... THE REAL SANTA CLAUSE.
A furry muscle silver daddy who lives alone in a remote shack somewhere in the forest in the State of Alaska. He has nipple peircings, smokes, hunts, and lures straight boys he picks up at STRAIGHT BARS back to his cabin, offering weed, smokes, and beer.
They wake up with his dick in their asses, drugged, gagged, and tied, disabled of any muscle function, as he fucks you on a bear fur rug infront of his cozy fireplace, Christmas carols playing in the background. Eventually, the pain becomes too unbearable, with your screams unheard in this remote shack in the middle of nowhere, you succumb, close your eyes, and just hear his grunting and the music in the distance, his hand squeezing your ass hard, the other clenching your tied wrists.
You hear one final grunt, and he is now worn out. He pulls out, and since it's the first time as a straight guy being fucked, you feel the sensation of his slimy dick slide out of you, and can feel there's liquid in your hole, he's jizzed your straight ass. He embraces his massive sweaty body on you once more, a sweet caress as he lays his head against yours, smell of his putrid daddy breath, kissing you tenderly, like he's made you his boy.
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| THE REAL SANTA CLAUS! |
Then he stands up, positions himself overhead you, you between his legs, and grabs a hold of his dick, getting ready to do something.
Streams of hot piss bath you and burn your eyes. Some enters your gagged mouth, you taste his salt. He whacks off the last drops of piss on to your face, and walks out of the room, leaving you alone, tied and helpless - soaked on his bear rug with his piss and some of his sweat, your hole jammed with his cum ... and the flickers of fireplace flames, cracks of burnt wood, and Christmas music still playing - continue to mark the ambiance of this whole ordeal, and it's finale: your first gay experience.
Santa comes back into the room. You're scared he wants more. You close your eyes in fear of the inevitable. He towels you off with the towel he's brought back, soaking up piss and sweat, and lays against you once more, placing his head against yours, whispering something into your ear. You feel the heat of the fireplace, and the heat of his body. Your eyes kept closed, and with the warmth of his body against you, his arm wrapped around you, you begin to fade, the drugs taking their final toll.
**********
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You wake in the morning, feeling like SHIT. Your fully clothed. In a warm bed. Your shoes are neatly placed by a chair, your coat draped over.
In the kitchen you find Santa. Cooking eggs, bacon, some sort a breakfast smell. And shirtless. Muscles. You didn't see that before at the bar. He's actually pretty small build, your taller than him. He was wearing some plaid coat covering all that hidden muscle.
Hey man, sleep well? I GOTTA tell you, you done not held your chickens last night! You conkered down right there like a puppet without em' strings! I done told you it was strong shit. You know that? But yeah, we drank them bottles. You n' me both. Santa turns around, rests his butt against the counter, both hands propped up. Abs and chest all defined and in display.
Your eyes dart over to the kitchen table, there's an obvious 20 or so empty beer bottles, caps all popped off and strewn across the table randomly.
Oh god man, sorry, I guess I was wasted n' didn't know. Sorry. I did that? Embarassed as hell right now. Did I just go out just like that?
Yeah, standing over by them fireplace. Don't know should be really breakin' them situation down for you, but you were dancing all silly like, taking your shirt off n' all, singing some jingle bells carol. Honestly sun, that be your thing, goddam that's fine by me, but y'know, I ain't that gay stuff, but it be amusin' as hell watching you prance and be Rudolph. But I be a hospitable guy. Like to help outside folk ya know. Ain't no matter. At Stovers, you asking the whole time if I had some of 'em good stuff to sell you, and wanted to come over to buy sum a that. You perfectly serious and normal at the bar.
Then lord mercy, you face fucking on the floor!!! I done got worried, and went over to check up on you. I set you up in them bedroom. I knew you ain't dead, just passed out like em' excessive city folk do. Nah, jokes aside, all fine, I don't mind, y'all. And be kinda drunk too, just wantin' bit a company, just me in this cabin here, until I got them goddam eye opena, you dancing all stripper like and tryin' to get me too. Hey, you gotta eat and take sum water. I got some breakfast a cummin' ...
You sit yourself down, we took some of that strong shit last night and drank like we be fools and kings a Egypt.
You dizzily get to the couch. Your bare feet rested on a bear fur rug - soft, dry, cozy to the feet. You smell the burnt logs from the fireplace. Coffee table remnants of cigarettes, finished joints, some other shit you don't recognize. And you watch him go back to the stove, tending to the eggs and bacon. He pops toast into the toaster. His back turned to you, fully sculpted. Him in some flanel type boxers. Round ass.
Did I barf?
Nah boy, just passed out. Hey! Don't sweat that. Like I be sayin', ain't no problem. Hey ... you want me to put on sum that Christmas shit again, hah, so you can them do that stripper thing? Nah, just joking ya! Santa smiles at you with biggest smile ever. Charm is evident in his eyes. Two dark circles of fatherly affection, combined with a piercing element, eyes of wisdom, eyes of history, eyes of soulfulness - trusting eyes, eyes equally holding wells of the unknown.
I really made myself a fool. I get a little crazy. I'm on vacation. First time in Alaska.
Like I said, I entertain plenty of those outsider folk. Ain't no problem. My wife and likes my son died long time back. Yah, that's a lil bit my story there. My wife started a foundation and passed shortly there, and my son, there be an accident that took him. I was there wit' him too as it happened. I try to help them stranger folk. Makes me feel like I speaking to them up above, and me doing some good for once. Bacon continuing to fry. Goes to fridge for some jam.
Gots some jam here or peanut butter ... what you like? I got some toast workin' here.
Jam is fine. Sorry to hear that man ...
Ain't no matter ...
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