Christmas Tales from the Black Swan

By Flatfish

It was time for our annual get together. The four of us had been meeting every Christmas Eve at the Black Swan for fifteen years; me, the Captain, Big Mack and Reverend Johnson.  We’d all been in the army and by coincidence we had all left on the same day. We’d been four strangers back then, just four ex-army guys, but we went for a pint and our friendship was born. Now, fifteen years later we are still making our annual trek to the Black Swan for a pre-Christmas reunion before heading on home to our families.

But what do a bunch of ex-servicemen talk about at their annual Christmas lunch? Well of course we talked over the events of the past year and reminisced over our army days but this was Christmas and in recent years a new line of conversation had started. The year before we had all dragged out anecdotes of the great Christmas feasts we’d enjoyed in the past and the year before that it had been tales of wild Christmas parties. It had become a bit of a tradition to pick a Christmas theme, sink a few pints by a crackling log fire, and recount stories of these festive past events. But on this occasion it was all falling a bit flat; we couldn’t think of a theme. And then Jenny, the pretty girl from behind the bar, came to our rescue.

The table next to ours had ordered food and Jenny came to serve it. The shapely brunet was dressed in the smart uniform that was sported by the bar staff; a white blouse, tight black trousers and a tiny apron.  Her hair was swept back in a ponytail. She arrived at the neighbouring table with plates of delicious smelling food and as the patrons moved their glasses aside she stretched over the table to put the food down.

Jenny was facing away from us and as she leaned forward Mack’s eyes nearly popped from his head. Jenny had the most fantastic bottom, beautifully proportioned and apple round. We all followed his gaze and froze in admiration. Jenny seemed oblivious to the effect she was having. She put down the food and swept away to fetch more.

“I think I know that girl,” said Mack.

We just laughed.

“No, I’m serious,” he said. “I can’t think where I’ve seen her before but you don’t easily forget a girl with such a beautiful bottom. Give me a moment and it will come to me.”

“Reminds me of a girl I knew in the army,” said the Captain. “A pretty Second Lieutenant I met when we were posted in Germany… Abigale Peters.” He took on the look of a man gazing back on a fond memory. “I don’t know if you guys have heard of the Krampus, but it’s quite a festive tradition over on the continent. The Krampus comes to deal with naughty girls on Krampusnacht and it’s quite a sport over there for people to dress up as this beast and chase after girls with the intention of whacking them on the bottom with a bunch of birch sticks. Well the word had come down from above that we needed to integrate more with the local community so on this particular December evening we allowed a bit of merriment on the base for those soldiers who weren’t on duty. Some of the men had taken up the local tradition and had dressed as the Krampus.  They were running around chasing the girls on the base and giving them a whacking with their birch sticks. There were quite a few female military personnel on the base, very attractive in their immaculately pressed uniforms.

Now I was in my office at the time, just finishing a bit of paperwork. I could hear lots of squealing and giggling outside and I was hoping to join in the fun a bit later. Suddenly my door flew open and Second Lieutenant Abigale Peters burst in and slammed the door shut. When she saw me she froze then she snapped to attention and saluted.

“I… I’m sorry sir,” she stuttered. “I didn’t realise there was anyone in here.”

“And what are you doing in here?” I asked.

She looked embarrassed and shuffled nervously. “I… I’m erh… I’m hiding sir. It’s mad out there.

“Ah yes,” I smiled, “The Krampus.”

“Yes Sir,” she said.

I told her to stand at ease. “And have you been a naughty girl this year?”

“Well, those things out there seem to think so,” she answered, giving her bottom a rub.

I suggested she should check out of the window to see if the coast was clear. She did as instructed and I have to say that when she turned to peer out of the window, the sight of her bottom in her contour hugging military skirt was delightful. I knew immediately what I had to do.

I reached into my drawer and pulled out my Krampus mask and put it on.

“Attention!” I barked.

The poor girl nearly jumped out of her skin but she spun around and snapped bolt upright, hands by her side, eyes staring in shock and her mouth wide open. Krampus was the last person she expected to see.

I pulled out a chair and spun it around. Then I sat down and I’m, afraid I seriously abused my rank. I ordered Second Lieutenant Abigail Peters over my knee. I could see she wasn’t sure if I was serious but military training being what it is she just couldn’t disobey a direct order from a superior officer and seconds later I had an obedient twenty year old young lady over my knee waiting to be spanked – and I was more than happy to oblige.

Now let me tell you, there is no substitute for frequent marching and military training to firm up a young woman’s bottom and spanking that young officer was extremely satisfying. I smoothed her skirt over those firm round cheeks and then laid it on long and hard. I spanked her until her bottom was red raw – and I mean red raw. But all good things must come to an end and eventually I had to let her back on her feet, standing to attention, wishing she could rub her stinging bottom.”

At this point the Captain stopped to take a sip of his pint and I was compelled to ask the question. “If you were spanking her over her skirt,” I asked, “how could you know her bottom was red raw?”

“Ah,” said the Captain, “good question. But you see, that’s not the end of the story. After all, one shouldn’t fly in the face of tradition and although this particular naughty girl had already been spanked very soundly I hadn’t used my birch.  So I fetched it from the corner of the office and ordered Abigail to bend over the desk and pull up her skirt. Believe me red raw barely does justice to the state of that girls tender posterior. Well I landed three good whacks with the birch before I finally came to my senses and dismissed her with the knowledge that she was one young officer who would be sleeping on her tummy over Christmas.”

When the Captain finished his tale we just stared in amazement. “How come you weren’t dishonourably discharged,” I asked.

“I should have been, of course,” he said. “But the fact is things were so crazy that night they would have had to discharge half the army and in fact Abigail didn’t even report the incident and I heard that the poor girl was caught another couple of times before she reached her quarters.”


We were all staring thoughtfully into our beers reflecting on mental images of Abigail when Reverend Johnson spoke up. Don’t ask me why we call him Reverend Johnson. The fact is he’d been an army chaplain and then he’d continued in the church afterwards. Somehow we never got around to calling him Frank.

“Actually I’m no stranger to spanking a pretty young woman myself,” he said.

“You Rev? Surely not.”

“Yes. It happened about three years ago. You see I have a superb choir at my church, boys and girls, men and women, excellent singers all. But my star soloist at the time was an eighteen year old girl with a troubled past, Sarah McMillan.

Now we’d had some trouble at the Church leading up to Christmas. Someone had written an obscene remark in felt pen on one of the choir stalls and it was pretty clear it had to be someone in the choir. I’d been asking questions for a few days and I was closing in on the culprit.

Then one evening after choir practice I had a visit from Sarah and she confessed to the crime. Now that created a major dilemma for me.  I really should have expelled her but I couldn’t. The choir had been a life line for Sarah. It had given her focus and a sense of worth. And not only that, I had her lined up for two major solos at the carol concert.

She stood before me, trembling a little. “I… I think you should punish me sir,” she said.

She looked so sweet and repentant, a portrait of innocence, I can picture her now;  a pretty face, wavy blond hair, a t-shirt sporting the name of the choir over firm breasts and skin tight black jeans and ankle boots.

“I agree Sarah,” I said. “It’s very distressing that you have damaged the church with graffiti, even worse that you used such disgraceful language. But frankly I have no idea what would be a suitable punishment.”

Sarah stared down at her feet and shuffled nervously. “If I were you I would take me into the vestry, put me over your knee and spank me until I can’t sit down for a week,” she said.

I was astonished but I have to admit the idea had a lot of merit and I was very tempted but it was so wrong. After all this was a young adult and I’m a vicar. “I really don’t think that would be appropriate,” I said.

Sarah looked like she was going to cry. “Please sir,” she begged woefully. “I don’t want to be thrown out of the choir. “Just smack my bum, really hard. That’ll teach me not to do it again.”

I thought about it.

“Please!,” she wailed. So what could I do? I relented.

In the vestry I have a desk and a chair where I sometimes write my sermons. I pulled the chair out and sat down. Sarah came nervously to my side. Then without prompting she laid over my knee.  I helped her shuffle into a more comfortable position and looked down at her full and shapely bottom where her jeans stretched tight. I raised my hand to smack those firm round cheeks but I stopped. It just didn’t seem right for me, a responsible and moral man of the cloth, to lay my hands on her in such a personal way. But then I had an idea.

We had recently held a church social function to raise some cash for the poor and needy out in the community. On my desk I had a cheese board that I’d used at the event. It was empty now. It was the long narrow type, about thirty centimetres in length and maybe eight centimetres wide with a short handle, a perfect spanking paddle. I don’t think it was quite what Sarah was expecting and she whimpered a bit when I rested it in on her upturned cheeks and then started to spank.

The first few thwacks caused little response, just the occasional hiss through clenched teeth and a bit of writhing. But as the punishment progressed, hissing became yelping and writhing became frantic and pretty soon her hand flew back to protect her stinging rump. I moved it away and continued to whack, hard, and it wasn’t long before she was begging me to stop.

Well of course I did stop and I let her scramble to her feet. But it turned out she wasn’t begging me to stop because she couldn’t take any more. She actually didn’t think I was punishing her hard enough. She scrabbled with the waistband of her jeans and before I could stop her she yanked them down. And if that wasn’t enough, as she leaned forward to go back over my knee she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and those came down as well. So now I was no longer staring at her tight jeans, I was faced with the prospect of continuing her spanking on her bare bottom.

But spank her I did. Just as hard as before and I could tell it was really stinging. Well it wasn’t long before she started to cry and pretty soon I just couldn’t continue. I had no doubt she’d been well and truly punished so I stopped spanking and let her go. She scrambled to her feet, desperately trying to rub away the sting.

Carefully and with gritted teeth she eased her panties and jeans back over her bottom. And then, before she left, she looked back at me. Her face was flushed and streaked with tears but she smiled and it wasn’t the smile of a contrite and punished teenager; it was the mischievous smile of a sexy young woman who’d just manipulated me into fulfilling her fantasy.

In fairness I should point out that she made a really good job of removing the graffiti and there was no more trouble. She sang beautifully at the concert despite looking a bit tender each time she returned to her seat.


Well those had been surprising revelations from the rev and the Captain so I felt obliged to share a tale of my own.  I wasn’t about to spill any stories about me and my wife but it just so happened I had recently witnessed a spanking between another married couple. So I cleared my throat and began.

It was the office Christmas party and someone had come up with the bright idea of doing secret Santa with a difference. Instead of normal gifts, we all had to give a t-shirt with a slogan on it. The creator of this festive game didn’t think to add any rules or words of caution about what these slogans could say and some of members of staff were a little sexist in their phrasing.

The party was well underway before the t-shirts were handed out. People were already soaking up the booze which probably explains why people were brave enough to wear them. One particular young lady, Emma, received a very provocative shirt in black with white writing.  Across the chest it carried a sexy but harmless phrase.

I’m on Santa’s



Emma went to the ladies restroom along with the other girls to put on her shirt.  But unfortunately she didn’t notice, and nobody thought to tell her, that the slogan continued on the back with another phrase.


And I’ll be nice

 At first there wasn’t a lot of reaction, just some smirking and giggling. But inevitably as the evening progressed and people became even more drunk the party was interrupted by a loud smack! followed by a howl and a slapped face. Everyone stared as Emma rubbed her bottom and Jim Noggs, a lad from the post room rubbed his face.

Emma didn’t see the joke and that surprised a lot of people who assumed that she knew what she was asking for by wearing such a provocative t-shirt, so no one else tried anything for a while. But then three lads from the IT department turned up. Now these lads were wild at the best of times and on this night they were even more out of control; full of Christmas spirit in every sense of the word. They burst into the room noisy and boisterous and quickly made the most of the slogans written across the girls’ breasts. “Lucky Mistletoe” Mary  was snogged by each of the lads in turn, “Jingle my Bells” Rhona had to cup her breasts in her hands and run away to stop them being “Jingled” and as for Emma, she was chased across the room by  two lads who were taking great pleasure in repeatedly slapping her bottom. At the far end of the room they caught her by the arms, turned her around and pulled her back into the centre or the room continuing to smack as they came. The third lad had grabbed a chair and sat down to await her arrival.

Without pausing for breath Emma was deposited over the lad’s knee and then the fun really started. After all, what could possibly happen to a young woman who finds herself draped over a man’s knee, bottom up with “Spank Me” blazoned across her back.

Emma was spanked with fierce enthusiasm. She kicked, howled, cursed and threatened but it made no difference. Her miniskirt wasn’t much longer than her t-shirt and it wasn’t long before it was brushed up out of the way and the spanking applied vigorously to the soft cotton of her panties with her reddening cheeks peeking from either side. Sadly I had to leave shortly afterwards, but as I departed I heard Emma wailing and protesting as the spanking came to an end and she was handed to the next lad for a repeat performance. I assume the third guy was waiting patiently to make it a spanking hat trick.

 I heard afterwards that the guy who spanked her first was actually her husband. It seems they’d had an acrimonious separation after she had an affair and this was his revenge. Rumer had it that he was actually the secret Santa who had that t-shirt made.


As my story came to an end, Big Mack’s face lit up. “Secret Santa,” he said. “That’s where I met Jenny”

“Slow down Mack,” I said. “You’re babbling.”

“No, no,” said Mack. “You know I said I’d met Jenny before. Well now I remember where.  It wasn’t so much secret Santa it was more Santa in secret.”

“OK Mack, I think you’ve had enough beer now,” I said. “You’re not making sense.”

Mack leaned forward to speak conspiratorially and we all leaned forward to listen.

“What I’m about to tell you is strictly between us. If Jenny found out then I could wind up in prison. You remember last year I told you I had been collecting for charity dressed as Santa Clause. Well what I didn’t tell you was what happened at the end of my last day. It had been a freezing day and I’d been out collecting all afternoon. I was cold, hungry and tired, so before I went home I decided to call in at Williamson’s department store. I thought I’d grab a hot brew at the coffee shop on the sixth floor. Well I finished my drink and made my way back down through the store. I reached the second floor and had just past Santa’s grotto which had closed earlier in the afternoon when three boisterous girls came piling off the escalator. I guess they would be nineteen or twenty years old and they had clearly been drinking since lunchtime.

“Yo Santa,” one of them yelled. “We’ve come to see you.”

As they bubbled towards me I tried to explain that despite the Santa suit I wasn’t the Santa who worked in the store but it made no difference, they weren’t listening. They grabbed my arms and started dragging me back towards the grotto. Now I’m a big fella but I didn’t want to hurt anyone and they were spectacularly attractive young ladies so I went along. After all, who’s going to complain about having a pretty girl sat on his knee?

Santa’s grotto was a simple affair, really just a throne surrounded by a winter wonderland display. So I sat down and welcomed the first girl onto my knee.  She was very nice, a pretty and shapely young lady smelling of expensive perfume. She just said she’d been a good girl and I said I know, I’ve got her on the nice list and Santa would bring her lots of presents, then I gave her a squeeze and she giggled. The second girl did the same and I span the same tale. But the third girl was totally different and this is where Jenny enters the story – she was the third girl.

She plonked heavily down on my knee, winding me. “I’ve been a bad girl tubby,” she said and elbowed me in the belly. She wriggled about on my knee then made a grab for my hat. I just managed to save it. I’m pretty sure she would have thrown it. “Ya know, I don’t think you’re the real Santa,” she said and then she tried to tug off my beard. Luckily it was a tie-on not a hook-on or I might have lost that too.

“Now that’s enough,” I snapped, starting to get really annoyed.

“No no no Santa,” she chirped. “I’m the customer and the customer’s always right. Then she said “aren’t you supposed to have rosy cheeks and a cherry nose?” and she took a pinch hold on my nose. Now it was already cold and sore from standing in a biting wind all afternoon so this really hurt. She just laughed as my eyes watered – and that was where I lost my temper.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her grip loose. “Right young lady,” I snarled, “I have a special gift for girls on my naughty list. She only had a brief second to think she might have gone too far before I’d stood her up, spun her around and pushed face down over my lap. She started to protest but I held her firm and her friends just laughed.

Jenny was wearing tight trousers, a bit like today, only these were white and a bit transparent. I could just make out a bit of white lace showing she was wearing a thong. She kicked a bit but it didn’t do any good. I was mad. I raised my hand above my shoulder and slapped it down hard. Jenny howled but the store was practically empty and the floor we were on was deserted. After half a dozen blistering smacks on those firm rounds cheeks her friends stopped laughing and started to realise that this was serious and Jenny wasn’t enjoying Santa’s gift as much as they thought.

By now Jenny was swearing like a trooper and trying to cover her bottom, which was starting to show pink through her pants as the skin underneath reddened. But I wasn’t going to be deterred. I held her wrist out of the way and continued to really paddle her hard. After a while one of her friends begged for me to stop, telling me Jenny had had enough. But my nose was still stinging and I wasn’t satisfied that naughty girl Jenny had learned her lesson. After a few dozen more, tears were streaming down jenny’s face and her friend pulled out her mobile.

“If you don’t let her go I’ll call the police,” she said.

It didn’t stop me. I just smacked even harder making Jenny writhe and kick ever more frantically. But when her friend dialled the emergency services and asked for the police I knew it was time to quit. I hauled Jenny to her feet and made a hasty exit. As I disappeared down the escalator I left Jenny standing holding her bottom and bawling. One friend was trying to console her and the other was talking on the phone.

At first I was worried. I expected the long arm of the law to drag me to the nick. But then I realised the girls had no idea who I was. They thought I was the Santa who worked at the store, but they were wrong and the city was full of other identical Santas so I was in the clear.”


As Mack finished his story, Jenny came around to collect empty glasses and wipe the table. I couldn’t help seeing her in a new light now. Even more attractive than before if that’s possible. She bent over to reach the empties and I was almost tempted to smack that bottom myself.

We lifted our drinks and Jenny wiped round then she replaced Mack’s beermat, which seemed a bit strange, after that she sauntered away. Then Mack looked down at his beermat and stared.

“What on earth’s this,” he said. There was a message written in black felt tip across the mat. It said…

“Dear Santa,

Sorry I was such a naughty girl last year.

Merry Christmas


Mack paled. He looked across at Jenny and gave a sickly grin. Jenny smiled sweetly and winked.


Merry Christmas