He didn’t care to be recognized, didn’t care to make conversation, but no sooner than he’d returned from the dessert table that his hopes of flying under the radar were dashed. Plump and pretty with a cherubic face . . . and sitting at his table. Blue eyes fringed in nearly invisible blonde lashes widened as he approached, his hooves clicking on the tiled floors. Halting in aggravation, the prospect of enjoying his parfait in peace dissipating as the girl’s rosebud mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“You-you’re . . . you’re him!” Her voice was hushed as if she were sharing a great secret, and Krampus clicked his tongue as he resumed his seat, swallowing up a spoonful of the chocolate confection defiantly. Ofcourseshe was German. Bavarian, from the outer suburbs of Munich, if he had to hazard a guess based on the accent, practically from his own backyard.
“Everyone is someone, liebchen. If we weren’t, then everyone would be no one. As far as declarations go, that’s a bit weak. Why don’t you go back to your own table and contemplate the futility of existence, and let me enjoy my dessert.”
Her brow wrinkled in consternation at his dismissive tone, stub-like fingers curling over the edge of the table. “You’re the Krampus,” she hissed, eyes saucer-wide. “Are . . . are you here to steal the children?”
There was no way he could enjoy the layers of rum-soaked sponge cake nestled between the rich, chocolatey layers with the girl gaping at him, and the notion of going back up for seconds was absolutely out of the question until he managed to evict her.
“Does it look like I’m stealing children? Or does it look like I’m being interrupted from my meal? Only one of those options is currently true, sweetling, and if I am who you say I am, do youreallywant to end up on my Naughty List?”
He allowed a hint of growl to slip into his rough voice with the threat, leaning forward with menace. Her pink cheeks darkened, stumbling as she pushed up from the table, turning back to give him one last, lingering look before disappearing into the throng of people crowding around the buffet.
Krampus sat back with a huff, hoping that would be enough to do the trick. It wouldn’t do for this little busy-body to go running to resort security with wild accusations, disrupting his perfect holiday.Hopefully that won’t be necessary,he thought, returning to his dessert, scraping his spoon against the bottom of the parfait cup after a few moments.Definitely seconds of this . . . and maybe more of the prawn.Although,he considered, sidling up to the buffet line once more and dodging a pack of out-of-control, unsupervised children, perhaps his services would be valued here. A spanking room, on-site discipline for the over-privileged brats whose parents could afford to bring them to a place like this, who dropped them off at the pool for the staff to babysit the rest of the day.All they have to give me in return is room and board . . .
* * *
If he thought the tacit threat would be enough to put off the wide-eyed creampuff, he would have been wrong, he realized the following afternoon when she appeared at his elbow.
“What would happen if I were on your Naughty List?”
I’d paddle that bottom raw and have you choke on my cock for good measure.
“Liebchen, you’ve never done a naughty thing in your life. If you’re trying to land on my list, I can promise it will not go well for you.”
Blonde brows drew together, her full pink lips puckering into a pout. She smelled of cinnamon and flour, chopped butter and cold walk-ins . . .a baker. No,he corrected, taking a lock of her hair between his fingers to sniff — her eyes widened, mouth opening in shock as he leaned in, a small gasp leaving her throat —the baker’s wife.
“How-how do you know that?” she whispered, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. The big man’s reach must be waning if even in Bavaria they had the temerity to ask questions.
“I know everything, liebling. You’d do well to remember that. Now, shoo. Don’t come pestering me again.”
But by dinner, shehadfound him again, carrying two of that night’s dessert special as she pulled out the chair across from him.At least she’s learning, he thought ruefully, snatching the layered cup away before she changed her mind. It was a lesson learned: he’d remove the other chair tomorrow.
“What would youdoto me if I was on your Naughty List?”
Lemon and white cream, separated by thin layers of ladyfingers, grappa towards the bottom of the cup.Definitelygetting another.He was going to leave this resort with a bit of a belly, he thought ruefully, closing his garnet eyes to savor the bright flavor. When he opened them, the girl was still sitting there, waiting expectantly.
“I’d take you over my knee. Have you ever felt the bite of branches against your bare skin? The sting of a strap? I’d leave you red and smarting, bruised with my handprints. How do you think you’d fare the next day, rolling dough and bending over your ovens, every movement a reminder of your punishment?”
Her cheeks flamed scarlet, whether at the horror of being punished in such a way or at the further demonstration that hedidin fact know everything, he wasn’t sure.
“Is-is that all?”
He blew out a breath in exasperation.
“No, sweetling, it’s not. We’d take a break during your spanking and I would feed you my cock. Do you have a gag reflex? We’d cure you of that in short order, if you do. I would use your mouth like a cunt, like a toy for my pleasure. Have you ever tasted the fires of damnation, little one? Mine is a burning rod of justice, and I would choke you with its heat.”
The poetic embellishment sounded ridiculous even tohisears, and he nearly made himself laugh at the absurd epitaph, but the girl was listening at rapt attention.
“It wouldn’t make a difference how much you struggled or gagged, liebling, wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t breathe, because your struggles only provide more pleasure for me. I wouldn’t stop until I had filled your throat, and then we’d go right back to your spanking, because it’s what you deserve. Is that what you want, little one? For your throat to be my cock sleeve? To have my burning come running down your chin while I spank your ass raw?” The girl had flushed as red as his tongue, her lower lip caught in her teeth and her eyes like dinner plates, hands twisting in the table linen. “Go back to your table now, liebchen, before I drag you back to my room and do exactly that right now, and fuck you for good measure. Is that how you want to go back to your husband? A come-smeared strumpet, paddled by Krampus? Go, and don’t come pestering me again . . .Go!”
She jumped from the table and scurried away, and he sighed in relief.That was that.Burning rod of judgment indeed!He snorted, inordinately pleased with himself. She’d not come pestering him again, he was sure of it, and if she did, he’d make good on his promise once and for all.
* * *
He had no idea when he’d lost his ability to reliably predict the truth. It must have happened sometime in the endless months he’d spent at the Dara girl’s home, shredding her sheets with his hooves in retaliation for being so soft and sweet, enjoying her cooking and the smell of her hair and the taste of her cunt, completely losing touch with what he was meant to be: an arbiter of punishment, free from weak emotions. It must have been then, he considered when the creampuff turned up at his elbow shortly after breakfast as he looked out over the sea, invading his space.
“What-what if Iwantto be on your Naughty List?”
