Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 10)

The rest of the night went smoothly, though Stan may have strayed from his explicit list of naughty men on occasion, to punish a few people who may have not deserved it, but it didn’t really matter–the pigs and bears and cubs all thanked him for it afterwards, licking his boots, his holes, or the cum dribbling from his cage. He felt so…happy now, so free. How had he managed to exist with all of this bottled up inside of him for so long? Now that it was out, he could barely remember what he’d been like before all of this, before he’d been given this great gift. The list whittled down, and dawn approached on all of the horizons he visited around the world, and as much as he was enjoying the night, he was happy when he finally came to the last name on the list–what he hadn’t been expecting, however, was to recognize it.

It was his name–his old name, maybe, he might say. He checked the notes, and found a personal note from Timmy the elf, addressed to him, Stan:

“By now, I’m sure you have discovered that I misled you during our initial meeting, but I hope that you can forgive me. I’m also sure that you have discovered our true intent as well, but I have a feeling you have probably enjoyed yourself more than you might have ever believed. Regardless, our deal stands. Your one year of service is up. If you wish to go back to your old life, simply leave your clothes in the sleigh–all of them–send the reindeer off, and everything will go back to normal–no one will have even noticed that you were gone. However, if you wish to continue your service, you are welcome to return to the North Pole for as many years as you are able and willing. I hope to see you soon, but if I do not, I understand.”

Go back? No–no, he could never go back. Not after this, not after what he’d experienced, not after what he’d become. But he also knew he couldn’t simply leave, either. This was his family, he had created them. He could at the very least say goodbye, and leave them some gifts. He slipped down the chimney and began poking around the house, eventually finding his way to the master bedroom, where he had spent so many years, but where his widow, Emily, was now sleeping alone.

From various bits of evidence around the house–some photos of them only Emily had liked that he’d hated were hanging were up, an ornate urn on the fireplace–it looked like his alter ego had simply died in the last year. Good riddance. But there she was, just as she’d always been, and he hated her so, so, much. He hated her for all the years he’d toiled away with her, both of them desperately unhappy, neither able to satisfy the other. Emily had always dreamed that all men adored her–she would, in an effort to garner his interest, attempt to inflame his jealousy, but she had never actually slept with anyone else that he’d known of. The room still reeked of the perfumes she insisted on wearing, along with all her makeup on the vanity–he had never once seen her face bare, in all their years together, like he’d married a mask. He focused, and all that reeking perfume turned into sweet, manly musk on the air, as he slipped into the room. Fussing with his cage until it came free, his massive cock unfurling. He’d never really given her a proper fuck, in all these years, so he might as well give it to her now.

He climbed on her, and rolled her onto her stomach. She didn’t fight him, the welling of lust in her at his hands was enough, but she tried to scream when his massive cock worked its way into her ass, but the scream faded into a moan, her physique expanding, filling out, hair growing across her body, until after a few minutes, Emily was now a fat old man, bucking back to meet Stanta’s thrusts, his vagina closing up, but leaving a miniscule, clit like cock and two tiny balls barely hanging at all below it. With a final thrust, he pumped his ass full of cum, and gave him the rest of his gift–from now on, his musk would be so powerful, that no man would be able to resist fucking him, but only so long as he remained as filthy and unwashed as possible. He would need to, however–his musk is the only way an old, disgusting, small cocked geezer like this was ever going to get someone to fill this hole. That desire would drive him more than any else, the need to be fucked at all times–if he needed men to adore him, then they’d have no choice. He pulled out, and Emil groaned, reaching around with a hand and shoving several fingers in all at once, pumping them in as he twiddled his tiny cock and shot a load all over the disgusting bedspread, before collapsing and falling asleep immediately, hand still firmly planted in his own hungry ass.

Still, Emil was only one of the people currently in the house; after their father’s sudden death, it would seem that all three of his son’s had come home for Christmas to soothe their former mother’s angst. Such good boys–now their father could deal with them all at once, instead of having to cross the country to find them. Still, Stanta was struck by how little he really knew of his son’s, even after all these years. he’d spent so much time pushing his own desires onto them, that he’d never really let them express themselves. Well, Stanta would fix that. These boys were going to get everything they’d ever wanted for Christmas this year, whether they liked it or not.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 9)

It all would have been so much easier, if anything that Joshua did to him had actually felt like a punishment. It was the first crack of the bullwhip across his back which caused Stan to jolt awake, screaming in pain from the lash, and yet, by the fifth strike, his cock was already throbbing hard and leaking. He tried to understand that reaction for a moment, but the pain was so intense, that Stan didn’t have much time to process much of anything, but he knew one thing–he deserved this. He deserved all of this, for flaunting God, for attempting to pass judgement on his fellow man, for being weak willed and giving in to the desires he’d kept locked away for so long. he deserved this, and he loved it.

After his introductory whipping, and seeing how hard his newest catch had become, Joshua decided that Stan’s pleasure should simply be another source of discomfort–he hooked his balls up to electrostimulation, and attached a milker over his cock–by the third load, he was begging for mercy, but Joshua shoved his hand inside his hole and began milking his prostate, draining him over the next several hours, until the old man was sweating, shivering and shooting completely dry loads every ten minutes, over and over again. Joshua was exhausted himself, and decided his victim had had enough for this round–he’d leave him in his cage, and in a few hours wake him up for another round. He detached the milker and locked up Santa’s cock in a chastity cage, and released the chains holding him in the air, sending him crashing to the concrete floor. Stan struggled to his hands and knees, his eyes still bright and desperate, and all he said was, “No, more.”

Not ‘No more,’ Stan wasn’t asking him to stop. He wanted him to continue. He wasn’t sure if this was because of how much he’d enjoyed it, or simply because he was terrified that if Joshua gave him a moment to recover, he would be able to free himself, but he needed more. Joshua ignored him, but Stan felt the magic welling up in him once more, pulsing from him, watching Joshua bulge further, revitalized, and felt his own body changing as well, but he didn’t understand how, until Joshua attached a leash to the collar which had appeared around his neck, and led him over to a mirror–and Stan saw his body had become covered in a riot of tattoos and piercings from foot to face–but he’d wanted them all. He’d wanted the pain, he loved it, and…and he loved inflicting it too, he loved the look on someone’s face when he was hurting them, he loved being cruel, he loved–no, no! What was he saying? This isn’t what he wanted, but looking up at Joshua, what he wanted more than anything was…was to join him. To play…with him. He focused, caught up in his erotic momentum, and the room shifted once more, and Stan and Joshua found themselves with a third member–Troy the cubslut, his first victim, the man Stan now believed he’d let off far too easily. He was chained to the St. Andrew’s cross, wondering how he’d gone from sucking off his elderly, perverse neighbor to this dank dungeon, but Stan grabbed a cat o’ nine tails from the table and began lashing him, laughing, leaking cum from his cock cage, enjoying the painful sensation of his huge cock trying to harden against the steel, and Joshua joined in with glee.

The two of them pummelled the cub for hours, and Troy enjoyed it from about the second hour on, after Stan made him Joshua’s newest subwhore and pain pig. After all those hours of denial, when Stan finally released his throbbing, heavily pierced cock from it’s cage and rammed it into the pig’s open hole, he only managed to thrust twice before he exploded, Joshua leaning over and sharing a kiss, Stan’s mouth tasting of metal and pipe smoke, and Stan knew himself now, at last, his deepest, truest self. It should scare him, he knew that, but all Stanta could do was smile with a strange glee.

It was true. He was weak. He was a sinner. He was corrupted and foul and unworthy of God’s love, just like everyone. A freak and abomination, of body, mind and spirit. But so was everyone else, whether they knew it or not. None of them was perfect, or ever would be. There was no escaping flesh or pain–in fact, both of them were the fundamental pleasures of human existence. He climbed from the basement, leaving Joshua and Troy to continue a more intimate session, made his way to the bathroom and stared at himself. At his shaved head, dotted with metal spike implanted in the bone of his skull, at the riot of bars and rings coating his wrinkled face, accented by the tattoos running up his neck and onto his cheeks. At his massively fat body, sagging over his well worn leathers, feeling the foot and a half long cock he now wielded, pierced and modded, as he locked it back in it’s cage, so his pleasure could build up again until it’s next painful release. This was him. This had always been him, he’d just been afraid of his own nature. He remembered now, back in his childhood bedroom, how he’d ripped open his friend’s pants and swallowed his cock, so…clumsy, and yet it had been the most satisfying thing he’d ever known–until his father had walked in on them both. Ever since, he’d done everything in his power to tamp down his desires, to erode the edges of himself to fit into the square society set for him, but no more. He’d been given more power than he had ever dreamed possible, and he was never going to relinquish it now–not ever. He’d punish the whole world, drag out their true selves, and he’d be there at the very center of the orgy, where he’d always wanted to be.

On Vacation!

Sorry I missed the last couple updates, I’ve been busily trying to get everything together for a vacation my husband and I are taking to Amsterdam! Don’t worry too much about content–I have the rest of Stanta’s story queued up, so you’ll get your daily dose as usual and finish the story up. There may or may not be updates next week–I had plans, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to get them set up–it depends on wifi access. So we’ll finish up Christmas III, and next week there will hopefully be content, but maybe not! It’ll be an adventure!

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 8)

Stan wasn’t quite sure how he was going to stop himself. He had…a vague idea, but without understanding what was happening to him, or his own powers, he had to kind of wing it. What he knew, for sure, was that he couldn’t punish another person like that, and if that meant he had to create someone who could stop him, then so be it. Still, the next stop on his list–as soon as he read the notes on who he was giving his gift to, he knew it couldn’t be this place, this man. A young man named Joshua, a force for good in his community, a teacher, a good friend, a good person–no, he couldn’t hurt this man. He got out of the sleigh with his bag of gifts and slipped into the man’s home, careful not to wake him up, and slipped over to the small Christmas tree, and began rummaging about for Joshua’s gift.

He found it quickly, pulled it out, and set it under the tree, but as he did, he caught the wrapping on a tree branch and tore a large hole in it. Cursing softly under his breath, he inspected the damage, hoping he could fix it somehow…and saw that a leather strap had flopped out from beneath the paper. Curious what the elves might be giving this man which had a leather strap, he tore the paper a bit further to get a better look, and his heart caught in his throat when he saw what was inside.

A harness. A leather harness. Stan touched it, and immediately felt the purpose behind the gift, and he dropped it with a shout. No–No, this wasn’t a gift, this was a fucking punishment! Why would the elves give a good, honest man something like this? He double checked the tag, but he’d pulled out the correct gift–is this the sort of thing he’d been delivering all night? To everyone on his nice and naughty lists? No, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. He pulled another gift from his sack and opened that one–this time a massive, dildo in the shape of a fist. What the fucking hell? Was this some kind of joke?

“H-Hello? a voice said from the doorway of the living room, “Who–who are you, and how did you get in my house?” Joshua asked, when he saw the scantily clad old man kneeling by his Christmas tree, rummaging through a sack of some sort. Stan looked up with a start, not at all sure what to say, or what to think about what he’d just found–but the harness didn’t give him a chance to reply. Sensing it’s target, the leather came alive, ripped it’s way free from the rest of the wrapping and crawled it’s way across the carpet at an impossible speed, before launching itself into the air and wrapping itself around Joshua’s chest.

He screamed, and tried to pry the leather free from his body with his hands, but the thing only gripped him tighter, other bits of leather disconnecting from it, forming bands that wrapped around his biceps, his wrists and snaking down around his ankles, forming boots and gloves. He clomped around for a moment, before the physical changes began–he cried out in pain and crumpled to the floor, his muscle heating up and spasming as the throbbed and grew. Joshua had always kept himself in good shape, as well as time allowed at least, the his muscle quickly absorbed any fat from his body they could find to fuel their growth, and when his body fat came to rest at an absurdly low level, they began eating away at his brain and his bones–shrinking them both. When the changes subsided, a very different Joshua pushed himself up from the floor, hulking with muscle but only a couple inches over five feet tall. He’d lost forty points of IQ and all of his education, his mind now focused only on pleasure and domination, his balls throbbing with need. He wrapped one gloved hand around his foot long cock with a grunt and began jacking himself off, eyes empty, mouth hanging open and drooling, and all Stan could do was watch in horror at what he’d done–unwittingly, but he felt responsible all the same.

Had he simply been blind? Had the elves tricked him? This must have been their goal all along, but he’d been too caught up in his own selfish fantasies of punishing the naughty to realize what was going on right under his nose. He felt like a fool, but they wouldn’t win–he wouldn’t let them. Because there was one person who definitely deserved punishment here, and it was him. He hadn’t been willing to use Joshua before–but that old Joshua was dead. This brute in front of him? He was perfect, for what he’d had in mind before. He closed his eyes, focusing his will as best he could, trying to direct it, and he watched the empty headed look in Joshua’s eyes turn bright and cruel, his mouth turning up into a sneer. His muscles bulged further, fur bristling all over his body, a thick beard coating his face, now dotted with scars from the numerous fights he’d instigated and won, and he turned his attention to the old, fat man in his living room.

“Well now, don’t you know better than to get caught breaking and entering, Santa?” Joshua said, “I don’t take kindly to people busting into my home you know–people who cross me, why, they don’t usually leave for a very, very long time.” He stalked toward Stan, who braced himself as best he could, but he was still laid flat by a single haymaker from Joshua, straight to his jaw. The muscle pig stood over his latest acquisition, chuckled, and then grabbed one booted foot, and dragged him down into his basement dungeon for his due punishment.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 7)

“Your father gave you so fucking much, and how did you fucking repay him? By being some fucking bum on his fucking couch? Well I think it’s time you learned how to show your father the fucking respect he deserves, boy,” Stan said.

Another red name–another horrid young man deserving Santa’s punishment. This one–Liam–was nothing but a lazy moocher. Dropped out of college after two years–he couldn’t handle the pressure. He moved into his father’s basement and has barely left since. Couldn’t even bother to get a job, just a chubby, stinking lout Stan had found snoring on the couch in front of the TV, even as his father worked two menial jobs to support them both. Well no more of that. “I don’t, I mean–” Liam tried to say, but with a twinkle of magic, his lips suddenly shut themselves.

“No, I think what we need is your father down here, to help you learn to appreciate everything he’s given you,” Stan said, and with a snap of his fingers, Liam could hear someone upstairs above them, and a few moments later, his father came marching down the stairs, naked, not at all sure what was going on, and why he couldn’t control his own body. “Jerry! I was just talking with your slacker of a son here about how he’s wasted his life and your generosity. I think, if anything, it’s time for you to take a load off, what do you think? Liam–get up–let your dad here rest his tired feet.”

The son stood up, and his father took a seat, both of them terrified of this massively obese Santa figure in their midst, and neither of them able to control their own bodies. Jerry plopped down on the old couch, and with a flash, both of them were twisted up in Stan’s magic. When the light died away, Jerry tried to get up, but discovered that…he couldn’t. No, not that he couldn’t that he didn’t want to. That he didn’t have to. This was his fucking house after all, he deserved a chance to fucking enjoy it! Liam, on the other hand, found himself overwhelmed by his father there, dropped to his knees and licking his father’s feet…just…just like he always did.

As Stan watched, Jerry’s body began to expand, filling in with fat, his hair growing long, lank and unwashed, mouth reeking as he leered down at his boy slathering his nasty feet with spit. “Yeah boy, work that fuckin’ tongue–show daddy how glad you are that he let’s ya live here with him.”

Still…not enough. He tried to resist the urge for a moment, looking at the father and son. Surely this was enough punishment, right? But he wanted to see them suffer anyway, and his mind, it wouldn’t stop imagining the most horrendous things…“Here Jerry, have a smoke–enjoy yourself,” Stan said, handing him a thick cigar he hadn’t noticed in his hand to him, which Jerry was more than happy to light up, while Stan got down in front of the very confused Liam. “I know it can be hard, supporting your father like this, but you do it for family, right? Holding down three jobs…not that you don’t enjoy them. Janitor at a local gym–gives you plenty of time to perv out in those nasty locker rooms right? Trashman in the mornings, but you like that too–picking up all that junk, hell, the nastier something stinks, the harder it gets you, right? Hell, just walking into those porta-potties you clean out on the weekends is enough for you to shoot a load into those filthy coveralls you never take off, right?” He stood back up and looked down at Liam, now a very different young man. He was wearing the nastiest coveralls Stan had ever seen, moaning loudly and rubbing his cock as he worshiped his father’s feet. He looked over at Jerry, and the cigar he’d given Jerry was doing it’s work–he’d packed on so many pounds all of a sudden that he probably wouldn’t be able to stand up even if Jerry wanted to. The father’s guts gave a rumble, and he farted–Liam immediately shoving his face between his dad’s massive thighs, snorting in the foul stench, cum splattering it’s way from his cock across the base of the couch.

“I know ya gotta get tah work soon boy, but Daddy’s got a big load of shit for you, and I know ya don’t wanna clean it up off the couch tonight. Well, I know ya like cleanin’ it off the couch, but I don’t feel like sittin’ in it all day, waitin’ fer ya tah git home.”

“Sure…sure thing Daddy…But…maybe ya can piss while I’m gone, ‘n I can suck that out? I’m always so thirsty when I get home,” Liam said, and pushed his dad’s legs up, giving him better access to his dad’s shithole. Stan didn’t want to watch…but he did anyway. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene, and couldn’t tear his hand from his cock, eventually giving in, getting down behind Liam, ripping the back of his coveralls open a bit wider so he could slam his cock into the boy’s disgusting hole. He fucked him quickly, but after he came he couldn’t bear to be there any longer, and fled back up to the roof as quickly as he could, unable to believe what he’d just done to those two men. That…that he’d wanted to do that to them.

He’d been trying to avoid admitting it, but he was changing. This job, was changing him. This wasn’t the person he wanted to be, this wasn’t good, what he was doing, and yet…he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to stop, because in his heart, he enjoyed it. But this wasn’t God’s work, this wasn’t the work of any God. He…someone had to stop him. He couldn’t stop himself, but maybe…maybe he could get out of this somehow, stop anything like what he’d just done from happening again. He had to, this was out of control, and Stan knew that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d never be in control ever again. Because this…this felt too good. And that scared him more than anything else. He’d…he’d do it at the next stop, no matter what, before he lost his nerve, and before he got anymore lost in this…joy.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 6)

Stan only grew more concerned as the next few hours passed…and he found himself running across more and more names marked in red on his list. In each case, he would try to resist, but unwittingly he would change his subject in some perverse manner, and then…fuck them. And he…he liked it. He liked it a lot. And all he could think about was when…when he’d been a teenager in his bedroom, when he and his buddy Alex had made that mistake, and he’d always wondered…wondered why he’d hated looking at Emily so much, why he’d always loathed touching her, why sex with her had always been so difficult. If that was what God had wanted him to do, then why make it so damn hard for him? This…this all felt so much more satisfying, as much as he hated saying it, but that wasn’t really the worst of it. The sex…it was nice, sure, but that wasn’t what he was enjoying the most. No, what made him feel better than anything else was punishing these naughty young men, and then…making them serve him. Rubbing their own failure to be good, moral people in their own utterly perverted faces…he took another suck off his pipe, unable to believe how hard he was in his bright red jock, just…just thinking about it. Still, he compartmentalized his urges as best he could. He was just doing his job; they all deserved it, in the end. He wasn’t responsible, not really. He managed to keep his moral distance for several hours, until he found himself on the roof of a college dorm, wormed his way down the chimney and popped out in the common room.

Another red name, this time, his cock throbbing in anticipation and excitement, not that Stan would let himself admit it. He read the details–a hotshot jock who’d spent all of his time at school, when he wasn’t working out, terrorizing the various fat kids on campus, and he felt…angry. This one was personal. Food…food had always been a weakness for Stan, and he’d spent so much of his youth being taunted and teased for his size…and now he could do something about it. And…and he’d always had an idea, not one he’d ever let see the light of day, but with the magic pulsing through him now, he stormed up the stairs, let himself into the jock’s room–named Terrance–and woke him up. “So you like teasing fatboys, eh, little man?” Stan said, looming over the leary eyed jock, “how about you help us out a bit instead? And we can help you out too,” the magic welled up in him, so much in his head, and he released it into the jock with a flash.

Terrance blinked, unable to really process what was happening to him, or who even was standing over him? Santa? Santa didn’t exist, and even if he did, Santa didn’t wear shit like that. Though…though he had to admit, he looked kind of good, with that harness stretched over his big gut. He’d look better if he…if he was bigger, though. No longer sure what he was doing or even why, beyond the fact that it felt good, and right, he sat up on the edge of his bed and buried his face in Stan’s massive gut, rubbing his face in it, his cock harder than ever before in his life. “Fuck…” he moaned, “Fuck, why am I…”

“Don’t worry about it Terrance,” Stan said, “I know what you really want anyway. You want it to get bigger, don’t you? You wanna feed my big gut, boy?”

The dorm room wasn’t a dorm room anymore–it was…it was a kitchen. Stan sat down at the small table for one in the middle, and Terrance got up and started cooking. He’d never known how to cook, but suddenly he was putting together gaining shakes, pulling fattening snacks from cupboards, and happily feeding Santa everything he had, watching his fat gut grow bigger as the hours past, not that the stars moved an inch out the window. Several thousand calories later, Santa was heaving his huge gut, beard caked with food, and he finally allowed Terrance the honor of serving him–of taking his proper reward for all his efforts. The jock got down under the table, hefted up Santa’s huge gut and started sucking at his thick, long cock–and was immediately rewarded with a blast of precum–milk which went right to Terrance’s gut. He sucked and sucked, and only after he too, had gained every pound of fat he’d just put on Santa’s body did he finally get the load of sweet, sugary cum he was craving. This–this is what Terrance wanted now. To feed fat men to bursting, and then suck their cum from their cocks, gaining along with them from cum alone. Before Santa left, he expanded Terrance’s kitchen dorm room a bit more, so it could accommodate all the fat men he’d ridiculed from campus–and fifteen of his usual targets appeared at the long table, as Terrance began cooking the feast of his life. By the time he’d finished sucking their cocks after the meal–he’d be the fattest of them all by several hundred pounds.

Santa let himself out, heaving his own huge gut along with him, and as the afterglow faded, his own doubts slipped back in. What had he just done to himself? He’d never been skinny by any means, but with Emily’s strict help, he’d limited his weight to around three hundred pounds. But that feeding–it had unleashing something inside him–he was ravenous. Ravenous, and huge. He’d packed on at least a hundred pounds, his gut sagging down into an apron. His harness had changed shape, and now clipped to the side of his chaps–like suspenders, allowing his fat to hang out over the front, a thick apron drooping down past his cock, slapping against him, getting his cock hard again already at the sensation of his fat body jiggling around him. Back in the sleigh, after he got his pipe relit, he couldn’t resist–he had to heft up his fat and jack off, tweaking his nipples, hefting his flabby moobs, feeling his second chin under his thick beard.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore, but he wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. No–he felt like him, but like…like a more authentic him than ever before in his life. His limits and controls were being stripped away, and…and was this who he really was? Is this who he wanted to be? He exploded into his jock, huffing and puffing for a minute, trying to just…not think about it, just taking off into the night, already eager again to reach the next red name on the list.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 5)

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.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 4)

“I don’t know, I feel…a bit ridiculous. Are you sure this is what I’m supposed to wear? I mean, it seems to me like Santa usually has on…a bit more than this, and that it would be a bit cold, right?”

“Don’t worry about the cold–Santa never gets cold. It’s one of the perks of the job. After all, it would be pretty hard to work and live at the North Pole if you got cold, right?”

“I suppose…I don’t even know if I…have this thing on right…”

“Well do your best, and I can help you fix it if need be.”

Stan came out of the bedroom, mostly dressed in the clothes Timmy had set out for him. The bright red boots, red jockstrap and red leather chaps had been the easy part–what was befuddling him was the harness, which he was trying to latch around himself, but it was upside down and backwards. Timmy had him get on his knees, and the elf helped him into it, securing the chest straps, but Stan saw one final strap running down his chest and past his belly. “I don’t get this thing–where’s that supposed to go?”

“Stand back up, and I’ll fix it for you,” Timmy said. Stand got back up, he slipped the leather strap under the waistband of the chaps, pulled down the jockstrap pouch, and quickly maneuvered the cockring around Stan’s cock. This, sadly, was the one area where Stan was a bit lacking–he’d had to swap out the ring to better fit his relatively small girth, and his cock was only two inches when hard. Still, Santa’s always had a surprising amount of control over their own body–how else could they fit down any chimney so easily? Timmy had a feeling that when he returned, Stan would be plenty well endowed. “There–perfect! You look great.”

Stan knew there was something wrong here, but he…he couldn’t figure out what. In fact, so much seemed off up here, and yet he nothing had fazed his usually prudish self. “A-Alright. If you say so.”

“Now, let’s go over the list again. In most cases, it’s a simple drop–get down, leave the present, and take off again. However, a good number of men around the world have been incredibly naughty this year, and so they’re going to need a more personal touch. They don’t get gifts at all–instead, you get to punish them as you see fit.”

“Those are the red names, right?”

“Yep.”

“Alright–any questions?”

“I…If I get into trouble, can I contact you?”

Timmy shook his head, “Not easily. But you can do this! The first round is always a bit rough, but if you stick to the list, you’ll be fine.”

“What if I don’t finish in time?”

“Santa always finishes on time, don’t worry about that. Now come on, we’re almost ready for launch–you need to get on your way, Santa Stan.”

They walked to the door of the house, but in the doorway, Stan suddenly froze. He…he couldn’t go out looking like this. He couldn’t do any of this. This was a terrible idea, what in the world had he been thinking? He backed up, shivering and shaking, and Timmy followed him. “Stan, it’s going to be fine.”

“How can you just say that?”

“Because we’ve been doing this for millennia. It’s going to be fine.” It obviously wasn’t helping, so Timmy started rustling around in the pockets of the leather vest he was wearing. “Look, I was going to give you this right before you left, as a present, but you could probably use it more now.” He pulled out a beautiful, freshly carved pipe, intricately detailed from wood to briar, as well as a sack of tobacco. “Here, I made this for you. The tobacco is a special blend–one that helps with courage and bravery,” Timmy said, trying not to smirk. “Go on and take a good puff–it’ll help, I promise.”

A pipe did sound good to Stan. He took it from Timmy’s hands, but his own were shaking too much to fill it. Timmy took it back, packed it for him expertly, and then handed it back, helping him get it lit. Stan took a deep breath of smoke, and it…it was a rush unlike anything he’d gotten from a smoke before. He felt warm all over, but…but especially in his groin. However, the shaking did stop, and he did feel better. More…confident, maybe? He took another deep breath, feeling his cock stir strangely, and then stood back up. “Thanks Timmy. Thanks for everything. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“You’re welcome, Santa. Now come on, your sleigh awaits!”

Stan strode out into the snow storm, still surprised by the fact that it didn’t feel cold to him at all, especially considering how little he was wearing. Still, he felt…good. Really good, all of a sudden. And…and a bit horny? That was odd–he didn’t get horny very often. He’d only had sex around ten times, just enough to get Emily pregnant three times, and that…that was all he’d been able to manage, to be honest. He shook his head. That was a strange thought, where in the hell had that come from? He took another drag off the pipe, calming his nerves, and climbed aboard the sleigh. His reindeer were all hitched, and the sacks of toys for naughty boys were all loaded in the back of the sleigh. It was finally time. The elves were all out on the runway, excited to see their new Santa off, and he gave a wave, and received a loud cheer.

It was now or never.

He gave the call, the reindeer pulled him down the runway, and off into the cloudy sky. Despite the fierce winds and heavy snow, it was the smoothest flight he’d ever been on, Rudolph’s cock showing the way, shining bright in the night, and he shifted course to the first stop of the night, the first of many, and tried not to think about the fact that his cock was so hard, and…eager.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 3)

“…so you see, we need a new Santa, and you just so happen to be perfect. Again, I’m sorry for giving you such a fright earlier, but you can understand why I might be a bit desperate. So how about it–would you help us out, and be our next Santa Claus? Stan Claus maybe? It all kind of depends on you, at the end of the day,” Timmy said. He had brought Stan into Santa’s house–the more G-rated part at least–helped him out of the bag, and after giving him a cup of calming tea–since he wouldn’t stop screaming about being kidnapped, Stan had finally calmed down and listened to what the strange imp (or elf, as it claimed to be, allegedly) had to say.

To say that the story was hard to believe was an understatement. It was simply impossible. Santa actually exists? He would have never believed it in a million years. He had his own children weaned off the myth from a young age, making sure they properly understood the true meaning of Christmas and the birth of Christ. They decorated a tree of course, but gift giving was minimal, and generally restricted to religious presents or practical gifts that wouldn’t entice greed or vanity. No, this was madness, and he wasn’t about to have any part in it.

“No, I won’t do this. I refuse,” Stan said. “All this shit does is inspire greed in children, when we should be doing the exact opposite. Maybe a few lean Christmases is exactly what the world needs.” He crossed his arms over his gut with a harumph, “Now take me home, before my wife wakes up and discovers I’ve gone missing. Her heart is weak, and it would probably kill her.”

That was not the answer Timmy had been looking for, and it wasn’t the answer he planned on getting. Still…the rules were rules. You couldn’t force someone to become Santa, they had to agree to it, and they couldn’t do so under duress or the control of another. That said, the rules were…flexible, to some extent. What Timmy needed was more information–about Stan, about what made him tick, about how he could entice him to take the job. It was obvious the old man wouldn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. What that left then, was an appeal to vices. Power? Authority? Eternal life? He didn’t seem very temptable. Still, the light wouldn’t have chosen him if there hadn’t been some glimmer in him that would lead him to consider taking on the post. At least Timmy had had the foresight of adding a little extra something to the tea. With a snap of his fingers, Stan suddenly slumped in the chair–completely asleep, the cup and saucer slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. A perfect hypnotic trance–just enough to figure out what might make this guy tick.

Over the next few hours, Timmy got to know Stan better–much better. They had a long ranging conversation, and uncovered exactly what Timmy needed to know, that what really drove Stan, more than anything, was his belief in divine punishment, and in his mind–everyone was guilty–well, everyone except him. There was also, deep deep down, so deep that Stan barely even knew it was there, a massive reservoir of kinky, homosexual desire. Timmy had thought the light had guided him to that house to push back against the elves…but maybe it really had delivered exactly the Santa they were looking for. He slowly brought Stan out from under his trance, the older man completely unaware of the fact that he’d been out for many hours. He got up to leave, but Timmy stopped him.

“It isn’t a chance many people get, you know, to be an…an arbiter of justice. To be able to finally give everyone what they deserve. I’m surprised that doesn’t appeal to you.”

Stan’s eyes were a bit confused–in his heart he knew that shouldn’t be so attractive, and yet…and yet, he did like the idea, perhaps more than he’d even expected to. “No, the only person who can deliver that justice is God.”

“Well, wouldn’t you say God has been slacking off a bit?”

“I mean…he works in mysterious ways, but…there’s just so much filth out there.”

“Well, I’m offering you a chance to do something about that. Maybe…maybe this is God, offering you the chance to help him in his work.”

Stan narrowed his eyes, still suspicious. Suddenly, this damn elf was making almost too much sense.

“Look, consider it a trial run. If it just…feels wrong? Then after this Christmas, call it good, and no one will know different. But I think the position might grow on you, once you see what we’ve been working on. Us elves? We know. We know the world’s a shit show, but we’ve been needing a proper Santa to help us. One who isn’t so easily convinced to put someone on the nice list, you know what I mean?”

I…I think I do.”

“Well what do you say–be Santa for a year?”

He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it, that he really wanted this. But hey, why not, right? The elf did have some good points, after all. “I…I still don’t trust you, but fine. I’ll help.”

“Excellent!” Timmy said, and summoned a contract and pen from the air. “A one Christmas contract of service.”

Stan read the contract over carefully, and saw no mention of his eternal soul. He reluctantly signed it, and when he did, a strange jolt of energy shot through him. He didn’t look different really, but he felt…he felt amazing. Like he was young again. Nothing hurt, and that sudden euphoria was enough to make him break out a rather uncharacteristic belly laugh, which he cut off, face red with embarrassment.

“There are a few, side effects–sorry,” Timmy said, “Now though, we need to get you trained! Christmas is in just a few days, and I bet you’ve never even driven a sleigh before…although it’s been a long night, why don’t you sleep for a while, and we can get started once you’re better rested?”

Stan agreed that might be for the best, and Timmy led him into the master bedroom. Stan put up a bit of a fight when he saw the rubber sheets and sling, but another snap of the fingers, and he was out again. Timmy laid him down, and got to work. He didn’t want to reeducate him, really. No, the dominoes were already set up in Stan’s mind, and they’d fall all on their own. Still, he needed to make sure he wouldn’t freak out at the sight of the elves’ “toys”, or rudolph’s bright red cock head. Still, while it was going to be a lot of work, Timmy knew Stan was going to be a great Santa, once he learned a bit more about himself in the process.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 2)

There was no perfect way of telling who, exactly, the light would settle upon. There were, after all, any number of people around the world who could become the next Santa Claus, but the beacon would only settle on one, and it tended to be, well, a bit finicky, and well, a bit conservative. It was, after all, designed to correct the course when things went awry, and so it tended to go with people who were, in general a bit stodgy. This, of course, would be the difficult part, and why Timmy had rifled through his old clothes, and found a more traditional outfit to wear than his much more comfortable leather harness and chaps. This wasn’t to say that the elves planned on moderating themselves–not in the least–but they needed a Santa more than anything else, and so Timmy was going to bring back a Santa no matter what it took. Once he’d agreed to take on the position? Well…then things might take a slightly different direction. Still, Timmy didn’t have much interest in returning to Marty’s methods, even if his goal was the same. All the elves agreed, in fact–the kinds of presents they were making now were much preferred to the stupid toys for the stupid children they’d been making before. Still, he’d no more once he got inside and investigated who, exactly, they would be dealing with this year.

The light came to rest over a large house, nestled in the suburbs of the American heartland–not exactly a good sign. Still, the light would choose–it was just Timmy’s job to fetch them. The sleigh alit on the roof of the house, and looking down, Timmy could see a large nativity on the lawn, and the house was festooned with lights. It was late–nearly midnight, when Timmy made his way to the chimney, and slipped down into the house below.

Inside, Stanley Marshall was just about ready to say his prayers and put himself to bed for the night. Emily was already upstairs, but he’d been relaxing in his small study, nursing a pipe, and practicing the bible passage he’d be reciting at church the next Sunday. Christmas was, really, his favorite time of year, although he couldn’t help but wish that, someday soon, Jesus might come again and bring his wrath down upon the sinners of the world. It needed it so desperately, but alas, it likely would not be in his lifetime, which was nearing it’s end. Already seventy five this year! It was hard to believe that he was that old, but every time he saw his grandkids, that was all he could think about–how old he was. He should take better care of himself, he knew that–his doctor kept telling him that if he didn’t lose some weight he’d have a heart attack, but he loved food too much–his only vice, really. Hopefully God could forgive his occasional overindulgence. He set the bible down and adjusted his spectacles, rubbing his sleepy eyes for a moment, before hefting himself up from the chair, walking around the desk, and finding himself faced with…with a strange, tiny person in the doorway of the study. It was a very curious thing–clad in some red and green jumpsuit, grinning up at him from it’s height of about three feet tall. “Hello,” it said, “You must be Stanley–it’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

He stumbled back, wondering what in the hell this thing was. A hallucination? Some strange imp sent by the devil to tempt him? He didn’t know, but it wasn’t natural, and he wasn’t about to tolerate it in his house! He went to the bookshelf, reached up to the top shelf and brought down the shotgun he kept there in case someone broke in, and pointed it directly at the strange thing…who did nothing but roll its eyes.

“Ugh, one of those ones, eh?” it said, “Sorry, but I can’t go back empty handed, and I doubt you’ll be very receptive without seeing it for yourself, so why don’t we just do this the easy way?” it said, and faster than Stan could react, lobbed some strange black ball at him, striking him in the arm when he raised it to shield his face. The ball immediately broke, or maybe it merely stretched out, coating his arm and…and spreading. He dropped the gun and tried to shake it off, but it just kept coating him, and in less than thirty seconds it had absorbed him entirely, mummified and struggling in the tight rubber.

Timmy walked over, and the rubber formed a tie for him to grab–a convenient invention, actually. Santa had used it to transport people in his travels over the last couple of years, generally to give them as gifts to other people nearby, but it would work equally well in getting Stanley back to the North Pole. He grabbed the tie and dragged the still writing, grunting and whimpering form of the old man back to the chimney and whisked them back up and into the sleigh, the reindeer immediately taking off, as the light winked out over the house. The next Santa had been chosen–all that remained now, was to actually convince him to do the job. Then again, if he couldn’t convince him, the elves had plenty of other means of bringing him around, but Timmy hoped it wouldn’t come to that. After so much strife the last few years, what this next Christmas needed was so peace on earth, and sexy toys for all the men of the world.