What Do You Want for Christmas? by Aussiescribbler

Photo by Wavebreak Media Ltd.

“You just don’t have any sense of adventure anymore,” complained Debbie.

“Like all those muggers and murderers you deal with everyday?” I wanted to know.

“It has nothing to do with my job,” she replied. “And for your information it is usually burglars that I’m involved in catching, not murderers. The problem is with you. Ever since you finished acting school, all you do is sit around here and mope. I don’t mind about the fact that you can’t contribute much to the rent, but I just don’t get any kick out of having you around any more. You’re a total bore.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I replied, sarcastically.

“It’s you who needs to have confidence in yourself,” she lectured me. “I’m doing you a favour by throwing you out.”

“I bet you say the same thing to the metho drinkers when you kick them off their park benches,” I yelled at her, though I knew that I was wasting my breath.

When Debbie made her mind up about something, there was no arguing with her. So I ended up out on my arse. It looked as if I would have to get myself some kind of job or take to drinking metho and sleeping on park benches myself.

As it was I got two jobs. By day I was a department store Santa, by night – a hen’s night stripper. Well, at least I was performing, after a fashion.

Wearing a Father Christmas outfit during the middle of the hot Australian summer is one of the torments of Hell that Dante somehow forgot to mention in his Inferno.

“What do you want for Christmas, little boy?” I asked an innocent looking boy of about eight years as he sat on my knee, which had gone to sleep and was now nothing but a fuzzy mass of pins and needles.

“I want a book about how to make bombs,” he replied gleefully.

“Now, now,” I told him, “I don’t think that is a very appropriate Christmas present for a boy like yourself.”

“I want a book about how to make bombs,” he insisted, his voice rising. “I want a book about how to make bombs so that I can blow up my little sister.”

“You have to be a good little boy to get any Christmas present at all,” I told him. “And good little boys don’t blow up their baby sisters.”

“If you don’t give me a book about how to make bombs,” he threatened, scowling at me now, “I’ll get one from the Santa down the road and use it to blow you up as well as my little sister.”

“All right, time’s up,” I told him, pushing him off my knee.

“He’s not the real Santa!” the boy yelled to all the other children waiting in line.

“Don’t listen to him,” I told them. “He’s an anarchist.”

My next customer was a little girl of about seven years, who came up very shyly to sit on my lap.

“What’s your name, little girl?” I asked.

“I’m Christy,” she whispered, with a shy smile.

“Hello, Christy,” I said. “Have you been a good girl?”

“Not always,” she confessed. “But I try not to make my mummy angry.”

“That’s good,” I replied. “So what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas.”

“Well,” she said, hesitantly, “I don’t want anything for myself…”

“You don’t?” I asked. “That’s unusual.”

“No. I don’t want anything for myself,” she repeated, “but I would like it if you could make sure my mummy’s not lonely on Christmas day.”

“Won’t you be able to keep your mummy company on Christmas day?” I asked.

“No. Not this year,” she answered. “This year it is my daddy’s turn to have me at Christmas time, and I’m afraid mummy will be lonely.”

“Well, I think your mummy is very lucky to have a little girl like you,” I told her.

“Will you make sure that my mummy doesn’t get lonely?” she insisted.

“Which is your mummy?” I asked, looking over at the line of parents.

“She’s the pretty one in the blue dress,” Christy replied, pointing to an attractive brunette in her thirties.

“Well, I’ll certainly see what I can do,” I replied. “And I’ll make sure to leave something nice for you at your daddy’s house too, O.K.”

“O.K.” she replied and jumped off of my knee and ran back to her mother.

Nothing more might have come of this incident if I hadn’t been enjoying a beer at my local pub a week later and seen Christy’s mum enter and sit at a nearby table.

“Hello,” I greeted her.

“Do I know you?” she asked, suspiciously.

“Oh, of course, you won’t recognise me without the beard. I’m the Santa from the Quick Shop department store. Christy told me all about you. She’s very fond of her mum,” I explained.

“I’m glad she let you know that,” she replied. “The amount of trouble she gives me, you would never guess.”

“The name’s David,” I said, putting down my beer and extending my hand.

“Sue,” she replied. Her hand was soft and warm.

“Christy told me she didn’t care what she got for Christmas. She was only thinking of you,” I told her.

“Thinking of me?” she queried.

“She is afraid you will be lonely without her at Christmas time,” I explained.

“Well, it will be peaceful,” she replied. “No, she is probably right. Christmas is a time for children, and it will be rather flat without her.”

“Maybe Santa will come and keep you company,” I suggested.

“Mmmmm,” she responded. “I like rich men with beards.”

“Rich?” I queried.

“Well, he can afford all those presents, can’t he,” she laughed.

“Well, this Santa is not rich,” I put in. “If he weren’t so poor he wouldn’t have smelly little children sitting on his lap all day. One of them puked on me the other day. It is definitely not what I was trained for.”

“And what were you trained for?” she wanted to know.

“Shakespeare,” I replied.

“An actor?” she asked.

“Four years at the National Institute of Dramatic Arts. Mel Gibson went there, you know,” I explained.

“I bet he was never a shopping centre Santa,” she teased me.

“All right,” I replied. “Don’t rub it in.”

“I take it that it doesn’t pay too well?” she questioned me.

“No. But I have another job at nights,” I told her. “I’m a stripper. Tonight’s my night off.”

“A stripper? I’d like to see that,” she laughed. “I’ve never been to a male strip show. Do you do the “full monty”?”

“Of course,” I replied.

Her face went a charming shade of red as she contemplated her next question. “When you are stripping…?” she asked, tentatively.

“Yes,” I encouraged her.

“Do you ever get, you know…stiff?” she finished, giggling like a school girl.

“Once or twice when I was doing private shows, it almost happened. Due to the more intimate atmosphere,” I explained, trying to sound professional. “But in a club it’s different. It’s very loud and I have to concentrate on evading the customer’s hands.”

“I would have thought you would enjoy having them feel you up,” she smiled naughtily.

“I might do,” I replied, “but it’s against the rules, and I don’t like the customers to get in trouble.”

“What about you?” she asked. “Are you allowed to touch the customers?”

“No,” I explained. “If they pay for a lap dance, I sit in their lap and kiss them on the cheek, but I am not allowed to touch them with my hands.”

“Your management sound like spoil sports to me,” she declared, putting her hand on my knee meaningfully.

“Maybe you would like a personal demonstration for Christmas,” I flirted. “I’m a lot less particular than my management.”

“Sounds intriguing,” she replied. “Why don’t you drop by and surprise me. My address is 35 Heron Way.”

“I’d be delighted,” I replied.

So that was how I came to be standing in front of 35 Heron Way on Christmas Eve, feeling a little tipsy after having administered rather too much courage. I was dressed in my Father Christmas outfit.

No. 35 was a big house, and fairly old. I was surprised to find that it had a large, old-fashioned style chimney. Like Oscar Wilde, I am a person who can “resist anything but temptation.” Thus, after a modicum of contemplation, I began stealthily climbing the drain-pipe. I had had a good deal of practise with this kind of activity when I had played Romeo in my second year of acting classes.

It didn’t take me long to reach the roof. Then I set off towards the chimney, testing each foothold carefully, aware of the possibility of loose tiles. Soon, I was climbing over the top of the chimney and lowering myself down. With my knees pressed tightly against one side and my back against the other, I was able to wriggle my way down. Of course, I hadn’t thought until now about the likelihood that I would end up covered in soot. Well, it was too late to worry about that now, and anyway, I had my t-shirt and jeans on under the hot Father Christmas outfit.

What was more troublesome was the effect of the soot on my nose. Halfway down I let out the most enormous sneeze. Losing my grip, I fell sideways for a couple of feet and hit my head noisily on the side of the chimney. I was horrified to find that, in this uncomfortable position, I was stuck.

“Shit! What was that?” came Sue’s voice from down below.

I tried to say something to reassure her, but it just came out an indecipherable mumble in my current cramped position.

I heard Sue pick up the telephone. “Hello, is that the police?” she asked. “Someone is trying to break into my house…. Yes, that’s right. I can hear him coming down the chimney…. No, this is not a prank call! I live at 35 Heron Way. And please hurry.”

Eventually, I managed to straighten myself up and start easing my way down the chimney again, but now my muscles were sore and I couldn’t grip the sides so tightly.

“Ahhhhhhh!” I screamed, as I came hurtling down the chimney and rolled out of the fireplace, feeling like one big bruise.

Sue ran over and pulled off my beard.

“Oh, my god! It’s you!” she cried. “You idiot!”

“Seemed a good idea at the time,” I replied, rubbing my sore knees.

“And now I’ve called the police,” she said.

Just at that moment, there was a loud knock at the door. She went over to answer it. It was then that I heard a familiar voice.

“What appears to the be trouble Miss?” Debbie asked.

“I’m sorry,” replied Sue. “It turned out to be a friend playing a trick on me.”

“Sounds like a rather irresponsible trick if it led to us being called,” she replied. Then she turned to her male partner, “You can go and wait in the car, I think. This shouldn’t take long.”

“Perhaps I can offer you a cup of tea?” Sue asked, politely.

“Thank you,” Debbie replied, “I’d appreciate that. Now where is the culprit?”

“It seemed a good idea at the time,” I repeated, rather half-heartedly this time.

“Oh, so it’s you, is it?” she replied, shaking her head.

“You told me I needed to be more adventurous,” I replied.

“Adventurous is one thing. Idiotic is another,” she replied, sitting down on the sofa.

“Do you two know each other?” asked Sue, when she returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea.

“Debbie is my girlfriend,” I replied.

“Your ex-girlfriend,” she corrected me.

Sue began laughing hysterically. I put it down to the relief of nervous tension.

“I think Mr. Claus here needs to be punished for this little misadventure,” Debbie told Sue. “Frank and I were just about to finish our shift anyway. I think I’ll send him home. Then perhaps we can put David under a little temporary citizen’s arrest. Totally unofficial you understand.”

“That sounds like fun,” Sue declared.

“For us it will be,” Debbie replied, implying that the enjoyment might not extend to myself.

She went out and told Frank that the situation was under control but that she would stay and chat awhile.

“David promised to come over and do a striptease for me,” Sue told Debbie on her return.

“Really? A striptease, you say?” Debbie responded.

“It’s his other job,” Sue explained.

“Well, well. You are showing some initiative,” Debbie replied. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Let’s get him to strip for both of us,” Sue suggested.

“Yes, that can be the first part of his… shall we say, community service,” Debbie laughed.

Sue went and put a CD in her stereo. It was the soundtrack of The Full Monty.

I picked up a bottle of vodka that was sitting on the mantlepiece, unscrewed the cap and took a large swig.

“Hey, what do you think you are doing?” asked Debbie.

“That’s O.K.,” Sue reassured her.

“Just a bit of inspiration,” I explained. “You don’t expect me to dance for you two sober do you?”

“Well, just get on with it,” Debbie insisted.

“But none of the usual rules apply,” Sue explained, mischievously. “We are allowed to touch you as much as we like.” She turned to Debbie and explained, “Usually, the customers are not allowed to touch him, and he is not allowed to touch the customers.”

“Well, he had better touch me,” Debbie insisted. “If he wants me to be lenient on him. He’d better touch me alot, and in all the naughtiest places.” She thrust out her boobs beneath her severe police uniform and spread her legs, just in case I didn’t know where the naughtiest places were.

The two of them were definitely getting into a saucy mood. They knew they had me at their mercy and they liked the idea.

“And we like stiff cocks,” giggled Sue, who had obviously been drinking before I arrived.

“It’s not really “the full monty” unless you wag your stiffy at us,” Debbie agreed.

I began dancing to the music and had soon shed my Father Christmas outfit. My tight black t-shirt was soaked in sweat.

I danced over to the two women. They ran their hands over my chest and buttocks as I writhed before them. Sue was even naughtier than Debbie. She rubbed her hand firmly over my tightly-packed crotch.

“Mmmmm, he’s already getting big,” she sighed. “Have a feel.”

Debbie’s hand replaced Sue’s, and under her more gentle ministrations I was soon rock hard.

It was at this point that I remembered that I was allowed to touch them too. They were sitting close together. I moved their knees together and straddled them, my knees pushing up their skirts and rubbing against their crotches while I fondled a boob with each hand. They were both wearing bras, but it was delicious to have the liberty to feel the soft warmth of their boobs beneath my fingers. They sighed esctatically, especially when I kissed them each deeply on the lips, while rubbing my stiffness against the others thigh. I was still fully clothed, and yet, already we were all on the verge of cumming.

I backed off, and decided to lose a few more clothes. My sweat-dripping t-shirt came off over my head and flew across the room. Then I turned my back on them and wagged my ass as I pulled down my jeans. When I looked down, I realised that the head of my cock was poking out the top of my g-string.

“Wooohoooo!” they cried in unison, when I turned back towards them.

“Nice cock!” Sue called out.

There wasn’t much point in keeping my g-string on, so I pulled it down and kicked it across the room. Then I approached them, wriggling my body to the music, my cock wagging stiffly before me. This time I turned around and sat in Sue’s lap. The contact of my bare thighs on hers was exquisite. I lay back with my arm around her neck and played footsies with Debbie, who had kicked off her plain uniform shoes.

Debbie leaned over and stroked my stiff cock ever so lightly. Sue was not so gentle. She pushed away Debbie’s fingers, wrapped her hand around my cock firmly and began to wank me off.

“Hey, don’t do that!” Debbie cried. “He likes that too much. He’ll be spurting all over you in no time. We are going to have better uses for that cock of his, believe me.”

“You mean we’re going to fuck him?” Sue cried enthusiastically.

“Maybe,” Debbie replied. “If he’s a good boy.”

I reached over and pulled up Debbie’s skirt. I rubbed the fingers of my right hand over the crotch of her panties. They were soaking wet.

“Somebody’s horny,” I teased her.

“I bet Sue is just as wet as me,” she replied.

I knelt on the floor in front of Sue and gently pulled up her skirt. Sure enough, there was a huge wet spot on the crotch of her knickers. I rubbed my nose against the place were I thought her clit would be and licked the wet spot with my tongue.

“Oh, god,” she cried, “this is fantastic!”

“The stripper is allowed to feel up his audience, right?” I asked.

“That’s right,” replied Debbie.

“But is he allowed to take their clothes off?” I wanted to know.

“Yes, yes! Strip us naked!” yelled Sue, enthusiastically.

“Shhhh. Play it cool,” Debbie advised her. “You may want him getting a big cock, but you don’t want him getting a big head too.”

“I don’t care,” whimpered Sue, writhing in her seat. “Just strip us and fuck us with your big stiff cock. I want to be your nude Christmas fuck toy!” she screamed.

“All right, David. Yes, you can take our clothes off,” Debbie relented.

I pulled Sue up to her feet and began unbuttoning her blouse. While I moved down, undoing button after button, I rubbed my stiff cock down the smoothness of her thigh. When I had pulled her blouse down over her back, I stood up again, the head of my cock sliding beneath her skirt and lifting it up.

“What a naughty cock you have!” Sue scolded me playfully, readjusting her skirt and giving my dick an affectionate stroke.

Meanwhile I undid her bra and pulled it off. Her small but beautiful breasts were exposed before me. I gently fondled them and teased the already stiff nipples with my finger tips. Then I took each into my mouth in turn and sucked them gently.

The next thing I knew Sue had pulled off her knickers and thrown them across the room.

“Fuck me now! Fuck me now!” she pleaded.

Debbie stood up to make room and I lay Sue back on the sofa and slid my stiff cock into her warm, wet pussy. My hands grasped her lovely soft buttocks as she spread her legs wide and let me slide my prick deep into her.

“Well,” put in Debbie, in mock disgust, “it looks like I’ll have to take off my own clothes.”

With that she began dancing to the music and stripping enticingly out of her uniform. Sue and I watched her as we fucked. With one beautiful horny woman in my arms and another stripping in front of me, I was in heaven.

Soon, Debbie was naked, shaking her lovely big boobs, wagging her ass sassily and rubbing her fingers suggestively between her legs.

“I bet David thinks all of his Christmas’s have come at once,” she laughed as she sat down across from us and began blatantly masturbating. After rubbing her stiff clit with her fingers for a few minutes she looked over at the Christmas tree sitting in the corner of the room and saw a candy cane hanging from it. “Hmmm, I’ve always meant to try one of those,” she said and she went to fetch it. Her bottom cheeks jiggled tantalizingly as she reached up for the candy, and the light glistened from the rivers of pussy juice that ran down her inner thighs.

Once she was back in her seat she spread her legs and rubbed her clit with the tip of the candy cane. Then she sighed and inserted it deep into her pussy hole.

“Not as nice as the real thing, but it will do,” she decided as she began masturbating with it in ernest.

It didn’t take her long to get herself off. She let out a deep sigh and shuddered while pussy juice squirted out over the chair cover.

“Whoops!” she replied.

“Don’t worry. Getting new furniture anyway,” grunted Sue as I slid my cock in and out of her wetness.

“This is what David likes to do,” Debbie teased, placing the curved head of the candy cane in her pussy and stroking the upstanding shaft like a guy masturbating. “I bet he’s been doing lots of it since I dumped him.”

With one more thrust I spurted my hot cum into Sue’s throbbing pussy.

“Well,” she sighed. “Your loss is my gain. I want him in my bed every night from now until forever. He’s a lovely fuck.”

“All right,” replied Debbie, “but for tonight we share him, O.K.”

“O.K.,” Sue agreed.

“Now, ladies,” I interupted, “it is time for you to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what you want for Christmas.”

“MMmmmmmm, I know what I want for Christmas,” Debbie replied, as she tied a piece of mistletoe to the front of a sting of tinsel she had strung around her hips. “Got to kiss me below the mistletoe.”

“O.K.,” I replied, “but you will have to sit your lovely nude bottom on my lap and tell me that.”

She swung her hips enticingly as she walked towards me, loose-limbed from her recent self-induced orgasm.

“Oh, poor little dickie,” she said, as she lifted the cum-dripping head of my now floppy organ and place a gentle kiss right on the tip. “Yummy,” she sighed as she licked off a little jism. Then she sat down in my lap, the wetness from her pussy dripping over my thigh.

“Now you can tell me what you want for Christmas,” I told her.

“I want Santa to lick me,” she replied.

“Where do you want Santa to lick you?” I wanted to know.

“Right here,” she replied, spreading her legs and rubbing her slippery, pink pussy lips.

“I think that can be arranged,” I whispered. “Next!” I yelled, and slapped her hard on the bare ass. The chance to get my own back for her dumping me, as well as the contact of my hand on her luscious bare ass, caused my cock to twitch back towards stiffness again.

“Bastard!” she spat, playfully.

“My turn!” Sue cried. “Oooh, Santa’s stiff again,” she added, as her lovely nude bottom, a little less fleshy than Debbie’s, came into contact with my newly erect cock.

“So what do you want for Christmas?” I asked her.

“I want Santa to come and live with me,” she whispered in my ear.

“I think that can be arranged,” I replied. “But,” I whispered, “you’ll have to help Santa to get his Christmas wish.”

“What’s that Santa?” she asked.

“Santa wants you to help hold Debbie down, while Santa spanks her bare arse ’til it’s sore,” I replied. “Only then can Santa forgive her for calling him a loser.”

“O.K.” replied Sue, “it’s a deal.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” cried Debbie, but with two of us chasing her, she couldn’t get away.

We pushed her down onto the carpet in the middle of the lounge room and Sue sat on her back while I spanked her bottom. The sight of it bouncing under my blows as it turned first pink and then red, gave me a rock hard erection once more, much to Sue’s delight.

“All right. All is forgiven now,” I replied magnanimously, when my hand got tired.

“Well, I should hope so, you bastard,” Debbie responded, as Sue let her up. “I won’t want to sit down for a week.” She looked over her shoulder at her red ass cheeks.

“Now it’s time for your Christmas wish,” I told her. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to sit down. Just get on your knees and I’ll slip in underneath.”

I suspect that being spanked turned her on, because her pussy was even wetter than before as I slurped happily away at it. In the end, she wasn’t satisfied with just a licking. She wanted something more substantial than my tongue, or a candy cane, in her pussy.

“I saw Debbie fucking Santa Claus…” Sue sang happily from the sofa as she watched us. I was amazed that she was able to sing and masturbate at the same time.

About aussiescribbler

I'm a 55 year old movie fanatic and writer of humorous erotica.
This entry was posted in erotica, humour and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to What Do You Want for Christmas? by Aussiescribbler

  1. Excellent šŸ˜€ So much fun xx

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