Marty paced the end of the runway. It was past dawn at this point–Santa should have returned by now. He was always so efficient! He picked up the pistol he’d dug out of his old projects. It was an old failure that never worked very well, but…desperation breeds ingenuity, and he’d cobbled together a working prototype–a love gun. He’d intended to make it capable of making any two people fall deeply in love or lust, but for now, all he’d managed to do is make the target fall in love with the shooter–which was enough for him. He’d imagined that his addictive cum would be enough to control Santa and his heart– but if this is what had to be done then so be it. He would have Santa’s heart, by force if necessary. He was done playing nice.
Timmy was a ways off, closer to the workshop, staring at Marty. He’d emerged from his workshop–alone. No sign of Claude. Marty had locked the door behind him, and even though Timmy was an excellent lockpick, he’d never been able to penetrate Marty’s complex locks, though he’d tried many times before. Still, this was getting out of hand, and he knew that the only person who could maybe talk some sense into Marty was him.
He hiked out to the runway where Marty was fiddling with his gun. Marty looked at him, “Stay out of this Timmy.”
“Marty…don’t…don’t you think this has gone a bit far?”
Marty didn’t say anything.
“Where’s…where’s Claude? What did you do to him?”
“I took care of it.”
“What did you do to him, Marty?”
“I said I took care of it.”
“ He didn’t need to be taken care of, Marty! What the fuck did you do?”
Marty spun around and stalked towards Timmy. “This has nothing to do with you! Fuck off, you fucking halfwit,” Marty spat on the ground, “You’ve been fucking lovesick for me for years–when do you get the hint? I don’t fucking love you Timmy, hell, at this point I don’t even like you. Now get the fuck away from me.”
Timmy’s jaw had dropped, his eyes tearing up. Marty looked away again, scanning the sky. Timmy almost spoke again, wanting to tell Marty what had happened to Santa as he’d ridden all over the world last night…but fuck it. Marty would just get a surprise, right? He’d see who the halfwit is, then. He turned around and stomped a ways off, but stayed close–he wanted to see the look on Marty’s face when the sleigh landed.
A few minutes later, rudolph’s red cockhead finally flickered through the clouds, and the sleigh burst out behind. Marty readied the gun, lining it up in his sights. He wasn’t going to give Santa a chance to dodge, or get a word in–he was going to shoot him in the air. The sleigh banked around, giving him a clean shot. He fired, and saw the figure in the sleigh glow bright pink for a moment–a direct hit! He tossed the gun away, and stepped to one side, the sleigh alighting on the snowy runway. Several reindeer trampled their way across the gun, but Marty didn’t care–it had done it’s job. The sleigh came to rest, Marty hurried towards it, and then stopped in his tracks, as the massively fat pig inside hefted himself out, snorted the air, turned it’s eyes on Marty, and beamed at him with desire.
“No…” Marty said, “No! Timmy? Timmy! What the fuck have you done to him!”
Santa was fat, but he was still larger and faster than Marty…and he had a bit of magic on his side as well. The little elf…he loved him so much, but he just wasn’t quite his type. Not yet, at least. Marty slowed down, sniffing the air, and then snorting it. Something smelled…no. He looked down, and saw that his hands were condensing into trotters, his body bulking up with muscle and fat, his cock…his fucking cock! It grew thick and started lengthening down, reaching his knees in moments, and that smell! He turned around, and saw Santa bent over, presenting his fat ass for Marty, and he was so horny. Grunting and snorting, he stroked his cock hard, forced Santa’s ass lower, and fucked him. His body was growing thicker with muscle, he’d never felt so strong, even as the edges of his clever mind started to dull and soften, lust overtaking him. His balls were filling with cum, bulging heavy and hanging lower, and moments later he was cumming, filling Santa’s ass with his new seed.
The haze of lust lifted, and Marty stumbled back. He was huge by elf standards now–in fact, we was less an elf and more a short, squat pig man, a freak of nature. Santa turned around and snorted closer, trying to kiss him, and Marty pushed him away. He had to fix this, he had to do something! He ran for the workshop, and Santa chased him, eager for another fuck, and Timmy just watched him run all the way there…and then saw the remains of the gun scattered across the runway. He hurried over and picked up all the bits he could find, a plan of his own forming in his mind.
Marty unlocked his workshop, and tried to keep Santa out, the rest of the elves watching the scene with a mixture of horror, surprise and sick humor. Eventually, Marty relented, and they both disappeared into his private workshop, the door locked behind them, and Timmy hurried to his own room, the bits of the gun heaped in his arms, and locked it behind him as well.
As for the rest of the elves–they had no Santa, and no head elf. So they began making toys for next year, because what else was there to do? Christmas would carry on, somehow. But the grew more uneasy, as over the next several months, Timmy, Claude, Marty and Santa never emerged, until one day…
To Be Continued
Bracken's Corner 