Claus opened her robe and revealed the sexy bra and panties she was wearing as well as her extremely tight body. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her...and even in the low light I could see her pinky sized nipples poking the silky fabric of her bra. Then she slid off the chair and got on her knees, crawling towards me. “Commander, Mary,” she said. Mary was my name and I hated it. I would rip my troops a new one if they called me Mary, which is why everyone called me commander. But Mrs. Claus could. My euphoria had vanished as soon as this sodden mist would do in next morning’s forecast sun when I realised I was out of fuel and my mobile phone had lost its charge. I was stranded in the middle of a maze of small roads somewhere South of the Isle of Thanet in Kent. My bare legs were covered in goose pimples. My fake leather jerkin was dripping with water from the damp mist and running down to soak my skimpy tunic. It would be the final straw if my Viking sword got rusty. I’d been walking for. More

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