Message-ID: <37904asstr$1029604203@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel) X-Original-Message-ID: <20020817103029.28677.00001008@mb-fr.aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 17 Aug 2002 14:30:29 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: A Child's Christmas Date: Sat, 17 Aug 2002 13:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: newsman, gill-bates By now Keda and Tommy are, what? eleven? twelve? Going on twenty-three? My how time flies. This story was written for one of Celeste's Christmas Story contests. It makes use of characters in Mark Aster's MyFrThAl series. Please visit the calendar at http://Calendar.atEROS.com Thanks. --Mat =================== A Child's Christmas by Mat Twassel =================== On the day before Christmas, Al drove over to West Side Orphanage to play Santa Claus. On the drive home, about three hours later, he was still in his Santa costume. Strapped securely in the front passenger seat next to him was Malcomb. Malcomb was five years old, small and frail and quiet. "He hardly ever says anything," Mrs. MacNamara had told Al. "His parents both died in that horrible fire, and he's been here almost five months, and I bet he hasn't said ten words to anyone, but when he does open his mouth, the meanest things come out. I'm afraid he has a streak of cruelty running through his little bones." "Which do you think is better?" Al asked as the car glided through the nearly empty streets of Christmas Eve afternoon, "Nintendo 64 or Sony PlayStation?" The boy didn't answer. He just stared out the side window. "I hear Nintendo has better graphics," Al speculated. "And a better controller. And the system is quicker to load. But that PlayStation has a better choice of games, especially sports games." Again Malcomb remained silent. "Thinking it over?" Al prompted. The boy swiveled his head, looked at Al a long time before he said, "You're a fake Santa, aren't you?" "What makes you say that?" Al asked. At first the boy didn't answer. He stared out the side window at the passing shops and cemeteries. But eventually he said, "Two things. First of all, if you were a real Santa we'd be riding in a sleigh up in the sky pulled by a bunch of reindeer. And second, if you were a real Santa, you'd know which was better, Nintendo or PlayStation. Oh, and one other thing, you're not nearly fat enough. I can see the pillow peeking out. And your beard isn't white. It's all just crap." Malcomb turned back to the side window. "Just crap," he muttered. "Okay," Al answered. "I wish I could take you riding through the sky, but the reindeers have got to rest up. They've a long haul ahead of them. And about the pillow, well, Mrs. Santa's put me on the strictest diet. I don't want to get stuck in any more chimneys. Nothing more embarrassing than having to call 911 on my cellular. At the same time I wouldn't want to disappoint my fans by showing up skinny. But you know, you go down enough chimneys and even the whitest beard turns sooty. And as for the Nintendo, um... I don't know, I'm not exactly a kid." "That's for sure," Malcomb said. "I'm just an ordinary guy, an ordinary dad trying to..." "You have kids?" Malcomb said. "Kids of your own?" "Sure do," Al said. "Twins. Keda and Tommy." "Is there something wrong with them?" "No," Al said. "No, they're perfect. Just perfect. You'll meet them in a few minutes and see for yourself." "Oh," Malcomb said softly. "How big are they?" "Getting bigger every day," Al said. "They're crawling all over the place, too. I think they can crawl faster than I can run. And they pull themselves up so easily now. I think they'll be walking in a matter of days." "I was twins, too," Malcomb said. Al found he couldn't answer. He swung the car into the Gracely Mall. "We'll just stop here for a second, okay," he said. "Pretty quiet for Christmas Eve, huh?" Soon they were in the toy store. "Look around," he said to Malcomb. "See if you can find something a pair of kids who are about to take their first ever steps might like while I talk to this pretty lady." Al watched Malcomb take a few tentative steps of his own down one of the toy store aisles. A few minutes later he found Malcomb staring up at a big white bear which was perched on the top of the top shelf. "You think that might do the trick?" Al asked. Malcomb shrugged. Al reached up and grabbed the bear down. He handed it to Malcomb. The bear was almost as big as he was. "It's a beauty," he told the boy, "Drag it on up to that pretty lady cashier." The pretty lady cashier smiled at them. She had full lips and bright eyes which twinkled, and when she spoke there was something slightly French about her accent. "Ooh, what a cute bear," she said. "Do I get the Santa discount?" Al chuckled as he pulled out his wallet. The lady smiled as she whisked Al's credit card through the slot. "What is his name?" she asked Malcomb, who had the big bear bundled against his body. "It hain't a he," Malcomb said. "It hain't got a penis so it can't be a he. Can't you see that?" "Of course," said the lady clerk. "No penis. I should have seen that." "Right, you should have," Malcomb said. "Her name is Beauty." "She's very beautiful," the clerk said, reaching over the counter to pat Beauty on the head. "It's just her name," Malcomb said, pulling the bear away. "And it's not for me, it's for this guy's kids. So don't touch it." "Sorry," the clerk said, drawing back. She looked at Al. A timid question. "I guess we'd better be on our way home," Al said to her. "Thanks for all your help." The clerk smiled, a shy touch of a smile. "Could you do one more thing for me," Al asked, pulling the pillow out from under his red Santa Claus coat. "Could you, um, take this?" "Of course," the clerk said, as if this were an every day request. She pressed the pillow briefly against her breasts, and then put it up to the side of her face. "Mm, soft," she said, "And warm. I might even sleep with it tonight. Will it make my dreams come true?" Then she giggled. "Merry Christmas," she told Al. "Take good care of Beauty," she called out to Malcomb. But the boy had his back to her, and on his little shoulder sat the bear's big head, its expression bland as a drift of snow. "We're home," Al announced to Pat and Julie a few minutes later. "And we've got company." "Oh, what a nice bear," Julie said. "And what a nice boy. Does this boy belong to you?" Julie asked the bear. Malcomb thrust the bear into Julie's arms. "Actually Malcomb was thinking of giving it to Keda and Tommy," Al explained. "Her name is Beauty, and she would be a little Christmas present from him to them." "Follow me, then," Julie said. "Keda and Tommy are in the playpen, playing. There they are, just where I left them. Shall we toss the bear in?" Malcomb shrugged. Julie tossed the bear in. "A dah?" Keda said. "A ba duh!" Tommy replied. They were standing at opposite playpen rails trying to decide whether to take a step forward or simply tumble down. "Are you their mommy?" Malcomb asked. Julie smiled. "No, I'm their mommy's little sister. Pat's making us special Christmas cookies. You'll like Pat's cookies." "How come you keep them in a cage?" Malcomb asked, "So they won't wreck things?" "It's not a cage," Julie explained, "It's a playpen. They like being in the playpen. Sometimes they fuss until I lift them into the playpen. Then they fuss until I lift them out. Then they fuss until I lift them back in. In other words, they love being lifted. Oh, my back. But yes, they like being in the playpen. And they like being out of the playpen. They like being everywhere. I don't mind when they're everywhere, but sometimes it's different everywheres. Like Tommy climbs the stairs while Keda eats the Christmas tree. They're too clever for me, that's for sure." "How come they have no clothes on?" Malcomb asked. "Is that so you can tell which one's a boy and which one's a girl?" Julie laughed. "You're a curious little boy, aren't you?" she said, ruffling his hair. "Hey, I can tell you're a little boy even though you don't have your clothes off. How do you suppose I know that?" Malcomb didn't answer. He watched Keda and Tommy cuddling the big white bear. Keda had her mouth around Beauty's ear. Tommy was chewing the tail. Malcomb had his hand on the front of his pants. "It looks like they like your gift," Julie said. "It looks like they like it a real lot. Thank you. Thank you very much. I just hope they don't spoil their dinner. Do you need to go to the bathroom or anything?" Malcomb shrugged. Pat came in with a plate of cookies. "Hi," she said. "What a fine fat bear. A beauty. Julie, what have you done with the kids' clothes?" Then she served hot cookies to everyone. Malcomb frowned and shook his head, the slightest shake. Al took two cookies. Make that three. He wolfed two down, fed a nibble of the third to Julie. She fed it back to him. "Wanna help me change out of my Santa suit," Al asked her. "It looks like you already started," Julie said, reaching under the baggy shirt. They went off somewhere. Patty picked up both Keda and Tom and sat on the couch and gave them some milk to wash down their cookies. Malcomb watched carefully. Pat hummed as Keda and Tommy feasted at her breasts. Someone was knocking on the door. "Could you get that?" Pat asked Malcomb. He gave her a peculiar look, but then he went to the door, opened it. It was another fake Santa, carrying big brightly wrapped packages. "Ho ho ho," he said. "These are for you. Sign here." "What?" said the boy. "Sign here," said the man. "Where's your pen?" "I hain't got a pen," Malcomb said. "And I don't know how to write, anyway." "That's good," Santa said, "Cuz I hain't got any paper, and I don't know how to read anyway. So let's open these babies up, see what we got." The boy stepped back, let Santa do the opening. "Aha!" Santa said. "Nintendo 64! Just what I always wanted." Malcomb shrugged. "Aha!" said Santa, opening the other box. "Sony PlayStation. Just what I always wanted! What about you?" The boy shrugged. "Well, let's hook these babies up and start them smoking. Only one problem. Pat, you ain't got a TV." "Oh Jake, don't tease, just get a TV from downstairs somewhere." "Right. But it's Santa, not Jake. Remember that. And I'll take two of these cookies in lieu of down payment. Be back in a jiffy with the TV." A few minutes later Santa Jake and Malcomb were playing Mario Karts. Or rather Jake was playing. Malcomb watched. "Don't you want to push some buttons, have some fun?" Jake asked. "Makes these babies spin and swerve and crash like crazy?" Malcomb only stared at the screen. Meanwhile, Pat's babies were snoozing at her breasts, and in the next room, Julie was, in a manner of speaking, trying on Al's Santa suit. "Don't you have your own, somewhere?" Al asked. "Oh yes," Julie said. "We're all got our own. But it's more fun getting into yours." At six-thirty they all sat down for a little supper. Malcomb refused to touch his food. "It's not poison," Jake said. "See, even I'm eating it." "You'll eat anything," Julie said. "It smells like crap," Malcomb mumbled. "You'll need some strength for the caroling," Al said. "No, I won't," Malcomb said. "Is Tanya coming over?" Pat asked. "She'd better," Jake said. "I bet she looks good in a Santa suit," Julie said. "She does," Jake answered. "I'll get the kids changed," Julie offered. "C'mon, Malcomb, there's a little Santa suit for you, too." "I'm not wearing any crappy Santa suit," Malcomb said. "C'mon," said Julie, "We've got boots and belts and everything. Even a beard. I can't wait to try on my beard." A few minutes later Tanya rang the bell, and a few minutes after that, they all strolled to the park, everyone in Santa suits. Everyone but Malcomb. Beauty the Bear wore Malcomb's suit, and Al carried Beauty on his shoulders. "Don't Ked and Tom look adorable as little Santas?" Julie asked the world. "Do you want to help push their stroller," Pat asked Malcomb. "No," Malcomb said. In the park they joined at least a hundred other Santas, all singing carols and hugging and kissing each other. Then they went home, and Pat warmed some spicy cider, and a cup of hot cocoa for Al, and Tanya creamed Jake in four straight games of Mario Karts before Jake gave up and hoisted her into his arms and said good-bye and carried her off into the night. "We're going to put you on the couch, okay," Pat asked Malcomb. "It's very comfy." "I don't care," said Malcomb. Julie shook out the sheets and unfolded the comforter. She showed him the bathroom. "Here's your toothbrush. It's blue, same as mine, and here's a glass for you, and if you have to go pee- pee in the middle of the night this orange light is always on. Okay?" Malcomb gave a small nod. "When you're done in here, I'll tuck you in, okay?" "What about the babies?" the boy asked. "Oh, they have their own little room," Julie said. "Do they sleep in the same bed?" "They've got an oversized crib they share. Would you like to say goodnight to them?" Malcomb didn't answer, but Julie took his hand and led him into the nursery. Side by side, Tom and Keda were asleep. At the foot of the bed, still in the Santa suit, Beauty the Bear stood guard. "Night night, my sweeties," Julie said. Malcomb didn't say anything. Julie led him back to the couch. "My tummy hurts," Malcomb said. "That's because you didn't eat anything." "No, it's not." "Would you like a cookie, or a slice of turkey breast?" "No," Malcomb said. "You're sure?" Julie asked. Malcomb didn't reply. "Okay, then, sleep well," Julie said. "Tomorrow after services we're going sledding at Captain's Hill. It's great fun. You can share a sled with me if you want." "What about the babies?" Malcomb asked. "They'll be with Pat and Al." "Sledding is stupid," Malcomb said. "Night night," Julie said. "Sleep tight." She kissed his ear and got up and turned the lamp almost all the way down. In the big bedroom Al was just slipping into Pat. "There was this really cute clerk at the toy department at The Gracely." "Oh?" "Yeah." "And you wanted her?" "Well.... Yeah. Bad of me, huh? Driving back here I thought, 'Gee, I'd rather be taking her home than this bratty kid... I'd rather be kissing her sweet French lips, sucking her juicy French tongue, fucking her lusciously tight French twat.' Twat's ok if you think of it as a foreign word." "Did you just decide that?" "No, I've been giving it some thought. Some careful consideration." "And?" "That's what I decided. That she was sweet and maybe a little lonely and I'd like to have her in my arms, to make her feel good, to make her come, to make her come oh-so-many times until, for a few minutes at least, she couldn't come anymore." "You're sweet." "You don't mind me saying this while I'm inside you?" "I love your saying stuff while you're inside me. Or you could just grunt. It's Christmas Eve, after all." "I don't just grunt, do I? And what has Christmas Eve got to do with it?" "Oh, I like your grunt. You're a good grunter. Sometimes you grunt when you think you're all the way in." "Am I all the way in now?" "Do you think you are?" "It feels like it. It feels... oh! How did you do that?" Pat laughed. "See. You grunted." "That wasn't a grunt, that was an... oh... an oh." "See, you did it again?" "You call that a grunt? This is a grunt." Al pushed hard, trying to bury himself deeper. "Maw," he said. "That's good," Pat conceded. "That's a good grunt. Don't fuck me, though." "Don't?" "I mean just stay still now, just think about that shop girl's twat. About how snug and spicy and slippery it might be." "But..." "Think about her all alone at home thinking about you, about your big fat cock, about how it might feel squeezing itself into her slim... "You grunted again... "Her slim foreign quim. Is quim okay, if it's a foreign girl's quim?" "I just..." "Don't thrust." "I wasn't... I..." "Sounds a little bald, doesn't it? Quim. Maybe you could call it quim if it's shaved, and twat if it's not. Do you think that shop girl shaves her quim? That she's all pretty and bare down there, her pussy lips puffy and exposed, even when she's just standing there, brushing her teeth, thinking of you, thinking of your cock sliding up into her, and you can see her dear little French clit peeking out, all excited, her slippery snug twat or quim or pussy or cunt or cunny or cunny-slit all wet and seepy inside, fairly dripping with want of your... "You thrusted again." "I didn't mean to." "You just be there, okay? Be still and big and good and strong and hard inside me, and just let me, let me, let me squeeze you, squeeze you with my strong domestic twat until I come from doing it, and feeling me come, then you'll come too, okay?" "I'd like nothing better." "Not even that French girl's lusciously foreign twat?" Pat punctuated twat with a singularly sharp squeeze. "Oh," Al said. "Was that a yes?" Pat asked. "Or just a grunt?" She squeezed again. "Yes," Al answered. "Yes!" "Yes, what?" Pat said, squeezing. "Yes, please," Al said. His mouth was at her ear. Her mouth was at his ear. Their words were whispers. Soft and sharp as snowflakes falling on the tongue. "This is fun," Pat said, spreading her legs slightly, and using her cunt again, slower and deeper on the length of Al's cock. "Yes," he answered, pushing. "No," she said, nipping him. "Don't push. Don't be greedy. This isn't going to be a greedy fuck. This is going to be a quiet fuck. A savory fuck. A slow fuck. A reverent Christmas Eve fuck. Soft as prayers. Soft as snow. Soft as a shop girl's pussy fur. No thrusting. No. Just kiss. Kiss. Kiss the inside of my cunt with the tip of your cock. Can you do that? Mm, that's right. I could feel it. Swelling up so sweet and big and sweet. I could feel it really deep. Do it again. No pushing, just a kiss. Mm, kiss. Your cock feels so good swelling inside me like that. Kissing me inside like that. So good. So deeply deeply good. Do it again, do it just as I kiss you with my cunt. Mmm. Oh. Like that. Oh, yes. Oh, god, so good. So sweetly fucking good. Do you think the French girl's foreign twat can kiss like this?" She squeezed. "Like this?" She squeezed again. "Like, oh god, oh Love, oh oh oh oh... thisssssss..." She hissed, sweet in his ear, and her cunt kissed hard, a rhythmic milking, as Al's cock swelled steadily against the steadily yawing surge. It started then, the coming, quietly, inevitably, as if slyly coaxing itself, and Pat couldn't talk anymore, she could only come, could only continue to come, the churning knell of come- song, the hot core of cunt, containing and then not containing an avalanche of out of control shudders, strangling Al's cock, sucking it with hot rich lactescent twists of purest sex- squeeze, a thoroughly rictusic gush, wave after wave of total orgasmic constriction. Nothing more. Nothing less. At that, Al, with a slow helpless groan, flooded her, galaxies of sweet hot sex-milk delivered in six succinct squirts. And a seemingly endless number of shatteringly sweet aftershocks. Just as Al and Pat were drifting into sleep, Julie slipped into the big bed. "Mmm, warm," she said, "You guys smell good. What's been goin' on?" "Oh, sweet sister," Pat murmured. "I meant to share him with you, I meant ..." "That's okay," Julie said, snuggling between them. "I've had him twice already today. He's so good, isn't he?" "So good," Pat agreed sleepily. "And I had you in the shower, remember? That was sweet." "Sweet," Pat sighed. Al was snoring softly. Julie wiggled her bare butt against his slightly sticky penis. Nothing stirred. "Sister, I think he's really truly asleep," Julie giggled. "Poor tired out old man." Pat didn't answer. She was asleep, too. "Merry Christmas you guys," Julie whispered. She slithered herself deeper between the bigger bodies. "Sleep now my two big lovely loves," she whispered happily to herself, "Because first thing Christmas morning I'm going to suck you both to kingdom come." No sooner had this promise crossed her lips than Julie dipped herself into perfectly contented sleep. Pat awoke at first light. The house was still, only Al's smugly innocent snore, less than a summer's fly on a pane of sun-warmed window glass. But Julie wasn't there. Pat glided out of bed. In an instant she was stepping into the nursery. The big bear Beauty lay sprawled on the floor at the foot of the oversized crib, its Santa costume shredded and strewn. Inside the crib, crimped naked against the simple bars, Malcomb's frail body twisted with gruesome awkwardness into itself. His small tight fist crammed its thumb into the quivering mouth. Otherwise, all was still. The boy's eyes sat open, icy, unblinking, a vacant, seemless stare. Pat let out all the breath she had as she hurried to the spare bedroom at the end of the hall. Shallow light seeped through the slatted blinds. Just enough to show that everything, everything that mattered, was all right, all all right. Keda and Tommy, snug against one another, slept in the small bed, and Julie curled around them, her bare body a softly perfect cocoon, and she was crooning some silky lullaby, less a song than simple strands of loving sounds wound simply and sublimely around each other. Pat let herself breathe. "I woke up with a bad dream," Julie said. "A really really bad dream. So I came and got them." "Good," Pat said. She touched Julie gently on her hip. Touched her lips briefly to Julie's. "Merry Christmas, my dearest dear sister," she said. Then she kissed each child on the top of its head. "Merry Christmas my babies," she said. Then she stepped back to the nursery. Malcomb hadn't moved. His eyes were still and cold. Pat picked him up. The body was shivery and limp. She carried it into the big bedroom and sat herself up in the bed against the headboard. Al started to stir. Pat adjusted Malcomb's head against her breast. She pushed the fat nipple into his mouth. For a moment nothing happened. She moved the nipple against his lips. The boy took it. He started to suck. Tentatively at first he sucked, and then greedily, and then with stronger, slower, longer pulls. The sweet milk flowed. Pat stroked the small body as the boy nestled close, feeding. Al had his head propped up on one arm, watching. "Merry Christmas, dear special man," Pat told him. Al nodded, and made a slow almost silent kissing gesture with his lips. Then there was a long quiet, no sound at all except for the small squeak of Malcomb getting milk. Pat rocked him gently, almost imperceptibly, as she nursed him. "This might take a long time," Pat whispered to Al. "A very long time. But it'll be worth it. =================== A Child's Christmas by Mat Twassel =================== Mat's Erotic Calendar at http://calendar.atEros.com -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+