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I look up at her radiant face. “You want to be a dentist?”
“No. I want to be Big Nick’s private whore.”
My dick lurches like it’s been tugged by a rope. “You can’t call me that. You’re an elf, sweetheart. You have to call me Santa.”
“I’ll call you Santa in the shop. But when your face is between my legs, or mine is between yours, or your cock is buried in me, I’m going to call you Big Nick, just like the human women you seek satisfaction from and toss aside. They’ll never do it for you like I can. It’s only fair that I should be allowed to call you by your real name.”
“I don’t make the rules, Calista.”
“Actually, you do. You’re the big guy! The man with the bag! You’re in charge of this whole fucking operation! And I’m not going to make toys anymore, by the way.”
“You have to make toys. You’re an elf! It’s what you were born to do.”
“Drag your tongue through my sweet, sticky arousal one more time, and then tell me what I was born to do.” She runs her own finger through her slit and traces my lips with it.
She has me enraptured and she knows it. I should take away her cookie breaks for a week, but I always make concessions for her. No punishment is ever going to change anything when I turn right around and give her what she wants.
“I’ve already upgraded you from painting blocks to wiring the electronic toys, and everyone knows you were nowhere near ready for that promotion. What do you want me to do here?”
“I want you to make me your personal assistant.”
“I can’t do that! The other elves would revolt!”
“No, they wouldn’t. They’d probably be glad to have me out of the shop. I just slow everything down.”
“You do so intentionally.”
“Maybe. But my intentions are unlikely to change, so you may as well take me off toy duty entirely.”
“I already have a personal assistant. She has impeccable organizational skills. Even if you weren’t an elf, you have zero organizational skills. You can’t stay on task without constant supervision.”
“Fine. Then make me your official personal whore, like I originally said. That’s all I really want to be, anyway. I promise I will stay on task, but you can supervise me all you want.”
I rest my forehead on my hand, unable to believe we are actually having this conversation. “Santa Claus cannot have an official personal whore, Calista.”
“But Big Nick can. I don’t want to be an elf anymore, either. I hereby renounce my elf status. Henceforth, I am a human woman, who just happens to have adorable ears. If you tell everyone, then it’ll be official. You can issue a proclamation, or whatever.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. I can’t . . . un-elf you!”
“Can you shut up and fuck me? Because that would be preferable to your tedious objections.”
I pull her off the counter and turn her around so I can see her striped ass. My handprint looks better than those belt impressions. I land a few open-handed slaps for my own benefit. Her inner thighs glisten in the light and I can’t resist having another taste. Cupping three fingers, I scoop a delicious amount of her precious peppermint goodness and consume it like it’s a life-saving elixir I would perish without. Fuck, it well may be from here on out. I bend down far enough to coat my tongue and spread her minty gloss around her tight asshole.
She yelps, and the innocent shock in her tone infuses my dick with a level of wicked desire I’ve never felt before. I’m certain she’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I haven’t even fucked her yet. I should stop right here, leave the unknown alone, but I’m too far gone.
I’d put another man on the naughty list for the rest of his natural life for even considering the things I’m about to do to her, but being Santa has its perks. Up to now, not feeling jealousy has been one of them, but my shoulders square and my hands instinctively ball into fists at the mere thought of another man touching her. I guess all good things really do come to an end. But maybe that makes way for better things to take their place. There can be no thrill without some danger, I suppose.
When I press the burgeoning head of my cock to her pussy, her entire body shivers in anticipation, and it requires every ounce of control I still possess to keep mine from doing the same. Feeling her silken snatch stretch for me as I push into her feels better than my hot tub when I return home on Christmas Day. Better than ice on my aching knees or the gentle euphoria that envelopes me when I stand too close to the reindeer as they toke on their pre-flight special hay—every year a new strain that helps them soar higher and longer than ever before. It’s good shit, no doubt, but its effects don’t come close to the comfort of her.
“Yeah, that’s a good girl, taking every inch so sweetly, being the perfect slut for me. Such a cock-hungry little elfin whore, aren’t you?”
She whimpers and nods in response, as if she no longer has the strength, or the clarity, to speak. Once I’m fully seated, I pause for a moment to appreciate her delicate warmth before I draw my hips back and drive into her with the force of eight hopped-up bucks taking flight. She lifts off the ground momentarily.
When her feet touch down, she says, “Yes, Big Nick. Don’t stop. Keep giving me that perfect Claus cock. I knew you’d know how to fuck me right.”
I don’t correct her, don’t tell her to call me Santa. In my head, I issue a proclamation of un-elfing. I proclaim Calista my official personal whore. There will be consequences for my weakness, but not tonight.
Tonight is a veritable peppermint fantasy and I intend to relish every sensory detail.
