Christmas is right around the corner so I thought I'd give you all this holiday story. For those waiting for more of Liz and Shannon, patience please. Been hard to get time away from real life but I haven't forgotten. In the meantime, enjoy.
Making a list . Checking it twice. Gonna find out who's naughty and nice. Everyone knows about Santa Claus bringing presents to the good children of the world. But has anyone heard about his wife, Mrs. Santa Claus? That story isn't very well known. The problem is, the people who know the story don't want to admit it. Why you ask? Well maybe they have some painful memories...
Santa is a jolly figure. Fat and jolly. He's always seen as laughing with rosy cheeks and smiling eyes. But why is he so happy? Well truth be told he's happily married! Yes indeed. After all, who's cooking all those great meals that keeps his figure? The missus of course. And who's managing the elves and the household while he's gone? The missus. She's quite a capable woman, besides being beautiful. Actually Santa doesn't work so hard during the off season, which is every day except for Christmas Eve. Why should he? He's got a beautiful wife to manage his affairs. That's why he's so jolly all the time.
So what is the story behind Mrs. Santa Claus? Well it's said that opposites attract. In the case of Santa and his missus that's true. Whereas he's fat and jolly, she's a svelte and beautiful. He's carefree and fun. She's diligent and serious. They're the perfect couple. But you might notice I kind of glossed over some things. Opposite of fat is svelte, sure. But opposite of jolly is beautiful? Not quite. That wasn't a mistake. I was just trying to paint a rosy picture.
Truth be told Mrs. Santa has a bit of a temper. Maybe it's the stress of managing all the toy making year round. Maybe it's because she's beautiful and beautiful women always have tempers. Maybe she's just mean. Whatever Mrs. Santa is someone you don't want to cross. Especially not on Christmas Eve.
You see, Christmas Eve is one of the few days when things slow down at the North Pole. Every other day, is filled with frantic activity as the elves scramble to make toys for all the good kids. It's quite stressful actually. Tools break, production slows. There's no missing the deadline. Those toys must be made. But on Christmas Eve, Santa is out making the deliveries and everyone else gets to rest. Everyone except Mrs. Santa. And that's probably what makes her one mean bitch.
Oh she could probably rest too. But either she feels obligated to do her part or she just likes her job or she needs to blow off steam. Whatever the case, Mrs. Santa goes out like Santa, travelling the world. Now she's not out to bring presents to do-gooders. As I said before she's the opposite of Santa. Mrs. Santa travels the world looking for people to spank. Not children mind you. Santa brings those naughty ones lumps of coal. No, Mrs. Claus is out looking for naughty adults.
Why adults? Well Mrs. Santa believes misbehaving adults are worse than naughty children. After all, children can't help being children. But adults know better. And so when they misbehaving, it's almost always because they were doing it deliberately. And someone being deliberately naughty deserves a special spanking in her eyes.
Now Mrs. Santa doesn't visit every naughty adult. There's way too many for that. And also she simply doesn't want to. She'd rather find a few special ones that are particularly deserving. Those that merit her special attention get plenty of quality time. Whereas Santa is there in a second, barely with enough time to quaff some milk and bite a cookie, drop off presents and off to the next house, Mrs. Santa arrives calmly, ready to spend some quality time. Her visits seem like they last for hours. Probably because of the activities involved. Whatever the case, there's still not much time for milk and cookies.
No one knows how she chooses her "wards" as she calls them. And no one knows how many she visits. Unlike happy children on Christmas day, her wards aren't running around bragging about their presents. Rather they're hiding well worn fannies behind forced smiles. Gritting their teeth at the table. Faking illnesses to avoid friends they're doing their best to hide the fact that they received a visit from Mrs. Santa who was all too real the night before.
She carries a bag like Santa, but the toys that fill it are for her alone. And they're not toys you'd like to see. Paddles, hairbrushes, belts, straps, switches, canes. All the types of toys that bring fear to her wards' eyes.
How she gets into the house, no one knows. But she sure didn't come down the chimney. There's nary a spot on her beautiful outfit. Come to think of it, no one really remembers what she looks like. She's beautiful they'll all admit, if you can get them to admit anything. But other than that, no one remembers the details. Blonde or brunette? Blue eyes? Brown eyes? Dark skinned or light? No one remembers. Details are easily forgotten but generalities are not. Beautiful yes. Sexy even. Male wards remember embarrassing erections. Female wards remember feelings of insecurity. She always seems tall. Not necessarily because she was tall, but somehow, they all felt very small in front of her.
She carries herself with an imposing air. It's clear as soon as she enters that someone of authority has arrived. Most wards wake up in the middle of the night to find her stern gaze upon their features. Immediately they know who she is and why she's there. No one can talk without her permission or move the way they want. Oh they can get out of bed to stand before her or rub a suddenly anxious bottom. But the thoughts of fleeing off into the cold night remain unheeded thoughts in their heads. it's like her authority is all powerful. All they can do is stand there to receive judgement.
Usually they wake at the sound of her placing her bag on the floor. Filled with her toys it makes a low clacking sound. They wake with a start and are confused for a second. Wasn't Santa Claus fat? Then the realization hits them and their stomachs flip flop. Oh god! It's Mrs. Santa Claus! What did I do to deserve this? They know all too well as they recollect the past years misdeeds. Oh why oh why couldn't they behave? Wasn't the story of Santa just a story? Apparently not. Deep in the pit of their stomachs they know the truth.
Sometimes the ward is sleeping with a partner. Whether the partner wakes depends on the punishment. Occasionally the partner wakes to witness or participate. Other times, the partner remains sleeping with pleasant dreams while the ward is sobbing with each spank. Cries and sobs echo through the household and yet no one stirs.
As mentioned before Mrs. Santa feels adults deserve special punishment. She never fails to deliver. Wards wearing pajamas or underwear find themselves removing them. Shivering in the night air, they stand before her as she begins her lecture. She takes her time to detail exactly what they did to deserve this visit. Occasionally they're allowed to respond, to explain their actions. Sometimes they try to lie. It doesn't matter. She only lets them talk to get in further trouble. Once she wearies herself of toying with their hopes she silences them with a gesture or a sharp look. Excuses trail off as she sternly looks down on them. Throats dry up and stomachs flip flop. Hands rush back to futilely guard exposed backsides. Crotches tingle with sudden urges to urinate. Sometimes even tears being to well up. None of this elicits any sympathy from Mrs. Santa. She's dealt with many wards in her time, regardless of how young she appears. And they're all very deserving.
Her choice of punishments vary. Her large bag is capable of holding many implements. And each have been used many a time. Mrs. Santa has a special intuition at which implement will elicit just the right amount of punishment for each ward. She has a few favorites of course but sometimes duty dictates the usage of something else. And she's very responsible.
Of course one of her most frequently used and favorite implements is the hairbrush. There's a special satisfaction at having a ward across her lap while she spanks with a well worn hairbrush. She has an antique ebony brush with silver filigree that is just perfect for the job. Large oval backing. Unique decorative scrollwork on the handle also provides a secure grip.
At her command, wards find themselves lowering across her lap. Why not run? Or refuse? It's impossible to disobey her stern commands. Even as they beg and plead they find themselves dragging their feet closer, then lowering across her lap. They weakly try to resist with their hands but seem powerless. She easily brushes aside their hands and then bounces them on her lap, settling them into a comfortable position. Even the largest of wards somehow fit easily across her lap. Wards that usually tower over people find they can barely touch the floor with their hands or feet when over her lap. Truly helpless, all they can do is wait.
There's a few stern rebukes but most of the scolding has already been done. Now there's just the punishment. And punishment it is. With a practiced arm she snaps that brush down. Again and again. There's a satisfying smack each time. Her pace is steady and deliberate. She makes sure each spank is full force. This is punishment after all. The wards squirm, sob and cry. But none can even wiggle a bit in her secure hold. Their hands scrabble at the floor. Feet kick and reach for the floor. Anything to help push away, get away from that lap and that burning brush. But fingers and toes barely reach the ground. There's nothing to gain purchase. They're forced to endure.
Her other hand firmly presses down on the small of the back, forcing the wards to present their cheeks. Blow after blow falls. She can continue like this forever it seems. Five minutes. Twenty minutes. An hour. Whatever it takes. And she has before. Everyone has a different pain threshold. She always makes sure to exceed it, to drive the message home. However, long it takes the last spank is as hard as the first. The cries and sobs usually subside to gasps at this point. There's just not enough strength in the wards for more than that. No more struggling or kicking. Just submissively draped across her lap receiving their punishment. She smiles each time as the wards' butt cheeks are a perfectly even shade of Christmas red. Another job well done.
By whim or by reason, she will use other implements in her bag. Maybe she wants the ward to remember the spanking longer. Or she just feels like more exercise. Whatever the case she has a few paddles of differing lengths and widths. They range from smaller and lighter to longer and heavier. A few have holes. They're made of various wood but regardless, they all have the same look as well worn implements.
Now contrary to popular belief, the lighter paddles are not used first. They are used last. Why you ask? Well the reason is obvious to anyone on the receiving end of those paddles. You see, after a number of strokes with the heavy paddles, the ward's skin may tend to develop abrasions. This is in spite of the cream she applies. Mrs. Santa has no wish to permanently harm her wards. She merely wants to teach a memorable lesson. So after a paddling for a while, she'll switch to a lighter paddle. In this fashion, she can continue the punishment without fear of breaking any skin. If more punishment is needed, she'll again trade down to a lighter paddle. She can do this several times. Of course as the spanking progresses, the lighter paddles are still as effective as the heavy ones since the wards has a well spanked bottom. By the end even a ping pong paddle delivers a hearty swat.
Wards that are to receive the paddle are rightfully dismayed. A paddling is quite serious. For this they are usually ordered to remove all clothing so that Mrs. Santa doesn't have to delay the punishment to brush aside shirt tails or underwear. With obvious reluctance they obey. Mrs. Santa will further instruct them into position. Feet apart, bent over, back straight, arms outstretched over head and braced against a desk or wall. This position serves two purposes. First, the recipient is firmly braced to receive the full force of the paddle. There's no swaying with each blow as might result from a less secure position such as hands on knees. Secondly, the person is fairly helpless in this position. Bent over like this, the ward's weight is divided between feet and hands. Any attempt to move would require feet to shuffle in, to regain balance. Mrs. Santa of course would never allow that. She pays attention to the details. She'll often have the ward point his or her toes inward. This forces the legs and hips to pivot just so slightly, splitting the butt cheeks. In this position the ward is well prepared for punishment.
At this point Mrs. Santa may make a few comments, explain why such a serious punishment is merited. She'll assure the ward that this will be memorable. Maybe she'll ask if there's any regret for the actions which led up to this point. There always is but it doesn't matter. A few beg to be let off. She doesn't respond to those.
In the meantime, she'll be applying a bit of cream to both cheeks. Sometimes she'll accidentally or not so accidentally brush between the cheeks, further illustrating the vulnerable pose the ward is in. There's usually not much talk from the ward at this point. There's a sense of relief mixed with dread when she applies the cream. This is replaced by pure dread when she ceases application for it means one thing. Punishment is about to begin.
Mrs. Santa takes care to line up properly and take a good stance. A paddling is properly done if it's not to leave lasting harm on the ward. She doesn't want to hit too high or too low. This is where her tennis games with the elves pays off. The elves think she loves tennis but the reality is she's been practicing year-round for this one night. Feet firmly braced on the floor, hips pivoting she swings that paddle with marked ease. The loud spank that issues with each blow is like magic to her ears and she smiles at the sound. It's so satisfying. Of course it's usually followed by a gasp and a cry by the recipient. No matter. She calmly winds up and delivers another spank. And another...
There's no rhythm to her blows. Sometimes she's strike in cadence. Other times she'll pause to allow the ward to recover his or her breath. From the crying and sobbing that is. After all, by now they've received quite a number of smacks across their defenseless asses. Full swats delivered with the perfect technique she's developed over the years. She puts everything into each spank, the perfectionist that she is. Hips pivot perfectly, opposite arm outstretched providing perfect counterbalance. Shoulder turn follow through. Oh did I mention she is ambidextrous? She switches hands to ensure the other cheek gets equal attention. Left hand spanks delivered with completely identical precision and power.
After a bit of paddling, the wards, held in their magical state, maintain position but not to the satisfaction of Mrs. Claus. Knees are buckling, arms shaking. They have been punished fairly severely after all. But she would like to continue so she permits the wards to rise. Grateful for this break, their hands immediately inspect their punished buns. Yes, all the flesh is still there. Hard to believe when the pain was so great it seemed the skin had been taken off. But the lotion does it's trick and there's nary a scratch. Just pink and red skin. There's more to come however, so respite is brief.
From somewhere, Mrs. Claus pushes something to the center of the room. It may have been a small sofa found on the wall. Or it was an ottoman. Or just a box. Whatever it was, the intent is clear and awful. Sometimes, the wards plead their case a second time. Wasn't the punishment enough? It hurts so much, they plaintively beg. No more spanking, please.
Eyes unyielding she places the ward head down bottom up. Again the tallest ward somehow finds their toes barely touch the ground. Butt is uncomfortably high and upper body is now low. She sometimes instructs their hands to grasp the end of the furniture. Unwillingly they comply. Behind them they hear Mrs. Claus rummaging through her bag. What's she searching for? Sometimes it's a cane, sometimes i'ts a strap. Once in awhile a longer paddle. As much as they fear one or the other it doesn't really matter. Mrs. Claus knows how to bring out the most in each ward.
Soon enough the strap will come sizzling down. One, two, three. Rapid, searing strikes across both cheeks. There is occasionally a pause while the wards cry and gasp. She lets them catch their breath before the next onslaught. Each set of strokes grows in number. It might start with three at first. Then a set of 7. But by the end there's a merciless barrage of strokes. The ward's legs are kicking frantically. Cries ring out, turn into howls. But Mrs. Claus is relentless. She's teaching a real lesson here after all. Bent over the furniture there's no danger of squirming away or collapsing on the floor. The best they can do is kick their legs. Eyes bulge with each stroke, throats grow hoarse.
It's a little different with the cane. The cane is a fearsome instrument of correction. Mrs. Claus likes to swish it around the air, building up some suspense. The first stroke is always across the meatiest part of the ass. It's a searing stroke and always elicits a loud response. From then on it's a bit of cat and mouse and Mrs. Claus delivers stroke after stroke with varying tempo. She's always accurate though and the lines are perfectly spaced and close together. Of course eventually the lines merge with each swish and crack. Sometimes she will use a lighter cane for variety. The strokes then fall fast lighting a real fire on the ward's ass. Bucking does no good and kicking is somehow restrained. Sobs and cries for mercy are ignored.
If one could see her in action, one would only be impressed. Never has anyone seen such a combination of strength and skill and beauty. Her eyes flash and face gets flushed. Whether its from exertion or from excitement, no one knows for sure. Well maybe Santa does but he's not around. Sometimes she removes her jacket to better free up her arms. A cane is like a sword in her hands, dancing about as she practices her stroke and loosens her arm. She is a bit of a perfectionist you see. Each stroke must be well placed, with the right force. Throughout the exercise she breathes quietly, steadily. It is a bit of an exertion after all. Who knows how many she has spanked before this? But each spanking must be as thorough as the first. That's her way.
Finally it stops. Sweat rolling down the ward's bodies as they whimper and sob. They are let up and faced to the wall again. Hands on head the ward is forbidden to rub those sorely spanked cheeks even if they want to with all their might. Tears run down their faces.
Sometimes Mrs. Claus will cap the ordeal off with another otk spanking. But she barely needs to use her hand or a brush to elicit howls of pain from the already sore bottoms. In any case, this is less punishment for the wards and more enjoyment for her. Who, after all, wouldn't enjoy having a bucking and squirming bottom over her lap, as she spanks with the lightest of ease? Such power and command at her disposal, to demand repentance. This is the time for final words of advice, encouragement. Punishment has been rendered and now her heart is starting to forgive. Hands caress the bruised cheeks beneath her as she talks. Soothing now, but punishing spanks following as more advice is given. Pleas for mercy are answered with questions about behavior. Promises are made. She listens.
Will they be better next year? Only time will tell. But by the time they crawl back into bed, Mrs. Claus is off to the next house.