Naughty Can Be Nice By Cynthia Selwyn

One minute, Kris was standing at the foot of his father's bed, trying to explain why he hadn't listened to the Christmas wishes of the children at the hospital party—because how could he describe the incident without talking about his embarrassing hard-on? The next minute, he found himself inexplicably scrunched inside a chimney, sucking in soot and splaying like a Slinky.

Worse, he was bare-assed naked, except for his hat. And his boots.

"What the fu—" He managed to cough before slipping down the sides of the chimney wall, and landed with a clang and a crash on the floor of the thankfully fire-and-wood-free grate. He leapt to his feet, swiping his hat from his head to brush at his be-ashed behind.

He was in someone's living room.

He was in Brenna's living room. She lay on the couch, her fingers grasping one pink-tipped tit while her other hand hid under the waistband of her pajama bottoms; he could see the outline of her knuckles at the juncture of her legs.

She stared at him with round eyes, her mouth rounded in a perfect "o," as if she were just about to slide her lips over the tip of his dick. Quickly, he put his hat over his naked cock. But that only made things worse, since the bells sewn to the brim rang with silvery peals with each pulse, bob and wiggle of his swelling erection.

Brenna's gaze slid slowly from his face, down his chest and stomach, the intensity of her scrutiny as tangible as her fingers would be. When she dropped her attention to his chapeau-clad stiffy, it leapt in the hat as if seeking her out. She smiled, stood and moved to him. "I wished you were here," she murmured, dropping to her knees, "and here you are. Merry Christmas to me." She pulled his hand and the red-velvet-and-ermined hat away.