Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share Miracle On Route 34: Part 1
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
Miracle On Route 34: Part 1
Miracle On Route 34: Part 1
Ginny gets a wonderful Christmas surprise.
Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Author's
Notes: Someone asked me to
write a funny and erotic Christmas tale, but since I can't be normal, it is
taking on a radical twist that I hope people will find amusing. I've tried to
make Santa awesome but also give him some flaws that the ladies will find both
charming and irksome all at once.
I
wasn't going to call it anything lame like 'Here Cums Santa Claus' (in spite of
my love of Elvis) so I eventually settled on ripping off a classic and beloved
Christmas movie, naming it 'Miracle On Rural Road 34'. Couldn't help myself
with the 'Yes, Virginia' quip, of course. As for Superman, Oatmeal and the
Easter Bunny, well, get used to more groaners like that, because I like them.
Merry
ho-ho and keep your stick on the ice!
, Management
Chapter 1.
Ginny Hale sighed forlornly as she sat on her chesterfield
in the dim room, the only light provided by the crackling fireplace and some
scented candles spread around to make the house smell like gingerbread. She'd
made gingerbread cookies earlier, but they were predictably burnt and now her
kitchen smelled like a Christmas elf's ass.
She took another sip of red wine from her oversized glass,
unable to decide who or what to be mad at, the weather, for bringing this
god-awful blizzard on Christmas Eve, her so-called friends for ditching her
after she'd gone to all this work to put together a nice party, or herself for
going crazy and buying this (admittedly nice) chateau way out here in the
boondocks.
Still relatively new to her negotiator position, Ginny had
landed a huge deal for the company she worked for and the payout bonus was one
of the biggest ever seen in-house. Though she had an office, she had often
worked from her cramped apartment downtown, where a glorious chaos only she
understood reigned. But the payout had been large enough for her to purchase a
very pretty home in the country, not more than ninety minutes from work. Her
boss was so pleased with the deal that he said she only had to come in once a
week, to pick up whatever she needed to work on.
It had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now she
found she was quite lonely. Few people were will to put forth the effort to
come out and visit her. In fact, only three had since the summer when she
bought it. Hell, even her boy-toy, Chad from Accounting, could not be bothered
and was now just fucking Lily in the secretary pool instead.
Bing Crosby was singing 'White Christmas' to her while she
moped. The big bay windows to her back porch showed the fury of the storm
outside. Driving snow had been battering the countryside for two days now and
her boss had called her to just stay safe and not try to come into the city.
He was a nice old man and she liked him. He'd actually taken
a chance and given her the job, after she'd fucked him. She hadn't invited him
to her little soiree, because his miserable old bat of a wife was hovering
around him constantly these days, certain he'd been tipping on her. But even
without Old Man Reese, she'd invited upward of twenty people and none of
them had shown. Not even Claire, her best supposed friend, had made it out. She
was probably too busy being pinned and screwed by her boyfriend anyway, Guido
or Nunzio or whatever his name was.
Dean Martin came on, singing 'Marshmallow World'. Normally
this was one of her favorites, but tonight it just reminded her that she was
alone for Christmas. Again. With another sigh, she drank the rest of the wine
in her glass and reached for the bottle, turning it over.
It was empty. Damn. She'd have to open another one.
She walked slowly into the kitchen, wearing her ratty old
fox-themed footie pajamas, having decided that if she didn't have to dress up
for anyone, she was dressing at all. She took a deep drink of spiked egg nog
from the jug of it she'd prepared while she found another bottle of zinfandel
and burped very loudly. She wrestled the cork off of the bottle and poured most
of the contents into her oversized glass, muttering that she didn't have to
answer to anyone about what she did, she was a big girl. She slumped back down
on the couch while John Lennon asked her what she'd done for Christmas from the
stereo system.
"Up yours, John;" she said testily as she drank
more wine.
She stood unsteadily, blinking for a moment to try and clear
her head. She might have had a bit of a wine fog going on,
since she'd nearly polished off two bottles of Old Vine Zinfandel in under two
hours. Convincing herself that walking was not a bad idea, she tottered over to
the bay windows, reaching a hand out in front of herself to make sure it
encountered the glass before her face did.
"Will you look at that shit out there;" she
muttered to no one in particular. After all, there was no one around to hear
her.
Well, almost no one.
"Hi, Oatmeal," she said sweetly, grinning lopsidedly at the bearded dragon that sat in a terrarium near the bay doors. "Looks like you're my Christmas date; again;"
The tiny lizard said nothing but assumed a darker shade of purplish brown.
"Same to you too, bugface." Ginny muttered sourly, annoyed at being spurned by a reptile with a brain smaller than a sugared peanut. She lumbered back to the kitchen, trying unsuccessfully to eat several pieces of the Turkish Delight she'd tried to make, but they were sticky and runny, most of the reddish-pink mess ending up stuck to the front of her pajamas.
"Son of a fucking reindeer!" she spat, attempting
to remove the pajamas, her sticky fingers having trouble with the zipper. She
finally kicked the thing off and left it in a corner of the kitchen, now wearing
nothing except her panties and a halter top. She stomped back into the spacious living room, thoroughly annoyed. While the music played, she looked around for something to do, taking another pull from the egg nog jug she'd brought with her.
The hot tub.
It sat near the bay windows, set into the floor and was
large enough for five or six people. She'd been hoping that maybe a few people
of the dozens she'd invited would show and maybe they could have a fun pool
party. She'd even told everyone in the invitations to bring their swimsuits.
But of course, no one showed. She was beginning to suspect
she could live in Buckingham Fucking Palace and still no one
would come to see her. This was, literally, the fifth Christmas she'd spent by
herself. The timing for friends never worked out and her parents were always
off in Monaco or some such place, avoiding the weather. Her mom had already
called earlier that night, so she wouldn't hear any more from them for a few
days now.
She sighed yet again and pulled off her underthings,
stepping into the water. She was drunker than she wanted to admit, though,
missing her footing, squealing and tumbling into the tub with a splash. Ginny
came to the surface, sputtering and hissing in outrage. Why couldn't anything
work out? Oatmeal just stared at her impassively.
"You win this time, gravity;" she growled,
displeased with her inelegant entrance. Well, at least she'd been smart enough
to put down the jug of nog before trying to get in. She turned on the jets and
retrieved her beverage, taking another big pull as the tub rumbled to life.
Ginny laid back her head against one of the padded rests and tried to relax, to
let her frustrations go.
She turned on the jets and allowed one to massage her lower
back while sipping at a glass of wine. She tried to put the frustrations of the
holiday behind her, to let go of the feelings of rejection and somehow not
belonging.
"Why did I but this new fucking home if no one was
interested in visiting? Everyone said they thought it was so great, but months
later, still no visitors. Do I really not matter that much?"
It annoyed her to think not only that she was alone, but
that doubtless most of the people who had ditched her were at home getting
laid. Claire was doubtless face down and ass up on her bed, getting plowed from
behind by Guido. Even Mr. Reese, the old geezer, was probably getting some,
either from his wife or maybe one of his secretaries.
She sighed heavily and sat up, putting her now-empty wine
glass aside and deciding that just because she was alone on Christmas Eve
didn't mean she wasn't owed at least one good orgasm. She leaned forward and
rested her forearms on the padded edge of the hot tub, positioning herself so
that one of her jets, the one she'd named 'Juan', was right behind her. She
felt the flow of water begin to caress her and she rested her head on her
forearms as she wiggled further back, feeling the jet more strongly now as it
pushed against her ass and her cunt. With a sigh, she found the perfect
distance and pressed her face down into her arms, letting Juan work his magic.
Water pressure massaged her cunt lips, strong enough to part
them and to tease her clit, sending thrills through her. She shuddered and
sighed loudly, forgetting, for now, how much men sucked. She bit the knuckle of
her index finger, lost in reverie.
God, if only it were a man fucking her.
"Alone; on fucking Christmas; where's, ah!, where's
the justice in that?"
She was sweating now and panting as the relentless jets
battered her nether tinglies, the sensations overwhelming her steadily. She
clenched her teeth and her fists, straining as she fought to hold on a little
longer.
She moaned very loudly, her whole body shaking as Juan
delivered a wonderful orgasm. She panted and groaned shamelessly, knowing that
no one was around to see her in her pent-up, frustrated lust, expending it on
her Jacuzzi jets. The scintillating lights behind her eyes, however, were over
all too quickly and the climax subsided, replaced by a juddering sensitivity
that made Juan's caress too much to bear. She collapsed against the edge of the
hot tub, moving her ass away from the jet.
"Alone; again;"
She may have needed the orgasm, but it did nothing to
improve her mood. It didn't help that the song 'This Christmas' by Shoes had
begun playing as the cumming ended. When it finally felt like her legs would
work again, she turned around and slumped into a corner of the tub, as far from
Juan as possible.
Ginny stayed still for some time, until her feet and fingers
felt that annoying level of pruny that made everything awful to touch. With the
heat of the water and all the alcohol she'd drunk, she was feeling rather
light-headed, so she turned off the stereo and shut off the lights. She found a
plate of her fucked-up and burnt gingerbread cookies and left them on a table
near the fireplace along with the jug of nog before beginning to head upstairs
to bed.
"Yeah. Fuck this day. And fuck tomorrow too. Maybe
if I stay drunk enough it'll just fly by. Fuck Christmas."
The second floor was an open space in the middle, looking
down onto the main floor. A set of stairs led up on either side and the
bedrooms were spaced around the gallery. She'd loved the design when she bought
it, but this only increased her frustration when no one ever came to visit.
"Gorgeous fucking house; ten acres of beautiful
nature filled with deer and ugly-ass wild turkeys; a fucking pond people could
skate on; shit, I even found a patch of landrace back there! What's not to love
about my new home? Why aren't people shitting themselves in jealousy?"
She reached the master bedroom, sighing at how big it felt
since she had no one to share it with. She stood in front of the mirror,
looking at her naked body and sighing. She was trim and fit, with nicely-sized
boobs, she kept her cunt shaved smooth and her full lips were simply made to
suck cock. Her skin was fair and even and her dark brown hair was long enough
to pull on if you were fucking her ass or taking her from behind. So what the
hell was wrong?
The bed was certainly big enough for two (or maybe her and
two guys who didn't mind getting close), but she plunked herself down into it
and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the room to stop drunk-spinning. It took
longer than she wanted it to, but things finally slowed down an she breathed
deeply.
She reached over with her hand and fumbled around inside the
drawer of the nightstand. She finally withdrew an elegant glass dildo, a barely
opaque white with bright red stripes curling around it to simulate a candy
cane. It had been a Christmas gift from Claire, who had jokingly given it to
her until she found a man for herself.
That bitch.
"Well, Frosty," she sighed, examining him.
"Looks like it's you and me tomorrow. I promise to not get out of bed
except to go to the bathroom or get more booze, okay? Because I'm here for you;"
And with that she kissed the dildo and put it aside. She
turned out her lamp and sighed deeply as she lay in the dark, waiting for sleep
to take her.
"Fuck Christmas;"
A noise from downstairs. Her eyes snapped open. She
was sure she'd heard something. Her heart pounded in her
chest. She took deep breaths to try and calm herself, reasoning that she'd been
drunk and it might just be hangover noises.
Maybe just something like branches scraping on the roof or
across the walls?
Ginny felt a flush of anger and slowly rose, getting out of
bed and putting on a plush yellow robe. There were definitely sounds
downstairs. She grabbed her rape whistle and her high-school field hockey stick
off the wall before quietly opening the door and proceeding out of the room.
Her cheeks flushed with fear and anger. How dare someone invade her house? And
in this fucking weather!
"Burglars? Ruffians? Escaped cons?"
"Well, at least if they see you they might have
their way with you and break your dry spell."
She shook the vile notion from her head, wondering where the
hell that'd come from. Could she be that desperate to get
laid?
Ginny walked as quietly as she could, hearing noises on the
roof. Raccoons? Looking to get in from the cold?
Fucking trash pandas.
She rounded the corner of the gallery and put her foot on
the top step, her hockey stick ready. She crept down the stairs, still hearing
the noises. They seemed to be coming from her living room. Her eyes narrowed as
she tried to identify anything that might be amiss.
Then she saw him, a symphony of red trimmed in white, the
huge ass swaying back and forth as the intruder was bent over her at the base
of her Christmas tree, doing God only knows what to it. He seemed to be humming
to himself.
She walked up silently until she was maybe ten feet away
from him, her hockey stick over her shoulder, ready to swing. He didn't hear
her or took no notice of her.
"I don't want to hurt you," she growled through
clenched teeth. "But you'd best get the fuck out of my house or I'll hit
you so hard Google won't be able to find you."
The person in red paused in their activities and then stood
up slowly. After another moment's pause, they stood up and turned around
slowly. He was slightly taller than average and quite a bit fatter than
societal norms allowed. He had a fat face with dancing blue eyes and red
cheeks. Beneath the tapered red hat was long, silvery-white hair and a very
full beard and moustache. The intruder looked at her and grinned.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked with a voice
that could only be described as jolly.
Ginny said nothing. She seemed to be rooted to the spot. She
wanted to say something, anything, but she seemed to have been
robbed of the power of speech.
"W, who;" she finally managed to stammer.
"Yes, Virginia," the visitor said quietly but
pleasantly in a soothing voice. "There really is a Santa Claus."
She blinked and shook her head, trying to articulate a
coherent thought. The big man in red chuckled, clearly amused by her predicament.
"Your egg nog was very good," he mentioned as he
walked forward a little. "Your cookies needed a little work, but I
appreciate the effort. Maybe a cookbook next year?"
"Stay still!" she snapped, suddenly coming out of
her stupor and holding the hockey stick behind her head as if she was winding
up for a hit. "I'll deck you, old man!"
"Oh, there's no need for that," he said
cheerfully, totally unconcerned by her threat. "It's been a rough year for
you, hasn't it, Ginny?"
"Why do you know my name?" she asked, her eyes
narrowing in suspicion.
"Of course I know it," the man claiming to be
Santa said jovially. "I'd be pretty lousy at my job if I didn't,
right?"
"If you're really Santa," she said tightly, still
not understanding why she hadn't knocked this guy's head off his shoulders yet.
"Then what was I doing the night of October seventeenth last year?"
He tilted his head to the side a little and pursed his lips.
"Are you sure?"
"C'mon, you haven't got all day."
"Very well," he said, sighing. "You were sitting
in McPhearson's Pub, waiting vainly for Greg from IT to show up, because you'd
given him a blowjob in the bathroom earlier that day and promised him more. But
he went off with Becky from Accounts that night instead of meeting up with
you."
She blushed furiously at the memory. "I; that wasn't
the day I meant! I meant the sixteenth!"
He shrugged. "You had the day off and were really
frustrated. You slid a condom over that very field hockey stick and used it on
yourself, just to see what it was like."
Ginny dropped the stick very suddenly. "How the hell do
you know that, you perv?"
The man shrugged. "I know all about you, Ginny. And
every other boy and girl in the world"
"Don't give me that horseshit!" she hissed,
glaring at him. "I had too many Christmases where I didn't get what I want
to buy into that cockamamie story!"
"Well, you weren't exactly the most exemplary child,
were you?" he reasoned. "I mean, you weren't horrible, it's not like
you were out kicking puppies into woodchippers, but you spent more time in the
naughty column that the good column, didn't you?"
"What did I ever do that was so naughty?" she
demanded hotly, her fists bunched up at her sides.
"You and your brother could get rather friendly,
couldn't you?" the man calling himself Santa pointed out.
She faltered for a moment. "Lots of siblings play
doctor. And those atomic booty bombs where I kept jumping in the air and
landing on him were just playful."
"While naked?" Santa asked, raising a bushy white
eyebrow.
Ginny blushed.
"But that wasn't what landed you on the naughty
list," he added. "What got you blacklisted was that you lied about
doing your homework or cleaning your room while you were messing around with
your brother. Your mom and dad would ask you to do your math and you'd slip away
to play doctor instead and tell them you'd finished your homework after. Lying
is naughty, right?"
"Woah, hold the phone here," she said loudly,
holding her head as if she was suddenly dizzy from a revelation. She didn't
seem to notice that her robe had opened slightly, exposing her cleavage.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Fibbing to my parents kept me from getting
the gifts I wanted?"
"Were the rules unclear?" Santa asked. "I
thought the songs on the subject were so easy to follow."
Ginny pinched her eyes in exasperation and then scowled at
him. "I'm drunk," she concluded, trying to convince herself none of
this was real. "I'm drunker than Sarah Palin and you're not really here.
I'm still in bed and this is all bullshit."
Santa shrugged. "I was putting stuff under your tree
until you arrived and enjoying the nog. I won't mind if you go back to
bed."
"No, you're not getting off that easily," she said
in annoyance. "You broke into my house in the middle of the storm of the
fucking century and I want answers, dammit!"
He shrugged. "Fair enough. Ask away."
Her eyes narrowed again. "Aren't you on kind of a time
crunch? Unless I'm the last pe
View all episodes
By [email protected]
4
88 ratings
Miracle On Route 34: Part 1
Ginny gets a wonderful Christmas surprise.
Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Author's
Notes: Someone asked me to
write a funny and erotic Christmas tale, but since I can't be normal, it is
taking on a radical twist that I hope people will find amusing. I've tried to
make Santa awesome but also give him some flaws that the ladies will find both
charming and irksome all at once.
I
wasn't going to call it anything lame like 'Here Cums Santa Claus' (in spite of
my love of Elvis) so I eventually settled on ripping off a classic and beloved
Christmas movie, naming it 'Miracle On Rural Road 34'. Couldn't help myself
with the 'Yes, Virginia' quip, of course. As for Superman, Oatmeal and the
Easter Bunny, well, get used to more groaners like that, because I like them.
Merry
ho-ho and keep your stick on the ice!
, Management
Chapter 1.
Ginny Hale sighed forlornly as she sat on her chesterfield
in the dim room, the only light provided by the crackling fireplace and some
scented candles spread around to make the house smell like gingerbread. She'd
made gingerbread cookies earlier, but they were predictably burnt and now her
kitchen smelled like a Christmas elf's ass.
She took another sip of red wine from her oversized glass,
unable to decide who or what to be mad at, the weather, for bringing this
god-awful blizzard on Christmas Eve, her so-called friends for ditching her
after she'd gone to all this work to put together a nice party, or herself for
going crazy and buying this (admittedly nice) chateau way out here in the
boondocks.
Still relatively new to her negotiator position, Ginny had
landed a huge deal for the company she worked for and the payout bonus was one
of the biggest ever seen in-house. Though she had an office, she had often
worked from her cramped apartment downtown, where a glorious chaos only she
understood reigned. But the payout had been large enough for her to purchase a
very pretty home in the country, not more than ninety minutes from work. Her
boss was so pleased with the deal that he said she only had to come in once a
week, to pick up whatever she needed to work on.
It had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now she
found she was quite lonely. Few people were will to put forth the effort to
come out and visit her. In fact, only three had since the summer when she
bought it. Hell, even her boy-toy, Chad from Accounting, could not be bothered
and was now just fucking Lily in the secretary pool instead.
Bing Crosby was singing 'White Christmas' to her while she
moped. The big bay windows to her back porch showed the fury of the storm
outside. Driving snow had been battering the countryside for two days now and
her boss had called her to just stay safe and not try to come into the city.
He was a nice old man and she liked him. He'd actually taken
a chance and given her the job, after she'd fucked him. She hadn't invited him
to her little soiree, because his miserable old bat of a wife was hovering
around him constantly these days, certain he'd been tipping on her. But even
without Old Man Reese, she'd invited upward of twenty people and none of
them had shown. Not even Claire, her best supposed friend, had made it out. She
was probably too busy being pinned and screwed by her boyfriend anyway, Guido
or Nunzio or whatever his name was.
Dean Martin came on, singing 'Marshmallow World'. Normally
this was one of her favorites, but tonight it just reminded her that she was
alone for Christmas. Again. With another sigh, she drank the rest of the wine
in her glass and reached for the bottle, turning it over.
It was empty. Damn. She'd have to open another one.
She walked slowly into the kitchen, wearing her ratty old
fox-themed footie pajamas, having decided that if she didn't have to dress up
for anyone, she was dressing at all. She took a deep drink of spiked egg nog
from the jug of it she'd prepared while she found another bottle of zinfandel
and burped very loudly. She wrestled the cork off of the bottle and poured most
of the contents into her oversized glass, muttering that she didn't have to
answer to anyone about what she did, she was a big girl. She slumped back down
on the couch while John Lennon asked her what she'd done for Christmas from the
stereo system.
"Up yours, John;" she said testily as she drank
more wine.
She stood unsteadily, blinking for a moment to try and clear
her head. She might have had a bit of a wine fog going on,
since she'd nearly polished off two bottles of Old Vine Zinfandel in under two
hours. Convincing herself that walking was not a bad idea, she tottered over to
the bay windows, reaching a hand out in front of herself to make sure it
encountered the glass before her face did.
"Will you look at that shit out there;" she
muttered to no one in particular. After all, there was no one around to hear
her.
Well, almost no one.
"Hi, Oatmeal," she said sweetly, grinning lopsidedly at the bearded dragon that sat in a terrarium near the bay doors. "Looks like you're my Christmas date; again;"
The tiny lizard said nothing but assumed a darker shade of purplish brown.
"Same to you too, bugface." Ginny muttered sourly, annoyed at being spurned by a reptile with a brain smaller than a sugared peanut. She lumbered back to the kitchen, trying unsuccessfully to eat several pieces of the Turkish Delight she'd tried to make, but they were sticky and runny, most of the reddish-pink mess ending up stuck to the front of her pajamas.
"Son of a fucking reindeer!" she spat, attempting
to remove the pajamas, her sticky fingers having trouble with the zipper. She
finally kicked the thing off and left it in a corner of the kitchen, now wearing
nothing except her panties and a halter top. She stomped back into the spacious living room, thoroughly annoyed. While the music played, she looked around for something to do, taking another pull from the egg nog jug she'd brought with her.
The hot tub.
It sat near the bay windows, set into the floor and was
large enough for five or six people. She'd been hoping that maybe a few people
of the dozens she'd invited would show and maybe they could have a fun pool
party. She'd even told everyone in the invitations to bring their swimsuits.
But of course, no one showed. She was beginning to suspect
she could live in Buckingham Fucking Palace and still no one
would come to see her. This was, literally, the fifth Christmas she'd spent by
herself. The timing for friends never worked out and her parents were always
off in Monaco or some such place, avoiding the weather. Her mom had already
called earlier that night, so she wouldn't hear any more from them for a few
days now.
She sighed yet again and pulled off her underthings,
stepping into the water. She was drunker than she wanted to admit, though,
missing her footing, squealing and tumbling into the tub with a splash. Ginny
came to the surface, sputtering and hissing in outrage. Why couldn't anything
work out? Oatmeal just stared at her impassively.
"You win this time, gravity;" she growled,
displeased with her inelegant entrance. Well, at least she'd been smart enough
to put down the jug of nog before trying to get in. She turned on the jets and
retrieved her beverage, taking another big pull as the tub rumbled to life.
Ginny laid back her head against one of the padded rests and tried to relax, to
let her frustrations go.
She turned on the jets and allowed one to massage her lower
back while sipping at a glass of wine. She tried to put the frustrations of the
holiday behind her, to let go of the feelings of rejection and somehow not
belonging.
"Why did I but this new fucking home if no one was
interested in visiting? Everyone said they thought it was so great, but months
later, still no visitors. Do I really not matter that much?"
It annoyed her to think not only that she was alone, but
that doubtless most of the people who had ditched her were at home getting
laid. Claire was doubtless face down and ass up on her bed, getting plowed from
behind by Guido. Even Mr. Reese, the old geezer, was probably getting some,
either from his wife or maybe one of his secretaries.
She sighed heavily and sat up, putting her now-empty wine
glass aside and deciding that just because she was alone on Christmas Eve
didn't mean she wasn't owed at least one good orgasm. She leaned forward and
rested her forearms on the padded edge of the hot tub, positioning herself so
that one of her jets, the one she'd named 'Juan', was right behind her. She
felt the flow of water begin to caress her and she rested her head on her
forearms as she wiggled further back, feeling the jet more strongly now as it
pushed against her ass and her cunt. With a sigh, she found the perfect
distance and pressed her face down into her arms, letting Juan work his magic.
Water pressure massaged her cunt lips, strong enough to part
them and to tease her clit, sending thrills through her. She shuddered and
sighed loudly, forgetting, for now, how much men sucked. She bit the knuckle of
her index finger, lost in reverie.
God, if only it were a man fucking her.
"Alone; on fucking Christmas; where's, ah!, where's
the justice in that?"
She was sweating now and panting as the relentless jets
battered her nether tinglies, the sensations overwhelming her steadily. She
clenched her teeth and her fists, straining as she fought to hold on a little
longer.
She moaned very loudly, her whole body shaking as Juan
delivered a wonderful orgasm. She panted and groaned shamelessly, knowing that
no one was around to see her in her pent-up, frustrated lust, expending it on
her Jacuzzi jets. The scintillating lights behind her eyes, however, were over
all too quickly and the climax subsided, replaced by a juddering sensitivity
that made Juan's caress too much to bear. She collapsed against the edge of the
hot tub, moving her ass away from the jet.
"Alone; again;"
She may have needed the orgasm, but it did nothing to
improve her mood. It didn't help that the song 'This Christmas' by Shoes had
begun playing as the cumming ended. When it finally felt like her legs would
work again, she turned around and slumped into a corner of the tub, as far from
Juan as possible.
Ginny stayed still for some time, until her feet and fingers
felt that annoying level of pruny that made everything awful to touch. With the
heat of the water and all the alcohol she'd drunk, she was feeling rather
light-headed, so she turned off the stereo and shut off the lights. She found a
plate of her fucked-up and burnt gingerbread cookies and left them on a table
near the fireplace along with the jug of nog before beginning to head upstairs
to bed.
"Yeah. Fuck this day. And fuck tomorrow too. Maybe
if I stay drunk enough it'll just fly by. Fuck Christmas."
The second floor was an open space in the middle, looking
down onto the main floor. A set of stairs led up on either side and the
bedrooms were spaced around the gallery. She'd loved the design when she bought
it, but this only increased her frustration when no one ever came to visit.
"Gorgeous fucking house; ten acres of beautiful
nature filled with deer and ugly-ass wild turkeys; a fucking pond people could
skate on; shit, I even found a patch of landrace back there! What's not to love
about my new home? Why aren't people shitting themselves in jealousy?"
She reached the master bedroom, sighing at how big it felt
since she had no one to share it with. She stood in front of the mirror,
looking at her naked body and sighing. She was trim and fit, with nicely-sized
boobs, she kept her cunt shaved smooth and her full lips were simply made to
suck cock. Her skin was fair and even and her dark brown hair was long enough
to pull on if you were fucking her ass or taking her from behind. So what the
hell was wrong?
The bed was certainly big enough for two (or maybe her and
two guys who didn't mind getting close), but she plunked herself down into it
and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the room to stop drunk-spinning. It took
longer than she wanted it to, but things finally slowed down an she breathed
deeply.
She reached over with her hand and fumbled around inside the
drawer of the nightstand. She finally withdrew an elegant glass dildo, a barely
opaque white with bright red stripes curling around it to simulate a candy
cane. It had been a Christmas gift from Claire, who had jokingly given it to
her until she found a man for herself.
That bitch.
"Well, Frosty," she sighed, examining him.
"Looks like it's you and me tomorrow. I promise to not get out of bed
except to go to the bathroom or get more booze, okay? Because I'm here for you;"
And with that she kissed the dildo and put it aside. She
turned out her lamp and sighed deeply as she lay in the dark, waiting for sleep
to take her.
"Fuck Christmas;"
A noise from downstairs. Her eyes snapped open. She
was sure she'd heard something. Her heart pounded in her
chest. She took deep breaths to try and calm herself, reasoning that she'd been
drunk and it might just be hangover noises.
Maybe just something like branches scraping on the roof or
across the walls?
Ginny felt a flush of anger and slowly rose, getting out of
bed and putting on a plush yellow robe. There were definitely sounds
downstairs. She grabbed her rape whistle and her high-school field hockey stick
off the wall before quietly opening the door and proceeding out of the room.
Her cheeks flushed with fear and anger. How dare someone invade her house? And
in this fucking weather!
"Burglars? Ruffians? Escaped cons?"
"Well, at least if they see you they might have
their way with you and break your dry spell."
She shook the vile notion from her head, wondering where the
hell that'd come from. Could she be that desperate to get
laid?
Ginny walked as quietly as she could, hearing noises on the
roof. Raccoons? Looking to get in from the cold?
Fucking trash pandas.
She rounded the corner of the gallery and put her foot on
the top step, her hockey stick ready. She crept down the stairs, still hearing
the noises. They seemed to be coming from her living room. Her eyes narrowed as
she tried to identify anything that might be amiss.
Then she saw him, a symphony of red trimmed in white, the
huge ass swaying back and forth as the intruder was bent over her at the base
of her Christmas tree, doing God only knows what to it. He seemed to be humming
to himself.
She walked up silently until she was maybe ten feet away
from him, her hockey stick over her shoulder, ready to swing. He didn't hear
her or took no notice of her.
"I don't want to hurt you," she growled through
clenched teeth. "But you'd best get the fuck out of my house or I'll hit
you so hard Google won't be able to find you."
The person in red paused in their activities and then stood
up slowly. After another moment's pause, they stood up and turned around
slowly. He was slightly taller than average and quite a bit fatter than
societal norms allowed. He had a fat face with dancing blue eyes and red
cheeks. Beneath the tapered red hat was long, silvery-white hair and a very
full beard and moustache. The intruder looked at her and grinned.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked with a voice
that could only be described as jolly.
Ginny said nothing. She seemed to be rooted to the spot. She
wanted to say something, anything, but she seemed to have been
robbed of the power of speech.
"W, who;" she finally managed to stammer.
"Yes, Virginia," the visitor said quietly but
pleasantly in a soothing voice. "There really is a Santa Claus."
She blinked and shook her head, trying to articulate a
coherent thought. The big man in red chuckled, clearly amused by her predicament.
"Your egg nog was very good," he mentioned as he
walked forward a little. "Your cookies needed a little work, but I
appreciate the effort. Maybe a cookbook next year?"
"Stay still!" she snapped, suddenly coming out of
her stupor and holding the hockey stick behind her head as if she was winding
up for a hit. "I'll deck you, old man!"
"Oh, there's no need for that," he said
cheerfully, totally unconcerned by her threat. "It's been a rough year for
you, hasn't it, Ginny?"
"Why do you know my name?" she asked, her eyes
narrowing in suspicion.
"Of course I know it," the man claiming to be
Santa said jovially. "I'd be pretty lousy at my job if I didn't,
right?"
"If you're really Santa," she said tightly, still
not understanding why she hadn't knocked this guy's head off his shoulders yet.
"Then what was I doing the night of October seventeenth last year?"
He tilted his head to the side a little and pursed his lips.
"Are you sure?"
"C'mon, you haven't got all day."
"Very well," he said, sighing. "You were sitting
in McPhearson's Pub, waiting vainly for Greg from IT to show up, because you'd
given him a blowjob in the bathroom earlier that day and promised him more. But
he went off with Becky from Accounts that night instead of meeting up with
you."
She blushed furiously at the memory. "I; that wasn't
the day I meant! I meant the sixteenth!"
He shrugged. "You had the day off and were really
frustrated. You slid a condom over that very field hockey stick and used it on
yourself, just to see what it was like."
Ginny dropped the stick very suddenly. "How the hell do
you know that, you perv?"
The man shrugged. "I know all about you, Ginny. And
every other boy and girl in the world"
"Don't give me that horseshit!" she hissed,
glaring at him. "I had too many Christmases where I didn't get what I want
to buy into that cockamamie story!"
"Well, you weren't exactly the most exemplary child,
were you?" he reasoned. "I mean, you weren't horrible, it's not like
you were out kicking puppies into woodchippers, but you spent more time in the
naughty column that the good column, didn't you?"
"What did I ever do that was so naughty?" she
demanded hotly, her fists bunched up at her sides.
"You and your brother could get rather friendly,
couldn't you?" the man calling himself Santa pointed out.
She faltered for a moment. "Lots of siblings play
doctor. And those atomic booty bombs where I kept jumping in the air and
landing on him were just playful."
"While naked?" Santa asked, raising a bushy white
eyebrow.
Ginny blushed.
"But that wasn't what landed you on the naughty
list," he added. "What got you blacklisted was that you lied about
doing your homework or cleaning your room while you were messing around with
your brother. Your mom and dad would ask you to do your math and you'd slip away
to play doctor instead and tell them you'd finished your homework after. Lying
is naughty, right?"
"Woah, hold the phone here," she said loudly,
holding her head as if she was suddenly dizzy from a revelation. She didn't
seem to notice that her robe had opened slightly, exposing her cleavage.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Fibbing to my parents kept me from getting
the gifts I wanted?"
"Were the rules unclear?" Santa asked. "I
thought the songs on the subject were so easy to follow."
Ginny pinched her eyes in exasperation and then scowled at
him. "I'm drunk," she concluded, trying to convince herself none of
this was real. "I'm drunker than Sarah Palin and you're not really here.
I'm still in bed and this is all bullshit."
Santa shrugged. "I was putting stuff under your tree
until you arrived and enjoying the nog. I won't mind if you go back to
bed."
"No, you're not getting off that easily," she said
in annoyance. "You broke into my house in the middle of the storm of the
fucking century and I want answers, dammit!"
He shrugged. "Fair enough. Ask away."
Her eyes narrowed again. "Aren't you on kind of a time
crunch? Unless I'm the last pe
More shows like Steamy Stories
View all
Strictly Anonymous Confessions
1,532 Listeners