Daemon Way

So be good, for goodness sake!

"Kids," Wes complained, finishing off the jug of beer and motioning for a third. "They have no idea how easy they have it today, or how much money we spend on them." He and his wife had a spat over that very topic just that morning before he'd headed off to work. She wanted to buy the boy another video game. Eight-nine dollars. The kid had just turned eight for Chrisake, and he already had at least half a dozen video games!

"Tell me about it. They're spoiled rotten, every one of them. Not like when we were kids," agreed Keith. Keith was a good neighbour, friend and colleague, ten years older than Wes. Nothing was as good as the good ol'days thirty-five years ago when he was an eight-year-old.

"Christmas is the worst. And birthdays. They're not satisfied with one gift. They expect half a dozen."

"Yeah. When I was a boy, I got one gift from my mom and dad, and one under the tree from Santa, and once I learned there was no Santa there was only one gift at Christmas."

"And they're not satisfied with just any gift either. Whatever comes on the TV they gotta have, hang the expense. And the Goddamn wife agrees with them!"

"Yeah, it's gotta be expensive, and store-bought. One year I suggested we make our kids Christmas gifts. To hear my wife's reaction you'd think I was in partnership with Scrooge and Marley. Homemade gifts. Don't think anyone gets those anymore, anywhere. Kids don't even get clothes anymore, or anything practical. Toys, toys, toys, that's all. When I was a kid, I got socks and underwear from my grandparents, and something useful from my parents, like a new pair of boots."

"And if you did want a toy or something special, you had to earn it. Nowadays kids think they have a God-given right to whatever they want. My kid doesn't even know what the word chore means."

"Chores! Now that created character. Nowadays character is something they think can be taught at school."

"Yeah. Kids today have no respect, for their elders, for their teachers, for their parents, even for each other. You should hear how they talk to each other."

"Tell me about it. I know. It's a shame, that's what it is. We were taught manners and respect, and we got our backsides paddled if we forgot."

"Goddamn right. Take my kid. If I tell him to help his mom bring in the groceries or something, or to sit up straight and get his elbows off the table, or whatever, he just sits there and ignores me as if he's deaf. Kids today just don't listen."

"And if they do listen, they sass back."

"Exactly. My wife will tell our kid to take his feet off the coffee table and he sasses her right back, tells her he's not hurting it. And she fucking takes it! He gives her backtalk and she bends over backward to please him! She even does his homework projects for him, if you can believe it! The other day he had to make a cardboard castle for school, and she spent hours cutting it out and colouring it and gluing it together. Mind you she'd done that ever since he started school. She even helped him colour pictures in Kindergarten for Chrisake."

"Yeah. Kids today are just plain lazy. All they do is spend their evenings and weekends in front of the TV watching cartoons and dumb sitcoms."

"That's where the trouble comes, right there. TV is a bad influence on kids. That's where they learn to sass and talk back. Every sitcom has smartalecky kids who tell their parents where to get off, and the Goddamn parents smile and take it. Maybe that's where my wife learns her behaviour too, cause she's just as bad as the wives on TV," Wes observed wryly.

"My wife must watch the same TV programs," Keith observed, taking a long draught of beer. "And another thing, if kids aren't lounging around watching TV, they're playing those useless video games."

"Exactly. No wonder we're raising a generation of overweight children. The only part of their body that gets exercise is their thumbs."

"Well, they certainly don't exercise their brains. Kids today have no imagination whatsoever. When I was a boy, we made up our own fun. A crooked branch and we had a gun. A piece of leather, a sling shot. We didn't need expensive, store-bought toys. We didn't need organized sports. Somebody had a ball, somebody a bat, and we played baseball. Today everything has to be done for them."

"Let's face it, we're raising a generation of self-centred, helpless, demanding brats."

"A generation of sissies," observed Keith. "What they all need is a kick in the pants and a good paddling when they misbehave. But try that today and you'll get reported to social services so fast your head will spin. Teachers can't even use the strap these days."

"That's the problem. No discipline. In my day if we got in trouble at school we got it twice as bad at home from our dads. The government has taken even that right away from parents. I'm at my wit's end how I can get the message across to my kid these days."

"Perhaps what you need is an outside consultant."

"The last thing I need is some mambie-pambie social worker telling me what to do," Wes snorted.

"No, no social worker. What you need are two guys I know. They could, you know, stop by, give the kid's backside a good paddling, maybe pretend to be thieves or something and figure if they can't steal anything they'll make it worth their while teaching the kid some manners."

"Huh," Wes snorted. "In my day all you needed to make a kid behave at this time of year was the suggestion he might find a lump of coal from Santa in his Christmas sock."

"That could be it! They could pretend to be Santa and one of elves. It's perfect actually. Stan, this friend I know, is, well has a belly that does shake like a bowl of jelly. A false beard and he'd be a perfect Santa. And his buddy, Norm, is short and skinny. A pair of pointed ears and he could dress up as one of Santa's elves."

"Yeah, right," Wes chucked, humouring his drinking buddy. Keith always did have some far out ideas, especially when he drank.

"Seriously. You know, Santa spying on kids who are naughty and nice and making a list and all that Christmas crap. And the real beauty of it is that with them disguised, the kid would never be able to ID them as the ones gave him the paddling he deserved. I know the guys would be glad to help. They feel the same way as we do about kids today. You wouldn't even have to pay them."

Keith had hit on one big advantage to the plan. A guy could be sent to jail, or worse, made to attend those touchy-feely counselling sessions, for spanking his own kid. Disguised, what is the kid going to say, he was spanked by Santa and his elf? In the state of indignation he and Keith had worked themselves into and after three jugs of beer, it was sounding like one damn good plan actually. Of course his wife would never go for it. She was part of the problem, a big part. They'd have to pick an evening she was out. Like the night she had her ladies reading club meeting. That would give them a good two hours to shape his son up, and from the way his wife was spoiling him, they'd need the full two hours.

Tuesday evening Wes paced the floor nervously. His wife was taking forever to leave. It always did take forever for her to 'put on her face' but this evening it seemed to be twice as long. At first he'd worried the weather might turn nasty and they'd cancel the reading club meeting after all the trouble he'd gone through. Then he'd worried she might just decide not to go out. She was like that. You never knew when she'd change her mind. Now he was worried she might still be there when Stan and Norm showed up. Actually, that worried him too. He hadn't met these two guys. Could they really pull it off, pretending to be Santa and his elf and spanking his kid and teaching him to show some respect? They could treat it like it was a big joke and foul things up so the kid's behaviour would be worse than it was now. Or maybe the reverse. Maybe they could take this whole discipline thing too seriously. He wanted his kid taught a lesson about proper behaviour, not hurt. Keith did have some pretty weird friends.

It had seemed a great idea at the time and he'd told Keith to go ahead and make the arrangements, but he hadn't exactly been thinking straight, and he had been angry with his wife. He could still call it off. If they were already dressed up and on their way he could give them twenty bucks for their trouble and tell them to go have a few beers on him or something. He glanced at his watch. She should be leaving!

"Is everything all right?"

Wes jumped and spun around. "Yes, yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"You've been acting strangely ever since you got home. And that's the tenth time you've looked at your watch."

"Oh, ah, just had a rough day at work. You know, it's still on my mind. And the watch hasn't been keeping time today. I think the battery is dying."

"You said everything was fine at work today."

"Yeah, well, it was. It's just, you know, the pressure is on right now, with Christmas holidays coming up and everything. Rush, rush, rush. Everyone wants everything done yesterday."

"Yes, everyone does get in a panic this time of year. Why don't you and Timmy play a game of cards or one of his video games or something? It will get your mind off work."

"Yeah, sure," Wes replied with a forced smile. Like that was ever going to happen. He didn't understand a thing about video games and didn't want to, and Timothy, which was the name they'd decided on, not Timmy, had even less desire to play a game of cards with him, or to spend any time with him whatsoever. That was one of the kid's problems. "You'd better be going."

"Yes, I don't want to be late."

"Right, it wouldn't be good to be late. You'll be home your usual time, ten-thirty?"

"Yes," she said, looking at her husband suspiciously. After twelve years of marriage, you got to know your spouse's quirks, and Wes was acting particularly quirky. "Why do you ask?"

"Not asking. Just thought, you know, being close to Christmas and all maybe you had something special planned tonight."

"Oh, I'm sure there'll be eggnog and some Christmas baking, but we don't have anything out of the ordinary planned."

"Same for my evening, nothing out of the ordinary planned. Just probably watch some TV. And oh yeah, see if Timothy would like to play a game of something. That was a good idea you had"

"There's eggnog in the frig and Christmas cake and cookies on the counter. Be sure Timmy doesn't have too many sweets or eggnog. You know how his face breaks out."

"Right, I'll see to it."

Giving each other a peck of a kiss, Wes sighed with relief as she headed out the door and a few minutes later pulled out of the driveway. Now he just had to worry about the decision he'd made last Friday. The clock in the hallway chimed eight. It was too late to cancel. Maybe when they showed up he should give them forty bucks instead of twenty and sent them on their way. Or maybe he could watch for them and meet them outside and make sure they understood what it was that he was expecting from them, and what it was exactly that they planned on doing.

Before he could decide which of the two to do, the door opened. He spun around, fearing his wife had come back for whatever reason. Two men stepped into the house. That should have set off warning signals right there. Strangers don't just open the door and walk in like that, but he was too surprised to think of that. The first of the men was almost as wide as he was tall, five-foot-nine [1.75 m] and well over three hundred pounds [140 kg], with a very full and very white and very real-looking beard, and dressed in a red, fake fur-trimmed suit and black boots and Santa cap and all. He even had rosy cheeks, crinkling, blue eyes, and a red nose. Beside him was his pal, who as Keith had said was very short and very skinny. Actually, he couldn't be more than forty pounds [20 kg] and maybe three-foot-four [1 m], about the same height and weight as a four-year-old. Keith had failed to mention he was a midget! He was dressed in a white shirt with a green vest, red pants that extended half way between his knees and his ankles, and a green alpine hat and pointed shoes. He'd even put on a pair of fake pointed elf ears.

"Holiday greetings, Wes," said the big man, stepping forward and extending his hand. He even had a deep, rich voice as one would expect Santa to have.

"Ah, greetings, Stan. That's an awesome beard."

"Why, thank you," Stan replied, fondly puffing up his beard. "But the name is Kris, not Stan."

Wes paused, surprised for a moment, and then laughed. "Oh, of course, I get it, Kris Kringle. That's good." He looked over, or actually, down, at the man standing beside the pretend Santa.

"This is Woody, my top elf for missions like this one."

"Ah, missions like this one?"

"You know," Kris said, placing a finger along the side of his nose. "Making my list, and checking it twice."

"Oh, yeah, of course."

"Speaking of which, where is the boy in question?"

"Ah, downstairs. In the family room. About that, I wanted to be sure…"

"Why don't you go down and join him, and we'll be down a minute later so the two of you can be surprised together?"

"About that, about what you're going to do…"

"Don't worry," Kris said, placing a hand on Wes's shoulder and turning him around. "I know exactly what you asked for this Christmas, Wes," he said, his eyes twinkling. "To teach your boy to show a little respect and responsibility and the importance of being a good boy. That's what the spirit of Christmas is all about, isn't it? Rewarding the good, and punishing the naughty."

"Ah, yeah," Wes replied as Kris guided him to the stairs and gave him a little nudge.

Well, he reasoned as he headed down the stairs, he hadn't sent them away nor clarified just what they were doing to do exactly, but they seemed to understand. They'd certainly gone to a lot of trouble. They'd dressed the parts and were acting in character so they weren't the Doofuses that he suspected they might be. Keith had to have explained to them just what he had in mind. If things did begin to go awry, he could still call a stop to it. Timothy was laying on his stomach on a pile of pillows on the floor of the family room, eyes glued to the TV screen, his thumbs tapping buttons on the remote control, a half-empty bowl of chips beside him. He sat down on the sofa chair. Taking the pillows off the sofa and putting them on the floor was one of the things that irritated him, and that his wife let the boy do. He wondered how he might bring that to Stan's-Kris's attention.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Kris bellowed as he stepped into the room a few minutes later, causing both of them to jump. "I knew this is where I would find you, Timothy."

Timothy looked up at the huge man, and then at the man beside him, and finally at his father in surprise and bewilderment. He looked back at the man. Who was this joker? He'd called him by name. Wes had noted that too, and was impressed. Keith had to have told him his son's name, and he'd said Timothy, not Timmy. That was good.

"I've been watching you," Kris said, wagging his finger at him. "Making my list, and checking it twice. I'm afraid this year you've been a rather naughty boy." He wagged his finger again.

Timothy's eyes widened, and he glanced at his father again. "This is a joke," he said, a slight, uncertain smile curling his lips. This was just the sort of thing his father would do. He probably thought he still believed in Santa. That was one of his father's problems. He didn't understand him, and he didn't take the time to try to understand him. All he did was find fault, just like his own father. No matter what he did, he was never able to please him.

"No, this is no joke," Kris said, walking across the room. "But you're not as naughty as some boys, not by a long shot, so I've decided to come here and give you a chance to change before Christmas."

"Oh. Oh yeah. Right." Timothy replied. This was his father's dumb idea.

"To begin with, when you talk to an adult you stand up."

"Huh," Timothy chuckled, "even an adult dressed up in a stupid…"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence. With amazing speed for a man his size and age, Kris bent over, grabbed the boy by the neck, and raised him in the air, his feet a good foot and a half [50 cm] off the floor. Given that the boy was four-foot-two [1.27 m] and just over sixty pounds [28 kg], being a bit on the chunky side, for Kris to do so with one hand showed amazing strength for an old, fat man. It caught both the boy and his father by surprise. Kris slowly lowered him back down and released his hold.

"This is serious."

"Yeah, right," Timothy replied sarcastically as he rubbed his neck. Picking him up by the neck like that was uncalled for.

The slap to his face was resounding and left a red imprint on his right cheek. A trickle of blood ran over his lower lip and down over his chin where an upper tooth had bit into his lip. The slap was even more of a surprise to the boy and his father and Wes feared that he'd misjudged the man from his pleasant demeanor upstairs, though the boy had been sarcastic and had deserved it.

Timothy felt his lip with the knuckle of his index finger of his right hand and stared at the smear of blood. He looked over at his dad, anger and hurt replacing his surprise. Adults didn't slap kids these days. "This is so lame."

"Lame? Before this evening is over you're going to be lame, lame from spending all evening on your knees kissing ass until you learn some respect, boy."

The boy rolled his eyes. This schtick was so like his dad. Honestly, having a man walk into his house pretending to be Santa Claus and talking about being naughty and nice. That was so dumb. His father had no idea what it meant to be naughty in today's world. He expected kids to be like when he was a kid, ages ago just after the dinosaurs died out, seen and not heard, jump when they're told to jump, treated like slaves. He'd heard the spiel a hundred times before and he'd only turned eight. If his dad knew some of guys that attended his school, who swore and talked back to the teachers, who bullied other kids for their lunch money or to give them the answers to their homework, who lied to their parents and stole, then he'd know what being naughty really meant, and that was just his classmates in grade three. His father didn't know nothing about what naughty was. And this goof ball and his sidekick in the stupid costumes, they had to mental cases.

That was where his thoughts were cut off. Kris suddenly reached out and grabbed him again, not by the neck this time, but by the nuts. He had his fingers around them and he was squeezing, squeezing hard. He opened his mouth but all that came out was a high-pitched squeak. The pain was extreme, like nothing he'd ever felt or had ever imagined. He'd been hit in the nuts once in gym class that had crumpled him up in a ball. This was worse. Way worse. His eyes were almost popping out of his head and they were beginning to water. He wasn't crying-it was because of the pain.

"That's perhaps a touch too rough," Wes said quietly. He'd quickly realized Stan-Kris was not a man you wanted to anger, or to tell what to do or how to do it, but this was his son. He'd said a paddling to his backside, not this. The kid had been a touch insolent, talking to adults like he just had, but this…

"That's the problem, isn't it, Wes? Everybody today is afraid of being too rough. I bet in your day your dad didn't hesitate to take you out to the woodshed and give you a good licking with a birch for speaking when you hadn't been told you could." He hadn't actually, Wes thought, but that was how it had been for his dad, and his dad hadn't hesitated to swat his behind with his hand on occasion. Today a parent didn't dare touch his kid. And kids today didn't seek permission to speak. Blame TV sitcoms for that. And mothers. "Parents today have to use kid gloves. Well, tonight the gloves come off. Actually, right now the clothes come off. Your dad has had enough of your naughty ways and we're here to help him turn you around, boy. Now strip off your clothes. And you too, Wes."

"Now, just wait a minute here," Wes said, getting to his feet. He and Keith hadn't talked about anything like this.

Kris sighed wearily. "I can see where your kid is getting his attitude." Suddenly swinging out, he slapped Wes across the face, hard, cracking his lip. It immediately began to swell. "Tell you what we're going to do instead to teach you both a lesson. You get over here boy and strip your dad naked. Now!" he ordered angrily when the boy just stood there, causing boy and dad to jump.

He was trying to teach the boy to do as he was told. That had to be his reasoning for his last two demands, Wes figured, reaching up and touching his swollen lower lip. It was an unusual thing to order the boy to do, instead of say telling him to go get him a beer, or hand him the bowl of potato chips or something, but then maybe it had to be unusual to make his point. Slapping him and slapping the boy was extreme, but not that bad of a thing when you came down to it. How many times had he wanted to slap the boy for not listening to him or doing what he asked the first time around? He and Keith had talked about the advantage of someone disguised as Santa being able to get physical. Timothy of course was balking. He wasn't accustomed to being ordered to do anything. That was the problem today. Wes had to admit Kris had a point.

"Goddamn you boy!" Kris barked. "Kids today just don't listen. That's what your father's talking about when he complains about you being naughty." Grabbing the boy, he hauled him over to the sofa chair, and sitting down, he roughly unbuckled his pants and pulling down his fly yanked his trousers down, the boy too surprised by his rough handling to do anything. Tossing him over his lap, he slapped his behind, not a gentle tap but a resounding wallop that made the boy cry out with pain and surprise. He'd never been spanked before, never, not for the naughtiest thing he'd ever done. Slap after slap struck his tender backside causing it to sting much like his hand had stung the time he'd accidentally grabbed a handful of thistle. A dozen slaps later he was allowed to stand, his backside by then burning like it was on fire, tears trickling down his cheek, tears of pain and of embarrassment. Wes felt sorry for the boy, but then he'd asked for it. Actually, he'd felt an exhilaration as he'd stood there watching Kris spanking his boy, doing exactly what he'd wished he'd been able to do many times.

"Now listen carefully. Whenever I tell you to do something, you'll snap to it and do it, instantly. Hesitate or refuse and I'll tan your ass each and every time, without the underwear on after this. Now get your little ass over there and take off your father's clothes."

More out of shock than out of obedience, the boy pulled up his trousers and stepped over to his father, his backside smarting like it never had before. He slowly reached up and began to unbutton his shirt. It felt weird unbuttoning his father's shirt and removing it, and unbuckling his pants and pulling down his zipper, especially pulling down his zipper. For some reason that seemed dirty, and for some reason that sent a shiver up his little wiener. His dad slipped off his slippers and stepped out of his trousers, and raised one leg and then the other for his son to remove his socks. He stood there looking down at his boy in only his boxers. Being undressed by his eight-year-old son had felt weird to him too, and having the boy pull down his fly had been dirty, and had sent a shiver up his prick also. That had been disconcerting and a surprise.

"Keep going, all the way. Haven't you seen your dad naked before?"

He shook his head as he looked up at the man cautiously. See his dad naked? Eewww! He could not help wrinkling up his nose in disgust.

"That's another problem with youth today, no respect for age. Everything is about the young now. Young is beautiful. Bah! Old people are beautiful too. Now strip off your dad's boxers and take a good look at him."

Timothy reached out and drew his father's underwear down, not wanting his backside spanked again. Wes stepped out of his boxers and glanced down at his son standing there with his shirt half out of his jeans and his fly wide open as he stared at his nakedness. The boy had obeyed, instantly and without questioning. That was how he'd wanted him to behave. This was extreme, but it had worked. He had to give Kris credit for that.

Timothy stared at his father's naked body, not having any other choice. Santa, the guy pretending to be Santa that is, was so wrong. Old wasn't beautiful. His father's chest was flabby, and hairy, not a rich, thick mat of hair like you sometimes see on men's chests in ads, but straggly and patchy, and his belly was round and fat, not as round and fat as the man pretending to be Santa, but fat nonetheless, from too many beers and just sitting and watching the sports channel. He'd seen pictures in magazines and on TV selling cologne and underwear and stuff and beautiful men were young, with muscular chests and flat stomachs. He didn't know about their wieners. They never showed them on TV or in magazines. His dad's was big, really big, and sort of wrinkled, and so were his nuts, and he had a big patch of ugly hair above it. His legs were hairy too, and sort of skinny compared to his belly, and his toes were sort of cramped up. Beautiful his dad was not.

"Feel how nice and big your dad's cock is. Yours will be like that someday."

He was only eight but he'd heard that word on the playground and knew what it meant. Touch his father, down there? Nobody was supposed to touch you there. His hesitancy was rewarded with a solid slap on his behind, renewing the painful, prickly feeling as if he'd been slapped ten times, not once. He immediately reached out and slipped his fingers about his father's wiener, disgust winning out over pain. It was big but otherwise didn't feel any different from his own. He wondered how it felt to have something that big dangling between your legs when you walked.

"And his balls. Cup them in your fingers and see how heavy they are."

Timothy didn't hesitate this time. They were heavy. The immediacy of his response Kris, Woody, and Wes all noted, the first two glancing at each other and smiling. Wes didn't know what to think. His eight-year-old son was cupping his balls in his hand, and had just held his cock. He should be glad the boy had learned so quickly to listen and obey, but he was obeying orders that were filthy and wrong and making him feel guilty even though he wasn't the one giving the orders.

"By the time I'm done this evening your kid will be doing exactly what he's told, immediately," Kris observed, interrupting the thoughts of both son and father. "He's going to be the perfect little suckhole. In fact you can start right now by sucking your dad's hole to show him the respect he deserves from a son." Timothy glanced up at the huge, bearded man. Except for his stern, angry glare he did look exactly like Santa, but he sure didn't act like him. Not the Santa he'd learned about from television and books. He looked at his father, confused, wondering why this man was acting so dirty and mean when he should be clean and jolly, wondering what they meant, suck his hole? One hole did come to mind, but that couldn't be right. As if reading his mind, Kris suddenly grabbed his father and spinning him around, bent him over. "Now do as Santa told you. Suck his hole dammit."

No way! That he was not going to do. "You're no Santa," he cried defiantly, leaping forward and grabbing the man's beard and yanking down on it.

Crying out in pain, Kris grabbed him by the arm and half-dragged and half-carried him over to the sofa chair. Sitting down once more, he roughly unbuckled the boy's belt again. The boy's fly still being open, the man yanked his trousers down, and this time, the boy's white briefs besides. Wes stared at his depants and debriefed son, too shocked, too frightened, to react. Why hadn't his beard been pulled off? Keith had said Norm would need a fake beard, or he thought he had. No adhesive could be that good. His rough handling of the boy had been a surprise too, though the boy had asked for it, defying him and yanking on his beard, even if his demand had been obscene and unreasonable.

He hadn't seen his son's naked backside since he'd been a baby getting his diapers changed. It was small, compact, and smooth and a pale pink. The large hand descended and connected with a loud smack, and when it was raised, the ugly red imprint of a palm and five fingers was plainly visible on the boy's right cheek. The hand rose and felt again, leaving an identical imprint on the left cheek. The boy inhaled sharply, trying not to cry out, but the man was not holding back. Slap after slap struck his backside, causing him to cry out, begging the man to stop, pleading with him, but he didn't stop, not until the boy said the magic word, not please, but that he'd suck his dad's hole.

Wes stood there awash with guilt. He knew he should have done something. Many times he'd wanted to spank the boy for not listening to him, or for having to tell him two or three, even four times before he'd do what he'd been told. But this, this was different. It wasn't just a spanking. It was savage, brutal. He didn't have to hit the boy that hard. And what he was ordering the boy to do was wrong. As his son approached him, his pants and underwear pulled up again, his fly still open, his cheeks streaked with tears and his eyes brimming, he stared down at the carpet too ashamed of his spanking and crying and too mortified what he was about to do to look up and meet his father's eyes. Wes could feel his boy's embarrassment and revulsion and he knew he should stop this now. This was not at all what he'd imagined. Yes, the boy was listening and obeying, which was what he wanted, but what he was being asked to do was wrong, very wrong. It was filthy and perverted. It was sick.

And then Kris was bending him over and pulling apart his ass cheeks and he felt his son's hot breath against his buttocks, and then against his asshole, and then boy's hot, moist mouth pressing against his anus and it was too late. He felt the suction drawing the air out of his ass as the boy sucked in. This was so wrong! This was not how he'd wanted it to happen. He felt something wet trickling down the right and left cheeks of his buttocks. The boy was crying. Wes was filled with remorse.

Timothy could not stop sobbing once he started. His dad's bumhole didn't taste bad, not like he'd expected, but what he was doing was bad. A guy didn't suck on another guy's bumhole. It was filthy. It was shameful. It was humiliating. It was something older kids on the playground told other kids to do as an insult, to show who was the stronger, but nobody actually did it, or was expected to. It was enough just to tell them to do it. It was embarrassing doing it in front of the two adults, and doing it to his dad especially. It was confusing too. He still didn't understand why they were making him do these things. So sometimes he didn't listen right away. Sometimes what he was being told to do was dumb, like go get his dad a beer or something while he was watching TV. He had two feet. Why couldn't he get his own beer, other than he was too lazy. There was no way his father would get up and get him a soda while he was watching television.

Other times he was doing something important or that he couldn't just stop doing that instant, like he was about to reach the next level in the video game he was playing or something and couldn't pause the program, but his dad didn't understand stuff like that, and didn't care. He was expected to do it now, because he said so. Other times he would have done it without being told, like pick up his toys before supper, but because he'd been ordered to do it and because he'd been treated like he was a little kid he'd resisted. He still did it, all of the things he'd been told to do, maybe not the first time he was told, but he still did it. This on the other hand was filthy. Why was his dad making him do stuff like this? Why wasn't he stopping these men? Kris finally put his hand on the boy's shoulder and drew him back, interrupting his thoughts.

"Well, I see you haven't turned your ol'man on, but never mind. You will before the evening is over."

Timothy had no idea what he meant by that, but he was too frightened to ask and too afraid he'd be asked to suck his dad's bumhole some more.

"The evening is over," Wes managed to say. He felt stupid and ashamed, and filthy, and vulnerable standing there buck naked in front of the two men and his son and having just had his asshole sucked by his own kid. "The boy has learned his lesson."

"Oh no, the evening is far from over. And Timmy has much more to learn, much, much more." Wes's heart sank. He had worried that was going to be the response. What was he going to be able to do against this bruiser? He was taller, heavier, and no doubt stronger, though he did seem to have a lot more flab, and he was meaner. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the midget if it came down to a physical confrontation. Suddenly realizing Woody wasn't around, he glanced about the room just as the little man reappeared. He'd found the liquor supply in the kitchen, and was returning with a bottle of rum and the eggnog and the plate of Christmas cake and pastries. Maybe they would have a few drinks and some pastries now and the two men would go on their way. He could tell them to take the bottle of rum with them for their efforts.

"Next thing you need to learn is humility, boy," Kris continued, pouring himself a half glass of eggnog and half glass of rum. "And there's nothing more humbling than to be naked in front of a group of clothed men who can see your shortcomings," he continued, glancing at Wes meaningfully. So he was being used as an example. He could see the point of that, though Kris, or Stan or whatever the man's name was, hadn't had to add the insult which only the three of them could understand anyway. "Strip your boy as naked as you are."

Wes hesitated only for a moment. Kris's eyebrow had barely begun to rise and the fingers in his right hand to curl and he was on his knees unbuttoning his son's shirt. The boy had learned to listen and to obey. To do otherwise would undo what Kris had already achieved. Besides, engaging in a physical confrontation and losing would be even worse in the eyes of his son and his swollen lip was still throbbing from the slap in the face he'd received earlier. As he removed the boy's shirt and then unbuckled his trousers and pulled them down, the boy having never pulled his zipper back up, Wes tried desperately to think of a way out of this. If he could just get Kris out of Timothy's hearing range he could offer him money besides the booze and thank him and tell him he could take it from there. As Timothy stepped out of his jeans and Wes pulled off his socks, he saw the gleam in Kris and Woody's eyes and he had a sinking feeling that money and booze were not going to be the solution. How could he have let Keith talk him into this? He began to worry.

Stepping out of his briefs, Timothy automatically began to hold his hands in front of him but a quick motion by Kris behind his dad's back told him that the man disapproved and he moved his hands back away and stared down at the floor, fully aware the men were staring at his privates. The man was right. This was humiliating, standing there naked before these two men, and before his father even if his father was as naked as he was. And it was still confusing. He had initially blamed his father for setting this up, and was still sure he had, but if he had, why was he being treated the same way as he was? That did not make sense.

"Now isn't that a nice looking little weenie. Right tasty-looking isn't it?" he asked, glancing at Woody who laughed and wiped the moustache of eggnog and rum off his upper lip with the back of his hand. "Okay boy, I want you to bend over and grab the cheeks of your ass and pull them apart so we can see your virgin pleasure hole."

"That's dirty," Timothy said. It was and the words had sprung out of his mouth automatically.

"Did I ask what you think about it? Do you really think I care what you think?" Kris asked coldly.

Timothy wanted to say the real Santa would care but he felt a tremor of fear in his heart and found he could not speak. His bum began to smart from memory without even being touched. Why wasn't his father saying something? Why wasn't he doing something? This so was wrong. He was supposed to be protecting him.

"Are you deaf, boy?" Kris bellowed. "I thought I'd taught you what happens when a boy doesn't listen, when he doesn't do what he's told to do immediately."

"You mean give you a thrill?" Timothy asked with a flare of anger and sneer of contempt, unable to take any more. He'd been warned at school about men who liked to do nasty things to young boys, and some of the older boys had taken great delight explaining some of those nasty things to the younger boys at recess. He suspected the man wanted to do more than just look at his bumhole. One of the older boys had said sticking their dick up a boy's bumhole gave the men a thrill, though just how a man did that and what he meant exactly about being a thrill he wasn't sure. He knew it was a dumb thing for him to say, but if he was going to get spanked again for not obeying, he had nothing to loose, and he was right what he said. Besides, he was angry. Angry at the stupid fat man for making him do these things, and angry at his dad for doing nothing.

"Yeah, it'll give us a thrill," Kris said. "Now do it."

Timothy knew if he didn't he would be spanked for sure. You could see in the man's eyes that he was eager to spank his bottom. It was a surprise he hadn't done it already. Well, he'd made his point and there was nothing more he could do. Grabbing his bum and pulling it apart, he bent over. He didn't see how that was a thrill. It was an insult to show someone your ass. And embarrassing. Especially your bumhole. That was private, even more private than your wiener.

"Yeah, that's a thrill. Now I'll tell you what I'm going to do, I'm going to give you a thrill too. I'm going to give you your Christmas present early for being such a good boy." Kris glanced over at Woody and the little man smiled and opened up the bag he'd been carrying when they'd entered the house. He pulled out what to Timothy looked sort of like a soother. Wes recognized what it was immediately, a large rubber butt plug, with a ring at the end and leather straps to secure it in place.

"Okay, that's enough. This has gone far enough. This isn't what I had in mind."

"Maybe not, but it's what we have in mind," Kris replied. He and Woody exchanged grins.

"I mean it. I want you to stop and leave."

"And if we don't?"

"You've made your point with the boy. I can take it from here. I know Keith said you wouldn't want paid, but let me get my wallet and the two of you can go have a few beers on me."

"Why go have a few beers when we got all we need right here?" Kris asked, pouring himself another drink, this time a quarter eggnog and three-quarters rum.

"Take the rum with you. Take all the liquor. I just want you to leave. Now," Wes said firmly, stepping up to the man. This was his son after all.

It was a brief struggle, and all his confrontation achieved was to frighten his son and show him what a weakling he was, though no man could be a match for the oversized Kris who used his weight to his full advantage, and his wiry sidekick who used his size and agility to his full advantage also. He had been wrong about the little man not being a concern. The Christmas tree in the family room was now leaning at a dangerous angle, Woody having hastily removed a strand of lights to tie his wrists behind his back and to bind his ankles, which left his ankles tied to his wrists. Shoving his boxers in his mouth and holding them in place with his belt, they left him kneeling there on the floor.

"Now, where were we? Oh yeah," he said, picking up the butt plug. "Come here, boy."

After what had happened to his father, Timothy quickly obeyed. Gobbing on the end of the plug, Kris bent him over and Woody pulled apart his ass cheeks. Timothy inhaled sharply as he felt the plug, slimy with the man's spit, stretch open his anus and sink up his butt. Kris looped one of the straps around his waist and the other between his legs and around his nuts, and drew them tight. With a leer in his eyes, Kris fiddled with the boy's limp, velvet-smooth noodle and his tender little nipples and caressed his plump breasts. Tugging on the boy's growing cock, he fastened his lips to one of the boy's tender teats and sucked on it while he fingered the other one. Soon the eight-year-old boy's nipples and dick were fully erect and he stood there in embarrassment before his dad and the two strangers. Never had his nipples burned and itched like they were at the moment, and though his wiener had occasionally gotten hard, over night because he had to take a bad pee, it had never itched like it was right then.

"Okay, now you go play with your dad's prick and nipples like an obedient little son, like I did with yours. I promise it'll be a lot more fun than any of your video games. In fact you should have nice strong thumbs and fingers playing that crap all day. Let's see how skilful those fingers are on your dad's prick and nipples. Stand up straight on your knees, Wes."

Wes remained squatting on his heels and mumbled a response, muffled by his boxers stuffed in his mouth. Kris walked over and yanked him up by the hair. There was enough slack between his wrists and ankles to allow him to kneel straight. Timothy knew better than to refuse or to say anything, not after having the plug shoved up his butt. He walked over to his dad and knelt down in front of him. It was embarrassing touching his dad down there, and even more embarrassing licking and sucking on his nipples, especially with the two men watching. As he pulled on his father's wiener like Kris had pulled on his, he thought about what his father had said. This isn't what he had in mind. So, he'd had something to do with this just as he'd suspected. He and his friend Keith. He tugged on his father's dick angrily. If this wasn't what his father had in mind, then it was what he was going to do.

Wes could see the boy's anger in his eyes and he couldn't blame him. He couldn't begin to imagine the boy's confusion knowing his dad had arranged for the men to teach him a lesson even if they weren't doing what he'd expected, and his embarrassment stroking his father's dick and sucking on his teat. He was so sorry what he'd done, but he'd had no idea Keith's friends were child molesters. He was sure Keith didn't know either. To his dismay his dick and nipples began to harden. That was embarrassing enough in front of his eight-year-old son without the snide comments by Kris and Woody about what sort of man got turned on by having his son mess around with him, and they were putting ideas in his son's head, the wrong ideas.

"Okay, kid, now lick your ol'man's dick," Kris ordered. Timothy could not help making a face. "Go on, you heard me," Kris said menacingly as he stepped forward.

"That's sick," Timothy responded, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Yeah, isn't it?" Kris said with a grin, glancing over at Woody and grasping his crotch. The trousers of both men were bulging. The idea of Santa and his elf getting turned on from abusing an eight-year-old boy Wes found perverse and a mockery of the wholesome man Stan was pretending to be.

"You're a perv," the boy spat in disgust, his eyes narrowing in anger. They'd had his father strip him, they'd spanked him, and they'd shoved this thing up his butt. What more could they do to him?

"Ah, such language," Kris sighed, "and such a lack of manners." As he stepped forward Timothy braced himself for another spanking. Instead, Kris turned him upside down and undid the straps to his butt plug. Yanking it out, he turned the boy over again and before he could react shoved it in his mouth and tightened the straps about his head, securing it in place. The boy squirmed and protested and sputtered as he tried to free his arms but the man held him fast, even when he began to gag and his father protested, afraid the boy was going to choke. "Now take several deep breaths and calm yourself, and quit squirming, and I'll let you go. And do exactly what I tell you and I'll take that back out of your mouth, understand?" Gasping for breath and trying not to gag, Timothy finally nodded. Kris waited another minute for the boy to calm down. "Okay, continuing playing with your ol'man's cock."

As Timothy resumed tugging on his father's cock like Kris had tugged his it began to swell again and Kris and Woody groped themselves outside their trousers as they again exchanged grins. Glancing around the room, Kris spotted the bowl of miniature candy canes on the table. Taking one, he sucked on the end, drawing it into a point. Squatting down beside Wes, who was erect by then, he took the man's bulb and squeezed it, opening up his pisshole. Taking the sharped candy cane out of his mouth, he inserted the tapered tip into the man's pissslit and eased the cane up his erect cock.

"Okay, kid, I want you to jerk your ol'man off, like this," he said, grasping Wes's cock by the base and demonstrating.

Timothy obediently wrapped his fingers about his father's swollen cock and began to stroke it, anything to get the foul-tasting plug out of his mouth. The acrid taste of shit was causing his mouth to fill with saliva which he was constantly swallowing and then fighting the urge to puke as he thought of his shit and spit pooling in his stomach. Of course his overactive imagination exaggerated the taste and amount of his shit that had been smeared on the butt plug and the amount of spit in his stomach. He focussed on his father's hot, hard cock throbbing in his fist to get his mind off his stomach and the plug in his mouth.

Despite his embarrassment and his anger, and his fear, Wes felt his desire swelling as his son slowly jerked him off. He'd done himself thousands of times as a teenager and young man, and still did it occasionally, when he or his wife didn't feel up to a fuck. Having his innocent, eight-year-old son doing him was very different, and he found to his dismay, erotic, even if it was sick. He began to inhale and exhale deeply as the pressure increased, and both Kris and Woody smiled, knowing how the man was feeling, both his arousal and his feelings of guilt and shame, and knowing too what was about to happen. Timothy was aware something was happening from his father's squirming and breathing, but of course he did not know what and continued pumping his fist up and down his father's prick. His arm was beginning to grow tired.

At last Wes felt his swollen balls constrict and his cum raced up the core of his stiff, aching cock, blasting out the candy cane like a miniature missile and spraying the family room carpet to the surprise and consternation of his son who of course at first thought his father had pissed, and then seeing that it wasn't piss, that he'd hurt his father. He'd stopped stroking his father's dick the moment he'd erupted, but in his surprise and worry had continued grasping the hot, swollen, pulsating member. His initial load having been shot, the remainder oozed out of his stiff cock and down the shaft and over the boy's still tightly gripping fingers. Wes stared down at his oozing cock and his son's fingers in embarrassment and dismay. He had just shot off a load in front of his son, and it had been his eight-year-old son who had brought him off.

"You did real good, boy," Kris said with a grin, taking an evidently well-used handkerchief from his pocket. "Here, wipe your fingers and your dad's prick off with this." Timothy did as he was told, eager to wipe off the slime from his fingers, and dismayed when his father's dick oozed out still more as he tried to wipe it off. It was slimy and sticky and clung to his dad's cock and to his fingers. Wes turned a bright red as he watched his boy cleaning up his gunk and saw the look of disgust in his eyes.

"Why don't you get the boy a drink of eggnog?" Kris suggested, turning to Woody and giving him a wink. As Kris removed the butt plug gag, Woody poured the boy a glass of eggnog, with a generous addition of rum though not enough for the boy to notice the taste, not that he was going to after having swallowed his shit-flavoured saliva for the past five minutes. As the boy downed the drink in two long swigs to remove the foul taste from his mouth, Kris removed Wes's boxer gag and before the man could speak replaced it with his cum-soaked snotrag.

Picking up the candy cane Wes had shot out of his prick, Kris motioned Timothy over and sat him on his lap, much like you see mall Santas do with the little tykes eagerly lined up to see him, and with his red suit and big white beard he looked ever so much like thousands of mall Santas around the world. However, unlike those mall Santas, most of them anyway, this Santa had a very hard and hot erection, and he took great delight in having the bare-butt boy squirming on it. He fiddled with the boy's dick for a few minutes until he had the boy hard, which made the boy squirm all the more to his great delight, and he then inserted the tip of the candy cane, using his father's cum that still clung to it as lube, in the little boy's peehole. "Now, let's add a little incentive to make this interesting," he said with a grin. Picking up one of the candles sitting on the mantle of the fireplace, he had the boy lay on his back with his legs thrown over his head and his butt raised and using spit for lube he inserted the candle up his ass, which slipped in easily after having been stretched by the butt plug, and lit it. "Now, I want you to stroke yourself like you did your dad until you do what your dad did," he instructed, "before this candle melts down and begins to burn your little ass. Understand?"

The boy's eyes widened. He had no idea that he could do what his dad had done, and of course he also had no idea that he was too young to do so himself, and he had no idea how his dad had done it. Of course not knowing any of that, he began to wank on his dick, the heat from the candle already dangerously hot in his imagination. The two men poured themselves another glass of rum, leaving out the eggnog, and sat back to watch the fun. Timothy's little dick throbbed hotly, and then went numb as he rapidly jerked it, and his little balls drew up tight beneath his dick as the candle slowly burned, the wax dripping down the candle and hardening before reaching his butt but getting closer and closer by the second. His father squirmed and screamed his protests into his cumrag gag, knowing of course the boy would never squirt and watching the flame of the candle flickering and growing closer and closer to the boy's tender backside. He began to shuffle toward his son but Kris grabbed the string of lights wrapped about his wrists and ankles and held him back.

"I… I can't do it," Timothy cried, almost in tears as the first of the hot wax reached his tender little butthole. "I… I don't know how!"

"Wank faster," Kris advised with a grin. Timothy did, his fingers a blur, his long foreskin seeming to get even tighter. His numb cock began to tingle and then the rim of his knob to burn, and then a shock shot through his body, causing it to jerk and he thrust his hips to and fro and squirmed and rocked on his back with his first ever orgasm.

"You did good," Kris said, blowing out the candle that only seconds later would have begun to sear the boy's rump. His rump felt deliciously warm, like a bun straight out of the oven, and Kris's stiff dick leaked a dollop of pre-cum with his arousal. "Pour the boy another drink of eggnog," he said to Woody, as he pulled out the candy cane. Woody of course doctored the drink, adding a bit more rum than the last time. In his relief the boy quickly downed it without noticing the difference. Besides, after what had just happened to him, his mind was still boggled. He'd never felt anything like it and it was frightening, and intriguing.

"Now, you know why you couldn't do what your daddy did?" Timothy shook his head. "Because he's a man, and you're still a boy, and there's a big difference. TV shows tend to forget that today, not like early shows where kids knew their place and producers didn't elevate them above their parents. It's no wonder kids today think the world revolves around them. But don't you ever forget, you're still a boy, not a man, understand?"

Timothy nodded, even though exactly what the man's point was he wasn't sure. Of course he was just a boy, and that had nothing to do with TV. His thoughts returned to what had just happened to his body and how it had felt.

"Now then, I bought your daddy a gift too," Kris said, walking over to the bag Woody had brought in and opening it. "He hasn't exactly been a good boy this evening," he continued, glancing over at Wes and flashing him a smile, "but I think I'll give it to him anyway because I know he means well. You know what this is?" He took out the gift and held it up. It sort of looked like a guy's thing, except it was huge, and black, and had ridges along the cylinder part. Timothy shook his head in the negative.

Walking over to Wes, Kris removed the cumrag gag. "Tell the boy what this is, and how it's used."

Wes considered ignoring the question and trying to reason with the man to stop once again, but as the man's eyebrow began to rise he thought better of it. "It's called a dildo," he explained softly. "A woman…"

"Not how a woman uses it," Kris interrupted. "The kid doesn't care crap about girls. How does a man use it?"

"A man… inserts it up his anus and… slides it in and out."

"Why?" Wes looked at Kris, uncertain how to respond. He knew why of course, but not how to explain that to his son. "Why would a man want to do that to himself?" Kris prompted.

"To… because it feels good."

"Do you like to make your dad feel good, Timothy?" The boy nodded as he glanced up at the man uncertainly, suspicious now of every question he asked. "Of course, good boys like to make their dads feel good." He tousled the boy's hair and his cock oozed another dollop of pre-cum. The boy was so damn hot-looking with his fair hair and innocent eyes and chubby cheeks and body, and messing with his mind like this besides was getting Kris hot. "Come here," he said, taking a tube of lube from the sack, "and smear this over it."

Having Wes rise back up on his knees again, Kris pulled apart his ass cheeks to reveal his butthole to his son and had Timothy insert the thick, lubed, ten-inch [25 cm] dildo up his father's ass. Wes grimaced with the pain, and with the sensation, and flushed with the embarrassment of having his son perform this obscenity on him. Pushing it in as far as he could, which gave the boy goose bumps just thinking what it must be like to have something so big and long up your bum, Timothy began to slowly slide the dildo in and out. It of course brushed against Wes's prostate, causing the man to begin to swell, much to his embarrassment and to the delight of Kris and Woody who pointed out to Timothy just how much he was pleasing his dad. Wes had never used a dildo in his life, and had never even thought about such a thing. That was something that faggots did and was disgusting and filthy. Kneeling there in the family room naked with his naked son using it on him was obscene and perverse and just the thought gave him goose bumps too, and turned his stomach. Stan and Norm, or Kris and Woody or whoever they were, were totally depraved to have thought up such a thing. Despite his thoughts and his feelings of repugnance and shame and anger, his body could not help responding to the physical stimulation, which Wes found a surprise and which disturbed him greatly.

Of course Timothy had no way of knowing this was his father's first experience, especially since he'd know what a dildo was and how men used it, and he had no way of knowing how humiliated and dirty his father was feeling. All he knew was that it was making his dad's wiener get hard, which according to the two strangers meant he was enjoying it. That his dad was enjoying what he was doing to him was surprising, and disgusting, to the eight-year-old. How could a guy enjoy having something like that shoved up his bum? Even more disgusting and disturbing, how could a father enjoy having his son doing something like this to him?

Kris slipped a cock ring over Wes's dick to keep him stiff once he was erect and poured himself another drink and sat back to enjoy the show for another minute, enjoying the father's defilement at the hands of his innocent, young son and the look of puzzlement and disappointment in the chubby cherub's face. Finally getting back up, he removed the dildo and inserted the butt plug in its place. Opening up his heavy, fur-trimmed, winter coat and removing his big black boots, his trousers, and his underwear, the man openly exposed himself to the young boy and his father. His cock was stiff and huge and thickly veined, like the dildo and almost the same size. The knob was glistening with pre-cum and he had a patch of hairs above his dick that spread up over his expansive belly like the boy's dad, except his were snow white. Smiling down at the boy and the awe in his eyes, the man chuckled. His belly did shake like a bowl of jelly.

Instructing the boy to stick the dildo up his own ass, Timothy grasped the end and placed the shit and lube smeared tip against his quivering anus without question or hesitation, knowing to resist was useless and his mind numbed by everything that had gone on that night, and by the shots of rum that had been slipped in his eggnog. His lack of hesitation did not go unnoticed by Kris and Woody, nor by Wes, who though he was no longer gagged, made no effort to protest, knowing there was nothing he could do anyway with his wrists tied to his ankles and his own mind numbed by the perversions he and his son had already been forced to engage in.

Lubed with his dad's shit and ass slime besides the grease he'd applied initially, the thick dildo stretched open Timothy's virgin opening and slid up his ass amazingly easy. His bumhole felt stuffed, like he had to go number two very bad, and didn't feel pleasant in any way. In fact when he began to slide it in and out of his butt it made his anus burn and itch sort of painfully and certainly not in a good way. After a moment, Kris ordered the boy to kneel down and lick his balls and cock while he buggered himself with the dildo. By this time the boy was so humiliated he voiced no objection, unlike earlier when he'd been told to lick his father's dick though you could see the repugnance in his eyes as he stuck out his tongue and ran it over the man's large, dangling, sweaty orbs.

Perhaps it was the memory of the shit-streaked butt plug that had been shoved in his mouth when he'd refused to lick his father. Perhaps it was the numbing effect of the abuse he'd suffered and the booze he'd consumed. Perhaps it was because he had been taught to listen and to obey without question, or maybe it was the arousing effect the dildo was having on him. It was not as humiliating nor as painful as it had first been when he'd inserted it, and was quite pleasant actually.

Wes, on the other hand, could not just kneel there and watch the abuse of his son without protest. Shuffling toward Kris and his son, he was drawn up short by Woody pulling back on the string of lights binding his ankles and wrists. Knowing that trying to reason with the man or trying to bribe him was not going to work, he instead cursed him and threatened him, calling him a pervert and molester and a bully and every obscenity he could think of and threatening what he was going to do to the man once he got loose. Watching his son sliding the large, black dildo in and out of his ass and licking the man's balls and his thick, stiff cock was obscene and disgusting, and his inability to stop it and to protect his son was humiliating and frustrating. His rant didn't change anything, and in fact, Kris and Woody seemed to enjoy his humiliation and frustration, which just made him all the more humiliated and frustrated. Finally tiring of his tirade, or perhaps as further humiliation, Woody at last removed the butt plug up his ass and inserted it in his mouth and strapped it in place with the snide observation that it not only made a good gag, but a good soother for a crybaby besides.

Looping the string of lights under the leg of the sofa, Woody slipped into the kitchen and returned a minute later with another bottle of rum. Removing his pointed boots, trousers and underwear and pouring himself a drink, he sat down in Wes's favourite chair and still wearing his shirt, vest and cap, he helped himself to the pastries as he began to wank himself and watch Kris and the boy. Despite his diminutive size, the man was well hung, his dick and balls larger than Wes's, which were slightly above average themselves. It was an obscene and absurd picture, the fake elf eating Christmas cake with one hand and stroking his large cock with the other while watching the eight-year-old boy licking the balls and stiff dick of the fake Santa while the boy's father sat there helplessly, tied to the leg of the sofa with a string of Christmas tree lights.

Timothy reluctantly sucked on Kris's large, throbbing cock, fastening his lips tightly below the knob and sucking as hard as he could, slipping his lips down until the man's cock was about to go down his throat and drawing them back up to the knob, doing whatever the man told him to, all the while remembering what had happened to his dad when he'd stroked him and waiting in fear and in dread for the same thing to happen to the man. The man's cock throbbed between his lips and seemed so huge. He wondered if the other guy and his father were watching him. He wondered what his father was thinking, him kneeling there on the floor sucking the man's cock. His father had acted angry with the man, but he'd asked him to come there and, evidently, to discipline him. He honestly didn't know what his father was thinking.

As he sucked on the man's cock, he slid the dildo in and out of his ass. His anus was burning and itching now, in sort of a painful, pleasant way. It really felt strange when the big dick model, for that was how he saw it, was right up inside him, like he really had to do number two bad, and it felt strange in a pleasant sort of way as he withdrew it, like he was doing number two, and when he pushed it back in, which was like nothing he'd ever experienced. He was beginning to understand why a man thought it felt good and he wondered if all men engaged in such a thing. His father evidently did. He'd know what the thing was and how to use it. The idea of his father doing this to himself gave him a funny feeling, sort of guilty knowing something so private, but sort of something else too, a feeling he'd never felt and didn't know the name of, sort of an excited feeling.

"I'm going to come boy, so be prepared to start swallowing," the man finally said, his voice sort of throaty.

His stuff began squirting out almost immediately and Timothy began to swallow. His stuff was slimy and gooey, the constituency reminding him of a poached egg that his mother sometimes cooked for breakfast, but sort of bitter. He didn't like poached eggs, and he definitely didn't like what the man was squirting into this mouth, but he swallowed both because he knew he had no choice. The man was gasping and snorting as if he was in pain as squirt after squirt of his thick, foul slime spurted out of his throbbing cock, some of it squirting right down his throat, the rest squirting in his mouth making him have to swallow it. Some of it oozed out from the corners of his mouth and around his chin. It was gross but it happened too fast for him to think much about it.

When the man finally withdrew his cock, Timothy could still feel his slime clinging to his gums and the roof of his mouth and in his throat. Woody gave him the handkerchief to wipe off the guy's stiff cock and when he squeezed it more of the milky sap oozed out just like his dad's cock had done. Woody removed the butt plug from his dad's mouth and told him to stuff the 'cumrag' in his mouth, and he and his father tried not to look in each other's eyes as he did so. The butt plug he was told to reinsert up his father's ass and as he did so Timothy wondered how many sons, if any, had ever seen their dad's bumhole. When he was done, they finally had him remove the dildo. His rectum felt strangely empty.

"How are the pastries?" Kris asked, his now limp dong swinging between his legs as he walked over and picked up a butter tart.

"Not bad. The cake is a little dry though."

Pouring Timothy another drink, this time half eggnog and half rum, Kris handed it to the boy who quickly drank it down to wash away the taste of the man's cum and to wash off the gunk still clinging to the roof of his mouth and his gums and in his throat. Telling Woody the boy was all his, Kris stuffed another butter tart in his mouth and sat down in Wes's chair to watch. Stepping over to the boy, Woody told him to jack him off. Timothy looked at the man blankly.

"Wank it, beat it," Woody explained, gesturing with his hand. "Like you did your father."

Timothy reached over and wrapping his fingers about the little man's stiff cock he began to stroke it. Although he stood a good ten inches [25 cm] taller than the man and outweighed him by at least twenty pounds [9 kg], the eight-year-old didn't consider overpowering him. He was not physically aggressive, and besides, there would be little point with Kris sitting right there ready to intervene. Woody sighed with pleasure as Timothy pumped his fist up and down the little man's stiff cock. It felt weird to Timothy stroking a man's wiener, and dirty, and it felt even stranger the man being smaller than himself. He wondered why the man's thing wasn't proportionately small like the rest of his body was. As he concentrated on the man's wiener and his hand, he began to feel warm and a bit light headed and he wished they could sit down.

Before long Woody was beginning to breathe heavily and to squirm. Having watched the kid sucking dick and having the no longer so innocent eight-year-old jacking him off while his father watched was hot. Telling Kris to hand him a slice of cake, Woody handed the cake to Timothy and told him to aim his cock at it. After what had happened to his dad and to Kris, the boy understood immediately what the man was intending on doing. A second later he began to squirt. The first overshot the slice of cake and landed on the floor but the rest of his slime Timothy managed to catch on the cake, or on his fingers. The man may have been little, but his nuts were not and he shot a good tablespoon of thick, creamy slime. Removing the cumrag from Wes's mouth, Kris had Timothy wipe off his fingers, which were sticky with goo, and Woody's dick and stuff the now slime-soaked handkerchief back in his father's mouth. Having tasted Kris's dick slime, Timothy could not help feel sorry for his dad.

Pouring the boy another drink, unbeknownst to him three quarters rum, one quarter eggnog, Kris handed it to him, along with the cum-soaked slice of Christmas cake. Timothy knew better than to refuse the treat. Taking a tiny nibble, extending his teeth as far out as he could so the slime didn't touch his lips, he washed it down with a large swallow of eggnog. Realizing he would run out of drink long before cake, he reversed his strategy, taking a large bite of cake and swallowing it and the slime topping quickly followed by a little sip of eggnog. Woody laughed and remarked how eager he was to eat the cake, and how fast he was becoming a cum-sucking little faggot. Although he was only eight, Timothy had heard that word on the playground too, and though he wasn't exactly clear on what a faggot was, he knew it was an insult and it was someone despicable. Gulping down the rest of the slimed cake, Timothy downed the remainder of the spiked drink. A film of eggnog and bits of cake and cum clung to his upper lip, the sight causing the dicks of the two men to twitch.

The hallway clock rang out the hour, ten o'clock. Two hours had gone by. Wes had not noticed the clock chime nine and suspected he'd been too traumatized at the time. His wife would be arriving home within half an hour. He debated if he should try to tell the men in the hopes they'd leave, but decided they might just as likely decide to stay and include her in their evening of perversion. That added a couple more worries for him to think about.

Walking over the lopsided tree, which was dangerously close to tipping over, Woody studied it for a few minutes, and then removing several of the ornaments and some of the garland, returned to Timothy and proceeded to decorate him, attaching the alligator clips of the ornaments to the boy's ears, nipples, foreskin and the loose skin of his nuts, much to the amusement of the two men and the boy, who was beginning to feel giddy. The two men discussed finding a needle and piercing his nipples and eyebrows, and maybe his tongue and his foreskin, so they could add the ornaments having wire hooks, delighting in the fear they caused in the boy's eyes and the muffled outburst of his father. Messing with their minds was as much fun as messing with the chubby cherub's tender, innocent body. By this time the eggnog and rum were having another effect on the boy and he began to dance from one foot to the other and to reach down and pinch the tip of his little dick.

"You wanna play with yourself some more, boy?" Kris asked.

"I gotta go do number one."

Kris thought for a moment. "Go water the tree." The boy glanced over at the tree uncertainly. "Go ahead, trees need to be watered."

"Yeah," agreed Woody. "It could use some water. It's looking rather sickly right now."

He did have to go, badly. As he began to walk toward the tree the floor shifted beneath him and he almost fell. As he continued toward the tree, it became blurry and the room began to spin. Arriving at his destination, he hesitated as he stood there unsteadily, wondering if that slimy stuff he'd been swallowing was making him sick or something. His nipples and balls were smarting where the alligator clips were biting into his flesh and he was feeling a bit dizzy and he had to go bad. He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but the men had told him to, and he had to go. Aiming his dick at the tree stand, he proceeded to piss. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said he had to go bad, and the stand filled long before he was done. Dismayed but unable to stop, he continued to piss, to the amusement of the two men as the pale yellow liquid poured out of the tilted stand and soaked into the carpet.

"Ah, looks like we've run out of eggnog," Kris observed, pouring a quarter glass and emptying the container. "Come over here, Christmas tree," he said, and the boy giggled as he tottered over to the man. "Let's add a little ball cream," he suggested, nodding to his cock, and Timothy squatted down and wrapping his fingers about the man's dick, began jerking him off. It had felt strange holding an adult's large, stiff wiener the first time, and why they'd wanted him to do it had been a mystery, but after having jacked off his father and Woody, and himself, he no longer found it strange nor mysterious. In fact as he pumped his fist up and down Kris's fat cock, he thought about how it had felt doing himself and how the end of his wiener had felt, and his little pecker began to rise. Again Kris and Woody were quick to notice and quick to comment on his arousal. His dad looked embarrassed and sorry for him, but at the moment he didn't care. His father had invited the two men into their house, and anyway, it felt good.

It was feeling good for Kris too, and before long the big man was spurting into the glass of eggnog. Squeezing out the remaining cum, Timothy wiped him off with the cumrag. He proceeded to jack Woody off next while he inserted the dildo up his bum and began to slide it in and out, fucking himself Kris had called it. He actually found the feeling quite pleasant and didn't mind, and making a man produce that sticky, slimy stuff was interesting. Enjoying the burning sensation around his anus and the throbbing of his rectum as he pumped the thick, black dildo in and out of his hole, he eagerly pumped his other fist, his eyes glued to the tip of the man's dick as he waited for it to begin spurting.

Woody easily added another tablespoon of cum to the eggnog. Wiping off his dick with the cumrag also, he proceeded to jack off his father for a second time, resuming fucking himself with the dildo at the same time. His bumhole was burning quite pleasantly now, and he was quite enjoying the strange sensations rippling inside him as he pumped the dildo in and out of his body. Initially he'd been angry with his father for treating him like a child and having the men dressed as Santa and one of his elves come to punish him for being naughty, and then he'd been embarrassed and disgusted by the sick things he'd been forced to do, but now, numbed by over two hours of sex and the rum drinks, he was feeling strangely buzzed, sort of like when he'd drunk too many Cokes, and sort of itchy in way he couldn't describe, itchy not on the outside but on the inside. When his dad came, as the men called it, instead of adding his stuff to the glass of eggnog he squirted his stuff on top of several of the butter tarts.

After he removed the dildo and wiped off his father's dick, Kris ordered him to stuff the now dripping, wet cumrag back in his father's mouth even though his father had not made any protests. Timothy did not understand why, but adults were not always easy to understand, and he did as he was told, subconsciously also remembering what had happened earlier that evening when he hadn't. He was then told to eat one of the tarts, which he did so less willingly, avoiding his dad's eyes and again disappointed his father made no protest. With pastry crumbs and his dad's cum clinging to his lips, he washed the tart and his dad's gooey cum down with the cum-laced eggnog, again fighting back the impulse to gag as the men's slime oozed down his throat. Although the taste was disguised by the tart and by the spice of the eggnog, it was still disgusting swallowing something that had been in someone's body and he readily accepted the shot of pure rum, which tasted even worse and burned down his throat all the way to his stomach where it joined the quarter cup of cum he'd already swallowed. As he tried to wipe the slime off his lips, he noticed his fingers smelled of cum and of dick.

Removing another string of lights from the tree, being careful not to step in the piss-soaked part of the carpet, Woody had the boy bend over and slowly and carefully inserted the string of miniature bulbs up his ass bulb by bulb, observing to nobody in particular how they made excellent anal beads. He then had the boy slowly pull them back out, one at a time, as he jerked himself off a second time. It felt strange, having each bulb stretch open his rectum and then pop out. As for jerking himself off, he'd quite enjoyed it the first time, especially the end part and he set to wacking on his little wiener earnestly. It was embarrassing, however, tugging on his wiener and pulling the string of bulbs out of his ass in front of the two men, intently watching him as they stroked their own humongous sausages, and in front of his father. He was very conscious of them, at least until the end as he pulled the last bulb out of his rectum and his body began to convulse with the second orgasm of his young life. The two men looked at each other knowingly and then over at Wes who was watching his son buck his hips openly and unashamedly and tense with the strange pleasure ripping through his little dickhead, totally unaware of his father's embarrassment. Tottering drunkenly over to the tree, his legs surprisingly weak and rubbery from having just climaxed, he hung the shit smeared bulbs back on the tree and grinned drunkenly at the two men and his father. Wes hoped that maybe now the men had enough and would leave. His wife would be arriving any minute. He was not so lucky.

"I think it's time for another game," Kris said, removing the cumrag from Wes's mouth and finally untying his wrists and freeing him from the sofa. As he rubbed them to bring back the circulation, the electric cord having left deep grooves in his flesh, Wes once again debated the pros and cons of warning the men his wife would be arriving any time, and again could not decide what to do. Deciding it might only add to the dismay of his son, he decided to remain silent. Having the boy lay on his back and swing his legs over his head so his butt was raised in the air once more, Kris once again inserted the candle in the boy's ass and lit it. "Now, the idea of this game is for you suck your boy to climax before the candle burns down to his butt."

Wes knew protesting would fall on deaf ears, and would only waste time during which the candle would burn. To the amusement of the two men, he immediately laid down and wiggling over to his son and using the boy's chest for a pillow for his head, he slipped his lips over his son's tiny, limp dicklet and began to suck on it as he slipped his lips up and down the shaft. As he felt the boy's dick growing hard between his lips, he was disgusted with himself and had no idea how he was going to be able to look his son in the eye after this night, but he knew he had no alternative. All he could do was hope the boy understood that. He sucked and worked his lips up and down his swelling dick desperately and soon the boy was stiff. He'd had no idea an eight-year-old could get stiff until tonight, or that he could have an orgasm.

He was already sucking hard and working his lips up and down the boy's cocklet as fast as he could, but as the boy observed the candle was burning closer and urged his father to hurry, he sucked even harder and worked his lips up and down his stiff cocklet faster, concentrating on the boy's knob. The boy of course squirmed and wiggled, in part because of the increasing heat above his butthole, and in part because of the pleasant irritation causing his knob to tingle and itch. Both father and son were inhaling and exhaling deeply, the father out of exertion, the boy out of arousal, his smooth chest rising and falling, causing his father's head to rise and fall also. Finally, the boy began to groan and jerk uncontrollably with his third orgasm that night, two from having jerked himself off and the last from being sucked off by his dad.

"Oh, did I forget to mention you have to put out the candle with your cum?" Kris asked with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "You'd better start jerking."

To their amusement Wes desperately struggled with the cock ring, his cock having by then greatly swollen having had the ring on for close to an hour. He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes as he tried to force the ring over his blood-engorged knob. Finally in desperation and in inspiration, he grabbed the cumrag, soaked with cum and his spit, and roughly smeared the cum and spit over his knob as he watched the flame burning dangerously close to his son's smooth backside. Finally forcing the ring over his knob, not without a little pain, he began to wank on his swollen, abused cock desperately. Timothy screamed as the first of the hot wax from the melting candle reached his tender butthole. Fortunately, after being stiff for an hour and after watching the sexual activity of his son and the two men, his need to shoot overweighted the pain he was feeling and his fear and in less than a minute Wes felt his balls constrict and his cum begin to race up the core of his cock. The first blast streaked his son's buttocks, the second shot high and over his raised rump to strike his leg and run down his thigh. With his dick head so close he could feel the heat of the candle, now barely visible out of his son's ass, he finally doused the wick with his third shot. Sighing with exhaustion and relief, he allowed the rest to spatter his son's raised buttocks. The clock chimed another hour. Where the hell was his wife? She should have been home half an hour ago.

"Oh yes," said Woody, rubbing the boy's smooth buttocks and smearing Wes's cum over them. "All warmed up and freshly buttered, just how I like my buns."

"Go for it," Kris said with a grin, pouring another drink of rum for himself.

Pulling the candle out of the boy's ass and leaving the boy laying there on his back with his legs thrown over his head, Woody dropped to his knees and bending over the boy, he drove his stiff cock up his asshole with a single plunge. Having been previously stretched open by the dildo and then the candle, the boy's tender anus offered little resistance. He was still of course a virgin and despite the abuse it had taken, his asshole was still tight, to Woody's delight. He shoved his hard, thick cock up the boy's hot, moist, virgin hole up to the hilt, and paused to delight in having his aching cock surrounded by hot boyflesh and gripped tightly by his tight little pucker. Drawing his cock back out, he began to plow the boy's ass.

Wes watched in sullen embarrassment. His hands were untied, but his ankles were still bound, and he knew to attack the man was useless anyway. Kris would be on him in an instant, and it was too late anyway. It was absurd actually, kneeling there on the floor an arm's length away watching the elf-like man with the fake pointy ears, wearing only his elfin hat, vest and shirt, buggering his son while his buddy, still wearing his red Santa hat, his shirt and red coat with the white fur trim unbuttoned and hanging open to reveal his fat, hairy belly, sat there watching and stroking his big, fat cock. He knew he should be doing something, but totally defeated and exhausted, he just sat back on his heels and watched also.

Woody eagerly plowed the chubby boy's smooth, tight ass, openly grunting and snorting with pleasure. Timothy lay there numbly in a drunken daze, faintly aware that the little man had his cock up his ass and drunkenly thinking that it felt just as good as the dildo, and wondering what it was going to feel like when the man began to spurt his stuff. He soon found out as Woody grasped his buttocks and lunged forward and began to spurt. Waiting until he was spent, he finally withdrew his cock and presented it to the boy to lick clean, which Timothy numbly proceeded to do, lapping up the man's cum and his own shit and ass slime smeared over the man's cock.

And then he was on his back with his legs raised in the air again as Kris mounted him. The man's cock was huge and felt even better than Woody's. It made his asshole burn with a sweet pain and his rectum throbbed in time with it. Timothy worked his sphincter in time with Kris's thrusts, tightening his anus about his cock as he withdrew and relaxing it as he shoved his cock deep up his rectum. Later he would be unable to recall if he'd done so instinctively, or if he'd been told to do so. Everything had become pretty much a blur by then, the room spinning about him, the image of the fat, bearded man coming in and out of focus, his rectum throbbing, his whole body throbbing. And then the man was flooding his rectum with his hot, thick cum and he felt himself coming close to that mysterious moment when he lost all control of his body and when Kris stopped and withdrew his cock he was disappointed he had not reached that point as he obediently licked the cum, Kris's and Woody's, and the shit and ass slime, his, from the man's turgid cock.

Turning to Wes, they finally removed the butt plug from his ass, tossing it onto the plate of tarts, and inserted the dildo up his ass instead. Half carrying and half dragging him over to his chair, they plopped him down, driving the dildo further up his ass and causing him to cry out in agony. Kneeling beside him, Wes began to stroke his dick and to mouth his nipples, sending ripples of irritation through both. With the dildo stretching his anus and sunk deep up his rectum and having just watched the two men buggering his young, innocent son, it did not take Woody's stroking and mouthing long to harden Wes up and as he squirmed with arousal, he grasped the little man's head. He was vaguely surprised how real his fake ears felt and how firmly they were attached as Woody got up and Kris loomed in front of him, carrying his now limp, drunk son. As Woody held up Wes's stiff, aching dick, Kris lowered the boy, his abused bumhole gaping and dripping with the cum from the two men, impaling him with a delighted groan from his lips on his dad's prick. Retrieving the angel from the top of the tree without knocking it over, Woody slipped it over the boy's little erect dick and plugged it in.

"Now, we want you to fuck your boy's ass until you come," Kris said as he and Woody retrieved their underwear and trousers and put them on. "Stop before you come and we'll know and we'll be back and we'll feed him your balls. And you boy, you grab that angel tight in your fist and wack yourself off with it. Understand?"

Wes and Timothy both nodded and began as the two men buttoned up their shirts and took a final swig of rum straight from the bottle, and had a few tarts, the ones without cum topping, as they watched the father and son, both totally exhausted, obeying their orders. With a smile and a wink at the two of them, Kris turned and he and Woody headed up the stairs, leaving Wes fucking his young son and Timothy jerking himself off with the angel. Seconds later they heard the door open and close. Wes immediately stopped his thrusts. Timothy stirred, a drunken weight on his lap, his fist still pumping. It was over, at last.

The door opened and fear struck Wes's heart. They were coming back to be sure he'd cum! Grasping Timothy's butt, he began to furiously thrust his hips to and fro, driving his still stiff cock in and out of the boy's cum-filled rectum, each bounce driving the dildo further up his rectum. In a drunken response to having his ass fucked, Timothy grasped the angel tighter and began to wank his stiff little cocklet faster. They could hear them coming down the stairs. Wes closed his eyes and furiously fucked his drunken son's ass and as Timothy felt himself approaching that mysterious peak where he lost control, the boy began to madly wank on his aching cock. Despite having already come three times, Wes felt his cum begin to rise up his own aching cock once again. Taking a deep breath, he threw back his head as he came up his drunken son's ass and the boy began to jerk and whimper with his own orgasm, just as his wife walked into the room.

Wes and Timothy had not been the only two who'd had a hell of a night. The front tire had developed a slow leak and had gone flat on her way home. She was about to phone for help when a midget dressed as an elf and driving a sleigh that she swore was being pulled by reindeer pulled up. When the midget offered to change the tire, she was doubtful but accepted the offer. It took a while, but he did manage to do it, but to their dismay, they discovered the spare was also flat. Ingeniously, the midget somehow managed to hoist up the front of the car and rope it onto the sleigh so the flat tire was resting on one of the runners of the sleigh and pulled them home. That had to have been some sight, a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer and driven by an elf with the bells ringing, pulling an SUV behind it. It had all taken time, but calling a tow truck would likely have taken just as long, if not longer, and would have been costly. Despite his troubles, the little man refused to take any money.

That all was surprise enough for one night, but as she headed for the house, she could swear she saw another midget and a fat man dressed in a Santa suit step out of the shadows and climb into the sleigh, and a second later she was sure she heard him laugh and call out in a deep, rich voice, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night." When she turned to look again, the sleigh was nowhere in sight even though there was no way it could have gone fast enough to have reached the next street and turned the corner.

Those surprises were nothing, however, compared to going down to their family room and discovering their Christmas tree that she'd spent hours trimming about to fall over, a string of shit-smeared lights draped around it and the stand overflowing onto the carpet with piss, her tray of Christmas baking now containing a few crumbs and a few tarts and slices of cake topped with thick puddles of semen, two empty bottles of rum, her husband with a string of lights tangled about his ankles buggering their drunken son with a dildo up his ass, and her eight-year-old boy moaning in delight, his stiff little pecker up the angel from the top of their tree.

It was a night of surprises for Wes too, from his plans going terribly awry to being discovered with his cock up their drunk son by his wife. He could no more explain the position he was in than he could explain the disarray of the family room and the cum topped pastries, and he certainly could not explain that he'd invited two total strangers into his house to teach their son about being nice and the consequences of being naughty and that it had gone terribly wrong. Understandably, she was in no mood to listen even if he was prepared to try to explain.

The next morning he got up early while she was still asleep and cleaned up the mess and removed all the evidence of the night before in the hope it would make his explanation a bit easier. He had just finished up and gone upstairs when the phone rang with the last surprise of all. It was Keith calling with apologies. The two men who were supposed to come over last night, Stan and Norm, had an accident and hadn't been able to make it. It seems they were passing a sleigh just a block away from his house and had skid on the ice and rammed into a tree. Neither was seriously hurt and the car was miraculously undamaged, but both had been knocked unconscious for several hours. As Wes put down the phone, he stared out the window at the sleigh tracks outside. They extended half way down the block and then suddenly disappeared, as if the sleigh had taken off in the air. He thought of his two visitors last night in disbelief and denial. They couldn't have been!

The End