Just as I found a perfect rhythm, his hand tightened at my nape, gently but firmly pulling me away. I looked up, confused, lips swollen and slick, chin wet.
"Strip," he commanded, voice rough with desire. "And sit on my lap. Facing away."
I stumbled to my feet, suddenly self-conscious. My hands went to the buttons of my dress, fumbling slightly under his intense gaze. He made no move to help me, just watched as I slowly revealed myself. The dress fell away, followed by my bra, then panties, until I stood before him in nothing but the collar and chain.
His eyes raked over me, taking in every curve, every dimple, every stretch mark I usually kept carefully hidden beneath modest clothing. There was no disgust in his expression, no disappointment, only hunger, appreciation, desire so naked it made me flush from head to toe.
"Beautiful," he said simply.
I approached his chair, uncertain of the mechanics of what he'd commanded. He helped position me, massive hands gentle but firm as he guided me to straddle his thighs, my back to his chest. The size difference between us was shocking, his thighs beneath mine were twice as thick, his chest broad enough that my shoulders didn't even span it completely. His hands slid up my arms, guiding them behind his neck, forcing me to arch my back in a position that thrust my breasts forward and left me completely exposed to the empty café.
"I'm taking a page out of Santa's book," he rumbled in my ear, his breath hot against my skin, sending another cascade of shivers down my spine. "Let's see what the naughty girl really wants for Christmas."
His claws traced feather-light patterns across my skin, each touch leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arched involuntarily into the contact, my body betraying how desperately I craved his touch despite any remaining reservations my mind might harbor. Seated on his lap, completely bare save for the collar around my throat, I'd never felt so exposed, or so seen. The holiday lights cast muted, colored patterns across my naked skin, painting me in festive hues that somehow made the moment more surreal, as if we existed in some dimension where normal rules and expectations had been suspended.
"Look how responsive you are," Krampus murmured. "I've barely touched you, and already you're trembling."
He was right. My body vibrated with anticipation, each brush of his claws against my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hip sending fresh shivers cascading through me. The position, arms pulled behind his neck, back arched, left me completely open to his exploration, unable to hide or shield myself.
"I've thought about this," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Wondered what sounds you'd make when I finally got my hands on you. If you'd beg for me again." His claw traced the underside of my breast, deliberately avoiding the hardened peak that ached for his touch. "If you'd be as sweet here as the treats you serve."
A whimper escaped me, embarrassingly needy. His words were as arousing as his touch. One massive hand moved to cup my breast fully, the heat of his palm shocking against my skin. His thumb and forefinger rolled my nipple, the pressure perfect, not too gentle, not too rough.
"Please," I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for. More. Everything. Anything.
His chuckle rumbled against my back. "Already begging, and we've barely begun. So eager." His other hand slid down my stomach, fingers splaying across my lower abdomen. He’d retracted his claws to keep from hurting me."Let's see how wet you are for me."
When his fingers finally dipped between my thighs, finding me slick and swollen, we both groaned.
"Dripping," he observed. His middle finger circled my entrance, gathering wetness before sliding up to find the sensitive bundle of nerves that made my hips jerk. "Your body's more honest than your mouth has ever been."
He continued his merciless teasing, alternating between circling my clit and dipping just the tip of his finger inside me, never giving enough to satisfy. Meanwhile, his other hand worked my breasts, switching from one to the other, pinching and rolling my nipples until they were almost painfully sensitive. All the while, his mouth remained at my ear, whispering filth that made me blush and moan in equal measure.
"You were made for this," he told me, biting gently at my earlobe. "For pleasure. For surrender. For me." His finger pressed more firmly against my clit, drawing tight circles that had my thighs shaking. "Tell me what you want, Simone."
"You," I managed, my voice breaking on the single syllable. "Inside me. Please."
His approval rumbled through his chest. I felt him shift beneath me, repositioning slightly. The blunt head of his cock pressed against my entrance. The first breach made me gasp, not from pain but from the intensity of the sensation. He entered me with agonizing slowness, allowing me to feel every ridge and texture of him.
"Breathe," he commanded, his own voice strained with the effort of his control. "Relax and take me."
I tried to follow his instruction, focusing on my breathing as he continued his careful invasion of my body. Despite my arousal and his own natural lubrication, a slick fluid that seemed to warm on contact, the stretch was intense. He was bigger than any human, the ridges along his shaft creating friction that sent jolts of pleasure-pain radiating through me with each incremental advance.
"So tight," he groaned, one hand gripping my hip to steady me. "You're perfect, little star. Made for me."
He bottomed out with a final, careful thrust, the blunt head of his cock nestled deep inside me, heat radiating outward. I felt impossibly full, overstuffed and deliciously stretched, every twitch sending aftershocks of pleasure through my core. The chain of the collar swayed with my labored breathing, the weight of it a constant reminder that I was giving myself over, body and soul.
He started to move, just a little, small, rolling thrusts that sent the ridges of his cock dragging along my most sensitive spots. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, every friction-stretch-slick of him inside me coaxing out little whimpers and gasps I couldn't have suppressed if I'd tried. He was so big, so much, that each movement threatened to undo me completely.
The first true thrust punched a cry from my throat, the sensation overwhelming. As I began to ride him, or rather, as he used his strength to move me on him, the silver chain hanging from my collar swayed with each movement, occasionally tugging against the leather and creating a delicious pressure against my throat. His claws dug into my hips, never breaking skin but leaving impressions I knew would bloom into bruises by morning.
"Look at you," Krampus murmured, his lips pressed to my ear. "Taking all of me. Every inch."
I moaned, head lolling to the side. He rewarded me by shifting one hand to my front, fingers dipping between my thighs. He found my clit instantly, circling it with perfect, relentless pressure. My whole body seized, the sensation nearly too much with the fullness inside me and now this wicked, focused touch outside.
"You're going to cum for me," he promised, and it wasn't a question. "You're going to make a mess all over my cock, aren't you?"
I could only nod, tears pricking my eyes from the intensity. I felt wrung out, every nerve raw and bright, my body shuddering as I struggled to hold off the inevitable. I didn't want it to end. I wanted to live in this suspended moment forever, where nothing existed but his hands on me, his voice in my ear, his cock splitting me open and making me whole. He sped up, thrusts getting rougher, the ridges dragging harder against my walls. The chain at my collar tugged with every motion, the pressure at my throat combining with the stimulation between my legs to send me spiraling. I could feel his own control slipping; he rutted up into me with a bestial need, his claws digging into my skin just enough to leave marks but never enough to truly hurt.
