Miracle On Route 34: Part 1

Ginny gets a wonderful Christmas surprise.

Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

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Author's
Notes: Someone asked me to
write a funny and erotic Christmas tale, but since I can't be normal, it is
taking on a radical twist that I hope people will find amusing. I've tried to
make Santa awesome but also give him some flaws that the ladies will find both
charming and irksome all at once.

I
wasn't going to call it anything lame like 'Here Cums Santa Claus' (in spite of
my love of Elvis) so I eventually settled on ripping off a classic and beloved
Christmas movie, naming it 'Miracle On Rural Road 34'. Couldn't help myself
with the 'Yes, Virginia' quip, of course. As for Superman, Oatmeal and the
Easter Bunny, well, get used to more groaners like that, because I like them.

Merry
ho-ho and keep your stick on the ice!

, Management

Chapter 1.

Ginny Hale sighed forlornly as she sat on her chesterfield
in the dim room, the only light provided by the crackling fireplace and some
scented candles spread around to make the house smell like gingerbread. She'd
made gingerbread cookies earlier, but they were predictably burnt and now her
kitchen smelled like a Christmas elf's ass.

She took another sip of red wine from her oversized glass,
unable to decide who or what to be mad at, the weather, for bringing this
god-awful blizzard on Christmas Eve, her so-called friends for ditching her
after she'd gone to all this work to put together a nice party, or herself for
going crazy and buying this (admittedly nice) chateau way out here in the
boondocks.

Still relatively new to her negotiator position, Ginny had
landed a huge deal for the company she worked for and the payout bonus was one
of the biggest ever seen in-house. Though she had an office, she had often
worked from her cramped apartment downtown, where a glorious chaos only she
understood reigned. But the payout had been large enough for her to purchase a
very pretty home in the country, not more than ninety minutes from work. Her
boss was so pleased with the deal that he said she only had to come in once a
week, to pick up whatever she needed to work on.

It had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now she
found she was quite lonely. Few people were will to put forth the effort to
come out and visit her. In fact, only three had since the summer when she
bought it. Hell, even her boy-toy, Chad from Accounting, could not be bothered
and was now just fucking Lily in the secretary pool instead.

Bing Crosby was singing 'White Christmas' to her while she
moped. The big bay windows to her back porch showed the fury of the storm
outside. Driving snow had been battering the countryside for two days now and
her boss had called her to just stay safe and not try to come into the city.

He was a nice old man and she liked him. He'd actually taken
a chance and given her the job, after she'd fucked him. She hadn't invited him
to her little soiree, because his miserable old bat of a wife was hovering
around him constantly these days, certain he'd been tipping on her. But even
without Old Man Reese, she'd invited upward of twenty people and none of
them had shown. Not even Claire, her best supposed friend, had made it out. She
was probably too busy being pinned and screwed by her boyfriend anyway, Guido
or Nunzio or whatever his name was.

Dean Martin came on, singing 'Marshmallow World'. Normally
this was one of her favorites, but tonight it just reminded her that she was
alone for Christmas. Again. With another sigh, she drank the rest of the wine
in her glass and reached for the bottle, turning it over.

It was empty. Damn. She'd have to open another one.

She walked slowly into the kitchen, wearing her ratty old
fox-themed footie pajamas, having decided that if she didn't have to dress up
for anyone, she was dressing at all. She took a deep drink of spiked egg nog
from the jug of it she'd prepared while she found another bottle of zinfandel
and burped very loudly. She wrestled the cork off of the bottle and poured most
of the contents into her oversized glass, muttering that she didn't have to
answer to anyone about what she did, she was a big girl. She slumped back down
on the couch while John Lennon asked her what she'd done for Christmas from the
stereo system.

"Up yours, John;" she said testily as she drank
more wine.

She stood unsteadily, blinking for a moment to try and clear
her head. She might have had a bit of a wine fog going on,
since she'd nearly polished off two bottles of Old Vine Zinfandel in under two
hours. Convincing herself that walking was not a bad idea, she tottered over to
the bay windows, reaching a hand out in front of herself to make sure it
encountered the glass before her face did.

"Will you look at that shit out there;" she
muttered to no one in particular. After all, there was no one around to hear
her.

Well, almost no one.

"Hi, Oatmeal," she said sweetly, grinning lopsidedly at the bearded dragon that sat in a terrarium near the bay doors. "Looks like you're my Christmas date; again;"

The tiny lizard said nothing but assumed a darker shade of purplish brown.

"Same to you too, bugface." Ginny muttered sourly, annoyed at being spurned by a reptile with a brain smaller than a sugared peanut. She lumbered back to the kitchen, trying unsuccessfully to eat several pieces of the Turkish Delight she'd tried to make, but they were sticky and runny, most of the reddish-pink mess ending up stuck to the front of her pajamas.

"Son of a fucking reindeer!" she spat, attempting
to remove the pajamas, her sticky fingers having trouble with the zipper. She
finally kicked the thing off and left it in a corner of the kitchen, now wearing
nothing except her panties and a halter top. She stomped back into the spacious living room, thoroughly annoyed. While the music played, she looked around for something to do, taking another pull from the egg nog jug she'd brought with her.

The hot tub.

It sat near the bay windows, set into the floor and was
large enough for five or six people. She'd been hoping that maybe a few people
of the dozens she'd invited would show and maybe they could have a fun pool
party. She'd even told everyone in the invitations to bring their swimsuits.

But of course, no one showed. She was beginning to suspect
she could live in Buckingham Fucking Palace and still no one
would come to see her. This was, literally, the fifth Christmas she'd spent by
herself. The timing for friends never worked out and her parents were always
off in Monaco or some such place, avoiding the weather. Her mom had already
called earlier that night, so she wouldn't hear any more from them for a few
days now.

She sighed yet again and pulled off her underthings,
stepping into the water. She was drunker than she wanted to admit, though,
missing her footing, squealing and tumbling into the tub with a splash. Ginny
came to the surface, sputtering and hissing in outrage. Why couldn't anything
work out? Oatmeal just stared at her impassively.

"You win this time, gravity;" she growled,
displeased with her inelegant entrance. Well, at least she'd been smart enough
to put down the jug of nog before trying to get in. She turned on the jets and
retrieved her beverage, taking another big pull as the tub rumbled to life.
Ginny laid back her head against one of the padded rests and tried to relax, to
let her frustrations go.

She turned on the jets and allowed one to massage her lower
back while sipping at a glass of wine. She tried to put the frustrations of the
holiday behind her, to let go of the feelings of rejection and somehow not
belonging.

"Why did I but this new fucking home if no one was
interested in visiting? Everyone said they thought it was so great, but months
later, still no visitors. Do I really not matter that much?"

It annoyed her to think not only that she was alone, but
that doubtless most of the people who had ditched her were at home getting
laid. Claire was doubtless face down and ass up on her bed, getting plowed from
behind by Guido. Even Mr. Reese, the old geezer, was probably getting some,
either from his wife or maybe one of his secretaries.

She sighed heavily and sat up, putting her now-empty wine
glass aside and deciding that just because she was alone on Christmas Eve
didn't mean she wasn't owed at least one good orgasm. She leaned forward and
rested her forearms on the padded edge of the hot tub, positioning herself so
that one of her jets, the one she'd named 'Juan', was right behind her. She
felt the flow of water begin to caress her and she rested her head on her
forearms as she wiggled further back, feeling the jet more strongly now as it
pushed against her ass and her cunt. With a sigh, she found the perfect
distance and pressed her face down into her arms, letting Juan work his magic.

Water pressure massaged her cunt lips, strong enough to part
them and to tease her clit, sending thrills through her. She shuddered and
sighed loudly, forgetting, for now, how much men sucked. She bit the knuckle of
her index finger, lost in reverie.