Harlowe Pilgrim's Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

You could hear the bed squeaking, from me and my spouse.

Her stockings were flung on the floor without care,

Next to her red Mrs. Claus underwear.

The children were snoring, snuggled up in their beds;

I writhed as their mother gave excellent head.

With Mama on her knees, and I on my back,

I said "Come on up here, and sit on my lap".

As she slid down on me, there arose such a clatter,

But I tuned it all out—what the Hell did it matter?

She looked concerned. "Did you hear that big crash?"

"Don't worry a bit … just work that sweet ass."

I heard some more noise, then I was distracted.

She whimpered and moaned as her sweet pee contracted.

I gritted my teeth, to stay under control,

But it wasn't too easy, in that comely hole.

Once the moment had passed, she caught her breath.

And I wiped from my stomach, her wet G-spot mess.

"I heard it again, do you think it's St. Nick?"

"I was more worried 'bout you riding my dick."

"What if it is? Do you think we should stop?"

"Well, you're not underage, and he's not a cop;

We can't be the first ones enjoying a bone;

He'll do his thing, and he'll leave us alone."

She seemed to agree, and so went back to work,

On what promised to be, a sweet second squirt.

Again there was noise, this time from downstairs,

But when you're going to town, nobody cares.

She was again in the throes, when the corner of my eye,

Saw our door easing open, and the face of a spy.

The red suit and big belly gave away Old St. Nick,

But he had his pants 'round his ankles, and his hand on his dick.

My bride didn't notice, busy coming―not caring.

I shot Santa a look that said "Hey, I'm not sharing."

With a wink of his eye and a stroke of his crotch,

I got the picture; he was just there to watch.

Not sure what to think, I next hesitated;

While he stood in the doorway, and masturbated.

Once she settled down, I said in her ear,

"Don't look now, but Santa is here.

But let's not freak out; he's just horny, you know.

Let's do him a favor, and put on show."

She looked unsure a second, then started to smile.

"Old guy like that, it's probably been quite a while."

With that she climbed off, and laid down on her side.

"I don't mind showing off, but I'm too tired to ride."

"Okay," I said, "guess that it's all up to me."

"Just open me wide, so Santa can see."

I raised her leg high, it was almost a split,

Giving Santa a view, of my wife's perfect slit.

He smiled so big, I knew he approved,

Then I slid my shaft, deep into her groove.

She squirmed and I groaned, both feeling so good,

And Santa was working it hard, like he should.

I picked up the pace, and she squealed like a whore;

I saw Santa grab something up off of the floor.

Then I let loose, she let loose, and Santa did too.

Into my wife shot my gusher of goo.

We both looked over, at the end of our dance,

and saw Santa did his, into her underpants.

"I hope those were dirty; hope that was okay."

Neither of us had a clue what to say.

"That was fun," he continued, "but I'm out of here.

Now you know Santa comes at least once a year."

He pulled up his pants, and was gone in a flash.

I gave my wife a slap on her fine ass.

"You really did good, I think we made his night.

He'll be thinking of us, for the rest of his flight."

Then she eyed the red satin wad on the floor,

Soaking in Santa's shot from before.

"I'm happy for him, but what about me?

Better be some new panties, under that tree!"

And I heard Santa exclaim, as he drove out of town,

"I'm coming back to this place―they have the hottest sex around!"

-Harlowe Pilgrim

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