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Santa's Lap


A Hot Octopuss advent calendar story


Santa’s lap - Hot Octopuss advent calendar story

Jay makes the same joke every time we walk past a shopping centre grotto or a man dressed as Father Christmas collecting for charity. He leans down, puts his lips right next to my ear, and growls “do you wanna sit on Santa’s lap? I’ll pay...”

The first time he did it, I pretended to be annoyed, but I liked the hint of challenge in his voice. It made him seem commanding, almost paternal. I got an instant desire to act up to the roleplay - be both naughty and nice for him. He must have got an inclination of this because the second time he said it, he accompanied it with a firm hand placed on my bum and I found myself a little bit turned on.

Now? I’m fully into it. I don’t know why but it just does it for me. I like the idea of sneaking in to one of the grottos when Santa’s on his lunch break, sitting on Jay’s lap instead and getting to whisper in his ear what a good girl I’ve been and what I deserve by way of presents. Honestly, I think I’ve developed a bit of a horny Pavlovian response whenever I see a guy in a red suit with a white beard. So this Christmas, I’m going to see how far I can take it…

I’ve got this idea running round in my head, and it’s all sparked off by his silly Santa joke. First I’m going to sit Jay down in the big, cosy armchair in the living room. I’m going to tell him I’ve been a very good girl, and it’s time for him to listen while I tell him what I want for Christmas. He’ll be into this, I know he will. As soon as I say the words ‘good girl’ I imagine that Pavlovian response will kick in for him as well. I can almost see it now – the way his jeans will get tighter as the thickness of his cock starts to swell in his crotch.

“Keep your hands by your sides,” I’ll tell him, because it’s fun to make him wait. Then I’ll strip off my clothes, piece by piece, and watch his eyes follow my fingers as I slowly undo each button of my shirt…

I want him to feel tortured with anticipation, just like he is on Christmas morning when I make him wait to open his gifts. He’s used to tearing off the wrapping quickly, whereas in my family we savour the moment. So I will make him sit with his hands by his sides as I slide my shirt off, and then my bra, lean in to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek while my naked tits hover tantalisingly in front of his face. I’ll whisper into his ear “I’m going to be such a good girl for you” as I unbutton and unzip my jeans. Turning round to flash him my backside, I’ll peel them down, along with my knickers, bending forwards ever-so-slightly to give him a glimpse of my bare cunt.

I imagine that, at this point, his dick will twitch.

Stepping out of my jeans and knickers, I’ll turn to look at him over my shoulder so I can see his face as I bend over, one hand on each cheek of my bottom, and spread myself as I would if he were about to fuck me.

I hope that at this point he makes one of those delightful sexy sounds in the back of his throat – halfway between a growl and a moan – desperate to be told he’s allowed to reach forwards and touch.

“I’m going to tell you what I want for Christmas,” I’ll say, “and when I’ve finished, then and only then are you allowed to fuck me. Understand?”

Turning to face him, I lean forward and take his face in my hands, looking directly into his dark eyes so I can see the urgency of his lust. Taking my time, I’ll run my fingers down his neck, tracing his collarbones, and then further, beyond his soft stomach to where his dick throbs - fat and heavy and satisfying and oh-so-tempting - inside the prison of his jeans. Before I sit down, I’ll relieve the pressure just a little. Unzipping him and letting it spring out. Still constrained within his boxer shorts, but no longer stifled by the denim.

“Ready?” I’ll ask, and he’ll nod. Maybe utter another of those beautiful aching moans.

And at that point I will sit. Planting my naked bottom and my bare cunt directly on his lap so I can squirm satisfyingly against his twitching erection. Naughty, see? To cover off the ‘nice’ part of the equation, I’ll lace my arms around his neck and lean in to whisper into his ear. Telling him what I want for Christmas and how I want him to give it to me.

That part’s naughty too.

“For Christmas I want you to dress me from skin out,” I’ll whisper, as I grind myself into his lap. “Buy me lingerie that makes the blood thump into your cock. The kind of lingerie you don’t want to remove gently, but want to tear into with your fists.”

Squirming a little more, I’ll continue… “On top of the lingerie, I want you to buy me the sluttiest outfit you can dream of. A skirt that’s like a belt, t-shirt that clings so tightly to my tits it almost feels like a corset. Or silk shorts if you prefer – ones that look babydoll hot and make a satisfying sound when you smack them. Stockings that come halfway up my thigh, perhaps? Ones which leave just that tempting soft expanse of thigh for you to dig your fingers into...”

At this point, maybe his hands will twitch and I’ll have to slap them away. Make him wait just that tiny bit longer before I let him loose on all my naked flesh.

“Soon,” I’ll say, frotting against him a little bit more to make precum leak from the tip of his dick right through the fabric of his underwear. “You can touch me very soon. But first I want you to promise me that’s what I’ll get for Christmas: an outfit that will make you want to give me something much much more personal.”

And at the word ‘personal’, I’ll take one of his hands and place it on one of my tits. Cupping it neatly, so he can feel my rock-solid nipple pressing against his palm. When he tells me yes, when he promises that’s what he’ll buy me, I will put my lips up against his ear the way he does to me when we walk past a grotto.

And only then will I whisper:

“OK, now you can fuck me.”

And I know, I know: at this point it’s all just fantasy, right? But remember, this is Christmas. It’s the time of year when all one’s dreams can come true…

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