(sung)

Come Christmas, I’m always stone-broke,
poor and penniless like the pet rat of the pope.
So this year to save me from tears
I signed up for something special.

Cheap elf costume is what they provide
But it seems I still catch your eye.
Tell me, baby, do you recognise me?
In this baggy, stripy disaster – it wouldn’t surprise me.

“Just pull this top down a bit, like this: more cleavage, more cheap slut - more you. Voila.”

“It’s going to be families with kids, they don’t need to see my tits!”

“But I most certainly do. And don’t you forget, my naughty little elf, you are mostly here to entertain me.”

“I’m here for the money, Ben, stop fooling yourself.” But two can play this game, Santa, I think to myself with a cunning sneer. Tearing myself away from his grip, I pretend to re-organise the stacked-up fake gift boxes in the corner. As I bend over to lift the smallest package, I ‘accidentally’ let my ill-fitting elf trousers slip down to my ankles. “Oops,” I giggle flashing him with my emerald green lace panties and my peachy bottom that he told me he’s been craving a bite of since I signed up for this gig.

“Ho ho ho, now we’re talking,” he laughs addressing every little syllable to me and the campus whore he used to know, and took full advantage of. Even in the fat Santa suit, with the tacky, patchy cotton beard I find him irresistible because of our history. 

“I thought it was my cheeky charm that made you sign up. Where’s the Christmas spirit, dear Emma Elf?” His faked upset tone almost fools me. And definitely floods me. His condescending outbursts used to get my knickers in a twist in more ways than one.

“Well, maybe a combination of all of those but mostly the money.” I continue winding him up elfishly.

“I'm sure I can get you a little raise if you’ll be nice to poor old sex-starved Santa. And if you’re so worried about our family rating, I guess you ought to do something about these tenting trousers.” He obscenely rubs the outline of his thick cock through his loose-fitting crimson pants. “No kid should have to sit on this, should they?” His devilish demeanour under the cheap white cotton moustache is disturbingly delightful.

“Ben, we have to start in like fifteen minutes.” 

“More than enough to suck this candy cane, my naughty elf.”

“Let me at least lock the door. Imagine...”

“Shut up and hurry back,” he snaps patting his thigh for me to sit on it. The cocksure way he takes ownership of the fancy throne-like armchair while rubbing his delicious, veiny cock... Fuck, no turning back now. This is crazy!

“I signed up for this because I knew it’s going to be fun with you but I wasn’t imagining this kind of fun, to be honest,” I mumble on my way back to him. 

“How sweet! So you thought we’re going to spend four weekends together, and I will not fuck you at least four dozen times? How very naive of you!” He yanks me over his knees with a force that seems to defy the laws of physics. “I think I owe you a big spanking for flashing me just now, young lady... And for breaking up with me,” he threatens through gritted teeth.

“I never broke up with you!” I gaze at him with big angelic eyes, trying to get out of the inevitable.

“You moved away and forgot about me; same thing. You’re still on Santa’s naughty list. So stay still and let me see these Christmas panties close up.”

“I wanted to experiment with girls back then.” I forge a half-baked, somewhat true excuse as his satin fingers brush against my bare legs, ridding me of the ridiculous costume.

“And how did that work out, hmm?” He demands with a pissy attitude. Then, with the same stung spirit, he coils his arm around my mouth and neck. “Don’t answer that, I can easily guess: you’ve missed a firm hand and a thick cock in your hungry little cunt.” He delivers a hard blow across my sorry ass, one he used to refer to as a ‘warm-up whack’.

“Fucking ouch! There are very good toys these days, Santa.”

“Still so cheeky and bratty!”  Big bouncy slap. “With the most spankable ass. Dangerous combination if you ask me.” He squeezes my cheeks, then rubs my pussy through my soaked satin panties.

“Fuck. More!” I whimper, begging him to continue.

He whacks my fleshy, sensitive cheeks again. The waves of pain and pleasure throw me under like a rip current.

“Not more of THAT,” I scream out forgetting about our unfortunate circumstances with the starry eyed kiddos queuing up outside. This ain't the Santa they imagine I guess.

“Oh, I know exactly what you want. But only good girls get what they want. And you Miss Cheekypants, you are bad! Rotten to the core. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Santa, I’ve been naughty, feral. I’m incorrigible.”

“And what do bad girls get?”

“A spanking?”

“Correct. Also a face fuck, naughty girl. Do you remember those, my slut?”

Not something I could ever forget.