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Message-ID: <37904asstr$1029604203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel)
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: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

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.
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