All I Want for Christmas ...

By Stephen Scott

Note: If you enjoy this story, please contact me at

A no-prize if you recognize that name!

"Well, well, Bobby" the bearded man in my living room chuckled.

I was looking up at him in shock He was dressed completely in red trimmed with white, his black boots shiny, a cap set jauntily on his head. His white beard flowed luxuriously down his front, and he had a knowing smile on his ruddy face, his eyebrow cocked at the sight before him.

I was on my knees, my trousers and shorts around my ankles. There was a shiny magazine before me on the floor, and my rigid cock was in my hand.

I was jacking off to porno, and Santa had caught me with ... well, my pants down!

"Um--I--uh--" I stammered. My cock went immediately limp, and I jumped up, my face red with shame, pulling my pants up hurriedly. My eyes were aimed at the floor.

He chuckled again, a deep, rolling, merry laugh.

"Look at me, Bobby," he commanded. His voice was surprisingly gentle, but there was a firmness under its soft quality that clearly brooked no disobedience.

I raised my eyes slowly, and as they traveled up his form, I was almost sure I saw a large bulge at his crotch, but I didn't dare look at it long enough to be sure.

When my eyes looked into his, I noticed that they glinted with merriment.

"Don't you know it's midnight," he chided. "On Christmas Eve! You should be asleep, not ..." he chuckled again, "... enjoying your candy cane!"

I couldn't understand this. I wasn't a kid. I hadn't believed in Santa Claus since I was eight!

Yet here he was, in my living room, bag of presents at his feet. I don't have a chimney, so I couldn't figure out how he'd gotten in.

He sat on my sofa and regarded me slyly.

"I thought you'd been a good boy this year, Bobby," he said, eyes gleaming. "I guess you're really a bad boy. Tsk-tsk."

"I'm not, Santa. Not really," I retorted, feeling silly for believing he was actually there. My face was still red from the embarrassment of him finding me with my dick in my hand.

"I'll be the judge of that, my lad," he chuckled. "Now, hand me that magazine you were so interested in a minute ago."

My face went scarlet. I picked up the book with trembling fingers.

It was a spanking mag, its glossy pages filled with color pics of young guys naked from the waist down, receiving serious, sexy corporal punishment from older men.

My face now a deep scarlet, I handed it to him.

He took it in his mittened hand without a word and looked at the cover. He glanced up at me, one eyebrow raised.

Opening it, he began to thumb through the pages, emitting small "Hmm"s and "I see"s as he did so. When he finished, he sat up, fingering his beard thoughtfully.

"Come sit here by me," he said.

Somehow my rubbery legs carried me to the sofa and I sat, keeping a respectful distance.

He handed me the magazine.

"My," he sighed, "but boys have changed since my day. They used to hate getting spanked--avoided it like the Plague. Now they think about it while they pull their randy young puds. Interesting. Most interesting."

I said nothing, but through my shame I could feel my cock beginning to stir again. Damn it! This is Santa Claus I'm getting hard in front of!

But I couldn't help it. Just talking about spanking got me going.

He rubbed at his beard.

"Now, you're basically a good lad, Bobby," he mused. "I've been watching you all year, and I know."

Now my face really burned. He'd seen me?

"Oh, you do enjoy some solitary exploration from time to time. In fact," he winked conspiratorially, "quite a lot of it. But Santa doesn't think that's unusual, or bad. All young men masturbate. Santa used to do it quite a lot himself before he met Mrs. Claus."

Shaking the memory, he returned his gaze to me.

"And you're a healthy young man with energy and healthy desires. Santa knows about the playmates you've enjoyed during the year. And that's no problem, son, believe me." He leaned toward me and whispered, smiling, "He even enjoyed the occasional night with an elf or two. Still does. Mrs. Claus doesn't mind. She knows an old man likes to chase young tail. And with all those cute, strapping elves around!" He sighed, picturing something in his mind. "Oh, that warm reindeer grease feels mighty nice in a young elf-boy's bottom of a cold Arctic night."

His face looked thoughtful again.

"But spanking! Bobby, this old man just doesn't get it."

I looked down at my feet, then into his face. Time to be bold, I told myself.

"I'm not sure I get it myself, Santa," I confessed. "But it's something I've thought about since I was 12 or 13."

"What is it that excites you about this, my boy? After all," he said with a knowing look, "Santa knows you've never actually done it."

I was stunned to find myself relaxing as I filled the old guy in on my fantasies.

"Well, Santa," I began, acutely aware of how horny the conversation was making me, "The fantasy ... it's just ... exciting. Getting caught being naughty. Being lowered over a hot man's lap. Feeling his crotch against your own, the hardness as your cocks press together. Then the slight, pleasurable pain as he uses his hand to smack your butt. The anticipation, the waiting, to see when he's going to pull down your pants and whack you over your under shorts. Then the thrill when he lowers your briefs and makes contact with your bare bottom. Writhing on his lap, your cock grinding into him, your bare buttcheeks spread open and quivering. The electricity of his hand hitting your ass." I paused, thinking it was an inappropriate word to say in front of him. "Sorry, Santa."

"That's all right, Bobby," he said, eyes twinkling. "An ass is an ass, after all. Continue."

"Well--just--you know--the sensuality and intimacy of the whole thing. And then he reaches beneath you to grab your hard cock ..." I swallowed. "And then, maybe ..."

"Maybe he takes you, red bottom and all?" he prompted.

I nodded my head.

"Yes," he murmured. I thought his face looked a little flushed. "I suppose ..." He held out his hand. "Let me see that magazine again, my boy."

I handed it back. He opened a page, and pointed to the image there. I scooted closer, leaning against him slightly. He felt warm and safe.

The pictures were mostly of different young guys, but arranged so they almost told a story. I was pretty sure the photo he was looking at came from some movie--a foreign film, probably. It was of a young boy, lying belly-down on his bed. A masculine arm reached into the frame, tugging the boy's white cotton shorts down and revealing his impossibly, erotically round bottom. (Yeah--had to be European. No American movie would dare show an under-aged kid's naked butt.) The boy was looking up at the man, his cute young face a mask of worry.

My breath caught. A little moan escaped me.

"That's how it starts--my fantasy, I mean. The Daddy figure telling me I'm about to get a spanking. Pulling down my underpants."

"Um-hmm," Santa murmured. I looked at his lap. This time there was no question about it: Santa was getting a fat hard-on.

He turned the page. Now we were looking at a pair of photos. In the first, a boy stood before a fat, official-looking man in a suit, seated in a chair and was holding a big wooden ruler. High-school principal, maybe.

The youth's blue jeans were around his knees. His hand was saucily pressed against his naked hip, almost as if he was daring the man. He had round, beautiful buns.

In the next photo, the boy was across the man's lap. His disciplinarian held him down by the neck, and his body was tilted up from there, ending in an apex at his naked rear, his shapely legs falling behind. A look of pain and amazement lit his face as the fat ruler in the man's hand made contact with his bare bottom.

Santa pointed at something, perplexed.

"What is that, over the big man's thigh?"

"A towel, Santa," I blushed.

"A towel?"

"Yes, sir. For--you know, to catch the--in case the boy--"

Santa's round face lit up in understanding, and I thought I detected a sharp rise in his otherwise deep voice.

"To protect his trousers from the lad's ejaculate!" he cried. "I see. Very intelligent. Yes ..."

He flipped the pages again. Now we were watching a domestic scene. A man with a wooden paddle held down a boy -- his younger brother, I always thought--by holding his arm to the side. The boy was bent over the mattress of his bed, his blue briefs gathered just below his naked butt. His genitals were hidden, but they way there were pressed against the mattress, I was sure the kid was hard.

The man was dressed in casual fatigues: the boy's brother was home on leave from the military. He was punishing his younger brother for some infraction. A textbook lay near the teenager's head. Probably got bad grades in math or something.

The youth's tight bubble-butt sported angry red patches high on each cheek; this spanking had been going on a while.

"Self-explanatory," the old man whispered, his breath coming in wheezy gasps. "What next?"

He turned the page.

In the next photo, a boy lay over a man's lap. He was naked, save the white designer briefs bunched up just under the cheeks of his shapely young ass. His hands were bound behind him, tied up with white rags. The boy's crotch was pressed against the man's thigh.

"Hmm," Santa mused. "A little bondage for this bad boy."

The youth had his head turned back, and the man spanking him held a hand over his mouth. His other hand was across the plump foreground cheek of the teenager's fleshy bottom.

In the second picture, the young man's face was turned in profile, his eyes closed in a mix of pain and pleasure. The man's hand was still on his cheek but had probably gone up and come back down again since the first photo had been taken.

"When you look at this, Bobby," the man beside me said softly, "Do you want to be the boy, or have him?"

The kid had an ass you wanted to bury your face in, then fuck `til you were both raw.

"I want to be him while he's getting' his butt tanned," I admitted. "But I want to have him when it's over. I mean," I grinned, all embarrassment gone, "look at that ass, Santa! It's just made for fucking!"

"I agree," Santa replied, huskily. I wondered if any of the young elves he enjoyed had a butt that could compare with this one.

"Here's my favorite," I said eagerly, turning the page.

Another student-principal scene. In this one, the boy was bent over a desk, his pants and shorts around his knees, his hand spread wide to brace himself on the desktop and his thighs wide. A man stood behind him with a paddle in his hand.

"That is the hottest ass in the world, Santa!" I whispered, my index finger tracing its smooth lines. "I've never seen a more beautiful butt."

Santa nodded.

"It's a work of art, all right," he said, his voice thick with wonder.

The boy's backside was more than that--it was a fucking masterpiece. I didn't care if the kid had a face like Ernest Borgnine. That butt was the finest example of male gluteus maximus imaginable.

The cheeks were firm, athletic, rounded like nothing I'd ever seen. They were rose-red across both cheeks, which were alluringly parted.

"I want to kneel behind that butt, Santa, and worship it. I want to shove my face between those buns, knead them with my hands, nip them with my teeth. I want to lick them, bite them, caress them, spank them lightly while I rim his sweet young hole."
Santa's breathing was becoming more and more labored. The lump at his crotch was prodigious.

"Then I want to fuck it. Fuck it long and hard, bent over that damn desk. I want to hear him beg for my cock up his tight hole. If I had a boyfriend with a pair of cheeks on him like that, I'd never let him out of the bed!"

Santa looked at me slyly.

"You want to be him, don't you?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "I sure wish I looked like him."

"But you can't see his face, Bobby."

"Well, you know--I want my body to look like his. My butt, anyway."

Santa gave me an approving look.

"From what I saw earlier, my lad," he chuckled, "you don't have a thing to complain about in that department."

I blushed, pleased and embarrassed at the same time. My cheeks clenched, and I felt a jolt of sensual pressure in my sphincter.

The photo on the opposite page was of a boy lowering onto the lap of the man who was about to spank him. He was naked from the waist down and his firm, pillow-like buttcheeks were parted enticingly.

Across from them sat a tough kid in jeans and a muscle-tee. His arms were folded over his taut belly in a taunting, "Show Me" pose. The spanker was pointing to him, and I imagined he was saying, "Don't look so smug, young man--you`re next!"

Santa turned another page. On it was a photo of three young guys in a locker room. A dark-skinned kid with thick brown hair, dressed only in a singlet, jockstrap and sneakers, stood with his hands pressed high against the lockers, his hips jutting back and his high, tight young bottom raised.

A dark-haired youth, dressed the same as the other boy, had his hand slap against the kid's ass, which was slightly red. Judging from the snarl of pain on the boy's face, he'd just received a strong slap on that hot little rump.

A third guy sat on a bench across from the other two. He had nothing on but a jock. A very hard cock was sticking out from the pouch, and the guy's hand gripped it as he watched the spanking going on in front of him. A bottle of some kind stood next to him on the bench, but whether it contained water or lube, I couldn't tell.

"So," Santa gasped, "What do you think is going on there, Bobby?"

"I think they're all wrestlers. And the kid cost them their match, so they're taking it on his hide. That hot dude on the bench is getting' off on it."

"Anything else?" Santa's voice was choked with sex.

"Yeah," I smiled. "I think the kid's about to get his ass plowed. Once it's nice an' red!"

"By the guy on the bench?"

"Him first, then the other one."

"Gang-bang, eh?" Santa winked.

I giggled, self-consciously.

"You like that, do you?"

I nodded.

"Yeah," I said, my own voice husky with desire. "I think about it sometimes--getting' my butt fucked by two or three guys. Besides," I grinned, "A fresh-spanked butt needs a good fucking."

"I couldn't agree more," the old man said, just before he grabbed me.

I wasn't expecting this, `though I was hoping for it.

Santa was pulling my shirt over my head, his free hand placed palm-down on my crotch. I hoped he wasn't disappointed: I was rock-hard.

The shirt gone, I sat pinned to the couch. I looked into the old man's eyes, pleading.

"Take down your pants, young man," Santa growled. "You are a very, very naughty boy, and you're about to get a good, old-fashioned spanking!"

I stood and hurriedly shucked my pants and briefs, letting them fall to my ankles. My cock leapt up, practically thumping against my belly in its excitement.

As I was pulling down my pants, Santa was removing his mittens, his eyes dancing with erotic delight. Mittens off, his left hand moved to his lap, and he ran his fingers along the shaft of what I could tell me a very large, very erect penis.

Without a word, he pulled me down over his lap. He raised his leg up and my hard-on nestled against it. I shivered.

I lowered my head and upper torso, using my arms to brace myself on the floor. My naked butt was raised, the nearly hairless cheeks quivering in anticipation.

Santa held me by my waist, using his left hand. With his right he rubbed my anxious backside tenderly.

"Yes, Bobby," he crooned, the warmth of his palm sending jolts of erotic pleasure through my bottom. "I think I know what you want for Christmas. And, you're such a naughty young pup, you deserve it!"

His attention was focused on my willing behind.

"Such a sweet, plump young butt," he murmured. "Just asking for it."

The hand stopped caressing and I shut my eyes, knowing the blows were about to begin.


His big, callused hand came down across my upraised cheeks.

He connected with my right cheek, hard. Pain exploded in my bottom, and I cried out.


The air rang out with the blow as he slapped his hand on my left cheek. I gasped.

"Ho, ho, ho!" he laughed in real delight as he began to rain down a rapid series of blows on my defenseless rear. Each belly laugh caused him to jiggle, and he carried my prone body with him.

I moaned and moved about on his lap as he paid relentless attention to my squirming bottom. The spanking blows were lighting sparks of pain and pleasure in my butt, and I found myself pushing my rear up to greet the next blow.

The recoil caused my cock to slid along his leg, creating an almost unbearable erotic friction. It was too bad he hadn't thought to put down a towel--I knew I was leaking pre-cum like a sieve.

As if reading my mind, Santa slipped his hand beneath me and took hold of my aching, rigid cock. His fingers closed on it and he held it gently. My own movements provided the rest: as I reared back to push my butt up and then thrust my hips forward again after his spanking hand landed, my dick slid back and forth in his hand.

I was crying out loudly now, with pain and mounting sexual desire. Santa's fingers slid over my cockhead and I gasped. Feeling the copious amount of warm semen, he rubbed his fingers in it and slid them along my throbbing shaft.

"Santa!" I cried. "Oh, Santa! I'm going to cum!"

The spanking ceased, and he rubbed my bottom gently, admiring the heat that rose from the freshly spanked buns.

"Not yet, you don't, Bobby!" he murmured, pushing me off his lap. "Not `til Santa's had a taste of that hot young ass!"

He rummaged around in his sack, his big hard-on clearly outlined under his red trousers. "I was going to leave this as a surprise for you, but I think it'll come in handy now."

He held up a large bottle. The label read, "Reindeer Grease."

"Get your little red butt over to the sofa, Bobby," he rasped as he undid the top of the bottle.

I lay on my back, my smarting rump raised. Santa kicked off his boots, dropped his trousers, and slipped out of them.

My eyes went wide and I sucked in my breath at the sight of his naked crotch.

Surrounded by a thick thatch of soft, snowy-white pubic hair, his prodigious cock throbbed in the air. It was eight inches long, and as fat as a sausage. He was gonna stick that thing in me?

He globbed a hefty amount of grease on his monster prong and rubbed it in. Then he came toward me.

Spreading my thighs wide, I concentrated on relaxing my asshole. From the size of his dick, this wasn't going to be easy.

Nimble fingers spread grease on my pucker and pushed it in. I threw back my head and moaned as he finger-fucked me. Suddenly I felt a curious tickling on my bunghole. What was he doing back there, anyway? I wondered.

He leaned over me and lifted my legs up over his shoulders. I could feel his strong, hard dick kiss my asshole. I braced myself for the onslaught, and was amazed when his big, fat pole slipped inside without the slightest twinge of pain. In seconds he was completely buried inside me, his bushy white pubic hair resting against my sore buns.

He placed his head near my ear.

"No pain, Bobby," he whispered. "Santa never causes pain." Then he chuckled, and slapped my ass. "Well, most of the time."

The fuck was quick, and intensely pleasurable. (This was a busy man, with little time to spend, and I'd already taken up too much of his night.) As he rammed and thrust his gargantuan prick in and out of my still-tingling rear, his massive cock-head slid deeply up my boy-hole, repeatedly nudging against and massaging my prostate

I was thrashing and groaning under him, my head whipping from side to side as I cried out in ecstasy. The old man puffed and moaned, thrusting like a stallion inside me.

His fuck-motions grew more intense, and I could feel my sap rising. He drew back as far as he could without breaking the bond, then slammed upward, impaling me, going as deep as anyone had ever gone before.

As if his cock was imbued with some magic properties--which it probably was--we both came at the same moment. He was biting my ear and I was grinding my crotch into the cushions.

I came and came and came, my asshole clenching and squeezing his dick repeatedly as he bellowed.

Then it was over. He lay on me briefly, kissed my cheek, and withdrew, his big cock slipping out as swiftly and painlessly as it had gone in.

I stayed where I was, my head spinning, my asshole wet with grease and the old man's jizz, my crotch covered in warm, fresh cum.

Fucked by Santa Claus! What could ever top that?

"I told you that Reindeer Grease was something, didn't I?" Santa chuckled. "I don't really understand how it works, but with a little on your anus you could take a freight train up there and it wouldn't hurt. The elves swear by it." He chuckled again. "And that tickling sensation you felt? Elf dust."

I turned my head, puzzled. He was already dressed and ready to go.

"Elf dust? I've heard of fairy-dust, but ..."

"They're all related. Fairies, pixies, elves. And they all make dust. It's a little like putting a dash of cocaine on the tip of your penis."

I gaped at him. He winked.

"So I hear. Anyway, it heightens the pleasure--for both parties."

He leaned over me, and kissed my mouth.

"Thank you for the lesson, Bobby. I guess I haven't lived as long as I thought. Learn something new every day."

Suddenly I couldn't focus. My eyes swam, my head reeled, and before I could say another word, I passed out.

I woke some time later, unsure of where I was but enjoying a deeply pleasant tingling in my butt. I lay there, head swirling, and my encounter with Santa Claus came back in a rush. I was still dazed from the expert spank, and the incredible fuck.

I shook my head. What had I been drinking tonight?

When I finally had the strength to rise up, I was completely alone. As I reached for my underpants and trousers, I saw my magazine lying on the floor. There was a note on top of it, pinned into place by the bottle of Reindeer Grease.

"Merry Christmas, Bobby!" it read. "I hope Santa's present was everything you wanted."

I smiled to myself. So I hadn't dreamed it!

"I'll see you next year," the note continued. "And when I do, you'd better be wearing nothing but a jockstrap, or I'll tan your sweet hide! And if you ever get to the North Pole ... Ho-ho-ho!"

There was a big "S" under it.

My cock stirred.

There was a P.S. and an arrow at the bottom of the note.

I turned it over.

"On second thought, jockstrap or no jockstrap--I'm gonna tan your hide anyway!"