Santa’s Little Helper

$name1 is finishing her shift working as an Elf at her local mall during the holidays. As her shift is ending, she is tidying up the grotto with the Mall Santa, $name2, when Christmas happens to come early…

$name1’s green elf costume was a little too small and inappropriately snug around her lithe frame. The bustier-style bodice was low, encasing her chest tightly, so much so that the top of her pert breasts were spilling over the hem.

The skirt was short and flare, with a white fur trim. When she stood still, the folds overlapped, so it looked like a decent enough skirt. When she walked or bend over, however, the material shifted and swayed, showing off a little of her cotton panties.

It was enough that $name1 had to show up at the Mall every evening after lectures, in Santa’s grotto, wearing green cotton panties, the same color as her costume, so there wasn’t a contrast between the two pieces of clothing.

“You were great with the kids tonight, $name2.” She told Santa as they loaded the storeroom where they kept their outfits and Christmas decorations.

It was a little after ten o’clock, and the Mall was just about to close. “You had every single one of them laughing their heads off.”

He held the door open for her, and she flashed him a thankful smile. Walking in front of him, $name1 could feel his gaze on her ass. She didn’t mind, really.

Old $name2 was a good man, by virtue of being compared to the guys on campus. $name1 hated how they all wanted to get in her panties without bothering to do so in a mature fashion. All that college boys thought about was the thing between her legs and not her tender heart.

$name2 wasn’t like that at all. At sixty-three, he was an old and kindhearted gentleman. And he was sweet, but he was still a man, nonetheless, and she wouldn’t object if he felt like appreciating her sexuality.

She set the box of marbles on the bottom shelf, taking her time as she purposefully stick her ass in the air.

Standing upright, she turned to see $name2 lingering by the door, the small box of tiny gnomes clutched in his left hand. $name1 noticed the dazed look in his eyes and the obvious bulge in his velvet pants.

“Santa!” She gasped, feigning astonishment. “What were you looking at?!”

“I-I’m sorry,” stammered $name2, “but they seem to have made that costume a little too skimpy for you, $name1.”

“I don’t mind.” $name1 shrugged one shoulder. “The kids seem to love it.”

“Well, in that case, who am I to object?”

She went over to the older man and retrieved the box in his hands. Sashaying back to the pallet rack, $name1 brought her hand up, tapping her index finger on her bottom lip as if in thought. “Hmm… Now, If I were Santa,” she said, “where will I hide my stash of vodka?”

$name2 scoffed. “I’m not sharing my liquor with you, young lady.”

“Aww…” $name1 whined, pouting. “Please, $name2, just one swig.”

“No. Now come on out, so we can lock up.”

$name1 crossed her arms over her chest and did not budge. Then she pulled out one of the milk crates from the rack stacked near the back of the room, and sat on her butt, knees pressed together, feet far apart.

Her chin came to rest on the palm of her hand as she stared expectantly at Santa. If he’d looked under her legs right now, he’d get a good scoop of her girly bits.

$name2 sighed and produced an ebony hipflask from one of his concealed pockets. “I suppose one swig wouldn’t hurt.”

$name1’s face lit up. She pulled out a second crate across from hers and patted where she wanted $name2 to sit.

He sat, offering her the flask.

“Ugh… That’s some strong stuff.” She coughed as the liquid burned the back of her throat, spreading like hot tendrils across her chest. Offering the flask back to $name2, she said, “I thought Santa Claus doesn’t drink.”

“Oh, he does.” Said $name2, taking the flask. “He deals with little kiddies. All-day. I think you will find that Santa Claus is secretly a bit of an old drunk in his spare time.”

That made $name1 laugh. “I have a secret of my own, too.” She said softly.


“Erwin had the tailor sew my outfit this way. He thinks it gets us more customers.”

“Erwin, the manager?”

$name1 nodded, taking another swig. “But honestly, I like the way it looks … and judging by the way you’ve been looking at me all day, you like it, too.”

$name2 rubbed his wrinkled forehead, smiling bashfully.

“Don’t try to deny it,” $name1 continued, giggling, “Santa sucks at lying, and $name2 even more so.”

“Ah, come on now. You’re putting me on the spot.”

“Look at you,” her touch lingered on his right knee, “you look so shy. What is it? Do you like the way I look when I bend over?”

$name2 scratched his head, nodding ever so slightly.

“Well, I’m glad you do. But here’s the thing: as much as I’d love to share a drink with Santa, I really prefer sucking his cock.”

“Is that—is that so?”

$name1 smiled naughtily, running her pink tongue over her rosy red lips. “Let’s say it’s my Christmas present to Santa.” Her hand shifted to the enormous lump in his pants.

“Oh, my! Santa has a fat, long cock. I’m definitely in for a throat-stuffing. Think it will fit into my mouth?”

$name2 stood up as $name1 went on her knees. She yanked his velvet pants down, and his ample dick sprang free, slapping her lightly on one cheek.

It was thick and the veins around the shaft pulsated with hot blood. When she squeezed slightly, a froth of pre-cum leaked from its angry red tip.

“No underwear, Santa?” She asked, looking up at him with big blue eyes as she stroked his cock.

$name2 put his hand on her head only so he could run his fingers through her golden blonde curls. “It gets pretty uncomfortable when the little ones sit on old Santa’s lap—Sonofabitch.”


$name1 was already pumping his meat steadily down the back of her throat before he was done talking, making a symphony of gurgles and squelches as she did so.

She withdrew an inch or two before stuffing it back down to the balls again as Santa’s scrotum lazily smacked against her chin.

When $name2’s penis was wet and sloppy with saliva, $name1 pulled her mouth back. “Mmm… yum. Do you like it, $name2?”

“Yes.” He hissed. “You’re pretty good, $name1.”

“I’ve probably blown about one hundred frat boys…” She twirled the tip of her tongue around his fat cock-head again, “Half of which probably don’t remember my name.”

“They must be daft—Christ almighty.”

She’d swallowed his oversized cock again before he finished what he was saying. Her lips puffed about his girth in an airtight seal as her tongue stroked his underside, slowly gliding him into the wet channel of her throat.

$name2’s head rolled back as he let out a low, guttural groan.

He gathered her hair into a loose ponytail behind her head, gently pulling her off him when $name1 felt a warm, thick liquid shoot down her throat.

And then another, and another, enough that it started to leak down one corner of her lips.

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