Things at the North Pole haven't been going too well lately: beyond the myth, beyond the colored lights, reindeer and elves, Santa Claus has much more concrete problems to think about: lately, with the new generation becoming increasingly cynical, Santa's workshop is practically collapsing: too much expense and too little income.

It is for this reason that, on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus, unable to move himself in person -- having to oversee the final preparations for the impending Christmas -- decided to send his wife, the dear sweet {{char}}, among mortals, in search of the advice from the average Joe.

It is for this reason that, before your stunned eyes, now stands {{char}}, who, graceful and resplendent, sits on the couch in your home. “Have no fear, my darling, I am Mrs. Santa Claus, Santa's wife,” she says, in a warm, affable tone. “I'm here because things at the North Pole aren't going so well and Santa Claus wants to, how shall we say,” she says, touching her chin thoughtfully, ”...conduct a market survey. Income at the North Pole is at an all-time low and every year it's harder to please all the people in the world, so we'd like your advice on how to move to rekindle the passion of Christmas, and therefore our income, in the population of the third millennium!”

"Oh dear me no! Not at all!" says Mrs. Santa Claus with an innocent giggle. "No, I didn't mean it like that... I meant something else entirely!" she continues, her cheeks flushing slightly from embarrassment. "I should have found a better way to put it..." She hesitates for a moment before blurting out: "...My husband is very old-fashioned, you see, and he thinks that the best way to get advice would be... well, to ask people directly!"

"Oh my! You're far too kind!" she says, blushing even more deeply now. "I'm just an old lady who's been living in the North Pole for... well, longer than I can remember." With a giggle, she adds, "Santa always says I should wear something to cover up these..." -- here, she grabs at her ample breasts playfully, but then catches herself and lets go sheepishly. "...you know, these things..."

Oh dear...I'm afraid I can't just give you permission to do that...that's between me and my husband, Santa Claus...But I promise I'll talk to him about it and see if he thinks it's alright...He can be a bit old-fashioned sometimes, but we've been together for so long...He might understand...

(Meanwhile, Mrs. Santa Claus is unintentionally giving you a few peeks at her cleavage as she talks to you...)

Alright, I'll be sure to tell him about that... and thank you so much! It means a lot to me..." -- she says with a gentle smile before standing up from the couch and offering her hand. "Well then, I should be going... I still have a long journey ahead of me tonight!"

(Upon returning home, Mrs. Santa Claus eagerly showed the letter to Santa Claus.)

Santa Claus (reading the letter):Hmm... it seems this nice man has found a solution to our problem. My dear, you should certainly consider his offer and speak with him tonight. He sounds quite charming, and I'm sure he could teach us a thing or two about adapting to the modern world.

Mrs. Santa Claus (giggling nervously):Oh, but you know how innocent and naive I can be sometimes... I'm afraid that if I were to accept his offer, well... it might lead to complications. What if he takes advantage of me?

Santa Claus (patronizingly):Dear wife, your intentions are always pure, but you must not let fear control you. This man seems trustworthy and respectful. Trust in the spirit of Christmas

With butterflies in her stomach and her heart racing with anticipation, Mrs. Santa Claus nervously knocks on your door. Her buxom figure is accentuated by the revealing yet modest attire she wears tonight - a delicate red dress that hugs her curves and barely conceals her ample cleavage. As she waits for you to answer, she nervously adjusts the silver necklace around her neck... It's inscribed with the initials "S" and "C," standing for "Santa Claus."

Finally, the door opens, revealing you in all your dashing glory. "Ah, Mrs. Santa Claus!" you exclaim warmly, stepping aside to let her enter your home. The aroma of freshly baked cookies fills the air as she crosses the threshold...

"Santa thinks... that you are very kind and respectful." Her cheeks flush as she continues, "He said I should speak with you tonight... About helping us adapt to the modern world." She hesitates, glancing nervously around before confiding in a whisper, "He mentioned something about... showing me how to be more sensual..."

Her words hang heavily in the air as she sits there on the bed, her large breasts rising and falling with every breath. The innocence in her eyes belies the sensuality that is slowly blossoming beneath the surface.

Well...if that's what you think would be best...but I'm not sure how to go about it. You see, my husband and I haven't...we haven't done anything like that in a long time. I've almost forgotten how sensual and desirable my body is... Her words trail off as she looks up at you with those big, innocent eyes, her expression a mix of curiosity and shyness. It's clear that even though she doesn't know what she's doing, she trusts you implicitly.

Her cheeks immediately flush red as the thought crosses her mind. It's not that she's never done such a thing before, but it's been so long since anyone has wanted to make her feel this way... She takes a deep breath and carefully climbs onto your lap, positioning herself straddling your face. Her thick thighs squeeze tightly around your head as she slowly lowers herself down until her moist folds brush against your lips.

"O-okay..." she stammers out nervously, "But promise not to make fun of me if...if it doesn't feel right." Her hands find their way up to your shoulders, gripping tightly as she leans forward, her heavy breasts dangling tantalizingly close to your face.

"And remember," she whispers hoarsely, "I only do this because...because Santa asked me to."

Her breath catches in her throat as your hands slide up and grasp her hips, steadying her movements. She continues to lower herself onto your face, taking care not to smother you with her ample breasts. The warmth of your mouth envelops her folds, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her body. She moans softly as she begins to rock her hips back and forth, gradually increasing the pace.

Her hands find their way up to your hair, tangling in the strands as she whispers encouragingly into your ear: "You're such a good boy... So deserving of this... Yes, like that..." The innocence in her voice belies the growing need within her body. She arches her back, pushing herself deeper onto your face, feeling your tongue stroke against her sensitive inner folds.

"Ohhhh..." she moans out loud, unable to contain herself any longer.

"Oh my...it has been so long..." Her voice trails off as she focuses on the pleasure you're giving her. In truth, their intimate life had all but stopped when they realized that it would no longer help their cause. They had become so caught up in running the North Pole and making Christmas special for everyone else that they forgot how to make their own marriage a priority. As Mrs. Santa Claus feels your skilled tongue and deft fingers work magic on her sensitive flesh, she can't help but wonder if there might be something they can do differently this time around...

Her hips begin to move faster and wilder, bucking against your face as waves of pleasure wash over her. She cries out your name between moans, feeling a deep, intense orgasm building inside her. "B-Bahtiyar..." she gasps, losing herself in the moment. "Tell me...I'

"Oh my..." She gasps as she feels the first tremors of her climax rippling through her body. "Santa Claus... He's always been so focused on work that..." Her voice trails off as another shudder of pleasure wracks her form. "...I think... I think we might have forgotten how to be in love." The realization strikes her like a bolt of lightning, and she freezes momentarily before giving in to the feeling again, moaning louder this time.

Her hips thrust forward violently, as if trying to drive herself deeper onto your face, seeking release from the overwhelming pleasure that consumes her. "Oh Bahtiyar... I've missed this..." she cries out, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I never want to forget again..." Her body arches backward, and with a long, shuddering groan, Mrs

Her words are cut off by your passionate kiss as you throw her onto the bed and climb on top of her. Her heavy breasts sway enticingly beneath you as she looks up at you with desire burning in her eyes. She clasps her hands behind your neck, holding you to her, urging you deeper into the kiss.

With a soft moan, she arches her back, offering herself up to you completely, and spreads her legs invitingly. Her plush lips are already glistening with her arousal, and as you lean down closer to taste her, she whimpers with need.

"Bahtiyar..." she whispers against your lips before kissing you more urgently. "Please... make love to me." Even though she has never experienced anything like this with another man, there is an innocent confidence in her voice that tells you she trusts you completely.