A Winter's Tail

[mistermarkham]

A Winter's Tail
A short story by Penman

By the time they reached their destination, all four travellers were, to say the least, weary, yet the long journey had not been as problematic as they had anticipated and had taken a good hour less than predicted, bringing them to their destination early in the afternoon. As a result, with the two cars unloaded, the baggage safely stowed in the two bedrooms and the various containers, filled with all manner of food and drinks, deposited in the kitchen, it was not long before the cars were locked away in the very spacious garage and the four of them were sitting on two very large and comfortable settees in the comfort of the L-shaped lounge, enjoying the warmth radiating from a blazing log fire at the corner.
The convivial atmosphere certainly did not suffer on account of consumption of a moderate amount of alcohol of various kinds by the four travellers. In the tradition of canine companions, Bilbo and Rufus, a black labrador and a red setter, were steaming gently at a comfortable distance from the fire, stretched out on a thick rug and almost motionless, in deep slumber after their customary re-familiarisation walk through the frozen countryside and their equally customary consumption of an enormous quantity of dog food and biscuits.
By half past ten, with the last minutes of Christmas Eve ticking away slowly on the grandfather clock, all four visitors were ready to sleep off tiredness from travelling and from completion of preparations for Christmas Day festivities and to settle in for their long-planned 10-day year-end escape deep into rural England, in a very well- and tastefully-appointed remote property situated so far from major towns and cities that light pollution was virtually non-existent in the night sky.
The two large en-suite bedrooms were situated at opposite ends of the wide landing, separated by an airing cupboard, a sewing room, a third bedroom and a third, separate, upstairs toilet and shower room. The oak staircase was obviously hand-made, by a true craftsman, and was lined with a broad strip of very dark green carpet, which merged with the deep, matching carpet in the hallway.
With the dogs settled in their large baskets, lined with old blankets, in the utility, John and Mike made their final tour of the premises before going upstairs.
 
Outside, the temperature was dropping quite fast and a thick mist was forming. There was not a sound to be heard and both John and Mike had commented that they had felt something of an atmosphere of anticipation, expectation, but they had absolutely no idea as to why this should be and they eventually put this down to the absence of familiar noises that were commonplace at home. So, with the house locked up and the thickening mist enveloping it, the two men made their way to their rooms.
Mike shut the door quietly behind him just as Helen emerged from the bathroom, dressed in snugly-fitting soft white cotton pyjamas decorated with a pattern of holly and berries that showed her young body off in a very comforting way, pleasantly laced with a healthy sense of subtle eroticism.
It did not take Mike long to get ready for bed and soon he was under the duvet with Helen, but clad, in the best traditions of manliness, in the Santa Claus boxer shorts that Helen had purchased impulsively for him at the Knickerbox on the way home a couple of weeks previously.
Helen giggled.
Mike sipped his toddy thoughtfully and turned to his wife.
"Penny for them..."
"They cost a lot more than that", came the instant reply.
"What did?", Mike answered, now very close to the full embrace of Morpheus and not quite as agile of mind as he was when at work.
"Your boxers, silly!". Helen giggled again and lifted the quilt to peer down towards her husband's waist. Tiredness, a longish walk, a good meal and a few drinks meant that the physical response was not quite what it might have been under different circumstances, but Mike did nothing to inhibit Helen's exploring gaze, followed by her meandering hand. Mike's body stirred slightly as Helen's hand stroked his thigh, but full appreciation of her touch was going to have to wait for another day.
Helen leaned back against the pillows stacked behind her and looked up at the solid beams above their heads. She yawned and moved her hand to take hold of Mike's right hand and squeeze it gently.
Mike finished his toddy and turned to Helen, smiling. Helen released his hand and he leaned across to her. Slowly he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger and looked deep into her eyes.
"So, tell me, why the giggles? .... Or do I have to resort to other methods to extract the information?". Mike grinned, but possibly without the usual intention (or ability) to follow his threat through.
Helen giggled again, even more loudly than the previous time.
"I was just wondering what Santa looks like in his boxers, but then, his bulge is a bit higher up than yours, so he probably hasn't seen his boxers for years, except in the drawer and laundry basket!"
Mike looked at her, half seriously, but with mischievous laughter in his eyes. With a perfectly contrived stage whisper, he urged his lady not to be so careless with her words on the one night when, according to legend and song, the object of her mirth and taunts could well be out on his rounds.
Helen almost shrieked with laughter as the image crossed her mind of a very rotund gentleman in red, dressed only in Mike's boxers, driving a creaking old sleigh hauled by eight feisty reindeer, trundling along the ice runway at some distant field in Lapland.
She stroked Mike's face softly and smiled back at him.
"Seriously, my love, I wasn't laughing at you... " ... she peered down the bed again and grinned ... "... what right-minded girl ever could! No, I just had this silly picture in my mind of some fat old bloke shivering in his boxers on his delivery round."
Mike grinned. "You really should be careful, love. You never know..."
Five minutes later, with the lights switched off and the two forms tucked cosily under the warm duvet, all that could be heard was the gentle purring sound of Helen's sleepy breathing and the rather more masculine muted basso profundo growl of Mike's snoring, as the two of them fell into a deep sleep.
Outside, the mist had thickened even further, taking on the appearance of freezing fog, but eerily illuminated by silvery moonlight that only showed the faint outline of the outbuildings and surrounding trees.
At around 2.30 in the morning, Helen awoke with a start. She sat up and looked around her in an attempt to identify the cause of her awakening at such an unusual hour. Mike was fast asleep at her side and there was not a sound. Helen wondered if she had been dreaming and was about to lie down again when she heard that same sound for a second time. She could not place the type of sound or the source, but her mind conjured up a picture of an 18th century coach outside the front door, drawn by four large horses. That was it! It had been the sound of harness that she had heard.
After hearing the sound for the third time, Helen nudged Mike, gently at first, then more urgently, but after hearing a series of grunts that appeared to amount to an automated "I am unable to deal with your enquiry at present" message, she stepped out of bed, put on her thick slippers and slipped a jumper over her pyjama top before tiptoeing across to the bedroom door. Silently, she opened it slightly and peered cautiously, half frightened and half excited, out onto the landing, where a pale silver light illuminated now familiar shapes. She closed the door behind her and tiptoed slowly downstairs, making not a sound and surprising herself at the silence of the floorboards and stairway treads.
Eventually, she reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around the silent scene. Slowly, she edged her way towards the leaded window at the side of the heavy front door and peered out into the dense mist. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal, but again she heard the sound of harness. By now, curiosity had taken over from fear .. unwisely some might say .. and this was elevated almost to a fever pitch by what Helen thought was a flickering movement in the mist. She tried to penetrate the mist with her gaze, but could not make anything out clearly, not even the outhouses. Then, for a brief moment, she was convinced that she saw ..... an antler! The vision was only momentary, but this tipped Helen's curiosity over the edge and had to be investigated.
Helen turned to walk back across the hallway, wondering if some of the local estate deer had found their way onto the property after losing their way in the mist. But, if that were the case, how come she had heard the sound of harness?
Curiosity might well have been in control, but prudence had not gone entirely on leave and she decided to arm herself with a very heavy torch from the utility room and go outside to investigate further. Carefully, she walked into the short corridor leading to the kitchen, then on to the utility. Two dogs had their paws on the lower edge of the window frame and were looking straight at her. Could it have been them? Helen shook her head... no, she had definitely heard the sounds of harness.
Helen unlocked the Utility door and greeted Bilbo and Rufus with a quick ruffle of their ears. She pressed the light switch, but nothing happened. A shiver ran down her spine. She tried the switch again, still nothing. She muttered to herself that the bulb couldn't have picked a better time to blow. Eventually, she found the heavy duty torch and confidently pressed the on button. Nothing! She let out an expletive, the impact of which was, fortunately, lost on the Bilbo and Rufus. Again, inspiration illuminated the path of Helen's ideas and she made her way back through the kitchen and into the lounge, where she knew that there would be spare bulbs and batteries. She walked confidently into the kitchen with the two totally unfazed dogs at her side and pressed the light switch. Nothing! A second muttered expletive set the dogs' heads tilting curiously, almost perfectly synchronised, to one side, as they tried to make out what Helen was saying. Fortunately, canine understanding of human language did not stretch that far. Helen decided that she needed to find a replacement torch so that she could go and check the circuit breakers and find out which one had tripped, so she made her way, still accompanied by the dogs, into the lounge. It suddenly dawned on her that there was more light there than she had expected, but she assumed that the fire had continued to burn well into the night. As she walked slowly round the corner of the angled fireplace, her progress came to a sudden halt and she stood, open-mouthed, wondering why she couldn't scream and, curiously, why Bilbo and Rufus just carried on and trotted casually across to the somewhat older gentleman sitting in the armchair, attired in a dark red cape with a white lining and wearing very sturdy looking maroon-coloured leather boots. Bilbo and Rufus sat down quietly at the feet of the gentleman in red. Despite the fact that he had a hood over his head, Helen could make out a whitish beard and moustache. A rapid whirring of the deductive cogwheels in her mind suddenly provided her with a perfectly rational explanation of this bizarre scene.
Helen had to hand it to Mike that this was an extremely clever stunt and that his ability to don disguise and dress in such a very short time as the Saint Nicholas whom she had been mocking should earn him instant access to the best studios at Elstree. However, she decided to play along with the game. Slowly, she walked towards the figure seated in the armchair and tried to get a better look at this masterpiece of make-up.
Two candles flickered on the mantelpiece and cast a warm glow over the seated gentleman. Now, Helen was not sure that this was Mike. Could it be John? Had the two of them been conspiring?
A deep but mellow voice, not in the least bit disturbing, called her over. Helen froze initially, but then walked towards the mysterious figure, past what she now realised was a very active and warm log fire, the fireguard having been moved to one side.
"Helen."
She giggled softly, partly from lingering uncertainty and partly from her usual technique for dealing with situations in which she felt somewhat out of her depth. However, she remained convinced that this was an elaborate hoax that the other three had set up for her and she was equally convinced that the other two would suddenly appear out of nowhere.
She stood in front of the seated gentleman in red. "Errrmm, yes?" She held her hands, just slightly damp from nervousness, behind her back and tried to disguise the fact that she was fidgeting almost uncontrollably.
The bass voice continued: "Helen, you know who I am?"
Helen giggled again, but her sense of humour took over, leading her to reply: "Well I know it's one of you two blokes and when I find out which one it is he will find his Christmas lunch isn't quite what he had expected."
Her comment was met with a deep, quiet laugh and it took Helen a great deal of effort to stop herself from believing she had just heard this impostor saying "Ho ho ho!!", yet it had all sounded very real.
"This is the season of the unexpected, Helen. So very unexpected."
Helen tried desperately to place the voice, but she had to admit to defeat, as it rang no bells at all. The voice continued..
"For Helen would never have expected to have been confronted with a list of all the very silly, naughty, even stupid things that she has done this past year.....".
After this, Helen's view that this was either Mike or John was reinforced by the recitation, still in this totally unfamiliar bass voice, of a series of cringeworthy events that had somewhat tainted her ostensibly model record for good, sensible and honourable behaviour during the previous twelve months. She blushed and put her hand to her mouth, determined to match the gentleman's thespian skills with her own, by no means unappreciable acting skills as she adopted the role of the naughty girl summoned to give account of her misdeeds to a very concerned and strict guardian. She spared no effort, in terms of her vocabulary, tone and body language, in creating the image of the naughty girl facing retribution and was so totally into the role that she accepted willingly, with only theatrical protestation, when summoned to drape herself across the knees of the gentleman in the chair. Butterflies fluttered their wings inside her tummy as she contemplated the inevitable and allowed her mind to slip into the most submissive of attitudes, but still she was not entirely certain as to whose hand it was that was about to descend upon her...
Helen's chain of thought was interrupted by a very sharp smack from an extremely firm hand right in the centre of her left cheek. She gasped, squealed in total silence - much to her surprise - then squirmed as a volley of at least two dozen equally firm smacks landed in a well distributed pattern across both her firm, shapely cheeks, adorned with the stretched icons of the festive season. This was followed by a pause, during which Helen felt soothing hands gently stroking her stinging cheeks. She relaxed and lay comfortably across the lap of the gentleman in red, her curiosity now being replaced by the sensation that she always experienced during an over-the-knee spanking, her body flooding with warmth, her mind filling with a sense of safety and belonging. The hand continued to caress her cheeks softly for several minutes and Helen could feel her mind beginning to float in the way she so adored, the perfect stress relief. She was now convinced that this was Mike in an extremely clever disguise and her guard dropped completely... as did her pyjama bottoms, pushed slowly down over her hips as she lifted them in an almost reflex response to signs of intent to bare her bottom.
Feeling her leg being bent and her slipper being removed did not immediately strike Helen as being out of place, neither did the first resounding crack as the slipper landed right across the centre of her bottom, causing her first to clench the cheeks tightly, then relax, allowing them to bounce under the impact. Neither did the second, third, fourth, fifth or sixth, but when the slippering went on to a dozen, all spaced evenly apart and all spread uniformly across her reddening cheeks, Helen's sense of uncertainty came flooding back and she began to squirm. By the time the second dozen smacks had been applied, she was begging for it to stop, but her bodily response was already beginning to take effect and a deep sense of longing was growing in her pelvic region as the hand that wielded the slipper so effectively returned to caressing the naked buttocks, brushing every square inch of the soft skin and creating such familiar, beautiful sensations. Unconsciously, her thighs parted slightly as her mind anticipated the next step in what was quite a familiar ritual, but one that never failed to affect her in this way.
"Everything in its time, little one", came the reassuring bass voice, "but there are things that have to be done where naughtiness taints a girl's good character...", whereupon the slippering resumed, focused this time on the sit spots and resulting in very genuine squirming as the lower two thirds of Helen's bottom and the very tops of her thighs were transformed from blushing pink to claret red. Helen could feel herself slipping into that space she knew so well, comforted by the strong, securing arm around her waist and the sturdiness of strong thighs underneath her.
Helen had been across the lap of the gentleman in red for almost half an hour when she felt her slipper being replaced on her foot and a gentle hand raising her pyjama bottoms to her hips and waist. By this stage, only half of her mind was focused on her actual surroundings, but she was sufficiently alert to see Bilbo and Rufus stretched out in front of the fire as she was picked up, cradled in the arms of the gentleman in red and carried slowly out of the lounge. She tried to express her alarm that the fireguard was not in front of the fire, but no word came from her mouth. Slowly she was sinking into a truly comforting place where the warmth matched the heat in her bottom. At the top of the stairs, the gentleman in red turned right and headed for John and Julie's bedroom. Helen tried to point out from the midst of her deliciously dazed feeling that this was not the right room, but the door was opened and there were Julie and John, sleeping soundly, almost unnaturally so, under the duvet. Helen would have been confused had her mind been capable of any form of logic or reason at that point, but she did at least work out that this was her own Mike and that the next course in this delicious meal would soon be enjoyed by both of them as they returned to their own bed. She felt herself being lowered onto the bed and covered with the duvet. Mindlessly, she reached across and rested her hand on the shoulder of the deeply-sleeping form at her side. She smiled, now almost asleep. Had she been fully awake, her alarm bells would have rung out across the county at that point, but those powers of discernment and reason had gone well ahead of her into the world of sleep and she gave up any attempt at working out how this wonderful experience had been contrived.
It was the very distant sound of church bells that roused Helen and Mike from their sleep to greet Christmas Day morning, feeling very much refreshed and totally relaxed. Helen lay back and turned her head towards Mike, who was smiling back at her. "Merry Christmas, my love", he whispered to her. She smiled, her mind full of a jumble of memories of what could only have been the most vivid of dreams from which she had just awoken. Again, she squeezed the hand of the man she loved as no other, trying without too much exertion to work out the significance of her 'dream'.
John and Julie were finishing their breakfast when Mike and Helen entered the kitchen, still in their night attire and wrapped in dressing gowns. Julie told Helen, with a very theatrical wink, that she knew that they shouldn't entrust their safety to men who couldn't even close the utility door properly, left lights on in the kitchen and utility and left the dogs in the lounge all night. Helen giggled and Mike looked distinctly confused. John looked across at him and rolled his eyes. "Julie cannot believe that you and I left everything as it should be. I told her we either have a sleepwalker in the house or Santa Claus came a-visiting!".
Julie sighed, winked at Helen over her coffee cup and mouthed a scornful "men!" to her. Helen smiled, now in considerable confusion, then went briefly into the lounge, where the dying embers of the fire were glowing in the hearth behind the fireguard. She walked back to the kitchen and was greeted by Mike, who handed her a small package, wrapped in gold paper. She smiled and accepted it. Carefully, she opened it and found what looked like a small jewellery box inside. Her astonishment was clearly visible to, but wrongly interpreted by the other three when she saw the beautiful 24 ct gold Saint Nicholas charm inside it. She reached an arm up to Mike's neck and brought her lips to his in a kiss of thanks.
Julie walked over to the cafetière and poured Helen a cup of delicious hot coffee. "You look as if you could do with this!"
Helen accepted the coffee thankfully, with a smile, and carried it across to the breakfast bar. She pulled out the chair and sat down. Nobody in the room fully understood the reason for the expression of bemused delight as she sat down on what was still quite a tender bottom.
"Are you alright, love", enquired Mike, solicitously.
"Oh yes, ta", came the grinning reply. "I must have been spanked by Santa Claus while I was out sleep-walking!"
The four of them broke into laughter, then went on with their festive business. Nothing more was ever said about the events of that Christmas Eve, but nobody could explain quite how it had been that fresh droppings from a large animal or animals had been found at the front of the house, along with hoof-prints that had clearly not been made by horses, stretching for about 20 yards between a parallel set of lines. By early afternoon, there had been just enough warmth to remove the tracks whilst Mike and John had thoughtfully placed the animal leavings on the rose-beds at the front of the house. Some traces, however, were not so easily erased, and Helen was never entirely certain that the bruising on her bottom had been the result of having landed rather heavily on it as the four of them had returned from an appetite-whetting pre-lunch walk on that fresh, crisp and so memorable Christmas Day.

[Often123]

A very good one.

[mspearl]

what fun!

[selina]

What a wonderful Christmas story - it makes me dream..... even 3 weeks after Christmas Eve - thank you so much for sharing this!