“Why does that matter?” he countered immediately. “A job is a job. Times are tough all over, little one. We all do what we need to do to ensure our survival, do we not? Isn’t that whyyou’rehere as well?”
“Yes but . . . is-is this where youwantto be?”
The creature considered her for a moment before answering.
“I hardly think that’s relevant. In any case, it doesn’t matter at the present moment.”
Dara pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, using the base of the throne for support. The thick leather padding was not dissimilar to the recliner in her small living room, the chair her ex had sat in while she curled into the corner of the sofa in the evenings. The recliner had since become a catch-all for household detritus: her coat, a pile of unopened mail, shopping bags from more than a week earlier, the lack of a body stretched out in its leather confines leaving the room echoing and empty in the evenings. She clambered back onto his lap before he could protest, pressing her palms to his broad chest.
“May-maybe we could work out an arrangement,” she stuttered out feeling that live wire electric buzz beneath her skin once more at what she was about to offer, but she wassoclose to getting exactly what she wanted . . . “A private arrangement. I-I have a condo, and I live all alone, it’s paid for and I have a good job. You wouldn’t need to work here, not-not unless you wanted to . . . surely I have something you want. Couldn’t we . . . couldn’t we work out a trade?”
* * *
Krampus cocked his head, considering. A private residence where he could hide away for the year, a steady supply of food and sex, and a willing slave . . . on the surface, there seemed to be no downside to the girl’s implied proposal. He’d never fancied himself as a house mouse, a kept pet, which is absolutely what he’d be, and there might be other complications that would arise, true enough . . . but he’d be free of Belsnickel’s mess and the non-stop line of patrons at the Workshop. Come next Christmas, perhaps things would be different, things might be back to normal and he’d not need the girl . . . but that was a long ways off. His cock swelled again at the thought of such creature comforts he might enjoy, grunting in satisfaction when her small hands gripped it where it rose between their bodies, stroking him steadily.
The girl did not protest when he lifted her hips again, and the thought that she never would, regardless of what he might do to her made his balls contract in excitement as he slid into her, easier now that she dripped with his seed, the evidence of his release running down her thighs. He would not grow gentle, would not become some simpering, coddling human pet, wouldnot. . . he brought a hand down on her ass as if to punctuate his thoughts, gratified by the way her breath caught. He’d not be gentled, but it would not benefit him to cause her an injury.
Her shredded dress lay in a crumpled heap at the base of the throne and she was bare as she bounced on his cock, tits jiggling. He would send her out of this place with his own furs to cover herself with, to stay warm and hide her nakedness. It wouldn’t do to allow her to catch hypothermia and expire before he had a chance to enjoy the comforts he offered him, after all. She gasped again when his tongue curled around a pebbled peak, whimpered as the points of his fangs scraped over a puckered areola. When his long tongue dropped again to tickle at her clit, his hand striking her ass again, she cried out, a beautiful sound. He encouraged her to roll her hips against him, setting her own pace as she rode his cock, her thighs trembling, stretched wide.
For once, Krampus hoped there were no onlookers as he fucked the girl, keeping his tongue circling her steadily as she whimpered and mewled, and when she came again, clenching around his cock with a breathy cry, his mind was made up.
“I’m sure we work something out, sweetling” he murmured, lifting her from his lap to drop her in a heap on the ground before him, a reminder that he was still in charge, would always be in charge, leaving the cushioned throne for the first time that night to mount her from behind, his tired feet forgotten. There was a birch switch beside the raised dais, and he took it up, admiring the red outline of his hand on the girl’s peaches-and-cream skin.She would redden beautifully.Yes, she could leave the club draped in his fur, a mark of ownership that would protect her delicate skin from the cold. “In the meantime, sweetling, we have work to do. You’ve been an exceptionally bad girl this year, and you need to be punished.”
“Yes,” Dara agreed on a gasp, arching when he brought the branch down against her thigh. It was everything she wanted. “Yes, I do.”
2
The Sub, or: Krampus Meets His Match
Angels we have heard on high . . .
The Christmas carol bounced off the cupboards and the smell of gingerbread filled the kitchen, spicy and sweet. The counter top was littered with the evidence of the morning’s endeavors: molasses and spices and bowls of sugar and eggs, several spatulas in various states of use, and a spray of flour across the marble. Aubrey was still kicking herself over the ginger situation. Ground ginger had been on her shopping list, had been one of the red-capped bottles placed in her shopping cart the previous week, she’d been sure of it . . . but when she went to line up her ingredients that morning, there had been two shakers of allspice, and no unopened ginger to be found. The bottle in the cupboard was nearly empty, was barely enough to make two batches of the cookies, but there had been fresh ginger in the refrigerator.When life gives you lemons, tuck ‘em into your bra and keep smiling.It wasn’t ideal, but she could make it work.
There was a conference call with the sales team that morning, the only thing on her agenda, allowing her to bound out of bed before the sun and go right to the kitchen, slipping an apron over her short nightgown and diving in. The cookie exchange for her son’s scout troop was a yearly event — her chance to shine, to remind everyone that shewasa good mother, that she wasinvolved. She and her ex endeavored to get along, to co-parent their son and ensure that their divorce and his subsequent remarriage was not something for which he was punished. They were all doing the best they could, she reminded herself often, but it was still hard; hard not having Jacob under her roof seven days a week, hard bearing the snide comments from older family members who intimated she’d chosen her career over her family, hard to not feel like she was screaming in a locked, windowless room where no one could hear her. It didn’t matter, Aubrey reminded herself, folding the beaten eggs into her dry ingredients. It didn’t matter if she traveled often for work, didn’t matter if Jacob spent more nights eating someone else’s cooking than he did at her table — she would do anything for her son, including getting up at dawn to make homemade cookies before she even put a bra on.
Glo-ooo-ooo-ria, inexcelsisdeo. . .
She’d need to have a conversation with her ex, she thought, pulling the latest batch from the oven, needed to bring up Jacob’s recent complaints that he wanted to quit the scouts. His step-brother made fun of him, she’d wheedled out, every time he donned the yellow neckerchief and dark green camp shirt of the Woodland Scouts, teased him enough that he wanted to quit. She didn’t begrudge her ex his new family and made a point to get along with his new wife, but Aubrey had never liked the woman’s own son, several years older than Jacob with sly eyes and a smile that vanished the instant he thought he wasn’t being watched. She couldn’t abide bullying,wouldn’tabide it, whether she was there every day or not.
After her cookies were cooled and plated, she needed to start wrapping presents. It might have only been December fifth, but she needed to get a jump on things now. There was an upcoming trip to Phoenix that would eat up a full week of the month — five days of meetings with the sales team and a production office, then two days booked at a boutique hotel that boasted a fantastic spa and was only a few blocks away from a BDSM dungeon, her Christmas gift to herself. There was a swinger’s club in the neighboring city, but the thought of indulging her kinks right in her own backyard made her nervous. She didn’t need word getting out that she liked to be spanked, that she got off on pain and exhibition, that being a boss bitch in the board room made being a submissive in the bedroom feelsodamnedgood. Theirs was a small suburb, and any hint of scandal spread like wildfire. Much safer to play out of town, which she did often.
From the front of the house, the cat yowled, pulling her from her thoughts. The sound of the coat rack hitting the floor with a muffledfwump!was one she knew well, and Aubrey sighed, deciding to ignore it for the moment rather than cleaning the flour from her hands. The cat was easily spooked and the top of the coat rack was his favorite place to perch, a terrible combination.It’s probably the mailman, and Cheddar is already hiding in the closet.Her cookies were more important just then and the coats could wait. The ginger would need to be peeled back further if she wanted to get another batch out. The pre-ground stuff had a higher concentrate, necessitating her to use more of the fresh if she didn’t want to put her baking on pause to run back to the store, a chore she didnotwant to undertake.
She’d just turned back to the counter when it happened. The small spoon she was using to peel the ginger missed its target as a slice of icy cold air hit her bare legs, an indication that the front door was open. Aubrey whirled, her mind processing a hundred different scenarios in the space of a few seconds, each more terrible than the last as she clawed for the paring knife beside her cutting board, but it was too late. Someone stood in the kitchen doorway, the worst of her fears coming true, blocking her escape and trapping he amidst her cookie preparations.
Not someone, she realized, taking in the huge black shape in the door. Something.
A scream built in her throat at the sight of the intruder. A great black beast draped in furs blocked the door, the curve of its horns scraping the ceiling. Her grip tightened on the paring knife as she took in the hooved hindquarters, the dense black fur covering its body, the narrowed red eyes.This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening! You fell and hit your head and this is all a hallucination.
“I’m here for the child.”
Its voice was a deep rasp, its demand a parent’s worst nightmare, punctuated by the toneless iron bells on the strap of the giant basket it carried on its broad back. It seemed completely unperturbed by the scream that finally broke loose from her mouth, and once that scream had dislodged itself, Aubrey could do nothingbutscream, the panic she felt leaving her unable to formulate a plan of escape or process where she’d left her cellphone, the horror that this monster was asking forher son!Overwhelming her until eventually, the creature had enough. A wave of a pitch-black, clawed hand and her scream was silenced, the sensation of ashes choking her.
“I’m here for the child,” the beast repeated. “The Tyler child.”
For a long moment, Aubrey gaped.Tyler? Tyler, and not Jacob? Tyler was her son’s stepbrother, the miniature bully she disliked. Elation filled her, the euphoric relief that her child was safe, before it was doused by guilt.That kid is a jerk, but you’re not going to hand him over to Black Philip, what kind of person are you?!
“T-Tyler doesn’t live here.” Why would it be seeking him at her house? Why would it be seeking him at all?! “What-what do you want with—”
