A White(horn) Christmas

It’s hard to tell the days apart, when Christmas and Halloween share an aisle;
the radio tests your patience, with jingle bells at each turn of the dial.
It’s no surprise that excessive cheers give way to those like Scrooge McDuck;
people robbed of the ability to give a single holiday fuck.
Yet it’s such a person whose tale I’ll share, so make yourself cozy and pull up a chair;
for he was going to require assistance, from a familiar whitehorn on the night before Christmas.

On a snowy night does our story begin, with a man drinking his tonic and gin;
sulkingly under a gambrel roof, belonging to a bar named ‘the Cloven Hoof’.
Alone was he slouched over the counter, until someone came by him at the top of the hour.

	“John I know it’s last call, but what’s with the morose?”, said a brunette (and well-endowed) satyros. The source of this sadness came from his earlier days, far before he succumb to a cocktail Bombay and malaise.

See, back in grade school (or so John believed), a tragic event was the reason he grieved;
it was long before he knew the bottle when he was called into an office, for his lone parent fell gravely ill, and was put into a hospice.
He still believed in St. Nick back then, and made a request with a letter and pen;
for neither games, sweets, nor material wealth, but simply for his father’s good health.
Yet before the letter could even be mailed, by the next morning his dad’s heart had failed.
A younger John had no words to say, but found a reason to loathe Christmas Day;
Presents no longer awaited him that dawn, only the reminder that his father was gone.

Yet such heavy thoughts were too much for his tongue, and onto the goat woman a drunken John clung. She felt sobs dampening her collarbone, his skin wearing alcohol like a high-end cologne; until a distinct sound brought his pitiful scene to a stop, hooves on a wood floor going clippety-clop.

Through the front door did a whitehorn enter, clad in a red bobble and a nice sweater;
from head to hoof she stood six-foot-two, with platinum blonde hair and eyes a natural blue.
The two women had a silent conversation, about an all-too familiar situation.
For this was something of a nightly ride, when men became much too drunk to drive;
so the deer pulled up and sat to his right, for this was certain to be a long night.

	“Get on, John,” she began to tell, “Let’s take you home, my name’s Noelle.”

	“Well Noelle,” he replied with a slur, “Appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to defer.”

Yet before John could further protest, the satyros bumped him into Noelle’s chest.

	“You’ve got five minutes to get out of my bar, before I call someone over to tow your car.”

Under the threat of a trip to the impound, he mounted Noelle and set forth homeward bound;
from there it was a mostly uneventful trot, aside from the moment John’s hands felt something hot.
Whether by chance, or desires most shameful, his palms began riding up Noelle’s navel.
The lewd sensation started to make her hooves rush; her nipples then stiffened, face beginning to flush.
John’s fingers rose as she dashed around icy spots, unbeknownst of her mind filling with sexual thoughts.
They reached his home just a quarter til four, but there was before him a slight detour;
Noelle looked back, hands interlocked with his, her blue eyes sultry and hair full of frizz.

	“John, I really don’t mean to intrude…” she murmured off raggedly, far too deep in the mood.
He sobered up realizing his hands were on her bare chest, and it was far too soon for him to call it a rest. John disembarked without further delay, unlocked his front door, and guided her way;
into his room with a bulge in his pants, Noelle behind him stuck in a trance.

	“Leaving you like that would be pretty classless…” he left off as she pushed him onto a mattress.

He rose from his bed as the reindeer then kneeled, his cock freely throbbing like an angry eel;
she pulled down her sweater and flashed him more than a grin,

	“Just lay back and relax, I’m going to take it in.”

John’s fingers clenched hard onto the bed sheet, as his swollen rod was enveloped in an ample heat;
looking down he saw Noelle deep-set in a fury, eyes upon his cock as she engaged in paizuri.
Her tongue hung loosely as she freed her hands, breasts dropping as her lips surrounded his glans;
Noelle shoved it in until she felt her tongue on his base, looking up to see eyes rolling back on John’s face.
Her nose was tickled with penile stubble, as she slid back and forth until his shaft began to rumble;
she closed her eyes as his cockhead started to bloat, and savored the eruption as it flowed down her throat.
John’s cock was then released with a pop, from Noelle’s mouth, cleaned of every drop.

Some time later, he sat up feeling a daze; to see Noelle’s rear towards him, lower half raised.
As John mounted her closely, her voice began to waver, for into her ear he whispered,

	“Let me return the favor.”

He took her lips against his as if beneath mistletoe, before he rocked against her behind nice and slow;
a knob rubbed against the small of her back, as hot hands began to caress her sweater rack.
Though he’d blown a full load, their night was far from done; for John made it a mission to make Noelle cum;
he explored every inch and picked up the pace, the reindeer’s knees buckling as he held her antlers’ base.
She was a dribbling mess by the end of his hunt, the bed sheets drenched by her wet doe cunt;
Noelle looked at John, sprawled on all fours, touching herself before moaning,

	“Make my pussy yours.”

It was the want in her voice that pushed him into high gear, ignoring the fact her lower half was that of a deer;
he took his position against Noelle’s behind, prodding her privates with a playful grind.
Yet at that point John’s cock was begging for release, and with little need for foreplay, he rammed it deep into her crease.
By the time he came bedroom windows were fogged with a sensual heat, and the sounds of their fucking were heard across the street.
They collapsed contently as her rear was pouring out white, the sun rose, and signalled the end of the night.

But a realization then came to John, as a wild night gave way into dawn;
Naked both him and Noelle laid, on what was then a Christmas Day.
Yet before he had the chance to become melancholy, he felt the reindeer cradle him rawly;
and in her embrace came an epiphany, about something he didn’t realize instantly.

It was two years ago, he could now recall, both Noelle and him met during the holidays at a local mall;
and though he’d long stopped believing in St. Nick, the doe beside Santa tickled his dick.
He hatched a plan with mistletoe, and deviously intended to make it a show;
standing in line for an hour and twenty, was more than enough time to check his scheme plenty.
When his turn came to sit upon St. Nick, he dangled mistletoe off of a stick.
Over the head of a younger Noelle, John back then decided to raise hell;

	“For Christmas, Santa, all I want is her,” he proclaimed to cause much of a stir.

Yet never again, did John imagine he’d feel, the belief that perhaps Santa was real;
Noelle only smiled as he laid on her breast, closed her eyes, and drifted off for a rest.
He gave the deer a last pat on the head, before he drifted off to bed;
and deep within he was overjoyed, that someone filled his heart’s void.
For the father he lost some Christmases past, a whitehorn restored his faith at last.

And perhaps in himself he could now find forgiveness, and finally have a Merry Christmas.