Santa Puppeteer Novels & Stories

Caroline appreciated and looked at the other side of the card. A big fat man was in Santa dress, ‘Papa’ was written on his stomach on which Artemis smiled. He used to become Santa for Artin all these years, and he used to believe that it was real Santa until he caught him red-handed last year. Artin was standing in the middle holding his hand, and then Caroline in the corner, who was also looking like a big fat lady with a big stomach. “Sweetheart, but I never became Santa for you.” Caroline giggled, pinching his cheek. “Do you think I look like this? Hmm.”

And through the pain, he also recalled how he and his wife had worked to make those dreams come true for their little boy. “You could get her a stuffed puppy with a note that Santa will bring her the real thing as soon as the puppy’s ready for a new home,” he suggested although he hated doing that with all his heart. Sparkle tipped her head to one side and studied him, a wide smile on her face. God, when she smiled, her eyes shone and something inside him fisted into knots. “A note from Santa himself? Wow… Kaleb, that’s a great idea. I think Haze would love that he’s going to make a special trip just for her.”

What followed was Christmas morning chaos Charlotte opening presents with the enthusiasm of someone who’d been personally deprived, James watching from Seraphine’s lap with wide eyed confusion, wrapping paper everywhere, the particular joy and exhaustion of young children experiencing Christmas. “MAMA! DADA! Look what Santa brought!” Charlotte held up the large dollhouse she’d been requesting for months. “It’s PERFECT! Santa knows EVERYTHING!” “Santa is very observant,” Damien agreed, already starting to assemble the dollhouse which had approximately four thousand small pieces.

“Will survive without Santa.” I played my ace. “It would mean everything to them. Especially the sanctuary refugees who've been through so much trauma. Seeing their strong Alpha being silly and kind? That teaches them that strength and gentleness can coexist.” Christian's resistance crumbled visibly. “This never gets mentioned again after the holiday.” “Promise.” Lie. I was documenting everything. Diana produced a professional Santa costume from nowhere. “You planned this,” Christian accused. “Obviously. I've known Sophie for months now. This was inevitable.”

“There will be hundreds of elves assigned to your shop, Ms. Fizzlestitch. You’ll be in charge of supervising each of them so every doll is crafted just as you would have designed it yourself, but you won’t be left to labor so intensively all alone. Surely you can see the value in that? With our system, you’ll be able to make thousands and thousands of dolls each year.” Serendipity was not listening. In fact, she had tuned him out from the moment he had begun to speak. She would let nothing this strangely dressed man claiming to be from the North Pole said persuade her from changing the course she had embarked on so many years ago. Pozzletot squirmed, as if to say she should consider the offe

Tiny Fae stretched her hands high, falling to reach the ledger she wanted, even standing on a stool. “Seems like you need help?” Santa asked, from the couch, his eyes lingering too long at her bubble size butt. He had Little Missy on his chest, sucking away on his titties and yet, he wanted Tiny Fae. Tiny Fae blushed hard as her pussy clenched. Santa’s deep voice was everything. He wasn’t the Santa with a big tummy and while his beard were as white as his hair, he was irrevocably handsome.

I put my hand over hers. My mouth opened and closed again. "Hey, that can't be your kid. That kid looks like atleast six if not nine. Aren't three years old suppose to be toddlers or something. Unless she cheated on-" The Santa weird guy cut himself off because of the sharp glare he received. I could see some gears turning in his head as he spoke again. "But then again if it is your kid we are talking about I won't even be surprised if the kid was born with a height considered good for a six year old." He shrugged.

Help. Hey everyone, I need help. Two days ago, my five-year-old sister said she saw Santa Claus in our house, but her description doesn't match the traditional image at all. She said this "Santa" had long, spider-like fingers, too many joints, crawled like a four-legged animal, and after climbing out of our chimney, it just stood silently in the corner of our living room, watching us for an hour. Most importantly, when I asked if this "Santa" had a gift sack, she said no. Just a lumpy, wrinkled, moving sack on its back.

On the coffee table, daddy Santa finds everything his special girl has left out for him: milk, cookies, and a pair of scissors. “I think it's daddy Santa's turn to open the gift I got him.” Daddy Santa heads to the table, picking up a cookie and inhaling it. “And what gift is that, babygirl?” I walk over to the couch and sit down, spreading my legs, showing him the makeshift, bright-red ribbon panties I crafted for my pussy. “Eh eh,” I say, shaking my head, “Daddy Santa needs to open it to find out.” He picks up the scissors and comes closer, planting himself between my open legs and kneeling before me. His fingertips graze the glossy paper,

But tonight, exhaustion mixed with a restless heat low in her belly, making her shift uncomfortably. "Dory, still at it? The reindeer need their rest, and so do you." Santa's voice boomed from the doorway, warm and gravelly, like a hearth fire. At 50-something in appearance but timeless in spirit, Nicholas Claus filled the frame, broad-shouldered, belly rounded from centuries of cookies, his white beard trimmed neat, eyes twinkling with that knowing glint. He wasn't the jolly myth; he was real, weary from the endless rush, shoulders carrying the weight of a world's wishes.