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Author's Note: I've never written erotica before, so I welcome any and all constructive criticism, as I am certain I have room for improvement. Thanks, and Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!
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*****
Clara dropped her bag on the side table as she stepped inside her apartment. Three whole days off for the holidays, she was thrilled. Managing the shoe department of Nordstrom was no small feat, and a break was welcome. She planned to do nothing but lounge around, luxuriating in the time to herself. It was time for no pants, no bra, and no worries.
Ding dong
, her doorbell rang out. She wasn't expecting anyone, but sometimes a neighbor's kids liked to go caroling in the halls, which was usually pretty cute, well worth the five minutes they'd take to warble out 'Jingle Bells'.
Clara checked the peephole, surprised to see the hot security guard at her door.
That
security guard. The one who dropped by Clara's department maybe a little more often than was strictly necessary. The one who was well-built, darkly handsome, and had just recently asked for her number. She'd happily given it to him, but his coming to her apartment was a surprise.
What on Earth was he doing here?
Clara pondered.
Curious, but cautious, Clara unlocked and opened the door to her apartment. "Hello? Can I help you?" she asked.
"Hello," he said. "Santa sent me. Can I come in?"
"Wait, Santa? The
mall
Santa? How does he know where I live?" Clara asked, leaning against the doorway and grinning in amusement. She hadn't realized he was this interested, maybe this would be a merry holiday season after all.
"He knows where everyone lives. Remember, 'sees you when you're sleeping, knows when you're awake'?" he quoted, watching her intently, but waiting for her to agree before advancing into her personal space.
"Santa sounds like a real creep. But really, did the girls from work put you up to this? I bet it was Marie," Clara wondered.
The gals she managed at work had dragged her to get pictures taken with the mall Santa on a break just yesterday. The one the mall had hired that year was just perfect; friendly, jolly, and thank heavens not handsy.
He'd asked Clara what she wanted for Christmas. Since none of her answers would've been socially acceptable, she said, "Surprise me!" Santa had laughed, and said he'd make sure she got everything she deserved this Christmas.
"Marie did drop a hint or two, something about how you thought I was hot? 'Surface of the sun' hot, was it? But she didn't tell me where you live. Like I said, Santa sent me. I'm here to give you what you deserve for Christmas," he shifted his weight, moving the rucksack from one shoulder to the other.
Clara didn't miss the play of muscles in his arms and across his chest under his shirt, as he moved. She could smell his cologne, he had just enough on for her to sense it. It was subtle, spicy, sexy.
"The hell with it, want to come in, maybe have some eggnog?" Clara said, throwing caution to the wind. She'd talked to him enough at work for the past six months, flirting with him every time they saw each other, for his surprise arrival at her door to be more interesting than scary. She was certain either Marie or maybe Jane had slipped him her address.
"Sure," he said, grinning. He walked in, not setting his rucksack down at the door. He gestured for her to lead the way, and she walked him to the living room. She didn't mind taking the lead, why not let him get a good eyeful before the fun began?
"Do you like brandy with your eggnog, or rum?" Clara asked as she turned to face him.
"As I said, I'm here to give you what you deserve for Christmas," he replied, ignoring her question. He seemed to be growing taller as he walked toward her, taking up more space in the small apartment. His footsteps were getting louder too. She hadn't yet noticed the claws sprouting from his fingers.
"And what, exactly, do you think I deserve for Christmas?" Clara smirked, hands on her hips, eyeing his face. She knew that next would be a torrid kiss, perhaps some oral, maybe even a fuck on the floor. A little Christmas fun, why not? It had been too long, and he looked like a good time...
"On your knees," he growled. Clara finally noticed, his hairline was changing, it looked like his long brown hair had...horns in it?
"Hey, wait..." Clara stammered, eyes widening.
"On. Your. KNEES," he repeated, snarling as he swung his huge arm up. He threaded his clawed fingers into the hair on the back of her head, holding it firmly in his fist.
He forced her head toward the ground, causing her legs to buckle. She let out a yelp as she was shoved onto her hands and knees by her hair. He pushed her further, so her face was held to the floor, her cheek on the cold hardwood.
Finding herself face down, ass up, her breath came in gasps. Her heart raced as she tried to find her bearings, but he was quick. She could feel a breeze as her skirt was lifted, exposing her thong. Then, a tickling, brushing feeling on her pert ass. She was able to crane her neck just enough to see what he was doing.
He was brushing a medium-size switch of twigs across her ass, in gentle, lazy circles. His rucksack was open at his side, he must've pulled it from there.
"Oh God," Clara moaned, "you know what you're doing, don't you..."
"Yes, yes I do. Last chance. Do you want what you deserve for Christmas?" he asked, pausing.
"Christ, yes, please," she gasped out, "whatever I deserve."
He grinned, baring his sharp teeth, and began.
Holding her firmly down by the hair with one hand, he swung his other arm toward her exposed cheeks, starting with little stinging slaps across both rounded halves of her ass.
She gasped, letting out a little "ah" every few blows. The stinging of the switch was sharp, with the promise of much more to come. A perfect beginning to a good spanking. She wiggled a bit, more with pleasure than anything else, and felt the familiar warmth and wetness begin to well under her lacy thong.
Her ass was growing pink with the slaps, and her face pink with arousal, when suddenly he stopped. She opened her eyes, and was able to get out a, "H-h-hey, what..." before he swung the switch back, slapping it across the backs of both of her thighs, up and down. Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, firmer this time.
Each blow brought out a yelp now, particularly when the switch played over the line between her bare thigh and her thigh high stockings. Her legs were reddened by now, and she was starting to truly soak her undies. They'd be useless soon, she hoped He'd take them off.
He moved further up, back toward her ass, slapping first one cheek, then the other, thwap, thwap, thwap. The pain was intensifying, but was oh so satisfying. The endorphin rush was starting now, they'd been at it long enough for that slight high to start washing over her.
He paused, laying his switch on the floor, then drew down her thong with the claw on his index finger. The claw grazed her thigh all the way down, making her shiver and gasp. He snapped the elastic on the side, freeing one leg from the thin strand of lace. He left the remains of her panties on her left leg.
Reaching back up to the small of her back, he hooked the same claw into the waistband of her skirt. He drew it down the length of the fabric, waistband to hem, tearing through it with ease. Her skirt fluttered to the floor in front of her.
He pulled her face up from the floor by her hair, propping her up in her weak euphoria. "Take off your blouse and your bra," he growled, his glare brooking no argument.
She fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, taking longer than usual with her clumsy, blissed-out fingers. Her bra was an easier removal, she was able to sweep the clasp open with a twist of her wrist, then pull it off and toss it aside.
Bare skinned except for her thigh high stockings, her breasts jiggling slightly as she wavered on her knees, she waited. Her nipples hardened in the slightly chilly air of her apartment. He swung the switch in an arc and slapped it lightly across both breasts, the spread of twigs reaching both nipples at once. She cried out, her arms instinctively raising to protect her tender flesh.
