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Subject: {ASSM} Letter to Santa - A Holiday Story     Spanking
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Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 05:10:04 -0500
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Letter to Santa - A Holiday Story
by The Technician

Fantasy, Spanking, Anal

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The real reason Grandma got married on Christmas Day.

Every year Grandpa answers the question, "Why did you and grandma get
married on Christmas Day?" This year, gramps gives the true answer

Almost all erotic content in this short story is implied, not
explicit. It is very mild, but somewhat romantic and filled with
Christmas magic. If this is the first of my stories you have read, be
aware before you look at others that most of my stories are much more
explicit.

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18
ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All
people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations,
and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real
life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference
between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province,
nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts
depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to
somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if
acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is
included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2014 by The
Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this
story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies
of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly
forbidden.

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Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell (The Technician}
Senior Project  http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=7753
 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
 * * * * * * * * * * * * 

It was Christmas Eve and all the family was gathered at my house.
Molly and I always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve. When we were
first married, it was so we could reserve the 25th to celebrate our
wedding anniversary. We continued that tradition even after David and
Susan came along. 


While they were growing up, Santa always brought the gifts while we
were at church on Christmas Eve and we opened presents after we got
back. Somehow David and Susan never figured out that Molly always
remembered something just as we got into the car and I had to go back
into the house to get it. For some reason, I always had a hard time
finding it and was delayed several minutes before coming back to the
car carrying her purse or whatever. By the time we returned from
church, the presents were always under the tree.

When they got older, they liked our Christmas Eve tradition because it
allowed them to have their current love interest and later their
spouse celebrate with us on Christmas Eve and then with their family
on Christmas Day.

As grandchildren came and grew up, it got more and more difficult for
everyone to be here for Christmas Eve. But this year, now that all of
the grandchildren except little Molly were out of college and married-
no great-grandkids yet- it was again possible to get together. At
least, that's what they tell me. I know the primary reason that
everyone is here this year is that they think this might be the last
year it will be possible.

Molly has been gone now for almost five years. I'm not getting any
younger, and time marches on- or at my age, gallops on. I've already
told them that I'm putting the house on the market in the Spring and
moving into a small apartment. If I'm still around next year and we
get together, it won't be here, and it won't be the same. So, one way
or another, this is our last family Christmas at home.

The meal was delicious, even though I didn't help prepare any of it
this year. After eating, we all went to church together- I think that
is probably the only time during the year most of the grandchildren
ever go. After church, we gathered around the tree to open gifts.

Every family develops certain traditions without ever realizing that
they do so. One of the Christmas Eve traditions for us was that one of
the grandchildren would always ask, "Gramps, why did you and Grandma
get married on Christmas Day?" This year was no exception and David's
oldest, Ken, asked the question after all the gifts were open and we
were sitting around drinking eggnog.

"It was because of a mistake at the post office," I would always
begin. "On Christmas Eve day, the postman left a package for me in my
mailbox. At the apartment house, the package went in a big box below
the mailboxes, and what the postman actually left in my mailbox was
the key to that box. When you opened the big mailbox, you could get
your package. But the package wasn't addressed to me. It was addressed
to your grandmother."

I would always wait for someone to ask, "What did you do?" before
continuing with my story.

"I took the package up to her apartment and knocked on the door. She
invited me in while she opened it, and as they say, `The rest is
history.' We got married a year later. None of the local pastors were
willing to marry us on Christmas Day, so we went to Las Vegas. You can
get married there any time of the day, any day of the year. We eloped
and told people and family about it later."

That short story would be the signal to go back to the table and have
some pie for dessert, but this year, little Molly, the youngest
grandchild, asked another question. "Little" Molly was 19 and had
brought her latest boyfriend, Brian, with her for the evening.
Sometimes you can just tell that two people were meant for each other.
That is the way it was with Molly and Brian. She had known him for
about a year, and, in my mind, they were definitely meant for each
other.

After I finished my story, Molly looked at me very seriously and said,
"Why do you always smile like that every time you finish that story?"

I looked at her quizzically, and she continued, "That is the same kind
of smile you would give us when you were telling one of your big fibs
when we were little kids."

"No, it isn't," I replied somewhat defensively.

"Yes, it is," answered almost everyone in unison.

I sat there quietly for a moment or so debating what to say. "Well," I
began, "Mark Twain said that only dead men can tell the truth. Molly's
gone. I'm close enough. So, I guess I can risk telling you the truth.
I have to warn you, though, it might change some of your memories of
Molly and me."

"I want to know the truth, Grandpa," Molly said as she looked me in
the eye.

"OK," I answered. "For you, little Molly, I will tell the whole
truth."

I took a deep breath and began. "It wasn't the postman who delivered
the package to me on Christmas Eve, it was Santa."

There were a few giggles, but Molly cut them off with, "Shhhh. I think
he's serious. Let him continue."

I got up and took my Molly's picture down from the mantel above the
fireplace. I slid the frame open and took an old piece of paper out of
the back of the frame. "He brought me a wrapped package and this
letter."

I sat back down before continuing. "He said to me, `I have a gift that
I can't deliver to a girl who has written faithfully to me every year
of her life.' He then read the letter to me out loud."

I opened the piece of paper and said, "This is that letter. It reads,
`Dear Santa, I am writing to you for the last time. I am almost twenty
and all grown up now. I know that the magic of Christmas will soon be
behind me. But I am writing one last letter in hopes that you could
bring me what I truly want for Christmas this year.

"`When I was a little girl, Daddy would take my letters to the
backyard and very carefully burn them in our big brick barbeque grill
as I watched. He said that the letters would be carried in the smoke
to your magical workshop. I almost always got what I asked for, so the
magic must have worked. I eventually learned that Dad really switched
letters so that he could later read what I had written, but I am going
to send this letter to you in the smoke anyway and hope that I'm not
too old for the magic to work.'"

I stopped to clear my throat and gather my courage to read the rest of
the letter. "`I know that no one will ever read this letter,' it
continued, `so I can be totally honest. What I really want for
Christmas, Santa, is a spanking. Dad only spanked me once or twice
growing up, and there was definitely nothing enjoyable about it. But
last year my boyfriend smacked my butt really hard while we were
making out and it set off something inside me that I never thought I
could experience. I asked him to keep spanking me, but suddenly he got
all weird and claimed that I was a freak or something.

"`I'm not a freak, I am just very sexually turned on by a spanking. I
don't want a spanking every time. Regular sex is wonderful. But once
in a while I feel like I need that extra something that I know a
spanking would give me. I even think that after my butt is all red and
glowing, I would like to be taken in my ass, or at least from behind
so that I could feel his body slamming into my asscheeks as he pumps
into me.'"

I cleared my throat again. "`I don't have a back yard, but I'm going
to burn this letter in a coffee can up on the roof of the apartment
building so the smoke can go up to wherever you are.'"

I wiped away a tear or two before finishing with, "It is signed,
`Still believing miracles can happen, Molly.'"

Everyone was very silent. Little Molly was looking at me with very
wide eyes.

"Santa then said to me," I continued, "`I can't deliver this gift not
only because I have a reputation to maintain with the little children,
but also because you are part of the gift. You are the man Molly is
looking for.' With that, he was gone and I was sitting there in my
little kitchen with a wrapped Christmas gift that said, `To Molly,
From Santa' on the tag."

"What was in the package?" asked one of the grandchildren.

"I'm getting to that," I replied. "I took the package upstairs and
knocked on Molly's door. I told her that the package had been
mistakenly left at my apartment, and she invited me in. We sat and
talked for a few minutes. She asked who delivered the package, and I
said that it was a very long story that I would have to tell her later
when I knew her better. Then she said, `It's Christmas Eve, so I guess
I should open the package.'

"Inside the wrapped box was a wooden paddle a little over a foot long.
It was made of oak and was a little over a half-inch thick. It had
been very carefully formed and sanded and was finished with a thick
layer of glossy varnish. On one side of the paddle was very ornate
script which said, `To Molly,' and beneath that, `From Santa's
Workshop.' Somehow, her letter was in the box with paddle."

I coughed lightly and paused before saying, "I will leave it to your
imaginations as to how Molly and I spent Christmas Eve. The next
morning, I asked her if she would marry me. She immediately said,
`Yes,' but insisted that we would have to wait a year so that we could
be married on Christmas Day."

This time there were more than a couple of tears that I had to wipe
away before I could continue. "I was going to put that paddle in the
casket with her, but I couldn't find it when I came back to the house
to gather up clothes to take to the funeral home. The only thing I
could figure is that when she knew her time was getting close, she
threw it away or something so you kids wouldn't find it."

"Santa took it back," said little Molly. Her eyes were now very, very
wide. 

Then she said softly, "Brian, go out to the car and get that gift from
last year."

He left and returned shortly with a small box. "I gave this to Molly
last year," he said rather sheepishly. Then he added, "... sort of."

Molly took the box from him and said, "Grandma told me about sending
the letters to Santa in the smoke when she was a little girl."

She then took a piece of paper out of the box and said, "I won't read
this to you, but when you see the gift, you'll probably guess what it
says."

She reached into the box again and held up a wooden paddle a little
over a foot long. It was made of oak and was a little over a half-inch
thick. It had been very carefully formed and sanded and was finished
with a thick layer of glossy varnish. On one side of the paddle was
very ornate script which said, "To Molly,' and beneath that, `From
Santa's Workshop."

She carefully put the letter and the paddle back in the box.

"Our plane leaves for Vegas at 9:30 tomorrow morning." said Brian.

"By tomorrow night we'll be married," added Molly. "We were going to
call everyone from Vegas and tell you that we had eloped like Grandma
and Gramps did."

"It sounds like there is more than just eloping that is like Grandma
and Gramps," said another of the grandchildren. Everyone but Molly,
Brian, and me then giggled slightly.

Brian broke the giggling by saying, "I didn't expect him to have such
dark eyes."

"Who?" Molly's mother, Susan, asked.

"Santa," he replied. "They always show him with blue eyes, but when he
brought me the package, his eyes were almost black."

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END OF STORY 
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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