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Amonth ago, I got an email from The Palace announcing their 12 Nights Of XXXMas. At first, I ignored it. I couldn’t remember why I’d signed up for The Palace’s event emails in the first place. But a few days later, I received another email. I took a peek and the first line read, “You’re on the naughty list, Holly…” It was enough to convince me to read a little further.
Each of their nights was themed for a different kink. The fine print said that anyone could attend regardless of their interests, but that rooms would be supplied with specific materials for each of the themed nights. If you wanted to engage in electrostimulation on the roleplaying night, you absolutely could, but you’d have to bring your own equipment.
The first night caught my eye. ‘Looking to kick off XXXMas with a bang? Get your name off the naughty list by paying your dues. It’s our discipline night! Come if you’re looking for a red bottom, stay until you’re absolved of your sins.’
I tried to ignore it, really I did. My fantasies ran along the lines of being spanked and punished, but it was something I kept to myself. I didn’t want to show up at The Palace and let a stranger take a belt to me until he was satisfied.
But the email kept calling to me day after day. I’d think about it at the office or while I was driving home from work. I imagined what it’d be like to attend the festivities and if it’d be worth the $50 per person, per night purchase. Was it worth paying for? Couldn’t I just find someone to spank me for free?
The short answer: no. To admit that I had those kinds of fantasies made me feel shiver with vulnerability. Who would I tell? And what would they think when they knew that a high-powered attorney liked to have her skirt hiked up and her bottom bared?
I responded to the email. In less than 24 hours, I made arrangements to attend the first night of XXXMas. The hosts had me write a letter to Santa and said that they would take care of the rest. I’d been dreading it ever since.
* * *
I make my way up the staircase and the music from downstairs fades to a dull roar. It’s replaced with the sound of wood hitting bare skin and a young man’s grunts just a few milliseconds later. Right off the landing at the top of the stairs is an additional parlor. This one is more laidback than the one downstairs with people stripping off clothes and standing around watching the scene play out.
There’s a large man bent over the side of the couch. I think he was wearing a pair of pants that match my outfit because I see the same crushed velvet at his feet. Behind him is a woman wearing strategically placed tinsel. She wields a wooden paddle that’s almost as big as her. I watch in awe as she brings it down on the man’s ass. From this angle, I can see his cheeks turning a dark shade of red. I wonder how long they’ve been at it.
In the opposite direction of the parlor are the six rooms available for the night. Each has been named for the Christmas season. Yuletide, Candy Cane, Blitzen, Nutcracker, Sugarplum, and Mistletoe. Attending XXXMas cost $50, renting a room doubled the price. Many people engage in public displays of their kinks, but the few of us that are too shy to perform in front of people do so behind closed doors.
I travel down the hall toward the Mistletoe room. Blitzen’s door is open but the lights are out, signaling that the guests who have rented this room are either finished or haven’t arrived yet. I hear a woman’s cries coming from the Nutcracker room and I wish that I could peek inside.
I’ve spent a lot of years watching young women get spanked on camera. If you know where to look, there are plenty of videos that are more than just a slap on the ass during sex. The women I watch are generally playing a role—a naughty girl that got caught coming home late or a wife that got a speeding ticket—but the videos do the trick. When paired with a vibrator, I come as I watch their bottoms turn red.
The door to the Mistletoe room is closed. My Santa must be inside. This is my last chance to turn around and leave. My stomach tightens a little more and my face feels flush. If I wanted to, I could waste the $100 I spent and run for the hills. Nobody has to know that I’ve done this.
But I put my hand on the doorknob and turn because for the first time in my life, I’m going to get what I want.
3
SANTA
Iwas shocked to receive the letter. Scratch that, I wasn’tshocked, per se, I was pleasantly surprised.
In my wife’s own handwriting was a fantasy that she wanted to play out. I knew that she had an interest in being spanked, but I didn’t know the depths of her interest until The Palace reached out to me.
“Your wife has requested your attendance on December 13that The Palace. She would like to participate in the 12 Nights Of XXXMas.” The woman on the other end of the phone was very formal, but maybe that was necessary for a situation like this. “She has written out her Christmas list and if you agree, we’ll send that over to you. As Santa, you will endeavor to give her what she wants this year.”
I think I was more shocked that my wife had told her fantasies to someone else before me. But once I read what she wanted to happen, it made sense. It was the kind of thing that could arouse the right man or turn off the wrong one.
I took up the mantle of Santa Claus and I was determined to give my wife everything she wanted this year.
* * *
When she walks through the door and I see her tan, taut legs under the Mrs. Claus dress, I’m as hard as a rock. She rarely dresses up in the bedroom because she says it makes her self-conscious, but the glass of wine in her hand tells me that she’s trying to push past that.
“Well, well, well,” I get up from my chair and greet her with a grim look, “if it isn’t the naughty Holly Snow.” I take a deep breath in and wear my dominance like a second skin. She’s usually the one making demands and handing out orders; the role reversal is almost as big a turn-on as looking at her in that form-fitting red dress.
“Santa,” she breathes out my name like she’s already on the cusp of an orgasm. Her fingers tighten around the glass of wine as she nibbles on her bottom lip.
I reach down to my waist and unclasp the big black belt that came with the suit. “Do you know that you’re on the naughty list, Ms. Snow? What do you plan to do about that?”
As the belt travels through the loops of the suit’s pants, Holly’s eyes dilate. If I were close enough, I bet I could hear her heart racing a million miles a minute. From this distance, I can already smell the arousal between her legs. She tightens her thighs together and sets the glass of wine down on the nearest flat surface.
“I want to make amends, Santa.” There’s a nervous edge to her tone as she takes a step forward. “I want to be on the good girl’s list.”
Does she struggle to say those words? They look like they embarrass her. The pink on her cheeks says that she’s struggling.
