Very Bad Santa

By | December 17, 2008

Ellen watched as the queue dwindled to the last few impatient kids and their parents. The rictus grin she had adopted at the beginning of the evening shift was making her facial muscles cramp up and the felt hat she was wearing made her head itch.

She was one of two elves escorting expectant children into and out of the grotto where less than A1 Santa, smelling vaguely of supermarket whisky awaited their requests for the latest fashion in toys.

He got less and less tolerant through the day as his hip flask emptied and his need for a bottle of the hard stuff eroded his patience with the “greedy little bastards” as he often put it. As a consequence the intimate little audiences with St Nick got shorter as the evening wore on to avoid a scene like last year … that Santa was still doing time for assault with a candy cane.


Later, in the pub Ellen and Tim, her fellow elf unwound over a few drinks. Tim insisted on paying until the last round when Ellen’s insistence overcame his and she attempted to buy a round, only to find she didn’t have her purse.

“Shit! It’s in the grotto, I remember putting it down as I was changing.”

“Let’s go and get it.” Offered Tim.

“How? The place will be locked and there’s the alarm …”

“I have a key.”

“Why do you have a key?”

“Because the security guard is usually asleep when I get in so he gave me one. And there is no alarm, that box hasn’t working in years according to the guard.”

They made their way back to the store and let themselves in quietly so as not to disturb the guard asleep in his office by the door. His snore accompanied them until they were out of earshot in the toy department.

Ellen located her purse in the small room behind the grotto that acted as a changing room. As they were about to leave she leant over and gave Tim a peck on the cheek. “Thanks” she said.

“Is that all I get?”

“You’ll have to wait until later.” She gave him a mischievous wink.

“You mean you don’t want to thank me now?”

She smiled, warming to the idea of sex with him at work, the forbidden nature of such an assignation making her pulse race.

He could see the idea had begun to appeal to her. Her face was flushed, pupils dilated. She licked her lips and then slid her arms around his waist.

“Oooh, you are pleased to see me.” His bulging crotch pressed into her lower abdomen. She looked up, lips pursed to meet his. They kissed, softly, then deeper and deeper. His hands slid across her body, feeling her contours through the thin blouse she wore under her coat, tugging at her skirt, lifting it up to expose her naked thighs above lacy hold-ups.

She felt his excitement rise, he had obviously been expecting tights. She smiled to herself, that would keep him interested. They had only been going out for two weeks and their relationship was still very fresh, but she found it always did to keep guys interested with a few surprises.

Her nipples tingled, wanting him to touch them, pinch them, suck them, but knowing this was going to be a quick, hard fuck and her tits would have to wait until later and more leisurely love making for that treat.

His trousers were yanked down and a stiff, heavy cock slapped against her thigh. He pressed her against the painted brick of the wall and lifted her up. His erection sought out a route past her wet panties. With one arm around his neck her other reach down and pulled the obstructive underwear to one side. She felt a seam give in her haste but didn’t care. She needed to be filled and fucked up against a wall by him.

He slipped into her and with a motion that owed more to enthusiasms than technique or eroticism nailed her to the wall. She whimpered, then screamed her appreciation. Thoughts of not disturbing the security guard forgotten she demanded his cock pound at her until they both came like an eight-limbed flailing animal.

Their breathing slowly subsided to the point where the still and quiet of the evening in the store was only broken by the sound of traffic on the street … and one other noise, the sound of a leather boot creaking in the hallway outside.

Ellen’s eyes filled with panic. Tim pressed his finger on her lips and lowered her to the ground. He pulled up his trousers and then dived at the door, pulling it open. Disappearing down the corridor he could see a red Santa suite. Tim gave chase.

When Ellen had adjusted her attire and caught up with them. Tim was standing astride the whisky soaked Santa, a pile of 6×4 photos spilling from inside the red, fur-lined costume. She reached down and picked up a handful. In each one was a picture of a girl, some in the store, others in the cubicles of the ladies toilets, taken from low angles, semi-obscured, obviously snatched quickly before the subject noticed. Others seemed to be of customers in the changing rooms.

“He must have been setting cameras all over the place.” Exclaimed Ellen.

“Look at these” Tim offered two prints to Ellen. In them Ellen was pictured, half-in, half-out of her costume.

Tim bent low and whispered in the groaning Santa’s ear “So, Santa, what do you think we should do about this?”


The security guard’s early morning rounds were more eventful than usual. He called the police, the manager and tried to construct some plausible explanation about how the Santa had lain undiscovered all night.

Luckily for him the manager seemed more incredulous at the site of his Santa, bent over a fibreglass snowman, his trousers around his ankles with his other jolly red cheeks exposed for all to see. The last thing the guard overheard as he slipped off for a cigarette was the police constable explaining “Well, we can’t work out quite what happened either. And as for the Christmas tree, we’ll have to keep it as evidence, but first we have to work out how to get it out of there …”