Tuesday, December 22, 2015

The hotness of Santa Claus

I'm definitely not the first one to this party! But I wrote something as a visual inspiration a couple years ago of which I'm rather proud.

Too soon

Ella crept downstairs. It was only 1am, but she had been checking every fifteen minutes to see if her husband had put her present under the tree yet, before he left for his night-shift at the hospital. He had made her promise to wait until he was back in the morning to open it, but she wasn't going to take it out of its box--she just wanted to see what it was.

Yes. It was there! A big white box with a red bow. She hurried over to the bushy green spruce with the pretty red bow-and-bulb ornaments, and sank quickly to her knees. She started to untie the red ribbon.

"Young lady," came a deep voice behind her, startling her half to death. She didn't even think to drop the ribbons, as she turned around and saw. . . white beard, check. . . red suit, check. . . jolly old elf--well, old elf, check; jolly, not very.

"Young lady, I believe you made your husband a promise."

"Um. . . I. . ."

"Did you or didn't you?"

Ella felt her face crumple. "Yes, Santa, I did. I'm so sorry."

"He and I made a deal tonight: he's going to put out the presents at the hospital, and I brought your present here. Do you think he deserves to have you breaking your promise while he's out working?"

"No, Santa." A tear rolled down Ella's face.

"What do you think would happen if he saw you himself?"

"Oh, no," she said, picturing it.

"He would spank you, wouldn't he? Don't lie, or you'll be on the naughty list next year!"

"Yes, Santa."

"Then since he and I have our bargain tonight, I believe I need to teach you your lesson."

Santa brought the little stool over to the tree, and sat upon it, looking decidely jollier. He patted his lap, and Ella, still holding the ribbons of the forbidden present, went over it.

"You'll tell your husband in the morning that you need a spanking, but you don't have to tell him why. I think it will brighten his day, especially if you're as delighted by your gift as I think you will be, Ella."

Santa flipped up the little green skirt to reveal scandalously configured underwear. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," he said, as he began to administer the sort of sound spanking that only he can give. "Sometimes naughty and nice are the same, aren't they?"


It's not really all that dissimilar, is it, from the kind of daddy-spanking Darla gets in this passage from Assigned a Daddy?

Darla realized her breath had once again begun to come in short, ragged pants. Every time he said punished her whole body seemed to flash hot—everywhere, unfortunately. Somehow the Selecta people had known. Something about her seemed to say that what Mike was doing was not only acceptable but… necessary.

“Yes, daddy,” she whispered. She looked down at the carpet. Green pile. She hated that carpet. She hated this apartment, whose rent had encouraged her to shoplift three times, just to have clothes that made her feel like she could hold her head up at work.

“Now answer my question, sweetheart. Do you play with your little pussy, to make yourself feel good?”

“S-sometimes,” Darla stammered.

“Thank you for being honest, Darla,” Mike replied, nodding in approval and once again presenting Darla with the problem of her apparent need—ten minutes after meeting her ‘daddy’—for that approval. “Most nights I’ll give you permission to touch yourself, if you’ve obeyed me and respected me that day. You won’t have permission to do it anywhere but in bed, though, after dark. If I catch you with your hand there, when you don’t have permission, you’ll have a bare-bottom belt-whipping.”

Oh, God. Darla felt her face burning like the sun. Yes, she masturbated sometimes… but when times got a little rough, often probably made a better representation of it. At least she’d be able to touch herself in the bathroom.

“And don’t think you’ll be able to do it in the bathroom either, in my house, because you’re going to be doing your business with the door open, so I can see you, and I’m going to supervise your bathing. At work, you’re going to text me for permission to go to the bathroom, and then put your phone where you can record yourself peeing so I can watch it later.”

Darla started to shake her head. It couldn’t be real, could it? And yet… and yet it was, and her mind didn’t reel the way she thought it should. Her face kept right on blazing, but Mike’s paternal authority, even in this extraordinarily shameful area, seemed to embrace her. His tone, and the detail with which he had thought out the implementation of Darla’s correctional program, told her that the purpose of the program had to lie much more in her reform than in her humiliation.

That didn’t mean Darla had to like it, though. She had to push back, even if it got her a worse punishment now.

“That’s mean, daddy,” she said, realizing to her surprise that she had begun to take on the persona of a little girl without even thinking about it. “I won’t do that. It’s not fair, and it’s creepy and shameful.”

She looked up at Mike in apprehension, and saw to her shock that his face had utterly transformed itself into an expression of restrained anger, his eyebrows lowered and his mouth set. He didn’t speak, at first, but he reached out and took Darla by her hips and pulled her a step toward him, as her arms spun around in the air, seeking her balance.

She needn’t have worried about that, because Mike had such strength even just in his hands that there was no chance Darla might fall. He had his hands in the waistband of her jeans, now, and before she knew it he had them unbuttoned and he was pulling them down. Darla gave a little cry of surprise and humiliation to know that her daddy now saw her pussy, with its sparse brown thatch, for the first time.

Mike spoke again at last. “You just earned yourself quite the spanking, sweetheart, and in the nude. Your new little-girl panties are going to feel pretty sore on your little bottom in a few minutes.”

“Please, no… please, daddy…” Darla wailed. But she understood too late that although Mike certainly had told the truth when he said he was a patient man, she had pushed him much too far, since he also clearly felt keenly his responsibility to start setting boundaries for Darla. He didn’t speak again, but pulled her between his thighs and bent her over his left knee.

Wild now to escape the spanking somehow, anyhow, Darla threw her right hand back and put it across her tender bottom cheeks. But Mike grabbed her wrist in his right hand and transferred it to his left so that he could pin it with terrible ease against the small of her back. At the same time, he closed his thighs around hers, immobilizing her almost completely.

“You’ll learn to hold still for your punishments,” Mike said, that same controlled anger in his voice. “It starts with knowing that you don’t have a choice, when your daddy decides your butt needs whipping.”

The words frightened Darla so much that she tried to writhe away even though her mind told her Mike spoke the truth when he said it wouldn’t help. With every ounce of her strength, and probably extra from the fear, she struggled against him, but she couldn’t manage to slip from his grasp more than an inch. Her naked bottom, ready for his discipline, still rose over his thigh.

He put his hand on it, and Darla used her millimeter of freedom to flinch, although the touch was gentle.

“This is a very special moment for you, Darla,” Mike said much more softly than she would have expected. “I know you’re scared, and you should be, because I’m going to teach you the first real lesson of your life, but I promise you’re going to look back on this spanking with gratitude. You earned a bare-bottom punishment, and you’re about to get it, just as you’ll probably get many more, before being a good girl becomes second nature to you. While I give you what you’ve got coming, I want you to think about what it means, to have your daddy take down your jeans and tan your hide because you couldn’t obey him, and then you disrespected him. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, d-daddy,” Darla whimpered, as Mike kept rubbing her bottom. It felt like worse torture than the spanking ever could be, because it felt so good, and his words were so soothing.

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