When I say everything changed, I mean everything changed. Not only did we teleport back to my house, but, apparently, Santa could manipulate time as well. It was no longer the pitch dark of a cold winter night, but the chilly crisp dew of morning could be seen on the trees outside my windows. What the hell?
One minute I was enjoying a ham dinner by a fireplace, in a killer little black dress, and the next, I was back in my bedroom, dressed in a ridiculous pair of pajamas covered in little teddy bears dressed as elves, complete with little elf-shoe slippers that curled up at the ends, pigtail braids, and a fluffy velvet hat, and it was bright outside. What in the ever-loving hell?
And where was Santa? He had left me emotionally wrung out with those letters, gotten me to agree to participate in yet more of his ridiculous antics, teleported me home and into this ridiculous getup, and then disappeared?
Oh hell no. “I should have said no,” I grumbled to Dixie who was currently oblivious to all the craziness around her. What was I thinking? I mentally berated myself. Even if he really was Santa, he couldn’t do anything to change the past. I’m in my thirties, not some six-year-old child. I don’t need a Daddy. I was heated now, stomping around the room with such fervor, I nearly tripped over my own feet, thanks to the ridiculous slippers I was wearing. Shrieking, I sat on the edge of my bed and ripped them off my feet, hurling them across the room with a satisfied grin. That was slightly better, I thought, as they hit the mirror on my closet door. I caught a glimpse of myself and rolled my eyes. I looked ridiculous. Flinging off the hat, I went for the braids next. Carefully undoing the perfect plaits, I fluffed my hair and pulled it back into my favorite messy bun. The next thing to go had to be these ridiculous pajamas.
Already feeling more like myself, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my dresser, and rummaged through my favorite lounge clothes, pulling out a pair of yoga pants and a shirt from a local bar that had a drawing of two monkeys doing it. That was more like it. Far more apropos of a thirty-one-year-old professional woman.
I was thinking maybe a shower before I changed, to wash off the tears I had cried and the stench of ridiculousness I was currently feeling. I grabbed a fresh bra and panties from my top drawer and padded toward my adjoining bathroom. I shut the door behind me and had put my hand on the shower faucet when I heard him bellow my name. Well, my name, and that ridiculous nickname he insisted on calling me. He announced gleefully that breakfast was ready.
So, he was here. And apparently, he had cooked breakfast. What the hell?
I contemplated ignoring him and seeing how long it would take him to disappear, but curiosity got the better of me again. Exactly what did he have planned anyway? I had to know. I had agreed to some Christmas magic Daddy weekend thing, and I was going to stick it out.
At least for the weekend. Come Monday, I was changing the locks, putting bars on the window, and figuring out some way to proof the place against magical mystery men who seemed to pop in and out at will.
He called for me again, and I sighed, turned off the faucet, and padded down the hall. I was in too far to quit now.
Watching her emotional reaction as I had read her forgotten letters out loud had almost been my undoing. Getting through dinner without throwing them down on the table and pulling her into my lap had taken every ounce of strength and self-control I currently possessed, but I had needed that kind of emotionally gutted reaction from her. It told me that my plan, however unconventional, was on the right track. When I decided we would have a Daddy weekend, the idea had touched my soul and left me feeling warm and protective. By the time I had been through planning out details before our date, I was sure that I wanted it more than she needed it. But she did need it. Of that I was certain. That desperate little girl inside her was alive and well, and as soon as I got through the tough outer shell, the rest would be like feeding carrots to a reindeer.
I sipped my coffee as I flipped the last of the pancakes then turned around to survey my handiwork. Something about actually cooking the breakfast, instead of making it magically appear, was satisfying. I hoped my little elf appreciated it once she recovered from the time manipulation and switcheroo I had pulled on her. “Crystal! It’s time for breakfast, my little elf!” I hollered down the short hallway, keeping my eyes on the breakfast table.
The table was full of festive decorations and delicious breakfast offerings. I had whipped up a huge stack of fluffy pancakes, a pile of crisp bacon, and half a dozen perfectly prepared eggs. And, of course, hot chocolate with tiny Christmas tree marshmallows. It looked like my mother’s table every Christmas afternoon when my father finally woke up after sleeping off his long night of deliveries. The only problem was the rest of my decorations from my first visit had disappeared. I had known they would, of course, but it was still disappointing. My little brat had boxed everything up and put it out with the trash, but a simple snap brought the boxes all back to me. It actually worked better this way because now we could decorate together. It was part of the fun.
“What the fuck?”
I cringed when I heard the vulgar language coming from behind me. “That will have to be the first lesson you learn, my little elf. Christmas and cursing do not go together. We don’t use that kind of vulgar language at the North Pole. If you must cuss, say things like son of a nutcracker, or jingle balls, or cringle crap.”
“Cringle crap? Jingle balls? You’re out of your motherfucking mind.”
The thought of spanking her sexy backside again had my cock twitching with excitement, but the juxtaposition of her filthy mouth and the adorable little Christmas pj’s I had picked out melted that fantasy from my mind, and I was back in Daddy mode. She looked adorably cozy covered from neck to toe in teddy-bear elves.
“I may be out of my merry fruitcaking mind, but you, little elf, are getting a spanking. Right after we eat.”
Her eyes widened as she took in the breakfast table.
“Oh God. I’d hoped it was a dream, but it’s like every time I wake up it gets worse and worse,” she mumbled as she made her way to the coffeepot, turning to glare at me when she found it empty. “All this and you couldn’t have made coffee? What the hell is wrong with you?” She shook the empty pot in my direction.
“Actually, I did make coffee. I made it and then I drank it. Your hot cocoa is on the table.”
“I don’t drink hot cocoa. I am not a child. I want coffee. I need coffee to deal with life in general, but with all this,” she hollered, flailing her arms at the table, “I’m going to need the coffee strong as shit with some Bailey’s Irish Cream topping it off.”
“What kind of Daddy would I be if I allowed my little girl to drink coffee or alcohol?” I questioned, shaking my head at her as I inwardly chortled at her coffee-craving rant. This was going to be far more difficult than I had originally anticipated. That just meant it would be far more rewarding as well. “You need to stop cussing at me, little elf, or there will be consequences.” I quirked my brow, subtly reminding her of our agreement.
She rubbed her temples. “I cannot with you right now. This is too much. I went thirty years without a father. I do not need one now!” She balled her fists at her sides and stomped her foot before turning around and opening the cupboard above her. “Where is my coffee?” she snapped.
I crossed my arms and steeled myself for her tantrum to reach epic proportions. “It’s put away. You will not be having any coffee this weekend, little elf. You agreed to give me the weekend, and that is my decision. No coffee. Not now, and not later.”
“Fuck you and the fucking reindeer you rode in on. I’m an adult, and I can have coffee if I want to. Give it back right now!” she shrieked, stomping her feet like an overtired toddler.
I unbuttoned the sleeves of my flannel shirt and rolled them up to my elbows as I listened to her continue her tirade about domineering fake Santas taking over her life. I was about to show her exactly how Santa felt about her behavior, but I gave her one more chance to redeem herself. “Crystal, you have already earned a spanking for your language and your behavior. And now it will be happening sooner rather than later.”
She stopped yelling long enough to pick up a coffee mug and hurl it in my direction. I caught it in midair and set it on the table between us before advancing on her. She could see from my expression that I meant business, and she quickly backed away, her eyes wide.
“Don’t you dare!” she yelled as she backed away as quickly as I advanced. Before she could run, I grabbed her arm. She turned to punch me, but I ducked and threw her over my shoulder. Carrying her back into the bedroom, I peppered her backside with some warning swats. “This is not how I wanted to start our special weekend, little girl, but your behavior is deplorable, and Daddy does not appreciate it.”
“You are not my father!” she yelled, kicking her feet in the air and slamming her fists into my back.
As soon as we were in her room, I sat down on the bed and set her on her feet in front of me. Keeping a tight hold on her hands, I channeled my own father and gave her the sternest look I could muster. “You’re right. I’m not your father. I wish I could bring him back for you, but I cannot. However, you agreed to let me be your Daddy for the weekend to introduce you to the magic of Christmas, did you not?”
She tugged her arms, testing my hold. “You tricked me. You didn’t tell me about any of this.”
“I also didn’t tell you I was taking you on my sleigh or any of the other things that occurred last night, and you didn’t complain.”
“That was different.” She pouted.
“Was it? You had no control of where we went, what we did, or what we ate. I took care of everything just as I have this morning.” Her resolve was melting. She wanted this badly, I could tell, but she was having a hard time letting go of her control. A spanking would help to get her in the mindset I needed her to be in to get the most out of everything I had planned for us this weekend.
“But you took my coffee.” Her arguments were getting weaker by the second, and her shoulders sagged.
“Coffee isn’t good for little girls.”
“But I’m not a little girl.”
“You are my little girl this weekend,” I said firmly, determined to stop the coffee argument before it got too out of hand. “I am your Daddy, and I am going to take care of you as such. I’m going to spoil you thoroughly. We are going to do all of the things you ever dreamed about doing with your Daddy and then some.” I let go of one of her hands, smiling when she did not try to run again, and pulled the folded letters out of my pocket. Holding them up between us I threw out my Hail Mary. If she was still reluctant to continue, I wasn’t sure how I would move forward. “The little girl from these letters still lives in here.” I tapped her chest with the papers. “And she deserves to experience the magic of Christmas with a loving Daddy, doesn’t she?”
I sent up a silent thank you when Crystal sighed and nodded, tears filling her eyes.
“Will you let me be that Daddy, little elf?”
What are you doing, Crystal? Bail now! Tell him he’s nuts, and you want nothing to do with any of this! “Yes.” No!
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He put the letters next to him on the bed and pulled me into his lap. Why I wrapped my arms around him and cuddled in tight, I will never know, but I did and it felt…right.
“I have completely lost my mind,” I mumbled into his chest, and he chuckled.
“Not so, little elf. Now, let’s handle our business, and then we will eat breakfast. You are going to need lots of energy for all of the activities I have planned.”
“What business?” I peered up at him suspiciously, but I was pretty sure I knew exactly what he was referring to.
“I told you. You’ve earned yourself a spanking.”
“I hoped that was an empty threat.”
“Daddies don’t make empty threats, little one. They make promises, and they keep them. And my promise to you is this: You are going to learn about the magic of Christmas either on my knee or over it, little elf.”
I groaned and held his neck tighter when I felt him try to lift me off his knee. “I don’t want a spanking.” I faintly remembered the sting from my unexpected first trip over his knee.
“You should have thought about that before you threw a tantrum.” He peeled my hands from behind his neck and stood me in front of him once more. “My little elf does not say naughty words. She does not demand things after Daddy has already said no. She certainly does not throw things at her Daddy. If any of those things happen again, this spanking will feel like a holly-jolly love tap, understand?”
I covered my face in embarrassment. I had done all of those things, but in my defense, I was uncaffeinated. “I wasn’t thinking because I didn’t have coffee.”
“Well, you need to learn to control that temper and that mouth. Clean up your language, or I will clean it up for you, with a bar of soap.”
Covering my mouth, I shook my head vehemently. He had no idea what he was asking. I’d been cussing since I was ten. My mom had the mouth of a sailor, and she never cared much about it. How the heck was I going to quit?
“This will leave you with a nice reminder to watch your mouth,” Yule said with a chuckle as he pulled me over his knee. He had done it again, I noted. I was going to have to be very careful around this man as it seemed he could read my mind.
Once he settled me over his knee, reality set in. I was going to be spanked like an errant child. My only experience with spanking was the abrupt assault on my backside that marked the moment we met.
“Wait!” I yelled a split second before his hand came crashing down on my pajama-covered bottom. “Let’s talk about this!”
He didn’t stop, didn’t even pause. His hand fell hard against my rear five more times before I even got the words out.
He did however, address my protest. “There is nothing to talk about, little elf. You agreed not once, but twice to have me as your Daddy for the weekend, did you not?”
“Yes! But…” Spanks continued to rain across the center of my upturned bottom, and I gasped for air as I tried to push words out between the stinging blows.
“As your Daddy, I have certain duties. I plan to love and spoil you with a weekend you will never forget, but I also plan to hold you accountable to the rules I would hold a little girl of my own to. For the remainder of the weekend, in order for this to work, you must consider yourself no older than six, and I must treat you as such.”
He paused then, and began to rub my backside, which already felt tender and bruised from his ministrations.
“What? That’s preposterous! I’m not six, I’m thirty-one!”
“It’s called age play, or regression, depending on who you ask, and it’s actually a very effective form of therapy,” Santa informed me matter-of-factly.
“Grrrr.”
“I can see that it hasn’t started to work yet.” His hands left my bottom, and I peered over my shoulder to see him tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think,” he mused, “that if I had my own little girl of six, and I was trying to teach her a lesson that wasn’t quite sinking in, I would make sure it did, by way of a sound bare-bottom spanking.”
I watched in horror as he reached for the waistband of my ridiculous pajama bottoms.
Without waiting for my consent, or my argument, he pulled them down, and my panties with them, exposing my bare bottom. I gasped as the cool air from the overhead fan hit my sore flesh, and the breeze did things to my girly bits I’m not even going to talk about. How mortifying.
He lifted his hand once more, and I screamed. It was the wrong thing to do. His expression grew hard, and he began to spank with a renewed vigor. It hurt so much more on the bare.
“As per your letter, little one, let me remind you, ‘A daddy can be stern sometimes if he needs to be, and punish me if I’ve been naughty. I’ll try to be extra good so he doesn’t have a reason to. Emily’s daddy says daddies don’t like to punish their little girls but sometimes they must.’”
Every single word he recited back to me was punctuated with a swat, and each swat felt harder than the one before until I couldn’t take it any longer. His words combined with the stinging pain of his hard hand across my bare ass broke me. My entire body sagged over his knee, and I cried. I cried harder than I had in years. This man, whoever he was, was doing things to my mind and body that I simply did not appreciate. Yet, I craved it. As angry as I was, and as ridiculous and unbelievable as this all seemed, I wanted everything he was offering. I wanted him to be my Daddy. I wanted him to hold me accountable. I wanted everything he promised me.
I’m not sure when the spanking stopped, but when I finally caught my breath, I noticed he was stroking me tenderly, his cold hands a balm against my heated backside.
“You’re a good girl, little one. Daddy is going to take good care of you, I promise.”
“O-o-okay,” I agreed between sobs. “I-I-I’m sorry for being s-s-so bad. I d-d-don’t even want coffee any m-m-more.”
I could hear him trying not to laugh as he lifted me onto his knee and hugged me tight. “This was never about coffee, little elf. This is about control. You need to learn to give me the reins for a while.”
I giggled at the irony of his statement. “How come you always get to drive the sleigh?”
“Because I’m the Daddy, and you are the pampered little girl. Now, are you ready to have some breakfast?”
“No, my butt hurts.”
“Well, I would hope so. You took a good long spanking that you will hopefully feel all day. I don’t want to have to do that again. But your butt hurting will not keep you from filling your stomach.” He stood me up and righted my pants and panties. “Now, let’s go eat, and then we will go get us a tree.”
I held back the groan about the tree but just barely. He was going to make it look like Christmas threw up in my house again, except this time he was going to make me help him do it.