By five, I was moaning with each impact, the pain transforming into a heat that connected directly to my core, making me wetter with each strike. Between blows, his massive hand would caress the reddened skin, his touch taking away the sting with what felt like magic, leaving only warmth and tingling pleasure behind.
"Eight," I sobbed, tears pricking at my eyes not from pain but from overwhelming sensation.
"Nine," came out as a whimper, my hips unconsciously pushing back, seeking more.
"Ten!" The final blow was the hardest, making me cry out as pleasure-pain radiated through me.
His hands soothed my heated flesh, rubbing gently across the sensitized skin. "So beautiful," he murmured.
I lay panting against the desk, my body a mix of sensation, the sting of my spanking, the ache between my legs, the cool wood beneath my cheek. I felt opened, exposed, raw in ways that went beyond the physical.
"Do you want more, little star?" His voice had dropped to that impossible rumble that vibrated through my very bones.
"Yes," I whispered, beyond shame now, consumed by need.
"Then ask for it," he instructed. "Tell me what you want. Be selfish for once."
The words stuck in my throat, not from embarrassment but from unfamiliarity. When had I last asked for something purely for my own pleasure? When had I put my desires first?
His hand delivered a light slap to my sensitive flesh. "I won't continue until you ask. Use your words, Simone."
I swallowed hard, gathering courage from the depths of my desire. "Please... taste me."
A low, approving growl rumbled from his chest. "Where? Be specific."
Oh god. "Between my legs," I clarified, my voice small but clear. "Please."
"Good girl," he praised, and then he was dropping to his knees behind me.
The first touch of his tongue against me tore a cry from my throat, hot, wet, and impossibly skilled. His hands gripped my thighs, keeping me spread wide despite my instinctive attempt to close them against the overwhelming sensation. The spreader bar held firm, forcing me to accept each devastating lick.
His tongue was longer than a human's, reaching places inside me that had me seeing stars. Hotter, too, almost burning against my sensitive flesh. I moaned shamelessly as he lapped at me like I was the sweetest dessert he'd ever tasted, obscene wet sounds filling the office as he devoured me with enthusiastic hunger.
"Krampus," I gasped, my hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth desktop. "Oh my god—"
He hummed against me, his tongue circled my entrance before plunging inside, fucking me with slow, deliberate thrusts that had my eyes rolling back, my toes curling against the floor. Thenhe shifted his attention higher, finding the bundle of nerves that made my entire body jerk.
Just as I approached the edge, he pulled back, leaving me whimpering with frustration. "Please," I begged, beyond pride now. "Please don't stop."
"I love when you beg," he growled against my thigh, delivering a gentle nip that made me yelp. "Do it again."
He resumed his attention, but slower now, teasing licks that built me back up without providing enough pressure to push me over. Each time I approached climax, he would retreat, keeping me balanced on the knife-edge of pleasure until I was sobbing with need.
"Please, Krampus, please," I chanted, my voice breaking. "I need to come. Please let me come."
"What do you need?" he asked, his breath hot against my aching flesh.
"Your mouth," I gasped. "Your fingers. Anything. Everything. Please!"
"Since you asked so nicely," he purred, and then his mouth was on me again, sucking my clit between his lips while two thick fingers slid inside me, curling to press against a spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
The orgasm was so intense I screamed his name. My inner walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers as he continued his relentless assault, tongue flicking against my clit, prolonging the pleasure until it bordered on pain.
Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, a second climax crashed over me, more powerful than the first. My vision blurred, then darkened at the edges. The last thing I remembered was his pleased growl against my flesh and the sensation of being lifted in impossibly strong arms.
I woke disoriented, blinking in the dim pre-dawn light filtering through my bedroom window. My bedroom. Not Krampus's office. I sat up with a jerk, looking around in confusion. Herbert the fern sat on my dresser, his leaves seeming more judgmental than usual.
Had it all been a dream? A vivid, embarrassingly detailed fantasy born from stress and attraction?
