Total pages in book: 7
Estimated words: 5594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 28(@200wpm)___ 22(@250wpm)___ 19(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 5594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 28(@200wpm)___ 22(@250wpm)___ 19(@300wpm)
“You’re not real,” I tell him, and his smile practically twinkles.
“I am because you believed in me.” He nods to the table beside us. “You believed enough to put out milk and cookies.”
“I just wanted cookies.” My voice is pleading like I’m hoping he will disappear or I’ll wake up from this dream.
“You hung a stocking, put up a tree, and you believed in your heart that there was magic in Christmas.”
“Santa isn’t real,” I whisper between us as fear creeps up my neck.
“Why do you think your mother kept you from me for so long?” he says, his eyes narrowing. “She knew I was real and that one day I’d find you.”
“Oh god.”
Santa is supposed to be jolly and sweet, but the man in front of me is powerful and scary. There’s an edge to him that I’m afraid of, and the glint in his eyes feels sinister.
“Let’s not worry about that right now, though.” He kneels down in front of the couch, but he’s so tall we’re eye level like this. “All that matters is that I’ve found you, and you’re finally coming home.”
He places his hands on my shoulders and slides them down my arms. He’s surprisingly warm, and his touch is gentle, which is a contrast to the look in his eyes. His hands move lower, and then I feel him grip my hips. I’m not sure why, but my instinct to fight is gone as soon as he touches me, and I let him pull me to the edge of the couch.
“You know I can tell if you’ve been naughty or nice,” he says as his hands move around my hips and to my ass. “You’ve been so nice, Noel.” He pulls me close enough that my knees spread and he moves between them. “But there’s a little spark inside you that wants to be naughty.”
I gasp when he grabs my ass and my center is pressed tight against something hard. His belly is round and pushing against me, but I still feel the hard, thick length of his cock. He’s excited and eager if the way he’s poking me is any indication.
“Santa.” I try to protest by pushing away or wiggling out of his hold, but my body won’t listen. There’s also something happening to me, and the more he touches me, the hotter I get. I can’t control it, but it’s a burning need for him to keep touching me, keep pushing that hard tip right in the center of my sex.
“That’s right, Noel. The more you believe, the better it will feel,” he tells me when he leans down and places his lips on mine.
Heat and desire surge through my body, and I know I should hate it. I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but all he does is slide his tongue past my lips and lick me there. His beard is soft on my face as he keeps licking me, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize he tastes like chocolate chip cookies.
I want him to stop, but the more he licks, the better it feels and then I’m shamelessly grinding against his cock. His mouth moves down my neck and then his fingers are pushing up my night shirt. When it’s just my panties that cover my pussy, he hums in appreciation.
“All right, Santa will give you a little treat before we go,” he says and then pulls off one of his gloves.
His mouth goes back to my neck as his fingers dip into my panties and I scream. No one has ever touched me here before, and suddenly Santa is finger-fucking me.
“No!” I shout, but my hips rock forward, trying to take him deeper.
“There’s my naughty girl,” he tells me and licks up my neck. “My sweet sugarplum.”
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I ride his hand and then feel my pussy clench around his fingers. I cum faster than I ever have before, and the feeling is so damn good. My entire body relaxes with the release, and I slump against him.
He chuckles as he slides his fingers out of my panties, and then I hear him sucking them clean. I sit back, ashamed of what I’ve done and hoping I can get him to leave. Or to wake up from this crazy dream.
“Time to go,” he tells me as he puts his glove back on and pulls me into a standing position.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I protest and step out of his hold. As soon as his touch is gone, I’m left feeling cold and alone. It’s like I’ve had a bucket of ice water dumped on me, and I want to cry. What would happen if he touched me again?
“You better not pout,” he warns me, and I take another step away from him.