The first hour or so was simple enough. Stan would arrive on the roof, drop down the chimney and deliver the presents–happily taking the milk and cookies offered at each stop, though he felt a bit guilty and gluttonous for doing so–and then whisk himself back up and off to the next stop. The only thing that bothered him, really, was how damn horny he was all of a sudden. In fact, he could saw with total certainty that he was currently the horniest he’d ever been in his life, outside of, perhaps, a few teenage occasions, but he pushed his libido away…just like he always had, ever since…since he’d had those first inklings…
He shook his head, pushing that memory away again. He hadn’t thought of that in years, and it was returning now? Why? That was…so far in the past now, he’d sworn he’d never think about that again in his life, but it kept trying to bubble up and resurface. He looked down at his list, which thankfully had been modernized into a tablet computer, showed that his first red name was coming up next–the sleigh landed upon the top of a high rise condominium in some sprawling metropolitan center, and Stan hopped out, leaving his gifts in the sleigh, and read the naughty note under the name:
“Troy Weston: Financial Systems Executive. Secretly defrauding thousands of dollars a day off the backs of mortgage payers.”
Stan made his way to an air vest, squeezed his way in and down a few floors, until he popped out the other side in a rather swank apartment. Stan had always lived rather frugally, but he imagined this would be garish by anyone’s standards. Still, what was he going to do now, exactly? He hadn’t really given this much thought, as to how he might punish these special cases. He had magic, right? He must…he just didn’t quite know how to work it. Suddenly aware that he might be out of his league, he went to use the vent to get out, but couldn’t–he couldn’t leave, of course, not until he’d taken care of what he’d come to do–somehow he knew that on a basic level. There was no getting out of it now, he’d just have to figure something out.
He crept through the apartment until he arrived at the master bedroom, opened the door, and found himself looking at a man in his thirties, well asleep…and as soon as Stan saw him, his teeth were set on edge. He could…smell the evil rolling off him, the greed, the complete lack of empathy, and it just…just made him mad. He stormed in and yanked off the covers, booming out, “Well Troy? Welcome to my naughty list this year!”
The banked started awake, looking up blearily at Santa looming over him–a Santa in leather gear. “W-What? Is this some fucking prank? Stevens, is that you?”
Stan slapped him across the face with a backhand he’d wielded on his own boys whenever they’d misbehaved, and that shut him up. His anger was only growing…or was…was it something else, heating him up? Like…like something wanted to gush forth from him. He found himself laying his gloved hands on Troy’s body, and some sort of light came from them, soaking into Troy’s skin, and he became so bright Stan could barely look at him. It died back after a few seconds…and a very, very different Troy was lying in bed, looking up at Santa.
He was a bit shorter, and quite a bit rounder–not exactly fat, just…husky. He had a short goatee, but it was the look in his eye that caught Santa off guard. “Oh…Santa? F-Fuck, I…why…I gotta, I need…” He sat up on the edge of the bed, pushed Stan’s jock to one side, and swallowed his cock to the hilt, and Stan groaned, unable to believe how…how good it felt to feel…feel that, and he yanked himself away, stumbling back.
“What…that’s not…” Stan tried to say, but his horniness was only growing, the throbbing in his cock now painful.
“S-Santa, please…let me take care of that for you, I…I love cum so much, please…I gotta have it.”
Stan tried to run, but Troy tackled him to the ground, got Stan on his back and mounted his cock with his warm mouth–all it took was…was feeling that again, and Stan stopped fighting–but he noticed something else. His cock wasn’t three inches anymore–no, it had more than doubled in size, maybe even tripled–so long, Troy kept gagging when he swallowed the entire shaft. Stan put up token resistance when Troy lowered his ass onto Stan’s cock–but he…he wanted this. Had always…kind of wanted this. Stan didn’t last long, and he pumped Troy’s guts full of his cum, watching the cub shiver with need. Apparently, all that greed was focused on something different now…and Stan was more…more than happy to give him another payment.
He wondered what had come over him, afterwards, what could have made him throw Troy to the carpet like that, and breed his hole so…so roughly. He hadn’t even been in control of himself, but it had felt so damn good, letting go for once. Besides, the slut had wanted it–no, he’d needed it. Begged for it rougher and harder. He groped his crotch, feeling his massive tool stir at the memory, and felt guilt crash down on him. He’d sworn he’d never give into those desires again, not after what happened last time, that only time…and now he’d just…raped someone? As Santa? Without really knowing why it was his first instinct, he reloaded his pipe up with Timmy’s tobacco, and the smoke got him calmed down again. He…he could figure that out later. Right now, he had a job to focus on. He got back in the sleigh and took off, leaving the new cubwhore Troy in the building, knocking on all his rich neighbor’s doors in the middle of the night, begging them for the only thing he now cared about in the world–their cum.
Bracken's Corner 