4. What Krampus desires more than my apology is my trust

Chapter 4

What Krampus desires more than my apology is my trust

TWYLA

I t was my choice to wander. My choice to stray from the path.

With how heavy the snow was falling at the time and dusk closing in, I should have known better. I should have known not to follow a wild, little animal so far into the woods, my snowshoes taking me through deeper snow well beyond the main path with its well-worn tracks from other travelers.

All I know is the storm of blistering ice and wind shows no signs of slowing or fading. The snow has already gathered halfway up the windows. With Krampus having no magic, we won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

Krampus takes my mouth, opening it, and fucking it with his marvelous tongue. My ass muscles still clench from the wetness oozing between them. No one is better at rimming than my husband. He spiraled and flicked and licked in every conceivable direction imaginable. I’m certain he even drew a fucking star with that Eighth Wonder of the World tongue. Not to mention how his beard would tickle and scratch the area.

His torture is unparalleled. Even now, with his mouth sucking mine and plunging his tongue down my throat, stealing all my breath, all I want to do is climb him like he’s my little demon mountain and start humping him with every ounce of my sexually frustrated ferocity.

But I know my husband.

He’d probably tie me to the bed and leave me spread-eagled for the rest of the night, waking me with an occasional licking or spanking just to torture me more.

What Krampus desires more than my apology is my trust. Emotion wells up inside me, knowing how much I fucked up this night. The night of our one-year anniversary, when we first made love in the beautiful holiday cabin, I love so much. Whatever he had planned, I spoiled it. And then, I bratted about it.

So, the smoldering skin of my ass and the molten liquid of my juices trickling from my center like hot, Christmas pudding sauce are more than deserved, more than earned.

When Krampus finally pauses from my mouth, leaving my lips swollen and sore, I’m still shaking. He taps my trembling hands and narrows his eyes upon me in a silent command.

Nodding meekly, my vulnerability on full display, I clasp my hands behind my back, arching my body, thrusting out my breasts out in formal presentation.

“Slem pike.”

My cheeks flush all the more from his approval and his hungering eye roaming across my breasts. A muscle twinges in his iron-hard jaw, but he doesn’t move. He simply fucks me with those eyes, touching me everywhere without laying a finger on me. And making me wonder if my pussy could catch on fire just from those dark monstrous eyes. I feel his dick, how it stabs at his pouch, battering against the confinement.

So, why isn’t he turning me over and burying himself in me?

“Eyes on me, min Twyla. Not on my cock you wish to see and touch and taste so much,” he scolds me, summoning me to his gaze, subjecting me to that carnal stare.

Swallowing hard, I nod and thread my sweaty fingers tightly, battling every urge to cover myself.

“Describe how your exquisite breasts feel,” he commands in a velvety, deep voice, those pupils dilating upon mine.

Ugh, fuck. There have been other punishments, of course, but tonight, it feels different. The humiliation and dark degradation pierce me down to my soul. I recognize he’s feeding on me, on my arousal, on the assault of my unbridled emotions. No less than what he deserves for disrupting his night…and all his anniversary plans I know he was preparing for weeks in advance. I recognize the discipline beyond the punishment. If this is what is needed to restore the balance between us and to give him what he needs, I will take it. I’ll take it all.

After biting my lower lip, I wince through the ache in my breasts and convey, “They’re heavy. They hurt. They want to be felt, fondled, and maybe…s-slapped,” I groan through the last word.

“Slem pike.” He leans in and brushes his warm lips across my cheek, his beard tickling my skin. “Describe the feeling in your pretty pink nipples.”

“Mmm, I-they’re h-hard. So hard and tight. And they ache.”

“What do they wish their Lord and Malevolent Majesty would do to them, min Twyla?”

I squeeze my eyes around my hot, stinging tears and clench my stomach from the mortification swirling inside me, making me want to shrivel. “They…they love your clamps, Krampus. But they want your fingers to…rub and pinch and pull them. They want your lips to kiss and suckle them. Your t-teeth, to bite them. But most of all, they want your tongue to twirl and tug at them. Both. At the same time.” His tongue, oh, blazing treetop stars, that tongue knows how to treat me.

But Krampus does none of it. He simply inhales deeply now and then, savoring my honesty, my vulnerability. This is his version of an emotional cocktail—even if he’s the one with a cock…and a tail.

“Good girl, kjaere. Describe the feeling on your lovely, lille rumpa.” He leans in to kiss my other cheek and flicks his tongue along my earlobe.

“I don’t want to sit down,” I whimper, my eyes not daring to stray from his face. “You didn’t use your birch branches, but it felt harder, longer, stronger. And my cheeks are burning more than ever. More than when you used the paddle on me in Krampus Haven on Krampusnacht.”

My cheeks burn with my profession. Krampus rubs his full lips along the corner of my mouth, a deep purr resonating from his chest into mine. Hunger has overthrown most of the humiliation, but even the humiliation is a massive turn-on. To know my husband can still surprise me after a year…and reduce me to a writhing hot puddle of wantonness.