Waiting Up For Santa

Her cunt glistened, not only with her own, slick juices, but now her daddy's cum was starting to leak out, too. He'd fucked her so many times in a row, his cum was dripping out of her pussy in long, shimmering rivers. The bed sheets beneath her were soaked with a large, round stain betraying the illicit, wonderful love a father and daughter felt for each other.

It was hard to leave her, but it wouldn't be for long. He would go take care of a day of deliveries. When he came back, his cock would quickly get hard at the sight of her. He would crawl back onto the bed, into the same position he'd just been in. He would touch her, and she would slip back into Santa-Time with him. His cock would plunge into her again and the fucking would resume.

She wouldn't last too much longer. For her, it had been over an hour of fucking. She might be able to last for one more, but not much beyond that. She'd been coming non-stop for daddy for most of that time. Eventually she would pass out.

She'd eventually pass out with her daddy's cum cascading out of her cunt in a flood, the cum from ten or fifteen consecutive fucks, and Daddy would leave again to do another few weeks worth of deliveries, while she slept and recovered, and Daddy returned to her to make love to her again.

Santa loved Christmas Eve. It was his chance to give his daughter more love than any other woman on earth could ever experience. It was his chance to use his Christmas magic in the most sordid, twisted and wonderful way he'd ever conceived.

* * *

Santa stared up at the security camera. In a fit of humorous rebellion, she smiled and flipped it the bird. There was only about a one in ten thousand chance that his image would be caught on a single frame of the film, and then almost no chance that anyone would ever notice that single frame. If they did, they would certainly write it off as a clever and untraceable joke by a bored technician at the security firm.

He rummaged now through the packages in the unclaimed bin. Pain killers, analgesics, antibiotics, and more. People filled their bodies with chemicals for more and more reasons these days. Each time he came across something Mrs. Kringle could try, like Prozac or Abilify, Santa pulled it out and stuffed it in an inside pocket of his thick coat.

He hated stealing, but he more than made up for it with what he left behind for the pharmacist, and he changed the computer records, too, so that no one would get in trouble for his petty crime. They'd just put it down to some mixup and whip up a new batch.

Pockets bulging with anti-depressants, Santa moved to the heating vent, a sad and disconcerting substitute for a fireplace. Using them was the absolute worst of all. He hated it. It probably wasn't even worth the effort, either. She'd probably refuse to try any of these, or claim they didn't work if she did, or else declare that they gave her headaches or stomach cramps or bowel problems or gas. She'd do anything to stay stuck where she was at, and to keep him stuck with her.

With that thought, he twitched his nose, and the twisting, wrenching, vomit-inducing process of exiting the pharmacy began.

For one brief eternity, Santa's eyeballs felt like they were the size of beach balls, crammed into the holes of a salt shaker, filled with enough hydrogen to float a zeppelin, and then ignited. As the flames seared his toes, he felt the sneeze coming on. It started in his nostrils, where it felt like four thousand ants had initiated a flash mob. He felt his own neck arching back like a king cobra preparing to strike, and then all at once, in perfect imitation of the most evil creature in existence snatching candy from a baby, it was gone. Just as the ultimate release, achieved by sneezing the ultimate, total sneeze, was finally about to embrace Santa in the grandest, most majestic act of sternutation in the history of being bless, it was gone. Santa was left feeling empty and cheated, like a whore who'd been brought to the very brink and then paid, only to find she'd even been shorted on the bill.

An instant before the whole thing started, it was over. It never happened, but it never happened forever, and the memory of it all never happening was seared into Santa's brain for the billion, trillionth time in one hundred years.

He really, really had to start using the door, at least once in a while.

* * *

Kristen straddled her daddy as he lay on his back. For her part, she half-sat with her knees forward and up, heels down on the ground and almost sitting on her haunches, with his cock pushed up inside of her. His belly rose like a great, round ball between them.

He bucked upward and rocked on occasion, driven by his lust while restrained by his own, hefty bulk. Kristen herself mostly controlled the action in this position. She rested her palms for the moment on his large, round belly, fingers splayed, actually helping it to move and shake each time he did try to thrust up into her. He'd heave himself up, grunting as he did so, and in so doing lift Kristen slightly up into the air, while thrilling her with the feel of his manhood pushing more deeply inside of her.

As he fell back down his belly would shift and then shake. Kristen would give it an extra push, helping to exaggerate its wonderful motions.

"Like a bowl full of jelly," Kristen laughed, with a sound like tinkling bells, teasing him.

He didn't mind, she knew. He was proud of his fat Santa-belly, and more than that Kristen loved it and he knew it. Kristen loved that fact that her daddy was so large, so that there was more of him to love, it made him look bigger and more powerful, and at least in that way he made her feel like a slight, tiny elf herself.

She closed her eyes so that she could focus on the feel of his cock inside of her. He was so hard for her. She loved Christmas Eve, when Daddy came to fuck her all night long, over and over and over again. No other man could ever give a woman a night the way Santa did. No other woman on earth, Kristen knew, had ever been fucked so many times in one night by the same man, let alone by her own loving daddy.

Kristen leaned forward, letting her hands slide from his belly to his chest to his neck, until they found and ran through the soft, long hair of his beard. She studied the gray white strands, watching as her fingers disappeared into its depths.

"Kiss your father, Kristen. Give your pretty little lips to Daddy."

She looked into his eyes. The twinkle was there, but it was faded, clouded over with his lust and love for her. She let her lips drive forward and down to his. Their lips met. His were warm and soft, moving gently over hers in a loving, teasing way, thrilling her beyond all reason. His whiskers brushed her nose and chin and cheeks, even as she continued to play her fingers through his beard.

They kissed with passion. Their lips parted and tongues met, playing about like little birds flitting around a nest.

Abruptly, he thrust up into the air again, lifting her up and filling her further with his cock. She moaned into his mouth at the feel of him, while hanging onto his beard with her hands to hold their lips together and maintain the kiss.

As he dropped back down she felt his belly shake beneath her own. The image of it in her mind made her smile, which made her break the kiss. She pushed herself upright again, keeping her hands in his beard and letting her arms squeeze her tits together, making them rounder and pushing them out to tempt him with her nipples.

It had the desired effect. His eyes locked onto her there. She didn't wait for him to move, but instead leaned forward to offer them to him. As if on command he lifted his head up, then pushed himself up onto his elbows, and found one nipple with his mouth. His whiskers brushed the flesh of her breasts. She pushed them more eagerly into his mouth, cupping them with her hands as she fed them to him, first one, then the other.

He fell back away, moving his own hands to rest on her thighs as he looked up at her with love. She could feel the same foggy, lusty expression she read on his face covering her own.

"What do you want for Christmas, little girl?"

He said it without a smile or hint of humor. He was too overcome with lust for her, and that more than anything excited Kristen. She wanted so much to be a woman for him, and she was. She was something for him that no one else in the world could be, and he was that and more to her.

"I want to have a baby, Santa."

The words came out without thinking. She hadn't meant to say it. They'd been over this. If she was to have a baby, it had to be by finding a lover, and preferably by making him a husband. That was part of the reason she was hear in Milwaukee.

Part of the reason.

He looked at her with sadness. To escape the sudden mood swing, Kristen pushed herself up and leaned backwards, bracing her own arms on his thighs while she arched her back, thrusting her tits upward towards the ceiling. The posture drove his cock even more deeply up into her body. She writhed there, gyrating and undulating to move him inside of her as she listened to the sudden onset of moans and groans he made from that the pleasure that she now gave him.

He began to buck and thrust up into her again, now with more energy and ferocity, threatening to topple her over. She pushed herself forward again to cover his belly with her body. She hugged him tightly, lowering her mouth again to his, wanting to show him through a deep kiss how much passion he inspired in her as well.

Before their lips met, she dared to voice her wish again.

"Give me a baby, Daddy. I want to have a baby."

Before he could even think of answering, her kiss smothered his mouth and her cunt clamped down on his cock, squeezing it and milking him to use her passion to drive all reason from his mind.

* * *

"So the first elf says, and I'm serious, this is exactly what he says, "WTF, Santa, I know I'm short, but I'm not that short!"

Kristen laughed for what seemed like the first time in months. The story wasn't even that funny, but Dad's laugh was contagious, and Kristen felt light and airy and so at ease.

She realized she hadn't felt like that all year, not since last Christmas. This sucked.

She knew it was a problem. She knew it was something that she had to work on, that she had to overcome. But the fact was that no one in the world made her feel as happy and at ease as her dad. Okay, so he was Santa, he made everyone feel that way, but this was different.

He was kind. He'd always been there for her. It was probably hard for other women to see, but he was sexy.

He was everything to Kristen, and now more than ever she felt like nothing. She felt like nobody, in a sea of somebodies, terrified of being noticed and yet terrified of never being noticed. She didn't know what to do or how to do it. She felt like everything she tried to do or say came out wrong, or would come out wrong if she could get up the courage to try. She rarely did.

Except with Dad. She could stare into his easy, bright eyes all day and feel like she never wanted to be anywhere else.

And he made her feel sexy, too.

"So have you given any thought to letting someone share your load? To give you more time?"

He looked at her sternly, and yet still with a touch of a smile in his eyes.

"No, not really. I'm not ready for that. I'd never be able to live with myself if they messed up a delivery."

"Dad, it's not that important. Not any more. They've got robotic factories and mass production. Toys are the cheapest things in the world to make."

Santa snorted. They'd discussed this a hundred times, and his dismissal of modern "toys" was plain.

"Dad, you know it, too. You barely visit one tenth of the houses anymore."

He looked at her with those same twinkling eyes, but she could see the sadness behind them. Times were changing, whether he liked it or not, and the fact was that he should like it. Santa was getting old. He was older than the hills, yes, but his spirit was bound to sag some day.

"Well, who do you propose to help me. You?"

"You know I didn't get any of your magic, except being able to talk with toys. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really your daughter."

"Oh, you are. You have my temperament."

Kristen looked at him. She wondered if he was ever as shy as she was, but she knew that in a way he was. He hid it behind the suit and the laugh and the whole routine, but it was there. He'd had plenty of time to find another lover, and Kristen was sure that there was more than one woman who would wait for him each Christmas Eve the way she did.

But he couldn't do it. He didn't know how. It was too hard to put himself out there.

Somehow, she and he were perfect for each other. Somehow, she knew, he was the only man she would ever truly connect with, and she was sure that she was the same for him.

This was their destiny. She knew it was. She just had to keep loving him and showing her love for him, in every way she could, until he admitted it to her and himself.

"Oh, Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Kristen writhed under his bulk, withstanding a torrent of powerful, thrilling thrusts, magnified a hundred fold by Santa's artful use of Chimney Magic. With each filling stab she felt as if she were going to be ripped in half, only to find every nerve of her body infused with rapturous tingles. Her mind snapped. Every thought in her mind burst free with no chance of restraint.

"Fuck me full of babies, Daddy. Please fuck my tight cunt full of your babies! I want to make babies with you, Daddy. Make babies inside of your little baby. Make babies inside me."

His passion increased ten fold. His mouth found her breasts. She arched her back, pushing them firmly into his face. The scratch of his whiskers there sent shock waves through her body. The hot, wet feel of his lips on her nipple sent waves of pleasure coursing through her.

"Fuck your baby full of babies, Daddy! Please? Please?"

He growled then. She knew he was coming, and the knowledge of it sent her into spasming, contorting, heart wrenching orgasm with him. She wanted to keep begging and pleading with him to give her her heart's desire. She wanted him to know what she truly wanted from him, and to scream it to the world as she came for him and with him.

She wanted to, but the ability to speak coherent words left her. She was left screaming, in a state of total, confused rapture, knowing only that right here, right now, she had exactly what she wanted, from the only man in the world who could give it to her.

* * *

Yes, he and Mrs. Kringle made mistakes in her upbringing, but they had done their best — especially him, when the depression fell on Mrs. Kringle soon after Kristen was born. They did their best, but with time she matured and they drifted apart, as he fell into his work to escape the sorrow and anger from Mrs. Kringle's depression. Kristen handled in her own way, with rebellious anger but no where to run.

Then one day, she was a beautiful woman. He didn't know when it happened, but it did. He started to see her for what she was, and hated himself for the desires she evoked in him. But it was done. He fell in love with her, and he desired her like no man should ever desire his own daughter. And yet she was perfect. She filled a gaping hole in him, and in time he learned that he did the same for her. It was inevitable. They were meant to be together, like this. This had to be right, because it was so wonderful and fulfilling. She made him happy again. He made her happy.

They were everything to each other, and he never, ever wanted to let her go, or to be without her.

* * *

The third zombie almost got him. Santa was out of ammo on the shotgun anyway, so he tossed it aside and pulled a grenade. In his head he screamed "Eat frag, dirt bags!" In reality, he gritted his teeth as he pulled the pin, tossed, ducked and rolled behind a crate.

There was a zombie waiting for him there, one that quickly, gorily and graphically, with a maw gaping supernaturally wide and only half-filled with yellowed, rotting teeth ripped at his throat and ended his adventure.

Santa tossed the controller down in disgust. He needed to find the power-up on this level if he was ever going to get by this particular horde.

Purely out of habit he looked at the clock on the wall, which still read 2:34. He looked back at the screen. Fuck, this was one great toy. He didn't like a whole lot of modern crap, but these things were awesome. They were a great way to vent his frustrations during the long, toy-making year, and on Christmas eve they afforded him an occasional break from the tedium of his deliveries.

He glanced at the clock again. 2:34. It was time to move on. He'd sat here long enough, and gotten through 8 more levels. A few days worth of deliveries would get him to Anthony Weaver's house. He had the same game. Santa transferred his personal info to his own memory card, took it out, and began to put things back the way they should be when he hesitated.

Shoot, give the kid a thrill, he thought. On a whim, he left his screen name — Kris Kringledeath — not only loaded on the game, but right there on the screen. Mr. Vanderheim was going to have a hard time explaining to his son how he'd gotten through 23 levels of Storm of the Dead in a single night, just as an elaborate joke to make it look like Santa played video games. Little Andy Vanderheim was also gong to have a hard time convincing his mom and dad that he hadn't been up all night playing instead of sleeping. Only Mrs. Vanderheim was going to get away scott free.

Santa smirked. It took another half hour, but he played his new character name, MomHammer, all the way up to level 17 before he quit, moved to the fireplace, squeezed his eyes shut and endured the trauma of chimney travel once again.

* * *

His cock felt so good in her mouth. Kristen closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of the satiny smooth flesh of it pressing against the inside of her cheek. She moved her tongue over it, exploring it like a blind man exploring the face of a lover. She closed her eyes, focused her will, and tried again.

She eased forward, feeling her father's cock head brush and then press against her palate. It slid further back as Kristen eased herself forward. The shaft of his cock brushed her lips as she eased it in, further and further.

He let out a soft moan, drawing on from Kristen in return. She hummed her passion into the shaft of her father's cock. Kristen so loved giving him pleasure.

"Oh, Baby. Daddy is so lonely. You make Daddy so happy, Sugarplum."

His words encouraged her to try even harder. She wanted to do this so badly.

His cock head touched the roof of her mouth at the back of her throat. She willed herself to stay calm. There was no gag reflex yet. She eased herself further forward. His cock head pushed her tonsils aside as her lips slipped further and further down towards the base of his shaft.

She felt his fingers slip into her hair.

"Oh, Kristen, that's it. Suck Daddy's cock. Make Daddy come for you."

It started as a tickle. Kristen recognized it, reacting with instant detachment, trying to ignore it the way one tries to ignore the onset of a sneeze. She tried to think of nothing but calm.

Kristen eased further forward, feeling his cock head pushing down her throat. She was doing it. She was almost there. She tightened her lips on his cock, trying to squeeze him like the tightest cunt he'd ever fucked.

That was too ambitious. The gag reflex hit her before she knew it. She tried to resist it, to ignore it, but it was too late, and the sensation was too strong. She started to choke.