Well, my Santa fantasy has been done and dusted. We can tick that off, right along the boxes of all the other crazy shit I’ve done. The Mile High Club. Yes, I’ve done it on a plane. Not that easy. The ladies’ bathroom at that restaurant at Junction. The ladies’ bathroom, again, elsewhere. The highway. Where was that again? Waiyaki Way? The Polo Club. Oh, dear Lord, the polo club incident landed online. At this rate, it’s easier to write about where I haven’t done it.
“Follow me,” I had said to Santa, just a couple weeks ago, grabbing my drink and heading towards my office. I didn’t know who hired him but thank heavens they did! Santa followed instructions, lugging his sack of presents behind him. I locked the door and wasted no time. I started to kiss him, loving the way his beard tickled my lips. I wondered what it would feel like, down there? It’s almost as though he could read my mind. He slid my panties off and lay me flat across the desk. The beard across my secret garden was just as I imagined it. My hips arched and he grabbed my ass. I couldn’t believe how absolutely hot this was making me. I spread my legs wider and let him devour me. He paused and turned me around. I was on all fours and he shoved his face, beard and all, into my backside. Santa was eating me out, back and front!
“How often do you do this?” I asked breathlessly.
Santa had slid his manhood into me and there was an awkward slapping sound as he took me from behind. It reminded me of the scene from Monster’s Ball, where Halle Berry is getting it on with this guy and the whole sex scene sounds like someone clapping, incessantly, very loudly. This is what it sounded like when Santa was grinding up against me, repeatedly.
The reason I asked him this question was because it just occurred to me that I should be using protection as he rammed into me again and again.
“All you ladies love Santa,” he responded as he grabbed my hair and pulled it back roughly.
“So you’ve done this before?” I ask.
“Are you kidding?” he growled into my ear. “This is why I do this gig.”
His words made me even hotter and I could feel myself explode into a million pieces of one of the strongest orgasms I have ever experienced. He came into me a few seconds later, jerking hard about three or four times as he emptied his load.
I got off the table and reached for some Kleenex, wiping myself down. He did the same and zipped up his Santa suit quickly.
He then bent over and picked up his sack of gifts.
“Where’s mine?” I asked as he slung it over his shoulder.
He looked at me surprised. “You just got it, baby girl.”
He put his sack down and rummaged through it, removing the letter I had sent to the Santa Post office. He handed it to me kissing my forehead. “Merry Christmas,” he said, and he was gone.
That was two weeks ago. Now I’m sitting in my office, wondering if I should write in my New Year editorial that Santa actually exists. I can testify! That man was as real as can be and what he did was give me the best present any girl could ever hope for. If he needs me for a reference, I was ready to tell the world! Santa is real!