Month: December 2016

The Goblins

Online dating is such a mixed bag. One has to keep a sense of humor about it or tears will be abundant and frequent. Some days, though, my patience runs thin with the rudeness and entitlement than many men have towards women on dating sites. I recently received a message from a 25 year old (no!) in California (no!) which simply said, “Why don’t you have more pics?” Um, what happened to an introduction? Or pleasantries?

I would have preferred a message that was more along the lines of, “Hi, I’m John. I really enjoyed reading your profile. I’d love it if you’d check out mine since I think we have a lot in common. If you feel comfortable with it, I would love to see more photos of you since you don’t have many posted.” However, most of today’s young adults have grown up in the era of texting and Tweeting. They have no clue how to approach someone in more than 140 characters. Charming a potential partner is a lost art for them.

I normally ignore messages like that since there is no point in conversing. However, this young man caught me when I was exasperated me after a long day of bizarre messages. My response became a form of stress relief through creative writing.

When I was just a wee babe, I was stolen from my family by the goblin king. I was raised in the kingdom of the goblins by a loving family who made me endure plastic surgery to change my appearance to be more like theirs rather than the revolting human body I was born into. While a brave knight rescued me from the goblin kingdom when I was but 18, I still bear the scars of the surgeries that were performed on me. Now I must hide my face lest I face ridicule from human cubs whose human mothers failed to teach them any manners, something the goblins certainly did not fail to do in my upbringing.

And then I hit the all-powerful block button.

©2016 WoodLeatherLace.com

A New Pervertible

31vpbrhxbulIn the kink world, “pervertibles” are sex toys that are made from something that wasn’t originally intended for sexual or kinky purposes. One of the most common is a hairbrush: Meant for brushing hair, but often used for spanking naughty bottoms. The handle can be used for penetrating various orifices as well. Other common household items such as wooden spoons, blind dowels, hangers, and belts get commandeered for spanking implements as well. Vegetables such as cucumbers and carrots get used as dildos. Perverted minds find kinky things everywhere they look (and that’s a compliment).

One of the guys I dated created a new pervertible that I would never have dreamed up. He was spanking me and fingering me in my living room while I was bent over a couch. Then he stopped for a minute to walk away. I assumed he was going for his bag of goodies which he left by the front door in order to find something to use on me. However, his eyes had found something else: my Thera Cane.

The Thera Cane is supposed to be a massage tool. My massage therapist suggested I buy it to help release tension in a certain place in my back that I knot up when I get stressed out. She said she personally was on her third as family members had permanently borrowed the first two she had bought. It can be really helpful in releasing stress when used in its intended manner.

For some reason, the perverted guy I was dating took one look at it and thought it would be great for penetrating me and releasing stress in some very different ways than I had ever envisioned. The curved end did some massage time in my pussy, and then the straight end did some penetrating in my ass. My partner said it was easy to hold onto and use. From my perspective, it certainly was a different experience! I think with a little more practice and some lube, it could be a really fun toy. I certainly am never going to look at it again without thinking kinky thoughts!

(I am sure that the manufacturers of this massage tool in no way endorse this post nor support its use for anything but its intended purpose. As with all things pervertible, use at your own risk.)

©2016 WoodLeatherLace.com

 

My Type

What does my “type” of guy look like?

On Monday, he has long curly hair and blue eyes. He walks with a slight limp and has a voice that could win a Grammy. He loves strawberries, especially when I feed them to him.

On Tuesday, he is bald with brown eyes. He’s an athlete who can win his age bracket any time he enters a competition. He and I disagree about many things, but in the bedroom, our chemistry is amazing.

On Wednesday, he has a crew cut and looks like he just got out of the military. He speaks with a slight lisp, wears glasses, and loves to spend time at the library. We spend long evenings talking to each other about philosophy.

On Thursday, he is a foxy fifty with salt and pepper hair, hazel eyes, and unexpected tattoo on his leg. He is a computer nerd, but he also knows how to live life to its fullest.

On Friday, he is a Scandinavian blonde who is built like a Viking but is as tender as a baby. He’s a social worker with stronger emotions than most people think men are capable of.

On Saturday, he has thick, dark hair. His eyes are an elusive shade of gray. He’s a handyman type who can fix my car, but he can also make my engine purr.

On Sunday, he is a guy whose hair is slowly disappearing. His eyes are ever-changing in color, depending on what he’s wearing. He has a significant scar on his arm and is a fascinating story teller.

So what’s the common theme? All of these guys treat me with respect. They’re honest to their core. They don’t want to hurt me but will always tell me the truth even if they know it causes me pain. They know that failing to tell me something is just as bad as lying in my eyes.

They’re spiritual, believing in something bigger than their own ego. They are compassionate, treating others with tenderness that many might find unmanly. They love fiercely and devotedly. They are never afraid to let me know that I am their woman and that if they can, they will always be there when I need them. They see my inner beauty just as I see theirs.

What makes all of these men alike is that their souls shine brightly. Their souls are far more brilliant than their bodies. When I look at them, I know clearly that their bodies are only the shells for their souls. Time will pass and their bodies will fade, die and disintegrate, but their souls will continue to shine brightly as a part of Creation. What matters is who they are, how they act, and how they treat me and others.

©2016 WoodLeatherLace.com

Again and Again

I had told him before about my weak spot: All he had to do was kiss my neck, and I would jump in bed with him. He heard me, but I don’t think he actually heard me. He would occasionally kiss my neck as we engaged in foreplay, but it wasn’t something he spent nearly enough time doing. He never quite figured out how to use it to his advantage, until that night, anyway.

We had a great evening—one of our best ever. A rousing kinky roleplay moved from one room to the next in the house. Clothes were shed along the way. Mutual oral sex was followed by more kink which lead to vaginal sex. Exhausted, we collapsed on the bed, sweaty and satisfied. Orgasms were had, release was found, and the evening’s activities were over.

Eventually we attended to our evening toiletries and made our preparations for bed. We turned off the lights and climbed into bed next to each other, him spooning me from behind with his arms wrapped around me. I always felt so safe surrounded by his arms like that. We talked quietly, starting to drift towards slumber but not quite being willing to let go of each other yet.

And then, he did it.

He kissed the back of my neck.

And then he kissed my neck again. Really kissed it.

His whiskers on my skin. His breath stimulating my pores. The warmth of his lips pressed against me. The desire he clearly felt for me. It was all more than I could resist.

Before we knew what had happened, I had rolled over and we were facing each other again. Our tongues plunged into the other’s mouths, desperately seeking what we had only so recently shared. My hands ran through his chest hair as his grabbed my ass and pulled me close to him. Though the dark surrounded us, our eyes had adjusted and our bodies knew what we desired. We wanted each other again. Clearly our previous state of being satisfied had not meant truly satiated.

As our hands greedily grabbed at each other’s bodies, I found his cock and he found my breasts. His lips lowered to suck and nibble upon one while his hands squeezed the other. Unable to just receive his touch, my hands powerfully cupped his balls. Looking in his eyes, I pulled away from his touch and lowered myself to put my lips over his hardening erection. He gasped with pleasure as my lips and tongue went up and down over his cock, again and again. Moving further downward, I sucked his balls into my mouth, and he moaned again in the deep pleasure that this action always brought him. Knowing I could take this one step further, I scooted downward still, rimming his asshole and giving him a pleasure he enjoyed so much.

All of it was too much for him to handle much longer. He pushed me on my back, grabbing a condom as he shifted himself over me. As fast as he could manage, he ripped open the foil pack, slipped the condom on his rock-hard cock, and then shoved his cock inside my very wet pussy that was waiting for him to join it again. My legs wrapped around his body, pulling him close. Slowly, the rhythm between us found its pace, his cock sliding in and out of my pussy, rubbing and thrusting, bringing intense sensation to us both.

As our intimate movements continued, his climax approached. He moaned with intense pleasure as his entire body stiffened and released. An orgasm of this caliber had eluded him earlier in the evening’s activities, but our reprise had brought its rewards. He found the sweet freedom and bliss of having released all his cum inside me.

Once he had recovered from his orgasmic high, I begged my lover to finish me off with my vibrating wand, my “jackhammer” as he so lovingly called it. He had no qualms about retrieving it and quickly pushing it up to my pussy. All of the foreplay had done what it needed to do, preparing my body to quickly reach another climax, but unlike the orgasms earlier in the evening, this one included me squirting on my lover’s hands while he listened to me scream with pleasure.

Having wracked my body with spasms of pleasure, he turned off the vibrator. As we collapsed next to each other again, a feeling of déjà vu settled in. We smiled and kissed gently, whispering in the dark. His hands caressed my hair as I lay on his chest, letting my body slowly return to the reality of this planet.

Once again, we cleaned ourselves up, and once again, we climbed back into bed. An hour had passed since our last attempt to sleep. This time, exhausted from our unexpected but powerful bonus round of sex, we both quickly drifted into the slumber of satiated lovers. After all, we needed our sleep to rest up for the next round that would follow when we woke up in the morning.

©2016 WoodLeatherLace.com

The Last Kiss

You almost never know when it’s going to be your last kiss with your partner. I didn’t expect it to end so suddenly with him. We’d had our best night ever, and then, suddenly, less than a week later, it was over.

Would I have changed things if I had known? Maybe. Maybe I would have called in sick that last day together. Maybe I would have stayed in bed with him longer that day. Maybe. But maybes are fantasies, and they won’t ever be. The reality is that it is over between us.

I will miss him. I will miss our kisses. I will miss so many other things, but I will miss him kissing me most of all. I will miss his hands on my body as his lips touched mine. I will miss his whiskers brushing up against my face. I’ll miss his tongue meeting mine. I’ll miss the smile on his face when we ended a kiss.

And now, I’ll never see that smile again. He’s gone.

©2016 WoodLeatherLace.com

You Are a Man

What makes you a man in my eyes?

When you hold me close to you and I feel safe, that is when you are a man.

When you treat me with respect, that is when you are a man.

When I can hear the compassion and concern in your voice when I am having a hard time, that is when you are a man.

When you talk to me and tell me your thoughts and dreams, that is when you are a man.

When you make me laugh (and sometimes groan) at your jokes, that is when you are a man.

When you text me to let me know you are thinking of me, that is when you are a man.

When you wear a suit and tie like no one else can, that is when you are a very sexy man.

When you turn me on without even touching me, that is when you are a man.

When you touch my face, gently and tenderly, and then kiss me passionately, that is when you are a man.

When you pull me close to you with your strong hands, wrap your arms around me, and kiss me with a determination that lets me know exactly how you feel about me, that is when you are a man.

When we are cuddled together in bed, naked as can be, and you kiss my neck and touch my waist making me feel like a desirable woman, that is when you are a man.

A cock is not what makes a man. A hard cock is definitely not a sign of a man. Cocks are nice, and when they get hard, that’s great, too, but it’s still not a sign of being a man.

You are a man. Always.

©2016 WoodLeatherLace.com

Naughty Elf

Officially I’m known as Elf #3269. I’ve been an “employee” at the North Pole for seven years now. I say that with a bit of tongue in cheek because we’re not paid workers. No. We’re slaves. We work for nothing except room and board. We work all year long except for two weeks after Christmas when we get unpaid vacation so that we can lounge around on the luxurious icebergs near the North Pole. (That’s sarcasm, just in case you missed it.) I guess I should be grateful I’m not starving in a jungle or floating through space, but still, I don’t like having to do what I’m told rather than doing what I want to do.

Perhaps that’s why I earned my nickname, Naughty Elf. Everyone at the North Pole calls me that and with good reason. I’ve earned that reputation fair and square. I just don’t do well following directions. I get distracted by the toys I’m making or the ideas in my head. I see a reindeer go by, and I want to go play with him. It’s not that I try to be a naughty elf. I just can’t seem to be a devoted one.

Even when I’m on house duty helping Mrs. Claus in the kitchen, I still find myself in tons of trouble. I can’t tell you how many times Mrs. Claus has put me over her lap or bent me over her kitchen counter to reprimand me in a rather painful way for my misdoings. Again, I don’t try to be naughty in the kitchen. I just find trouble, or maybe it finds me.

Last week is just one such example. I was on potato peeling duty, a task that’s given as punishment but which I actually kind of enjoy. As I was peeling the spuds, I noticed that the potato peels could be used to create a piece of abstract artwork, and so as I took off the skins, I turned them into a really cool looking picture of what I think the ocean looks like.

However, Mrs. Claus was not impressed at all. When she came over after thirty minutes of me working unsupervised and found the potato pot almost empty but the counter almost full of carefully arranged peels, she kind of blew a gasket. Ok, she did lose it completely. She hollered out, “Naughty Elf, whatever am I going to do with you?” I didn’t know how to answer that in a way that wouldn’t get me in more trouble. However, since Mrs. Claus was already removing her apron and rolling up her sleeves, I knew exactly how she was going to handle the situation that day: the same way she handled my behavior almost every time I was in her kitchen.

Mrs. Claus pulled on my ear and dragged me over toward the eating area where a chair was awaiting her arrival. All the other elves became very quiet, and while they were pretending to keep working, I knew what they were actually doing was watching carefully so that they could see my cute little elf bottom on display. They knew that within a few minutes, Mrs. Claus would have it both bare and red.

The kitchen elves were not disappointed. As soon as she sat down, Mrs. Claus lifted my red and white dress up while simultaneously pulling me over her lap. My elf hat fell off as my head went downward toward the floor in one quick motion. Before I could even utter a word of protest, Mrs. Claus pulled a wooden spoon from her deep skirt pockets and set to work peppering my bottom with that instrument of many uses. I really preferred she’d just use it for stirring, but she likes to use it to redden my bottom more often than not! She told me that she wanted me to remember every time I stirred a pot that the spoon I was using could end up on my bare bottom lickety-split.

I don’t know how long Mrs. Claus worked on getting my bottom and thighs into the Christmas spirit. She had pulled down my elf panties pretty early on as they were obstructing her work of reaching that perfect shade of crimson that we all associate with Christmas cheer. I was just hoping that her spoon was the only weapon of culinary creation that she planned to use on my poor bottom. Sometimes Mrs. Claus felt extra inspired, and on those days, a silicone spatula might also end up coming out of her pockets to join in the fun of reddening my bottom. Well, it was fun for the other elves enjoying the show in the kitchen. For me, not so much. I much preferred entertaining myself with the potato peels!

Then there was the one time I was really naughty in the kitchen. I let a whole pot of soup burn because I was busy playing with sprinkles I found in the cabinets. I didn’t mean to burn the pot and the food in it. I didn’t try to catch it on fire. It just happened so suddenly. Mrs. Claus said that nothing burns that badly in a short amount of time, but I think she proved herself wrong when she set my bottom on fire that day. Since she was so mad at me, she bent me over the kitchen counter and used a bread board like a paddle on my bare bottom. I yelped very loudly each time that board hit my bottom, and I sported bruises that were not only red but purple and black for the next few days after that. Unfortunately, some of the bruises were low enough to be seen beneath the hem of my short elf skirt, so the other elves felt free to torment me and remind me of my mistakes each time they saw the errors of my ways marked on my backside.

What I hated most of all, even more than the spoon, even more than the spatula, and even more than even that horrid bread board, was corner time. Mrs. Claus was extra mean about corner time. When the Head Elf spanked me in the workshop, he never put me in the corner afterward. He always wanted me back at work as quickly as possible. And when Santa himself spanked me, well, that’s a different story I’ll tell you about soon. Santa certainly didn’t end things with corner time! But Mrs. Claus was a stickler about putting bad little elves like me in the corner with our dresses tucked up or our pants pulled down so that all of the kitchen staff that day could enjoy the view and be reminded of what happens when elves go bad. I hated being on display like that for the other elves to see all my intimate parts and to torment me when they walked by. The only good thing about corner time was that as long as I didn’t forget and start rubbing my bottom, I would be left in peace to daydream for as long as Mrs. Claus deemed necessary to enhance my punishment. Sometimes it was minutes, and sometimes it was hours. It all depended how soon Mrs. Claus wanted to risk putting me back to work in the kitchen.

Then there was Head Elf and his spankings. I did not like Head Elf, and the feeling was mutual. He was a bit of a sadist, truth be told. He was always looking for reasons to spank me. Unfortunately, I gave him way too many legitimate reasons to spank me, so he didn’t have to look too hard. While he had started spanking me with just his hand, he soon realized that he was hurting his hand as much as my bottom. Once he made that realization, he would go into the Defective Toy Room to find something else to torture my bottom with before the toy was recycled or used in the furnace for fuel. I never knew what he might find to spank me with. Once it was a Hot Wheels track that hadn’t quite bent in the right direction for a racetrack, but it set my bottom on fire quickly and painfully under Head Elf’s guidance.

More recently, Head Elf had found a defective ping pong paddle. While the paddle was useless for hitting a ball, he thought that it would be incredibly useful in spanking the bad behavior out of one Naughty Elf, namely me. When he emerged from the Defective Toy Room tapping that paddle against his palm, I knew my bottom was going to get a real “treat” that day. I was not disappointed. Sitting on Santa’s favorite chair where he would often watch over the workshop, Head Elf pulled me across his lap and set to work using the ping pong paddle as though I was a little white ball that needed to be hit across the room. Having removed my skirt and panties from his way before starting, Head Elf didn’t give me any kind of warm up at all that day. No, he went straight for the kill. My bottom was bright red very quickly, and it was giving off enough heat to melt a snow pile or an icicle. Of course, I didn’t suggest those ideas to him for fear that the sadist might actually stick an icicle up my bum or plop me in the nearest snow drift to “cool off” after his handiwork.

Then there was the day that Head Elf found a paddle ball toy for my bottom to play with. It was the kind of toy that has a ball attached to a paddle with a long elastic string. However, as it usually happens with those toys, the ball had broken off just leaving a paddle. Many parents knew the secret of using those broken paddle ball toys as disciplinary instruments, and it seemed someone had let Head Elf in on the knowledge as well. Head Elf was very quick to bend my naughty elf self over a wooden stool and to flip my skirt up. He gave my bottom several hard spanks before realizing he had forgotten to pull down my panties. Perhaps it was the loud and suggestive whispers of the elves on the line behind us that clued him in. I heard one of them say, “Oh, man, isn’t he going to bare her bottom for us to see it turn red?” I wasn’t happy with that elf for giving Head Elf the reminder. I would have been quite content to get away with a pantied spanking. However, my panties soon were on the floor around my elf jingle slippers, and my bottom and thighs were being decorated with the Christmas spirit. My yelps and cries filled the workshop with sounds much more melodious than Christmas carols.

So Santa and his spankings… well, they were a reindeer of another color. It’s a little-known fact in the rest of the world that Santa is a pretty kinky dude. At the North Pole, though, all the elves know that Santa loves to get his hands (and more) on the bottoms of his staff. Mrs. Claus long ago stopped meeting Santa’s needs, saying that he kept her too busy in the kitchen for her to be able to spend time doing recreational wifely duties. She suggested he had plenty of elves and reindeer to entertain him if he still needed “it” at his age, and Santa certainly thought he did!

One of the ways in which Santa picked his new sex elves for the year was through our Christmas stockings. You may have heard that Santa puts coal in the stockings of bad little girls and boys, but that’s not true for elves. No, we get the bundles of switches that are thought to be folklore. When elves get bundle of switches in their stockings, those elves knows that the year ahead will be filled with a great deal of Santa-induced pain in the ass, and not just from the switches! The following Christmas, if an elf finds presents in his or her stocking, then the elf was relieved from being one of Santa’s personal toys after having given a full year of submissive service.

Me? I wasn’t so lucky. I had been at the North Pole for seven years now. For the past six years, I had always received a bundle of switches on Christmas morning. I was rumored to be one of Santa’s favorite elf toys because no other elf had received switches for more than a year or two in a row. Being naughty was just up Santa’s alley, and since I was Naughty Elf, I was able to please the old man in ways that the other elves weren’t as good at.

Still, I held out hope that this Christmas I would finally graduate from receiving the bundle of switches and would only have to perform my “other” duties for Santa. Maybe I would receive a nice sweater or a bocce ball set or anything but another year of spanking servitude. However, my hopes were dashed on Christmas morning when I ran to my stocking only to find my seventh bundle of switches. I knew what that meant for my Christmas day, too. While the other elves began their vacation on this day, those of us who got switches also got beatings to end the North Pole year. There were about twenty of us elves with bundles, but I knew from years past that I would be the last to get my switching. Santa always had something special in mind for me.

Sure enough, I was right. Santa began reading off the names of the other bad little elves, and one by one, they approached Santa with their birch bundles. I actually did enjoy watching the other elves pulling down their underwear and placing themselves face down and bottoms up on Santa’s chair so that he could whip their bottoms thoroughly in honor of the Christmas festivities. While I knew that my bottom would be experiencing the same treatment at the end of the day, it was kind of nice not to be the only one on display. Santa was particularly mean compared to Mrs. Claus and Head Elf as he took away the miscreant elves’ underwear for the rest of the calendar year. Talk about a way to cool off sore bottoms! Losing our underwear also left the welts from the switches on display for all the elves to see over the next week.

It was a long day of Santa spanking the elves of his choice with a few exciting blowjobs thrown in, too, by elves who had begged for mercy through an exchange of oral licks instead of switch licks. Finally, I was called up to the front of the room for my turn bending over Santa’s chair. Much to my surprise, though, Santa changed his procedure for the first time that day. “Naughty Elf,” he said, “Since this is your seventh year of receiving a bundle of switches from me, I thought we would change things up to make the day more exciting for you.”

“Um, thank you, Santa,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic because I truly didn’t want to increase my discipline that day. I was hoping to be able to *not* sleep on my stomach before the week was over! However, Santa had different plans. He sat down in his chair. As he grabbed my waist, he pulled me over his lap in a position that I was all too familiar with from my time over Mrs. Claus’ lap earlier that week and on many other occasions.

I felt Santa’s fingers caressing my elf ass, and I could hear his breathing changing. He asked me if I had been a good little elf in the past year. I knew the answer to that, as did all the other members of the workshop. How many spankings had I received that year? At least one a week. Sometimes even three or four. Probably at least a hundred spankings that year. No, I had definitely lived up to my reputation as Naughty Elf. So I responded to him, “No, Santa, I’ve been a very naughty elf this year. I’ve been spanked long and hard on many occasions by Mrs. Claus, by Head Elf, and even by you.”

“Hmm,” Santa contemplated. “I guess then we’ll have to give you an extra hard punishment today for all your naughtiness in the past year so that maybe next year will be better for you.”

Knowing I had no choice in the matter, I decided to comply with Santa’s wish for me to be submissive and compliant. “Yes, Santa. I deserve for you to punish me like the naughty little girl elf that I am. Please teach me a lesson that I won’t forget.”

I could hear Santa groan with pleasure, and I could also feel his cock growing beneath his velvety red pants. I knew that it would be my job to take care of that erection later, after Santa had disciplined me thoroughly. For now, I felt a very cold breeze on my rear as Santa lifted my skirt and began rubbing my panties. He began spanking my thighs, working his way up and down both legs. He suddenly yanked my panties into my butt crack, giving him a bit more area to spank, and he took advantage of that newfound skin. However, it didn’t satisfy him for long.

“Naughty Elf,” Santa said, pulling me to a standing position, “Please remove your underwear and give it to me for safe keeping for the next week.” I complied, handing over my dignity with the panties, knowing that my spanking was about to get much worse now that Santa would be able to redden my entire bottom. I was correct. With one deft move, Santa put me back over his lap and returned to using his hand to teach me what a naughty girl I had been. Periodically he said something like, “Naughty little elf!” but I wasn’t really paying attention. Unlike my other spankers, Santa didn’t ask questions when he spanked, so I didn’t have to worry about getting the answers right. Santa also took periodic breaks to run his hands under my body, pulling and pinching on my pussy and sometimes even squeezing my clit before returning to spanking my bottom. Santa was a horny old bastard, that was for sure.

Finally, Santa’s spanking hand wore out. My “special treat” was over, and now I was subject to the same punishment as the rest of the switch-receiving elves. Knowing my fate, I waited for Santa to stand, and then I quickly bent over his chair leaving my already reddened bottom up in the air so that all could see every inch and every detail of my nether regions. There was nothing to do now but yelp in pain each time the birch bundle came down on my bottom. Nothing stung quite like the bite of the birch, and Santa knew that. It’s why he saved it for his special Christmas gift to the elves and to his horny self.

Eventually Santa had put more stripes on my bottom than I thought was possible. He patted me on the bottom to let me know that my punishment was over. I slowly and painfully stood, knowing that as much as things hurt now, it would be worse tomorrow. I was hoping that my duty toward Santa was done for the evening because I was so sore, but it was not to be. Santa whispered in my ear, “Go to the barn now. We’re going to finish off the evening with a little more rough and tumble on your bottom, so be sure to grab the magic sleigh lubricant.” From years of experience, I knew exactly what that meant.

I slowly walked out to the barn, and as I went past the reindeer munching on their oats and carrots, I grabbed a jar that was clearly labeled “magic sleigh lubricant.” Most of the barn elves knew that this was great goop for helping Santa’s sleigh land and take off with ease on his trip around the world. However, those of us who were among Santa’s sex elves knew that this lube had a secondary purpose of moistening our anal chimneys for Santa to slide in with great ease.

From so many years ending up in this position, I knew exactly what Santa wanted from me. I went to the curved front end of Santa’s sleigh, and I carefully bent over. When I did, I pulled my skirt up on my back so that my bottom and all Santa’s handiwork were on display. That would please him greatly.

I didn’t have to wait long. I soon heard that “ho ho ho” coming into the barn, and I knew that I was about to get my final Christmas “present.” I felt Santa sliding up behind me, and I felt him pushing the training crop he used on new reindeers up against my backside. I really didn’t want any more stripes on my ass, but I knew that it was not up to me. I also knew Santa wasn’t going to be able to resist using the crop on me. It was one of his favorite toys.

“Spread your legs,” I heard Santa grunt into my ear.

“Yes, Santa,” I complied, very quickly moving my feet apart and exposing my pussy. I knew where this was headed. Sure enough, I heard the sound of the crop hitting my pussy before I felt the pain jolting through my body. “Oh, Santa!” I cried. “Please don’t be too hard on me. I promise I’ll be a better elf this year.” Yet Santa didn’t seem impressed by my promise. No, he just kept spanking my pussy with that evil crop until finally he could not ignore the lure of my bottom any longer.

I heard the crop hit the barn floor, and I felt the very cold magic sleigh lube dripping into my ass. Next, I heard Santa unfastening his belt and dropping his pants to the floor. When the metal belt buckle clanked against the wood floor, I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank heavens he hadn’t decided to use his belt on me, too. My bottom just couldn’t handle any more.

I felt Santa’s hands against my bare thighs, pulling himself in toward me. His bright red cock began squeezing between my butt cheeks, and as I tried not to clench, I heard Santa moan with pleasure. He gave my ass a slap, and then came the command I knew would follow. “Say it!” he demanded.

“Fuck me, Santa! Fuck me, Santa! Fuck me, Santa!” I replied. “Please, Santa, please cum with your special snow in my tight pink asshole. I want to feel you fuck me hard, Santa!” And with that, Santa began thrusting. Naughty little elf that I was, I actually enjoyed this part of the evening more than words could say. There was nothing quite like having Santa’s cock in my aching bottom, his balls pounding against me loudly with each indecent thrust. I was truly Naughty Elf, and to prove it, I came hard with Santa. Our loud orgasms resounded throughout the barn, but the reindeer thought nothing of it. Santa used their home as his special getaway quite often all year long.

As Santa and I collapsed against the sleigh, I was grateful for the pleasure we shared. I wasn’t looking forward to another year of spankings at the North Pole, but being Santa’s special anal cum elf was a benefit I didn’t mind at all!

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