FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Christmas week.

The busiest week of all year, and the bane of retail shop workers everywhere. Even in the best of circumstances, going out this week would be madness.

The people. The traffic. The jacked-up discount prices…

Even more so when you were not planning on buying anything.

Still, you did not want to feel alone this week. That’s all. And so, you decided to venture out that afternoon.

Of course, not wanting to feel alone was not the same as wanting to spend half an hour crammed inside a bus like a can of sardines, or to be pushed all around by people too busy for everyday manners, or become deaf from all the children crying and people shouting.

Or even, to sit next to some random stranger’s feet because all benches were full…

You sigh. Perhaps a little too loud and for far too long given the judging gazes from all your neighbors, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

Even here, surrounded by all these people, you felt alone.

You stand up, dust the back of your pants, and head down the staircase to the first floor. However, just before you leave, you stand in line for some coffee, maybe some bagels as well, to keep you company on the way back. You look down at your phone, leaving enough space to see the shoes of the man in front of you, just in case the mile-long queue decides to move.

Coming here was such a stupid idea…

Hours (or perhaps it was just several dragged-on minutes) go by as you continue waiting for your “Christmas meal.” You hop from one foot to the other, trying to relieve the pain on your soles, when you suddenly feel an intense stare on the back of your neck. You turn around, but see no one.

…Or rather, sure, there were thousands of people walking all around the mall, some breaking through the line to get to the staircases. Others standing in line with you. And not to mention all those standing on the railings above and looking down as they waited for their companions to finish shopping.

What you meant was that there was no one looking at you.

That is with one exception.

At the center of the floor, in the pavilion area, a mall Santa is sitting on his throne; his gaze fixed in your direction. He waves in your direction, and you turn your head around, not seeing any kids or anyone else nearby (well, paying attention to the Santa, at least). You point at yourself, and the Santa nods, signaling for you to get closer. After taking another look at the line and seeing that it has barely moved since you got in, you decide to approach him.

After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

No one seems to be waiting in line to see Santa, so you duck under the red velvet topes to get to front where a man in an elf costume awaits. He has a dead look in his eyes, clearly wanting to leave but being forced to stand in place here for who knows how much longer. The Santa waves to the “elf”, who just sighs before taking the barrier off, giving you free way to the Santa.

As you approach him, however, you start to notice something. This is a different Santa from the years before. Not that you ever really paid attention to any of them, to be honest, but still, this year’s looked… pale. In fact, the closer you get…

Was that a Polar Bear?

Well, not a real Polar Bear of course. It had to obviously be a costume of some sort. Fitting, you guess? And not just in a “sponsored by Coca Cola”-kind of way. The man (or at least the costume) was big. Not just tall, but rotund as well, and the way the flaps on his robe shifted as he moved almost made him seem like the real deal. In fact, the only thing that looked fake on him was his beard.

They had really gone wild this year. Shame that no one was paying any attention to him…

Finally, you reach the Santa and ask if he needed something or why did he call all the way from across the room.

“Ho, ho, ho!” The Bear let out a raucous laughter, his belly shaking like if it was made out of jelly.

Just like in the carols.

“That’s the wrong question, cub,” he says, one of the eyes of his mask closing as if winking at you. “Now, why don’t you sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what is it that you want?”

The “Bear” pats his right leg. Quite close to his crotch, if you might add.

This was awkward…

You take a quick look around. While most people are still busy doing their business, a few have started to approach the pavilion to watch the exchange between the two of you. You pull at your sweater’s collar, unsure of what to do.

Sure, you could always leave, the situation being more than embarrassing. At Best. But what if there was a kid watching? How would their parents explain that someone would deny the chance to be with Santa?

“Now, now, don’t be shy, ma’cub,” the Santa says. “Or are you going to tell me you’re too old for Santa?”

You can clearly hear the snickers coming from behind you. You take a deep breath and sit on his knee. Meanwhile, the Santa lifts one gloved hand and starts to ruffle your hair.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The man says, a cool and sweet scent coming from the mouth-hole on his mask. It reminds you of peppermint. You open your mouth, but before you can answer, the man continues. “Still, that’s not my lap, is it?”

Your eyes go wide open as he lowers his glove to your back, and pulls you closer. Your butt now firmly resting on top of the Santa’s bulge, and your legs trapped under his belly.

“There, that’s better.”

Great, just what you needed. A pervert Santa…

Your face turns red, redder than even this Santa’s cheap costume, and your eyes start to wet. So, you turn your gaze to the floor, right in between the Santa’s rubber boots. Meanwhile, your body starts to grow hotter with every barely-contained laughter. Every derisive remark.

And every second that you spend right next to this man.

The Santa puts one finger under your chin and moves your head so that you’re forced to stare into the costume’s deep, dark eyes. “Now, tell me, cub, what is it that you desire?”

That peppermint-y smell washes from inside the costume all over you. A deodorant, you guess, but now that you’re closer to the “Bear”, you start to detect hints of other aromas. Like gingerbread. And fir. And eggnog.

The longer you stayed next to him, the calmer you became. It was almost like if he was the embodiment of Christmas himself. A little voice inside your head compelling you to trust this unknown man. To do as he asked.

What you desired…

The Bear mask shifts, almost looking like he’s giving you a smile. “Yes, yes, what is it?”

You gulp. There’s no way that you could tell him what you really wanted, so you say what first comes to mind. The first—acceptable—thing that comes to mind. Something like world peace, or ending hunger, or whatever.

The Santa lets out a raucous laughter.

“That might be a little out of reach of Santa can do,” he says, putting one hand on your leg. “Try again, cub.”

A Switch 2, maybe?

The Bear nods along, though you can tell from even behind his mask that he’s disappointed.

“If that’s what you really want, then so be it.”

“Smile!” Someone shouts.

You turn towards the elf, a camera in his hands. The bright flash blinds you for a couple seconds, but after the Santa lends you one “paw” so you can climb down from his lap. Once on the ground, you thank him and quickly make your way out of the pavilion, past the crude sneers and remarks. Focused solely on getting away from here. Away from him.

So focused, in fact, that you don’t even notice when he mouths a “see you later…”

You leave the movie theater a couple hours later.

The mall is certainly quieter than when you went in, yet somehow still busy despite the many closed shops. And after confirming that, yes, every food place is also closed, you decide to head back home. As you go down the electric staircase, you peek at the first-floor pavilion.

To your relief, the Santa is no longer there.

No wonder he was all by himself. Just thinking of him gave you the creeps.

The way he called you over. The hyperrealistic Bear mask he wore, which moved and emoted as he talked. The woody scent coming from below his armpit when he went in to ruffle your hair. The warmness of his body once he pulled you close, cozy like a lit fireplace. The softness of his bulge—

No. You shake your head, as if doing so pushed the thoughts out. No more thinking about him.

He was gone (and for good, you hope).

The chill, winter air breezes past you as you exit the mall, and you put on your scarf. It looks like it’s going to be a snowy night. You rush to the bus stop, but it is too late. The stop is bursting with people hoping to catch the last buses of the day. No taxis around either.

You take a look at your phone. With this many people around, there’s no way you’ll get back home before it snows. You open a ride-share app, no drivers nearby either. Or rather, every driver nearby has already been scheduled for someone else. You wait for twenty minutes for a bite and then tap on cancel.

If you remember correctly, there was another bus stop just a few blocks over, and while different routes, the buses there pretty much left you at the same place. Sure, it was a more unlit and secluded area, but that had to mean less people would be there, right?

It was worth a shot. And if it weren’t, it was not far enough that you couldn’t come back to the mall and wait here instead.

You start to walk, and a few streets after, you’re more than glad to confirm your theory.

The stop is completely. Understandably, to be honest, but that didn’t matter to you. You had taken the bus here many times before. Sure, not so late at night, but you hoped nothing bad would happen. You walk over to the stop, intent on looking at the schedules, when you hear a familiar voice coming from the alley to your right.

“A Switch 2, eh?”

You turn.

Sitting at the steps of some building is the mall Santa from before. A cigarette in hand, which you wonder how he’s able to smoke from inside his costume. His fake beard dangling from the mask’s ears.

You nod at the man, unsure whether it’s better to acknowledge his presence or ignore him. Unsure of whether maybe you should start running back towards the mall…

“I saw you, you know? How you chose to sit next to that man’s boots, even though others were lying against the pillars or sitting somewhere else.” You gulp, and he continues, “The long, deep breathes you took.”

You want to tell the Santa that that was none of his business, but instead, just mention how it was not a “deep breath” as he claimed. You sighed, because you were tired, and you wanted to go home. You just happened to be sitting next to his boots when it occurred.

Nothing else to it.

“And what about the other times?” He asks, “Whenever a new person came to sit on that bench? Whenever they shifted their weight, and the opening of their shoes pointed your way? Were you sighing then as well?”

You don’t know how to answer… Had you really done all that?

“Or how about when you went to stand in line? Looking at the sneakers of the guy in front of you.”

You deny the accusation again. You were just looking at your phone while waiting. Sure, you took a glance here and there, but that was just to know if the line had moved.

“Here and there, you say? You stared at them for half-an-hour straight. And don’t tell me it was because you were looking at your phone, it was at your side the whole time.”

You become silent again…

“And what about when you were sitting in my lap?” The Santa flicked his cigarette off to the ground. “When I asked you what you wanted…”

As if to prove his point, the Santa lifted one boot and stomped hard on the cigarette, grinding it to dust after. Once he’s done, you turn your gaze upwards, the bear mask once again having a semblance of a smile.

“Where were you starting at then?”

You scoot closer to the bus stop and check your watch. You tell Santa that, according to the schedule, the next bus should be arriving any minute now. Which is true, yes, but with the city still in total chaos thanks to Christmas, who knows when it’ll truly arrive?

Still, you hope for the man to take the bait and leave you alone, but no dice.

The Santa raises his hand and wags one finger at you.

“You may lie to your friends. To society.” The man points at your chest. “And even to yourself, but we both know what you want—what you really want— and it’s no Switch 2. And you know how I know?”

You can sense what is coming, but still wait for the man in a Bear costume to finish his shpiel.

“Because there is one person you can’t lie to: Santa!”

Yeah, you had enough of this. You tell the man that you’re running late for something else, preparing to escape the first moment you can, 911 in speed dial just in case. But instead of getting mad at you, the Santa just looks down at the ground and shakes his head. Disappointed.

“Your choice,” he says, “but just take in mind that I won’t follow you a third time to ask you a again.”

You give the man a polite smile and turn around, taking one step forward before quickly stopping on your tracks.

You can’t deny that there was a reason why you chose to sit where you did. Why you took out your phone while standing in line. Why you approached him at the mall, and why you were humoring him even now.

You don’t know if you trust this man/Santa/Bear/whatever, but if he really wanted to know, then you would tell him. All of it. Consequences be damned.

You turn around and stare at the Bear’s big, black eyes.

The Santa smiles. “Now, are you ready to tell me what is it that you truly desire?”

You open your mouth, but the words get stuck on your throat. All that bravado, for nothing. Instead, what comes out is your basest of needs. The most immediate: you tell Santa that what you want is to serve him underfoot.

“Hah, I knew it!” The Santa shouts, crossing his feet and giving you clear sight of the sole of his boots. “Well, what are you waiting for, cub? Show Father Christmas what you’ve got!”

You timidly approach the steps and kneel in front of the big man. You grab his right boot with both hands. It had to be as big as your chest, if not even more. The scent of rubber starts to fill your lungs, but there is something else. An earthy scent, but not, like, that from someone walking several blocks to get here (in fact, his sole looked sparkling clean for the distance).

It was more… sweet? Kind of reminding you of licorice.

Your mouth starts to water at the stranger’s boot’s scent, and you move your head closer. You look up at the man looking for approval, and he nods. And thus, you pucker your lips up and plant a kiss right at the tip of his boot.

You flinch as a heavy weight lands on your right shoulder. You close your eyes, thinking you had angered the man somehow, dreading being hurt, but when nothing happens, you open your eyes again. You look over your shoulder where the throat of the Santa’s other boot is resting firmly on it. You turn back towards the man, who’s resting his head on one hand.

“Continue.”

You take a deep breath and do as you’re commanded. You trace your mouth along the man’s boot, every kiss soon followed by a lick. Sometimes the other way around. The taste of rubber was overpowering, almost as if he had taken this pair right out of the box just now, but the aftertaste of licorice helped wash it down. Once you were done polishing the top and sides of the boot, you moved on to the sole, your tongue going through every thread and crevasse.

You lap often and eagerly, only stopping when you come across the ashes of the cigarette from before. Did he expect you to—

“Chop, chop,” the man says, tapping your lips with the tip of his boot.

You gulp, or at least try to (your mouth too dry from the worship session). Still, you take out your tongue and quickly give one long lick. Expecting the burn and taste of tobacco, only to be surprised by the sweetness of chocolate instead. And once all traces of the “ash” are gone, the man lifts his boot from your hands.

Replacing it with the one on your shoulder instead…

Once you’re done with the pair, you put both of the man’s boots back on the step. You won’t deny that after servicing the random man in a dingy alleyway, you felt thirsty, tired, but above all, needy. Too high on the man’s taste and smell, you’re about to ask him to go somewhere else when a bright light flashes over your face.

“Your bus is here.”

You look at the stop. Several people start to come out , but thankfully, no one seems to have noticed either of you. And while you’d like stay with him, reality starts to slowly creep back in.

You don’t know this man, and you took a huge risk just because of your own hornyness. But, while pleasant, it was time for you to move on.

You stand up and thank the Santa before making your way to the bus. Once inside, you look out the window to see the man looking back at you. He smiles, and you wave at him.

You doubt you will ever see him again…

At long last, you’re back home. You open the door to your house—well, the one you share with your roommate. A cold, empty room is the only thing greeting you back, your roommate out of the state to visit their family for the holidays. You turn on the tap and drink straight from it, too thirsty and lazy to want to deal with glasses. After satiating yourself, you head on to your room and lie on your bed.

Even though the walls are a pale blue with a white a ceiling, everything feels so… gray. Not because you miss the Santa, of course, though you won’t deny that he was a welcome distraction from all the… everything around you.

You put your right hand over your nose. There were still traces of the rubber from his boots. And since you are alone anyway…

You lower your other hand and unzip your pants and start to rub as you take another deep breath. Thinking about the possibilities.

So lost in your own fantasies, that it almost feels like you’re able to hear Santa say “Ho, ho, ho…”

“Ho, ho, ho!”

You jump from the loud crash coming from your living room. Grabbing the first blunt object you can find, you slowly open the door. Inch by inch, you get closer and once you’re at the living room, you turn on the lights.

Standing in the center of the room, just in front of the unlit fireplace is him. The mall Santa from before, surrounded by a circle of dust and ashes.

Did… he just follow you home?

The mall Santa turns towards you. “Nice to see you again!” He says, his gaze lowering for a bit before winking at you. “Am I interrupt something?”

You look down and blush. Your pants are still down to your ankles, and your free hand glistens against the light. Letting go of what you’re holding, you turn around and crouch to put your pants back on as you tell the Santa to leave.

“Oh, and why would I do that? Especially with such a beautiful sight like this…”

You stop. With your pants still around knees now, you realize that you were basically mooning the man all this time.

You had shown hole to Santa!

No, not Santa, you remind yourself. While the old man might be dressed just like him, he’s just a creepy guy in a costume. A guy who, willingly and eagerly, you worshipped his boots less than an hour ago; and who you’d have subbed for even more so if the bus hadn’t arrived then. But your point still stood!

With your pants back on, you recover some of your courage. You turn towards the man and ask him what he’s doing here, and why is he still wearing that stupid costume?

“Costume?” The man tilts his head, confused. Then, it’s like a lightbulb turns on in that Styrofoam head of his. He points at his robes. “You mean this? It’s part of the job, I guess? You could say it’s more of an ‘uniform’.”

You shake your head. He knows what you meant!

You walk up to the Santa and grab the fluffy center line at the center of his robe. Buttons fly around the room as you tear at it, revealing a coat of thick, soft fur underneath. No longer constrained by his clothing, Santa’s belly flops down and bounces a few times in the air.

What the… was it a full suit?

You wrap your arms around Santa, trying to reach the back of his robe from the inside. You move your hands up and down, looking for a zipper or an opening of some sort. After a few moments, you return them back to the front. You place your hands on his man boobs, your palm right above his tits, and stretch them up-and-down, left-and-right. Finally, you lower your arms down to his stomach, cupping it with both hands before you start reaching even lower.

“Ho, ho, ho!” He laughs, his stomach and moobs jiggling with each Ho. The flabs in them shifting and contorting as if they were real flesh. “And here I thought you weren’t in the Naughty list.”

You go silent. Moving even closer, you put one hand inside the Bear’s maw, flinching the moment something sharp prickles your skin. Slowly, more delicately, you grab both jaws and pry his maw wide open. Strands of saliva drip down the Bear’s cavity, and what awaits you inside is not the face of a sweaty old man, like you expected, but the blackness of his gaping maw. One more than big enough to swallow you whole if he so desired.

It couldn’t be…

You take a step back.

Was he a real Polar Bear?

Was he the real Santa!?

“But, of course, ma’cub. What did you think?”

Several thoughts cross through your mind, but you’re too shocked to utter any of them.

“And as for why I am here,” the Bear says, remembering the question you posed what felt like an eternity ago, “you missed a spot.”

The Bear points down. You follow his finger—er, claw(?) down all the way to his boots. The pair shone with your own saliva, save for a small dull spot near the tip of one boot. You stare at the Bear’s eyes.

Those deep, black eyes…

The longer you stared, the more entranced you became by them. It was almost like if they were shining under the ceiling light. And now that you knew that they were his real eyes, his real face, you had to admit that the older Bear was quite handsome.

Your mind felt like if something was moving there. But no, the only thing moving around, was you.

Prostrating on your knees before him.

Lowering your head.

And kissing that last spot wet.

You turn your gaze upwards, looking for some sort of approval from the Bear—no, not Bear. From Santa, but all you get to see is the underside of his belly. Santa growls and puts one hand—one paw—on your head, pushing your face right into his bulge as he ruffles your hair.

“That’s a good cub,” he says. Maybe followed by a few other words, but you don’t notice. It was hard to focus on anything else but the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cream coming from his crotch.

You only start to come back to your senses once he lets you go and paces around the room.

“You know,” he says, pointing all around the living room, “this is not the kind of place I’d expect from one of my Nice cubs.”

You look around the living room. There’s nothing wrong with it. Sure, there are some dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, and the place could do with some sweeping, not to mention the discarded pieces of laundry here and there. But for the most part, it’s presentable.

Still, taking into account who you were dealing with, you could understand what he meant. Neither you nor your roommate ever bothered with setting up anything special for Christmas. Not just because they were going to visit their family, but because you didn’t see the point in doing all that hard work decorating only to take it off a couple weeks after. A month tops, if both of you were lazy enough.

“Maybe you were right,” Santa says. “Perhaps I should leave…”

The Bear walks over to the fireplace and puts one claw on the side of his nose. Knowing the stories, you rush up to him and get down on your knees. You hug his leg, begging him to not leave.

“Do you really want me to stay, cub?”

Do you… Do you?

The Bear crouches and pets your head as you continue to inhale the rubber and licorice scent coming from his boots. He cups your chin up, making you gaze at his shiny, dark eyes. His peppermint breath breezing all over your face.

You nod, answering his question.

“In that case,” the Bear says, “make this a place that Santa would like to stay in!”

You let go of Santa’s leg and grab one of his paws, guiding him to the leather couch in the center of the living room. Your roommate’s favorite, but they were not here anyway. You then bend over to position the ottoman under Santa’s feet, but just as you try to reach for it, you feel the heavy weight of Santa’s boots land on your back.

“Not what I expected, but I’m not complaining.”

Several thoughts race through your mind.

_You liked being Santa’s footrest. Maybe you could stay like that.

But then again, what about the rest of the house? What if he left?_

Would it be that bad if he did? After all, he broke—

_Oh! You have some food on the bridge. Maybe you could prepare something for him.

Did the Bear’s paws taste just like they smelled? And what about the rest of his body?_

You take a deep breath and shake your head. Focus. You… you have to…

“Ho, ho, ho!” The Bear laughs.

No more thinking. Father Christmas’ right here in your house. You should be doing everything in your power (and more), to make him feel comfortable!

You start by turning the chimney on. The flames light up the room in a warm, yellow light bringing a smile to your face. You don’t know why you or your roommate stopped using it, especially these days, but you won’t deny that even such a small change already makes the room feel more alive. A nagging thought at the back of your mind wondering what would have happened if you had it on when Santa arrived...

Speaking of, you head on to the kitchen and grab a hand broom. Heading back to the living room, you get on all fours and start swiping the circle of ash and dirt where you first found Santa. Why not use a vacuum cleaner or a longer broom? Well…

A familiar scent comes to your nose. You lift your head. You don’t remember when you got so close to the couch, but with your head being at just the right level, you give each of Santa’s boots a kiss before returning to your tasks.

You move on to the rest of the living room. While neither you nor your roommate had actual Christmas décor, you’d have to make do with what you have.

You take out the knit mantle pieces that your mom gave you when you first moved out.

Above the chimney? The cleanest socks you could find in the laundry basket.

No molasses, but you have more than enough ingredients for some home-made chocolate cookies, which you bring back to the living room along with one big glass full of milk.

“Such a good cub,” Santa says, ruffling your hair again as you bend over to serve him his meal, filling you with a warm sense of accomplishment.

And that’s how your day goes. Every time you doubt, every time you want to give up, Santa’s there for you. Ruffling your hair. Becoming more intimate with new scents that remind you of him. Your mind blacks out all thoughts but the image of this strange man you were with. And every time he spoke, every compliment that he gave, reminded you of what you were.

His good little cub.

No one would recognize the place a few hours later. It felt like a real home now. And in the center of said home, Santa rested on his reclining couch, a human’s face firmly nested against his crotch. The only sounds in the house being those of lumber cracking under the fire, and the incessant sniffles from the human between his legs. The crotch of the Bear’s pants wet with what no one would be able to tell anymore if it was pre or your own saliva.

“Good cub,” Santa coos at you, while you continue nuzzling like a calf needing his milk. “Still, there’s something missing…”

Santa puts one boot on your chest and push into you’re forced apart. You look at him, not knowing if you had somehow offended the older Bear, but the look on his face calms you down. He walks up to the chimney, and raises his left foot. With his boot lying right next to you, you watch as Santa takes off his huge red sock and puts it above the chimney. The only actual stocking in the place. He then points at the corner of the living room, causing a pine tree to sprout from the ground, already covered in Christmas lights and other decorations.

“Much better now,” he says, lifting his now bare paw in your direction. You hurry to grab his discarded boot and place it on his paw. Much to your chagrin.

With the place now properly set up, you’re unsure of what’s going to happen next. You look at Santa, expectantly.

“It’s time for me to go, cub.”

You sigh, falling flat on the ground. You knew you should have put your nose inside his boot when you had the chance. You debate whether to try the same thing again, beg him to stay, but you doubt it’ll work this time.

Santa puts the tip of one of his boots under your chin, raising your head just enough so you can look at him. Tenderness, love, and hunger are plastered all over his face.

“Take off your clothes,” Santa orders, and you obey.

You quickly stand up, and piece by piece of clothing drops onto the floor. You try to give the older Bear the best show you can. Until at last, there’s nothing else for you to give, and you bare yourself nude at him.

Santa sweeps you up and down with his eyes.

“Yeah, I think you’ll do…”

“Yeah, I think you’ll do…”

You’ll do? For what?

Almost as if answering your unspoken question, Santa puts one paw inside his robe and takes out several straps of black leather. You take them, getting assaulted by the woody scent of pine and fir that you’ve started to relate with the Bear’s armpits.

Bells chime as you examine the straps, several of them being glued onto the fabric, and as you unfurl the tangled mess, you realize that there’s even more to it. Multiple metal rivets hold the straps together with several steel rings as well. The more you untangle, the more you realize what it is.

A harness.

You look at Santa, shocked, but the Bear just grins at you.

“Put it on.”

But… it’s too big and…

One look at the Bear’s eyes is enough to soothe you. If that’s what Santa really wanted, then so be it!

You were his good cub, after all.

Fiddling with the thing for a bit more, you manage to find the ups-and-downs of the contraption. You slide your neck on the upper side of the harness, two thick straps holding your neck in what looks like a collar. There are some blinds to the sides of your eyes as well, making you unable to see anything but what’s in front of you.

Anything but Santa.

You then put your arms through some holes on the sides. The shoulder straps, normally puffing the wearer’s chest to stand straight and look bigger, instead dangle limply over your arms. It makes you feel inadequate. Aside from the collar, you knew that this would not fit. It was made for someone twice, maybe even thrice your size. Possibly even the Bear himself.

Still, you look at Santa, wanting his approval.

The Bear approaches, and starts tugging the straps around, ensuring that even if loose, nothing would fall out of place.

“Good cub,” he says, making you proud. “Just need a little touch here, and you’ll be ready.”

He pokes through the metal ring in the middle of your chest, and you let out a nervous laugh. Surely, that would not be enough to—

You scratch your arm, suddenly feeling an intense itch. You look at it, afraid that it might be an allergy, but what you see is strands of brown fur popping all around it. The only exception being your hand, which is covered in white instead. You look at Santa, his figure starting to fade as the room grows brighter and brighter thanks to your harness, which is now emitting a golden light. Your breathing starts to grow quicker, and you bend over.

Then down to your knees.

Then on all fours.

Pain courses through your chest. Your legs. Your head.

Especially your head.

You try to grab it, try to make the pain go away, but it’s all in vain. Your teeth ache as your gums and skin start to stretch forward, your nose becoming smaller, flatter, until only a dark brown lump above your lips remains. Meanwhile, the top of your head feels like it’s going to split open, as a pair of antlers slowly emerge.

You put one hand to the ground, trying to maintain your balance when you feel something poking you behind. The thin rod slowly starts to thicken, coating itself with fur. All the while, your fingers become less nimble, rigid, some of them merging together to leave you but with three small hard fingers.

You arche back, your chest feeling more and more compressed. Your new muscles’ growth constrained by the harness.

But at last, the pain is over.

You’re left a drooling mess, barely managing to stay on all fours. The glowing light starts to dim, letting you see the rest of the room again. At the tip of your snout, barely a few inches away, you see the black of Santa’s boots. And thanks to your previous efforts, also your own reflection.

You had been turned into a Reindeer.

“Perfect!” Santa crouches down, so he can look more easily at your face. “Now, what do you say about helping Father Christmas with his deliveries tonight?”

You nod, drooling all over the carpet.

Santa puts one of your arms over his shoulder and helps you back on your feet--hooves. Even in your new form, you’re still smaller compared to the old Bear, except for the antlers. Maybe. He puts one claw to the side of his nose and snorts, sending the two of you flying up the chimney.

You land belly-first on the snow. You stand up, dusting yourself off. Even with a new coat of fur covering your whole body, you’re still naked, and the cold winter air makes you shiver. You rub your arms to warm yourself when something catches your sight from the corner of your eye.

You were not alone.

Standing on the rooftop, just in front of a red sled, are several other Reindeers. All bigger than you. All looking at you.

“Well, what are you waiting for, cub?” You turn back, seeing Santa getting on the sled. “Get to the front. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

You slowly make your way to the front, the snow crunching under your hooves with each step.

Just past the sled stand tall two big Reindeers. Compared to each other, the one on left looks leaner, faster; while the one on the right is a mountain of a man—Reindeer. The two are firmly attached to the sled by their reins. You turn towards the bigger Reindeer, about to ask if there’s a spot for you in between them, but he snorts on your face. The warm, moist air washes over your face. You smile, or at least you try to, as you continue to the next set.

They did not smell like Santa…

“New meat.”

You turn your gaze up. Standing in the next row are two other Reindeer. The one to the left, while smaller compared to previous two, seems to be bigger than the rest, with white and grey spots peppering his fur. Next to him, and grinning at you, is a beefcake of a Reindeer. But not “natural” strong like the other three, his washboard abs, pumped chest, and flexing arms giving you the vibes of someone who had trained to become like that.

Having a good idea who was the one who called you that, you are more than glad to go on to find a spot elsewhere.

The next couple Reindeers seem to be the smaller of the bunch. The one on the left, for a Reindeer, you’d have to say is quite handsome, seemingly the only one so far that seems to stylize both himself and his harness. Next to him, the other Reindeer looks more plain and quite polite as well, even giving you a small curtsy when you pass nest to him, but there’s something on his face that makes you distrust him.

A feeling that you confirm a few moments later, when you feel someone spanking your butt.

Finally, you reach a row with only one Reindeer. This one’s legs look thick and strong. So strong in fact that you wonder why he was not placed further back. You ask him if you can take the spot next to him, and he nods without even looking at you. Though it’s difficult to tell given the fur fringes covering his eyes.

You prepare to latch yourself when you hear Santa shouting from behind.

“All the way to the front, cub!”

“What? But Santa…” The Reindeer in front of you starts to pout but relents at the Bear’s insistence. He unlatches from the very front and walks back to where you are, shoving you aside. The Reindeer, bigger than the previous two and reminding you of one at the back, glares at you. “You better run fast, new meat.”

Standing at the very front, and wearing a red harness, it’s more than obvious who this is. Leaner and smaller than all his brethren, Rudolph waits for you and gives you a warm smile.

“Need some help?” He asks, moving closer to help latch the reins to you.

You look at him puzzled, and ask him about his red nose. Or rather, the lack of it.

“Oh, that?” He chuckles. “Grew out of it as I got older, though Mr. Claus managed to find a solution for that.”

He points down. You follow his hoof to the neon red thong covering his dick. Lights attached to it, just like his harness. That’s when you turn back and realize that all the Reindeers are wearing nothing but their harnesses and skimpy thongs.

“You can touch if you want.”

You turn towards the Reindeer. Rudolph grabs your hand, pulling it closer. You blush, but just as the tip of hooves are withing reach, the air crackles as Santa’s whip flails through the air.

“Let’s go!” The Bear shouts.

Rudolph and the rest of the Reindeers put their mouthpieces on and get in position. You look at the one in front of you still wet from its previous owner. Unsure of what to do, you stay in place until, slowly, the reins pulling you and the others up into the air. You flay your legs around.

Several Reindeers behind you start to cackle.

“Don’t think,” Rudolph says. “Just act like if you were still on the ground and focus solely on the walking.”

You nod at your partner and close your eyes. You visualize. It was just you, your regular human self, walking down the streets. You take one step, feeling the firmness of the ground below you, and propel yourself forward before putting down your next foot and repeating the same motions over and over again. You open your eyes.

It worked!

You turn towards Rudolph, who smiles at you, and then close your eyes again.

Just focus. One step after—

A sharp pain courses through your right yourself. You turn back, the Reindeer having a wicked grin plastered all over his face.

“Too slow,” he says before putting his mouthpiece back on.

You snort and turn back forward. Closing your eyes and focusing only on the run.

One would think that Santa would go from one house to the next, but at the speed you were running, it was not feasible. You mostly stopped wherever it was that you ended up. Sometimes, it would be the same general area. Other times, countries or even continents apart.

When it came to small houses, Santa went in-and-out so fast that you barely even registered that it happened before you were back up in the air again. And while most trips went without a cinch, it was the longer ones where you’d find yourself getting nibbled on. Sometimes even multiple times on the same trip.

At last, you reach an apartment building. With so many places to visit, maybe you could have a small moment to rest before continuing on your trip. You look at Rudolph, who was unlatching himself, when you feel a sudden force behind you pinning you to the ground. You didn’t need to look back to know who it was, even if it was just by his mouth breath alone.

“I was looking forward to this, new meat.”

You turn towards Rudolph, who’s now on his knees taking off another Reindeer’s thong. Noticing your gaze, he looks another way.

“Oh, that… it’s just Reindeer stuff. You know, if you’re going so slow that the one behind you has enough time to give you a bite, well…” He lets out a small nervous laugh. “You, uhm, you get punished. You know, to do better next time.”

“Unless you’re like Rudy right here,” the Reindeer above him interjects, “when you slow down on purpose.”

Rudolph blushes while the other Reindeers laughed.

“Oh, stop it,” he says. “Besides, it’s just a blowjob—” For the first time, Rudolph notices the situation that you’re in. “How many times did he bite you?”

“Just about every trip,” your assailant replies.

That was false!

…You think…

Rudolph shakes his head. “For multiple times, you get to do whatever it is that the biter wants.”

Your eyes go wide open.

“Yes, and what I want is—”

“Oh, c’mon, Dasher, it’s their first time!” The older Reindeer shouts.

“Cupid, no one asked you.”

The Reindeers start to argue with each other.

On one side, there’s obviously Dasher, who just wants you to pay him what he’s owed. He’s soon joined by the muscled Reindeer, Comet, who goes on to talk about the rules, and how as the leader, Dasher had every right to have you. Bites or not.

On the other side, there’s Cupid, who tries to shield you from any possible harm, talking about your inexperience, not just as one of Santa’s Reindeers but with the situation as a whole. Rudolph’s also unsurprisingly on your side, though as the situation got more heated on, he tried to keep it civil.

Dancer, he just agreed with everything Rudolph said. Thinking that the faster the situation was over, the faster the smaller Reindeer would give him his blowjob.

The fashionable Reindeer, Prancer, abstained from joining one side or the other. Though he made sure to point out that Santa would not be too happy if someone ruined “his new toy.”

Vixen, however, played devil’s advocate. For both sides. Sowing chaos wherever he went, while refusing to take any stance of his own.

As for Donner and Blitzen? The couple stayed far away from everything, just enjoying each other’s company. Blitzen bouncing on his bigger partner’s legs, even though you were sure there was no way they could have bitten each other from all the way at the back.

“All I’m saying is—”

You shout, asking them to stop!

The Reindeers go silent, and now it’s finally your turn to speak. You say that since you were now one of them, it was only fair that you followed the same rules as they did.

“Hah, just what I wanted to hear!” Dasher shouts triumphantly at his brothers, pumping his fist and making you regret everything you just said. “Guess Rudy’s not the only bitch around here.”

Rudolph rolls his eyes before going back to his knees and blowing the Reindeer that you now knew as Dancer.

Meanwhile, something cold brushes your hole, before Dasher’s warm breath washes past your right ear.

“I’m usually not this kind, new meat, but I’ll make an exception this time,” he says, helping you get down on the ground as he continues lubing you up with snow. “Just remember it for next time…”

You wince as the Reindeer’s meat makes its way inside you, solid snow making for a horrible lubricant, but it becomes easier as it starts to melt. Meanwhile, Dasher pounds you hard and fast, focusing solely on his own pleasure and not planning to give you any other pleasantries after that initial lubing. Thankfully, it does not last for long, the Reindeer cumming and pulling out as quickly as he went in.

You lie down on the snow, exhausted.

“What are you doing?” Santa shouts, “We need to go! Now, now, now!”

You struggle to get back on your hooves, still sore from Dasher’s jackhammering. His seed running down your leg. Just like before, Rudolph helps put the reins on you, the sled lifting soon after, making you start all over again.

The next stops went better as you got more used to pulling Santa’s sled.

Regular houses went usually too fast to do anything, so you only got a proper rest whenever there was an apartment or a tight-knit neighborhood. Not for long though. Even in tall buildings, Santa usually finished fast enough that if the Reindeers wanted any kind of relief, they had to speedrun the process.

The Reindeers went raw and fast, trying to cum as fast as possible. Moreover, since it didn’t snow everywhere in the world, it put into perspective how lucky you were for your first time with Dasher.

And also, how odd that Santa had taken so long on that building alone…

Every so often, you’d all change positions (except for Rudolph), and while you were glad to no longer be in front of Dasher, you still had to serve the other reindeers in some capacity.

Blowing Cupid after he put some mistletoe over his cock.

Grooming Prancer using your mouth alone.

Licking Dancer’s soles as he stepped on your crotch.

Sniffing Comet’s pits while jerking him off.

Being subject to Vixen’s many toys.

And becoming Donner and Blitzen’s shared fleshlight, as they always came in pairs.

In fact, the only you got to bite someone was when you were put behind Rudolph, and to be honest, you were almost sure he did it on purpose. Whether it was pity, or just his general subbyness, you did not agree to just take him. Instead, you ended up 69-ing the Reindeer while the rest jerked above the two of you.

Santa had been right, this was going to be a long night…

“Last house,” Santa shouts.

The Reindeers high-five each other before getting in position. Once again, you are at the front, right next to Rudolph, but this time you put on your reins yourself.

“Let’s see if you’ve improved, new meat,” an oh-so-familiar voice says from behind you.

You don’t give Dasher the pleasure of turning back. Instead, you put on your mouthpiece, completely unfazed at how many mouths it had been before.

Santa comes out and gets back on his sled. “Time to go home!”

Home…

The reins lift you back into the air. You focus and start to trot along, your legs burning from running around the world, which seems to be the case with the other Reindeers as well, as this time, even Dasher was having trouble trying to take a bite from you (thanks in no small part to a tactic that you learned from Vixen.)

Still, what did Santa mean by home. Was it yours, or…?

You shake your head. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. You just continued moving forward, looking forward, only turning to follow the Bear’s guidance as he moved the reins one way or another.

A few minutes later, you arrive at your destination. A secluded mountainous region with snow all around, and the dark of night enveloping you all even though you’re sure that it’s daytime here and now. The only lights coming from a small house nearby and a shed.

You drop face first onto the snow as the Reindeers start to unlatch themselves. You hear them talk, but you’re too tired to pay any attention to what they say. Then, the Reindeers leave to the shed in the back (not before slapping your butt again), joking and chatting all the way.

Meanwhile, you hear the snow crunching behind your back. You turn around, seeing Santa get out of the sled and start to walk.

And after regaining your composure, you stand up and follow the old Bear to his house…

You follow the old Bear to his house.

Opening the door, you’re greeted by the view of a shirtless Santa. The old Bear had just taken off everything but his pants and was about to put his robe on the coat rack when you arrived. You blush and turn your gaze away as you make your way inside the house proper. A cacophony starts to play as your antlers hit one wind chime after another.

“Ho, ho, ho! Sorry about that. Haven’t had to Reindeer-proof my house in a while.” Santa lets out a small chuckle before helping you untangle your antlers. “Thought you’d be with the others?”

You shake your head (the Bear flicking your forehead to remind you to stay still) and tell Santa that you’d rather be with him.

“Suit yourself,” he says, but you can tell from the look on his face and the tone of his voice that he’s flattered. “Though I guess we’re going to need to do something about those antlers of yours…”

He points at the ground. You look down, the only thing you can see being the Bear’s paws and a set of wet paw prints from when he came to help you. You look at Santa again, and he winks. Having a good hunch of what he means, you get down on all fours in front of the old Bear.

“Good cub,” he says, crouching down. As he ruffles your hair (mane?) he clicks something beneath your collar. Looking at his paw, you can see Santa holding one end of a leash on it. “For guidance.”

You gulp, but you trust the old Bear enough. With your head low to the ground, and the blinds of your harness limiting your view, the only thing you get to see during your walk is the sole of the Bear’s paws as he walked. One socked, one bare. Leaving small puddles behind, which you sometimes struggled to avoid slipping on.

Crawling barely one step behind. Like a well-trained dog and its master.

Once you get in far enough, Santa stops.

“Stay,” he says, tying the other end of your leash to one armchair of his couch. The Bear walks away, leaving you to sit by yourself save for what looks like a footrest right next to you. Taller than you even. No wonder the Bear didn’t let you worship his paws when this was your “competition.”

Still sitting on all fours while awaiting your master, you take a look around.

Santa’s house is just what you’d expect from the Father of Christmas. A warm light inundates the room, which is decorated in candy canes, gingerbread houses, and garlands all around. There’s a huge pine tree in the corner, a live one from the looks of it. And behind you, a roaring fireplace keeps the cold arctic wind (and you) at bay. A far cry from your own place just a couple days ago.

You take a deep breath, the different scents reminding you of Santa. Unsurprising, as this was his place after all. And now that you were just another fixture on it, did that mean that you were his as well?

The sound of dishes clashing against each other grabs your attention, and you try to peek as much as you can behind the couch. At the back left of the room, in the kitchen, Santa is finishing with whatever he’s doing. He walks back to the couch. On one paw, a tray holding a glass of milk and a plate filled with cookies.

And on the other, a dog bowl.

“You must be really tired after tonight, cub,” he says, putting the tray over the same arm as your leash before dropping the bowl right in front of you. “Dig right in.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You go straight for the bowl and drink like there was no tomorrow. Santa gives one of his characteristic ho-ho-hos before taking a seat, propping his paws up the footrest. As you continue lapping at the bowl, kneeling right beside your master’s feet like the good cub you are, you feel something hitting your ear. You look to the right. On the floor lies what looks like the arm of a gingerbread man.

More and more pieces continue pelting you from above. An arm, a leg, a set of antlers. And paying more attention to the mish-mashed set of crumbs, you start to recognize the shapes. It’s not just gingerbread men, but gingerbread Reindeers as well.

Your stomach starts to grumble.

You look up, Santa too busy with his snacks to pay his new pet any attention. So, you lower your snout to the ground, and after giving the Bear one last look, part your lips and take out your tongue.

Cinnamon. Molasses. Spices. And the occasional pang of milk.

Just like when you were nuzzling Santa’s crotch before…

You continue to dutifully wipe the floor the clean, and when it’s over you turn your gaze back up. Surely, with how messy the Bear ate, there had to be more. You get on your eyes to raise your head all the way to the seat where several more crumbs remain. Right in between Santa’s thighs.

Right next to his bulge.

You try to discreetly extend your tongue as much as you can, and while you get to reach the Bear’s thighs, catching the occasional crumb and piece of lint alongside, the rest eludes you. You move your snout. Closer and closer, until, at last, your tongue finally reaches the Bear’s bulge.

Until your lips finally reach the Bear’s bulge.

Until you’re completely drunk from the scent coming out of the Bear’s bulge.

You lick. You kiss. You suck.

You toy with the bulge’s contents as much as you can, moving the shape hiding inside with your tongue from side to side. You even nibble at the fabric as gently as you can, trying to set its contents free to no avail. But then, a black-and-white shape comes from above and does your job for you.

In an instant, the Bear’s paw digs inside his pants and drags its contents out, Santa’s rank jockstrap flopping down your nose. You take a deep whiff, pressing yourself against it so much that you’re certain you could kiss the Bear’s taint if you so wanted to.

“Is this what you want, cub?” Santa asks, rubbing his package all around your snout. You nod eagerly, but the Bear wags one claw in your direction. “Well, I already gave you your gift, remember?”

Your gift?

Your mind flashes back to a few days ago when you worshipped Santa’s boots in a dingy alleyway. You blush. How could you have been so greedy? How could—

No!

You clear out the clouds inside your head, thinking straight for the first time in who knows how long. You had wanted to be totally under the man’s—the Bear’s control right then, not just lick his boots!

“Oh, is that so?” The Bear chuckles, tugging at your leash. “And isn’t that what’s going on?”

You look down.

It’s true, yes, but you at least would have liked to get to worship his paws…

“You should have said so before!” Santa lets go of your leash, making you fall down on your tail. Taking his socked paw off the footrest, he places it on your chest, shoving you until he has you pinned down on the floor. “Well, go ahead, cub. They’re all yours.”

You hesitate. You look at the Bear, who responds by just wiggling his toes, each one of them tapping rhythmically on your chest. You try to control your breathing. To calm down.

Slowly, you reach over and grab the side of his paw. You rub it, moving your hoof back-and-forth barely an inch. Softly, almost as if going at full force would scare it away. Once you’re more confident, you reach for the other side with your free hand and hold it gently, like hamburger.

With his paw firmly on your grasp, you place both thumbs below and give it a good squeeze. You don’t know if it’s just the red fabric, or the black paw pads underneath, but your thumbs sink right in. For a Bear of his age and size, his paws were quite soft.

Your paws, you remind yourself. After all, he had said they were “all yours”, and you were more than willing to treat them as such.

You lift the socked paw and move it up, and when it’s hovering right above your face, you press your snout deep in between his sole pads and his toes. You breathe in, deeply. Hungrily. Your mouth watering from the scent alone. No more rubber, this was pure, raw Santa’s paws smell. You take out your tongue and drag it along the fabric. It tasted bitter, yet at the same time sweet. Just like licorice.

As you continue worshipping his sock, you feel a small pressure increasing on your stomach. Santa steps on you, taking out whatever air remained in your lungs, only for you to soon replace it with Santa’s paw musk. With your face now serving as his footrest, you can afford to lower one hoof to his other paw, the naked one, and while you’d have loved to place it right next to its “brother”, you had other plans in mind.

You grab the Bear’s left paw, glad to confirm that softness came from his pads, and slowly lower it down to your crotch. Oh, how you wished for his paws to travel all around your body. To impregnate you in his scent. To let everyone know that you were his.

Meanwhile, the Bear plays with your mid-section. Rubbing the tip of his claws around your sex. Massaging the region. All while still stepping on you from time to time to remind you who was really in charge.

“Looks like someone’s enjoying this,” Santa says, and you moan in response. He chuckles. “But what can I say? I’m enjoying myself as well.” He reclines on his couch. “Wouldn’t mind coming back to this treatment after every Christmas trip. In fact…”

Santa lifts his right paw, a loud *pop* echoing as his toes leave your mouth. Anger swells inside you, but it all disappears when you look at the Bear’s big black eyes.

“What do you say, cub? Would you like to stay and be my little helper from now on?”

You jump to his paw, pressing your cheek against his sock, and nod.

And nod.

And nod.

Santa smiles. “Then it’s settled!”

Your heart skips a beat at the Bear’s words, which you repay by kissing his sole. One kiss. Two kisses. Three… You continue kissing, trying to cover every inch of the Bear’s big sole.

So big. So… very, very big.

And getting bigger.

You’re almost tiptoeing now just to be able to hold on to it, your harness long having dropped onto the ground. Your arms stretch as far as they can, trying to wrap around the paw’s sides, but soon you’re unable to even do that. Just before you lose your grip, you manage to grab ahold of his sock right around the toes. You try to climb up, but all every pull does is slide the sock further and further down.

At last, his sock slips off and you end up freefalling, but fortunately, the red sock cushions your landing. You slowly crawl your way out of the worn sock and look up. The Bear now being able to dwarf even the tallest of skyscrapers.

Santa looks at you, puzzled.

“Something the matter? My little helper…”

“Something the matter? My little helper…”

You stare at the giant face looming above you, unable to speak or process what just happened. The Bear lowers one gigantic paw and plucks you up, bringing you up to his face. His lips curl, showing you a long, dark hallway filled with jagged yellow-ish white pikes.

“Yeah, that’s much better,” Santa says, his booming voice vibrates your whole body, “no more pesky antlers.”

You pass your hooves atop your head. Only two small nubs remain, making you look more like a Goat now than a Reindeer. Maybe you’d care more if you’d always been a Reindeer, but as a former human, you just agree with the giant. Hoping maybe that if you pleased him, he’d turn you back to normal size.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa chuckles, the shaking on his hand being enough to knock you down. Lying helpless against his palm, he starts scratching your tum with one claw. “And why would I do that when you look so cute like this?”

Santa pulls you closer to his maw, and you panic, praying to every known god that he’s not going to do what you think he is. Thankfully, his maw remains closed as he presses his snout against you. His nose twitches with every whiff, smelling every inch of your body.

Or more like, your one-inch body from the looks of it.

“Oh, this won’t do.” Santa has a somber grimace all over his face. “You didn’t shower before you coming in, right?” The Bear says, tightening his grip around you as he stands from his chair. “My fault, really. Should have guessed as much with how quick you were…”

The Bear starts to walk, his hand (and thus you) bouncing up and down with every step he takes. You don’t know where you’re going, partly because all you know in the North Pole is his house, but mostly due to how jumbled everything looks as he walks. All you can notice is that you’re having trouble breathing, the air turning hotter and more humid. And every breath you take is filled with a raw and musky scent.

Loud voices start booming around, but just as sudden as they appeared, they stop. Santa lowers you to the ground, and once he lets you go, you find yourself standing on a ceramic tile. Just a couple inches away (or feet in your perspective) from your Master’s paws.

You take a quick look around. This was nothing like Santa’s house. It was all dark grey, and hot, and damp. No roaring fireplace either, just the flushing sound of a waterfall. And instead of Christmas décor, it was all just benches and…

Wait, was this a locker room?

“Fellas,” Santa shouts. Or says, no way of being sure at your current size. “Looks like someone missed to take their shower after our trip.” You feel one of the Bear’s toes push your back, forcing you to take a few steps forward.

The naked Reindeers stare at you. Some puzzled. Some curious. And some with a devious look behind their eyes.

“Would you mind giving them a hand?”

“We—"

“You got it, Santa!” Dasher quickly steps in front of Rudolph, cutting him off. He plucks you from the ground, holding you with no worry or care in the world. “We’ll take care of it.”

Dasher strikes his chest with his fist; the same one he’s holding you with. His hold tight like if he was holding anything else. Santa nods and smiles before leaving the room. Dasher and the other Reindeers wave at him, and once he’s finally out, Dasher opens his fist to take a better look at you.

“Well, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” he says, pressing you close to his snout as he takes one long sniff. “Hah, that’s nothing, new meat! You should see how a real Santa’s Reindeer smells.”

“Are they one of Santa’s Reindeers, though?” Comet says from behind him. “Look, they don’t even have any antlers.”

“Wait, really?” Prancer approaches, prodding your head with one thumb. “Dude, even females have them…”

“Meh,” Dasher shrugs. He raises his left arm and presses you against his armpit, keeping you in place. “Smell that, calf-ling? That’s how a true Reindeer is supposed to be like.”

“Hey, Dash, pass!”

Dasher throws you around, giving you a small reprieve from the Reindeer’s rank stench. You’re caught mid-flight, finding yourself being held by Dancer.

“So small…”

“Let me see,” Cupid snatches you away. “Oh, and so cute! Think Santa will let us keep them?” He starts poking and petting you, like a kid with their small pet. His rough and incessant prodding ironically being the most delicate touch you’ve gotten to experience so far.

“Guys,” Rudolph shouts, “Mr. Claus said—”

“Yeah, yeah. We know, Rudy,” Dasher makes his way across the locker room and grabs you back.

You’re hoping for Rudolph to interject again, but he just rolls his eyes as he goes back to shower. He keeps his eyes on Dasher all the time, but once he turns the shower on, Rudolph turns away. No longer being watched, Dasher turns towards you.

“Well, time to wash you, little runt.” A wicked grin appears all over Dasher’s face. “And I think I might know just the perfect way to do so…”

You gulp.

Dashers brings you to the body wash, where he holds you tight as the thick, white liquid pours over your head and body. He then rinses you for a couple seconds, rubbing his hooves around you until bubbles start to foam. Maybe this won’t be—

He then lifts his arm and stuffs you against it, rubbing you up and down. As his impromptu loofah, your soapy and fragrant exterior is soon traded by a matted one impregnated with the Reindeer’s stench. Just as you think your torture’s over, he switches you to his other pit without even bothering to soap you this time.

You dread what other plans Dasher has for your tiny body, but he just puts you on the shower nook once you’re done. Or rather, once he is done with you, as just as Dasher starts to shampoo himself, you get grabbed yet again.

“Don’t mind if I do, li’l fella,” Comet says. He takes you to the body wash and starts pouring it. Not so much over you this time, but rather having it puddle around his hoof. He then moves his hoof next to his left arm. “Make sure to lather it all up.”

You scoop some of the soap up and start rubbing Comet’s arm. You start from the sides, but as you crouch to get to the lower parts, Comet pushes you down using his other hoof. You sigh, but knowing what the Reindeer intends, you start to wash his underside. Thankfully, he does not stuff you inside his pit like Dasher, so, once you’re done, you’re more than free to move back to the top. As soon as you finish climbing the Reindeer’s arm, Comet flexes. His bicep alone being bigger than you are.

After you’re done soaping the Reindeer up, Comet pushes your head down. Keeping you under thumb until you start peppering his muscles with kisses.

“Heh, you really like those, don’t you?” You nod, knowing that’s what he wants to hear, and Comet smiles. He then grabs you in a tight fist and lathers your body with whatever soap’s still left before moving you down and using you to wash through his abs. “Can’t blame you. If I were in your position—”

“And they’re not the only one,” Vixen wraps his hooves around Comet’s chest. He gives both pecs a squish, using one hoof after to rub the bigger Reindeer’s tits as the other one starts going lower. Comet bites at the air, and Vixen giggles before letting go of the Reindeer and moving to the other side of the showers.

He loosens the grip on his right fist, a tiny you dangling from his hoof.

“Always falls for it,” Dancer says.

“Don’t I know it,” Vixen replies before pouring more body wash on you. Once he’s done prepping you up, no talk, no teasing, he just downright presses you under him to wash his taint, making sure to turn you around every scrub to make sure your face’s always pointing towards his hole or balls. Once he’s over, he brings you up to his face. Vixen looks bored, but then a wicked grin passes through his face. “Think I’ll keep you for a while.”

Keep you? But where…?

As if to answer your unspoken question, Vixen moves his hand, giving you a nice look of his sheath. The Reindeer lightly pulls its slit open, just barely enough to fit you in. Even from this “high” above, you can feel the heat emanating from it. You look at Vixen, who just tilts his hoof, sending you falling down right onto it.

You flail around the air until something abruptly breaks your fall.

“Let me borrow it for a second?”

It…

Vixen sighs, but ultimately relents, meaning you’re all Dancer’s now.

Dancer holds you tight as he passes his thumb through the nubs on your head. Pressing on them, trying to pull them this way or that. “Yeah, I think you’ll do.”

You’ll do? For what?

Dancer leans on the wall and raises one of his lower hooves. He splays his toes open, and without even giving you a glance back, stuffs you face-first in between them, your mouth scratching the walls around his toes. It seems that not a lot of water or soap managed to get in there before, as the gap smells as strong as when you were under Dasher’s arm.

Not that Dancer cares anyway. The only thing he cares about is using your body and face to floss between his toes, and once you’re no longer a foamy, soapy mess, your “antlers” still serve to scrub the underside of his hooves. The little nubs being sharp and resistant enough to scrap all the much and grime beneath them.

With Vixen long gone by now, Dancer leaves you on the floor once he’s over.

Free at last…

You take a moment to breathe. Though perhaps a moment too long, as you soon find yourself plucked up by yet another Reindeer.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Cupid says, examining your battered, dirty, and exhausted body. “Here, let me help you.”

He walks over to where he and Prancer were showering. Once again, body wash pours over your body, but unlike with everyone before, the older Reindeer sets you against one hoof with the intent of washing you over.

His rough hoof scratches all over your head, making sure to remove any remnants from Dancer’s toes and soles. Perhaps too rough for your liking, but when you try to push his hoof off, he increases the pressure and bats your arms away, reminding you who’s in charge here. He then moves on to your chest and arms, and once he’s over, parts your legs open.

Without a warning, he starts rubbing all around your crotch, pressing as hard as he can (or at least it feels that way), poking here and there. Finally, he turns you over, repeating the process on your back and legs, his handling at times feeling like he’s trying to enter your butt using only the tip of his hoof.

Cupid rinses you off. “All done!” He shouts triumphantly

You relax. At last, you can now return to—

“Need some help here as well,” Prancer says.

“With what?” Cupid asks.

Prancer points down at his sheath, where the tip of his cock is already peeking out. A metallic glint coming off from what little you can see of his length. “Need to take them off to wash them.”

Cupid shakes his head. “Sorry, I think I might be too rough for that.”

“And what about…”

Prancer points at you, and Cupid ponders. Without asking for your input, or any hesitation, Cupid lowers you to Prancer’s sheath. The two Reindeers look at you expectantly, and you sigh. Better get this over with.

You place your hooves against Prancer’s piercing. Even the small bead is big enough to make your hooves look small in comparison. But that’s an advantage in this case, as you’re more able to more easily turn and twist the piercing around to find the right spot and pry it open. You drop the piercing on Cupid’s hoof when another metallic shine catches the corner of your eye. You look again at Prancer’s cock, slightly more out now, and just below where you took off his piercing lies another one.

He did say “them” after all…

You continue taking out metal bead after metal bead, with Prancer getting harder and harder the more you touch him. You look up, the Reindeer’s shaft is so long that at your current size it would take you hours to walk all along its length. And at your former… No, no time to be thinking about if it’d fit you or not. But just as you’re about to reach for the next piercing, you feel something slimy fall on your head. More soap, maybe?

You scoop some of the liquid and bring it to your nose. You sniff and then look up, confirming your suspicions after seeing Cupid trace his other hoof along Prancer’s shaft.

Well, at least the Reindeer’s pre would fulfill its purpose as a lubricant and help you get the next beads out…

At last, you’re done, and Cupid gives you one quick rinse before setting you down on the floor. Not enough to wash Prancer’s musk away, but at least it was something.

However, before you can leave, two more pairs of hooves surround you, cutting any form of escape. With such thick legs, it was not difficult to figure out who they belonged to. The Reindeer on your left picks you up, and once you’re high, high above, you stare at Donner and Blitzen’s faces. Donner pulls you closer, giving you a quick sniff. He smiles and turns towards Blitzen, telling him something in a language that you don’t understand. Blitzen laughs and points to the opposite corner of the showers. Donner nods and tightens his grip around you as they make their way to the back. Once at the corner, more pouring happens. Not on you, this time, but rather inside both their sheaths.

And not body wash either.

Donner starts to fondle Blitzen’s sheath and balls, and once Blitzen’s cock is out, he rubs you along with it. It doesn’t take long for Donner’s to come out as well, and when it does, he moves closer and kisses Blitzen. Sandwiched in between both titan Reindeers, the pair (or trio if you count yourself) start to frot against each other, your tiny flesh cage that is Donner’s hoof bobbing up and down along both their lengths. Eventually, they both cum, and while you’d have thought that would be the end of it, Blitzen then starts to pour more body wash on you. This time, to scrub any cum stains from the bigger Reindeer’s fur before working on himself.

After they’re done, they set you down on the floor. Blitzen pets your head and says something in the same language as before, before leaving with Donner. Hoof-on-hoof.

You hesitate even trying to step outside now. Knowing your luck, you’d get grabbed again by another Reindeer. And if your memory serves you correctly, it should be…

“There you are!” Rudolph says, plucking you. Again. You sigh, not even wanting to think what he had in mind in you, but instead of returning you to the showers, Rudolph starts walking to the lockers. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been looking for you. I asked Dasher and Dancer. Went to Prancer and Vixen. Oh, and Comet and Cupid. Not Donner and Blitzen, since they were still in the shower. Who could have guessed you were there as well?”

Yeah, who could…

“Huh?” Rudolph suddenly stops and starts squishing you. “You’re still wet.” He looks around, and finding nothing else, he grabs a jockstrap from one of the benches. Giving its red tint and tacked on lights, it has to be the one he was wearing on your trip around the world. He then uses it to dry you up. “Sorry, it was either that or my sweat rag, and I don’t think you want to smell like a sweaty Reindeer all over again.”

Once he finishes, he pulls you up this nose and snorts. Rudolph winces.

“Oh, uhm, not that it’d have made much difference.” He laughs nervously. “Please don’t tell Mr. Claus.”

You tell Rudolph to not worry. It’ll be your little secret.

Rudolph smiles and continues his way to the front of the locker room. He crouches and sets you down on the floor right next to the entrance. “If you follow this path, you should be reaching Santa’s house in a few minutes… well, maybe longer with your new size.” He stands up and starts heading to the back of the room. But then, he turns around towards you. “Though, if you’d rather stay—”

“Hey, Rudy!” Dasher shouts from the other end of the locker room. “Get that twink ass over here!”

Rudolph rolls his eyes. He gives you one last look and winks, before trotting his way to the other side of the locker room where the Reindeers start jostling around.

You crawl under the door’s gap, leaving the sounds of moaning and showers-turning-back-on behind as you make your way back to Santa’s house…

You make your way back to Santa’s house.

Crawling under his doorstep, you’re warmly welcomed by his lit fireplace. You look around and find Santa reclining on his couch, pipe in hand. You walk over to him, but as you approach him you notice the Bear’s discarded sock on the ground, still on the same place where you slipped it off by accident. You head on over to the sock and drop dead tired on it, pressing your snout against the red fabric to absorb its scent.

“Took you a long time,” Santa says from his couch. He picks you up from your comfy “bed” and brings you up to his snout. He sniffs you for a while. Wincing a bit.

You raise your arm and smell it. All sorts of scents assault your nose. Sweat, grime, sex, and lots of Reindeers. Everything but yourself.

“Guess you can take the Reindeer to the showers, but you can’t take the musk out of the Reindeer. Ho, ho, ho…”

The Bear’s breath washes over you as he continues to chuckle. Not just peppermint like last time, but you get hints of something else. Something burnt. Not tobacco, though. Rather like the licorice on his boots, and his socked paws after.

“Well, you’ve had a rough time, so what do you say if we take it easy for the rest of the day?” You nod, and while the Bear is giving you a gentle smile, you can’t help but feel like you let Father Christmas down somehow. Santa lowers you to his gut, setting you down on his bellybutton. And likely sensing your thoughts, he starts petting your head with one claw. “There, there…”

You cuddle up inside the Bear’s navel, it being just the right to make for a cozy nest just for you. You close your eyes, taking in the gingerbread scent of your Master as he unknowingly cradles you up and down with every breath. But, as you’re about to fall deep asleep, you detect another scent. Something spicier...

Creamier…

You peek your head out of Santa’s bellybutton, only to be greet by the wet, stretching tip of the Bear’s cock under his underwear.

“What can I say, ma’cub? You’ve got that effect on me.” Santa says. You look at the giant Bear who gives you a warm smile. “Mind making this old Bear one last favor before the night ends?”

After barely getting any sleep for the past few days, running all around the world while pulling the Bear and his sled, being shrunk down, and getting repeatedly abused by the other Reindeers?

Of course. If that’s what Santa wanted, then so be it.

You were his little helper after all…

You nod, and Santa takes off his jockstrap. Staring at you is the head of his big, slick pink cock. You take a few tentative steps towards the appendage, but the Bear’s belly is so soft that you end up tumbling down. Luckily, you manage to grab hold of something before you roll down. Then, you look up and remember the situation you’re in.

His cock twitches as if greeting you. Regaining your balance, you pet the Bear’s tip. His cock twitches again, excited; sprinkling drops of pre all over your face. You scrub some of the gooey liquid off and give it a taste. And after some deliberation, you know what to do to please the giant Bear.

You wrap both arms around the cock’s head and raise it just slightly. The cock remains still and hard, in anticipation, and you lean in forward to kiss the slit. You take your tongue out, rimming that hole from the inside. And whenever the cock escapes your grasp to throb and twitch once again, you rub your hooves along its head, as if trying to calm down a nervous lover.

The Bear grunts and moans, letting you know that you’re doing a good job. And after a few moments, when your chest and legs are completely covered in Santa’s batter, you feel Santa’s paw grab hold of you.

Santa pants over and over, barely able to string words together.

“You… that was good… my little helper… but… I think I’m going to take charge now…”

You nod. After all, that’s what you’ve been waiting for all this time.

Santa lowers his hand towards his cock. You were expecting at first for it to be like with Donner and Blitzen, being used as a small toy to be rubbed along his length. But instead, Santa had other plans in mind. He hovers you over his cock, his tip poking and grazing at your hole over and over.

You look at Santa, scared. There’s no way that that’s going to fit in with your current size!

“Do you forget who I am, cub?” Santa puts one claw right next to his nose.

Surely, he didn’t—

The Bear snorts loudly, and your body expands as it vacuums his meat right in. Your organs shift inside to better accommodate the Bear’s tool, but at least there’s no pain. Only fullness.

Santa lets go of you, but instead of falling to the side as his cock pulses, you remain firmly stuck in place. Nothing more than a novelty cockring at a first glance. The Bear then holds you tight and starts to pump, his breathing hastening with each thrust.

And now you were nothing more than the Bear’s warm, living fleshlight.

Santa keeps pumping and churning, until he closes his eyes and gives one last grunt as your insides get painted white. You emit a loud *pop* after Santa takes you off, his “eggnog” dripping down your leg from your hole.

After recovering his breath, Santa places you atop his snout. “Thanks, my little helper,” he says, you struggling to keep your balance as he talks. “Though it seems like you’re going to need a bath again.”

Does this mean… the other Reindeers again?

Santa plucks you up and shakes his head. He places you right in front his maw and flashes you a toothy grin, and before you know it, he opens his maw and pops you right in.

You close your eyes, waiting for the end to come, but as you’re about to hit his tonsils, you crash against the Bear’s wet, yet soft black tongue. Santa’s tongue slants itself, so you end up rolling down towards the front, where his jagged teeth are, but then curves at the last moment to wrap itself around you.

The Bear continues to toy with your helpless body, moving you from side to side, up and down, pressing you against his cheeks, the roof of his maw, hiding you underneath his tongue. Long after you’re completely covered in his saliva, the Bear spits you onto his hand.

You look at Santa, and the Bear laughs.

“What can I say, I like my snacks with a nice—and warm—filling.” Santa says, he then tilts his palm and with his other paw parts your legs open. “And look it here, someone else seems to be enjoying themself as well!”

You look at your crotch and blush before covering it back up. Meanwhile, the Bear just continues to Ho-ho-ho.

“Let me take care of that,” Santa says. The Bear leans over, and you’re afraid he’s gonna put you inside his maw once again. He presses the tip of his snout against your chest, keeping you in place, and his lips barely curl as he starts to blow you.

Santa sucks. Hard. A bigger pull than any blowjob you had ever experienced before. More painful than pleasurable. And while you like seeing the look of bliss on the Bear’s face, you can’t help but tap at his nose and ask him to stop.

He does. “Sorry, I got carried away.” The Bear looks down, disappointed, but then a smile crosses his face. “But you know what? I think I know another way to get you off. One that we’ll both enjoy.”

Santa gently lowers you so you’re in front of him, at crotch level that is. You wonder what the Bear meant, but your question gets answered as you see him raise one footpaw. Your fight-or-flight instinct activates and you look around, trying to find a place to escape. And that’s when it dawns on you where you are.

You are on top of his footrest.

Having nowhere else to go, you can’t do anything but stare at Santa wiggling his toes before he drops his paw on you. With your head peeking out from in between the Bear’s toes, and the rest of your body pinned down beneath his sole, you look at the Bear. Santa smiles and waves at you, before moving his paw up and leaving you in complete darkness…

The Bear rubs his paw all over you—No, rather, the Bear uses you to rub his paw. His rough heel pressing down and grinding your crotch. This was, the biggest footjob you’ve ever received. You wince and pant as the Bear starts moving his paw back.

Not enough to let you see the light again.

Not enough to let you smell or taste anything but the licorice coming from his feet.

Not enough to get a small reprieve from the increasing heat.

Then, the Bear shifts his paw slightly, and you feel another pressure big pressure on your back pinning you against his sole.

You were now sandwiches in between both of Santa’s paws, and the old bear starts rubbing you back-and-forth. It is like an oven, and you melt like putty under his paws. Meanwhile, the Bear continues rubbing you back-and-forth.

Forth-and-back.

And back-and-forth again.

During one of these movements, you grab hold of one of Santa’s big toes. The Bear stops for a moment, resuming his rubbing soon after but with only one paw this time. You press your lips against his paw pads as the frequency increases. Only stopping once your body starts to tremble, and you leave a wet mess all over the giant’s soles.

With all your strength gone, you let go of the toe, lying down exhausted over the brown leather. The old Bear removes his paws, taking a look at his soles.

“Usually, I’d have you clean up your mess,” Santa says, “but I guess I can make an exception this time.”

Santa cups you up with both hands and gently brings you over to his chest. He lifts one moob and sets you down before using it to cover you like a weighted blanket. Santa coos, lulling you to sleep. But just as your mind starts to falter, you take another whiff of your arm.

This time, you no longer smelled like Reindeer. Your scent or otherwise. This time, all you could smell was Christmas. The spicy scent of cinnamon. The bitter licorice. The sweet molasses of gingerbread. The refreshing peppermint. The creamy eggnog. And the woody fir.

You smelled like him, and from now on, no one who crossed your path would ever doubt who it was that you belonged to.

You were his.

And you were home…

Days go by, and you slowly settle in your new routine as Santa’s little helper.

Tending to Santa’s needs, keeping the Reindeers occupied and fit, and getting a shift at the workshop to prepare for next Christmas. A situation that does not change in any way as the elves come back from their vacations. Even the tiny men, short enough to not even reach the Bear’s knees, tower above you. Not that you minded though. After all, not only were you more than happy to help, but your unusual size gave you some… perks that not even the elves could boast about.

And while you would have liked it to happy stay like that for the rest of time, fate had other plans in mind…

The more months went by, the more you noticed something going on with your body. You became tired more easily. Slower. Clunkier. Your fur started to mat itself with grey and white patches. Eventually, it got to the point where you were removed from the most taxing tasks, not going into the workshop unless you were already stuffed inside Santa’s boots, underwear, or armpit.

Because, you see, Reindeers do not have the same life span as humans, and it seemed that your age was finally starting to catch up to you now.

“Is something the matter, my little helper?” Santa asks one day, likely noticing your mood after you stopped rubbing his paws.

You try to smile, to keep everything to yourself, but you can no longer do so.

It was a tough pill to swallow, but you could see the writing on the wall already. You were not like the eves. Not like the other Reindeers. Not like him. Sooner or later, you would be forced to leave everyone and everything behind, while they would go on to live forever.

And just the thought of it tore you apart, breaking down in front of the Bear’s soles.

The giant plucks you up and cradles you on his chest. You calm down, the scent of gingerbread filling your lungs. However, unlike every other time when you mentioned how you missed your old life, your family, or friends; this time the intrusive thoughts lingered.

“Is there anything I could do?” Santa asks.

You look at the Bear as he wets his lips using his tongue. However, as the black muscle moves from one side to the other, you get a small glimpse of his razor-sharp canines hiding underneath all that fluff.

You remember that day ages ago for you, when you became his little helper. How the Bear had put you inside his maw and sucked on you like a jawbreaker. And the state you were in once he spat you out.

You also remember another instance when you were cleaning the Bear’s teeth, and you lost your footing. How you saw your tools falling down the black void, shuddering at the thought of it also happening to you.

Scared, yet, paradoxically enough, also excited…

You take a deep breath and stand up. Your legs are shaking, but you steel yourself. You need to do this.

There’s no going back now.

You can no longer imagine what it’d be like to be without Santa. So, you ask him… to eat you. At least that way you’ll be able to continue serving and being with him forever.

“Is that what you really want?” Santa asks, a somber look on his face. You hesitate, but in the end, you nod, and he continues. “Then so be it.”

You close your eyes, waiting for the end to come, but the giant Bear just picks you up and starts to walk. You ask where he’s going, and he just smiles.

“Let’s get you ready first.”

Santa sets you down on top of the kitchen counter. He turns around, rummaging the shelves and fridge to take out everything you’ll “need” for your final journey.

One big bowl. Eggs. Butter. A jar of molasses…

Santa puts you inside the bowl before cracking an egg over your head. The yolk breaks upon impact, coating you in white and yellow fluids. Gooey and sticky, not that dissimilar from when you were covered in the Bear’s cum.

Then come the molasses, slowly dripping over you as Santa cuts a small slice of butter. He warms the butter between his paws, and when it’s soft enough rubs your body to lather you up. The scent reminding of you when the Bear placed you on his chest, and the warmth of when you napped in between his flabs.

He then drops all sorts of ingredients on you. Flour, baking soda, milk, and such. He mixes it all by paw, and when it’s done, scoops you out of the bowl. Completely covered in cookie dough, you ask Santa if he’s going to put you inside the oven.

He chuckles. “An oven of sorts.”

The Bear winks before bending over to take off one of his boots. He drops you inside, sealing your way out when his paw follows soon after. A situation you’re more than familiar by now.

You hear the Bear start to clean up and go on with his business while you continue to stew and marinate inside his boot. To your surprise, the dough coating your body starts to puff and harden, getting cooked just from the heat coming off the Bear’s soles alone. Santa’s walking barepawed as usual (or at least, since you live here), so you make sure to lick any excess dough that clings to his toes.

Once you’re cooked and marinated enough, the Bear takes you out. He sets you on a glass tray, you no longer being able to move yourself, and a distinct smell of licorice emanating from you.

“Just a few final touches…”

Santa takes out a pastry bag and starts to decorate you. He puts some cream to define where your hooves are, some buttons like if you were wearing a coat, a wide smile, and most importantly, a gash with a small dot below on your neck.

Your very own collar.

He then lightly nibbles on your rear to make a small opening. The bag’s cold metal tip pokes at your hole before depositing its creamy filling inside you. Santa pinches some cinnamon and brown sugar, sprinkling them all over you, to give you that nice, woody smell just like his pits. And to finish it all, he grabs some of the leftover dough and places it on the nubs on your head, giving you a nice pair of antlers.

Santa picks you up and you see your own reflection on the Bear’s big black eyes.

Just another gingerbread Reindeer.

“Perfect.”

The Bear sets you down on a plate with a few more cookies, pours a glass of milk, and walks back to his favorite couch.

The place where you worshipped him every day.

The place where he shrunk you down.

The place where you accepted your new life as his little helper.

Santa sets the plate down on one of the couch’s arms and sits down. He grabs you, dipping you inside the milk before raising you to eye level.

“Any last words?” He asks.

You think for a moment, but after some time, you realize there’s nothing more for you to say.

Not that you could have anyway inside your cookie prison.

Santa dangles you above his maw and licks his chops. You try to not look down but fail and get a full view of the dark, bottomless shaft below you, covered in yellow-ish white jagged rocks. Jaws more than ready, more than wanting, to crush you into a soft paste. You start to panic, finally realizing what it is that you asked the Bear to do, but it’s too late now.

Santa lets go of you, and you fall in. His maw closing right behind you.

You crash on the Bear’s black tongue, the impact breaking free one of your arms out. You flail around, trying to find something to latch on, but with the peppermint scent being strong enough to make your eyes water coupled with his tongue trashing you all around, it’s a moot effort. The Bear toys with you like if you were a piece of hard candy.

Thick, sticky strands of saliva start coating all your body, the gingerbread softening and giving you just the tiny bit of extra movement. But it’s all too little, and too late, as you find out when the Bear tilts his head back, sending you straight down his gutter. And when in a last attempt you cling to the Bear’s throat, you feel Santa rubbing his throat from the outside with one claw. The light massage on his Apple being more than enough to seal your fate.

You land with a soft thud inside Santa’s belly. A giant and expansive dark area. The heat is immeasurable, and the atmosphere is thin. Several bits and pieces of other gingerbread beings lying scattered all around the “floor” waiting to be digested. Truly, a graveyard for their kind.

And soon to be yours as well.

Not having anything else to do, you walk around the stomach walls, until you find a nice spot to lie on. You sit against the wall, your head starting to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen. You wonder if this had been the right choice, but then you feel something.

On the other side of wall, there’s a small pressure. You put your hooves next to the forming lump and trace around it. It’s one of Santa’s paws. He must have felt you, and even now, he’s thinking of you.

You cuddle right next to the lump and close your eyes. Letting his rhythmic heartbeat lull you into sleep.

Possibly for the last time…

You wake up.

The white and light-blue of your room loom above you. Shivering, you reach over for your blanket and burrito up. You take out your phone. It was the end of Christmas week.

Had you been dreaming all this time? But… that couldn’t be?

Could it?

Sighing, you stand up and prepare to go make some dinner. While your roommate would be out until New Year’s, you could not afford such luxuries. Tomorrow, your job awaited.

You stand up from your bed and open the door, when a wave of heat comes blasting at your face. You rush over to the living room.

The fireplace is still going on. All the decorations. All the colors. Even the tree…

You walk towards your roommate’s couch. On its armrest lies a half-eaten plate of chocolate cookies, and an empty glass of milk right next to it. It’s all the same as that day!

With one exception.

Just in front of the tree lies a Christmas card. You pick it up, a photo sliding down from inside it. It’s the one that the elf took that day that feels so long ago. Back when you sat on Santa’s lap. Back when you thought of him as nothing more than an old pervert in a Santa costume.

Which, to be honest, he kind of is.

You open the card and read the first line.

To my little helper…

Your eyes shine as you continue reading.

To my little helper,

Believe me

Were it up for me, I would have you stay here with me forever

Unfortunately, everything has to eventually come to an end

But I want you to know

That I really enjoyed the time we spent togetherTo my little helper,

Believe me

Were it up for me, I would have you stay here with me forever

Unfortunately, everything has to eventually come to an end

But I want you to know

That I really enjoyed the time we spent together

You pace around the room, grazing the tree and the furniture with the tips of your hooves—no, fingers. You stand in front of the chimney. One of Santa’s comically large socks still hanging above it.

In a few months, you’ll likely forget all that happened

And I understand

It’s part of growing up, after all

Leaving your old heroes behind

And trailing your own path forwardIn a few months, you’ll likely forget all that happened

And I understand

It’s part of growing up, after all

Leaving your old heroes behind

And trailing your own path forward

You put the card down and grab Santa’s sock. You trace your thumb along the fabric, when something grabs your attention. There’s something thick and solid in the toe section. You shake the sock around, hearing a clacking sound, and put your hand inside, only to discover a small red package with a green ribbon wrapped around it. You open the box, and then grab the card again, noticing that there’s even more writing on the back.

But, if you still this old Bear to guide you

I left something for you

Be my good little cub this year

The whole year

Or don’t

I’ll respect whatever choice you make anywayBut, if you still this old Bear to guide you

I left something for you

Be my good little cub this year

The whole year

Or don’t

I’ll respect whatever choice you make anyway

With the sock and gift still in hand, you walk over to the couch and sit down. You set the box on the tray, its contents tumbling out, as you take one of the half-eaten cookies and wolf it down. Then, you recline the couch and push the big sock against your nose to better take its earthy scent.

Just take into account that this time

If you decide to take on my offer

Your gift will be one of my choosing

My little helperJust take into account that this time

If you decide to take on my offer

Your gift will be one of my choosing

_ My little helper_

You put one hand down to your crotch, rubbing a last one out before the year’s over.

All while under the gaze of the roaring bear on the keyless chastity cage right next to the cookies.

A sculpting so life-like that you could even hear it say, “Ho, ho, ho…”