Roleplay | BDSM | Erotica | Consensual
A Visit from Daddy Santa
Patient planning pays off to fulfill filthy fantasies
He was wide awake as he stalked down the dark hallway. He swallowed the grumble of frustration that welled up from his less-than-silent entrance. His steel-toed boots were unlaced because the fucking bowl full of jelly belly made it difficult to bend down to tie. Then he stepped on a loose lace and stumbled, smacking his forehead into the side of the staircase.
He stayed still, counted to one hundred backward after the crack of flesh to wood, and managed not to curse once. The frustration at the small noise was helpful because it stirred up anger in his gut, which he’d need soon. He covered his watch with his other hand to check the time, the glow barely illuminating his hidden niche. He quieted his breathing, listened, and blew out the breath he held long and slowly. He let his eyes acclimate to darkness again and mentally walked through his route. He’d been practicing when he could without drawing attention.
He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine under the red felt jacket he wore. He’d bought it half off on the holiday sale a year ago, and it was too tight then. A year of dieting, exercising, and sticking to his goals had paid off, and the Santa suit fit with room to spare. It was only the padding that made him appear a jolly old elf. Under that, he was lean, muscled, and stronger than ever.
He’d also grown a beard, starting two years ago, allowing time for it to grow. He learned to groom and trim it himself. He’d kept quiet as his hair grew grayer, now more salt than pepper. He wasn’t going to wait for it to be snowy white. If he was ever going to do this, it was now. The thrill of what was to come made him rigid inside the scratchy material of the dime-store costume.
This was the first Christmas without the kids home, off to college, and the start of their lives. They’d gotten comfortable in their empty nest, and the old flame was rekindled. He only hoped she’d remember the wicked fantasy she’d whispered in his ear when they were hanging stockings with care years ago. The twinge of nervous energy from the uncertainty only heightened the dark fantasy that spun in his mind
Adjusting the cap on his head, he grabbed the sack of toys and turned in the darkness to step one tread at a time, skipping past the squeaky one, and rose to the main floor. Managing to open the door to the cellar, he moved like a cat through the kitchen and into the parlor near the fireplace. Two stocking only this year, and he paused momentarily to consider how blessed his life had been to date. Then he set his jaw, lit his cigar (he never liked pipe tobacco), and dumped his sack of toys onto the bricks with a loud clatter.
He grinned when he heard her startled cry. He considered her state after being snug in her bed. Woke, startled, and bleary from dreams, her voice was stark and vibrated with fear.
Good.
“Who’s there!”
He heard her feet hit the floor, a scurry of footsteps ripple across the floor above him, and the squeak of the fourth step from the top. He began when he saw the blush of her ankle carefully press against a tread.
“Whore, Whore, Whore… Merry Christmas!”
Her initial gasp of surprise was muffled by her silencing her laugh. Then, her feet stepped down one at a time. Her head appeared turned toward him with her hair bundled atop her head in the familiar bun she wore to sleep. Her eyes glowed, and her lips curled into a wicked grin of mirth.
“Santa, is that you?”
He laughed deeply, darkly, avoiding any jolly in his tone. Hands at his waist, feet apart, standing tall and proud, he glared at her. Allowing himself a wink and a nod, reminding her of their shared fantasy role-play, he crossed his arms across his chest.
“You’ve been a wicked, naughty slut this year, haven’t you, Michelle?”
She continued to the bottom of the stairs, turned, then walked toward me. Her head bowed as she sank to her knees at my feet.
“Yes, Santa. I’ve been a filthy whore for my husband. I can’t help it. He makes me think such wicked thoughts.”
He stifled a laugh and instead emitted a growl. Snapping his fingers, he drew her attention, her eyes lifting to his eyes. They stared at each other for long moments, one of his eyebrows lifting in expectation. She nodded before crossing her arms and pulling her warm flannel nightgown over her head. He growled again at the sight of her heavy breasts bouncing as she tossed the garment behind her. Her eyes dropped to the rising bulge that tented the thin material of his costume.
“Are you going to punish me, Santa?”
Her voice was low, a tremor of lustful need under her words that had replaced the first frightened exclamation. Her nipples were thick and rigid, topping her round breasts, which hung slightly but still proud as she breathed slowly on her knees.
“Yes,” He said, pulling off the thin red coat and exposing the broad planes of his chest, his ripped abdominals flexing as he tossed the jacket aside. He gestured to the toys scattered across the fireplace hearth. “Select three things for me to use to punish and discipline you, slut.”
He watched her eyes shift then rake from side to side, taking an inventory of the toys he’d dumped from his sack — paddles, floggers, plugs, clamps, vibrators, dildos. Her eyes flared as she looked back up at him.
“Only three, Daddy Santa?” Michelle smirked, “But I’ve been really, really bad, though.”
“Three,” he repeated gruffly. “I may have to make more visits to ensure you stay on the right path, needy brat.”
He walked to his chair and settled on the edge of the cushion. His unrestrained cock, stiffly tented the thin material as it extended down one of his thighs. He adjusted his shaft and then looked at Michelle as she crawled on her knees, picking up and looking at toy after toy. He grunted to hurry her along, and she looked over her shoulder, her eyes flaring with desire. “We don’t have all night.”
She grinned and collected three toys, holding them against her bare breasts, and crawled toward him on her knees. He placed his leather-gloved hands on his thighs, open to accept her selections. One by one, she added a pair of nipple clamps, a leather paddle, and a skein of green and red bondage rope to his large hands.
Her eyes glowed with love and adoration as she looked up at him. “These, please, Daddy Santa.”
His grunt of approval turned her cheeks rosy. He lifted his hands as she pressed her chest over his thighs, her breasts pressing into a scratchy synthetic costume, then slid to sway on the other side of his firm thighs.
“Happy Christmas, Michelle,” he said as one gloved hand brushed over the smooth curve of her round ass.
“It’s going to be a good night, Daddy Santa,” She moaned as his fingertip teased between her lips.
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. It’s a tease, but I like to edge readers and allow them to squirm by delaying gratification. The readers can fill in the next scene as they’d like, or maybe I’ve got the next chapter brewing in my mind.
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