Page 36 of Thwack!

Gerry eased his way into position with reluctant slowness until Santa got tired of his shenanigans and manhandled him face down and ass up. Which was pretty fucking hot. Santa didn’t skimp on his workouts. His thighs were solid beneath that red velvet, and his hands were as strong as Gerry had imagined.

No sooner did Gerry find himself draped over Santa’s lap than he felt a cool breeze over his backside.

“Ack!” He scrambled a hand backward to try to arrest the slide of his fuzzy pajama bottoms down his thighs. “Santa!”

“Bad boys get bare-bottom spankings,” Santa said, unmoved by Gerry’s attempts to pull the pants back up. “And you’ve been a very, very bad boy. I’ve been itching to punish you all year, and now the time has arrived.” He patted Gerry’s bare ass cheeks lightly. “You have an attractive bottom, Gerry. I’m going to enjoy turning it as red as my coat.”

And with that, he began. It wasn’t so bad at first, was maybe even as good as Gerry had dreamed of it being. The swats were light and well-dispersed and Santa smelled good and felt good and Gerry had no doubt he deserved to be punished.

But only ten or so strokes in, something shifted. Not just Gerry’s cock, which had been desperately shifting its way through the velveteen cleft between Santa’s thighs this whole time. No, what shifted was the force of Santa’s slaps and the heat in Gerry’s ass.

“Santa,” he complained, throwing an arm back to deflect. “It hurts.”

“Which is exactly what I promised.” Santa didn’t let up at all. If anything, he spanked harder.

“Santa,” Gerry pleaded, tears threatening. “Please.” He squirmed, trying to escape the smacks raining down like hellfire but also to rub his cock harder against Santa’s leg. “Please,” he begged. “Please.”

“Shh.” Santa stopped spanking him. “It’s okay, little boy. Santa’s got you.” His gloved hand rubbed soothing circles on Gerry’s back. “I promised, didn’t I?”

Gerry nodded, mollified. But wait. The only thing Santa had promised was that it was going to hurt.

“No,” he implored. “Noooo.”

“Santa wants you to be good. Can you be good for me, Gerry?”

“I don’t know.” That was the truth. He wanted to be good—to do his work and earn his bonus and not turn every December into a nightmare. He wanted to keep his job too, and not get fired for looking at porn on his work laptop or jerking off in the bathroom stalls. But he didn’t know if he could do it.

“That’s why Santa’s here, baby. I’m going to turn you good as gold.”

And with that, Santa got back to the spanking.

Gerry didn’t bother to beg anymore—to plead or complain or bargain. He was bad, but Santa would make him good. Maybe the fire in his ass would replace the fire in his cock, though right now they were both raging strong. He humped and squealed and cried and moaned until he was sobbing so hard he almost couldn’t breathe and his cock was so hard he was pretty sure he was going to come right there over Santa’s lap.

Which was when Santa stopped. The bastard.

He sat Gerry up and gave him a warm kiss on the tip of his nose. “What do you have to say?”

“I’m sorry?” He was sorry. Sorry about having been bad and sorry about how fiercely his ass stung and even sorrier that Santa hadn’t gone a little longer so he could have gotten off.

“And?”

“Um.” Gerry thought for a minute. “And I won’t do it again?”

Santa cocked an eyebrow like he didn’t believe it. Gerry didn’t really believe it either.

“How about ‘thank you,’” Santa suggested. “Santa worked up a powerful hard-on taking care of your bad boy bottom. If you want to be good for Santa, you’ll take care of it for him.”

Gerry nodded. He’d felt Santa’s powerful hard-on rubbing against his torso and wouldn’t mind getting his mouth on it. He let Santa lower him to his knees and waited with his mouth open while Santa fished his cock out of his elastic-waisted pants.

Santa was really packing. Gerry slurped him up, his mind as focused on this task as he wished it would be on the job he got paid for. The fiery rub of his ass against his heels reminded him of how thoroughly he’d been punished, and the deep thrust of Santa’s cock down his throat reminded him that he hadn’t come yet.

He reached for his own cock, which was hanging right there since no one had bothered to pull up his pajama bottoms, but Santa grabbed his hand before he could touch it.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he chastised, which Gerry assumed meant Santa would get him off himself. He worked harder at sucking Santa, eager for his reward. His first reward was a mouthful of come, which he swallowed contentedly. But now for the real reward: an orgasm.

Santa stood up and reassembled his suit into order. He gave Gerry an affectionate head rub, then went to the sack he’d left near Gerry’s front door.

Ooh, toys. Adult ones, hopefully.