Bisexually Stuffed By Our Living Christmas Stocking

It’s Christmas Eve and Kork is running out of time. He’s desperate to find a present for his wife, Sasha, but as stores around the mall begin to shutter their doors, things are looking bleak. Fortunately, Kork manages to place an order at Stocking Stuffers, which is guaranteed to arrive on Christmas morning. The only problem is he has no idea what he actually ordered.

When the big day arrives Kork and Sasha find themselves greeted by a handsome, sentient stocking… and he’s ready to stuff.

This erotic tale is 4,000 words of sizzling bisexual human on handsome holiday foot apparel threesome action.

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BISEXUALLY STUFFED BY OUR LIVING CHRISTMAS STOCKING

By Chuck Tingle

I’m not one of those people who despises shopping. In fact, under the right circumstances it can be a lot of fun to spend your afternoon wandering around the mall, gazing through shop windows or filling up your bags. There’ve been plenty of drab days that I went out and picked up a shirt, or an album, or a book to turn things around, and while I wouldn’t call this a particular healthy approach, it’s not the worst.

Today, however, as I gaze out across this sea of frantic shoppers, I’d rather be anywhere else.

While the Christmas countdown rolls onward I’ve found myself trapped beneath the wheels, unable to keep up with all the inevitable gifts and a calendar full of holiday festivities. Who the hell has time to balance their normal life with all this holiday cheer heaped on top of it?

I put up a valiant effort at first, working my way through a long list of people I need to buy something for. The problem is, the more you care about someone, the harder this process gets as the frightening specter of a ‘bad gift’ looms large overhead. What if you buy them something they don’t like? Or even worse, already have?

Now that it’s Christmas Eve, I’ve managed to whittle my list down to one, but they’re the most important by far: my wife Sasha.

After all these years, you’d think it might get easier to find her something when every birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s Day and anniversary rolls around, but unfortunately this has only made my options more limited. It seems like every good idea that pops into my head is immediately ushered aside when I remember she’s already got that, and I’mthe one who gave it to her.

Of course, Sasha doesn’t give a damn what her gifts are, gracious and thankful for even the worst of my presents along the way. I appreciate this about her, I really do, but unfortunately her unwavering kindness only makes my predicament even tougher. The fact that she’s such a bright, shining light in my life only serves as a reminder I need to pull out all the stops.

As the clock ticks down, however, I’m wondering if any amount of effort will yield the results I’m looking for. Maybe it’s already too late.

I shake my head as though it might rattle out this self-deprecating thought. If I’m gonna get through this, I need to have a winning attitude.

I begin my journey into the depths of the mall, descending into the holiday madness with my eyes peeled and my mission firm. I ignore the shoppers darting past me in every direction, focused on the task at hand.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a mental list of places to check out in search of a potential gift, completely winging it in the hopes that something will catch my eye. With that in mind, I head straight for the book store, crossing the threshold to discover a barren, pageless wasteland. The shelves are mostly barren as feral shoppers battle one another over scraps.

To my right, a pair of women are gripping either side of a paperback, tugging it back and forth as they emit a series of hisses and snarls. To my left, a young boy is picking through the trash bin, pulling forth single pages of a torn up tome and struggling to piece them together.

I slink a little deeper, my eyes scanning the few items that remain as I struggle to keep a low profile. No reason to draw any more attention to myself than is absolutely necessary.

At the back of the store I find a section that’s not quite as picked over, but none of these titles seem like anything my wife would be interested in.

The first book I find is titled Crying About This Lobster And Other Tales From A Silly Man by Jorbin Peterman. Next to it is What Is A Noun? Like Literally, What Is Anything? by Mork Walsh.

I cringe, then look up to see I’ve stumbled upon the “Delusional Dorks” section.

I slip the book back into its rightful place, then continue on my way, creeping back through the store and out into the main hallway once again. My next idea is to head straight for a clothing retailer, but snooping around within this particular store yields similar results. Everything is picked over and all that remains are deeply unfashionable throwaways in the wrong size.

Even if I did find something here, I doubt my wife would love it. She might like an item or two, but I’m not here to find a passible gift. I’m here to find something great.

The more this evening wears on, however, the more I begin to wonder if my goal is even attainable. The shoppers have gotten less frantic as the crowd starts to thin, but this change in atmosphere is not the harbinger of good news one might hope.

Everyone has already made their purchases, finished with their shopping and headed home to spend the holidays with their families.

An ominous clang rings out, sending a surge of sheer dread through my frame as my heartbeat quickens. That metallic echo is the sound of shopfronts closing, their metal gates rolling down for the evening.

“Oh no,” I stammer, these two terrified syllables falling quietly from my lips as I break into a sprint.

I start hustling through the mall, my eyes darting from one store to the next as I desperately hunt for an answer. While the names of each establishment had previously seemed off base or out of touch, they’d at least been open for business.

Now, even that appears to be a huge ask.

Suddenly, my gaze falls upon two glowing words in brilliant white and red, shining down upon me with yuletide glory.

“Stocking Stuffers” I read aloud.

Socks aren’t the greatest gift in the world, but they’re an old standby for a reason.

I immediately hurry inside, ready to snatch up an assortment of pairs and be done with it, but the strange, modern bareness of this establishment causes me a halt in my tracks. This store has much more in common with a modern tech retailer than a funky seasonal sock company.

In fact, the only real flair of personality here is the soft jingling Christmas tunes that drift down from the speakers above.

A man steps out from the back room and approaches me with a warm smile. He’s dressed in all black from head to toe, even is neck covered up by the darkness of a turtleneck. He’s holding a digital tablet, cradling it with one arm as he inputs a few keys with the other hand.

“Hi, I’m Logg!” the man says. “Welcome to Stocking Stuffers, are you here to get stuffed?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure,” I stammer. “What is this place?”

“Stocking Stuffers,” the man repeats back to me as though this might offer some new angle of clarity.

“I mean… I might want a stocking stuffer,” I reply. “That sounds good, actually. I just need a gift for my wife and I’m running low on options.”

Logg’s eyebrows raise as an amused expression crosses his face. He takes a moment to process, then nods approvingly at something I don’t quite understand. “Your wife, huh?” he repeats back. “You’re a very generous husband. While you’re here, would you like to pick up a stocking stuffer for yourself?”

I consider his question a moment. “Well, I’m not entirely sure what they are.”

“Stuffers,” Logg repeats.

I shrug. “I’m fine. If I really like it then I suppose my wife and me can share.”

“Ohhh,” the man offers with a smile, typing in a few more notes into his tablet. “Very nice. Your name?”

“Kork Borkman.”

Logg nods. He presses a button then lifts his device, snapping a quick photo of my face. He glances down to make sure it looks okay, then presses another large button on the screen labeled confirm.“All set!” Logg announces.
 I hesitate. “Wait, what? Where’s the stocking stuffer?”

“I’ll be there on Christmas morning,” the man explains. “You’re in our system and ready to go.”

I can’t help but eye him skeptically. “You didn’t even ask for my payment info.”

“First stuff is on us,” Logg explain. “Satisfaction guaranteed.”

I’m not sure if I really believe this gift will arrive on time, but at this point what other options do I have?

I let out a frustrated such, then finally accept this man’s word. “I guess… thanks, then.”

I turn awkwardly and begin my exit.

“You’re welcome,” Logg replies. “Enjoy your stuff!”

The dread doesn’t settle when I arrive home for the evening. I put on a show for Sasha that’s convincing enough, telling my wife she’s in for a real treat when the morning comes. To be honest, I’m not sure if these words are my attempt to convince her, or convince myself.

We spend the rest of the night curled up by the fire, a feature of our house that doesn’t get much use the rest of the year but quickly makes up for it on nights like this one. As we enjoy the roaring blaze, however, I can’t help letting my eyes wander up to the mantle where our stockings would usually hang.

Does this company provide their own stocking to stuff? What do they put inside? Are they just gonna break into my house?

I try to push these thoughts away, and for the most part I succeed.

It’s not until I’m lying in my warm bed, eyes open and staring at the ceiling, that I truly consider whether or not I’ll have a gift for my wife come tomorrow morning.

Twice in the night I creep out into the living room to check on things, finding our house exactly how we left it. I’m not exactly sure what else I’d expect to see find, but the revelation of absolutely nothing is a little tough to swallow.

Finally, the worry that simmers and boils within me is overtaken by my natural need for sleep. I drift off in a haze of gumdrops and sugarplum fairies, floating in this peaceful realm where a Christmas gift that may never actually show is the last thing on my mind.

Unfortunately, this state of bliss doesn’t last, and it’s not long before I’m pulled from my slumber by the familiar tone of my wife’s voice.

“Wake up,” Sasha whispers, her warm body curled up next to mine. “It’s Christmas.”

This is a phrase I’ve heard many, many times in my life, and it’s one that has always been accompanied by a warm surge of pleasant feelings. This year, however, panic immediately overwhelms me.

“You okay?” my wife questions.

I nod, struggling to pull it together. “Yeah! I’m just excited!”

The two of us climb out of bed and head for the living room. The dread has slowed my pace, so I’m a few steps behind Sasha, but a sudden shriek alerts me that something has arrived. I’m just not entirely sure what it is.

I round the corner to find an enormous floating Christmas stocking waiting before the fireplace. This piece of holiday apparel is brilliant red, with a fuzzy white rim around the top of his soft, fabric body. He’s covered in stitched snowflakes, these designs haphazardly placed across his form in a way that’s both cool and casual.

The stocking smiles a big, playful grin. “Hey there! I’m Jimble, your Stocking Stuffer!”

My wife glances over at me, amused and curious. I nod back at her confidently, as though I have the slightest idea what’s going on here.

“Kork!” my wife blurts. “You’re so sweet! What is this?”

A cascade of thoughts swirl through my mind, possible explanations that somehow seem even more ridiculous than the situation we’ve already found ourselves in.

“Maybe… our new friend should tell you,” I stammer, motioning towards the living sock.

Jimble nods. “Sure! Well, like I said, I’m your Stocking Stuffer this Christmas. I’m a living stocking, and I’m here to stuff you.”

My wife just stares awkwardly at Jimble. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m here to stuff you,” he repeats. “Both of you, actually. Your husband asked for a double stuffing.”

“Wait, wait,” I interject. “I thought you were like… filled with treats and toys or whatever.”

“I’m a stuffer,” Jimble counters. “One who stuffs.”

I take a deep breath and let it out, then motion for my wife. She follows me around the corner, her voice immediately falling into a tone of hushed concern.

“What the hell is going on here?” Sasha questions. “Is this a sex thing? Because it feels like a sex thing?”

I slowly peek around the corner, quietly watching as this floating stocking just hovers in our living room. I have to admit, the living object is objectively handsome. He’s a well-made stocking, with a friendly smile that immediately puts me at ease in a situation that might otherwise be a little alarming.

I loudly clear my throat, pulling Jimble’s attention towards us. “Um, just to make sure I understand this right, is this a sex thing?” I ask.

The sentient holiday stocking nods. “Yeah. It’s a sex thing.”
 “Thanks,” I reply, then retract my head around the corner.

My wife’s eyes are wide now, deeply concerned about the mess I’ve somehow gotten us in.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt. “Listen, I had some troubling finding you a gift this year, so I went to the mall last night and… I sorta ran out of time. I got you this Stocking Stuffer, which I guess means a sentient sock who is here to fuck you.”
 I can’t help but laugh, fully accepting how ridiculous this has gotten.

“I’ll just send him home,” I continue. “I’ll make it up to you. Your gift will be a little late this year, I guess, but I’ll get you something really good.”

My wife is just staring at me know. The expression on her face is difficult to read, but it’s certainly not anger or disappointment.

“I mean… you don’t have to send him home,” Sasha murmurs.

I furrow my brow, confused. “Oh?” I question, then repeat the word a second time when her meaning abruptly slams into me. “Oh!”

“I’m sorry,” Sasha quickly blurts, realizing what she’s said and struggling to take it all back. “That’s silly of me. I love you, and I want you to be a part of this Christmas morning. I don’t need to be sleeping with some living object.”
 Now it’s turn for an admission of my own. “Actually,” I start, proceeding with caution. “I kinda signed bothof us up for a stocking stuff."

I peek back around the corner, only this time my wife joins me. Our gaze lingers as we take in our unexpected visitor, actually considering the possibilities of what has suddenly been presented.

We catch the eye of the living stocking.

“Hey,” he offers.

“Hi,” I stammer. “Are you… is this all ethical and stuff? I mean, we paid for you to be here.”

“I volunteered, actually. I saw your photo,” Jimble explains.

My wife and I exchange one final glance, then nod in confirmation. Soon enough, we’re stepping out from behind the wall and approaching our holiday guest. Meeting him with a barrage of kisses.

We immediately collapse into each other, a trio of bodies rubbing and grinding as we frantically strip away our clothing. I help Jimble as he grips my wife’s shirt and pulls it up over her head, exposing her skin to the warm morning air of this cozy scene. My shirt comes next, and soon enough the three of us are standing completely nude.

The exploration doesn’t slow, however, and now that there’s no clothing to separate us, the wandering hands have grown even more curious. I somehow end up in the middle of this heaving form, my wife behind me and Jimble floating in front.

Sasha massages my shoulders as the living stocking takes his time with me, his attention starting at my collarbones and then working across my chest and abs. Lower and lower Jimble drifts, until he finds his hands wandering across my waistline, teasing me with the prospect of something more.

“You want me to open this package?” the sentient stocking coos.

I nod profusely, and Jimble finally has mercy. The living object reaches down and wraps his fingers around my cock, gripping me tight within the soft fabric of his holiday apparel body. A satisfied groan escapes my lips as he continues to work me.

“Do you like that?” Sasha whispers in my ear, the gentle tone of her voice sending an erotic chill down my spine.

The stocking and I begin to move together, my hips pumping along with the rhythm of his hand. The sensation is incredible, and it only gets better from here.

The next thing I know Jimble is dropping to his knees before me. The sentient stocking gazes up with that devastatingly handsome smile, offering a playful wink before opening wide and taking my rod between his lips. He immediately gets to work pumping up and down across my dick, servicing me with incredible oral dexterity.

While the living object works his magic, my wife reaches around from behind and grips my shaft at the base, her tight fingers acting as a cock ring and elevating the stimulation to previously unknown levels.

Eventually, Jimble switches up his technique, pushing all the way down and somehow allowing the length of my rod to slip well beyond the expected limits of his gag reflex. This oral descent eventually comes to a stop as the stocking presses firmly against my abs, held in place for a shockingly long while.

When Jimble finally pulls back he has a fire in his eyes, dedicated to this moment of carnal Christmas pleasure.

“Now it’s Sasha’s turn,” the sentient stocking announces.

Jimble doesn’t rise, but instead reaches out and takes my wife by the hand. He directs her to the nearby couch and motions for her to sit, an instruction that Sasha has no problem following.

My wife opens her legs for Jimble and me, and soon enough I’m right there with the living stocking as the two of us take turns licking my wife. We alternate between lapping away at her clit and making out with each other in a state of reckless abandon, lost in this frantic moment of bisexual hedonism.

Eventually, I let Jimble take the lead for the sake of rhythmic consistency. The living object dives deep, eating out Sasha with expert precision while she whimpers quietly above. I join my wife on the couch, where she reaches over and begins to stroke me in time with her own escalating pulses of sensation.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Sasha begins to murmur, a simple enough phrase that grows louder and louder with every passing round. I’ve heard this one before, the brilliant sign of an impending orgasm.

Soon enough, my wife is screaming out at the top of her lungs. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck!”

Sasha completely loses herself in the moment, throwing her head back and letting out an unbridled shriek as the blissful feelings rip through her body. I can see her stomach clenching and releasing, her frame struggling to come to terms with this powerful orgasm as it overwhelms everything.

Jimble doesn’t let up, keeping his movements steady and carrying Sasha from beginning to end of this glorious journey. Soon enough, she’s falling back against the couch in a state of utter exhaustion.

The stocking pulls back, his energy and excitement only growing.

“Who wants to get stocking stuffed?” he growls.

My wife gives me a knowing nod, clearly happy to sit back and watch for a moment.

“I do,” I reply, slipping off the couch and falling forward onto my hands and knees. I crawl away from Jimble, rocking my hips and popping my ass out towards him. “Get down here and give me that yule log.”
 Jimble doesn’t hesitate, the handsome living piece of foot apparel floating into position behind me. I can feel him align his massive dick with my puckered backdoor, teasing me with the prospect of his looming penetration and then finally sliding forward in a single, powerful swoop.

The tightness is unreal, and I’m forced to brace myself against the floor as he plunges deep.

Taking Jimble’s entirety is a tall order, but the living stocking is a patient lover. He hold deep, refusing to move until my body has a chance to adjust to his incredible size. Gradually, the ache within me melts away, replaced instead by a glorious warmth.

The two of us begin to grind against one another, starting slowly at first and then gradually escalating speed. With every grind the carnal pleasure builds within, starting at the pit of my stomach and then spilling out across my arms and legs in heaving waves. I can feel this wonderful tremble filling me up, a tension just waiting for its moment of release.

Soon enough, the living Christmas stocking is hammering into me with everything he’s got, diligently slamming away at my butt.

“Mind if I cut in?” my wife suddenly questions.

I glance over to see that Sasha has climbed down beside me, laid out on her back and ready to slip under.

Jimble and me stop a moment, rearranging ourselves so that my wife is directly below with her legs spread wide. Once everyone is ready, I thrust forward and slide gracefully into Sasha’s waiting pussy, getting to work as I rock my body against hers.

The stocking continues to pound me from behind, and soon enough we’ve found ourselves in another moment of three-way satisfaction. Somehow, we all fall into a groove together, our bodies pumping against one another in just the right way to create a beautiful cycle of escalating pleasure.

“I’m so close,” I gush. “I’m gonna cum so fucking hard!”

The building pressure suddenly releases, surging through me in a mind-blowing eruption of sensation. I allow this moment to take me over, surrendering to the blinding avalanche of bliss. Hot pumps of jizz erupt from the head of my cock, filling my wife to the brim.

I realize now that she’s cumming too, her pussy clenching tight around my cock in a series of muscular spasms as the two of us writhe with ecstasy. All the while, Jimble is keeping his pace, slamming into my ass with everything he’s got and carrying me from beginning to end.

At the very last moment of my orgasm, the living stocking pushes deep and expels a payload of his own, a blast of spunk shooting up my ass with so much force that I can actually feel it. Jimble’s cum plugs me up, then comes spilling out as he removes his massive cock.

The three of us collapse together in a heap, exhausted and satisfied.

We lay like this for a long while, just basking in the glorious afterglow and enjoying the the warm twinkling lights of our Christmas tree.

Gradually, an unexpected tone begins to fill the air, the soft singing of angelic voices from far, far away. At first I’m not entirely sure if my ears are playing tricks on me, but the awkward glances from Jimble and Sasha are confirmation that these strange choral tones are real.

When I realize what this music is, an excited smile creeps its way across my face.

“Oh,” I blurt, standing up and finding my robe. “Follow me.”

The three of us make ourselves decent, then head over to the front door. We open up to find a group of carolers waiting for us, these singers bundled up and belting their hearts out on this beautiful Christmas morning.

I open my arms, pulling my wife close on one side and our sentient stocking close on the other. They both lean their heads against me, enjoying the music in silence.

Eventually, Sasha leans in close, whispering something in my ear.

“That was a great gift,” she offers. “It was nice getting something we could both enjoy together.”

I’ll remember that for next year.