Debbie does Vegas
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Debbie Does Rudolph free porn video
Debbie recoiled in disbelief after her gal pal of many beers sucker punched her in the tit.
“This is NOT a thing,” Debbie blurted, berating her drinking bud while rubbing the side of her breast. “You don’t punch Mrs. Claus in the fucking tit. Ever!”
“I disrespectfully disagree, you silly twat. This has always been a thing,” Olive reminded her long-time confidante. “Ever since we hooked and crooked our way through college. Say or do stupid shit - get a boot to the box or a fist to the tit. And bitch, you like fisting, so what’s your fucking problem?”
“There’s nothing like a good fisting, sister, but titty punch me again and I’ll fuckin’ cut you,” Debbie forewarned, threatening her friend with the blunt edge of an empty beer can.
“Tough puta talk,” Olive mocked. “Why don’t you put my sloppy vag where your mouth is? Wait, I mean… ”
Their banter immediately erupted into laughter.
“Why are you always at my tits?” Debbie asked. “Still jealous?”
“Of course I’m fucking jealous,” Olive shrieked. “Where’s the droop? Where’s the middle-aged collapse? Why don’t they hang like the Gardens of Babylon?”
“Great tits grow in the family,” Debbie gloated. “In fact, we had to install a pair of muscle car hood scoops on Nonna’s coffin just so we could close the lid.”
The tipsy twosome chuckled at the funereal image before Debbie returned to what drew the strike.
“I’m at a loss,” Debbie interjected in exasperation. “How could I have nothing for that horny bastard. He always gives me the best gifts too. What do you get a guy who’s fuckin’ got everything?”
“Give him something he’s already has.”
“What in bloody hell does that mean?”
“Repurpose something.”
“Like what?” Debbie snapped. “Are you suggesting that I re-gift one of his things? I can only do the ask-for-forgiveness, Mrs. Butterworth handy and rim job so many times.”
Olive smiled and patiently waited for her cantankerous friend to ratchet down. “He already knows you’re an accomplished slut. Why not gift him the redux legacy of a filthy whore. A filthy fucking Christmas whore.”
Debbie glared at Olive as their eyes widened with sorority memories of their wanton past. It came back to Debbie like a forgotten, blacked-out drunken memory.
“Remember what we did with the ping pong balls?” Olive prompted.
“Holy shit,” Debbie said. “What were we thinking?”
“We were young, overly-needy sisters that desperately wanted approval.”
“We sure as fuck got that,” Debbie said, giggling as they tapped beer cans. “Saw a lot of jock jizz and girlie juice that night.”
“Precisely,” Olive replied. “And if I recall correctly, that’s when you met Mr. Twinkie.”
“Ah, yes. The big guy was sitting in the front row,” Debbie said, recalling the event with a glint of nostalgia.
“He looked dashing in his bright red suit. I fired one from puss to Pepsi, off his bushy beard and into his drink. Nick introduced me to Mr. Twinkie that night too. We fucked in the sleigh over Budapest. It was such a beautiful night. Tell me, Olive, why don’t people carol about that?”
“Geez, no idea,” Olive laughed.
“So, my conniving friend, what exactly are you suggesting?”
As Olive painted the picture, quickly dispensing each of Debbie’s concerns, Olive watched Debbie oscillate from comfort to discomfort and finally resting on comfort again.
“Simply put, this could be your best present yet,” Olive replied. “That perverted motherfucker won’t know what hit him.”
“Agreed.”
“Then, tick tock, babe,” Olive said as they looked at the countdown clock tower in the community square. “He’s already in the air. Let’s get to work before the elves get too wasted.”
♦
“How much time do we have?” Olive asked while waiting for Debbie to fix her hair.
“I’m not sure. Nick says he works with the earth’s rotation and against the time zones, zigzagging from pole-to-pole,” Debbie explained while rolling her eyes.
“Somehow twenty-four hours turns into forty-two, but once he crosses the International Date Line, it reverts back to twenty-four from the time he left. I don’t know how his voodoo time shit works, it just does. So whatever the correct answer is, we’ve got less time than that.”
“Are you ready then?”
Debbie nodded. “I’ve got a really good feeling about this.”
“Then, pitter patter, Deb. Everyone’s waiting.”
Debbie took one last look in the mirror before dropping her house coat, revealing a lean but curvy body with flawless, alabaster skin. She only wore jingle bell collars on both ankles and wrists, and another larger collar with one bell around her neck. The antlers were securely fastened and contrasted nicely with her hair of snow white. Olive smiled after examining the breast she had earlier punched.
“Deb, they’re still as magnificent as always. Let’s go.”
“Y’all know what time it is?” Debbie yelled as she followed Olive into the bedroom. “It’s MILF o’clock, you raunchy little cocksuckers. Time to pony up.”
♦
Later that night…
Debbie greeted her returning husband wearing the same sexy Mrs. Claus attire she wore almost every Christmas Eve. He especially liked the candy cane stockings that seductively twisted up her legs, but also appreciated how the coat presented her fabulous, cum-catching tits.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” a radiant Debbie said as she leaned in for an air kiss without making contact. “You smell like piss.”
“Every fucking year,” Nick vented. “You’d think the elves could figure this out. The air pressure makes a reindeer want to piss. Can’t those little bastards repurpose the cafeteria sneeze guard or something to redirect the spray? I’m surprised more people haven’t complained about their gifts.”
Nick stripped to the buff, tossing all of his urine-soaked clothing into a large bin that the elves would retrieve for laundering. Debbie patiently waited and watched, while also keeping an eye on the driveway for an overdue delivery. When Nick was ready, she handed him a mug of some gifted hot buttered rum.
“Did you add some of that Ping fella’s spicy rum?”
“Sure did.”
“Mighty fine gesture,” Santa continued. “All I get are illegible letters from greedy fucking kids. Gimme. Gimme. Gimme. Ping is permanently on my nice list.”
“What did you gift him this year?”
“An Amélie Poulain blow up doll. It was either that or a dildo drone that squirts butter milk.”
“Oh, I think he’ll enjoy the doll.”
“He already did,” Nick advised as he superhero-posed in the foyer mirror. “Do you want to hear about my night?”
“Fuck no,” Debbie replied. “The shower’s hot, and I’ve got a special treat for Mr. Twinkie.”
“And Mr. Twinkie’s got a special treat for Miss Peppermint Patty,” Nick said, giving his chilly shrunken friend a warming growth shake. “You know, my pole always points your way, babe, magnetic and true.”
“Oh, fuck,” Debbie gasped. “Don’t go ruining the mood with that crap. Go shower for fuck’s sake. I’ll be in the bedroom.”
As Nick waddled away with hot rummy in his tummy, Debbie noticed the courier elf sliding up the icy walk.
“It’s about fucking time,” she scolded him as he handed her a USB key.
“Our apologies, Mrs. Claus. There were some… production issues.”
“What do you mean?”
Before answering, the nervous elf gathered the clothing bin and rolled it out the front door, keeping it between him and her visible anger. He knew her fury. Until his demotion, he was lead elf on Project Rudolph.
“There were some artistic differences in the editing room, but they were resolved. So very sorry for the… ”
Debbie slammed the door.
Maybe the time crunch had gotten to her, maybe guilt. Inadvertent procrastination was her enemy but tardiness is nobody’s friend. However, she desperately didn’t want some perceived elf issue to ruin the night. To flatten her anger’s curve, Debbie chugged some rum straight from the bottle.
While sitting, waiting, on her husband’s side of the bed, a window reflection captured the festive attire of a whimsical and sexually freer spirit, someone Debbie hadn’t seen for the better part of the past year. She was delighted by their reacquaintance.
Here CUMS Santa Claus, here CUMS Santa Claus…
As Debbie listened to a showering Father Christmas sing profane variations of popular carols, she scanned their large bedroom. It was about the size of a racquetball court, including a high ceiling. Against one of the longer walls, the headboard of their oversized sleigh bed anchored the middle, with a view past the footboard through twenty feet of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the community square, its clock tower, and its massive, decorated Douglas Fir.
To the right of their bed, an oft used sex swing, and their extensive bondage equipment collection that decorated the adjacent wall. During the last renovation, the swing received a much needed reinforcement upgrade after crashing down during one of their switch-a-roo summer nights. Nick still laughs about it. Said it was a good thing he landed on his face.
To the right, a large-scale, Risk-Twister fusion game with a country-coordinated, international lubrication station and juice bar. Flanking the wall of windows, positioned in each front corner of the room, there were massive floor to ceiling river rock wood burning fireplaces. The room was their sexual sanctuary. They apologized for nothing and hid it from no one.
LICK my BALLS you ASS SLUT, Holly…
Debbie activated The Clapper to turn on the multimedia system. The ultra-high definition screen covered the entire ceiling, which was similar in size to a movie theatre screen but with better graphics. It thankfully replaced the seventies-style smoky, gold-leafed tile mirror grid pattern.
In addition to the upgraded surround sound system, was a series of ultra-high definition, ultra-slow motion cameras. They were controlled in the North Pole Media Centre where the raw footage was also edited and produced. Debbie now held the USB key containing her most recent production, Nick’s Christmas gift.
Then all the reindeer FUCKED her, FUCKED so hard they made her SCREAM…
Debbie inserted the USB key into her night stand control center and clapped to freeze the image on the big screen. It was a close-up of her grinning face. She then looked at the ugly lamp on her night stand.
During the Rudolph Project, the very one that cost the USB key courier his status, the elves tried to engineer a fleet of shiny-nosed sled pullers. The thinking was that eight Rudolph’s were better than one. It was a colossal failure.
As a lark, during one seminal fluid extraction, the lead elf took a mold of Rudolph’s massive pecker. He was Debbie Claus’s secret Santa. The King Kong Rudy Schlong was thick like Popeye’s forearm and had a fist-like cock head to match. It glowed brilliant red, bright enough to light a room when vigorously rubbed.
At first, Debbie was livid. She searched for answers, chasing pointy-eared cunts like a charging cassowary, swinging for the fences with that massive rubber cock. She tattooed a few elves and knocked a few others senseless. But once the mushrooms kicked in, they all chilled in the snow and enjoyed the northern lights. Stoned Debbie cradled her gift like a three foot Vegas margarita, and has kept it as a functioning lamp on her nightstand ever since.
“Let the games begin!” a dripping naked Nick announced as he sauntered past the swing. “Damn it, why’s the floor so fucking sticky?”
Debbie ignored his question while gingerly hopping off the bed to give Nick his overdue welcome home hug and kiss. Nick’s hand immediately reached between Debbie’s candy cane legs and his fingers went in for a dip.
“I smell peppermint!” Nick exclaimed but Debbie immediately recoiled in discomfort.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I’m just a little sore.”
“What happened? Are you okay?” a concerned Nick inquired. But his concern quickly turned to suspicion. “What did you do?”
Debbie grabbed Nick’s penis and lead him to their bed. As he climbed in, Debbie crawled up on her side and reattached her hand to Santa’s hardening dick.
“What, no maple syrup?” Nick jokingly asked.
“Shut up and clap.”
Nick got comfortable, laying spread eagle on his back, and smiled at the paused image of his beautiful wife. He clapped once to start the video. Debbie held firm, gently kneading Mr. Twinkie as the show began.
“Y’all know what time it is? It’s MILF o’clock, you raunchy little cocksuckers. Time to pony up.”
As the camera panned away from his wife, Nick prepared himself. He saw eight naked elves dressed as reindeer, wearing bells around their necks, antlers like his wife’s, sporting fuzzy tail butt plugs and eight tiny erections uncontrollably dripping with special sauce. The herd of elfdeer quickly assisted Debbie into the swing, binding her limps and fastening her into a reclined position.
CLAP
“Why’d you pause it?”
“Is this going to change my working relationship with my staff?” Nick chuckled.
CLAP
“Twenty bucks says the missus takes it up the ass,” a voice is heard from off camera. “Fifty if she squirts.”
“That elf’s got a serious gambling problem,” Nick advised. “We really should get him some help.”
With Debbie supine, legs apart and limps restrained, the elfdeer took turns stuffing their dripping dicks into Debbie’s mouth. With little effort, Debbie gobbled down each, with all elfdeer slapping their balls against her forehead. Off screen Debbie continued kneading Nick’s dick, trying to maintain his erection without making him cum.
“Suck it hard,” someone yelled.
“To the balls,” another one shouted.
“Yah, don’t forget the nutsacks, honey,” a third heckled.
Santa sighed. “Foul little beasts, aren’t they?”
After each elfdeer took his turn, they circled Debbie’s dangling body and pranced around like dancing deer in the Nutcracker Ballet.
“Is that Tusk?” Nick asked.
Music selection, Debbie thought, must have been one of the debated artistic differences.
The elfdeer then waved their hands, bent over, and stomped their feet, as if preparing for a ritualistic sacrifice, but it looked like a cross between a college marching band and a traditional Cherokee rain dance. At the bottom of the screen, a headless red coat emerged.
“Ha!” Nick laughed. “Is that supposed to be me?”
Two coat-covered elves standing shoulder-to-shoulder had what appeared to be an enormous dildo strapped between them.
“Deb, are you serious?”
“Hush now. Don’t ruin the moment.”
As the dancing elfdeer circled by, they took turns licking and spitting on Debbie’s pink pussy and snowy bush, preparing it for the fuck of its life. With each lick of elfdeer tongue, Debbie wiggled and moaned to her husband’s delight.
“This is so fucking hot,” Nick whispered.
After a few more minutes, the elfdeer took their places on either side of Debbie’s trembling body. SantaElves then positioned the tip of the dong against her lips, and the elfdeer grabbed the swing and pushed.
“Oh fuck that’s big!” Debbie screamed as the crew wasted no time working that monster into Santa’s wife. “Gaaaa. Sheeiiit!”
After a few back and forth moments, the elfdeer rhythmically rocked a delirious Debbie into the massive cock. It now traveled so deep that it made her eyes bulge. A split screen showed a close-up of the disappearing schlong and Debbie’s tormented face. The latter view was a Santa favourite.
As Debbie’s moans grew louder, and her pelvis rocked each meet, an off-screen voice said, “She’s ready, boys.”
Heave. Ho.
Instead of using the dildo like a battering weapon, the elves used Debbie’s body, making the castle swallow the ram.
Heave. Ho.
Heave. Ho.
“Look at that fucking teamwork,” Nick exclaimed. “Tremendous!”
With all the action, the room rang like the bells of Westminster Abbey, with cursing, screaming, and laughter as back up. The surround sound boomed the throatiness of Debbie’s groans and the slow motion captured the pre-orgasmic ripples in her porcelain flesh.
“Babykins, I’m going to blow… ”
The camera then slowly pulled back, now focusing on Debbie’s sweaty breasts rock back and forth while she rode the rubber log. In ultra slow motion, Nick saw her large nipples snap back like mini-bullwhips. The camera then settled on Debbie’s anguished face. Nick could tell she was about to cum.
“Come for Santa, baby!”
And come, she did.
As on screen Debbie writhed in slow motion orgasmic glory, the camera slowly pulled away from her face until the SantaElves’s cock could be seen still pumping into his wife. The money shot is what triggered Santa, and by all accounts, was a glazing for the ages.
As Nick spewed his handy goo, a never-ending stream of frosty ejaculate gushed across the screen, coating Debbie’s body like a Krispy Kreme. What seemed like gallons didn’t stop until jizz dripped from antlers and eye lids, from titties and toes. Even the elfdeer weren’t spared; all ducking for cover after SantaElves showered them like they were watering the lawn.
“That explains why the floor’s sticky,” a puffing Nick said. “Not bad for an ugly lamp.”
“Do you like your gift? There's still more."
“Of course I do, but I have questions.”
“Go on.”
“You had a headless me fucking you, a female version of my lead deer, Rudolph, with Rudolph’s own cock. How the fuck does that work?”
“I realize some of the character arcs are complicated.”
“Complicated?!?” Nick yelped. “And what about all that jizz?”
“The elves had extra whitener from production. You can only put so much elf jizz in a candy cane. Anyway, they hand pumped it through a hose held underneath Rudy’s shaft.”
“That explains why the room smelled like peppermint. And here I thought you were excited to see me.”
“Is that some weird, backhanded compliment, or if I should kick you in the fucking Twinkie?”
Nick then handed Debbie a smallish, exquisitely wrapped box. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus.”
“Oh Nick!” Debbie squealed as she tore through the paper. “You always give me the best gifts.”
Debbie rotated the now unwrapped box, inspecting each side while desperately trying to not show her disappointment.
“A Chia Pet?”
“Not just any Chia Pet,” Nick enthusiastically replied, “But a limited edition, serial numero uno in the new Presidential series.”
Debbie slumped in disbelief, staring at the image of a fuzzy green-haired terracotta head seemingly judging her.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I know, right?” Nick giddily replied.
“This thing is like the Benjamin Button of Chia Pets; a ceramic and horticultural masterpiece. Starts out as the short-haired, post-office POTUS but as the fro grows, it turns into the hip, young, pot smoking intellect from his college days. It even comes with that cool pimp hat and a functioning reefer. How cool is that?”
The bedroom fell silent while buck naked Nick stretched his limbs and then folded his arms behind his head. His big belly hid his slumbering penis, but his smile proudly reflected both the gift that he gave and the gift he received.
“Deb, I can’t believe you did all this for me?” Nick commented, “That was some pretty nasty shit, but of course, all Santa approved.”
“It was actually Olive’s idea. She coordinated everything, channeling the night you and I met as inspiration.”
“Olive?” Santa asked with a tone of confusion and unfamiliarity. “The other reindeer?”
“What? No, you shit head!” an exasperated Debbie replied. “My best friend from college. Jesus Christ, Nick. You’ve met her a thousand times. She stays with us every Christmas.”
“Oh right. Well, excuse me for making a living. I forgot. It’s not like I didn’t have a few things on my mind tonight.”
The volatile twosome were on the verge of argument. Debbie quickly analyzed the very unlike Santa moment they had just shared. She knew he was a gnarly motherfucker when overtired, so she felt bad for snapping. She was about to apologize when Nick turned away and yawned a dismissive goodnight.
But something wasn’t right. How could he not remember Olive?
Nick had never before shown signs of memory loss. He’d never forgotten a single birthday of hers or their anniversary. And all of those kids. He’d never forgotten a single child or their requested present. Had there been a work-related incident? Did Nick’s head go bump on this foggy Christmas night?
And seriously, what’s with that fucking horrid gift?
Debbie stared into the black abyss that was their ceiling of blank screen. She wondered if this was early times. Panic slowly began to set in until she felt the bed shake with unintentional confession. In that same reflection above their bed, Debbie saw Nick’s rotund girth rhythmically jiggle - like he was giggling.
He sees you when you’re sleeping…
“You son-of-a-bitch!” Debbie shrieked. “You planned everything, didn’t you?”
“With Olive’s assistance, of course,” Nick replied, now struggling to speak through his boisterous laughter. “Don’t you like your, Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia?”
Debbie grabbed her ugly lamp and some Mongolian lube, and blinded Nick’s all-seeing puckered brown eye by greasing it up for a Christmas buggering Santa would not soon forget.
“Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia THIS, you sneaky motherfucker!”
CLAP
CLAP
Trisha
- 05.12.2020
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- Category:
- Humor
