Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You stand near the courtyard of some random old castle.

And, trouble is, you have no damn clue how you got here.

It kinda worries you.

Did you suddenly go into a fugue state, hop aboard a plane you definitely can’t afford, and then travel all the way here, before waking up, all alone?

Or did someone kidnap you after knocking you unconscious, and you just don’t remember?

Where are you, exactly?

Wherever you are, it’s definitely not where you want to be.
It’s freezing here, and you’re only wearing a light jacket.

You try to retrace your steps.

It’s Christmas Eve.

You were doing some frantic last-minute gift shopping for your nieces and nephews in a little toy store near your house.

When asked, the cashier told you that the book section - something you were looking for, for your own sake, you remember with a little guilt - was in the back part of the store.

Last time you ever try to enjoy a nice little novel.

All you had to do was open the door on the left.

But - you realize, with no small amount of confusion and suspicion - you opened the door on the right, didn’t you?

Yeah, you did.
God damn it.

You might even miss the Christmas party tomorrow.

Maybe you should try and send a text to your mom, say you got sick, and to give your apologies to the rest of the family?

Maybe.
If you can get signal here.

Least of your worries right now, though.

Right now, you’ve got to get out of this cold, and figure out where you are.

It’s even starting to snow, so that’s no help.

However unappealing an option it is, there are lights on in the windows of that castle.

Maybe it’s some kind of museum? Surely they’d tell you where you are, let you warm up a bit?

Steeling the best of your nerves, you set your sights on the stone bridge in front of you.

It’s not a very long walk, but something about this whole place feels…wrong. Uninviting. Wicked.

You shiver, more from unease than the cold.
But hypothermia sets in pretty quick in weather like this, with clothes like yours.

You need to keep moving.

As you walk towards the start of the bridge, you notice some sort of…gargoyles, to your left and right.

You think they’re gargoyles, at least.

You stop a moment to look at them.

They’re curled up, as though sleeping, and so very detailed - so lifelike.
They almost look like stony dogs, or dragons?
You can’t decide which.

They’re just a mild fascination, until you notice one detail.
They seem to be…breathing.

For a moment, you get the terrifying thought that these - things - might be alive.

But no, that’s impossible, right?

They’re just some animatronics or something, meant to scare away robbers, maybe.

Like those decoy owls that can turn their heads and scare crows.

They don’t scare you more than freezing to death, in any case.

“Neat…” You murmur.

As you walk a little further, the facade of the castle and its courtyard really come into view.

It’s incredibly unnerving.

Again, you’re struck with the feeling that there’s something wrong with this place.

Like you were never meant to be here, and it’s telling you as much.

You already know that, you feel like shouting at the castle.

But it’s your only hope right now.

So you forge ahead.

To your left is a statue.

More like…an idol? A shrine?

You tilt your head.
You have always been fascinated by different cultures, their myths, their gods.

You don’t really recognize whoever’s depicted here, though.
You squint your eyes and scrunch your nose.
Horns, long legs, a general air of goat-iness.

It’s something that feels old and primal, that’s for certain.
You know more than a little about gods like this.

So is it Pan?
You almost laugh.
Does it look like Pan?
Any delightful mischief and sunny naturalism are absent from this figure, and in their place are domineering malice and cold brutalism.

Cernunnos, then?
Somehow even less likely.
Nothing about this place feels Celtic.

You decide very quickly that this is not a horned god of the woodland variety.

At least, not any woodland that’s seen the light of day.

Honestly, it feels closer to Baphomet or something than to the other options, but even that feels wrong.

Baphomet is usually depicted with a level of androgyny, of femininity, of grace.

And this figure - you can’t even seen its face, but it radiates a kind of harsh masculinity.
So stoic.
So austere.

It doesn’t even cross your mind to assume some other demonic entity.

Maybe, if you weren’t so distracted, you’d have figured it out quicker.

But something about the statue has pricked you like a thorn of desire.

You don’t even notice the massive bowl of gold underneath it.

Lingering on the thought of some manly, primal god has got you in a very warm frame of mind for the cold night.

Maybe this castle is really some sort of temple.

Maybe you’ll stumble upon a cruel cult, ready to work out their frustrations at having been interrupted, while in ceremony, by making you do things in the name of their merciless, odd god.

Maybe it’s haunted.

You snort with laughter.
Too many romance novels, certainly.
You always were too much of a dreamer.

But, well, this is all very fascinating, despite being terrifying!

Christmas Eve, an unknown castle, a touch of magic…

You like it.

And you like the statue.
Maybe a bit too much, with all the haze in your eyes as you look at it.

You dream of a frightening, passionate horned god, and you let that thought pull you deeper into your situation for just a moment.

To have some anchor for your dreams, you reach out and touch the knee of the statue rather tenderly.
A shiver of mischievous delight runs through you.
You hope nobody saw that - it would look weird.

But as soon as your fingers have brushed the stone, some awful sort of growling emanates from behind you, and you spin in horror to gaze at the source.

It strikes you, weirdly enough, as some kind of alarm you must have triggered when you touched the idol.

The thing is bright metal, almost rectangular.

There are faces in relief all along the sides, skulls or something, moving and…chanting, decidedly chanting, though it sounded low enough to be an incoherent growl, at first.

The front of the thing looks almost like a roaring dragon, though you’re too frantic and caught up in trying to get away to really look at it.

Really, the whole thing is a strange mix of theatrical and terrifying, and there’s some kind of fire within it that you feel will, at any moment, launch out and fry you to a crisp.

Before you can run, you’re surrounded by four or five people, dressed, oddly enough, like medieval guards.

Fitting for a castle, yeah.
But so…old-fashioned.
This is definitely not a museum, you decide, unless this place does re-enactments.

But then you realize: they’re not people.

Not in the strictest sense, at least.

The first to charge towards you is a rather stocky, slimy figure, with the head of a fish. He’s armed with an axe and is staring you down.

“Halt! Thief!” He screams, and his voice is exactly what you’d expect from a sea creature, warbling and raw.

“Another one?” The exasperated growl comes from a man with twisted, curling horns on the sides of his head.

He wears a leather coat and swings a flail threateningly at his hip, ready to see if you need to be struck.

“Please! I’m not a -” You try to explain, but these aren’t creatures to be reasoned with.

A woman, more reptile than woman, approaches with an icy glare, her voice a hiss.
“It’s only been a year. Maybe they come to plague us further.”

She’s armed with a rather intimidating, rather curved sword.

A cyclops joins the fray - you think she might be a woman, also, though you don’t want to assume.
“Ha! Then we shall split the skull of any who dare to come.”

Frighteningly enough, she’s barehanded.
Doesn’t need a weapon to do you in.

“Please, I swear to God, I’m not a thief!” You lament, but nobody listens.

The fifth member of the patrol is, to your surprise, seemingly human, soft-skinned, curly-haired, and dark-eyed.

He appears just happy to not be dead himself, and you wonder, for a splendid moment, if he might also be trapped here.

But your hopes are dashed when you see the leather cuirass he wears and the knife in his hand.

He’s one of them.

But he seems more level-headed.

“Perhaps,” He breathes, gentle enough, “Perhaps we should check her, first, see if she’s stolen anything.”

The more monstrous figures turn to glare at him, irritated that they won’t get to clobber you just yet, but they see the logic in his statement.

“Search her!” The fish-man commands, and the reptilian woman lunges at you like a viper, rudely rifling through your pockets, into your shoes, even into the neckline of your shirt, before you stop her with a yelp.

She narrows her eyes at you and lets out a hiss of annoyance, but then she sighs sharply.
“Her clothes are foreign and foul-smelling, but I can’t find any of the gold on her.”

“Maybe she has a hidden pocket somewhere?” The horned man bleats out.

The fish-man shakes his head.
“No, I don’t think these new garments are full of pockets like the old were. In any case, take her to the dungeon! Let the Master decide what’s to be done with her.”

The whole horde cheers and you feel faint.
“Oh, come on! Can I please just go home? I don’t even know where I am! I don’t want to be here!”

“Should have thought of that before you came here, then!” The cyclops grunts, nudging you forward with a meaty fist.

Maybe she’s right.
Maybe you should have just thought more, in general.

But you’re really not certain you’re not dreaming right now.
How could you have ever envisioned this?

And things get weirder.

You’re practically thrown into a cold, dark, humid cell, all stone and metal and dust. The floor is scratchy and there’s only a little straw here for you to sit on.

You honestly wonder if this isn’t actually intended to be a pen for an animal.

But then you see that there are three buckets, tied to the bars of the cage with thick, rough rope.

One has some sort of food slop still clinging to the inside.
Another is mildewy with years of water-fetching.
And the third…well, you don’t even want to know what those stains are.

You groan in disgust and frustration.
Definitely a cell for a human, or something like a human, and intended to administer the worst treatment imaginable.

So what the Hell did you do to deserve this?

You’re almost bored and worried to the point of tears when the door to the dungeon opens again and you jump.

It’s some big troll-looking creature, and he unlocks your cell door with fat fingers and a rusted key, before grunting wordlessly and gesturing for you to follow him.

You really don’t want to.
But you have no choice, do you?

As you leave the dungeon, however, your condition improves wonderfully.

The whole place gets brighter, with the scent of smoke and the toasty, lingering heat letting you know that those lights you saw were blazing fires, and plenty of them.

In fact, the whole large room - the great hall, you guess - is ringed with fires in a most appetizing manner, placed in hearths and open pits alike.

It’s very comforting after you’ve just been out in the freezing snow, and then that smelly, frigid dungeon.

Oh, this you could get used to!

As the troll leads you closer to the center of the room, the smell of alcohol and roasting meat and vegetables fills your nose, and you realize you haven’t eaten since lunch.

Your stomach roars with hunger, even if the scent of beer is overwhelming.

Hell, you wouldn’t turn down a warm, stiff drink right now, either.

And the whole place rings with laughter and - shockingly contemporary - music.

There must be a party tonight.

But why are you here?
That’s the question still haunting your belly.
They took you to the dungeon, and now you’re being brought out of it.

You remember the patrol saying something about letting their Master decide what to do with you, and you suppose he has, if you’re being brought up here.

From all you can see and smell and hear, he might be a kind master, but you just don’t know.
What sort of kind leader has such monsters for servants?

So either you’re going to get the pleasant surprise of walking free…
Or the nasty shock of your head chopped off.

You swallow heavily.
You’re so nervous that you can’t even think of any other options.
All you can do is follow the troll, certain you’ll either be home or dead within the hour.

No use pleading with a henchman.

As you and your guide round the corner, and enter into view of the great hall, an unbearable stench hits your nose.

There are smells of sweat and other body odors alongside it, but you’ve never smelled anything like this.

It’s raw.
It’s musky - in an almost suffocating, hormonal way.
And oh, Christ, it’s delicious.

You immediately feel your body warm at the odor, and a pleasant little shiver runs through you.

It’s like one of those spicy, manly colognes, but also like hay, and…there’s an undercurrent of warm milk that threatens to lull you out of your mind.

Wherever it’s coming from, you want to be there, now.

Then your eyes fall on a hulking figure across the room, certainly the source of such a massive scent, and it suddenly all clicks into place.

Especially when you see the crown of horns on his head, the hair on his body, the shackle dangling like jewelry from his neck, and the chain serving as a belt around his - indescribably tight - leather pants.

Oh, shit.
Krampus.

Of course.
Not Pan, not Cernunnos, not Satan.
Closest to the last, you figure.

But the only goat-man so associated with the frigid cold and such torments as have been hinted to you tonight.

And he smells irresistible.
You flush at your own weakness, your own humiliating attraction to the muscular figure across the room.

He could plan on ripping you to shreds, and here you are, mouth watering at just the sight and scent of him.

Krampus has a figure before him and another behind him, and a crowd of assembled creatures looks on.

Behind Krampus is a birdlike being, seemingly judging something, by the expression on his face.
Quite painful to look at, a focused grin on a beaked head like that.

In front, across the table from the massive goat-man, is another troll-looking thing, trembling slightly but standing firm.

And oh, Jesus, if you thought Krampus looked good and smelled good, his voice sends an immediate heat between your thighs.

“Are you ready? You don’t look ready to me.” His tone is both concerned and mocking, and you can barely handle it.

He’s got an accent, too - something Germanic and stark.
Just a touch of hedonism, too, which really makes your mind spin.

You always thought Krampus would be more…well, serious.

But his presence, his smile, his pants…
He almost has the energy of a rockstar.
Oh, why does that make you blush?
Get a grip!

The little troll-thing nods and stiffens.

You wonder what the Hell’s about to happen.

You wince as Krampus’ hand swings back and the crowd shudders with suspense.

But instead of slamming forward into a slap, it glides gently across the creature’s scalp like a tender caress.

“Come on! You already had your hit! Be ready for mine.” Krampus taunts, and the end of the sentence disappears into a rumbling growl that makes your legs wobble.

His scent is almost blinding now, all you can focus on - even if he does turn that little monster and the rest of the room into a fine red mist with his blow, you somehow don’t care.

And you’ve seen this before - slap fighting.
Always found it a little funny, as long as nobody really gets hurt.

But something warns you that somebody’s getting injured tonight.

You brace, mirroring the posture of the troll at the table.

Then that large caprine paw swings back again, and this time, it does not miss its mark.

The room resounds with a crack like thunder that makes the little troll whimper and crumple, the crowd cheer, and your pussy throb.

You actually have to bite back a whine.
There is something very, very wrong with you.

And, as though he can smell or hear your discomfort, Krampus suddenly looks up, ceasing his laugh of triumph, seeing you across the room for the first time and grinning with interest.

“Ah!” He chuckles, clapping his hands with another resounding echo and slowly crossing the room towards you. “The lost mortal thief, who came here by accident and stole absolutely nothing!”

He wears black boots, you notice as he approaches.
You always supposed he’d have hooves, but these give a similar impression, anyway.
You wonder what his feet must look like, then.

“So lovely to meet you at last.” Krampus snorts, forcing your eyes to lock onto his as he draws mere inches away from you, golden-brown gaze meeting yours. It’s hypnotic, in the most unnerving way possible. “So full of contradictions.”

You swallow heavily.
Now would be the time to plead for your life, you suppose.

“Please - I didn’t mean to come here - I swear - I don’t know how I ended up here -” You blabber, almost pouting with worry.

Krampus glares at you for a moment, then throws his head back in laughter.
“Oh, so pathetic! I love it!”

The crowd ripples with laughter and you flush deeply in shame and irritation.

The massive goat-man looks back at you, wiping each eye with a clawed finger.

“I know how you came here, mortal. One of those - imbeciles - in my brother’s employ must have left a portal active when they were chomping at my heels last year. You just…fell into it.” He chuckles, eyes shining with mirth, clearly much calmer about this than you are.

You relax slightly.

“Unfortunately,” Krampus adds with a forlorn sigh and a sideways glance, “Mortals are not allowed here. So I’ll have to -”

He gestures slitting his throat with one thumb and a click of his tongue, and you flush and tremble.

“No, please, anything but that!” You beg.

Then he laughs again, and the others echo him.

“Oh, it is so easy to make you ask for mercy!” The demon thing bleats with laughter, his massive torso shaking, and if he didn’t smell so good, you’d be very offended. “I wonder what other situations that could be useful for?”

The tease in his tone makes you blush and look away, but he thankfully doesn’t linger on the game of implications.

“In any case, what confuses me is why you came here, specifically. This place is supposed to be massively off-limits. There should not be doorways leading to it all over. And what made my alarm sound, I must ask? You didn’t steal any gold?”

Krampus asks the question with a genuine tone, but there’s a smirk to his rough lips that makes you fear he already knows the answer.

But you’re rapidly securing your place on the Naughty List, and so you do a little more badness.
A little lie never hurt anyone.

“No, I didn’t steal anything, I swear!” You reason. That part is true. “It must have been a false alarm?”

His eyes narrow with curious glee, but he hums thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you are right. I’ll have a cyclops take a look at it. It has not been wrong in three centuries, but what do I know?”

You swallow heavily, fearing the worst, but thankfully he just gives you a - too strong - pat on the back and laughs again.

“Whatever the problem, I am in too good of a mood to fuss about it! You are here now, and you are not such a bad guest, no.” He shakes his broad head and chuckles. “Come, we were about to feast! Can’t have eternal Krampusnacht without a feast!”

You blink in confusion.
“But wasn’t Krampusnacht almost twenty days ago?”

Krampus seems both surprised and pleased that a modern mortal like yourself would know that information, and he bursts into laughter again, gives you another bold pat, and sighs.

“When you’re trapped here forever, every night is Krampusnacht! And Krampusnacht is a party!”

The crowd cheers at his statement.

But you feel a strange rush of horror at the statement as he leads you to a long table, spread with - surprisingly normal - food and drink.

You expected raw rats or something, honestly.

“‘Trapped here’? Am I trapped here?” You ask in terror.

That makes Krampus giggle, and he has to quickly down the goblet of wine he’s just started to not spew it all over the tablecloth.

“Ah!” He rasps out, licking his lips, and drying them - to your shock - with a long, fluffy-tipped tail you’re just now noticing.

You can almost imagine it wrapped around your leg, and the thought reawakens that unwanted arousal with a vengeance, making you flush brightly.

“No, you aren’t trapped here, not unless you suddenly lose your mortal soul.” Krampus hums with sad humor, eliciting giggles from the party, and then he adds, “But we’ll make a heathen of you yet, mark my words!”

Another roar of agreement from the assembled monsters and you shiver with discomfort.

Then the mighty goat-man slides you a mug of dark beer, and you wrinkle your nose in displeasure.

“Got anything sweeter?” The question slips out before you can stop it, and it feels rude, but it amuses Krampus.

And irritates him.

“Bah! So many questions! ‘Am I trapped, Krampus? Do I have to drink this delicious beer, Krampus?’ You sound like a rabbit!” He barks, downing the free beer himself.

God only knows how he has such a high threshold for drunkenness.

“Well!” He breathes, “Well, little bunny - little Häschen - I have a question of my own! Answer it and - and then you can have something sweet to drink!”

Oh, how you blush!
Oh, how you dread what this question could be!

You raise one brow, trying to be brave.

“What - is your name?” The caprine party boy giggles, and you nearly roll your eyes in surprise and relief.

Such a simple question.

You tell him your name easily.

But he makes a big deal of it.
Repeats it broadly, claps his hands, coaxes his followers into a cheering chant of your name.

God, all of this is so embarrassing.
But kind of fun, you have to admit.

Then he stills the crowd with a hand.

“What a beautiful name.” Krampus croons with a grin, making you blush again and inhale sharply, taking in too much of his heady scent and feeling your mouth water. “You see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shake your head.
Remain calm.
“I…guess not.”

“And!” He cheers suddenly, making you jump. “And, as promised, here is your reward!”

He hands you a clear glass of something transparent, slightly yellow, and syrup-thick.
Still smells pretty strong.

“What is it?” You pry.

“Dragon piss.” Krampus says, so genuinely you believe him for a horrifying moment. But he loves how gullible you are, and he’s just tricked you again. He laughs - seems to do a lot of that. Seems more like a Santa trait, honestly. “Only joking, Häschen, relax!”

He wiggles his shoulders in a gesture of smoothness, then turns it into a slippery, almost saucy dance, his hips gyrating, and you literally have to shut your eyes.

You can’t look at him.

He’s so goofy.
And yet he’s so hot.
Unbearable.

Thankfully, by the time you open your eyes again, he’s stopped dancing, and is now just grinning at you stupidly.

“Your drink, mortal thing, is nothing more than some peach Schnapps, some mead, and a hint of cinnamon. Very sweet. Very warm. Very mild. Just like you, little Häschen!” He cheers.

Then he reaches out and actually “boops” your nose with the tip of one of those massive fingers.
It’s almost the length of your face.

Oh, God, you can’t go a minute without turning red here!
And Krampus certainly notices.

“See! She’s blushing again! Are you keeping score?” He bellows with victory.

The raven-man from earlier squawks in delight.
“Yes, Lord Krampus!”

“Good! Don’t tell me the total yet, I want to see how high I can go!”

They’re talking about you - about an involuntary response of your body - like it’s some kind of tally.
Like a mark.
Like a ribbon.

And you like it.
Fuck.

However tonight goes, it will not be anywhere near normal.

But then Krampus is snorting and coaxing you with a roll of his hand.
“Go on! Try your drink before it goes cold!”

You sigh with hesitation.
You really don’t want to get tipsy here, of all places.

But maybe some lowered inhibitions would be a relief at this point.

You raise your glass slightly.
“Prost.” You murmur.

“Prost!” The whole room roars.

You furrow your brows.
When did they all get their drinks?
Doesn’t matter, they have them now.

You venture a sip of your own and hum with delight.

It’s warm, it’s thickly sweet, and it tingles your belly on its way down.

“Good, huh?” Krampus giggles and you nod.

“Yes, best I’ve ever had!” You remark sharply, the flavor removing some of your hesitation.

“That’s how we do things on Krampusnacht!”

More cheers.
Hey, this is kind of fun!
You laugh as Krampus literally hops over the dinner table, landing on the other side with a grunt and a thump of his boots.

It’s lined up like a medieval banquet setting, you notice.
All the chairs on one side.

There are other tables around the room, too, where you imagine you and the other serfs will be sat - if Krampus deigns to even let you eat, that is.

But no, you have one of the biggest surprises yet tonight, as he looks at you unreadably.

“Come,” He beckons, hand waving, lips in a genuine smile, “I want you to sit at my right hand. Be my guest of honor.”

Several of the monsters in the room groan in envy, and Krampus snarls out a growl, but then laughs heartily.

“Come now, you fools, I have to keep my eye on her somehow!”

And then, as if to decrease the meaning of his gesture, he calls forward two women with a wave of his hand - two of the most beautiful among his inhuman servants, one with pinkish-red skin and the horns of a demon, and another with green scales and all the hypnotic glory of a chameleon.

You’re surprisingly not jealous, at least, not in the common sense.
Who could expect a goat god to guard his wandering gaze?

But you’re deeply disappointed, which horrifies you.

You want to be special, too.

What the Hell has gotten into you?

But as the demoness moves to Krampus’ left, and the chameleon woman sits to your right, greeting you with a mild smile, you realize you like him quite too much already to feel anything other than crazed excitement.

You take your seat by his right hand, and he gives you another inscrutable smirk before rising from his throne-like chair.

“Let the feast begin!” He roars, and the assembled party, now seated, cheers in response.

The food is bountiful and so varied your head spins. Whole roast chicken and fish and pig’s heads, pies of every flavor, stewed vegetables and baked potatoes and enough sauces and toppings to make an elephant pop.

You even notice more modern fare - pizza, cheeseburgers, hotdogs.

The trolls are quite fond of all that.

You help yourself to a bit of everything, but focus mainly on the chicken.
Such good, juicy chicken, and you’re allowed to eat as much as you like.

He really is a good Master, you find yourself thinking.
And then you find yourself sipping more of your drink to frighten your blush away.

But it only makes you more red.

“Your cheeks are like roses.” Krampus suddenly purrs in your left ear, and that scent comes wafting off of him in a wave. “And I love the taste of roses. May I?”

You blink in shock at his forward, mind-boggling statement.
“May I - may you what?”

“Lick your cheek.” He purrs, and his tongue comes lolling teasingly out of his mouth.

It’s forked.
Of course it’s forked.

But it’s also a soft pink, and very, very slick.

Oh, Christ.
The things that tongue could -

“Do you have to?” You lament, brushing your thought away, but your thighs are squirming under the table.

“Do you want me to or not, Häschen?” He grins in knowing challenge and you flush deeply.

“Why would you think I’d want that?” You grumble, and he chuckles saucily.

Another question.
You know.

“Because you remind me of someone else I once knew. Someone just as cold on the outside, no offense.” He growls and you flush at the presumptuous insult. “True, I was too hot for her in the end, but…I could always get her to warm up a little.”

You scoff in disbelief, so he giggles and adds, “And because I can smell you.”

Oh, your stomach drops and your pussy throbs.

“No way.”

Your tone is a dare in and of itself, and so he leans in closer, snorts his hot breath right against your ear, and the smell is like a rag over your nose right now, hot, wild musk that mixes with the alcohol and the chicken you’ve been gorging on and the pie you’ve sampled for dessert.

You need to fuck him, badly.

From the way he’s leaned towards you, too, he’s able to flick his tail away playfully, and the demoness to his left bats at it almost kittenishly, giggling.

The ladies here sure seem to love him…
As if that means anything!
Like a ring of gold in a pig’s nose!

“So…you’re saying it’s not your cunt I smell trying to ruin my nice chair? Hmm? Because it smells like mortal cunt to me.”

The words almost knock you out, and paired with the smell, you come very close to it.

“That’s - a coincidence.” You mutter, but you are enjoying his teasing.
A whole lot.

He lets out a grumbling, goatish chuckle.

“Is it? Do you always get wet at dinner parties?”

You swallow.
Give him nothing.
“Sometimes.”

He laughs, a little loud for private flirtation, but it’s him.
Natural Krampus.

“And touching the knee of my idol? Whimpering when I almost broke the skull of that poor troll? Were those coincidences, too?”

You bite your lip, inhale sharply.
“I…guess not.”

He purrs out a chuckle of triumph.
“You see, Häschen, I really do know why that doorway dropped you here. True, they do usually have set destinations, but…sometimes they change direction. Send people where they really, really would enjoy being.”

You swallow heavily.
His mouth is less than an inch from your ear.
But he won’t lick you, not unless you agree.

“So what part of this do you enjoy, little bunny? The food? The drink? The dance?” He sighs dreamily, then growls, “Or does your poor rabbit heart beat for something darker? The pain? The monstrosity? The beautiful torment I can offer you?”

His hand is floating between the two of you, massive and twitching and aching to be held beneath the table.

It’s all you can look at, and it drives you insane that he’s not just grabbing you - taking you right here on the table in front of everyone.

You realize you’re not opposed to the idea at all.

“All of it.” You hiss, “This is what I’ve always wanted.”

Krampus actually groans, low and wonderful in his throat.

“Ohh, Häschen, you have no idea what that fucking does to me. Can I show you? Please?”

Holy fuck.
He’s actually begging you.
If anything, you thought it would be the other way around.

But any guy who plays an eternal game of sadomasochism is probably used to begging sometmes, you figure.

“Yes.” You growl, almost as feral as he is for once, and you gasp sharply as he grabs your hand, almost painfully, and places it down on that bulge in his leather pants.

If his hand is huge, his cock is ginormous.

You’ve taken decent-sized dick before, but this thing is only equal to your most impressive toys.

As it is, your own smaller hand being sandwiched between his and his cock is ruining you already.

His body is so hot.
Like, blindingly warm.
Heating pad warm.

And that massive cock almost threatens to rip through his pants.

He presses your hand onto it, begging silently for you to feel every inch, every vein, anything you might be able to right now.

It’s at least ten inches long, stemming from some kind of sheath, and thick as half your wrist, at least.

And tapered.
The fucking thing is pointed.

You have to clench your jaw and your thighs to fight the full-body, visceral, shivering groan the detail sends through you.

That fiery goddamn arrow has been stuck in his pants all night, and you have just the quiver to slip it into.

As subtly as you can manage, you use your free hand to grip his massive head and pull it to your own.

“Go ahead. Taste me.” Now it’s your turn to plead, but Lord Krampus is a very generous Master.

Being trapped in a castle forever, what else can you be?
It would be too boring.
And he’s anything but.

He chuckles out a lewd groan against your face and grinds against your palm as he flattens his tongue against your cheek.

It’s almost the texture of a wet Fruit Roll-Up.
You like it.

“Ohh, you know, I knew it.” Krampus purrs, “I knew your pretty skin would taste like roses.”

He must have some kind of kink for the heat of your skin, because, as you blush harder, he grunts sharply.

“So toasty. I can’t fucking take it, I need you now -”

He nearly howls it, but he’s interrupted.

“Come! Let’s dance!” One troll hollers from a side table.

“Yes! Let Lord Krampus lead us in a dance!” Another takes up the call, until every monstrous guest in the room is cheering and jeering for an official dance.

Krampus groans in frustration.

But, as eager a lover as he is, as ruthless a competitor, as violent a punisher, he is also that good of a Master.

You’ve witnessed that tonight, and you suppose most of it is practical - instinctual.

Being the leader of a pack of bloodthirsty things is dangerous work: one sign of fragility and the whole thing crumbles.

And he really must enjoy being the biggest shark in the water. Means he doesn’t have to live in the shadow of Santa Claus, even if he is trapped here.

Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven, right?

But you can’t help but wonder if he also cares, just a bit, about these gawkish, grotesque servants of his.

Doesn’t he understand what it’s like to be the odd man out, after all?

Sometimes fiends can feel like family.

And so you smile at him, and you reach and squeeze his hand, and you lower your eyelids.

“May I have this dance, Lord Krampus?”

Oh, fuck, he appears genuinely surprised.
Maybe not so used to the self-sacrificial types around here.

But he recovers his cockiness quickly, and leans in to kiss your neck with a chuckle - in full sight of everyone, which sends up a lot of “ohh”s and “ooh”s.

But it’s really just because you’re mortal.
Certainly, he must bed a new toy every night.

Somehow the thought excites you, which shocks you.

“Well…I suppose I could show you a few moves.” He purrs in mock-humility.

Then he rises and takes you with him, leading you back out to the open floor of the hall.

There’s something primal and mighty in the way he moves through a room, like megafauna, clearing a path with his very nature.

And he seems to quite enjoy your presence on his arm.

Then again, you should have known.

Krampusnacht music and dancing is as primitive and wild as the being himself.

Some of the servants get up to dance, but most of them are focused on providing the music - shockingly complex polyrhythms, chanting lowly, with cups and chairs and feet as instruments.

You like it.

And the music takes on a breathy, eager quality as Krampus begins to strut and thrust.

It’d be funny, if you weren’t brutally aware of what’s in his pants.

And all that muscle.

God.

“Come, Häschen, dance with me!” He bellows with laughter.

“Lord Krampus, I -”

“Oh, so formal!” His voice is dreamy and giddy. “You don’t have to call me that!”

Then a smirk of thought comes over his face.
“Unless you want to, that is.”

You flush, but the drink is talking and so’s your body.

You shuffle towards him, the two of you like absurd birds in a violent courtship dance.

“And if I do?” You breathe, meeting his eyes and allowing his scent to really wash over you.

You notice his nostrils flaring, and realize with shock and wonder that he must be doing the same.

“Then be prepared to heed my commands.” He growls threateningly.

The monstrous crowd whoops and laughs as Krampus moves nearer and the two of you begin grinding, front to front and loving it.

Though he’s much taller than you, so you’re really thrusting against his thigh, and he against your stomach.

It’s awkward, but it feels great.

“And - if I called you ‘Master’?” You dare, but it’s been on your mind all night.

He suddenly seizes the back of your head, nibbles your ear while bending low, chuckles and lavishes you with licks.
“Be prepared to love them.”

You can’t help it.

You just have to pull back, stand on your toes, and yank him into a wild, heated kiss.

He tastes of milk and honey and alcohol.

His arms sweep underneath you, hoisting you up with an ease that makes you whine.

You have the strange impression he could lift someone two, maybe three times your size.

You’ve seen what he did to that poor troll.

And now his hands grope hungrily at your ass, and you laugh out in ecstasy and angle your hips down, grinding against whatever you can reach.
It mainly feels like his belly, but that’s warm and heavy and strong.

Then he’s flinging you back down onto the main dinner table, much to the interest and surprise of all assembled.

“Fuck her!” One man - it might be a man, something very demonic and colorful-looking - shouts eagerly.

And then that leads to a chant loud enough for a football stadium.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

You can’t help but chuckle in shock and flush deeply.
They sure are open in these parts.
But, well, what have you got to lose?

“There’s a - bedroom upstairs, if these - imbeciles - are robbing your privacy and pleasure.” Krampus pants, and he sounds surprisingly considerate.

You can’t help but giggle and kiss him gently.
“Privacy? Yes. Pleasure? No. I don’t mind getting…a little freaky.”

Oh, he literally bleats.
It’s actually kind of disturbing.
Lower than a goat, more demonic, but still a rumbling, coarse bleat in his throat.

“You really do belong here.” He growls, then leans in to kiss up and down every inch of you, nearly tearing your jacket and the rest of your clothes to shreds in the process.

You don’t care.
You can always get more clothes.

Hell, maybe he has some you can borrow here!
For Hell on Earth, these monsters sure dress in finery unlike any you’ve ever seen.

And then his tongue’s swirling around one nipple, and his hand - more a mitt, honestly, with that thickness - is viciously massaging your other breast.

All you can do is gasp sharply and clutch at his horns.
He has six of them, for fuck’s sake, that must be why they’re here!

That and fighting, maybe.
Oh, fuck, the image of him butting heads with an equally strong, primal being has you whimpering already.

“You like that, huh, Häschen? Like it when I suck on your breasts?” He growls lowly against your skin, staring up at you with almost an entire tit in his mouth, and all you can do is whine and nod.

“These taste - as good as the rest of you.” He grunts, switches places on each nipple, and God, the way that forked tongue splits around the hardened nub, it drives you crazy. “I can’t wait to taste your cunt, my beauty.”

You hazard a glance around the room and aren’t very shocked to see a good deal of the monsters enjoying the show.

You pity them a bit, though.
They seem unwilling to risk being frisky without their Lord and Master’s command.

“Lord -” You breathe, then flush, switching slightly, “Master, I think your other servants are feeling a bit left out.”

Krampus chuckles, pulls away slightly to meet your eyes with those gold-ringed chocolate ones.

“Oh? Are they?” He teases, and you nod, the perfect intercessor for these flustered creatures. “What do you want me to do about it?”

You bite your lip, lower your eyelids.
“Well…you could give them permission to…please themselves, couldn’t you?”

“You mean jack off?” He mocks, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah. Stroke their cocks. Finger their pussies. That kind of thing.” You tease back, almost saintly, and he bellows with laughter.

“You heard the mortal! I declare a Krampusnacht orgy!” Krampus roars, almost self-righteous, and all creatures great and small cheer.

You hope you aren’t making a mistake.
This could end up smelling like the ass end of the Devil himself.

But the smell of the goat-man inching his way between your legs is driving you crazy still, so that’s all that matters.

And then his tongue flicks out lowly over your clit, and you’re already borderline screaming.

“Oh, God!” You howl.

Krampus chuckles.
“No God here. Only me.”

And then he’s flicking your clit, one side of his tongue on each edge, flipping back and forth and up and down and over and around, and you gotta see how he ties a cherry stem with that thing.

But first you’ve gotta cum, especially when he starts trailing a clawed finger up and down your swollen, soaked slit.

“Oh, fuck, Krampus - Master - I -” You whine sharply, almost seeing stars.

“That’s it, Häschen. Cum for your Master.” He growls, and then he slams his whole finger inside you, and the added shock of delicious, stretching pain lets you follow his command to the letter.

“Fuck -” You hiss out, your whole body trembling violently, and he scoops your legs over his shoulders for added access.

You whimper loudly and almost cum again as the bottom of your thighs touch that fluffy, fleecy hair on his shoulders, and honestly, the flick of his beard between your legs is doing similarly.

Your sounds make him grunt hotly and dive in, trailing his tongue from your clit to the base of your slit and back again, his finger pumping violently away at you, crooking masterfully before relaxing, only to do it again.

Honestly, he could probably satisfy you with just his finger.

But then he goes to add another, and you yelp.

“Master, I - I don’t know if I can handle two -” You pant, and he groans at your sweet pleading.

“Trust your Master, mortal. Obey me.” He coaxes, his middle finger requesting to join the first.

You definitely don’t think he’d force it.

But he wants to stretch you.
To test you.
To see just what he’s gotten in his newest servant.

“Okay.” You wheeze.

He watches your face, not blinking, almost expressionless as he focuses on you, searching for any sign of unwanted pain.

It does hurt, a little bit.
But you expected that from him, and you want it, and he can tell.

“That’s it, Häschen. You’re doing so well. Your cunt is taking my fingers so good.” He praises.

And, God, that little bit of compliment coming from him, it not only slicks you up enough for his second finger to suddenly join the first.

No - it sends you into a climax that almost has you crying.

Your breathless sobs mingle in the air with the groans of the monstrous beings currently touching themselves, and each other.

“You okay, little bunny?” Krampus growls, so surprisingly sensitive for such a monstrous torturer.

“Yes - God, yes, way better than okay!” You pant desperately, then flush. “I…actually thought you’d be rougher.”

He snorts with curiosity at your needy tone.
“Do you want me to be, sweet mortal?”

You swallow heavily.
Think for a moment.
“Oh, yes.”

You don’t know what you anticipate.

But it’s good when it comes.

You whine loudly as he suddenly withdraws his fingers with a filthy, wet sound, sucking them clean and moaning.

“If you want it rough, Häschen, you’re going to have to give me what I want, too.” He snorts.

You feel your heart race, but you nod.

Then he’s snarling and unfastening those leather pants rapidly, and you sit up on the table to see what you’ve gotten yourself into.

And ohh, shit.
It’s even more delicious than you imagined.

The thing is a strange peachy-pink color, not exactly the tone of his flesh, but not entirely internal-colored, either.

It’s definitely pointed, but there are also little buds around the head that you couldn’t feel through his pants.
Somewhere between barbs and papillae, honestly, but they look like they’ll totally break your brain when they’re inside you.

And it’s soaked - it’s shocking to you, but it’s also a wonderful sight, his cock being self-lubricating.
Because you’re not sure it could fit otherwise.

But it’s slicked up nice right now, some mix of precum and a sweatier type of substance coating it.
And the smell - God, the smell radiates stronger from his cock than anywhere else.

And his balls.
Sweet God.

You are pretty picky about whether you like a pair of testicles or not - sure, you accept them as they come, but only certain kinds really get you hot.

And these, oh, they’re fascinating.
And very sexy.

Incredibly hairy, obviously, like so much of him is.
Full. Very pronounced and round, like they’re just screaming his virility.
Dangling - not too much, but enough to remind you that you’re dealing with a very big, very powerful god here.

Your brain swirls thinking of where they’ll end up next.
Thumping against you as he thrusts deep, hard, wild, into your pussy?
Resting against your chin - almost your neck, really - as he fucks your face?
Throbbing in your hand as you massage them and stroke his cock?

Whatever happens, you know you want to touch them.

And Krampus makes that happen.
“Get over here and suck me, mortal.”

He’s really not that far away, but with that tone, you’d walk from one pole to another to do as he asks.

And there’s a surprise to this.

You can suck him off standing up.

He realizes it about the same time you do, and he groans in delight, his cock jerking at the concept.

“Like you were made for me, huh, Häschen?” He teases, pulling you nearer and guiding your head to his crotch with one hand.

You don’t even move against it.
You slowly slip his cock into your mouth as he leads you toward it, and you get about halfway down it before you gag slightly.

“And now I know your limit. Half - really isn’t so bad. We’ll work on that.” He purrs.

You shiver in wonder.
Implying there will be more than one opportunity for this?
Oh, what a wonderful surprise that would be!

But the two of you really do feel kind of right together, huh?

The unstoppable force and the immovable object.

Well, the flexible, durable object, at least.
Able to bend and stretch without breaking.
That’s you, alright.

Just look at this situation.
You’ve only been here a few hours, and you’re about to suck off a holiday legend that, yesterday, was no more than a campfire story.

Most people would still be screaming right now.
Well, in terror, that is.
Not in pleasure.
Not like you do.

Enough thinking.
There’s a cock to be sucked.
Your Master’s cock.
You shiver with delight at the thought - this has worked out much better, and much quicker, than you could have dared hope.

Best part is, you’re not dead.
That’s always a great start.
Didn’t know if you’d stay that way, either.

You look up at Krampus hotly as you slip your mouth back and forth over his cock.
It tastes about as good as you imagined - musky, sweet, kind of fleshy.
You take his sack in your hand and massage it gently, watching his face contort with delight.

“Ja, Häschen, suck me good. Suck me deep.” He growls, and then his hand’s back on your head, requesting to guide you.

You give him a glance that you hope says “just don’t let me choke too much”.

He chuckles and nods slowly, smiling distantly.

Then he’s growling and gripping your skull tight with those big fingers, claws digging into your scalp.

You’re pretty certain some of them are breaking through the skin a little, and you shiver with excitement.

He shoves you onto him kind of slowly, not going so fast that you can’t pull away if you need to, but forceful enough to compel you.

“Look at you, Häschen. A poor little bunny. Being such a good little mortal whore - for your Lord and Master Krampus.” He grunts, chuckling softly and letting his head loll back in pleasure as you whimper around him.

You wonder how many times he’s had a human like this before him.
You don’t doubt that he gets wild with most of the beings that follow him here - again, not much else to do.
But he seems very knowledgable about mortal behavior and nature.

Isn’t that his job, though?
Knowing and punishing the faults of humanity on one night a year?
At least, it used to be.
You wonder what happened.

You have too much cock in your mouth to ask about it, though.

You shudder as he pushes your throat down on him, down to your gag reflex and back. You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft and grip him softly with your lips.
He has tremendous control, to be able to fuck your face without shoving all the way in.

He speeds up and your brain fogs over, the smell and the sound and the taste overwhelming you.

You reach behind him and grab his - rather full, firm - ass with both hands for purchase, and he chuckles.

Then you let one hand wander to the base of his tail, and it immediately curls upwards at your touch.

“Woah, hey, easy -” He growls, chuckles, pulling you off of him and panting, “Don’t want the party to end just yet, do you?”

You gasp and grin.
“Your tail’s that sensitive, huh?”

He smirks.
“There are certain reasons for that. Reasons I will not go into tonight.”

You blink in surprise.
Is he into anal?

Shit, he spends all his time getting slapped in the face by everyone he knows, that shouldn’t be all that surprising.

Probably gets used by his servants as much as he uses them.

You shudder with a dark sort of delight at the thought of this massive goat-man bent over a table, taking cock like there’s no tomorrow.

You hope he extends the same fervor to you.

You yelp as he lifts you again, this time slinging you over one shoulder as though you weigh no more than a pillow.

So hot.

“Mmm, you know, you forgot, Häschen - you’re on the Naughty List. Even more so after tonight.” He growls, carrying you back to the table, where thankfully none of the orgy partakers have landed. “So, really, I simply have to spank you.”

You shiver with shock and delight as he shoves you down, belly-first, over the wood.

He holds you in place by one massive hand on your back.

The other reaches down, begins coasting along the flesh of your ass, and you whimper.

“Let’s make this fair to you, Häschen. How old are you?” He grumbles.

You tell him your age and Krampus laughs.

“Not too many, but certainly enough. Let’s see if you can survive them.” He snarls and you whine and gasp.

“One…”

Then you feel a little breeze as his arm draws back.
You brace.

But he spanks like he slaps, and his hand comes gently back, massaging your ass tenderly.

“Oh, you tease!” You curse, and he bellows with laughter.

“Trust me, little bunny, you’ll prefer time to get ready.”

He does it again, and another time.

And then, the fourth time his hand goes away, it comes whistling brutally back.

When it makes contact with your ass, you’re almost shoved across the table, the wind is immediately knocked out of you, and a ripple of bruising pain spreads from your tailbone to your clit and back up.

And oh, fuck, it is divine.

“Master!” You yelp out, and Krampus groans out a chuckle.

“That’s it, Häschen. Proclaim who gives you such - brutal pleasures.”

He inhales deeply, the scent of your increased arousal exciting him into an almost frenzied state.

“It’s taking everything I have not to just mount you right now and slam your head into the table while I do it. You’re lucky - I’m very used to restraining myself by now.” Krampus rumbles, and you can feel your slick already trailing down your inner thighs.

“Two…”

The second hit is no less suspenseful, and no less violent.

Your whole pelvis is going to ache by tomorrow.

Especially if he actually, finally fucks you after this.

God.
Maybe you are trapped here.
Maybe this is some blissful level of Hell you’ve wound up in.

You don’t really hate the idea.

As Krampus continues to count, and to rain those powerful, heavy blows on you, he does manage to check in on how you’re doing every now and then.

But then the spankings come closer together, with less warning, and fuck, if his hand can make you jolt across the table like this, you can only imagine what his hips will do.

“All done.” Krampus breathes, half-wheezing, as he makes the final hit, and then gently pats your overworked ass, making you nearly yowl. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

By now, your bottom is bright red and dangerously purple, your pussy is throbbing, and you’re experiencing a kind of libidinous terror like you’ve never known before.

“Please - Master - you have to fuck me -” You beg.

Krampus snorts derisively in front of you, reaches over your head from behind to grip your chin tight.

“Don’t I even get a ‘thank you’ for all the lovely gifts I just gave you, you greedy little slut?” He grunts out and your whole body quakes. You can’t even stand where you’re bent over the table anymore - he’s having to support you with his giant frame.

“Ohh - thank you, Krampus -” You manage to squeak out, “Thank you, Master.”

Apparently you’re drooling, because he slides his thumb up your chin and over your lip, then wipes it on your cheek.

“Well…at least you’re a grateful little bunny. I suppose I can fuck you now.” He growls primally, then leans in to lick the back of your neck for a moment. “Oh, yes, you’re very ready.”

Something he’s smelled or something he’s said excites him more than you’ve yet seen, because he lets out another bleat and spins you around with one meaty hand.

His eyes are gold and flaming as he scoops you up again, and you realize he plans to fuck you upright.

Fuck, this is going to hurt so good.

“Get ready, my little Häschen, my little Schatz. Because there’s no going back now.” Krampus laughs darkly, madly.

He leans in to kiss you, burying his tongue in your mouth and groaning, nipping at your lips with those sharp canine teeth.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

And then you feel one hand leave you, the other still supporting your ass.

He lines your slit up with his thick, jagged cock. Your body quivers with anticipation.

And then his hand returns to its companion, and he practically drops you on his cock.

It sinks in quickly, roughly, messily, and somehow bottoms out inside you in seconds.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry out, loud and sharp and addled with pleasure.

You’re already shivering through a climax as the head of the thing brushes your cervix, and Krampus groans loudly with bliss.

“Scheiße! You’re so fucking tight, Häschen. So snug and warm and wet around my cock -”

He visibly shudders with excitement, then begins to pound up into you, his claws scraping up your back in the process.

You whimper sharply and dig your nails into his shoulders, thrusting down into his brutal cock.

“Fuck, Master, oh, fuck -” You whine.

The two of you are almost instantly at each other like wild beasts, your bodies a blur as you bite and claw and scrape and whine. You can feel his heavy sack slamming against you with every thrust, and you’re pretty certain you’ve absolutely soaked the fur-like hair surrounding his cock by now.

It’s incredible.

He leans in and actually bites your breast, his tail coming around his front to caress your back, and you cum so hard you scream, the room of lusty, luxurious creatures blurring into a massive spread of color and light.

Krampus grunts sharply and tries to still himself a little, chuckling softly and grinning.
“Now - now I must - be very calm. Where - where do you want it? Your face? Your breasts?”

You blink at him in surprise, flushing deeply.
“You - you’re pulling out?”

He groans loudly at the disappointment in your voice.
“Don’t talk like that, little bunny, you’ll drive me wild. I can’t - we can’t risk - you getting pregnant, now can we?”

Oh, you hadn’t thought of that.

But the excited blush in your cheek and your wide eyes send Krampus reeling.

You have always wanted to start a family, after all.

And what an honor it would be, to give birth to a semi-demi-god…

“Häschen…don’t make me do something very naughty…you might regret it.” Krampus grumbles out, voice rising but eyes glazed with lust and mouth streaming drool.

You swallow heavily, reach out to caress his chest, hard muscle and thick hair.

“Would you hate it so much - being a father?” You breathe riskily.

What the Hell are you thinking?
You’ve just met the bastard!
But, really, when are you going to get another chance like this?
And didn’t gods and demons always just randomly knock people up in all the legends?

It should be fine…
He’s almost a fertility god anyway, isn’t he?

“I have been a father before and I do not regret it.” He wheezes, hips twitching as he tries to restrain himself, “But a child like this - might be a burden on you - I hope you know what it is you’re asking for.”

You smile fondly, thinking of the wonder of being the parent of a little godling.

You shiver, lean in to whisper in his pointed ear.
“Go on, Master. Breed me. Breed your little bunny.”

That’s enough for him.

Krampus howls in excitement, and begins to fuck you even harder than he has yet.

“So - you want - your own little Christmas present, eh?” He growls, “Even better - a Krampusnacht gift!”

He chuckles and you nod, but you’re looking away from him, so he grips your chin and snarls and makes you meet his shining eyes.

“Look at me when I’m getting you pregnant, Häschen. Look at your Master when he breeds you like the rabbit you are. Come on. That’s it. Good girl.” He grunts violently, soaked in sweat and gleaming with some sort of infernal, primitive need to create new life inside you.

You whimper and lean in to kiss him.
You can feel his cock already throbbing inside you.

It won’t be long now, and then you’ve got a long journey of rearing a child unlike any other.

You wonder if you should stop this while you still can.

But no.
No, you need this, it’s too right, too good.
And Krampus will be a wonderful father, won’t he?

So strong.
So fun.
So powerful.

He could protect this child better than any man on Earth - could pass on genes that make your offspring just as beautiful and mighty.

You were meant for this.

And his brother is Santa Claus, after all.
Your child would never want for anything, materially or otherwise.

“Breed me, Krampus. Please, Master. Cum inside me. I want to bear you a god.” You wheeze and pant, so pleasured you sound miserable, so needy you sound weak.

“Ohh, sweet mortal, my beauty, my Häschen - I can’t - hold back - any longer - oh, here we go -” He hisses out in triumph, in apology, in delight.

And then he throws his head back, lets out the most intense, growling bleat yet, and thrusts so hard you wonder if he’s split you in two, at first.

You can’t help but nearly faint as you cum so strongly in his arms, your pussy clamping down on his twitching cock, and you almost do black out as he begins to climax.

His hips jerk involuntarily, his balls spasm, his cock throbs, and you feel the blindingly delicious, divine sensation of his seed shooting into you.

It’s forceful, it’s even hotter than his body, and there’s way too much of it.

“Oh, shit -” You whimper, eyes widening as you clutch his shoulders tight, his cum pumping into you, spurt after spurt oozing into you, until it’s actually seeping down your thighs.

Why did you expect him to cum like a normal man?
He’s larger, more wild, mostly inhuman.

So of course he’s going to load you up with bucketfuls of hot, clinging cum.

That thought alone makes you quiver again, burying your face into his hairy neck and crying with pleasure.

You’ll definitely get pregnant after this.
No doubt.
You can barely stay on him anymore, his cum bathing your joined bodies in slick.

Krampus wheezes in ecstasy, laps so naturally at your hair, grooming you as he ensures you carry his child.

His cock finally starts to soften inside you, and, a minute or so later, he can finally pull out with a long, low grunt.

There’s an almost disgusting, absolutely delicious, filthy, wet sound as your hole is emptied and his excess seed comes gushing out of you.

You wish you could hold it all in.
But you’re too weak.
Too mortal.

And that thought brings you shame and comfort in equal measure.

Krampus sets you gently down on the table, and grunts in pride as he examines your stretched, oozing hole, so raw and well-used.

He reaches out and caresses it gently, and you yelp at the overstimulation of it.

“This is mine. My cunt. I own you now, little Häschen. Especially if you carry my child.” He grunts, moving his hand to the curve of your stomach, as though already dreaming of the life within.

To your great shock, his tone isn’t possessive, doesn’t quite match his brutal words.
It’s as though he’s fulfilled some deep, vulnerable instinct by breeding you, something he never thought he’d get to fulfill again.

It’s all instinct.
Like he wants to protect you now.
Like he’s marked you, like he respects your selfhood but simply can’t let you go now.

“Oh, yes, Master.” You breathe.

You wonder if you could be falling in love with him already.
Would be good for the sake of your offspring.

And then he does something more shocking than it all - more than the slapping and the drinking and the dancing and the fucking.

He climbs up on the table beside you, and lays down on his side with his head in your lap, as though showing his submission to whatever you wish.
As though seeking comfort and reassurance from your touch.

Yeah, that’s your heart aching now, not your pussy.

You sigh and reach out, running your fingers through his shaggy, curly hair, admiring every whorl and twist of his ancient horns.

How could you not love a god?
That’s the whole thing about gods.

Krampus is a good god.
Krampus is a good Lord and Master.
Krampus will be a good father.

He’s half asleep, lulled by the now-calm, humid air of the great hall after the wild orgy has passed, when he sighs out a chuckle.

“See, Häschen, you’ll have to stay with me for sure, now, won’t you?” He murmurs, but his tone is more hopeful than teasing.

You sigh sharply.
Will you?

What else is there for you?

“Yes. I’ll stay.” You mumble softly, and he rolls over slightly, looking tenderly up into your eyes in a way that stuns you speechless.

But then you suck in a breath as you remember.
“But there’s something I have to do first. My family’s having a Christmas party tomorrow. I should - I should say goodbye, at least. I could use your help getting back.”

Krampus actually whines - tries to just grumble, but it comes out with a touch of a whine, too.
“Oh, but, what if you get hurt? What if you’re trying to trick me, hmm?”

You sigh in wonder at his sensitivity.
When he’s all partied out, he’s as gentle as a lamb.
“I’ll return. I promise.”

And you really, really mean it.