Thrice Called
A dark Xmas tale of lust
“A present, goddess. A tale.” The low rumble of the voice set the sconces trembling. The blue-white flames danced with delight. Curious heads turned and the sea of flesh parted in anticipation.
“Come forward.” Her voice echoed down the long dark hall. Mistress Frost, Goddess of Frozen Hearts looked up. She adjusted the crown nestled in her silvery curls and set two fingers upon her ruby lips. Something was in the air. She could smell it. An appetite long neglected. She smiled to herself and grabbed her scepter.
The hulk shambled forward, the room rattling with his heavy footfalls. It stopped before the queen, a figure she knew well. It was the Night of Gifting and Krampus, able servant and fellow denizen of the Nether, never disappointed. The fortress was a welcome home to his bounty. Each year a feast for the senses. The denizens of the Court came from far and wide to see the newest trophy, to delight in its agony, to wager on what kind of soul would become the next permanent fixture in Mistress Frost’s dungeons. An eternity of terror and pain.
The creature that was Krampus smiled, his mouth a river of great crooked fangs, his long forked tongue writhing behind them. Black eyes searched the faces of those closest, the glare from behind the ridged brows pushing the lesser creatures back with delicious terror. Lord Krampus, satisfied he had the attention of every fiend seeking to grovel at the feet of his lady, drew himself up to his full height, his great horns threatening the oil-filled sconces that hung from the ceiling. He straightened his blood-red robe with one six-fingered hand and yanked on the ruined end of a rusty chain.
“For your pleasure, Mistress,” he said, his voice a low rumble, like thunder in the distance, and the prize fell forward into the light.
A gasp rippled through the crowd as a beautiful maiden stumbled forward and stopped cold on the rough-hewn stone of the throne room floor. Her jet black hair hung tangled and matted around her shoulders, her green eyes were wide and bright with wonder and terror. The rusted chain, like a serpent shedding its skin, ended in a heavy iron collar around her slender neck. Smaller links fell down her back, ending in crude manacles that enclosed slender wrists and delicate ankles. Her breasts heaved with each labored breath around a great black ball forcing her mouth open.
“A present, you say?” said Mistress Frost, her eyes glowing as she devoured the succulent prize. This was nothing like he’d brought her before, and already she felt a stir. The room held its breath when she climbed from her macabre throne and stepped down from her dais. “A tale you say.” She missed Lord Krampus’ nod, her gaze fixed on the way its legs trembled when her pale fingers reached out from the obsidian folds of her robe and stroked its naked breast. “Tell me. Where did you find it?”
“Thrice called, as you know. Three nights she called for me in her dreams.” Krampus stood there, leering down at the prize, the thing he regretted parting with, but there would be such favor from his mistress with this gift. He could not keep it forever.
“How long have you withheld this morsel from me?” The fiery orbs of the Goddess of Frozen Hearts flashed and found Krampus, felt him shrink a little under their glare.
Krampus wilted, despite his size, twice hers. Under the blazing inferno of his mistress’ gaze, he too would melt like the most delicate snowflake. “A year, Mistress. I took her on Gifting Night last.”
“A year? How a year later is this creature still here? Not faded away, back to her realm?” Mistress Frost grabbed the chin of the beautiful creature, twisting its dirty face left and right, examining it, watching it, feeling how its heart raced, devouring the whimper that burbled up from between its lips. Oh, the pain and suffering the thing would endure here. But how she was still here, when…. “Explain.”
“She has but to wake up, Mistress, and her fever dream will end. And yet, she does not.”
“Lord Krampus, I have no patience for your half-truths” The goddess glared at her servant, then her gaze found the morsel again, and she reached out her scepter, its end glowing with icy silver light. “Why does she not wake?” The end of the scepter rose between the thing’s legs and found its most delicate flesh, swollen and burning with intense heat. An icy discharge, like lightning, sparked across the distance, and it screamed. Its body shook in its bonds, held fast by the ancient iron, writhing as the spark played back and forth between the head of the scepter and her prize’s tortured cunt.
“Let her tell you, Mistress. My words would only ring hollow.”
Mistress Frost considered her present as it stood there trembling, breasts heaving, a sheen of sweat spreading over its exquisite body. Perhaps that would satisfy.
“A tale, you say?” said the goddess. “I shall hear it.” She reached down and pried the ball from the thing’s mouth, listening to its wail as the massive sphere came away from its home, watching the breathtaking creature’s jaws quiver once free from the trap. She leaned in close, her breath like a cool breeze over the thing’s hot, flushed face. “Tell me your tale then, slave. If I enjoy it, I will consider keeping you.” She smiled and licked her lips, then pushed the thing to its knees and drew back her robes to expose a fine, silvery down. “Tell me your tale,” she said, pressing the thing’s mouth to her own waiting slit. “I’m listening.”
