The heavy velvet curtains parted with a slow, deliberate hiss as the CEO stumbled through them, his once-pristine Armani suit now wrinkled, his tie loosened like a noose he’d barely escaped. The air inside The Candy Cane Lounge hit him like a wave—thick with the scent of vanilla and something darker, muskier, the kind of perfume that clung to skin after hours of sweat and sin. The dim crimson lighting cast long shadows across the plush red and gold wallpaper, the flicker of fake candlelight making the whole place pulse like a living thing. His breath came in ragged bursts, the weight of the year, of board meetings and betrayals and numbers that never quite added up. It pressed down on him like a physical force.
Then she appeared.
A Santa so filthy she made the North Pole look like a convent. Her dress, if you could call it that was little more than a scrap of red velvet clinging to her curves, the white fur trim doing nothing to hide the way her tits threatened to spill free with every movement. The corset cinched her waist obscenely, pushing her hips out in a way that made his cock twitch behind his zipper. Her stockings were torn at the thighs, the garters barely holding them up, and when she sauntered toward him, her black stiletto heels clicked against the hardwood like a metronome counting down to ruin. Her lips, painted the same shade of red as her dress, parted in a slow, knowing smile.
“Well, well,” she purred, her voice like honey laced with whiskey. “If it isn’t the big bad CEO, all alone on Christmas Eve.” Her gloved fingers trailed up his chest, lingering over the top button of his shirt before flicking it open. “You’ve been a very naughty boy this year, haven’t you, Daddy?” The word Daddy rolled off her tongue like a promise, her breath hot against his ear as she leaned in. Her hand dropped lower, palm pressing against the bulge in his slacks, her fingers tracing the outline of his cock through the fabric. He groaned, his head falling back against the wall as she gave him a slow, teasing squeeze. “Mmm, feels like someone’s been very stressed. But don’t worry.” Her lips brushed his earlobe, her tongue darting out to flick it before she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Santa’s got just the present for you.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Her fingers curled around his tie, yanking him forward with surprising strength as she turned and led him down a narrow hallway lined with doors. Each one was adorned with a wreath, the scent of sex and spiced rum growing heavier with every step. His pulse hammered in his throat, his cock straining against his pants, the fabric suddenly too tight, too restrictive. He could hear it—the low, rhythmic slap of flesh, the muffled moans and giggles spilling from behind the doors. His breath hitched when she stopped in front of the last one, a gold star hanging crookedly from the knob.
With a flourish, she pushed it open.
The room beyond was a fever dream of red and white. A massive circular bed dominated the space, draped in silk sheets the color of fresh cream, the pillows scattered like afterthoughts. The walls were lined with mirrors, reflecting the scene from every angle, dozens of women, all dressed in variations of the same slutty Santa outfit, their bodies on full display. Tits spilled from corsets, thighs glistened with oil, and more than one pair of fingers were already buried between legs, their owners biting their lips as they watched the door open. The air was thick with the scent of arousal, the musk of pussy and the sharp tang of lube mixing with the cloying sweetness of peppermint. A Christmas tree in the corner blinked lazily, its lights casting flickering shadows across the writhing bodies.
The CEO froze, his cock throbbing painfully. There were so many of them. A blonde with tits so big they looked ready to burst from her dress was already crawling toward him, her red lips parted, her tongue glistening. A brunette with a piercing in her nipple lounged on the bed, her legs spread obscenely, her fingers circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes. Another, petite, with ink-black hair and a collar around her throat licked her lips as she knelt by the foot of the bed, her hands clasped behind her back like a good little slut waiting for orders.
“Merry fucking Christmas, boss,” the Santa from the hallway murmured against his neck, her hands sliding down to his belt. She made quick work of it, the leather hissing as she pulled it free, then popped the button of his slacks. His cock sprang free, already hard and leaking, the tip glistening with pre-cum. The blonde on the floor didn’t hesitate. She surged forward, her hands gripping his thighs as she took him into her mouth in one smooth motion, her throat opening around him like a second set of lips. The heat was unreal, her tongue swirling around the underside of his shaft as she took him deeper, her nose pressing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock.
“Fuuuck.” The word tore from his throat, his fingers tangling in her hair as she bobbed her head, her lips sealed tight around the base. She hollowed her cheeks, her throat working around him, and when she pulled back, her lips popped wetly, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to his cock. She grinned up at him, her mascara-smudged eyes gleaming. “Tastes like stress, Daddy,” she cooed, before diving back down, her hand cupping his balls, her fingers rolling them gently.
He barely had time to process the sensation before the brunette on the bed crooked a finger at him. “C’mere, big boy,” she purred, her voice husky. “Let me fuck that fat cock.”The Santa who’d led him in gave him a little shove, and he stumbled forward, his cock slipping from the blonde’s mouth with a wet pop as he fell between her legs. The brunette didn’t waste a second. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his ass as she lined him up with her pussy. He groaned as the head of his cock pressed against her, her folds slick and burning hot. She was dripping, her juices coating him as she pulled him in, her cunt swallowing him inch by inch.
“Oh fuck” she gasped, her nails raking down his back as she took him to the hilt. Her pussy clenched around him, tight and relentless, her inner walls fluttering as she adjusted to his size. “Yeah, just like that, fill me up, Daddy.” He started thrusting into her, she rocked her hips to meet him, her tits bouncing with every movement. The blonde didn’t stay idle. She scrambled up, pressing her body against his back, her hands snaking around to grip his chest, her fingers digging in as she ground her own pussy against him, her clit rubbing against his pants.
The brunette rolled him over. The CEO’s vision blurred. The room was a kaleidoscope of flesh, tits, asses and mouths, all of them moving, all of them his. The petite girl with the collar had climbed onto the bed, her legs spread wide as she fingered herself, her free hand tweaking her nipple, her dark eyes locked on him as she moaned. Another Santa, this one a redhead with freckles dusting her cheeks, knelt beside the bed, her tongue flicking out to lick his balls as the brunette rode him, her mouth hot and wet. The sensations were too much, the tight grip of the brunette’s cunt, the redhead’s tongue swirling over his sac, her fingers teasing his asshole.
“Gonna cum,” he grunted, his hips snapping up to meet the brunette’s movements, his cock pistoning into her. “Fuck, I’m gonna.”
“Do it,” the brunette panted, her pussy clenching around him. “Cum in me, Daddy, fill me up.”
The words sent him over the edge. His orgasm hit like a freight train, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her, his cum flooding her cunt in thick, hot spurts. She screamed, her back arching, her own climax ripping through her as she ground down on him, milking every last drop. The blonde next to him whimpered, her fingers flying between her legs as she came, her juices dripping down to her ass. The redhead moaned around his balls, her tongue lapping at the mess as his cum started to drip from the brunette’s stretched-open pussy.
He barely had time to catch his breath before the room erupted.
The petite girl with the collar was suddenly in his face, straddling his chest, her pussy hovering over his mouth. “Eat me, Daddy,” she demanded, her voice a breathy whine. “Lick my cunt while I ride your face.” She didn’t give him a choice. She sank down, her thighs clamping around his head, her pussy pressing against his lips. He groaned, his tongue flicking out on instinct, tasting her sweet and tangy, her arousal dripping onto his chin. She rocked her hips, grinding against his mouth as he lapped at her, his tongue delving between her folds, finding her clit. She tasted amazing, her moans growing louder, her fingers tangling in his hair as she fucked his face.
Beside him, the redhead had climbed onto the bed, her mouth wrapping around his cock, which impossibly was already hardening again. She sucked him deep, her throat working around him as she swallowed, her hand cupping his balls, her fingers rolling them gently. The brunette, still trembling from her orgasm, collapsed beside him, her fingers finding his nipple, twisting it just hard enough to make him hiss against the petite girl’s pussy.
The room was a symphony of filth. The blonde was now on her knees beside the redhead, their mouths taking turns on his cock, their tongues swirling together as they kissed over the head, their lips slick with his pre-cum. Another Santa, this one a tall, statuesque black woman with gold hoops in her nipples straddled his thighs, her ass pressing against his cock as she leaned down to kiss him, her tits smothering his chest. “You like that, baby?” she murmured against his lips, her hand sliding down to grip his shaft, guiding it toward her pussy. “You like all these sluts worshipping your big dick?”
He couldn’t answer. His brain had short-circuited, his body nothing but nerve endings and need. The petite girl on his face came with a shuddering cry, her juices flooding his mouth as she rode out her orgasm. “My turn,” the red head panted, climbing over him, her pussy hovering above his cock. She sank down without warning, her tight cunt gripping him like a fist. She was smaller than the brunette, her walls clenching around him in waves as she bounced, her tits jiggling with every movement.
The CEO’s hands found her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrust up into her, his cock pounding her relentlessly. The room spun, mouths and tits and asses, all of them touching him, all of them his. The black Santa leaned down, her tongue flicking over his nipple before she bit down, the sharp sting of pain mixing with the pleasure as the redhead’s pussy milked him. He could feel it building again, his balls drawing up, his cock swelling inside her.
“I’m gonna—fuck” he groaned, his hips stuttering as his release crashed over him. His cum shot out in thick ropes, filling her pussy as she kept riding him, her own orgasm triggered as his cock pulsed inside her. The blonde was there in an instant, her mouth wrapping around the head of his cock, her tongue lapping up the cum that dripped from him, her eyes locked on his as she swallowed every drop.
The world blurred. The room was a haze of red and white, the scent of sex and sweat and cum thick in the air. His body was spent, his cock finally softening as the last of his orgasm drained from him. The Santas surrounded him, their bodies pressing against his, their lips brushing his ears as they whispered filthy promises.
“Merry fucking Christmas, boss,” the first Santa murmured, her fingers tracing across his chest. She leaned down, her tongue flicking out to lick his earlobe. “Next year, we’ll make sure you’re even naughtier.”
He couldn’t even laugh. His limbs were lead, his vision swimming as the room tilted. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was the blinking Christmas tree, its lights flickering like the aftershocks of his orgasm, red and white and perfect.
