Naughty Stocking Stuffer: A Yuletide Tale

One year. It had been an entire year since Santa deemed her "naughty" and had left her here like this...yes, of course she'd been naughty, but no one deserved to be inexplicably transformed into a weird reindeer creature! And then two months later, the elves had finally told her how to change back...all she needed was to deliver a calf, just one easy payment to the big man and all would be forgiven. Of course they'd waited to tell her this until well after mating season had ended. She'd just have to wait until next year, they'd said with a glint in their eyes...

The months passed in an agonizing crawl, a cycle of daily humiliations. Interminable boredom in a smelly stable, mucked out too rarely...surrounded by the bellows of her fellow beasts, her own voice often joining them out of pure frustration...at least the sugared oats mixed with peppermint were tolerable.

At last she could tell she was in season...only to meet with her next hurdle: none of the boys were putting out. They paused by her stall and looked her in the eye, knowing they possessed the only thing she craved...then strutted on by with a snorting chuckle, off to service the other does instead. She heard and smelled every moment of their couplings, sometimes all eight rutting at once...she beat her hooved fists against the stall door and groaned, dribbling with desire...time was growing short.

She was tired of all these reindeer games. She knew what she had to do. Tonight she hid and waited...she knew where Dasher did his business, where he went for a quick midnight release. It was all she could do to bite her hoof and keep from crying out at the same moment he did, wishing he'd painted her insides the way he did that disgusting workbench...but all in due time. As he stumbled away, she crept over to his mess and scooped it up, warm and steaming in her gnarled hands...she winced, appalled that she was actually going to do this...then plunged her thick fingers inside herself, feeling her anatomy sing from the gift it had long been denied. With a guttural groan she filled her hands again and again, stuffing her stocking with care...in hopes that her progeny soon would be there.

She didn't know how long she tarried there. She was so full, so warm...something told her she'd done more than enough, and she flopped backwards onto her ample rear. She gripped her thick thighs and pulled, aiming her nethers upward, willing Dasher's leavings to take root...by the time the elves found her and dragged her back to the stall with disgust, she knew she'd won.

Now there was just the matter of carrying it to term...