December 25th, Last Year
As confident as Timmy had tried to appear, when he was sending Stan off in the sleigh for his first Christmas, the truth was, he was dreadfully, horribly, nervous that something was going to go awry, and he spent much of the night staring at the massive clock in the midst of the workshop, counting down the last few hours to Christmas Day. The truth was, the contract…wasn’t quite as airtight as it might seem. If Stan felt he had been deceived in some way, or if he had come to believe that the presents the elves had fashioned weren’t fulfilling their purpose, there was a chance that this Christmas would be considered null and void…and when the clock struck zero…well, none of them would exist–or if his ploy worked, they’d all live on to another Christmas next year. Hopefully, Stan had remained none the wiser. When he got to the end of the night, if he had a conscience left, he would likely leave service, which was fine. That at least gave Timmy time to find yet another Santa for next year. The rest of the elves could sense his anxiety, and all eyes were on the clock as it ticked down, and neither Santa, nor the sleigh, had returned. That didn’t mean he’d failed, of course, but it didn’t help any of their anxiety. The clock at last struck zero, and every elf held their breath…until the entire device clicked, and reset–365 days and counting. Christmas had been a success–now all Timmy had to find out was what kind of success it had been.
It was another hour before the lookouts spotted Rudolph’s glowing cockhead in the storm clouds to the south. After a few minutes, they were able to confirm that there was indeed someone in the sleigh–it seemed that the beacon had chosen well–if Stan was returning, then that meant he must have…enjoyed some part of the entire exercise. Probably quite a bit of it, Timmy hoped. The sleigh banked around, but there was no celebratory “Ho, Ho, Ho!” like the previous incarnation, just steely silence and the ripping wind. The reindeer landed along the runway and slid to a halt–and Stanta hauled himself up, grabbed his nearly empty sack and the rubber bag containing his son, John, and dragged them out of the sleigh, into the calf high snow.
The elves were all agape. They’d…expected Stan to undergo a few changes along his first journey–after all, that was what they had planned. What they hadn’t expected was how extreme their new Santa would become in a single night. In fact, they’d never seen a Santa quite so…well decorated, before. Stanta stomped his way through the snow, over towards the cleared area where it was easier to walk, pipe smoke and steam streaming from his pierced nose, his huge, tattooed belly hanging down over the waist of his chaps, but not low enough to hide his massive, many times pierced cock, and pendulous sack. As he moved, the clatter of metal almost rang like sleigh bells, heard at a distance. His beard, rather than the usual pure white, looked more like freeway snow–a dingy brown, tinged with yellow around his mouth, his eyes hollowed and slightly sunken. He looked haunted. He looked…furious.
He dropped the sacks, one of them squirming, and walked up to Timmy, glaring down at the little elf. “I believe you have a contract I need to sign, Timmy.”
The words came out almost as a growl. With a gulp, Timmy conjured forth the contract–Stanta swearing to fulfill his obligation as the North Pole’s new Santa Claus for as long as he was willing and able–and then, after scrawling his signature, he grabbed Timmy by the leather collar, and hauled him up to eye level, snorting smoke in his face.
“For the record, I do not take kindly to being tricked. I…understand, with hindsight, why your ploy was necessary, but do not think it is forgotten, or forgiven, elf,” Stanta muttered. To Timmy, inches from his mouth, each word was a slap, but the rest of the elves heard nothing over the whistle of the constant wind around them. “I will not tolerate such antics ever again–not without due punishment. Is that clear?”
Timmy nodded, and Stanta dropped him to the snow. “Yes…sir. I’m sorry,” Timmy said. “If I….had had other options, trust me when I say I would have taken them/” He stood up, brushing off the snow, “I…hope your first trip was…pleasant, at least.”
Stanta took a long drag off his pipe, and exhaled into the dark air “It was enlightening.” His look of anger had diminished somewhat, “I do…thank you, Timmy. For giving me this chance. I appreciate it in ways I’m only beginning to understand.” He looked out at the other elves, their jaws gaping at his new appearance, “So now what? I hope we all get a day of rest, at least,” he said, grabbing his sacks, and heading for his home, “I could use some quiet time, with a project.”
“I’ll, uh, come meet with you in a couple of days, to discuss production plans for next year then!” Timmy shouted after him, but he wasn’t sure Stanta had heard, or cared. The massive man just tromped up to his door, flung it open, dragged in his things, slammed it shut behind him, and locked it. Timmy breathed a sigh of relief–that could have gone much worse. The elves, satisfied and exhausted, retreated to their own lodgings, for a bit of rest themselves.
Inside the house, Stanta grabbed the sack containing the still squirming John, opened it up, and shook his boy out onto the floor in a heap. The man, in his early forties, looked up at Stanta, at his father, at his captor, at the man he inexplicably loved and desired…and cowered, his ass still sore from the fucking a few hours prior. “Please…dad, I–”
“Shut up, John. You wanted my love, well you’re going to have to fucking earn it. You can start…hmmm…” he said, and rummaged around in his sack, examining the knicknacks which remained–found something useful, and pulled it out. A small square mirror, about an inch on each side, tied up in leather cord into a pendant and necklace. He tossed it to John, who, stared at it. “You can start by at least looking like someone I might be interested in loving, you sad sack.”
John was captivated by the reflection in the mirror–it wasn’t clear at all, and swirled around, like it was waiting for direction before forming. “I…what is this?” he asked.
“Put it on, boy. And don’t take it off, until I tell you otherwise.”
John found himself slipping it over his head, and the pendant came to rest on his bare chest, and as soon as his father looked at him again, he felt…a pulse, from the small mirror. He was reflecting something, becoming a reflection of something from his father–it was difficult to describe, but looking down at himself, he was changing. Growing younger, a bit shorter, his already pudgy body inflating further until he had a soft gut and wide ass…perfect for fucking, yeah, fuck! He looked at Stanta’s massive cock hanging from under his gut, and felt a strange stirring of desire, but also…also fear. He was just an innocent little cub, he’d never been with a daddy like this before–he’d never been with a daddy at all.
Stanta looked at the quaking cub standing in front of him, a bit surprised himself. The amulet turned whoever wore it into reflections of what the people who saw him desired, and while he’d wanted a cub, he hadn’t necessarily wanted one so…inexperienced. Then again, it might be fun, breaking in a new, tight hole. He stepped forward, bent down and gave the boy a smoky kiss, feeling him shudder with need, the boy’s small cock nearly blowing from his first taste of a proper daddy. Not someone he could love, of course–but a nice reward for his first successful night as Stanta. “Come on, boy, Daddy’s gonna give you your Christmas present in the bedroom.” Knowing this was wrong, knowing it was all wrong, John took his daddy’s hand as he was led back into the house, but the ache in his heart hadn’t stopped. He wanted this man’s love–he needed it, and he’d earn it, somehow. He had to. Maybe…maybe he wasn’t worthy of it yet, but this year, this long year, he’d prove himself, somehow. He could feel it.