Story inspired by the following illustration:
For many families around the world, Christmas morning is the most exciting one of the year. At the North Pole, it’s usually the quietest as one jolly old man gets his rest.
Santa Claus slogged through into the kitchen from the workshop in the wee hours of Christmas morning.
“How did it go, dear?” Mrs. Sandra Claus asked. Santa smiled wearily at his wife, but didn’t respond as he continued to the bedroom. The door clicked shut. Before Mrs. Claus could count down from ten, Santa was snoring deeply.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered. It was still dark outside, and would be for hours, and in the window she saw a reflection of what she had become: an old woman with snow-white hair and more wrinkles than she could count. She loved her husband and the way he cared for so many children around the world every year, but didn’t she deserve some fun now and then too?
When they were first married, they could hardly keep their hands off each other. She couldn’t remember the last time Santa had stretched her out or she’d given him a handjob under the table while the Chief Finance Elf ran through the budget. She wondered if her husband could even still get hard.
“Let’s see if there’s any magic left.” Mrs. Claus ran to the quiet workshop and up the stairs to the musty attic. She pushed aside boxes and found an ancient chest, which contained a lifetime’s worth of precious memories. Towards the bottom, she found what she’d come looking for: a snow globe featuring a much younger version of the famous North Pole couple. Her husband’s words from decades earlier came back to her, warning her of the snow globe’s fleeting magic.
She winked at her reflection on the glass. “I hope your hips recover quickly, old bird.”
—
At 11 a.m., Santa Claus stirred. He was groggy, but he needed to spend time with his lonesome wife. He hoped she liked the sewing machine he’d made for—
“Oh.”
He sat at the edge of the bed and blinked, wondering if he was dreaming.
“H-hullo,” he said to the figure standing in the doorframe. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand. He sure hoped this wasn’t a dream.
Sandra Claus leaned against the doorframe, looking as youthful as the day they first met. Her long, radiant red hair fell down past her shoulders, just covering her naked tits. Aside from Santa’s fur-lined hat, the only thing she wore were a pair of black panties.
Santa gulped. “How?”
His much younger wife bit her lip and tossed the snow globe to him. He shook his head. “You’ve had it all these years?”
“You told me it was for any wish. For one hour.”
Santa put the snow globe on the nightstand. “So much magic and time went into putting it together.”
“All I want for Christmas is you, baby.” She stalked towards him, straddling him on the edge of the bed. “You’ve worked long and hard. Now I’m gonna get you long and hard.”
She kissed him passionately, her tongue sliding deep into his mouth. She tasted like peppermint. She was happy to find his old chest and shoulders were as strong as ever. Her grinding was finding its mark: Santa’s bulge had begun to grow and press against her.
“Ho, ho, ho,” she said softly.
“We’ll see who’s the ho,” said Santa gruffly, and he began sucking desperately on her neck and shoulders. One hand cupped her tight ass, teasing at the silky fabric around it, while the other began feeling up the grapefruit-sized breasts he dreamed about every night. As Santa’s cock grew ever harder, Sandra became desperate for more attention.
“Am I on the naughty list?” she pouted.
“Not yet,” said Santa. He reached into his nightstand and pulled out a leather pouch. “You remember my favorite decorations.” He opened the case, revealing two seemingly ordinary round tree ornaments, only with clamps at the end instead of hooks.
Sandra laughed and brushed back her hair, giving Santa access to her chest. He massaged her nipples with his tongue and teeth, and when they were hard he clamped an ornament to each pointy nipple. Sandra gasped delightfully at the pressure. Santa withdrew a small remote from the pouch and twisted the dial to the first notch. Sandra moaned as the ornaments sent shockwaves to her nipples and, as if by magic, through the rest of her insatiable body.
“More, baby. More, please!”
Santa loved hearing her beg. “Get up,” he ordered. She stood, and he kicked off his pants and propped himself against his headboard. With one hand he started stroking his impressive cock; with the other he beckoned for his wife. She took his cue and tore off her panties, lowering herself onto his cock. If the ornaments had been a pleasant reminder, it was nothing compared to taking her husband inside her, inch at a time.
Santa’s eyes rolled back in his head. Thrusting deep inside this tight body again was a Christmas miracle! For most of the hour, he bumped the dial up a little at a time. After a slow build-up, Sandra suddenly gripped Santa’s stomach, arched her back, and screamed through waves of orgasms.
When she finally came down from her pleasure peak, Santa removed the ornaments and threw his wife to the bed, then thrust his cock as far as he could down her throat. She slurped and sucked greedily, and it didn’t take long for Santa to bellow in complete bliss and cum down her throat, on her chin, and all over her heaving breasts as she transformed back into her current self.
Santa jumped to his feet, reaching for his clothes.
“Where are you going?”
“To the workshop,” he explained. “It’s going to take a long time to make another snow globe, but I think we just found a perfect new tradition.”
