Santa’s Coming

  • Posted on December 24, 2018 at 2:44 pm

by Eva

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in December 2013 }

Jen Hadley woke up with a start. It had been such a vivid dream, so clear it could have been real. The woman sat up in bed and heart still pounding, glanced at the red numbers of the digital clock on her husband’s side of the bed. Four in the morning, and Dave was still fast asleep, snoring the way he always did. Oblivious to the world, even on this special day.

For a moment Jen wondered if she should wake him, but what would she say? “Hey, I’ve had a bad dream?” Well, he wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed so early on Christmas morning.

Anyway, it wasn’t a bad dream at all. Quite the opposite. A girl with sparkling green-blue eyes and long blonde hair — she couldn’t have been any older than nine, or maybe ten — standing by Jen’s side, dressed in a short red outfit with white fur at the collar and hem. Long sleeves too, with generous white fur at the cuffs. Jen thought about the dress a moment, because it was hardly a dress as such. It hung open, more like a jacket, revealing a slender pale body with a flat chest but distinctly puffy nipples, and more startlingly at her lower belly was a thin but long black rubber strap on that gleamed in what little light there was. An artificial cock to spear a woman as if she deserved it.

That thought alone had made Jen moan with excitement, even in her dream. Deserved it? How would a woman deserve to be lanced with that thing? So long, so hard, so damned inviting. It would be… well, it would be quite something, wouldn’t it? Jane clutched herself where she sat up in bed and she shivered a little. Not cold, not fearful. Just a thrill running through her.

One minute past four on Christmas morning, the clock told her. In an hour or so her daughter Polly would be up, wanting to go downstairs and open her presents, all stacked neatly under the Christmas tree. Eight year old Polly, so full of life, so looking forward to what Santa had brought. Of course, Polly knew there was no Santa, but it was fun pretending. But then, in the dream… The girl in red and white had said she was Santa, which was silly beyond belief. Girls aren’t Santa. But then the girl hadn’t said that had she, not as such.

“Hi, I’m Santa Clitmas,” the girl had laughed, her voice like liquid gold on silver leaves.

Santa Clitmas. Oh yes, Jen told herself. The sort of crazy ideas that came in dreams, but one that would be easy to explain: it was the strap-on making her think that. Long and hard and ready, so that was why she had imagined the girl in red and white fur saying what she did. Dreams did that, didn’t they? They justified themselves however weird they might seem. But dreams weren’t ever in your own bedroom, were they? This one had been. The young girl standing on the sheepskin rug by the bed. Jen’s side of the bed.

Dreams were never about being satisfied and people being clear. No one dreamt of what they really wanted. Everyone knew that.

Stop it, Jen told herself, hugging herself more. Then she remembered what Santa Clitmas has said in that amazing voice of hers. “You’ve been a good girl, Jen. You deserve what you’ve wanted.” Then the girl in red and white laughed a tinkly laugh and pushed her hips forward so the tip of that smooth black rubber artificial cock was inches from the woman’s face, and Jen had opened her mouth and… For God’s sake! She had taken the smooth shaft between her lips and sucked it, and she could taste something on it that she knew. It was herself, and that was impossible. She’d never had a strap-on near her. Dave’s cock, that was all. All that she had for ten years now and since Polly was born, not so much. Only her husband and that disappointing little thing he was so ridiculously proud of, imagining he was a torrid lover when he was nothing but a selfish––

Jen stopped herself. No, the dream hadn’t been about him, thank heavens. It had been about a girl who knew the woman. But how could she? Had she written a letter to the real Father Christmas and not remembered?

Of course she hadn’t. And who wrote to Santa Clitmas of all people? No, that was quite a joke, if you thought about it. One for the women who wanted satisfaction, probably. Jen thought about it and shivered because she wanted to cry with self-pity. She glanced over at the clock, past her still snoring husband, and saw it was four minutes past four. Surely some kind of magic time, she told herself for a reason the woman couldn’t explain.

Magic, like a young girl with a long strap on. Jen’s shiver this time wasn’t fear or sadness, but a spark of lust in her very depths.

There was a noise at the bedroom door and Jen gave a small gasp, but it wasn’t Santa coming back in waking time. It wasn’t a burglar, either. No need to wake snoring Dave and hear him grumble. It was Polly, standing in the light escaping from her bedroom across the landing.

“I can’t sleep, Mum,” said Polly, quite still in her new green and blue pyjamas.

“I understand, hon,” said Jen with a sigh. She swung her legs out of bed and straightened her short, white nightie and then went to slide her feet into her slippers, which strangely had been moved a little from their usual place on the sheepskin rug. Odd, thought Jen, and felt a pulse in her belly that someone had been there, standing by her bed. Near her face.

“Mum?” Polly asked.

“Okay, Polly. Just getting up. You know sweetheart it’s a bit early, even for Christmas morning.” The woman stood and stretched, aware she felt more alive than she had felt in ages. Not tired at all. Not the least weary.

“I had a dream Mum,” said the girl in the doorway.

“We all get those, sweetheart,” said Jen as she picked up her satin gown and pulled it round her still-slim shoulders. “Nothing to worry about.”

“But this was a girl,” said Polly. She held her hand out for her mother to come to her. Jen gulped, because this was different, the way Polly wanted her. “She wanted me to do things.”

“Dreams are funny,” said Jen, remembering her own dream, feeling that glow in her sex, the taste on her lips and tongue, the way she felt happy beyond belief.

“Not this one,” said Polly, taking her mother’s hand. “This was lovely. The girl wore red with white fur and she had a funny name. Santa Clitmas, she said.”

The mother nearly cried out in alarm. But Jen bit her lip, held herself back. “Honey––” she began.

“Mum, it’s okay. I know she wasn’t Santa. There isn’t a Santa Clitmas. But she brought me a present. It’s in my room.” Polly paused and smiled up at her mother. “She said you’d like it too.”

A wave of something approaching euphoria mixed with fear swept over Jen. She clutched her child’s hand tightly. “Show me,” she managed to say, swaying slightly on her slippered feet.

Of course no one else had been in, no one had slipped into Polly’s room and left her an extra present. The Hadley family didn’t do that. All the presents were under the tree for them all to open in the morning. The big tree laden with baubles and the smiling fairy in her gold and silver dress on top.

Polly’s room was neat, the way the girl kept it. Nothing torn or damaged or invaded. Just the bed cover turned back, and a small present wrapped in gold and silver on the bed. Innocent looking, but not innocent at all.

“Oh God,” said Jen, more to herself.

“Mum, it’s okay,” said Polly. She gripped her mother’s hand tighter. “Come on, we can open it,” said Polly.

Jen nodded. “You open it, honey. You see what…” The woman gulped loudly, again. “You see what Santa Clitmas wants us to open.”

Polly grinned, let go of her mother and went to the bed. Carefully, she unwrapped the present and even before it was fully undone Jen knew what it was. The girl brought out the long black rubber strap-on. One designed to be thrust hard into a willing woman. One with short straps to fit round a young girl’s slender waist.

“Oh God,” said Jen, again, but this time with a hint of expectation and a suggestion of inevitability.

“I think this is what Santa Clitmas wore,” said Polly. “What I have to wear.”

“Yes,” said Jen. “It’s called a strap-on, honey.”

“Mum, can you help me?” As she said it Polly was smiling like she was a radiant being. “I have to be naked, and you do too. Santa said so.”

“Yes, she would,” said Jen. She stepped forward and began to unbutton her daughter’s pyjama top, then slide her pyjama pants down. A flat chest, no puffy nipples yet, but slightly hard as if the little girl was excited, and the child’s hairless vulva.

Jen folded her daughter’s clothes neatly. Then the woman took the strap-on and saw it was beautiful. Perfect: the right weight, the right length. Long enough to hurt in the most thrilling way. With as much care and as much speed as she could manage, Jen put the strap-on cock in place on her daughter’s lovely young hips and buckled the straps in place so the artificial cock sprang from Polly’s hips like a gleaming, proud weapon.

“Mum,” whispered the girl. “I like it. It feels so good.”

Jen put her fingers on the slick column, marvelling at its smoothness and girth and length. Made to measure, it occurred to her. Like someone knew the depth of her desire. “Yes,” the mother agreed. “It looks like it has to be used.” The woman let go of the cock and stripped off her gown and nightie, tossing them carelessly aside. Her own nipples were hard and proud and under her shaved cunt and between her thighs there was a buzz of anticipation.

“You look lovely, Mum,” said Polly.

“And so do you, hon. Beautiful. And better with that strap-on, too. Like… like…”

“Like your owner,” said the girl, eyes alight, her cock dancing in the light.

“Yes, like my owner, like a lover who owns me,” said Jen, not knowing where the words sprang from but delighted how honest they sounded. There would be no untruths here. Not anymore.

“Yeah. She told me that since Daddy doesn’t love you enough, I get to instead. “This”– she indicated the strap-on, now jutting from her body — “is my present… but I get to be your present. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Very sweet. Honey, I have to bend over, right?”

“Yes, Mum. Santa said you would bend over so I can, um… You know, do that thing.”

“Fuck me,” said Jen. “It’s okay for you to say it, honey.”

“Fuck you,” said the girl. “Fuck you hard.”

“Yes,” agreed Jen. “Very hard.”

“Mum… when I’ve done that. I have to make you clean it.”

“Of course you do, dear. I want it in me and I want to clean it when you’re done fucking me.”

“And then she said that I’m s’posed to lie down and let you lick my cunny until I’ve had enough. Then, I roll over, and you lick my bottom hole.”

“I’d love to do that to you,” Jen said, realizing with a start that going down on her beautiful eight-year-old was exactly what she wanted. “I just want to make you happy, Polly.”

“I am,” said the girl. “Will you kiss me? Santa said I should get you to kiss me.”

“With pleasure, baby girl,” Jen cooed. Bending down, she claimed Polly’s mouth with hers.

Jen was startled when Polly brought her tongue into play first, but immediately responded in kind, and their kiss quickly grew hot and passionate.

Finally, mother and daughter slowly drew apart. Polly smiled. “Now bend over my bed, Mum. And no screaming.”

“Not unless you want me to,” said Jen as she did as she was told. Weight on her elbows, backside pushed out on offer, legs apart, her wet cunt dripping with anticipation, her breasts hanging below her and nipples tingling with excitement.

“I love you, Mum,” said the girl as she positioned the long, black cock against her mother’s cunt, gently prising the lips of the woman’s sex apart.

“I want you to fuck me, honey, and make me yours for always,” said the woman, over her shoulder, thrilled to see her daughter behind her so confident, so assertive. “I love you too, Polly.”

“I know. Now hold still, Mummy… And thank you, Santa Clitmas for the best present ever,” Polly said as with one thrust of her young but strong hips the girl sent the long, hard cock into her mother’s waiting cunt. All the way in, hard and deep and Jen gasped and bit her lip and a moan of pleasure in her throat felt a surge of joy in her heart that she had never known before, the way the strap-on’s base slammed into her engorged clit.

Downstairs, the gold and silver fairy on the tree smiled a little bit more while above her ethereal crown, the floorboards creaked just that little bit. Creaked again and again and again until there was definite gasp of someone climaxing like they never had before, and then presently the gentle slurp of a woman lovingly cleaning herself off a black rubber cock, and a little girl laughing happily — then moaning to the touch of her mother’s mouth.



7 Comments on Santa’s Coming

  1. Euphorsyne, Thalia & Aglia says:

    Oh Santa Baby!..Thank you soooo much!

    Merry Xxx-Mas to all the staff & the amazing writers & all of the readers of JS!!!

    will always remember this cute, sexy story..Mmm, so delicious!

    Joy to the World..Peace on Earth…may all our wishes cum true!

    Hmm, wonder if I was a good person this year or a not so good one?

    Hope Santa Clitmas would visit me in my dreams..maybe another taste of that Clitmas cheer might help!

  2. mike says:

    In line with the modern trend for abbreviation— “If only……”.
    Best wishes to the wonderful JS team.

  3. Noah says:

    MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE at “Juicy Secrets”. Thanks for all the great stories.

  4. Collie says:

    Merry Christmas! Looking forward to a new year full of great stories from you all.

  5. David says:

    So hot, what a nice Christmas present. Thanks JS, I love this place so much! Merry Christmas to all of the writers and readers!

  6. drew says:

    So hot and sexy!

  7. Jack says:

    What a sexy and gorgeous little tale!! Merry Clitmas to all at JS and thank you for all you do!!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.