With a snap of his scarlet glove colored fingers, Santa begins to glow before your eyes. His red suit, hat, and even his furry red pants morph before your eyes. A moment passed, and Santa stood again before you, looking a lot different than before.
A new Santa stood in front of you, one who had age on his bones, but the intensity of his mature figure glowed dominantly. You felt small compared to this leather bound beer bellied behemoth, even though you two both stood about six feet tall. His coat had disappeared and in its place, a harness rested on his chest, binding his beefy form together and accentuating his ball gut and pecs that all seemed to be hidden under Santa's silver fox fur. Staring down his arms, you see tattoos on his shoulders. None that you can make out, but that doesn't matter to you, as the sheer roundness, the very firm foundation of his upper arms drew you towards them. Your eyes follow down his arms, to his waist. Santa's red gloves now have replaced with biker's fingerless gloves. He flexes his hand in response. You coo to yourself in arousal.
Santa's legs don't look to shabby either. The man's calves, firmly packed to the brim with fat filling his new leather jeans and exciting your senses further, curve up into his fat ass, filling the leather bottom perfectly. Not even wanting to look down at the man's majestic leather boots, you reach out and press your hand against his bare chest.
He's real. This bear of a man, standing next to you, who has transformed you and given you a new physical lease on life, is real.
"So, boy, you like Santa's body eh?" Santa coos out with a soft moan as your hand rests upon his left pec. Your meaty fingers feel his silver fur gracing the pads of your fingers so tenderly, and yet the coarse hairs demand obedience, simply at the touch.
"Y-yes . . . " You say under your breath, a faint whisper to Santa's awaiting ear. He shrugs it off, and places his and upon yours, pulling it away.
"Well, boy, lets head out. Not a lot of time to give your the rest of your gift." Santa turns, his leather bound body, except for the festive Santa Clause hat still placed upon his head, begins walking for your door. As if you follow by some unknown desire to have this man - no any man - against your body, you follow behind, staring at the floor, at your nearly bare muscle fat slightly hairy upper body, and then back up at Santa's as you both leave the house.
Santa doesn't say much, as you two walk across the town at the time of midnight. Two glorious muscle bears, strolling, letting the cool breezes, the scintillating winds of night, the very luster of the unknown set before them.
Santa begins nearing a bar. Where do you go?
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