Chapter 7 #2
Tom’s cock ached against his jeans. If he was better coordinated, he would rub himself. His dick yearned to be touched and grabbed.
Randall lifted his cock and let Tom lick his heavy balls. Tom wanted anything he had to offer. Tom’s tongue lingered past them and flicked along his taint. Their non-verbal communication was on point because Randall put a leg on the bed, giving Tom access to his pink hole.
“You like tonguing that ass?”
Tom was too busy to respond, and a thumbs-up seemed inappropriate.
“You like rimming Santa?”
Another thumbs-up worthy comment. Tom spat on his puckered opening. He couldn’t get enough of Randall’s round, robust bubble butt. He wondered what exercises he did to get it so firm. Lunges. No, squats.
Randall stepped back, and Tom sat up. He got a little dizzy as the blood flowed back to his body. Randall’s sleeveless undershirt was pushed up and clinging to his sweaty chest. And his Santa hat was still on, cocked to the side, which made Tom’s dick twitch with added horniness.
“So who am I?” Tom asked. “The elf being punished for not hitting toy quota? Mrs. Claus’s slutty surgeon brother?”
“Surgeon?”
“What? Just because he’s slutty doesn’t mean he didn’t have time to go to med school.”
Randall cracked a hazy smile, which might’ve been the sexiest thing about him at the moment.
“You’re funny,” he said. The way he looked at Tom sent a volt of fuzzy electricity through his system. But it was replaced by a glint of lust in his eye. “Now get on all fours. Like a reindeer.”
Tom nodded along, his cock twitching. He wanted to take off his pants, but wanted Randall to do it more. He held up a finger. “I know how to make this even better.”
He rolled over to the nightstand on the other side of his bed where he kept stuff for work. For the holidays, they made employees wear antlers to up the festive atmosphere. The more festive a store looked, the more inclined people were to buy. Tom took the antlers from the nightstand drawer.
“So which reindeer am I? Rudolph? Actually, saying I’m a reindeer implies bestiality.”
“You’re not a reindeer. You snuck into Santa’s workshop pretending to be a reindeer and got caught. You tried to put Blitzen out of work. Now you have to pay the price.” Randall signaled for Tom to lie on his back. Tom silently applauded his creativity and wondered if he did improv on the side.
Randall unbuttoned his jeans. Tom’s cock sprung up, which after seeing what Randall was packing made him a bit embarrassed. But the guy seemed to approve. Randall put the antlers on Tom, and he instinctively got on all fours.
Tom wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to walk again, but oh well.
Randall got behind him and put his assured hands on Tom’s hips. Tom shivered with want as he heard the wrapper rip open on the magnum condom. Well, one stocking was going to be stuffed tonight. His lubed fingers pressed into Tom’s hole.
“I’m going to go slow,” Randall said.
“Give it to me.” Tom was drunk on Hot Mall Santa and damn the hangover tomorrow.
He pressed his lips together and groaned when Randall pushed inside.
His firm hands controlled Tom’s body as he steered his cock inside.
It nearly cracked Tom in half. He thrust steadily and carefully, and Tom appreciated the consideration.
Soon, whatever discomfort Tom had by his girth was outweighed by the sheer desire pulsing through him.
He wanted to get fucked by Hot Mall Santa.
“Harder,” Tom said.
I am fucking Hot Mall Santa. I am fucking Hot Mall Santa.
Randall slammed the tight hole with his thunderous cock.
Tom watched him dominate and pound into his body through the mirror above the headboard.
Randall had a pained, serious expression etched on his face.
His lips were flushed and pouted. He had ripped off his tank top, exposing the sweat dripping down his chest and flexed abs.
(The hat stayed on, natch.) Randall pulled him closer and barreled inside his wrecked hole.
“Fuck!” Tom yelled out. “Fuck me Santa!”
Randall slapped his ass hard. Then again. He fisted Tom’s hair, pulling his head back and, for lack of a better term, fucked the life out of him.
“You going to sneak into Santa’s workshop again?” He hissed in Tom’s ear.
Tom didn’t know what he was talking about, until he remembered the story. Kudos to him for staying in character.
“Yes, Santa. Yes I am if it means I can get fucked like this again.” Tom didn’t know if that was the proper answer, but a hungry grunt from Randall told him otherwise.
“I’ll just have to keep punishing you until you learn your lesson.” He slapped Tom’s ass, and Tom could feel the mark forming. He humped Tom between each word of the next sentence: “Don’t. Fuck. With. Santa.”
Tom stroked himself. Usually doggie style was a bad position for getting himself off, but Hot Mall Santa’s Christmas magic kept him rock hard.
“You sneaky devil,” Randall said. He swatted away Tom’s hand. He took over jerking off duties. His rough hand on Tom’s cock and rough cock in Tom’s ass was hurtling Tom to the finish line.
“Fuck. Feels so good,” Tom muttered out.
“Who said you could enjoy this? You like making Santa angry?”
“Yes!”
“Are you on the naughty list?”
“I’m so fucking naughty, so check that fucking list twice and teach me my fucking lesson.
” Tom was usually not one for role-playing, and these lines would make him cringe in the morning, but the holiday spirit had taken hold of him.
He knew this was probably his only turn to ride Hot Mall Santa, so he wanted to do it right.
Leave nothing on the field, as straight guys loved to say.
Randall’s breath lingered on Tom’s ear. “Maybe next time, I’ll have to tie you up to make sure you don’t cause anymore trouble.”
Next time? One could hope.
“Ready to get your gingerbread house frosted?” Randall said to him through the mirror. His hand tightened around Tom’s dick.
“Make it a White Christmas, Santa.”
Hot Mall Santa fucked him extra hard, in sweaty and desperate thrusts. The sound of his slick skin slapping against Tom echoed against the walls.
“Fuck!” He grunted and emptied himself inside his magnum condom inside Tom’s ass. Seconds later, Tom shot his load onto his comforter.
They both collapsed. Tom didn’t care that he was in a puddle of his own making. He had Randall’s jacked frame covering him like a blanket, and they stayed like that the rest of the night.
Dear Santa, you can come down my chimney anytime you want.
And then a curious thing happened. Randall kissed Tom’s shoulder. It was quick, but there was something so inherently intimate and downright sweet about it, which Tom didn’t expect after what they just did. He didn’t have a Christmas pun to describe it.