Page 44 of Kit
Truthfully, I had the cutest boy of all. And since Kit was mine, for now, my opinion counted most.
In the locker room, Kit helped me get the fake stomach fastened and my trousers up over it. The seamstress had madevery baggy drawstring pants just for this purpose. They could be worn with or without the jolly tummy.
The beard went on next. Kit fluffed it up and pressed the mustache into shape.
“Total package,” he commented.
“Ho ho ho.” I patted my stomach.
When it came time for my announced appearance, Kit slipped out the side door near the front.
Next thing I knew, people were cheering. “Here comes Santa!”
I gave my speech and sat on my elaborate throne. I saw a lot of familiar faces around me and in line. But the face I focused on was Kit who perched on a stool at the bar swinging his legs. His smile made his face shine. He met my gaze and lifted his juice drink to toast me. He looked happy and proud.
Then the real work began.
This was the last Christmas party of the season. It was only a few nights before Christmas and people were off work for the holidays. The line was the longest I’d ever seen. The club steamed with hot men in all states of dress.
Carols played but they were industrial enhanced with tempos and beats specific to dance to.
Every size and shape of man sat in my lap and had their picture taken. Some couples came up and took a knee each.
Every few minutes, I checked up on Kit, who sat at the bar watching it all.
I opened my bag and gave away gift after gift. Tonight, it was candy canes and little stuffed bears wearing miniature Santa hats. Everyone wanted one. One of the bouncers assigned to watch over me kept refilling my bag from a supply behind the stage. All the decorations, including the big tree, fogged my vision. I felt like I was in a dream.
When I next looked back at Kit, some leather daddy I didn’t recognize was talking to him. Kit’s body language was hunched in, but he did nod and appear to be speaking to the daddy. I knew his polite stance. A protective tension came over me.
I wanted to get up, but I couldn’t. Another person came to sit on my lap and tell me all the naughty sexy things he wanted in his stocking.
After that photo, I looked back. The leather daddy was gone, and Kit sat alone. He saw me and nodded, giving me a thumbs up. He had been a member here for some time. Of course he could take care of himself. But the urge to protect him remained. He had told me several times he had a bad boy reputation because of one incident. The rougher daddies would be attracted to that and having spent the last few days with him, it was not what his little craved.
Kit quickly absorbed every gentle gesture I gave. He was a boy who was starved for love. I was hungry to give it.
At one point, I looked back at the bar and Kit wasn’t there. I searched the dance floor, the tables, the booths and as far down the hall toward the stairs as I could see. No Kit.
My stomach became filled with knots. It shouldn’t have upset me. He knew his way around. This was his territory as much as mine or anyone else’s.
Grudgingly, I turned my attention to the next customer in line. My eyebrows rose toward the brim of my furry-edged cap. It was Kit.
“Little boy, come sit on Santa’s lap. You look like a very good boy and all ready for Christmas.”
Kit bounced forward, grinning. “I am, Santa.”
He hopped on my lap and all was well as he fit himself into my arms in our familiar way. He smelled of apple juice and his sweet mango shampoo. I couldn’t help flashing back on imagesof last night, helping him off with his underwear, using my mouth on him. My cock firmed between my legs.
I cuddled him up as he whispered in my ear. “Some of these guys are pawing my Santa. I don’t like it.”
I whispered back. “Who were you talking to at the bar?”
He giggled. “He was my daddy for about two days a year ago. He wanted to know what I’d been doing.”
“He seemed interested in you.”
“He was.” Kit leaned his head on my chest. “I wasn’t.”
“Good.” Louder, to show I remained in character, I said, “And what does this sweet boy want for Christmas?”
