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The moon is round and full in the sky as she waits in bed for Scott to arrive. Sometimes, he’ll show up at her house totally unexpected; she’ll be jolted out of a dead sleep in a ratty t-shirt and granny panties to find herself perched haphazardly on his lap. While these times are equally as fun, she still likes the time to find a cute pair of pajama shorts and one of her little sleeping shirts that barely come down past her breasts. Tonight, she’s done just that, in a soft grey pair with blue polka dots and a light blue tee that grazes her nipples if she raises her arms above her head. The anticipation is building inside her; Scott always likes her wet but is definitely down with an abundance of foreplay. Just as she’s started to gently press on her clit, she poofs out of bed and into the sleigh. The first sign that something is wrong is that the sleigh is cold. It’s December, but Scott usually keeps the sleigh at a balmy twenty three degrees to make up for the fact that she’s getting naked; he with his magic and layer of jelly doesn’t tend to feel the cold even on the worst of days. The second is that the reindeer seem unnaturally agitated, as if they’ve never done this before. Lark has known them for four years and they have never minded this little outing, but tonight they’re snorting and tamping the roof with obvious agitation.
“Scott?” she asks, spotting his broad back at the other end of the sleigh. He turns towards her, and at first glance, he looks normal. Once her eyes adjust to the dim light, his face makes her wish she’d at least worn pants for this outing; climbing down off the roof without them would be difficult at best. His face is absurdly smooth, and his hair is tinted blue and appears painted on. That familiar jolt of arousal surges through her, but it almost feels like a betrayal.
“You’re Lark?” he asks, completely ignoring her question. She can even hear a slight difference in his voice, like he’s talking with his teeth clenched together.
“So, not Scott then.” She’s about ninety percent sure Scott could identify her by the smell of her pussy alone, with all the time he’s spent getting acquainted with it.
“And it's not Christmas, but yet I'm here. Now, that idiot has somehow overruled the naughty and nice list protocols, otherwise you'd be on the naughty list with all the other children. Except, you’re not a child...curse that man! Making my life so much more difficult!" She’s backed up to the farthest corner of the sleigh, a chill running through her already cold body.
"Still, it's on the list, so it has to be done. To think I've actually been programmed with this little outing, how weird is that? Anyways, time's a ticking, so pants off." A cold wave of fear washes over her, and her body locks in place. He gives her a second to move, and then kneels in front of her, grabbing her legs and pulling them out straight.
"Looks like I have to do everything myself." he sighs, yanking her shorts down to her knees, and then the rest of the way off until they hit the floor of the sleigh. He tosses them over his shoulder in a way that she knows that she’s not getting them back anytime soon.
"Now, do I have to pull these off too or are you going to do that yourself?" She quickly shimmies out of her underwear, leaving her on the edge of the seat and fully bare to the chilly night air. She’s unsure of what he’s going to do next; the gleam in his eyes lends no hints as to what he plans to do to her.
"Good, now we're getting with the program! Since Santa hasn't outfitted me with anything capable of producing an erection, we gotta work with what we've got." He manhandles her with inhuman strength until she’s flat on her back. It’s yet another reminder that this isn’t Scott; sure, he’s always been strong enough to move her around with ease, but this guy actively seems to be holding back so he doesn’t hurt her.
“What exactly do we have?” she asks quietly, staring up at the stars. The idea of this man touching her is a conflicting one; on the one hand, he’s clearly been made by Santa, but on the other, he’s also woefully underprepared to get her off. She’s reminded of the first time Scott came to her, when he’d clearly had experience with other women but at the same time treated her body like a puzzle he had to crack. It had taken a bit of time for him to yank an orgasm out of her, but they’d got there eventually. With this facsimile, it might take all night.
"What are you...shit!" she curses as his cold plastic face touched her inner thighs.
"Nice girls don't curse, so you keep that mouth shut." He says with a dark gleam in his eyes. She zips her lips shut, spreading her legs a bit more so he can get access.
"That's better. Besides, I’ll warm up in a second; it’s like a furnace down here.” She’s about to volley a retort at him, but quickly throws a hand over her mouth. His tongue is softer than the rest of him; she supposes that’s so he can actually form words with it, and he’s not as terrible as she expects him to be with it. His hands are digging into her thighs in a pleasant way, and there’s a low twisting feeling in her belly that increases as he dips deeper.
“There we go, that’s a good girl.” He mutters. Lark isn’t sure if that sentiment is more for him than her, but her encroaching orgasm is doing a fine job of distracting her from everything that’s wrong about this situation. He angles her pelvis up a bit, and she chomps down on her knuckles when he hits a particularly sweet spot. Finally, it’s when he takes her clit in his mouth and sucks like it’s a thick milkshake at the bottom of a glass does she come hard onto his face. He draws back, unceremoniously dumping her back down onto the seat and mopping up his face with one of the sleigh’s blankets.
“There, done with that! Boy, I so love the sense of accomplishment that comes with completing a job, even one as strange as this. Didn’t even taste as bad as I thought! No cocoa, but what are you gonna do?” He turns around and tosses her underwear back at her, which are quickly followed by her pants. She redresses slowly, squeaking as he pulls her into a standing position and almost yanks her into the air by her pyjama pants.
“How does he usually finish this?” he asks, tying up the drawstring of her shorts with surprising gentleness.
“He sends me back to my room.” She says, and the words are barely out of her mouth before she’s back on her bed, sheets haphazardly thrown to the side and pillows on the floor. Lark momentarily considers the implications of what has just happened, but shrugs it off and rearranges her bedding so that she can properly go to sleep. She has no way of contacting Scott outside of their usual trysts and her bed is feeling comfier by the second.