Everyone knows about the Santa tradition. He has two lists: one for the nice boys and one for the naughty. The nice ones get a present, the naughty boys get their bottoms spanked.
I have a naughty boys’ list and every year I dish out spankings. Not to the kids, of course, that wouldn’t be proper. My list is all adult men.
Let me explain.
Every winter for years I have a job playing one of the Santas at the grotto in a big department store in Brocklehurst. One night, a few years ago, I was at a house party with friends and I wore the Santa costume just for a laugh. Naturally, before long we all got to talking about Santa’s naughty list. Many drinks had been taken by the time Shirly said that her boyfriend Frank was a naughty boy and needed to go across Santa’s knee. Frank was somewhere in his twenties. Everyone roared with laughter when she listed all Frank’s misdeeds. They were mostly domestic stuff: not doing the Hoovering or washing up. Leaving his underpants on the bedroom floor.
Frank liked to be the centre of attention so before any of us knew it I was seated on a wooden dining room chair and Frank was across Santa’s knee and I was smacking his bum. It was all just playful stuff; no more than taps really. Well, that didn’t satisfy Shirly. ‘Do it proper, Santa,’ she slurred and soon a crowd of them (girls and boys) were chanting: “Spank him Santa! Spank him Santa!” So, I did.
I put all my strength into it. Slapping my hand (I wasn’t wearing the woollen gloves I usually wear) across the seat of his trousers. Of course, it didn’t matter how hard I spanked Frank it was never going to really hurt him; not if he had trousers and pants on. Anyhow, I gave it my best shot and Frank played along going “Ouch! Ouch! Eeeek! Yaroo!” like he was in a comic. I must have kept it up for five minutes or more before people got bored and I let Frank up to his feet. His face was redder than his backside probably was.
It was a couple of days later when Wendy, another friend of mine from college days, told me about her boyfriend. They’d moved in together that autumn and things weren’t going too well. Like with Shirly her boyfriend was useless on the domestic front. But worse than that he had taken to coming home late from work after stopping off for ‘a quick one’ with the lads and staying at the pub for hours.
She wanted me to give him a spanking. “A real one,” she said and hinted darkly, that she had “just the right thing” for me to use. I was embarrassed and said “No” and tried to change the subject. That’s when she said, “There’s twenty pounds in it for you.” Now, with my meagre wages I couldn’t turn down a note like that so I agreed.
Later that night after I’d been home to fetch my Santa togs I found myself in Wendy and Pete’s front room handling a heavy wooden hairbrush. “Pete bought it for my birthday,” she grinned at me, “I don’t think he ever expected it to be used like this.” I felt the weight in my hand. I’m no connoisseur of hairbrushes but it did seem overly weighty, not at all like the plastic ones they sell in my local chemist.
“It will pack a punch,” her eyes watered at the prospect. We hadn’t discussed the whys and wherefores of me spanking her twenty-five-year-old boyfriend but I suddenly realised that she was expecting this to be much more than Frank’s play-spanking.
We waited together and eventually Pete arrived home late. “Look who’s come to visit you,” Wendy greeted him before he even had time to take off his scarf and coat. “It’s Santa!” she shrieked, as if they could be any doubt who I was. Unsure what I was supposed to say, I stayed quiet and let Wendy do all the talking. She quickly listed his domestic inadequacies and scolded him for the time he spent in the pub. “I told you what would happen, if it happened again, didn’t I.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact, and Pete stood, uncomfortably, trying not to look at me.
She ushered him into the front room. It was a small room in a tiny apartment and there wasn’t much furniture beside a dining table, chairs and an old beat-up settee in front of a television. A Christmas tree was the main seasonal decoration.
“Santa,” Wendy immediately took control, “Sit on the settee, and you,” she turned to Pete, “You get those trousers down … and your pants.” Her bossy tone of voice had an immediate effect. As I was getting myself comfortable, Pete was already fumbling with the belt of his trousers. Wendy took up position by the door where she would have a perfect view of proceedings.
I hadn’t expected Pete to be submissive. What had I expected exactly? Some struggle perhaps. After all what 25-year-old in his right mind would obediently take down his trousers and pants to go across the knee of an older man to have his bare backside blistered with a wooden hairbrush?
Pete would that’s who.
Down came his trousers and his pants and he stood meekly in front of me. The silence in the room was deafening and it took me a second or two to realise he was waiting for me to command, “Bend over my knee.” Eventually I croaked the instruction and he stretched across my body. It is fair to say that Pete was no lightweight and maybe those hours in the pub were taking a toll on his body. The two of us on the small settee made a tight squeeze but Pete lay over my lap and raised his bare bottom to give me maximum opportunity to wallop it with my heavy brush.
Well, I thought, in for a penny, in for a pound and I tapped the oval head of the brush against his left cheek. His bum was fleshy and it sank a little into the fat. Tao, tap, tap, I lifted the brush high and let fly. The splat of wooden brush connecting with flesh broke the silence in the room. I whacked him again, and again and again.
Pete wriggled his hips and kicked his legs. He hadn’t expected a spanking to hurt quite so much. What had he expected? Of course, the other night Frank had been spanked with the full protection of trousers and underpants. A spanking on the bare – even with the palm of the hand never mind a heavy wooden brush – is a different kettle of fish altogether.
I whacked with some vigour. Pete hissed like a punctured tyre. His wriggled some more, I don’t think he could help it, it was just a natural reaction against the pain. At the time I had no experience of spanking naughty young men so I wasn’t sure how hard I should go. “Harder, harder,” Wendy encouraged me from the sidelines. “Give it to him. All over.” She meant I should land the brush on every square inch of his ample bum.
So, I set about the task with renewed energy. I started on the highest, fleshiest crowns of the cheeks and then I went higher to the very top of the mounds and then I went down below into the crease where the bum and thighs meet. I had nothing against Pete personally, but I found I was enjoying myself rather a lot.
I had no idea whether Pete truly “deserved” his spanking. Had he misbehaved badly? Men not doing domestic chores is quite common, I never flick a duster at my own home. Staying late at the pub and leaving Wendy on her own was definitely a pain in the arse (if you’ll excuse my little Santa joke) and Pete probably deserved a spanking for that alone.
I was sweating like a pig by now. The Santa costume comes with padding and is heavy and my white beard was coarse and irritating me. How much longer was I expected to keep this up. Pete’s bum was covered with tattoos made by the imprint of the brush’s head. Bruises were starting to appear and the flesh had the look of hard leather. But on and on I spanked. I knew Wendy would not let me leave Pete be until she was satisfied.
“Enough, Santa,” she almost yelled her instruction and startled I let go of Pete and he stumbled off my lap onto the floor, and then only half pulling up his trousers and pants he stumbled from the room, quickly followed by an excited Wendy. I heard their bedroom door slam shut. I sat panting on the settee waiting to catch my breath. The groans coming from the bedroom left nothing to the imagination. I hauled myself to my feet and tip-toed to the front door and let myself out.
Well, you learn something new every day. I get it that a boy might want to be spanked by his girlfriend or the other way round and he wanted to spank her. I suspect that happens more often than people care to let on. But setting it up so that your boyfriend is spanked by an old man while you look on. And the man is dressed as Santa to boot, was a new one on me. I felt the twenty pound note in my pocket. If I had realised what was going on I would have charged double. Still dressed as Santa took the bus home.
Word spread and before that Christmas was out I had been engaged by two other couples of Wendy’s acquaintance to visit them.
Now, I have set up a special Santa Spanking Grotto in a room at the Three Fishers pub where every Christmas (staring the second week of November) I deal with naughty boys (strictly aged eighteen and over) in the traditional Santa way. With that and my earnings from the department store I cam finance a very happy winter holiday in Florida every year.
Happy Holidays. Ho! Ho! Ho!
Picture credit: British Boys Fetish Club
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Traditional School Discipline
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Charles Hamilton the Second
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Male on male spanking stories 