I just dashed this tiny fic off on impulse. BDSM, nothing too intense.

Naughty and Nice

The snowball in Sir’s face was a mistake. By which I mean I made one throwing it, not that my aim was off. From the second it left my hand, I knew it, and by the time he’s cleaned his glasses of ice fragments, I'm sure of it.

My ass is toast. Except we’re in the middle of the woods, the temperature’s below zero, and Sir’s never been one for public punishments.

He sits down on a tree stump and beckons me over.

Shit. I apologize, sinking to my knees in the white stuff, penitent, sincere, even working up a catch to my voice plaintive enough to make the angels cry, but he arches his eyebrows and shakes his head.

I’m over his knee in a twinkling, jeans down, my ass bared to the frigid breeze. Something tells me it won’t stay cold for long.

He starts with his hand, a smarting sting spreading across each cheek as he lectures me on respect and consideration. I wriggle, I squirm, I sob, but his hand, snug in a leather glove, is relentless.

Then he pauses. I suck in a breath and hope for a Christmas miracle, but I’m out of luck. He reaches out and snaps off a holly branch, each glossy leaf prickly as fuck, making sure I can see it.

“Sir…”

“Shush. I’m feeling festive,” he tells me and proceeds to whip me with the branch until my ass has to be the color of the berries and the sharp points on the leaves are blunt. It hurts. The leaves scrape skin, clawing patterns in flesh, and the branch is sturdy. I close my eyes and my sobs are genuine now, harsh sounds spurting from me, my cock hardening in a helpless surge.

He flips me over and stares down at me, his expression remote. Hate seeing him like that. Angry’s awful, but when he pulls away – I arch my hips, imploringly, then glance at the holly, making sure he knows what I’m begging for.

His face softens, a flash of amusement breaking through the ice, and I’m forgiven.

He still whips my cock with the holly for longer than I wish he would, plucking off a single leaf to torment my balls with. He's imaginative and intent on his task, frowning as if my frantic yelps are a distraction, not a turn on.

Then he pushes me off his lap, letting me cool my bare and burning ass in the snow, my tormented cock a stinging, throbbing reminder of my mistake. Zipping my jeans is going to be challenging.

"Time to go home. Let's finish this, boy." He takes a sprig of mistletoe he found at the entrance to the woods out of his jacket pocket and dangles it low, white berries like pearls.

I lick through a crust of icy snow, tasteless, empty, to the leather of his boot and kiss it fervently. I won’t get to come tonight, and he’ll tighten his grip on me until he’s sure I’ve learned my lesson.

It’s okay. Mercy and kindness were never on my wish list. Just him.