by Kane Jewell Ruse McCall Anthony McKay Sax Slayer Michael Burke Logan
“You and your own personal Santa Claus, huh?” Randy laughed, trying and failing to keep his eyes on her face. She only then recalled she was dressed in a skimpy baby doll outfit that screamed sensual indulgence. It was one of her best sellers.
Plum licked her lips. “He’s my… er… special treat, you might say.”
Randy looked taken aback and Plum realized he’d never seen her act this giddy. She’d been pretty driven this last year, launching her own clothing business.
“Well, if you’re okay, I’ll be off.”
“Randall, stop by the store and pick up another inner tube for Christiana’s bike. Your wife was tightening the seat bolt and her hand slipped.”
“How could you know that? She just called me.”
“Just wanted you to know Plum was safe with me. Hurry home… and Randall?”
“Sir?”
“You’ve made a difference this year. Keep doing what you do best.”
Looking dazed and sounding the same, Randy thanked him and drifted over to the front door. A last tip of his hat and he was gone.
Plum turned and stared at Nick. “How the hell did you do that?”
“What… glamour Officer Crewes?”
She shook her head. “No. How did you know about the bike tire and that he’d been thinking of quitting?”
“I keep telling you, luv. I know everything. Well, not the future, per se, but I sometimes get a glimpse if it’s important to my work.”
“Do you know what I’m thinking?”
The man smiled, flashing his dimples and rocking her insides. “Yes. I’m very much aware of your nicely naughty thoughts.” The smile faded. “But much as I’d like, I’m afraid we can’t indulge your fantasies.”
Disappointment was a heavy rock resting in the pit of her stomach. “Why not? Aren’t we both consenting adults?”
“Actually, we’re not. I’m not human at all, Plum.”
“Of course you are.” She held up a hand when he started to argue. “Look, I don’t care that you think you’re Santa Claus. As long as you’re not serial killer crazy, I can deal.”
Nick bellowed with laughter. “Plum, you say the drollest things.” His laughter stopped. “You’re glamoured, sweetheart. Our laws see that as taking unfair advantage. They don’t allow us to fraternize with mortals unless one possesses an essential spark of magic that allows them to see us as we truly are.”
“You mean you’re not tall, hunky and buff with black hair and dimples?”
He shook his head. “That is not the real me.”
Fear and anticipation swirled in Plum’s gut, kicking her pulse into overdrive. “If I see the real you, can we…”
The smile was back. “We can.” He sobered. “But I warn you, it is rare, Plum. And if you succeed, it might be so overwhelming to your system, you’ll pass out.”
“I never faint. Just tell me what to do.”
“Believe. Trust. See. That’s all I can tell you.”
Plum closed her eyes. Did she believe him? He’d known Crewes was thinking of quitting and he’d known about her brothers, and what was in the untampered gift boxes. Maybe she didn’t quite believe, but she found herself suspending disbelief.
Trust? She’d done that immediately. Without trust, she’d have no desire for him. That left only…
Holding her breath and hoping, she opened her eyes.
On the Twilight vamp Edward, the glittering skin looked like what it was -- Hollywood FX. On Nicholas, the Elf, the iridescence looked natural, exceptionally beautiful. Upswept ears ended in graceful tips, tufted in a spray of… fur? He was taller in this form, but not scrawny, not thin at all. And he was totally, wonderfully naked. Broad chest, narrow waist and hips, full ass cheeks and… a cock so large it couldn’t possibly be human. “You’re naked.”
“Clothing is part of our glamour.”
“But, you’re naked… and you’re huge!”
He grinned, flashing dimples even in this form. “The better to fuck you with, m’dear!”
She fainted.
Chapter Three
“Baba, they were going at it all night!”
Plum blushed, passing the potatoes. “You knew by then I was fine. You should’ve hung up.” She accepted the gravy from Broc. “And hush up! Why tell Baba? It’s bad enough you told Brussels and Broccoli.”
“Hey! No names, sis.”
She stuck out her tongue. “We’re alone.”
“Yeah, but nicknames, please.”
Their father looked up from carving the turkey, frowning. “Are you ashamed of the names your sainted mama gave you?”
Both twins and Artichoke shook their heads shamefacedly. “Baba, you know we’re not, but…”
“Mama gave you good strong names. Be proud.”
“Yessir!” the three chorused.
Plum snickered.
“Chocolate Chip Cookie, go open the door!”
She jumped, caught. “Baba, no one’s knocking…”
Before she finished, a firm pounding sounded. She glanced at her brothers. “How does he always know?”
They shrugged and she laid her napkin down and went to open the door.
“Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas!”
“Nick!”
He bent to kiss her. “Why so surprised? I told you I’d return.”
She fingered the crimson robe he wore. “Is this real?”
“It is, or you wouldn’t see it. Once the glamour is broken, it is forever broken.”
“Good. By the way, my brothers have been harassing me. They didn’t like that you were gone by the time they got to the house.”
He patted her hand. “I am here now, to face your protectors.”
She drew herself up. “Hey! Need I remind you I’m a grown-assed woman and don’t need protecting?”
Nick sent one sizzling look down her body, back up, and met her eyes. “No, but allow me to show them I honor you.”
Plum swallowed, felt her face and other parts of her body flushing in sudden need. She nodded and led the way to the dining table.
At the head of the table, her father laid down the carving knife and bowed with Old World manners. “Gaghant Baba, welcome to the house, Cooki. Come, bless us by eating with us.”
Shocked, Plum looked up at Nick, whispered, “He can see through the glamour?”
Nicholas smiled. “He can.”
She indicated her brothers. “What about them?”
“Not yet.”
She looked the question and Nick reached a forefinger out to smooth her brow. “Their faith in their father and you will help them see.” He lifted his head and addressed the four men at the table. “I know you are concerned for your daughter, your sister, so ask your questions.”
Her father went first, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “Are you the special treat I begged for my little Chocolate Chip Cooki?”
Nick grinned, flashing his dimples. “I am.”
Artichoke raised a finger. “If you are Santa Claus -- and I’m not saying I believe that -- but if you are… what happened to Mrs. Claus?”
A large sigh lifted Nick’s chest. Plum rested her hand atop his, hoping to relieve some of his tension. “There is no Mrs. Claus.”
“Oh, come on… of course there is. White hair, rosy cheeks… ring a bell?”
“I’m not responsible for Human misinformation. I’ve never bound myself formally. The woman I lived with ran off with Rudolph. Damned ex-friend kept putting his nose where it didn’t belong… probably why it was so red.”
Broc groaned. “I’m trying to scrub my mind clean of that visual.”
“He wasn’t a reindeer at the time. The reindeer are shifters, able to take human form.”
Eyebrows around the table lifted. “All of them?”
“What?” Nick asked. “You think I can afford to let twelve fat reindeer eat their non-working asses off eleven months of the year? Christmas is a non-profit organization. At least, at the North Pole it is.”
Bru
chimed in. “How’d you get to be Santa? Where’s your white hair and belly? And what’s your real name?”
Nick swiped his hair back. “My name is Nicholas Saint John. Among Elves, leadership is mandated by height. I’m the tallest. And the white hair and extra pounds were an allergic reaction to milk. It took a while for the doctors to figure out what was aging me.”
Arti looked at his brothers. “Why does this guy sound reasonable?”
Nick smiled. “You’ve each asked me a question, but no one has asked if I love your sister, or if she’ll be safe with me?”
Bru grinned. “Dude, everyone loves Plum and she’s taken martial arts for safety.”
Broccoli’s grin was identical. “Our sister wouldn’t knock boots with just anyone. She loves you. That’s what matters to us.”
Arti brought up the rear. “She’s okayed you, and our Baba likes you, so that settles it. Now sit down and let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
“First, I have a question of my own.” Nick reached in the depths of his coat and brought out a small box. “Baba Cooki, I seek permission to hand-fast with your daughter.”
“Given!”
Nicholas turned to Plum. “Sweetheart, Elves don’t marry. When we find the lover who completes us, we bind ourselves in an older, more permanent ceremony than marriage. My heart will never change toward you. If you return my regard, I ask that you accept this token of binding.”
Plum gazed down at the simple golden torc lying on the black velvet, a large chocolate topaz stone set in the center. “Nick, it’s beautiful!” Her eyes filled with tears. “But if it wasn’t I would still accept it. I love you.”
Nick placed the collar around her neck and lowered his head to kiss her. She whispered, “I’m hungry for something else. Wanna go back to my house and fuck?”
Nick pulled her close, letting her feel his cock hard and long between them. When he drew back, he was chuckling. “Luv, you say the drollest things!”
Holding her hand, he bowed low. “We’re leaving. Before I go, I have a gift for you.” Holding one hand up, he intoned, “Hear my Christmas decree! Before this time next year, four empty hearts shall be filled.”
The panicked expressions on her father’s and brothers’ faces were priceless.
* * *
Nicholas watched Plum walk toward him wearing nothing but the torc of their bonding. Her dark skin glowed, her eyes twinkled. Every round inch of her was beautiful to him. He hadn’t told her yet that she was now like him, ageless. She’d find out soon enough. One day, when she’d achieved all she wanted in the human world, he would ask her to have his children. Perhaps one would grow up and take over the family business.
She climbed on the bed and crawled toward him on her hands and knees, breasts swaying with her movements. “You were so busy getting your special treat, I forgot to get mine.”
“Plum, I don’t…”
“Hush and enjoy.”
She took him in her mouth, teeth scraping along the ridges of his cock’s veins, one hand cupping his balls. The other gripped the base of his shaft, squeezing as she sucked him in and out of her mouth.
A shiver ran up his spine, tightened his balls and made him throw back his head. He fisted a hand at the nape of her neck and growled, “By Titania’s tits, Plum, I can’t take much of this.”
She glanced up his cock, mouth still working him. He didn’t trust the gleam in her eyes. “What?”
She pulled out, kept her thumb running over the damp head. “When you get ready to come, I want you to do what you did last night.”
He tried not to grin. Thank Oberon she liked her sex raw and raunchy. He foresaw many eons of loving between them. Finally, he nodded.
She lowered her head and took him back in, sucking like his cock was her favorite lollipop.
Five minutes of that and he’d reached his limit. He gripped her hair in both hands, orchestrating her movements as he pumped his hips, fucking her mouth on his terms. He was surprised how much of his cock her tiny throat swallowed, but it felt so good, he couldn’t do much thinking.
She never stopped slurping and sucking but glancing down, Nick saw her frantically jigging her clit. Seeing her so close brought his climax, and he cleared his throat. As he started spewing, he sang, “Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down…”
Merry Happy… Yeah!
Camille Anthony
A funny thing happened on the way to the grave…
In 2006, I was diagnosed with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and given two weeks to live, whereupon I promptly discharged myself against medical advice, since, as I stubbornly informed the doctors, I could die at home far more comfortably than at the hospital. Resigned, I prepared to meet my maker. But then…
I got an idea for a new story. No way could I check out before finishing it. So I did. Then, another idea came, and another… These tales are all begging to be told and I couldn’t possibly ignore their vehement cries.
So there you have it. A new motivation to continue bringing you the stories I love to tell and that you love to read. As always, I encourage you to embrace adventure, even if the only journey you undertake is through the pages of a book. Enjoy every moment of this life we’re gifted with. Whatever you do, keep reading!
Peace!
Cammy
For a list of my books and publishers or just to chat, connect with me at:
www.facebook.com/camille.anthony
[email protected]
www.camilleanthony.com
http://www.changelingpress.com/author.php?uid=3
Christmas Stalkings
Cassidy McKay
What’s a Christmas Elf to do when he wants to sex up the North Pole a bit? Make adult toys, of course!
When Henry’s Elven magic goes awry, Santa’s workshop will never be the same.
Chapter One
Henry removed his socks, took a quick sniff and shrugged, then hung them on the windowsill. They looked oddly out of place in an apartment that had little to recommend it for the holiday season.
A siren wailed in the distance, quickly blending into the background noise of the city. Tilting his head, the Elf considered the implications of a siren, then ignored it. It’s not really breaking and entering if I didn’t break anything to enter, right?
He rummaged through several of his pockets to bring out a Christmas tree-shaped air freshener, brushed the lint off, and hung it on the window between the stockings with a little suction cup.
With a twinkle of his eye and a gentle twist to his left nipple ring, a bright purple pulse of magic surrounded the items and then faded away. He squinted, looking closer. It couldn’t have been purple. Christmas magic is supposed to be red and green.
He stood back to stare at his makeshift decorations. For a disbarred Elf, he hadn’t done too badly. At least The Claus hadn’t taken away his magic… yet. The hearing wasn’t until after the New Year, anyway.
His last attempt to bring a little joy into people’s lives rushed back as if it were only yesterday. Then he smiled in wry humor -- it was only yesterday! But Holy Pointed Elven Ears, what a day…
* * *
Henry really hadn’t meant to cause a ruckus in the Toy Shoppe. He’d just tried to sex up the place a little bit. Everyone seemed to think Christmas Elves were little green androgynous drones with pointy ears, endlessly building toys for good little boys and girls.
Not Henry. Well, he did have the pointy ears, and he did like to build toys. But he really preferred adult toys. He’d brought some of his new inventions to work to present to Mr. and Mrs. Claus and the Approval Committee. Unfortunately, his magic was rather unpredictable at best -- and the toys he invented were made with magic.
Foregoing the simple red and green Christmas magic Elves usually used to make toys, he preferred using the rarer, more dangerous purple magic -- the kind adult Elves used in secret. However, his attempts at building toys using either type of magic didn’t always make them work the way th
ey were intended to, no matter how good his intentions.
Yesterday’s incident probably fell into the “Worse than disastrous” category. He’d finally been invited to show the Committee his inventions. He was nervous, but he’d put on a good face, even when minor things started going haywire. Things went from bad to worse faster than a reindeer could land on a rooftop.
First, Santa reached into the sack on the table before the Committee and brought out what looked like a toy statue. The tiny female figure it portrayed was buxom, to say the least. The old man’s eyebrows rose and his glasses slipped down his nose when he noticed her black leather corset, short skirt and thigh-high leather boots. Santa’s brows knit together and he glanced at Henry, ignoring the Elf’s frantic scrambling to grab the statue.
“No Santa, don’t push that button, I haven’t fixed it yet…”
Santa pushed the button on the back of the statue.
In the twinkle of an eye and a whirl of purple sparkling magic, the outfit disappeared from the statue, leaving a fully developed, anatomically correct doll, complete with pierced nipples and neatly shaven pubes.
Henry watched as Santa’s mouth dropped open in shock and the old man’s knit brows whipped into a furious frown. “Henry!”
“Santa, I can explain…”
The loud, shared gasp coming from the Committee cut Henry’s explanation short. Santa turned quicker than a wink to see his formerly demure wife now dressed in the wicked outfit that had just been on the doll.
The black leather gear revealed a savagely curved, white-haired, vintage sex goddess worthy of hours of devoted worship. The lethal-looking whip dangling from her hand only added to the spicy image.
Santa’s tenting pants told Henry he noticed, too. More tents arose from the Committee. Could this be a tentative approval?
Mrs. Claus cautiously moved the whip in her hand, watching it writhe with the slightest touch. A naughty smile curved her lips as she gave the whip a swift crack, landing a satisfying snap near Santa. She raised an eyebrow, looking first at Henry, then the doll, and finally at her husband advancing toward her with a telltale twinkle in his eye.