I put my head round the living room door on the way up to bed, wanting to take one last look at the Christmas tree. A pile of prettily wrapped presents stood beneath it. In a few hours, those wrappings would have been reduced to shreds of patterned paper and scrunched-up ribbon, as Chloe and Josh ripped into them, eager to get at the toys inside. Probably at six o’clock tomorrow morning, if last Christmas was anything to go by. On the table stood the plate of mince pies and glass of sherry for Santa and the carrots for his reindeer Chloe had insisted on leaving out before she and her brother had gone to bed.
And by the table, biting into one of those mince pies, was a bearded man in a bright red suit and polished black boots…
‘Santa…’ The word slipped from my lips before I could stop it. I tried to back out of the room quietly, hoping he hadn’t noticed me, but he put the half-eaten pie down and strode in my direction.
‘Who’s there? Who’s spying on me?’
He flung the door open, staring straight at me. I’d expected him to be angry at the fact I’d done what children all over the world dreamed of doing on Christmas Eve and caught him in the act of visiting my home. Instead, as he looked me up and down, dressed in my cream silk nightdress and matching robe, a very different emotion crossed his face.
‘So…’ His tone was jolly, his eyes twinkling above his thick white moustache. ‘Who do we have here?’
‘Molly, Santa.’ My tone was meek, overawed, just as it had been all those years ago when I’d visited the grotto at the biggest department store in town, to sit on his knee and tell him what I wanted for Christmas.
‘Well, Molly, I should have something for you, but first of all I need to know whether you’ve been naughty or nice this year.’
Quickly, I thought back over the last twelve months. It had been the best year I’d experienced since John had died . Bringing up the children on my own had been hard – until Dan came along.
Should I tell Santa about all the nice things that had happened since Dan had stopped being the cute blue-eyed stranger I sometimes sat opposite on the train into town and became the man I went for drinks and dinner with, and eventually the man who shared my bed and acted as a surrogate father to Chloe and Josh. Should I mention the trip to the seaside, where we’d gone hunting for crabs in rock pools and walked along the promenade eating enormous ice creams? Or the time Dan had pulled an all-nighter in the office, trying to meet a pressing deadline, and I’d gone over there with sandwiches and a flask of soup for him?
I wanted to list all the nice things I’d done – and had done for me in return – but the more I thought of Dan, and the more Santa watched me with a look of rising desire, the more my naughty side came to the fore. Persuading my mother to take the children for the weekend, so Dan and I could spend our time alone having sex in every room in the house. Using one of Dan’s sober work ties to fasten his wrists to the bed rail and teasing his bound body with a long, tickly feather. Turning up at his office on another occasion wearing nothing but lingerie under my coat and fucking Dan on his desk.
Weighing up the evidence, there was only one answer I could honestly give. ‘Santa, I’ve been naughty.’
Santa shook his head wearily, but his smile was still broad. ‘At your age, you really should know better, Molly. I said I had something for you – well, I regret to say it’s a spanking.’
He didn’t sound like he was regretting it at all, I thought as he took my hand and led me into the living room. If anything, he seemed to be looking forward to it.
‘Don’t you have other places to be?’ I asked. ‘Other presents to hand out?’
‘Only here, only handing out what you obviously richly deserve. Now come on, take off that robe and climb on my knee.’
He sat on the sofa, spreading his broad thighs slightly. Looking at him, I realised that for the first time in twenty years, I was going to find myself on Santa’s lap. I was surprised to realise the prospect of this big, strong man spanking my arse thrilled me as much as it alarmed me.
Even so, as I positioned my8self obediently over his knee, feeling the slightly scratchy wool of his red suit against my bare legs, I couldn’t help wondering whether this was going to hurt.
His hand stroked the curves of my bum as he murmured, ‘Oh, naughty Molly, what are we going to do with you?’ Then he smacked my left cheek, just hard enough to sting.
I gave a little yelp, wriggling on his lap. He ignored my reaction, swatting my other cheek. He’d obviously done this before, because he knew just how to vary the pace of my spanking. The sense of not knowing when the next smack was going to land, and how hard it would be, had my stomach knotted with tension. More importantly, it was causing my pussy to get wet. Of all the reactions I’d expected to have to being spanked, this was the last thing I’d imagined happening. How could it turn me on to have my bottom peppered with fierce, burning slaps? But it was. The sense of being so vulnerable, so deliciously submissive, was turning me on like never before.
When he lifted the hem of my nightdress, exposing my bare bottom, I didn’t object. I wanted him to do it, to take a good long look at the red marks his palm had left on my creamy skin before resuming my spanking. I tried to turn my head, to see his reaction, but he pressed me firmly into place.
‘Oh, no, Molly, this isn’t over yet. A naughty girl like you really needs to be reminded how to behave…’
With that, he swatted my bum again. Without the admittedly scant protection of my nightdress, I felt the blow all the more keenly. Another half-dozen hard slaps followed, but after each one, he rubbed the flesh of my arse, his hand slowly moving lower till he was playing with the juicy folds of my pussy. By now, I knew he was just as excited as I was; the hard bulge in his trousers was all the proof I needed of that.
‘You took that so well,’ he said, as he helped me off his knee.’Perhaps you do deserve a present, after all.’
As he unzipped his fly, I knew exactly what that present would be. He brought his cock out, letting me admire the mouthwateringly hard length for a moment.
Then he hauled me back on to his lap again. I guided the head of his cock into place and let the weight of my body pull me down on to him. He filled me like a well-stuffed Christmas stocking, almost taking my breath away. I held steady for a moment, adjusting to the feel of him inside me.
This really is the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done, I thought as I rode him. And I’m loving it. I had no concerns that Chloe and Josh might wake up and interrupt us. They would be sound asleep, dreaming of snowmen and reindeer and all the fun they were going to have with their own presents tomorrow.
Beneath me, Santa groaned and stiffened slightly. I knew he couldn’t be far from coming, and I speeded up my movements, grinding down hard on to the root of his cock. His finger sought out my clit, rubbing it swiftly in the moments before his orgasm hit him and he filled me with his seed. The sight of him, blue eyes half-closed, bearded face contorted in bliss, spurred me on. My fingers replaced his between my legs, and in moments I was coming, tiny snowflakes whirling behind my closed eyelids.
It took a while before I recovered enough to ease myself off his slowly wilting erection.
‘That was amazing,’ he said, as he unhooked the beard from behind his ears.
‘I told you it would be,’ I replied, kissing his soft, familiar mouth. That was one of the things I loved about Dan; his willingness to try new ways of spicing up our sex life. He’d initially been reluctant to try this game of Christmas discipline, certain he would feel silly in the role I wanted him to play, but the results had been well worth it. ‘We’ll just have to make sure to get the costume dry-cleaned before we take it back to the fancy dress shop.’
Dan made to remove the red jacket, obviously thinking the game was over for the night, but I stopped him.
‘Leave it on,’ I said, slithering slowly down till my mouth was on a level with his gorgeous cock. ‘They say Santa only comes once a year, but I intend to prove them wrong…’