Thursday, February 14, 2013

Winner, Winner Chicken Dinner

And the winner of my Valentine's Day contest is...drumroll, please...

Congratulations!  Please send your address to and I'll get you your prize!
I want to apologize again for not getting my story up in time for the Love Spanks hop. 
Big congrats to all the Love Spanks winners:

  • Love Spanks paddle, donated by Blondie's: Minelle
  • Book Bundle, donated by Stormy: SH (Sammie)
  • $15 Amazon Gift Certificate, donated by Stormy: Kelsey Summer
  • $40 Loose Id Gift certificate, donated by Cara and LI: Cat
  • Kindle Fire/Nook Color, donated by Blushing: His First Mate

Sunday, February 10, 2013



Love Spanks has begun!  Woo!  I hope you enjoy all the great stories on the blog hop.

I had an internet glitch and didn't get my story up in time for the start of the hop.  Big apologies!

So commenting on my story isn't a requirement for entering the big group contest.  For details on how to enter that contest and all the fab prizes you can win, go HERE  Really, go.  Now.  You aren't going to want to miss out.

Here's my story. Actually, it's the beginning of a story I'm working on. Leave me a comment and I'll enter you in a drawing for this little geisha bag:



                Mariah Abbott pulled into her driveway with the warm glow she always felt after volunteering at the children’s hospital. Valentine’s Day was always especially fun there, with a clown in a heart-covered suit handing out cards.

                She unclipped her house key from the loop in her purse designed for that purpose. She flipped on the LED light attached to her key chain and started up the three stairs leading to her front door.  Her heart gave an excited flip as she spotted a package—a very large package wrapped in very shiny red paper dotted with silver hearts, sitting on the small front porch. She instantly, almost instantly, ordered herself not be be silly. There was no possibility the package was for her.  There just…wasn’t.

                A large tag was attached to the elaborate bow on top of the package. Mariah checked it, then  checked it again. The tag read:  “To Mariah Abbott.  From: Cupid.  Because you are deserving of love.”

                Mariah looked over her shoulder and scanned her quiet street, as if someone from one of those shows that pulled pranks on people might be lurking. But no one ran up with a camera and microphone.  She stroked the beautiful silver bow. “I think it’s really for me,” she whispered.

                She unlocked her door and brought the bulky package inside, resisting the temptation to give it a little shake. She placed it next to her dining room table and studied it, a smile twitching on her lips. She tried to decide if she should open it right away. She wanted to. She wanted to rip, rip, rip that bright paper right off. But was it safe?  What could be in it?  Didn’t it have to be a joke?

                Mariah didn’t rip, rip, rip, but she did allow herself to carefully removed the paper from the large box. Only after carefully folding the gift wrap and placing the bow on top—it was much too pretty not to be reused—did she allow herself to open the top of the box.

                Puzzled, she removed a large silver, well, rectangle.  It was large, she estimated it to be four feet by three feet, and absolutely smooth.  As closely as she studied it, she didn’t see any way to open it.  She checked the box, hoping for an instruction booklet. She found a flash drive. Good, there must be instructions on the drive that would tell her how to operate the…Valentine’s present.

                Mariah opened her laptop and slid the flash drive into the USB port, hoping it wouldn’t crash her system, but way too curious not to see what was on it. A second later the image of a saucy-looking cupid appeared.  Yes, saucy was the word for the creature, with his mischievous grin and wink. The image dissolved and a questionnaire took its place.

                Perhaps it’s for some type of warranty, Mariah thought as she began answering the questions, typing in her full name, her address, her phone number.  Then the questions got a little more personal, asking for her height and weight.  Perhaps there was some capacity limits on the…whatever it was. She dutifully typed in the information.

                She couldn’t come up with any sensible reason for the next question, which was “What is your favorite food.” She might be able to understand a question about a food allergy, but a favorite food.  She hesitated, then typed in “tiramisu.”  It was her very favorite, although she rarely ate it. The nutritive value wasn’t very high.

                Mariah answered question after question on her likes and dislikes. She filled in CeeLo Green’s “Fuck You” as one of her five favorite songs, deciding it was better to be honest even though honestly involved profanity.  She had to admit there was something about the song that made her think of her one—and only—boyfriend.  He hadn’t dumped her for a richer woman, but she still liked imaging planting her hands on her hips and singing it to him.

                She filled in Nathan Fillian as one of her five picks for sexiest actor. He wouldn’t have been on her list of best actors, but sexiest, yes, unlike Colin Firth she would have placed on both lists. She selected the fictional character she would most like to kiss.  That was easy-- Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy (whom she had begun picturing as Colin Firth once she saw the BBC miniseries).

                The questions got more personal as she continued. She almost stopped filling in information when she got to number 243, which involved watching four film clips and ranking them on a “hot scale,” a scale, as explained by whoever created the questionnaire, that rated sexual excitement, with heart rate, body flushing, and vaginal lubrication to be considered as factors. But she’d already answered 242 questions, and if she didn’t keep going, she suspected she’d never get the strange silver box to open.

                By question 1000, Mariah found herself mentally exhausted and physically agitated.  No, excited. That was the more accurate word.

                The list of questions on the computer screen dissolved into a message in bright red letters:  “Now go to bed, Mariah. Your present will be ready and waiting in the morning. “


                Mariah woke up at five, no help needed from the alarm. She was routinely an early riser, but this morning, she had that jingley-jangley, it’s-Christmas-morning feeling, something she hadn’t experienced this powerfully since she was a child.  She took a moment to put on her robe and slippers, then rushed to the dining room.  She always had a bowl of Grape Nuts with half a banana for breakfast, most important meal of the day, as soon as she got up.  But today, breakfast could wait.

                The silver box sat where she’d left it, smooth and mysterious as she remembered it, with seemingly no way for her to open it.  Disappointment filled her.  No, there had to be a way to find out what was inside.  No one would give her a box that couldn’t be opened for Christmas.

                She ran one hand over the top of the box, and one side silently slide open.  A…a man emerged, straightening as he stepped out, the box closing behind him. He was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. Mariah realized they were blue, but of such a dark shade she momentarily thought they were black. He had the long-fingered hands of Daniel Day Lewis and the lean body of Colin Firth.

                Some kind of automaton, Mariah thought, but she backed up several large steps.  The man couldn’t be real, but he looked real, and it was unnerving to have a man in her home, especially with her standing there in her nightgown.  While he was wearing a black-and-granite button-down cardigan, that Mariah was sure was cashmere. It made her want to run her hands down it.  Or maybe that was his chest.  Under the cardigan he wore a white shirt and a black tie.  His grey herringbone pants fit him perfectly.  He was dressed just the way she’d want a date of hers to be, a date who was going to escort her to perhaps a romantic Valentine’s dinner. 

                “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mariah,” the man said, in a low voice with just a touch of humor lurking in his tone.  “Belated,” he added.

                “You can talk!” she exclaimed.

                “I can do everything,” he answered.

                “I’m sorry. That was rude.  I…I’m a little confused.  What, I mean who, are you?” she blurted out, her words coming out faster than they usually did.

                “What I am is your Valentine’s present,” he answered, taking one step toward her.  “And who I am is Anthony.” He took one more step forward.

                Anthony. She loved that name.  Had that been one of the questions she’d answered on the computer last night? She couldn’t remember.

                Had she answered questions about the way she liked a man to smell? Because he smelled wonderful, citrusy and a scent she could only describe as green.

                “Who designed you?” she asked.  “If I’m not being rude again.”

                He smiled, and crinkly smile lines appeared at the corners of his eyes.  “You’re welcome to ask whatever you like,” he answered.  His smile widened. There was something of Nathan Fillian’s sexy cockiness in that grin. “But is that what you really want to do right now? Ask questions?” He took a step closer.  He was just one step away from her now.  “Because I’d rather kiss you. As I am for Valentine’s Day.”

                Then he looked at her with those amazing deep blue eyes, waiting for her response. Mariah swallowed hard, having difficulty finding the right words. Instead, she stepped forward, and that was all it took.  He wrapped one arm around her waist, and with this free hand, stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles a tender gesture that made her shiver.

                He lowered his lips until they were a whisper away from hers then he told her “Happy Valentine’s” again, and kissed her, a soft, sweet kiss.  The next kiss wasn’t as sweet or soft.  It was hot and deep, and Mariah had to wrap both her arms around his neck to stay on her feet as his tongue began exploring her mouth.

                Tentatively, she brushed her tongue against his, then she pulled away.  “I’m sorry.  I--  I don’t really know what I’m doing.  I’m fifty years old, and I haven’t had a boyfriend since—“

                “Shhh.  Anthony pressed his warm—so warm—fingers against her lips.  Anything you do is fine.  Anything.”  He kissed her again, pulling her flush against him so she could feel that his body was responding to her.

                “So eggs benedict and chocolate-chip pancakes and mimosas?” he asked when he finally lifted his head from hers.”

                “Um, sounds delightful,” Mariah managed to say, although her head was spinning, her lips were tingling, and her entire body felt flushed.  “But I don’t have most of the ingredients.”  Chocolate chips and champagne weren’t something she routinely--or ever--kept in the pantry.

                “That’s not a problem.  I do.”  Anthony moved over to the silver box and pressed his hand on top.  The side slid open—Mariah couldn’t quite see how the mechanism worked—and he removed a sack of groceries.  “To the kitchen,” he exclaimed, and off he walked like he’d been living with Mariah forever.  Together they made an amazing breakfast, and she ate it sitting on his lap, even though she didn’t even know him and she was pretty sure he wasn’t human.

                Then they snuggled on the couch under her favorite afghan and watched a mammoth chick flick marathon, before creating an even more amazing dinner.  At the end of the day, Anthony seemed to realize that she wasn’t ready to invite him to her bedroom.  He simply kissed her goodnight—several melting times—then told her he’d see her in the morning.


                Mariah awoke with the Christmas-morning feeling just as strong as it had ever been on any actual Christmas.  Maybe stonger. Now she knew what was in the box.  Anthony! A man who seemed to have been designed for her.

                She hurried into the dining room, wondering if she'd find him at the table or in the guest room or maybe in the box.  She didn’t find him at all.  Instead, she found a note that read:

                Mariah, darling—

                I have a mission for you. You’re to go out and treat yourself  to a truly sexy bra and panty set.  Don’t summon me until you have them on. (Yes, that’s an order, but I hope an enjoyable one.) I expect to hear from you no later than 1:00 p.m.


                Mariah stared at the note. She had plenty of very nice, serviceable underthings.  However, she wouldn’t call them sexy.  Sexy underwear seemed like a luxury, and Mariah considered saving for a comfortable retirement the biggest luxury there was.  Still, a little splurge wouldn’t hurt.  Good thing Valentine’s feel on a Friday, so she still had a day before she had to be back at work.        

                So she took herself off to Macy’s.  After some consideration and a bit of embarrassment, she selected a Maidenform bra and hipster panties in a matching shade of vibrant lavender.  They were both 15% off, and she thought they were quite pretty.  Please with herself, Mariah drove home, at the speed limit, showered, shampooed, shaved, and moisturized, then put on her new bra and panties.  Anthony’s note hadn’t said what to wear otherwise, so she put on a corduroy skirt and a red sweater, in honor of the holiday that had brought him to her.  Then she walked to the silver box, feeling like she was on a roller-coaster, on the part where you went up click-click-click before the whoosh.  She hadn’t been on a roller-coaster in years—decades—but she remembered the feeling and loved it.

                She hoped if they did end up making love—because that had to be what the new underwear was for—Anthony would realize she needed him to take the lead.  She wanted to be with him, to feel his hands on her body, but she wasn’t any kind of seductress.

                He’s your ideal man, she reminded herself.  She’d spent the entire day with him on Christmas, and everything she discovered about him was exactly was she wished it to be.  With trembling fingers, she ran her hands over the top of the box, and a moment later Anthony stood in front of her.  He wore a sweater vest today.  She loved a man in a sweater vest.

                Anthony checked his watch—a classy one, Mariah noted, not a lot of gizmos, nice leather band—and nodded in approval.  “Good girl. You’re back in plenty of time.  I’m assuming you obeyed my instructions and are wearing your new underwear.”

                The word “obey” sent a rush of heat from her belly down to her pussy.  “I-I, yes, I obeyed,” she stammered.

                Anthony raised one eyebrow.  “Perhaps I should see for myself.”  He stepped up to her and ran one hand up under her sweater.  He cupped her breast and gave it a squeeze, then slid his hand away, letting it run over her bare stomach as he did.  “Hmmm.”  He didn’t sound exactly happy.  He reached down and grasped the hem of her corduroy skirt in his fingers, her drew it slowly up, up up, over her knees, over her thighs, and, finally over her waist.  He studied her violet panties for a long moment in silence.

                “Serviceable,” he decreed.  “And I like the color.  However, I would not call them truly sexy, and they certainly don’t qualify as a way to treat yourself, young lady.”

                Young lady.  She was fifty!  But the words didn’t sound silly to her.  Then made her tremble, tremble with a heady mix of anxiety and excitement. 

                Anthony jerked the skirt down.  “Tell me something.” His voice was stern, and his dark eyes were a bit chilly.  “How much did you pay for the set?”

                “The, um, panties were eleven dollars, and the bra was thirty-eight.  That was after the fifteen percent off,” she added quickly.

                “There’s nothing wrong with a bargain,” Anthony told her.  “But I didn’t send you out in search of a bargain, did I?” He picked up the note he’d written.  ‘My exact words were “treat yourself to something truly sexy.’  You failed on both counts.”  He crumpled the note.  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a spanking, Mariah.”

                “What?” The word came out in a squeak.

                “You heard me.”

                He walked out of the dining room, clearly expecting Mariah to follow.  Which she did, as if she had no choice.  Though, of course, she had all sorts of choices.  She strongly suspected if she told him no with real conviction, he’d stop whatever he was doing.  She was almost positive she could order him back into his box whenever she wanted to, and, if it was her desire, she could leave the box closed for the rest of her life.

                Instead, she trotted right after him into the living room.  He sat himself down on her flowered sofa, his legs spread.  “Come here,” he commanded.

                And she did, though the trembling in her body had turned to outright shaking.  Anthony reached out, took her by the wrist, and with one sharp tug, he had her over his knee, her behind raised into the air.  Two seconds later, he had her corduroy skirt pulled up.  He panted his large hand on her bottom with is fingers splayed.

                “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked. 

                “The bra and panties are prettier than the kind I usually wear,” Mariah said, her voice coming out more meekly than she’d planned.  She realized it was hard not to sound meek when was in this position.  Although Maureen O’Hara had been anything but meek in that movie where John Wayne had spanked her.  Mariah remembered that was one of the scenes she’d watched as part of the questionnaire she’d filled out on Christmas Eve.

                “Are you saying that you believed you followed my directive?” Anthony asked, giving he bottom a light squeeze.

                Mariah considered the question.  If she was absolutely honest, she’d have to say she knew the undergarments weren’t sexy or much of a treat. But did she have to be  completely honest?  She nibbled her lip as she thought about it.

                Anthony raised his hand and gave her bottom a hard smack.  “Don’t even consider lying to me,” he warned, as if he could read her mind.  “I’m warning you know that if you lie, you’ll get a second spanking and you’ll be one very sorry woman.”

                “I thought they were pretty,” Mariah repeated, with a tiny bit of defiance, which immediately got her another smack.  “But, no, I didn’t believe they were exactly what you specified in the note.”

                “And that is exactly why I’m going to punish you.”  She gasped as he pulled her new purple panties to her knees.  “Now, tell me this, when was the last time you received a disciplinary spanking?”

                “I, um, I never was,” she admitted.

                “That surprises me,” Anthony commented.  “It was my impression cupid decided to reward you because you’ve been extremely good.”

                “I suppose I’m just naturally good,” she answered.

                “What I suppose is that you’ve never put yourself in any situations where naughtiness was an option,” Anthony observed.  “I gave you one simple instruction, and you immediately disobeyed it.”

                A little jolt of anger shot through Mariah, and she began feeling just a little Maureen O’Hara-esque.  “Who are you to give me instructions at all?  You’re my toy!”

                “Oh, now that wasn’t a nice answer.  Or a smart one.  I think I’ll have to give you a little extra spanking for sauciness, but let’s deal with the disobedience first.”

                And he began spanking her, with spanks so sharp and so fast that Mariah began to squirm over his knee.  “No, no, no!” she exclaimed.

                He just laughed and kept right on spanking, though he slowed down.  At first Mariah was grateful for that, but he concentrated each of the deliberate spanks on one spot of her bottom.  He didn’t move on to another spot until had her throbbing.

                Mariah gritted her teeth, determined not to cry out again.  It’s not like it had done any good.  The bastard had laughed, and then started up that horrible spank-one-spot technique.  Finally, he stopped, and she let out a long quavering sigh.  It was over.

                At least she thought it was over.  Anthony gave her two light pats on the fanny.  “I’m sure that will help you remember to be more obedient next time.  Now let’s see what we can do about that sassiness.”  He helped her to her feet.  “Go to the cube and bring me what you find inside.  Then we can continue.”

                Mariah planted her hands on her hips, feeling a shout of anger building inside her.  The way his lips lightened and his eyes darkened convinced her to keep her mouth shut.  She nodded.  She took a step toward the dining room, then realized she panties had fallen completely off.  She began looking on the floor for them.

                “You won’t be needing panties, since I’ll be spanking you again in a few minutes, and when I’m done, I suspect you won’t want anything on that bottom of yours,” he informed her.  “You might as well take off the skirt too.  It will spare me pulling it up.”

                Mariah still didn’t feel quite ready to start up a confrontation.  Her bottom was on fire, and it just didn’t seem like an intelligent course of action.  She unbuttoned her skirt, removed it, folded it, and set it on the coffee table.   Heat flooded her face until it burned almost as badly as her bottom did.  She was standing in front of him half naked, half naked while he sat there fully clothed.  It was so unfair.  So wrong.

                “You have great legs, Mariah,” Anthony commented.  “Great legs, a great ass, and from what I can see, a perfect little pink pussy.”

                She sputtered, half humiliated, and half insanely turned on, but no words came out.

                “Now go to the cube and bring me what you find.  Don’t make me ask you again.  We’ve already established what happens when you disobey me, haven’t we?” And there was humor in his tone.  Arrogant bastard.

                Still,  Mariah scurried away, acutely conscious that her bare bottom was on full view and that it was probably as red as a Valentine’s Day heart.  When she reached the silver box, she placed her hand on the top.  The side silently slid open.  Mariah reached inside, and her fingers brushed against what felt like bristles.  Definitely bristles, she realized when she pulled the item free.  It was a hairbrush, lovely actually, except for the unmistakable resemblance the wide maple back had to a paddle.  Her stomach turned over in a feeling that was part fear and part something very different from fear.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Love Spanks!

I can't belive Friday is Febuary 1. I somehow feel like the holidays just ended.  I've completely neglected my blog--among other things.

But I have a great way to get back on track.  The LOVE SPANKS BLOG HOP.  Woo!

And it's not just a blog hop!  The Spanking Fiction Authors' group has another fabulous contest running.  Check out the details.
I'll be giving out a prize on my blog too.  A cute little Dirty Girl geisha bag with a lip gloss inside.
You definitely have to enter the big contest and my blog's contest!
And I definitely have to write the short story that will be my part of the hop.  I don't know too much yet--but it will involve a special appearance by Cupid.  (Of course, Cupid, being the god of love, knows all about the erotic power of a good spanking.  Even if the lady in question doesn't--yet.)

Monday, December 24, 2012


Happy almost Christmas Eve! (By my time zone!)  Here's a speed sequel (I have 1 hour and 8 minutes to write it as to Naughty and Nice.  Enjoy!

For more elf-y fun, go over to Anastasia's site.  Elf Anastasia Peppermint-Twist was being so good in the sequel she didn't even appear! She was off making plans for making sure all the elves had a wonderful Christmas.

Minelle Jinglebright whipped a ribbon around a package and created a gorgeous bow in under a second and a half. She was the best bow-maker of all the elves, which meant she was very, very good. At least good at bows. 
She twitched one of her pointy ears toward the work table behind her where Emma Snowsparkle and Renee Mistlekiss were wrapping, hoping to hear one of them complaining. Because she knew if one little grumpy word slipped out, they'd get spanked--again! And that would be so fun.  It would be extra sprinkle-y fun to see Anastasia Peppermint-Twist get spanked again, but she was being extra squeaky good lately.
Sue Gingerstar leaned close.  "Are they saying anything naughty?" she whispered. 
"Not yet," Minelle answered, fingers spinning ribbon this way and that.
"Emma looks frowny-faced," Jade Pinecone-Belle commented, after allowing herself a quick glance at Emma and Renee's table. "She's not going to make it until reindeer take-off without saying something un-Christmasy.  And we all know what will happen then."
Jade and Minelle both nodded so hard the bells on their hats started to play "Frosty the Snowman."  In harmony.  "She gets spanked!"
"With Mrs. Claus's wooden spoon!" Jade added, pausing in her present-wrapping to give a little clap.  "I saw Renee and Emma coming out of the shimmer shower the morning after and their bottoms were soooo red!  They definitely are having trouble being nice now, though.  I bet anything they're going to get it again.  You know how much they both hate wrapping."
"What are we talking about, little elves?" a voice boomed.
Only one voice boomed like that.  Jade jerked her head up.  Yes, it was Santa standing over them, with his arms crossed over his chest.  He didn't look ho-ho-ho.  He looked no-no-no. 
"Just this and that," Minelle managed to answer.  "Christmasy things."  Jade and Sue nodded in agreement, but their bells jangled in a ear-hurty way.
"That's not what it sounded like," Santa commented, white eyebrows raising.
"We were talking about Mrs. Claus spanking Emma and Renee!" Sue burst out.  It was very hard not to tell the truth--the whole, big truth--to Santa.
"Hmmm.  And why did Mrs. Claus spank them?" Santa asked.  He usually knew everything, but it was a very busy time of year.
"They were saying how they hated Christmas!" Minelle volunteered.  Maybe they'd get spanked again!
Santa nodded.  He turned, but didn't march over to Emma and Renee.  He strode to the front of the huge workroom, black boots clumping.  He rang the big bell next to his red throne.  Instantly the room went quiet.
"I just heard something that upset me," Santa announced.
Oooh!  Jade, Minelle, and Sue exchanged little smiles.  Emma and Renee were going to get in trou-ble.  Again.  And this time from Santa.  He wouldn't tolerate anybody saying anything naughty about Christmas.  Why hadn't one of them thought to say that Anastasia had been bad too?
"I just heard three little elves talking about the punishment two other little elves received--and sounding, I hate to say it, but sounding gleeful," Santa continued.
The smiles slid off the faces of three particular elves' faces.  Guess whose!  "Now, you all know once a punishment it given, all is forgiven.  That's a Claus Rule. There is no reason to be discussing a naughty behavior that has already been dealt with.  And there is certainly no reason to be wishing for a naughty behavior to occur again so there will be more spanking.  That is what I heard."  Santa shook his head sadly.  "I heard elves hoping two of their compatriots would earn more spankings."
He sat down in his big chair.  "I'm sorry to say that there are going to be some spankings given, and now, when it's almost Christmas Eve.  Minelle Jingleright, Jade Pinecone-Belle, Sue Gingerstar, come up here."
They obeyed.  Because what choice did they have?  Sue noticed that Emma and Renee were working very hard not to smile.  Which was so mean when this was all their fault!
"As you know, this is the busiest night of the year for me, so let's get this done.  You three, over my knee!" Santa ordered, voice stern.  Knees trembling, the three elves approached and, side-by-side-by-side, bent across Santa's wide, wide lap.  In a trice, he had each of their skirts flipped up.  Then with three quick jerks, he had their red-and-green striped panties down to their knees.  Without bothering to take off his white gloves, he began to spank up and down the row of bare bottoms, his hand large enough to cover one entire behind with each cracking blow.
Minelle, Jade, and Sue kicked and cried, but Santa ignored them.  He paused briefly to hold his sleeve up against their bottoms.  "You deserve to be spanked as red as my suit.  You three are the naughties of elves.  There is nothing naughtier than enjoying the misfortune of others," he told them.  "And you're not there yet."  He resumed spanking until all three bottoms were Santa-suit red, then he sent each weeping elf to a corner for her to "think about her own naughtiness and not the naughtiness of others."
Then he left the workroom and headed directly to the kitchen where Mrs. Claus and her staff were icing the last batch of Christmas cookies. He dismissed the workers with a jerk of his chin.  Mrs. Claus smiled.  "I see someone who needs a few cookies to keep his strength up."  She picked up a warm sugar cookie and held it out to her husband.
"Later," he said.  Which surprised her.  Mr. Claus never turned down a cookie.
"Are you feeling ill?"  She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead.  "You're a bit warm."  She frowned.
"It's nothing.  I just had to give three of my elves spankings.  It's the exertion," he explained.
"Oh, Santa.  I'm so sorry.  And on your busiest night. "  She checked the clock.  "You're do to leave in a few hours.  What did the naughty things do?"
"They were hoping to see you give Renee and Emma another spanking.  It seems they enjoyed the idea of the first one."
"That is naughty.  They certainly deserved to be spanked.  How about a nice glass of milk to cool you off?"

He shook his head.  "I have one more spanking to give, I'm afraid."
"Oh, no!  You need your rest.  Who's been naughty?  Let me handle it," Mrs. Claus implored.
Santa pulled one of the wooden chairs away from the table.  "You're the one whose been naughty.  And you, my dear, are the one I must spank," he informed her.
"Me?  No.  No, I'm sure I haven't."  Mrs. Claus quickly reviewed her behavior.  She was sure she hadn't been naughty.  It had been years.  Years and years.  Santa hadn't had to take her across his knee in at least a decade!
"The elves are my responsibility, do you agree?" he asked.
"Yes, of course," Mrs. Clause answered.
"And yet you took it upon yourself to hand out punishment to two of them," he said.
Now she understood.  "Only to save you the bother," she replied quickly. 
"That wasn't your place," he told her.  "Now, from what I heard, you used your wooden spoon on them.  Is that right?"
"Yes, well, first I paddled them with my hand," Mrs. Claus admitted.  It was better to always tell Santa the whole truth right away.
Her husband held out his hand.  Mrs. Claus bit her lip, but put her hand in his and didn't protest when he guided her across his lap.  She'd learned that Santa didn't appreciate protests.
"Did you spank them over their skirts?" he asked.
"Of course not.  That's not a proper spanking," she answered.  "I assure you I know how to correctly discipline an elf."  That earned her a hard spank before her husband pulled her long skirts up to her waist.
"And did you spank them over their panties?" he asked, running his big hand over the silky red panties he'd given her for Christmas the year before.
Mrs. Claus hesitated, and earned herself another sharp spank.  "No, I took their panties down," she confessed.  And as soon as she did, her own panties were lowered, slowly and deliberately. 
"And did they cry when you spanked them?" Mr. Claus asked.  Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Claus saw him pull off first one white glove then the other.  A moment later, she felt his warm palm sliding up and down over her bottom. 
"One of them may have cried," she admitted, squeezing her eyes shut as if that would block out some of the pain she knew was coming.
"Hmmm."  Santa ran his hand over her fanny one more time, then began to spank.  He was so strong, her husband, so virile.  He had her bottom burning in seconds.  When it was throbbing he stopped.  Or at least paused.  "Do you think this is how they felt?"  He ran one finger across the fullest part of her behind.  "This hot?"
"I'm not sure if I spanked quite as hard as you do."  It as a little truth and a little flattery. 
"Hmmm." Santa gave her bottom a few pats.  "Did you let them recover before you took the spoon to them?"
"Um, not much.  Renee got a bit of a rest while I was spanking Emma," Mrs. Claus said.  She was really, really wishing she'd let the elves off without using the spoon.  "But you're a much harder spanker than I am.  You know you're much stronger."
That just got her a loud smack on her already-flaming behind.  "Did you keep them over the knee while you spanked them with your spoon."
"No.  I...I made them bend over the table." 
And a moment later, she was in that same position.  She gripped the edge of the table in  both hands to keep from trying to protect her bottom with her palms.  That would earn even more spanking.  She hated this position.  It allowed for such a wide swing with the spoon.  And she knew her husband could see, well, all of her.  Which usually she liked, but not in these circumstances.
Once he got to work with the spoon, though, there was no room for that kind of embarrassment.  All Mrs. Claus could think of was the pain. 
At some point, she realized hot tears were streaking down her face.  It took her a moment longer to realize that the spoon had stopped cracking down.  Her husband leaned over her back, pressing his body against hers.  "And then what did you do to those naughty, naughty elves?" he whispered into her ear.

"I put my peppermint cream on their bottoms so the welts wouldn't get infected, then I sent them to bed without supper."  Her voice quavered a little, but if Mr. Claus just gave her what she'd given the elves, the worst was over.

"I think I'll reverse that.  You take yourself to bed right this minute.  I'll get the peppermint cream and be right behind you.  I expect to find you face down on our bed.  And you won't be needing these."  He slid her panties the rest of the way off.

He wasn't going to give her what she'd given the little elves.  Not exactly.  Her husband gave her a smack on the bottom to get her moving.  "Oh, Santa!" she gasped, and she rushed off to toward their bedroom.  At the kitchen doorway, she turned back.  "Are you sure you have time?  You have to leave in less than--"

"Go, woman!" he roared.

And she went, almost skipping.  Sometimes being naughty led to something nice.



Friday, December 14, 2012

Ana's White Elephant Gift Exchange

Anastasia is having a white elephant gift exchange over on her blogEveryone is invited, so head on over.

As my white elephant gift, I gave Pao this lovely Nicolas Cage adventure set. 

Confession (of a non-spanky kind), I have a deep love for weird presents.  Suckers with scorpions in them, ice cube trays that make ice shaped like dentures, electric forks that twirl your spaghetti for you--I've given them all.

I was deeply gratified when I asked my nephew to give me his new email address so I could send him a gift certificate to iTunes for his birthday and he requested one of my off-the-wall presents instead.  (He got a paint-by-number set that included a picture of Nicolas Cage and some sort of arctic monkey. I recently discovered the array of odd Nicolas Cage gifts available for purchase.)

My great-aunt (just turned a hundred) likes the goofy presents too.  She laughs at them, then sends them to her son as trophies whenever he wins one of their sports bets.  I'm not sure how he feels about them.

I'm pretty sure everyone else is sick of them, so I'm giving people things like earrings (silver roses, nothing strange) this year.  Which is why I was happy to participate in the White Elephant Gift exchange.  It let me get my weird on.

For Pao's sake, I should have thrown in a ping-pong paddle or a crop.  I didn't think of a gift set until now.  Hmmm.  What sort of spanking gift would go well with the Nicolas Cage adventure set?

Saturday, November 24, 2012


This story was inspired by and is dedicated to Renee Rose and Anastasia Vitsky.  See Anastasia was chiding Renee and me on Facebook for a lack of Christmas spirit (in November, no less, which really isn't fair), and threatening to report us to Mrs. Claus, who it was implied would spank the Christmas spirit right into us.  It felt like the makings of a story to me, if I added a few twists, and a little payback.  Hope you enjoy it.  If you don't. I won't report you to Mrs. Claus, but I will report you to Ana, and she's scarier!

     "I hate Christmas!" Elf Emma Snowsparkle muttered under her breath, after hitting her thumb with her hammer for the fourth time that morning.
     "I do too!" Elf Renee Mistlekiss whispered from her spot on the workbench next to Emma.
     Emma popped to her feet.  "Time for a gingerbread break."  She hurried off to the break room as fast as her curly-toed slippers would carry her, Renee right behind her.  True, they'd just had a break not a half an hour before, but they'd been making wooden rocking horses since January 3rd and they were sick of it and their thumbs hurt and all the other elves were so annoying with their hee-heeing and whistling while they worked.  Whistling Christmas carols.  In November!  It was just maddening.  And Elf Anastasia Peppermint-Twist was the worst.  She'd always been so nauseatingly nice, nice, nice, but since she got promoted to Head Elf?  It was like she pooped sprinkles.  Or thought she did.
     "You know what else I hate?" Emma asked, once she'd confirmed that the room was empty.  "I hate gingerbread.  Would it kill Mrs. Claus to buy some potato chips?"
     "Oooh, or gummy worms.  I was watching The Mindy Project under the covers last night and that's what Mindy eats," Renee added.  "I bet she hates Christmas too."
     "For sure.  She's way too cool for Christmas," Emma agreed. 
     "You know why else I hate Christmas?  Red and green.  Green and red," Renee complained.  "I want to wear purple.  Or orange."
     "Purple and orange stripes!" Emma cried.  "You know why else Christmas stinks?  Tinsel.  It's supposed to look like icicles on the tree, but it so doesn't.  And it rolls up into those weird balls.  And if you put it in your mouth, it makes your teeth hurt."
     "But why do you put it in your mouth?" Renee asked.
     "Doesn't matter," Emma snapped, as well as she could snap.  Little elf mouths weren't designed for it.  "I just hate it and I hate Christmas."
     "Me too!  I hate how so much stuff is peppermint flavored.  Peppermint is icky," Renee exclaimed.
     "It is!  And you know what else I hate about Christmas?  A Christmas Carol.  Which is the movie tonight--again.  There about a zillion versions of that movie, and I hate them all.  I especially hate Tiny Tim."
     Renee blinked.  "Really?"  She sounded a little shocked.  "Well, I hate Christmas lists.  All they are is just begging on paper."
     This was fun!  Emma was loving this.  She bet she and Renee could think of at least a hundred reasons why Christmas was hateable. More!  Because ten minutes later, they'd already come up with twenty each, and neither was showing signs of running out of ideas.
     Which might have been why neither noticed the smell of sugar cookies getting stronger, and stronger, and stronger.  They both jumped when a soft, sweet voice said, "What do we have here?"
     Emma squealed.  Renee squeaked.  They both jerked around toward the door.  Mrs. Claus stood their, hands on her ample hips.  She was almost always smiling.  She wasn't now.  "I think what we have here is two little elves who need to have their bottoms spanked for speaking such naughty nonsense."
     Renee slapped her hands over the back of her short skirt.  Emma backed up a few steps. 
     "Come along to the kitchen and I'll see to it," Mrs. Claus told them.
     "Huh-huh."  Renee's chin went up.  "You're not in charge of us."
     "She's right," Emma agreed.  "Santa's in charge of the elves, not you."
     "Hmmm.  I suppose you're right.  I was just trying to save my Santa the trouble of disciplining the two of you, since this is a very busy time of year."  Mrs. Claus looked from Emma to Renee.  "But I can certainly call him.  I'm sure he'll find time to work in a nice, long spanking for both of you."
     "No, no.  It's okay.  You can do it," Emma said in a rush.
     "We don't want to bother him," Renee agreed.  "Not so close to his big day."
     They both knew Santa spanked hard.  He had  big hands and they were rough from all the years handling the reindeer reins.  Besides, when Santa gave a spanking, he did it in front of all the elves.  He sat down in his big red throne of a chair and took the bad elf over his knee right there where everyone could see. 
     Neither Emma or Renee had been spanked by Mrs. Claus, but it had to be better than that.  She was a sweet old woman!
     Mrs. Claus gave a nod and left the room.  Renee grabbed Emma's hand as they followed.  "No matter what, she's not going to spank me into liking Christmas," she whispered.
     "Me either," Emma whispered back.  "Especially in November."
     "You can all take a break," Mrs. Claus told her kitchen crew when they entered the big, warm room with racks of Christmas cookies on almost every available surface.  See.  Mrs. Claus was a nice lady.  She wasn't going to spank them in front of anyone.  Emma figured she'd probably just give them a few swats each and send them on their way.
     Mrs. Claus pulled a chair away from the big table that held an array of mixing bowls, wooden spoons, and other cookie-baking paraphernalia.  She patted her knee.  "All right, my dears, who's first?"
     Emma nudged Renee.  Renee nudged Emma.  Emma nudged Renee harder.  Renee gave Emma a little shove.  Emma gave Renee a big shove, and it sent Renee sprawling over Mrs. Claus's lap.  Emma smiled in triumph.  Then she frowned.  She thought she'd heard a rustling in one of the cupboards.  But the castle didn't have mice, other than the cute ones who carried the ornaments to the really high spots on the Christmas trees.  Those mice didn't scuttle around in cupboards.
    A gasp of protest from Renee pulled Emma's attention back to her friend and Mrs. Claus in time to see Mrs. C. flipping Renee's short skirt up over her back.  Uh-oh.  A second later, her red-and-white striped panties were around her knees.  Double uh-oh.  Emma's theory about getting a few swats didn't seem like it was right.  Mrs. Claus looked like she was gearing up for a real spanking.
     Mrs. Claus placed one hand on Renee's back and one on her bare bottom.  "I love Christmas!" Renee cried.  "Love it.  Emma was saying how much she hated it, so I did too, just to be nice."
     "That's not true!" Emma shot back.  Renee was such a little skunk.  "She--"
     "Quiet!" Mrs. Claus ordered, her voice steely.  "I'll deal with you shortly, Miss Snowsparkle," she told Emma.  Then she turned her attention to Renee.  "I was sorry to hear how much you hate the color red.  Because that's the color I'm going to have to turn your bottom."
     With that, Mrs. Claus began to spank.  Emma squeezed her eyes shut almost immediately.  It wasn't fun to watch when she knew she'd be over Mrs. Claus's lap next.  She pressed her fingers into her ears, but she could still hear the crack of Mrs. Claus's palm against Renee's bottom.  She could still hear Renee's squeals and pleads.  But, faster than she thought, the spanking sounds stopped. 
     Emma cracked open an eye, and saw Mrs. Claus set Renee on her feet.  Oooh, the spanking might not have been that long, but Renee's hiney was almost as bright red as Rudolph's nose.  Emma got a good look at it because Mrs. Claus had bent Renee over the table and tucked her skirt under her belt so it wouldn't fall down.  "You stay right there and don't move," Mrs. Claus ordered Renee, and with a sniffle, Renee promised she would.
     Mrs. Claus sat back down and crooked her finger at Emma.  Emma's stomach rolled over.  She wanted to run, but she knew she'd only get caught, and then she probably really would get sent to Santa for punishment.  She put herself over Mrs. Claus's lap.  It was much softer than Santa's, and Mrs. Claus smelled really good.  Maybe this really wouldn't hurt too, too much. 
     Mrs. Claus gave clucks of disapproval as she made quick work of getting Emma's skirt up and her panties down.  She planted her hand--small, warm, and soft--on Emma's bottom and said, "I am so ashamed of you, saying you hate Christmas, the most magical time of the year, a holiday that brings joy to the world.  And you should be ashamed of yourself."
     "I still hate it," she muttered.  She wasn't going to be like Renee, saying anything just because she was over Mrs. Claus's knees.
     "You do, do you?  Well, let's see if I can change that."  Mrs. Claus's hand was little and soft, but maybe it had some Claus magic in it, because the spanks she gave with that soft, little hand stung like crazy, and in only about a minute, the sting had turned to a burn, and Emma was wiggling and squirming, trying to escape the next sharp strike. 
     "Please, please, please, I didn't mean it," Emma wailed.  "I love Christmas.  I do, I do!" 
     "That's not the way it sounded to me," Mrs. Claus answered.  She lowered her hand delivering a flurry of spanks to the tops of Emma's thighs, then quickly returning to spanking her bottom.
     Then it was over!  Whew!  And Mrs. Claus was bending Emma over the table next to Renee and tucking Emma's skirt in her belt so her naked behind was sticking out.  Sometimes Santa put an elf in the corner after a spanking.  Emma figured that this was Mrs. Claus's version of corner time. 
     At least that's what she thought until Mrs. Claus circled around the table and took a wooden spoon out of a bowl of cookie dough.  She tapped the spoon on the edge of the bowl so that most of the dough came off.  "I was glad to hear both of you say that you love Christmas," Mrs. Claus said.  Emma couldn't take her eyes off that spoon.  "You'll forgive me if I found it hard to believe you.  I think I'll need proof.  So each time I give you a spank with my spoon, you'll tell me something you love about the holiday."
     She walked back to Renee and Emma's side of the table.  Emma heard a whistling sound, then Renee gave a yelp.  "What do you love about Christmas, Miss Mistlekiss?" Mrs. Claus prompted.
     "Um, um--trees!" Renee burst out.  "Christmas trees!"
     Mrs. Claus gave a grunt of what might have been approval.  Emma heard her take a step, then another.  Then the batter-wet wooden spoon came down on her seared bottom, creating an oval of fresh, bright pain.  "And what do you love about Christmas, Miss Snowsparkle?"  Emma couldn't think of anything but that throbbing spot on her bottom.  Mrs. Claus gave her two more spanks with the spoon. It was dry now, the batter transferred to the elves' behinds. "I'm waiting," she said.
     "Cookies!" Emma gasped out.
     Mrs. Claus moved back to Renee.  Renee must have been thinking while Mrs. Claus had been using the spoon on Emma.  "Blitzen!" she cried as soon as the spoon cracked down.
     "Donner!" Emma got out after the spoon caught her on on the spot where her bottom curved into her thighs.
     "Not fair!" Renee yelled.  "I was going to use all the reindeer."
     Emma turned her head so she could see her friend.  Ex-friend.  "You don't own the reindeer."
     "They were my idea!"
     Mrs. Claus didn't give them a warning.  She didn't tell them to stop their fighting.  She just gave both Renee and Emma five spanks with the spoon, then said, "Now, we'll continue.  And neither of you may use the reindeer."
     Emma hopped from foot to foot, still bent over the table, trying to think.  "None of that!"  Mrs. Claus used her hand to give Emma swat across the center of her bottom.  "And none of that!" she added when she caught Renee trying to rub the burn out of her fanny.  Renee got another spank too, then Mrs. Claus got back to work with the spoon.
     The elves came up with snow angels, snowmen, snowball fights, and snow forts as their next reasons, both wanting to distract themselves with the thought of something icy cold.  They called out It's a Wonderful Life, the smell of pine needles, the candlelight church service, the sound of Santa's ho-ho-ho.  Sobbing, Renee managed to get out Tiny Tim after her tenth spank with the spoon.  Tenth not counting the ones for answering too slowly.  Bawling, Emma stammered out carolers. 
     "All right.  I'm convinced that you both truly do love Christmas," Mrs. Claus said.  She didn't give them permission to stand, so both elves stayed where they were, watching as Mrs. Claus crossed to the cabinets.  She opened one of the doors, and Anastasia Peppermint-Twist tumbled to the floor. 
     "I just had to see you get what you deserved," she told Renee and Emma, then pressed both hands over her mouth and giggled.  "I knew you were going to get your bottoms burned!"
     Mrs. Claus reached down and pinched one of Anastasia's pointed ears between her finger and thumb.  She marched the elf--who had stopped giggling--over to the table, bent her over and in two quick motions pulled up her skirt and took down her panties.
     "W-what are you doing?" Anastasia asked.
     "It should  be quite clear," Mrs. Claus said crisply.  "Preparing you to take your spanking."
     "My spanking?" Anastasia cried.  "But--  But I'm Head Elf.  I don't get spanked!  And I didn't do anything anyway.  I'm nice.  I'm always nice."
     "As Head Elf your job is to set an example for the others.  Do you actually believe you just set an example of nice behavior?  Because I would say giggling while your friends get disciplined is quite naughty."  Mrs. Claus turned back to the cupboard and retrieved a small ceramic pot.  She walked over behind Renee and Emma. 
     Emma got whiff of the sharp scent of peppermint, then she heard Renee whimper.  "This will make sure the welts from my spoon don't get infected," Mrs. Claus said.  A few seconds later, she began rubbing something cool into Emma's bottom.  Cool at first, although it quickly started to sting and burn.  And Emma's skin was had been stinging and burning to begin with. 
     Mrs. Claus used one hand to pat Renee's bottom and one to pat Emma's.  "All right girls, you're done.  Unless I ever hear you talking about how you hate Christmas again.  If I do, I'll borrow Santa's belt and give both you a true spanking."
     Emma and Renee both straightened up and pulled their little skirts down.  Mrs. Claus handed each of them a clean wooden spoon.  "I find that my arm is a bit tired," she told them.  "I want each of you to give Anastasia ten spanks with your spoon."
     "Ten each?" Anastasia protested.  "But that's twice as much as they got!"
     "That's the price of being Head Elf," Mrs. Claus said, without sympathy.  "When you've finished, all three of you go straight to bed without your supper."
     What could they do but obey?  As soon as Anastasia's bottom was crimson and throbbing, the elves went to their beds, where they all had to lie on their stomachs, Renee and Emma having relearned that they loved Christmas, and Anastasia having learned that it's very naughty to watch and giggle while other elves get spanked.  Even if the other elves deserved exactly what they got.