Christmas Special Day 1

T’was twelve days to Christmas, and all through the place, there was mischief afoot and a whore with a sad look on her face…

‘Here come Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus pouring it down her throat’

You reach out and slap the ‘snooze’ button of your alarm clock. Glancing out the window, you see the slate-gray clouds covering the sky. It will probably snow soon. The ground will be covered with fresh snow and the world will be quiet. Maybe you can forget about your life and everything else in the meantime. But you doubt that will happen, you’ll need to get up and go looking for your daily dose eventually. Or someone will come for you to ‘administer’ your medicine. Or worse, maybe no one will and they’ll find you in a day or two as you were now. Sitting on your bed, knees up to your chin, draped in a comforter. Except you’ll be in a coma you’ll probably never wake up from. And then one day the EKG would flatline and your last act would be making a machine whine.

Flicking your eyes back outside, you remember you were thinking about snow and give a dark chuckle in your mind. ‘Pure as freshly-driven snow’, wasn’t that the phrase for virgins once upon a time? In days gone by, you’d have been like so many other women, keeping your legs closed and flirting or teasing guys until you got drunk enough or found one hot or charismatic enough to let inside of you. You haven’t been ‘pure’ since the morning of your eighteenth birthday. All your holes knew what cock felt like before you even walked out the front door that evening. You still remember the ‘birthday outfit’ you’d been gifted with. God, you had looked like a hooker, which you suppose was the point. What really twisted the knife was the ‘It’s My 18th Birthday!’ sign you’d been holding up while standing on some street corner.

At least you’d gotten plenty of medicine that night. You even came a few times.

Letting out a sigh and roughly rubbing at your eyes threatening tears, you shrug off the blanket as you stand up. Standing in front of the mirror, you take in your look. Long, blonde hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. Comfy kneesocks (which conveniently doubled as some padding for your knees), a pair of pink denim shorts with high-cut legs that let your baby blue thong peek out the back and a matching hot-pink baby-t with ‘Insert Cum, Good Times Guaranteed’ stretched across your full C-cups. You never would have worn something so…inviting before. You think about how things have changed in the world and especially your life. Sure, you show a little cleavage or leg, flash some skin just to tease and feel good about yourself, but never would you have suspected that your new, overhauled wardrobe would make you look like some eager fluffer. That was one task that Peter and your Dad had been all-too-willing to help you with. It was a shopping trip from Hell. You suppose it didn’t really matter anyway. In the few months since your birthday, you’ve taken more dick than some famous pornstars had in their entire careers.

‘At least I’m not the only one.’ you think, leaving your room and walking down the stairs into the living room to see if there was anyone available to maybe give you an easy dose. Sometimes Peter was worked up enough to pop one out and not make it cruel. Or maybe Dad is around and ready?

Stepping into the living room, you notice the TV is on, but muted. On the screen is a telethon of some kind. A cartoon Christmas movie is playing while a picture in the corner shows the people working to collect pledges and occasional shots of the hosts. On cue, the movie goes to commercial and the screen fills with the telethon. The camera pans over the call floor to show the majority of the workers are guys. Nearly everyone has the back of a head bouncing in their laps. Most of those girls probably volunteered for the chance to get a few doses and could give less of a shit about the charity. The host is a dead ringer for Santa Claus, except for the flask he hastily tries to hide in a packet and the fact his red pants are down around his ankles. Kneeling in front of his shiny, black boots is a busty redhead in a skimpy Mrs. Claus outfit, missing her top. The girl is jamming her face on ‘Santa’s’ crotch like it’s life-or-**** and considering the virus, it might as well be.

‘There’s no one around here.’ you think, looking around the living room. ‘Why leave the TV on if no one is watching it?’

Deciding that you have to attempt to be smart about this, you go back upstairs and poke your head into your parents’ room. Nothing. Taking a few steps down the hall and past your door, you peek in Peter’s room. Nobody there either. You vaguely remember your brother dragging some slim-thicc Asian girl upstairs last night and not stopping for dinner. You plugged in your headphones and fell asleep to some music last night when the thumping and squeals from both sides of your room got to be too much. Peter bringing needy or bimbo sluts home was nothing new, but your mother used to scold him for not taking care of you and giving you at least one load a day. Your father would at least offer some token effort to keep him donating to you as well. But things have shifted soon after your birthday. Your mother was in the same boat as you and, like any woman, she couldn’t afford to alienate any man who could provide her with precious baby-gravy. She’d been more reserved and self-assured before the virus, but now she threw herself holes-first at her husband at every opportunity.

‘Where the hell is everyone?’ you think to yourself. ‘Do I need to go streetwalking today?’ You hope you don't have to.

Trudging back downstairs, you park yourself on the couch as you think about your next move. The telethon was still playing and Santa now had a cute Latina, looking your own age, bent over and powerfully thrusting into her with a firm grip on her bouncing booty. ‘Mrs. Claus’ could be seen on the edge of the screen, slurping on the knob of one of the camera crew while working her hands on the stiff pricks of two other guys.

Zoning out while staring at the screen to distract yourself from your immediate future, you hear a clatter from the kitchen door and tense up, immediately ready to bolt if something bad is happening.

Your concern lowers though as the kitchen door swings open and your father saunters out, sighing contentedly while fastening his pants. “Thanks, dear. I’ll have another ready for you this evening, alright?” Through the swinging door, you catch sight of your mother sprawled out in an undignified position on her back and half-naked, tits out, on the floor.

Dad immediately perks up when he sees you. “Hey there, Pumpkin, how are you today?”

Your pretty blue eyes threaten tears as you think about how you are seriously considering going back to your room to get dressed in something extra slutty and walking around the neighborhood hoping someone will be willing to cum in your mouth. “I’m f-fi-” you can’t even complete the sentence before you cover your face with your hands and try to **** back your cries.

Immediately slipping into ‘concerned parent mode’ your Dad joins you on the couch with a tender, “Hey, hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

Doing what you can to **** down your humiliation and frustrations, you shake your head, still covering your face. Your Dad wraps his arms around you in a comforting hug and it’s only when one of his hands finds it’s way to cup one of your breasts that you feel like you’re in control enough to speak.

“It’s just…so overwhelming, you know?”

Dad looks interested, but still confused. “Did Peter do something? Do I need to talk to him?”

“No, Dad, I mean, I turned eighteen a few months ago and, well, look at me!” He looks you over with an appreciative eye and spends several seconds ogling both your legs and chest.

“Sarah, what’s going on? Are you worried you don’t look sexy enough? I’m sure tons of guys would love to feed you doses.”

“That’s what I mean, Dad. Teenage girls like me used to spend their time talking about boys, hanging out with friends and shopping for clothes, not” you search for words in silence “…worrying about getting worse because of some stupid disease!”

Your father nods, but he doesn’t remove his hand from your boob and even gives it a soft squeeze in what he must think is an encouraging way. “I know, Sarah, I know. Everyday I worry for you and your mother. That’s one of the reasons I spend so much time making sure each of you is taken care of.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at your dad’s interpretation of ‘taking care of’ involving frequently facefucking his wife, you carry on. “Remember my eighteenth birthday party?” His look of concern becomes a faraway smile and he licks his lips. Maybe that was a bad example. He took all three of your virginities that morning and, while he gave you each dose in your mouth, you walked funny for days afterwards. “I’m just saying, Dad, things look like shit for the world. Especially girls.”

He looks thoughtful once he breaks out of his perverted reverie and still continues to fondle your rack. His other hand joins his first and for long minutes you sit there with him groping you through your shirt. This goes on so long that you wonder if he forgot what you were talking about or just didn’t have anything to say.

He breaks the silence with, “Things are tough now, sweetie, but it’s always darkest before the dawn. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

You look at your dad incredulously. Was he serious?

Seeing your dubious expression, he hugs you firmly (as well as squeezing your tits a little too hard to be comfortable) and continues. “There’s been lots of research on the virus so far and we’re learning things as we go. All we can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep on keeping on. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step and I’m sure one day we’ll all look back on this and laugh.” You decide you can probably get some dick in this outfit and decide you’ll knock on the door of that one neighbor you’ve caught staring at you multiple times.

“Besides,” your father throws in with the air of a man who has something profound to say, “it’s Christmas.”

Or not.

You wonder if that neighbor would prefer you in heels or some regular tennis shoes?

“C’mon, girl. You know what might cheer you up?” your dad asks. You shake your head. Getting up, he motions for you to stay put and darts upstairs for a minute. He’s back quickly with a square, thin box and hands it over to you. The box has a wholesome picture of Santa Claus walking by a large window looking into a classic Christmas scene. A family, smiling and content, surrounding a Christmas tree while opening presents.

“Uh, thanks?” you say.

Dad shakes his head with some humor. “Oh, Sarah, it’s an advent calendar. See those little boxes? You open another one of those little doors each day until Christmas. It’s like a little present you give yourself leading up to the holidays.” He gestures excitedly. “Go on, open one!”

Doing so for the first day, you see a sizable piece of chocolate with pale streaks of white swirling through it. Plucking it out, you chew and swallow while frowning slightly. “It tastes like…something like…?”

“It is cum-flavored, baby. Real medicine is too valuable to waste in candy like this, but it’s still chocolate. And it’ll help you get used to the flavor and maybe help you associate it with something sweet. Isn’t that cool?”

“Sure, Dad. Really cool.” you reply with much less enthusiasm than him. It isn't like you aren’t already treated to the many wonderful flavors of jizz during these last few months. Putting the box aside, your dad takes this as his cue to sit next to you again and try to cuddle.

“I know things look bad right now, but we’ll get through it. I promise I’ll never let it get you and your mother.” He hugs you closer and you allow yourself to be rocked for several minutes. The peaceful atmosphere ends though when he speaks up. “Y’know sweetie, all this talk of your birthday party and the holidays has given me an idea.”

A bad feeling is settling in your stomach, but you ask anyway, “What kind of idea, Daddy?”

He takes one of your hands and leads it to his crotch where you feel a noticeable bulge. You sigh, but already know where this is going. Starting to slide off the couch to your knees, your dad surprises you by stopping you. “Not this time, Pumpkin. It’s the giving season after all. How about I give you a fresh dose without you needing to work for it?”

“Uh, thanks? But what do you mean?”

Without a word, Dad stands up and starts guiding you until you’re leaning over the arm of the couch and kneeling on the cushions. “Daddy?” you ask again with a note of alarm, but he reaches in front of your waist and begins working your shorts open with a hurried fumble. He’s not going to actually…? When you feel cool air on your ass and hear him groan as your shorts are pulled down to your knees, you know he’s really going through with it.

“My god, this ass. So perfect.” he whisper-moans in what he might think is under his breath, but is perfectly audible to you. It’s only moments later that you feel his hands slip under your baby-t and lift it over your bouncing chest, his finger brushing over your tight, pale pink nipples in the process. It’s been weeks since you felt a soft touch and, despite it being your own father, your body responds to his gentle fondling of your freely swinging knockers by letting out a little moan and sending a bolt of moist heat between your legs. Your little thong is soon peeled from between your cheeks and signals another horny groan from the man behind you. The pill you’ve been taking makes grooming downstairs a lot easier since it keeps your lower lips almost completely hairless. A quick swipe of a safety razor and you’re as fresh as a pornstar straight from the salon.

“It’s alright, Sarah. Daddy’s going to take care of you.” your Dad says and from the tense tone of his voice, you know he’s staring at your **** holes. You don’t know if it’s the taboo of the situation, the pills you take or the fact someone is touching you and not slapping you or tossing around like some sex doll, but you’re feeling a fuzzy, pleasant warmth spreading through your body. It starts in your core and moves up your spine and through your limbs. You’re actually wet and wonder why you don’t have a cock in you yet. Letting out a loud moan of your own and squirming invitingly on the arm of the couch, your Dad must think you’re trying to squirm away or something. His hands move from gently palming your rack to firmly holding your naked hips.

“What’s wrong, Gumdrops? I’m gonna give you some medicine, and you don’t need to do anything but relax and let me help you.” Something spongy and hard, yet hot nuzzles up to your sopping folds and you wiggle your hips while moaning again. “Daddy’s just…gonna…”

A flick of his hips and some added pressure and your lower lips part to only squeeze back down on the invading member. “AhhHHHaahhNNNnnnn!” a wordless cry emanates from your mouth while you instinctively push back to try and get a few more inches buried in you. Fuck that, you want ALL the inches in you.

“Oohhh FUCK! You’re so tight, Sarah. Your pussy is so good!” Your Dad moans at his daughter impaling herself further on his dick and he leans over you to fondle your tits. “You’re so hot, Gumdrops. So hot for Daddy. Daddy loves you so much, baby.” Without wasting any more breath, he straightens up and takes hold of your waist as he begins a steady pump.

Your baby blues are already starting to roll back at the sensation of FINALLY getting fucked. Hands clawing for purchase, you settle for one on the back of the couch and one gripping a cushion edge while you push back to meet Dad’s thrusts at the same time. “Daaadddyyy!!” you moan like a needy porn actress, arching your back to get some better leverage and get him as deep in you as possible.

The move makes your already spectacular backside look nothing short of flawless, rippling obscenely as your dad adds more **** to every thrust. “Such a tight little slut! Your tight little cunt! Daddy loves you, Sarah!”

Your father, Kevin, always felt oddly about you when you started to blossom. It was only on your eighteenth that he had an epiphany. He wanted to fuck you. His own daughter. He wanted every hole you had and fulfilled a deep-seated fantasy when he popped all your cherries before anyone else. And now here he was, balls-deep in his trusting, sexy daughter and loving the grip of your slutty holes. He was being honest when he told you he wouldn’t let the virus get the best of you and your mother. And to that end, he’d actually been setting up some encounters in the near future that he thought would keep you well-heeled in medicine for the rest of the month. Thinking about the sheer depravity that was going to happen to you, he reached forward to grab your dancing ponytail and yank it back.

Instead of making you cry out in pain, the burning sensation in your scalp causes your wet cunny to clamp down on your dad’s invading meat even tighter. “UUUhhhnnnh, daaaauh..!” you groan when dad’s grip on your hair and hip moves you until you are practically sitting in his lap. As soon as you were upright, the hand on your waist slides up to roughly grab and play with your jiggling breasts. The sound of your cheeks clapping with every impact against your dad’s lap fills the living room and anyone looking at the pair of you would think this was some porn scene between a **** girl and a horny, older man. They wouldn't be that far off.

“Pussy so good, sweetie! Such a good girl! You’re Daddy’s naughty little SLUT, right!?” your dad raises his voice to be heard over your encouraging cries.

Only the whites of your eyes are showing right now and your hips are moving on their own. Pussy, legs, hands, every part of your body is on auto-pilot right now and all you want is fucking, fucking and more fucking. Somewhere in your mind, overwhelmed with pleasurable heat, is the thought that you’ve been asked a question. Even in your cock-crazed state, you know agreeing will help you get more sex. “UH HUH! UH HUH!” you manage to grunt out.

“FUCK YES! I’LL NEVER GET TIRED OF THIS CUNT!!” your father practically roars as he begins to go berserk on you. Putting you in a lewd full-nelson, he uses this new grip and leverage to slam balls-deep in you every thrust, so hard that you might fly off his cock if he isn’t holding you firm. The fact you are bucking down on his shaft after every bounce also helps keeping you in place.

The two of you have only been doing this for a few minutes, but it feels like you’ve been going at it for hours. With a few erratic, brutal thrusts, your dad lets go and pushes you forward back over the arm of the couch and grabs your shaking hips so hard you’ll find marks later. Your stomach muscles are jumping and your legs lock up as the change in angle set off your orgasm.

“MMMMUU-MMMUHHH- AAAHHHNNGGH!!!” is the only sound you can get out as your brains are blasted with dopamine and endorphins. Climax after climax floods through you and you begin screaming.

Dad roars once more and slams hard one more time when you feel something hot and sticky painting your innards. He is cumming inside you and it only makes you cum harder. You are seeing multicolored spots before you realize he’s finally pulled out.

For a few minutes, both of you collapse on the couch. You still bent over the edge and him sitting with his pants down around his ankles. Finally catching his breath, your father awkwardly rises to his feet (a little wobbly) and pulls up his pants. You have a brief moment of deja vu as he buckles up just like he’d done coming out of the kitchen. Giving you a brief kiss on the forehead, he says hoarsely, “I think things will be looking up for you, Sarah. Don’t worry.”

Once he’s left, you realize something. He fucking just came IN you! You weren't getting any medication unless you ingested it. Whimpering softly with aftershocks still running through your body, you slip two fingers into your snatch and run them around inside. Pulling out of yourself, your lips quirk when you saw the pearly layer coating them. Popping the digits in your mouth, you suck them clean before repeating the process.

Feeling some strength come back, you find the advent calendar still where you’d put it and think, ‘Maybe the holidays won’t be that bad.’

You could swear you even hear your father sing something in the distance.

“On the First Day of Christmas, my Daddy gave to me:

A Cumshot in the Pussy.”