Making Santa Scream | The Night He Met Jess

Last Updated on: 1st January 2026, 10:42 pm

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
My fishnets were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that a victim soon would be there.
I was nestled all snug in my bed
While visions of whipping subs danced in my head.
And me in my lingerie, and the cat in my lap
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

The Unwelcome Surprise

Then down in the hallway there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
I didn’t grab a weapon.
I grabbed a silk robe.
I walked to the landing and looked down below.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a luster of midday to objects below.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a massive old man and a sack full of gear.

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

Meeting Santa Face-To-Face

I walked down the stairs. The wood creaked under my feet. He froze. He turned around. It was him. The big man himself.

He didn’t look jolly. He looked guilty. I walked right up to the tree. There was no Tiffany box. There was no envelope full of cash. There was a single, dusty lump of coal sitting on the floor.

I looked at it, then I looked at him. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said. My voice was ice cold. “Coal. You come into my house, wake me up, and leave me a fucking rock?”

He moved anxiously. The floorboards groaned under his heavy boots. He pulled off his red hat and wrung it in his hands. He looked nervous. “It’s the list, Jess,” he mumbled. “You’re on the wrong one. Again.”

I crossed my arms. The silk robe slipped a little and I saw his eyes dart down to my chest and then quickly back up to my face. “Explain,” I commanded.

“You’re a sadist,” he said. “You hurt men. You take their money and you ruin their egos. You make them beg. The rules are clear. That puts you on the Naughty List.”

He paused. His face turned a deep shade of crimson that matched his suit. He looked down at his boots. “But that’s not the whole truth.”

The Dirty Confession

I stepped closer. I could smell the cold night air clinging to his coat. “Tell me the truth, Santa.”

“I read your blog,” he confessed. His voice was nothing more than a shaky whisper at this point. “I read all of it. The stories about the men. The way you control them. I read them late at night in the workshop.”

He swallowed hard. “Mrs. Claus caught me twice last week. I was… distracted. My laptop was open to your site. It was an awkward position.”

I grinned. The power in the room was firmly mine. He wasn’t the judge of morality. He was just another man who got off on my words. I reached out and ran a finger down the white fur trim of his coat.. and he trembled.

“So you think I’m naughty,” I purred. “You know I’m a sadist and you think that makes me bad because I give men exactly what they crave. You sit up at the North Pole reading my diary and getting yourself worked up while your wife knits socks.”

I leaned in close to his ear. “You don’t want to just read about it, do you? You want to know what it feels like.”

He nodded. He couldn’t speak.

“I can give you the real experience,” I told him. “But the price just went up. Coal doesn’t cut it. If I do this, I want the real gifts. I want the diamonds, the gold… I want the things you keep for the girls on the nice list.”

“Anything,” he gasped. “I have it all in the sack.”

“Good. Then get those pants off. I have a present for you. It’s pink. It’s silicone. And it has your name written all over it.”

Breaking the Big Man

We didn’t go upstairs. We didn’t make it that far. I pushed him back into the heavy sofa near the fireplace and stripped him down. He was big. He was heavy. But under my hands, he was pliable. He was desperate. The burden of being the man in charge of the whole world at Christmas dropped off his shoulders.

I went to the drawer in the hallway table. I keep a spare kit there for emergencies and pulled out the harness. Then I pulled out the strap-on, it was thick and completely unforgiving.

I walked back to him and his eyes went wide when he saw it. “Turn over,” I ordered.

He obeyed instantly. He bent over on the sofa and presented himself to me. The most powerful man in the folklore of the world was ass-up in my living room… Merry Christmas to me.

I didn’t use much lube. He said he knew I was a sadist and I intended to live up to the reputation.

I lined it up and pressed the head against him. He tensed. “Relax,” I said. “Take it like a good boy.”

I drove into him and he cried out with a loud, shocked sound. I held his hips firmly and didn’t stop. I pushed forward until I was buried to the hilt. He started to pant. I could hear him muttering into the velvet cushion. He was cursing.. wait no… he was fucking praying?

I pulled back and slammed home. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the silent room. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. I owned him. Right then and there, Santa belonged to me. I reached around and grabbed his beard and then pulled his head back. “Look at me, bitch” I hissed. “You like reading my site you old pervert? This is the reality. This is what you wanted.”

He looked at me with glazed eyes. He was drooling. He nodded frantically. “Yes,” he groaned. “Yes, Mistress.”

I pounded into him. I hit his prostate relentlessly. I made his legs shake and his toes curl in his big black boots. I fucked the holiday spirit right into him. The friction was incredible, and… he was moaning my name.

I didn’t let up. I increased the speed and I was relentless. I wanted to leave a mark on his soul. I wanted him to remember this every time he looked at a list of naughty girls. I drove him to the edge. I could feel his body tightening. He was close. “Cum for me, Santa,” I commanded. “Give me everything.”

He shattered and let out a long, low roar of pleasure. His body convulsed around the strap-on. He slumped forward onto the sofa, completely spent. I gave him one last, deep thrust for good measure and pulled out.

The Payout

He took a while to recover, sat on the sofa, dressed again with his suit a mess and, his face flushed pink. He looked happier than I had ever seen a man look and then he stood up on shaky legs and fixed his clothes. He walked over to his sack and didn’t say a word, just started pulling things out.

A diamond necklace. A stack of bonds. A set of keys to a car I assumed was parked outside. He piled them under the tree and kicked the piece of coal under the sofa.

He walked to the door and then turned back to look at me one last time. He touched the brim of his hat. There was a twinkle in his eye that definitely wasn’t there before. “Merry Christmas, Jess,” he said.

He walked out into the night. I heard the sleigh bells ring and then the reindeer take flight. I looked at the pile of loot under my tree then I looked at the harness now sitting on the coffee table before I poured myself a drink.

He was right. I am naughty.

But it pays so fucking well.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good, hard night.

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