My feet moved before my mind had decided to comply, carrying me across the space between us until I stood before him. This close, the size difference between us was staggering, even seated, he nearly matched my standing height. Heat radiated from him in waves, warming my skin despite the distance I still maintained.
From beside him, he lifted something I hadn't noticed before. A collar. Pink leather, supple and gleaming in the dim light, with a delicate silver chain that caught the colored shadows and reflected them back like tiny prisms. He held it suspended between his claws, letting it dangle where I could see it clearly.
"Put it on," he said, the command simple and devastating.
The collar hung between us, more than just leather and metal, a symbol, a question, a line I hadn't known I wanted to cross. My heart hammered against my ribs. I stood frozen, transfixed by the collar and what it represented. Surrender. Not of power, exactly, but of pretense. Of the exhausting performance I maintained every day.
"I don't understand," I whispered, though part of me understood perfectly.
"You do," he countered, his gaze never leaving my face. "You've spent your life giving everyone what they need. Anticipating their desires. Meeting their expectations." The collar swayed slightly between his claws. "This is about whatyouneed. What you desire. What you expect from yourself but are afraid to claim."
My mouth went dry. "And you think you know what that is?"
The curve of his mouth wasn't quite a smile, more like the expression of a predator who has cornered something fascinating. "I know you crave structure. Control. But not your own, you're exhausted from controlling everything around you.You want someone else to take that burden, if only for a little while." His voice dropped lower. "You want permission to let go."
The accuracy of his observation felt like fingers pressing directly on a bruise, painful but somehow satisfying, a hurt that acknowledged something real. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with clothing.
"The collar is a symbol," he continued, "of agreement. Of surrender, yes, but a chosen one. Deliberate. Powerful in its own way." He extended it toward me slightly. "Take it. Put it on. Or walk away. Your choice."
Chapter nine
Simone
My fingers trembled as I reached for the collar, hesitation warring with a need so profound it terrified me. This moment felt bigger than just the two of us in an empty café, it was the line between the Simone I showed the world and the Simone I'd hidden away for years. Between what I thought I should want and what I actually craved. I took the collar from his outstretched claws, the leather unexpectedly warm against my palm, as if it had absorbed his heat just as I seemed to whenever he was near.
The weight of it surprised me, substantial without being heavy. I fumbled with the buckle for a moment, my usual dexterity abandoning me as awareness of his eyes tracking my every movement sent heat blooming across my skin.
"Allow me," he said, taking the collar back.
I turned, presenting my back to him, lifting my curls away from my neck in silent invitation. His claws brushed against my skin as he placed the collar around my throat, the leather warm and unexpectedly soft against my pulse point. The sound of the buckle closing sent a shiver through me, a small click that somehow felt monumental, like a door locking or a key turning. The silver chain hung down between my breasts, cool metal against heated skin, a delicate weight that anchored me to the present moment.
I turned back to face him, my fingers instinctively rising to touch the leather at my throat. Something had shifted between us, a boundary crossed not just physically but emotionally. The collar wasn't tight, yet I felt the presence of it with every breath, every swallow.
"Good girl," Krampus rumbled, his approval.
The words triggered something needy inside me, something that had been starving for exactly this kind of approval.
He crooked a claw, beckoning me forward. "On your knees, little star."
The command was simple, direct, leaving no room for misinterpretation. I sank to the floor before him, the wooden boards hard against my knees, my dress pooling around me. From this position, he seemed even more massive. I felt a curious sense of freedom in the surrender, allowing myself to be exactly where I was without pretense or performance.
The sound of his zipper was shockingly loud in the quiet café. I watched, heart hammering in my chest, as he freed himself from his trousers. My eyes widened at what emerged,his cock was nothing like a human's, though it shared the basic shape. Thicker, for one, with raised ridges spiraling along the shaft that caught the dim light. The head was broader, slightly tapered, and the whole length seemed to pulse with its own heat, emerging from what appeared to be a natural sheath.
I swallowed hard, equal parts intimidated and fascinated.
"Since you won't use your mouth to be honest," he told me, one claw gently tracing the curve of my jaw, "you can use it to pleasure me."
My experience with this particular act was limited, and nothing in that limited experience had prepared me for something so obviously non-human. Yet instead of fear, I felt curiosity and a surprising eagerness to taste him.
"I've never..." I began, uncertain how to explain my inexperience without sounding childish.
"I know," he said, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "I'll guide you. Just start with what feels natural."
I leaned forward, my hands resting lightly on his thighs for balance. I gave an experimental lick along the underside, startled by the taste, not unpleasant but alien, like spiced honey with a hint of something I couldn't name. His growl of approval emboldened me. I wrapped my lips around the tapered head, taking him into my mouth inch by inch, surprised by the way my body responded to the act. My core clenched with each sound he made, wetness gathering between my thighs at the power of knowing I could affect him this way.
"That's it," he encouraged, one hand coming to rest at the nape of my neck, just above the collar. "Take as much as you can."
I worked my way down his length, using my tongue to trace the ridges that spiraled along his shaft. They were sensitive, I could tell by the way his thighs tensed beneath my fingers each time I gave them special attention. The size of him made it impossible to take him fully, so I used my hands for what mymouth couldn't accommodate, establishing a rhythm that drew increasingly deep groans from his chest. Drool escaped from the corners of my mouth, but I didn't care. I was lost in the task, in the heady sensation of his pleasure becoming mine. The collar around my neck felt like permission to enjoy this, to revel in the submissive act without shame or hesitation. Moans vibrated in my throat as I worked him, my enthusiasm surprising even me.
