“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 his lady’s feet, 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, cunt. 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 need. “I’m listening.”
I checked on the boys one last time after Mark went to work. Another Christmas Eve with him on call, and I was alone with another glass of wine. I turned the lights down low and slid into my usual nighttime spot, the leather stool in front of my desktop, laptop open and ready.
I felt my nipples harden under the little red Santa nightie, and then I slid my fingers under the narrow waistband of my panties and pulled them down until they fell around my ankles. I pressed the glass to my lips, and let the wine fill my mouth, then I clicked through to my favorite website, the one Mark didn’t know about. The one no one could know about. The one that made me ache. Would there be a message? A response to my last post?
I sat up straight, pushed my tits out, spread my legs. There was no camming, but fuck if I didn’t fantasize about it. How I wanted to show him. How I wanted to sit back and feel the cool night air caress my clit, wishing it was his tongue. He’d found me the first night I’d posted my Christmas list, one request each day for the last twelve days, the last one just after Mark left. Would he respond again, or was he with family, a wife perhaps, a girlfriend? Would he tell me to cum, or would I go to bed aching, wishing my stranger would appear at my front door and fuck me raw in front of the tree?
I felt the rush between my legs when the site came up and I’d typed in my username: Cunt4Christmas.
I’d opened the account a year ago, just reading, just watching everyone post their twisted sexual perversions and others lap it up. I lapped it up, but this year I’d done something more. I’d posted for the first time: A Christmas Wish List From a Very Bad Girl. It felt right. It felt good to type it all out, to tell everyone my fantasies, to see the likes piling up, the requests for a cam, for pictures, for more. What would Cunt4Christmas want after her first wish of wrist and ankle cuffs? After the second thing on her list — a ballgag and blindfold set? The third — to be bound and fucked by strangers at a party? It went on and on, each day a new fantasy that just poured out of me. As easy as breathing, and as essential.
How long had I harbored these fantasies? How many times had I sat here when Mark was on the night shift and rubbed my clit to story after story, perched on my little stool, cumming again and again. Every little fantasy girl that got fucked by a monster, every MILF gangbanged on the subway, every boss forced to serve her secretary, every housewife kidnapped and sold as a prostitute. Week after week, I’d found darker and darker scenarios, sick, twisted, more sadistic stories, and each night I’d spent hours riding my dildo, my rabbit on my clit, my fingers pulling and pinching my nipples as I scrolled.
And then I posted my first wish list for Santa. I’d been a Very Bad Girl, I told him. I’d been a slut who sat on a cum-soaked stool each night rubbing my pussy to all the filthy things I could find, and I needed to be punished. Bondage gear, to be helplessly fucked, to be sold into slavery, to be trained as a pony, to be tied to the tree in my front yard and whipped in front of my neighbors. Please, Santa, I’d begged each night and offered him my cunt as payment.
And each night, he’d been there. A ‘like’ at first. A little encouraging comment. A remark so disgusting I’d had to read it again and again until I orgasmed. And thanked him.
That was the first night he’d messaged me. The first night he’d told me how much he enjoyed my Christmas list. The first time he’d made a suggestion. I was already flush from the orgasm, my heart beating in my ears when I opened his message telling me that from now on I should sit at my stool with my panties around my ankles, legs open, so I could imagine he was watching me while I typed and scrolled. Would I do that? Yes. Did it make me hot? Yes. Did it make me want to cum again. Yes. Yes, please. Panties around your ankles, whore. Yes, sir. I’d done everything, my eyes riveted to the screen, waiting on his next command, his next desire, and I’d cum and cum and cum until I’d begged him to go to bed. It was already well after midnight. He’d made me cum two more times before he allowed it. And I’d slept so hard that night, I almost didn’t get up to take the boys to school.
Night after night all week, and now, it was Christmas Eve, and I’d posted the last thing on my list, a story to describe it, one I’d taken so far. Writing it had scared me.
I shivered when I hit ‘send’, one hand on my mouse, the other on my clit. I’d shivered and cum, the images from the story playing in my head.
And now, there was one more message from him. I stared at the screen, at his icon, a disgusting creature with red-black skin and a long, drawn face. He was terrifying, half-goat, half-man, complete with twisted horns on his head. I’d been afraid to respond the first time I’d seen it. But with each successive night, his messages and his thoughts were so in sync with mine, driving me to dig deeper, to explore more, to take chances and accept what I wanted — the idea of being fucked by him, a monster, had me so turned on, I’d spent half my day thinking about it, imagining it, playing it out in my head. I sat on my Zoom calls, panties soaked, barely paying attention, thinking about his claws on my skin, his dank breath on the back of my neck as he bent me over in front of the Christmas tree and fucked me with his vile cock.
I clicked the message, my free hand already circling my clit. Would he finally tell me how I could be his Christmas gift? Would he fill my head with the images I wanted so badly? But the single word I found did more than any description could, and I came instantly when I saw it. Tonight.
A noise woke me, and I stared at the clock. 4am. Still too early for Mark to be home, but maybe he’d gotten off early and was drinking a whiskey before he came to bed. A quick survey of the presents, the bike I’d built for Chris, the train set all ready for Caleb. I slipped out of bed and out of my nightie, pulled my panties down and left them behind on the floor. Visions of being fucked in front of the Christmas tree had been playing in my head, invading my dreams, and if some horrifying creature wouldn’t do it, Mark certainly would. I grinned to myself, felt the sudden rush of need between my legs.
But the living room was empty. Not a sound, nothing to see except the stockings hanging from the mantle, the tree lights blinking their rainbow of colors, my laptop still open on the desk. I glanced at it, then spun back, eyes wide. The word Tonight was still blinking back at me. Fuck! I’d forgotten to close it, to log out, to delete my history. Fuck fuck fuck. If Mark had seen that…
I side-stepped the couch and reached for the mouse. And froze. Tonight, it said, and then letter after letter appeared after it, a new message playing out.
Tonight I come for you.
Terror gripped me, goosebumps sprouting over every inch of my skin. Time seemed to slow, my fingers trembling over the mouse as new letters formed. Tonight you will be mine. But it was impossible. I blinked, shook my head, tried to unsee it, to force myself forward. If only I could grab the mouse and close the site, just shut down the computer. I stood there, my breath caught in my throat when the final words crawled out of the blackness. I’m here now.
Long, gnarled talons wrapped around my face, silencing my scream. A sickly mottled arm wrapped around my waist, and I felt the thing’s hot breath on the back of my neck, the heat from its flesh, the iron shaft of its cock as it slammed into me. The sheer force of it rattled my teeth, sent me reeling, falling, collapsing back into him. The room spun, the Christmas light flashing between its fingers, and for the first time I heard his voice, a subterranean growl. “You’re mine now, cunt. Cum for me.”
I screamed again, the orgasm like a great wave crashing against the rocks and the lights went dark, the room sideways.
My whole body vibrated, suddenly twisting, turning, inside out as the world shifted. Pitch black, a whiff of smoke, a hint of soot, and then a chill wind caressing my burning skin. I blinked and looked up, catching snowflakes in my eyelashes, the stars visible between banks of billowing gray. A stiff breeze whipped between my legs, and my clit pulsed, the ache back, my pussy empty and calling for him again. Fuck me, Krampus. Fuck me, take me, use me, break me.
I turned, and he was there, towering over me, a great horrifying hulk, his long red robes open and his massive, misshapen cock erect and ready. He smiled, and I shuddered. “I will do all that, cunt,” he growled and raised his claws, a large black ball in his palm. Before I could move or utter a sound, he stepped forward and forced it into my mouth. I groaned as he pushed it past my teeth, my jaw threatening to break. Then he smiled, rows of crooked black teeth in a mouth like a scar, and stepped back.
“Now, we will visit the other bad children, cunt. And you will draw my sleigh.”
I turned, my eyes following him, screaming behind the gag as I saw where we were, what was happening. The roofline sloped away on either side of us, the neighborhood rooftops blinking with Christmas lights as light snow fell on my naked body. I reached for the ball in my mouth but found my hands and ankles in manacles, a heavy iron collar around my neck. The snow shifted under my feet as I spun left and right, trying to find a way out, the chains running between my bonds clanking in the silent night.
I twisted around, found him climbing into a sled made of twisted boughs and charred wood, a massive chest bound with metal straps behind him. He growled and raised a slender black whip. “Merry Christmas, cunt,” he rumbled. The crack of the whip echoed in my ears; the pain seared my naked back. And I began to run.
Mistress Frost, Goddess of Frozen Hearts, shuddered as pleasure washed over her body like a wave. Eyes closed, she stood stock still, savoring it. She licked her lips, looked down at her prize. It gazed up at her, eyes unfocused. “Open,” she said, and the beautiful creature opened its mouth, a single tear streaking down its cheek as the metal ball was forced back into place.
She smiled and found Krampus’ eager gaze. “This one I will keep. She will be gone when she wakes, and only a second will pass in her world.”
“If she wakes, Mistress.”
“Indeed. You kept her for twelve months; I will keep her for twelve years.”
She looked down.
“Twelve years, cunt. Do you understand?”
Cunt4Christmas nodded, tears streaking down her face. She would never wake up. Her final Christmas wish had come true.
Author’s Notes: I wrote this over a year ago, and I just added the audios today. What do you think? Wouldn’t you like to give yourself to her as a gift?
Merry Christmas!
