Santa Claus from a Alternate, Sex-Based Christmas

On a world much like yours, in a universe unlike yours, in an age of myths and legends and wolves prowling in the dark beyond your campfire, a man walks through a wasteland.

This wasteland was a tundra. Snow and rock and ice, with only the setting sun in a dark horizon the only comfort in this world.

This man is cloaked from head to toe in furs, all fashioned from the hide of bears, cats and mammoths that attempted to snuff out his life.

With nothing but his boots and a broken spear used as a walking stick, this man discovers a cave in the mountain. Tired and listless from journey to and from nowhere, he takes shelter in the cave as the winter storms comes in, not carring if anything dangerous were waiting there.

The cave was void of any predators, and when he meets a sheet of ice that marked the end of the cave, he collapses on the floor, too tired to even attempt to placate the cold with a fire.

When he awakens, he sees a pink flower had grown on the floor by his head. It was the most colorful thing he had seen this far north, and it had somehow grown in this impossible place. He gave it a careful sniff, and he felt its pollen irritate the back of his throat.

As he sneezed and coughed, shadows crawled along the floor and wall and ceiling.

These creatures -- batlike, yet bipedal like men -- watched with white, unblinking eyes as the magic of the flower they had planted in his path worked its way into the strange's system.

The man grunted and frothed like a beast in heat, and he tore off his thick pelt. His hairy, barreled chest was coated in sweat, his red, matted hair and beard turned white. His cock stood straight up, the tip leaking with an insatiable arousal.

The elves of the cave crawled on all fours and hugged his knees and thighs, some tasting his sweat as their new human companion roared, imbued with ancient power.

Present Day

It was in another Solstice Eve, and all through the house, Daddy was sleeping, but not his spouse.

His wife and his daughter, roused by a sound, bats flapping and squeaking with wings renowned.

Magic was in the air, and the men were bewitched to sleep the night away, so that when he came, they wouldn't be in the way.

His name was Daddy Solstice, an old man he appeared. He had muscles and tattoos and a long white beard.

For nice girls and proper gays he blessed them with sex, a hex he gave plentiful from the heart in his chest.

For the naughty ones he would tied with a knot, and he's whip and spank and hung while he swat.

Why he did this, no one knew, just ask the elves on what he would do. The elves, like bats on a cold winter's night, liked to watch him work in voyeuristic delight.