Mr Millers Christmas Party

It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, and I was driving my way over to the Miller's estate. People around here call Mr. Miller the "King of Parties." And I had finally turned 21, which meant, according to Mr. Miller, that I was now finally old enough to attend his famous parties. I had been looking forward to this day for some time, so I was thrilled when he called to invite me, but a little anxious when he said that first I had to "prove myself."

He made it sound simple enough: hand out Christmas baskets full of goodies to those in need, while dressed in a classic red and white Santa suit that he would provide. It wasn't until I got to his house that I realized that I wasn't alone. Nine other guys around my age (none that I really knew) would be joining me. After a quick tour of Mr. Miller's impressive estate, we ended up in his bar room, which was better equipped then any of the local bars I'd been to. When everybody had a beer, we all gathered around Mr. Miller.

"Thanks for being on time, one and all. Glad to see some familiar faces and some new ones as well."

(Mr. Miller had been my little league coach, and, not to brag, but I got the game-winning hit in our league championship. It was only a single, but, over the years, Mr. Miller never forgot it or me. I'm pretty sure it was the only reason I was invited.)

He talked to us about our Santa duties and some about himself growing up poor. He seemed pretty sincerely humbled by that fact that he was now rich. He never told us how he acquired his wealth, but I'm not sure it was by legal means. That's why I was so nervous. (For one thing, if my parents knew I was here they would absolutely kill me.) But that also made it exciting.

"And now the fun part," he said with a laugh. "And keeping with the spirit of the season, if you do a good job you shall be rewarded."

"Cool," I thought, "I could really use some cash."

"Later that night I'm throwing a little Christmas party, and you are all invited, and, come July, my 4th of July party as well."

We cheered. It wasn't money, but it seemed like a good reward. Although I didn't know anyone personally that had ever gone to one of those parties, I'd heard the rumors of wild times. His 4th of July party was legendary around these parts for its beer, babes, and bands. (Not particularly in that order.) I had been watching his personal fireworks display from outside of his fences for years, so I was pumped with the news.

He broke into a wide smile. "And, better yet, I will personally guarantee you each the opportunity to get laid."

We cheered even louder. (Forget the fireworks.) Just then a stunning blonde walked into the room wearing a shimmering silver dress. There were more cheers and some hooting.

Mr. Miller laughed. "Ah...but not with her." He kissed her. "Honey, you walked in at the most inopportune time."

She just shrugged her shoulders.

"Never mind," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I just wanted to tell you that the doctor is here."

"Very good." He kissed her again, and then we all watched her walk away. (Mr. Miller was one lucky dude.)

"What's with the doctor, Mr. Miller?" A voice asked.

"Ok, before you can participate in the fun and games you must see the doctor to get a blood test and to get your equipment checked out."

"Equipment?"

"Yeah, to be blunt, your cocks, gentlemen, to make sure you're clean and good to go."

I gulped (not that I was worried about that, having not been laid in over a year and having only been with two girls in my life), it just sounded a little embarrassing. Taking a look around the room, no one was smiling anymore.

"C'mon guys, it won't be that bad. I even found a pretty doctor for you. Just don't treat her with disrespect, because she is a real doctor and, from what I hear, a good one. Once you take your test, though, you are to abstain from sex, any sex, until the party."

"That shouldn't be hard," I sighed to myself, and, looking around the room again, at the collection of average Joes that filled it, I figured none of us would.

The silver dress walked into the room again, followed by a heavy nurse dressed in white and by a tall blonde woman in a gray pants suit, whom Mr. Miller introduced as the doctor.

After some chitchat, the doctor and nurse went into this large bathroom, just off the bar area. Mr. Miller waved his hand and split us into two groups of five. I cursed, inwardly, because I was in the first group (in fact, the first in line). I walked into the bathroom on nervous legs. The nurse had me fill out a form and took some blood. Then she sent me over to the doctor. My heart was pounding. (I have a male doctor, and he is anything but beautiful.) It didn't help that she had a sexy foreign accent (Swedish or German, I think) that I could barely understand. She seemed to want me to undress.

I looked around at the four guys behind me. "Great," I sighed. I kicked off my sneakers and slipped out of my shirt and pants, grateful that she'd said nothing about my boxers. She began by checking my heart with her stethoscope. She chuckled, probably because it was racing. I had to say "ahhh" next.

Then she stepped back. "Plizz trop de zhorts."

I nodded, took a deep breath, and slid my boxers down. She stepped forward, very business-like, turned my head and grasped my left nut. I instinctively coughed -- and then again when she grabbed the other one. (It wasn't sexual, but the next part certainly was.) She looked around, and I guessed that she was looking for a stool or something. Finally she shrugged and just squatted down in front of me. I gasped.

"Yoost relats," she said.

But there wasn't a chance of my relaxing, because, at that moment, she also grabbed my flaccid penis. She felt around as I tried to think of dead puppies, since this wasn't the time or place to pop a woody. My face was burning, because it was the first time a woman had ever inspected me in this state.

When she said I was clean, I dressed as quickly as I could and headed right for the bar, where I helped myself to another cold beer. The other five guys wanted to know what happened, but I tried to play it cool.

"No biggie," I said, and then I laughed to myself. "That's probably what the doctor said, too."

***********************************

The next week was a long one, but I managed to get my Christmas shopping done. I tried not to think about the party, but I couldn't help it, because, instead of sugar plums, dreams of wild orgies kept dancing in my head. I wished I were more experienced at such things.

The Saturday before Christmas we met up at Mr. Miller's again. I was a little surprised that everyone showed up. I know I had second thoughts. After we all dressed in our Santa suits (I honestly felt a little silly), we split into two groups of five and headed out. My group visited a nursing home and a Senior Citizens center. For a couple of hours I forgot about the party, and, honestly, it felt good to spread some cheer.

When we got back to the Miller place we were led into what looked like a small guesthouse. We had to wait for the other Santas to return. I, for one, was restless, pacing the floor, ready to party. But it turned out that we had one more task.

Mr. Miller's oldest son, Derek, came in and started barking orders: five Santas were to help park cars, and five were to hand out welcome gifts and flowers. I got the parking detail. I was thankful it wasn't real cold out, because we had to park the cars in a lot a couple of blocks away and take a golf cart back. The guests seemed to get a kick out of the Santa valets, but, as the night wore on and the cars dried up, we began to lose our patience.

Derek and some large guy in a cheap suit and sunglasses (at night) came out and got us and led us back to the guesthouse.

"C'mon, where are the chicks?" I heard one of the Santas ask.

Derek rushed over and got in his face. "Who said you could talk, dickweed?"

I guess the guy gave the wrong answer because Derek punched him in the gut and told his goon to "get rid" of him. My heart skipped a beat as I hoped that just meant to throw him out, not to bury him. I was really starting to second-guess myself now, while feeling like I was in a little over my head.

"Now, any more stupid questions?"

The room was silent.

"Good, now my father sends his apologies, but he has guests to tend to, so I'll give you the rundown."

The big goon returned and I sighed. (He couldn't have dug a hole that quickly.)

"Well, Santas," Derek said, with a chuckle. "You did a good job with the charity thing and the car parking thing and your other stuff...so if you want to know what your reward is then stay. If you want to leave and join that other dick-head, now's the time. After this, there is no turning back. You will do as you're told."

No one moved. (I stayed, because I was curious and a little too nervous to do anything but stay. Plus, I had made it this far.)

"Ok, eventually the party starts to slow down, so my dad came up with a solution. You see, you guys are going to provide some entertainment."

"Great," I said to myself, picturing us all singing Christmas carols.

"It's usually pretty funny," the big goon bellowed.

Derek nodded. "Now, if I had my way, I wouldn't tell yah shit, but I'm just following dad's orders, like always."

(Derek was a typical silver spoon child. Most people just called him an asshole -- but not to his face.)

"He wanted me to tell you that he has arranged for you the opportunity to get the company of a hot babe, to do with as you please, for one hour. Call it your Christmas gift."

After a couple of seconds the room rumbled, some high-fives were also exchanged.

"Sounds good, right? I'm sure some of you guys couldn't get laid in a whore house with a fist full of cash...so...." He had himself a good laugh.

"But, then again, these aren't whores, just regular women who've been...let's say, 'persuaded' into playing along." He chuckled.

I was a little puzzled, but trying to follow along.

"My dad put up ten grand of his own cash, which goes to the winners. All the losers, well, they have to have sex with you creeps for free, whether they like it or not."

One of the Santas suddenly rushed past and out the door.

Derek pulled out his cell phone. "Hey, there is a Santa ass-clown heading your way, make sure he gets an ass kicking before he leaves." He said it loud enough that I knew it was intended for our ears, too.

"Anybody else?" he said with a hiss. "I mean, you don't even have to do anything with them, read them a fucking Christmas story for all I care. Or you can keep your Santa disguise on and fuck them silly, they'll never even know who did it. It's up to you."

One of the Santas raised his hand. "What do you mean 'persuaded'?"

"Put your dumb-ass hand down!" Derek barked. "What are you, in the 4th grade?"

"C'mon, I think you'll figure it out when we get in there. One small rule, no talking to the guests. If anyone talks to you, just HO-HO-HO.... Got it?"

I followed him back to the big house, more nervous than ever since he had ducked explaining "persuaded."

We were all given the opportunity to hit the bar. Usually I drink beer, but instead I ordered a tall Jack and Coke (liquid courage) and found my seat. That was easy, seeing as it was one of 10 that had "Santa" written on the back. They were located on the end of a stage that went down the center of what Mr. Miller called his "grand ballroom," now set up like a fashion show, with two banks of television monitors at the far end of each side of the stage.

I scanned the crowd lining both sides of the stage. There were a lot of faces, some I kind of knew, most I didn't. The men all wore black tuxes, and the women fancy red dresses. Once again I felt silly in my Santa suit, but I finally guessed that that was the point.

I was almost done with my drink when Mr. Miller walked through the red curtains at the far end of the stage, and the house lights dimmed. After some applause, he moved over to a microphone stand. Mike in hand, he went on to thank everyone for coming. After telling a couple of jokes, he moved to the front of the stage.

"And here are my Santas." The audience roared. "Yes, they had quite a day with the old fogies, but let's not keep them waiting any longer. As my son told you, I have a special present for each one of you. Let's bring out present number one...."

The crowd applauded. I saw a face peek out through the red curtains.

"C'mon, don't be shy."

Her face disappeared, and then she seemed to be pushed through the curtains. Some laughter fluttered through the crowd.

"And here she is...present number one.... C'mon, down to the front of the stage and back."

I watched analytically as the shy brunette walked my way. The first thing I noticed was her sexy outfit. Her top was silky red and long sleeved, like something a pro cheerleader wears, but it covered little more than a bra would. Her micro-mini skirt was black and so short that, when she turned in front of me, I could see her white panties. As she walked away, I admired her shiny, red, high heeled knee boots.

A second girl followed in the same sexy outfit. It wasn't until she walked by that I saw that they also wore red furry hats with white pomp-poms, like mine.

I tried to pay more attention to their faces, particularly when the fourth girl (and first blonde) walked out, because I recognized her. Her name was Mary. Back in high school, she was in my homeroom and went to the prom with my lacrosse captain, and yet she was so cute that she still looked like she was sixteen...a scared sixteen.

The seventh girl also caught my eye. Her name was Debbie. We grew up on the same street, but she went to a private school. She was my first kiss, but, unfortunately, that was the most I ever got, because we kind of drifted apart as we got older. But I still called her a friend. "Maybe I'll get a chance with her," I thought. And my brain added, "Or maybe someone else will."

I also thought about how good she looked (she'd shed her baby fat) and remembered some of the good times we shared. I wondered if the funny feeling was lust or jealousy.

When all the girls were lined up, I counted ten of them. Before they were led away, I noticed that none of them looked very happy.

The lights came up, and I headed for the bar again. Drink in hand, I kept waiting for the girls to return. I wanted to say "hi" to Debbie (or maybe just get to her before anyone else did). But over an hour passed, and they didn't come out again. I just kept wondering how Debbie (or any of them) got mixed up in this.

The lights dimmed again, and Mr. Miller reappeared on stage.

"What next?" I wondered, as I returned to my seat.

"I'm sorry for the delay, but we had to prepare the girls for the fun. I said FUN! Are we ready to have some fun?" Mr. Miller was working the crowd. "Santas, are you ready for a little fun down there?"

At this point I was ready, but still a little uneasy.

"What do say we bring out the girls again? I said 'girls,' people." The crowd roared. "Alright son, start bringing 'em out."

Derek came out through the curtains holding something in his hands, and then a girl quickly followed. I focused and realized he was holding a chain attached to a black collar around the girl's neck. She was also gagged with a red ball gag. As he led her down the stage, I got a better look. When she turned, I saw that her arms had been bound behind her back with some sort of black forearm cuffs. I gulped my drink. Now, I knew I was in over my head.

Mr. Miller's other son brought down the next girl. She seemed to be struggling with her composure. When she turned in front of me, I expected to see her white panties, but instead I saw un-tanned skin. "God, she's panty-less.... Maybe they all are!" I mentally gushed.

Derek brought the next girl out and she was flat out crying. He was also pretty much dragging her down the stage. I felt for her, but some of the crowd was teasing her. Then the crowd suddenly roared. Mary was being led down the stage, next. Her top was untied, and, with her arms bound behind her back, her ample breasts bounced with every step. She had tears streaming down her cheeks. When she got in front of me, I saw that her top was actually torn, as if in a struggle.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Girl after girl was led down the stage, until all ten of them were lined up again. (Mary was the only topless one.) I wanted to run up on stage and get Debbie out of there, noticing that she was struggling with her composure. Most of them were.

I figured these girls got a little more than they bargained for, and it wasn't over yet.

Mr. Miller announced, "Now, take them away."

When the girls were cleared off, Mr. Miller called the Santas up onto the stage.

The one next to me whispered, "Oh, god, here we go," as if reading my mind.

We gathered around Mr. Miller near the curtains. "Pretty exciting stuff, huh?"

One of the Santas tried to ask a question, but Mr. Miller put his hand up. "No time for questions -- the girls are waiting. Here is all you need to know."

We ducked behind the curtains and moved in closer.

"Think back to the tour I gave you. Remember that the upstairs contains seven rooms. Well, go up, choose one, and enter. But once you're in a room, you're in for the whole hour -- so choose wisely. If you're lucky, you'll find one or more girls in the room, but there is one room that will be empty. We call it the 'jerk-off' room." He laughed; it was obvious he was having some fun with us. "And, not that this concerns you, but the girl or girls get handsomely rewarded if no one picks their room."

("Oh," I thought. "That must be the ten grand that Derek mentioned.")

"Now, with seven rooms and ten...ah, eight Santas, it's obvious that there'll be at least one room with more than one of you. So share nicely -- no fighting. And no rough stuff with the ladies either, unless it's just rough sex. If you want to untie or un-gag them, then you take your chances, because they're not going to be all that happy to see you come through the door. But relax, it's not like anyone put a gun to their heads. They all agreed, for whatever reason, to participate."

"They're ready, dad," Derek announced, as he came stomping down the spiral stairs that led to the second floor.

"Oh, an alarm will signal the start and end of the hour, so wait for it," Mr. Miller said. "And you'll find some goodies in each room."

The first Santa made his way up the stairs. I was still feeling uneasy about the whole thing.

Mr. Miller's other son came over. "All the TVs are coming in crystal clear, dad."

"Great, let's get this going," Mr. Miller said, pushing another Santa towards the stairs. He turned to the rest of us. "Oh, did I forget to mention that we will be watching your performance?"

"What the...!" I thought. "As if I needed more pressure."

In wiping a bead of sweat from my face, I felt my fake beard. "Oh yeah," I said to myself, glancing at the other Santas (who all looked exactly like me). "No one would ever know, would they?"

A strange feeling came over me. It was time for another Santa, and I rushed past the others and up the stairs. When I got to the top, I saw that a cheap suited goon guarded each of the doors. I looked right and then went left and just picked the last room on the left for no particular reason. The goon opened the door and reminded me to wait for the signal. I stepped in and saw...TWO girls! "Yes!" I hissed, clapping my hands. I noticed that I'd picked the study. It was full of books and maps. But I was really only interested in the dark haired girl curled up on the wooden desk and the blonde on the old fashioned love seat. They weren't Mary or Debbie, but they were still better than anything I'd ever been with.