top of page


Ergh, this never gets easier…’

I coughed to myself, causing a cloud of soot and dark dust to fill the room.

I turn behind me, gently moving my large sack that had got tangled between my legs. I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror hung over the mantle. A grubby, dusty, stubbled man watched me back with a twinkle in his eyes, a well-cut red suit hiding a rippling, toned body; the body of a man who has been training all year so as to be in peak physical condition on this Christmas eve night.

I unbuttoned my jacket, and slid it from my taut shoulders, muscles burning from the 1.2million chimneys that had come before. I slung it over the armchair sat invitingly in the corner of the room, to the side of the flickering tinsel-clad tree. If only I had time to rest. I needed a drink. Something strong.

The glass of port I had almost kicked over touched my lips. That will do.

Suddenly I hear a faint melody of a distant song drifting down the stairs; a siren beckoning a lost soul in the dark.

‘Santa baby…’

What is that? Why is anyone awake?

‘coming down my chimney tonight…’

I start treading up the stairs. Thank god for the stairs. I’d take them over sooty chutes any day.

I see a door. A light glow of warm white Christmas lights creeping around its edges. I move towards it, anticipation growing, the thud of my heart beating at the BPM of Jingle Bells. Blood coursing.

I gently push the door open.

‘Santa honey one thing I really do need, the deed…’

A king-size bed. My eyes fall on two round Christmas puddings, a beautiful female behind. Naked. Inviting. The warmth between the cheeks glistening, pink with excitement; ready. I see the owner of this behind; this is no Mrs Claus. Heavy yet firm looking breasts lay beneath her, face down on the bed, as she raises her cheeks in the air, drawing me in.

I meet her eyes. She places a finger to her lips slowly. She says. ‘Oh, you’ll find my name on the VERY naughty list this year. I have been very bad’.

She points to the ceiling before teasing her behind, playfully parting her cheeks to show me what I want. I follow her signal to the ceiling and see a bunch of green plant hanging from the ceiling, directly above the soft, moist labia, engorged with anticipated.

‘Mistletoe Kisses?’ she whispers to me.

‘How can I not spread some Christmas spirit?’, I think to myself as I bury my face, tongue working deftly…


Ms Yuna


bottom of page