Daddy Issues Memoirs Chapter Christmas: Santa’s Slay by Daddy_Issues_Memoirs
Dive into the steamy world of "Daddy Issues Memoirs, Chapter Christmas: Santa's Slay" by Daddy_Issues_Memoirs. This captivating erotic story explores bold fantasies and sultry encounters, wrapping the holiday spirit in a tantalizing package. Join us for a festive ride filled with passion and desire – the perfect naughty escape this Christmas!<br/>
My 19th Christmas Eve started off quiet, but then it became the most thrilling night of my life.
Christmas Eve was heading towards an end, and I was home all alone. My mom was working a night shift at the hospital, so I had to entertain myself. And what better way to do that than with my favorite Christmas movie. No, I’m not talking Love Actually or any of that other sappy crap. For me, the real Christmas cheer was seeing Bill Goldberg dressed up in a Santa suit. Even if it was in a cheap horror flick such as Santa’s Slay, where Saint Nick was raising holiday spirit by chopping off heads. Homicidal maniac or not, I would’ve sat on Goldberg’s lap any day. Just watching him was enough to give me an instant boner.
Once the movie ended, I dragged myself off the couch to clean up the mess I had spread out on the coffee table. Chip crumbs lay everywhere between the sauce stains that sticked to the glass tabletop. Sometimes it amazed myself how much of a pig I could be.
Seeing how the bin was almost piling over I decided to take the trash out, and while I was heading to the front door I glimpsed at the presents under the tree. Wondering if the small box would contain the cell phone I had been hoping for. I desperately needed a new one since I accidentally let my old one slip into the toilet. I had tried the classic put-it-in-rice trick to no avail, because the damage had turned out to be just as irreversible as my lost innocence.
When I came outside, I was bathed in light from across the street. Miss. Pawlowski’s house always looked like a carnival this time of year, even more so at night. She would decorate her place with so much colorful splendor and brightness, that it was almost blinding. I saw one of her many cats running through the front door, which I noticed stood ajar. Making me surprised the old woman was still up around this hour.
‘‘Crap!’’
Just when I lifted the garbage bag up to dump it in the trashcan, it completely teared open and its content spilled all over the sidewalk. How the hell did that even happen? Looking closer I saw the shards of the plate I had broken earlier that week, which were probably what had cut into the sack. Annoyed I got back into the house to fetch a broom and shovel and started sweeping up the waste.
By the time I was done it occurred to me that the door to the house of miss. Pawlowski was still standing open on a crack. I was beginning to wonder if maybe she had left it so by accident. Perhaps after letting the cat out. It was only a small effort to walk over and check it out.
When I came up to the doorstep it appeared to be quiet on the other side. I pushed the crack open, making the wood creak. The entrance hall was dimly lit by a decorated banister, but the main lights were out.
‘‘Hello! – Miss. Pawlowski?! – Are you home?! – You left the front door open!’’
There came no response. Maybe she was already in bed after all.
When I entered the living room I almost tripped. That’s when I saw I was standing on a fallen Christmas tree, which lay spread out across the room. My foot already got tangled in the cord of the broken lights. I removed the string from my ankle and stepped back to survey the mess. But the room was almost dark, and the only light came from a few flickering candles at the dining table.
I jumped when I saw the old woman at the head of the table. Bend over with her head sunken in her plate.
‘‘Miss. Pawlowski!’’
As fast I could I ran to her aid. But when I tried to wake her up by shaking her shoulder, she slipped from the chair and fell to the ground – DEAD!
Now I saw the blood that was spilling everywhere. Dripping from the tabletop and onto the chair. I wanted to scream but instead I couldn’t bring out a word. Looking back at miss. Pawlowski, I saw that her throat had been cut, and judging by how the jugular was gushing, the wound was still fresh. Horrified I backed away from the body, while unable to take my eyes away from her.
I bumped up against a wall, but when I saw I was only two steps removed from the table, I realized it wasn’t a wall. Suddenly I became aware of a grunting sound, and I felt a warm breeze down my neck. My insides turned cold as I realized what was really standing behind me. Or better said, ‘‘WHO’’.
I turned around and looked up in the face of death. A dark shadow was towering over me, and I sank into a pair of evil eyes. Filled with pure and utter hatred.
That’s when I ran.
As fast as my legs could carry me, I fled to the first exit I could find, which led me into the kitchen. The killer was already pursuing me, and the sound of his heavy footsteps drumming on the hardwood floor almost paralyzed me. Unlike me he didn’t seem to be in a hurry, but he was taking his time as if he had nothing to worry about – as if he was sure enough that he would catch me.
I reached for the backside door and turned the handle.
Damned, it was locked!
The footsteps came nearer, and I felt the blood draining from my brain. Making me unable to come up with a solution. Until it hit me that the key was in the lock, and I simply had to turn it.
I flew over the threshold and now for the first time, I screamed.
But when I made it back to the front of the house, the streets were totally empty, and it seemed as if no one had heard my cries for help. The main door to miss. Pawlowski’s already opened and the killer stepped out on the porch, pursuing me in that overly calm and confident manner. And when there still wasn’t anybody answering my calls, I remembered a lot of my neighbors had left for the holidays this year. So I gave up on screaming my longs out, and escaped into my own home. Locking the front door shut.
I peeked through the small windowpane and now clearly saw an enormous man crossing the street. Wait! Was he wearing a Santa suit? It couldn’t be, could it? I ducked down, afraid he would see me. Not that it mattered. He already knew in which house I lived. What was I going to do? I had to call for help!
On my knees I crawled to the living room and hurried to the phone to dial 911. But when I brought the horn to my ear, there was no dial tone. Fuck! It was as if he had known I was out of a cell phone. Why else had he even bothered to cut the line in a day and age where everyone carried a mobile? I thought about the possibilities. Wasn’t it so that Santa always knew everybody’s business? Oh come on, that was just crazy talk!
THE BACKDOOR! I thought.
I jumped up and ran to the kitchen. There he was. His dark shadow creeping up behind the windowpane. The doorknob rattled, but to my relief it turned out I had locked it earlier.
I startled when the glass shattered, and his gloved hand reached inside. Determined to get in. But unlike miss. Pawlowski, I hadn’t left the key in the lock. For which he backed off and stepped away from the door. Disappearing back into the night.
But the one thing that was scarier than seeing his shadow, was not seeing it at all. Because I already knew he wasn’t just going to give up. He was coming back, someway somehow. Leaving me to question when and where that was. I couldn’t leave the house, and I couldn’t reach out to anyone. It was just him and me tonight. Desperate I paced through the room, before I decided to head upstairs and lock myself in my room.