After Christmas…


Twas the week after Christmas and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring,

Especially that damn mouse!


For Santa was in bed,

exhausted he said,

from the riot of his worldly ride.



Kris Kringle, aka Kristof Kringolson, lay racked out in his bed. Exhaustion didn’t begin to cover how he felt. Between the tensions and pressures that built up prior to the big day and the physical exertions of Christmas, he could barely move. He’d landed his sleigh, turned it over to the head elf and headed for his room. That had been 48 hours ago.

Greta Elfsdottir, aka Mrs. Kringle, peeked in on her husband. The snoring had mellowed out to a dull roar and she wondered if he might wake soon. She closed the door gently and went to get him some strong tea, stew and rye bread. She came back just in time to see him sit up in bed.

“Oh, oh, oh, my head!” he said.

“Was it really that bad this time?” Greta asked.

He nodded. “Too many treats, too much booze. You know if I don’t at least sample them, the children get upset,” he said. He took the tea and aspirin that Greta held out for him.

“Didn’t you bag some of the treats up for the less fortunate?” she asked.

“Yes! I still get seen though and I have to eat and drink what they have set out,” he moaned.

“Well, You’d think you’d be better at it,” she scoffed. There were days she wasn’t happy about his line of work, but there wasn’t a lot she could do about it.

“Greta dear, I do try, but with all that time travel to make sure I’m everywhere on the same night, I get tired,” Kristof said.

“I know, I know. Eat your stew. It was the same way for your great-grandfather and there were a lot less people in the world then,” she said.

He nodded as he took a bite of stew. “This is good. Did you tease Rudolf that he was next?” he asked as he ate the stew.

“No, Dasher. Especially as he came home with tinsel around his ankle this year. Still, it is fun to tease them that we’ll eat them if they slack off. They wouldn’t know beef from pork, which is just fine by me,” teased Greta.

Kristof laughed. Then he noticed how loose his nightgown was. “Did you grab the wrong one out of the closet Greta?” he asked.

“No, just like last year, you lost twice as much weight. It will take lots of creamy cheese and good puddings to fatten you up for next year,” she said. Every year, it was a battle to fatten him up in time for the holidays. Time travel, stress and the physical activity pulled about five pounds or more an hour off of him as he delivered presents across the world.

“I started out at 358 pounds this year. What was I when I crossed the threshold?” he asked.

“198 pound,” Greta said. “Not a record, but very close.”

“Oh my,” Kristof said as he finished up his stew.

Greta set on the edge of his bed and looked at her husband. She smiled at his rugged windburned face. Each Kringolson worked as Santa for twenty years. Age 40 to 60, as it was a tough job. Before that they would run the production floor. After that, they ran the office. Spidery hand writing looked so much better from an older hand. She touched his beard and caressed his face. He smiled back at her and kissed the palm of her hand.

“So, what was the good, the bad and the ugly on this run?” she asked. They did this ever year, and while sometimes it was funny, other times it was sad and painful.

Kristof sighed and put his empty cup on the tray. “How about more tea and a bit of strudel?” he asked.

Greta smiled, picked up the tray and headed off to the kitchen. Kristof settled himself in the bed and waited. Greta was back in less than ten minutes. She brought enough for herself as well. She handed out the tea and strudel and settled on the bed next to Kristof.

“As usual, there were lots of skinny trees with homemade decorations. Plenty of snacks, from animal crackers and milk to cheesecake and fifteen year old Scotch,” said Kristof.

Greta nodded. All normal so far.

“I had kids hiding under stairs, behind chairs and even in a box under the tree,” he said with a smile.

“Did you say anything?” she asked.

“No, I just ate the snack, and piled the presents on top of the box,” said Kristof. He grinned thinking about the noises he heard as he left that house.

“What else?” she asked.

Animals. Lots of them this year. One house had the tree in a barn. So, I had to wade through the ducks, geese and chickens to get to the ladder and leave the presents. Oh, and one house had a pit bull that scared the hell out of me! Barked and charged,” he said.

“Oh my! What did you do?” asked Greta.

“I held still. Next thing I knew, the dog was licking and yipping and wagging it’s tail. It wasn’t mean, just wanted attention. A very sweet dog and a big surprise. I left him two bones,” said Kristof.

It was Greta’s turn to smile.

“The bad was two housefires. It took a little doing, but I found the hotel the families had been moved to and left their gifts there. Lots more divorces and broken up families as well. Seems that the economy is really hitting hard. People cutting back and such,” he said.

“We noticed that when your father was doing the letters in the office this year. Children asking for food instead of presents or jobs for their parents,” said Greta.

Kristof nodded. “Then there were some of ‘those’ houses,” he said. He blushed.

Greta smiled. She loved these stories. It also gave her lots of ideas to liven up their sex lives.

“I must have hit 1000 or more houses with wives bedecked with ribbons under the tree waiting for their husbands to come home. Only about 50 husbands though,” he started.

Greta nodded. She’d done that as a very young bride. She’d worked on embroidering the ribbon with his name for hours. He’d kissed her as he unwrapped her.

“I ‘interrupted’ about 560 couples who were having sex under the tree as well. About half were drunk. The two octogenarians gave me a laugh though. They didn’t hear me, and I left their presents quickly as I didn’t want to interrupt their joy,” said Kristof.

Greta broke out laughing. The thought of someone as old as her parents screwing under the tree just tickled her funny bone. Kristof smiled too. “What was your bizarre one this year?” she asked.

“Oh, that was the treat left on the St. Andrew’s Cross,” said Kristof.


“I went down this one chimney into this huge mansion. I walked into the library to leave the presents and there next to the tree was this big X. Strapped to the X was a very well endowed woman. Totally nude and around her neck was a note,” he said.

“Okay, what did it say?” Greta asked.

“It said, “Dear Santa, I’ve been a bad girl and need you to punish me.” and next to the X was a small table with various things on it,” Kristof said.

“And what did you do?” asked Greta.

“Well, I put the presents around the tree and then I gave her what she asked for,” said Kristof with a bit of a blush. “I clamped her nipples, pushed the vib in place and turned it on. Then I got the automatic ball pitch out of the sack that I had intended for one of the local baseball teams and loaded it up with about 300 tennis balls. Then I set it to hit her on the ass about once every four seconds and then turned it on,” he said. “It was a delightful way to spank her ass.”

“And then you left?” Greta asked.

“Yes. I had lots of stuff to deliver and a gift to replace,” he said.

Greta nodded. “Any fun ones?” she asked.

“Ah yes. Two women tried to give me blow jobs. One was fast too. Did the whole hug thing and had her hand in my pants before you could say Vixen! Almost let her do it too,” he said watching Greta. Once a long time ago, he’d let one of the women have her way with him, and he hadn’t told Greta. She found out and it was a year before he had any fun. Plus, he’d been a damn skinny Santa that year. She cooked nothing but cabbage soup, sauerkraut and hotdogs.

“But you didn’t,” she said.

“No, I learned my lesson,” Kristof said. “I love my dear Greta. You are the woman for me.” With that, he took her in his arms and began to kiss her. In short order, their clothes were tossed on the floor and Kristof was snuggled between her legs, tongue poised at her clit.

“HO! Ho! Ho!” he cried, letting the vibrations tickle her.

Greta giggled. She squeaked when his tongue licked her from clit to pussy and back again. When she was very wet, he slid in deep, burying himself to his balls. They bounced and rocked the fourposter in rhythm to his thrusts. In spite of his exhausting run, he loved sex with Greta. The bed creaked. It groaned when they groaned. As Kristof began to chuckle his orgasm up from the bottoms of his feet to the tip of his nose, the bed made an creaking ominous noise. He pounded hard into Greta as he came and Greta moaned and rode his orgasm to her own.


The bed cracked, shuddered and then slid to the floor in pieces, with the Kringles still in the throws of orgasm. The bed settled around them like a deflated tent. From under the bedding and pieces of bed came a laugh.

“Oh! Damn that was good sex!” roared Kristof. He laughed and laughed as he pulled Greta from the wreckage. She was laughing too.

“Dear, do you think if I am a very good girl, that Santa will bring me a new bed for Christmas?” she asked in a soft voice.

He looked down at her and laughed. “You had better be a very good girl,” he said.

She smiled at him, bent over and kissed his sticky semi-erect cock. “I can be very good,” she said.

He wrapped her in his arms, grabbed their bathrobes and headed off to the workshop. They had a bed to build.

7 thoughts on “After Christmas…

Add yours

    1. Smile! (bounce! bounce! bounce!) I had so much fun writing that piece. I’ve been imagining what goes on for the other 363 days since I was little. 🙂 So glad you enjoyed my story.

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