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From: "Y. Lee Coyote" <See.signature.line@mail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} ST: Close Encounters of a Special Kind  (M/Mb, spank, fantasy)
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Date: Wed, 19 Dec 2007 20:10:01 -0500
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ST: Close Encounters of a Special Kind  (M/Mb, spank, fantasy)
Summary: A man and his son encounter Kris Kringle and get spanked.

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.

The author would appreciate your comments -- pro and con, including
constructive criticism, and suggestions.  E-mail: YLeeCoyote@mail.com


Close Encounters of a Special Kind
By
Y Lee Coyote

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 FAO 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.

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

(c) Copyright A.I.L. December 19, 2007


Y.

Valid return address is <YLeeCoyote (at) mail.com>
(Posting address is for the spammers)

See my stories at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/YLeeCoyote/www/
See Goldilocks stories at http://www.geocities.com/goldilocks1938/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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