Page 3 of On Santa's Lap

“While we wait for Dennis to return, what is the plan?” They run me through the basics of how the line will form and how Mrs. Claus will give the kids a candy cane after they tell me what they want. Their parents will have an exit as their kid reaches the front of the line that takes them to the other side to grab their little one.

Dennis finally returns with a cup, and I head into the changing area. I take a little longer because I’m in a full damn business suit that I probably should have started undoing before he came back.

Once I step out of the changing room, I ask, “How do I look?” I wink at Mrs. Claus, wanting to gauge her reaction the most. She’s frowning, and I’ve lost all the bravado I had a moment ago.

“Like so many women are going to want to sit on Santa’s lap instead,” Dennis says, chuckling and shaking his head.

“We need stuffing,” Lola hisses, staring at my flat stomach. That is blatantly obvious even in this wide suit.

“Come on, wife, isn’t it your job to get me fat before the holidays?” I tease, thinking about how insanely fat my cock is right now and if it wasn’t for the cup, my dick would be a full wooden bat right now.

“I hope that cup works,” Marianne huffs, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow.

“There’s only one way to find out.” I take a seat on the nearest seat in the prep area and then bring Lola down on my lap. “Can you feel me?” I ask boldly.

“Um… how about we put the stuffing in first, and then we’ll find out? Right now, there’s room for them to fit on your entire lap.”

“Oh.” She opens my Santa jacket and grabs the pillow and slides it under the suspenders, bringing her tits bouncing in my line of sight. My entire body is fighting off the desire to carry her out of here. The added padding pushes her a little closer to my knees and away from my cock, which is covered by the baseball cup.

“Better?” I ask, knowing it doesn’t work where she’s concerned, but it’s not about us. We’ll rectify that problem later.

“It will do for the kids.” That’s an excellent answer.

“Showtime at the North Pole,” Marianne says.

Chapter Two

Lola

When my sister begged me to take this job, I had no idea that I’d be working alongside her insanely gorgeous boss, who has obviously been flirting with me. I can’t tell if he’s just a natural flirt or if he’s interested in me, but the blush on my face won’t go away.

How am I supposed to behave naturally in front of all these kids when my panties are soaked? I know it’s tomorrow, but I doubt I won’t be just as aroused by him then as well.

Will anyone notice with my short costume? How come Mrs. Claus’s costume is so provocative, anyway? I remember Mrs. Claus being a granny, but I’m like the Kris Kardashian grandma.

Well, it doesn’t help that my pretend husband looks like a superman under the suit. Seriously, I couldn’t get that padding in there fast enough, but I’m sure it’s not going to help with all these thirsty women going to be out there.

“What’s wrong, wife?” he asks me, sliding up behind me before we reach the exit.

“Nothing’s wrong, husband,” I tease, purring out the word husband.

“Be careful, Ms. Sellers. I don’t know how well this cup will hold.” The grunt sound that comes from his voice does things to me that aren’t fair. Why is that sound so damn hot? He’s in a Santa suit and that’s not sexy, but this man makes it look sensual, dirty.

“Luckily, this is a dry run before tomorrow.”

“Still, four hours is already feeling like my breaking point.”

“Do you flirt with all your employees, Mr. Nicholas?” I question, flirting in return.

His hand comes up to caress my chin. “Only you. The one who’s going to be mine.”

“What if I said I was taken?” I challenge.

“I’d say I’d have to kill him, put you on my naughty list, and take you over my knee.” I flood with desire, soaking my panties instantly, and I’m grateful I’m wearing tights.

“Let’s welcome Santa and Mrs. Claus,” Marianne announces on the microphone. We run-through what will happen, and then after, we figure out what works best, then Mr. Nicholas calls an end to the run-through.

His assistant, whom my sister seems to keep looking at every few minutes, says, “Trent, the investors say that they can meet in the next hour.”

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