This story is intended for adults only. Among other assorted plot elements, it depicts a preteen boy and girl being spanked by Santa Claus. The real McCoy one – not one those imitation mall ones.
If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
This story is pure fantasy, written for the enjoyment of adults. Behavior depicted in this story may in real life be illegal or considered by society to be abusive, harmful, unacceptable or undesirable. The author neither advocates, condones nor personally engages in any such behavior.
This story, as is all fiction, is fantasy and not reality. The author does recognize the difference between the two. Please do understand that some of us, including the author, enjoy such fantasy material.
Compliments and constructive criticism are always welcome.
"This is terrible," said a very angry Santa, loudly slapping his hand on the desk, "absolutely terrible!"
"Now, now, dear," soothed Mrs. Claus, "calm down, it's not that bad."
"Yes it is," snapped Santa, "yes it is!"
All twelve elves in the crowded executive office cringed, Santa hadn't been in so foul a mood in centuries.
"You're over reacting," ventured the not-so-jolly St. Nick's better half.© YLeeCoyote
"Am not," pouted Santa, just like a naughty little boy. "What's with these modern permissive parents, anyway?
"What in heaven's name are you carrying on about?" asked the exasperated Mrs. Claus.
"This," exploded he sometimes known as Kris Kringle, pointing to two bound computer print outs laying on his desk top.
"So, what's the problem?" responded she almost never known as Mrs. Kringle. "They're the reports of who's been good and who's been naughty little boys and girls."
"That's exactly the problem," Santa slowly and carefully explained. "Used to be the good list was much larger than the naughty list. But ever since that Dr. Spock fellow wrote his book, the trend's been reversing. And the current mania for that political correctness nonsense has made it even worse. Not to mention that BS that the little dears need to find and set their own limits."
"Well, times do change," Mrs. Santa tried soothing again.
"Not for the better!" exclaimed the red suited President and CEO of North Pole Enterprises. "Just look at those reports."
Everyone could see the problem. The report labeled Who's Been Naughty was at least ten times as thick as the Who's Been Good volume.
"It's killing our business," added the white bearded boss man.
"I have people standing around twiddling their thumbs," confirmed the Elf Vice President in charge of the Toys and Games Department. "I had to send many out to the mines, for goodness sakes."
"Same here," collaborated the EVP of the Electronic Games Department.
"Ditto," announced the Sports Equipment EVP.
"Well, I need all those extra hands," said the EVP, Coal Mining. "I have everyone on double shifts, and I still don't think we're going to meet this year's quota."
"The Internet's already done my group in," declared the Sound and Video Recordings EVP. "Darn those MP3's and MPG's anyway."
"It's well out of hand," the Planning EVP needlessly stated. No one was quite sure whether he meant the Internet or the current degree of childhood naughtiness, or both. He was, however, one of the few elves without a home computer or two or three. "It's not our fault," defended the always defensive Engineering department EVP.
"Nor ours, but we'll be glad to look into it," eagerly declared the always eager Research and Development EVP.
"We merely tabulate the data, we don't generate it," weaseled that weasel the EVP for Administration.
"My computers don't lie," confidently stated the always over confident Computer and Information Systems EVP.
"Garbage in, garbage out," muttered Administration. Admin and CIS did not like each other, had been feuding for years. It was a territorial, power and prestige thing.
Wisely, the Books, Magazines and Publishing EVP had remained quiet. Typically, her mind was off somewhere else, in some imaginative world unto itself. Actually, she was dreaming of how she could expand her publishing empire onto the Internet. Surely she could wrestle a goodly share of the kiddie market from those Disney and Nickelodeon upstarts. In the good old days, before Internet, before broadcasting, before mass retailing, before hosts of other modern not-so-convenient conveniences, North Pole Publishing had dominated the market. She wanted that domination back.
"Ho, Ho, Ho," boomed a once more jolly Santa, ending Books' woolgathering and everyone else's bickering, "I have a plan."
"Good for you," encouraged his considerably brightened wife.
"Toys, Electronics, Recordings," President Claus addressed the three Vice Presidents, "call your people back from the mines. You're going to be busy, overtime busy!"
"Yes, sir," responded three relieved EVP's. Their jobs were safe for now. The big guy always found a way to save the day.
"Books," congenially instructed Santa, "gear up for massive production. Juvenile, teen and adult press runs, many illustrations. Largest first print runs in our history."
"Yes, sir!" Books enthusiastically replied. Her empire, with just a few words from fearless leader, had suddenly grown in size and importance. Santa had a plan, and he couldn't do it without her! Well, okay, he said he needed those male dolts from Toys, Electronics and Recordings. But everyone could see she was the key, after all, everyone knew her department made and distributed the gifts that mattered the most, that had the most impact, that lasted well beyond a brief initial fascination. She had the power of the printed word!
* * * * * * * * * *
As on countless other times on this night of nights, in a blink of an eye Santa suddenly appeared near a gaily decorated tree in some family's home. To be precise, he was in the home of the Barton family. Mom, Dad, eleven-year-old Clyde and nine-year-old Bonnie.
Bonnie and Clyde were among the worse of the worse on this year's naughty list. So bad, in fact, that their names were not only listed in bold type but also in ALL CAPITALS followed by TRIPLE EXCLAMATION POINTS!!! You couldn't get much naughtier than that.
Santa sighed. He remembered when British children were for the most part well behaved little gentlemen and ladies. But now, with the fear of the cane and the slipper removed, fear of the consequences of misbehavior had also disappeared.
"Ho, ho, ho," chuckled Santa, "what do we have here?" He let out a belly laugh, belly shaking like a bowl of jelly, as he pulled out of his bottomless bag two pairs of Santa's Spanking Slippers (registered trademark of Santa's Spank Shops, coming to a mall near you very soon, thank you very much.) Blue ones for Clyde, pink ones, of course, for Bonnie.
"Ah, ha," perfect said the Jolly one, retrieving two ribbon tied canes from his bag of goodies. These were also products of Santa's Spank Shops, or SSS for short. He sure hoped that those folks on that spanking discussion newsgroup with the same initials wouldn't be too upset with his appropriation of their shorthand notation. After all, it was for a very good cause, the turning of many a young naughty bottom red, Christmas red that is!
There sure had been some great stories at the SSS group. Well, when they weren't busy flaming and trolling back and forth about charters, moderators, filters and other assorted distractions. Too bad they were beyond the age of his jurisdiction, otherwise he'd show their bare bottoms a thing or two. He would just have to leave their fate to that other red suited gentleman, the one that came from a place much warmer than the North Pole!
Santa rubbed his gloved hands in glee, remembering all the great spanking sites he, R & D, and some of the other EVP's had spent the past several months surfing. All in the name of research, of course. Planning wouldn't have anything to do with it, muttering something about "newfangled doom of us all." Toys, that pervert, wouldn't stay focused on the research, he kept wanting to read stories and look at pictures about adults being spanked, rather than sticking to those dealing with naughty children.
Now Books, good old Books, she took to the whole thing with a vengeance, an almost scary vengeance. The nastier the story, the nastier the picture, the more she wanted the scenario included in her newest publishing endeavors. She was particularly enamored of some of the things that nefarious cretin Nialos Leaning dredged up from who knew what dreadful depths. And that Y. Lee Coyote, boy, did he know how to treat miscreant young teenagers. No one at North Pole Enterprises would had thought of shaving as a punishment!
Recordings was almost as enthused as Books. They both insisted on personally supervising every photo shoot, every drawing posing session, every video filming, "to make sure everything was real and nothing faked." To be fair, the young models and actors absolutely hated what was happening to their bare bottoms. But, this is war, mused Santa, and in war sacrifices need to be made.
"Good, there they are," said the man in the red suit as he pulled two books and two videos from his bag. The profusely illustrated books were from Santa's Spank Shop's Bare Bottom Brigade series. They, in an age appropriate manner, told the ongoing saga of a group of neighborhood youngsters, ages 6-14, who just couldn't manage to keep their bare bottoms from being spanked and spanked again and again.
The videos were live action versions of the books. For the life of him, Santa couldn't understand why that kid from The Phantom Menace and the kid from Sixth Sense had refused to appear in these sure to be smash hits. That was selfish of them, what did a sore, red and bare behind matter when it came to stardom and helping a good cause? Wait till those two brats saw what he left them this year!
"Ho, ho, ho," Santa almost giggled, "mustn't forget the CD's." The one with the Brittany clone for Clyde, the Hanson sound alike for Bonnie. These contained certain to be top ten hits such as Red Hot Bottoms Tonight, It's Spanking Time, Bare Bottom Corner Time, and Santa's personal favorite, Privates on Parade, done to a rousing Sousa like march.
"Can't forget the matching music videos," muttered Santa to himself. "It better be just me here, or else," Santa said to no one in particular and to the two little peekers he knew were hiding behind the banister. Santa didn't take kindly to naughty children peeking when they should be sleeping. Many a red bottom tonight already attested to that fact. He would deal with his audience in a minute or two.
"Oh, might as well give them the video games, too," said Santa loud enough for the Barton duo to hear. Electronics was very proud of these games. They were very, very addictive. And very, very, very painful. They all shared a common objective of spanking the "naughty" kids. But every time a player accumulated another three thousand points, the game suspended. It would only resume after the player had received a sound bare bottom spanking, the higher the total score, the severer the spanking. The parent or other adult spanker afterwards had to call a special SSS (NPE, not NG) toll free number to get the restart code. And woe unto cheaters trying to get coded without being spanked!
"Almost forgot," the chief of North Pole Enterprises announced loud enough for the two peekers to hear, "the lumps of coal." He placed one lump in each carefully hung socking. "Ah, what the heck, we have plenty of this stuff this year," he commented, filling each sock to overflowing with shiny black nuggets.
"You two, come here now!" Santa not so loudly hollered at Bonnie and Clyde. Several minutes ago, when they had sneaked down, they had been quiet as church mice, but Santa had heard them anyhow. Thanks in no small part to the assisted hearing device devised by "P" over in Special Equipment. The fantastical fantasticals that "P" came up with made James Bond's "Q" look like a rank amateur, a two bit second rate one at that.
"Yes sir," they both said, making their way down the stairs. Not that they wanted to, mind you, but some strange compulsion was forcing them. The compulsion was nothing more than some Santa magic, enhanced by another "P" invention. Soon enough, a shaking Bonnie and Clyde were standing mere feet away from the big man dressed in red.
"Why aren't you two in bed asleep?" demanded Santa.
"Well, uh," mumbled Clyde, "we weren't tired."
"Try again," urged the not-so-pleased nor saintly St. Nick. He was getting real pissed at these two!
"It was his idea," tattled Bonnie.
"Was not!" retorted her brother.
"Was so!" again repeated the younger sibling. "You said there was no Santa! Liar!"
"Am not, he's a fake!"
"Enough!" roared Santa, again in a surprisingly low voice. Didn't want to wake up any real church mice, nor any parents, for that matter.
Both children stood frozen in place. More Santa magic, he had frozen time. How else did you suppose he managed visiting all those houses the world over in just one not so short night?
Unfreezing the moment, Santa declared, "You've both been very naughty by spying on me instead of staying in bed."
"Yes, Santa," they reluctantly compellingly responded.
"How are naughty children punished?"
"They're grounded," said Clyde.
"No television," said Bonnie.
"Wrong and wrong," said Santa. "Try again."
"Loss of allowance," said older brother.
"Sent to their room," said younger sister, hopefully.
"Wrong again!" merrily said the real Santa. "They get spanked."
"Spanked, you can't do that!" shouted Clyde.
"No, you can't," Bonnie supported her brother.
"Oh, yes I can," replied Santa, "on your bare bottoms no less."
"No way," both siblings shouted as if one.
"Yes, way," laughed Santa, snapping his fingers. Suddenly both children were naked, bare as the day they were born. More Santa magic, again helped by a "P" concoction.
Small hands quickly covered what differentiated Bonnie as a girl and Clyde as a boy. "We'll have none of that covering up, please," said Santa, again snapping his fingers. In a flash, the two children found their hands cuffed behind their backs. At least Santa had used soft furry cuffs, not those horrid police ones.
"Hey," shouted Bonnie, "let my hands go, boys aren't supposed to see my stuff."
"And girls aren't supposed to see what I have," complained her brother.
"Well," said Santa, "too bad. Lots of people are going to see you just like you are now."
"What," both the naughty ones asked in perfect harmony, mouths gaping open.
"You're staying naked," explained Santa, "tonight, tomorrow, and the next day."
"You're kidding," hoped Clyde.
"Yeah, you're kidding," echoed Bonnie.
"No I'm not," answered a now very jolly Santa. Paybacks were so wonderful. "Anything you try putting on before time's up will just disappear, poof, like that, forever and forever."
"Like our pajamas just did," guessed Bonnie.
"Correct you are little miss," agreed Mr. Claus. "Now, on with the spankings!"
Somehow, he didn't know how, Clyde was suddenly over Santa's lap. Getting his bare tail wailed with a very wicked hairbrush. Stinger after stinger stung onto his behind, eliciting ever louder, ever more persistent crying. All fine music to Santa's finely tuned ears. Legs kicking, eyes tearing, mouth crying, snot running, bottom reddening, Clyde was indeed one sorry little naughty boy. But still the spanking went on, and on, and on. After all, Santa had all the time in the world, he could make the night last as long as he wanted.
Finally, when Clyde sported a bottom as red as Santa's suit, when Clyde's crying had turned to screaming, when his legs were too tired to move, Santa stopped.
"That was for peeking," said Clyde's white bearded nemesis. "And this is for saying I'm a fake." Once more Santa's very nasty hairbrush assaulted the naughty boy's bare behind. Over and over, varying between hard and harder. "Do you believe I'm real now?"
"Yes, Santa, I do," Clyde incoherently sobbed out.
"You what?" asked the jolly one, still spanking the bright red behind.
"I believe, I believe!" desperately screamed the desperately crying youngster.
"Are you sure?" the untiring Santa inquired, continuing his tenderizing of the little boy's bare bottom.
"I am, I am," screamed out Clyde, louder then before. "I really do, I do believe!"
"Glad to hear it," said Santa, stopping the spanking. Promptly, Clyde found himself standing in a corner, facing the room, the better to see Bonnie get a repeat of his recent bottom blistering. Which she did, with the very same results.
Santa left the two sobbing little ones with the glowing behinds facing opposite corners. Where they stayed for the next hour, while he visited many more tens of millions of homes. And gave out two grosses of a gross more spankings. Thank goodness "P" had included her "muscle assistant" dohickey thing-a-my-jiggy in this year's suit.
As the clock chimed the end of the hour, Santa reappeared in the Barton living room. He quickly released Bonnie and Clyde from the cuffs, sending them off to bed. To which they gratefully and rapidly retreated. If they were under the covers, nothing important was showing to the world. But to their great dismay, as soon as they pulled the covers past their privates, the covers disappeared, poof, just like that, just like Santa said.
Downstairs, Santa smiled as he finished up. He left Mr. and Mrs. Barton a copy of his soon to be best seller, written under a pseudonym of course, "Spank Them Good!" And its accompanying video, as a visual instructional aid. He enjoyed the cookies and milk that had been left out for him as he wrote a note to the parents. A note that explained what had happened and that two bright bare Christmas red bottoms were expected to be lighting the household up for the next two days, without fail!
Streaking back toward the North Pole, Santa was very, very pleased with himself. The night had gone extremely well, much better than he had expected. Many, many families were about to rediscover the efficacy of a good old fashioned bare bottom spanking. Many, many a child, 1,592,524 to be exact, had tonight returned to bed with a red behind, courtesy of Kris Kringle. That family with eight kids, all slinking about, had been a real challenge. Whoever said "eight was enough" didn't know what they were talking about. Eight was more than enough!
The world was wonderful, everything was coming up roses, his ship was coming in, the tide was turning. His campaign was bringing parents to their senses even on this first morning after. Slowly but surely, then faster and faster, the youth would be put back on the right track, on the straight and narrow.
And, most importantly, North Pole Enterprises and its many jobs had been saved. Not the least of which, of course, was his own.
Exuberantly, one Mr. Santa Claus, aka Kris Kringle, aka St. Nicholas, CEO and President of North Pole Enterprises, shouted out, "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to one and all!"
© Copyright by Nialos Leaning, all rights reserved. Permission for noncommercial free (no charge) electronic distribution and personal use reproduction of this story is hereby granted. All such distribution, re-posting and reproduction must be without alteration of this story in any way, must include this entire copyright notice, and must retain the disclaimers at the beginning in their entireties; December 23, 1999
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Last updated: September 15, 2023