His cockhead was hot in her mouth, the bead of spicy pre-come hot on her tongue, the rest of his burning shaft hot in her throat when the monster thrust forward without warning. The hand gripping her hair drove her face down on the burning length until her airway was blocked, and she realized, too late, this was a punishment, not a prize.If she please it, it’ll leave,she thought desperately . . . after all, this was something she was good at. She’d relaxed her throat with resolve, gripping the back of a furred thigh for leverage as its long tail swished, hips thrusting against her mouth. If a big cock was her “punishment” for a year of behaving badly, she thought resolutely once more, she saw no reason to repent.
Now she knew differently. Soot and ash and cinders, coarse black hair scratching her skin, and that hot, red cock, unceasing in its pumping.
When it had tired of her mouth, she was pulled off its length by the hair, a river of drool running down her chin, before spinning her around and mounting her without pause. Glinting, wide black hooves squared off beneath her as that burning, bulbous head pressed into from behind, a reminder that this creature — thismonster! — was inhuman, that she was being fucked by some animalistic demon.
That reminder didn’t prevent her gasp as he filled her, the dizzy, delicious pressure of that thick cock, with bumps and swells in all of the spots she needed, rubbing her inner walls as he began to thrust. It feltgood. Better than her married lover, better than any of the bar boys she brought home.Hardly a punishment!she gloated again, for the full pressure it provided was a blissful torture all on its own. The monster had laughed at her moan of pleasure, laughed at her stupidity. Again, she should have known better . . . this was a punishment. A hard fact to remember as she came again, convulsing around the thick cock with a shudder, something she’d never managed to do without external help.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, little one. After all, we’ve only just begun.”
Its tongue moved down her body, a slithering red snake, slobbering over her skin until it reached its intended target. Nessa welcomed the pressure against her clit, welcomed the steady flicking stimulation as she was pumped into by the beast. She would straddle her married lover’s face, giving him access to lick her clit and eat her pussy until she’d come over and over against his face, a fantasy she entertained every time she swung her leg over his head . . . but it rarely ever worked out that way. He would lick at her with gusto for a time, sloppy and rushed, never centering the attention on her clit at the angle she needed, and eventually, it would become an annoyance. She would feign breathy little moans until she was dislodged to play with his cock, her fantasy dashed every time. This was the best of both worlds, Nessa told herself. A thick cock inside her and a tongue at her clit, a threesome without the extra work. She came again, finding no reason to change her ways.
She was a fool.
Hours had passed since then. The demon had not slowed, not stopped, its cock as thick and hard as it had been when it had first speared her, unyielding as it rutted wildly, battering her insides with a ferocious, indefatigable intensity.
“Aren’t you glad you wanted creativity, sweetling?”
Its voice was a mocking hiss, tickling at her ear and she whimpered miserably when the equally red, equally hot tongue tickled at her inflamed clit once more. When she’d come against the pressure of its tongue the first time after it had begun to thrust within her, she’d shuddered in pleasure, congratulating herself on her choice to forgo the spanking. Its heavy balls slapped against her, the pace of its hips not slowing, and Nessa had braced herself, waiting for the beast to erupt, certain it would happen at any moment. Instead, its tongue slithered between her legs again, finding the swollen bud of her clit, and Nessa felt the first twinge of discomfort. She needed time to recover after the several orgasms she’d already had, the first time in her life she’d ever come more than once in a single session, but the monster seemed not to notice. When she attempted to shift her hips away, clawed hands landed on them, holding her in a vice-like grip.
She was pressed to the monster’s back, legs opened wider, unable to shift away, and the tongue once more sought its prize. Again and again, it curled around her, pushing back the fleshy hood and stroking directly over her abused pearl until she screamed. Too much, too long, she had been worked over repeatedly, made to climax continually, and pleasure was eclipsed by pain each time. Licking, stroking, over and over; the additional stimulation, coupled with the thick cock that seemed to throb within her, was once more enough to make her stiffen, shaking against the coarse fur as the demon cackled. Her muscles contracted painfully as the slithering, stroking tongue teased another weak orgasm from her abused body, clenching around the creature.
It was the only thing that stilled the beast. Each time it forced her climax, the monster groaned, ceasing its movement to enjoy the squeeze of her muscles around its cock, its tongue continuing to slide over her clit as she pulsed around its burning length. The stimulation was an intolerable pain, but her cry of distress only made it laugh again, resuming its rutting with brutal efficiency.This is what got you into trouble in the first place.Nessa wondered if it would ever end. Surely her body could not take anymore, that she would reach a breaking point and simply crumble to dust in the monster’s clawed hands if it did not end the once-pleasurable torture. It was going to kill her, or else, keep this up for eternity, and the thought made her sob.
As she stared at the twinkling Christmas tree through the window, Nessa accepted for the first time that she’d brought this on herself. If she’d gone to her sister’s party, she perhaps would have made plans with Della and their old school friends who would have been there, she would have been out that past weekend with them, rather than coaxing her boss to miss his wife’s Christmas party. If she’d delivered the toys as she was meant to, she might have met the handsome young man who volunteered at the charity intake center, someone she didn’t even know, yet could envision clearly from the cage of the monster’s arms. He might have asked her out, might have made her realize that a man who would cheat on his wife wasn’t worth her involvement, no matter how bored she was. If she’d been nicer to her neighbors, they might have been willing to hear her screams, if she’d gone to spend Christmas Eve with her family in the first place, she wouldn’t have been home to have this punishment meted out. Tears flood her eyes at the realization, that she could be sitting at her mother’s table at that moment, playing Uno with her young cousins, catching up with the family she’d opted out of seeing for months for no reason other than she couldn’t be bothered. If she’d taken the monster’s lashes, this might already be over. Instead, she’d acted the tart once more, had tried to make it a game, get the upper hand.
One simple act of decency could have set everything right.
Clawed hands abruptly pushed her forward over the arm of her sofa, ass in the air. The throbbing cock slid impossibly deeper in the adjusted position, moving against that spongy spot within her repeatedly, forcing her to come undone.You can’t! No more!
“Oh, I think you have one more left, sweetling.” Its voice was mocking, once more reading her thoughts. The smell, the intolerable smell of soot and smoke and ash clouded around her as it pressed its knuckles to her clit, working it steadily. The climax hurt, made her ache, feeling as though her innards had been completely rearranged, and she was unable to hold back her scream. For the first time since this torture began, the beast did not slow to enjoy its own pleasure; she realized it has impossibly picked up speed.
“I think you’ve learned your lesson . . . for now. A bad girl is a bad girl, down to her core. I hope we can enjoy this again next year, sweetling. I do love beingcreative.”
There was no chance to respond, no chance to beg or plead that she would change, no chance to do anything but scream as the creature came with a roar. Liquid fire erupted into her, a scorching inferno punctuated by its obscene moan of pleasure, ejaculating what felt like gallons of pure magma. She was sorry, sorry for all of it, wished she could take back every instance of callousness and cruelty, wailing her repentance into the couch cushion as those heavy balls emptied inside of her at last; igniting her insides until she knew she would be completely burned out, a pile of soot and ash. She realized that was the smell she’d been inhaling—the burned-out remains of others who’d been punished into oblivion by the Krampus. The monster began to laugh, holding her tightly to his furred hips as he spurted his last bit of fire within her, and Nessa felt herself fade away.
A last whimper and a puff of smoke, and then she was gone.
.
.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, finding the grey glow of morning bathing the room. Tugging the plush blanket from her sofa around her shoulders, she pressed her face back to the cushion. It had been an odd dream, one that tugged at the corners of her consciousness, but the memory was clouded and smokey and unclear . . .
Smoke!
Nessa jolted beneath the blanket, suddenly aware of how odd it was to be sleeping on the sofa in the first place, realizing she was naked beneath the covers. Sitting up slowly, a sudden stab of pain twinged up her body, and it all came rushing back, every terrible minute. She’d never crossed the apartment so quickly, barely making it to the bathroom in time to retch, her head spinning.It was a dream . . . it had to be a dream.Walking back to the living room on shaking legs, she drifted back to the sofa, picking up her phone from the low table with a shaking hand.
It was shortly before nine a.m. on December twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve . . . again.
The exhalation she let out left her sagging back on the cushions, relief flooding through her until she thought she might sob from the pressure of it.It had been a dream, just a dream!She’d text her mother, she thought, sitting up quickly, would ask her what she could bring over for dinner tonight . . . after she stopped at the ATM to get the money she owed her sister, would stop somewhere and by her a generous spa gift card as an apology for missing her party. After she dropped the toys off at the charity intake, she might pick up some cookie trays for her neighbors . . .It had been a dream.She felt like Ebenezer Scrooge, waking on Christmas Day with a fresh start yawning before her. She laughed then, the sound leaving her throat as a hiccup of tears, imagining herself throwing open the sash of her window to exclaim down to passersby, asking what day it was. It had been a dream, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make some changes.
Nessa pushed herself to her feet, eager to get started, to begin righting the wrongs she’d committed against the people she loved.And when the office reopens after the holidays, you’re putting in your notice.It was then that she saw it. At the end of the table rested a small pile of soot, incongruous considering she didn’t have a fireplace. A ripple went through her as she remembered, falling back on the sofa. She remembered all of it, remembered the smell of soot and ash, remembered the creature who knocked on her door. A pile of soot, all that was left of the person she’d been.
From outside, the church bells up the street chimed the hour, oddly toneless and dull, sending a curious thud echoing through her as the snow softly fell.
4
The Stroke of Midnight, or: a Well-Mannered Host
