Page 111 of Santa Daddies

“Santa Daddy is going to switch you.”

Though I couldn’t see her face as her head was somewhere near my waist and behind me at that, I was pretty sure that if I could, I’d see her rounded eyes and her mouth opening andclosing like a poor fish trying to think of the one thing that might get him thrown back into the water before the worst thing in his imagination happened. Unfortunately for Marcie, she wasn’t a fish. She was my Little girl–my very naughty Little girl—but that would soon change.

“Daddy, please, I’m sorry I don’t know what got into me I was just nervous but you’re right everything is going to be great in fact I bet we sell our piggies so fast your head will spin so you can just stop trying to break that limb off before you hurt your poor hand and put me down and we can go and party with our friends and have the bestest time ever and forget all about nasty switches and–”

“We will do all of that once I’ve striped your little ass,” I finished for her when she simply ran out of oxygen from stringing only god-knew-how-many words together without pause.

“Oh, nooooo…”

“Oh, yes!” I countered, pretty satisfied when the snick of the switch breaking off the willow tree punctuated my last word.

I almost laughed when I felt her hands leaving my back and heard the umph she gave as she flopped against me as her hands moved from bracing herself to whip back in an attempt to cover her bottom. The change of position didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of working, but damn, it was adorable.

Her promises of perfect behavior began as I turned back toward the house and were uttered nonstop as I crossed the yard, ascended the steps to the porch, reentered the house and continued into the kitchen. I hooked a barstool with my foot and dragged it far enough out from the island that I would have plenty of room to take care of business. A slight shrug had her off my shoulder and a simple bend had her feet back on terra firma.

“Tights and panties down, skirt up and bend over the stool. Wrap your fingers around the bottom rung, push your bottom out and spread your legs.

I couldn’t’ see her expression to know if she understood my directions as her hair was covering a great portion of her face. Sliding the switch under my arm, I used my hands to sweep the auburn curls off her cheeks. Poor thing, if there had ever been a Little who seriously regretted throwing a tantrum, I was sure they looked exactly as my babygirl did at this exact moment. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes were already welling.

“Please, Daddy, I-I really am sorry.”

“I know you are, babygirl, but we both know that if we just let this go, while you’ll probably manage to remember how sorry you are for a few minutes, by the time you walk into Gem, you’ll be a sack of nerves just waiting for the slightest hitch to set you off. Then, do you think you’ll remember how sorry you are?”

Her mouth opened instantly, the Little inside her so very anxious to shout that she would remember, but the Marcie who made up that Little girlknewthat would be adding a lie to what she was already regretting.

“No, Daddy, I-I guess not.”

“Then, you know why I’m punishing you.”

“Because you’re my Daddy.” Her gaze dropped from mine to the implement nature had so kindly provided. “But… could you… I mean, would you maybe just use your hand instead of… of that?”

“I’m afraid not. You lost that opportunity when you let naughty words come out of that sweet little mouth. Besides, every Little knows how Santa deals with naughtiness and since I’m standing in for him until he arrives for real, it will be the switch. The only question is how many stripes is it going to take to make sure that you remember exactly how sorry you claim you are.”

She lifted her head to look at me again. “I think maybe just one, Daddy.”

As much as I want to chuckle, I refrained. Instead, I quirked my brow and just waited. Finally, my babygirl shifted on her feet and gave a deep sigh. “As many as Santa Daddy thinks is probably a better answer.”

“It is indeed,” I praised and bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “Now get into position while I prepare your switch.”

She nodded and when I stepped away, she walked to her fate. Well, it was more like she trudged as if going to her doom, but Marcie had always been fond of a bit of drama in her life.

It was cute beyond words watching her begin to peel down her tights while her gaze kept skipping from my face to the switch to the island counter where I was dropping the leaves I was stripping off the branch. What should have taken her no more than a few seconds was taking ten times longer, but I wasn’t in any hurry. The house would have to have been on fire for me to rush us out of our home. A million people could be waiting for us to make an appearance, but I only cared about an audience of one and she was currently standing with her tights down at her ankles and her panties lowered to just beneath the hem of her party dress.

“If you’re not in position by the time I’m done, there will be lines striping the back of your thighs to go along with those marching across your bottom.” I didn’t look at her, didn’t raise my voice, or even pause in removing the last few leaves. The thought of the switch setting fire to her thighs was enough incentive to have those panties shoved down to meet her wadded tights and for her to practically knock the stool over as she flung herself across it. I’d just trimmed the last couple of rough knobs off the switch when she whimpered.

“Daddy?”

It wasn’t a call of someone trying to cajole themselves out of a punishment, so I turned my head to see she was again standing beside the stool.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes, Sir. I-I’m too short. I can’t reach the rung to hold it without my feet leaving the ground so I can’t… um, can’t?—”

God, she was so cute when she blushed and was all flustered over something that happened on a fairly regular basis.

“Can’t spread your legs and push your naughty bottom out for Santa Daddy?”

Her face went a darker shade of red and she nodded. “Um, no… I mean yes! I mean, yes, you’re right and no I can’t?—”