Kid Christmas Rides Again - Eric Arvin

Kid Christmas Rides Again Eric Arvin

1 Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes

THE idea was simple: change the public perception of Santa Claus. Even if it hadn’t been the right thing to do—even if the holiday hadn’t become a gluttonous season of toothrotting fervor—it was still the only thing that could be done.

After all, Santa as the world had known him had just died of a massive coronary.

See, he was trying to break up another elf fight (elves are known to be very short-tempered and are not at all stingy with the drink), and after years of stress and bingeeating, he just finally collapsed in the tussle. Being that there was not a more jollier fella on Earth, nobody could lay claim to the particular image he had trademarked. The era of the “bowl full of jelly” was ended, and the line would have to be retired from lullabies the world over. Besides, Christmas had become a more grown-up holiday of late, and the most recent Claus was looking a bit… um, lazy.

It was decided by those who decide such things that a younger, healthier Claus would he hired. A fit Santa. Trendy.

A Santa who didn’t get sidetracked by cookies and milk.

There had been way too many close calls the last couple of years. The old guy had become clumsy and was nearly caught by the curious on many an occasion while he snacked at their Santa-traps. None of the elves wanted to say it (unless they were drunk), but there was a sigh of relief that Santa wouldn’t have to be laid off. He had kindly died 2

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instead. That was the thing about Santa: Always thinking of others, right up to the gasping end.

The Committee to Oversee the Christening of Kringle (COCK) named our hero, a young gingerbread cookie house guard, to the task. It was a surprise to everyone, especially Father Time, who had been eyeing the position for some… time. (Time was, and is, often wasted and he was woefully underfed.)

The new Claus was the handsomest of men: a strong, clean-shaven jaw replaced the white beard, and a body built from years of lifting stubborn reindeer and carrying drunken elves home from pubs replaced… well, the rest. The Santa Suit was altered to fit the new guy as well. The Santa hat remained traditional (there was no need to get all crazy), but the sleeves of the jacket were cut so that the young guard’s twenty-two-inch arms could breathe. The pant legs needed to be loosened to accept his thighs and still the thick red velvet barely held them.

The consensus was that he looked altogether too bulgy.

When fully dressed, his chest, his buttocks, and his crotch looked like Christmas candies ready to burst from their wrappings.

COCK was a bit concerned at first, but then thought maybe this was the direction they needed to go. The world was a frightening place, and the committee eventually convinced itself that people needed a figure that signified impenetrable strength.

The sled was put away, the reindeer were laid off (the 3

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economy is a bitch, even at the Poles), and a new flying snowmobile, the Claus 3000, was provided. It was shiny and red and gold, with a flashing beacon on its very tip.

(Rudolph’s lawsuit is still pending). There would also be no more Ho ho ho! Instead, the new Santa would fly across the rooftops and shimmy down the chimney saying Hells yeah!

He called himself The Kid… Kid Christmas, that is.

(Clearly, a fan of Western films.)

All had gone as planned for the Kid at first. There was a week to go before his first outing as the new Claus and things were running like clockwork. There were a few minor glitches. There always are in such cases. His pants ripped out a few times (he really liked how he looked in his new suit and flexed obsessively for anyone who would watch), and there was a tiny revolt from the unemployed reindeer… but they—um, that is to say, it—was soon put down. The elves were warming up to him too. Even Father Time came by for a visit, grumbling his grudges. Yes. Everything was going quite smoothly, like a well-lubricated oingy-boingy.

And then the unthinkable Christmas was Chris-napped!

happened

(again):

Kid

The last he remembered he was on a midnight shag and stroll and had stopped to lick one of the large lollipop fence posts outside the Santy-Shanty. (In all his twenty-three years he had been chided for licking the fence posts, but now—woo-hoo!) Then, there was a sudden, sharp pain in the bum and everything went dizzy, then dark. A poison peppermint dart had been shot into his muscular buttocks 5

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from afar. Later, in recollection, Kid Christmas had to admit that bending over to lick the lollipop fence post with his musculus bumulus high in the air was an easy red target, something very hard to miss.

When he awoke he was on the floor of a crystal ice cave, stripped of his new threads but wrapped warmly in a wooly throw. Unfettered by the cold surroundings (living in the Poles, one builds a tolerance), Kid Christmas threw off the throw. The reflection from the ice absorbed the absurd overabundance of muscle. He was excited by what he saw and could have stood there for a while in self-adoration, but he first needed to investigate where exactly he was. As he felt along the walls, leering at his own rude reflection, there seemed to be no way out of the hall of ice. The room was solid, and the holders were too strong to break through. At least the company was pleasant. He made a mental note to have a hall of mirrors added to the Santy-Shanty.

A cool, crisp voice echoed from nowhere and ricocheted from wall to wall. “How do you like your new dwelling, Kid Christmas? I decorated it myself.”

“Who is that?” the Kid demanded. “Where are my clothes? Show yourself!”

“You won’t be needing your shocking threads any longer,” the voice replied calmly. “I’m having them altered.” A slender male figure with cool ice skin stepped from behind a wall. “I’m called Snow Globes.”

The Kid understood why: Snow Globes’s balls were enormous. They were a mesmerizing sheen and hung like 6

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ornaments tattooed with perfect blue snowflakes. No wonder the suit had to be altered.

The icy eyes of the chiseled captor wandered down Kid Christmas’s physique and rested on the Jolly-man-inwaiting’s own delicate area. Kid Christmas covered up with some embarrassment and envy. “It’s cold!” he excused himself.

“Well, I suppose certain things are going to look out of proportion with everything around them being so very, very large.” Snow Globes chuckled. “Still, I imagine your backside more than makes up for it. Ho, ho, ho… right?” He winked.

“I don’t say that anymore… Wait, what?” Poor Kid Christmas was flustered. His cheeks turned bright red.

“What am I doing here? Let me out of this place.”

“Oh, one day I will let you out. Most definitely. My plan would be pointless otherwise. But you have to stay put for a little while, my strapping snow bunny.” Snow Globes walked forward. His balls chimed together in a sweet melody; the Kid couldn’t stop staring at them. The collection of reflections around them resembled something like an orgy, and the Kid reminded himself again to get a hall of mirrors in the Santy-Shanty.

“You see,” continued Snow Globes, “once your suit is altered—which shouldn’t take too long—I shall take on the role as the Claus. Only I won’t be the creepy sugar-fiend known to the world. No. My plan is to totally destroy the name that has been built up by your predecessors over the years. Grown men will fear the Night of the Claus, and soon 7

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they will want nothing to do with you. Bring me the balls of Kid Christmas! they’ll shout. Oh yes! There will soon be a bounty on your bountiful booty.”

“But why? I don’t understand.” But why wait for an explanation? There was a crazy man standing in front of him! A sexy, lusty, boffo-balled, certifiable lunatic. “I won’t let you do it!”

Snow Globes wiggled his hips flirtatiously, making his balls sing with clinks and clonks like a captivating Christmas carol. The Kid was baffled at first by the seductive dance, but then felt the cave move under his bare feet. He heard the unmistakable sound of something coming… and coming hard!

“Have fun with Willie,” Snow Globes said as he quickly disappeared behind an icy divider. “And watch those pointy stalactites.”

“You mean stalagmites?”

“Whatever.”

Kid Christmas waited, standing battle-ready and bootybeautiful (by now it should be clear that the Narrator has a thing for the big guy’s triple-beeehind). Yet he was unsure as to where to direct his defense. The one called Willie did not have need of any hidden entrance, though. He broke through the floor with a shattering clamor, throwing the musclebound merry man across the chamber. Kid Christmas landed on his handsome face with a smash-rattle-oomph, his mighty rear high in the air. He was dazed, but not broken.

Behind him, he caught a glimpse (how could he miss it?) of a 8

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lengthy and large, growling and snorting, libidinous and fully erect disembodied snow penis. It bowed its massive head, huffed a puff of cool air, and crouched like a bull ready for the charge. Intent and starved, it sped toward our hero’s helpless bum.

Now, Kid Christmas was never one to turn down a bit of fun, but there was only so much he could take up his chimney. Even fantasy has its limits, folks. He waited until Willie was right upon him and then jumped. He landed on Willie’s back, wrapping his strong legs and arms tightly around the monster. Willie bucked wildly, slamming against the walls of the cavern with ferocity, but the Kid was determined to win. His nads were nearly frostbitten by the cold beneath his legs, but he squeezed with all his might until finally poof! Snow exploded everywhere, and Kid Christmas fell to the ground. His thunderous thighs had decimated the fevered phallus.

The Kid rose in quiet victory. He had to find a way out of the ice cavern; he had to stop Snow Globes’s evil plans. (He had to get one more look at those massive balls!) He had bested the villain’s pet, so he knew he was up to the challenge. Or was he?

The clumps of snow from the once magnificent man-tool began to roll and shape themselves, an eye-popping evolution in miniature. In a matter of seconds the Kid stood in the midst of a thousand tiny dildos. In truth, it was more of an annoyance than any threat or danger. Our hero

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exasperatingly began stomping on the tiny things, almost bored that he had to do it. It was a shame; they could have been fun little playmates, but he hadn’t the time for frivolity.

But the little buggers were angry and stubborn and blinded by their lust. They had but one target in their tiny minds. (It’s often said, after all, that men think with their crotches. The Thousand Dildo Army made no claim to dispute this.)

The Kid could not watch everywhere at once, and the little guys took advantage of this. There was a tactic at work.

A small boner brigade leaped at him from the ice shelves and the tips of the stalagmites, frosting his nipples and snowconing his snuggle snake. They quickly melted due to the heat of his body. It came to him that they were sacrificing themselves so that some of their mischievous brethren could climb up his hamstrings in the rear and have their fun. It would have been touching if it wasn’t so rude.

“You sneaky little devils!” He swatted at his hamstrings, but the randy rascals kept coming at him with shrill battle cries (Man ho!). The Kid was outgunned, and one of their number soon found our hero’s pleasure button. His body couldn’t but react naturally. His balls grew full again, and his dick hardened and began to throb and pulse. Steam rose from the battlefield. He kept battering the little fellas away, but maybe not as fervently as before. He began to think that he might just lose the battle.

“If you keep this up,” Kid Christmas moaned, “you’re gonna see the Kid use his six shooter.” At these words he 11

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came upon an idea. Victory could be his! The ice prison might not be so impenetrable after all. (Notice the Narrator refrained from making a “penetration” joke.)

“Come along,” the Kid flirted dreamily.

The ravenous icicles that hadn’t been smooshed, melted, or sacrificed followed every bounce of their god, The Ass, every one of them eager to die in bliss. The Kid led them against the cavern wall.

He let them pry into him more and more—one, two, three at a time—as he leaned legs and palms spread against the wall. They greedily went to their destruction and slowly stoked an awaiting eruption inside Kid Christmas, one of ball-busting force. The sensation was driving the Kid half mad, but he centered himself (years of Tai Chi). With his nipples literally hard as knives, he cut a large circle into the wall. He finished the circular motion just in time. The last ice dildo was working its magic inside of him, and he couldn’t contain the pleasure any longer. With six powerful shots, the Kid knocked the carved circle out of the ice. He was free.

Kid Christmas collected himself, shook off the lingering pleasure, and stepped out of the cavern. He looked around.

He was on a mountainside, the winds whipping him something fierce. He wished he had remembered the throw he had awoken wrapped in, but he was not going to go back for it lest he should be molested by more hungry pricks. His eyes caught the gleam of the Claus 3000 sitting alone and unguarded in a clearing a few yards away. His naiveté finally wearing off, he sensed a trick. But still, the snowmobile was 12

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so very close. Perhaps he could get to it before a whole herd of Willies attacked him. (Not an entirely unpleasant notion.)

He shook his head. “This is no time for fantasy. This is a time for serious thought. There are giant penises after me!”

He headed toward the snowmobile. Each step put the life back into him. His chest muscles flexed and bounced, and his delicate areas swung and bobbed with full-bodied zest once more. Sure, they weren’t the size of Snow Globes’s hangers, but a fella can’t have everything, can he? He was blessed in other ways.

The Kid almost made it to the snowmobile, but he was caught in the clearing. The smooth voice of his new archenemy spread across the tundra, echoing from cliff to cliff. “Impressive,” Snow Globes commended. “You should get a prize for such a win. I’ll have to get me another Willie now.”

(The Narrator recognizes the cheap joke.)

“A prize? Great. How about you give me my snowmobile, and then you give yourself up? We’ll call it even.” Kid Christmas stood at the Claus 3000. He had but to lift his thighs up and over and then sit his hard-worked bum down.

He could then rev up the snowmobile and get the hell gone.

The Santa suit was conveniently, neatly folded in the back.

“I guess this would be where I’m supposed to laugh wickedly. But let’s be completely rid of the clichés.” The slinky magnificence of Snow Globes seemed to form out of a nearby cliff wall. He walked with a seductive glare into the clearing. “Go ahead. Get on the snowmobile. You’re a big fella; stronger than me. Fly away. Or,” he brought an icy 13

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fingertip to the Kid’s chesticles, “you could stay and we could get to know each other better. I’m not such a villain, as villains go. We could trade explanations: Your reasons for this; my reasons for that. What do you say? Wanna play acrobat?”

“Well, I suppose… I mean….” (Boing!)

Snow Globes licked at Kid Christmas’s lips. He flicked his tongue quickly to the rosy pinkness of them. It felt to the Kid like the sudden touch of a cool mint snowflake. The Kid shuddered. Snow Globes’s hands traced over every striated muscle on the big man’s chest and stomach. He flickered and licked every inch of hot skin, right down to the Kid’s rigid South Pole (C’mon! Give that one to me… Coming up with euphemisms is hard work!). The Kid leaned back, helpless on the snowmobile.

“Not so small after all,” Snow Globes said as he collected the Kid’s dick in his mouth. The coolness was an unbelievable sensation for the muscular gift-giver. He was covered with a glorious blanket of goose bumps immediately.

Without thinking he spread his massive legs. Snow Globes grinned wickedly at the invitation, and at once entered his icy prick between the beefy steaks. It went in quite easily for a couple of reasons: (1) It was ice and therefore slick, and (2) To be frank, the Kid was a bit whorish even before his fun…

Er, battle… in the cavern.

The Kid’s trembling rants of delight echoed through the valley, shaking snow from mountaintops. Avalanches had been caused by less. He felt as if he would explode at any 14

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moment as the cold, cold cockhead jabbed continuously at the special hidden button to his joy toy. He seized in every direction, clutching at whatever he could clutch as the smooth, cold prick buried deeper and deeper. (Get it? The Kid was having fun.) He had never felt such a sense of helplessness in his life. He writhed and flopped, driving himself forcefully onto Snow Globes with great fury.

“More! More! Harder!”

He wondered if his shouts sounded weak, like he was begging. Then he realized, Of course, they did! Because he was begging. He wanted it all. Every bit that Snow Globes could manage to fit inside of him. He was the snow man’s bitch and, at the moment, happy for it.

Snow Globes’s huge balls bounced and jingled a frantic melody (growing more frenzied and confused by the second) as they pummeled the big guy’s ass. Amazingly, Snow Globes was able to lift Kid Christmas in the air with the strength of his steely love stick. This, at last, was too much for the Kid. The Urge was imminent, and he realized that the same was true of his archenemy—and that might not be such a good thing.

But it was too late.

The Kid shot six rounds of extreme gratification into the air, accompanied by six cries of defeat. Snow Globes had released a cascade of winter cool into the Kid, at once an ecstatic and paralyzing sensation for our hero. Snow Globes easily withdrew his weapon from the muscle hero’s rosy-red bum and left the Kid lying in dumb pleasure and temporary 16

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paralysis on the snow. He twitched a bit and stared dreamily at the sky.

“It’s like a brain freeze to the whole body, I’m told,” said the villain. “But much lovelier. That’s my parting gift for you.

Until we meet again, my darling.” Snow Globes bent down and gave Kid Christmas a kiss on the forehead. “I promise showier acrobatics next time. I’m quite flexible, you know.”

The Kid watched helplessly as Snow Globes donned the altered red suit, geared up the Claus 3000, and flew off into the sky.

Our hero lay a-shudderin’ and a-moanin’, but fear not, his determination had only been sharpened. He’d stop Snow Globes, dagnabbit! One day. Once he could get up. Once he could move. He had to save the name of the Claus, after all.

He’d be unemployed otherwise, and in this economy—forget about it!

Next time, he promised himself, he would not be so stupid. Next time he’d cock-block the bastard right away. He wouldn’t even allow a kiss before he captured him, before he destroyed him for good. …Well, maybe just a kiss. But that’s it!

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2 Kid Christmas and the Greatest Christmas Gift in All the World

KID CHRISTMAS slowly began to awaken from his frozen cum-induced coma. The evil Snow Globes had absconded with the Claus 3000 after what the Kid could only describe as the most amazing sex he had ever had. He now lay face down in the snow, his mighty ass skyward and rosy from the vicious pummeling it had just received. The squeezable plumpness was being lightly dusted by the white powder so that the two mounds of sweet cheeks resembled sugar frosted round cakes. (Yummy!) He still moaned, reliving the sensation of his defeat: The feel of Snow Globes’s frigid rigidness sliding deep into him, massaging his love button and then shooting forth into him the loveliest sperm-slushy ever, and the frenetic and almost deafening jingle Snow Globes’s huge musical balls made as they slapped against the Kid’s reluctant (read: greedy) bum.

As a crooked grin snaked across Kid Christmas’s face, he came to a sudden realization: He was not alone in the icy clearing. He was being watched, and he knew exactly what was doing the watching.

He sobered up, sitting his bubbly booty to the snow right quick. He didn’t want it to be seen as an invitation for the thousands of tiny ice dildos that now surrounded him.

His grin changed from one of bliss to one of oh shit, don’t make any sudden movements. He could tell the natives were 18

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restless, though he didn’t know how long they had been wiggling there (and, brother, could they wiggle), or if they had taken advantage of him while he was out cold. It must have been truly tempting for the devilish little things: All Aboard! He’s out cold. Come take a ride on the Muscle Butt Express.

He wasn’t certain if some hadn’t already taken that ride.

(With all the butt banging and prostate probing he had done that day, is it any wonder?) Besides, if there was going to be any of that foolishness again… well, he wanted to be awake for it, dagnabbit! (Nothing like a freezing ice prick to scratch that particular itch. Yeah. You know what I’m saying.)

The Kid, not seeing any easy way out of the situation, resorted to small talk, which was coincidentally the only small thing about him. “So… er… how you guys been? You look good, you look good.” (Nodding placatingly as he looked around.) “Sorry about the whole smashing you to bits thing… and… um, the part where I ass massacred you. But, come on! You crawl in there and what do you expect?”

NOT. GOING. WELL. A giddy sense of anxious foreboding echoed through his body. He gave an uncertain grin that usually charmed everyone he had ever met. He had gotten a lot of tail with that grin. Unfortunately, the Willies didn’t have tails. Just heads—mushroom, bulbous, or missile-shaped. Some had balls too. He remembered from the attack that those had been a bit harder to… um, take.

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I must keep my head on my shoulders… and theirs out of my ass. Not that I blame ’em, though, poor lil’ things. I’d fuck me. My ass was made for fucking. But right now, I gotta get out of here so I can catch that sneaky villain. Plus, my balls are freezing off, dammit! He looked at his crotch in sympathy. It’s like looking at white raisins in tapioca.

His hands held his shivering, shrinking man knob as the standoff with the Thousand Willie Army continued. But soon the stoicism and creepy stillness was ended. There came a strange buzzing sound from the mass of dildos. It seemed to rise from the center of their number and fan out.

“Are you battery-operated?” the Kid wondered, looking curiously around for the source of the sound.

Sure that he was soon to be gang-banged by frenzied phalluses of frightening fury, he stood with a start, keeping his hands over his precious ornaments. The buzzing got suddenly louder, more fierce. There was a mass migration (hopping and rolling) by the encircling Willies. His backside was exposed! But the dildos did not set upon his bum. They gathered in congregation, and their buzzing and humming took on the cadence of a chant. They seemed to bow, or rather, they flopped to the ground and raised themselves up again in continuous succession. When the Kid turned about to stare at the Willies, they hopped and rolled in sync with it.

Wherever the Kid’s ass faced, so went the crew.

Holy moly! the Kid thought. The lil’ buggers are worshipping my ass. My ass truly is a god!

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“No sacrifices needed tonight.” He tried to calm the religious fervor of the Fanny Fanatics. “I’m just a man… a man with a one hell of a can. I’m just extra blessed, that’s all.”

“They’ve never seen anything quite like it,” came a deepas-chocolate-sex voice from a few yards away. “And neither have I.” Into the clearing strode a man (?) wrapped in pelts and furs. There wasn’t an inch of flesh showing. Only the large snow glasses convinced the Kid that it was a man at all.

Otherwise, it was but a giant furball, something akin to a Yeti but with a sexier voice.

The Willies paid no attention to the new arrival. Their buzzing continued undisturbed, the Religion of the Ridiculously Hot Rump would not be stamped out. The Kid faced the furball, and the Willies scampered to where the rump rested. (Where the Rump Rested: Coming this fall to Logo!)

Kid Christmas wasn’t sure he could deal with another villain. “Who are you?” he asked, a bit exhausted.

“Johnny Longjohns is what they call me,” came the reply. He stood very near to the Kid, and the Kid was a bit jealous of Johnny’s cozy gear. “We need to get you back to my cabin. These little ones aren’t so bad, but the bigger ones are a different story. You get a bunch of those ogling at you like these here and you can say goodbye to that sweet caboose. Come with me.” He started walking. The Kid raced to keep up. Longjohns had long legs and gaping strides.

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“But I have to find that villain Snow Globes. He stole my sleigh, and it’s Christmas, and—” “Yes. Yes. I know all about it. Quit your whining.” (The author realizes this is an easy way out of having to explain Johnny Longjohn’s backstory, but let’s face it: you’re reading this for the sex. Nasty buggers!)

“I’m not whining,” whined the Kid. “You can still catch up with him. Time doesn’t run here the way it does elsewhere. You know that.”

“I do?”

Johnny looked at him. “Hot and dumb, huh? My lucky day.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“Surely COCK told you that time is elastic here so that Santa, i.e. you, can get to every house in the world before the sun comes up.”

“Maybe.” The Kid shrugged his big ol’ shoulders. “They were fitting me for my suit when all the rules were explained.

There was a mirror, and….”

“Calm down, Wunderjock. The point is, you’ve got time to have a rest before you go chasing after Big Balls McGee. It’s a good thing we ran into each other. I know just how to get you ahead of the game. But we’ll do it tomorrow.”

Kid Christmas eyed Furball suspiciously. “Why are you helping me?”

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“Let’s just say I’ve got my own score to settle with that icy bastard. Besides,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the jiggling beef, “I like to see a man run for his supper.

Damn, you got a meat-rack on you!”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They walked on a bit farther. The furry man paused so that Kid Christmas could catch up.

“I hope those lil’ ice pricks don’t stake out my house.”

“Huh?” “Your devotees are following us.”

The Kid glanced back and, sure enough, myriad of meat-rack marauders (oh, blessed They stayed a good ways back but were not little travel. In fact, their number had grown out. They were a rolling sea now.

there was the euphemism!). deterred by a since starting

“You just thank your tight… er… your butt that the big fellas haven’t caught your scent. And, oh yeah, why not cover your ass just in case they decide to make a projectile pilgrimage.”

The Kid’s hands immediately went to his beefy backside.

The buzzing of the dildos started up once again. “Damn my delicious derriere!” he said. “How long til we get to your place, Fuzzy-Wuzzy?”

“We’re here.” (Hmm. That’s convenient.)

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They stood in front of a cabin. The sweet kind covered in snow that you might see in an over-earnest painting—or the kind you might see in a slasher film. It depends on the way one sees little cabins in the woods, doesn’t it? One man’s Thomas Kinkade is another’s gingerbread house complete with cannibalistic witch.

The army of ass plungers halted as Fuzzy-Wuzzy led the Kid into the cabin.

“They’re being… good.” The Kid eyed them suspiciously as he slid inside sideways.

“They know not to come too close to my cabin. I’ve got one hell of a furnace here.”

Johnny shut the door, and the Kid immediately sensed the warmth of the fire. And what a fire! There wasn’t much else to the place, not even a bed, but the hearth looked as big as the cabin itself. One big wall of flame. The Kid was beginning to sweat. He could only imagine how Fuzzy-Wuzzy felt in all his… fur.

As the Kid looked back to the door, he saw that his escort had shed the thick layers of obscuring fuzziment and now stood in full body long johns. Only his head, hands, and feet were bare. Being as naked as a newborn, there was no way the Kid could hide the fact that his once frozen penis was warming right up. Johnny Longjohns’s manly frame was snug and bulging in his Fruit of the Looms. Those long johns loved that man! He walked across the room over the bearskin rug (don’t call PETA: it’s a fake bearskin rug from a fake bear), and the Kid’s wanting wacker was becoming painfully 24

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hungry, to the point that the Kid feared he might give himself a penile fracture.

“So, that’s why you wear all that fur!” the Kid exclaimed as he watched the cloth of the long johns stretch over Johnny’s assets (gratuitous use of the word “assets” to describe bum: check).

Johnny leaned against the mantle seductively, yet with ease. He had short-clipped black hair and long vicious sideburns. And his smile! Oh, that was trouble!

“Yep,” he said. “They almost got me once, when I first came here. I had been the number one men’s underwear model in the world—International Gear, UnderMale, Victor’s Secret. But I got tired of that jet-set lifestyle and moved up here with all the money I had made.”

“Well, it’s clear you have a sizeable… income.” The Kid could not stop staring at the growing long dong in Johnny’s long johns. As he watched completely mesmerized, one of the silver snaps down the front of the underwear just couldn’t take the pressure anymore and snapped loose. The exposed flesh caused such excitement in the Kid that his own dick jumped up and chided his abdomen with a loud and embarrassing thwack!

“W-what happened?” the Kid asked. “With the Willies, I mean?”

Johnny didn’t move. He let his dick snake out of his long underwear as if it were slowly emerging from its home, looking for food. “Well, I had been here for a few days… I’d met Snow Globes by then, though I didn’t know the Willies 25

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were his pets. It had been a long day. I had been out chopping wood in my long johns, and I needed some relaxation. I came inside, laid down on the rug, and rubbed one off. Anyway, there comes a knock on the door, and when I answered, three of the big ones were standing right there.

They forced their way in and would have plum ruined me if I hadn’t thought to stoke that fire just before they got here.

The heat was so much that they began to melt just as the tip of one of the monsters was parting my ass cheeks. They had me splayed and ready to go, but I wriggled free and raced on over here to the hearth. They slunk away like hurt puppies.

Wasn’t until later I learned that Snow Globes had set them up to it.”

“That’s awful!”

“Yeah, can you imagine? Me? Splayed open by giant cocks? I mean, it’s an interesting fantasy, but when it actually happens…. And your ass is even meatier than mine.

I can just imagine what they’d do to you.”

Gulp.

Johnny grinned. The rest of him just kind of tumbled out of the long johns, the silver snaps plinking in a succession of excitement. His cock stood high and proud now. Too proud. Damn arrogant, actually!

“It’d be a shame to waste all the heat we got going here.

What do you say, Kid? Wanna get to know each other?”

The Kid blushed. “Well, I’m not usually the kind of guy to mess around with someone before….” But even as he 26

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spoke he was running—pectorals and ass bouncing—right toward his host. This is gonna hurt! he thought, as he jumped up and onto the eager cock.

Johnny stayed on his feet, cupping the Kid’s massive ass cheeks with his big hands, fingers pressing deep into the flesh. The Kid slid up and down with merciless, frenzied ease. The strength of Johnny was astonishing. He wasn’t as large as the Kid, but he was definitely stronger. Sometimes it seemed as if Johnny’s dick alone was balancing the Kid in the air.

“Take it all, you juicy muscle bitch!” Johnny shouted.

(How embarrassing!) And the Kid did his very best to comply, pumping up and down with skin-smacking relish.

The Kid’s eyes were rolled back in his head, and as he and Johnny climaxed together, our skewered Christmas hero had become a slobbering, mumbling mess… but the good kind. He slept that night, snug on a bearskin rug, with Johnny’s chest as his comfort. It was the closest thing to romance he would get from his new underwear-lovin’ sexmuffin, and he knew it.

He was awakened the next morning uprumptly—er, abruptly—hoisted in the air like a finger puppet, riding Johnny Longjohns’s yardstick and along with it, a wave of extreme pleasure. His own precious dick and balls slapped harshly on Johnny’s abdomen with every quick descent. The look of concentration and determination on Johnny’s face as he lay on the rug was so intense and fierce that Kid Christmas already felt the early throngs of orgasm. Only in 28

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the breaths between the pounding and the jumping and the boinging did the Kid get an occasional glimpse at his surroundings through his fluttering lashes. But those brief glimpses of clarity were enough to allow him to see the somewhat horrifying image at the window: One of the big Willies was looking right at them.

“Whoa! Whoa!” the Kid shouted.

Of course, this sounded like sex talk to the sex-starved cabin owner, and he went into a bucking frenzy, his face even more filled with zeal and determination. Like he was digging for gold or something. Johnny gritted his teeth and grunted as he went deeper and deeper, making the Kid fly higher into the air with each thrust.

The Kid realized he’d have to wait until the big guy unloaded before he’d even be heard.

“Tell me how you like it! Tell me how you like it!” demanded Johnny.

Well, the Kid could barely be understood, so furious was the fucking, but he did his best to tell Johnny how he liked it. And the truth was, he did like it. The slapping sound his beefy ass cheeks made as they pounded into Johnny would have normally sent him right over the edge if there hadn’t been a peeking penis at the window.

“I’m gonna wear your big ass as a hat!”

That was weird. What the hell does that mean?

Finally, Johnny came like a seizing bronco, and the Kid’s famous six-shooter shot into the air like a flare. Johnny 29

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lay back on the rug and the Kid slid off, his ass still feeling as if it were riding an avalanche. He waited a moment to catch his breath, then: “Um… one of the big Willies was watching us at the window.”

“I know,” Johnny said, breathless and sweaty. “That was hot!”

“What?”

“The army has grown since last night.” Panting like a dog, a big sexy dog. “They’re all out there now. Waiting on you. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Are you kidding? You can barely control yourself around my ass. I can barely control myself around my ass.

Those are dildos, for prostate’s sake! I’m the Motherland to them.” The Kid was becoming a bit panicky.

“Naw. They see you as some kind of god. For now on you’re gonna be looked at in reverence, but I doubt if any of the buggers will try to enter the temple, if you know what I mean.” Wink, nudge.

“Subtle.”

“They can be helpful to you, though.”

“How so?”

“Can I fuck your ass again?”

“What? No! How can those things be helpful?”

Johnny rose to his feet and offered his hand. “Let’s get dressed,” he said. “We need to get you going. Besides, if we

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don’t get your ass clothed soon I might turn into a total fanny-freak myself and never let you go.”

The Kid searched through Johnny’s vast array of underwear and long johns folded in piles on the floor. He was actually a bit too large for any of them. Some last minute alterations saved the Kid from busting out all over.

Though the intent might have been to cover certain regions of the Kid’s body, the tightness of the material only made him look more enticing. As with the stolen Santa suit, the long john legs and sleeves were cut short. While the abbreviated length of the legs was meant to resemble shorts, the Kid had so very much ass cleavage that the folds of cloth rode up so that it looked as if he was wearing a thong onepiece bathing suit. The glutes were all the more rounded and inviting.

“Hot!” said Johnny.

“I look like an idiot!”

His host shrugged. “Your worshippers will appreciate it.”

As the new Kringle stepped outside, there was a gasp of awe from the flock of phalluses… phallusi… whatever. They waited, small and large alike—really, really large.

“Go on,” Johnny encouraged with a rude smack on the Kid’s butt that echoed across the landscape.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re wrapped up like a bear.” (He had, in fact, donned his fuzzy disguise.)

“Ask them for their help. They’ll give it to you. I’m sure of it.”

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The Kid hesitated momentarily and then asked: “Excuse me, but” (the ice dildos leaned forward in unison expectantly) “would you happen to know where Snow Globes went? Er… how I might find him?”

Silence. Just the whistle of cold wind and the nervous feeling that at any moment the world’s finest piece of ass was going to be ruined forever.

But then, one of the smaller Willies hopped forward. He squeaked in a mouselike manner, but somehow the Kid was able to understand. He had acquired the secret language of Dildoese in his sleep!

Suiggy-squiggy-squee-squee.

“You say you don’t know where he went, but you’ll help because he is evil and has treated the Willies badly? You say you know how I can get out of here so I can find him? How?” “He said all that?” Johnny asked incredulously.

“Hush!”

Squee-squee-squawky-squiggly-squee.

“The Best Christmas Gift in All the World, you say?

That’s how I can catch that villain? And he lives near?” (The North Pole is nothing if not plotline convenient.)

Squish-squish-squeak.

“What’s that lil’ fella? You know the way? Then lead on!”

The little dildo turned about with a hop and the throng of thong dwellers parted to let him and the Kid and Johnny Longjohns through. The Kid walked self-consciously by, 32

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protective still of his mostly bared gluteus tres maximus. He was feeling more comfortable with the Willies now that he knew their language, but… (Cheap Joke You Knew Was Coming:) that’s a big butt!

Occasionally, the Kid would look back at the Willies he’d passed and catch them straightening up quick and proper, as if they hadn’t in fact been bent over and leering at his beatific backend. Johnny himself could hardly keep his hands from instinctively grabbing the lovely lobes. The Kid became good at swatting the paws away.

“It’s a curse, idn’t it?”

“It really is.”

THEY were far from the cabin and far from the Willies, just the three of them (the Kid, Johnny Longjohns, and the small ice dildo) in a vale covered in snow when they were attacked.

It had been a long journey, but because of the Kid’s abnormal tolerance to the cold, he was not bothered. It was the little Willie that took over the job of thwarting Johnny’s hands from the Kid’s hiney. Yes, the lil’ fella was quite protective of his god, but it seems he had completely forgotten to mention the one major obstacle on the way to meet The Best Christmas Gift in All the World: That being The Worst Christmas Gift in All the World.

Squee! cursed the little ice prick at his absent… er, mindedness.

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But it was too late for regrets. Down from the hillside tumbled a snowball as big as all get out. But it didn’t remain a snowball. It changed continuously as it neared, morphing into a plethora of absolutely horrendous gifts (because The Worst Christmas Gift in All the World means something different to everyone). The only thing that did not change was two dead-set angry eyes staring straight through the newbie Santa. Changing from avalanche to singing boxer shorts to a huge bottle of diet pills to an Anita Bryant CD, the shape shifter came at the threesome with furious force and rumble.

Lil’ Willie hid at once (his first thought was to high-tail it up the Kid’s tail, but realizing this would be both suicide and sacrilege, he burrowed into the snow instead). Johnny readied for a battle in a sexy, macho spread-legged squat, but the Kid simply stood in amazement. And, come on, how much damage could this thing do? Kid Christmas had decimated a big Willie with his bare thighs, after all.

“Run, dammit!” Johnny exclaimed.

“Whatever,” the Kid replied with cocky ease. “I got this.”

He held out his arm in crossing guard fashion, but the monster did not ease its descent. Setting upon him, it changed from an “I’m with stupid” T-shirt into a thirty-foot light blue Styrofoam pool floatie and wrapped itself tight around our hero. Johnny came to the Kid’s aide, but the shape shifter’s free tail became a glitter pink bowling ball

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and knocked the fur-clad hunk out. He landed with a thud in a nearby snowdrift.

The Kid nearly freed himself of the floatie, but it changed suddenly into a big, thick, itchy sweater.

“Itchy! Too itchy!” The Kid ran around frantically tugging at the sweater. When he finally managed to tear it from his body, the fibers of the uncomfy thing had torn the longjohns to shreds. (What a shame! Naked again. Tsk tsk.)

The discarded sweater came to life once more, lunging at the Kid’s crotch, where it morphed into a faulty cock ring.

“Oh, my junk! My junk!” The Kid pranced around, trying to free his cock and balls of the vicious thing’s strangling grip. His beautiful cock was turning a devastating purple (real purty, but not at all comfortable). When at last it snapped free of its deathly hold, it flew into the air and settled into the shape of a hard-as-a-rock pumpkin loaf. On its malevolent descent it knocked our unfortunate hero out cold.

When Johnny Longjohns came to, he saw two round ass cheek impressions in the snow and then the unmistakable sign that Kid Christmas had been dragged away, most likely unconscious.

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3 Kid Christmas and the Hungry Hosts

THE KID woke up in a somewhat awkward position (even for him). He was on a table, his wrists tied to his ankles and his butt high in the air (okay, that in itself wasn’t awkward; he’d played around like that before, but just wait…). His head ached from the pumpkin loaf assault. He was in what looked like a cave. He could feel the heat from a fire nearby. He heard two distinct voices carrying on a conversation in choppy sentences, their voices like gravelly bumps on a road.

They were indistinguishable from one another.

“This be good steak.”

“Yes. Real good steak. Plump.”

Steak? He was hungry. He wondered if whoever it was that had him ready to go for some frisky fun would offer him some of this delicious steak first. Then he felt the pointy jab of a fork to his bum, and he realized, They’re gonna eat me!

Literally! They’re gonna eat my ass!

“Nice and tender.” (And why wouldn’t it be, with all the “tenderizing” he’d endured recently?)

His horror caused him to tense up which in turn made him flex his buttocks which in turn alerted the diners that he was awake. The grumblers stopped talking, and a massive shadow fell over the table. The Kid looked up to see who could possibly be so…weird. But it wasn’t a who; it was 37

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(say it with me) a what. In front of our hero now stood the Abdominal Snowman…you read that right. Abdominal. This hairy beast had one hell of a six pack. His companion, the Slightly Less Abdominal Snowman, soon came into the Kid’s sights as well. They both had fairly human looking faces but for the massive fangs jutting out from their jaws. Their bodies, though, were pretty much in line with legends and stories of ape-like monsters that roam arctic regions—other than the abdomens, that is. They were coated with dirty white fur that was matted with clumps of snow and twigs.

Their palms were hairless and they had large, sausage fingers.

“Killer abs,” the Kid noted sincerely. “You wouldn’t want to ruin them by eating me, would you?”

The first of the pair looked at each other and shrugged.

“Got good genetics. Can eat what want.”

The Slightly Less Abdominal Snowman poked back around to the Kid’s hoisted rear and gave his glutes a twohanded squeeze with his big coarse, fingers, as if his ass were a couple of melons in a store. “Let’s eat. I hungry, hungry, hungry!”

The first of the two licked his lips, still standing in front of the Kid, sharpened a pair of knives, and said, “Dig in.”

The Kid was not prepared to meet his end like this. Why couldn’t he have simply been fucked to death by one of the big Willies or frozen on the ice after his paralyzing sex with Snow Globes? But, no. He was to be eaten, rump first.

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Oh, my beautiful behind! You have been my greatest strength, and my greatest foil.

But just as he was kissing his ass goodbye, there came a great clamor from somewhere out of the Kid’s line of sight.

Echoes of an approaching crowd bounced off the cave walls.

And then, Johnny Longjohn’s voice raised the cave roof: “Attack!”

The two monsters roared in disapproval. “My meat!” they yelled selfishly. “Mine!”

The unmistakable squee of the Willies interrupted the still. There was a whole slew of the little ones (the larger ones saw the cave opening—a hole in the bulbous cliffside—and… well, it was a disaster), and they were attacking the beasts, flinging themselves with barbaric zeal.

“Squeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

The two unfortunate kidnappers howled in anger and were momentarily distracted, giving Johnny (now, once again down to his tight skivvies) enough time to cut loose the Kid and fling him over his shoulders.

“I can walk!”

Johnny paid no attention. “You’re delirious.”

As the Kid was whisked away he saw his followers, the dildo army, fighting for his honor, some even being pulverized in the process. It brought a tear to his eye. “I salute you!” he cried.

Johnny carried him quickly away and out of the cave, groping as he pleased. After all, how often does one have 39

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such free access to a giant, jiggling muscle-butt? (The author’s point being, it was right next to his face.) And it’s not as if the Kid disapproved. He unloaded a couple of times on Johnny’s chest as his prostate was skillfully massaged.

Once safe from the beasts (their howling could be heard as they fled from their cave into the hills), Johnny put the Kid down in an icy hollow. The muscles beneath his long underwear flexed as he stood above the Kid, hands on his waist, taking a breather.

“Aren’t you worried that dressed like that the little guys might…?”

“We’ve reached an understanding,” Johnny said. “I help them save you, and they don’t come on me… unless invited.”

Wink, wink.

“Subtle.”

Johnny’s subtlety became even less so very soon. His long johns snapped in familiar prelude and he raised an eyebrow. The snake was coming out to feed. “What do you say you give your hero his reward?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

But the Kid was a slave to his own sluttishness, and the thought of literally having his ass eaten kind of turned him on. (Hey. It was something new.) He gave Johnny’s dick a couple of good licks, his tongue sliding over the silky head like he was licking whipped cream from a strawberry; then, just for coyness’s sake, he gave the hungry phallus a long hard suck as if he were struggling for that first drink 40

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through a straw in a frozen milkshake. He lay back on the snow and Johnny pounded his teased cock into our hero’s ass, riding him like a sleigh all over the flat, snowy surroundings of the hollow. As they went on their sex-driven trip around the winter wonderland, Johnny held the Kid’s ankles high, letting his hands slide and clutch onto the dense muscle of the thighs. Eventually, he found a snowdrift so the fucking wouldn’t be so moving, and the slaps of his balls on the Kid’s thighs drove him, once again, into frenzied zeal. The Kid thought for certain they were both going to have brain damage afterward if Johnny didn’t cum soon. But that’s the thing: Johnny didn’t want to cum right away. He wanted to stay in the Kid as long as he could. It was cozy in there.

“Come join the fun, boys!” Johnny shouted, his voice on the Verge: that space of time you can feel the ecstasy coming. As soon as he said this a band of Willies (smaller ones, of course) came out of hiding and took turns piledriving into Johnny’s ass as he powered, with one deep thrust, into the Kid. The icy touch of the Willies inside Johnny made him scream. He shook with such tremulous force as he came into the Kid that he collapsed onto the big guy’s chest, biting our hero’s huge nipples in exquisite iced pain. This, in turn, excited the Kid so much that the first shot from his own cum-cannon knocked Johnny off him and back onto the snow.

It was a scene, man! It was a scene.

As soon as the rump rampage had subsided and the Kid’s eyes began to clear of their daze, he noticed a bright 41

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red object not too far off against a hill. He focused, still feeling the tingling in his bum and the sensitivity in his dick.

“What’s that?” he asked breathlessly. “Is that…?”

Johnny sat up on his elbows. “Yep,” he answered.

“That’s a snowmobile. Or, more accurately, that’s The Best Christmas Gift in All the World. For you, it’s a snowmobile.

We’re here.”

Kid Christmas jumped to his feet and ran through the snow toward the pretty pretty shiny thing. The Willies (those who had survived their plunge into Johnny’s netherworld) gasped and fainted at the sight of his luscious lobes shaking as he ran. Johnny came one last time, and then he, too, rose and headed toward the snowmobile.

The Kid was seated on the warm leather seat, smiling delighted, when Johnny joined him. Johnny stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “Well? How do you like it?”

“It’s great!” The Kid eyed the controls; it was a stick shift, and the stick looked suspiciously like a penis. And we all know how much Kid Christmas like a penis. Unable to control himself, the Kid rubbed its smooth head and a fountain of cum hit his face.

“Needs to be oiled,” Johnny joked. The Kid could see a melancholy stretch to Johnny’s grin. His long underwear were still unbuttoned, his limp and satisfied dick dangling with a drizzle of cum. The Willies had gathered behind Johnny, fanning out like icy lollipops in a lusty labyrinth.

“I guess I gotta go, huh?” Kid Christmas asked.

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“You do if you wanna stop that prick of an identity thief.” Johnny paused. “I want you to find him. So do they.”

He gestured to the Willies. “Then maybe you can come back here… to me… to us… if you want.”

The Kid grinned. “Yeah. For a party.”

“One hell of a party.”

There was a sad silence. It’s just sex, the Kid assured himself. I just met the guy! But he there was something else growing between them (Unnecessary sexual joke has been edited out so as not to destroy the schmaltzy mood).

“Then I best get this done quick.” He started the snowmobile and shifted it into gear (it sprayed him once more). “Dammit!” He wiped the goo from his face.

But his irritation was soon assuaged. Johnny approached the snowmobile and cupped the Kid’s face, and they kissed. The Willies whistled and squee’d.

Johnny smiled. “Shut up!” he shouted back to the audience. He backed away, and Kid Christmas revved his engine.

“Hells, yeah!” the Kid shouted as he lifted into the cold air. The tingling of his nipples made him hard despite the chill. He waved to Johnny Longjohns down below. The Willies’ goodbye could be heard from high in the sky: Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

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4 Kid Christmas & The Disco Trap

LITERALLY streaking through the sky, the Kid was bearing down on the villain Snow Globes. The pursuit was heavy work, the winds and snow frosting his body like a delicious muscle cake, but he paid it no mind. His face held a look of such handsome determination, there was no doubt he would achieve his goal. His merry man-meat pointed vigorously forward. Plus, he had been pressing on the accelerator with such force (ass lifted out of the leather seat like a cyclist with sights on the finish line) that his new snowmobile/ morphing-gifty thing complained a few times with a sound like a whinny or a neigh. (It is widely known that morphing/gifty things sound like horses). The Kid only grunted and then bellowed his soon-to-be-trademark Hells, yeah! (which, of course, made absolutely no sense in his current situation). But it made him feel that things were back in his control.

Down below he recognized some of the mountainous white terrain. The Kid was a man about town, after all. He knew all the best ice clubs and boogie bars. The region was full of beefy snowball herders, and nighttime was the right time! He had even worked at a few of these places in their gogo cages to supplement his income (working as a gingerbread cookie house guard had never really paid enough). He imagined all the fun and frolicking that was going on miles below. Lots and lots of rump-shaking and‌.

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No! Priorities! There will be time enough for North Pole dancing later. Right now, I’ve got to catch up to that dastardly Snow Balls… I mean, Snow Testicles… I mean, Globes! Snow Globes!

Up ahead, the taillights of the Claus 3000 could be seen. Surely Snow Globes had sighted the Kid coming up his behind… er, from behind. The Kid stepped on the gas, and the new snowmobile, being of the magical variety, raced through the blustery air until it was bumper to bumper with the evil humper. Snow Globes gave a slightly annoyed/slightly amused glance over his shoulders.

“I’ll wipe that smirk off your face!” the Kid assured him, and he pounced onto the back of the snowmobile. His own magical ride stayed close by just in case the Kid needed backup. There’s was a-rasslin’ and a-fightin’ in midair as the Kid and the uber-hung ice villain fought it out for control.

Snow Globes even tried to slip his ice cone into the Kid’s greedy bum (oh, it was wanting it!), but the Kid controlled his urges and prevailed. Down the snowmobile went, whirling and circling, as the two opponents clutched at each other like two birds of prey… two big, beefy, featherless birds of prey.

Down they went, tumbling ass over dick. Naturally, there were bound to be a few teabags slipped into the kettle, if you get the jest. (And the author is now done with that particular analogy and implores your forgiveness if the allusion to “teabagging” has brought up any negative emotions concerning current events.)

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Through wind and muffled mouths, they grunted and groaned.

“You’re done for, Snow Globes!”

“Your ass is mine, Kid Christmas… again….”

“You’ll never take the holiday!”

“If you stayed off the Santa-roids your balls wouldn’t shrink as much!”

“Get that out of there!”

It was a battle for the ages! They’ll write songs about it one day. Limericks. Dirty ones.

With an echoing crash, the two ridiculously bare enemies fell right through the roof of the nightclub, landing in the middle of some very happy revelers. They really didn’t mind the intrusion.

The Kid was on his feet at once (much to the pleasure of the clubgoers) as he and Snow Globes circled about like wrestlers waiting for the right moment to pounce on one another. It was clear the Kid had the upper hand. He was warming up in the heat of the disco, and that same heat was starting to make Snow Globes melt just a wee bit. Aside from that, the crowd was clearly behind the Kid… and they were rooting for him too. (Ba dum bum!)

With their support, the Kid felt a rush of pride. His purple-headed pinnacle of manhood preened prettily, and his nipples were never naughtier. He started for Snow Globes, every bit of our hero bouncing and bobbing with lusty 46

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strength. But the villain came up with an idea (as villains do, else where would writers get their stories?).

As the Kid rushed at him, Snow Globes cried for all to hear, “Look at that tiny dick!”

The Kid was thrown by the shout (the strapping Santa that he was, he still had his insecurities). With his attention drawn elsewhere (i.e., his wanker), he wasn’t watching his step and his feet landed in one of the wet patches where Snow Globes had melted. The Kid’s feet flew out from beneath him before he could ascertain what was happening.

As he flew into the air, and before he hit the ground, he tried to right himself, flipping over on his stomach. The whole scene was a glorious ballet for the crowd. Picture it, Matrixstyle: The Kid’s cute lil’ pecker flopping this way and that, his legs spreading wide in artistic slow-mo, revealing the most precious lil’… well, who are we kidding, revealing a gaping hole of wonder. But still, it was beautiful. Then, unable to deny the laws of gravity any longer, the great mass of muscle fell to the floor, and the place shook like a fish off the hook.

Nobody was dancing anymore. Everyone was too dumbfounded, standing in a circle with goofy half-grins. The music still pulsed though. And the disco balls turned their rainbow parade on the magnificence of the unconscious Kid’s rump. (As always, the Kid landed so that his bum was high, mighty, and unharmed. There are two reasons for this: 1) This is how he always slept. You know, just in case he was robbed in the night and had to barter his way out of it, and 2) It makes things easier for the author to set up a sex scene.

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I mean, there hasn’t been one yet and the author just knows the reader is waiting for one, because said author has pervy readers.)

Anyway, Snow Globes wasted no time using the situation to his advantage. Even though he was losing fluid by the minute (remember: the dude’s made of ice), he hoisted the Kid over the bar, tore down the streamers that lined the place, and tied the Kid’s hands and feet to whatever solid structure he could find. What gross injustice would have happened next is anyone’s guess (or fantasy), but it was not to be. For as the Kid began to wake up and found himself (yet again) bound and helpless, seeing the dizzying colors swirling around him, Snow Globes’s own situation had become dire. The hot lustiness of those assembled was too much even for our underhanded uber-villain. He found he could not manage an erection with which to give his nemesis a “what for.” In fact, his musical balls seemed to droop sadly and looked dangerously close to kerplunking right off his svelte form. Oh, the humiliation!

“Dammit!” he screamed, and in a manner befitting his nature he said: “I’ll get you one day, Kid Christmas! I swear it!”

Then he fled the scene, impotent and ball-soggy. The clubgoers didn’t know what to think. And even if they did, they wouldn’t have thought it for long because there was such a meal of hot ass on the bar that who could think of anything else?

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Now that Snow Globes’s plans had been temporarily foiled, the Kid felt he could relax a bit. But with all the hot shirtless studs standing about him, those mischievous grins still on their wonderstruck faces, he found that his dick wanted to do anything but relax. There was a problem, though. The Kid was tied belly down on the bar, and his turgid tallywacker was meeting with solid resistance. This in turn made him arch his sweet, luscious bottom high into the humid air. It goes without saying that the viewership went nuts. Two great mounds of ass, the largest and roundest lobes of muscle any of them had most likely ever seen, rose high in the glittering air like hills. And between those hills, a secret cave holding unheralded pleasure treasure. Below that secret cave dangled two cute little jingle balls. (Aaaawwww!)

The Kid’s dick head was smooshed into the bar, but the discomfort only turned him on the more.

In short order, the Kid was locking lips with the bartender (a swarthy young man of inestimable tonguedancing skill), all the while his bum was being primed for the pumps. And when the pumps came, there was such frenzy and friction let loose in the air that some of the lights popped and sparked. The excitement was tangible. You’ve never seen such a hurried response to get undressed by a group of people. Dicks sprang to life harder than stalagmites, and some just as long and pointy. Ouch!

Only the most impressive were given the honor of taming the bound bum beast, though. With so much muscle and flesh, so much rear to romp upon, only the longest and proudest could reach the gates. Yet this was soon rectified 49

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(hee hee) as the Kid’s legs were lifted and spread wide across the bar, exposing the not-so-secret cave of wonders. (Who knew such a big guy could be so flexible? The slut!) All were soon allowed entrance, and the grunting and cries of yes yes yes ensued in tune with the disco music as the Kid swallowed passionately from front and back.

His mouth was soon abandoned altogether, though, for everyone wanted to see the gangbang taking place in the rear. The disco lights were accompanied soon enough by spurts of white in an operatic ballet. A very messy one. The Kid’s face took on a daffy, crazed quality as dick after big sloppy dick was hammered into him. The bar shook from the ferocity of the fucking. But it was never enough! Nothing filled his need. He wanted more dick. More! And when one clubgoer pulled out satisfied, the Kid was in torment until the next one plugged into him.

This went on until all but one in the club had been satisfied. The Kid cried to be filled again, but after three rounds apiece, none in the club had the energy or the cum.

Save for that one.

His name was Henry. He was a skinny thing as far as snow herders go. A twig, really, with glasses and a shy demeanor that got him very little action, the poor thing.

There had been several occasions while tending the herd that he had gone missing and been found hours later rolled up in one of the runaway balls. (Those testy balls took such advantage of that sweet lil’ nerd.) Henry had refused to

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undress when the others had, for he thought there would be no way he could possibly have any fun here. This was for the same reason he never flirted with anyone anywhere. Henry’s particular problem was of overlength and overgirth. His penis was almost as wide and long as he!

When at last those in the club began to tire of the Kid’s pleadings to be fucked, all eyes went to Henry who had sat out of sight in a back corner, creaming in his pants at the proceedings.

“Come on, man!” the discoers pleaded. “Shut that slut up and fuck him!” (Such language!)

None knew what they were in for, for none had seen Henry’s hose. Henry cautiously pulled down his cum-soaked jeans to reveal the largest and most stunningly beautiful dick ever. It shone in the light like a god, proud and massive.

Angels sang from above… well, a disco version of “Like a Prayer.” You know, the chorus part.

“You’ll rip him apart!” came the objection.

“Fuck me!” screamed the Kid. “He’s all yours.”

Henry was led to the Kid and gently placed his dick head, even larger than the Kid’s gaping hole, at the running point. He looked about for assurance and adjusted his glasses. There were worried expressions, a few head shakes, but no one spoke. Then, to Henry’s surprise, it was as if the Kid’s hungry hole sucked the head right in. From the first amazing sensation, Henry was filled with an animal drive. He 52

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was unstoppable from then on out. He had never been inside anyone and the feeling was heavenly. He pounded hard, not hearing anything around him, feeling only the wild sensation of warmth. The crowd gasped as Henry drove his entire length into the Kid again and again. Without thinking Henry climbed up on the bar, the soles of his feet placed firmly on the Kid’s outer thighs, and he pounded deep and hard with merciless glee, the one selfish act he had ever done in his whole life.

The Kid for his part was lost in a kind of fervor, a sexual insanity brought on by the gangbang and finally topped by this greatest of all fucks. His eyes crossed, he moaned in tune with the fucking, he slobbered, and his tongue lolled like a dog’s. He could lose his mind to this pleasure. Already all his thoughts had vanished.

He had completely forgotten that this was Christmas Eve and he had yet to deliver a single gift‌.

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5 Kid Christmas & Johnny Longjohns Meet Again

HENRY the handsomely hung herder pummeled the Kid’s posterior a pretty shade of purple. The bespectacled young man with the monstrous member lost himself inside the Kid and felt nothing but the bliss that many a man or elf had felt from being in that very same position (though, one has to wonder if any other man would feel that bliss again being that Henry’s hog was carving such a niche in the Kid’s back cave—but I digress). Those watching the Kid being skewered (in absent-minded ecstasy) said nothing. Their mouths just hung upon. A few drooled. Quite unattractive really, but thankfully they weren’t paying attention to one another.

A palpable sense of expectation, of a coming explosion— or an explosive cumming—filled the room. The Kid’s nipples gouged craters into the bar as Henry went in and out, back and forth. The nerdy wonder was about to cum, and from the look on his face it was going to rival Vesuvius. He hoisted the Kid into the air and bounced the muscle boy on his lap, up and down the entire length of the shaft. The Kid’s pecs jumped and flexed in fluid movement. Those watching began to shower Henry and the Kid with gobs of gooey love, shot high in the air. And then, with a shout that cracked the icy walls of the place, Henry came. The force of the explosion shot the Kid like a cannonball through the air, up through the hole created by his fall earlier that night with Snow 54

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Globes, and high into the sky, out of sight, leaving only a white trail in his wake from his cream-filled bum. (The Author realizes that bit might have been TMI, but the image was too good to resist.) Henry fell to the floor exhausted, and the whole lot of clubgoers soon found themselves asleep.

The Kid, meanwhile, awoke from his orgasm in midflight. He looked down at the ice world far below him and immediately lost the erection that had lasted nearly all night.

He feared it was the end. His stint as the Merry Mo was soon to be over, brought to an end by a deadly climax and a splat on the white plains below. Maybe his body would be found preserved in ice centuries from now and people would oooh and aaaah at his big frozen booty. He had nearly resigned himself to this future when he heard the familiar zoom of the Claus 3000. As he finally began to make his descent to the earth, the vehicle swooped under him and he landed ass up on a pair of beefy, long john-clad thighs.

“Johnny!” the Kid cried in relief. “Where’d you come from?”

“I caught the last of your act,” Johnny said, a note of displeasure in his voice. “Found the Claus 3000 outside and zipped up here as fast as I could.”

For a reason the Kid could not yet understand, he felt bad that Johnny had seen him in the club. Very bad. Like he had disappointed his hunky twice-now savior.

“Squeeee!” moaned a little prick from behind as it swooned over the Kid’s reddened rump.

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“He came along too.” Johnny gestured with a throw of the head. “You need to get to work. Put on some clothes. We got gifts to deliver… don’t we?”

“Hells yeah!” the Kid replied.

Johnny gave a silent stare. How embarrassing for the Kid. But the truth was, in all the hubbub—the kidnapping, the ice dildos—the notion of gifts had been completely forgotten. There wasn’t a one.

“Guess you’ll have to resort to what you do best, huh?”

Johnny said rather briskly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Kid regretted his query as the snowmobile began to descend to the ground. Johnny was pulling over to the side of the proverbial road, and his demeanor was colder than any wind or snow. The Kid had used the time during the descent to try and slide on a pair of St. Nicolas Nickers that were conveniently stashed under the seat. Johnny looked over at him, irritated. The Kid looked embarrassed.

“They won’t fit,” he said with a sheepish grin. The pretty red undies hadn’t even made it up his thighs before they had started to tear.

“You don’t know a good thing when you see it, do ya?”

Johnny asked.

The Kid looked back at him, puzzled. The ice dildo jumped from the Claus 3000 and took a stroll in the snow, suddenly realizing there was no room for him in the snowmobile.

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“Here I am, a fella who’s clearly got the hots for you, a fella who thought you felt the same way, and there you are letting any snowball herder who has a decent prick boink you in the hedges! I oughta give you a walloping!” He curled his fist like he just might follow through.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t think—” “Whatever… just… let’s just go. You’re the same as all the other muscle boys. I just thought I saw something new in you.”

Johnny turned and started the snowmobile once more.

The Kid stared at the handsome man’s profile. Somehow, right there, the Kid’s perception of Johnny Longjohns changed. He was no longer another in a line of hot flings.

This one wanted more—he expected more from the Kid. The Kid imagined blissful domestication. He could devote himself to this man. The idea was a bit startling. He imagined flipping flapjacks for his hubby in the morning. He imagined shaving his heavy five o’clock shadow on Sunday afternoons.

He imagined Johnny’s cozy cabin as a home.

“Wait!” our hero said, placing his hand gently on Johnny’s.

“What now?”

Kid Christmas stood (his tiny red undies still wrapped halfway up his thighs). “I’ve been a complete arse.”

“An arse? Yes, Rupert. You’ve been an arse. Now, sit down.”

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“Spank me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Spank me. It’s the only way to even things out.” The Kid threw himself over Johnny’s knees. His slightly purple bum hoisted as only he could hoist it.

“A spanking won’t exactly settle what—” “No. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been horrible to you.

You’re right. I haven’t been looking at what’s right in front of my nose. I’ve had sex with ice dildos and muscle boys and villains and—” WHACK! “Fuck! That hurt!”

“You said spank you.”

“You coulda warned me first! I’ll probably have a bruise now.”

Johnny raised his eyebrow. His large hand print was already fading into the redness of the Kid’s abused ass.

Johnny gently caressed the round cheeks, not in any sexual way, but lovingly. “Sorry,” he said.

The Kid struggled to get up and sat face-to-face with Johnny. “Me too. I promise. I’ll curb my whorish ways.”

(Yeah. People talk like that.)

They kissed and all was forgotten. It was a long kiss. A good one. When their lips parted and the sounds and sensations of the icy world around them came back, they heard the slight sound of happy weeping: The little ice dildo 59

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had hobbled back and was witness to the show from the back of the snowmobile. Kid Christmas and Johnny smiled at one another, and Johnny reached back and patted the lil’ fella on the head.

“So, now are we ready to go?” he asked.

“Hells, yeah!”

“Could you find something else to shout? That sounds a little ridiculous.”

“It is not ridiculous! What do you know about it?”

And the Claus 3000 ascended into the sky, an argument just beginning. But they’d settle it just fine. Trust me. I should know. I am the writer after all. And I’m kinda all about happy endings….

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About the Author

ERIC ARVIN resides in the same sleepy Indiana river town where he grew up. He graduated from Hanover College with a bachelor’s degree in history and has lived, for brief periods, in Italy and Australia. He’s survived brain surgery and his own loud-mouthed personal demons.

Visit his blog at http://daventryblue.blogspot.com/.

Don’t miss these books by ERIC ARVIN

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Copyright

Kid Christmas Rides Again ŠCopyright Eric Arvin, 2009 Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Illustrations by Absolutbleu http://bleuboys.blogspot.com/ Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America December 2009 eBook Edition eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-295-0