Christmas Shoppings

This was the first story I wrote to post on 360. It was written as a gift to my first "friend" who was called Suffolk.

Saturday, December 23 rd 1989.
The central shopping district in Australia’s second largest city.
(Written for Don.)

“Are you hanging up your stockings on the wall …”

“Actually, no. I only have the one pair of hold-ups and they’re rolled up in the back of my pantyhose drawer.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh nothing, just that song.”

Kirsten and Rachael had been allowed into the city to complete their Christmas shopping and had just entered Buckley’s when Kirsten decided to comment upon the music. They’d met up at the end of Wills Street with Melissa, (who was Kirsten’s best friend, not that she’d told Rachael that), and Jessica (who was called “Jiss” because she’d just arrived from New Zealand and had yet to discover the presence of vowels in Australian English). The ride in on the train from the South-Eastern bay side urban-fringe where the girls lived had been uneventful, and after a lunch of junk and salad they were about to hit the shops big-time.

“Do you heave shops like thus in New Zullen?” Rachel was abysmal at accents, but Jessica knew it was all part of the settling in process, so just smiled sweetly.

“Only in the big cities.” She pronounced “big” as if it were spelled “bug”.

The shops had been packed earlier in the day, and with this now being the last Saturday afternoon before Christmas the girls had been expecting the going in Buckley’s to be solid. Happily most of the shoppers had been more organised than they, and the crowd was actually diminished.

“Righto ladies, where are we going?” As the oldest member of the group Rachael decided to take charge. “Kirst wants to buy a scarf for her Nan so we’ll…”

“A scarf? In this weather?” Jessica was incredulous. “It’s thirty-sux degrees, she’ll boil alive!”

“Her Nan lives in England, it’s cold there.”

“Yes, she’s in Suffolk. My mum was born in Ipswich. Oh, and please Rach, it’s Kirsten. My name is Kirsten, not Kirst. I’m not cursed, I’m blessed!” Kirsten was rather sick of having her name turned into an insult; one reason why she now preferred Melissa.

“Sorry Lovely. So yes, KirstEN wants a scarf for her Nan, and I want to look at tops for my cousins. Both of those are on Floor Three, with Ms Buckley’s at the front and Accessories on the way there, next to Hosiery and Shoes. The girls had reached the escalators now and stood in pairs, rising towards the first floor

“Hosiery? Christmas stockings anyone? Ha, ha, in this weather!” Jessica was trying hard to fit in.

“Yes well, what with you being part-Maori I suppose you don’t need to worry about looking tanned,” snapped Kirsten, at the same time pulling at the back of the knee she had raised on the step in front of her, to indicate that she was wearing sheer tights beneath her skirt. Jessica looked around with mounting discomfort, but Kirsten laughed good naturedly and took her hand as they stepped of the escalator and turned to join the ride to the next level. “Relax mate, we like you.”

“Actually, I have a pair of my old school tights in my bag – but they’re for pulling over my head in case we run short on cash,” tried Jessica. Kirsten squeezed her hand and gave her a wink.

“Attagirl.”

“Getting back to the shopping, anything in particular you want to look at Jiss?” Rachael, always wanting to be in charge.

“No thank you, I’m just along for the ride.” Kirsten was still holding her hand, which made Jessica feel much more relaxed, but Rachael was starting to feel protective.

“Mels?”

“Nup for shopping, but I haven’t seen Santa yet so I’d like to do that if poss.”

“Right, so we need scarves, tops, and the big red jolly fat man. He’s on this level so let’s go there on the way back down.

Melissa was pleased that she’d got away with her desire to see Santa. It wasn’t really a desire to put in a personal appeal for more toys, she was seventeen years old after all and had just completed her final year of secondary school. What Melissa desired was that “Christmas feeling”: hearing the carols and seeing the fake snow and all of that stuff that made the “Season’s Greetings” a little more seasonal in the hot summer. Like Jessica, Melissa had come from overseas to live in Australia, arriving from Ontario when she was eleven. Her accent went unchallenged in the corridors of Elizabeth LaTrobe College where three of the girls had been together for the past five years, (to be joined by Jessica in August ), most of her peers thought she was just “putting on Val-Speak” and trying to be Californian like the rest of them. She liked Australia, but Christmas was still weird without ten feet of snow – the least she could do was visit the cotton wool variety and snow-paint around Santa’s grotto.

Floor Three proved a mixed success for the girls. Rachael could not find a top she liked, so bought two she didn’t, but the young male assistant in Accessories was quite handsome.

“Can I help you ladies?” Such a smile!

“Thank you, I’m looking for a scarf to send across to my Nan in England,” began Kirsten, pretending to be disinterested. “It needs to be warm enough for her winter, but still light enough for me to post there.”

“Of course, and you do realise that Buckley’s has a gift sending service where we can handle the wrapping and posting of your parcel, it’s an extra $6, although your Nan won’t be seeing her present for another ten days yet of course.”

“That’s fine, Robert,” Kirsten giggled, reading his nametag but then suppressing the smile.

“Scarves this way.”

Half an hour later the girls arrived back on Floor Two to discover that the line to Santa’s grotto was not as long as they had feared, only six kids, although by the time the girls had arrived at Santa himself a large group of children from an obviously well-to-do childcare facility in the Eastern suburbs had arrived. They were well behaved, but noisy in the way that ten year-olds are, even good ten year olds. Robert had been asked down to help keep them entertained and was quietly chatting to a group of boys about the upcoming cricket season, and the international test match to begin on December 26 th . He was about to begin his final year at Queen Victoria Teachers’ College and had already been offered a job at the school he had attended as a boy: Kirsten was hoping to be accepted to study at QVTC herself, with the intention of teaching History, and was already planning to bump into Robert when studies commenced in the last week in February. Kirsten smiled, he was obviously great with kids.

“Yo ho ho little girl. Or should I say, young lady?” Rachael and Jessica had declined a place upon Santa’s knee and Kirsten’s attention was drawn back to the action just as Melissa was sitting down. “Have you been a good girl this year?” Melissa agreed that she had, and in response to the all important question from the-man-who-brings had asked for “snow”, “world peace”, and “a lovely day with my family”. In that order. The same request she’d put in for the previous three years. (She’d only ever received the third one, but she imagined Santa was too busy to help her with the first two.) “For someone as polite as you I shall certainly try my best. Ho ho ho. And what have we here, another big girl to put in her request. Now tell me young lady, have you been a good girl this year?”

Kirsten hadn’t intended to sit on Santa’s knee, but standing as she was behind Melissa she had missed her chance to slip across with Jessica and Rachael. So she said “No.”

“Did I hear you correctly, young lady? Have you not been good girl? Only a good girl gets presents in her stocking, a bad girl gets sticks in hers to beat her with.” Kirsten saw several of the little girls in the line behind her flinch, and heard one of the carers say “mmhm, that’s true Tiffany.” Robert was smiling, and Kirsten’s three friends all burst a chuckle. Kirsten looked back at Santa and saw behind his outfit that he could not have been much more than thirty years old – the spectacles were rims without lenses and the eyes were free of wrinkle. And cobalt blue: Kirsten’s favourite shade during her Practical Art class for her General Certificate of Education.

“I’ve only got one pair of real stockings, hold-ups which my mum bought me to wear to the Formal Leaving Dinner we had a school last week. I looked fabulous by the way.” Kirsten’s eyes were gleaming. “And if you go laddering them by shoving twigs down them tomorrow night you’ll have her and the hairbrush to answer to!” The line of children took one step back, Robert took one step forward, and the three girls laughed again.

“Then I guess I’ll have to beat you myself,” replied Santa, returning Kirsten’s gleam. “Girls on the Nice List sit on Santa’s knee, but girls on the Naughty List must bend over it.” He reached up and took Kirsten gently by the wrist. It was obvious to both of them, to Robert, and to Kirsten’s girlfriends, that Santa was not pulling hard enough for Kirsten to be overpowered. If Kirsten was going over Santa’s knee, Kirsten was only going willingly.

And willingly did she go.

“Bend over young lady. Right, now let’s have that skirt raised then shall we?” Santa gently pulled Kirsten into position across his lap and folded back the flap of heavy cotton/rayon which covered her backside from waist to just above the knee. “You can keep your knickers and your tights in place.” Then, taking a small wooden sign which was laying face down beside him, a round spot featuring an arrow and the words “Santa this way” with a small stake coming out beneath it to attach it to some sort of bench, Santa raised it as a paddle and smacked Kirsten smartly across her upturned bottom.

“Ow!” Kirsten squeaked.

“Well you should have thought of that earlier,” said a disembodied, teenage female voice, one of her friends but which one? (Probably Rachael, thought Kirsten.) “That’s what you get for chatting up the shopkeeper.” Definitely Rachael, reminding Kirsten that cute Robert was watching this whole thing. Watching seventeen years and almost six months old Kirsten getting an over-the-knee naughty-little-girl spanking, with her skirt up. Three more spanks quickly followed, each one harder than the last, a long way short of being truly painful, but mortifyingly embarrassing. Each smack drew a quick intake of breath from Kirsten.

“She must have been really naughty.” One of the little girls speaking this time, her tone somewhat fearful for her own bottom no doubt.

“Oh yes, she was,” the voice of Melissa replied, “and she deserves at least two more.”

“Very naughty then,” commented Santa. Kirsten was sure she could feel the beginnings of an erection beneath her stomach. “He’ll need to do something about that before Tiffany comes to sit down,” thought Kirsten, giving herself a quick smile as the fifth and hardest spank landed squarely beneath the centre of her bottom, right in the fleshiest part. “A real discipline spank,” thought Kirsten, “that one will sting for a while.” She could feel a tear in her left eye as she winced, but had not heard herself shriek out when she’d been smacked.

The sixth and seventh spanks landed directly where the fifth had done, each eliciting a tearful “ouch” from Kirsten and causing the tears to sprout. Then Santa ruffled her hair with his left hand and she could feel her skirt flop back down across the disciplined area. “Let that be a lesson to you, young lady. Next time there will be nine and you’ll be pulling down your knickers first.” He raised and braced his arms helpfully and Kirsten pulled herself back into a standing position. The first face she saw was Robert’s, flushed, and he had his hands in his pockets. “Holding in his chubby, I imagine” she thought, quickly putting it out of her mind with the thought of her mother and the hairbrush. Should mother ever hear Kirsten use such an image as “a chubby” Kirsten knew her knickers would not be involved in the outcome.

Kirsten saw Tiffany next, startled and on the point of tears. “That’s what happens when you’re naughty, even when you’re big,” Kirsten warned her, taking in all the children in the line with her glance. “Isn’t that right ladies?” Kirsten’s three friends all agreed that it was. Kirsten took a deep breath before saying “thank you Santa, I hope I will be sitting on top of your knee next year.”

“I expect you shall be, Kirsten.”