Mrs. Claus' Secret Sin

With the holidays finished, after all these years, it was finally time to make a confession about my wife. (She knows I am doing this). Most of our friends and family don’t know this secret. It might amuse, surprise, or even shock them. So here it goes… My wife leads a double life. With a different name, clothes, partner, everything. She is… Mrs. Santa Claus.

Yes, from Thanksgiving to Christmas, she dresses in her gray hair wig, granny glasses and fake-fur dress that comes to just above the knees and with just a hint of cleavage (Mrs. Claus is nothing if not modest… at least in public). Red stockings and black short boots finish the ensemble. Mrs. Claus accompanies Santa on visits to shopping malls, schools, churches, and other places. She sets out the candy, organizes the children in a somewhat straight line, and helps with photos.

For the record, I am NOT Santa. I am just Mrs. Claus’ driver. I enjoy going to the events and watching my wife do her thing, bringing happiness to children. However, I must admit watching her in that red outfit leads to many thoughts — most of them naughty.

One Saturday afternoon we returned home from a Santa/Mrs. Claus visit to a local retirement home. As we were putting away items, my wife, still dressed as Mrs. Claus, bent down to open a kitchen drawer. It was a view not seen in public. The back of her dress moved up and her behind was clearly visible. The sight of her sweet tush covered in red and white striped underwear was too much. I went over and pulled my wife up from behind. I pulled her close to me and began to nuzzle her neck right under her gray wig. My hands swept up and then lingered on her bosom. I felt my member start to grow.

“Mrs. Claus is a hot babe,” I whispered in her ear, grinding her against me. “Santa doesn’t know what he is missing.” My wife turned around to look at me, blue eyes sparkling in her granny glasses. She laughed as she stroked my erection. “Santa is not the man you are,” she said.

We kissed extensively, our tongues playing together. We rubbed against each other for several moments. Her underwear became wet. My erection was even more visible. I led Mrs. Claus to the workshop, otherwise known as our bedroom. Taking off her underwear, I purposefully left everything else on her. I laid her gently on the edge of the bed, spreading wide her legs and pushing her dress up past her waist. The red stockings came up to her knees.

After taking off my clothes and kneeling in front of her, I put my tongue on her clit, feverishly running my tongue up and down her entrance. My wife started to moan immediately, grabbing my hand as my tongue, and later my finger, started to make a wet impact. Her breath started to slow as she felt the first orgasm begin.

Sensing that she was close, I quickly pulled my mouth away and stood bent over her, positioning myself in front of her now dripping love chamber. My wife, looking beautiful in her white wig and glasses, took my erection and shoved it inside her. Mrs. Claus screamed again and started to massage her breasts. Her nipples made an outline in her dress.

Those sights inspired me as well. I pumped quickly, feeling her chamber constrict around my member. Harder and harder I pushed in and out until my wife grabbed my hand and yelled, “Ohhhh!” As she reached the height of intimacy with several bursts, I felt the surge start in me, working up my legs, and through my shaft. I grunted loudly as I released into her. The intensity of the moment left us trembling. I collapsed next to my wife as she lay there. Her eyes were open and she brushed strands of her wig away from her eyes. One breast had popped out of her dress.

We held hands, enjoying the moment and catching our breath. Once we could talk again, I pulled her close and said, “Well, I have learned one thing this Christmas.” My wife skeptically looked at me and said, “What?” “Mrs. Claus has a naughty side.”

The next day, after a quick shower for both of us, I found myself back in the workshop, but this time, I was wearing a tiny red Santa hat and a matching pair of short boots. My wife, still in her Mrs. Claus getup, was already setting up the candy table. She caught my eye and gave me a knowing smile. She pulled out a small velvet bag and handed it to me. Inside were two miniature, red, leather-bound books, each with the words “For Santa” embossed on the cover. As I opened the first book, I realized it contained explicit instructions on how to maintain a healthy supply of stamina, alongside some illustrations that depicted various positions for both partners. The second book contained recipes for homemade chocolate truffles, each with a generous amount of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. The scent of chocolate filled the workshop as I finished reading the first book, taking a long, lingering look at my wife. She was looking at me expectantly, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. We both knew that this Christmas, our double lives would become even more intertwined, and our naughty confessions would continue to fill our days. As I leaned in to kiss her, I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, Santa should consider investing in a bigger workshop. After all, we were going to need more room for our naughty little secrets. The thought made me chuckle, and my wife giggled along with me. The red stockings on her legs suddenly seemed even more alluring, and my desire for her intensified. The workshop, once a place of quiet efficiency, now felt like a private sanctuary, a place where we could indulge in our desires without judgment. The world outside might not know about Mrs. Claus, but we did, and that was all that mattered. As I continued to explore her body, my hands tracing the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, I realized that our secret was a delicious indulgence, a naughty pleasure that we wouldn't trade for anything. The night was young, and the possibilities were endless.

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