Mrs. Claus and the Naughty List

Author's note:
It's been a (long) while since I last wrote and published a story. For this one I'm going to try something a little different (for me) -- I'm going to try to write a short story! Except this is not going to be a regular short story. No, this one is going to be based on a true story. Or, to be more accurate, a hopefully-true story.

You see, everything in this story you're about to read is based on reality. The people are real (including their descriptions and yes, their personalities), the outfits are real, the house is real, and every one of the toys mentioned are real. However, the story is actually a description of something that has not happened yet. It's kind of a ghost-of-Christmas-future sort of thing. (I know by the time you read this that the season will have past, but hopefully you can handle a little more of the holidays).

There will be a sequel coming soon, set as a ghost-of-Christmas-past type of arrangement.

Please leave comments and reviews if you can, it makes the writing much more fun, and is great motivation to write more!

Oh, and in case you've read my other story, I assure you that the fact both stories have bells in them is purely a coincidence, based on the long stint between

Part One

"Satisfied?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Although, if this were a silent movie you'd still know exactly how I was feeling based on my posture. I had struck the classic "pissed off wife" pose of arms crossed, weight shifted to one foot as my hips jutted out in the opposite direction. It probably looked odd though, based on the outfit I was wearing.

The santa hat I wore was flopped over to one side. The red satin push-up bra was barely covering my nipples, my midriff was bare until the ridiculous red satin skirt took over at about my waist -- even with the thin white petticoat and the white fur trim around the hem though, it barely covered my ass. But that wasn't the half of it; the red panties under the skirt covered most of my ass, but they came with a catch --the panties (at least the back) were covered in rows of satin ruffles, each one covered in tiny little authentic bells. I could cover the entire percussion requirements of half a dozen of your favourite Christmas songs just by swinging my hips. My thighs were bare and based on the length of the skirt, you could pretty much see every inch of them. The white knee-high stockings and the stilletto heels rounded out the holiday ensemble. Mrs. Fucking. Santa Claus.

"One moment please." He said, not looking at me at all. He was sorting through a pile of what looked like Christmas cards on the couch. He was making me wait, on purpose.

At least the fire that was burning in the fireplace at my back was helping to keep me warm. I exaggerated my pissed-off pose in hopes he'd look up soon.

From where I was standing, I could see everything. I could see him sitting in the center of the huge white couch that was the centerpiece of the vaulted living room in this, our magnificent new house. I could see the massive Christmas tree in front of the window that I had spent hours trimming. I could see the smudges on the glass railing that wrapped around the second floor of the house, and I wondered where they kept coming from? But most of all I could see the small red velvet sack laying at his feet. It looked just like something Santa himself would be carrying, only smaller.

He looked up.

"Ah. Let me see here..." he held up one of his cards and feigned reading it back to me. "...six feet tall, long, beautiful brown hair. Supermodel figure with incredible breasts. A perfect ass formed by a lifetime of ice skating. Legs that go on for days. Comfortable walking in towering heels because fuck short guys. Yup, you're the real Mrs. Claus alright! I see you've finally decided to grace us with your presence! And on Christmas Eve, no less. Cutting it a little short, aren't we?" He asked in a mocking tone.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Really? You're going to complain about when you got me to play your little game? And, by the way, who the fuck is "we"?" He made it easy for me to deliver a snarky attitude. Like a great film director, he already had me playing my role to a "T".

"Language Mrs. Claus! I mean, of all people! And yes, I'm going to point out that your presence has been requested numerous times throughout this holiday season and each time you failed to show up. The Christmas season comes but once a year, and it is short!"

I rolled my eyes harder.

"But of course, you know this, I don't have to tell you." He said. He had put his cards down, and was focused completely on me now, finally.

"Seriously? I've been busy! This is literally the busiest time of the year!" I heard myself say it and I immediately regretted it. It sounded exactly like what Mrs. Claus would say if she were real. Except, of course, she's isn't. It's just me. I've been busy. In my real life. It is the busiest time of the year, for real people!

He sighed. "I'm afraid that's no excuse, Mrs. Claus. Your failure to appear until such a late hour has landed you firmly on the naughty list!"

I tried not to smirk, but it made it even worse. Next I tried biting the insides of my cheeks, but the laughter I was suppressing made it impossible to suck my cheeks in far enough to get a grip on them with my teeth. After that there was no stopping it. I burst out with a half-snort, half-cackle that I was unable to control.

"You're fucking kidding me, right? I mean, you're really going with "you're on the naughty list"? That's how this night is going to go?" I was grinning at him incredulously.

I think he started to blush a little, and then he shrugged his shoulders in dramatic fashion and grinned right back.

"Well, I had to come up with something. You know me, I like to have a little context to go with my kinky games!"

He was definitely blushing. I gave up on the dramatic pose I'd been holding and went to his side, the bells on my ass cheering me on with every step. He scooped up his little white cards just in time for me to drop onto the couch beside him.

His hand went to my ribs and the other gripped the back of my neck, as he pulled me into a kiss that was as suggestive as it was assertive. He didn't rush it.

When his lips finally parted from mine he twisted his body around until he had enough leverage to press me down and back into the couch. His hands began to move all over my body, as if they were trying to devour me by feeling alone. His free hand roamed down over my hips, around to my backside -- waking the bells as he groped his way around -- down the outside of my thigh and over the stocking covering my calf. His hand traveled all they way down to my heel-clad foot, before it started to make its way back up my leg, this time on the inside.

As his hand made it to the inside of my thigh it began to press firmly, coercing my me to spread my leg to make more room for his hand. He continued moving up my thigh, caressing and pressing all at the same time. Finally he reached the space between my legs and firmly stroked me through the panties, eliciting a groan from my lips and an involuntary arching of my back. As I arched I bared my throat to him and he swept in to kiss me again, but this time focusing on my neck instead of my lips. I could feel his other hand winding its way from the nape of my neck up and through my hair to the base of my ponytail. Once there, the caressing and kneading faded as his hand wrapped around the base of my pony and took a firm grip, then he began to twist down and back, pulling my head back as he did, exposing even more of my neck.

And all the while, my own hands pressed down into the couch, steadying myself against the accosting, but not for a moment fighting back.

Finally he pulled his lips away from my neck. He relaxed his grip on my ponytail, but not completely. He twisted his wrist just enough to point my face back at his so our eyes could meet.

"It would be unprecedented for Christmas day to arrive with Mrs. Claus on the naughty list, you know." He held my gaze intently as he spoke.

I nodded. I tried to speak, but I realized that I was slightly out of breath... I must have been holding it in.

"That makes sense." I managed to say.

"So, to prevent that, I suggest we get you off the naughty list before Santa comes down the chimney. Would you agree?" He was still holding my pony tail, his other hand still between my legs applying firm, targeted pressure.

I nodded again.

"I agree." I said. "How do I get off the naughty list, Sir?"

I deliberately added the "Sir" for effect. I knew what I was doing. So did he.

I felt his grip tighten on my hair as soon as I said it. His back straightened ever so slightly. His eyes flipped in an instant from timid and playful to intense and wicked. It sent a shiver down my back. I swear I heard the bells on my panties jingle ever so faintly as the shiver washed over me.

"Well there are two ways, really. One: you submit to an evening under the tree. Mrs. Claus wrapped up like a present for Santa. Bound, toyed with, subjected to any and all manner of torments until he either comes sliding down that chimney, or I fuck you senseless, or both..."

I nodded again. He still had a grip on my ponytail. His hand between my legs began to curl as he spoke, until his fingers were pressing through my panties and ever so slightly inside of me.

And then suddenly his demeanor changed. His body relaxed. His grip on my hair dissolved. The hand between my legs pulled back to rest on my inner thigh.

"...or Two: we can play a game." He said, almost innocently.

"A game?" I asked, somewhat taken aback. "What kind of game?"

"Just a twist on an old favourite" he said, with a playful smile.

"What's the catch?" To say I was suspicious was an understatement.

"No catch. If you want to get off the naughty list you can either submit to being used as a kinky fuck toy, displayed under the tree for much of the evening, wrapped up like a present, with all manner of baubles and ornaments and gadgets to torment you. Or you can play a game with me." He said it like he was offering me a choice between desserts at a restaurant.

"So, what do you say?"

"I'll play the game."

And so it began.

Part Two

"So what is this game, and what are the rules?" I asked. You might think that I should have asked those questions before I agreed to play, but then again you heard the alternative. He didn't leave me much of a choice, on purpose.

"It's hide and seek, with a bit of a twist." He was timid now. Nervous. He was trying to hide it, but I could see right through him.

"What do you mean, "a bit of a twist"?"

"Well" he said, "See this sack full of goodies?" He held up the sack for effect. It looked like it came from the Dollar Store, it was about the size of a carry-on suitcase, and it looked to be rather full. I could guess what was inside it, but I didn't want to.

"Yes" I said, coyly.

"Well this sack is full of all sorts of toys. Each time I find you, one of these toys will come out of the sack. And they'll keep coming out of the sack until the game is over."

"And when will the game be over?" I asked.

"The game will last for 20 minutes. Not including stoppages."

"Stoppages?"

"Stoppages. Each time I find you the timer will stop until you're ready to hide again. You'll have 30 seconds to hide each time."

There was a sudden crack! sound from the fireplace, followed by an equally loud pop! as a log heated up.

"Wait a minute" I said. "You'll hear me trying to hide!" I bounced on the sofa for effect, setting of a veritable cacophony of bells to demonstrate my point. "It won't be fair!"

He shrugged. "You made your bed, you lie in it" he retorted.

"Made my bed? Are you serious? I'm only wearing this outfit because you told me to!"

I pouted.

"Uh, I'm not sure what you're referring to, but that is clearly an officially sanctioned Mrs. Claus uniform. You were required to wear it." He actually managed to keep a straight face through that statement.

"Okay fine. To show I'm a good sport, I'll turn on some music to help level the playing field. That's all you're getting though."

I continued to pout, only partly for effect.

"Now, as for the rules, they're quite simple; you'll have 30 seconds to hide each time. I'll count down -- out loud - the last 3 seconds each time. Then I'll come looking for you."

"When I find you, I'll stop the game timer on my phone. Then you'll reach into this little stack of cards" - he held up the stack of white cards he'd been holding earlier - "and you'll take one. On the card will be the name of the toy that will come out of the bag. Once its all dealt with, I'll start the timer again and off you go to hide all over again. Simple, really."

"What do you mean "once its all dealt with"? What are you going to do with the toys?" Somewhere in my subconscious I already knew the answer to this question.

"You know, dealt with" was all he replied. Then he grinned again. He was gaining confidence. I had a feeling I was in for more than I bargained for.

"And what happens when the game is over?" I asked.

"When it's over I'll wrap you up and stick you under the tree until you're off the naughty list."

"What? What the hell? What's the point of playing the game if I'm going to end up in the same situation no matter what?" I was sure I was being tricked.

"Hardly! By playing the game you're in complete control of what toys are part of your presentation, so it's a much better deal. Under option One you were pretty much going to get all of this -- " he held up Santa's sack for effect again -- "and maybe more!"

I rolled my eyes. "You are such a pervert."

"Comments like that make you sound like you belong on the naughty list." He was fumbling with his phone while he spoke. Suddenly that obnoxious ear-worm of a Christmas song -- Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" - came on over the Sonos system. Its my favorite.

I was still glaring at him when he looked up from his phone. Evidently the music was all queued up, because the next thing he said was: "ready, set, go!"

Part Three

He found me in 63 seconds, including my 30 seconds of "hiding time".

I ask you, have you ever played hide and seek as an adult? Like, not with kids, but with other adults. No? Of course you haven't. You know what's impossible to do? Hide from an adult inside a house. Seriously, without secret passages and hidden doors, how the fuck are you supposed to hide from an adult? So think about that before you judge my performance in the first round. He found me in the laundry room on the second floor, behind the door.

"No hat?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I tossed it as soon as I left. It barely stays on when I'm not moving."

"Suit yourself."

"Take a card, any card." He said, fanning them out for me to choose from. The sack was slung over his shoulder.

Just as I reached for the cards he pulled them back, like a magician toying with a child.

"Oops, I almost forgot one thing!"

"Greaaaaaaaaaaat." I said, rolling my eyes for the umpteenth time.

"You can refuse any card once and only once. That means that, if you pull one and don't like it, you can put it back in the pile and pull another card. You can only do that one time in the entire game."

My mouth dropped open in complaint and I was about to say how unfair that was, but he raised his voice slightly and kept talking.

"But if you do, I'll add two more cards to the pile with that same toy written on them. That means next time you pull a card, the odds for that one toy have tripled."

This time I got my shot in.

"That's so not fair!" I whined.

"Is it? Well if you want to give up now and head down to the Christmas tree, we can revert to option one if you prefer?"

He was admonishing me. What a prick!

I pouted even harder than before, but I also snatched a card from the stack in his hand.

"Are you fucking serious?" I exclaimed.

The card I was holding in my hand had one word written on it: Plug.

"Uh uh. Veto. Re-do. Whatever you call it. I'm not doing that." I flipped the card at him, hitting him in the chest. He managed to catch it and keep it from falling to the ground.

He opened it and grinned wickedly.

"Wow! First card! Mrs. Claus!" He was mocking me. "You sure you want to use your veto on the first pass?"

I crossed my arms and gave him a look that said "fuck you" in nineteen different languages.

"New. Card." I demanded.

He tucked the card I'd pulled in the back pocket of his jeans and fanned out the rest for me once more.

Wrist Cuffs.

He practically chewed his lower lip off in delight as he not only buckled the white leather cuffs on my wrists, but he locked the buckles with tiny padlocks to boot. They weren't coming off without industrial-grade scissors. Then he clipped them together with a tiny hook.

He held up his phone for me to see, patted me on the ass and then restarted the timer, all without saying a word.

I must have sounded like all eight reindeer at once as I tiptoed back down hallway in those heels and those panties. Having my wrists locked in front of me was nothing more than an inconvenience at best.

This time I knew where I was going. Mariah Carey was no longer covering my movements, but I hoped Frosty the Snowman was enough to keep him guessing.

As I stooped in the dark inside the closet of the downstairs guest bedroom, unable to fully stand due to the shelf above the hanger rod, I started to notice the flush in my body. I was annoyed at him for the feeling -- I'm telling you it's possible to be annoyed and horny at the same time -- but I was also starting to contemplate my fate. There was no doubt that I was starting to look forward to that fucking he threatened me with earlier...

"Gotcha!" He yelled as he yanked open the closet door.

I'm sorry to say that I squealed in terror when he did it, too. He had worked his sock-footed advantage to great effect, managing to get to the door without me knowing it. I might have been distracted from the uncomfortable position I was in, the amount of concentration it took to keep the bells on my backside silent, or the fact that my hand(s) had migrated down between my legs while I waited.

I told you it was possible to be annoyed and horny at the same time.

"Very impressive Mrs. Claus! Almost a whole 4 minutes this time!" He held up the timer for me to see as he spoke. He was also gracious enough to extend his hand to help me out of the cramped closet.

I groaned when I read the card I pulled.

I gasped when he kissed them.

I inhaled sharply when he started to suck on them each in turn.

I squealed when he nibbled on them.

I moaned when he started to pinch and roll them between his fingers.

And I held my breath when he slid the band up each nipple clamp, causing it to bite sharply.

When I exhaled I looked down, as hard as that was to do.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"You like?" He asked.

The familiar clamps were connected with a chain. The cups of my bra barley covered my nipples to begin with, and the cups made no objection when he teased them down to expose the nipples. That much I was expecting. What I wasn't expecting were the cluster of three tiny bells attached to each clamp, along with a tiny red Christmas ornament. He had made my nipple clamps festive.