Page 12 of Snowed In With the Krampus
He goes so far as to grind against me. A whimper tears from my throat as that enormous, monster cock rubs my clit from where it’s concealed behind his fur and pouch.
“See how hard you make me, min stjerne?” he growls low. When his tongue snaps out of his mouth to flick my earlobe, I inhale, arching my back. “But I pride myself on my patience, and I will deck your hall with my frosting and sprinkles.”
“It’s halls,” I correct him.
He chuckles deeply and lowers his finger to my pussy, parting the slick folds. “Not this time, kjaere.” His grin is devilish right before he plunges that thick finger inside me, all the way to the knuckle. I hiss, my hips struggling to rise from the floor.
Of course, he pulls out far too soon.
He lowers the frosting bag to my throat. Swallowing hard, I remember what he said—stay very still. I might love to brat out, but I also love to please my husband. I love his ‘good girls’ and his rewards when I exceed his expectations.
My skin tingles as he slowly and carefully pipes swirling, thin frosting to decorate my throat and collarbone area. It becomes quite clear that he is using the frosting for a far more intricate design. Only my artistic monster. I smile, remaining as still as possible, as patient as possible, with Krampus piping thintendrils of swirling frosting around my breasts, my areola, and finally…my nipple.
The tip of the frosting bag circles my pebbled nipple like a cold kiss. Oh, I bite my lip, blink back tears, and clench my hands. He is a little extra attentive with the hard, little bud, saying how he wants to make sure the frosting is applied with precision and care and artistry—attention to every detail.
I realize that he piped the image of a poinsettia upon my breast.
Flaming tingles erupt all over my body with a deep, hungering ache persisting as he roams that frosting bag lower to adorn my belly. I can’t help but love how he’s turned my body into a work of art with filigree designs and latticework as if I transform into a lace doily. He pipes the image of an elaborate rose all around my navel with my button as the center bud of the flower.
The dastardly demon skips over my pussy and lowers the piping bag to my toes. And his fingers.
“Krampus, don’t you da—” is all I get out before he tickles my toes, and I lock up, throat constricting with the need to thrash and wiggle and pull away. But if I move at all, it will disturb the rest of his design, one I know he’s using his power to preserve since the icing would normally slide off from my body heat.
Chapter 10
“Would you care for some eggnog?”
TWYLA
At least he has mercy on my toes, apart from the frosting that curls in tickling caresses. All the fine hair follicles on my body rise as he pipes more patterns and dots along my calves, my knees, and finally…my thighs. He cups the flesh of one still-nude thigh, digging his fingers into the thickness.
“Søte sexy lår,” he says in his thick, husky accent, rugged and rhythmic, strong and soothing. It always reminds me of the wintry mountains and snowy forests surrounding his castle. And gets me hot with its dark and captivating authority. “Sweet sexy thighs,” he translates and slaps the one, jiggling the flesh.
I bite my lower lip and resist the urge to keen as he takes a moment to play with my thighs, smacking them a little. To think! I avoided bathing suits for years because of how much thicker my thighs are on average. But to Krampus, the extra plumpness gives his tongue “more to lick” and his teeth “more to bite”.
Tears squeeze from my eyes as his fingers tiptoe up toward my pussy. One swipe of those fingers along my wet pubis, onesoft tug of my darker blonde curls on my mons is all he does before returning to the icing bag.
My inner muscles spasm when he pipes the frosting along my outer folds. I can’t tell what design he’s forming or if he’s even making one. Knowing my Krampus and his attention to detail, I suspect it’s something cute and festive.
“Ohhhhholyhollyberries!” I gasp as he teases the frosting right along my slit, and I feel it ooze in warm dollops with my wetness.
“Steady, min Twyla,” he urges me, and I flex my feet and clench my thighs so hard.
“Fucking fruitcakes!” I squeal from the cold tip rubbing and circling my swollen clit. I’m one throbbing beat in my cunt away from begging for his Krampus cock.
At last, he sets the bag down, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief, my shoulders relaxing against the hardwood.
Krampus stands, cocks his head to the side, and makes a frame with his hands—as if taking a mental snapshot.
“I planned a boutique photo session with twinkle lights, min stjerne,” he remarks, and I give a faint smile at the sight of his horns hardening and his demon dick twitching behind his pouch and fur.
“Hmm, what else did you plan?”
“Well…” he lowers himself to straddle me again, his slabbed chest a breath from brushing my frosting-clad one. “While I may not have intended on icing, min dronning, I did plan to lick you from your pretty golden head to your sensitive, little toes.”
I gulp.
At least he lets me move and scream this time. No creature alive could be strong enough to resist that unbelievable tongue. It’s practically a Christmas miracle! All my nerve endings ignite. Adrenaline and arousal spike my blood until my pulse blazes when that tongue licks every inch of my heavy breasts.
