Jade A. Waters
Me and Office Santa—we go way back.
See, after seven years of organizing our annual holiday party, I’ve learned I have a real affinity for a gentleman in a Santa costume—which is saying a lot, since I love a man in a suit and tie, and the male partners around here look so delicious in their business wear it’s a miracle we don’t have a major sexual harassment problem. But Christ, put one of them in a fuzzy red suit with a squishy belly, a big black belt, matching boots, and that goddamn aphrodisiac of a hat, and I lose all semblance of self-control.
Part of the appeal is the man who dons the suit, of course. Last year, for example, it was David. He’s one of the busiest partners, so watching him slow down to have a glass of wine with the rest of us—appreciating the season and wearing that fantastic red costume—actually made him approachable. I mean, he was always that way with me, but no one ever saw that. Ours was an affair composed of exactly three entanglements: the first on the break room table after the rest of the company had gone home, the second when I picked him up from the airport after a conference since the driver I’d arranged had neglected to show, and the third the time I took him home from the holiday party. He’d spent the night tumbling around my apartment—he was a little awkward with the suit dangling around his thighs because I wouldn’t let him take it off. In return, I kept the sexy Mrs. Claus dress on and let him rip a hole in the crotch of my fishnets so he could get his hands on me. There’s something to be said for a man wearing a Santa hat while under your skirt, shoving his tongue way up inside until you come to visions of sugarplums and all that, so it was a win-win for us both.
For the five years before David, Nelson and Associates had encouraged Michael to wear the suit. Everybody loved Michael—he was charismatic and handsome, and took interest in the lives of our office staff and clients. He also bought presents for all of us executive admins because he understood how hard we worked. He made a point of bringing me an extra special set of gifts when he arrived on my doorstep after the holiday party every year—a bottle of champagne, a box of chocolates, a pair of earrings, and then him in that delicious Santa suit. I told him he could skip the earrings, but he had a thing for putting them in my earlobes for me. He’d trail his fingers along every curve in my ear, then ask me to strip down to my boots and nothing else. I won’t lie—that part always made me hot. Then he’d ask me to suck on pieces of chocolate when he bent me over a chair and fucked me while singing Christmas carols.
The guy was a real freak behind closed doors, and that’s why we had so much fun together during our annual rendezvous. We probably would have done it more often, but a girl can only eat so much chocolate—plus he ended up taking a job at our satellite firm in India.
This year, we at Nelson had some trouble convincing anyone to wear the suit. The role had traditionally gone to one of the partners, and thanks to my hard work arranging schedules, conferences, and international travel, I’d left us with exactly two to choose from come holiday time: Gregory and Nick. Neither of them knew about my Santa habit—in fact, no one in the office did except the lucky few to have donned the suit—but it’s not like I could use that as a bargaining chip anyway. That would be inappropriate.
Gregory was married, so he would have made a terrible candidate. Nick, then, became my sole desire. He had the right name, he was in town for the party, and on top of that, he had an ass I’d been ogling since he joined the firm six months earlier. I could picture it beneath the red seat of the infamous Santa costume, rounding as he’d drive his way inside of me, and I knew I had to get him on my Christmas list.
My job as the lead executive administrative assistant meant I was a busy girl, and organizing the holiday party made everything more complicated this time of year. So while I’d wanted to put on the charm and be the reason Nick chose the suit, I knew better. I’d stuck Shirley on it, with her big blue eyes and amazing tits, because Nick would never say no to a girl like that sweet-talking him into the role.
Please do not misunderstand—Nick was no misogynist. He was, by far, the most respectable, refined, and appreciated partner who had ever worked in our firm. He exceeded Michael’s reputation for charm but struck most of us as a bit more introverted, and his was not the nature to grotesquely harass a pretty subordinate. It’s just that Shirley had a rack even I fantasized about sometimes, and with those doe eyes and melodic voice working for her, it was difficult to resist anything she asked. Plus she was new to the job and ever so polite, and most of us wanted to see her do well.
Besides—sure enough, my plan worked. He’d said yes, she’d felt accomplished, and now I was all set to reap the rewards: Nick and his hot ass in the Santa suit.
I swear to god thinking about it made it impossible to work the week leading up the party. I’d stashed an extra pair of panties in my desk drawer because sometimes I worried I’d soak right through my dress clothes—especially yesterday, when I literally ran into Nick in the break room, both of us careening around the entryway from opposite sides and colliding with one another. I had only a second to appreciate his broad chest smacking against mine, and next there came the realization that my papers were scattered across the floor.
“Oh crap, Kristi—I’m so sorry!” he’d said. We’d looked at one another startled for a minute, me getting somewhat lost in his green eyes as I imagined how they’d pair with his Santa costume in pure Christmas color perfection, and once he flushed in embarrassment at running into me he’d bent over to start picking up my papers.
I’d crouched down beside him, my skirt creeping up on my thighs and catching his gaze. He idled on them long enough that my breath caught in my throat, but then we both set back to work gathering the papers I’d spent the last fifteen minutes organizing.
“Let me know what I can do to help with these. Are they alphabetized? Numerical? God, I’m so sorry!” he repeated. He awkwardly handed the papers over as we both stood back up, but I patted his arm.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Accidents happen. Plus, I can forgive you because you’re playing Santa tomorrow night.” I winked, but it was true. Handsome, polite future-Santas went a long way with me.
Nick snickered. “That I am.”
“Are you ready for your role?”
“Sure. Aren’t I just wearing a suit?”
“Well, you’re Santa. That’s a big deal.”
“Is it? I guess the pressure’s on, huh?” He appeared somewhat ruffled, his ordinarily cool demeanor disturbed by our run-in. I, meanwhile, felt the familiar tingle in my limbs every time I talked to him. Besides being the most attractive man to have worked for the company, he was the nicest. His clients continually raved about him, and I never minded writing his expense reports because he submitted the most detailed, organized receipts and took the time to talk to me instead of dumping them on my desk.
I drew my hands to my hips and nodded very seriously. “You’re the Santa at a holiday party—yes, the pressure’s on! I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that I appreciate a good Santa.”
Nick peered down at me, and I wondered if he could hear the thumping of my heart. His lips turned up at the corners and I could picture them surrounded by a white beard that I’d tug down before kissing him. In truth, I would have kissed him with or without the costume, which made him playing Santa the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for.
I grinned. “I really do.”
“In that case…I’m looking forward to the party.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair and I shifted my thighs to ease the moisture slicking up between them. It didn’t help that he followed with, “I hear you do an amazing job organizing this thing.”
We stood there for a minute more, silent. Then I remembered I’d scheduled his conference call in five minutes.
“Oh, you better run for your call with TechVibe. Can’t wait to see you as Santa!” I said.
Nick smiled, and I could tell he was curious with the way I’d said the words—a little bit breathy, and a lot flirtatious.
But he was going to play Santa, after all.
That’s about the only thing I could think about for the next day, which was a real pain with the list of tasks I had to accomplish before we closed down early that Friday for the party. Somehow, I made do, getting a two hour head start on everyone else to finish decorating the local community center. I’d rented it out the last few years to much fanfare, since we all seemed to prefer to celebrate the holiday away from the office. The space afforded a kitchen for the caterers plus a couple expansive rooms, and I typically designated one for the bar and the majority of the food, one for the hired piano player and the late-night raffle, and the other one for general socialization. That’s where I planted Santa—away from the big time revelers so I could keep my eye on him, but near enough to still be part of the fun.
The staff at the community center had kindly allowed me to swap out their Christmas tree star with one we’d designed for Nelson the year before—it was a blue neon monstrosity with the letter ‘N’ on it, for spirit—and I propped it up there with my annual sigh of appreciation that the Nelson staff didn’t mind a more Christmas-oriented party. We’d done a Hanukkah thing four years prior and then took a survey to be P.C. about it, and it turned out most everyone preferred the Christmas theme. Everyone except Margaret, that is, but she’d admitted to me she hated holidays in general, so when I started offering her a box of shortbread cookies as the season kicked off every year, she’d told me she was satisfied with a great big hug.
I finished teetering on the ladder in my heeled boots as my colleagues began to arrive. I was fully costumed already, wearing my flouncy plush red Mrs. Claus dress that I’d cinched in at the waist with a belt identical to that of the Santa suit. I’d also replaced the black fishnets David ripped last year with a pair of bright red ones. The whole get-up was a tad risqué for a work event, but no one ever complained—especially not the Santas.
“Oh Kristi, this place looks fantastic!” Shirley squealed. She and a handful of others had joined the company since last Christmas, and the group of them peered around in wonderment at all the classy decorations sparkling in greens, reds, silvers, and golds that complemented the pianist’s sophisticated renditions of Christmas carols.
She gave me a hug, then looked me over. “You look amazing. You’re the sassiest Mrs. Claus I’ve ever seen!”
“Thanks, Shirley.” I couldn’t stop myself from admiring her chest—she’d arrived wearing the red angora sweater that made her breasts stand out more than normal, and once the drinks started flowing, the men were going to have a field day watching her. There were usually a few hookups at these events beyond my secret Santa one, but I figured Shirley was clever enough to avoid raising suspicion this early on in her tenure.
I pointed out the various rooms to her and the others who started pouring through the door, greeting each colleague with a hug and a raffle ticket before they dispersed. Everyone was here to have a good time, and since I worked with a group of people who actually enjoyed one another’s company, this was bound to happen. I was eager to roam around and socialize myself, but a Mrs. Claus certainly can’t function without her mister.
It was that Mr. Claus that arrived about twenty minutes later, his tall, fit body hidden in the Santa costume and sending a chill down my spine.
“Nick Claus!” I said, reaching out to shake his hand. His entire palm engulfed my fingers and I grinned. “You look fantastic.”
And did he ever. The rugged lines of his face peeked out from behind the white beard, and when he raised his eyebrows they grazed the matching wig he’d braved beneath the Santa hat. His stuffed belly jutted out around his belt and he’d laced the boots up over the bottom of his pants like they were supposed to be worn, so they tapered neatly at his calves. I couldn’t wait to check him out from the rear, where I knew the white hem of his jacket would draw attention to the red fabric covering the exquisite shape of his ass.
“Good enough?” he asked. He pushed the curls of the wig away from his forehead and fondled the hat atop his head. That hat brought back so many memories, except tonight I wanted nothing more than to make new ones with him—Nick Claus, the real Claus. The best damn looking Santa Claus this office had ever seen.
“Oh yeah,” I muttered. He still hadn’t released my hand, and I’m not sure if it was the way I said the words—which is to say, completely breathless as I stared over him in that costume—or if he just happened to fully peer over me then, but Nick squeezed my fingers rather abruptly before kissing the back of my hand.
“You look delightful yourself, Mrs. Claus.” He kept my hand in his and twirled me around, then rested his free hand on his giant belly. “I hope saying so doesn’t overstep a bound…”
Nick had about a million bounds to overstep with me that evening, and I was ready. I scooted close to him, tilting my lips up toward his ear and lowering my voice so he’d have to lean to hear me over the pianist’s melody.
“I love a good Claus, Nick, so you can tell me whatever you wish tonight.”
His cheeks flushed the perfect red to match his costume, and I backed away lest anyone see us. Excitedly, I guided him to the main room and pointed out the lavish rocking chair designated for him.
“This is your room, and you’re obviously welcome to roam around,” I said, gesturing toward the other rooms. “But when it comes time for people to sit on Santa’s lap, you know where you need to be.”
Nick wrinkled his nose. “Shirley didn’t tell me about that. Neither did you.”
“I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but don’t worry—it will work in your favor. Promise.”
I didn’t give him time to ask what I meant, instead running off to check on the caterers. It was awfully challenging to focus with him filling out that suit so damn well, and the wet spot in my thong wasn’t helping much, either.
After checking in on the food and the rest of the guests, I ordered a vodka cranberry from the bartender and began to circulate. The Nelson crew enjoyed themselves—everyone drinking and chatting, eating and laughing, and most everyone taking pictures with Nick in his delectable costume. I’d delegated raffle duties to Caroline this time, and she started it up fairly quickly while I doubled back to stand with Nick.
“How are you doing in that suit?”
“It’s pretty warm in here with all the stuffing.” He patted his belly. “But everyone seems happy so I’ll make do. You threw one hell of a party, Kristi. Nicely done.”
I held up my glass and he clanked his drink against mine. Then we stood together to watch the raffle, like Mr. and Mrs. Claus surveying the cheerful people around us. My knees grew weaker by the second, and I let my fantasy reel of Nick Claus play out while Caroline spoke into a microphone and handed presents out for the next twenty minutes. Once she’d distributed the last prize, some of the staff opted to go home. Most of them had spouses and family waiting there, which was fine since it left the rest of us to enjoy more of the bar services.
And of course, Santa’s lap time.
Nick could hardly stop laughing when I ushered him into his rocking chair and announced that the next thirty minutes were open for some “Santa Seat Time” in order for everyone to tell him what they wanted for Christmas. It was a novelty we’d started back when Michael held the role, and Nick played along like a good volunteer while I hung back with the other assistants.
“He looks absolutely ridiculous in that costume,” Betsy said. “He’s such a hunk normally, but throw him in a Santa suit and it ruins everything for me.”
A few of them bobbed their heads in agreement, and I pursed my lips to keep from protesting. They could think whatever they wanted—that man, in that costume, was sending trembles through my body that made me want to climb into his lap right then.
Elliott tapped my shoulder. “Hey Mrs. Claus, don’t you get to tell him what you want for Christmas, too? You arranged this party, after all.” He gave my fishnets a glance and snorted. “And for God’s sake you fit the part.”
I shrugged, though I longed to do exactly that. Instead, I watched Gregory finagle his way into Santa’s lap, making poor Nick mighty uncomfortable.
“Now that is funny,” Betsy said.
The pianist began pounding out “Jingle Bells” and I squeezed my knees together, both because watching Nick costumed in the rocking chair was making it hard to stand, and because I remembered it being Michael’s favorite carol to sing when he fucked me.
Regardless, I knew the tune was toward the end of the pianist’s lineup since I’d checked his set list in advance, and I appreciated the nearing finale. There was no telling how late everyone would mingle once the music died down, but hopefully it wouldn’t be for too long.
I had a Santa to seduce.
Nick patted Gregory on the ass with a boisterous laugh when he left the rocking chair, a chummy gesture indicative of the right amount of alcohol loosening him up in his costume, and my urge to fuck him amplified so extensively that my nipples peaked beneath my dress. I wanted that Santa like I’d never wanted the two before him, and I knew the only way to get through the rest of the party was to channel all my focus into gabbing, frolicking, and flirting like my other tipsy colleagues until everyone went home for the weekend. At 10:30, the last few stragglers were gathering their prizes and hugging one another good night while I stood eyeing the Christmas tree, and Nick came up behind me.
“Ready for it to be over?” he asked.
He’d pulled the beard down around his chin, but I didn’t mind. He had the most beautiful face framed by all that fake white hair, and he still had the hat on properly. He took a step forward, the stuffing of his belly so protrusive he almost grazed it against me, and a shiver rippled through my body.
“Kind of, but I do enjoy seeing everyone have a good time.”
“Of course.” He smiled down at me, his eyes a little glossy from the booze and no doubt the warmth inside his costume, and I ached to scale every inch of his red-wrapped body there by the tree.
“It’s late though, and there’s some clean up…”
“Do you want some help?” He blurted it out so fast it was like he’d been waiting to say it. The last three guests at the door interrupted by shouting out my name. One of them was Shirley, who held the final food tray of many she’d generously toted to her car over the last thirty minutes. She glanced between Nick and me with a curious gaze, so I held up a finger to pause him and shimmied over to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Thanks for your help, darling,” I said. “You’re a great addition to our company and I’m so glad we have you.”
She beamed, distracted enough by the compliment that her wonder was tempered. She waved goodbye and slipped out the door with the other two assistants, none of them taking any notice of Santa Claus staying behind with his missus.
Once I shut the door I turned around, rolling Nick’s offer around in my head. I’d paid extra to keep the key so that I could get a cleaning crew in here the next day, and though there were a few things to handle that Shirley hadn’t already done, I’d planned on leaving most of it till morning so I could figure out how to get Nick to myself.
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“No problem. You’re so good with everyone, and I admire all your work.”
I rested my hands on my hips, not sure what to say. My thoughts were wrapped up in how to get into his suit, so I bit my lip in contemplation.
“But about the help—do you need any? I feel like I owe you for scattering your papers everywhere yesterday.”
“Oh, shh,” I said. I waved him off and cocked my hip out to the side, and he eyed my legs while smoothing his hands over his stuffing-filled belly. “Besides, there’s not much to do tonight.”
There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, which made it much easier to share my next thought.
“However, I didn’t get any Santa Seat Time.”
Nick chuckled, the motion jostling the padding of his belly. “Every lady should get to tell Santa what she wants,” he said.
He stuck out his hand and I took it, blissfully aware of the heat that rushed into my pussy at the prospect of telling him precisely what I wanted for Christmas. He led me to his rocking chair, and though no one was there to see us, I’m sure we looked a pair—Mr. and Mrs. Claus, walking hand in hand across the hardwood floor of the local community center.
Nick scooted back into the seat and patted his thigh, and it was a Christmas miracle I didn’t come right then.
I stood beside him while he steered his gaze from my face down to my boots.
“Well, well, well, young lady,” he said, in classic Santa fashion. I gave a brief curtsy, and Nick guided me onto his thigh. The soft felt of his costume was delightful on my ass through the holes of my fishnets, and I squirmed on purpose. Nick coughed, then said, “Kristi…er, Mrs. Claus…fancy seeing you here in my lap.”
I stared into his eyes. Against the red of the costume they shined the brightest green, and I was ready for him to show me naughty and nice. “Can I tell you what I want for Christmas, Santa?” I said, pursing my lips.
“Why yes, yes you can.” He curved his hand around my side, drawing me closer, and I took this as an excuse to sidle directly against his belly.
Nick gasped, since my thigh now rested against the hard-on he had hidden beneath those fuzzy red pants.
“Oh my Santa,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “It appears you might be after the same Christmas wish that I am.”
I placed a finger over his lips, then grabbed his hand. He’d skipped the costume gloves, but that was okay because they’d be in the way for what I did next—which was shove his hand up my skirt. “Are you okay with this?”
Nick grinned. He snuck his fingers against the crevice between my thighs. He stroked them down and back up, his fingers still hot through my fishnets and panties. I scooted as close as possible and moved my mouth near his.
“Are you?” he asked.
“I have a thing for the costume and I just put your hand under my skirt. Do you really need to ask?”
“You’re turned on by this suit?” He pressed his fingers harder against me, finding the swollen nub of my clit through the fabric and swiping at it a few times.
“Oh yes,” I panted.
We sat there for a moment, his fingers chafing me though the layers of fabric and my breath pouring raggedly against his face.
“Tell me more,” he said.
“Well,” I said, “I’ve been a very good girl, so I think I should get everything I want for Christmas.”
The words made his cock lurch against my thigh, so I slipped my hand under his jacket. Buried beneath that stuffing was the fly of his red pants, and I hooked my fingers on the button and tugged until it snapped open. Nick caressed me faster and I snuck my hand inside his briefs, taking him into my palm with a groan.
“You’re rock hard, Santa.”
Nick nodded. “And you’re damn wet, Kristi. What do you want for Christmas?”
I glided my hand along his length a few times, loving the way he squinted his eyes. It was like Santa having a jolly good laugh, even though his beard was out of place. Nick weaved his fingers through the holes of my tights and under the sides of my thong, and when he managed to get two of them inside me, I whimpered.
“You, Santa,” I growled. I stroked him more furiously and he did his best to shove his fingers deep despite the fabric in the way. I wrapped my free hand around his neck and pulled him close, and right before I kissed him, I said, “I want to fuck you, Claus.”
Nick’s cock throbbed against my hand and I slammed my lips against his. We were kissing—me and Nick, Office Santa and me—and our tongues tangled together as we clawed at one another’s sex. This Santa could kiss, and when he thrust against my hand I climbed up to straddle him. The motion sent the rocking chair swinging and both of us gave a startled shriek. We took a minute to balance ourselves before I rolled my hips against his crotch, feeling the thickness of his rod though the fabric that separated us.
“Here?” he asked between kisses. He didn’t wait for an answer, tugging down the neckline of my dress to expose my bra. He bit at my chest, pulling my breast free of the cup so he could take my nipple in his lips, and when he sucked on the tip I grinded against him until he moaned.
I took that as my cue, reaching down and ripping a hole in my fishnets—I’d already replaced them once, so what was one more time, anyway? Next I yanked my panties aside and Nick gasped.
I guided him against my cunt, skimming my wetness with his dick, and while I teased myself in this way I stretched my other hand to my boot to retrieve the condom I’d shoved inside earlier. Nick chuckled before I ripped it open and worked it down over his length, but his laughter became a heavy groan when I slid over him and took him deep.
Nick Claus was inside me, and already I could feel my body shaking. I rocked against him, sending the chair swinging again, and both of us moaned. He crept his hands beneath my skirt and cupped my ass, his fingers digging the fishnets into my skin as he lifted me up and down. The motion of the rocking chair became a consistent swing that matched our stride. He felt so good I grabbed the bars of the chair so I could slam down over him, and when my free hand sank into the padding of his belly I moaned again.
“Nick, oh Claus…”
He kissed me, but it was messy and broken, both of us writhing against one another in a careful balance of fucking and rocking in that chair. Our breathing became frenzied, and he made grunts that no decent Santa would make as I rode him like the naughty Mrs. Claus I was. The fabric of his costume had slipped between us and grated against my clit in the most pleasant of ways, and as Nick yanked me against him, I felt the pleasure coming over me faster than a midnight sleigh ride around the world.
“Santa!” I cried, jerking against him. The orgasm rolled over me hard and I buried my head against the shoulder of his costume, biting at the fabric as I came. I kept thrusting over him, my mind numb as I trembled around him, his fingers clawing at my ass when he arched and slammed me back down.
“Fuck!” Nick drove into me with one final thrust, and then the two of us huddled around his belly in a panting stupor. Neither of us spoke as the swing of the chair settled to a halt.
It took a good minute for us to come to our senses. I leaned back and stared over him, then wiped the sweat off his hairline. Nick’s face was bright red, but that was to be expected having fucked in a Santa costume. His hat and wig dangled precariously and exposed his dark brown hair beneath, and I couldn’t help but grin.
“Wow,” was all I mustered.
“Wow is accurate,” Nick said.
Slowly, I climbed out of his lap. My limbs were sore from the awkward position on the chair, but every other part of me felt phenomenal. I admired him as I stood before him—his hat cockeyed, his red jacket wet with our sweat, and his withered shaft poking out from the crotch of his Santa pants—and then I adjusted my hat.
“So what’s it like playing Santa?”
“Far better than I expected. Especially with such a hot Mrs. Claus.”
“Well, Merry Christmas!” I said.
He grabbed my hand and drew me closer, his arms as tight as they could be around my waist with the girth of his belly between us. He covered my chest in kisses, then slid his hands over my ass.
“As far as I can tell, Christmas isn’t over.”
“No?” I asked. I gave him a quick kiss, and when I stood again, he crept his hands under my skirt and grasped the waistband of my fishnets and panties. I straightened his hat on his head while he eased the fabric down over my hips, my breath catching in my throat.
“Nope. I haven’t unwrapped all the presents yet.”
I giggled as he dipped beneath my skirt, the tip of his Santa hat all I could see peeking out from beneath the hem. His tongue slid over my swollen folds when he slipped a finger inside me, and I gripped the back of his head with a giddy smile.
I don’t know if Nick will play Santa at our next holiday party, but for this year, I’d certainly gotten everything I asked for.