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Santa Baby

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When Pale comes home, it’s dark in the apartment.

Which makes him frown, not that he wasn’t fuckin’ frownin’ already. But he frowns some more because usually you’re there already, all the lights on, runnin’ up his fuckin’ electric bill. Not that it matters or nothin’, but he’s bangin’ his shin on the couch as he starts rummagin’ for a light switch in the dark.

“Sweetheart?” He calls out, lights up a cigarette and puffs smoke into the air.

Outside the windows there’s snow and frost stickin’ to the glass, a frigid December evening. He came home later than expected, and he feels bad, wonders if you fell asleep.

But then, then somethin’ small and shiny catches his eye. Taped to the bedroom door is a big red bow, the metallic ribbon kind that you always stick on the gifts you give him. He walks over to it in three long strides, sticks the cig between his teeth and notices a sticky note put right underneath the bow.

“'Open for a present'.” He reads aloud, chuckling to himself.

You’d never really been one for the theatrics, but lately you’d been gettin’ more bold. Pale doesn’t know where the fuck you’re pickin’ it up from, but he takes in a deep excited breath as he turns the door handle and nearly gives himself a nosebleed from the sight before him.

It’s you, laid out real fuckin’ pretty on the bed.

You’re laying on your side, one hand propping your head up, the other lazily draped over your stomach. You’re dressed like a sexy Mrs. Claus, and Pale wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of that mental image, but you’re too fucking sexy so instead he drools, swallows hard.

You’ve got yourself mostly covered up by a red velvet caplet trimmed with white fur, but he can see fishnet stockings on your legs, black heels on your feet. You’re good, too good for him, and he knows this because you don’t have the shoes on the bed, your feet slightly dangling over the edge of the mattress.

“Ho ho holy shit.” He whistles, low and long, stalks towards you fully ready to tear that shit off you and have his way with your body, “What’s all this?”

But you’re quick, and you shift your body around so that you’re sitting up, one leg coming up to press the heel against his chest, to stop him from coming any closer.

The display of dominance has his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, because you both know that’s not how he fuckin’ plays, not one bit. But it’s you, and you’ve got a playful look in your eye, and he thinks maybe – just maybe – it’ll be worth it to wait this one out.

“Sit.” You say, voice soft, nudging him with your foot.

He looks behind him and sees that you’ve dragged one of the plush armchairs from the corner of the bedroom, moved it away from the window and instead have it right in the middle of the floor, perfect view of the bed.

Perfect view of you, on the bed.

He caresses a hand up and down your calf, pulls and snaps your stocking against your skin, mouth watering, cock already growing hard.

“Pale, please?” You ask, dropping the overly coy look for something a little more real, fighting a smile in an attempt to be sexy.

He’s gonna have to tell you that even that smile of yours is sexy – especially that smile. But for now, he’s more curious what you’ve got up your sleeve, or, cape.

So he sits, and only once he’s seated do you fish around for the small black remote that turns on the entertainment system in the living room.

It all becomes clear all of a sudden, when the music begins to play. When you set yourself up properly on the bed, snapping your finger and rising to the beat of the music up onto your knees, slowly undoing the buttons that keep the capelet on.


Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me

Been an awful good girl

Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight


You toss the velvet across the room, and hidden underneath is a sexy fuckin’ number, a red sheer lil’ something that has Pale twitching in his pants, has him twitching all over.

“I’m gonna die. Is this how I die? You here to kill me?” He asks, interrupting the performance, the song, the show.

“Hush.” You wink, crawling towards the edge of the bed.

You swing your legs over the edge and slowly come to a standing position, shimmying up and down as you step out of your shoes, singing along to Eartha Kitt, your voice sultry and sexy and entirely too intoxicating.

He feels high, is he high?

You only grin.


Santa baby, a '54 convertible too convertible too, light blue

I'll wait up for you, dear

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight


The urge to shove his hands down his pants is growing stronger and stronger, and he finds himself nearly inhaling the butt of the cigarette when you begin to walk in slow circles around him, standing behind him and leaning over his shoulder, kissing his neck as your hands rub up and down his chest, getting him even more worked up.

You have these real pretty satin gloves on, the kind that go all the way up to your elbows, a deep red to match the whole rest of the getup. You take your time plucking each finger off your hands, pulling the gloves off one after another to the rhythm of the music.


Think of all the fun I've missed

Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed

Next year I could be also good

If you'll check off my Christmas list


Just before he thinks you’re gonna jerk him off though, you’re moving around around around him once again, and he lets out a long groan of dismay that has you laughing, biting at your lips and shakin’ your head, your pretty skin glowin’ in the low light of the bedroom.

He’d give you anything, abso-fuckin’-lutely anything in that moment, you know it, he knows it, this display of your assets such sweet torture. You tease him, hover your mouth over his, breath grazing against his lips, and he puckers them just for you, chases your kisses with ones of his own.

You don’t give in to him though, not yet.


Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that's not a lot

Been an angel all year

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight


The next thing to go in your strip tease is the drapey part of the little babydoll nightgown you’re wearing. It looks like Pale could yank it right off the bra it’s attached to, could tear the fuckin’ fabric right away, and he doesn’t resist now to stroke at his cock as you pop off the sheer thing, let it flutter to the floor.

All you’ve got on left are a bra, panties, and those stockings, and Pale can’t stop chewing his lip. He lets out a slight groan as he works the button and zipper of his jeans open, spits into his hand and fishes out at his cock.


Santa honey one thing I really do need, the deed

To a platinum mine

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight


You stick one leg up on his thigh where his legs are spread, and he moans softly as he tugs at his cock. Your pussy is right there, fuck it’s so close. He leans forward enough to press his face right up against the red red red lace that’s concealing your cunt, takes in a deep breath. He knows where your clit is, he presses his big fuckin’ nose against it, and you jolt a little.

But your thigh is up there for a reason, and you’re soon unclipping the stockings from the garters that hang down from the sides of your underwear.

He’s transfixed as you roll the fishnet of your left leg down down down, draping it over his shoulder when you’re done.


Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex and checks

Sign your 'x' on the line

Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight


Once the left leg was done, you switch legs and start on your right. He feels guilty for not giving it too much attention, bucking into his fist as he seeks out your cunt again with your other leg now propped up on his other thigh.

You run your fingers through his hair and tug his head back, back back back and away from your pussy, raising an eyebrow, chastising him. He blushes bright fuckin’ red, turns his mouth to catch your wrist with his teeth, presses a wet open mouthed kiss there before you release him.


Come and trim my Christmas tree

With some decorations bought at Tiffany

I really do believe in you

Let's see if you believe in me


You turn around so that your back is facing him, and he growls when you unclip your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

He wants to suck and bite at your tits so bad, and he can only speed up up up his hand, can only urge his wrist to go faster as he jerks himself off to the sight of you, of you dancin’ and singin’ all sexy sultry sweet for him. You cross your hands over your tits when you turn back to face him, doing some little shimmy and shake choreography to the music, still snapping your pretty fuckin’ fingers.

He can see your nipple peeking out from where you’re trying to conceal yourself, and he feels like whatever blood that’s left in his brain’s gotta be rushin’ to his dick now, because you’re pulling off your panties, stepping out of them, leaving you completely naked.


Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring

I don't mean on the phone

Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight


He’s on you as fast as he fucking can be, has you laughing and complaining that he’s ruining the mood of everything as he throws his clothes away, pushes you up the bed.

When he kisses you, he sighs, finally finally finally shoving his tongue into you, arranges your legs real nice so that when he gets positioned just right, when he slides his aching cock into you, the one he’s been edging this whole fuckin’ time – how long was this song? It felt like it went on and on for hours and hours, that’s how desperate he is – he curses long and low.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me, you know that?” He asks, slidin’ right in, right home, like he’d been aching for all day, all night.

You’d chuckle at him, but you’re too busy moaning, your cunt tight and hot around him, and he thinks damn, you must’ve been real worked up too, bein’ this wet.

He fucks you, right and proper, in the warm safe glow of the bedroom. The candles flicker and the flame crackles in wicks made of wood and the snow whirls around outside, but all of that is drowned out by the sound of your gasps, your chants of his name as his hips work themselves doing everything they were meant to: plowing into you.

Somewhere, out in the living room a million miles away, he can hear the last notes of the song echoing through the apartment. He’ll buy you anything, everything on the list, if you really wanted it. You don’t, not really, and he knows that, knows that it’s just a sexy little song and you’re a sexy little minx.

But still, he would.

For now though, it’s enough that he’s got you under him, got your legs spread and your tongue against his, and for all your pleas to Santa, when you shout out, it’s only ever his name.


Hurry down the chimney tonight

Hurry, tonight