The Christmas.

South Pole. 

The smell... Spicy but organic in nature, not unlike sulfur. That was the first thing the tiny elf noticed as he entered the bedroom of Mr. ES. Just a waft would be enough to send any other elf into a fitful rage of vomit and pain. This elf though, had been trained. He had been witness to the worst things that Evil Santa was capable of. This elf was hardened... Conditioned... Ready... His life had been spent  training for this very moment. To awake the slumbering mass set before him. He quivered. Knowing his place in the world he poked, jabbed and prodded the monstrous pile of a man. Minutes became hours. All spent willingly, stirring what he knew would be his own end...

***

Upon awakening, Evil Santa only had time to crush his alarm clock and shout a few profanities before shouting a few more profanities at the stains on his bedspread. A few drinks later, he had set Mrs. Evil Claus straight by way of a few backhands and set about his day. Evil Santa poured another glass of gin, hefted a large bag of spoiled meat and set out for the workshop. He liked Gin because it tasted like Christmas trees. He hated Christmas trees, but loved the taste of hate in his mouth. He hated the workshop, he hated working, he hated the shitty little elves, but most of all, he hated Christmas. The idea of a world where families were enjoying a happy Christmas drove him to the brink of violence, which is exactly where he liked to be and exactly why he drank gin.

Evil Santa set a massive boot on the dilapidated porch of the bustling workshop. Silence immediately fell over the shop floor as he began unlocking a large array of padlocks from the steel door that kept the elves prisoner. It was a silence so intense that you could almost smell it. It smelled like fear.

He entered the shop to see everything in order. The room looked less like a workshop and more like a sweatshop that manufactured horror. Rows of cages lined the walls around what looked like a dazzling collection of torture devices, mills, odd machinery and large drums full of foul smelling chemicals. Each cage contained a tiny, filthy elf. Each of the elves had been kidnapped and assimilated into Evil Santa's army by way of brainwashing, torture and eventual Stockholm syndrome.

"Alright you worthless pieces of asshole lint! Time to get to work! If  you fail me this year I will see to it that Mrs. Evil Clause has her way with every single last one of you!" Evil Santa belched. The smell of gin-soaked halitosis sending a powerful waft through the room.

Evil Santa went to a small control panel on the wall and entered in a numeric code on a small keypad. "80085-666." The doors to all of the cages flung open and the shrieking wale of a thousand elves errupted from the tense silence. The elves clamored out all at once, spilling over each other, gouging eyes and clawing at skin. There were multiple casualties before they assembled in the center of the floor, jeering, jumping and screaming madly.

Evil Santa plucked a green tinted slab of elf meat from his bag and flung it at the elves. It didn't have time to smack the ground with a meaty flop before the elves had not only devoured it, but some of the weaker elves along with it.

He let out a horrible smile.

"Right! Now here's the plan!"

***
North Pole.

  Up north, Santa (the regular one) slid magically out of bed in order to not disturb Mrs. Claus. He gazed fondly at her sleeping plumpness as he sipped his morning milk. As per his daily routine, he lumbered to the window to look out upon the glory of the most magical place on earth. Snow drifted past twinkling lights and elves skipped hand in hand as they sang his favorite holiday songs. Filled to the fraying edges of his beard with the Christmas spirit, he simply couldn’t contain his joy.

“Ho, ho, ho!” boomed throughout his tiny kingdom, and all was right with the world.

“Now, now, Mrs. Claus, why the sour face?”

“What is the point of putting an elf-spell on the bed if you can’t keep your trap shut? This is the third time this week.”

 “I was planning to let you have a lie-in but it’s Black Friday! The beginning of another wonderful Christmas season is upon us. Cookie?”

It was as if he didn’t even notice Barbara had thrown his stupid cookie into those godawful chin-pubes where it lodged firmly next to the crumbling one she’d heaved yesterday. Nor did he notice that the mere mention of another Christmas had sent her reaching wildly for the flask of eggnog in her nightstand drawer.

“I just adore watching the news broadcasts from Wal-Mart on this blessed day. Will you join me?” The remote was already clicking away in his chapped red hand.

“Watch that abomination of capitalism? No. It’s disgusting.” Her retreat beneath the pillow was arrested as his girth settled next to her, bending the mattress nearly in half and sending the pillow slithering off the sleigh bed.

“Watch this one, Mrs. Claus. See how the people simply cannot wait any longer to share their excitement and buy meaningful gifts for their loved ones? They actually manage to shatter the plate-glass window in their haste for the holiday kickoff!”

“It’s like watching fast zombies. Three people died in that free-for-all.”

“Oh, and this one! Just experience the thrill along with these gift-givers as the store finally opens after a week of camping in front of it!”

“One of the dead was a child.”

“Mrs. Claus, Christmas is in the air. Can you hear it? The sleigh bells jingling? Ring ting tingling, even!”

“Stop shaking those stupid jingle bells in my ear.”

“Mark my words, this is going to be the best Christmas ever! Ho, ho, ho!”

“I’m fucking Dingle, your head elf.”

Santa started hurriedly grabbing his things in excitement. The spirit of Christmas almost seeping out of every orifice of his body.

“Help me into my suit, I must inspect the toy factory! Santa’s work is never done, especially not when Wal-Mart has such amazingly low prices! Why, I’ll bet we need to ship out another load of Action Critters and Impossibly Skinny Girls already.” Santa said.

“The mechanics are a bit difficult, him being a third of my size and all, but I’ve found a different kind of toy factory online that helps me achieve orgasm every time.”

"I'm sorry to leave you this early my sweet, but the workshop awaits and the reindeer need tending! With the surprising lack of elves we have this year it's been strenuous, I know, but I shall send Dingle with lunch this afternoon!" 

Santa did a precarious little twirl of glee on his way out of the bedroom that left a splintered door frame and cookie crumbs in his jolly wake. Mrs. Clause washed down a Xanax with a second flask of nog. Waving the sickly sweet scent of his lingering happiness away from her nose, she settled back in for a long winter’s nap. She had her own things to tend to this evening.

***

South Pole

The evil elves had not slept in days. The emaciated imps dropping like flies left and right. Mrs. Evil Clause had been maintaining their numbers by delivering  new elves almost daily. The "training room" was almost constantly full of new slaves and Evil Santa couldn't be more pleased.

Santa overlooked the factory floor in a large chair. He sat, breathing heavily, occasionally shouting orders, but he was much too engrossed in his brooding. This plan, surely, would work. He belched loudly as Mrs. Evil Clause entered the workshop with a few well fed but visibly horrified elves. Their festive slippers jingling throughout the factory floor. Some of the Evil elves were visibly affected by the sound.

"You sure do good work wench." Said Evil Santa.

"It's about the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore." Mrs. Evil clause sighed, leaving the workshop.

The new elves trembled intensely as Evil Santa's shadow enveloped them. More than one smelled of urine. With a small gesture, they were seized by thin, sickly versions of themselves and brought towards a room in the back of the factory that seemed to be screaming.

In one of the corners of the factory there stood a line of elves, each one shackled to the floor. Santa walked toward the row of elves with a large tray of hypodermic needles, beaming. Evil Santa set a needle atop a table. He began cursing at the needle. First, it was almost casual, but then, it became more fervent. Evil Santa's beard was rapidly acquiring particles of lunch and spit as more and more expletives exploded out of his now red and purple face. After a few minutes he was finished. The contents of the needle now a pale maroon, he knew he was finished. Time to test his wares.

***

Mrs. Evil Clause entered the kitchen. She sighed, longing for a plump man's touch. Dingle would do until the season was over, but it was like this every year. Neither Santa would so much as acknowledge her needs. Evil Santa always figuring out a way to kill Santa. Santa bumbling about, blissfully unaware of anything that didn't twinkle, jingle or sing. She once had to coax Normal Santa into intercourse by way of hiding actual bells and whistles in and around her body. Only slightly better was Evil Santa who, when drunk enough (which was admittedly more often than not) simply lay there, occasionally farting until she finished.

She poured more eggnog for the journey back. Dingle would be by to bring her lunch soon.

***


North Pole

Mrs. Clause lay draped across a red and white striped chaise lounge, nude but for a garland of tinsel. Dingle kept offering her tidbits from his tray of Christmas pastries, but she waved them off. She was thinking about her next shipment of elves. Oblivious as her husband was, at some point it was possible Dingle would notice and report his suspicions. But she had her ways of keeping an elf silent. The sex though... It wasn't quite to her taste. Again she pined for the thickness of a man. An idea struck, and instead of waving off the pastries, she began to feed them to her diminutive lover. "You are too kind to me, madam," he simpered. Barbara despised simpering. At least the elves at the South Pole, despite being withered and crazed, had the self-respect to be enraged and/or horrified by her presence... Power... None of these North Pole ninnies had ever so much as tossed a cocoa-scented turd her way. Honestly, they were better off below. Sure the survival rate was dismal, but at least they learned a little self-respect. Dingle was beginning to gag on buttery crust, so she jammed a candy cane in his mouth and wrapped her tinsel garland more securely about her ample bosom. This was going to be her year, she was certain of it. The glory and the terror of both poles would dangle from her like glittering ornaments. And speaking of- it was time to distract her bumbling Mr. Leaving the rapidly fattening, and suddenly more attractive elf to his choking, she donned her secret weapon and flounced out into the snowy wonderland.

 She found the over-sized man leaping, as much as man of his girth could be said to leap, amid the tiny gingerbread houses his elves lived in. An awkward dance, a nibble off an employee's chimney, another dance. None of it disrupted his hearty rendition of 'Santa Baby'. Several roofs in, he noticed his wife. 

"Mrs. Claus! Let us dance, and delight!" He extended a meaty paw. Mrs. Clause struck a pose instead, allowing his twinkling gaze to take in her intent. 

"Oh, ho! Mrs. Claus, you may end up on my naughty list this year!" You finally found your Christmas spirit! Come here, you little minx, and let me stuff your stocking!" 

***

South Pole: December 23rd

Evil Santa looked across the factory floor, dazed. The lack of tiny screams was unnerving to him. He had apparently killed quite a few elves in a stupor the night before. Little smashed corpses dotted the area. He stumbled through the factory floor towards the row of chained elves. Each one had tested positive for both syphilis and anemia. Over the last few hours, boils had begun to form on their faces and asses. Each elf was a cesspool of disease. Now it was only a matter of time for Mrs. Clause to infect Santa.

Mrs. Clause loved her eggnog so Evil Santa had dosed the last batch with his concoction. It was incredibly simple really. She would feel no symptoms other than an increased libido, then after a couple of days the sudden onset psychosis. The mixture of maladies brought on by his poison were designed to spread the infection as fast as possible. Boils, open sores, insane sexual desire, all would help infect every moving thing in the north pole right down to those stupid fucking reindeer. 

Evil Santa felt pleased with himself. He frantically started trying to find something to hate. He drank a glasses of gin, tried conversing with the elves, even started caroling to himself. He couldn't stand it... He had somehow become... Jolly.

Evil Santa racked a shotgun,

"Four calling birds, three french hens, two turtle doves..."

And single shot echoed through the workshop...

***

North Pole: Christmas Eve Morning
Santa awoke from his slumber to tiny screams.

"Your roundness! I have terrifying news!" yelped a tiny elf Evan.

"Well what could it possible be? I have much to do!"

"It's Dingle! He was found nearly frozen outside the workshop! He says he's got grave news!" Elf Evan squeaked.

Santa rolled out of bed and donned his gay apparel. He and Elf Evan rushed to the workshop. Mrs. Clause lay still. She felt sick, not from the prospect of being outed as a murderous cuckold, but physically ill. When Santa was out of earshot she sat up and said "Turd croquet!" and pissed herself.

Santa was attempting to wake Dingle and the elves were all chattering. The room was tense and all eyes were on the tiny elf in Santa's lap. Nobody noticed Mrs. Clause enter the room, grab an elf, and fart her way out the door like a deflating balloon.

After a few moments of unsuccessful recessitation, Santa gave up. “Looks like our little Dingle had a few too many cookies, eh?” He chortled, poked the elf’s newly rotund belly a few times, and tossed him on the floor. “Let’s get back to business, then, shall we? Who’s on beard grooming duty?” The elves looked at each other and shrugged. If he wasn’t worried, neither were they. Although most of them had other things on their mind besides preparing Santa for his big night. Looks of lust flew as rampantly as the sleigh on Christmas Eve as the elves paired off. No one noticed Dingle drag himself out of the room on boil-covered arms.

Santa began to load the presents himself. “Those naughty little elves are celebrating earlier than usual this year!” Around him, snow-covered bushes shook with rapid elfin copulation. 

Evan’s libido was among the first to subside. He felt queasy, and wasn’t just from the realization that he’d shagged several female elves. Hoping Santa hadn’t noticed his absence, he trotted to the barn to begin harnessing the reindeer. When he got there, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He donned his oversized glasses. No, it was true. Some debauched elves were shagging the reindeer. “On Comet! On Cupid!” they shrieked and cackled.

Evan was initially disgusted, but a new feeling was growing inside him. He shat himself. “Flaming balls,” he muttered. “Flaming fire ass!” A Molotov cocktail swiftly assembled itself out of eggnog and his ball-topped cap beneath his twitchy little fingers. “On Donner! On Blitzen!” he screamed as he lit the fuse. The process hindered by his violent masturbation.

Dingle finally looked like a real man, so his corpulent lover didn’t even mind that had expired halfway through their final act of love.

Mrs. Claus lay in the hay next to Rudolph’s twitching corpse, the screams and chaos wafting through the air as the stables burned around them. She let out a long sigh, finally satisfied.

Santa took note of the growing flames coming from the barn. He wished the little dears would have waited a bit longer before celebrating. They had always had a hard time handling their eggnog. It wasn’t as if he needed the reindeer to fly the sleigh, but he had an image to upkeep. He fluffed his beard a final time and smoothed the Nice List. Off he flew, as the flames overtook his small kingdom.

“God bless us, everyone!” he cried, pleased with the sound of it. It sounded a bit familiar, though… Tiny Tim! That dear boy was going to find himself the recipient of a brand-new pair of ice skates for coining such a delightful phrase. He yelled it again and he flew out of sight.



The writers of this story do not, in any way, apologize for what you have just read. So... Yeah... Kevin can be found on twitter: @Amendkevin
Kayti can also be found on twitter as @Kaytiiswriting