Sexting with Santa excerpt

Sasha balked at going in. “I can’t believe you want us to do this, Jess. This is outrageous even for you.”

The two stylishly dressed women stood in front of the hot pink door of a very particular specialty store Sasha never imagined she’d be shopping in. ‘It’s a Girl Thing’—the famous female-friendly ‘toy shop’ in San Francisco. And the store was having a special Christmas event.

Her tall blonde companion gave her a naughty smile. “Did I say us, Sweetie? I meant you. I’m just here to shop. You’re the one seeing Santa.”

Sasha took a step back. “Just me? No. This was your idea, remember? I said I’d do it only if you did. You said you would.”

“So I lied, Miss Candy Pants. We’ve got to get you into the holiday spirit. You’re usually the one nagging me to start thinking about Christmas as soon as Halloween is over. It’s mid-November, and you’ve done nothing Christmasy. The point of our little adventure is to put some jolly in your panties. Here. Put this on.”

Jessica pulled two Santa hats out of her bag. The one she handed Sasha was embroidered with, “Naughty girl. Spank me!”

Sasha laughed. “I will not wear that!”

“Fine,” she smiled coyly. “That’ll be mine. You get this one.”

The other read, “Holiday Ho! Unwrap me!”

Sasha gave her a warm smile. “I love you, Jess. I know what you’re doing. It’s really sweet. But not today.” She looked at the store window filled with everything from frilly lingerie to handcuffs and vibrators guaranteed to manage any angle a girl could need. She didn’t feel a thing. “It’s still too soon. Right after New Year’s. I promise.”

“I know it’s tough to get back in the swim, Sash,” Jessica took her friend’s hand. “But your divorce has been final for months. It’s time for your ‘Girls just want to have fun’ phase. And who better to make you feel good than Santa? Think of this as a practice run to warm you up so you can get your coochie back in the game. How long has it been?”

Sasha grimaced. She pretended not to hear the question. A clanging bell saved her. She pointed up the hill, “Look, a cable car! We need to do that!”

Jess wrapped her arms around her and squeezed. “I hate that man. I just hate him. I swear he put ‘sexy Sasha’ into cold storage. But we’re going to thaw you out.” She put the “Naughty girl” cap on her friend and spun her around so she was facing the door. “You know I’m only doing this for your own good, Sweetie. So, get in there. And if it’s too soon to ask Santa for true love, tell him you’ll settle for some great sex.” She spanked Sasha’s behind as she pushed her now giggling friend into the store.

The fact that Sasha offered no resistance was because the BFFs had just come from a long brunch at which the main course was mimosas. As they sat on the outdoor patio overlooking Union Square admiring the sparkling Christmas tree on the brilliantly sunny, but chilly morning, Jess kept ordering more drinks. The point was to perk up her friend’s spirits and lower her resistance, although she told Sasha it was to fortify them against the cold. “I’m a science teacher,” she said seriously. “Champagne has a very special anti-inhibitory, anti-frosty property. Drink up. Would I lie?” It didn’t hurt Jessica’s plan that Sasha was a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

Jess had been there so much for Sasha during her divorce that she vowed to do her best to go along with whatever her friend had in store for her. Once inside the shop, however, her mood tanked again. Despite the vibrators, dildos, hot pink playful lingerie and assorted sex toys galore, she was painfully aware that she still didn’t feel the least bit sexy. I’m just a pathetic divorcée who couldn’t even keep her husband interested. I used to be ‘sexy Sasha.’ Where did that girl go? And is she gone for good?

It was as though Jessica could read her mind. She put her arm around Sasha’s shoulder and squeezed warmly. “Trust me, kiddo. You’ll get your mojo back. Matthew treated you so poorly, he blew out your pilot light. We’re here to relight it.”

* * * *

Sasha was still haunted by her failed marriage. It had lasted only three years. And during the final year, Matthew had so little interest in his wife that he barely saw her as he preferred to travel the globe on business. What killed the relationship was that as soon as he discovered how much money he could make as an investment banker, Sasha became unimportant. The prospect of getting rich also changed him. Things got to the point that he bragged about deals he never would have done when Sasha first fell in love with him. And whenever she expressed her misgivings, he dismissed her as “naïve” and “stupidly believing the crap you teach your students that everyone should be nice to each other.”

By the end, Matthew was passionate about only one thing—money. They hadn’t made love during the last nine months of the marriage. Sasha was heartbroken.

She finally faced reality when she prepared her husband a last-ditch romantic ‘welcome home’ dinner after a trip to London. She served it wearing a gorgeous, black, silk and lace nightgown she’d bought just for the occasion. But Matthew ignored her carefully planned seduction. All he could do was brag about his trip’s success. He told her that when a famous businessman announced some major deal he’d just pulled off, the executive remarked that it was “better than sex.” “You know, Sash, he was right. The way I feel after the day I just had really is better than sex.” He pumped his fist into the air like a champion.

Neither noticing nor caring about the pain his words brought to his wife’s face or the tears pooling in her eyes, he looked at his watch. “Gotta work the offshore markets, babe. I’m going to the office. Don’t wait up.” As the door closed, Sasha put her head down on the table and sobbed. The memory of that night was like a ghost waiting in the wings always ready to remind her what a failure she was as a woman.

Sasha was a died-in-the-wool romantic, so Matthew’s preferring money over love was deeply disturbing. It was unfathomable to her that anyone could make such a choice. But it was heartbreaking that the man who used to tell her how much he worshipped her now showed no interest in her as a woman and treated her like his housekeeper.

Had she misjudged him from the beginning? Or was Matthew’s greed so powerful it made him a different man? Or, the worst possibility, was she such a failure as a wife that she couldn’t keep her own husband interested?

* * * *

“Stop stalling. And stop brooding about that son-of-a-bitch ex of yours. I can see it in your face.” Jessica took her by the hand and pulled her deeper into the store. “It’s time to turn the page so you can get in touch with your inner bad girl. Even at his best, Matthew wasn’t Mr. Sexy Pants. Remember that some of your frustration with him was that sex with him was so vanilla. I know you well enough to know that there were lots of things you would have loved to have tried. So it’s time for you to get back in touch with your inner bad girl. You’ll start by seeing Santa and telling him a sexy Christmas wish. I’ll be shopping. I’m down to one weak vibrator. I need a pile of new gear. ‘Captain America’ arrives next weekend for some R&R. And while there will be plenty of recreation, no one’s getting any rest.”

Sasha had never been inside a ‘sex shop’ before. Any ‘toys’ she owned she bought on the internet. She was curious but apprehensive. As she wandered around, however, she saw the exact opposite of what she expected. She was impressed at how clean, bright and upscale the store was. The staff and customers were women just like her. The shop had a positive and sexy vibe that lifted her up. The beautiful erotic paintings and photographs—creations of local women artists— almost made it feel like an art gallery.

The store was having a special event at which anyone who donated to the local women’s shelter got to sit on the lap of a hunky Santa and ask for her secret—very sexy—Christmas Wish. Sasha followed the “This way to the North Pole” and “Naughty girls only!” signs that led to a line of women waiting to see Santa. The festive atmosphere—not to mention the champagne being served—helped boost Sasha’s spirits.

When she caught sight of Saint Nick, she froze in her steps. Time stood still as heat coursed through her body. Her heart rate shot up. She unconsciously squeezed her thighs together and let out a quiet moan. An Adonis-dressed-as-Santa-Claus sat in Santa’s Throne. He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Oh my God! That body! A fireman! He’s got to be a fireman. After months of being immune to anything sexual, the power of her response to ‘Buff St. Nick’ shocked her.

Her racing pulse, flushed face and unbridled desire came from the fact that this Santa wasn’t your typical Jolly Old Saint Nick. He was wearing a red hat, white beard, red pants with suspenders and black boots. But he was missing his classic Santa coat, which left him magnificently bare-chested. Because there wasn’t a trace of hair on his ripped upper body, his pecs and arms looked like they’d been chiseled by a sculptor. Not surprisingly, a set of washboard abs replaced the legendary round belly. Literally counting the creases defining his six pack—yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum—Sasha ran her tongue around her full red lips, took a deep, deep breath and let out a lustful sigh. Even though the red hat and full white beard covered most of Santa’s face, she was certain it had to be as sexy as his body. And the way his striking dark brown bedroom eyes peered deeply—almost hypnotically—into the face of the woman on his lap literally made Sasha hold her breath.

She closed her eyes and let her reaction to Santa wash over her. A Sweet-Jesus-how-I-have-missed-this! ache flooded her body and made her skin feel electric. She couldn’t stop herself from biting her lip and voicing her heart’s—or was it her body’s?—deepest wish. “Oh Daddy, fuck me now.” Did I really say that out loud? Turning bright red, she quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard her. I guess Jessica’s right, she smirked. I’ve missed feeling like this. Running her hands through her curly brown locks in a vain attempt to make them a little less untamable, she smoothed out the wrinkles of her festive red blouse. Maybe it is time to start thawing out.

Jessica came up to her friend as she stood in line and playfully bumped butts with her. “Goodie, someone’s got some color in her cheeks already. There’s my girl.” Eyeing Santa, she said with a sultry voice, “Ooooooooooooooo baby baby! Definitely a firefighter. No civilian’s got pecs like that. And I bet he has an ass of steel to match!” Squinting, she looked more carefully. “In fact, I think I recognize that chest from my 12 Months of Frisky ‘Frisco Firemen calendar.”

Jessica gazed at Santa and sighed hungrily. “Look at that body. Look at those arms, Sash. Imagine him pulverizing your horny body with his—hopefully huge—candy cane. Now there’s a man who can make your body tremble the way it’s supposed to from a good fucking.”

The two women giggled naughtily. Sasha blushed at how much she enjoyed ogling the drop-dead gorgeous St. Nick.

“And speaking of fucking, as soon as we get back to L.A., you’re inviting our hunky Phys Ed teacher to my New Year’s Eve party. He’s the perfect transition guy for you.”

Sasha’s face flushed. She turned so Jess couldn’t see how red she’d gotten and pretended to look for something in her purse. She actually had been fantasizing about the handsome former athlete for months. And she was embarrassed at some of the racy scenarios in which she imagined torrid sex with the tall, brown haired, broad shouldered, enormously well endowed (she assumed), hard bodied, deep-deep-brown-dreamy-bedroom-eyed stud.

“Rick Hanschiffern? No. Are you kidding? He’s not at all my type. He dates models. Even if I asked him—which I’m not going to do—he’d just give me a polite brush off.”

“I bet you’re wrong,” Jess mused. “I’ve seen him check you out during teachers’ meetings. I bet he’d love to put some spring in your step. Wink. Wink. Nudge. Nudge. Besides, there’s not a woman at school who hasn’t pictured him doing unspeakably nasty things to her in order to make it to the finish line, if you know what I mean. Don’t tell me you’re immune to his charms.”

Sasha focused even more intently on the contents of her purse as she couldn’t stop imagining herself riding Rick’s cock and having one fantastic orgasm after another.

“I don’t know what you’re looking for, Sweetie. But I have just the thing for you.” She rummaged around in the basketful of toys she’d found so far: a couple of vibrators, blindfolds, handcuffs and a few other items. She pulled out a red leather-wrapped riding crop with a Mrs. Claus on the end. She flicked it against Sasha’s curvy ass a couple of times. “Here. Ask Santa to give you a proper Christmas caning.”

Sasha rolled her eyes.

Jessica laughed playfully. Then she paused, put her finger against her cheek and gave her friend a naughty smirk. “I’ll tell you what, honeybunch. Since we’re trying to bring ‘sexy Sasha’ back and help you up your naughty quotient, if you make your Christmas Wish so hot that Santa blushes, I’ll treat you to anything you want at the spa tomorrow. Massage, body wrap, facial, waxing, mani-pedi. Whatever you want.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious? Anything?”

Anything. If you can make our firefighter turn red, Spa Day is on me. Think you’re up to the challenge? Think you can get his face to match the color of the stone on his ring?”

Sasha could barely afford the airfare and hotel for their trip, so she hadn’t planned to go to the spa. But it had been so long since anyone had touched her body, she desperately wanted at least a massage. She also secretly wondered if she was really capable of ‘bad girl’ sex, and she never backed down from a challenge. She confidently struck her most seductive pose and showed Jess her best ‘come hither’ look. “Just watch me!”

“And to show you what a good sport I am, I’ll even prime the pump. First, give me your raincoat.” Throwing it over her shoulder, she tugged Sasha’s short black skirt up a couple of inches and undid the top three buttons of her red silk blouse—just enough to reveal the swell of her creamy breasts. “Long sleeves, a little tease by the girls plus some thigh. Nice and naughty. Good luck, cowgirl!”

* * * *

For all her sexy bravado, Sasha wasn’t the least bit confident she could make such a hot Santa blush. For months, her sex life had consisted only of embarrassing fantasies involving her school’s resident hottie. Her body’s reaction to St. Nick make it clear he could turn her on. But the other way around? Women had been sitting on St. Nick’s lap for hours describing wishes she was sure were far naughtier than anything she could come up with. She scrambled for something so racy it would turn the firefighter’s face crimson.

Currently on his lap was a cute girl in her twenties with long blonde hair wearing tight jeans, short black boots and a bright red, long sleeve San Francisco State T-shirt. Her saucy expression made it plain that the Christmas wish she was whispering in his ear was meant to shock him. But it didn’t. Not to be outdone, Santa’s last whisper back made her do a double-take and playfully slap his firm bicep in mock outrage. “Why Santa! I’m not that naughty!”

Sasha envied the girl’s ability to pour herself into what were surely size ‘triple zero’ jeans and her sexy, playful way with Santa. As he handed her a gift in Christmas wrapping, the couple posed for a photo. She hopped off with a big smile.

Then he beckoned to Sasha and asked in a deep, rich voice. “And who’s my next bad little girl?”

Sasha screwed up her courage, turned towards him and began walking his way. When Santa saw her, he looked startled. She stopped.

He squinted as he stroked his beard, then waved her forward as he stammered. “Don’t be afraid, young lady. Come and tell Santa what will put a big smile on that pretty little face and make you all warm and toasty on Christmas.”

The sexy timbre of Santa’s voice made her body vibrate so much she stumbled as she walked down the rest of the red velvet rope-lined path. As she got closer, his sexy frame cast its spell on her. Half-naked fireman. Sculpted chest. Santa Claus/naughty girl fantasy. What would put a smile on my face? You. Me. Naked. In front of my Christmas tree. And warm and toasty? “More like fabulously fucked,” she mumbled out loud. She shook her head in disbelief that she’d actually said it.

The sign over Santa’s huge overstuffed Christmas green chair read, “Welcome to the North Pole!” Noticing a bulge in Saint Nick’s pants, she shocked herself again. I’d welcome that North Pole any day of the year—and three or four times on Sundays! Sasha! You little tart!

Sasha was caught off guard by her own naughtiness, but she couldn’t help but yield to the body’s reactions. There was something special about this fireman. He was like every fantasy man rolled into one. But there was also an overpowering animal magnetism that kicked her desire into high gear.

Santa took her hand to help her onto his lap. The excitement she was feeling had caused the blood from her extremities to surge to other parts of her body, so her hands were cold. The warmth of his touch and the way his large, strong hands surrounded hers made her melt. When he grasped her hips and effortlessly slid her in place on his lap, her breath caught. As she got settled, he spoke seductively into her ear. “So, little girl, what’s your name?” His deep voice aroused her so much, her mind went blank.

Enveloped by his spicy scent, Sasha could only reply with her ‘sex sound’— something that hadn’t passed her lips for far too long. It was impossible to describe, but it combined a deep sigh, a moan, a groan, longing, hunger and desperate yearning. At the same time, the most sensitive parts of her body—her lips, earlobes, neck, the inside of her wrist, her breasts, the soft skin behind her knee, her moistening sex—everything screamed, Touch me! Fuck me!

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get that. Young lady? You do have a name, don’t you?”

She panicked. I teach third grade! I can’t use my real name! Her mind flashed to an image from the romance novel she was devouring the night before. Except she was the virginal governess in a flowing white gown being ripped off her by the randy stable boy in the middle of a pine grove as she struggled against him then yielded to his fiery passion.

Vanessa,” she finally blurted out. “Vanessa Middlemarch, Santa.”

The hunky Saint Nick peered over his Santa glasses and examined her closely. The color drained from his face.