Fetish

Georgie laid on his back on the floor, hands and feet raised casually in the air.  He stuck his tongue out and panted, gazing up at Mark, who leaned down from his seat to pet Georgie on the stomach.  ”Good doggy!  I’m so proud of you, Georgie.  Yes, I am!  Good boy!”  Georgie panted gleefully, his bent legs trembling.  He looked adorable in his red and white Santa Claus suit, his round cheeks rosy and blue eyes twinkling.  He had removed the fake white beard, which he had worn since his own natural white beard was too well groomed. For the past week, Georgie had made both scheduled and impromptu appearances as Santa Claus, his deep HO!HO!HO! his only announcement.  He had handed out tiny toys and candies to children and shopping coupons to adults.  Customers had flocked to the store.  His jolly, good humor infected both his staff and customers, though not even Mark truly understood the source of his disposition.  To top it all off, Georgie had handed out $500 checks to his staff days before Christmas with a promise of another bonus check on New Year’s Eve. And so, two nights before Christmas, having just closed the
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“Maybe tonight, Georgie,” George Ford whispered to his reflection.  He sat down at his desk and tried to focus on the sales figures.  The store had fared well in the last two weeks, better than his forecast.  He wished he could say the same about himself.  Outwardly, he appeared fitter and healthier.  Inwardly, he was a maelstrom of unassuaged urges.  He channeled the excess energy to running the store, working long hours without rest.  He hardly saw his wife anymore to no one’s displeasure.  Their relationship has been one of cool cordiality the last few years. In another hour, Mark will close the store and enter the office.  George tallied the receipts and plugged numbers into the computer, waving and saying good night as his staff began departing.  He struggled to be sincere, to truly wish each a good night.  It took great effort.  But his swollen cock reminded him that he had to be good, otherwise he might never get another treat.  When the last person besides Mark marched by his office and the backdoor slammed shut, George sighed in relief.  He gave up on the figures.  He pulled out a gift-wrapped box and laid it on the desk. 
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George Thomas Ford was an absolute asshole!  He was the retail store owner.  He was a round fellow, with white beard.  He is often thought of by his employees as the Evil Santa.  In fact, he would dress as Santa Claus during the last weekend before Christmas, faking a jovial “Ho, Ho, Ho,” and taking little children on his lap, asking, “Have you been naughty or nice?”  The kids loved him because he really did look and sound like Santa Claus. George went by Butch.  He thought it made him sound more masculine.  Butch had posted the time table in the employee lounge.  Mark Zukowski was livid!  He had requested Wednesday off.  Butch had approved that leave last week.  Fuming, Mark charged into Butch’s office. “There’s a mistake with my schedule, Butch.  You agreed to give me Wednesday off.” “I don’t recall making such an agreement, Mark.  I don’t have any leave request forms from you.”  Butch leaned back, folding his chubby fingers over his round gut. “We talked about it and you said it’ll be alright, that you’ll put it on the calendar.”  Mark was practically shouting. “Keep your voice down, Mark.  I repeat, I don’t recall discussing this
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Rick Moss was feeling good tonight.  He danced naked in front of the wall-to-wall mirror in his bathroom.   He ran his thick fingers over his beefy body, every now and then pulling playfully on his firm nipples.  He ran his hand along the beard over his square jaw and round cheek, making sure they were well groomed.  He flashed his toothy smile as he traced his short mustache with a fingertip.  He clipped a few errant pieces of hair with a pair of small scissors.  He winked at his reflection, a twinkle in his blue eyes. He swung his hips as he danced.  He loved the way his low-hanging testicles bounced against each other and against his thighs.  He teased his cock, pulling the heavy layer of skin back with his fingers, exposing the tender pink head.  He hefted it with one hand and tapped it against the palm of his other hand, enjoying the size and weight of it.  He threw his arms up into air and shook his ass, dancing in circles, watching his reflection.  He was well covered with fine, brown hair from head to toe.  He ran a hand down along the curve of a buttock,
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