Ricky's Christmas Surprise

Ricky Jenkins tossed and turned under his covers on Christmas Eve. He just couldn't wait for Christmas morning to come.

The youngster had turned 11 two months earlier, and was a bit disappointed that he did not get the Sega he had hoped for. Surely, he would get it for Christmas. He had dropped enough hints to his mom and dad.

The restless lad sneaked a peek at the clock on his nightstand. It stared back at him --- 2:07AM.

Ricky knew his parents were sound asleep on the other side of the house. Surely, they had already laid out all the presents under the tree. He thrashed about under his covers -- not the least bit sleepy.

With a burst of impatient energy, Ricky flung his blankets off and hopped out of bed. Clad only in his flannel pajamas, he quickly slid on his slippers. He crept stealthly down the stairs.

There he saw the Christmas tree standing like a lone sentinel over a collection of brightly wrapped presents. The scene was backlit by the full moon reflecting on the blanket of snow on the ground.

Ricky very quietly inspected the smaller than usual array of packages. He was disturbed that none of them appeared to be the right size or weight to hold the Sega he dearly wanted. A frown crossed the eleven year old's face.

THUD!

Ricky looked up suddenly! Where did that come from?

The startled youngster listened intently, as he heard a soft shuffling sound from above. But it was not coming from upstairs. It was coming from the roof!

POOF!

A gentle, but distinct light flashed and Ricky's jaw dropped. He could not believe his eyes!

Before him stood a huge, heavyset man in a red suit and a flowing white beard. There was a large sack slung over his broad shoulders filled with gifts. It looked just like, well -- Santa Claus!

"RICKY JENKINS!" came a firm, but hushed whisper. "What are you doing up, young man?"

"I--I, geez," Ricky stammered.

He was having trouble comprehending the very sight before him. He had stopped believing in Santa Claus when he was seven. But yet there was the "mythical" character right before him.

"Well?" asked the old gentleman. "Why are you up, son?"

Ricky gulped down his surprise and brushed his blond hair from his eyes. He tried to regain his composure as best he could.

"I--I was looking for something ---- sir!"

"What?" said the Christmas legend come to life, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Ummmmm -- a Sega, sir," said Ricky. "It's a kind of game station with cartridges and stuff."

"I know," chuckled the old man. "It is one of my most requested items for boys your age this year."

Ricky's blue eyes widened with hope and glee.

"Did you bring me one, Santa?" he asked with his heart in his throat.

"Well, yes," said St. Nick. "But the rules of Christmas dictate that I can only leave such items for good boys."

"But I have been good, Santa," protested Ricky.

"Oh?" Santa raised his bushy eyebrows. "It's nearly 2:30 AM and aren't you supposed to be in bed like your parents expect you to be. Aren't you being naughty right now?"

"Ummmmm, yes sir," said Ricky softly. He struggled to contain his disappointment. "I really messed up bad."

"It appears so, son," said Santa with a heartfelt sigh. "It isn't often I actually get to witness a boy's misbehavior in person."

Ricky was crestfallen. He was so upset with his own impatience. And there was no time left before Christmas morning atone for this foolish trangression. Tears formed in Ricky's eyes.

"Isn't there anything I can do to make up for this, sir?" pleaded a desperate eleven year old.

"Well" said Santa slowly. "Christmas is the time of miracles, Ricky. But at this late hour there is only one remedy available."

Ricky wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand.

"Anything, Santa, ANYTHING!" he blurted out. "What? What?"

Santa looked a bit sternly at the repentent lad before him.

"You can only make up for this by getting a Christmas spanking, Ricky."

Ricky was taken aback! This was the last thing he expected to hear from this kindly figure of his previous childhood Christmases.

"But my parents are asleep upstairs, sir," said Ricky anxiously.

Santa chuckled, "Oh, I've spanked many a naughty boy's bare little bottom over the centuries, Ricky."

The words "bare little bottom" struck Ricky like a ton of bricks. He would have to take down his pajama pants in front of Santa Claus! The boy was aghast!

"But my parents will hear, Santa," he stammered.

"No problem, son," smiled St. Nick. "I can take care of that."

Ricky started to fumble hestitantly with the elastic waistband of his pajama pants.

"No need for that, Ricky," said Santa softly.

The Christmas icon reached into his pocket and sprinkled some magical gold dust over Ricky and himself. As the boy watched the last of it fall to the floor, he suddenly realized he was totally nude! He quickly covered the front of himself with both hands.

Santa let out a little laugh, as he removed his mittens.

"Now don't be embarrassed, Ricky. You would be surprised how many naughty young boys over the years have found themselves in such a state in the predawn hours of a Christmas morning."

"Besides," he winked, "it is the other side you need to be worried about."

The old man reached out and tenderly pulled the slim naked lad toward him.

"Now that magical gold dust has created an aura of silence around us, son. No one will be able to hear what is about to happen."

Ricky nodded wordlessly.

"You still want to go through with this, Ricky?"

The eleven year old now felt obligated. In his mind, he had done wrong and was more concerned with setting things right with Santa than getting his Sega.

"Yes, Santa," said Ricky bravely. "I know I deserve this spanking."

"Very well, son."

Ricky felt himself being gently placed over the wool lap of Santa. The cool night air felt strange on his very bare little rear end. His cheeks clenched in anticipation, as Santa expertly raised one knee to elevate "the seat of the problem."

Santa smiled knowingly. The reflection of the full moon on the white snow cast a pale light across the smooth rump of this youngster. St. Nick had seen such a sight numerous times before. But Ricky was displaying perfectly round buttocks that were just begging for Santa's firm hand.

Kris Kringle patted the vulnerable bottom before him causing Ricky to relax a bit. Then the legend raised his massive right hand up by the side of his head. It came down swiftly with a resounding WHACK!

Ricky raised his head in shock and surprise, as Santa's calloused hand landed across the lower part of BOTH cheeks -- right where the youngster's rump met the back of his thighs.

"Owwwww!" cried Ricky, but before he could take another breath, another crisp swat was applied in the exact same spot!

"OUCH!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

A half dozen sharp slaps rained down on that very sensitive area. Ricky began to cry in earnest, as he felt the heat from Santa's big hand spreading across his "sit down" spots. Santa really knew how to spank!

St. Nick saw that the lower part of the Ricky's buttocks were turning rosey red. He tightened his grip around the narrow waist of the struggling lad, as it was quite apparent the naked boy was really feeling the sting.

SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHAP! WHACK! SMACK!

Santa began to swat the bare right cheek with gusto. His hand was big enough to cover that entire side of Ricky's cute little behind with each slap.

Ricky was in agony. The right side of his backside stung so bad, but Santa only seemed to be spanking it harder and faster. The boy heard himself crying loudly and kicked wildly, but the swats did not cease.

Satisfied that the entire right cheek was as red as Rudolph's nose, Santa began concentrating on the partially pale left cheek on a squirming little behind.

SMACK! WHACK! WHAP! SMACK! SMACK! WHAP!

Ricky could not believe how hard Santa's hand felt on his small posterior. The lad bucked -- trying desperately to escape the flurry of Santa swats, but St. Nick was an experienced spanker of naughty boys. Each firm slap struck its intended target. Ricky howled.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" squealed Ricky. "No more -- please!" I'll be good! I promise!"

Santa observed his handiwork the wiggling bottom before him. The tops of both cheeks were quite red, and the lower half fairly glowed like hot coals.

Ricky tried to reach back to rub his burning buttocks, but Santa merely grabbed both wrists with his huge left hand. Santa shifted one knee to raise the reddened young rear a little bit higher. Ricky sobbed uncontrollably as his aching buns throbbed from Santa's firm hand.

"We're almost done, Ricky," said Santa.

St. Nick reached down and picked up one of the boy's rubber soled slippers.

"This will make sure we do not have to repeat this episode again next year, son."

SMACK! CRACK! SMACK! WHAP! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! CRACK! WHAP! WHACK!

Santa spanked with vigor all across the the sore, red eleven year old backside. One swat for each year of the boy's young life -- with the last four delivered soundly across those tender "sit down" spots.

Ricky shrieked as his naked rear felt like it had burst into flames! Santa Claus set the slipper down and gently rubbed the youngster's crimson hide. The heat on the boy's rump told Santa this lad had been thoroughly punished.

The old man helped the nude boy to his feet, and Ricky immediately began hopping up and down franctically trying to rub the sting from his chastened young cheeks.

Santa, sympathetically, gathered the boy into his strong embrace and comforted him as he cried. Ricky felt safe and secure in the legend's embrace. He buried his face in the soft red coat, as he continued to rub his blazing buttocks.

Ricky suddenly noticed the sprinkling of the same magic gold dust -- and then he could remember no more.

The sunlight streamed through the curtains of Ricky's bedroom. The blond haired youngster stirred in his bed and saw the clock read 6:34 AM. His parents would still be asleep.

In an instant, the eleven year old realized his rear end felt very sore. He slipped out of bed and stood -- with his back to the mirror -- and gingerly lowered his flannel pajama pants. His mouth opened in astonishment, as he saw his little backside was red all over. It wasn't a dream after all!

Later that morning, an estatic Ricky Jenkins played with his new Sega. But, occasionally, he had to pause long enough to rub the seat of his pajama pants that covered an aching, red little rear that only he and St. Nick knew about!