Key Words: Santa
Forbidden Words: Party
Word Limit: 360
Extra Credit: have you ever been naughty in with Santa?!
Bonus Words: +50 if they get on/off the naughty list
I did it every year and it never ceased to be an evening of fun and laughs. My velvetine Santa outfit, a violent bright splash of scarlet with furry white trim, was always adorned on the weekend before Christmas at our local pub, and every year dozens of drunk people would come to sit on my knee and be fondled by a lecherous man with a fake beard.
I had them all: barmaids and fleet managers, dancers and teachers, all teasing with their flirting nature.
Take Fiona. She came and sat on my knee, my hands rose up her skirt. “Have you been a naughty or nice girl?” I joked; the room laughed. She tugged at my beard as she fleered, and my fingers tickled her thigh.
“Santa! I am not that sort of girl!”
“That’s not what it says on the bog wall! I’ve heard … rumours!” Her friends roared with laughter, she blushed.
“He knows about Glastonbury!” Her friend exclaimed. I nodded, she screeched and I got to taunt her a bit before the next victim came along.
Drunk Santa: The Nags Head, every year.
It was our ritual.
Until little Rita came to visit. “What do you want from Santa?” I boomed. She looked across the bar and giggled, whispering in my ear.
“I want you to fuck me!” She replied. “My husband does too!”
I scowled at her; I must have misheard. She waved at her husband, he beamed back. Maybe I didn’t.
“I want to get onto your naughty list,” she begged, and my fingers, already travelling up her skirt, went a little faster.
Hairless: good. Hell, that meant no underwear. My cock stiffened at the thought. My throat was dry, my glass was empty. Santa was shocked.
A few moments later I was leaning against the toilet wall, taking deep breaths when Rita burst into the Gents toilets. I was speechless, but Santa had had enough of her teasing and wordlessly, pulled her into the cubicles and yanked her top off, dropping the peach item onto the floor.
I expected a yelp but she smiled. She licked her lips, gulping as our eyes met.
Her hands rubbed my velvety outfit, my eyes feasted on her delicate orbs. A delicious sight. I spun her round, and pushed her hands onto the cistern, flicking her skirt onto her back as Santa penetrated the naughty little minx.
She was wet; she groaned as men filed into the toilet. We heard their chatter as I plowed into her cunt. Gorgeous strokes. Delicious excitement of our public misdemeanour in a toilet cubicle yards from witnesses amplified the frantic enjoyment. My arousal swelled, my cum filling the soft pussy of the mischievous girl. “You’re on the nice list,” I teased as she smiled at me.
“Even though I’ve cheated on my husband.” Her eyes twinkled. “He knows nothing about this. It’ll be a surprise!”
I cleared my throat. “Then you’re on the naughty list.”
“I’ve seen the e-mails,” she confided, pulling her top from the floor as I zipped up my Santa outfit. “He said all he wants is an unfaithful hotwife for Christmas. How about that?”
“Then, my lady, you ARE on the nice list. And the naughty list at the same time.”