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This story is fiction is about an encounter with a Kris Kringle who spanks.  If such subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

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Close Encounters of a Special Kind


It was the winter solstice and Alastair Fitzgerald and his son, Thomas, were having a special day together.  Now that he was eleven, Tommy, er, Tom (as he insisted that he be called), did not want to go see Santa in the department store.  That was great when he was a little kid (like his eight-year-old sister) and believed in fairy tales.  Now, as a big boy, er, young man, he wanted to do more interesting and grown-up things.  The two spent the day in the Natural History Museum studying wondrous things that were real.  Waiting in line for an hour for a few seconds on the lap of a strange man in a red suit, with a fake beard, stinking of stale tobacco and with a pillow inside was not worth anything.  Maybe Fatso did have two lists (double checked) but presents were not delivered by a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer but by truck like all the other packages.

After the museum they went to F·A·O·Schwartz to examine the fancy toys.  It was their tradition and they enjoyed it together.  Of course, Tom had already decided on what he wanted and had clipped the ads from the Sunday paper since Thanksgiving.  He knew he would not get everything on his list but he was hopeful.  Planning never hurt.

Encountering seven more Santas, each with a loud bell, a big bucket and a boom box blasting carols on the way to the subway was something that they both found disgusting in its excess.  Tom even commented to his father that it was good that Sally was not with them to be disillusioned.  It was the last straw to encounter several more Santas on the train with their fake beards misplaced and their flasks showing.  Alastair managed to growl at several of them who came close while clanging their bells.  They were halfway to their stop, when the train came to a halt.  Seventy years ago, at that very spot it would have been normal for the doors to open but the Eighteenth Street Station was now abandoned.  But the doors did open and one of the Santas exited.  This one appeared to be better dressed with a tailored look and real boots, rather than cardboard tubes about his shins, and a real beard.  Alastair and Tom watched but felt that no one else noticed the unusual event.  When they looked at the platform, it was well lighted, and full of people just past the line of columns with the black on white enamel signs of a century ago proclaiming "18 St."  Well, perhaps people was the wrong term for they were all in either red jackets and green tights or green jackets and red tights with pointy shoes and floppy pointed hats.

The Santa who had gotten off spoke to several elves and three of them pulled Alastair and Tom off the train much like Scrooge was taken by his nighttime visitors.  They yelled but the others on the train continued to read, talk or study little screens as the doors closed and the train moved on.  Two minutes later they were in an office.  The Santa was seated behind a big desk with a name plate: "Mr. Kris Kringle, Pres." and several elves were running in and out with papers.

Suddenly Alastair found himself standing in front of the desk with his hat in his hands being scolded for being obnoxious and rude to the assistant Clauses and even the one and only Mr. Kringle himself.  Alastair did not feel like a thirty-seven year old father of two in a well-paying, highly respected position but like a ten-year-old boy being scolded by his principal in PS 31 a quarter century ago.  Thomas watched all this with the large eyes and ears of a little pitcher.  He could sense both the power of the lecturing (glad that it was not directed at him) and that his father was really uncomfortable because of it.© YLeeCoyote

He watched closely as this Santa got up from behind his desk and sat on a simple chair to the side.  He was a big man but not fat.  He was like a football player rather than those overweight suburbanites he saw in the streets today.  "Come here, Alastair." he commanded.  And Alastair obeyed.  He continued to obey as he was told to remove his outer garments until he was just in his shirt and trousers and standing just to the side of Mr. Kringle.  Tom could hardly believe his eyes as Santa opened his father's belt and trousers, which fell to the floor.  Then he yanked the underpants down and pulled Alastair over his lap like he was just a little boy.  Tom knew exactly how all this felt from personal experience.

Tom was totally entranced by what was happening.  He never had watched anyone get spanked although he had discussed it his with several of his friends and also compared the results the day after.  Also, he had only seen his father's behind briefly when they changed at the beach.  Of course, it looked huge but that was because he was used to seeing only other boys' naked behinds.  It was also hairier, like some men's chests that he had seen at the beach.  He intensified his watching as Mr. Kringle's hand delivered the first spank.  There was the spank sound and then a pink hand print formed on his dad's butt. «Awesome!» he thought.  The flesh depressed and there was a wave after the hand connected and again when it raised up again.  Tom wondered if his ass behaved the same way.

He could not take his eyes off his father's butt as Mr. Kringle delivered spank after hard spank.  Thomas realized that he had a terrible conflict – he wanted his father to be strong and macho and not cry but to take the spanking like a man – yet he (perhaps perversely) wanted to see his father cry (just like he did).  Tom continued to pay very close attention as each spank changed the appearance of his father's tail.  Gradually the hand prints blurred into rose colored areas and then into red areas with each additional spank.  His dad's discomfort was obviously increasing.

In a couple of minutes it became clear that Mr. Kringle had prevailed for his father began to cry and then even to bawl.  Tom made a mental note of this to tell his father when he was ridiculed for crying after a spanking.  When the spanking ended, the crying and butt-rubbing Alastair was told to stand in the corner with his hands on his head to contemplate his misdeeds.  Tom was definitely confused about what was happening.

After Mr. Kringle returned to his seat behind the desk, he turned his attention to Thomas.  "Well, Thomas, what do you have to say for yourself?" he asked.

"I was wrong, Mr. Kringle, about your existence.  Please forgive me."  Tom quickly extrapolated from that.  If Santa was real, then what about those famous and notorious lists and those middle of the night deliveries?  "Er, um, er, Sir, am I on the good list or … the other?"  Santa definitely cracked a smile as he thumbed through a small book and studied a page.

"Well, Thomas, it's not a black and white situation.  Your record shows several transgressions;  some of which were not dealt with."

Tom knew that there was not much time until that special day.  "Is there something I can do to fix the record, Sir?"  He hesitated and added: "Some sort of repentance?"  He hoped his father was not listening.

"What do you need to repent for, Thomas?"

The boy hesitated for a bit and glanced at his corner-time doing father.  Santa immediately picked up on this.  A clear plastic thing slid out of the wall and surrounded his father and Santa said: "Your father cannot hear or see what happens now, Thomas."

He wasn't sure what was on the list.  "Skipping school twice?"  Santa did not seem to react.  "Sneaking into the movies?"  Still no reaction.  "Well, I really didn't hurt Sally when I pushed her."  He saw Santa still studying his record and then the idea came to him.  "Perhaps a spanking, Mr. Kringle?  It is said that spanking clears the slate and that is what you did to my father."

"Yes, that would do nicely, Thomas."  Santa returned to the spanking chair and Tom knew what he had to do and hoped that he could do it like a man.  He removed his coat and stepped over to Santa's side.  Then he opened his belt and jeans and pushed them down.  He hesitated and then pushed his underpants down also before laying down over the big man's lap.  When Santa took hold of his waist, he winced knowing what was about to follow.  «I must be brave» he thought to himself.  «I must not be a wimp.»  «I will take my punishment bravely.»

The first spank landed and Tom knew why his father had reacted so much.  He also reacted with a loud howl of pain.  Spank after spank quickly followed.  It did not take long before Tom knew that his bottom was on fire and was crying.  It was not the most severe spanking that Tom had gotten, but it certainly affected him the most as was evident by his thoughts when he was in the corner.

A little later the two spanked boys were allowed to pull up their pants and were sent on their way.  A train stopped for them and they boarded it to continue on their journey home.  Neither of them knew what to say so they remained silent with their own thoughts until they reached their station.

As they walked to their house, Tom spoke.  "Father, was that real?  My butt hurts like it was but everything was so strange."

Alastair could not help but to give his own hot bottom a rub.  "I'm not really sure, son.  It feels like it was real but it could not have been.  Eighteenth Street was an abandoned stop before I was born.  It probably would not be a good idea to talk about this to anyone."

"Yes, Father."

* * * * * * * * * *

It was the big day; the presents had all been opened.  Tom was most satisfied with what he had gotten.  Not everything on his list but enough of it that he was satisfied.  He knew that his parents could not get him everything.  It was only when he got the boxes back to his room and checked that he hadn't lost any parts that he discovered a small box.  At first he thought was for his father since it was just the size of a tie box but it was clearly labeled with his name.  He opened it and found a little leather paddle.  It had "Thomas" stamped on one side and "Alastair" on the other, along with something about 'made by elves'.  There was not any card indicating the source.  He knew for sure that he hadn't asked for this.  Strange that his parents hadn't made sure that he had opened all his presents.  This would require further investigation.

A little later his father dropped in to check how he was doing with his new toys and he showed him the extra present.  His father was just as perplexed as he was and he denied that he had gotten it.  It wasn't clear who realized it first, but they quickly agreed that it must have been from Mr. Kringle.  "Well, Tom, I guess he is telling us that this is the way that you should be punished.  Maybe it is better than grounding for you and you have said that you're getting too old for the traditional OTK hand spanking ."

"Maybe, Dad, but it sure will pack a mean whack."

"Then it would be best if you were good." joked his father.

As his father turned to leave, Tom spoke again.  "Dad, I think that should go for you also.  Your name is on the other side and we know that he doesn't think you're too old to be spanked."

The End

© Copyright A.I.L., December 19, 2007

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