Gangbanged By a Pack of Mall Santas While My Husband Watches

T’is the season to be cuckolded in a dirty old van by five costumed strangers

When he was six years old, my husband Tom saw his mommy kissing Santa Claus. It turned out to be their fat neighbor in a costume, though poor Tom didn’t realize this until his mother and the imposter Santa ran off together on Christmas Eve. Now, I’m no therapist, but this might explain Tom’s strange holiday-themed fetish.

For 11 months out of the year, he and I are strictly monogamous. I don’t look at other guys, he doesn’t watch porn, and we have very vanilla sex.

It’s fine.

But every year on December 1st, the Yuletide Spirit turns us into depraved, lustful perverts. Our favorite tradition is to round up a bunch of mall Santas and let them fuck me while Tom watches and jerks off into a Christmas stocking.

This year, we bought a van. We painted a beautiful rustic winterscape on the side and decorated the inside with Christmas lights, wreaths, and candles. There’s a mattress in there, too, obviously. With Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer bedsheets.

Tom drives, and then I go into the malls and recruit the Santas. We’re in Bergen County, New Jersey, so there’s no shortage of nearby malls and/or Santas.

Our first stop is the Bergen Town Center Plaza. It’s 10:30 p.m. and the mall was supposed to close a half hour ago, but the manager asked Santa to stay until the last kid in line got a chance to sit on his lap.

By the time he finishes, Jake, the poor actor in the suit, is pissed-off and in need of a drink. I hand him a bottle of Vodka in a brown paper bag and tell him what Tom and I are up to. He takes one look at my gams sticking out the bottom of my short Christmas skirt and agrees immediately.

Jake is one of those Santas that brings his own padding and beard to the role. He’s only in his early 40’s but looks 60. Normally, that’s not my cup of tea, but as long as he stays in character, I’ll be into it.

Our next stop is the Paramus Park Mall. Here, I find Rick, a 35-year-old hot-head just as he’s getting fired for punching out the asshole father of the kid who pissed on his lap. I can tell by the way he laid the guy out that Rick is quite buff under his costume, but again, it doesn’t matter. To me, he’s just another Santa.

Walter, the guy we find at the Westfield Garden State Plaza, is legitimately in his early 60s, but he assures me the plumbing still works. Bill from the Saddle Brook Mall is another thick, middle-aged man, but he’s the only one in the bunch who actually enjoys his job. Abe from President’s Square Mall looks and sounds so much like Walter that there’s no way I’m going to be able to tell the two men apart.

Luckily, I won’t be expected to.

By the time we get Abe, it’s after midnight and the mall is empty. We park the van in the loading dock and get ready for our evening of festive debauchery.

We’ve got a full tank of gas, and we leave the engine running so we can keep the heat on and play the Barry White Christmas Album.

My husband doesn’t face us directly. I see his eyes in the rearview mirror as the dirty old men in red suits surround me and grope my eager body. I pull my dress over my head and throw it onto the floor.

Rick, the Santa with the most experience with women, undoes my bra clasp and begins kissing my shoulder. His synthetic beard tickles my back. Someone — Bill, I think — takes one of my nipples into his mouth and sucks. It sends a shiver down my spine.

Two hands compete for the prime real estate between my legs — the warm wetness that is my pussy. The beginning stages of these orgies are always so deliciously chaotic while all the players joust for dominance. Things settle down once they realize that everyone will get a turn.

Until then, I enjoy being fought over.

A five-inch semi-soft cheese log presents itself, emerging from underneath the cottony trim of someone’s red fleece coat. I stroke it and feel it grow in my hand. Another cock appears inches from my ear and I take it in my other hand.

Two more dicks come towards my mouth at the same time, and Walter’s gets there first because it’s an inch longer. He wasn’t lying about his plumbing. The old man is rock-hard the moment my tongue touches his tip.

Rick reaches around to caress my soft belly while he rubs his cock on the small of my back. When he’s fully hard, he surfs the trench between my ass cheeks. I clench to give him more friction.

Tom shifts in the front seat. I can’t see it, but I know he has his cock out. His eyes reflect a twisted combination of humiliation and pleasure. It makes me even wetter.

Assuming Bill is the most generous of the group, I gesture for him to lie down so I can sit on his face. He doesn’t disappoint. His tongue swirls around my swollen clit causing me to spray him with female juices, plastering his beard to his face.

It’s now Jake’s turn for my mouth, and I take him in all at once. After Abe’s big hog, my jaw is loose, and Jake is rewarded for his patience with a much better blowjob.

I also reward Bill by letting him be the first to fuck my pussy. I crawl away from his head and insert him inside me. While I’m riding him, Abe and Walter slap my bouncing tits.

But then I feel Rick’s hand on my back. I know what he’s asking, and I accommodate by leaning forward onto Bill’s bowl full of jelly. That’s when I feel Rick’s dick enter my backdoor.

Thankfully, he’s nice and lubed up with what smells like Burt’s Bees Peppermint Lip Balm. Though I realize ass-fucking is always going to be a part of these things, it’s definitely not my favorite. I appreciate Rick not going in raw.

We shift positions so that everyone gets a turn in every hole. Except for Walter — I don’t let his nine inches anywhere near my anus. He understands. But he fucks my pussy as hard as any mall Santa I’ve ever met, so he doesn’t feel too left out.

When everyone is ready to cum, I get on my knees, close my eyes and hold up my tits. The five Santas form a Satanic pentagram around me and blast me all over with Christmas cheer. It’s an endless blizzard that covers me with enough creamy frosting to ice a thousand gingerbread men.

Once their gift sacks are empty, the Santas flop down onto the mattress looking like deflated lawn decorations. It comes as no surprise that they crash after their orgasms. They’ve all had to deal with screaming children and their annoying parents for an entire month. They’re spent.

“How are you doing up there?” I whisper to Tom.

“Oh, I’m ok.”

I take the stocking from him and see that it’s empty. “You didn’t cum?”

“Nah. I guess I just don’t have the Christmas Spirit this year.”

“Do you think it’s the van? It’s not exactly The Ritz.”

Last year, we did this at The Ritz. It was nice.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

I rub his back. “Is there something I can do for you? Like maybe a handy or a blowjob?”

“Nah. I think I just want to go home.”

I’ve never seen him like this, and it breaks my heart. This used to be his favorite night of the year.

“Ok, well…if that’s what you — ”

Something heavy crashes onto the roof.

“What the fuck!” Tom shouts.

Somehow, the mall Santas remain sleeping. Tom and I rush out of the vehicle to see what is the matter.

“Ho, ho, ho,” calls a booming voice from above. “Is everyone ok?”

Sitting in a golden sleigh on top of the dented roof is none other than Santa Claus himself. The real Santa Claus.

A team of four reindeer stands on the pavement behind the vehicle, chewing on garbage like nothing’s happened.

“You’re… you’re…” Tom can’t find the words.

“Saint Nick, at your service,” Santa says. “Sorry about your van, but you’re not supposed to park here. I’ve made arrangements with the mall to come by after hours.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Christmas Eve isn’t until next week.”

“What is anyone doing at a mall a week before Christmas? Last-minute shopping, of course.”

“But don’t you have elves making all your toys?”

“They do their best, but there are just too many goddamn people in the world these days, so I’ve had to outsource some of the gift-making. Anyway, while I’m here, I might as well give you two your present.”

Tom and I look at each other, then back at Santa. He winks.

The next thing we know, we’re back in the van, with Santa plowing me from behind while Tom jerks off furiously. Santa’s cock is a magical candy cane of joy. So big and hard.

He’s got the agility of a gymnast and the stamina of a marathon runner. He knows how to reach all of my pleasure places. He knows how hard I like it. He knows how to make me cum.

After Santa blows his load inside me, he releases me so I can finish off my husband. I take Tom’s solid rod in both hands and gaze lovingly into his eyes.

“Your hands feel so good, Babe.” He says.

“You like that? Are you going to cum for me?”

He nods, then takes a deep breath. His eyes roll back in his head, and his whole body tenses.

“That’s it, cum for me! Cum for me!”

His cock explodes, covering me in warm, sticky jizz.

Afterwards, we slump back onto the pile of sleeping Santa impersonators while the real Santa slips silently out the back of the van.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas, Babe,” Tom says.

“You, too,” I say, kissing him passionately.

If nothing else, this will be remembered as the year we learned what truly separates the big man from his imitators.

The real Santa knows who’s been naughty and nice, and he knows exactly how to reward and punish us. In the case of Tom and me, those happen to be the same thing.

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