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a very Shingen Christmas

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“Why don't you take a seat on Santa's lap, and tell him what you want for Christmas?” the man asks, dressed as any respectable Santa Claus would be. Red suit, red hat… but his face is covered by a stark white gas mask, and his build is nowhere near jolly. And that’s neglecting to mention the white lab coat thrown on over the festive suit. “Emilia, isn't it?"

 

Emilia Kishitani, however, isn’t as concerned as a young woman usually would be, walking into her apartment to find such a strange visitor. Not many men would wear a gas mask over their face even in costume, and the only one she has met strange enough to do so is none other than her husband, Shingen.

 

“Oh, how unexpected! A visit from Santa Claus himself?!” Emilia says, the two of them speaking English for her benefit. She hurries over, and plops down on Shingen’s lap, not even bothering to remove her coat. “I must have been a very good girl this year!”

 

“Aha! You were indeed, my dear Emilia! Your husband tells me you’re the picture of a perfect wife, and wanted me to make sure your Christmas was flawless!” Shingen says, doing very little to disguise his voice. As an afterthought, he adds a classic Santa laugh, though the way his mask muffles it makes it far from jolly.

 

“Oh, he’s always thinking of me!” Emilia says, wiggling happily on Shingen’s lap. She settles in, and Shingen does his best to ignore how incredible it feels. After all, he is in character!

 

“Well, he should be! You’re quite the beautiful young woman, and he is a very lucky man to have you for a bride!” Shingen says, and Emilia beams up at him.

 

“You really think so?!” she asks, playing her part perfectly. She also begins to bounce slightly, and it isn't long before Shingen finds himself unable to ignore how his wife's body feels against his.

 

“Of course! Santa knows such things! Now, what is it that you wanted for Christmas, dear Emilia?” he says, trying to hurry through the questions his costume demands.

 

“Oh, I'm really not sure! My husband always makes sure we have the things we want… I suppose I'd like to be a mother! That would be truly the greatest gift!” Emilia says.

 

To drive her point home, she turns around on his lap, facing him, and begins to grind against him. Shingen can no longer hold back at all, letting out a strained gasp. By now, he is hard, and even through layers of cloth, he can feel the heat of Emilia’s body as she rubs against him.

 

“Ah, now, Emilia! This is no way to treat jolly Saint Nick!” Shingen says, in a desperate attempt to cling to his character.

 

“But, Shingen… I need you,” Emilia whines, looking at him with those damn eyes , and suddenly, all traces of Shingen's acting vanish.

 

With no further delay, he reaches down, fumbling with the unfamiliar pants until he's opened the fly, freeing his cock. Emilia has to stand, then, to work her own pants lose, kicking them away as quickly as she can manage. Her panties follow them, both forming a small heap on the floor.

 

“I'm impressed I was able to fool you for so long!” Shingen says, believing that his costume was even the slightest but convincing, with a gas mask and lab coat on over it. “I knew you'd see through it eventually, Emilia!”

 

“Of course! I wouldn't be fooled for long when it comes to you, dear!” Emilia says, as she climbs onto him.

 

She is slower this time, more deliberate. She hovers over him, as she reaches down, guiding his cock to her entrance. By now, thoughts of her husband have Emilia wet, and she gasps as she begins lowering herself, settling onto him. Shingen’s arms wrap around her hips, holding her in place. Once she finds her balance, Emilia begins bouncing, up and down.

 

As always, Shingen loses himself in his wife’s movement’s. She isn’t exactly graceful at the best of times, but somehow, in times like these, she’s got the grace of a goddess. Or, perhaps more fitting, some sort of mythical creature. Regardless, it’s never long before he’s practically gasping for breath. He would never admit that the gas mask is likely a large contributor to that, of course.

 

It’s rather unfair, in many regards, as Shingen gets to watch the shifts in Emilia’s expression, as she rides him, losing herself in their movement. He can watch those sleepy eyes, still half-lidded even now, but holding all the intelligence he fell so hard for. The way her soft lips part, the sound of her moans… it’s all incredible, and Shingen can’t help but think of himself as lucky.

 

Emilia, however, doesn’t mind this at all. Sure, she loves the rare times she sees Shingen’s face, but the gas mask her husband wears so frequently might as well be a second face. His expression is hidden, of course, but at this point, she doesn’t really need it. The older man has always used body language to compensate for the face he hides, and Emilia is an expert at reading him.

 

Even now, she doesn’t need his ragged breathing to tell her he’s nearly there. His grip isn’t quite as tight as it was moments before, and he seems to be struggling to hold on. Instead of granting him a reprieve, Emilia picks up the pace. She slams down onto him, harder, faster, enough to rock the chair, pushing its structural integrity to the limit.

 

Shingen’s own integrity, however, is not so fromidible. With a groan, he comes, his seed spilling into Emilia as she sinks down onto him once more. For a moment, she is still, panting, catching her breath after her frantic ride. The warmth she feels is pleasant, and only made better by her hopes that her Christmas wish might just come true tonight.

 

Of course, she isn’t quite done yet. She begins moving once more, and Shingen wonders how much more of this he can take. Emilia is certainly tenacious, and he knows he’ll not see the end of this until she is fully satisfied. It’s a Christmas Miracle when the door to their apartment opens, and the two are interrupted by none other than Egor.

 

The assassin masks his surprise well, if he feels any at all. Walking in on these two isn't exactly uncommon, and neither is seeing them in ridiculous outfits.

 

“Oh, welcome, Egor!” Emilia cries out, beaming at their sudden guest. Shingen, though he’s facing away from the door, cries out as well.

 

“Egor, I hope you know it’s your turn on Santa’s lap, next!” he says, and Egor nearly groans.

 

“Can I at least let you two finish, and get settled in first?” he asks, before smiling warmly. Really, he isn’t sure what else he expected, visiting his lovers so close to Christmas. Luckily for him, they’re more than comfortable finishing up before pressuring him too much. And Emilia’s moans of pleasure follow him as he takes his luggage inside.