m/m Ho, Ho, Hole

[londonboy]

I knew it was strange – a thirty-three year old man writing a letter to Santa Claus - but it had been a lifelong dream of mine to meet the legend.  I had nothing to lose . . . and a lot to gain.  I also knew St. Nicholas had a lot to gain from our meeting, too.  It would be a win-win.  So, I wrote a letter and mailed it on December first.  It asked for one thing and one thing only.  I requested that Santa make my house his last stop on Christmas Eve.  I told him I realized I was asking a lot, but that I would have hot cocoa and cookies waiting . . . especially made for him.  I had no idea how long it would take him to deliver presents all over the world, but I’d be waiting.

Around three in the morning, as I was sleeping on the sofa in the living room, I felt a rush of cold air and heard boots lightly hitting the floor.  I opened my eyes and quickly sat up.  There he was – the man of my dreams . . . well, almost.  Full belly, red rosy cheeks, spectacles on nose, long white beard, and the red velvet suit I had envisioned for so many years.  He allowed me to take him in for a full minute.

“Ho, ho, ho!  Merry Christmas, Andrew,” the man said in his grandpa-like jolly voice.  “It was a strange thing you wanted for Christmas, but here I am . . . you are my last stop of this Christmas season.  I did, however, bring you another little gift.  What’s Christmas without presents, right?”

Santa held out a small wrapped box, which I took and immediately tore off the paper.  It was a ring – a simple gold band with three small diamonds embedded in it.  It was beautiful.  I knew it would fit perfectly before I even put it on.  I stared at it on my hand, marveling at its beauty, and then I looked back up at St. Nicholas.  

“Thank you, sir,” I said, shyly.  “I have a gift for you, but first . . . I thought we might have some hot cocoa.”

“That sounds nice, Andrew.  The last few stops have been in some pretty cold places.  Even the reindeer didn’t like it,” Santa replied.

I went into the kitchen and ladled up a big mug of cocoa – scooping it from the pot on the stove.  This was my grandmother’s special recipe.  It had been simmering for hours.  I also grabbed a plate full of cookies – another recipe of my granny’s – and returned to the living room.  Santa was sitting by the fire in one of the matching wing-back chairs.  I handed him his first gifts – finally getting to be extra close to the man.  Our hands touched as I passed the mug and this excited me beyond belief.  I resisted the urge to bend down and kiss his face, for I knew that time would come . . . eventually.  Our eyes did meet, however, and I saw the gentle, loving, father figure of all the hundreds of stories I had read about the man.  I definitely had a thing for daddies, but I also had a special dream for Santa.

“This is especially good cocoa, Andrew, and the cookies are delicious.  It makes it feel even more like Christmas . . . the most wonderful day of the year,” Santa said, smiling.  

I took his empty mug and returned to the kitchen to refill it.  When I returned, I was happy to see my early morning guest had devoured all the cookies.  He took the mug and sipped away.  I went and sat in the other chair . . . across from him.

“It is so cozy and warm, here, Andrew.  You have made a lovely home,” Santa said, looking around.  “Now, why would you want me to make sure you were my last stop of the evening?”

“It’s a little . . . um . . . complicated, sir,” I replied.

“Andrew, I’ve known you all of your life.  I can recall all the things you have asked for over your numerous years of gift requests.  I know you by what you want.  There’s nothing you can’t share with St. Nicholas,” he answered back.

“Well, sir, I have a major crush on you.  I always have,” I said – turning bright red.

“Trust me, Andrew, I knew that already.  The letters you’ve left by the fireplace in recent years left nothing to the imagination,” Santa said, chuckling like a wise grandfather.

“Um . . . sorry about that.  I just wrote what I felt,” I said, turning even redder.  “So, when I was younger it was fine for you to be this rotund, jolly, old man . . . as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I needed since I never really knew either of my grandfathers.  But now that I’m older . . . and I’d like to think wiser . . . well…”I said.

“Well what?” Santa asked, but I didn’t get the chance to reply.

Suddenly, the man in the red suit flew out of his chair onto his hands and knees on the floor.  The cocoa mug went flying and shattered against the stonework around the fireplace. It was like a big spring in the seat of the chair had been released and sent him sailing into the air.  I waited.  I could tell the bearded elder man was unable to move – his entire extra padded body was tensed beyond belief.  Santa was also panting like he was about to give birth . . . which he was, in a way.  A bone chilling deep moan erupted from the man’s mouth and, I have to admit, it turned me on.  I took advantage of the fact he could not move and advantage of the silence, once his moans had stopped.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking you could use a revamp, Santa . . . you know, upgrade your image for this century,” I said, slowly – letting him continue to take deep breaths.  “When’s the last time you got to try something new.  I mean, you’ve been this jolly, overweight, gift-giver for a really long time.  So, I thought it might be fun to help you become what I would want Santa to look like.  I actually think you’re going to like the results as much as I will.  There’s going to be a little pain, I’m afraid.  My grandmother’s recipes can only be used once, magically.  I’ve been saving that cocoa recipe and the cookie recipe for many years . . . just for this moment.  Try to relax, Santa . . . it will help with the transition.”   

An even louder moan escaped the man’s throat, uncontrollably.  It was harsh . . . deeper . . . and much more powerful than it had been just seconds ago.  I was tempted to unzip my pants and get some release while I watched the show, but I somehow knew, instinctively, I must wait.  I had been pretty specific in my plans for the magic in the drink and food – so I definitely anticipated what was to come.  As the breaths of the man got deeper and more powerful, his body heaved up and down – making him look like he was doing yoga moves.  It was when one of the moans actually turned into a loud, hair-raising growl that I knew the change was imminent.  Sure enough, the man went silent and I heard red velvet begin to tear.

Santa’s shoulders widened first.  Even through the thick material of his coat, I could see his deltoid muscles beginning to balloon out.  He seemed to be adding about two pounds of muscle to his body every minute or so.  Soon, a big gap ripped open at the center of his coat.  Lats and traps were clearly growing right along with his shoulders and the man was already too wide for his heavy winter coat to contain him.  I saw through the grandfatherly white t-shirt he had on under the coat – that fat was slowly turning into hard muscle.  Bulges were starting to pop up along his back like popcorn reaching that magic heat.  I let out a gasp when the white t-shirt split down the back, too, revealing my first glimpse of new Santa muscles.  My pleasure level went off the charts when two thickening horseshoe triceps burst through the sleeves of the jacket.  

“Ho, ho, fucking hell, Andrew . . . this feels so good.  This makes me feel fucking fantastic,” Santa’s new balls-tightening voice boomed into the room.  

That almost made me lose the load of cum that had been building up inside of me for the entire evening.  Not only had Santa’s voice changed – sounding more manly than James Earl Jones and Barry White put together - but I could also tell he would no longer be the sweet, gentle, grandfather figure of years past.  Instead of St. Nicholas, we were now going to have an elder St. Nick Fucking Walker – massive beyond belief and cocky as hell.  Just what the hot cocoa and cookies had ordered.  The sound of ripping material continued to fill the room and Santa’s widening, newly bulging back was revealed even more.  I could tell the short chubby man was growing taller, too.  The bottom of his pants had pulled from his heavy boots, now showing monstrous calves where smooth twigs used to be.  And then the man raised his newly mammoth body, so he was kneeling on the ground in front of me.

“Time for Father Christmas to show off, little Andrew.  Let’s take a gander at the mammoth, merry freak-mas you’ve created,” the man said as he lifted his enormous body to a standing position.

Sometimes, you can wish for something for so long and for so hard that when it actually comes your way, you can end up being disappointed.  You can be sad because half the fun was the anticipation . . . the looking forward to the present.  This was not one of those times.  Santa stood up and his head almost brushed against the ceiling.  The man had grown . . . into something closer to Santa Hulk instead of Santa Claus.  The hat was still on his head – as if I had told him he could leave it on for what was to come.  His shirt and coat, however, were completely gone – disintegrated into scraps of material because there was no way they could even begin to stretch to cover what had grown beneath.  Conveniently – for it was sexy as hell – his black leather suspenders had not snapped in two.  The leather had stretched to accommodate his new size and ran the length of his now freakish muscular torso.  Take the most jacked-up super heavyweight bodybuilder you had ever seen and combine him with the largest, bulkiest strongman powerlifter you had ever seen and you’d begin to understand what was standing in front of me.

“Fucking Christmas hell, Andrew . . . it looks like someone has been the best boy in all the land because he’s been given the biggest present, ever!” Santa said, looking down at his own body.  “I’m bigger than my sleigh, the unending sack of toys, and all the reindeers put together!  Hell, I’ll be carrying everything from now on as I jump from one country to the next.”

It was true . . . St. Nicholas now looked about twelve times his previous size.  He made the Abominable Snowman look like a kitten.  Santa’s midsection was still poking out, but now it was hard-as-hell, roided abs which would clearly be impervious to sledgehammers, jackhammers, or even medieval battering rams hoisted by twenty men.  It was the kind of stomach that screamed ‘punch me if you dare’ but also warned that the big man couldn’t be held responsible for what happened to your fists if you did.  Arms the size of ten country hams put together hung down on either side of the elephant-of-a-man before Andrew.  They were the kind of muscular, bulging arms that made you want to ask for a Christmas present made from iron – because you knew the guy was going to bend and rip apart an I-beam to make the gift right in front of you.  Santa’s legs had ballooned with so much thick muscles that the only thing left of his pants were some red, skimpy, Daisy Duke-like shorts held up by the suspenders and by the fucking enormous yule log snaking across the front.  It looked like the man could produce a white Christmas for half the globe with just one hefty explosion of that giant hose.  Even though I had no idea how the old Santa had magically come down chimneys, it was quite clear – because of shoulders now as wide as country estates – the man would most certainly completely destroy entire buildings as his delts ripped through brick, concrete, and even steel.  One glance at the man’s ginormous pecs and equally huge nipples made me want to immediately suck on my own thumb.  It was partially because his hefty chest made me instantly revert back to childhood, but it was mostly because of how small, weak, and insignificant it made me feel.  Santa Daddy’s colossal pecs made you instantly know there were more powerful things in the world than war, famine, and evilness.  It was clear that if Superman had been real, this was the kind of chest he’d be begging for from Santa.  Even in the midst of my feeble attempt to prevent myself from blasting off a thick, hot load of muscle-Santa induced eggnog, I marveled at how well I had done at creating the Santa of my dreams.

“Look what you’ve gone and made me do, little Andrew,” Santa boomed – looking down at me over his wire-rimmed glasses.  “I’ve done blown up something monstrous . . . something freakish.”

A giant hand grabbed the front of my nightshirt, twisted, and easily picked me up off the floor – feet immediately dangling back and forth.  It seemed like slow motion as my puny body went skyward so my face could now be even with the chiseled face of the elder man.  I rose so effortlessly into the air, I knew there was now the kind of power in Santa’s arm that was usually saved for weapons of mass destruction.  I was like a piece of lint he was pinching off of his suit.  It took nothing to pick me up . . . Santa’s new body was as powerful as it was big.  I could tell the fact that my entire grown-man weight didn’t register at all to the man’s arm was a surprise.  St. Nick curled me up and down a few times just to confirm how easy it was.  Santa let out a laugh, but it wasn’t jolly . . . it was more like a snicker of pleasure.  I was then hoisted into the air, my head smacking against the ceiling since the muscled man had forgotten how tall he now was.

“Well, for fuck’s sake, when did the room shrink,” Santa said, laughing and lowering me back down so our faces were even.  “So, you like your Santa Claus triple extra-large, huh, Andrew?  You want your Daddy Christmas able to uproot a thirty meter giant Norway spruce with just one yank, don’t you.  You’d like me to be Kris the fucking Hulk instead of Kris Kringle, right?”

“Yes sir,” I said, staring at the colossal biceps holding me in the air.  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

When a man takes you as his own, it’s not with a gentle peck on the lips or a romantic light smooch.  No, when a guy covered with more bulges than a mountain range decides to claim you, it’s more like a bulldozer plowing through a small shed.  Santa’s scruffy, rock-hard face slammed into mine and a tongue as powerful as a giant drill pried open my mouth so he could suck in every molecule of my body.  He instantly controlled every possible part of my being – my cock shooting even harder than I ever thought it could.  My sphincter relaxed completely – totally prepared to take the giant Christmas tree of a cock that now filled Santa’s skimpy shorts.  It was clear that St. Hulking Nick could not have cared less if I wanted to be his or not . . . it simply didn’t matter at that point.  Santa wasn’t handing out gifts, anymore, he was taking them.  And it seemed that I was number one on his list.  As we kissed, the big man moved us over so my back was against the wall . . . and then he pressed his giant body against mine, locking me in place.  I was now his little pancake, being compressed against concrete and plaster.  The deep throat cleansing never stopped – it was like his tongue now reached all the way down inside me and even controlled my cock.  I was like some small wind-up toy in his hand and he was about to bust all of my springs from cranking me up too much.  Santa was now huffing and puffing like some enormous steam engine getting ready to shoot from the station.  I could hear the reindeer on the roof reacting to the grunts of pure pleasure emanating from the giant man who would clearly no longer fit in the sleigh.  It was as if Prancer, Vixen, Rudolph, and the others wanted some of what I was getting.  It wouldn’t have surprised me at all if they had.  Santa’s huge, hungry, manly hand was down my pants and tugging mercilessly on my balls.  I was just some plaything for the big man, now.  He knew he was making me happy, but that didn’t really matter to him – he just wanted to please himself . . . and I was simply part of the journey.     

“Hell, forget the fucking cookies and milk, this is the present Santa’s really wanted all these years.  I’ve just never been man enough to claim it,” the huge man said, in between sucking the breath out of me and exploring every part of my throat.  “That all stops today, though.  Thanks to you, Andrew.  Who knew we both wanted the same fucking thing for Christmas.  I’m not going to be some passive-aggressive holiday gramps from now on.  When I come to the house of some guy who’s been naughty, I’m not leaving a lump of coal.  I’m going to first punch through the front door to scare the hell out of him . . . forget this coming down the chimney like some timid ghost.  I’m going to make sure grown men are pissing themselves before I leave their house – scared shitless . . . and me knowing for sure they’re going to be nice from now on.  I’m no longer this jolly old man who charms his way through life . . . no, I’m going to twist wrenches, shake the foundations of houses, and toss men around until they see that Christmas is about giving and not receiving.  Well, it’s going to be a lot about receiving, in some ways, though.  I think this big old Santa is going to need to leave a lot of his holiday cheer in asses both near and far, if you know what I mean, Andrew.  I mean, if Santa is only going to come once a year, then he’s going to want to leave a lot of his warm milk sloshing around inside guys all over the world.”

It’s amazing how you can keep yourself from orgasming even when every sexual fantasy you’d ever had was coming true at one moment.   I had dreamed about a dirty St. Nick for most of my life – having realized that I was drawn to the idea of a bad Santa way more than a good one a long time ago.  I needed a Kris Kringle that was huge, sweaty, powerful, and a lover of all things raunchy.  The reality was a hundred times better than anything I could have ever imagined.  There was just one part to my dream that had yet to come true . . . but that was about to change.  It was as if some unwritten list in my head had been read by Santa without me even knowing it.  Hulk Santa was steps ahead of me and I had a feeling it would always be that way.  St. Nick pulled his huge body away from mine, holding me in place against the wall by leaving a big hand pressed against my chest.  He looked into my eyes, a grin across his face that was clearly jolly in a pornographic way.

“Say goodbye to your place, Andrew,” Santa bellowed.  “Take a good look around at the old useless life you get to say farewell to, tonight.  This old man has given out more presents than he could even begin to count, but tonight he’s taking one home for himself.  Later on, my North Pole is going to be stuck so far up inside of you, little man, you’re going to think we’re both one-and-the-same.  You’ll be living with bad old St. Nick from now own.  I’m going to take the leftover cocoa and cookies in the kitchen and we’re going to feed it to my reindeer.  Before we leave your house for the last time, Andrew, old Rudolph and the rest the gang are going to look more like fucking muscular wooly mammoths than they do reindeer.  They’re going to need to be huge and powerful to pull this gigantic body of mine . . . and the massive sleigh I’m going to create using the metal frame of your house.  You’re going to love watching me make steel do as I say . . . and then you’re going to get to sleep soundly under my big arm as we fly home.  How does that sound, little man?”

“Like the best Christmas ever,” I replied.

“So many holes for me to stuff, Andrew . . . and so little time.  I’m thinking the elves are going to freak the hell out when they see my new humongous body.  They’re so small . . . even more so, now.  I think we’ll stop somewhere on the way home and I’ll pick up some new helpers.  The elves are good craftsmen, but they won’t be able to satisfy humongous St. Nick.  Let’s get some big men to please me when we get back home.  Let’s place you on one of my giant shoulders, Andrew, and let’s start our new adventures by me punching through the ceiling.  Merry Fucking Christmas to All and to All a Sex-Filled Night!”         
 

[ploder4]

There was a story out there tha had the reindeer get buff and threaten Santa with gym time at the end of it.   

I could see a continuation of this in a similar way.  The reindeer buff up into anthropomorphic muscle gods and they all fuck their way around the world.  They probably have a contest to see how many they can fuck on that night.

[Bear]

That was a fun new take on this trope!  

...and then I saw this on Instagram and it got even better. 

[RockyDragon]

amazing story! Always enjoyed thisss. We need sum santa f inggg honestly lol

[wil]

This Story needs a sequel!

[wil]

Still hoping for a sequel.

[Jakob78]

Merry Christmas LB