On Christmas morning I woke up to find this letter in front of me:

“Oh dear,” said Abel. “A girl who’s been naughty would have to be spanked by her guardians before she can have her presents!”

Guardians, plural – because we had HH staying with us for Christmas. He seemed to share Abel’s opinion about what happens to girls snitched on by Santa’s elves.

Downstairs, facing the two of them, I politely enquired whether my two “guardians” were a gay married couple. They didn’t appreciate the question. Abel told me that my spanking – up to now a simple formality – had just escalated to a punishment for insolence.

I never could keep my mouth shut, I thought ruefully, as I leaned over Abel’s lap for the first portion of my Christmas discipline. In fairness, he didn’t spank me attrociously hard – just pretty firmly, hard enough to raise a warm glow. When I started to wriggle in discomfort, he sent me on to HH, who, getting a good grip across my midriff, delivered a much stingier spanking that had me yelping and kicking in protest.

“And now, to deal with your rude remark,” said Abel, picking up a tawse out of a pile of recent implement purchases. “I think, two strokes on behalf of each of us would be appropriate.”

Oh my goodness, did that thing hurt! I danced about between the strokes, and didn’t take it in anything like a dignified manner. I guess, I don’t really do dignity when it hurts that much.

However, all the time I could see a mound of presents waiting for me under the tree, so there was something to cheer me up through the worst of the ordeal.

Who knew Santa’s elves were into spanking?