Kat and Nat Write to Santa---And Mrs. Claus

Anastasia Vitsky has kindly forwarded a copy of the letters that Kat and Nat have sent to the North Pole. I have a feeling that Nat does not take kindly to tampering with the mail, so hide your wooden spoons!

Dear Santa,

I'm sure you're very busy and have many things to do, so if you don't mind could you please not bring me anything this year?  Could you also make sure that Natalie doesn't give me any gifts, either?  Her hints about my present make me worried.

Sorry to cause you trouble.

Kat

Dear Mrs. Claus,

First of all, I'd like to thank you for your unceasing efforts throughout the year.  It is indeed unfortunately true that you do the lion's share of the work while Santa receives almost all of the credit.  Second, I'd like to suggest that instead of setting out milk and cookies this year that we donate them instead for children who are in need.

 

Finally, may I please ask where you get your wooden spoons?  Mine never seem to last longer than a few months.

 

Respectfully,

 

Natalie

 You can read all about Kat and Nat this spring when The Way Home is published.  

Blurb:

The Way Home

 

Natalie always wanted a little sister.  Kat didn’t know she was allowed to want anything…or anyone.

 Kat, a shy farmgirl, arrives at her freshman dorm with a backpack, two suitcases, and her mother’s wish for Kat to attend college “at least until you get married”.  Her roommate Natalie, a confident and fun-loving social butterfly, has decided sight unseen that Kat will become her honorary sister.  Natalie teaches Kat about college life, academics, and friendship by taking Kat under her wing…and over her knee.  

 Then their lives fall apart one fateful night on campus, and for the rest of the decade Kat and Natalie struggle to find their way back to each other.  Their way home. 

 Warning: This book contains scenes of spanking in a domestic discipline relationship. 

 Excerpt:

            “I’ll be doing it, too,” Natalie says with infuriating calm.  “Or you can pay the penalty.”

            “The penalty?” I ask in disbelief.  Mentally I tell myself to stop repeating whatever she says, but with no success.

            A little smile creeps into the corners of Natalie’s mouth, and she gazes at me directly as she says, “A spanking.”

            The words hang in the air for a moment as I struggle for a response.  I wait for her to laugh, or crack a smile, or to tell me that she is joking.  Instead, I feebly repeat her words yet again.

            “A…a…spanking?”

            A firm nod. 

            You’ve got to be kidding, I think.  I stare at her, flabbergasted. 

            Natalie stands up, goes over to her dresser, and takes out a thick wooden spoon.  She holds it out toward me, but I sit frozen on the bed. 

            “Stand up,” she commands.

            Against my will, I find my legs unfolding as I rise to my feet.  There is something about the quiet, calm confidence that prevents me from backing away or protesting. 

            Very gently, almost lovingly, Natalie guides me over to the dresser and puts my hands on the top to brace myself.  She puts her left hand on my back and then rests the spoon against the seat of my jeans.  I feel a sudden tingle and shiver.  She taps the spoon lightly.

            “Yes,” she answers my unspoken question.  “A spanking.”

            Whap!

            Even though she’s given me many cues, the crack of the wooden spoon on my bottom takes me by surprise.  I jump up despite her restraining hand, and my hands fly back to rub the sudden burning sensation in my backside.  I give Natalie a startled, shocked look before dropping my mortified gaze to the floor.  My cheeks burn. 

            Natalie reaches out and lifts my chin with her cupped hand.  “Sit down,” she says in a sweet and gentle voice. 

            I sit immediately, my mind whirling with all kinds of confused thoughts.

            Natalie sits down on the bed next to me, and she puts the wooden spoon in my lap.  I blush and squirm away, but her arm around my shoulder keeps me next to her.  Her voice is soft but firm.

            “What do you think about our cleaning rule?” she asks pleasantly, even conversationally.  I manage to squeak out a small, “Fine” before she gives me a hug.

            “We’re going to be the best roommates and friends ever,” she whispers in my ear, and the faint warmth in my bottom creeps into my heart.