By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2004 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

Mrs. Claus plucked the net from her hair, shoved it into her apron pocket, and shook her head vigorously. An impatient profusion of golden ringlets tumbled around her face, down her back, and over her large, pendulous breasts. She’d been baking all day. Perspiration stained the underarms of her yellow scoop necked dress and formed a pronounced ring around her nipples; nipples that now grew hard under the admiring gaze of the coterie of elves crowded around her.

“Thank you all so much,” she said, twirling to present the boxed cookies that were pyramid stacked like cardboard Christmas trees, all around the room.

“You’re welcome,” chorused her helpers.

She waved down at them. The movement wasn’t contained and gracious like the Queen of England’s would be, but whole-bodied and unabashed. Her hand and shoulders swished side to side like window wipers; and her hips and breasts oscillated in a most tantalizing way. Her face glowed with sexual power as she gazed down at the elf, now clinging desperately to her shapely leg.

“Let go of her,” ordered Marvin, the head chef, his voice quaking with a roiling mixture of outrage, jealously and his own howling lust.

The guilty elf jumped away and Mrs. Claus giggled nervously. He had been holding onto her with one arm, while stroking and tickling her inner thigh with his other hand. Tingling currents of pleasure had traveled her skin’s surface and she missed those sensations, now that he’d let go. Still, all the elves openly adored her and she basked in the warmth of their devotion. The women loved her, even as they envied her blatant good looks and the way she hypnotized all the men in her sway. The men loved her and envied Santa, who did what they all wanted to do . . . bed her!

She could feel their horniness and, while pretending not to notice, couldn’t help blushing when confronted by more than a few telltale bulges under certain male tunics. She tried to remember the last time she’d made Santa hard and couldn’t. Her fruitless and continuing efforts to seduce him had left her frustrated, horny and of late very, very insecure. She loved that her elves found her attractive. She loved bewitching them, but she wanted more. She fantasized about seducing them, teasing them with a glimpse of her humungous breasts, spilling out of her overwhelmed bra. She wanted them to touch themselves as she touched herself through her damp panties. She fantasized about making them come. She was reeling out of control.

“Come with me,” she said, dragging herself back to the present.

She turned and started toward a table where cookie samples of every color, shape, and flavor overran a giant hand-carved wooden tray. She walked deliberately, swaying her hips provocatively. She tantalized, twisting her torso just enough to send her tremendous breasts flouncing from side to side. She glanced back at the elves trotting after her, her blue eyes smiling, her full lips pouting. Her warm and moist pussy confirmed just how much she was enjoying her female sexual potency. But she still wanted more. She wanted Santa. She remembered when just being in the same room drew them into a magnetic field that no one could disturb or penetrate. But, that was long ago. What had happened to them? Business had happened; Santa had turned their gift giving business into an enormous and unwieldy giant. Corporate and government charity organizations and their concomitant commercial relationships kept him so busy and preoccupied that she felt extraneous, as though her sudden and total disappearance from his life would hardly be noticed. But she wasn’t about to dwell on that. She was being noticed now! And all she wanted to do was glory in it. She bent over the table so low that her breasts lay atop, in front of the cookie tray, like everyman’s favorite entrée.

“The bakes smell so good,” she cooed, wiggling her ass happily as the elves fell panting into the erotic vortex she was creating. “Enjoy and there’s milk in the fridge,” she said, unbending slowly, her breasts hanging heavy, low and long. “I have to speak to Mr. Claus about the delivery schedule. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Bye,” chorused the elves, following her every move as she pulled her apron over her gargantuan breasts, hung it up and sashayed out the door.

She stepped out of the warm kitchen and was assaulted by a bitter draft that raced along the corridor leading to Santa’s office. The need to expand their facilities had come quickly and without adequate planning and many such building problems, like inadequate heating, were the result. Shivering, she picked up her pace. She heard the dissonant sounds of a myriad of machines and glanced through the open door of the toy factory. She remembered when it was a humming, intimate place filled with the organic sounds of elves sawing, hammering, sanding and laughing; when each toy produced had its own singular beauty and reason for being. It had been a lovely time. But things changed: Machines displaced men; email orders replaced the scrawled, crayoned letters of hopeful children. And Santa, the Corporate Head and her husband, was responsible for it all. She’d tried to talk to him about it, but he was too preoccupied to hear. Eventually she stopped trying and in that resignation, a fiery determination took root. And that’s the heat that fuelled her as she marched along the hall. She was a woman ignored by her husband, invisible to her husband, and no merry band of elves could make up for that. Something would have to be done.

The office door was ajar. Santa was seated in front of a desk piled high with paperwork and his brother, Independent Claus, was stooped across it, his voice imploring. Mrs. Claus sauntered in and stood between them, at the end of the desk. She looked from Santa’s weary eyeballs into Independent’s earnest ones and it was seconds before they even noticed her. She slipped over and placed an arm around Santa, teasing his neck with her fingernails.

“Get over it, Independent,” Santa sighed. “I have no intention of developing an Adult Toy Service. I’m too busy as it is.”

“But you wouldn’t have do anything but ‘okay’ it. I’d run the whole operation. There’s such a need for it. There’s not enough passion in the world and remember, happy parents make happy children!” Independent had stepped away from the desk and was trembling with excitement.

“Adult toys? That sounds very interesting,” Mrs. Claus purred, moving around the chair to insinuate herself, squirming and wiggling, in Santa’s lap. She gazed up at him adoringly. “Let’s hear what Independent has to say, and then I’ll need a bit of your time to schedule our Cookie Distribution.”

“Thanks, Nora.” Independent spoke her name softly.

“She’s Mrs. Claus to you,” Santa roared. “You have no right to be so familiar!”

“I don’t mind,” Nora said.

What she didn’t say was that she loved being called by the name her parents had given her and resented Santa’s insistence that everyone call her Mrs. Claus. Mrs. Claus had become a shadow, something that existed only in Santa’s wake. When Independent called her, ‘Nora’, she felt particular, a fully drawn character with a personality, mind and feelings; someone you could like or dislike for herself. And she knew that Independent liked her. And she liked Independent.

“Well, I mind,” Santa said. His voice was flat and emotionless with fatigue. “And you should too, Mrs. Claus, even if you don’t.” He got up, walked to the closet and pulled out his parka. “Don’t wait up, Mrs. Claus. I have meetings and I’ll be late.”

“We need to discuss the cookie deliv…”

“In the morning,” Santa interrupted.

“But I haven’t finished my proposal,” Independent blustered.

“Forget all this foolishness, Independent,” Santa chided, moving toward the door. “Christmas is one week away and the production elves need your help.”

And with that, he closed the door behind him.

Nora and Independent stared after him and in that silence, a pact was made. If Santa wouldn’t help them, they’d help themselves and each other.

“Come Nora, let’s get those deliveries sorted,” Independent said.

“Great,” Nora answered, enjoying the feel of his warm hand on her arm; relishing the admiration shining from his eyes, as he looked down at her.

In the Delivery Office, it took them less than an hour to arrange the world-wide delivery of her kitchen full of cookies.

“Thanks so much,” Nora said, kissing Independent on the cheek. “And now, I want to hear all about your proposal.”

“Great,” Independent answered, reaching for his sample bundle. “I’ll walk you home and tell you all about it.”

In less than half an hour, they were seated in front of Nora’s roaring fireplace, drinks in hand, four eyes excited and shining.

“This is good,” Nora enthused, sipping delicately. The drink was initially cool and tasted of fresh strawberries; but it warmed and grew spicy as it swirled around her tongue and trickled down her throat. She could feel a flush heating her cheeks and her skin had begun to tingle. “Very good,” she repeated, crossing her legs to encourage the delicious quivering that had engaged her now very wet pussy. “What is it?”

“I call it Cool Heat,” Independent said, lifting the bottle from the cooler. On the label, bright red flames rose from a glass of frosty white liquid. “It comes in many flavors and I intend to send along a case of it with every gift package. You see, Nora, couples start off in love and spend hours in the throes of passion. But they give up the pleasure too easily. They let life steal it away. My whole Adult Toy proposal is aimed at giving them back that pleasure.”

Nora could feel her nipples hardening against the course cotton of her dress. She wanted to squeeze them or better yet, have them twisted and teased, nibbled and kissed. “I feel the pleasure,” she said. “You know, Independent, your brother and I could use your gift package. We don’t have fun together anymore.”

“I’m going to have to talk to Santa about that. A woman like you shouldn’t be left needing anything. Here, give me your arm,” he said, pulling a vial from his satchel.

Nora offered him her arm and he began to rub lotion along its length. His fingers sent an ancient message that pulsed beneath her skin and drummed along her nerve ends. The pleasure she felt was almost orgasmic. She uncrossed her legs and opened them wide. Her clit needed air. If it didn’t get air, it would drag her and her pussy over the edge into that screaming, exultant fall into absence. If that happened, she’d need Santa to fall into. And he wasn’t here. She breathed deeply. She was still surging. She took a few more breaths and welcomed the leveling. Greedily, she offered Independent her other arm.

“Wait,” he said.

He rushed to his samples, pulled out a CD, and pushed it into the player. A pulsing drumbeat was soothed by a symphony of melodic reed instruments. Together they made music that reminded her of nights with Santa that had roused the gods; nights when they’d melted into one healing throb; the nights that children were made of. She could smell something warm: cinnamon mixed with citrus. She noticed Independent walking away from the mantel, away from the candles he’d lit. She couldn’t help massaging her thighs; along their fronts to her knees, moving outside and stroking up and into the place where thighs and pussy and promised satisfactions meet. She was floating on a current that was taking her to a most desired placed and she was willing it to go slow. She tilted her glass toward her lips, but it was empty. She held it up to Independent who was moving toward her.

“More,” she said. “Aren’t you having any?”

“I don’t think I should,” Independent said.

“I think you should,” Nora said, and watched as he filled her glass and then poured one for himself.

“What shall we drink to?” Independent asked, handing her the tumbler.

“To Adult Toys,” Nora said. “I don’t know what else you have in that bag of yours, but I can tell you already that it’s a great success. I haven’t felt this good since the first night Santa . . .,” he voice drifted off. “I’m having the time of my life!”

They clinked goblets, sipped, and that magical warmth spread through her anew. It also spread through Independent as he looked down at Nora, at her heaving breasts. Spread into his cock that grew like a giant penis-mushroom right before their eyes. She could feel that magnetic field enveloping them. She could hear Independent’s breath coming in gasps. She crossed her legs and began to rock. It was beginning. She spread her legs to stop the heat, dam her pouring juice, and stop the climb before the fall.

Independent hurried to the mantel, grabbed his cell phone, and dialed.

Where are you? …That’s good. Come home right now! Your wife needs you …

Nora thought of all the toys that might be in Independent’s Adult bundles: feathers and dildos, butt plugs and oils and ribbons and panties that tasted like chocolate, could be eaten and swallowed like chocolate. She remembered how much Santa loved the smell of her, of her musky juices. How much he loved chocolate. But she didn’t need toys now.

“You were talking to Santa?” Nora asked, anxiously. “Where is he?”

“On his way. He’ll be here any minute now.”

Independent had placed his drink on the mantel and stood facing the fireplace. Nora knew why. He didn’t want her to witness his need for her. His cock had betrayed him, but he was determined not to betray his brother. Nora got up and moved toward him.

“Couples in this world need your help. We need your help. I’m going to insist that Santa give your proposal a trial run this year and I’m sure that by next, you’ll have your own department and more requests than you can handle.”

“Thanks, Nora,” Independent said.

“Come,” Nora said, placing her arms around him.

She snuggled her cheek against his chest. She could feel her nipples reaching out to him. She wanted to kiss him, very badly, but she didn’t. She could feel his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against her. And she wanted to drop to her knees, release it, milk it, suck it and bring him to the edge. But she didn’t. She could feel Independent’s arms holding her tight and tighter. She could feel longing and animal hunger pasting them together like glue and she wanted and he wanted to fuck. But they didn’t. They wouldn’t do that to Santa. They both loved him. They wouldn’t do that to themselves.

“What’s going on here?” Santa voice was trembling. He was obviously distressed.

“Nothing,” Independent said. “I have to go.”

“Good night, Independent and thanks for everything.”

Nora walked Independent toward the back door and then advanced on Santa who had come through the front and was struggling awkwardly out of his parka. He moved unsteadily toward his chair.

“Sit, Santa,” Nora commanded. He fell gratefully into his armchair and Nora quickly poured him a drink. She moved to Santa, holding his tumbler closely between her immense breasts. Right in front of him, she offered it coyly. “Drink, you’ll like it. It will fix what ails you.”

Santa chugged as Nora began to move to the music. Her movements were more daring than any strippers, more obscene than any lap dancer’s. A guttural sound came from deep inside Santa, a sound too primitive for words. Nora was manipulating her breasts: kneading them, lifting them and drawing circles in the air. Santa loved breasts. And then she grasped the neck of her dress and pulled it so low that it was about to tear, just to expose her cleavage, the cleavage that Santa had forgotten how to love.

“Don’t you want me?” she taunted.

“Yes,” Santa said, draining his glass. His cheeks were as red as the Santa costume hanging in their closet. His hand hung loosely over an erection that had lengthened beyond his fingers’ span.

“Show me how much,” Nora said, as she began to unbutton her dress.

Santa began to rub his cock. His knees were shaking and his hips were jutting sharply and involuntarily forward.

“Take it out,” Nora said, peeling her dress slowly off her shoulders, wrapping it around her, exposing and then hiding the breasts that were too big for her bra.

Santa slouched in his seat, awkwardly extracting his burgeoning cock from its fabric lair. He squeezed his balls and then began to stroke his cock. “Oh my,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Stop touching it,” Nora commanded, as she stepped out of her dress.

Her overgrown breasts squeezed and bulged out of the confines of her bra and her simple cotton panties underlined the wantonness of her salaciously circling, thrusting and inviting hips. She poured lotion from Independent’s bottle into her hands and dropped to her knees.

“You won’t come until I tell you,” she said, stroking his cock lazily.

Santa groaned.

She pressed herself between his legs as she milked him. She rubbed her breasts against him, her movements cat-like. She drew circles around and on the sweetest spot on his cock, smiling proudly as pre-cum escaped its head.

“Please,” Santa begged. “Let me come.”

“Not yet,” she said.

Her hands had become a soft, circling caress, up and down the length of him, twisting around him. She kissed his cock, licked it and then devoured it as she pressured his balls. And then her hand again, pulling, patting and stroking all of him.

“I’m going to come,” Santa announced, firmly.

“Not yet,” Nora said, more firmly, withdrawing her hand abruptly.

She stood up, reached back and unfastened her bra. Her tits fell down hard over her torso, bouncing and swaying at their final and blessed freedom. She stepped hurriedly out of her panties.

“Take off your pants,” she said, rubbing her clit. “Never mind,” she said, climbing aboard Santa’s ramrod cock.

She teased its head, lowering herself and then rising almost off him again. She leaned forward and laughed as he opened his mouth like some aberrant fish, too horny to make the swim upstream. He suckled and bucked as she fucked him: slow and soft, fast and hard, up and down and in circles. She didn’t need to touch her clit. She was on fire. She watched his head bob and weave as he gobbled her nipples and breast flesh, as he matched her, thrust for thrust.

“Please, Mrs. Claus, please,” Santa panted.

“My name is Nora. Call me Nora,” his wife whispered.

“Nora, Nora, Nora,” Santa chanted.

She was climbing up the mountain, Santa was following and they’d almost reached the top when she heard, what Santa was too randy to hear, a sound, a whimper and then a pregnant silence. Just outside the open living room door, she spied the figure hiding in the shadows. She watched a hand moving, stroking. She watched a man watching and pleasuring himself in the shadows.

“Now!” she directed.

“Hi-ho!” Santa roared.

“Yes,” Nora screamed, as Santa spewed months of cum against her waiting walls. Her pussy continued to spasm as, over Santa’s head, she watched the hand move faster and faster in the shadows. “Yes,” she screamed again, as the figure stiffened and then collapsed into himself; one hand desperately trying to cup what would not be contained.

She thought she heard a groan just before the figure dropped to the floor, she knew to wipe away all evidence of his transgression. She held a happy Santa tight to her breast as the figure scurried away, out of the shadows and surely into the dark of night.

“That’s the least Independent deserves,” Nora said, after Santa promised to okay the Adult Toy project. She nestled deeper in Santa’s arms. “After all, we’ve been the first to benefit from his happy gifts.”

“I agree,” Santa said. “Shall I call him now?”

“No, I’m sure he’s spent. Tomorrow will do.”

They poured another glass of Cold Heat and took it to bed.

“Let’s drink to Independent’s Day,” Nora said, her eyes smiling warmly.

“To Independent,” Santa said.

They clinked goblets, sipped and kissed, and kissed and kissed. And so began the most passionate and loving night of their lives.