She watched as he rose, stepping over the gore at the base of the wide staircase, redressing in his furs. The bells on his straps were flat and joyless, a chill sound that made her shiver. Furs restored, once more ready to venture out into the cold, he lifted the basket.
“It’s time to get in, dear heart. This is the end of the road, I’m afraid.”
She could have tried to run. She could have scurried up the steps and hid in the house, could have made a dash out into the cold, could have fought and bit. Instead, she sat there mutely, not protesting when he lifted her easily. She believed in divine retribution, after all. The basket appeared to be empty when she was dropped into it, and the world went black.
5
Mele Kalikimaka, or: The Vacation
It was almost possible to convince oneself that the air here was perfumed with the sweet scent of plumeria every moment of the day. It was bullshit, of course, for if one was paying attention, they would smell the kitchen’s grease traps, the industrial disinfectant used in the dining rooms and bathrooms, and the smoke from employee cigarettes as they clustered in service hallways, out of guest sight lines. Still though — an easy fantasy to concoct, surrounded as one was by the landscape of craggy rock face, lush greenery, and an endless stretch of crystal blue sea. The smell came from the non-stop procession of the strung blossoms forced over his head every time he turned around, catching on his horns and knocking his floppy hat askew, but he welcomed the additional element of daily subterfuge as he made his way around the resort grounds.
His phone buzzed across the cabana’s small teak wood table then, vibrating against the wooden surface where it sat beside the aforementioned lei and upsetting the bright blue contents of his hurricane glass in its clamor. It ceased after a moment, a voice mail chime following, and he grunted at the delicious pressure between his shoulder blades, the sweet smell of the flowers once more clouding his mind. It was the office, he knew without looking. The girl used her elbows to dig into his back with more strength than he’d been expecting from someone of her small stature, hitting a spot that made him groan all the same.
This vacation was what he needed. Time away, time to rest. Christmas had bounced back with a vengeance that year, and with it, the typical wishes for retribution and revenge — families fractured by politics, uncles emboldened by social media to raise a ruckus at holiday dinner, children being irredeemably spoiled and lovers once more engaging in extra-relationship trysts. He’d been on his feet non-stop since the start of the season, visiting house after house, delivering spanking after spanking, and his feast day on the fifth had been a fitting tribute — no less than he deserved.
He’d been adequately positioned for the seasonal rush. The months he’d spent with the human woman had been well-spent: well-rested, well-fed, and well-fucked. Becoming a house mouse had not been as bad as he’d feared, for the girl had been a willing, enthusiastic supplicant — eager to please, eager to scream, and he’d been right — shehadreddened beautifully. It had been a nice little diversion, creating a scale of punishments for her daily transgressions; acting on them an enjoyment for them both.
If she turned the lights on while he slept or made too much damnable noise — time spent over his lap, writhing as he corrected her with birch branches and the palm of his hand, sliding over the smooth curve of her ass as his cock rose between their bodies, fingers pressing into her hot cleft and coating in her wetness. Her hair was long and thick, and he would curl it around his hand like Santa with his reins, using it to direct her head as she sucked him like a grocery store candy cane, a favorite evening activity, holding tight as he pushed in further, not allowing her escape as she gagged. There were few things he enjoyed more than having his cock sucked and the mouth had never really mattered, only that it sucked him well, but the girl had learned exactly how to best please him that way, an enormous mark in her favor.
She learned to make schnitzel the way he liked, with veal rather than actual baby, an annoyance he was forced to accept, and as she stood over the sizzling pan of oil — wearing nothing but the scant apron he insisted upon, he would take her from behind, pushing her closer and closer to the hot stove with every thrust of his cock. He would empty his balls inside her with a grunt as the hot oil popped, occasionally catching the creamy globe of her barely-covered breast, making her yelp. She’d turn the sizzling schnitzel with trembling hands as he pulled out, unleashing a gush of hot seed, running down her legs and puddling on the floor, a lovely sight to behold.
It had been a perfect way to spend the off-season again, no less than he deserved — but when he’d left, at last, it had been with a full belly and no small measure of relief. It felt good to be back on the road, to be doing what he was meant to do . . . and there were other reasons as well, he was loath to admit. The girl had gazed up from the floor where he’d dropped her on that last night, his seed still smearing her thighs, her round, saucer-like eyes full of unshed tears. He’d ignored her sniffles as he’d packed his basket and gave a non-committal response when she entreated him to return.
It would be unwise, he knew. The girl had been enjoyable to punish, had been eager to feel the sting of his strap, and had seen to his every whim throughout the year . . . but she’d also been soft and warm and sweet-smelling, and losing himself in the pleasures of her plush curves and open legs had often come without his branches and harsh words.Toooften, if he was being honest.
He’d woken on more than one occasion in the comfort of her bed with her curled to his front, as content as a little lamb, and even more unconscionably — his arm would be around her, draped over as if to keep her close, pressing her soft warmth against him. Days at a time would go by when he didn’t raise his branches to her at all, when he found no reason to pull her hair or punish her for minor misdeeds, taking his pleasure from her body and giving her equal pleasure in return, using his long tongue on her daily. He would lick her clit as he fucked her, enjoyed the moment when her pleasure crested and her sweet cunt tightened around him, would empty within her without feeling the need to slap her ass as he did so, had begun to prefer that exact coupling!
He’d reorganized the cupboards, deciding his layout was an improvement to her nonsensical collection of glasses and casserole dishes, ensuring the dishwasher was emptied each morning, things put away exactly where he thought they should go. He’d learned to useallof her high-tech appliances by then, taking it upon himself to wash the bedding several times a week. He’d always valued tidiness, Krampus reminded himself as the sheets were loaded into the dryer, adding a lavender-scented square that prevented static . . . but that didn’t quite explain why he’d then put in a load of towels, or empty her clothes hamper into the washer, ensuring to use the cool water settings that would not damage her delicate things. She would exclaim happily when she came home, giddy to find the chores completed — a ridiculous reaction that made him wonder what her past paramours had been like, as she leaned up to press her lips to his jaw . . . and it wasnice.
It was unbecoming behavior for one of his station, troubling to contemplate, and he shuddered to think about what might have happened if he stayed. So instead, he left; left with her laying in a heap, weeping on the floor with her sticky, come-smeared thighs cooling in the chill November twilight from the open door as he vanished into the darkness. The fervor of the holiday season kept him busy and thoughts of her well out of mind, and once Krampusnacht arrived, he was too busy to havefeelings, the way it was meant to be. The holiday passed, his expense reports were paid, and he desired a full belly and warmth once more . . . but there were other ways to fulfill that longing.
Two weeks at an all-inclusive luxury resort in the south Pacific, a chance to trade his basket for a garish, palm-printed shirt and his branches for tropical drinks and a stripe of zinc on his nose. To the locals here he was nothing but a tourist, a completely unknown entity there to soak up the sun and surf, to stuff his face with seafood and not expend any thought on troubling things likeemotions. There were no expectations of punishment or retribution, no expectation ofwork, precisely what he needed after the busy holiday.
The silky-haired locals that had crowded to sit on his lap a few nights earlier at the swim-up tiki bar had not begged for mercy or for him to hurt them — they’d only wanted him to buy them drinks. Two had marveled over his horns as their tits swung in his face, while another had stroked him beneath the surface of the water, tiny hands straining to span around the girth of his dark red cock. The night had ended on a smoothed-out blanket upon the sand, the three giggling girls left gasping as they lined up on the sheet with their legs spread wide. He tickled their clits with his long tongue and rutted each of them in turn until his cock was satisfied, his hot release sizzling in the water that lapped around his hooves as he staggered to the waves.
He’d smiled grimly in satisfaction as he spurted into the sea, happy with his decision to take this trip. None of them needed to know who he was nor where he came from, no one asked how long he was staying. A good thing, as he himself had no idea.
The phone buzzed again on the table, its vibration seeming more insistent. He didn’t need to look to know who it was so rudely interrupting his time away, he thought again, didn’t need to see the screen to know it would be the office, demanding to know the exact date of his return. Well . . . the fat man could kiss his ass, he thought as the girl’s strong hands moved up his well-muscled thighs, pressing into the glutes of the aforementioned ass Santa was welcome to kiss. They had been displeased with his disappearance after last Christmas, annoyed with his absence at the Workshop, leading him to believe the big man was on the take there as well.
“I expect a bit more consideration this year,” the big man had blustered, calling him into his well-appointed office just a few days after the holiday. “We can’t have you just up and vanishing for months at a time. You didn’t respond to emails, didn’t log into the video calls. This is still a business, and the prep team needs to be able to get in contact, understand?”
He had no idea how theholly jollymyth was still perpetuated in this day and age, not when the genuine article bore such a scant resemblance to his seasonal stand-ins across the globe. Broad, barrel-chested, and heavily tattooed, the big man was anything butjolly. Light blue eyes that were permanently bloodshot from the booze, garish gold crowns winking from his smile, his jowls covered in prickly-white stubble: hardly the sort young mothers ought to trust with their precious cargo. He was a mobster, always had been, as crooked as the candy canes gracing the glass canister upon the desk. Krampus rolled his eyes as the big man glowered, making the appropriate noises of agreement while still refusing to disclose the human girl’s address. He wondered, as Santa blustered, how many times the twenty-two-year-old receptionist who’d ushered him in before having her ass slapped by the boss in would need to suck the head cock before she was made the new Mrs. Claus, a revolving door of tight asses.
As an independent contractor, he didn’t owe the office shit, he reminded himself, the press of the girl’s shockingly strong thumbs working into the swell of muscle, making him hiss. It was the hardest working ass on the seasonal circuit, in all of Christmastown! and hedeserveda break, Krampus thought with aggravation. He didn’t need to tell them when he’d be going back, might never go back! He’d subsidize his beachfront massages with metal detector findings and live at the resort permanently if the office didn’t leave him alone.
“Turn, please.” The girl’s lightly accented voice was a pleasant chirp as he rolled, palming the phone easily from his new position, silencing it for good.Santa can kiss my ass and eat it for good measure. CallBelsnickleif you need someone right this second. I’m on vacation.
* * *
The first time it happened was at the aquarium. He was strolling through a tunnel of sharks, admiring the graceful beasts with a mai tai in hand, minding his own business when he felt the press of eyes on his back. It was strange, how exposed he felt without the weight of his basket there shielding him, how dependent he’d become on it, like a turtle’s protective carapace. Instead, his broad back was encased in nothing but a thin layer of fabric, dark blue emblazoned with orange and pink sunsets, practically non-existent as some unseen presence bore into him.
She was pretty and plump, an ivory-skinned creampuff with full curves and a halo of golden hair, he observed in the reflection of the rounded glass tunnel. A pink terrycloth sundress brought out the rosy apples of her cheeks, dimpled ankles leading to matching pink flip-flops. Her arm was outstretched, holding the hand of a stocky man dressed in tourist attire similar to his own. The man chattered with an older couple and had taken several steps forward, but the girl had remained rooted to the spot, motionless and gawking. Krampus decided to wait. So far, no one else had paid him any mind; he would remain equally motionless as the girl and wait for the family accompanying her to move on, forcing her to move. The plan worked, as he knew it would, but he felt her staring until she rounded the corner and disappeared, an uncomfortable bristle he shook off.Fucking tourists,he thought, downing his drink.
* * *
He wondered, after that day, how he’d not noticed the girl before, for she seemed to turn up like a bad penny everywhere he went. His initial hope that they were visiting the aquarium on a day pass proved in vain, for it was evident that the girl and her travel companions were also guests at the resort. He saw her at the pool, saw her in the piano bar, saw her every damned place he went, and each time the same thing happened: she would stare with wide, blue eyes and her jaw hanging slack, her head turning to follow him as he moved. Her reaction was the one he’d initially feared from all passersby, but since his arrival, she was the only person who gaped in seeming recognition.
It wasn’t until the evening of the third day after the afternoon in the aquarium that she acted. He felt the girl’s eyes on his back as he moved through the buffet, filling his plate with king prawn. He’d felt her eyes on his back as he’d stood on the observation deck that morning above the crystal blue water, had felt her eyes on him as he left the massage cabana that afternoon, had felt their sapphire weight the instant he’d entered the resort’s dining hall. Pulling the ti-leaf trimmed sun hat a bit lower on his brow, he added another prawn to the pyramid atop his plate, ignoring the huff of the septuagenarian behind him. He didn’t care about whoever the girl was, and put her out of mind as he made his way to a table in a shadowed corner to snarfle up his feast.
