The Claus Tradition- A Christmas Short Story

The North Pole was abuzz with a subdued sense of excitement. It was the most important night of the year for S. Claus Inc.
Elves hurried around the enormous warehouses, carrying piles of presents or vast rolls of wrapping paper. Above them all, a huge clock counted down the final minutes. As the last few seconds ticked away, a bell began to ring shrilly. All movement ceased on the factory floor, as a huge steel door slowly opened, revealing the huge red bulk of the Claus family’s ancestral sleigh. The massed ranks of green-uniformed elves stepped back and bowed their heads. And waited.
There was no movement from the sleigh. Gradually, a whisper swept through the elves. Finally, one brave worker crept up to the sleigh and peeped into the cockpit.
“She’s not there!” he cried. A gasp echoed around the room.
Upstairs, a family argument was taking place. One which had taken place every eighty years or so since the beginning of time.
“I am NOT wearing that!” Shirley Claus, the latest in a long line of managers for the family business, shouted at her elderly mother. Mrs Claus just sighed.
“Sweetheart, it’s traditional. Like the beard and the red suit. You didn’t object to THAT”
“This is different! It’s, it’s, it’s unfair, and degrading, and, and, and…”
Her mother raised a hand.
“Every Claus since the beginning of time has worn it. It’s TRADITIONAL. Sweetie, it’s only one night a year.”
“I won’t wear it” Shirley repeated stubbornly.
“Fine. Then you don’t go. Millions of children lose out on presents. Is that what you want?”
At that, all the fight seemed to go out of the young woman. She physically sagged.
“… Fine.” She eventually muttered. Her mother gave a sigh of relief and patted the bed in front of her. Shirley lay on the bed, exuding reluctance from every pore. Taking as little time as possible, the older woman flipped up the traditional red woolen skirt, removed her daughter’s black lace underwear and executed the ancient tradition of the Clauses.
Shirley looked down at the incredibly thick red diaper with the baby snowman patterns and cautiously felt the padding over her vulva.
“Actually… It’s not that bad” she admitted. Her mother smiled.
“Good. Now, get down there. You’re late already.”
Around two hours later, Shirley felt the first warnings. She had been putting her training into practice, delivering presents all across the earth, taking only 0.001% of a second per house. The many glasses of milk and whisky were beginning to make themselves felt. She held it as long as she could, but just under three hours later she was having to fly with one hand pressed against the front of her diaper. She glanced at her watch. Another seven hours to go. Reluctantly, she accepted that she would never make it. Grimacing in disgust, she slowly allowed the contents of her bladder to flow into the absorbent padding surrounding her lower regions. She wriggled around slightly, and realised that it actually wasn’t that bad…
The urine she had just released pooled in her diaper, slowly being absorbed into her protection. The feeling of the warm wet passing, pressed against her crotch by the metal bar which had been fitted to the sleigh following the tragic death of Great Grandad Claus, actually…turned her on. She pressed herself further into the bar, absorbed in her inner feelings… then was suddenly dragged from her reverie by the appearance of a passenger jet. She yanked on the reins and decided to keep her mind on the job in hand. Which worked fine, until the mince pies began making their way through her system. Shirley’s eyes widened as she felt the pressure in her stomach.
“Ooh, shit” she swore to herself softly. Very accurately, as it turned out.

Re: The Claus Tradition- A Christmas Short Story

Heh, for some reason I never considered how hard flying the sleigh would be on one’s bladder.

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