st century. The founding fathers didn't have to run for re-election.

 
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