CONTENT WARNING: This is a juicy bit of #SeasonalSapphicSmut. It has shades of D/s dynamics and features a Yuletide birching with a branch off the old Christmas tree. Oh Tannenbaum? More like “Oh, tanned ‘er bottom”, am I right? Perhaps I’ve had too much nog, or not enough. Either way, enjoy!

I hear her voice, lilting and crystalline from the living room, superimposed over Eartha Kitt’s as I descend the stairs.

“Babe? I’m having my Advent calendar chocolate!” she calls over her shoulder.

She plucks the tiny wooden drawer from the ornately carved calendar and turns, startled to see me, the red foil around the piece of chocolate already opened by her greedy fingers, her lips parted. She looks like a guilty child for just a moment, and then she grins.

I can’t help but mockingly chide her, the bouncy sweetness she’s exuding requires it.

“Now Poppy, you know you don’t have to tell anyone when you have a treat, least of all your advent calendar.”

She pouts coyly and pops the bonbon between her lips. She does impish well, and the candy coloured Christmas explosion in our living room highlights her seasonal sweetness. She chews thoughtfully and swallows.

“It tastes better when I tell you. Childhood habits I guess.”

She shrugs and turns away, settling into the sofa and tucking up in the corner to sip her wine. She tops up my glass and sings along with the music and I notice that one of the tiny drawers, marked for a future date in her Advent calendar, is ever so slightly ajar. Curious, I pull it open and find it empty. I test another with the same result. I smile to myself and decide to have a little fun with her.


Perhaps she noticed me noticing her fraudulent chocolate theatrics. I decide to cut straight to the chase. I turn and join her on the sofa, the tree twinkling warmly, casting an amber glow upon the room. She hands me my glass and we clink, smiling as we sip, eyes locked.

“So, tell me more of what you meant when you said ‘childhood habits’.”


“With your Advent calendar. You said that the chocolate tasted better when you told me that you’d had it. You said it was a childhood habit.”

“When we were kids we always had to check with our mom before we had our Advent chocolate. I guess she didn’t want us eating it right before bed or first thing in the morning.”

“Or eating it all at once?”

She smiles and bites her lip. She knows she’s caught but she’s a minx and minx never says die. Her finger tips slide up my fingers, caressing my knuckles and the back of my hand. She touches my arm softly, suggestively.

“Oh no. I never, ever deviated from the one-chocolate-a-day rule. That would have been very naughty of me …”

I take the bait, watching the goosebumps rise in the wake of her fingertips. She’s trying to seduce me and it’s almost working.

“And Santa is watching, so ….”

“So …”

Our faces are very near to one another by now, and she’s denting her lip with her perfect teeth and her hand has now stroked my whole arm and is closing in on my breast. Our kiss seems imminent but I intend to make her work for it, so I bypass her mouth and let my lips damply graze that spot below her ear that makes her purr, and I whisper softly,

“You’re on The Naughty List. Would you like to earn your way onto The Nice List?”

She whimpers, which absolutely tests my resolve, but I wait, silently, warm breath on her neck as she stammers and nods. I kiss her cheek slowly, and she giggles.

“Go get your Advent calendar, you naughty girl.”


I smile, struggling to remain even remotely authoritative in such a silly context. To my surprise, my raised eyebrows get her out of her seat and she carries the decorative wooden box full of tiny drawers, back to the sofa and sets it on the coffee table. She looks at me expectantly, eyelashes and dimples on maximum.

“Open all the drawers and count the number of chocolates left, please.”

She grins, revelling in the drama of being ‘called out’, extricating each morsel in it’s shiny red or green jacket, and making a line of them. A line of exactly 7 chocolates. She makes an exaggerated “oops” and cringes, laughing.

“Seriously?” I can’t help but laugh. “It’s not even the second week of December and you only have 7 chocolates left? By this rate you won’t make it to the weekend!”

She’s howling with laughter by now and so am I. She tries in vain to argue her position but she’s laughing so much that most of what comes out is just wheezing as she wipes at her eyes. When the laughter abates she says, in a completely serious tone:

“Okay, but, what about my punishment?”

“Oh, I was just …”

“You said I was on The Naughty List. So? Who’s dick do I have to suck to get on The Nice List?”

“Oh it won’t be that easy. If it was, you’d be the 5-star champion of The Nice List. Unfortunately for you, the punishment for the Christmas Crime of Eating Advent Chocolate Out Of Turn is …”

Her eyes are comically big and her mouth turns into a perfect O of anticipation. She’s enjoying this game.

“One spank for every chocolate you have sneaked. There are 25 drawers, and today is the 5th. That means you should have 20 chocolates all in a row here but you only have 7. That means 13 spanks to that perfectly peachy bum.”

She wiggles with delight and grins as she crawls towards me and into my lap. She kisses me boldly and whispers, “All I want for Christmas is … to be a good girl for you.”

“Then I suggest you follow my instructions to the letter.”

“I will!”

I sit back into the sofa and sip my wine as she stands and turns, ready for her directions. She’s filled with giddy energy and I’m loving how eager she is.

“I’d like you to bring me a branch from the tree with which to spank you. Then I’d like you to pull down your pants and lay over my knees.”

I take a long, slow sip as I watch her process my request. She’s confused and excited and it’s very endearing.

“A branch? From the tree? Like, you want me to just snap it off?”

“Correct.” Another sip of wine. I’m feeling calm and cool and I can feel my cunt lurching in excitement and my nipples hardening to points under my sweater. She tip toes towards the tree, cautious, as if it might jump up and bite her.

“Really? A branch?” Her disbelief is comical as she moves ornaments aside and finds a suitable bough.  She looks back at me to be sure and when I nod encouragingly, she snaps it cleanly from the trunk and extricates it from the other branches. She holds it up, victorious. I grin as she presents it to me and makes a show of hooking her thumbs into the waist of her pyjama pants and slips out of them and lays across my thighs. The branch is rough in my hand and she shivers and squiggles as I drag the needles up and down the backs of her legs softly, watching her shiver and whimper. I take my time and pet her back and ass, tickling the length of her inner thighs. I make her tell me why she’s getting spanked, and she giggles and exaggerates. There are playful swats before the spanking begins in earnest and she’s grinding against me. I’m as wet as I can see and feel she is.

“Are you ready, you bratty little elf?”

She howls with laughter and pokes her bum up and wiggles. Laughing myself, I give her a first, tentative swat with the bough and I feel her immediately soften and melt into my lap and the couch beneath us. Her spine is suddenly more flexible, cat-like, and a ripple of pleasure undulates through her.

“Please … can I have all 13, all at once?”

“I really should make you wait since you mowed through your Advent calendar, but, perhaps the punishment should fit the crime. Hard and fast?”

“Mmmm,” she purrs, “Yes, please! I want to feel the needles.”

The first few spanks have her moaning and I pause to knead her cheeks and check in. Her enthusiastic begging spurns me on. The next handful take her bottom from creamy and pale to glowing and pink. Her moans are rising and I know that she’s well on her way to a mind blowing orgasm, which is fine by me because by now we’ve both basically forgotten this is a punishment and we are just winding each other up. She is quivering and breathless as I finish the thirteen “fun-ishment” spanks and I drop the bough in lieu of having both hands to caress her hot, red flesh and run through her hair. Her bottom is welting and scratched from the pine needles and she’s rocking against my thigh, desperately aroused. She pants and begs as I slowly push her thighs apart, her vulva glistening, and she cries out when I give her what she asks for and enter her in one smooth motion. My other hand tightens in the back of her hair the way I know she like it and she tips over the proverbial edge and comes loudly, lustily, writhing and wet and unbridled. I pet her hair and back, as we both come back to earth and begin to breath normally again. She shimmies down the couch until her head is in my lap and she turns face up and sighs a contented sigh. I touch her face, an angel with glassy eyes. She kisses my hand and closes her eyes. I could cry from adoration and the honour of caressing such a beautiful woman who gives herself so freely.

“Are you going to write about this?” She’s grinning, eyes closed, resting in my lap, spent and lovely.

“Fuck yes I am. This is was the Festive Finger Fuck my readers deserve.”

“The thirteen spanks of Christmas.”

“Oooh, good one. Not So Silent Night!”


“Yes, my angel?” Her eyes are still closed and her voice is sleepy.

“Will you unwrap me a chocolate?”


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Violet Fawkes

Violet Fawkes (she/her) is a freelance writer and sex blogger focusing on pleasure education, erotic fiction, and the intersection of identity, kink and mental health.