You can buy it here: Used By Santa
“So, Lisa, time to confess your secrets to good old Santa. Have you been a good girl or a bad girl this year, hmm?”
Wow, he was really committing to this whole routine. Ok, then…
“I’ve been a very good girl, Santa,” I said solemnly with a nod, acting out my side of the role.
“Have you, Lisa? Have you really?” he asked, his voice deep but scratchy. I still couldn’t tell how old he was, but he sounded older than his body felt.
I was aware of his arm dropping from my waist and moving down to the curve of my arse, pulling me even closer into him. But he unexpectedly left his hand down there, gripping my arse cheek firmly in his big, warm palm. I could feel it burning through the thin fabric of my dress. He was so strong.
This whole thing was fucked. I could feel my pussy getting wet, which was insane. I hadn’t had sex in the six months, since my ex and I had split up, but I was really scraping the barrel if I was getting my thrills on some fat old man’s lap.
He started stroking his thumb rhythmically against my arse, whilst his other arm reached down and squeezed my thigh.
His deep voice rumbled through my entire body as he said huskily, “Because, Lisa, you don’t look like a good girl. You look like you’re a filthy little slut under that tight dress. Like a very, very bad girl indeed.”
I was shocked rigid. There was no fucking way he’d just said that. I was too stunned to react, just paralysed as he squeezed my thigh harder and leaned in to growl directly into my ear, “I bet you can be a very bad girl, can’t you Lisa?”
I swallowed hard. I had no idea what the fuck was happening, but I couldn’t make myself move. Some sick part of me wanted to see where this was going. That part of me had never been this turned on, ever.
He reached his hand up from my thigh and squeezed the breast that was nearest to him. “Has anyone had a feel of this this year, Lisa?” he asked, as I felt my pussy pooling with my juices. This should not be hot. It was fucking disgusting. I didn’t even know what he looked like. He was just some random fat old bastard. But I was mesmerised by him.
“Well, Lisa?” he asked, gruffly, as he lewdly cupped the whole of my breast, fondling it as though he owned it. “Has anyone had a feel of this pretty little tit this year?”
“Yes, Santa,” I whispered, not understanding why I wasn’t screaming the house down.
“So you are a bad little girl, aren’t you, Lisa? Good girls don’t get their tits felt, do they? And they don’t wear dresses that their tits are practically falling out of.” As if to prove his point, he reached his big, hot hand into my dress, easily finding my bra and flipping the cup down, exposing my bullet-hard nipple.
Fuck! What was happening? I choked out a strangled gasp as he started stroking my nipple between his thumb and finger, rolling it gently and giving it occasional little flicks as I trembled on his knee.
“Tell me, Lisa, do good girls let strange old men feel their nipples like this?”
I shook my head, suddenly incapable of forming a coherent sentence and feeling my body come alive under his invasive touch.
“No, Lisa. Only naughty little sluts let themselves get felt up like this.” Moving his hand from my arse, he pulled down the other cup of my bra and started groping both of my exposed tits. My breasts had become tits in his hands and I fucking loved it. I couldn’t believe how badly I wanted this.
He stopped suddenly and tipped me off his knee. I stumbled, putting a hand on his broad shoulder to steady myself.
“Take your fucking dress off,” he ordered me. “Let’s see exactly what a bad, bad girl you are under there.”
How’s Santa going to teach this bad, bad girl a lesson?
Find out here: Used By Santa
