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Santa, go fuck your elf!


All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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Santa, Go Fuck Your Elf! (m/m, saint/elf)

If you need disclaimers for this one you truly are one sick puppy. :-)

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"Ho Ho Holy Shit!" the fat man moaned, gingerly cupping his swollen and
tender testicles through the plush red cloth. "Santa's got one hell of a
case of blue balls!"

"That'll happen at the North Pole, Boss," said Leonardo, barely pausing in
his duties as Head Helper. "It's too damn cold up here to pee outdoors."

Santa slapped the elf upside the head. "I didn't, you little moron.
Santa hasn't had any in almost two hundred years, and I'm getting to where
the crack of dawn gets me excited."

"What about Mrs. Claus?" asked the bewildered elf. "She hasn't put out in
two hundred years?"

Santa grimmaced at the very thought of his wife. "The last time she was
in the mood was during the Jefferson administration. You know those North
Pole women..."

"Yeah," agreed the elf sadly. "Frigid."

"Besides," Santa continued, "she's off on another one of her liberal
causes, anyway. 'Save The Snow' or some fuckin' thing."

Another wave of nausea gripped the formerly jolly old man and he held his
breath until it passed. "Well, I gotta do something real soon. It's
almost Christmas Eve. I don't have time for this shit now."

"Well," Leonardo began hesitantly. "You could always...you know..." he
said, making a jerking motion with his fist and grinning with a blush.

"What are you talking about?" demanded the short-tempered saint.

"You know, run off a batch by hand."

Santa stroked his beard. "I don't quite follow you."

"How can I put this in terms you'll understand?" Leonardo said. "Polish
the old ornament?"

"No, still don't get it."

"Rub the reindeer?"

Santa shook his head.

"Tug the tinsel? Churn the egg nog? Yank the Yule log?"

Santa looked at the elf uncomprehendingly.

"Beat your fuckin' meat, man!" the elf exploded. "I'm talkin' about
jerkin' off!"

"Oh, Christ," Santa laughed. "I haven't done that since junior high."

"Yeah, right," the elf muttered under his breath. "And I don't wear curly
little green shoes."

"Well," Santa said finally, "that's one solution, I guess, but I'd really
rather have something more satisfying. It's been centuries, you know."
The fat man leaned back resignedly in his swivel chair and sighed deeply.
"Why exactly don't we have any female elves in the workshop?"

"How the hell do I know?" Leonardo shrugged. "I don't claim to have all
the answers. I'm not Newt Gingrich."

"But how do you get little elves?"

"We're all little elves."

"No, I mean young elves."

"Never seen one, myself," Leonardo said. "As far as I know we just appear
by magic, fully grown, if you can call it that."

Santa eyed the elf appraisingly. "You are kinda cute little guys though,
aren't you?"

"What are you getting at, Santa?" the elf asked suspiciously.

"How old are you anyway, Leonardo?"

"Four hundred and twelve next June," the elf replied.

Santa nudged the elf in the ribs with an elbow. "So you've been around,
you're an elf of the world. You have needs. What do you guys do, you know,
when the pressure builds up?"

Leonardo looked away, saying, "I don't know what you mean."

"C'mon," Santa pressed. "I've heard the giggling coming from the
dormitory at night. I know something's going on in there."

"We're elves," Leonardo declared sharply. "You're thinking of faries."

"Look, Leonardo," Santa said sternly, "there's a lot of elves in this
workshop who'd give their left nut to be my Head Helper. If you don't
want the job..."

"This is sexual harrassment!" the elf complained.

"So sue me," Santa said. "Now give!"

"Well," the elf began uncertainly, the pointed tips of his ears turning
crimson, "there are some elves...You know I'm betraying a centuries-old
secret here?"

"Spill it, Shorty!" the fat man demanded.

"OK, so elves go both ways! Are you happy now?"

"I knew it!" the old man cried. "I knew you were horny little fuckers!"

"You know, for a guy called Father Christmas you're kind of an asshole."

Santa grinned at the elf in triumph. "And you're pretty cute for a guy
named after a Ninja Turtle." The fat man patted his knee. "Why don't you
hop up here and tell Santa what you want for Christmas?"

Leonardo hung back. "I think hopping up there is what YOU want for
Christmas."

Santa held out his arms, beckoning the elf closer. "C'mon, Leonardo.
Don't be shy. I won't bite...unless you want me to."

Slowly, his face reddening, the elf inched closer to the once-again-jolly
Mr. Claus. As soon as he was within reach Santa lifted him bodily and
set him squarely on his lap. The elf squirmed on something prodding him.
"Is that the North Pole in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"

"Ho Ho Ho!" Santa laughed in genuine merriment. "Boy, Leonardo, am I glad
to see you!"

"You know, Santa," Leonardo interjected, "there are other elves you'd
like much more than me. Like Ernie, for instance. He's a flaming queen
who'll ride you all night long if you give him the chance."

"Who, Keebler?" Santa scoffed. "Nah, I sent that little swish down to
the oak tree on cookie duty. Give me a manly elf if I'm going to have
one."

"Well, there you go!" the elf said. "You wouldn't like me, then. I'm
not very manly at all. Not a hair anywhere except a little tuft right
around the ol' candy cane." By the gleam that suddenly came into Santa's
eye Leonardo knew he had used exactly the wrong argument. After all those
years of kids sitting on his lap, the elf knew Santa wouldn't miss the
opportunity to play out this fantasy. Resigning himself to his fate, he
looked plaintively into Santa's eyes and said softly, "Just take it easy
on me, OK? I'm used to elf cock, not elephant cock!"

Minutes later the crimson pants were around Santa's ankles and a naked,
shivering elf was lowering himself slowly onto the relatively massive
tool. He cried out in pain as it pried him open, and as the thick cock
plowed deeper into his tight rectum he heard a chorus of carolers somewhere
in the distance...

"Oh you better not shout,
You better not cry,
You better not pout,
I'm tellin' you why.
Santa Claus is comin'...in brown."

"He's makin' you strip,
Fucking you twice,
'Cause he found out
Your ass is so nice.
Santa Claus is comin'...in brown."

"He knows that you've been Greekin'
The other elves at night.
He knows that bein' bad is good
If you only do it right.

"So, you better be nice
To good old Saint Nick
And let him give you
Eight inches of dick.
Santa Claus is comin'...
He's glad to be bummin'...
Santa Claus is comin'...in brown."

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My sincere apologies to the entire planet. :-)
Merry Christmas!
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