
Alysia Kent slumps at her desk, eyes half-closed, English class dragging like slow poison. Then Santa’s there—red suit, sharp grin, hand out. She follows without asking why. In the workshop the air’s thick with sawdust and heat. She strips, slow and sure, skin catching the glow of string lights. Her hand slides down, finds that wet heat, works it. Santa drops, beard scraping her thighs, tongue driving in. She tastes sweet and he keeps licking until her hips jerk. He spins her. One rough thrust and he’s buried, hips slamming, her ass rippling each time he hits home. Her moans come fast, raw. She turns, takes him in her mouth, saliva shining on every stroke, then presses him between her breasts, sliding, squeezing. He finishes deep inside her, filling her until it leaks down her thigh.
Alysia Kent slumps at her desk, eyes half-closed, English class dragging like slow poison. Then Santa’s there—red suit, sharp grin, hand out. She follows without asking why. In the workshop the air’s thick with sawdust and heat. She strips, slow and sure, skin catching the glow of string lights. Her hand slides down, finds that wet heat, works it. Santa drops, beard scraping her thighs, tongue driving in. She tastes sweet and he keeps licking until her hips jerk. He spins her. One rough thrust and he’s buried, hips slamming, her ass rippling each time he hits home. Her moans come fast, raw. She turns, takes him in her mouth, saliva shining on every stroke, then presses him between her breasts, sliding, squeezing. He finishes deep inside her, filling her until it leaks down her thigh.