Carrie gave a heavy sigh and put down the book in frustration. Her book, Spanking Tales for Girls, was one of her favourites, but sometimes she didn’t want to read about spanking she just wanted…
She sighed again. At 28 she should be out clubbing or joining a BDSM club or something, not moping around expecting the world to come to her. She was pretty enough, even she knew that. Her thick red shoulder-length hair was close enough to auburn to turn heads in the street and she had a good figure. Although the later came from hours of running to work off her frustration.
Carrie sighed yet again and put the book away behind a tome on UK Tax Law 1927-1939; it had had dust on it before she adopted it as her hiding place.
The Christmas wish list was a tradition going back to her childhood, but sometimes it felt a bit silly for a woman pushing 30. Especially when she could never even write down what she really wanted, let alone have any real expectation of getting it.
She picked up the blue Basildon Bond leaf again and rolled her eyes up at the childish green ink she had written in. It was complete with big circles instead of points on her i’s and j’s. In her mind the note read: one overlarge spanking rugby player, one headmaster from the 1930s, two ninja spanking assassins and… she could plausibly write volume two of Spanking tales for Girls, but she didn’t have the nerve.
Carrie ran her eye down the list of stockings, perfume and music and then added the Time Out Movie Guide. Then again she sighed.
She much preferred the list she hadn’t written: one overlarge spanking rugby player, one headmaster from the 1930s, two ninja spanking assassins and… and a good sound spanking on account.
With two weeks to go to the big day (well the small slowly paced day that was never as big as you hoped it would be) Carrie went to bed in readiness for the final push on the shopping front.
That night she dreamed that it snowed and that the sound of sleigh bells had awoken her. Looking out the window she dismissed the sudden appearance of Victorian lamp posts, the unexpected arrival of so much snow in mid-December and the total lack of cars in the street. But she was rather puzzled by the sleigh that sat in the middle of a car-free street.
Pulling on her thick soft robe she yawned and stumbled down the stairs to the front door. But to her surprise it was wide open and thick drifts of snow and brought the street idyll into the house.
It was then that she noticed two things. One that the lounge door was also open and two that there was now a great big open fire roaring away in what had been a thoroughly bricked-up fireplace before she had retired to bed.
“No wonder it’s not cold,” she muttered entering the room.
For some reason she thought she had better check on her list before going back to bed, although it was the security of the hidden book she was really concerned for.
“Is this what you are looking for?” said a voice.
Startled, Carrie whirled around and saw a small man sitting cross-legged on the arm of the armchair. He was dressed in the semblance of Christmas Fair Elf or Santa’s helper and smiling mischievously at her.
The strange creature was holding her list in his hand and was perusing it with interest. Only it wasn’t the list she had written in green ink on the Basildon Bond, but the one she had composed in her head.
“Interesting wish list you have here,” the elf, if that was what he was, said.
Carrie blushed.
“I didn’t write that,” she blurted.
“Oh I know,” the elf said silkily, “And that’s another thing, making false wishes is a crime where I come from, he may punish you for that later.”
Carrie blushed even more. Somehow she didn’t need to be told who ‘he’ was. Once she had seen an elaborate copperplate engraving of an old style pagan Father Christmas with a box of birch rods in the back of his sleigh alongside the sacks of toys and parcels.
“’He’ doesn’t even exist,” Carrie said defensively.
“Oh, you’re really gonna get it now,” the elf said in a sing-song voice and chuckled.
Carrie gulped and somehow believed the little man, but instead of fear she felt a strange excitement in her tummy and a sense of expectation.
“Why are you here anyway?” Carrie said sullenly.
She often became rude when she was nervous or scared.
“Oh, but to give your first gift on account,” the elf said smoothly with another smile.
“My first…” Carrie thought about the rugby player and blushed.
She turned to look hopefully at the door for any sign of a large square-shouldered man with big hands. Maybe the elf thought she was going to flee for in a moment he had grabbed her and upended her across his surprisingly large and firm lap.
“Look you can’t do this…” she spluttered, “I mean… I mean… it is just in books and… and…”
Carrie became more and more uncertain as one by one the elf trundled up the layers of her clothes until he had exposed her baggy sleep-shorts.
“Plenty to work on here,” the punitive elf chuckled.
He patted her bottom twice before tugging the shorts over Carrie’s two firm hills of flesh.
Carrie, who at once wanted to run and to stay, was panting hard and she experienced feelings normal reserved for her dreams about Brad Pitt. But come to think of it they often ended up with her in much the same position.
“What are you doing?” she squealed dutifully. It was her usually instinct to be dense about anything to do with spanking when it came up lest anyone guess.
“A good sound spanking on account,” the elf chuckled.
His hand stung her bottom more sharply than she was expecting and she yelped. Nor were the next dozen swats any softer and soon her laboured breath took on a fury of its own and she began to struggle.
“You can’t do this… this is… someone might see,” Carrie wailed.
“No, not at all, not today at any rate,” the spanking elf reassured her, “But that may come later.”
The elf spanked her for what seemed like hours and whenever she found the breath or the will to complain he merely reminded her that she had requested ‘a good sound spanking’ and that would take time.
“Personally I would put you in the corner afterwards too and have you there to greet the rest of the household with bare bottom displayed when they got up, but I have to stick to the letter of your wish list,” her spanker said.
Finally after a long, long time she was unable to hold out and a small chuckle of tears erupted from her and she began to cry.
“Tsk, tsk, tears at your age, you wait until he deals with you, then you’ll know crying,” the elf said in disgust. “Okay, you’re done.”
Carrie was suddenly set on her feet where heedless of her dignity she proceeded to bounce around the room with her hands clamped to two hot bottom cheeks.
“You have 12 gifts, remember the song; your list is still incomplete. Make sure you choose wisely,” the little man added, but he sounded rather faint now, as if he was fading.
“That hurt you… you… owwie,” she wailed and twisted her head around to try and inspect the damage. Her bottom was like two smooth holly berries and hotter than a Christmas toddy.
Then in all her thrashing about she realised that she was encased in her bedclothes and light was pouring through the bedroom window.
Although clearly she had been dreaming the intensity clung to her as if she had bathed in treacle and she tried to hold on to it with a growing sense of grief. But in a moment only the sting in her bottom remained.
“Damn I must have…” she couldn’t think what she had done to hurt her tail end, but whatever it was had fed into the dream.
It took her a moment to clamber sleepily from bed and then with her back to the mirror she pulled down her shorts. To Carrie’s astonishment when her bare bottom burst over the elastication of her sleepwear it held two smooth raspberry red ovals and was not a little hot and sore.
For a brief moment Carrie felt as she was falling and her heart lurched. Then she saw the little man sitting cross-legged on the shelf behind her in the mirror. He winked.
When she turned around she was alone.
