Not seeming to notice her lack of enthusiasm, Santa continued to chug away. His red pants were down around his ankles and his long coat was open to reveal a bare chest and enormous gut. What had perhaps once been a fluffy, white beard was matted with brown whiskey stains. Even then, he couldn't keep a bottle out of his hand. He waved it about above him, splashing the stuff everywhere whilst holding onto the bare hips of the elf with his other hand.

“Right to the balls!" he shouted before giving her bare ass a spank.

She had her own leggings around her ankles and her green smock was pushed up over her hips to leave her ass bare and her pussy open to the enthusiastic fucking. Although, despite that enthusiasm, going the length of Santa's cock wasn't exactly a Long journey. Being the dutiful helper, she'd often tried to sound pleased the first hundred times or so this had happened. These days she found that the man hardly even noticed the boredom in her voice.

Serving Santa always made her happy, but in this particular case it was in more of an abstract happiness.

“Oh fuck! So fucking good!" He hissed the words through his teeth. "One eight is eight! Two eights are sixteen! Three eights are twenty four!"

Great. The old "lets recite multiplication tables aloud to keep from cumming early" dirty talk. He sure knew how to light a girl's pussy on fire. She sighed with resignation and started thinking about how she might decorate her Christmas tree that year.

Behind her, Santa continued panting and gasping between yelling out multiples of eight. His cheeks and nose had turned awfully red and sweat was pouring from his brow. Inside his chest, his heart thundered along against the will of all those mince pies and a copious amount of hard liquor.

“Nine eights are... Hgnk!"

“Yeah, seventy two is what you're looking for there, big guy,” she passively filled in. He wasn't exactly the brightest bulb in the drawer, and often needed help with the Larger numbers.

Unfortunately this time his struggle wasn't with mathematics but rather with his heart which had just decided that enough was enough. Behind her, she felt him fall away. A very large thud shook the floorboards.

She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened with genuine emotion for the first time that day. There was Santa, lying on his back with his eyes wide open and his pants still around his ankles. Despite the enthusiastic salute of his three and a half inch long boner, he didn't appear to be breathing.

“Santa? Santa! Oh shit!"

KOK OK KOK

Wendall Klaus awoke to the sound of his telephone ringing, and immediately wished he'd had the good sense to destroy the thing. It was a very old Land-line wired up to his bedside table, and as such it was impossible to send to voicemail. Gritting his teeth, he reached out and grabbed the receiver before pulling it over to the side of his face. He did not take his head from the pillow.

“Wendall?" an uncertain voice called from the other end of the line.

“Hello, Vernon." Wendall tried to keep the cold anger out of his voice.

His aversion to consciousness wasn't the fault of one of his oldest friends.

“Are you alright? You sound strained."

“Well I would be, wouldn't I?"

"I suppose so. Look, I know it's been a month now but I just wanted to call to apologize about everything.”