VII.

Santa’s mouth burned. His lips, his tongue, hell, even his teeth felt like they were on fire. What the hell did she do to him? All he could remember was being shoved down face-first into her crotch, forced to suck and lick his way through three hours of warm, wet suffocation. He had only the slightest recollection of something else.

Sugarplums?

There was a flood of musky peppermint goo that left him gagging and gasping.

He looked around but saw nothing in the darkness. It was cold but dry so he wasn’t out in the snow. Was he in a bed? Santa moved his arms around, hoping to feel expensive Egyptian cotton, but instead found himself engulfed in what felt like taffy.

What the hell is going on?

Though he had ceased to believe in the god of his fathers, Santa thought maybe the woman was some sort of avenging angel that had come down to punish him for his past infidelities. But that didn’t make sense. Would an angel force a sinner to pleasure her?

Maybe. Santa hated having to speculate. He valued simplicity and hated when shit got complicated.

A clip-clop sound echoed around him. The sound was familiar.

What is that?

Santa racked his brain trying to identify the sound. First he thought it might be the reins of the reindeer but that was more of a slap-slap sound, not a clip-clop. Then he thought it might be horse hooves but that didn’t seem right. As the clip-clop sound got louder and louder, he finally identified it.

High heels.

The clip-clop sound ceased and was followed by a click. Bright lights shocked Santa and he found himself looking at the woman’s hips, tightly hugged by her business suit. “What did you do to me?” he said.

The woman crouched down so she was face to face with him. “I made you eat my pussy. Is your memory that bad?” Santa shook his head and looked around. He was lying on a bed made of a dark red substance that did resemble the taffy it felt like. It didn’t look edible, though. There was an odd metallic look to it as if it were robot puke. “Why?” he said.

She laughed. “Why did I make you eat my pussy? Oh my, that’s a simple question. It’s because I wanted my pussy eaten. I wanted to have an orgasm. What other reason would there be? You think maybe I thought the Easter Bunny lived inside my twat and wanted you to speak to him?”

“Who are you?” Santa said, intentionally ignoring her question. If he was going to get some answers, he had to be stern.

“Well, that’s a tough one, dear oh dear, as people call me

different things depending on............ ” She rolled her eyes.

“Well, whatever. You can call me Kay.”

When Santa had asked the question, he hadn’t really wanted to know her name as much as what the fuck she was doing to him. “What now?”

Kay laughed. “You want to leave, dearie? Really? Just think about that. Examine your feelings for five minutes and then I’ll come back and you tell me if you really want to leave. Okay?”

With more clip-clopping, Kay left the room, shutting the lights off as she did. Santa was left in the dark again. This time, however, he had something to think about. Did he really consider his situation a negative one? After all, he wasn’t looking forward to finishing his Christmas route. This was a perfect excuse. He’d been fucking abducted. Who could blame him for not delivering the last batch of toys?

But was it really a kidnapping if he was being given the choice to leave?

Anyway, his wife wouldn’t understand. She’d probably think he staged the whole thing just to get laid.

But there was one big problem. Despite her beauty, sex appeal, and those glorious, glorious breasts, this Kay woman seemed dangerous. Santa wasn’t going to trust that she wasn’t going to hurt him. Magnificent cleavage aside, she could very well be the death of him.

His lips were still burning from Kay’s peppermint snatch juice and he wondered if it had been poisoned. Maybe that was the plan. She’d let him take five minutes to think about staying while the poison coursed through his body, getting him closer and closer to death by cunnilingus.

Santa decided he’d take his chances with Kay. He still loved his wife Diana but he just couldn’t see himself walking away from this new woman without experiencing something worse.

If that meant Diana divorcing him, then he’d have to take that chance.