By: ForeverFemdom
The elf's fingers trembled as he adjusted the stitching on the latest batch of cursed teddy bears each one destined to whisper midnight confessions to children who misbehaved. His workshop stool creaked under him, a sound drowned out by the distant, rhythmic jingle of sleigh bells growing louder down the hall.
Mrs. Klaus's perfume hit him first thick, musky, layered with the sharp tang of peppermint oil and something darker, like spiced rum left to evaporate on warm skin. She didn't bother with greetings, just hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his head back until his spine pressed into the workbench behind him.
Her velvet dress brushed his cheeks as she straddled his face, the weight sudden, deliberate. Heat radiated through the fabric before it was yanked aside, baring skin that smelled of cinnamon and sweat. "You missed quota yesterday," she murmured, grinding down until his nose flattened against her. "Let's discuss consequences."
The first fart came like a war horn deep, vibrating, humid and the elf's eyes watered as his mouth filled with the taste of gingerbread and spoiled eggnog. Her laugh was low, thick with amusement as she rocked against him. "Breathe deep, little helper. Santa doesn't need to hear about this."
Her thighs tightened around his head, trapping him as another spiced gust rolled out. The air turned thick, cloying. His fingers clawed at the workbench. Every choked inhale coated his tongue with something like burnt caramel and fermented cherries, the kind of stink that clung to the back of his throat.
"Aw, don't squirm," she cooed, leaning forward to brace a hand on the toy assembly line behind him. The movement pressed her harder against his face, sealing him in darkness. "You think Rudolph's nose glows? Wait till you smell what I had for lunch."
Her stomach gurgled, a wet promise, and the elf's muffled groan only made her shift higher, grinding her ass down like she was extinguishing a cigarette. "Good boy," she purred. "Now count my presents one for every time you gasp."
The second fart tore out of her like a deflating tire, hot enough to fog his glasses as it rippled against his lips. His gag reflex kicked in, but she shoved his nose deeper into the crease of her ass, laughing when he wheezed. "Two," she announced, popping a candy cane between her teeth. "Only eight more to go."
Something wet seeped through her panties maybe sweat, maybe something worse and the stench curdled in his sinuses, a rancid mix of mulled wine and gym socks left in a sauna. Her hips rolled lazily, smearing his cheeks with sticky heat. "Oh? You like that?" she teased, arching her back. "Guess I should've warned you about the extra helping of Brussels sprouts."
The workshop door creaked open. "Mrs. Klaus?" came Santa's booming voice. She didn't move just clenched down harder, her asshole fluttering against the elf's tongue as she called back, sweet as syrup: "Just disciplining the help, dear." The door clicked shut. Her whisper dripped venom. "Now swallow."
Her stomach gurgled again, a wet, churning threat, and the elf's nostrils flared as the third fart bubbled out thick, yeasty, with a sour aftertaste of curdled cream that made tears spill down his temples. Mrs. Klaus moaned softly, grinding her hips in slow circles. "Three," she purred. "These ones always come in clusters."
The fourth erupted with a wet pop, spraying his chin with something warm and oily that reeked of deviled ham and regret. Her thighs trembled around his skull as she shuddered in delight. "You're hnn taking it so well," she gasped, nails digging into his scalp. "Maybe I'll let you lick me clean after."
A fifth, sixth, seventh followed in quick succession each hotter, heavier, the air turning soupy with the stench of rotten yule log and gym bag marinated in bourbon. The elf's vision swam. Somewhere above him, Mrs. Klaus sighed contentedly. "Almost there," she murmured, patting his head. "Do try to keep up."
Her stomach gave a seismic gurgle. The eighth fart was a masterpiece a slow, seeping horror that trickled into his mouth like a noxious syrup, clinging to his teeth with the persistence of spoiled fig pudding. She giggled, high and girlish, as he convulsed beneath her. "Oh, that one lingers ," she mused. "Like Christmas morning regrets."
When the ninth hit a wet, sputtering burst that painted his chin in something suspiciously lumpy she finally yanked his head back by the hair. Strands of saliva connected his lips to her glistening asshole. "One more," she whispered, thumbing a tear from his cheek. "Make it count."
The tenth arrived with fanfare a trumpeting, reverberating blast that shook the workshop windows. Mrs. Klaus threw her head back and howled , her orgasm rolling through her in waves as the elf choked beneath her.
She collapsed forward, smothering him against her sticky thighs, panting. "There's my good boy," she cooed, grinding her soaked panties against his ruined face. "Now tell me did you learn your lesson?" His wheezing groan only made her chuckle.
Santa's boots stomped outside the door again. Mrs. Klaus didn't move just reached back to smear the elf's spit slick lips across her asshole one last time. "Run along now," she murmured, patting his cheek. "And next time? Don't miss quota."
The door burst open as she stood, velvet dress falling back into place like nothing happened. Behind her, the elf gasped for air, face glistening, the taste of her rancid Christmas feast still dripping from his chin. Santa sniffed. "Why does it smell like rotten fruitcake in here?" Mrs. Klaus smiled sweetly. "Must be the new batch of naughty list treats, dear."
She stepped over the elf’s trembling body, crushing his fingers under her heel just enough to make him whimper. "He was very enthusiastic about quality control," she lied, licking candy cane syrup from her thumb. Santa chuckled, clueless as ever. "Good man! Let’s get cocoa you look flushed." She winked at the elf as she left, her stockinged thigh brushing his cheek one last time.
Alone, the elf slumped against the workbench, his breaths shallow, pants uncomfortably tight. His fingers twitched toward his belt then froze at the sound of jingle bells outside the door. Mrs. Klaus’s voice purred through the crack. "Forgot to mention... I’ll be inspecting your workbench again tomorrow. Bring a sponge."
The door clicked shut. His groan turned into a shudder. The scent of her lingered, thick and inescapable. He reached for a cursed teddy bear then thought better of it. Tomorrow’s inspection would be worse. And part of him couldn’t wait.