A Jingle Jangle of Bells
I woke to a jingle jangle of bells.
"Sam," I whispered to my brother in the bed next to mine, "Sam, did you hear that?"
My brother groggy and sandman dusted spoke in a sleepy tone, "Here what?"
I pushed my covers off and crept on tiptoes to our bedroom door.
"That. Did you hear it that time?"
Sam turned over to his side and pushed the covers up in order to shut me out. "Evelyn, it's probably nothing. Go back to sleep."
I bit my lip and turned to get back into bed when the jingle jangle along with a loud thump froze me in fear.
"Nothing, huh?" I sarcastically whispered.
Sam got up with a groan and made his way to our bedroom door. "It's probably just Dad sneaking a late night brandy or something."
Sam kept me in anticipation, turning the knob ever so slowly. The floor creaked and I made my way closer to my brother and the door. He flung the door open and I covered my eyes with my hands.
"Oh my God!" my brother spoke with a fearful tone and clutched my hand.
"What! What is it?" I was scared. My grip tightened. His turned to me with a mortified expression on his face and let out a fake scream.
"Very funny." I wasn't amused.
"See, I told you it was nothing, so go back to sleep already."
We shuffled back to our beds, but were disturbed a few minutes later by a gentle knock at our door. It was father.
"Hey, what's going on in here?" Daddy wasn't amused.
Sam spoke from under his duvet, "She thought she heard something. I told her it was nothing."
Daddy, dressed in his green cotton pajamas with little ducks on them, came further into our room and sat in Sam's desk chair.
"Well, I want you two back in bed. Santa doesn't visit boys and girls when they're awake, and you want Santa to bring you some nice toys this year, don't you?"
"Yes." Said in a kind of dreary choral unison.
"Good. Night, night." The door clicked shut and I heard a laugh rise up from my brother's bed.
"Santa," he scoffed, "Did you hear that little speech? What are we 12 years old again? Rubbish. Night, Ev."
I tried in vain to go back to sleep. Finally after twenty minutes or so of staring at the clock decided to get up for hot chocolate. I crept down white-carpeted steps, catching the glow of Christmas tree lights dancing across the hardwood living room floor. I took a deep breath, inhaling mulled cider and gingerbread from the earlier Christmas Eve bash annually thrown by my parents. Christmas time was my favorite time of year.
I headed for the fridge for milk and whipped cream, popped my teddy bear ceramic Christmas mug into the microwave and watched the microwave timer countdown. Immediately I regretted the decision of not grabbing my robe before leaving my room. I was shivering on a hardwood floor, decked out in only my pink velvet camisole and panty set given to me as a secret early Christmas gift from Daddy. I wiggled my toes, jumped a little and finally began to pace.
"Evelyn Louise Fontaine." A thundering voice sounded.
I couldn't move. My feet suddenly cemented to the floor. I looked out of the kitchen window; the moonlight shone full and bright, the snow fell gently on dew grazed blades of grass.
"Evelyn Louise Fontaine." Said once more.
"Yes?" I replied meekly as I turned round, forcing myself to be brave.
I saw black boots first. My gaze moved upwards and next red velvet trimmed in white fur. White cotton like beard and rosy cheeks, big blue eyes hidden behind spectacles.
"Sant…." I nearly shouted in delight, but a glove-covered hand over my mouth stopped me short.
"Shhhh," his eyes met mine. I was in a state of disbelief, "you'll wake everyone in the house, and we can't have that, can we now?"
I shook my head and he removed his hand.
"Come now, sit down. Please, call me Father Christmas." He took my hand leading me to the chaise lounge by our Christmas tree.
I felt comfy and warm. There were so many questions; I didn't quite know where to start.
"Santa, I…" the gloved hand came back over my mouth. A quick slap delivered on the back of my hand.
"Father Christmas, my dear."
"Sorry, Father Christmas. Force of habit I guess." I rubbed my now stinging hand, and hung my head down in shame.
"Now, now. Tell me Evelyn, have you been a good girl this year?" He took my sore paw in his lap and rubbed over it gently with a thick thumb.
"Well, yes I think so." I blushed and turned more towards him, taking notice of my cleavage becoming more prominent as I leaned more into my seat.
"What about, Brad Gordon?" He leaned in a little too close for comfort.
I could feel my face getting hot. I tried to pull myself away from him but Father Christmas held tight to my wrist.
"You were a naughty girl with him, weren't you?"
I sunk back in my seat and as sense of defeat washed over me.
"I guess so." I shifted my position a little.
"Ah, no matter," Father Christmas looked into my eyes, tugged playfully on my pigtails, and gently stroked my cheek. "I am a forgiving man."
Just then he rose, straightened his suit and cleaned off his spectacles. He began to pace. I sighed in relief and rested my head on the back of the chaise lounge.
"Yes, my dear," he stopped and faced me, "you were doing so well, but now…"
Relief was replaced with fear. I stammered, "Now what?"
"I wasn't finished yet!" That loud thundering voice came back. I was yanked by one of my pigtails to the floor, and pushed on my back by a black boot.
In shock, I scrambled to make an apology, but before anything could be said, the soul of that black boot came down on my mouth.
"As I was saying, things have now changed. You've seen me and though people the world over believe in the myth of Father Christmas, only a handful have actually seen the man himself."
I kept quiet. The living room rug made my skin itch. The stray fallen needles from our tree poked my exposed flesh.
"So, what shall we do about this, Evelyn?" He outstretched an arm and helped me to my feet. I brushed myself.
"I don't know," My voice nervous and unsure, " I can pretend I didn't see you. I won't tell anyone, I promise." I nodded my head in little girl delight, trying hard to convince him of my honesty. That tactic that always worked on Daddy.
Hands on hips, Father Christmas snatched a cookie off a nearby plate. The same cookies only an hour or so ago I'd put out for old time sake. He took a furious bite.
"Hmmm, no. Not good enough." With the remainder of the cookie tossed aside, he made his way over to me.
"I like this," Father Christmas fingered my pink velvet, lovingly running his gloved hands all over my little camisole, " but I like these even more." He took my breasts in his hands and squeezed gently.
I tried to cover myself with my arms but was quickly batted away.
"No, no. Why shouldn't I get what that boy Brad Gordon got in the back of his car?" Gloved hands lifted my shirt and despite myself I moaned in pleasure at being touched. "Very nice, Evelyn. Very nice."
I looked deeply into lustful blue eyes. A wicked smile came over his candy pink lips and I felt his hand on top of my head, pushing me to my knees.
"Don't play shy with me, young lady. You know what to do."
I fumbled with a button fly and licked my lips. I reached in, exhaling lustfully in anticipation.
"That's it." I was given encouragement and a soft pat on the head.
I nearly gasped at the sight of it, in my hands a nearly erect, nice big cock. I couldn't wait to take it in my mouth.
"Mmmmm." I hummed sweetly.
I kissed the tip gently, savoring the moment, tongued all the way around the head before licking up and down his entire length. Father Christmas liked that. I went down, slowly first then faster and rougher. I could feel Father Christmas hitting the back of my throat. He took hold of my pigtails and before I knew it, I was choking on cock. Low cries were made, but he failed to stop, he just kept ramming himself into my throat. More muffled cries, tears were running down my cheeks and then I heard a guttural moan. Father Christmas pulled himself out of my mouth. Stroking himself, he asked if I was ready.
I nodded enthusiastically. My cheeks flushed, my eyes wide, "Please."
"Good girl." Father Christmas spoke in a half moan and I was covered in a hot stream of creamy white goodness.
I woke to Daddy's voice and gentle touch, trying to shake me out of dreamland.
"Pumpkin, what are you doing down here?" He took a seat next to me on the lounge and nuzzled my ear, "I thought I told you those were our secret pajamas. You better go and change before your mother comes down."
"Yes, Daddy." A sleepy eyed me made way for the stairs.
"Wait a minute, what's this?" Daddy met me half way and handed me a velvet red box. "Well, it's not from me and it wasn't under the tree last night, hmmm. Maybe it's from Santa Claus." Daddy kissed my nose and shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee.
Carefully I untied the meticulously tied black ribbon, lifted the lid and took a small note out of the box.
A gift for you, my dear, Father Christmas may need help next year pulling his sleigh. You should be ready when the time comes.
In the box, a spiked collar, pink in color, wound neatly and wrapped in silk.
Be good, and better gifts may be given next year.