Chapter 1:

On the First Night of Christmas, Santa Gave to Me…

He was perfect. I don’t know how else to describe it. I have seen many of his doppelgangers, but he was the epitome of my expectations.

Every November I feel the urging of my old fantasies and fetishes. Every year, I would watch the Macy’s parade with anticipation of seeing him coming down in his fake sleigh waving a the throng on 34th Street. When I was just coming into puberty, I remember my late-night bouts of self-pleasuring, imagining him holding me close. I must have been a comical sight, over-stuffing my pillows to imitate his soft girth and then humping them as I whispered his many names.

When it is a normal time of year, I can look back and laugh at myself. However, when the season turns to the Holidays, I am as sad and desperate as an addict. Actually, I was getting better because Christmas had become somewhat sad for me. Now divorced for two years and electing to take the kids during the summer and fall, meant that summer and, unfortunately, winter, I was alone. But then I saw him, and everything came back together.

I was shopping at the Mall and I had heard that there was a new guy taking over the St. Nick’s post in the mall picture area. It was one of my favorite secret pleasures to go and watch the man putting children on his lap, listening to what they want for Christmas, smiling as the photo is taken. I so remember the admonition to be nice and not naughty as being my mantra. Truth be told, the man who had the role for the past three years was far too anemic and slender to hold the position with any amount of dignity. His replacement was, at least visually, so close to stunning that I was sure that my mouth was open when I first saw him from a distance.

He was a tall man, nearly 6’6”, I imagined and easily over 300 pounds. He had ruddy cheeks and a white beard that while not flowing and out of control like a member of ZZ Top, was full and real. I worked nearby and for the first week of December, I visited the mall, ostensibly to go have lunch, but I watched him work. He was so genuine and real. He was jolly but also had a wise look, and he exuded power and, dare I say, authority in his role Saint Nick. It took me a week, but I finally got the courage to do it. I just wanted to meet him…be close to him…to sit in his lap.

When I am alone with my thoughts, I simply can’t believe the power of my fetish involving the patron saint of Christmas. I am a lucid, educated, mildly neurotic woman. This places me right in the middle of normal, as I see it. It is the loin burning desire for the whole Kris Kringle experience that has me wondering if I need to spend the few resources I have left on therapy.

Of course, every child wants to believe the sublime thought that Santa Claus, like God Himself, knows all about you, wishes for your well-being, and wants to reward you for your good behavior. When I ventured into adolescence, that normal belief was sexualized and became the foundation of my fantasy life. As an adult I have worked hard to develop a more well-balanced sex life, but in December all other sources of fantasy pleasure take second billing to Santa.

It took me a week, but I finally got the courage to do it. I went early in his shift which usually started around noon. I went on a Tuesday when the least amount of shopping gets done at a mall. I couldn’t dress as I would want to for him because of my job. It was sunny and crispy cold outside, the light shining down through the sunroof onto the imaginary North Pole. That was when I saw him as I approached. Illuminated in the shifting shafts of shining, he was a powerful, dominating character. The affectations alone; the bright red velvet shoes, the almost military high boots, the inviting soft fur trim…all were enough to draw one’s eyes to him. Yet, this man was more than any imposter could provide. The fullness of his person filled the uniform up with little looseness in it. As I drew up to the girl who would take my money for the photo of my visit, a Hispanic girl of no more than 20 years, I could see his face for the first time up close.

He wore the spectacles, but I was sure that he didn’t need them. He caught me gazing and I felt myself blush. His blue eyes shone through the round little lenses and burned slowly into mine. There was ruddiness in his cheeks just above the full, but well-maintained beard. So to was his white brows, full enough to speak to his age but trimmed enough to look like a well-manicured man. Wisps of white hair slipped out the side of his red kerchief hat with the fur pom hanging over a grand, long mane of white hair. When our eyes met, he rose to his feet as if he were expecting me. I held the ten dollars out for the attendant, who looked around for the child who was supposed to be getting their picture taken with Santa. She looked up at me and I suddenly felt shame for the first time, contemplating flight as opposed to humiliation.

“Ho, ho, ho,” he chuckled as he walked up behind the girl. “It’s alright, I’ve been expecting this young lady. Even big girls need to visit Santa sometimes.” The girl looked suspiciously at him for the first time, though the tone and countenance with which he spoke implied nothing insidious or inappropriate. Indeed, I heard him speaking to the little girl inside me and I felt myself smiling spontaneously.

“Lead her back to me when she’s paid.” He chuckled again to himself and his whole body seemed to jostle when he did. I quickly forced the money into the girl’s hand and she rolled her eyes as she made change for me. She led me back into Santa’s throne area. That was all I could ever describe it as. It sat on a podium that children had to step up to. I can imagine more than one child running off from the intimidating presence he created as he sat and ruled the hour.

I felt myself shrink slightly as I approached him. I looked around out of instinct and no one seemed to take any notice of an adult in the Santa area without a child. I stood at the bottom of the podium and looked up at him hopefully.

“Hello, Santa,” I managed meekly. His face lightened and he smiled. When he did, his round cheeks pressed his eyes closed so much that he almost looked Asian.

“Hello, sweet girl, I am so glad you decided to come.” The omniscient tone he took when he said it sent a warm chill down my spine. I wanted to feel it again.

“I have wanted to come and see you for a long time.”

“I know,” he said more seriously, though his face was still warm and jovial. I looked around the mall one more time. Even the North Pole attendant wasn’t paying attention to us.

“Would it be okay…would it be appropriate…if I sat on your lap?” His face lit up and beamed.

“Of course, it would be alright. Come on up here!”

He made an exaggerated gesture with his hands and I quickly hopped up the two large steps to stand next to him. He parted his legs which were like benches and I took position between them and sat down on his right thigh. I felt his white gloved hand on the small of my back and I felt that delicious chill run through me again, only this time, it warmed my suddenly smoldering pussy and I realized that I was obviously flushed. I just knew that this Santa was now sure I was there to pick him up and do him in the parking lot. However, he saw my discomfort and awkwardness and rescued me by taking the lead in the conversation.

“You have been wanting to come and see me for a long time haven’t you?”

He was so large that when he held me on his lap he still had to look down slightly to look into my face, though I was 5’4” myself. I looked down, strangely afraid to look him in the eyes. He felt remarkably strong despite the fact that his girth might have intimated otherwise. I allowed my right hand to steady myself on his knee. I could feel the ripples of his taunt thigh muscle through the velvet costume. Without looking up, I nodded sheepishly, realizing in my head that I was slipping into some sort of psychological regression; the little girl in me was the only one who seemed prepared to engage with Santa.

“Look at me, child.” His voice was soothing yet authoritative. As I obeyed, his eyes met mine and he saw into me. I could tell what he was thinking before he said it, betrayed by the small sadness in his eyes. I felt my eyes start to tear up.

“You haven’t been a good girl lately, have you?” he continued. “I suppose that means that you have been naughty, then?” There was no judgment in his tone, but it was pointed and convicting nonetheless. For the first time, I found the courage of the adult and looked up at him fully.

“No Santa, I haven’t,” I declared. “I should go.”

“Ho, ho, ho.” His chuckle was low and ironic. “No…stay. No one here is going to bother us. We have a moment together. Spend time with me.”

“I’ve been naughty.” I was choking on the words on the verge of sobbing. “I have been terrible. I lost my kids. I had an affair. I got divorced.” I began to shake my head in frustration.

“Those things make me sad,” he declared softly, as if he was forced to be in opposition to where I was in life. His statement channeled my Grandfather who was a Baptist minister; strong and powerful yet gentle and compassionate. I nodded vigorously trying to stave off tears.

“I know…I know they do. I’m tired of being this kind of person. I want to be nice…not naughty.” My head knew the conversation was almost nonsensical but as we spoke the words to each other, they seemed to carry the weight of a thousand oracles.

“Well, I already know what you want most for Christmas.” There was no doubt in my mind that he did, either literally or metaphorically. “You need to move from being naughty to being nice before I can give you that.”

It was as if I had been thrown a ladder to climb out of the deep hole I was in…bad decisions, apathy, depression. I looked up at this man pretending to be Santa and felt my face depict my desperation.

“I’ll do anything, Santa.” He belly laughed shaking us both, causing me to giggle like I was 11.

“I know you can do it, little Bit,” he laughed sincerely. “You’re going to be such a good girl for me. I know you will! Now smile for the camera.”

I didn’t have time to think. Suddenly the Hispanic girl was there at the camera preparing for the shot. I leaned in and felt puffy from crying, while at the same time I was beaming because I was with him. He leaned in and we smiled for the camera, the flash signifying its completion. As the woman went to prepare the photo, I turned back to him, to this Santa character who had allowed me to dump my fetish and neurosis on him without making me feel like an idiot.

“Thank you for talking to me,” I said earnestly. “You really cheered me up. Much cheaper than therapy.” He belly laughed again and when he did he pulled me close to his face again and I enjoyed the Christmas smell of peppermint and cinnamon on him.

“Ho..ho..ho,” he laughed genuinely. “Thank you, sweet girl, for coming and talking to me.” Then he leaned in and kissed my cheek tenderly. When he pulled back, I bravely moved forward and kissed his cheek in return before I stood up before him to leave.

“Just a minute, Little Bit. I have something for you.” I froze and he looked behind the throne before he pulled out a small flat boxed gift, wrapped in a fine paper of metallic hunter green and with glistening silver trim. He extended the gift to me which I took pensively.

“Thank you, Santa,” I barely whispered.

“That gift is only good if you wait until tonight at 6 PM to open it. After that, you must obey the instructions exactly. This will help you move from being naughty to being a good girl.”

I nodded and slowly moved away. A child had finally arrived to have a normal Santa visit. I walked back up to the second floor and watched him with the children. None of them received anything more than a candy cane from him. He was wonderful with all of the children. I was in agony because I wanted to tear open the box. It wasn’t until I was heading back to work that I realized what he had said. How could he know? How did Santa know that my late Grandpa’s pet name for me was his Little Bit?

~~~





I left work early to make sure that traffic wouldn’t impede me from being home to open the gift at exactly 6 PM. I made it to my warehouse loft apartment about 15 minutes ahead of time. I was so nervous. All I could wonder was how the Santa impersonator could know so much about me. At first, I thought he was just really good at his job and was feeling particularly sad for me. However, as the day passed I realized that the whole event of meeting Santa had an entirely otherworldly feel to it. While I was there, it seemed like I was there for twenty or thirty minutes all told. Yet by the time I walked away from the ‘North Pole’, barely five minutes had elapsed. So as the time drew closer, my heart began to slam in my chest.

I sat on the bar stool staring at the gift on the end of the bar. I had set an egg time to go off at 6:01 PM, so as to not risk opening the gift earlier than instructed. What was in the box was supposed to help move me from being naughty to being nice. When the timer buzzed I jumped. I collected the package, slipped my shoes off and padded across the cool floor to the bedroom area that really had no separation from the rest of the open layout. To inculcate some privacy I bought a four post canopy bed and put gauzy drape curtains on it, so that when I sleep I can feel segregated and private from the rest of the apartment. The only two rooms that were apart from the floorplan was the fair-sized bathroom, complete with an old style claw-foot tub and a walk-in closet.

I carried the box to the bed, hopped into its center and drew the curtains around me. Once inside, I very tenderly opened the elegant paper, trying hard not to rip any of it. I folded the paper up like treasure leaving me with a plain white box. I popped the scotch tape off and pulled the lid off.

Inside, were a stack of twelve envelopes, all Christmas card sized. On the front of each one was written, in gold embossed cursive text, The First Night of Christmas, The Second Night of Christmas, and so on, leading up to the last one,The Twelfth Night of Christmas, which by the calendar was Christmas Eve. Underneath the cards folded in tissue paper was a black blindfold with elegant gold trim. My heart was suddenly slamming in my chest. What was going on? There was a single folded sheet of paper above the whole package which I opened cautiously.

Little Bit,

As you can see, there is a card for every night of Christmas left this year. If you obey the instructions in this note, I promise that you will find your way from being Naughty to Nice. It is my most sincere hope that you do.

Tonight, please prepare me a plate of milk and cookies. Dress comfortably in pajamas. At five minutes to midnight, kneel in the center of your apartment with the blindfold on. Make sure that you can’t see me arrive. Make sure that you leave a window open. If I see that you have obeyed me, I will come and visit you. Then we can begin the process bringing you back into wholeness in our relationship. Remember to address me respectfully when addressing me during our time together.

Love

Nicholas


I was dizzy. I had entered into someone’s predatory fantasy and my fetish for Santa Claus had been the conduit. He called me Little Bit. The thought that Santa knew me so intimately that he could call me by name strummed on the chords of my desire though and as the following hour moved along, I went from thinking the man was an exquisitely gifted charlatan, to wondering how I could have ever doubted that he was the Saint of Yule.

I baked cookies which I always used to do with my mother at Christmas time. I knew the recipe like I knew my social security number. In short order, the loft was filled with the exquisite smell of chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. At least, I would have something to eat to console myself after he failed to show.

Two hours left and I went into the shower and lingered nervously like I did on my first date. I’m horny, I’m terrified, and I am truly beginning to wonder if I am going mad. It doesn’t dissuade me.

One hour left and I was cleaning the apartment naked. I didn’t want to put on my favorite pajamas while I’m cleaning because I don’t want them to get dirty. My neurosis consumed me and I realized that my earlier self-examination of my sanity was well-founded.

I was done with about an hour to spare but I wasn't happy with they way the loft looked…. I am not happy that I live in a loft. How can Santa come down a chimney in such a structure? I shower and clean myself up, especially under my nails which were dirtied in my detail cleaning. I wanted to be perfect for him. I stood in my tiny bathroom, naked, blow drying my hair. I looked at myself in the mirror like I was going on a first date not like a divorcee waiting for a childhood fable to come into her home.

Finally it came time. I pulled my favorite pink flannel pajamas with little white bunnies on them over my most modest white panties. I buttoned up the pajama top, but left the top two open. I was still modestly attractive though I don’t think it meant anything to him. It did make me feel good. I put on my matching slippers and went into the kitchen. I got out my best platter and laid out five cookies, a dollop of whipping cream and poured a glass of cold whole milk, not 2%. Everyone knows the flavor is in the fat. Finally, I sprinkled the plate with cinnamon. Carrying it to the living room, I pulled one of my bar benches into the center of the open room and sat the milk and cookies on it. It was three minutes of midnight. I found the blindfold. Kneeling down next to the bar stool, I pulled the blindfold on, the elastic band scrunching my brown curly hair. Placing my hands on my thighs, I tried to not hyperventilate as I waited.

There was no alarm so it seemed an interminable amount of time and I was going to consider him late and a fraud when there was a sound that was unmistakable in its universal familiarity. In the distance, but getting louder was the distinctive sound of sleigh bells. I heard it grow louder and fade as if they were traveling around my neighborhood. Suddenly, my chest was heaving in both fear and excitement. I wanted to rip the blindfold off. Surely someone else hears the din of bells outside the building? Then there was a definitive thump on the roof. I wasn’t sure how I could hear it because there were three more floors between my apartment and the roof. Sure enough, though, I could hear them. Anxious to move on, moving back and forth on their restless hooves. Suddenly there was a rush of cool air through the room. I stopped breathing so I could listen carefully. Even without sound, I could tell he was there. Then I heard him. His steps were delicate, masculine, heavy against the hardwood floor. His boots clicked with a delicate heel to toe step. He was so near to me now.

“Mmmmmm….” The demonstration seemed to resonate from deep within him. I was shaking visibly, ready to embrace my madness. He chewed for a moment and then I heard him drinking the milk. The sound of the glass being returned to the barstool, obviously empty by the sound of the glass’ impact, announced that he had eaten his snack that I provided. His heavy steps walked across the room and heard the sound of my sofa wincing in protest that his impressive mass was using it.

“I think you can take off your blindfold, Little Bit.” His voice was like a siren’s to me. Pensively, I removed the blindfold to find that he wasn’t in a red suit. It was black one.

He sat in the sofa with his leg comfortably crossed. He was wearing a suit of impeccable taste, perhaps John Phillips of London. More conservative than Armani. It was coal black with dark grey pinstripes. His tie, tightly knotted, was red with three diagonal stripes of three varied shades of dark green. His tie clip had a Christmas wreath on it. The most startling transformation was his hair. His long white mane was smoothly combed back and pulled into a ponytail. The style, combined with the suit, gave him a relevant, hip look. He sat back with a wry, wise expression watching me.

“The cookies were delicious, Little Bit,” his earthy rich voice intoned. “They were just as good as your mother’s.” I was falling even more incredulous.

“Thank you, sir.” I remembered the final admonition of the note. The words came out of me so easily as if I had always wanted to say them to someone….to him. Next to him I could see the unwrapped package on the couch cushion. He sat up and moved to the edge of the couch, his big legs spreading to accommodate his size.

“Would you like to come sit on my knee, please.”

“Oh, yes sir, very much.” I rose and almost skipped over to him, stopping in front of him. He was so large that I didn’t have to look down very much. I could feel myself grinning on the inside at the thought of sitting on his lap again. He patted his right thigh and I positioned myself, sitting carefully on it with his strong right hand supporting me. My legs, barely touching the floor were between his legs. He looked at me with a serious, but loving gaze.

“Now, Little Bit, I want you to think of something that has made you a Naughty girl this year. I want it to be relatively minor. Tomorrow, I will ask you to do the same thing, but I will want you to choose something a little more naughty. The next day a little more and so on. Do you understand?” His tone was so careful that I felt like a seven year old girl in his lap. I loved it. I felt myself looking up coquettishly.

“Yes sir, I understand.”

“Each night we will open that night’s envelope. In each card will be the way to absolution for you. When you get the gift in the card, you will no longer be naughty about that thing anymore.” What he said intrigued me but I didn’t understand its purpose.

“May I ask a question, sir?”

“Of course, Little Bit.”

“If I get the gifts in the cards then I will be forgiven for the naughtiness it is assigned?”

“No Little Bit, no. You have already been forgiven. Your Creator saw your broken heart over so many things. This isn’t about forgiveness; this is for you. You are the one who is acting like you aren’t forgiven. So this is to give you an earthly form of absolution.”

I still didn’t understand completely but listening to his heartfelt voice talking about me so lovingly I was smitten with trust in him.

“Yes sir,” I said simply. He lifted the first card to me.

“Please open this gift. You will recognize the song that it is written out as being the tune to the 12 Days of Christmas. When you do, I want you to stand up in front of me and sing it to me."

I blushed, partly because he wanted me to perform for him and partly because I have a warbled singing voice. I smiled in my embarrassment and holding my head down, carefully opened the card. It was plain and white but when I opened it expecting something to fall out, my gift I assumed, there was only gold inlaid text. I read the text and my mouth remained agape.

“Ho…hohoho…,” he chuckled and the motion of his laughter bounced me on his knee which was delighting. I didn’t know what to do so I got up, stood in front of him and straightened singing the words of the tune.

On the first night of Christmas,

Santa gave to me

A long spanking over Santa’s knee…


“Very good, Little Bit,” he laughed happily, his big cheeks reddening as he did. I must have looked perplexed by the song. “You said you understood.”

I looked up with my brow furrowed.

“I guess I don’t.”

“The reason you have made such poor decisions in your life is because you don’t walk in the forgiveness that you have already been given. You make bad decisions to give yourself bad circumstances. You do that, because you believe that you deserve them. Do you remember in fourth grade when your Daddy had to spank you?”

I nodded putting aside the fact that he had information about my past that no one without Omniscient help could know.

“Well, when you were a little girl, you weren’t old enough to simply think to yourself that what you did was wrong and know that you won’t do it again. You needed Justice. Justice allows us to move out of the doghouse. You are trying to exact Justice on yourself. We are going to help you move out of the doghouse, Little Bit. When you are done with these twelve cards…these twelve nights of Christmas…you will know that all of those things are past you.”

I looked down like a little girl who had to choose the lesser of two evils; endure the punishment or be apart from him. Without being told, I knew that the decision was mine alone.

“Every night, there will be something…a gift…,like this one?” He nodded, his head turned and his twinkling blue eyes, no longer jolly, intently looking into mine.

“That’s right, Little Bit. Every night…each night progressively more severe because each night we will work on something naughtier.”

“Will it hurt much?” Again he chuckled in spite of himself shaking me again.

“Yes, Little Bit, it will hurt very much. It has to, in order to convince you that the justice has been done.” I looked and felt like a sad little girl. I reveled though in the fact that on this night my life had been diluted to this simple transaction and relationship. There was nothing else in the world. I nodded in agreement.

“Very good, Little Bit. Now tell me, what naughty thing would you like to address with this card?” It came to me instantly and I looked down and breathed out spontaneously as if not of my own will.

“I swear too fucking much.” My eyes shot open as soon as I said it.

“Hohohohoh…yes, you do Little Bit, yes you do. Hohohohoho….” This time he belly laughed and I almost fell off and had to reach down and steady myself on his strong thigh. In the thinner fabric of the dress suit, his musculature for an older man was astonishing and I resisted the temptation to caress his leg. I laughed with him realizing that my outburst was audaciously comical. We both looked at each other and I felt so very young…and I was happy that I could feel so trusting of someone. The epiphany caused me to reach over and hug him spontaneously. I felt his arms envelop me and hug me back hard. This person cared about me and as he squeezed me I felt tears being extracted from my eyes. Finally, I let the hug release reluctantly and with our faces close answered him.

“I’m ready, sir.” He nodded back at her with a small resolved smile.

“Stand up, please and take your slippers off.” I obeyed. When I did, he very calmly and matter-of-factly, tugged my pajama bottoms to my ankles. I froze, having not completely counted the cost of what was being asked of me. He ignored my hesitation and caught the waistline of my white panties and tugged them down to join my bottoms. Lucidity and brokenness suddenly were at odds with each other. I was standing half naked in front of the man I saw in the mall the other day. I felt his hand in the small of my back.

“Lay across this knee and put your hands on the floor to steady yourself.”

I paused once more and then jumped off the cliff. I stepped into his left leg and when our thighs touched, I bent at the waist over his strong leg. I continued to bend until my toes and my hands were on the wood floor. I was in an awkward, but not uncomfortable position. He pulled my top up over my back. I was effortlessly held by his left hand which reached over like holding a football and secured me to his body. His right hand, the striking hand was resting over my butt cheeks, our skin touching…oh my God! I’m getting turned on by this, I thought, considering how inappropriate that was. On the other hand if I was in a delusional fantasy, that was exactly what was supposed to happen. I was snapped out of the pleasurable moment with shocking ferocity.

I imagined that this would be a playful spanking even after he told me otherwise. Then I mitigated that thought with the idea that this was the least severe of what lay ahead for me. When he raised his hand, I gave no thought to it. However, his strength combined with the hugeness of his hand leveled a stunning swat to my bottom. I flinched and squealed. He came down with another and another. His pace began to settle but the easy way he maintained the intensity of the swats was frightening. My face turned from worried to anxious to desperate. Minutes went by and his hand kept slamming down on the sit spot of my ass. My face was as red as I imagined my bottom was. He kept spanking me. When I would think that we have fulfilled the requirement of a ‘long spanking on Santa’s knee’, he would redouble the strength of his swats. The first uptick in pain caused me to begin to make involuntary noises.

“OH…OW…OOOO….OOWWIE…OH GOD….OW…AAHH….OUCH…..OOOH…OW!”

My diatribe of noises continued and still he didn’t relent, the next change in severity changing my noise from utterances to full-out crying. It wasn’t that the strokes were unbearable. It was that they kept coming and showed no sign of stopping. The cacophony of swats seemed to build on themselves like I was surely going to burst. I was squirming uselessly as his arm and leg had me pinioned to him so that my poor butt was open and exposed to his administration of the punishment. I needed my hands on the floor to hold myself up or I would have tried to reach which I am sure would have only deepened the trouble I was trying to get out of.

“I swear too much!” I heard myself sobbing over the sound of my butt cheeks being slapped. “I so sorry! I’m going to do better!” They were spontaneous utterances that came from somewhere deep inside me. They weren’t an effort to mitigate my spanking. Indeed, his dutiful spanking continued for nearly five more minutes. It was that I was thrust into the position of realizing that the pain of changing myself was less than the pain of staying the same. Even the pain of this spanking, as harsh as it felt, were well worth the cost if I would be a gentler, kinder person who didn’t have to speak like a sewer.

The spanking ended with the last ten swats lessening in intensity until the final one was a tender, almost playful swat on what I could only imagine was a crimson fanny. The moment he stopped my sobbing burst into full-out baleful crying. I rose up and clutched him hard. He wrapped his arms around me and soothed me, his rich baritone speaking comfort to me. Without strain, he lifted me into the air as he rose to his feet. Cradling me he turned and lay me on the sofa, instructing me to lay on my tummy. I did this and buried my head into my hands as I finished my cry. He knelt down and I felt his hand stroke my mussed hair.

“There now Little Bit,” his yuletide voice returning, “now you have one less thing that your naughty over.” I turned my tear soaked face to him and managed a weak smile.

“I don’t know if I can do this….especially if it will be worse.”

“I know that you can Little Bit. I know it.” He reached down and gently ran his hand over my buttucks. There was nothing remotely sexual about the touch which oddly was cool and soothing. His fingers were dainty soft for so powerful a figure and I welcomed his caressing. He comforted me a few more minutes and then handed me the blindfold. I took it reluctantly and, after pulling my pajamas back on, he led me back to the middle of the room next to the milk and cookies. I knelt down in exactly the same position I was in when he arrived and stilled myself.

“Do exactly as we did tonight tomorrow night.”

“Yes sir….good night sir.”

“Good night, Little Bit.” There was a cold rush of wind that was invigorating. Then the sound of sleigh bells moving farther away until I couldn’t hear them anymore

 

Off to a good start sweetheart! Looking forward to more of your writing!

 

Thank you. The novel chapters are samples. I won't be giving away all the goods.

 

I'm glad you liked it. I will be publishing it by Christmas.

 

This is going to my favorite Christmas story can’t wait for night two