Santa’s Helper (Sexy!) With Boots : 3 / 6
An Altered Fates Story
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
For the rest of Jackie’s life, she remembered the events of that night with revulsion, horror, and resentment. Each time it came back to mind, it was like reliving a nightmare, except that this nightmare actually happened. At the time, however, as it was happening, she saw and experienced all of it through the filter of the drug that she’d taken. While her brain chemistry was altered, the entire episode seemed a lovely, glowing, happy festival of life.
It could go without saying, but she never took drugs again, ever.
Some of her memories of that night are vivid and powerful, with strong tactile and olfactory elements. Others are fuzzy and indistinct. The near-forgotten, blurry memories are both a blessing and a curse: A blessing because the less she recalls, the less there is to make her cringe; a curse because *some* activity must have filled those gray, forgotten intervals. The parts that she could remember were bad enough; were the parts that she couldn’t remember far worse? There was no way of knowing.
What she did remember was hands and penises: lots of them, coming from every direction, touching her, poking her, everywhere. In her mind’s eye, like a high-definition video, she could see and feel two men undressing her while several other men watched. She remembered the electric, silky flow of her costume loosening and sliding off her body. She especially remembered the sensation of her soft, shiny panties slipping oh-so-slowly over her lovely round butt and down her smooth, shapely legs.
After that came the groping, desperate hands, digging into her breasts and ass and pussy -- very roughly at first, until Dave’s voice cut through the frenzy: “Be gentle, boys! Be gentle! She’s soft and delicate, remember! And there’s plenty for everyone! She bruises easily, so don’t damage the merchandise, or I’ll toss you out on your butt with NO REFUND!” The admonition helped: the groping slowed and the pain diminished. It was still equally invasive, but less hurried and less brutal.
Then, penises: it seemed that everyone wanted to put his penis on her face, in her face, over her face. In her mind’s eye she could still see them, like a mass of worms and sausages, wriggling and blocking her view. How so many dicks could fit so closely together was a mystery she never unravelled.
There was only one thing that managed to irritate her at the time, that succeeded in thwarting her high, happy, drug-induced state: One man kept rubbing his cock against her ear. It must have been a weird fetish all his own, and it bugged the hell out of her. She kept pushing him off, but he didn’t stop until she swatted his cock away with a swift, strong backhand.
One of her more tactile memories -- a memory she could still smell was the pre-cum on her face. She could still sense the slimy, slick, lotion-like wetness, and the crusty salt when it dried on her cheeks, nose, and forehead.
Of course there was no end to the sucking. A steady stream of men came to pop their cock between her lips. She’d suck and lick until they’d cum, go limp, or simply leave. There was plenty of sperm as well. She didn’t exactly remember the various tangs afterward, but at the time she remember thinking how differently they all tasted. Only one was truly bad, but even that flavor sent her on a string of hallucinated memories through the foods and condiments that could give his sperm that brackish tinge.
People sucked on her as well, and licked and kissed her various parts. When she’d suddenly become aware of someone sucking on her breasts, she’d rest a gentle hand upon their head. Truly, it was the only part that she was able to enjoy. It was meditative and peaceful; it was calm, without frenzy and without words; it was as close to wholesome as anything could be that night. If she could have spent the entire night that way, lying naked on a large, soft cushion while someone’s mouth worshipfully dwelled on her massive breasts, she would have been perfectly happy.
A number of times another woman came to lick the sperm off her chest for an audience of one or two men. Each time, one of the onlooking men would catch her eye and tell her in a boastful tone, “I paid extra for this,” as if it were a significant personal achievement. In Jackie’s altered state, that strange phrase seemed like a deep philosophical puzzle, a koan whose meaning hung just out of her reach: tantalizingly close, but always eluding her grasp.
There was one quiet interval in which she seemed to wake up. She lay au naturel, draped over a disordered couch. At first she thought she was utterly alone, but an unusual feeling made her gaze down the length of her unclothed body, and there, at the end of her sylphlike legs, crouched a fully clothed man, sucking on her toes. When he realized she was watching him, he looked at her with big eyes for a moment, and stopped long enough to tell her, “I paid extra for this,” as though that explained everything. Then he picked up her other foot and ran his tongue over and between all of her toes, before he began sucking on each one individually.
As far as actual sex was concerned, it seemed that most of the men preferred taking her from behind. She remembered lying on her stomach for what seemed like (and may well have been) hours, bent over a soft piece of furniture, while various Santas took turns laboring behind her, pushing their hips into her soft derriere, pumping and grunting and gasping, and in the end, growling and shouting and shaking.
Also, at intervals, she’d feel someone’s tongue at work in the area of her butt. She couldn’t see who it was, and she couldn’t help but picture a dog down there, going at her, licking with a long, strong tongue.
Quite often she’d find a cock in her hand; a random man would walk up and park his member in her fingers, even if she was distracted, unaware, or busy being used by someone else.
She counted herself lucky to not have had any anal penetrations that night, but there was one vivid memory that she couldn’t shake. It was the one that disturbed her most of all. She couldn’t recall what came before or after, but she very vividly saw the thing itself in her mind's eye, as though it only happened a moment ago. She was on her knees in what seemed like a gymnasium shower, kneeling over a drain. Five men stood around her in a semicircle. They all had their cocks out, and they were all squeezing their penises with some urgency. They fidgeted and danced, all of them about to burst with the need to pee. And then, one of them called, “Okay, sweetie, head up! Straighten up!” as he gently took hold of her hair and used it to guide her up and to tilt her head back. Then, “One, two, three!” and all five began urinating at her, on her, in her hair, on her face, all down her body. She kept her eyes and mouth shut as well as she could, but unfortunately she gasped and tried to protest, and in that moment three streams of hot liquid hit her tongue and filled her mouth. Without meaning to, she swallowed, and instinctively jerked her head down. Seeing that, one of the men held her nose, to keep her face up and her mouth open. They all seemed to have extra-large tanks, filled to the very brim.
“Worth every penny!” one of the men shouted when they were done, and the others agreed. After they zipped up, they left her there alone, on the floor. She got up and rinsed off in one of the showers. There was no soap or shampoo, so she let herself be soaked and cleaned as well as plain water was able to do. She rinsed her mouth, swilling and spitting, until at long last she turned the shower off.
Then a second group of men came in, clutching their groins and dancing with need, and it all played out a second time, in much the same way.
That was her last memory of the night.
The next thing she knew it was morning. Daylight filled the enormous room, and Jackie found herself lying, uncovered, on a huge piece of sailcloth. It was incredibly white and incredibly clean. Jackie herself was no less clean. She ran her eyes and hands over her magnificent anatomy: there were no bodily fluids to be seen or felt or smelled. She touched her back and her derriere, and they, too, were as clean as could be. She sniffed her arms and hands; she took handfuls of her hair and smelled deeply. Every part of her was factory-fresh, soft and clean, shiny and manageable.
Behind her, Dave and Lucy were talking. She could hear Dave easily enough. His voice came through loud and clear. Lucy, on the other hand, was muttering, speaking low. When she spoke, Jackie could recognize Lucy’s voice, but wasn’t able to make out the sounds or the sense of it. Dave was telling her, “Lucy, listen to me: don’t fuck with that girl. She’s new, she’s good, and I don’t want you ripping her off and scaring her away.” Lucy protested, but he cut her off. “Don’t steal her money. Don’t tell her she owes you anything. Next time I see her, I’ll ask her if you took anything off her, and if you did, you’ll pay her back double. Do you understand? DOUBLE.” Lucy murmured something that Jackie couldn’t quite hear or make out. She went on for a long while, until Dave cut her off with a scoff. “A finder’s fee? You want a finder’s fee?” Lucy spoke again, and Dave answered, “Lucy-- Lucy, listen: I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Next time, you bring her. Next time, if she comes, AND if she tells me you didn’t take any of her money or cheat her or anything, THEN I’ll give you a fucking finder’s fee. You can’t get a fairer deal than that, and even if you can, that’s the only deal you’re going to get from me. Understand? Do you understand?”
Lucy grunted her assent, then came forward in front of Jackie. She smiled as though Jackie was her favorite person in the whole wide world. “Well, look who’s awake! How’re you doing, sleeping beauty?” Dave came and joined her. He smiled down at her, clearly enjoying the view of her unclothed body. “You know what the French would say, Jackie? They’d say that you’re in dish-a-billy. Have you ever heard that word? Dish-a-billy. That’s you to a T!”
Jackie still had enough of the drug in her system to not notice, or at least to not mind that Dave so openly consumed her with his eyes. Some part of her mind worked out the word dishabille from Dave’s encomium. She stretched and yawned. “How did I get so clean?” she asked.
Dave snorted with laughter. “One of the Santa’s, one of those geezers, paid extra to bathe you while you slept.” Jackie blinked. “In fact, there was a lot of paying extras with you last night, so even after my cut, you have a tidy little haul here.” He tossed an envelope full of cash to Jackie. It made a full, satisfying slap! as it landed, signifying all the dollars inside. “Now, ALL OF THAT MONEY is yours. You understand? You don’t owe anybody anything out of that cash there. Understand? I wrote the total right here.” Lucy’s mouth twisted to the side, but she said nothing.
“Yeah, I understand,” Jackie replied. “Thanks.”
“Come back anytime,” Dave told her, and he handed her two bags: One was a little shopping bag that held her boots and her Santa’s Helper costume (including the panties). The other was the tote bag that Lucy had taken from her the night before. “Better check that bag, make sure nothing went missing,” Dave observed with a wink and a jerk of his head in Lucy’s direction.
Lucy’s husband, Wes, arrived soon after. He didn’t bring any extra clothes for Jackie, but Dave found her a pair of pink flip-flops and a man’s extra-large t-shirt. It was way too big for her, but as it draped down as far as her mid-thigh, it covered all the necessary bits. The shirt was turquoise. In white letters it said I SURVIVED SHARKNADO!, and was illustrated by a white drawing of a tornado with four sharks being thrown from it.
Jackie was still in a passive, open state from the drug, so she followed Lucy and Wes as if she was their little pet lamb. They brought her to their double-wide manufactured home in the hills above town. Except for being outdoors, it was not much better than the room where they’d spent the night. The windowless body of a car was rusting away in the front yard. There was a pile of half-rotten wooden pallets, along with broken boxes, bags of trash, and a big old console TV whose finish was eaten away by time, sun, and rain. The house needed paint and repairs, but, at the sight of it, Lucy crowed, “Here it is! Welcome to our home, in all its glory!”
“Yep,” Wes agreed, “Home, sweet home. Love it or leave it be.”
“Like it or lump it,” Lucy said.
“Use it or lose it,” Wes contributed. Lucy didn’t have anything more to add, so Wes opened a little refrigerator that stood just outside the front door, and took out two beers. He popped the tops off with his thumbs, gave one to Lucy and offered the other to Jackie. When she shook her head, he shrugged and said, “More for me!”
Lucy put on some coffee and fried up a pile of egg sandwiches. They sat on the front porch to eat their breakfast and to wait for Lucy’s brother Grady. According to Lucy, Grady was "fresh out of jail," and “knew the system better than anyone.” He would help Jackie get her car back without having to pay the impound fee. “I’m not promising,” Lucy said, “I’m just saying. I know he’s done it in the past.”
As they sipped their coffee, and Jackie was looking for somewhere to wipe the grease from her fingers, a big black shiny Silverado rolled up, and Grady stepped out. Grady was a broad-shouldered, square-jawed, good-looking man in his early thirties, who stood about six-two and weighed two-something, all of it muscle. His hair and eyes were light brown. All in all, he looked like a quarterback. He greeted Lucy and Wes, and his eyes settled on Jackie. Jackie felt something move inside her, and had the feeling Grady could feel it, too.
After introducing Jackie and Grady, Wes and Lucy stood up and shuffled into the house. Shortly after, a series of moans, cries, and rhythmic rocking made it clear what they’d gone inside to do.
Jackie looked up at Grady and realized that she was still a little high. She couldn’t account for how or when she’d gone from sitting on the porch looking at the shine on her fingers to standing next to Grady, close to Grady, with Grady’s arm around her, but somehow it happened, and somehow it seemed very natural. From there, it was just as natural to become aware of his big, strong hand, underneath her oversized shirt, resting on her naked ass.
“I hear you need some help getting your car back,” he said, and his voice resonated in her chest. In that moment, it was the sexiest thing on earth that any man had ever said.
“Yes,” she replied, hoping he could detect all of the heat and desire that she’d loaded into that word. He turned and looked into her eyes.
“You are shockingly beautiful,” he told her, and as he locked his eyes on hers, his thumb rode up her spine, lifting her shirt up in the back, and dragging it up the front of her torso. By the time his hand came to rest on the back of her neck, her shirt had bunched up underneath her breasts. The two of them looked down at her belly and at what lay beneath. “You’ve got a cute little belly button,” he told her, and slowly pulled her toward him. As his head moved down to bring his lips to hers, he added, “And you’ve got a sweet pair of lips... between your legs.” His mouth locked on hers. They kissed for a long, hot time, and their tongues reached out to caress each other. His hands gripped her derriere, and he lifted her briefly into the air. Then he gently set her down.
Once again he slid his hand up her back, carrying her shirt along with it, leaving her completely exposed, except for her breasts and shoulders.
“When those two finish rutting, they’ll fall asleep,” Grady told her, jerking his head toward the house. “We should get out of here. There are much nicer places to be.”
He guided her, with her shirt still halfway off, to his truck. He opened the door, and lifted her with ease into the passenger seat. “Where’s your stuff?” he asked.
They drove to a beautiful A-frame, all wood and glass. The yard was clean and well-kept; nothing like Lucy and Wes’ place. “This looks like something out of the 70s,” she observed. “Like a ski chalet. Is this your house?”
Grady snorted. “No. It’s not my house. It’s not my truck, either. I’m just using them while the owners are away.”
A few questions occurred to Jackie, questions she refrained from asking. But she did say, “Oh! I forgot to borrow some clothes from Lucy!”
“Yeah,” Grady said. “That’s not an immediate problem.”
He opened her door, set her bags on her lap, and carried her toward the house. He gently sat her on the steps. He sat down next to her and took his boots and socks off. He took a hose and washed Jackie’s feet and dried her feet on his shirt. “In this house, you leave your boots outside, and your clothes at the door. Come on, let’s go in.” When she stood up, he gave her an affectionate swat on the butt.
As she walked through the door, she pulled the big t-shirt off over her head, leaving her completely bare once again. It was beginning to be her habitual state. She dropped the turquoise t-shirt on a chair and walked into the living room in a state of awe. The ceiling went all the way to the top, maybe 30 feet. The front of the house was all windows, all one big room, from floor to roof. The kitchen, the bedrooms, the second floor, were all in the back of the house.
Jackie turned toward the sound of Grady closing the front door. He set her bags on the chair with her shirt. She was about to observe that he hadn’t left his clothes at the door, but Grady spoke first. “You need to take a bath,” he said. “Get the smell of last night off of you.”
She was surprised, and reflexively sniffed at her arms and hair again. “I’m not saying you smell bad,” he told her with a smile. “But upstairs there is one huge bathtub and plenty of hot water. You’ll thank me later.” With that, he walked over to her and scooped her up, with no effort at all. He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing, and set her on her feet in the bathroom. He knelt down and started the water running. After pouring in some bubble bath, he swished it around to make suds while he tested the heat with his other hand.
“Just watch that it doesn’t get too hot,” he told her. “I need to go downstairs and make myself some breakfast. You want anything?”
“Some coffee would be good,” she said. “Coming right up,” he replied. He put his hand on the small of her back as he kissed her, and they both smiled.
He went downstairs to the kitchen, put on some coffee, and ate a handful of granola. By the time he brought the coffee upstairs, Jackie was sound asleep in the steaming hot suds, just as he’d expected. Grady left her cup on the edge of the tub and quietly returned to the living room. There, he took Jackie’s tote bag and emptied the contents onto the kitchen table.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he said to himself.
