Page 16 of Christmas Eve with Krampus

So I take a sip, enjoying the warmth as it trickles down my throat, then place the cup back down. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to suck your dick now.”

Holy shit, Josie. I knew that tea made everything I say be the truth, but there’s being honest and there’s just blurting out your innermost thoughts! Like, really? Down, girl. You might just scare him away with how forward and eager you are?—

Ruprecht reaches out a claw, stroking my jaw. “It would be my honor. Come. Let’s go to the bed.”

Um. Yes, please.

The demon waits for me to push my own chair away before laying one hand on my bare shoulder. An electric spark passes between us when our skin connects, but a sideways glance up at Ruprecht doesn’t give any sign that he felt it through the callus on his palm.

Instead, he’s watching the bed approach with a curiously unblinking stare as he shuffles us toward; the linen pants still bunched around his thighs no trouble at all for him. Then, when we’re standing next to it, he grips me by the waist—instinctively avoiding my hip—before depositing me and my big floofy gown on the edge.

Once again, it’s the perfect angle. I’m sitting, taking pressure off my bad hip, while he moves until his shins are pressed to the edge of the mattress. With his height, his cock hits my chin. I duck it, bring my lips to the crown, and dab my tongue along the slit I find there.

I don’t expect him to be like fucking dairy cow. I didn’t think I’d open his mouth, he’d slip his cock inside and, seconds later, he’d fill it with peppermint come. I’ll have to work to bring him some release—and I’m looking forward to it.

I already get a hint of mint when I suck him into my mouth. My hands are on his hipes, digging past the incredibly soft fur I find there, but my attention is entirely on the thick cock that’s stretching my mouth out. I use a little of my teeth to keep him in place, pinning him a little so that I’m not gagging on him. Instead, I use my tongue to swirl around the head, lapping at the sides of his shaft, enjoying the tiny taste of sweetness that is just different enough from the tea that I know it’s Ruprecht.

Still clutching one hip, as he starts to buck a little, I use my free hand to grab him by the base of his cock. That way I can bob my head a little, sucking him, blowing him while he threads his claws through my hair, whispering my name into the crackle of the fire.

When his movements become a little more frantic, his whispers more pleading, I know he’s gotta be close. Usually, that’s my signal to dip out. I’ve always been a spit girl if my timing was off, but if I caught onto my lover’s habits in time? They can go off on the floor instead of in—or on—me.

But Ruprecht… I tighten my hold, sealing my lips around the head of his cock as he shoots his load into my waiting mouth.

The first thing I notice is that it’s actually kind of cool. Temperature-wise, I mean. It’s far cooler than his body temp, but between its chilliness and the viscosity, it reminds me of a milkshake.

The peppermint flavor comes a second later and I instantly know that I could get used to why.

I swear, it’s the best peppermint I’ve ever had—and it came from Krampus’s cock.

You’d think it would be kinda awkward after that. I mean, I just met this guy, and I was real quick to take his dick into my mouth.

But, really? It was peppermint! It’s Christmas! Well, Christmas Eve, but can you blame me? I had this nutty fruitcake and mint tea for breakfast, the most delicious peppermint ‘milk’shake for dessert, and the lit candles throwing cozy shadows around while also highlighting Ruprecht’s Christmas tree had put me in the holiday spirit for the first time in a long while.

If I’m in a curiously good mood, that’s nothing compared to the demon. He thanks me as I let his spent cock slip from between my lips, but if he starts to get hard again, I can’t tell. He pulls on his linen pants, then invites me back to the kitchen to join him at his table.

Probably a good idea to stay away from the bed, I think, considering I was ready to invite him to join me there. Instead, I follow him into the kitchen, and then follow his lead in not mentioning what just happened at all.

Now that I know he’s Krampus, he tells me details of his legend instead. How he’s central European-based, and he got the name of his demon from the German word for claw: krampen. I pointedly dance around the topic when it comes to just how he punishes the naughty children in his sock, ignoring the chains and the birch rod he has mounted over the wall in the bed area. Instead, he tells me about the gifts he leaves for the good children instead if they leave their shoes out during Krampusnacht.

Really, he adds with a hint of annoyance, it’s for the Feast of Saint Nicholas, but as Krampus, it’s his job to reward the good kids, punish the bad, and stroll the world on the night of December 5th while Saint Nicholas prepares for his Christmas Eve ride.

After that, he changes the subject to ask about me. Of course, I find the first excuse to change the subject back—and I find it when I notice that he hasn’t touched any of the roast and red cabbage that he conjured us up for Christmas Eve lunch.

Though I wasn’t sure I’d like it, I tried it as his insistence. It was pretty good, and my plate is basically empty.

His isn’t.

I point at it. “What’s the matter? Not hungry?”

I remember at the last minute that, despite the tea not working on him, Ruprecht promised that he would be honest with me. And, like I’ve been—tea or no tea—his version of ‘honesty’ means telling me things bluntly that I never was expecting…

Meeting my curious gaze from across the table, he looks at me and says, “When I can only think of what your taste might be, I fear I’ve lost my appetite for anything else.”

Oh.

Oh.

I swallow. In the old legends of Krampus, I ready that some bad kids get eaten. When I applied to be allowed in Blackmoor, the council made it very, very clear that the monsters in the woods would find a human woman little more than a snack.

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