Chapter Text
“Do you have anything in a size… f-forty?”
If anything could be a testament to the slow but certain decline of the American mall, it was that the Macy’s of the largest mall in the south side—once a bustling garment vendor—could barely reach half capacity on Christmas Eve. The erstwhile anchor store was now a stomping ground for middle-aged women and retirees who used the mall more as a way to get in their daily steps than as an actual place to buy stuff from. Even the young woman at the counter breathed a sigh of relief when Trish lumbered in—‘finally, someone my age’ she must’ve thought. But after twenty minutes looking through every scrap of clothing in the backroom, the clerk could only meekly hand Trish what could only be described as a torn garbage bag made out of fabric. It was the only purchasable thing in the building she could wear, and it still would’ve fit like a miniskirt. For a number of reasons, this would not do.
Trish gave an indiscernible murmur in decline, which was as close as the shrinking violet could get to being cordial, before stuffing her hands in her sleeves and trudging in the direction of the mall corridor. She hadn’t been expecting to find pretty clothes in her size at a conventional retailer. But, on Christmas Eve, as a gift to herself… it would’ve been nice.
It didn’t feel that long ago that Trish, led from the hand behind her ever-fretting mother, would need to bob and weave through entire schools’ worth of cranky teens, dejected adults, and overstimulated children who ooh’d and ahhh’d at the display cases of new Nintendo’s, Disney Princess branded tricycles, and the pretty girl clothes. Alas, all were such things that her mom would never deign to get for her little girl. Christmas was, after all, for praying. And praying. And praying. Not for buying.
It would seem that before her eyes, a mirror image of that pint-sized, greasy-haired, stubby legged, Mary-Jane-wearin' shorty with the crucifix hung around her neck seemed to coalesce for no reason other than to haunt her with how damn cute she used to be.
The memories weren’t the most pleasant things for Trish to relive. It wasn’t fun being the only girl in her grade who didn’t have the latest Aéropostale, American Eagle, and Gap-branded threads; her black dress was only barely less conservative than her Sunday School teacher’s habit, and the constant jeering from the other kids was quick to send the young girl the message that she was not welcome. Fortunately for her tormentors, having so many features—nominally Catholic, implicitly Irish, a visible misfit—made her an equal-opportunity pariah.
Agh, Trish thought. She was getting too deep into her memories, again. But, well, she couldn’t help it. It was Christmas Eve, after all. The perfect confluence of religious guilt and the commercialism that she yearned for as a child but wants nothing to do with as an adult. Trish took another sip of her bubble tea before going back to stirring the straw in pointless meditation. Sitting alone at the mall food court was perhaps the saddest thing anyone could do on this day, of all days.
But, it did have its perks.
“Excuse me, misses?”
And here was one of those perks now.
Trish glanced behind her—she almost had to crane. Even sitting, her frame was large enough that she tended to miss things and people that didn’t come up to her eye level. And considering the creature which had just tugged on the hem of her beige sweater couldn’t have been older than seven, that meant that she would’ve been impossible to notice had she not clambered on the table and yelled in Trish’s face. Something that Trish wouldn’t have minded had it happened; this child was one of the cutest Trish had ever seen. Red hair that coalesced in curls straight out of a Broadway production of Annie, a white shirt with red polka dots tucked into her pink fluffy skirt, and a pair of jet-black Mary Jane shoes. She looked more like a porcelain doll come to life than an actual child, and the fact that this utter gift from heaven had decided to talk unsolicited to Trish felt like its own Christmas miracle.
“I, ah, um—” Ah, dammit. The stutter. It was bad on most days… but when a child tried to get Trish’s attention, it became an unbreakable ailment.
The child’s apparent mom wasn’t far behind—she racewalked to the fair-skinned munchkin and yanked her away, pulling her behind mom’s skirt and killing Trish’s boner. “Erf, sorry about her. Always walking up to strangers,” the mom said with an awkward laugh.
“O-o-oh! It’s alright, it’s… ahm… I was only—”
Unwilling to suffer through Trish’s incessant stutter, the mom simply grimaced and said, curtly, “Rosalie was, I’m sure, simply wondering if you knew where the mall Santa was?”
Trish gulped. She turned and pointed in a direction perpendicular to all three of them—there. At the end of the corridor was a massive intersection beneath an equally huge skylight that filtered the twilight into manageable rays. This late into the winter evening, the sun’s rays were scarce, so in lieu of them a quartet of electric torches styled as streetlamps picked up the slack, each looking as though it had been plucked from the sidewalk of an alpine village were they not all connected to the same orange extension cord. Within that halo lay a gingerbread house. Smaller of course than a real house, but still massive for what it was; it was roughly the size of a garden shed, with candy cane trusses and graham cracker roof slats and gumdrop lanterns lining its corners.
Trish had never seen the interior of that house, but she could dream. She could dream of the scent of eggnog and peppermint wafting through the air, the sound of a crackling fire. She could imagine being invited by that jolly old man into his lap as he lounged on that massive, throne-like rocking chair, lifted up in those stocky arms, and gently nudged to reveal her most treasured desires and secrets, knowing that one day someone—anyone—would grant her those wishes. of any similar contemporaries. As Trish pointed, the cynicism of 20 years melted away… and briefly, briefly… she was a child again.
Child…
Children…
Trish blinked, and her mind went to the line. The massive, massive line that just barely kept from reaching the group, instead wilting to a stop just outside the P.F. Chang’s at the food court’s entrance. A line of close to forty parties, by her estimation. And each one of those parties included at least one child, small, rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed… adorable… delicious children…
The mom next to Trish seemed not to notice the re-hardening beneath Trish’s dress. “Oh! Egg on face. Rosalie! Keep up! You don’t wanna miss telling me—ah, I mean, telling Santa what you want before the mall closes, do you?” She didn’t wait for her daughter’s response before tossing a half-hearted “Thanks!” in Trish’s direction and yanking her daughter away.
“Mmm… thank you, Miss!” Rosalie said between thumb-suckling, a maneuver that would be the fuel for at least a dozen fap sessions… starting now. Trish pushed away from her table and stood up to her full eight-foot frame. Her preternatural ability to scope out and locate a bathroom in seconds had once again proven its utility.
***
“Unnnnggghhhhh…!”
A tadpole of drool leaked from the corner of Trish’s mouth as she hunched backwards against the inner restroom stall door. The dollop fell onto her erect dick, and without thinking the woman’s consistent strokes had already scooped it up and inadvertently used the spittle as excess lube. Not that she particularly needed it; Trish had never tried it before, but she had half a mind to believe that by simply thinking hard enough about children’s butts and asses, her multi-foot long cock could spring to life and guzzle out cum on its own. But a helping hand was always appreciated, and in this case, Trish’s right hand was doing a fine job extracting the pleasure in her dick and—suddenly and at once—the cum churning in her balls.
The blast glorped in an arc. Some of it hit the toilet bowl, some of it hit the toilet tank, much of it hit the painted concrete wall behind them both, and the rest ending up in a gloopy pile on the floor around the commode.
Trish’s face was a moist, deep red. As the seconds she took to catch her breath turned to minutes, she had to almost physically clench her body to stifle its quivering. This wasn’t the first time she’d cummed inside a bathroom stall, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it was one of the most powerful—perhaps because this was one of the rare times that the objects of her affections were—hypothetically at least—right there. Just outside that door, even! But… no. Not in any real way.
The endorphins that flooded her bloodstream were starting to settle, and as Trish could form coherent thoughts again, she reasoned it was a good time to start the always annoying task of cleaning herself up. This is what she planned to do when the door to the bathroom opened with a dramatic THUMP.
“Ugh!!” The exclamation was rather high-pitched.
Quick, short, thumping footsteps followed, and Trish felt the requisite urgency to hustle up in cleansing the tip of her dick of excess semen. Someone had entered, and that was her cue to leave. Trish didn’t like leaving the toilet soiled, but with luck she’d be gone and away from the mall before anyone could piece together that it was her. Trish pulled the flush lever and waited for whoever it was to enter a stall, clearing the way for the amazon to escape away unseen. But… no creaking of hinges occurred. The woman(?) didn’t even turn on a sink! It seemed for a time that she was simply walking around in circles, fuming.
“We’re fucked. Fucked! How are you supposed to walk off on the job on Christmas Eve!? Ugh… this is the last time I work for tips… what are we going to do?! The line is backed up to the H&M, management is in my ear yelling at me to ‘figure something out, Patty!’, I can’t figure something out, I just work here!”
Trish was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Not that she had anything against eavesdropping, but any situation which eroded at the purity of her fantasies of Christmastime whimsy was a situation she could do without. The voice was muttering in a corner, Trish thought. Maybe… if she unlocked the door and tiptoed slowly, she would be able to escape without drawing any unnecessary attention. Yeah, Trish nodded to nobody. That sounded like a plan.
Step one: unlock the stall door. Trish moved quiet and carefully; her somewhat clumsy fingers were able to somehow clutch and twist the deadbolt without so much as a creak. Still crouched, Trish scanned the room… she didn’t actually see anyone. Maybe they were on the other side? Nevertheless, the exit was in sight. She slid from the stall, glanced at the sink to wash her hands, then decided against it. She’d find another sink to—
“HOLY fuck!”
“G’ah!”
The shock was enough to make Trish physically jump—and subsequently bump her head on the ceiling. She twisted in place; where did that sound come from?
“Um… down here?”
Suddenly, Trish turned 180 degrees and glanced down.
She’d been expecting a woman of average height, and so when she scanned the room earlier she believed she’d been in the clear.
Trish could not have prepared for encountering a woman who was so… ahem… compact… that for a brief moment, the 8-foot-tall girl’s cock twitched ever so slightly at the hopes that the creature before her was a child. A child in a peppermint-colored tunic with red and white tights… a customary green elf hat… and even pointed ears?
Trish blinked. Her Christmas spirit enticed her to believe she had one of Santa’s bona fide elves before her… in a mall bathroom. Cooler heads quickly prevailed, and Trish was able to recall that she had definitely seen this woman attending to the Santa installation downstream from the food court. She’d just never seen her this… angry before.
Those cooler heads reminded Trish that she needed to get out of here. So wordlessly, Trish turned on her heel and made a beeline for the bathroom door.
“Hmmmm…” The dark-skinned elf stroked her rounded chin as she watched Trish go. “Heeeeey…” she said, softly at first. Then, with a stark realization, she yelled: “HEY! Wait!”
On the one hand, Trish was desperate to leave. On the other, she wasn’t just going to disobey a direct order from someone who may or may not be (she absolutely was not) one of Santa Claus’s actual elves. Trish turned her head, hoping her mop of greasy black hair was enough of a shield to mask the tomato red camouflage of embarrassment on her face.
But—the risk of shame was too great. The scent of cum still wafted from her no doubt. Cut her losses, run, avoid everyone, maybe her sister would be willing to pick her up from the rear entrance. God, fuck, this was a terrible idea, why even do this? Why—
“Do you like kids?”
Trish stopped.
And without shifting her gaze from the bathroom door, she muttered in a discordantly tinny voice for such a large woman:
“Yes.”
The woman in the elf costume seemed aggravatingly nonchalant. “I knew it! Damn, I'm a great judge of character. Listen, I see you around here a lot and I know that we don’t know each other, but I need a favor.” The elf looked furtively behind her shoulder, as though someone could be eavesdropping on the other side of the mirror.
Trish’s mind was still racing. She didn’t mean… like that… right? No… too good to be true. She just meant if she liked kids in the traditional sense. Which… in fairness, Trish did. She just also wanted to sink her cock into their virginal pussies.
“It’s simple,” the elf continued. “It’ll only last… maybe an hour or so. I need you to… fill in for someone for a bit, just until closing time. I’ll even pay ya! How does that sound?”
Slowly… the shape of things was coalescing in Trish’s mind. Her heart was beating out of her chest—this would be a people-facing operation, and kids were somehow involved. Trish remembered the elf’s muttering from before, and she shuddered. It… it couldn’t be.
But. The promise of proximity to the little ones was an impressive motivator.
Trish should’ve walked out the door. But instead, she turned so her whole frame faced the elfish woman.
“F-f-fill in for who?”