Verdurous decorations, glittering like festive, captive stars, mixed with the crimson and sterling bells. Lining the streets, garland, berries, and holly were strung in grand, sweeping arches; wreaths, angels, and other Yuletide icons adorned every show window, doorway, and sign. Terry had no use for the celebratory season, but he did enjoy the money. He hummed to himself, off-key, as he strolled down the boulevard; Terry may have been young, aimless, and single, but he heartily enjoyed his life.

Passersby observed him with mixed reactions. Other men would judge him to be a “pretty boy,” shooting him their judgmental, condescending glances. It wasn’t Terry’s fault that he was strikingly handsome, with that bad-boy vibe. His trim, muscular physique was the result of years of athletic pursuits and constant exercise, hard, physical labor buttressing his efforts. His hair, perfectly coiffed and slightly long, was the result of grocery store hair dye and a very expensive stylist. His symmetrical, chiseled features, however, were the result of strong genetics.

Women gawked, smiling lustily as he walked by. Terry was one of those truly rare men who made a lady’s heart thunder in her chest and her most sacred of places gush with hot, steamy wetness. He was young enough to still have that youthful glow about him, having just left college, but old enough to seem mature. At first glance, he looked like a fitness model. That wavy, blond hair bounced with each of his springy steps, his broad shoulders tapered down to a trim, tiny waist, and his Lacrosse player’s body rippled with hard, well-defined muscles.

If a female’s stare lingered, she’d note his aura of sexy deviousness, impish smile, and eyes that conjured torrid fantasies of him tearing off her clothes while she moaned in wild, passionate abandon. Not just any random shade of mediocre blue, Terry’s eyes were a deep ultramarine, and they enthralled, captivated, and aroused. To feminine eyes, he was lusty passion personified. Every woman has her personal type, but Terry topped most women’s “I would fuck him in a heartbeat” lists based on his appearance, alone. 

Terry chuckled at the malicious, jealous ire from some of the men, nodded to the awed gents as he passed them by, and smiled at the women. Holiday music, piped into the streets, filled his ears. Although he wandered through life without any concrete plans for the future, life had, thus far, been good. Terry had accidentally turned some of his life’s loves into a career.

Terry Knight was young, in shape, handsome, and enjoying himself. By following his impulses, he’d garnered a college degree on a scholarship and enough money to live as he saw fit. It wasn’t an extravagant life, but it was his. Playing both football and Lacrosse in high school, he was offered a partial scholarship to play football at State but took a full ride at a smaller, less prestigious school to play Lacrosse. He loved the game, and it was one of his main passions.

Lacrosse, fencing, dancing, and pussy were Terry’s four food groups, his life’s blood. To him, those things were what made life worth living. One of his college teammates was also on the fencing team, and Terry had an affinity for swashbuckling. Another fencer, named Patricia, majored in dance, and she suggested that he should study some dance moves to increase his grace on the Lacrosse field. While he couldn’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow, and the mastery of any musical instrument, no matter how simple, eluded him, Terry discovered that his love of listening to music easily segued into moving to the beat.

An additional bonus was the fact that college students who studied dance were primarily women. A disproportionate amount of young men in theater and dance simply weren’t into women; that gave Terry a huge advantage in the romance department, as well as his peers helping him develop his look and personal style. One of his buddies in the dance department, Gregory, not only helped him decide on his hairstyle but also introduced him to his current career.

Living on the outskirts of the city, close enough to the action, hustle, and bustle but far enough away that none of the grime sullied his meticulously preened existence, Terry lived on the sunny side of Metropolis and worked as a private, male stripper, although he bandied the term “erotic entertainer” about. Working just a few nights per month, he easily raked in enough cash to sustain his bachelor lifestyle. Girlfriends came and mostly went, so he had no long-lasting love, just an endless stream of horny women wanting to use him for sex. Terry had the looks, physique, and personality to thrive in the business, and he loved every minute of it.

Being objectified for a living may seem denigrating or soul-draining to some; Terry viewed it as pro-feminist equalization. He enjoyed both eye- and cock-fucking sexy women and saw no reason why women shouldn’t openly lust after men they found attractive. True equality, to him, meant that all are equal, and he leveled the playing field, giving women what they truly desired—a sexy man they could safely lust over who made them feel like a goddess queen. He knew how women truly were, and he provided a priceless service, letting them be themselves without any repercussions.

As he worked mainly in private parties and events, things could get pretty wild. Unknown to most men, women were, by far, the superior sex in all things perverted and debauched. Behind closed doors, with lowered inhibitions and the peer pressure to let loose and go crazy, women said and did things that would shatter most men’s egos. Once they felt safe, secure, and liberated from the chains of society’s disapproving glower, all women shed their disguises and revealed themselves as dirty, horny perverts that crave the nasty, filthy sex acts, the same ones their husbands and lovers wished they’d do in the bedroom. There were far worse jobs to have than one that ended every shift with a dozen, horny women wanting your cock.

On his way to meet a new, potential client at a coffee shop, Terry was optimistic and in a stellar mood. Rounding a glittery, tinsel-adorned corner, he sang to himself, altering the words to a Christmas carol.

“Get on your knees and open wide.
Fa-la-la-la-la, Fellatio.
Suck on it, and drain me dry.
Fa-la-la-la-la, Fellatio.”

The new client’s name was Jessica, Jess, and she was sexy and cagey, very nervous for some reason. During prior phone conversations, her husky voice had aroused Terry, and her appearance didn’t disappoint. She had close-cropped blond hair with blue-gray highlights, a sort of messy, fringed bob that looked amazing on her delicate features. Her body was lithe and graceful, a dancer’s body to Terry’s eyes, but she sat at the table, ignoring her steaming java, fidgeting, nervously. The woman was dressed seasonally, white and green, with horizontally striped tights under a velvet skirt with a green blouse.

“You must be Jess,” Terry smiled, using his “charm her panties off,” expression and tone. “I’m Terry. We spoke on the phone about this weekend.”

“Jess,” she smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m so nervous. I don't know what to say. This is my first time.”

He gave her his soothing chuckle. “Don’t sweat it. We were all virgins once.” 

Negotiations began, and Terry, using his secret weapons, charm and style, to sell himself, had a good feeling about the job. The meeting didn’t take long, and both of them knew, at once, that it was a deal. Trying not to be too obvious about her drooling over Terry’s sexy physique, Jessica detailed the small, private party. It would only “a couple of” guests, Terry’s strip show would be a gift to Jessica’s friend, Paige.

“However, Mr. Knight, Paige has this fantasy of having her first male stripper dance for her, then tying him to a chair and blindfolding him while she has her way with him. Will you do it?” Jessica scrolled through her phone, then turned it around, so Terry could see the picture she’d chosen. The picture was of Paige. She looked young enough, maybe in her early thirties, if that, and she had a dark, exotic look about her with dark hair and eyes, and her skin was an olive-hued light brown, showing that she was of Middle Eastern or Indian heritage.

Terry had a pitch ready for situations like that one. “I’m not a prostitute, Jess. My fee is strictly for dancing and stripping. However, if everyone, and I mean everyone, at the party extends an invitation for me to hang out after my show, whatever we all mutually consent to doing when I’m off the clock is just socializing.”

Things were hashed out, and Terry left the drooling baristas with a high-paying gig, paid for in advance. Jessica wanted a “surprise Christmas theme,” and the two worked out a scheme. Paige would only know that she and Jessica would be staying in the city over the weekend to shop and have some “girl time.” Her gift, Terry, would be a complete surprise.

Before they’d adjourned, the two were laughing and high-fiving like old friends. Terry didn’t mind being friends with Jessica; he had lots of lady friends. He just hoped there were some benefits involved; she was that sexy. He even stalked her social presence, trying to get a feel for her personality.

The rest of his week was spent preparing. Terry needed a Santa suit; a custom-sewn, wearable mini bar; green and red bondage ropes; Yule-themed music with a beat he could dance to; and a Christmassy blindfold. While opinions varied, Terry was in the "masturbate like crazy before a show" crowd. Some strippers adopted the no-nut approach, ensuring that they could easily get an erection, but Terry was young. His main concern was shooting his wad too soon. With that in mind, he put himself on a self-pleasure routine, masturbating four times, daily, but not at all the day before the show.

Jessica paid big, and the private party was in a hotel penthouse suite, so he wanted to earn his pay. Small gatherings can go any way imaginable, but he had a feeling about this one. Call it Christmas magic, but he felt it in his bones, muscles, and sexy flesh; this party was going to be one to remember.

Two nights before Christmas, while the city frenziedly attempted to finally get to its Holiday to-do lists, Terry, dressed in red velvet and, wearing a white, flowing beard, made his way to the downtown hotel skyscraper. Having dosed himself, perfectly, with intoxicants, he still had his wits about him but was relaxed and willing to go with the flow. After a long elevator ride, with only one person staring at the silly Santa holding a portable stereo, Terry emerged on the uppermost floor. The entire hotel was luxurious and affluent, but the upper floors were simply extravagant.

Two penthouse suites capped the two dozen floors, one on either end of the long hallway. He heard rowdy laughter from one, his destination. He stood there for a few minutes, waiting until six minutes after he was supposed to arrive, listening. The women—he couldn’t quite discern how many—were chattering, giddily, about shopping, men, and nothing in particular. He knocked, firmly, but not aggressively.

“Did you order room service or something?” he heard Jessica’s lilting voice. “No? I’ll see who it is.”

Jessica answered the door, her face pink with intoxication and laughter. Her face lit up with appreciative surprise when she saw him. Had it not been for those deep, mesmerizing eyes, she wouldn’t have recognized Terry.

“It’s Santa Claus,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Here to spread some Christmas cheer.”

Jessica was dressed incredibly sexy. Her smock dress matched the highlights in her hair, and she was obviously nude underneath. Her taut nipples poked out, and her breasts jiggled, sexily, with every movement. She opened the door wide, not concealing her elated smile, and turned, letting Terry step inside the gargantuan suite. He got an amazing view of her firm, round butt covered by her off-color dress; the fabric molded itself to the contours of her ass, looking so delicious and spankable.

“Merry Christmas, my little Ho, Ho, Hoes!” Terry sang out, his “Santa voice” sounding more like a geriatric Peter Falk than Santa. “Have you two been good or naughty girls?”

He stopped, appraising them. Jess looked as if she’d dressed to fuck, and Paige was dressed in loose lounge shorts and a camisole top. Her loungewear was a pale pastel color that really accentuated her smooth, dark skin and beautiful facial features. Her nipples were also dark, shadowy circles vaguely showing through her wispy top.

“Naughty!” Jessica said, rocking her shoulders back and forth, jutting out her delectable tits.

“And you, my darling Paige?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Are you a naughty girl or a nice one?”

“Ni…” Paige began, finally smiling. The ecstatic look on her best friend’s face made Paige feel empowered and sultry. “Naughty. I’m definitely naughty.”

“Correct,” Terry-cum-Santa chortled. “I have a list, you know. I checked it twice. I’ve been watching you. You are very naughty. Do you know what naughty girls get?” 

“Lumps of coal?”

“Wrong, my little helper! They get booze!”

With a grand flourish, Terry tugged open his red, fur coat, revealing his custom-made “Santa paunch.” Tying around his torso and hanging from his neck, his body-shaping accessory had pockets sewn into it, and they contained a stack of cups, a bag of ice cubes, and three bottles of booze—rum for Jessica, bourbon for Paige, and an aged whiskey for himself. He untied the contraption from his body, revealing a tight, Christmas-themed tank top beneath.

Terry was mildly surprised that only the two women were there. When Jess had said, “a couple,” she, apparently, meant it literally. Singing Christmas songs, Terry, disguised as Santa, poured the women stiff drinks and handed them to the ladies.

“Yuletide gifts for all the naughty girls,” he shouted, opening his green, velvet bag. Although it was filled with multiple, wrapped boxes, he only needed to grab two. “One for you, my naughty Jessica. Santa sees you when you’re sleeping, and he knows you need this.”

The package was wrapped in green, foil paper, little snowflakes embossed on the surface, and tied with a silver ribbon and a matching bow.

“And one for you, my lovely, naughty girl, Paige. I know when you’re awake, so you’d better be naughty, for goodness’ sake.” Paige’s package was the opposite of Jess’. Wrapped in silvery Mylar, it had a green ribbon and bow.

The duo downed their drinks, hardly noticing that Terry-Santa refilled them, as they opened the long, slender presents. Both women giggled when they saw their gifts. They had each received a long, thick, vibrator. Both were molded into realistic-looking penises and had a single button at the base.

“Exactly what I wanted, Santa. Thank you.”

“Ho, ho ho! And Merry Christmas. Now, for the stockings.”

Reaching back into the bag, he pulled out two nearly-empty stockings. Other than a large, single candy cane, they were devoid of Yuletide treats.

“Where’s the rest of our candy, Santa,” Paige laughed. She addressed her friend. “This is so cool, Jess. Thank you!”

“Santa knows you want lots of candy, you naughty girl,” Terry retorted. “Instead of calories and cavities, my gift to you naughty girls is eye candy!” He nodded at Jessica. “Hit it!”

Rock and roll Holiday music blared out of Terry’s stereo, and he went into his routine, beard flapping and looking silly in his Santa costume. He loved dancing, and his athleticism lent itself well to pulling off some of the more-involved moves. Terry also excelled at his profession, and he gyrated seductively, years of practice letting him naturally dance how women preferred. He ground his body all over a screaming, foul-mouthed Jessica. He had no idea how much she had drunk before he’d arrived, but she was on her fourth one since Terry showed up. The sexy woman’s hands were all over him, caressing his chest, tugging at his crotch, and squeezing his butt.

When the erotic entertainer, his red Santa coat now in the clutches of a very excited Jessica, shimmied over to Paige, the sudden change in the woman nearly freaked Terry out. Her face went from passive to aroused, then to lust-possessed. Paige’s hands went from timid hand-wringing to aggressively molesting the muscular man in front of her. 

“Take off your fucking pants. I want to see your cock. Take it off! Take it off!”

Although he hadn’t planned on disrobing further until his next song, Terry went with the ladies’ flow, eager to please them. Strutting in front of the exotic-looking Paige, who had instinctively spread her legs and looked erotically enticing in her frilly, loose shorts, Terry’s groin humped back and forth in time to the beat. He grabbed her hands and placed them inside the waistband of his red, fur pants.

Rather than tear off Santa’s pants, exposing his naughty bits, Paige thrust her hands downward, grabbing his manhood through his layers of clothes, and began stroking it in earnest. When he pulled away, she gripped the pants tightly, and they tore off his body, revealing red, satin Holiday boxer shorts, the front graphics depicting chestnuts roasting on an open fire in the most ironically possible position. Pulling the both of them off the hotel suite’s couch, he placed one of their hands on either side of the tank top. 

The two women ground themselves against him, humping his muscular legs and running their hands all over his body. Terry expected at least a little enthusiasm from Jessica; she seemed the type, but Paige surprised him. She’d become a wanton, cock-hungry slut, and Terry was all for that. He counted down, “Three, two, one,” and stepped back.

The strategic cut in the collar of his tank let the ladies tear the garment off his torso. The horny duo shrieked when his perfectly-sculpted body was revealed. Terry flexed for them, then ripped off his beard. In an instant, Jessica’s tongue and lips assaulted Terry’s chest, and Paige moved behind his dancing body, humping her clit against his firm butt, her hands grabbing his cock.

Terry, fully enjoying himself, shuffled to the beat, moved over to his sack of goodies, and pulled out two lengths of soft rope. With his back turned to the women, he looked over his shoulder, quizzically, and moved the waist of his shorts down an inch or so, flipping it back up when he heard them gasp.

“Take it off, you sexy fucking beast. Momma wants your ass!”

“Take it off, stud. Take it off.”

The two women were making as much noise as any packed party, and Terry played on their enthusiasm, making them beg, plead, and command him to undress. He bent deeply at the waist, shaking his taut, firm butt at them, then pulled down the satin boxers. Paige and Jess squealed with horny delight when his green thong and spectacular, manly ass were revealed.

He humped at their faces and ran his mouth and face over the contours of their bodies, his lips mere inches away from their steaming flesh. Finally, he ground against Paige, writhing in time to the hard-rocking Yuletide song, and he had her tear away his thong. Underneath, Terry wore a green and red striped G-string. The flimsy bit of material was nothing more than a cup of fabric bound to his body with some elastic. Tied around his upper thigh was the blindfold, a festive print of Christmas trees, holly, and ornaments. He bent over, moving to the music, untied the cloth, and tossed it to Jessica.

Jessica went insane. The blond wrapped her legs around his torso, and climbed up his body, licking and kissing her way to his mouth. Still dancing, Terry carried her as he gyrated. When he let her slide down his body, her mouth latched onto his skimpy bit of clothing, and she tugged it down with her teeth, her hands reaching out to stroke his growing shaft.

Terry smiled at her, his ultramarine eyes boring horny holes in her soul as he wagged his finger at her, mouthing, “No, no.” Leaving her slumped on the couch, panting, he danced over to Paige, whose eyes were wide with desire. The dark-haired woman was rubbing her hands up and down her body, writhing seductively with a huge smile on her face. She laughed, her face turning crimson, when he tossed her the ropes.

He kicked a chair into the center of the spacious suite and sat down on the chair, nude except for his festive Santa boots. 

“Sit on my lap, little naughty girl, and tell Santa what you want for Christmas, you hoe-hoe-hoe.”

“Me first!” Jessica screamed. The lithe, blond woman jumped up from the couch, her boobs bouncing so much that her hard nipples tingled from the contact with the fabric of her slutty dress. Rather than sit on his lap, she straddled him, facing Terry. The male stripper knew, without any doubt, that she wasn’t wearing panties. She purred at him, moaning as her hips pumped back and forth. Both her hands reached for his impressive cock, stroking it.

Fully erect, Terry sported a little over eight inches in length, but the thickness of his cock made it look incredibly huge. The blond nymph’s manual efforts made him grow even bigger.

“Cock,” his client moaned as she impaled herself on his hard member. “I… need… cock!.” Jessica bounced up and down on his shaft, slamming down, hard, with ever every word.

“Cock,” she chanted, moaning. Her hands rubbed his chest, biceps, and shoulders. “Cock, cock, cock. I want your cock.”

“No fair,” Paige’s lilting voice said from behind him. Terry felt her hands caressing him. “Santa, I want to tie you up and have my way with you.”

The dark-skinned beauty didn’t wait for an answer. She plucked the blindfold from the couch and tied it around his face, covering his brilliant, sparkling eyes. Then, she deftly tied Terry’s ankles and arms to the chair, all while her blond friend, lost in lust, rode the stripper. Replacing his Santa hat, she said, “Get off my present, you slut. It’s my turn.”

“Oh, fuck!” Terry mock-protested when Jess climbed off his cock. It was covered in her slick, horny juices.

“I’ll just sit on the couch and watch, while I play with my new toy that Santa brought me.”

Terry was going to say something funny, but it came out as “I…ooohhh, fucking hell, that feels good.”

A hot, warm mouth engulfed his shaft, lunging up and down, sucking powerfully. Glad that his hands were tied behind the chair, Terry gripped the chair’s back, marveling at how amazing the woman’s oral talents were. Then, he heard the buzzing of a vibrator, the sloshing sounds of Jessica fucking herself with it, and her sighing moans.

“Suck his cock while I fuck myself. Oh, that feels so good. When I cum, I’m going to fuck you again. Do you want my cunt, mouth, or my ass? Oh, fuck.”

Terry groaned when Paige’s mouth stopped pleasuring his shaft. Then, he felt hot, nude flesh wrapping around his cock.

“I took my top off, Terry Claus. Do you like tit-fucking?”

“Fuck! I’m so fucking horny, I’m going to squirt. Shit, shit, shit!”

Terry was on the verge of sexual insanity. While he could tell stories that would make a porn star blush and had lots of horny threesomes with the ladies he danced for, this was sexual overload. He was truly enjoying himself.

Just then, the suite’s door burst open, slamming so hard that the report echoed through the room.

“What the fuck, you fucking whore. I knew it! You lying, cheating, no-good, slut-fucking-cunt. I caught you!”

“God damn it, Bruce. What the fuck are you doing here, you bastard?”

“I knew you were a cheating whore. You’ll be sorry, you fucking slut.”

The shouting was real and loud, and Terry, blindfolded and bound to a chair, his deflating cock displayed, panicked. “What the fuck is going on? I’m just a dancer. Let me loose. Untie me!”

“Fuck!” Jessica screamed, her voice breaking. “He’s got a gun!”

The deafening cacophony of a struggle reached Terry’s ears. Far beyond panic, he was locked in terror’s embrace, struggling to free himself. Wrenching and pulling at the ropes, his chair toppled over.

“Fuck! I don’t want to die. Help! Help! Get me the fuck out of here.”

All the while, Paige and the unseen Bruce were hurling vile curses at each other, accompanied by the sound of furniture being toppled, breaking glass, and large, heavy objects being hurled against the walls.

“Aaah, Aaar, Arrrgghh!” Terry was growing hysterical.

Then, through the riotous din, he heard Jessica’s soft, soothing voice whispering to him. One of her hot hands rested on his shoulder.

“Relax, Terry. Everything’s fine. You’ll see. Trust me for just a second, and I’ll take the blindfold off. Promise me you won’t freak out.”

That was an impossible oath to make. His heart was thundering in his chest, he felt as if he were going to hyperventilate, and Terry had never been so terrified in his entire life. From what he’d understood, the jealous husband had burst in on them, wielding a weapon.

“I swear,” he falsely promised.

The blindfold was removed, and Terry was stupefied by what he saw. Although his view was rotated ninety degrees, his mortal dread dissipated as comprehension slowly sank in. While the carnage was real, the wrath and weapon, however, were, obviously, fake. Bruce and Paige were hurling vile insults, accusations, and threats at one another, but they were smiling, and their expressions were jovial and lusty. The “gun” Jessica had loudly screamed about was nothing more than a blue, plastic squirt gun with a fluorescent orange tip.

The Indian-looking woman, her top discarded, was wrestling with a dark-haired, spindly man. He was good-looking, but far from the Adonis-like specimen Terry was. They were play-fighting, throwing hotel decor around, aimed far away from each other. Although his ears had heard danger, malice, and the worst possible scenario that any stripper could imagine, the reality of it was almost humorous.

“See?” Jessica whispered into his ear. “It’s all pretend; it’s their kink. Part of it is catching the man she’s cheating with by surprise.”

“I did not sign up for this, you fucking bitch. I thought I was going to die!”

“I’m sorry.” Her tone contradicted her words. “You’re free to go if you want, but, and I promise you, if you stay and play along, you’ll have a memorable time.”

He watched the comical altercation play out, his all-consuming fright turning to mirth. The man had an erection poking out of the front of his pants, and their wrestling was so fake-looking that it was hilarious to watch. Their efforts broke the expensive table, and the crashing destruction made a chair skitter away, knocking over an ornate planter and its stand. The large vase shattered on the floor.

“What happens if I decide to stay?”

“I’ll blindfold you once more, and you’ll be used for sexual pleasure until your balls are drained.”

“I’m free for the night. This is better than my usual.” He laughed as serenity flowed back into his bones. “Santa usually only cums once per year.”

Jessica struggled to upright his toppled chair; Terry’s mass made it nearly impossible for her to tilt the chair back onto its legs. As she struggled, Paige gained the upper hand, ending up straddling the prone and panting Bruce as she wrenched the squirt gun from his grasp.

“How dare you barge in on me, acting like a real man? We’re not getting a divorce, you pathetic, little worm. You are going to sit right there,” she pointed, “and see how a real man pleasures your wife.”

Paige aimed the silly, blue plastic toy at her husband’s head and pulled the trigger, aiming the barrel into Bruce’s open mouth. Five squirts of a brownish liquid shot into his mouth. “Take that, your worthless, needle-dicked, piece of trash.”

Then, she put the squirt gun in her mouth, pumping the trigger. “Mmm, top-shelf whiskey.”

The Christmas-themed blindfold was replaced around Terry’s eyes, leaving him sightless once more, but no longer afraid.

“Now you watch while I suck his cock. See how it’s twice the size of your pathetic wee-wee.”

“Don’t say that. Please, Paige. I love you.”

“It’s the truth, you're hung like a baby.”

“No. Don’t say cock—especially that you’re going to suck his! I feel so humiliated.”

“You should feel that way every time you look in a mirror. You're pathetic, useless in bed, and once I SUCK HIS COCK I’m going to ask Santa to give you some weights for Christmas, so you no longer look like a reed with shitty hair.”

“Stop saying that,” Bruce whined, sobbing.

“Cock?”

“Aaah. NO!”

“It's hard to stop talking about something that's so fucking big. I could go on and on about his cock, his bone, his knob, his bishop, Wang, thing, rod, hot rod, hump-stick, Oscar, dong, dagger, banana, cucumber, salami, sausage, kielbasa, schlong, dink, tool, Big Ben, Mr. Happy, Peter Pecker, pee-pee, pisser, pistol, piston joint, hose, horn, middle leg, third leg, meat, stick, joystick, dipstick, one-eyed wonder worm, junior, little head, little guy, Rumple-foreskin, Tootsie Roll, love muscle, skin flute, Roto-Rooter, snake, hammer, rammer, rod, spammer, bazooka, rubber-wearer, chubby, sticky, stubby, shaft, schmeckle, yin-yang, man meat, hooded Pope. But look at it; it’s so long, thick, and yummy. I want his cock.”

“Fucking stop. You’re killing me.”

“Cock, cock, cock, cock, cock! You’re a worthless turd, Bruce. Watch how much of a whore your wife is with other men, just not you.”

Terry felt somebody, Paige, he assumed since she’d stopped listing off slang for penis, crawled between his legs, and hot, smooth flesh rubbed against his bare thighs. Then, he felt a hot, wet mouth plunge over his flaccid member, sucking it in and licking the length.

He played along. “That’s it, you horny slut. Suck my cock.”

“Aaagh,” Bruce lamented.

“Take my cock. Beg for it, you whore.”

“Please give me your hard cock, Santa-Terry. Was I not a naughty girl all year long?”

Righting the chair required some reworking of his bindings. Terry’s hands, still tied around the back of the chair, were loose now. He felt the hot wetness of a pussy humping against his bound hands.

“When she’s done,” Jessica’s husky voice moaned, “I’m going to fuck that meat stick of yours.”

Terry was in Christmas heaven. Arousal, followed by abject terror, more arousal after that, had him in a sexual stupor. All he could do was moan as the kinky horny sensation of fingering a hot blond while a married, exotic beauty went down on him, her husband watching and crying in humiliated despair, had him on the verge of blowing his load. As if she sensed his pending orgasm, she pulled her lips off his quivering shaft.

The mouth returned to his hardness, sucking with renewed strength and enthusiasm. Terry thrust his hips up to meet the downward lunges, marveling that the entire length of his cock was swallowed.

“Does that feel good?” Jess moaned. Her voice was on his right. “Can you feel how wet I am for you? Mmm, that feels good.”

“And it’s so hot to watch.”

Terry screamed, startled, again. Paige’s voice was a whisper, near his left ear. There was no way she could be sucking him and simultaneously breathing into his ear.

“Suck that cock, you pathetic, little cuck,” Jessica sighed as she tore Terry’s blindfold off once more.

Terry couldn’t do anything, tied up as he was, but the wiry man, Bruce, was on his knees, sucking his cock. Terry wasn’t into men, but he went with it because two horny women were waiting for their turns.

“Don’t let him cum, you trashy piece of worthless filth. You can’t please your own wife with your stupid, pathetic, poor excuse for a cock. You have one job! Make him hard for us.”

“Mm-hmm,” he moaned, thrusting his head up and down rapidly.

“I can’t wait. I need to fuck something.”

Paige walked over to the couch and removed a torn painting from the cushion, revealing her Stripper-Santa-gifted dildo. Sitting on the floor, just off to one side, so she could view her husband sucking Terry’s cock, and forcibly shoved the rubber toy inside her dripping snatch.

“Even a fake cock is better than yours, Bruce. Did you know that my pinky finger is bigger than you? You’re worthless. What are you, Bruce?”

“I’m a pathetic, cocksucking worm, unfit to do anything but serve your pleasure.”

“Promise me you’ll stop barging in when I fuck real men.”

“I promise.”

She pulled the buzzing, thrusting toy out of her cunt, shifted position, and smacked her husband on the ass with it. She was so aroused that her liquid sex splattered off the dildo, little drops of cum flying into the air.

“You promise, what?”

“I promise, my goddess. I just love you so much. I can’t stand you cheating.”

“You’d have to be allowed to fuck my hot, wet pussy,” she groaned, shoving the vibrator back inside her cunt, “for it to be cheating. You’re not fit to drink my piss, let alone fuck my tight pussy.”

“Yes, my goddess, worthless piss-boy.”

Jessica laughed, still humping Terry’s hands. “Look at that! The little shit got hard when you said ‘piss.’”

Bruce’s entire body went into dramatic, shaking convulsions.

“Kinky little piece of crap. Do you want piss? I’m feeling generous.”

“Ho-ho-holy fuck,” Terry guffawed in his terrible Santa voice. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

With the toy still embedded inside her, Paige stood, one hand pumping the toy in and out, straddling her kneeling husband, and moaning.

“I know why you love the thought of piss so much. You’re about as useful as a toilet because that’s what you are, a pathetic thing that sits there and takes shit all day. Your fucking wish is granted, you worm.”

Paige pulled out the toy and let loose a golden stream of urine. One of her hands reached between her legs, spreading her cunt lips and aiming the stream at his back. She moaned as she released her golden nectar, licking her sex juice off the dildo. Then she held the still-buzzing sex toy under the stream, soaking it in her piss.

“Ooh, fuck. Aaah, mmm,” Bruce moaned, taking his mouth off Terry’s half-hard dick.

“Look at how pathetic you are! You can’t even suck a cock, correctly. Jess, show him how to make a real man hard.”

“You heard your wife. My fucking turn.”

Paige’s pee splashed and splattered all over Bruce, the floor, and elsewhere. Some of it even got on Terry’s legs. Jessica raced around the chair, kicking Bruce out from between the stripper’s legs. Then, she got on all fours and began devouring his cock.

“Look how wet she is, piss boy,” Paige scolded. “Clean her up. At least your tongue won’t go soft after thirty seconds.”

“Yes, my goddess.”

“Not like that, you pathetic runt. Crawl to her. Lie on your back and worship her cunt.”

Jessica was working hard to make him cum. Within a few seconds, Terry was moaning, overcome with the dirty debauchery that he was the center of.

“Legs up, Bruce. If you’re not a real man, then you must be a girl, and girls get fucked. Show me that asshole, you asshole.”

“Fucking Jingle Bells!” Terry was getting into the holiday spirit.

Paige gave him a devilish, naughty look. She knelt behind her husband, who was licking Jessica’s slit, and held the vibrator horizontally, right in front of Bruce’s sphincter.

“Since you’re a piss-loving girl, you get to be fucked with Santa’s new gift, a piss-covered dildo. What do you have to say, worm?”

“Please take my virgin ass, my goddess. Use me as you will.”

The cruel Hot Wife didn’t even attempt to find anything to lube the dildo up with; she just pressed it against his ass, Bruce’s legs on her shoulders, and rammed it in, hard.

“Oh, fuck! Yes.” Bruce began moaning in pleasure, his stomach convulsing with horny delight, and his wife fucked him, brutally, plunging the writhing, buzzing, stroking toy deeper and deeper.

“Mmm, aaah, Nnngh,” Bruce moaned. “Fuck my ass. I’m worthless, a piece of shit. I’m a pathetic worm with a tiny dick. Fuck my ass.”

“Untie Santa Claus, so he can fuck me from behind,” Paige commanded.

Jessica stopped sucking his cock, frowning, at first, then smiling. She deftly untied him, freeing Terry. Getting back into character, Terry ran to his Santa sack and pulled out the theretofore unused can of whipped cream. Although his routine had ended, he shook the can and sprayed the white sweetness down the length of his spittle-covered erection.

Moving up to Paige, since she was kneeling, he thrust his erection toward her face and said, “Time for your candy. Beg for it.”

“Please, Santa, can I eat your cock? I promise I’ll do anything you ask.”

“No you won’t, bitch,” Terry sternly replied. “You’ll do everything Jolly Saint Fuck tells you.” he grabbed his hat and Santa coat, putting them on, so he’d still look the part.

He thrust his manhood into her mouth, grabbing a handful of her thick, lush dark hair, holding her head in place while he fucked Paige’s mouth. Paige gobbled his candy cane, slurping up the whipped cream and moaning. Her relentless assault on her husband’s ass never once stopped.

“Too fucking hot. I’m fucking cumming,” Jessica screamed. 

The blond’s thighs wrapped around Bruce’s moaning head, and she forced his mouth tight against her orgasming cunt.

“Fuck her face,” Jessica screamed through her grunting release.

“On all fours, you naughty elf. You’re Santa’s little helper, tonight. You’re going to help me get off.”

Terry shoved Paige’s head away from his throbbing member, and she hurried to comply with his orders. On her hands and elbows, still pounding Bruce’s ass with the toy, she wiggled her butt at Terry, verbally begging and pleading for him to fuck her.

“Time for me to deck the halls. Oh, fuck, you’re tight.”

“You’re so fucking huge. Take that pussy; it’s yours. You own it. Take it. Fuck me hard. Fucking fuck my slutty cunt.”

“Your punishment is to watch your cheating-bitch wife get brutally fucked, you pathetic loser. Sit there and stroke your little cock. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

“I need in on this,” Jessica pled. “Let’s eat each other while you get fucked.”

Bruce moved away, sitting in the chair Terry had recently occupied, the humming, buzzing toy still buried in his ass. The lithe blond maneuvered herself under Paige until her pussy was at the other woman’s head and Jessica’s face was staring at Terry’s huge, hard cock pile-driving into the exotic woman’s cunt. Her tongue lashed out, flicking over both Paige’s clit and Terry’s thrusting shaft.

Bruce stared at his wife being taken hard and rough and loved every second of it. His manhood wasn’t as pathetic as the condemnations of his wife suggested, but it was on the small side.

“Harder! Deeper. Fucking fuck me like you hate me, Santa. I’m on the naughty list; punish me.”

“Fucking cumming, again,” Jessica announced.

Possessed with primal lust, Jess’ mouth clamped over Terry’s sack, sucking on his balls, hard. Her orgasm ripped through her, and that made her writhe and flail about, her mouth sucking his sack in harder.

“My turn. I need fucked.”

“Bruce! Take my toy out of your ass and clean it off with your pathetic, useless mouth. Your wife needs a cock, so that fake one will have to do.”

“What about my dick, goddess?”

“I need a meal, not a tiny morsel. Fake cock, your mouth, now.”

Terry, thankful for the break as he was close to blowing his load, pulled out of Paige’s hole, noting that she was pouring liquid sex. His cock, groin, and thighs were soaked, and her lubrication had soaked the plush carpet.

“Tell me how bad you want it, you sexy little cunt.”

“Mmmph, humph,” Jessica mumbled through a pussy-filled mouth.

Jessica was highly aroused. Her cunt lips were red and swollen, protruding from her pulsing hole like the flapping wings of a sexual butterfly.

“Give her your Yule Log, Santa. Make her scream.”

Terry sank his length into her sopping cunt, slamming into her with such force that the two women locked in their oral embrace scooted a few inches across the carpet.

“I want a cock as big as yours for Christmas,” Bruce uttered.

“Shut the fuck up and stroke, you pathetic ass.”

“Yes, goddess.”

Paige began grunting and moaning, gyrating her twat against Jessica’s eager mouth.

“Oh fuck. Don’t stop; please, don’t stop. Cumming.”

The dark-complected woman, lost in her heated desire, started shaking, screaming nonsense, and writhing about uncontrollably. She fell off of Jessica’s mouth and convulsed on the floor, her hands raking her body in the throes of bliss.

“Oh, aah, shit,” Bruce whimpered.

Terry diverted his attention long enough to see Bruce, still in the chair, holding the buzzing toy obediently, with his other hand stroking his little wiener in a blur. His cum dribbled out from the head, barely getting any air time, most of it landing in his tangled pubic hair.

“Did I tell you that you could cum? Just for that, when we get home, I’m going to shove your gun up your ass and make you watch while I have cyber sex on cam all night.”

Jessica lost the power of speech. She wasn’t used to the hard, brutal fucking Terry was giving her. All she could do was desperately grasp his muscles, run her hands over his flesh, and pull him in deeper.

“Bring me my toy, you worthless cuck. On your knees, dildo in your mouth.”

Bruce obeyed, crying real tears, whether from horny ecstasy or negative emotions, Terry didn’t know. He didn’t care. He’d just been sucked off by two horny women and his first man, ever, and he had the pleasure of pounding Paige’s creamy cunt, followed by fucking Jessica.

Jessica’s moans and grunts turned into screaming moans, then loud, echoing wails. Her hands flew to her clit and she groped at Terry’s testicles while tugging on and rubbing her clit. 

“Don’t… fuck… ing… stop. Cumming!”

Jessica’s entire body began shaking, and her thighs, wrapped around the stripper's toned body, were quivering violently. Suddenly, as she started screaming her head off, Jessica lost all body control and began writhing about randomly. A steaming stream of whitish liquid sprayed from her pussy, shooting all over Terry, his Santa coat, his chest, and her squirting soaked her own body. Terry kept pounding his cock into her. Jessica was one of the hottest fucks he’d ever had.

“Don’t hand it to me, you fucking worm. Hold it in your mouth while I fuck it.”

Awed, Terry watched as Bruce lay on his stomach, head up, with the whirring toy clenched in his teeth. He couldn’t help but laugh when Paige scooted her oozing cunt up to it and began fucking herself while her husband held it immobile for her.

With her legs wrapped around him as they were, it was little effort to scoop up Jessica, still impaled on his hammering cock, and scooted her a couple of feet over, so he could pleasure Paige while he fucked the blond into oblivion. Terry reached out, found the dark-haired beauty’s clit, and flicked it back and forth, rubbing it to even higher sensitivity. Her clit has large, swollen, and throbbing.

“Fucking cumming on your face, you useless dink. See how a real man can get me off?”

Jessica chose that moment to squirt more cum in a never-ending geyser. She screamed, wailed, cried, and pulled him inside of her as deeply as she could. Terry, through some Christmas miracle, kept himself from cumming until they’d both stopped writhing in bliss.

“Shoot on us both,” Paige shouted. She quickly pulled herself off the now-dripping dildo and lay prone beside Jessica. “On our faces. Paint us with Yuletide cheer.”

The two women kissed each other passionately, their hands roaming everywhere. Terry pulled out of the tightest, wettest, hottest pussy he’d ever plowed and spun around until his cock was pointed at their kissing faces.

“Everyone wants a white Christmas,” Terry grunted as stream after stream of his hot cum shot from his cock, plastering the two women’s faces, eyes, lips, and hair. The sight of them licking his spunk from each other’s lips caused a spontaneous mini-orgasm, making him shoot even more.

“That’s how a real man pleasures a lady, you pathetic worm,” Paige admonished her husband. “Now clean us up.”

“But, my goddess…” Bruce began.

Paige shot him a nasty stare, holding up the squirt gun. “Do it, or I’ll divorce your puny ass and move in with Santa, here.” Terry had a retort, but he kept his jolly mouth shut.

The Indian woman verbally degraded her husband as Bruce crawled over to the two women who were still caressing each other. He lowered his head and began licking up Terry’s jizz.

“Tongue only! If your pathetic chicken lips touch our flesh, you will be severely punished.”

Terry watched, in awe, as Bruce lowered his outstretched tongue and slowly, lovingly licked his ejaculate from the women’s faces. They paid him no mind, their kissing becoming a hot make-out session.

Surveying the damage, the hotel suite had been utterly destroyed, the two women were covered with sweat, cum, and saliva, and Bruce’s face was a mask of ecstasy. 

“Sorry about the subterfuge,” Paige apologized. “It’s our kink. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind,” Terry exclaimed, “other than making me think I was going to die, this was some of the nastiest, dirtiest sex, I’ve ever had.”

“Good,” Jessica raved. “We were thinking about doing this again for New Year’s. Are you interested?”

“Well, we’ll need to talk it out, say, tomorrow? How about you meet me at the same place and time?”

“No, come over to my place, instead. It’s still Christmastime, and I’m looking forward to Santa cumming down my chimney.”

As he left, only wearing the Santa pants and the coat, still open, Terry wondered if that had actually happened. Just then, his phone dinged. Checking the message, he saw that a large sum had just been deposited into his account. The message only read, “Still on the naughty list?”

When the elevator doors opened, he jauntily strolled through the lobby, singing, “We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy NEW YEAR!” New Year’s was just a little over a week away, and Terry had to go shopping for a Father Time costume to strip out of.