Pour yourself a cup of coffee, and then come enjoy your treat,’ instructed Mrs. Santa. St. Nicholas knew that his wife was up to something whenever...she fixed cinnamon rolls. No, not just up to something. Mrs. Santa wanted something from him, and she knew that sweets were his weakness. And, in her usual manner, she will wait in silence until he finishes the last bite. ‘Well, how were they?’ Mrs. Santa asked as her husband licked the last residue of icing from his fingers. ‘The best you’ve ever. She wasn't making this easy for me, not with that scent or with the sundress. As we walked into the screened-in sun room the light backlit her and I could see right through the dress. The parting of her thighs and outline of her legs were visible through the sheer fabric and I felt myself getting hard as I imagined myself raising the dress and having a different kind of breakfast. She poured both of us a cup of coffee and I sat down on the sofa. Jeri sat in an overstuffed chair across from me.. More

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