The breakroom was a drab, fluorescent-lit box that smelled of stale coffee and burnt microwave popcorn. It was a sad, temporary sanctuary from the relentless jingle bells and squealing children. Robbie sat on a hard plastic chair, nursing a lukewarm bottle of water, his elf costume feeling itchier and more ridiculous with every passing minute. The tunic was too tight in the shoulders, a constant, unwelcome reminder of the toned physique he usually kept hidden under baggy hoodies. Robbie was 20 years old. His skin complexion was slightly tan but it was more from genetics than being in the sun. He had hazel colored eyes with light brown hair. He was shy but kind hearted. He had taken this part time job to help pay for rent.
The door creaked open, and in shuffled the man who played Santa. He was out of character, the massive red suit replaced by a pair of worn jeans and a flannel shirt, but the sheer presence of him remained. He was a large man, with a thick white beard and kind, crinkled eyes that held a twinkle Robbie had assumed was just for the kids. He was probably in his late fifties, with a broad chest and a belly that was soft but substantial.
“Robbie, my boy,” Santa’s voice was a deep, rumbling baritone, even without the theatrical “ho ho ho.” “Mind if I join you? I was hoping for some hot chocolate, but the machine’s on the fritz again.”
Robbie’s shyness kicked in instantly. He straightened up, a nervous smile playing on his lips. “Oh, uh, no, of course not, sir. Please, sit.”
The man chuckled, a warm, pleasant sound. “Call me Nick. ‘Sir’ makes me feel like I’m back in the principal's office.” He sat down heavily, the chair groaning in protest. He looked Robbie over, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on the way the green fabric stretched across Robbie’s chest. “You’re a natural with the kids, you know. They really take to you.”
“Thank you,” Robbie mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He wasn’t used to compliments, especially not from men like this. Men who felt… solid. Real.
“I mean it,” Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. The scent of pine and wintergreen, probably from some soap, filled the small space between them. “You’ve got a good heart. It shines right through those pretty eyes of yours.”
Robbie’s breath hitched. Pretty eyes? His hazel eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape route. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of confusion and a strange, terrifying flicker of something else. “I… I just try to be nice.”
“Oh, you’re more than nice, Robbie,” Nick’s voice dropped an octave, becoming a low, intimate murmur. “I’ve been watching you since you started. The way you move, the way you smile… you’re a work of art. A masterpiece.”
Robbie’s mind went blank. This was wrong. This was so far beyond wrong. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. “I should… I should get back to the workshop. The line is probably getting long.”
“Sit down, Robbie,” Nick said, his tone still gentle but now layered with an undeniable command that froze Robbie in place.
Robbie slowly sank back into the chair, his hands trembling in his lap. “Sir… Nick… I don’t…”
“Don’t you worry,” Nick soothed, his eyes dark with a hunger that was both thrilling and horrifying. “I’ve been wanting you since the moment I first saw you. Wanted to see what was hiding under that silly little elf costume.”
Panic seized Robbie. He was a virgin. He’d never even been kissed. This was a fantasy from some deep, hidden part of his psyche, and it was happening in the most mundane place on earth. He wanted to run, to scream, but his legs were leaden.
Nick smiled, a slow, confident curve of his lips. He raised a thick finger and snapped.
The sound was impossibly loud in the small room. Robbie flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them, he gasped. His itchy elf tunic and tights were gone. Vanished. He was sitting there, completely exposed except for two absurd, humiliating items: a bright red G-string, the front pouch of which was shaped like a fluffy Santa hat, barely concealing his manhood, and the striped green-and-white elf socks pulled up to his calves.
A strangled cry escaped his throat. He shot up from his chair, his arms flying across his chest and one hand darting down to cover the ridiculous Santa hat pouch. His face burned with a shame so deep it felt like a physical weight. His pecs, which he’d always been a little self-conscious about, felt huge and bouncy, his large pink nipples pebbling in the cool air. He could feel the soft trail of hair leading down from his navel, and the trimmed hair of his pubes that the G-string failed to completely hide. He was trapped, a perfect specimen of masculine youth on humiliating display.
“Don’t hide from me, beautiful,” Nick’s voice was thick with lust. He stood up and walked towards him, his eyes roaming over every inch of Robbie’s exposed flesh. He drank in the sight of the muscled arms, the flat, six-pack stomach with its deep bellybutton, the powerful thighs. “My god. Look at you. You’re perfect.”
Robbie backed away until his back hit the cinderblock wall. “Please…” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don’t…”
Nick stopped just a foot in front of him, his large frame blocking out the light. He didn’t touch him, not yet. He just looked, his gaze a physical caress that made Robbie’s skin tingle and burn. “That body, Robbie… it was made to be worshipped. These pecs,” he gestured with his chin, “so full and firm. I bet they bounce when you walk.” Robbie flinched at the accuracy of the statement. “And these nipples,” he breathed, “like sweet little berries, just begging to be tasted.”
He slowly raised his hand. Robbie squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the contact. Nick’s touch was impossibly gentle as his rough thumb brushed against Robbie’s left nipple. A jolt, pure and electric, shot through Robbie’s body. He gasped, his back arching slightly against his will. It was the most intimate touch he’d ever felt, and it sent a confusing signal of pleasure straight to his groin.
“See?” Nick murmured, a triumphant sound in his voice. “Your body knows what it wants.” He leaned in closer, his beard brushing against Robbie’s cheek. “It wants to be touched. It wants to be taken.” Nick lowered his head, his warm breath ghosting over Robbie's chest before his lips closed around the right nipple. The initial contact was a soft, wet heat, but then his tongue began to work, swirling and flicking with an expert precision that made Robbie's entire body tense. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped his lips as Nick began to suck, creating a firm, rhythmic pressure that sent a direct, electric current straight to his groin. The coarse hairs of Nick's beard were a delicious, abrasive counterpoint to the soft, insistent suction, a primal stimulation that overwhelmed his senses. He could feel the nipple pebble into a hardened, aching point in the older man's mouth, a tiny, sensitive epicenter for a wave of pleasure that threatened to drown him completely.
His other hand came up to rest on Robbie’s hip, his fingers splaying wide, claiming the territory of his toned stomach. Robbie could feel the heat from Nick’s palm seeping into his skin. He was terrified, but his body was betraying him, a traitorous warmth pooling in his belly. He could feel himself beginning to harden, swelling against the soft fabric of the G-string.
Nick’s eyes drifted down, and he let out a low groan of approval. “Oh, yes. There he is. The real Robbie.” He hooked his thick fingers into the waistband of the G-string. Robbie’s breath hitched. “I’m going to unwrap my present now.”
With one slow, deliberate pull, Nick slid the G-string down Robbie’s thighs. Robbie’s 7-inch dick, now fully hard and flushed a deep pink, sprang free, slapping against his stomach. He was completely, utterly exposed. A tear of shame and overwhelming sensation slid down his cheek.
Nick knelt before him, a supplicant before a deity. He looked up at Robbie, his eyes burning with adoration. “So beautiful,” he whispered. He leaned forward and, without another word, took Robbie’s entire length into his warm, wet mouth.
Robbie cried out, his hands flying to Nick’s shoulders, his knees buckling. The sensation was a white-hot explosion of pleasure. It was nothing like he had ever imagined. It was wet, and hot, and the suction was exquisite. Nick’s beard tickled the sensitive skin of his inner thighs as he began to move, his head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm. One of Nick’s hands came up to cup Robbie’s ass, squeezing the firm muscle, while the other wrapped around the base of his shaft, stroking in time with his mouth.
Robbie’s mind was gone, obliterated by a tsunami of pure feeling. He was no longer a shy, confused virgin. He was a being of pure sensation, lost in the expert ministrations of this older man. He could hear the wet, slurping sounds, feel the pressure building deep inside him. His hips began to move instinctively, thrusting gently into Nick’s willing mouth.
Nick moaned around his cock, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through him. He pulled back, his lips glistening, and looked up at the dazed, pleasure-drunk boy. “Turn around, Robbie. Put your hands on the wall.”
Robbie complied without a thought, his body moving on pure instinct. He turned and placed his palms flat against the cool cinderblock, presenting his ass to the man behind him. He felt Nick’s large hands on his cheeks, spreading them apart. He tensed, a new wave of fear and anticipation washing over him.
“Easy, beautiful,” Nick soothed. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” And then Robbie felt something wet and firm press against his most secret place. It was Nick’s tongue.
The shock was absolute, but the pleasure was divine. Robbie’s entire body trembled as Nick explored him with a skill that spoke of decades of experience. He lapped and probed, his tongue circling the tight ring of muscle before pressing inside. Robbie was gasping for air, his forehead pressed against the wall, his hard cock leaking pre-cum onto his stomach.
After what felt like an eternity of blissful torture, Nick stood up. Robbie heard the sound of a zipper, then the crinkle of a foil packet. He closed his eyes, his heart pounding with a mixture of terror and desperate need. He felt Nick’s large body press against his back, the thick, hard length of his cock nestled between his ass cheeks.
“Are you ready for your Christmas present, Robbie?” Nick growled in his ear.
Robbie could only manage a choked sob in response.
He felt the blunt, slick head of Nick’s cock press against his entrance. There was a moment of sharp, burning pressure as Nick pushed slowly, inexorably inside. Robbie cried out, his hands clenching into fists against the wall. It hurt, but it was a pain that was immediately tinged with a profound, stretching pleasure. Nick was big, and he filled Robbie completely, a presence so overwhelming it was all he could comprehend.
Nick paused, letting him adjust, his hands stroking Robbie’s sides. “That’s it, my beautiful elf. Take all of Santa. You were made for this.”
Then he began to move. He started slow, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in, each stroke a wave of intense sensation. The pain quickly faded, replaced by a deep, primal pleasure that grew with every thrust. Nick reached around and wrapped his hand around Robbie’s aching cock, stroking him in time with the powerful rhythm of his hips.
The world dissolved. There was only the sound of Nick’s grunts in his ear, the slap of skin against skin, the incredible fullness in his ass, and the masterful hand pumping his dick. Robbie was lost, hurtling towards a precipice he’d never known existed. He could feel his orgasm building, a coiling spring in his gut, tighter and tighter.
“Come for me, Robbie,” Nick commanded, his voice a rough, sexy bark. “Come for Santa.”
That was all it took. The spring snapped. Robbie’s entire body convulsed as his orgasm ripped through him. He cried out, a raw, guttural sound, as he shot thick, white ropes of cum all over the cinderblock wall and Nick’s stroking hand. His ass clenched around Nick’s cock, milking him, and with a loud groan, Nick buried himself deep and released his own hot flood deep inside Robbie.
They stood there for a long moment, panting, their bodies slick with sweat. Nick slowly pulled out, and Robbie felt an immediate sense of loss and emptiness. He sagged against the wall, his legs trembling.
Nick turned him around gently and kissed him, a deep, possessive kiss that tasted of sex and satisfaction. He held Robbie’s face in his large hands, his thumbs stroking his tear-stained cheeks.
“Merry Christmas, Robbie,” he whispered against his lips. “You’ve been a very good boy.”
