I was a kid, I loved Christmas. It was the best. I'd spend
hours curled up in the corner behind the tree, reading
holiday stories and watching the lights and shadows thrown
on the ceiling by the strings of colored bulbs.
Then I grew up.
I moved to New York and I got a little tough. I started
trying to make a place for myself in a demanding career,
and I got a little tougher.
By the time I was thirty, Christmas was a chore. All the
shopping, the cards, the parties, the decorating were
just obligations. I'd forgotten all about the magic and
I have to admit I was a Ms. Scrooge.
Then something happened that changed all that. I got a
good old-fashioned bare-bottom spanking. My first ever.
This is the story of that spanking and of the man who
gave it to me. So listen hard all you Scroogettes out
there, and you might learn the lesson of the spirit of
Christmas a little less painfully than I did.
I was standing in an endlessly long line, silently cursing
and making a mental list of all the reasons I hated Christmas
when I saw him. The man in the red Santa suit. He smiled
at me, and his eyes crinkled merrily. He gave me a "Ho,
ho, ho" as he passed and playfully asked if I'd been
naughty or nice this year.
My feet hurt, I was hungry, it was only two days before
Christmas and I'd only bought three presents. Nice smile
or not, the guy got on my nerves.
So I let him have it. I went off. I told him Christmas
was a commercial plot. That the presents were bribes to
keep old clients or get new ones. That I wished I could
somehow just hibernate from mid-November until January
Santa just listened, hands on his hips, the twinkle slowly
fading from his blue eyes, his playful smile disappearing.
When I finally finished, he shook his head in disappointment.
"Meggie," he said, "you used to love Christmas.
I want you to meet me in the center of the mall, where
I talk to the kids, at closing time. I think I can help
"The only way you can help me, Santa," I sarcastically
replied, "is if you can manage to make Christmas
disappear. And how did you know my name?"
"What a silly question." His grin returned.
"I'm Santa, and everyone knows Santa knows everything.
Including exactly what you need to turn back into the
warm, generous Meggie who loved Christmas more than anything.
Closing time is in forty-five minutes. I'll be waiting."
He reached out and tweaked my cheek just as the clerk
called "next". I moved up and when I'd paid
for my purchases, "Santa" was gone.
He can wait until next Christmas, I told myself. I can't
take another minute in this madhouse.
But things kept happening. A little kid got lost and I
had to help him find his mother--even I wasn't evil enough
to let him fend for himself. I dropped a bag and had to
scramble over the floor to pick up the gifts I'd grudging
bought. I broke the heel off one of my shoes.
All these events conspired to bring me walking by Santa's
home away from home exactly at the time he'd requested.
Of course, he thought I'd just placidly followed his instructions.
Hardly. I wanted to be home, soaking in a hot bath. I
saw the big man out of the corner of my eye, but kept
"Right on time, Meggie. I thought there was at least
a little of the good girl left in you. You won't be sorry."
Before I could say a word Santa had taken me by the arm
and was firmly leading me toward the massive throne where
the kids came to sit on his lap and tell him their secrets.
"Wait just a minute, Santa baby. I'm not here to
see you. I'm going to pick up a salad and go straight
"Now, Meggie, no one says no to Santa. You know that."
He kept towing me along behind him.
"I hate to burst your bubble. But you're not Santa.
Santa's a chubby old guy with real whiskers. Not that
cotton beard and pillow padding you've got. What am I
saying? I mean you're not Santa because there is no Santa.
Let me go now, or I'm going to start yelling for Security."
"Ho, ho, ho," he boomed. "Everyone knows
Santa would never hurt anyone." We reached the throne
and he sat down, legs spread wide apart. He put his hands
on my waist and held me in front of him. I tried to twist
away, but his big hands held me tight.
"Now, Meggie, most little girls sit on my lap. But
somehow I don't think that would suit you."
"You've got that right," I snapped, giving an
extra hard jerk, hoping to get away. But Santa had muscles
under all that padding.
"No," Santa said, his blue eyes boring into
me, "I think what you need is a trip over my knee,
not on it." Before I could protest, he'd lifted me
up, slung me over one of his knees, and thrown his other
leg over both of mine. I was trapped. Trapped with my
bottom perfectly positioned for one thing--and I didn't
have to be a genius to know what it was. The words "over
my knee" screamed through my mind and I began to
really fight. I kicked and yelled, and even tried to bite
and scratch. But in moments, Santa had both my hands pinned
over my head.
"You really are naughty, aren't you?" he asked,
and I thought I heard a trace of amusement in his tone.
Then to my humiliation I heard a little girl ask "What
are you doing with that lady, Santa?"
"I'm getting ready to give her a spanking,"
he told her. "I'm afraid she's been awfully bad.
And you know what I bring to bad little girls, don't you?"
"A bundle of switches," the little girl said
"That's right. But I know you've been very good,
sweetheart. You go on home now, so I can take care of
I heard little feet running away, then all was silent.
"Okay, Meggie, let's get to it. A good spanking and
I think your attitude will be much improved. And just
in time to really enjoy the holidays."
I gave another half-hearted kick, but knew it was hopeless.
It'd just have to guts it out. Then I'd get the baboon
I felt one of Santa's big hands on my bottom and I couldn't
stop from flinching a little. He gave a chuckle and then
gave my fanny a pat.
This is going to be nothing, I thought, relief coursing
through my body. Then I felt Santa slowly sliding my skirt
up the backs of my legs until it was bunched at my waist.
"You can't be serious," I yelled.
"I'm very serious, Meggie." And his hand came
down with a sharp smack right in the center of my bottom.
I was quickly convinced he was telling the truth. His
hand came down again and again, hitting all sections of
my derriere. In minutes it felt like it was on fire. I
had to bite my lip to keep from begging him to stop. I
didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
Then it got worse. I felt him toying with the waistband
of my silk panties and I started to squirm. He gave me
the hardest spank yet and yanked the panties down.
"You can't spank my bare bottom. Who do you think
you are anyway? some asshole who makes minimum wage--"
My tirade was stopped by a flurry of spanks, one right
after the next. They left me gasping and fighting back
When he paused, I tried to stay as still and quiet as
possible. I didn't want to show the man how effective
his discipline was.
"Meggie, something tells me you've never had a spanking
before. Can that be true, a woman your age?"
I just nodded my head. He placed his big, warm hand on
my bottom and began rubbing it with slow circles. "I
think there are a few rules you need to know. When you're
over a man's knee--especially when he's Santa Claus--"
I heard that touch of amusement again, but held my tongue.
I'd never admit it, but the sensation of his hand gently
running over my sore bottom felt wonderful. I didn't want
to do anything to get him started with the painful stuff
"When you're over a man's knee," he repeated,
"you are not in control. The word 'can't' isn't even
a part of your vocabulary." Crack! His hand came
down on the tender spot where my bottom curved into the
backs of my thighs. "Do you understand?" The
hand came down again in exactly the same spot.
"Yes!" I gasped.
"Yes, sir," he said sternly with another burning
"Yes, sir," I repeated.
"Very good." He gave my bottom a few more rubs.
"Now stand up for me."
Unthinkingly, I obeyed.
"Now, Meggie, I want you to come around to the side
of this throne. Bend over the arm and rest your forehead
on the seat." He stood up and guided me into the
position, then he smoothed my hair away from my flushed
face. "I know this is hard, Meggie. And I know it
hurts. But it's for your own good."
I squeezed my eyes closed, all thoughts of getting this
man fired gone. My only thoughts were to do as he said
as well as possible.
I heard Santa rummaging though a bag behind me.
"Did you hear what that good little girl who came
by said naughty girls got for Christmas?"
I nodded. Santa moved up behind me, and he began caressing
my reddened skin. "What? Tell me."
"A bundle of switches, sir?"
"And have you been a naughty girl?"
I wanted to say no. That not enjoying Christmas wasn't
a crime. But I found myself giving him the answer he wanted.
"I think ten switches should be enough. One for every
year you saw Christmas as just another item to be checked
off your list of things to do. Does that sound fair?"
"Good girl. Now you count for me."
I heard a whistling sound and the keen sting of a switch
against my bare buttocks.
I felt the switch tickling my bottom, running lightly
down the crack between my cheeks. "One what?"
"One, sir," I quickly answered.
The blows came unrelentingly. At number five, I couldn't
stop the tears from running down my face.
"We're halfway there, Meggie. For the last five,
instead of counting why don't you tell me something you
like about Christmas."
The switch cracked down. "I can't think of anything.
All I can think about is how much it hurts."
"I'll help you," Santa said, and he gently smoothed
his hands over the little welts on my bottom. "How
about that song where the dogs bark out Jingle Bells?"
"Yes, Santa Sir."
"Good girl." The switch whistled down again.
"Christmas tree lights flashing on the ceiling,"
I managed to get out between my sobs. "Sir,"
I added, hoping it was fast enough.
The switch just tapped by left cheek and I almost giggled,
shocking myself. "Helping my mother make Christmas
cookies." Another light tap. "Snow angels."
And the last one, just a reminder of the other nine. "Santa
With that, Santa scooped me up in his arms and then sat
back on his throne. I buried my face in the warm velvet
of his suit and let him hold me.
"And what would you like for Christmas this year,"
he finally asked.
When I didn't answer, he tilted my chin up. "How
about this?" He lowered his face and kissed me, his
lips firm and warm, the soft cotton of his phony beard
brushing my chin. "Yes," I said. "More
kisses. But first I need a Christmas tree with lots of
lights. And you are going to help me carry it, aren't
you, Santy Claus?"
"Ho, ho, ho. That's my Meggie." He pulled off
his beard and red hat, and I liked the face I saw. It
was kind, with a few laugh lines around the eyes. And
I thought, well maybe I did need a spanking. Especially
if this is what I get when it's through.
Santa took my hand and then he kissed it. "I knew
you couldn't really be the kind of woman who hates Christmas.
Then he kissed me again and whispered, "Let's get
some mistletoe to go with that tree."
"And some eggnog."
"And some milk and cookies."
And as we left hand in hand we looked at each other and
yelled, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good
So that's the story of my first spanking and how I came
to love Christmas as much as I did when I was a girl.
If you don't want to find a bundle of switches in you
stocking some day, be sure and take a little time to experience
the joys of the season.
Although, if you're like me, one of those joys is being
just naughty enough to earn a trip over Santa's knee every
year for a nice warm holiday spanking. If that's your
pleasure too, I hope you get it.