Santa's workshop

Santa and the fairy stacked boxes until dawn. The fairy tickled a list. Pretty paper went on, ribbon coiled in cute bows. One ask caught them both: giant plastic rods. Her name winked back from the line, bold as you please. Santa slapped his knee, grinned like he smelled coal, then swung a velvet sack her way. She peeled, straps flew, quick shimmy out of wings. The rods didn’t stay cold long once the fairy tugged them free. Santa flicked off the fake fur once she braced the first toy between slick thighs. No wrapper needed. She angled, pushed, went loud and red-faced, knees skidding over tinsel. Santa steadied her hips, gave her the second rod for free, whispering that coal is best served hot.