Date: Sat, 16 Dec 2006 14:55:46 -0800 (PST)
From: James Spaulding <fathercandy@yahoo.com>
Subject: What Santa Knows, Part 4

The following story is a piece of fiction.  If suggestions of incest offend
you please do not read If you enjoyed this story, feel free to contact me
at fathercandy@yahoo.com.  There is more to come...


What Santa Knows, Part 4


I had made my request.  I made it sitting on Santa's lap.  Actually, more
accurately, I made it sitting on Santa's semi-erect cock Ð and, as I was
naked -- I felt every inch of that cock on my ass.

Still, nothing came of it.  I requested.  And I waited.  Santa, of course,
acted as though nothing had changed between the two of us.  He was Santa,
and I was his little helper.  The Reverend Shackleton and his son, Robert,
were never once talked about.  Of course, I thought about them constantly.
I thought about the way they shared Santa's cock.  I thought about the way
the father made the son cum twice within a minute.  I thought about the way
Santa fed from the Reverend's cum covered chest.  I thought.  But we never
talked about any of it.

Why was I so passive?  If I had learned anything, all was done as Santa
would have it done.  I was just his helper, a plaything to pull out when
appropriate.

Friday night Ð the Friday following the Sunday of the Shackleton's Ð Santa
and I made our farewell in the locker room as always.  He changed out of
his Santa suit.  I watched, hoping he would read the lust in my eyes.
Hoping he would feed me, fuck me, use me.  And, as always, the watching
seemed to mean nothing to Santa.  I stood there Ð tights, tunic, and shorts
Ð and Santa got ready to leave.

He looked at me.  "It sure takes you a long while to figure out whether or
not you want to get out of the costume, Derek.  What?  Do you like looking
like a dork?"

A dork.  Of course I looked like a dork.  I wanted him to see me as the kid
with the dick Ð a dick he had admired.  But all he seemed to see was the
kid in the elf suit.  The dork.

He walked to the door.  Turned with a smile.  'I'll see you later, little
man."  And, of course, he chuckled.

In an empty locker room, I changed.  Made my way to my car.  Stopped at
Taco Bell for dinner.  My mom was out of town Ð Christmas shopping with her
sister. Dad was either still drinking with his buddies or passed out on the
couch with the door locked.  I knew his habits.  Even as I had once took
advantage of them.

I would have pulled in the driveway Ð as always Ð but a strange car was
parked where I usually parked.  One of Dad's drinking buddies.  At least
they cared enough to make sure he made it home safely when he was trashed.
They rarely stayed.  But they were good men.  Mom and I really appreciated
their kindness.

I was ready for bed.  A long day at school.  A long day with obnoxious kids
and even more obnoxious parents always exhausted me.

I walked through the kitchen, ready to make my way to the stairs, and then
my bed, when Dad called out.

"Derek?  Is that you buddy?"

He wasn't passed out.  His words weren't slurred.  He was in a good mood.
Even chipper.  I walked to his den.  It wasn't locked.  The door wasn't
even closed.  I entered.  I expected to see Dad and one of his buddies with
one last beer, a last beer that would be followed by any number of later
"last beers".

I walked in, only to hear another familiar voice.

"There he is.  Ho Ho Ho. The best damn little helper I've ever had."

Santa?

Santa was sitting on Dad's recliner.  Dad was sitting on the sofa.  And I
was completely flummoxed.  Santa?  Dad?  What the hellÉ

"Derek, your boss here has been telling me just how good you are."

My boss was in his Santa suit Ð he had obviously changed since he left the
mall.

"Santa?  Dad?  IÉ"

"Sit down, Derek.  Santa came by to give you a compliment.  He also shared
some darn good whiskey.  He said you might need a little.  Tough day.  I
told him I'd have no problem with you drinking a little.  Mom's gone for
the night.  It's just us guys.  You're more than welcome to join the
party."

Dad got up.  Poured a drink from Santa's "truth serum," and served me.

"Cheers, little buddy."  He swallowed.  I swallowed.  And a glance told me
Santa swallowed.  Truth serum.  I was starting to wonder what I was
actually drinking.  I was starting to wonder about my Christmas requestÉ

"I'm proud of you, boy.  Santa tells me you're better with the little kids
than he is."

"He's good with their parents, too.  Especially the dads. Aren't you,
Derek?"  Of course, I blushed.  I knew what Santa was talking about.  I had
fucked the Reverend Shackleton.  I was good with the Dads.

My own continued to bask in Santa's praise.

"Yep, our boy Derek, deserves something special for Christmas."

Dad laughed.  Got serious for a moment.  Smiled.  "He does.  His mom and I
are hoping it's an early acceptance to Princeton Ð his top college choice.
But, secretly, I would hate to see him go so far away. Derek knows I wish
he'd go to the University of Chicago."

"If I get in, Dad.  If I get in anywhere."

Santa put in his two cents worth.  "Derek, my boy, you will get in anywhere
you wish to go.  Any where you want to get in Ð you'll get in."

I liked his optimism.  And then I realized the nature of Santa Speak Ð he
liked euphemisms.

"I hope you're right Santa.  Don't you have some pull somewhere?"  Dad
spoke, unaware of Santa Speak.  Besides, he didn't know what the fuck a
euphemism was.

"I have pull in some places, Stephen.  I'm sure anywhere I can pull, Derek
can pull, too."

Santa was working his magic.  I was certain.  But I was scared shitless.  I
had made my request after the most uninhibited, uncontrolled, unimaginable
experience of my life.  Here I was.  Everything was like it had always
been. But Santa was here.  And Santa did things.  Santa had his way.

And so he began.

"Stephen, pour yourself another drink.  Fill up Derek's glass, too.  We
have a long night in front of us."  Dad poured.  He drank.  I drank.  And I
felt the serum.

"This is good stuff, Santa.  Just what the doctor ordered."

"The doctor had nothing to do with it, Stephen.  Derek made the order."

Here we go.  I sat back.  Too terrified to act.  Too excited to not.  I
knew Santa knew what he was doing.  I let him do.  And I hoped my Christmas
wish came true.

"Derek?"

"Derek.  You see, as my little helper, Derek gets a Christmas perk.  He
gets to make a Christmas wish.  Let's say that wish begins with this little
party."  Santa stood, grabbed the bottle, poured again.

"Well, this is some party, Santa.  It's been a while since you and I have
spent any time together."  Dad laughed.  Drank some more.

"Actually, Stephen, it's been 27 years."

"27 years?"  Dad made some attempt at mathematics in his head.  'You're
right, Old Man, it has been 27 years."

"Stephen, I may be a lot of things, but I am not old."

"Again, right."  Dad drank some more.  "You haven't aged a day.  That suit
still fits you perfectly.  You look great, Buddy.  Great."

"Stephen, again I must correct you, I'm not your buddy.  I'm Santa.  You
know what that means.  I know what that means.  And Derek knows what that
means."

Dad paused for a moment.  Another swallow.  "He does?"

"He does."

Dad looked at me.  I raised my glass to my lips.  I drank.  I drank some
more.

"I do, Dad."

"You do?"

Dad was getting it.  It just took awhile.

Santa looked at Dad.  He looked at me.  He looked satisfied.

"This is where I start calling the shots."

Dad just looked at me, and I just looked at him.  We were under a spell.
But we were also completely lucid and in control of our own decisions.
Nonsense?  Magic is always nonsense to those who don't experience it.

"Derek, remember when you gave your dad a blow job?

I hoped the magic was real.  I nodded.  Hoping there were no consequences
to my assent.

"Stephen, remember when Derek took you load?"

Dad nodded.

Dad nodded?  He was passed out.  What was there for him to remember?  What
the hell?  What the fuck?  And then I started to figure it out.

"Stephen, Derek's Christmas is much like yours twenty-seven years ago.  You
Eggert men have a way with constancy."  Santa laughed.

Dad seemed embarrassed.  I was intrigued.  Twenty-seven years ago?  What
the fuck happened?  Dad would have been 17 or so.

Dad took another sip of Santa's serum.  But even as he drank, he seemed to
grow sober.  Thoughtful.  Fully aware of what was happening.

He looked at Santa.  "You meanÉ?"

"Yes, Stephen, just like you, he wants his old man's cock.  Of course, this
being 2004, he wants more than a chance to suck your cock.  He wants a lot
more."

Dad looked at me.  " A lot more?"

I hoped I was reading Dad's face correctly.  "A lot more, Dad."

Dad didn't respond.  So Santa took over.

"Stephen, when's the last time you saw Derek naked?"

"Um, about a week or two.  He'd just gotten out of the shower.  IÉI looked
in on him.  Watched as he put on his boxer shorts.  He didn't see me.  IÉ"

"You've watched him before.  Haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Dad swallowed.  "IÉ"

"What the fuck, Stephen."  Santa was starting to get angry.  "Why do you
watch your son when he's naked?"

"IÉI want him.  He looks so much like me when I was young.  He looks so
good."

"You jack off thinking of him, don't you?"

"All the time."  The truth serum was working its magic.  So was Santa.

"What do you think about, Stephen?"

"I think about fucking him.  I think about his ass.  I think about making
love to him.  I think about pleasing him, too.  IÉ"

'You got me horned up, Stephen.  Just like old times."  Even though Santa's
pants were loose, his erection was evident.  It was made even more evident
as Santa began to stroke himself.

I had to know.  "Old times?"

"Yep.  Your father and I go way back."

"Twenty-seven years?"

"It's longer than that.  I just haven't seen him in twenty-seven years.
How old were you Stephen when I first gave you to your father?"

What the fuck!?!  Santa gave my dad to his father.  My grandfather?
Grandpa and Dad?

'I was fifteen.  It was the Christmas 1976.  Dad was 51."

"You enjoyed yourself, didn't you, Stephen?"

"Yes, Sir.  I enjoyed myself.  Dad's still the best lover I've ever had."

"Better than me, Stephen?"

Dad laughed.  "You were seasonal.  Dad lasted all year long."

Santa chuckled, too. "Good point."

My head was spinning.  Lust.  Lust.  Lust.  I was fascinated: Dad and
Grandpa?  Santa and Dad?  And just when was I going to enter the equation?

"So."  Dad looked at me.  "You're giving Derek to me this year?"

Santa smiled.  Looked at me.  Looked at Dad.  "Not this year, Stephen.
This year I'm giving you to Derek."  He paused for effect.  Waited until
Dad digested the news.  "You do know the difference, don't you, Stephen?"

"Oh yeah.  I know the difference.  SoÉ" Dad looked at me.  "What does my
son want me to do?"

I hesitated.  Not really sure what was going to happen.  Was I really going
to call all the shots?

Santa read my mind.  "Merry Christmas, Derek.  He's all yours."  He looked
at Dad.  Dad was stroking himself.  "You like this, don't you Stephen?"

"Fuck, yeah."

And with those words, I went to work.

"Stand up, Dad."

Dad stood I walked over to him.  Looked into his eyes as my fingers moved
to the buttons on his shirt.  I began to unbutton them.  Dad looked in my
eyes.  I read assent.  I read lust.  I knew he was more than willing to
submit.  I moved my mouth towards his, he opened his lips, my tongue
entered.  Dad and I kissed.  He pulled me towards him, so he could kiss me
harder. I continued to unbutton his shirt.

"Take it off, Dad."  Dad took it off.  He looked at me.

"Do you want me to take my t-shirt off, too?"

"Take it off."

My hands went to work on his nipples.  His chest was nicely hairy, nicely
defined, and his nipples were hard and perky.  I played with them.  Pulled.
Twisted.  And though Dad continued to kiss me vigorously, occasional grunts
and moans told me he loved the tit play.

"Fuck, Derek.  Where the hell did you learn to do this so well?"

Santa interrupted.  "That's another story for another time, Stephen.  A
good story.  But right now you got your own story going on.  Just enjoy."

My mouth moved to Dad's nipples.  My teeth and my tongue worked Dad's tits.
He pulled me closer, forcing more tit into my mouth, creating more pain and
Ð obviously Ð more pleasure.  Hair got caught in my teeth, but it was Dad's
chest hair, hair that I had admired and long considered one of Dad's best
attributes.  Now it was mine to feel, to lick, to swallow as I chose.

"Can I take my pants off, Son?"

I liked the power that had been given to me.  I liked the fact that Dad was
mine to control.  It added to the intensity, it added to my pleasure.  And
I was certain it added to his.

"Why don't you get on your knees.  I got something for you."

Dad knelt, opened his mouth, and waited as I unzipped my pants, and
released by cock from my boxer shorts.

"Oh, Derek, it's more beautiful than I imagined.  FuckÉ" And his mouth went
to work.  He swallowed all of it on the first try.  He gagged a bit.  Heavy
spit dripped from his mouth, but he never stopped, his head bobbed between
my legs, his throat happily took my inches.  Of course, I was close to
cumming almost immediately.  A blow job from Dad?  Too hot.  Too much.  And
I didn't want to cum too fast.

I pulled my cock from his mouth.  Dad looked at me.  So eager to please.
So willing to submit.  It was if I was seeing a different man, a man so
unlike the one who had spanked me when I was bad, who had taught me to ride
a bike, throw a football, shoot a basket.  This man was a pig.  And wanted
to be treated like one.

I looked at Santa.  He winked at me.  Looked at my Dad Ð eager and willing,
still on his knees Ð and told me everything I needed to hear.  "Looks like
your Dad would do just about anything and take just about anything.  Get to
it, Derek.  Work out those fantasies."

I told Dad to get up.  Told him to go to his bedroom.  I followed.  Santa
followed me.  Once we got in the room, I told Dad to take off is pants.  He
went to it with an urgency that, like everything else, spoke of his need.
I watched as he removed his belt, unzipped his pants, took of his shoes,
took off his pants, and stepped out of his briefs.  He stood before me.
Naked.  Fully erect.  Totally aroused.  I paused for a moment just to
admire the man who stood before me.  Yes, he was the man who had raised me.
But he was also the man I had fantasized about.  I too had spent countless
hours trying to see him naked.  I had spent even more time masturbating,
imagining what I would do to him, what he would do to me.  Now, -- as Santa
said -- now I had my chance to work out my fantasies.

I told Dad to get in the shower.  I had long fantasized about Dad as he
lathered up his body, cleaned his asshole, massaged his penis, balls,
chest.  I had often imagined walking into the shower as he cleaned himself,
my hands moving over his soapy body, my hands exploring his hole, his cock,
his balls, his chest.  Cleaning him, only to work my way inside him: his
mouth, his ass.

I removed the rest of my clothes and followed Dad into the bathroom.  Dad
was ready to enter the shower and turn on the water when I had another
thought.  A Santa inspired thought.

I told Dad to get on his knees.  He did, he opened his mouth, hoping to
take my cock once more between his lips.  But I surprised him and myself.
As Santa had done to me a few weeks ago, I began to piss on my father.
Dad's mouth stayed open, his tongue eagerly tasting my urine.

"You like that, Stephen?  You like your son's piss?"

Dad's reply to Santa's question was a simple one; he put his mouth around
my cock, and proceeded to swallow the last of my piss, drinking as though
he were drinking his favorite beer.

When I was finished pissing and Dad was finished drinking, I reached for
the shower, turned it on, and soon we were standing beneath a stream of
warm water.  Dad stood and moved to kiss me again.  I'm sure there was a
taste of my piss, but I was most eagerly tasting my father's desire.  His
tongue, his spit, his lips, filled my mouth.

I reached to close the shower doors, when Santa interrupted.  "What, you
think you are going to keep me from watching?"  He chuckled.  My hand moved
from the door to the soap.  I stood behind my father, my cock pressing
against his ass, and I began to lather his body.  I washed his chest,
tugging on his chest hair.  I washed his erection, pleased with its girth.
The soap served as a lube as I placed both of my hands around Dad's cock,
and as he filled my fists, I began to pump up and down.

"FuckÉDerekÉYou're gonnaÉmake me shoot ifÉ if you keep doing that."

I bent to his ear, bit his ear lope, and whispered: "You better not cum,
Dad.  Santa gave you to me.  You're mine.  And I don't want your cum to be
wasted."

My hands moved from his cock to his ass.  I soaped his hairy ass cheeks.  I
lathered his asshole, moving my hand to his balls, up to his cock, and back
to his ass hole.  Dad stood, quivering.  He knew where this was going.  He
knew what he was soon about to receive.

I began with one finger, slowly probing his hole, moving inside him.  I
added another finger.  A third.  I was stretching him, preparing him for my
cock.

"I want you, Derek.  I want you inside me."

I lathered my cock with more soap, and began my entry.  My Dad stood with
his back bent toward me.  His arms were placed on either side of his head,
trying to hold him steady as he prepared to receive his son's inches.
Those inches soon began to pierce him.  I watched, consumed by lust and
pleasure, as my father bent even more, allowing easier access to his hole.
I watched as my cock began to enter him.  I felt his hole surround my cock,
warm, slick with soap, inviting.  I moved deeper inside of Dad.  I wanted
him to feel all of me.

"Fuck.  Son.  You are so fucking big."

"You like my big cock, Dad?"

"Fuck.  Just put it inside of meÉFuck."  Dad groaned as I shoved the rest
of my cock.  My thickness stretched his walls in ways my fingers hadn't.
The length of my erect cock pierced deeper than my fingers had.  He was
prepared.  And I began to move.  I know from experience that it's best to
begin slowly.  I had no best intentions.  My intention was to fuck my dad,
fill him with my load, and make him beg for more.

Dad's beggin began quickly.  And in earnest.  "Fuck meÉFuck meÉHarder.
Fuck meÉHarder, DerekÉFuck"

I listened and my hips began moving more quickly.  My cock moved in an out
of his hole with an intense rhythm.  I watched as my cock left his hole.  I
grabbed it with my right hand, aimed, and entered Dad again.

"YesÉjustÉlikeÉthatÉ"

I pulled out again, took aim, and thrust my cock deep inside of Dad's slick
hole.  In and out.  Hard.  Harder.  I knew I was going to cum soon.  I
could only take so much of this pleasure Ð both psychological and physical.
Watching as my Dad submitted to my cock.  Feeling his ass walls surround my
inches.  All of it led to an orgasm both intense and eternal.  I shot my
load deep inside Dad.

"Oh that's itÉdeep inside DaddyÉ.deep inside meÉ"

Dad could feel my orgasm.  He could feel the buckets of cum that I was
depositing inside his eager hole.  He could feel my cock quiver.  And still
I kept plunging in and out of his hole.  My cock was now slick with my cum.
Entry was even easier.  Even after I finished shooting, I continued to
fuck.  I continued treating my Dad to my cock.

"That was some fuck, Derek.  Damn boy.  Your Dad's gonna be tired for
days."

I pulled out of Dad.  Still hard.  Still slick.  Dad turned around, fell to
his knees, and cleaned my cock.  Swallowing all of it, tasting the remains
of my cum.

As much as I enjoyed using Dad, I was certainly more than willing to submit
in turn.  We left the shower.  Santa handed each of us a towel.  Funny how
Dad and I had forgotten our audience; neither of us remembered the giant in
the red suit.  After a quick dry, Dad followed me into the bedroom.  Santa
followed.

I told Dad to sit on the bed.  He sat, and I knelt between his legs.
Impressed with the meat before me.  Yes, I had given Dad a blow job once
before, but I had been so worried that he would wake up from his drunken
stupor while I was in the middle of servicing him I hardly had a moment to
enjoy and appreciate his cock.  My left hand cupped his balls while my
right hand stroked his erection.  Dad's dick was thick like mine.  It was
long like mine.  It was the kind of dick every gay man fantasizes about.
Not the sort of big dick that exists only in the wildest of movies and
magazines, but the kind of dick that more than fills a mouth and certainly
stuffs an asshole.  I admired.  And then I went to work.

Dad filled my mouth.  I worked on his dick in much the same way he had
worked on mine Ð greedily, sloppily, urgently.  Dad's hands moved to my
head and he helped guide my head as my mouth went up and down on his dick.
Of course, I needed no help, but the pressure Dad exerted added to my
pleasure.  I didn't need to be forced, but the fantasy was increased by the
suggestion of powerlessness.

Of course, Dad was powerless in his own way.  His orgasm was fast
approaching.

"Derek, baby, I am going to cumÉ"

I stopped sucking his cock.  Looked at him.  And asked "Where?  Where do
you want to deposit your cum, Dad?  My mouth?  My ass?"

Dad grabbed his cock, squeezed hard so as to stop from cumming, and told me
to get on my back.  I listened.  Dad knelt between my legs and began his
tongue play, playing with my hole with his tongue, warming it up, readying
me for the fuck of my life.  I felt his whiskers and he shoved his tongue
deeper into my hole.  My hole was ready.  I wanted Dad to fuck me.

He got up.  Moved to the nightstand, and pulled out a tube of lube.  He
also took out a condom.  He lubed up his cock, and made to put on the
rubber.

"No condom, Dad."  Just like Robbie Shackleton, I wanted to feel all of my
dad, his naked cock and his hot cum deep inside of me.

Dad added more lube to his fingers, and they worked their way into my eager
hole.  In a matter of seconds I was ready, Dad was ready, the fucking
began. I felt Dad enter.  I felt him as he steadied himself, and worked his
way deeper.  I felt every inch.  It hurt.  I was stretched.  And I groaned
with some sort of pain.  But I loved it.  I loved looking at him as he
fucked me.  There was no smile.  He wasn't gentle.  But he was intense.  He
looked at me. Stared into my eyes as he began to thrust himself in and out
of my hole .  I felt his balls slap against my cheeks.  Dad's thrusts
became harder.  Faster.  Deeper He closed his eyes.  Sweat was dripping
from his forehead.  It didn't last long, Dad couldn't control himself.

"Here I cum.  HereÉ.I fuckingÉcumÉ" And Dad came.  Deep inside of me I felt
his final thrusts.  I felt the jets of his cum as he filled my bowels.  He
pulled out me, bent down, and with a gentleness that he hadn't shown
before, kissed me.

"Nice, Baby, very nice."

I could only grunt in assent.  I had been nice. But it was so much more
than nice.  It was hot.  It was sick.  It was incest.  It was my Christmas
present.  I had no idea what would follow.  Would Dad and I fuck regularly?
Would Santa's magic somehow wear off?  Would we both forget this little
interlude of lust?  One thing I knew, I wanted to savor this feeling.  I
wanted to savor the fact that my father and I had just had sex.  We hadn't
made love.  There was little love involved.  But we had released
deep-seated lust.  And we had both found a pleasure heretofore unknown.

I reached out for Dad, pulling him to the bed, wanting to feel him next to
me.

Santa interrupted my plans.  "Not so fast."

We looked at Santa, watched as he removed his clothes.  As always, I found
myself amazed at the size and beauty of his body.  His hairy chest, his
massive arms, his hairy forearms.  His thick thighs, and his huge cock.  I
found myself immediately enamored.  Immediately willing to submit to Santa.
I had watched him fuck the Reverend Shackleton.  I saw his mastery.  The
way his thickness plunged and replunged.  The way his hips moved in a
circular fashion as he worked his way in and out of the Reverend's eager
hole.  I had wanted him to fuck me since the moment I first saw him.  And
now it seemed as though Santa was ready to give me what I had hoped for.

Naked, Santa reached for the lube.  He covered his cock.  He began to
stroke his thick dick as he moved towards Dad.  "Stephen, you remembered
the first time I fucked you?"

The look on Dad's face told me it was a fine memory.  "Yes I do, sir."

"Why don't you tell Derek about it while I get ready to fuck you and your
son just like I fucked you and your dad those thirty years ago."

Santa looked at me.  Winked.  Chuckled a bit.  "It sure is a good story,
Derek."