Martin loved his nieces. They were beautiful little girls, and he wanted to spend as much time with them as possible.
But he did not want to attend their Christmas party. It sounded boring, and not only that, but since Martin was a cool, funny, outgoing gay uncle, his nieces would mob him, demanding he do silly voices and give them piggyback rides as soon as he got there.
It was, unfortunately, difficult to avoid because Martin lived above the garage at the same house as his sister, her husband and their two daughters. So he was invited and he heard the little girls running around excitedly with their friends (the idea of spending time with more than a dozen little girls sounded exhausting; just thinking about it made Martin want to take a nap).
That was, after all, the nice thing about not having kids — you didn’t have to spend time with them when you didn’t feel like it. Today was definitely a day when Martin didn’t feel like it.
But it would be rude not to go at all. It was the day before Christmas Eve after all. He needed to make an appearance. He decided to bring his Christmas presents for the girls. They were all wrapped and ready to go, so he could put them under the tree and his nieces would forget that he wasn’t at the party — the only thing they would remember was that Uncle Martin had brought them their presents.
He was just about to head down there when he saw a ramshackle Chevrolet pull up outside. A man in a Santa costume got out and headed for the door.
Martin put his presents down. He didn’t want to compete for attention with a Santa. He scoffed — when his sister first got pregnant, she said that she was not going to fritter away money on nonsense, and here she was throwing a child’s Christmas party (which isn’t even a tradition) and hire a Santa for it, when they could just go to the mall and do the same thing for nearly free. Sounds like money frittered away on nonsense to me. But then, Martin’s sister had also sworn that she wouldn’t buy her daughters “girls’ toys”, and that lasted until her eldest daughter was old enough to ask for specific toys. Martin’s sister had sworn she wouldn’t let them wear makeup until they were sixteen, and they started playing with makeup last year, when the youngest was only eight.
Not that Martin really cared about any of these things, he just thought it was funny that his big tough sister fell victim to marketing pretty much as soon as her ideals were tested.
Soon Martin stopped hearing the Santa’s ho-ho-ho — whoever it was, he had a great deep booming Santa-voice — and heard the now-familiar tune of the Frozen soundtrack.
He went downstairs and headed over to the main house. That must mean the Santa was done. Martin hadn’t seen him leave yet and his car was still out front, but the show seemed to be done. Martin could hang out with the adults until the movie was over, then make a big show of bringing the girls’ presents to the tree. It wouldn’t take very long and he’d look awesome in front of his nieces.
Martin’s sister and a few other moms were in the kitchen. He came through to say hello. The girls sang along to the movie in the other room. Santa was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, hi, Martin, merry Christmas.”
Groans emanated from some of the other moms. Martin wasn’t interested in quibbling over “holidays” vs “Christmas”, so he just smiled and nodded and small-talked with them until he thought he had done enough.
“What happened to Santa?”
“Oh, the girls got a little over-excited. There was some throw-up,” Martin’s sister said with a wry smile. “He’s taking a shower.”
“A merry, jolly North Pole shower?”
“No, a normal shower in our bathroom,” she said. The other moms giggled. “I think he might need some men’s clothes, something to wear under the Santa suit. Probably just a t-shirt or something. Do you have anything? You know… that might fit him?” She was a little awkward because her tremendously overweight husband was in the next room, watching football. He pretended he wasn’t sensitive about his weight, but he was.
“Your husband’s clothes…? I just thought… You know… Santa?” Martin pantomimed a large belly.
“Oh no, this Santa’s not fat. He’s got a fatsuit on,” said one of the other moms. “I think he might be hot. I didn’t see him without the fatsuit and the big beard, but I think under all that, Santa might be a hottie.” The women all giggled, the same sound their daughters were generating in the next room. Females, Martin thought, are so annoying.
He went upstairs. He didn’t think he would likely find Santa all that hot. Middle-aged housewives did not have good taste in men, Martin had discovered that on several occasions.
He knocked on the bathroom door. The shower was running, so he opened the door just a crack. “Hey, uh, I live next door, man, do you need some clothes?! I can give you some of mine if you need it!”
The shower turned off. “What?” A handsome man’s face appeared poking through the shower curtain.
“Oh, hi, I’m Martin…” His voice trailed off because this Santa was hotter than he had any right to be. He had a thick shock of black hair, a square jaw and deep, dark eyes. He looks like the hero on the cover of a fantasy novel, Martin thought to himself.
“Uh… Hi, Martin,” he said. “I’m Jeff.”
“Hi.” Martin blushed. “Uh… My sister said you got thrown up on? Did you need some clothes? They uh… They said you might fit in my clothes, but you definitely won’t. They don’t know men’s sizes I guess. What are you, like six and a half feet tall?”
“Almost.” He smiled, flashing deep dimples. “I’m six-four.”
“Cool. Cool.” Martin blushed even deeper. “Sorry, I, uh… Did you want to come look at my clothes? I might have something that fits you.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks, I really just need a t-shirt. That fat suit is uncomfortable without a shirt on underneath, and my shirt is vomity. I just need something I can get on, you know, it doesn’t have to fit right.”
“Okay, well, come on over to the garage then,” Martin said. “I’ll go see what the biggest shirt I have is.”
He felt giddy as he hurried out to the garage again. Martin loved straight guys — that Santa was clearly straight — and he often managed to suck them off. He was beginning to think that Santa was a potential conquest.
He knew exactly what his biggest t-shirt was, because a different rough trade conquest had left it here after a July 4 party — Martin loved holidays, and most of his best sexual experiences with straight men came during or after a holiday party. He had sucked off a fireworks man, a big tough redneck who had left his sweaty t-shirt here. Martin sniffed it and jacked off for a month or so, then accidentally washed it.
It was about four sizes too big for Martin. It would probably be a bit big for Jeff too, but not cavernously large like Martin’s brother-in-law’s shirts would be. Martin hid it at the bottom of his dresser drawer so he wouldn’t accidentally “find” it before he had a chance to work on Jeff.
There was a knock at the door. Martin let Jeff in, his jaw agape — Jeff wore dingy old basketball shorts, sneakers and little else, aside from a dog tag. There was a military-looking tattoo on his bicep as well, a bald eagle flying with a rifle in its talons.
“Oh, are you a soldier?”
“Not anymore. I got out of the Army last year,” he said.
“And now you bring presents to all the children at Christmas? That’s super,” Martin said with a giggle. He started to make a show of looking through his own shirts, all of which were way too small for Jeff’s broad shoulders and chest.
He smiled. “I’m actually… Don’t tell your sister this, some people don’t like the idea of children’s entertainers who are… well, I’m a stripper,” he said. “That’s what I was doing until Christmas. Still am, but Santa gigs pay better now, and anyway I can do kids parties during the day and still strip at night.”
“Oh, that is so cool! You’re so hot, you should be a stripper! I’d have suggested it if you didn’t say it!”
He grinned wanly. “Yeah, well… so if you have any, you know… parties, you know that, uh… I’m gay-friendly, just so you know.”
“Oh? What does that mean?”
“I mean, I do gay parties, if you want. I’m not gay. I don’t do anything gay. I just, you know… Well, I rub my dick on guys’ faces, that’s pretty gay. I guess I do some gay things. But I’m not gay. I don’t do any of, you know… the really gay… very gay stuff. I only do, you know… I dance. I’m a good dancer,” he said. He blushed. “That’s all. I’m a good dancer.”
Martin sat down in his computer chair. He withdrew a twenty-dollar bill and tucked it into the waistband of Jeff’s shorts. “Prove it.”
Jeff blushed a little deeper red. He looked around. Martin got the feeling he had never given a man a lapdance outside of a crowded party. But Jeff took a deep breath and snapped his hips to one side, making his massive cock shake and bulge in the shorts he wore. He clearly didn’t have on any underwear beneath that.
A pounding house music beat filled the air. That helped Jeff a lot, and he danced around the room for a few seconds to get into the rhythm of it. Martin watched his back muscles writhe.
“You ready?” Jeff asked, flashing his dimples. He backed up to Martin, who was still seated so Jeff’s ass was around his face level. Martin’s cock rocketed to attention. The fact that Jeff hadn’t prepared to strip today actually made him hotter — dirty basketball shorts were hotter than contrived stripper clothes; the faint layer of chest hair that hadn’t been shaved yet even extended just barely over his shoulder; his natural musk was only barely covered up by deodorant — he no doubt wore cologne when he stripped, but he assumed no one would notice through the fatsuit. All those things were hotter than any polished Hollywoodized stripper.
His asscheeks flexed, one after the other, in front of Martin’s face. Martin inhaled deeply of the sweaty scent and moaned loudly, giggling. That made Jeff laugh too — it was clearly forced; he was in agreeable-stripper-mode — and Martin even tried to tease those shorts down before Jeff batted his hands away.
“No touching the stripper,” Jeff said.
Martin was expecting that. He slipped a hundred dollar bill into Jeff’s hand.
“Oh, well… Thanks,” Jeff said. He blushed.
Martin dove his face between Jeff’s buttcheeks. He inhaled deeply and licked the fabric of those shorts. Jeff grunted and laughed with a nervous tremor to his voice.
“I bet you could use more money,” Martin said. He pulled down Jeff’s shorts, revealing perfectly plump, pink cheeks. He kissed each one, making Jeff yelp and laugh again. Martin smiled. “How about two thousand dollars?”
“Fuck me,” Martin said. He patted Jeff on the left asscheek. Jeff turned around. He covered his bare crotch with both hands, shorts around his ankles. With his arms over the center of his body, his pecs were bunched together, making Martin so horny he wanted to burst.
“Oh come on, don’t tell me I’m the first gay guy to offer!”
He shrugged. “Well, uh… No, I guess you’re not. But you’re the first one to be serious! They, uh… I mean, at parties they make jokes, but…”
Martin giggled. “Oh, Jeff… What do they teach you in the Army? Gay guys are rarely serious, but I can assure you those gay guys were serious at that time. They made it like a joke because you were more comfortable that way. It meant you could say no and not get awkward, you could just shrug it off. If you said yes, they would pay you.”
“Well, I can’t vouch for all gay dudes. I’m sure some would trick you and not pay. You gotta use some discretion,” Martin said. “But I’ll definitely pay you.”
“Oh… Uh… Okay. Yeah, fine,” he said. He closed his eyes. “Whatever. Fine. Yeah. I’ll do it. You gotta hurry though, they’re gonna want me back there when Frozen is done.”
“Well, then get to dancing,” Martin said.
Jeff took a deep breath and resumed his strip show. He shook his ass in front of Martin’s face, then turned around — his shorts were already around his ankles, so there wasn’t much stripping in this strip show. He simply wasn’t wearing enough clothes to strip.
But he did dance. He had a nice hefty cock that flopped between his legs. Martin switched the house music to a techno-Christmas album, and Jeff danced to a dubstep version of Little Drummer Boy. He even air-drummed like a drummer boy, and the sight of his bulging biceps made Martin’s dick so hard it was about to burst.
He beckoned Jeff, who gulped and approached. Martin grabbed his cock. Jeff winced and closed his eyes. He stood there with his hands on his hips, as far away from Martin’s chair as he could be while still being close enough for Martin to grab his dick.
Martin pulled. Jeff came closer, and closed his eyes again when his dick disappeared down Martin’s throat.
“Ah… alright…” Jeff grunted. As soon as he began, he seemed to lose a lot of his inhibitions — many straight guys reacted that way, as though they thought a gay blowjob was going to be painful and were surprised when it felt more or less the same as a straight blowjob. Jeff’s face was bright red. “Wow, okay… You, uh… you suck dick pretty good.”
Martin already knew that, but he liked to hear it again. He rammed his nose all the way down deep in Martin’s crotch, nuzzling his pubic hair — which was mostly shaved. He inhaled deeply of that masculine musk.
In no time, Jeff’s cock was rock-hard and throbbing in Martin’s mouth. Jeff gasped and writhed. He moved like he hadn’t gotten a blowjob in a long time, and it took every ounce of concentration to keep himself from blowing a load embarrassingly quickly.
Wanting to be throat-fucked, Martin dragged Jeff’s hands up to his head. But Jeff just gripped his scalp and held on.
“You can fuck my throat,” Martin said, wiping up all that drool that dripped past his lips. He licked Jeff’s cockshaft, making his whole body shake as Jeff moaned.
“Oh… I, uh… I don’t know… I mean, I know what that is, but uh…” Jeff blushed. “I don’t know how…”
“What? Really? Don’t you and your fellow soldiers spend your leave banging whores? Don’t tell me you make sweet love to them and lick their pussies all night long?”
“Ew, no! No way! I don’t do that, man! No way! I don’t do prostitutes!” he looked genuinely shocked. “I mean, some guys in my unit… I’m not like that, man. You can be discharged for that. They’ll court-martial you in a heartbeat. I’m not into… I’m Christian, okay? I mean… things are different now. It was… I’m only doing this for the money. It’s not lust. That’s a sin.” He paused and bit his lip. “It’s not greed either, okay? It’s… It just makes fiscal sense. I can make more money this time of year if- Nevermind, I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
“That’s right, quit talking and fuck my throat!”
A strangled choking moan escaped from Jeff’s lips as he drilled his dick down Martin’s throat. He gasped and gulped. Jeff’s throat was somehow louder than Martin’s, even as Martin gagged uncontrollably and allowed his throat to be drilled.
Jeff may have been too nice to ever throat-fuck anyone before, but he was tough enough and macho enough that it came easily to him. In no time, his balls swung against Martin’s chin, and Jeff grunted while precum flowed like a river down Martin’s throat.
The creamy, salty taste of his precum made Martin moan. This was already shaping up to be his best Christmas encounter ever, and Christmas hadn’t even come yet this year.
“Okay, I’m gonna bust in a minute…” Jeff said. He pulled away. His face was bright red. His hands flailed above his spasming cock as he struggled to avoid blowing his load just yet. Martin watched and giggled. Precum flowed thickly down his shaft, and Martin licked it off, making Jeff shake like he was in pain.
Then Martin turned around and lifted his ass in the air. The sight of a man’s ass seemed to make Jeff’s erection die just a little bit, enough to bring him back from the bring of orgasm anyway. He hyperventilated as he approached Martin’s ass. He grimaced and wedged his dick between Martin’s cheeks.
“Okay, I, uh… I’ve never done this,” he said. “So you gotta tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”
“Sure thing, baby,” Martin said. He paused. “Wait, does that mean you have gotten a blowjob from a man before?”
He chuckled. “It wasn’t my fault. She was dressed like a woman. I mean, he was dressed like a woman. The guys in my unit said they had all gotten blowjobs from her. But it was just a prank. I was drunk. It was a dark alley,” he said. “I didn’t notice she was, you know… a he.” He sounded defense. “He had tits. Real tits, or I mean… maybe not real, but they weren’t just tissues stuffed in a bra. Transgender, I guess. Pre-op.”
“Transgenders don’t count, just so you know,” Martin said. Then he backed his ass up. He rubbed his hole against Jeff’s cock.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve never gotten a blowjob from a man. You got a blowjob from a transgender woman. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He reached behind himself to aim Jeff’s cock for the whole. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it either way. I’m just saying…”
“So my friends can’t call me a… can’t insult my sexuality?”
“You were going to say faggot, weren’t you?”
“I don’t call anyone that. I think that’s wrong. You can get court-martialed for that too. It’s hateful language, it’s against the UCMJ,” he said.
“Well, your friends should not call you a faggot. Or make fun of you for a blowjob you got. Or trick you into getting blowjobs from transgender people. Or get you to have sex when you’re drunk. They shouldn’t do anything of those things. It sounds like they just did everything wrong,” Martin said. “You said you wanted to hurry this up, right? Let’s not talk about your friends. Just fuck me.”
“Ah…” Jeff gasped at the sight of his cocktip already in Martin’s ass. He had been so focused on telling Martin about the transgender-blowjob that he didn’t even notice that Martin had already gotten him started. Jeff bucked his hips and smiled at the feel of Martin’s tight ass squeezing around his cock.
One of Martin’s hands wrapped around his own dick, while Martin lowered his head and raised his ass. The sound of little girls screaming filled the air outside — Frozen must be finished.
“We better hurry for real then,” Martin said. He slammed his ass back, grimacing as most of Jeff’s cock slipped in. Jeff gasped. He had a big enough cock that he wasn’t used to anyone taking his entire shaft so easily.
He was still so shocked and overwhelmed by all that was happening that Jeff did little more than stand there. His rock-hard dick filled Martin’s ass up, but all of the motion came from Martin sliding back and forth. Martin didn’t mind — he enjoyed being a power bottom, and it was funny to watch a big macho soldier like Jeff react with such intense anxiety. Jeff watched his cock disappear inside Martin with his eyes wide open, as though he was constantly surprised and elated that his manhood wasn’t chopped off inside Martin’s body.
It was only right before his orgasm hit him that Jeff finally relaxed. He grimaced and gripped Martin by the hip with one hand, and by the shoulder with the other. He held on tight and slammed his dick in one time. He grunted loudly.
“Oh fuck, don’t move, man, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he said over and over like he was panicking. Then he moved quickly, gyrating his hips and plowing Martin’s ass hard.
He groaned and grunted. His whole body twisted, muscles all flexing at once. He collapsed onto the ground atop Martin, his heavy Army muscles writhing above Martin’s head. He fucked a few more times, humping his dick deep in Martin’s ass in sync with the pounding bass beat of the stripper-music that still hadn’t ended.
Hot cum flowed into Martin’s ass, huge arcing jets of it that crept through Martin’s body. The warmth of his cum spread on his skin and through his veins, flowing throughout his body until Martin could feel and taste creamy cum over every inch of him.
Martin shot his own load as well, getting most of it on the floor. Jeff didn’t seem to notice. He kept on pumping his own wad deep into Martin’s ass, ending only when he got every last drop out. Jeff sighed.
“Wow,” he said. He was about to say something else, but he was interrupted by Martin’s cell phone dinging to say he had gotten a text message.
Overwhelmed by the pressure in his ass, Martin struggled to pick up the phone. Jeff didn’t move yet, just kept his limpening dick inside Martin’s tight ass. His hot breath condensed on the back of Martin’s neck.
U suck him off?! He is santa not yr playtoy bring him back girls want santa. Gross.
“My sister says you need to go back. The girls want Santa,” Martin said.
He nodded and pulled away. Potent relief flooded Martin, who sighed and sprawled out on the floor. He lazily wrote out a check for Jeff before typing a response to his sister.
Don’t be jealous sis. His cum tastes like peppermint so it is still holiday-appropriate. Deck yr own halls.
Jeff hurriedly got dressed again. He had put the fatsuit in the garage, so he walked out of Martin’s apartment above it wearing just those shorts again, putting on Martin’s t-shirt as he went. “Thanks!” he called out.
“No. Thank you,” Martin said. “Can you bring those presents there over?” he pointed to the pile in the corner. “They’re for my nieces. Tell them they’re early presents from the North Pole. Or whatever, make up your own story.”
“Yeah, sure, good idea.” He seemed relieved — that would explain where he was, it was a good excuse. He didn’t know Martin’s sister had already guessed what was happening.
“See you later, Jeff. Remember — those gay dudes are not joking. You can make money letting them suck you off.”
He blushed with the undersized t-shirt half-on his chest. He pulled it down and cleared his throat. “Sweet. Okay. Thanks,” he said. “Yeah, I guess… I should’ve figured that out. Thanks. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Santa!”