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This is a follow up to Jon Hold's Santa Cums Down the Chimney.  I was mentioned and this is what happened.  It's the absolute truth.  I'll even testify on St. John's testicles in the ancient manner.  (If this does not make sense look up the derivation of the word.)

I want to thank Jon for giving me this idea and several others who contributed.

The following story is fiction.  It has a scenes of a M/M activity.  If such a subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.  Sorry, but I do not have email addresses for the other authors any more.

St. John at the Party


Y Lee Coyote, Gadfly, J.O. Dickingson, Jon Hold, Sawyer <>

with help from Gadfly, J.O. Dickingson, Jon Hold and Sawyer

It was a dark and stormy night.  (OK – laugh – it won the prize for the worst starting line and I have been wanting to use it for years.)  It was a dark and stormy night.  Well sort of, it had been snowing all day here in New York, New York (so nice they named it twice).  And in the city that never sleeps, it tain't ever dark at Sheridan Square where Seventh Avenue South crosses Christopher Street; a just a few meters from The Stonewall – the Mecca for gays the world over.  The porn writers party had started early because of the snow.  No one wants to be caught in transit on the way TO a party.  (On the way home it does not matter as much.)

J. O. Dickingson, a.k.a. Dream Spinner, was one of the earliest arrivers; had to get there before he lost his nerve.  He had been nervous about replying to the invite to the party and remained so.  The host knew that a couple of drinks would cure that and made sure that he had a couple of quite potent colas.  JO being one of the newer kids in cyber space, and probably one of the youngest there, was sure he'd be out of place.  He had put the others up pedestals in his naivete for he though that they were all such awesome writers, and with such great imaginations, the idea of attending a party with them was intimidating, but also just being in their presence was so enticing he could not pass it up.  Now, as he was shown the snapshots from last year bash, he was glad that he'd taken a chance and taken the host up on his invite.

As the party goers arrived, high above the party, St. John was circling with his sleigh and billy-goat team.  His fat ass red-suited big bro had the classy reindeer model with its red-nosed accessory.  He consoled himself with the thought that he got a lot more flight time per ton of fodder than did his brother.  (Twelve hooves eat less than thirty-sex.)  He finally spotted the party house but could not land of the roof.  Even if he had a clear flight path, there just wasn't enough landing space considering the stair bulkheads, skylights (with bars), exhaust vents (for the windowless baths and kitchenettes), waste line vents and abandoned TV antennae (from pre-cable times); don't even think about runway space here.  Besides, nothing larger than a rabbit could fit through the fireplace chimneys.  Even the largest one was too small and lead to a very hot oil fire in the furnace firebox.  There was not any traffic and he made an easy landing right on Seventh Avenue South facing north on the southbound street.

"Look at that old geezer with the sleigh, guys." said the one who had glanced out the window and soon the whole gang was watching.© YLeeCoyote

In normally blasé New York, this rated notice.  The other guys got to the windows in time to see the fun start.  All the members of the goat team took (? left?) dumps.  In just seconds, there were three steaming mounds of fresh manure in the snow.  One of New York's Finest walked over.  "Hey, you got to have an apple catcher for your horses, buddy."

"Them's goats, boy, not friggen horses; billy goats." snapped St. John.  John did not know how to talk to the law.  Particularly when the officer would rather be home being spanked and fucked by his humpy, well hung, buff Master half his age rather than walking in the snow on a holiday giving orders.  In this sort of weather even the exhibitionistic dudes with the gym bodies were well wrapped up.

"Let's see your licence and the registration on this … uh … vehicle." demanded the man in blue with his hand casually resting on his fifteen-shot, nine-mm persuader.  St. John was not used to this and started to object.  "CAN IT, BUDDY!" snarled the cop, "Let's see the id or I'll take you and your asses in NOW!"

"Yes, Sir." said a cowed St. John as he dug for the documents.  The cop looked them over carefully and took out his citation book and began to write and write and write.  In just minutes he had several lovely citations: no apple catchers, missing safety equipment and lights, red light on the front  (That damn lush Randolph glows again.), going the wrong way on a one-way street.  He could have kept going but his fingers were getting chilled.

As the cop handed the citations to St. John, he also gave him orders: get that light fixed pronto, cleans up that sh…er, manure and turn his thing around so that it does not oppose traffic.  This was not what St. John was used to at all.  Sure Santa got most of the press but he was being treated like he was a nobody.  Even King John got some respect from Robin and his gay band.  Luckily, he had a shovel in the sleigh and extra bags were standard equipment in his business.  He cleaned up and turned the vehicle to face south.  He took up his bag of goodies and walked to the party house door.  He needed his spectacles to find the right bell button but soon he was knocking on the party apartment door.

He was mistaken for the hired "Santa".  Even the bag of goodies was expected by the host.  He was helped with the bag.  His boots – wet and, er, messy were left by the door (on last week's The New York Times) and St. John was sent to the john to clean up.  Even in Kansas one does not bring the manure into the parlor and this was the Big Apple.  When he came out he was handed a glass half full.  "You want it straight or cut with water, soda or juice, dude?" asked a reviler with a pitcher of water.  It looked like vodka which he took it straight so he drank it half down in one swallow.  When he recovered, he whispered: "What … was … that?"

"Straight ethanol cut to 150 proof.  A couple of drinks and you don't care what it tastes like." a strait faced and practical host told him.  St. John took another couple of swigs.  They went down easier each time.  Probably because he had burnt out the nerve endings in his throat.  St. John got to meet everyone and to show off his new outfit: a studded red leather jock strap, his crotchless black leather pants, and a black kid leather sleeveless shirt concealing an ill fitting heavy leather harness.

Although St. John thought he looked sexy, his physique was just about the same his big bro.  According to the height/weight charts he should have been about 7′10″ (239 cm)  instead of 5′6″ (168 cm).  Even allowing for the generous tube steak it appeared to hold, the studded red leather jock strap looked pretty silly under that sagging pot belly.  And crotchless black leather pants were for, well, young gentlemen like the dashing young Romeo not the old man Capulet others like him.  The chapping in his crotch was his fucking problem for being stupid enough to wear them in this sort of weather.  But the group was in a good mode (they all had a few already) so no one said anything.

Once Johnny got mellow, he got very friendly; excessively friendly; excessively touchy-feely friendly.  The mood changed when he started to give out some of the special toys in had in his sack.  The packages weren't labeled and it seem like he was dispensing them randomly.  They were nice gifts for good little (and not so little) boys who liked to play rough games of domination and submission.  One of the packages fell out of the sack and a couple of guys grabbed it.  The wrapping tore and a lump of coal crashed to floor.  This was not a nice gift except if you were Bob what's-his-name in Dickens.  Not at all nice.

By this time Johnny had removed his black kid leather sleeveless shirt to show off his ill-fitting heavy leather harness and his stretched out nips.  Showing off he managed to spill his drink.  Party or no, Sawyer did not appreciate getting doused with it however.  Not that it would stain (another advantage of the house drink) but on general principles.  When St. John would not apologize, Sawyer snapped into action.  He gave a quick tug unsnapping the waist of the crotchless pants  and yanked the unrepentant Johnny across his lap in a wink.  Fortunately another guest held the top half of the Blob so that he was not crushed.  Another yank and Sawyer had the pants pulled down.  (NB: don't wear crotchless pants and a jock strap if you're a naughty boy who does not want to be spanked and vice versa.)

It was a joy to watch Sawyer as he spanked that fat ass.  He was very methodical and covered the huge expanse of bottom with his hand including that all important crease at the bottom of the bottom.  A paddle was found and everyone took a turn with it allowing Sawyer to rest his hand.  He much preferred butts half this size and a lot firmer.  Johnny quickly went from sobbing, to crying and promising.  Sawyer stopped us and finished up the job himself easily driving Johnny into the bawling stage.  He was sent to the corner for a half hour to allow his red hot tail to cool.  Our master spanker observed sagely: "Boys all act the same, regardless of how old, when they get spanked."

Mean while, we opened and examined all the gifts.  It was quickly decided that we should test each and everyone of the nice toys that very night.  Johnny was allowed to rejoin us and told us some really strange tales that these items were of elf manufacture.  Sure, like they were made in Santa's workshop.  Right, in the XXX-rated back room where the fore-elf cracked a mean whip.

A couple of the guys had strapped some wrist cuffs and a nice studded leather collar on Johnny.  This did not look as silly as his outfit did on fatso.  Johnny felt big and powerful but he had much to much ethanol to really think anything.  He did not notice when cables were snapped to his wrist cuffs.

As I'm sure you know, real estate in New York ain't cheap and one needs to be very creative when doing a rehab job in the West Village.  The owner of this condo was extremely creative.  There was a very well attached (to the building structure) track in the ceiling with two cable supports.  Each support could be positioned independently and the cable from each taken in or released separately.  There was a matching track on the floor also.  Suspension games à la carte, s.v.p.

The host pushed a few buttons and the motors started turning.  Just as the walls in the Pit and Pendulum moved irresistibly, the pull of this cables was just as irresistible.  Johnny was soon standing with his arms imitating a clock set at 1:51.  Everyone was having fun and expected more to come.

One partier looked out at the snow and noticed that there was a tow truck getting its hooks into Johnny's sled.  With that announcement everyone (except Johnny) took a look as the traffic enforcement people had fun getting three billy goats into a truck normally used hauling illegal push carts.  Goats, both billy and nanny, don't have much experience with tail-gate lifts.  Johnny, wanting to rescue his stuff, strained at his bounds to no avail.  "Doesn't matter now anyway.  Once they hook up, they must take it to the impound yard.  We surmised that a snow emergency was declared as predicated."  (Parking is prohibited on snow emergency streets during snow emergencies until the street is cleared.)  "You can't get it back until Monday morning so you might as well have fun like the rest of us."

Again buttons were pushed and Johnny was raised up so that he was hanging by his wrists so that the rug could be rolled up.  His pants were unsnapped and pulled off.  The brand new ankle cuffs fitted just right and were hooked to the floor cables.  Adjustments were made and Johnny was standing spread eagled in his studded red leather jock and ill fitting harness.  The guests were congratulating the host for really knowing how to throw a party – great gifts and a chance to play with them immediately.

The guests took turns playing with Johnny.  They all agreed that he should be wearing less – after all this was sort of a birthday party.  One dude stepped up and pulled the jock strap belt open in the back.  It fell off by itself along with a pair of socks.  The spare socks were carefully put with Johnny's other clothes since he was obviously worried about having to need them.  The tube steak was less impressive now.  The harness was undone easily and as the cock ring was oversize (for Johnny) was easy to remove.  Looking at Johnny the host decided that he would deal with another escort service next time; this was not quite what he had arranged.

More toys were pressed into use.  First tit clamps with attached to Johnny's tough nipples.  Oh, those came equipped with weights of course, big, heavy, Christmas tree ornament shaped ones.  Everyone had to try each of the paddles, slappers and belts to see their effect on a fat butt.  This was one of the times that fat was an advantage – a lot more target area.  The was a loud SPLAT was a paddle was tried with a corresponding WHOOSH from Johnny.

YLee made a point of order: this was not a fair test because the test surface was covered with hair.  The point carried and lots were draw as to who would get the job.  YLee got to spray the shaving cream and spread it around.  The lucky two contest winners worked together with razors carefully making the blubbery buttocks baby smooth.  Each did his best knowing that his skills were being observed by mavins.  They then held them apart so that the "crack man" could do his thing.  That's when we discovered that Johnny was carrying a secret weapon.  Without any difficulty we pulled out the largest vibrating butt-plug any of us had every seen.  It had obviously seen a lot of use for the stitching was failing.  Everyone hoped that Johnny knew a well hung large stallion that was into people (literally) for anything smaller would be too small to do anything but tickle him.  Now everyone knew that it would be pointless to fuck this hole.

Anyway, the testing continued with each one trying everything.  This activity has to pause because Johnny was so vocal.  The consensus was that the ball gag did the best overall job but the eighteen cm dildo gag kept him the quietest although he tended to turn blue which was not in keeping with the holiday decor.

Our host had a nice padded saw horse so for the paddle and similar stuff we loosened the cables and bend him over it.  He presented the largest target most had ever seen.  I bet his stallion thought that he looked like a mare.

The stiffened leather paddle seem to be the best for this target although there were doubts that this was a typical test subject.

A couple of the dudes that were into the heavier stuff tried both the cat and the flogger on Johnny's upper back.  From their tented pants, it was clear that they enjoyed it.  Johnny wouldn't admit it but everybody thought that he was having fun along with everyone else.

YLee just had to try the nice barber clippers.  It was a professional model with a choice of cutter heads.  Johnny's beard was positively gross for he did not know from napkins and it looked like he filtered his meals through it; it hadn't been trimmed in years.  Normally, YLee wouldn't touch a guy's beard, but this one had to go.  The heavy-duty head made short work of the mess which was thrown into the garbage.  Then the fine clipper head was put on and used to finished him off.  He did not look too bad considering his age and all the extra poundage.  The chipper dude was on a roll and just kept going with the wonderful new toy in his hands.  He just did his right side down to his pubes and then asked for a vote.  With one exception, everyone agreed that Johnny looked better this way.  Well, the majority rules and Johnny lost that vote.  YLee had to yield the clipper for a while as others wanted to wield it.  Gadfly, a.k.a, the nit picker, noticed that the armpits had been missed and was told that they were next on the list.  Anyway they were quickly mowed off with that powerful tool.

YLee did get to do half his pubes before he was again forced to share (just like in kindergarten).  A couple of purists insisted that we use the razor to get rid of the stubble so we did.  The consensus was that  looks a lot better smooth and hairless.  Attention was again shifted around to the posterior parts.  There was a whole flock/herd/pack/quiver/gaggle (What the hell is the correct collective for these things?  Certainly not "exaltation" as with larks) of dildos and butt plugs available.  Condoms were put on several test items but only the extra large ones were tested due to the excessive dilated state of the subject's receptacle.  The subject did not react to any of the items except his original plug that we had removed from him earlier, and then only after it had the battery was replaced and it was lubed it up with a mixture of Tabasco sauce and alum at Jon's suggestion.

Well to tell the truth, he reacted to one other item.  One dude (who asked to be anonymous) put on some latex gloves to retrieve a couple of lumps of coal that he had previously easily pushed into that huge chasm.  He insisted that they would come out by themselves on the pot but the rest of us were not so sure.  Now if they had been steel balls that would have been different.  (Advice: don't do this on the pot as they can crack it just like a falling cannon ball.)

To JO this was a scene reminiscent of his Brewster Boys and Santa story he'd published a year ago.  He left compelled to act just as Bobby Brewster would have.  He took a bright green ribbon off one of the presents under the Christmas tree, he tied it tightly around Johnny's now freshly shaven nuts.  Then with an impish grin, he picked up one of Johnny's own fur-trimmed gloves and began to gently stroke his limp cock.  Johnny trembled and shook as JO stimulated his now swelling cock, and as JO persisted, John jerked and pulled against his restraints and everyone gathered around to watch.  JO was really proud that he had become the focus for this awesome party considering the guest list.

Having gotten Johnny's wrinkled old cock erect, JO contemplated what he should do next as he ran his fingers through his spiked hair.  He'd dyed it red and green just for the party and was disappointed nobody had mentioned his efforts, nor the tiny silver bells he'd worn in place of his eyebrow rings.  He was handed a nice red ribbon about meter long.  He took the suggestion and tied it tightly about the base (behind the ball sack) of Johnny's package like a cock ring.  Then he wrap the rest down the shaft finishing off with a big bow right behind the swollen head.

With a feather-light touch, he ran the fur-trimmed glove along the sensitive edge of John's knob, causing the man's cock to jerk and him to groan with desire.  The ribbon about his cock was so tight he could not even pre-cum.  Jay moved on up to the man's expansive stomach and tickled his belly-button, causing Johnny to quiver and jerk even more.  He continued on up to the freshly shaven arm pits, causing Johnny to roar with laugher and his fat belly to jiggle like the proverbial bowl of jelly.  (He had wondered about that since he was a little kid.)  Then it was back down to his dick head, alternating his tickle torture with stimulating the old dude's aching cock – pain and pleasure, pain and pleasure.  It was difficult to tell which was which as JO assaulted first Johnny's arm pits and then his swollen pleasure pole.  JO's own ramrod was clearly visible as the uncut organ strained in his leather pants and he felt the first of his pre-cum ooze out.  This was going to be one wicked party; JO was sure glad he came.

There were a couple of cans of body paint so they did some more decorating.  The was not any agreement if the checkered port side, the stripped starboard side or the dorsal polka dot design was the best.  The parachute harness worked real nice and made putting on the 3" ball stretcher a breeze.

The host found an ancient pink with a flower motif girdle which we strapped on to him.  It took four of us to pull in his massive gut.  He look a lot better with it on.  Then we took a group photo for next year's invitation e-cards.

It was almost midnight when we let him down.  After he showered and dressed he admitted it was all fun but he really had not expected such a welcome and had to go.  He was muttering something about this not being like Kansas, not one fucken, little bit.  Everyone tried to persuade him to stay but he wouldn't be persuaded.  When he got to the street, he saw that his transport was gone.  He stood a as if he was trying to remember something.  "Ah ha!" he explained and then patted his right buttock hard three times, laid his finger along his cock and said a spell.  His team and sleigh materialized, he hopped on and flew off to his next stop.  As he flew by, it was noticed that the snow had a blue cast.

Just then the bell rang.  It was Santa Clone, of course.  He was very apologetic but he had been trapped on a PATH train for over three hours and cell phones just don't work in tunnels under the river.  This was the guy the escort service had sent.

When he took off his coat, boots and heavy pants we beheld an Adonis in a harness (well fitted) and tight well-packed Bikini briefs (without any padding).  He was a cute and handsome humpy young stud, willing to do almost anything and with a great body.  The bag he carried was filled with the toys our host had gotten us as gifts.  Well, as those twins say about some gum: double your pleasure, double your fun.


Life can be a real bitch, but one has keep going through such adversity.

Happy holidays one and all.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L., December 22, 1999

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