Welcome to today’s little vignette for Christmas: Naughty and Nice, Day 7. See what happens when Santa Daddy’s little girl sits on his knee to tell him what she really wants for Christmas. Has she been a good little girl — good enough for Santa Daddy to give it to her…?

Happy reading!

Ina x


Santa’s Knee

She came in his grotto. I mean, she literally came. Santa was late and she sat waiting like a good little girl, thinking of the last time she had seen him. His arms had wrapped around her, making sure she didn’t fall, and he’d whispered to her as he’d squeezed her naked breast, “What do good little girls get?”

She wetted her finger and inched it inside her pussy remembering her reply to her Santa that morning. “A good fucking, Santa, Sir. Please.”

But he’d had to go to work. She wrinkled her nose at the disappointment, even now. And now he was late and she just couldn’t wait any longer. She closed her eyes, her fingers working hard inside her until she gushed inside her knickers. The feel of her own hot wetness at the thought that this could be his cock getting drenched right now made her come hard as she sat in Santa’s chair.

“What are you doing? Is that any way for a good little girl to behave?”

She opened her eyes with a start to find Santa standing over her, his finger rubbing over his lips and his eyes twinkling. She bit her lip and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Well, it’s one way for a good little girl to behave.”

“You know the rules when you come in Santa’s grotto without being invited. Panties off and get over Santa’s knee before he lets you talk to him.”

It seemed that Santa had been busy Christmas shopping because, when he spanked her, it wasn’t with his hand but something much harder. She squealed and yelped. Occasionally she giggled, especially when he told her he was going to slice Christmas dinner on his new cutting board, but that it looked like you could cook flesh with it, too.

“Mmmm, what a lovely shade of red. Very Christmassy.”

“It’s very wet, too, now. Again. Santa, Sir, I hope you like my special kind of sauce with your food. Just like I do yours. Do I get to tell you all about my wishes now?” She was about to raise her breasts from his thighs, but he stopped her with a hand against her back.

“Santa always gives good little girls what they wish for.” He grabbed her hand, placing her palm over his solid cock as she rubbed her hot, stinging flesh. She throbbed, the blood pounding between her thighs as he began to unbuckle his belt. “Pull the zip, little girl. Show me how good you are.”

Her heart racing, she slid the zip open a little. His cockhead, all shiny, peeked out through the gap. She blew over it softly and grinned at the shudder that overcame Santa’s body. The tip of her tongue touched his tender skin, dabbing at his hardness. She looked up at him, watching his mouth, his breath heaving and sighing with every tiny tickle. “Am I really a good little girl, Santa, Sir?”

As she exposed more of his cock, drawing his whole shaft out and exposing it to the privacy of Santa’s grotto — and to her hot little hand that slid up and down, proving Santa to be the big man she knew he was — he groaned, “Oh yeah, you’re definitely good. A little girl like you soooo gets her wish. She helps herself.”

“But what if she wishes for more, Santa, Sir?” Her fingers wound around the base of his cock, then beginning to pump him vigorously as her mouth sank down to meet them, his wet cock tip soaking the back of her mouth. One look at his face and she was sure she was giving Santa what he had wanted since he had seen her enter that private place he loved so much.

He tapped his lap, right up high on his thighs. “Come here and tell me what more a little girl could wish for.”

She straddled him, humming softly, slowly, as she began to writhe against the top of his legs. “She wishes to dance on Santa’s lap.” Her arms above her head, she swayed to her own music. His cock pressed up against her. She grasped it and held it tight to her pussy as she continued Santa’s own private lap dance. Grinding herself down onto his base, she trailed her tongue along the edge of his ear and down his cheek. A  moan oozed from him.

“Oh, good girl.”

“Can I have what I wish for now, Santa, Sir?” She tantalised his neck with her mouth, tongue circling. When her teeth grazed delicately against him, she felt his fingers dig hard in her backside, lifting her. When he lowered her down, she didn’t need him to answer. She got exactly what she wished for…

A little girl should always please her Santa. Shouldn’t she, Sir?

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