Page 39 of In Stockings
“There’s more,” I say, snatching the floppy hat off my head and tossing it towards Craig.
“I want the skirt,” Archie says, and I slither it down my hips, stepping out of the skirt and swinging it around my head before throwing it at Archie.
Samson chuckles. “Astrid, you are possibly the world’s worst stripper, but fuck am I hard.”
“Should I stop?”
“No!” they all say together.
I spin around to face them, hands on the hem of my top. Slowly I drift the hem up my body, giving them a flash of my silky red bra with its tufts of fur around the tops of the cups.
“Fuck, yes,” Craig says, “what I always knew every little elf was hiding under her outfit.”
I slip the top over my head, where it gets stuck, and I have to tug it off with a huff. Not very sexy, but my alphas don’t seem to care. I’m in silky underwear and stockings, after all.
“I like this present,” Archie smiles wickedly, “I’d like to unwrap it even more.”
“How about …?” My gaze drifts to the ceiling as my alphas stalk towards me.
“She went out like a light, and we’ve told her not to go creeping about tonight because if she bumps into Santa, he’ll be mad.”
“That’s very cruel.”
“What’s crueller is how blue my balls have been thinking about you these last few days, Omega,” Samson says, his hands landing on me first. In the next minute, I’m surrounded by all three, their hands stroking my skin, squeezing my backside, groping my tits, and wriggling me out of my underwear.
My eyes float to the top of the tree, and I have a feeling this is going to be the best Christmas ever. Better than when I opened that pink bike on Christmas day. Better than when I saw a shooting star I was convinced was Santa’s sleigh. Better than all of the Christmases that have come before.
10
Lyra
I wake up.
Is it Christmas yet?
I creek open an eye.
Daddy said if I spotted Santa, all his magic would go wrong. I have to stay in my bed with my eyes closed until Christmas.
Unless there’s an emergency like I lose my bunny or I have a nightmare about spiders again.
My bedroom is all grey, and I peek at my clock.
5.47.
I think that is morning.
I fling back the cover and jump out of bed.
I run down the corridor and into my daddies’ giant bedroom.
There are four people sleeping in the bed.
Daddy, Dada, Pop and TwinkleToes. Her pretty black hair is spread across the pillow like a princess.
She looks like a princess and smells like one too.
But she’s not; she's an elf. And an om … om … something my daddies seem really pleased about.
