Because you are a ho ho ho

“I see you looking. You like my big belly?” Bessie turns in profile for you.

“Mmhmm…” you nod.

“It’s stimulating my cum production. See?” She demurely looks over her shoulder and you see her beginning to rival Ms. Claus’s jelly-filled bus-sized scrotum.

“Better move in close before you need more industrial equipment to move at all,” you eye the boss’s AI powered flatbed that follows behind her.

“Right!” She moves in and puts her cock on your lips. “Close enough? Or should I get closer?” She pushes her cock into your mouth. She keeps going until she slips down your throat and essentially mounts your head and lays her belly on top.

“Spit roast?” The boss grunts. “Almost there. Fuck you’re tight. Did you know your hair all fell out below the neck? I just realized how smooth your skin is.”

With the popping signaling the dislocation of your hips again, your titanic-dicked boss enters you again but in a different place this time. You push back to help her get inside fully. You are still able to breathe through your nose even with Bessie down your throat. You put your hands one on your mouth and the other around to your butt and feel their crotches against you.

“That’s right, we are inside you fully. Take my hands, Bessie,” Ms. Claus orders.

They join hands and begin fucking you from both ends. Bessie is giggling from above as she cums first but doesn’t stop. Her belly bounces off your head pushing you down her shaft each time she thrusts back in. On the other end, the boss is riding your ass savagely and it feels amazing as she smashes into your bloated cheeks. Literal waves in the fat travel to your hips and belly and propagate and collide with the previous ones, causing chaos of the most delightful kind. Then you feel the first wave of jelly enter your ass.

It felt like it went straight to your belly, but you feel the other four areas swelling. Your butt literally swells around Ms. Claus and behind her as your hips swell outwards. After they finish, you come up for air.

“*Uurrp* That was great! Can’t wha-wha-wha…” you stutter as you are pounded from behind again.

“Did you think we were done? Your shift only just started!”

*****

Like the star employee you are, you got fucked by Ms. Claus all night long. Your wombs all swelled to the size of two buses and your breasts thrice that with milk before she got around to adding her jelly to the mix. So your boobs got their own helping but can still shoot milk and not jelly…cause it’s thicker, they said and sinks to the bottom.

“We are just going to make the deadline with time to spare, Ms. Claus,” Bessie tabulates after running the numbers. Birth will begin in 36 hours and logistics is already in place to make all our customers very happy by Christmas morning!” Bessie turns to you. “Thank you so much for all your hard work, Nick! You are a real saint!”

“Maybe we should call him Saint Nick! Ho ho ho!”

*****

You fulfilled your duties in the coming days. You even *delivered* more than your quota…mostly to do with idle dicks and no place else to put them.

You earned a large bonus and an offer of continued full-time employment, which you declined. After swelling as big as a warehouse, you checked that off your bucket list and had the money to check off a few more. You moved out of the city and north. You adopted some reindeer including one with a runny nose that was always red. You bought a Rolls-Royce. You called it your ‘slay’ car because it would make the ladies swoon. You even married Ms. Claus and took her name. You never liked being Nick Boohbfocker anyways. It always got you nasty looks and sexual harassment lawsuits.

You helped out the wife every Christmas season to make sure she met her quota. You even inherited the cleaning crew from the Mexican factory after Pedro was laid off. They heard Mrs. Claus calling you ‘Saint Nick’ affectionately but thought it was your title. They respectfully started calling you ‘Santa Claus’ and you couldn’t get them to stop no more than you could stop yourself from craving the jelly filling you got every holiday.

You eventually started wearing the same style of clothes as your wife. You lactated all year round and she always has a belly like you from drinking your milk. Your tits matched her genitals in size if she didn’t drink enough.

Some years you even helped her year round. Your holiday bots used organic processors which even at the lower volume you created them, still could outsell competitors when supplies of traditional chips were tight.

After a few decades you realized you weren’t really aging. Bessie was an AI so she didn’t age. The wife didn’t appear to be even though she said she was, with a twinkle in her eye.

*****

As the technology advanced over the centuries, the bots were delivered by air over the entire world as they slept on Christmas Eve. Each person that ordered one could wake up on Christmas Morning no longer alone in the world, but with someone there that agreed that dickgirls were the best, before they got said dick in the ass.

They say there was a bit of magic in each of those holiday bots. A spark of a soul mixed in with the AI? Some urban myths said they could change a man. Or even impregnate him. The rumble rumored offspring would always have a dick. Cockbot always makes sure there is a dick.

.

.

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“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

.

.

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Mrs. Claus looks up from sucking your nipple. “Who are you shouting at? Ride my dick! There’s a pandemic going on and a chip shortage! We have work to do!”

“…sorry! Yes ma’am!” With practiced ease, but not easily, your births mere hours ago have your cheeks still very swollen, and despite her leaky cock, all your weight can’t get your cheeks around it.

“Let me help! I can make you heavier!” Bessie jumps into your arms, her AI flatbed dutifully following her with her balls. You don’t budge. “Hehe, guess we need more!”

You open for her cock and she fills you with hundreds of pounds of cum until your hips pop and you sink to the hilt on Mrs. Claus’s cock.

“Come on! Only 365 days until Christmas!”