by Jenny Plumb
A Carol for Christmas
by Lucy Wild
Martin was dead to begin with. There can be no doubt that he was deceased. Carol Christmas had signed the register of his burial in the presence of the clergyman and the undertaker, there being no other mourners to bid Martin farewell or to bear the burden of the funeral costs. It bears repeating for emphasis. Martin was as dead as a doornail.
Carol knew he was dead. Of course she did. How could she not? They had been business partners for who knows how many years. The mills of Marley and Christmas were known across the county, as were their suits. Martin Marley was even buried in a suit made by his own workers, although none of them attended the funeral. The machines stopped for no one’s death. Carol attended, as his sole executor, sole mourner and sole friend. Even so, she was not so cut up by his death as to prevent herself conducting the business of hiring two new carders on the day of the funeral, solemnising it by returning to the mill to hand the new employees to the overseer.
The mention of Martin’s funeral brings up a point worth repeating; it cannot be in doubt that he was dead. This must be understood or this story is not worth telling. If Hamlet’s lover were not dead before the erotic parody of his greatest work began, there would be nothing remarkable in her licking his ramparts in the dead of night.
Carol never removed Martin’s name from their counting house. Marley and Christmas, the legend ran. Some people new to the business would call Carol Marley and sometimes Christmas but she answered to both names, it was all the same to her.
Oh, but what a tight and cold woman was Carol, a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, clutching piece of work. Hard as flint was her mind, no matter who begged her for a kiss on a summer’s day. The prude within her had twisted her features, her breasts bound to prevent her voluptuousness making itself known. She hid herself in her bitterness, the delights of the flesh that others knew, she knew not. She spoke in a grating voice to turn off any suitors, she carried icicles everywhere on her body, icicles that did not thaw a single degree, even at Christmas, forsaking her name as a pointless affectation. Christmas she may have been but Christmas itself held no temptations for her. She cared not for festive fun, nor for the relaxing of morals that came with the holidays.
Sights of people kissing or hand holding had no influence on her ardour. No member would ever warm her, no hand on her rear would ever bring a smile to her face. The world had long since given up trying to tempt her into a relationship. But what did she care? This was the way she liked things, to edge her way along the crowded walks of life, scowling and glaring at all who might enjoy themselves in a sinful way.
Once upon a time, on Christmas Eve itself, Carol sat in the counting house of the biggest mill she owned. It was cold and bleak outside. The city clocks had sounded three and it was already dark. Candles flared in neighbouring offices, hardly visible through the thick fog that poured in at every keyhole, the buildings opposite appeared as mere atmospheric phantoms.
The door to the counting house was open that she might keep her eye on her clerk who in a dismal cell beyond was writing letters to send into Boobs and Bonnets magazine for a ha’penny a word, payable to C Christmas if you please. It must be said that although Carol herself was more prudish than any on God’s earth, she was not so morally bound as to refuse the opportunity to raise additional funds to add to her coffers. Having discovered a year before, that letters of an erotic nature were sought by the editors of several bawdy publications, she had set her clerk to work producing the missives they required. She did not read the letters herself, it was enough for her to receive the payments whilst he did the work.
Carol had a small fire but the clerk’s was so much smaller, it looked like a single coal was alight and an undersized one at that. He could not replenish it, for Carol kept the coal by her side and if he were to enter with the shovel he would leave with it shoved into him a moment later. So the clerk sat trying to warm himself by the light of his candle, and not being of strong enough imagination for it to work, he remained chilled to the bone.
“A spanking merry Christmas for my aunt Christmas!” cried a cheerful voice. The voice belonged to Carol’s step-nephew.
“Bah!” said Carol as he approached and bid her to rise. “Humbug to you!”
“Get up and allow me to bring that rear of yours to life, I shall teach you a lesson about being grim when you have much to be thankful for.” He was all aglow as he attempted to land a blow on Carol’s rear, which stubbornly refused to leave the seat to which it was attached.
“Humbug I say! I have no interest in spanking or in you.”
“But it is a festive tradition begun by our beloved Prince Albert. I have heard that Queen Vic loves to bend over the throne whilst he seeks out her crown jewels.”
“Albert may keep his tradition as may you. My crown jewels are my own. What right have you to come in here and attempt to spank a woman who does not desire it? You get enough of that with your wife, do you not?”
“Come, come,” replied the step-nephew. “What right have you to refuse the attention of one who has your best interest at heart? You deserve a spanking, you need a spanking and a spanking would do you the world of good. It might even bring a smile to your face and some colour to your cheeks, both pairs, ho ho!”
Having no better answer on the spur of the moment, Carol said, “Bah,” again.
“Oh do not be so cross with me. I want only to bring a little excitement into your life. You should try spanking; it is more pleasant than you seem to think.”
“What else can I be but cross? You think that it is possible to derive pleasure from pain? The concept is madness, sir. I seem to live in a world of lust filled fools who will not leave me nor my posterior alone. I am not for turning. What is Christmas to the world but a time for spanking whores without the money to pay for them? If I could work my will, every idiot that attempts anything like that would be confined to Bedlam.”
“But Aunty?”
“Step-aunty, remember. I say this for your benefit, you keep Christmas in your way and I’ll keep it in mine.”
“Keep it? But you don’t keep it.”
“Let me leave it alone then. Much good may it do you. Mark my words, your wife will leave you if you continue to assault her posterior in the way you mention. It is a repugnant thing to do.”
“There are many things in this world that you seem to think repugnant. Loving another, that disgusts you. Holding hands, kissing, cuddling, all fill you with anger. Is there anything you would accept in a relationship? Looking at each other through a window, perhaps?”
“I wish you were the other side of that window out there.”
“Christmas is a time for forgiving and I forgive you your anger. It is a time for being charitable and pleasant, of helping those less fortunate than yourself, of enjoying yourself and letting go of your inhibitions for just a day. Therefore, though it adds not a single penny to my income, I will do this anyway.”
He grabbed Carol by the arms and lifted her from her seat. Ignoring her protests, he reached behind her and landed a single spank on her rear, the sound echoing round the counting house.
The clerk, at the sight, involuntarily cheered. The ripples of sound did for the fire, the single coal taking affront at the noise and dying forever.
“Let me hear you cheer again,” said Carol, “and your Christmas will consist of you finding a new position.” She turned to her step-nephew who was grinning back at her. “As for you, do that again and I shall have you arrested.”
“Come now, don’t you feel better for it? Don’t you feel warmed by the touch of another?”
“You think yourself better than me, don’t you? You think you know what makes one happy. I tell you, you do not. I was happy before you entered and I shall be happy when you leave.”
“Oh, don’t be angry with me. Come to mine tomorrow and we shall dine together. You can watch me spank my wife, you might learn something from it.”
Carol rep
lied that she would see him in hell before she saw him do anything of the sort.
“But why?”
“Why did you spank her last time?”
“Because I was in love with her.”
“Love? The only thing more ridiculous than a spanking at Christmas. Good day, sir!”
“But love is what makes me want to spank her, it is what makes her want to be spanked. It is what puts her in bunches and a short frock, it is what buys her a dolly to carry around, it is what makes her call me Papa and her my Little Love. It is simply what makes us who we are. Love is too good a thing not to share with another.”
“Good day, sir.”
“I want nothing from you. I only want to bring a smile to your face and a redness to your rear.”
“Good day, sir.”
“I am sorry to find you so resolute. Clerk, if I were you, I would stop that scowl of hers and end those tantrums by taking a firm hand to her. Get her in a nappy and take the pressure of adulthood from her. As for you, Aunty, you will not take away my desire to bring cheer with a spanking so I will leave you with one.” As he spoke, he swatter her behind again, landing a second strike on her as she turned away to reach for her ledger.
“Good day, sir,” Carol said, sitting at her stool and not looking up at him.
“A spankingly merry Christmas to you!”
“Good day, sir!”
Chapter 1
Cora reread the letter for the twentieth time, changing a word here and a phrase there while her knee nervously bounced up and down. Her nails were bitten down to nothing, her stomach continued to roll unpleasantly, and her lower lip was going to be bruised if she continued to gnaw on it while typing. But this had to be exactly right. For the thousandth time she imagined all the possible outcomes of this letter.
Her cell phone buzzed, startling her out of her reverie. The name Jay flashed on the screen, and her eyes opened wide when she realized what time it was. Had she really been sitting here for three hours contemplating this letter?
“Crap.” She picked up the phone, brushed her long brown hair away from her ear, and forced a smile on her face. “Hi, honey.”
“I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t pick up, because that would mean you were on your way here.”
“I’m sorry, I got caught up in something here at home, but I’m all dressed and ready. I’ll head your way right now.” She hit the print button on her computer before she lost her nerve, and got up to slip her heels on. She could hear him sigh on the other end of the line.
“Cora, we’ve talked about this.”
She cringed. Considering the letter she just wrote to him, maybe being late to Thanksgiving dinner at his parent’s house wasn’t the best idea. “I know, and I truly am sorry. I didn’t mean to lose track of the time.”
“I know you didn’t. You never do. Just… don’t speed on your way over here, okay? My mom said dinner will be ready in about half an hour, so you should make it here right on time. There are all kinds of drunk drivers out there, so I want you to focus on driving safe, not on rushing.”
She got the papers off the printer and pouted while he lectured. She folded them in half without glancing at the words again, and wrote his name on the back. “I promise not to speed, and I’ll watch out for all the crazies on the road.”
“Okay babe, I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye.”
Once she hung up, she stuck her phone in her purse, and slipped her jacket on. She hastily slapped the papers down on the kitchen table. The white paper starkly contrasted with the brown tablecloth. She turned to leave, but then hesitated for a moment, looking back at the letter. “Stop being such a pussy,” she muttered to herself. That seemed to do the trick, because she was able to force her feet towards the door, and soon she was in her car, driving to her in-laws’ house.
An hour and a half later when everyone was full, Jay pulled Cora into the hallway to have a private conversation while his parents cleared the table. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked with genuine concern.
She’d tried to behave normally during dinner, but apparently her fake smile hadn’t fooled him. She’d changed her mind about giving him the confessional letter she’d spent the morning writing, but she couldn’t exactly tell him that. Instead she put a hand on her stomach and said, “I’m not feeling well. I think maybe I need to go home.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She did feel sick because of her nerves.
“Aw, babe, I’m sorry. You should have said something earlier. Were you feeling sick before? Is that why you were late?”
“That might have been part of it.”
“We’ll go home right now.”
He turned to walk back to the dining room, but she put a hand on his arm to stop him. “No! I mean, you shouldn’t have to leave, just because I’m not feeling well. You haven’t even had dessert yet, and your mom made pecan pie just for you.”
He put a hand on the side of her face. “I’m not going to send you home alone when you’re feeling ill. I’ll get a couple of slices to go.”
“But your parents will be so disappointed if you leave early.”
“My parents love you, Cora. They wouldn’t want you pretending to be okay when you’re feeling sick, and they wouldn’t want you going home alone.”
“But we took two cars, so I’ll have to drive anyway. There’s no reason—”
“No.” He cut her off firmly.
“No?”
“I don’t want you driving if you’re feeling sick. We’ll leave your car here and pick it up tomorrow.”
She put a hand on her stomach, feeling worse by the second. If he drove her home, there was no way to hide the letter before he saw it.
He rubbed her back gently. “Come on, babe, I’ve decided. I’m driving you home.”
She wanted to protest, cause a scene, and rush home to rip up the letter, but that kind of behavior wasn’t in her nature. Instead, she let him take her to the kitchen to say goodbye to his folks, and much too soon she was in her husband’s car going home. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and prayed that she’d be able to run in and grab the letter before he saw it. Then she prayed that if he did end up seeing it, that it wouldn’t be the end of their marriage.
They’d only been married for five months, but they’d been in a relationship for two years, and they’d known each other since high school.
Her parents had moved into the house next to his parents’ house in her junior year. She’d been awestruck by him at the time. He was a senior, captain of the swim team, and class president, while she was in the band and the chess club, and too shy to talk to the more popular kids. He was blond-haired, blue-eyed, with an athletic build, while she had brown hair, brown eyes, and a curvy figure. They weren’t exactly an obvious match, and back then he never gave her a second glance.
They’d both gone away to college, and didn’t see each other much over the next few years. As luck would have it, they both graduated from college the same year.
A week after graduation, Jay’s parents threw him a huge party, and invited everyone on the block to prevent noise complaints. Cora had no plans to go, but her mother cajoled her into checking it out once the music started.
As she was walking along the sidewalk, she heard loud yelling coming from Jay’s house, and stood still. A few seconds later she saw a woman rushing out of Jay’s house and down the stairs. Jay ran out after her and yelled, “Bess! Bess, don’t leave like this! Come back and talk to me!”
The woman flipped him off, got in her car, and drove off.
“Fuck!” Jay kicked the railing of the porch. He stormed back into his house without noticing Cora, and Cora quickly turned back around and hurried home.
Later that night, as she was getting ready for bed, she heard an odd sound coming from outside. She went to the window and saw Jay sitting in her backyard drinking a bottle of tequila and quietly crying. She went out to comfort him, and they ended up talking the whole night. They watched the sun come up
together on his front porch swing, and had been inseparable ever since.
Cora heard the car shut off, bringing her out of her memories. She didn’t even look in Jay’s direction. She immediately got out of the car, and rushed towards the door to their little townhouse apartment. She heard him call her name, but she ignored that in favor of unlocking the door and running to the kitchen table. She snatched up the letter, crumpled it, and shoved it in her purse.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jay’s voice asked, directly behind her.
Startled, she gasped and spun around. “What? Nothing! I’m not doing anything.”
His eyes narrowed, and he pointed to her purse. “What are you hiding from me?”
A tiny whimper escaped her throat. “It’s nothing. It’s just… I… I…”
“Cora Ann,” he said, clearly displeased. “We don’t keep secrets from each other. Hand it over. Right now.”
There was no way she could keep it hidden now. Her pulse raced, and her hand shook as she reached in to pull out the wadded up sheets of paper. She handed it over, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Before he had a chance to even look at the papers, she burst into tears, and ran up to their bedroom. She tossed her purse on the floor, kicked her heels off, and climbed under the covers of their bed with her jacket still on. Covered up in the dark, she let herself cry while all kinds of horrible thoughts circled in her head. What if he laughed at her? What if he ridiculed her and called her names? What if he thought she needed therapy? What if he decided he didn’t want to be married to her anymore?
Five minutes later, she had just barely gotten her tears under control when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. Her entire body tensed, and she pulled the covers up over her head and held tight, not caring if it was a childish move. She heard him flick on the light, and then felt the bed dip beside her as he sat down.
