Verdurous decorations, glittering like festive, captive stars, mixed with the crimson and sterling bells. Lining the streets, garland, berries, and holly were strung in grand, sweeping arches; wreaths, angels, and other Yuletide icons adorned every show window, doorway, and sign. Terry had no use for the celebratory season, but he did enjoy the money. He hummed to himself, off-key, as he strolled down the boulevard; Terry may have been young, aimless, and single, but he heartily enjoyed his life.
Passersby observed him with mixed reactions. Other men would judge him to be a “pretty boy,” shooting him their judgmental, condescending glances. It wasn’t Terry’s fault that he was strikingly handsome, with that bad-boy vibe. His trim, muscular physique was the result of years of athletic pursuits and constant exercise, hard, physical labor buttressing his efforts. His hair, perfectly coiffed and slightly long, was the result of grocery store hair dye and a very expensive stylist. His symmetrical, chiseled features, however, were the result of strong genetics.
Women gawked, smiling lustily as he walked by. Terry was one of those truly rare men who made a lady’s heart thunder in her chest and her most sacred of places gush with hot, steamy wetness. He was young enough to still have that youthful glow about him, having just left college, but old enough to seem mature. At first glance, he looked like a fitness model. That wavy, blond hair bounced with each of his springy steps, his broad shoulders tapered down to a trim, tiny waist, and his Lacrosse player’s body rippled with hard, well-defined muscles.
If a female’s stare lingered, she’d note his aura of sexy deviousness, impish smile, and eyes that conjured torrid fantasies of him tearing off her clothes while she moaned in wild, passionate abandon. Not just any random shade of mediocre blue, Terry’s eyes were a deep ultramarine, and they enthralled, captivated, and aroused. To feminine eyes, he was lusty passion personified. Every woman has her personal type, but Terry topped most women’s “I would fuck him in a heartbeat” lists based on his appearance, alone.
Terry chuckled at the malicious, jealous ire from some of the men, nodded to the awed gents as he passed them by, and smiled at the women. Holiday music, piped into the streets, filled his ears. Although he wandered through life without any concrete plans for the future, life had, thus far, been good. Terry had accidentally turned some of his life’s loves into a career.
Terry Knight was young, in shape, handsome, and enjoying himself. By following his impulses, he’d garnered a college degree on a scholarship and enough money to live as he saw fit. It wasn’t an extravagant life, but it was his. Playing both football and Lacrosse in high school, he was offered a partial scholarship to play football at State but took a full ride at a smaller, less prestigious school to play Lacrosse. He loved the game, and it was one of his main passions.
Lacrosse, fencing, dancing, and pussy were Terry’s four food groups, his life’s blood. To him, those things were what made life worth living. One of his college teammates was also on the fencing team, and Terry had an affinity for swashbuckling. Another fencer, named Patricia, majored in dance, and she suggested that he should study some dance moves to increase his grace on the Lacrosse field. While he couldn’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow, and the mastery of any musical instrument, no matter how simple, eluded him, Terry discovered that his love of listening to music easily segued into moving to the beat.
An additional bonus was the fact that college students who studied dance were primarily women. A disproportionate amount of young men in theater and dance simply weren’t into women; that gave Terry a huge advantage in the romance department, as well as his peers helping him develop his look and personal style. One of his buddies in the dance department, Gregory, not only helped him decide on his hairstyle but also introduced him to his current career.
Living on the outskirts of the city, close enough to the action, hustle, and bustle but far enough away that none of the grime sullied his meticulously preened existence, Terry lived on the sunny side of Metropolis and worked as a private, male stripper, although he bandied the term “erotic entertainer” about. Working just a few nights per month, he easily raked in enough cash to sustain his bachelor lifestyle. Girlfriends came and mostly went, so he had no long-lasting love, just an endless stream of horny women wanting to use him for sex. Terry had the looks, physique, and personality to thrive in the business, and he loved every minute of it.
Being objectified for a living may seem denigrating or soul-draining to some; Terry viewed it as pro-feminist equalization. He enjoyed both eye- and cock-fucking sexy women and saw no reason why women shouldn’t openly lust after men they found attractive. True equality, to him, meant that all are equal, and he leveled the playing field, giving women what they truly desired—a sexy man they could safely lust over who made them feel like a goddess queen. He knew how women truly were, and he provided a priceless service, letting them be themselves without any repercussions.
As he worked mainly in private parties and events, things could get pretty wild. Unknown to most men, women were, by far, the superior sex in all things perverted and debauched. Behind closed doors, with lowered inhibitions and the peer pressure to let loose and go crazy, women said and did things that would shatter most men’s egos. Once they felt safe, secure, and liberated from the chains of society’s disapproving glower, all women shed their disguises and revealed themselves as dirty, horny perverts that crave the nasty, filthy sex acts, the same ones their husbands and lovers wished they’d do in the bedroom. There were far worse jobs to have than one that ended every shift with a dozen, horny women wanting your cock.
On his way to meet a new, potential client at a coffee shop, Terry was optimistic and in a stellar mood. Rounding a glittery, tinsel-adorned corner, he sang to himself, altering the words to a Christmas carol.
“Get on your knees and open wide.
Fa-la-la-la-la, Fellatio.
Suck on it, and drain me dry.
Fa-la-la-la-la, Fellatio.”
The new client’s name was Jessica, Jess, and she was sexy and cagey, very nervous for some reason. During prior phone conversations, her husky voice had aroused Terry, and her appearance didn’t disappoint. She had close-cropped blond hair with blue-gray highlights, a sort of messy, fringed bob that looked amazing on her delicate features. Her body was lithe and graceful, a dancer’s body to Terry’s eyes, but she sat at the table, ignoring her steaming java, fidgeting, nervously. The woman was dressed seasonally, white and green, with horizontally striped tights under a velvet skirt with a green blouse.
“You must be Jess,” Terry smiled, using his “charm her panties off,” expression and tone. “I’m Terry. We spoke on the phone about this weekend.”
“Jess,” she smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m so nervous. I don't know what to say. This is my first time.”
He gave her his soothing chuckle. “Don’t sweat it. We were all virgins once.”
Negotiations began, and Terry, using his secret weapons, charm and style, to sell himself, had a good feeling about the job. The meeting didn’t take long, and both of them knew, at once, that it was a deal. Trying not to be too obvious about her drooling over Terry’s sexy physique, Jessica detailed the small, private party. It would only “a couple of” guests, Terry’s strip show would be a gift to Jessica’s friend, Paige.
“However, Mr. Knight, Paige has this fantasy of having her first male stripper dance for her, then tying him to a chair and blindfolding him while she has her way with him. Will you do it?” Jessica scrolled through her phone, then turned it around, so Terry could see the picture she’d chosen. The picture was of Paige. She looked young enough, maybe in her early thirties, if that, and she had a dark, exotic look about her with dark hair and eyes, and her skin was an olive-hued light brown, showing that she was of Middle Eastern or Indian heritage.
Terry had a pitch ready for situations like that one. “I’m not a prostitute, Jess. My fee is strictly for dancing and stripping. However, if everyone, and I mean everyone, at the party extends an invitation for me to hang out after my show, whatever we all mutually consent to doing when I’m off the clock is just socializing.”
Things were hashed out, and Terry left the drooling baristas with a high-paying gig, paid for in advance. Jessica wanted a “surprise Christmas theme,” and the two worked out a scheme. Paige would only know that she and Jessica would be staying in the city over the weekend to shop and have some “girl time.” Her gift, Terry, would be a complete surprise.
Before they’d adjourned, the two were laughing and high-fiving like old friends. Terry didn’t mind being friends with Jessica; he had lots of lady friends. He just hoped there were some benefits involved; she was that sexy. He even stalked her social presence, trying to get a feel for her personality.
The rest of his week was spent preparing. Terry needed a Santa suit; a custom-sewn, wearable mini bar; green and red bondage ropes; Yule-themed music with a beat he could dance to; and a Christmassy blindfold. While opinions varied, Terry was in the "masturbate like crazy before a show" crowd. Some strippers adopted the no-nut approach, ensuring that they could easily get an erection, but Terry was young. His main concern was shooting his wad too soon. With that in mind, he put himself on a self-pleasure routine, masturbating four times, daily, but not at all the day before the show.
Jessica paid big, and the private party was in a hotel penthouse suite, so he wanted to earn his pay. Small gatherings can go any way imaginable, but he had a feeling about this one. Call it Christmas magic, but he felt it in his bones, muscles, and sexy flesh; this party was going to be one to remember.
Two nights before Christmas, while the city frenziedly attempted to finally get to its Holiday to-do lists, Terry, dressed in red velvet and, wearing a white, flowing beard, made his way to the downtown hotel skyscraper. Having dosed himself, perfectly, with intoxicants, he still had his wits about him but was relaxed and willing to go with the flow. After a long elevator ride, with only one person staring at the silly Santa holding a portable stereo, Terry emerged on the uppermost floor. The entire hotel was luxurious and affluent, but the upper floors were simply extravagant.
Two penthouse suites capped the two dozen floors, one on either end of the long hallway. He heard rowdy laughter from one, his destination. He stood there for a few minutes, waiting until six minutes after he was supposed to arrive, listening. The women—he couldn’t quite discern how many—were chattering, giddily, about shopping, men, and nothing in particular. He knocked, firmly, but not aggressively.
“Did you order room service or something?” he heard Jessica’s lilting voice. “No? I’ll see who it is.”
Jessica answered the door, her face pink with intoxication and laughter. Her face lit up with appreciative surprise when she saw him. Had it not been for those deep, mesmerizing eyes, she wouldn’t have recognized Terry.
“It’s Santa Claus,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Here to spread some Christmas cheer.”
Jessica was dressed incredibly sexy. Her smock dress matched the highlights in her hair, and she was obviously nude underneath. Her taut nipples poked out, and her breasts jiggled, sexily, with every movement. She opened the door wide, not concealing her elated smile, and turned, letting Terry step inside the gargantuan suite. He got an amazing view of her firm, round butt covered by her off-color dress; the fabric molded itself to the contours of her ass, looking so delicious and spankable.
“Merry Christmas, my little Ho, Ho, Hoes!” Terry sang out, his “Santa voice” sounding more like a geriatric Peter Falk than Santa. “Have you two been good or naughty girls?”
He stopped, appraising them. Jess looked as if she’d dressed to fuck, and Paige was dressed in loose lounge shorts and a camisole top. Her loungewear was a pale pastel color that really accentuated her smooth, dark skin and beautiful facial features. Her nipples were also dark, shadowy circles vaguely showing through her wispy top.
“Naughty!” Jessica said, rocking her shoulders back and forth, jutting out her delectable tits.
“And you, my darling Paige?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Are you a naughty girl or a nice one?”
“Ni…” Paige began, finally smiling. The ecstatic look on her best friend’s face made Paige feel empowered and sultry. “Naughty. I’m definitely naughty.”
“Correct,” Terry-cum-Santa chortled. “I have a list, you know. I checked it twice. I’ve been watching you. You are very naughty. Do you know what naughty girls get?”
“Lumps of coal?”
“Wrong, my little helper! They get booze!”
With a grand flourish, Terry tugged open his red, fur coat, revealing his custom-made “Santa paunch.” Tying around his torso and hanging from his neck, his body-shaping accessory had pockets sewn into it, and they contained a stack of cups, a bag of ice cubes, and three bottles of booze—rum for Jessica, bourbon for Paige, and an aged whiskey for himself. He untied the contraption from his body, revealing a tight, Christmas-themed tank top beneath.
Terry was mildly surprised that only the two women were there. When Jess had said, “a couple,” she, apparently, meant it literally. Singing Christmas songs, Terry, disguised as Santa, poured the women stiff drinks and handed them to the ladies.
“Yuletide gifts for all the naughty girls,” he shouted, opening his green, velvet bag. Although it was filled with multiple, wrapped boxes, he only needed to grab two. “One for you, my naughty Jessica. Santa sees you when you’re sleeping, and he knows you need this.”
The package was wrapped in green, foil paper, little snowflakes embossed on the surface, and tied with a silver ribbon and a matching bow.
“And one for you, my lovely, naughty girl, Paige. I know when you’re awake, so you’d better be naughty, for goodness’ sake.” Paige’s package was the opposite of Jess’. Wrapped in silvery Mylar, it had a green ribbon and bow.
The duo downed their drinks, hardly noticing that Terry-Santa refilled them, as they opened the long, slender presents. Both women giggled when they saw their gifts. They had each received a long, thick, vibrator. Both were molded into realistic-looking penises and had a single button at the base.
“Exactly what I wanted, Santa. Thank you.”
“Ho, ho ho! And Merry Christmas. Now, for the stockings.”
Reaching back into the bag, he pulled out two nearly-empty stockings. Other than a large, single candy cane, they were devoid of Yuletide treats.
“Where’s the rest of our candy, Santa,” Paige laughed. She addressed her friend. “This is so cool, Jess. Thank you!”
“Santa knows you want lots of candy, you naughty girl,” Terry retorted. “Instead of calories and cavities, my gift to you naughty girls is eye candy!” He nodded at Jessica. “Hit it!”
Rock and roll Holiday music blared out of Terry’s stereo, and he went into his routine, beard flapping and looking silly in his Santa costume. He loved dancing, and his athleticism lent itself well to pulling off some of the more-involved moves. Terry also excelled at his profession, and he gyrated seductively, years of practice letting him naturally dance how women preferred. He ground his body all over a screaming, foul-mouthed Jessica. He had no idea how much she had drunk before he’d arrived, but she was on her fourth one since Terry showed up. The sexy woman’s hands were all over him, caressing his chest, tugging at his crotch, and squeezing his butt.
When the erotic entertainer, his red Santa coat now in the clutches of a very excited Jessica, shimmied over to Paige, the sudden change in the woman nearly freaked Terry out. Her face went from passive to aroused, then to lust-possessed. Paige’s hands went from timid hand-wringing to aggressively molesting the muscular man in front of her.
“Take off your fucking pants. I want to see your cock. Take it off! Take it off!”
Although he hadn’t planned on disrobing further until his next song, Terry went with the ladies’ flow, eager to please them. Strutting in front of the exotic-looking Paige, who had instinctively spread her legs and looked erotically enticing in her frilly, loose shorts, Terry’s groin humped back and forth in time to the beat. He grabbed her hands and placed them inside the waistband of his red, fur pants.
Rather than tear off Santa’s pants, exposing his naughty bits, Paige thrust her hands downward, grabbing his manhood through his layers of clothes, and began stroking it in earnest. When he pulled away, she gripped the pants tightly, and they tore off his body, revealing red, satin Holiday boxer shorts, the front graphics depicting chestnuts roasting on an open fire in the most ironically possible position. Pulling the both of them off the hotel suite’s couch, he placed one of their hands on either side of the tank top.
The two women ground themselves against him, humping his muscular legs and running their hands all over his body. Terry expected at least a little enthusiasm from Jessica; she seemed the type, but Paige surprised him. She’d become a wanton, cock-hungry slut, and Terry was all for that. He counted down, “Three, two, one,” and stepped back.
The strategic cut in the collar of his tank let the ladies tear the garment off his torso. The horny duo shrieked when his perfectly-sculpted body was revealed. Terry flexed for them, then ripped off his beard. In an instant, Jessica’s tongue and lips assaulted Terry’s chest, and Paige moved behind his dancing body, humping her clit against his firm butt, her hands grabbing his cock.
Terry, fully enjoying himself, shuffled to the beat, moved over to his sack of goodies, and pulled out two lengths of soft rope. With his back turned to the women, he looked over his shoulder, quizzically, and moved the waist of his shorts down an inch or so, flipping it back up when he heard them gasp.
“Take it off, you sexy fucking beast. Momma wants your ass!”
“Take it off, stud. Take it off.”
The two women were making as much noise as any packed party, and Terry played on their enthusiasm, making them beg, plead, and command him to undress. He bent deeply at the waist, shaking his taut, firm butt at them, then pulled down the satin boxers. Paige and Jess squealed with horny delight when his green thong and spectacular, manly ass were revealed.
He humped at their faces and ran his mouth and face over the contours of their bodies, his lips mere inches away from their steaming flesh. Finally, he ground against Paige, writhing in time to the hard-rocking Yuletide song, and he had her tear away his thong. Underneath, Terry wore a green and red striped G-string. The flimsy bit of material was nothing more than a cup of fabric bound to his body with some elastic. Tied around his upper thigh was the blindfold, a festive print of Christmas trees, holly, and ornaments. He bent over, moving to the music, untied the cloth, and tossed it to Jessica.
Jessica went insane. The blond wrapped her legs around his torso, and climbed up his body, licking and kissing her way to his mouth. Still dancing, Terry carried her as he gyrated. When he let her slide down his body, her mouth latched onto his skimpy bit of clothing, and she tugged it down with her teeth, her hands reaching out to stroke his growing shaft.
Terry smiled at her, his ultramarine eyes boring horny holes in her soul as he wagged his finger at her, mouthing, “No, no.” Leaving her slumped on the couch, panting, he danced over to Paige, whose eyes were wide with desire. The dark-haired woman was rubbing her hands up and down her body, writhing seductively with a huge smile on her face. She laughed, her face turning crimson, when he tossed her the ropes.
He kicked a chair into the center of the spacious suite and sat down on the chair, nude except for his festive Santa boots.
“Sit on my lap, little naughty girl, and tell Santa what you want for Christmas, you hoe-hoe-hoe.”
“Me first!” Jessica screamed. The lithe, blond woman jumped up from the couch, her boobs bouncing so much that her hard nipples tingled from the contact with the fabric of her slutty dress. Rather than sit on his lap, she straddled him, facing Terry. The male stripper knew, without any doubt, that she wasn’t wearing panties. She purred at him, moaning as her hips pumped back and forth. Both her hands reached for his impressive cock, stroking it.
Fully erect, Terry sported a little over eight inches in length, but the thickness of his cock made it look incredibly huge. The blond nymph’s manual efforts made him grow even bigger.
“Cock,” his client moaned as she impaled herself on his hard member. “I… need… cock!.” Jessica bounced up and down on his shaft, slamming down, hard, with ever every word.
“Cock,” she chanted, moaning. Her hands rubbed his chest, biceps, and shoulders. “Cock, cock, cock. I want your cock.”
“No fair,” Paige’s lilting voice said from behind him. Terry felt her hands caressing him. “Santa, I want to tie you up and have my way with you.”
The dark-skinned beauty didn’t wait for an answer. She plucked the blindfold from the couch and tied it around his face, covering his brilliant, sparkling eyes. Then, she deftly tied Terry’s ankles and arms to the chair, all while her blond friend, lost in lust, rode the stripper. Replacing his Santa hat, she said, “Get off my present, you slut. It’s my turn.”
“Oh, fuck!” Terry mock-protested when Jess climbed off his cock. It was covered in her slick, horny juices.
“I’ll just sit on the couch and watch, while I play with my new toy that Santa brought me.”
Terry was going to say something funny, but it came out as “I…ooohhh, fucking hell, that feels good.”
A hot, warm mouth engulfed his shaft, lunging up and down, sucking powerfully. Glad that his hands were tied behind the chair, Terry gripped the chair’s back, marveling at how amazing the woman’s oral talents were. Then, he heard the buzzing of a vibrator, the sloshing sounds of Jessica fucking herself with it, and her sighing moans.
“Suck his cock while I fuck myself. Oh, that feels so good. When I cum, I’m going to fuck you again. Do you want my cunt, mouth, or my ass? Oh, fuck.”
Terry groaned when Paige’s mouth stopped pleasuring his shaft. Then, he felt hot, nude flesh wrapping around his cock.
