Wooden Spoon

Spanking Survey, Part 6

This post is a continuing series of spanking survey questions about my childhood. This one drained me emotionally to write, so it’s taken longer to get on paper since I could only handle a little at a time. Previous parts of the survey are here: one, two, three, four, five.

Did you hear spanking threats? Yes, as a child and as an adult. I probably heard them far more often as a child than I actually remember. What’s below are just the ones I can recall because they were memorable for various reasons.

One day I was at a neighbor’s house for lunch. We were probably both about five. His mother was one of the only ones in the neighborhood who worked outside of the home, so he and his sister had a nanny. She was a grandmother type, though she always seemed crabby to me. I forget what he did or said, but she picked up a wooden spoon and started to threaten him. He didn’t get the spanking, but I am certain she spanked him with the spoon on many other occasions!

Another time I was over at a friend’s house. We were both around 6 or 7. I have no recollection of what transpired before the threat, but her father was sitting in a recliner and we were sitting on the floor in the family room about 10 feet away. Her dad said, “Sally, drop your pants.” She just giggled hysterically. I was sitting there in shock, worried about what was going to happen. He repeated his command for her to drop her pants again, and she just laughed again. Nothing else ended up happening at that time. I don’t know if this was code or what.

As an adult, I heard several, too. One that stands out was a two year old niece talking about spanking and her parents trying to stop her from talking about it since they knew it was not a parenting technique that was widely accepted by that point in the 1990s. When we were out at dinner once with the same niece, she was fidgeting a bit. It was taking forever (like over an hour) before our food arrived, and all things considered, she was behaving amazingly well. However, her mother still gave her a very stern and angry threat of, “Do you want to go out to the car with me?” Clearly this was an experience that our niece had already had as she quickly shook her head no and became perfectly still.

Another time we were having a party with a lot of friends and their kids over. It was time to go and the one young boy of about three was refusing to put on his shoes to leave. His father threatened him, “Do you want a spanking?” I was horrified. I didn’t know then and am still not sure now how to have told him, “I am not ok with you spanking your child in my house.”

In my twenties, I worked for several years teaching students who were 11-15. This was in a small town in Texas where belts are still commonly used to discipline kids in this age group, especially in certain communities. It isn’t considered shameful at all: Parent proudly boasted about taking belts to their kids. No one within the communities is going to disagree because they all do the same to their kids. Over my years of teaching, I heard many threats to students from their parents. These are some of the more memorable ones.

I had one student whose behavior was out of control; she was acting out for other teachers as well but was particularly acting out in my class because of some boys she was flirting with. She was going to end up unintentionally pregnant at the rate she was going given the norms of that community. I called her aunt who was her guardian, and we set up a meeting the next day with her aunt, her, me, and a few other teachers. During the meeting, the aunt announced, “I whipped her butt good with my belt last night. Real good. I let her have it.” The student’s eyes filled with tears both from embarrassment and from the memory of the beating, I’m sure.

Another year, we had a male student who was acting like a little monster. All of his teachers had had it with him. One of the other teachers called his mother in for a conference. She was shocked and infuriated by his behavior. She had no idea he was acting like that at school. She started chewing him out in front of the teachers including saying, “I am so mad at you. If I had known this conference was going to be this bad, I would have brought my belt and whipped you with your teachers watching. I am furious.” I have no doubt she would have. I am also sure he got it when he got home. For the rest of the year, he was a complete angel for all of us.

Because the community I taught in was so small, there were a lot of interconnections between students and staff. One of the regular substitute teachers was good friends with the father one of the students we had trouble with on a regular basis. The one day I was near the substitute teacher when he was telling the troublesome student, “Your father would have no problem with me taking a belt to your backside. If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to take you in that office and give it to you good.” Again, I am sure he would have followed through on that promise. Even though it was technically against district policy for staff to use corporal punishment, I am sure no one would have complained.

One year, I had a student who was hearing but had two deaf parents. They came to “Back to School Night” with an ASL interpreter. Because of the communication difficulties between us, I had not spoken with them previously. I told them through the interpreter that their son was being uncooperative during class. Despite not understanding ASL, I had no problem telling that the father turned to the son and gave him a very angry lecture. His head hung in shame and tears started. I would not be surprised if he got the belt when they got home.

One of the most disturbing conversations I had as a teacher involved other teachers condoning abuse of one of the students. There was a female student who started harassing me in the hallway in between classes, calling me names and being rude and insolent. Yes, I was a teacher and yet she decided to start bullying me. She was not in any of my classes—she just decided to be rude for fun. When I told another teacher what happened, she told me, “Call her Daddy. He will beat her. Let him. Don’t call CPS. She deserves it.” I agree that the girl deserved consequences for what she was doing, but I don’t think the other teacher could understand that the abuse she was receiving at home was likely why she was bullying others as she misdirected her anger about her abuse. No child, no matter how rude or obnoxious, “deserves” to be abused.

Did you witness any others being spanked? Yes. Some of the following stories are hearing others be spanked rather than actually seeing.

There was of course my younger brother. I only have memories of him being spanked three times, though I am certain there were more. One was when he and I were little and were spanked together by our mother. Another time was when he was about 10 and got into a fight with my mother which he very much lost. The third was when he was in middle school, and it was outright abuse involving hitting and kicking by my father.

I also witnessed my mom hitting our dogs. One incident in particular stand out in my mind. My mother had a bad day, and the one dog got into the trash which she had left in a place easily accessible to the dog with tempting morsels (to a dog) in the trash. My mother beat the crap out of the dog. It was not ok. It was not disciplinary. It was abuse. That incident was one of the ones which helped give me perspective on how my parents abused me rather than disciplined me. Because I wasn’t the one being hit, I could tell how long and how hard she hit the dog. She was out of control.

There was an incident when I was about 6 when I witnessed a neighbor get spanked. She was a year older than me, but we played together in the summers due to a lack of other girls on our street. She didn’t play with me during the school year, though, because she considered herself older than me and therefore not willing to play with someone who was “so young.” Anyway, during this incident, her mother came storming into the kitchen and began slapping her daughter, followed by her pulling down her daughter’s pants and underwear; she was spanking her daughter with her hand while seated with her daughter over her knee. She was violently hitting her daughter out of anger. I don’t even remember what the friend had done to merit this treatment in her mother’s mind, but it was nothing we were doing at the time. The spanking just happened out of nowhere. I literally couldn’t watch because it was so terrifying for me. Once her mother pulled down her pants, I turned so I couldn’t see what was going on. I just stood there, frozen, until it was over. Once her mother stood her up, she told my friend, “Take your friend to the door and say goodbye.” I still don’t understand why she couldn’t have sent me home before spanking her daughter. Clearly she was too angry to give her daughter that dignity. As my crying friend walked me to the front door, I wasn’t sure what to do or say, so I told her, “I didn’t watch.” Between her tears, she said, “Thanks.” We never mentioned the incident again.

I semi-witnessed another cousin being spanked several times when we were growing up. Honestly, I was not and am not a fan of this particular cousin. I always thought he was a sniveling brat. He was an only child who acted like an only child—unable to play nicely with others except when he got his way. He was a few years younger than me, closer in age to my brother than me. The two of them would often play together leaving me out of their games which didn’t contribute positively toward my feelings for either of them. Anyway, the first spanking was on Christmas Eve at our grandparents when my cousin was about 3 or 4. My cousin was being a whiny brat, tantruming about everything. My uncle finally ran out of patience, scooped up my cousin, and took him out to the car. For some reason I asked my dad, “What’s going to happen to him?” My father very angrily said, “Exactly what would happen to you if you were acting like that.” Clearly my cousin’s behavior had made my father angry, too. I decided it would be a good time to make myself scarce given how angry my father was about his nephew’s behavior. Ten or fifteen minutes later, my uncle brought back in a sniffing, red-faced cousin who was much more subdued for the rest of the evening.

The other time I remember that cousin being spanked is much more hazy. I am fairly sure it was his father (my uncle) who did the spanking again though I know his mother did also spank. I can’t remember if we were upstairs in his room at his house or if we were downstairs in the playroom, but his father took him to the opposite place from where we were and spanked him because he wasn’t getting along with any of the other cousins who were there at the gathering.

I had another cousin on the same side of the family who was spanked by her parents, too. I indirectly witnessed one of the spankings and heard in detail about another. She was also an only child because her parents married late in life. My cousin was much younger than me as a result, so I ended up doing a lot of free babysitting for them when I was in high school. I had actually thought my aunt was anti-spanking based on one conversation we had wherein she told me spanking was not a good discipline method but people in our nation still used it. Surprisingly to me, I witnessed her giving one of those spankings to my cousin. I had come over after school to eat dinner with them before my aunt and uncle went out for the evening. My 5 year old cousin wanted an apple an hour before dinner. She was capable of getting the apple, washing it, and eating it on her own. Her mother refused because she was going to “ruin her dinner.” I’ve never understood this argument. If a growing child is hungry and wants a truly nutritious snack, let the child eat it. It’s not ruining dinner. It’s supplementing it. However, my aunt was overtired from work and got tired of my cousin whining about how she was hungry, so my aunt began a very violent spanking of my cousin while escorting my cousin up to her room to stay until dinner time. I was very shocked by the whole incident.

The other incident with that cousin also occurred when she was five, a few months after the previous spanking. I was at her family’s house for dinner again, and my aunt and uncle began discussing a spanking that had happened the previous day much to my cousin’s embarrassment. I felt truly sorry for her. They were taunting her and mocking her, asking what had happened to her the previous day when she was playing with her friend. She said, “I forget.” To that, my aunt asked my cousin if she needed a reminder of what happened, and my cousin got a horrified look on her face and shook her head violently “no.” My aunt and uncle found this hysterical. Later after dinner when we were doing dishes, my aunt let me know that my cousin had been playing with a neighborhood friend who always got her into trouble. The friend talked my cousin into playing with some of her dad’s hobby equipment which they broke (though it could be repaired with a lot of time and effort). My uncle was furious; he sent the friend home and then gave my cousin “a very harsh spanking” according to my aunt. They decided at that point that my cousin shouldn’t be allowed to play with that friend anymore since he only got her in trouble.

The only public spanking I ever witnessed was when I was home from college one year for Christmas. I watched a very angry father screaming at a young boy (maybe six years old) while the father dragged the son out of a Hallmark store by one arm. The father was using his other arm to violently spank the child anywhere hits could land on the way to their car where I’m sure the child was going to get even worse. To this day, I regret not speaking out. The scene wasn’t a reasonable parent disciplining a child. This was very much an abusive father damaging his son both mentally and physically.

Another spanking (or perhaps it is better described as a slapping) I witnessed happened when I was an adult and mother. I was at a gathering of friends with some of our kids present. One of the women had a son who was six months older than my son; they were about 15 months and 9 months old. Her more mobile son started hitting my son for no real reason. I was not upset. This is not an unusual behavior for kids that age as they explore others’ bodies and try to understand actions and reactions. However, the mother got very upset with her son and started slapping his hands hard while telling him “no!” repeatedly along with some other lecturing. Of course, after the first slap, her son started crying hysterically and was hearing nothing she was saying. I was not a fan of this woman’s parenting, but this incident sealed it for me. She truly overreacted to what happened. I always felt like she parented in a way that was showing off towards others who were watching.

The only spanking I have ever witnessed that I think was handled in an appropriate way was when I was in high school. The boy in question was 3, and I used to babysit for the family who were neighbors. We lived in an area where many people didn’t have air conditioning; open windows with screens were the way of cooling the house. This three year old boy had started the “game” of unlocking the screens and pushing them out the second floor windows. Since he was so young and he had a two year old sibling, this was a truly dangerous thing. I knocked on the front door and let the mother know that one of the screens was out of the windows upstairs. She thanked me profusely. Then, through the open windows, I heard her talking calmly to her son. “Tony,” she said, “I told you that if you pushed the screens out of the windows again I would spank you. You didn’t listen to me, so I am going to have to spank you.” A few seconds later I heard the sound of her hand on his bare bottom slapping three times. That was enough to make him cry and to get her point across. Never again did I see screens out of their windows. I felt guilty for years for having gotten him spanked until I realized a) I had no idea that she would spank him and b) it was a truly dangerous situation. The mom had already talked to him, but he hadn’t listened. She didn’t spank out of anger. She didn’t spank excessively. This was a case where if spanking is acceptable, the parent spanked appropriately. The fact that it’s the only spanking I ever heard or witnessed that could be considered reasonable tells me how often what we label as spanking is actually abuse of children by angry parents.

Did you like watching others be spanked? No. As a young child, I found spankings terrifying. I think this was because I had never seen one given in a loving manner. They were all the same in my mind: A very angry adult lashes out at a child, often for no apparent reason. They were not calm. They were not structured. They were not loving. Only one spanking I witnessed when I was a teen falls outside of those parameters.

As an adult, I still have no desire to watch others spankings in real life, and thus I have no desire to go to spanking parties. Different consenting adults like different things from their spankings, and for me, many of those things are triggering. If I am watching spanking videos at home, I can just turn off the video if I don’t like it. Going to the “cookie” room is not going to be far enough away in a party environment. I will still be able to hear what is going on.

©2017 WoodLeatherLace.com

Naughty Elf

Officially I’m known as Elf #3269. I’ve been an “employee” at the North Pole for seven years now. I say that with a bit of tongue in cheek because we’re not paid workers. No. We’re slaves. We work for nothing except room and board. We work all year long except for two weeks after Christmas when we get unpaid vacation so that we can lounge around on the luxurious icebergs near the North Pole. (That’s sarcasm, just in case you missed it.) I guess I should be grateful I’m not starving in a jungle or floating through space, but still, I don’t like having to do what I’m told rather than doing what I want to do.

Perhaps that’s why I earned my nickname, Naughty Elf. Everyone at the North Pole calls me that and with good reason. I’ve earned that reputation fair and square. I just don’t do well following directions. I get distracted by the toys I’m making or the ideas in my head. I see a reindeer go by, and I want to go play with him. It’s not that I try to be a naughty elf. I just can’t seem to be a devoted one.

Even when I’m on house duty helping Mrs. Claus in the kitchen, I still find myself in tons of trouble. I can’t tell you how many times Mrs. Claus has put me over her lap or bent me over her kitchen counter to reprimand me in a rather painful way for my misdoings. Again, I don’t try to be naughty in the kitchen. I just find trouble, or maybe it finds me.

Last week is just one such example. I was on potato peeling duty, a task that’s given as punishment but which I actually kind of enjoy. As I was peeling the spuds, I noticed that the potato peels could be used to create a piece of abstract artwork, and so as I took off the skins, I turned them into a really cool looking picture of what I think the ocean looks like.

However, Mrs. Claus was not impressed at all. When she came over after thirty minutes of me working unsupervised and found the potato pot almost empty but the counter almost full of carefully arranged peels, she kind of blew a gasket. Ok, she did lose it completely. She hollered out, “Naughty Elf, whatever am I going to do with you?” I didn’t know how to answer that in a way that wouldn’t get me in more trouble. However, since Mrs. Claus was already removing her apron and rolling up her sleeves, I knew exactly how she was going to handle the situation that day: the same way she handled my behavior almost every time I was in her kitchen.

Mrs. Claus pulled on my ear and dragged me over toward the eating area where a chair was awaiting her arrival. All the other elves became very quiet, and while they were pretending to keep working, I knew what they were actually doing was watching carefully so that they could see my cute little elf bottom on display. They knew that within a few minutes, Mrs. Claus would have it both bare and red.

The kitchen elves were not disappointed. As soon as she sat down, Mrs. Claus lifted my red and white dress up while simultaneously pulling me over her lap. My elf hat fell off as my head went downward toward the floor in one quick motion. Before I could even utter a word of protest, Mrs. Claus pulled a wooden spoon from her deep skirt pockets and set to work peppering my bottom with that instrument of many uses. I really preferred she’d just use it for stirring, but she likes to use it to redden my bottom more often than not! She told me that she wanted me to remember every time I stirred a pot that the spoon I was using could end up on my bare bottom lickety-split.

I don’t know how long Mrs. Claus worked on getting my bottom and thighs into the Christmas spirit. She had pulled down my elf panties pretty early on as they were obstructing her work of reaching that perfect shade of crimson that we all associate with Christmas cheer. I was just hoping that her spoon was the only weapon of culinary creation that she planned to use on my poor bottom. Sometimes Mrs. Claus felt extra inspired, and on those days, a silicone spatula might also end up coming out of her pockets to join in the fun of reddening my bottom. Well, it was fun for the other elves enjoying the show in the kitchen. For me, not so much. I much preferred entertaining myself with the potato peels!

Then there was the one time I was really naughty in the kitchen. I let a whole pot of soup burn because I was busy playing with sprinkles I found in the cabinets. I didn’t mean to burn the pot and the food in it. I didn’t try to catch it on fire. It just happened so suddenly. Mrs. Claus said that nothing burns that badly in a short amount of time, but I think she proved herself wrong when she set my bottom on fire that day. Since she was so mad at me, she bent me over the kitchen counter and used a bread board like a paddle on my bare bottom. I yelped very loudly each time that board hit my bottom, and I sported bruises that were not only red but purple and black for the next few days after that. Unfortunately, some of the bruises were low enough to be seen beneath the hem of my short elf skirt, so the other elves felt free to torment me and remind me of my mistakes each time they saw the errors of my ways marked on my backside.

What I hated most of all, even more than the spoon, even more than the spatula, and even more than even that horrid bread board, was corner time. Mrs. Claus was extra mean about corner time. When the Head Elf spanked me in the workshop, he never put me in the corner afterward. He always wanted me back at work as quickly as possible. And when Santa himself spanked me, well, that’s a different story I’ll tell you about soon. Santa certainly didn’t end things with corner time! But Mrs. Claus was a stickler about putting bad little elves like me in the corner with our dresses tucked up or our pants pulled down so that all of the kitchen staff that day could enjoy the view and be reminded of what happens when elves go bad. I hated being on display like that for the other elves to see all my intimate parts and to torment me when they walked by. The only good thing about corner time was that as long as I didn’t forget and start rubbing my bottom, I would be left in peace to daydream for as long as Mrs. Claus deemed necessary to enhance my punishment. Sometimes it was minutes, and sometimes it was hours. It all depended how soon Mrs. Claus wanted to risk putting me back to work in the kitchen.

Then there was Head Elf and his spankings. I did not like Head Elf, and the feeling was mutual. He was a bit of a sadist, truth be told. He was always looking for reasons to spank me. Unfortunately, I gave him way too many legitimate reasons to spank me, so he didn’t have to look too hard. While he had started spanking me with just his hand, he soon realized that he was hurting his hand as much as my bottom. Once he made that realization, he would go into the Defective Toy Room to find something else to torture my bottom with before the toy was recycled or used in the furnace for fuel. I never knew what he might find to spank me with. Once it was a Hot Wheels track that hadn’t quite bent in the right direction for a racetrack, but it set my bottom on fire quickly and painfully under Head Elf’s guidance.

More recently, Head Elf had found a defective ping pong paddle. While the paddle was useless for hitting a ball, he thought that it would be incredibly useful in spanking the bad behavior out of one Naughty Elf, namely me. When he emerged from the Defective Toy Room tapping that paddle against his palm, I knew my bottom was going to get a real “treat” that day. I was not disappointed. Sitting on Santa’s favorite chair where he would often watch over the workshop, Head Elf pulled me across his lap and set to work using the ping pong paddle as though I was a little white ball that needed to be hit across the room. Having removed my skirt and panties from his way before starting, Head Elf didn’t give me any kind of warm up at all that day. No, he went straight for the kill. My bottom was bright red very quickly, and it was giving off enough heat to melt a snow pile or an icicle. Of course, I didn’t suggest those ideas to him for fear that the sadist might actually stick an icicle up my bum or plop me in the nearest snow drift to “cool off” after his handiwork.

Then there was the day that Head Elf found a paddle ball toy for my bottom to play with. It was the kind of toy that has a ball attached to a paddle with a long elastic string. However, as it usually happens with those toys, the ball had broken off just leaving a paddle. Many parents knew the secret of using those broken paddle ball toys as disciplinary instruments, and it seemed someone had let Head Elf in on the knowledge as well. Head Elf was very quick to bend my naughty elf self over a wooden stool and to flip my skirt up. He gave my bottom several hard spanks before realizing he had forgotten to pull down my panties. Perhaps it was the loud and suggestive whispers of the elves on the line behind us that clued him in. I heard one of them say, “Oh, man, isn’t he going to bare her bottom for us to see it turn red?” I wasn’t happy with that elf for giving Head Elf the reminder. I would have been quite content to get away with a pantied spanking. However, my panties soon were on the floor around my elf jingle slippers, and my bottom and thighs were being decorated with the Christmas spirit. My yelps and cries filled the workshop with sounds much more melodious than Christmas carols.

So Santa and his spankings… well, they were a reindeer of another color. It’s a little-known fact in the rest of the world that Santa is a pretty kinky dude. At the North Pole, though, all the elves know that Santa loves to get his hands (and more) on the bottoms of his staff. Mrs. Claus long ago stopped meeting Santa’s needs, saying that he kept her too busy in the kitchen for her to be able to spend time doing recreational wifely duties. She suggested he had plenty of elves and reindeer to entertain him if he still needed “it” at his age, and Santa certainly thought he did!

One of the ways in which Santa picked his new sex elves for the year was through our Christmas stockings. You may have heard that Santa puts coal in the stockings of bad little girls and boys, but that’s not true for elves. No, we get the bundles of switches that are thought to be folklore. When elves get bundle of switches in their stockings, those elves knows that the year ahead will be filled with a great deal of Santa-induced pain in the ass, and not just from the switches! The following Christmas, if an elf finds presents in his or her stocking, then the elf was relieved from being one of Santa’s personal toys after having given a full year of submissive service.

Me? I wasn’t so lucky. I had been at the North Pole for seven years now. For the past six years, I had always received a bundle of switches on Christmas morning. I was rumored to be one of Santa’s favorite elf toys because no other elf had received switches for more than a year or two in a row. Being naughty was just up Santa’s alley, and since I was Naughty Elf, I was able to please the old man in ways that the other elves weren’t as good at.

Still, I held out hope that this Christmas I would finally graduate from receiving the bundle of switches and would only have to perform my “other” duties for Santa. Maybe I would receive a nice sweater or a bocce ball set or anything but another year of spanking servitude. However, my hopes were dashed on Christmas morning when I ran to my stocking only to find my seventh bundle of switches. I knew what that meant for my Christmas day, too. While the other elves began their vacation on this day, those of us who got switches also got beatings to end the North Pole year. There were about twenty of us elves with bundles, but I knew from years past that I would be the last to get my switching. Santa always had something special in mind for me.

Sure enough, I was right. Santa began reading off the names of the other bad little elves, and one by one, they approached Santa with their birch bundles. I actually did enjoy watching the other elves pulling down their underwear and placing themselves face down and bottoms up on Santa’s chair so that he could whip their bottoms thoroughly in honor of the Christmas festivities. While I knew that my bottom would be experiencing the same treatment at the end of the day, it was kind of nice not to be the only one on display. Santa was particularly mean compared to Mrs. Claus and Head Elf as he took away the miscreant elves’ underwear for the rest of the calendar year. Talk about a way to cool off sore bottoms! Losing our underwear also left the welts from the switches on display for all the elves to see over the next week.

It was a long day of Santa spanking the elves of his choice with a few exciting blowjobs thrown in, too, by elves who had begged for mercy through an exchange of oral licks instead of switch licks. Finally, I was called up to the front of the room for my turn bending over Santa’s chair. Much to my surprise, though, Santa changed his procedure for the first time that day. “Naughty Elf,” he said, “Since this is your seventh year of receiving a bundle of switches from me, I thought we would change things up to make the day more exciting for you.”

“Um, thank you, Santa,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic because I truly didn’t want to increase my discipline that day. I was hoping to be able to *not* sleep on my stomach before the week was over! However, Santa had different plans. He sat down in his chair. As he grabbed my waist, he pulled me over his lap in a position that I was all too familiar with from my time over Mrs. Claus’ lap earlier that week and on many other occasions.

I felt Santa’s fingers caressing my elf ass, and I could hear his breathing changing. He asked me if I had been a good little elf in the past year. I knew the answer to that, as did all the other members of the workshop. How many spankings had I received that year? At least one a week. Sometimes even three or four. Probably at least a hundred spankings that year. No, I had definitely lived up to my reputation as Naughty Elf. So I responded to him, “No, Santa, I’ve been a very naughty elf this year. I’ve been spanked long and hard on many occasions by Mrs. Claus, by Head Elf, and even by you.”

“Hmm,” Santa contemplated. “I guess then we’ll have to give you an extra hard punishment today for all your naughtiness in the past year so that maybe next year will be better for you.”

Knowing I had no choice in the matter, I decided to comply with Santa’s wish for me to be submissive and compliant. “Yes, Santa. I deserve for you to punish me like the naughty little girl elf that I am. Please teach me a lesson that I won’t forget.”

I could hear Santa groan with pleasure, and I could also feel his cock growing beneath his velvety red pants. I knew that it would be my job to take care of that erection later, after Santa had disciplined me thoroughly. For now, I felt a very cold breeze on my rear as Santa lifted my skirt and began rubbing my panties. He began spanking my thighs, working his way up and down both legs. He suddenly yanked my panties into my butt crack, giving him a bit more area to spank, and he took advantage of that newfound skin. However, it didn’t satisfy him for long.

“Naughty Elf,” Santa said, pulling me to a standing position, “Please remove your underwear and give it to me for safe keeping for the next week.” I complied, handing over my dignity with the panties, knowing that my spanking was about to get much worse now that Santa would be able to redden my entire bottom. I was correct. With one deft move, Santa put me back over his lap and returned to using his hand to teach me what a naughty girl I had been. Periodically he said something like, “Naughty little elf!” but I wasn’t really paying attention. Unlike my other spankers, Santa didn’t ask questions when he spanked, so I didn’t have to worry about getting the answers right. Santa also took periodic breaks to run his hands under my body, pulling and pinching on my pussy and sometimes even squeezing my clit before returning to spanking my bottom. Santa was a horny old bastard, that was for sure.

Finally, Santa’s spanking hand wore out. My “special treat” was over, and now I was subject to the same punishment as the rest of the switch-receiving elves. Knowing my fate, I waited for Santa to stand, and then I quickly bent over his chair leaving my already reddened bottom up in the air so that all could see every inch and every detail of my nether regions. There was nothing to do now but yelp in pain each time the birch bundle came down on my bottom. Nothing stung quite like the bite of the birch, and Santa knew that. It’s why he saved it for his special Christmas gift to the elves and to his horny self.

Eventually Santa had put more stripes on my bottom than I thought was possible. He patted me on the bottom to let me know that my punishment was over. I slowly and painfully stood, knowing that as much as things hurt now, it would be worse tomorrow. I was hoping that my duty toward Santa was done for the evening because I was so sore, but it was not to be. Santa whispered in my ear, “Go to the barn now. We’re going to finish off the evening with a little more rough and tumble on your bottom, so be sure to grab the magic sleigh lubricant.” From years of experience, I knew exactly what that meant.

I slowly walked out to the barn, and as I went past the reindeer munching on their oats and carrots, I grabbed a jar that was clearly labeled “magic sleigh lubricant.” Most of the barn elves knew that this was great goop for helping Santa’s sleigh land and take off with ease on his trip around the world. However, those of us who were among Santa’s sex elves knew that this lube had a secondary purpose of moistening our anal chimneys for Santa to slide in with great ease.

From so many years ending up in this position, I knew exactly what Santa wanted from me. I went to the curved front end of Santa’s sleigh, and I carefully bent over. When I did, I pulled my skirt up on my back so that my bottom and all Santa’s handiwork were on display. That would please him greatly.

I didn’t have to wait long. I soon heard that “ho ho ho” coming into the barn, and I knew that I was about to get my final Christmas “present.” I felt Santa sliding up behind me, and I felt him pushing the training crop he used on new reindeers up against my backside. I really didn’t want any more stripes on my ass, but I knew that it was not up to me. I also knew Santa wasn’t going to be able to resist using the crop on me. It was one of his favorite toys.

“Spread your legs,” I heard Santa grunt into my ear.

“Yes, Santa,” I complied, very quickly moving my feet apart and exposing my pussy. I knew where this was headed. Sure enough, I heard the sound of the crop hitting my pussy before I felt the pain jolting through my body. “Oh, Santa!” I cried. “Please don’t be too hard on me. I promise I’ll be a better elf this year.” Yet Santa didn’t seem impressed by my promise. No, he just kept spanking my pussy with that evil crop until finally he could not ignore the lure of my bottom any longer.

I heard the crop hit the barn floor, and I felt the very cold magic sleigh lube dripping into my ass. Next, I heard Santa unfastening his belt and dropping his pants to the floor. When the metal belt buckle clanked against the wood floor, I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank heavens he hadn’t decided to use his belt on me, too. My bottom just couldn’t handle any more.

I felt Santa’s hands against my bare thighs, pulling himself in toward me. His bright red cock began squeezing between my butt cheeks, and as I tried not to clench, I heard Santa moan with pleasure. He gave my ass a slap, and then came the command I knew would follow. “Say it!” he demanded.

“Fuck me, Santa! Fuck me, Santa! Fuck me, Santa!” I replied. “Please, Santa, please cum with your special snow in my tight pink asshole. I want to feel you fuck me hard, Santa!” And with that, Santa began thrusting. Naughty little elf that I was, I actually enjoyed this part of the evening more than words could say. There was nothing quite like having Santa’s cock in my aching bottom, his balls pounding against me loudly with each indecent thrust. I was truly Naughty Elf, and to prove it, I came hard with Santa. Our loud orgasms resounded throughout the barn, but the reindeer thought nothing of it. Santa used their home as his special getaway quite often all year long.

As Santa and I collapsed against the sleigh, I was grateful for the pleasure we shared. I wasn’t looking forward to another year of spankings at the North Pole, but being Santa’s special anal cum elf was a benefit I didn’t mind at all!

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