Date: Sun, 10 Dec 2006 17:00:14 -0800 (PST)
From: James Spaulding <fathercandy@yahoo.com>
Subject: What Santa Knows, part 3

The following story is a piece of fiction.  If suggestions of incest offend
you please do not read If you enjoyed this story, feel free to contact me
at fathercandy@yahoo.com.  There is more to come...

What Santa Knows, part 3

Of course I obeyed Santa.  As turned on as I had been.  As turned on as I
still was.  I couldn't cum.  I couldn't shoot a load until Santa told me to
shoot.  Why?  Call it an odd compulsion.  And though it was the first such
compulsion, I witnessed many more that December.  Santa had a power to
persuade.  He got his way.  And, for some reason, giving in to Santa's
demands made sense and -- in the end -- made everybody happy.

As patient as I was, I still suffered.  I spent far too much time thinking
about Santa.  Too much time remembering his cock as he pissed in my mouth.
Too much time remembering the taste of his cum.  Just as Santa had
threatened, I was obsessed.  And my obsession was my torture.  In the
Santa's world, I had been a bad boy, and I needed to be punished.

I was OK with the punishment as long as it didn't last too long.

Of course, work took on a whole new meaning.  I put on my tights and
changed into my elf suit.  Always watching Santa as he changed into his
Santa suit.  Still transfixed by his union suit.  Still utterly amazed by
the size of the cock the red material outlined.  And I was willing to drop
to my knees at any moment.  Fuck.  I was ready to do anything Santa wanted
at any moment.

As it was, I waited.  Corralled the five year olds.  Made sure they had
their moment with Santa.  Changed in and out of my green tights.  And
watched Santa change in and out of his Santa suit.  Occasionally he would
look at me looking at him.  His response?  A deep chuckle.  That's it.
That's all I got.  And still my hand stayed away from my cock.  No matter
how blue my balls, I had to prove I was a good boy.

And then we met a really bad boy...

My weekend began Sunday evening.  Santa was off on Monday and Tuesday, so
we closed Santa's station for two days, seating our last kid around 5:00
Sunday evening, an hour before the mall's "Extended Holiday Hours" ended.
On our way to the locker room -- where I once again hoped to see an end to
my forced abstinence -- we walked past the mall's security office.  Santa
paused.  Pondered for a moment.  And opened the door.  I followed; I was
his little helper after all.

Jose, the Sunday security guard, was talking on the phone.  Before him sat
some high school kid, no more than 16.  The kid was visibly upset.  Jose,
on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself.  We had walked in as Jose
was ending his conversation.  Jose hung up.  And looked at Santa.

"Look what I got here, Santa.  This is some bad boy.  I found him
masturbating in the restroom closest to the food court.  I brought him here
and called his dad."

The kid was silent, but I could tell he was visibly upset.  Of course, I'd
be upset, too.  I knew guys cruised the bathroom closest to the food court.
I just never had the guts to do it myself.  I admired the kid's guts.  But
felt bad for him.  What sort of explanation would he give to his dad?

'Jose, you got plenty of work to do.  Why don't you let me take care of
this.  I'll deal with the boy and his dad.  You got enough to do just
closing up the mall."

"Well..."

"No need to hesitate, Jose.  I know what I'm doing."

Jose paused.  He looked at Santa.  Santa looked at him.  Santa winked. Jose
broke his stare and walked toward the door.

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure.  Besides.  Bad boys are my specialty."

I could only hope Santa was speaking euphemistically.  Maybe this bad boy
was going to get punished like I was punished.  Maybe Santa would piss all
over him.  Make the boy watch him as he stroked his huge cock.  Make the
boy watch as he shot his load.  I hoped I would be present for the
punishment.

Jose paused.  Laughed a little.  "That they are, Santa.  That they are."

After Jose left, Santa looked at the kid.  The kid looked at the floor.

"So Robert, what do you think your dad is going to do when he finds out
you've been cruising the bathroom?"

The kid -- Robert -- looked at Santa.  "How do you...How do you know my name?"

"Robert Shackleton."  Santa spoke his name slowly, as though he were
pulling it from the air, one syllable at a time.  "I'm Santa.  I know these
things.  I even have a pretty good idea as to how your dad is going to
react to your indiscretions."

"Yeah, so do I.  He's going to kill me."

Santa laughed.  And then fell silent.

In the silence I had a chance to look at Robert.  He was a little younger
than me.  Tall.  Blond.  He looked scholarly -- his short hair and wire
rimmed glasses suggested as much.  He was wearing a sweater and khakis; he
could have come from Sunday school.

After a few moments, Santa reached for his red bag.  A bag that never left
his side.  He dug around for a moment, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

"Here we go boys.  This should do the trick."  He reached for some plastic
water glasses and began to fill them.

"Robert, you need something to calm your nerves.  And Derek" -- Santa looked
at me -- "You're going to need to do the same thing by the time this is
over.  So drink, boys, drink.  Underage drinking laws be damned."

He gave Robert a glass.  Robert swallowed.  He coughed.  I couldn't laugh.
I did the same thing after my first sip.

Santa poured himself a much larger drink.  Raised his glass and made a
toast.  "To Robert's indiscretion and to his father's reaction."

I couldn't help but feel bad for Robert.  Santa seemed an insensitive
asshole.  But I drank.  So did Robert.  This time it went down more
smoothly.

We filled our glasses once more before Robert's father made his way to the
office.  He knocked.  Santa told him to come in.

Like Robert, Mr. Shackleton was blond, tall, and dressed in a sweater and
khakis.  He must have been in his early fifties.  Attractive.  In a Sunday
school teacher way.  For some reason, both of these guys made me think of
church.  I could tell he was angry, embarrassed, and was doing his best to
keep his cool.

He looked at Santa.  "Mr. Mendez?"

"No.  Jose had to complete his rounds.  I'm Santa."

"Santa?"

"Yep, Santa."

"Just Santa?'

"Just Santa.  And your are Bob Shackleton."

Santa held out his hand.  "Nice to meet you -- again."

"Again."

"Oh.  I have a good memory Bob."

I could tell that Mr. Shackleton was just as confused as I was.  But my
alcohol induced buzz alleviated some of that confusion.  I figured I was
along for some sort of ride.  What that ride included was unclear.

"Sit down, Mr. Shackleton.  Have a drink."

"A drink?"

"Bob, we all need to calm down.  We all need to collect ourselves and then
we need to get down to business.  Besides, the boys are one ahead of you."

"You gave Robert alcohol? What the hell."

"Alcohol seems the least of Robert's concerns.  Or yours."

I guess that silenced Mr. Shackleton.  He took a glass from Santa and
drained the glass.  Santa refilled.

He looked at us.  Raised the bottle. "Boys?"

We passed.

"To business.  Mr. Shackleton, as Jose has already told you, Robert was
caught masturbating at the urinal in a notoriously active bathroom.  A
bathroom frequented by the sort of men who would like nothing more than to
suck your son's cock.  I assume your son enjoys returning the favor."

Robert looked at the floor.  Mr. Shackleton looked at Santa.  Then at
Robert.  Santa's speech left him speechless.  Of course, I have no idea
what he was supposed to say.  Besides, I was lost in my own reverie.
Santa's graphic description had given me a boner.  Then again, pretty much
everything Santa said gave me a boner.  I guess that was one of the terms
of my punishment.

"The way I see it, Bob.  You can punish Robert.  Take away his allowance.
Ground him for a month or two.  Send him to counseling.  Pray for his soul.
All that foolish stuff.  Or you can be honest."

Mr. Shackleton looked at Santa.  "Honest?"

"Honest, Bob."

Bob -- Mr. Shackleton -- took another swallow of his whiskey, finished his
glass, and reached for Santa's bottle.

"Help yourself.  Bob.  Consider it a truth serum,"

I looked at Robert.  He was no longer looking at the floor.  His glance
moved from Santa to his dad to Santa to his dad.  I found myself doing the
same thing.  What was going on?

Santa looked at Robert.  "You see, Robert.  Your father has something to
tell you."

Mr. Shackleton looked as though he was completely unable to speak.
Whatever he had to tell, wasn't being told.

"Take another drink, Bob.  Loosen up.  I'll start the story."

Bob followed Santa's orders.

"Robert, you got a big cock, don't you?"

Robert looked at Santa.  But he was in no mood to answer such a question.

"Your dad's got a nice dick, too.  I've watched him use it."  Santa turned
to Mr.  Shackleton.  "When was the last time, Bob?"

Like his son, Mr. Shackleton failed to answer Santa's questions.

Santa shook his head.  "What is the matter with the big dicked men of the
Shackleton family?  This calls for some intercession"

Then Santa looked at me.  "Derek, take out your cock.  I'm sure the boner
in your tights is mighty uncomfortable.  And I have a feeling it will break
the ice in a way the whiskey won't."

It was uncomfortable and it did break the ice.  Of course I listened to
Santa. I pulled down my Christmas red shorts, put my hand in the waste band
of my Christmas green tights, and released my cock.  I was afraid to stroke
it, afraid I would cum, afraid I would betray Santa's orders.

"See that Robert?  See that Bob?  That is a nice piece of meet.  For all I
can tell, he might as well be a relative."  Santa looked at me.  "Your not
a Shackleton are you, Derek?"  He laughed.  "Naw, you got your own genetic
gifts."

Santa stood up.  He began to unbutton his Santa suit.  I watched.  As did
Mr. Shackleton and his son.  We watched as Santa undressed.  He removed his
jacket and began to unbutton his union suit.  Once again, his hairy chest
exploded from his long underwear.  His hand moved to the zipper of his
pants, He unzipped, he unbuttoned, and his pants fell to his ankles.
Santa's cock was fully erect.  Long.  Thick.  He continued to unbotton his
union suit, finally releasing his erection, an erection glistening with
precum.

By now every member of his audience was stroking his cock.  The
Shackleton's were still clothed.  But their "big dickedness" was evident
through the fabric of their khakis.

Santa sat down.  "Bob, help me take these boots off."

Mr. Shackleton rose, knelt before Santa, and began to tug on Santa's boots.
His work was shoddy.  He was transfixed by Santa's penis.  His boot tugging
left something to be desired.

"You like this, Bob, don't you?  It's been a while, but you never forget,
do you?"  Santa put his hand on Mr. Shackleton's head and guided his mouth
to his erection.  Without any hesitation, Mr. Shackleton began sucking
Santa's cock.  It should have been difficult.  Santa was huge.  At least
ten inches in length.  And very thick.  But after a few moments,
Mr. Shackleton was deep throating Santa's cock, taking it all in his mouth.
Santa kept his hand on Mr. Shackelton's head and turned to Robert

"Would you like to join him, Boy?"

Robert got up and knelt before Santa. Mr. Shackleton looked at Robert,
removed his mouth from Santa's cock, and guided the cock to his son's
mouth.  Like his father, Robert had no problem taking all of Santa.  As
Robert sucked, his father moved to Santa's balls, burying himself in
Santa's hairy crotch.

"Now, Bob.  Look at me."  Bob looked.  I want you to take off your clothes.
And as you do that, I want you to watch your son pleasure Santa.  Just
watch.  You're going to have your turn."

I watched Mr. Shackleton as he undressed.  He removed his sweater, his
shirt, his t-shirt, revealing a nicely defined hairy chest.  He sat on
Jose's desk to remove his shoes, and then he removed his pants.  He stood
in his boxer short, his erection evident,

"Out of the shorts, Bob."

Bob obeyed.

Compared to Santa's penis, Mr. Shackleton's seemed average.  That said, it
was impressive, beautiful, perfectly proportioned.

"Come here, Bob."

Mr. Shackleton knelt before Santa.

"I want you and your son to share my cock."

Mr. Shackleton hesitated.  His son stopped sucking Santa's cock, and looked
at his father.  After a moment, he guided it towards his father's mouth.
His father's lips surrounded the head of Santa's cock.  Robert watched.
Mr. Shackleton took Santa's cock from his lips and began to lick that
shaft.  His son followed.  They were now sharing Santa's erection, sharing
his pre-cum, and sharing each other's spit,

"Kiss your father, Robert."  Robert and his father kissed.  The tongues
that had shared Santa's cock now shared each other's mouth.  They kissed
greedily.  As intent and passionate as they had been when they sucked
Santa's cock.

After a few moments, Santa told Robert to get out of his clothes.  We all
watched as Robert stripped.  Unlike his father, however, there was no
hesitation.  He stepped out of his boxer shorts quickly and returned to his
father and Santa.

Whereas his father was hairy, Robert was relatively hairless, but for a
trail of dark blond hair that meandered from his navel to his crotch.  He
did not have an athletic build, but -- again, like his father -- he was solid
and firm.  As for his cock, it was larger than his fathers -- a bit longer
and quite a bit thicker. A cock to be noticed at the urinal.

"Bob, you know what you want to do."

And he did.  Mr. Shackleton moved to his knees and his mouth moved to his
son's erection.  No hesitation.  The truth serum had done its job.  Father
and son were finally honest, honest in expressing the most basic of needs.
They wanted each other.

I watched as Mr. Shackleton sucked his son's cock.  Spit drooled from his
mouth.  His hands moved to his son's hairless ass.  He fingered his son's
hole.

"Go for it, Bob.  Go for it.  He wants it."

Mr. Shackleton stopped sucking his son's cock long enough to spit on his
fingers.  They returned to his son's asshole and his mouth returned to his
son's cock.  As his father worked his fingers into his hole, Robert wiggled
in ecstasy.  His father added a third finger, and Robert wiggled more.

"Looks like your son is a bottom, Bob.  Why don't you open him wide."

Mr. Shackleton stood up.  Robert turned around, his ass waiting for his
father.  Mr.  Shackleton spat on his fingers some more, lubing his son's
hole, stretching it in preparation.  He spat on his cock.

"I don't have a condom, Robby."

"Fuck the condom, Dad.  Just fuck me."

And without any more foreplay, Mr. Shackleton began to pierce his son's
hole.  It was slow going.  Robert was tight.

"Are you a virgin, Robby."

"Yes...Sir."

"If this...hurts...to much, I'll..."

"Don't stop, Dad.  Don't stop. Please."

His father listened to his plea.  Slowly more and more of his cock
disappeared into his son's ass.  Robert grimaced.  His pain was evident.
But he never asked his father to go easy.  He grit his teeth, and took his
dad's inches.

Once all of his cock was inside his son, Mr. Shackleton paused.  "I'm going
to start to fuck you, now."

His hips began to move, and his cock moved with them.  His first thrusts
were slow.  Almost gentle.  But he was soon lost, and he pounded his son's
ass something fierce.  Robert was ridden hard.  His head hit the desk.  His
father's fucking intensified, and the desk began to bang the wall.

"I wish you could see my cock, Robby.  See...how fucking...nice it looks going
in and out of your ass."

I could see how nice it looked.  Thick.  Long.  The father's balls slamming
against the son's ass.  The son submitting to his father's weight, his
father's lusts, his father's cock.

Mr. Shackleton tensed.  "Oh, Robby.  I'm going...to...cum...I'm shooting...I'm
shooting deep...inside you..." His orgasm was loud.  His pleasure complete.  As
was his son's.

Mr. Shackleton pulled his cock from his son's ass.  He pulled Robert up,
and knelt before him.

"Baby, Daddy needs to taste you."  And with those words, Mr. Shackleton's
mouth returned to his son's cock.  It only took a moment and Robert began
to groan with his own orgasm.  He filled his father's mouth, cum spilled
from his father's lips. But his father kept sucking.  His father kept
swallowing.  Even after the orgasm was complete, Mr. Shackleton continued
to kneel, continued to service his son.  Robert never lost his erection.

"Oh...Dad..I think...I'm...going to cum...again."  And with those words, Robert
Shackleton had another orgasm and filled his father's mouth once more with
his semen.  Needless to say, Mr. Shackleton swallowed the second load as
eagerly as he swallowed the first.

Father and son knelt together, their tongues once again exploring each
other.  Both were drenched in sweat.  Both had been filled by the other's
cum.  And they were happy.

"Looks like those big dicked Shackleton men just need a little push once in
a while.  Don't they, Derek?"

I didn't have a whole lot to say.  I still sat there, boner in hand.
Needing to ejaculate.  But holding back because Santa had told me to hold
back.  Frustration.  Anger.  Lust.  An odd sort of ecstasy.  I obeyed.

"Derek, you must be ready to shoot a load."

Was it a question?.  A comment?

"The Reverend Shackleton enjoys a good fuck.  Don't you Bob?"

Reverend Shackleton was silent.  His cock, however, moved in response; his
semi-erect penis became a fully erect cock.  He did enjoy a good fuck.  His
cock told me as much.

"Bend over, Bob.  The boy hasn't had an orgasm in damn near a week.  He
will fill you in ways you haven't been filled."

Santa turned to me.  "You won't disappoint me, boy?"

I grunted some sort of assent, wanting only to fuck the reverend, wanting
only to cum.

Santa walked towards me, spat into his hand, and used his spit to lube my
cock.  His huge hand surrounded my cock.  As thick as it was, Santa's large
hands easily enfolded my dick.  Santa removed his hand from my cock, spat
in it again, and this time used his fingers and his spit to prepare the
Reverend Mr. Shackleton for my penetration.  I watched as Santa stretched
his hole, I watched as Santa used more spit, and I watched as the Reverend
responded, a gasp, a groan, as Santa's thick fingers probed.

"I think he's ready, Derek."  I walked towards Mr. Shackleton.  Santa
stopped me, spat once more, and applied his spit to my cock.  "Can't be too
slick, can you Boy? "  He winked.  "Get to it."

I got to it.  Mr. Shackleton was ready.  My right hand held my cock as it
moved to Mr.  Shackleton's hole.  I was so hard, so ready, that the
Reverend's sphincter proved a poor obstacle.  I moved my inches into him.
He accepted.  And his son moved closer, watching as his father's hairy ass
swallowed my erection.  Five inches.  Six inches.  Soon all seven inches --
thick inches -- were inside the Reverend.  I began to move my hips, my cock
began to slide in and out.


"Dad, he's fucking you."  Robert was dumbstruck.  The son watched as the
father was fucked, surely thinking that something had shifted in the
universe.  The father was violated, eager for the violation, and the son
watched, his own cock hard, once again.

"Fuck my mouth, Robby.  Let me swallow you."  No more urging was
needed. Robert moved to his father's mouth and his father's lips were soon
working their way down his shaft.

As Robert neared his third orgasm of the night, I was close to my first in
a week.  My hands moved to Mr. Shackleton's ass.  I pulled him towards me
with each thrust.  My fucking grew more intense, more aggressive, my cock
moved in and out of the Reverend's hole.  And his son's cock once again
moved in and out of his mouth.  I watched the incest.  I fucked.  And I
shot my load.

Mr. Shackleton removed his mouth from his son's cock.  "He's cumming inside
me Robby ... I can feel him shoot.  He's filling my guts with his cum.
Fuck..." As the father came so to did the son; Robert shot his load on his
father face.  Once more, Mr.  Shackleton moved his son's cock to his
mouth. milking the last drops of his semen.  Prolonging his son's third
orgasm of the night.  My first orgasm ended, but my cock felt so nice in
Mr. Shackleton's cum filled hole I hesitated to pull out.

And then Santa spoke.  "You got him loose, Derek?  You think he can take
this?"  Santa was standing before me, his huge erection already slick with
his own spit.

Santa didn't wait for my answer, he grabbed Mr. Shackleton roughly, and
turned him onto his back.  "I like to see their face as they take me inside
them. I like to watch their eyes glaze over with pleasure as they feel me."

Mr. Shackleton's legs were in the air.  He was ready.  Willing.  And Santa
didn't hesitate.  Robert and I watched as Mr. Shackleton's ass took Santa's
cock.  We watched as Santa began to fuck, grinding his hips in a circular
motion, pulling his cock out of Mr.  Shackleton's ass only to pierce it
once more.  We watched Santa's thickness disappear and reappear.  We
watched as Mr. Shackleton's eyes glazed over, as he groaned, as he begged
for more.  We watched as Santa gave him more, fucking him so hard that Mr.
Shackleton's head was hitting the wall.  Whatever pleasure he was receiving
was a pleasure found in pain.  A hole stretched beyond belief, his head
hitting the wall with each of Santa's thrusts.

"Fuck..." And all three of us watched as Santa pulled his cock out of
Reverend Shackleton's ass and began his orgasm.  Santa came and came.  His
load covered Mr.  Shackleton from his chin to his navel.

As Santa caught his breath, he looked at me and Robert, full erections in
hand, once again.  "Come on boys, shoot all over the Reverend.  Come on."

All it took was a little urging and Robert and I shared more cum, this time
adding to the load that already covered Mr. Shackleton's chest.

"Nice.  Very nice."  And we watched as Santa began to lick Mr. Shackleton's
chest clean.  Eating his own cum.  Eating Robert's cum.  Eating my cum.
Cum stuck to his beard.  But his tongue and fingers never stopped in their
feeding frenzy.

He stood up.  His cock poking out in front of him, slick with the cum I had
deposited inside the Reverend.

"Shackletons -- get dressed and go home."

Santa and I watched as father and son dressed themselves.  I would have
expected embarrassment or confusion, but Robert and his father seemed at
ease.  It seemed as though each orgasm paved the way for real intimacy.
Watching them, the way the handed each other the clothing that had been
removed in such haste, watching as they laughed when they confused khakis,
watching as they paused for a deep kiss, I knew that the Reverend
Shackleton and his son were happy.  I knew they had received what they
wanted.  Santa came through.

They left the office.  Santa looked at me.  Disheveled. His beard glazed
with cum. Eyes twinkling.

"Derek, my young friend, you were good.  Quite the little helper.  Why
don't you sit on my lap for a moment and tell me what you really want for
Christmas."

I sat.  I made my Christmas request.

Santa laughed.  Slapped my ass.  "I'll see what I can do, Derek.  I'll see
what I can do..."