Who Are You Calling HO? by Sub #43

Who are you calling "ho?"
by miscellaneous sub number 43
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With a grunt and a weary chuckle, Santa stuffs himself into the chimney and zips himself down and out, warping time and space in his festive way.. Before him is a lovely room, with an elegant Christmas tree with presents at its foot. He steps forward to do his work, unslinging the huge bag of non-Euclidean geometry on his shoulder.

Slam.

Santa lands on his face, smashing his red button nose hard into the carpeted floor. He was tripped. Having trouble turning over, he is baffled to see that some kind of rope snare is around his ankles, cinched tight. He ponderously sits up, and takes off his mittens to try to get it off.

Yank.

A tug on his neck pulls Santa back flat onto his back. He is dragged along the floor by his neck, a noose of sturdy rope tied around it. He hears the grunting of a woman, struggling to haul his bulk, and tries to look up to see her, but he can't pivot his head. He is pulled until he is stretched out, the rope on his ankles fastened to some fixed anchor, and the rope on his wrists now pulled taut and tied off at the other end somewhere.

Santa is not afraid, per se. He has seen extremely naughty behavior before, and has had some close calls. But this is new and alarming. He grunts, straining at the ropes, his belly jiggling like a bowl full of jelly. He listens now, but no one is stirring, not even a mouse.

He hears her breathing as she steps into view. A woman in pajamas. Of height, middle build, early middle age. She smiles, but her happy face is not the face of an expectant innocent hoping for a new bike. It is something...different.

"Young lady, I insist that you--"

"Shut up. Do not speak." she says with such finality that he finds himself falling silent, if only to hear what could motivate this woman to speak to him in such a tone.

"Good boy," she purrs, and Santa can feel his face redden with anger.

"Now see--" he begins.

Thwack.

His thigh stings as though cut. She has struck him there with something long and thin that moved to fast to see. The pain is surprising...burning and throbbing and seeming to spread through his whole lower body.

"You will not speak," she informs him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, but--"

Thwack.

It hurts more this time.

"You will not speak," she repeats, slowly and clearly. "Do you understand?"

Santa nods, cringing a bit, worrying that even that might get him whipped again.

"Good boy," she purrs again. His relief at not getting hit again makes the phrase sound like a thank you, or an apology.

"We have a lot of work to do," the woman explains. "So let's get started. You will address me as Beloved Miss. Say it."

He hesitates.

Thwack.

"Say it."

"Be...beloved Mistress..." he stammers.

"Good boy. This is going to go just fine. Just relax and listen and obey a few simple instructions, and in time you'll find everything falling into place."

Gulp.