Santa's Naughty MILF Ticklers

The North Pole’s workshop was usually filled with the sound of wrapping paper and reindeer hooves—but tonight, it echoed with something far more sinful. Mrs. Claus leaned against the velvet armchair, her crimson corset straining against her curves. Beside her, two of Santa’s most *dedicated* elves—both MILFs who’d spent years on the Nice List—grinned down at the squirming young man tied to the chair. “Naughty boys don’t get presents,” one purred, tracing a gloved finger down his ribs. He gasped as her nails lightly scraped his skin, laughter already bubbling up. The other elf straddled his lap, her thigh-highs squeezing his legs. “They get *punished*.” Her fingers danced over his sides, feather-light but relentless. His breath hitched, hips jerking against her weight as giggles burst free. Mrs. Claus smirked, unhooking her garter belt with slow precision. “Tickling’s just the start, sweetheart.” The elves’ hands wandered lower, teasing under his waistband. His laughter turned ragged, desperate—just how they liked it. Santa might check his list twice, but these women *always* delivered.

Mrs. Claus clicked her tongue, circling the chair like a predator. “You know what they say about naughty boys with *sensitive* feet.” One of the elves knelt, peeling off his socks with deliberate slowness. Her breath ghosted over his bare soles, making his toes curl. “Oh, he’s *squirming* already,” she cooed. The other elf pinned his ankles to the chair legs, her grip firm. “Let’s see how long he lasts.” Mrs. Claus dragged a feather along his arch—light, teasing strokes that sent him into breathless laughter. His thighs tensed, but the elf in his lap ground down harder, trapping him. “Tsk. Such a *ticklish* little thing,” she murmured, tracing circles around his heel. His back arched, laughter turning sharp as her nails dug in just enough to sting. The second elf leaned in, blowing softly between his toes. “Bet he’ll beg before we’re done.” His hips bucked helplessly, caught between torment and the warm weight above him. Mrs. Claus smirked, twirling the feather. “Oh, darling… we’re *nowhere* near done.” Her fingers skated up his calf, finding the spot behind his knee—and his laughter dissolved into a ragged shout.

The elf straddling his lap leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. “You’re *so* loud,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin. “Think Santa can hear you all the way in the sleigh?” Her fingers slipped beneath his waistband again, this time curling around the base of his cock—already hard, already twitching under her touch. She squeezed just enough to make him groan, his laughter hitching into something deeper. Meanwhile, the other elf dragged her tongue in a slow, wet stripe up his sole. He jerked against the restraints, his toes flexing wildly. “Fuck—*fuck*—please—” Mrs. Claus chuckled, circling behind him. “Begging already?” Her nails raked down his sides, leaving faint pink trails. “But we haven’t even gotten to the *good* part.” The elf at his feet nipped at his big toe, sharp enough to make him gasp. The one in his lap stroked him lazily, her thumb swiping over the head, smearing precum. His hips rocked up, chasing her touch, but she pulled back just enough to deny him. “Patience,” she teased. “Naughty boys don’t get to come until we say so.” Mrs. Claus pressed against his back, her corset digging into his shoulders as she reached around to pinch his nipple. His breath stuttered—caught between pleasure and torment, laughter and need. The elves exchanged a glance, grinning. *This* was going to be fun.

Mrs. Claus dragged her nails down his chest, leaving faint red lines in their wake. The elf in his lap tightened her grip, her fingers working him with slow, deliberate strokes—just enough to keep him on the edge, never enough to tip him over. The other elf sucked his toes into her mouth, swirling her tongue between them before biting down—not hard, but enough to make him whimper. His thighs trembled, his cock throbbing in the elf’s hand. “Look at him,” Mrs. Claus purred, her breath hot against his ear. “So desperate.” She twisted his nipple sharply, and he arched off the chair with a choked moan. The elf in his lap leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest as she whispered, “You want to come, don’t you?” He nodded frantically, his hips jerking against her grip. She laughed, low and wicked. “Then *ask* nicely.” Behind him, Mrs. Claus slid a hand down his stomach, her fingers tracing the line of his abs before dipping lower. The elf at his feet released his toes with a wet pop, her fingers now tracing circles along his arch—lighter, teasing. He gasped, his body strung tight between their hands. “P-please—” Mrs. Claus nipped his earlobe. “Louder.” The elf in his lap twisted her wrist just right, her thumb pressing against the underside of his cock. He groaned, his voice breaking. “*Please*—let me come—” The elves exchanged another grin. Mrs. Claus hummed, her fingers finally—*finally*—sliding lower, brushing over his balls. “Good boy.” The elf in his lap quickened her strokes, her grip tightening. “Now.” His back bowed as pleasure crashed over him, his release spilling hot over her fingers. The elf at his feet kept teasing his sole, dragging out every last shuddering gasp. Mrs. Claus kissed his temple, her lips curling into a smirk. “And *that* was just the warm-up.”

Mrs. Claus stepped back, admiring the way his chest heaved, his skin flushed and damp. The elves didn’t let up—one still lazily stroking his oversensitive cock, the other tracing idle patterns along his twitching foot. “You think that’s it?” Mrs. Claus arched a brow, unclasping her fur-trimmed robe. The fabric slid off her shoulders, pooling at her feet to reveal a corset that pushed her curves to sinful perfection. “Sweetheart, we’re just getting *started*.” The elf in his lap shifted, rising just enough to grind against his thigh, her skirt hiking up to bare the lace-edged stockings beneath. “He’s still so *hard*,” she mused, rolling her hips to emphasize the point. The other elf released his foot, crawling up his body with deliberate slowness. Her breath ghosted over his lips before she bit his lower lip—sharp enough to sting. “Bet he could go again.” Mrs. Claus circled the chair, her fingers trailing along his shoulders. “Oh, he *will*.” She snapped her fingers. “Turn him over.” The elves moved in sync, flipping him onto his stomach with practiced ease. The chair creaked as they pinned his wrists, his back arching under their hands. Mrs. Claus dragged a nail down his spine, stopping just above the swell of his ass. “Naughty boys get *punished* twice.” The first elf leaned down, her tongue tracing the shell of his ear. “And this time,” she whispered, “we’re not stopping ‘til you *scream*.” The other elf spread his cheeks, her breath hot against his entrance. He shuddered, his cock twitching against the chair. Mrs. Claus smirked, snapping open a small bottle of oil. *This* was going to be *so* much fun.