It happened one winter on Christmas Eve,
A gift wrapped in ribbon that Santa could not believe.
Mrs. Claus opened the box with a grin,
And lifted a strapon striped bright as sin.

Red and white swirls from the base to the tip,
Thick as a thermos, built for a trip.
She held it up high with a sparkle of cheer,
Saying, “Looks like I get my own toy this year.”

Santa turned pale, his cookies went cold,
But he bent right over like a husband who obeys when told.
She strapped in tight, gave one testing thrust,
And Santa discovered new kinds of trust.

He yelped, he gasped, he clutched the bed,
Mrs. Claus laughed and kissed his head.
“Such good behavior. Such holiday joy.
But I am not done. Bring me each toy boy.”

She called for the elves by the firelight glow,
And one by one they lined up in a row.
First came Twizzle who trembled a lot,
He left with legs shaking and face burning hot.

Next came Pippin who bragged he was tough,
He squeaked like a mouse when she pushed in enough.
Then Jingle arrived with confidence wide,
He left with eyes crossed and a wobbly stride.

One after another they took that cane,
Each elf learning pleasure can blend with pain.
Mrs. Claus kept a rhythm both ruthless and sweet,
Turning the workshop into a spanking heartbeat.

By dawn they were sprawled in exhausted delight,
Moaning soft carols all through the night.
Mrs. Claus wiped down her candycane prize,
Still glowing with power in her satisfied eyes.

So Santa may bring the gifts each year,
But Mrs. Claus brings holiday cheer.
Thanks to that strapon so festive and strong,
Every elf learned Christmas can last all night long.

There once was an elf named Spriggle McStock,
A cheerful little worker with a gigantic cock.
It hung from his shorts like a holiday sock,
Swinging so wide it could knock over a block.

In the workshop it caused total chaos each day.
Other elves tripped over it like it was in the way.
Some were jealous and grumbled, “Why him, not me?”
Others whispered, “I’d ride that thing for all to see.”

Whenever he bent down to put a toy in the cart,
His cock flopped out like it wanted to take part.
Elves gasped, elves blushed, elves lost their composure,
That monster sized dick loved full exposure.

One elf tried measuring it using red twine.
Another asked softly, “Uh… want to combine?”
Two candycane bakers invited him inside,
Saying they needed help, but all they wanted was a ride.

Poor Spriggle had no idea what to do.
His cock was a magnet for the whole horny crew.
He could not concentrate, his tasks never done,
Because his pants kept losing their giant resident one.

Then one night Mrs. Claus stepped through the hall,
Carrying cocoa and checking on all.
She spotted Spriggle bent over, adjusting a wheel,
And saw his cock fall out with undeniable zeal.

Her eyes went wide, her breath caught tight,
She whispered, “My god, that is quite the sight.”
She touched it once and felt it twitch,
Then gave a command, “My bedroom. Now. You’re my bitch!.”

She dragged him upstairs, pushed him to the bed,
Pulled off his shorts and spread her legs instead.
“Show me what this monster can do,”
And his cock answered before his brain even knew.

He fucked her so deep she clawed at his back,
Moaning his name like she was under attack.
Her pussy stretched wide with every huge thrust,
Mrs. Claus screaming, “Stuff me, you must.”

He filled her again and again that night,
Till she shook and begged for one more bite.
By morning her cheeks were glowing bright,
And she told him, “You are mine now. Each and every night.”

Now Spriggle no longer works with the toys.
He is too busy pleasing the Queen of the boys.
Mrs. Claus keeps him naked in her private den,
Where that monster cock fucks her again and again.

There once was a boy named duckie,
Whose life was bare and lucky.
He almost never wore pants at all,
Since his cock was huge and liked to sprawl.

But one cold morning he gave it a try,
Slipped into jeans with a hopeful sigh.
He muttered, “how hard can clothing be?”
Then found out the truth quite painfully.

He tugged the zipper nice and slow,
But his monster cock said, “I refuse to go.”
It flopped and swung like a wayward trout,
And would not tuck itself inside the route.

Duckie pushed and coaxed and begged,
He even tried tucking it down one leg.
Finally he forced the zipper tight,
And that is when the world went bright.

The metal teeth clamped down with a zip,
Caught the tip of his heroic whip.
Duckie screamed in seven languages,
Invented five more, and cursed his bandages.

He hopped around like a wounded deer,
Crying, “my dick is stuck, oh dear.”
Neighbors watched from behind their blinds,
Pretending they could not hear his whines.

After much sweat and tragic groans,
He freed the beast from denim stones.
It popped out proud, triumphant, red,
Like it had just come back from the dead.

Duckie swore he would never again
Trap his giant friend inside a pen.
He tossed the jeans straight into the bin,
And declared, “pants are a mortal sin.”

Now he lives the way he prefers to be,
Bare, happy, floppy, and zipper free.

Elves are known for toys and dough,
For cookies baked in festive rows.
They hammer, stitch, and sprinkle cheer,
And work their magic every year.

But hidden deep in Santa’s crew,
There is a skill just known to few.
A talent whispered soft like myth,
A secret art they call the Gift.

And one small elf named Tinsel McGlee
Was famous for it across the tree.
Not carving wood or icing treats,
But what he did between the sheets.

See, Tinsel had a tongue so quick,
It could outpace Saint Nick’s sleigh trick.
A swirl, a twirl, a skill divine,
He made the grown folk gasp each time.

Which brought him straight to Mrs. Claus,
The queen of cheer with iron laws.
She found his talent quite a perk,
And put poor Tinsel right to work.

He barely slept from Christmas Eve,
For she would tug upon his sleeve.
“Come here, my elf, I need delight,
Bring all that magic tongue tonight.”

By sunrise he was woozy, spent,
His little legs all wobbly bent.
He sighed, “I miss the cookies’ taste,
Instead I serve Mrs. Claus with fevered haste.

“All day I lick, all night I please,
My tongue has seen more shifts than trees.
I beg for rest, I beg for peace,
But she just shouts, ‘More joy, release!’”

Yet still he serves, year after year,
Obeying every call he hears.
Though tired, dazed, and out of breath,
He keeps his title till his death.

So when you hear the sleigh bells ring,
And Mrs. Claus begins to sing,
Just know it’s not the reindeer’s flight…
It’s Tinsel’s tongue pleasing her all night.

There once was an elf named Jingle McSprout,
Who slacked on his quota and kept sneaking out.
While all of the others built toys by the heap,
He napped in a sleigh and pretended to sweep.

One morning the ledger came back with a clunk,
And Santa yelled, “Who made this pile of junk?”
Every elf froze as the numbers came clear.
Jingle had built… well… nothing this year.

So off he was marched with a terrified squeak,
Straight to the office he prayed not to seek.
For Mrs. Claus waited, all strict and severe,
A legend of discipline known far and near.

She shut the door gently, said, “Strip to your skin.”
The elf whimpered softly, “I never win.”
His clothes hit the floor in one nervous drop,
She lifted a cane like a candycane prop.

The first strike was loud, a crack like a whip.
He hopped up and down with a wobbly hip.
The second one landed with peppermint flair,
He yelped so hard ornaments shook everywhere.

She swung with precision, a festive routine,
Painting his butt in a red and white sheen.
By stripe number twelve his tears began to flow,
Hoping his cheeks would soon cool in the snow.

When all was done she said, “Back to your bench.
Next time you slack you will earn the full trench.”
He waddled out slowly, so sore as he rose,
His rear end brighter than Rudolph’s nose.

Now Jingle works daily with holiday pride,
A striped little warning across his backside.
And every elf whispers when snowfall is light,
“Do your job well or get caned by the Mrs. tonight.”