Category Archives: Shorts

Shorts

The Krampuslauf (Part III)

Continued from Part II

The man gave no answers to Ylva’s continued protests.

The temperature dropped rapidly, becoming a chill so sharp it dragged icy claws across Ylva’s skin. She pounded her fists against the Krampus’s back, all she could manage from inside the rough sack.

“Hey! Where are you taking me?! This isn’t funny anymore!”

“Why, I thought you of all people would remember the legend.”

“What?”

“I’m dragging you to Hel, you naughty little wolf.”

A different kind of chill ran down Ylva’s spine. She clutched the rosemary that still hung at her breast. For a moment, she believed him. How else would he know her name? Ylva meant wolf—chosen for her even before her name day because she’d bite any finger in reach.

But then, the far more plausible explanation occurred to her.

“My mother put you up to this, didn’t she? Whatever she offered you, I promise I can make it worth your while to put. Me. Down!”

Ylva gave one last might struggle—to absolutely no avail.

Krampus chuckled. “That’s one way to stay warm. Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

Snow crunched, and another bird called, but not one that Ylva had ever heard before—and she’d gone on countless treks out into the wilds around the village, before her mother had banned her.

Something was very wrong. Ylva quieted to listen.

Krampus paused, wood creaked, and then warmth air surrounded Ylva. The burlap sack shifted, and the ground rose to meet Ylva’s knees as a beam of heat washed across her back.

She fought with the sack, clawing at the opening until the burlap fell around her and her senses struggled to take it all in.

She was in a cabin, similar to the ones in her village, but somehow utterly foreign. The walls were made of wood, but with a silvery color and a strange swirling grain that Ylva had never seen before. The floor was layered with fur rugs of creatures larger than any bear, and blankets woven with runes draped over wood-and-leather furniture. A fireplace crackled behind Ylva, the source of the bone-warming heat.

The cabin smelled like dry herbs, firewood—and musk, vanilla, and pine.

“Better?” Asked Krampus, half-chuckling, from where he sat in a chair by the fire. 

As soon as Ylva saw him in the light, she knew. There were no clothes under his furs, no other face under that goat-like one. The horizontal pupils of his eyes were not paint—they contracted as he looked towards the fire. His double-jointed legs ended with hooves, the source of his supernatural grace and speed.

He was exactly as Auntie Helda had described—dreadful and beautiful. His fur was dark like pine bark, his horns and snout and beard like a mountain goat’s, his eyes as watchful and predatory as a wolf’s. The long tufted tail that flicked at an itch on the back of his calf was like a bull’s. 

“You’re real,” Ylva murmured.

“Of course I’m real,” Krampus—the real Krampus—replied. “What else would I be?”

“You’re not a man. You’re a… a monster.”

“Is that so? I thought monsters were supposed to be terrifying? You don’t seem very terrified.”

Ylva’s eyes darted around, clocking her potential escape routes. But she’d felt that bitter cold and knew that even with her coat, she wouldn’t last long in that kind of chill. Besides, how was a mortal supposed to get from Hel back to their own realm?

Ylva returned her eyes to Krampus’s face, searching for some clue as to his intentions.

He leaned down and held a clawed, fur-backed hand to her. “You don’t have to sit on the floor,” he said.

She carefully took the hand, and he pulled her to her feet. 

“Tch. Your hand is like ice,” he said.

“Yes,” Ylva said, with the patience of explaining to a toddler. “It is very cold outside.”

“Apparently.”

Ylva almost thought she saw remorse on his face, but he didn’t say anything. She stood there for a moment, searching his eyes, then turned and sat across from him, pulling a blanket over her lap. It was a deep navy, embellished with constellations in the shape of runes.

“Do you like that?” Krampus asked. “I knit it myself.”

Ylva’s eyes darted to the rest of the blankets, and sure enough, there was a basket with skeins of yarn and knitting needles sticking out of the top.

Something leaped out from beyond the basket, and Ylva yelped—

But it was only a tabby cat—albeit one with eight legs and two tails.

“Oh, don’t mind Magni. He’s only a terror to the mice around here.”

Magni sauntered over, eight legs working in mesmerizing unison, sniffed at Ylva’s feet, then leaped into her lap and started purring.

She pet him gingerly, worried he might do worse than nip at her if he was displeased.

“So this is Hel,” Ylva said.

Krampus nodded. “Part of it, anyway. My vacation home. I’ve got a whole castle, too. It’s very grand.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Is that where you keep the other naughty women you’ve kidnapped?”

“Why? Are you the jealous type?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. I like being fought over.”

A new kind of thrill fluttered around Ylva’s rib cage.

“Who said I even wanted you that badly?” she snapped.

Krampus wrapped a long tongue around the clawed fingers that had worked Ylva’s cunt so thoroughly.

Ylva couldn’t tear her eyes away, not even to make a point.

Krampus shrugged as he lowered his hand. “I quite remember you begging me to fuck you, that’s all.”

“And you didn’t,” Ylva said. “Not really.”

“You seemed satisfied anyway,” Krampus said.

“Hmph. So now what?”

“First, we make sure you don’t freeze to death—which can still happen in Hel, by the way. And then we resume your punishment. After all, you’ve been very naughty.”

Ylva gripped the blanket tightly as her cunt throbbed.

Krampus insisted that Ylva drink not one but two mugs of a sweet spiced drink he called ‘hot cocoa’ before he was sure that she was no longer going to die of hypothermia. The cocoa was a bit like mulled wine, but with an earthier taste and none of the sourness of alcohol. She could get used to Hel.

“Now, there’s something you should know,” Krampus said. “If you beg me to fuck you again… I will. Eventually. But you should know—once I do, you won’t be able to return to the mortal realm. Or, more accurately, you won’t want to.”

Ylva snorted. “Confident, aren’t we?”

“I have a perfect record so far,” Krampus purred.

Ylva narrowed her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “What is that, like three women?”

“Oh, hundreds. Thousands, over the years. And just as many men, too.”

That made Ylva want to turn and sprint out the front door—not out of any sense of fear, but just to wipe the smirk off of Krampus’s caprine snout.

“I’ve never met a man that could satisfy me,” Ylva said.

“I’ve never met a creature I couldn’t satisfy,” Krampus countered.

“Well, let’s just see about that.” Ylva set down her mug.

Krampus peered over to confirm that it was indeed empty, then un-crossed his legs. “But first, you need to be punished,” he said, patting his thigh.

Ylva crossed her arms. “Or what?”

“There’s no ‘or what’. Disobedience simply isn’t an option.”

“Why don’t you—”

Krampus stood and was upon Ylva before she could even get her feet on the floor. He hoisted her by her under-arms and then spread her across his lap, one hand on the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip.

Ylva wriggled, her heartbeat rising along with the throbbing in her cunt, and strange sparks of pleasure tingled in her core as Krampus easily held her in place. She pounded her fists against the sides of his leg, finding iron-hard muscles under the fur.

In one deft motion, he caught both of her wrists in his hand, holding her arms out ahead of her so that she couldn’t get leverage to push up off of his lap.

Ylva panted, letting her strength build again and thinking through what she could do next—

And then his hand collided with her ass.

Ylva gasped, and the shock reverberated up her spine. Just when she could breathe again, his hand slammed into her other cheek, arching her back again and then evening out the stinging heat.

The strange tingling crept up her neck. Maybe if she—

His next slap was so hard that her feet lifted off the ground as her body curled, trembling and tensing for the next strike, which quickly followed.

Ylva half-sobbed and all she could think was that it hurt so good. The tingling reached up around her ears and then pulled her head down, down. She was sinking and floating at the same time, and the muscles of her arms went slack, no longer pulling at Krampus. He let her arms settle against his leg, but kept her wrists circled in his hand.

“Naughty girls get punished,” he crooned. “Do you understand?”

If these were the consequences, she was hardly going to change her behavior—she knew that much. As his hand lifted, she braced for the next impact, but it didn’t come. Her body quivered needily.

Krampus leaned down so that the soft fur of his snout brushed against her ear. “I said… naughty girls get punished… do you understand?”

And then she did. If she kept up her behavior, she could expect—nay, count on—this delightful consequence. He’d never intended for her to behave. Ylva wriggled eagerly, then nodded.

“Good,” Krampus said. “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

She listened for him to say more, so the next slap surprised her, and Ylva’s breath heaved, every exhale a moan.

Krampus’s cock pressed into her stomach again, and Ylva would have reached around to stroke it, if he wasn’t still holding her wrists—and if she wasn’t so dizzy. A series of lighter slaps let her float in the strange place and enjoy it. Then, just when the string became too much, Krampus gave her one last slap and then cupped her ass gingerly.

“This leaves such a nice mark on you,” he purred.

Ylva squirmed with pleasure at the thought of scratches from the birch interwoven with Krampus’s hand-prints.

“See,” she said, “I got through my punishment without begging you to fuck me.”

Krampus laughed a cruel, long laugh. “Oh, my naughty little wolf… your punishment is just beginning.”

His fingers plunged into her cunt without warning, sending her whole body shaking. He quickly found her spot and pressed hard, and Ylva had no idea how something that felt so good could be so unbearable.

She tried to pull her hands out of his wrist, or to wriggle off his lap, but every sharp press of his fingers made her spine weak.

Ylva gulped like a fish out of water, flopping uselessly in his lap as he drove her mad with that unbearable pleasure.

Time unraveled, and finally she whimpered, “Please…”

“Please what?” Krampus said. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

He pressed hard and Ylva’s back arched, breath hissing out of her before she could form another word.

She just needed his cock, any cock inside of her. She just needed him to fuck—

No. No, she wasn’t going to beg him to fuck her. She had a point to make.

“Just ‘please’?” He teased. “Oh, you must mean that you want to please me? What an excellent suggestion.”

Krampus shoved Ylva’s hips off of his knees and she thudded into the thick carpet at his feet—or, hooves, really.

He pulled her hands towards his stomach, so that she kneeled before him, eye-level with his cock—and she couldn’t help but marvel.

The throbbing length was burgundy in color, almost human in shape but subtly different in the curves, especially the rounder glans and swell of the center of the shaft. As thick as her wrist, it would stretch her in the most delightful way…

No. She didn’t need it, didn’t want it.

Krampus tugged at her wrists, pulling her towards his cock.

Ylva grimaced.

“We can go back to your punishment, if you’d prefer,” Krampus said.

 She couldn’t take even a single spank or a solitary second more of teasing, so Ylva brought her tongue up the length of his shaft and closed around the tip.

“That’s what I thought,” Krampus said.

Ylva wanted to wipe that smug look off of his face, but she scrapped all the ideas that would have brought her back over his lap.

The only option that remained—and a thought that made heat quiver up from her cunt—was to so overwhelm him with pleasure that he forgot to be smug.

Ylva moaned and took Krampus’s cock as deep into her throat as she could, then swirled her tongue under his tip and bobbed her head.

Krampus hummed approvingly.

Ylva took him deep again, then again, until her eyes watered and her drool ran down his cock and into his fur.

“My my, aren’t you enthusiastic? Maybe your punishment is finally working.”

Ylva nearly bit his cock, but she steadied herself. Sending him over the edge like this was still her best shot at winning.

“I suppose I could lend you a hand,” he said, releasing one of Ylva’s wrists.

Her first thought was to plunge it into her own cunt, but as soon as it dropped beneath his balls, Krampus said, “Ah-ah. You know what that hand is for.”

Ylva harrumphed around his cock, then wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, pumping in time with her mouth.

“That’s a good girl,” he crooned.

The words should have lit a fire in her, but instead they settled around her shoulders like a heavy, soothing blanket. The genuine desire to just bring him pleasure overwhelmed her. Her eyes drifted shut, and she lost herself in the rhythm.

Krampus hummed approvingly and stroked her hair.

Just when her jaw was almost too sore to continue, he cupped her cheek.

“Now,” he said. “Aren’t you getting a bit warm?”

Now that he mentioned it, she realized that her tunic and skirt were soaked with sweat under her coat. She was still in the fireplace’s beam, and Krampus’s teasing had her burning from within.

“Let’s get you out of these wet things.”

Krampus cupped his hand under the wrist that he’d been holding and helped Ylva to her feet. She was so dizzy and light with pleasure that it took all her focus just to stand.

Gently, Krampus lifted her coat off her shoulders, brushing his claws down her arms.

She stood, still in a sort of trance, as he unbuttoned her tunic and her skirt and peeled the wet fabric away, revealing first her bare breasts and then her hips, until she was totally naked.

Normally, she could hardly get half a breast out before whatever boy she was with bent her over—and she wasn’t complaining. She enjoyed that urgency.

But this was… something else entirely. Krampus really took her in, watching the firelight glimmer on her skin.

She watched the flames dance in his amber eyes, around those strange horizontal pupils.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. One of his clawed fingers hooked under her chin and angled it upwards. “Absolutely beautiful.”

His other hand trailed down her shoulder and cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her sensitive nipple and drawing a gasp.

The sound seemed to draw his attention, and the hand at her chin clamped around her jaw, lightly pressuring her throat.

“You humans,” he breathed. “So fragile… so lovely…”

One of his claws hooked into the cotton cord around her neck, snapping it. He lifted the little spring of rosemary. “Was this supposed to protect you from me?” He chuckled.

“Or just to smell nice,” Ylva murmured.

His nostrils flared. “You smell delicious.”

He leaned down until the tip of his snout, soft as kid leather, brushed against her nose. Her eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed her, and she kissed him back. Every little brush of skin against skin was some new and wonderful thing, and her fingers burrowed into his fur as his dug into her flesh.

Every touch, every taste left her wanting more, more, more, and she grasped and moaned and pulled. Eventually she leaned back to catch her breath and Krampus’s nostrils flared as he snorted a hot breath across her face, his long tongue catching against her collarbone and trailing up her neck, her cheek.

She moaned and shuddered, cunt throbbing, wetness from her prior punishments running down her inner thigh.

Her fingers grasped the fur of his chest.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Please.”

“That doesn’t sound like begging,” he growled, claws digging into her ass.

“Please,” she breathed. “Please, please!”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll faint! Please!”

“Why?”

“Because I want it…” She tugged at his fur.

“Want it?” He hissed in her ear, sending icy claws down her spine.

“Need it!” She whimpered. “Please, pleaseplease…”

“What a needy, naughty little thing,” he growled, grabbing her by the hips and spinning her, pushing her over the back of the nearby leather couch. The top was well-padded, and her toes just barely touched the ground.

Ylva wriggled, and Krampus’s hands clamped around each of her ass cheeks, claws digging in and making her back arch.

“Please, please I need it, I—”

And then he was inside of her, and every fiber of her being sang yes.

And there was more of him, and even more, and the stretch fulfilled her in a way that she had never known possible, pressing hard against her spot even though he wasn’t moving.

She clenched reflexively around him, her toes curling as her pleasure redoubled.

Krampus groaned lowly. “Fuck, you feel good. So nice and tight for me… I can tell you practice.”

“Please,” Ylva whimpered. “Fuck me, please.”

Krampus growled and his hips bucked forward, not entirely under control. But Ylva was too lost in her own bliss to feel smug—he was all the way inside of her, and it was everything.

Each of his thrusts pounded into her spot, and she transcended to a whole other level of incomprehensible pleasure. Every stroke was as sweet as a climax and her every breath was a needy moan.

Krampus held her around the waist, pulling her hard into the bottom of each stroke. She desperately wanted to cum and yet didn’t want it to ever end.

Her wetness ran down between her thighs, mingling with her sweat and pooling between her toes.

Krampus’s breathing accelerated and Ylva’s heartbeat rose with it.

He stroked faster, harder, and every stroke radiated heat through Ylva’s core. The dizzy buzz hit her as hard as mulled wine on an empty stomach, and Ylva floated on heat and pleasure.

“Yes,” she breathed, “Harder, please!”

Krampus obliged, though whether for his pleasure or hers, she didn’t know and didn’t care. Her moans raised to the pitch of the cats fucking in the barn.

“Harder, ha—hah!”

He pounded her so hard that she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. His cock inside of her was her whole awareness, her entire world.

And then he growled one last feral sound and slammed in to the hilt, wrapping his arms around Ylva’s chest and surrounding her in fur and musk.

His cock throbbed inside of her and more heat ran down the inside of her legs. Ylva lost track of how long he came for, but it was long enough for her own heart rate to settle, for her mind to sink into a fuzzy contentment even though she hadn’t cum herself.

Krampus, still hard, stroked a few more times. Ylva whimpered, her weight sinking into his arms around her chest.

“What a good girl,” he whispered in her ear. “I think you’ve earned a reward.”

Before Ylva could wonder what it would be, she was back in her chair by the fire, Krampus kneeling in front of her, her thighs hooked over his shoulders.

His long tongue plunged into her cunt, the pebbled texture dragging against her clit. Ylva’s back arched and her fingers dug into the wooden arm of the chair.

“F-fuck, that feels good…”

Krampus leaned back for a moment and licked the mixture of cum and slick from his snout.

“Good. It’s a reward, after all.”

He plunged in again, and Ylva was already on the edge. His soft snout pressed against her clit as his tongue dragged across her spot on the inside. The base of his tongue was still thick enough to offer her some stretch, and with her clit assailed on all sides like this, she wouldn’t last long.

She reached down and gripped his horns like a lifeline, desperately rocking her hips.

“Oh T-Thor, yes, d-don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—”

Ylva’s breath trembled and then became a scream—one so ecstatic and shameless that she never would have dared make such a noise anywhere near the village.

Krampus’s tongue gently stroked, extending her pleasure far longer than usual, letting all the tension quiver through her muscles and turn to pleasure.

Finally, she slumped in the chair, feeling utterly spent.

Warm, furry arms cradled her and Krampus pulled her down to the floor to nestle against his chest. He stroked her hair, and she thought she might die of happiness.

“Fuck,” she murmured.

“What?” he said, pressing his cheek against her head.

“I hate to admit it, but you were right. I can’t go back. Not after that.”

“Welcome to Hel,” Krampus crooned, and she could hear the smirk in his voice—but for once, she didn’t mind it. He’d earned it.

“Just one thing, though,” he continued. “I’d prefer you didn’t scream another god’s name when you cum.”

“Oh? I should scream, ‘Krampus’?”

“That’s the name Odin gave me. My mother named me Helson.”

Ylva blinked. “Hel is your mother?” The eponymous goddess ruled the realm and had nearly as storied a reputation as Odin.

“Mhm, and it’s as horrid as it sounds. She’s always glooming about. So when you cum…” His claw ran down the edge of Ylva’s jaw, and she shuddered. “Scream the name I gave myself. Kare.”

Ylva played it over her tongue. “Kah-reh.” It meant curved, curly. “Like your horns.” She reached up and stroked one of the ridged lengths.

Kare shuddered. “Careful, or I’ll have you screaming my name sooner rather than later.”

Ylva nestled against his chest. “Just give me… a minute…”

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I must have satisfied you, little wolf.”

Ylva humphed and snuggled in, already drifting off.

Yuletide really was her favorite time of year.

Enjoying these stories? The best way to show it is to share with your friends and buy me a bubble tea! ❤️

Still hungry? You can read more Bite-Sized Stories here, or head over to The Cookie Jar to see everything, including full-length novels.

You can also follow me on Patreon, Twitter, or subscribe to the blog here:

Standard
Shorts

The Krampuslauf (Part II)

Continued from Part I

A few minutes into the longest night of the year, in the chill west wind, Ylva bent over the paddock fence with Hjalmar, a stable hand, plowing into her from behind.

The ponies snorted and snuffled through the snow, looking for grass, unbothered. Ponies fucked out in the open, after all. Ylva wished humans were more like that.

Hjalmar was one of Ylva’s more reliable partners in indecency, and he pounded right into that sweet spot so hard that Ylva saw stars.

“F-fuck, yes,” she whispered. “Harder!”

Hjalmar obliged, and Ylva’s vision blurred to sweet bliss.

Then, suddenly, he stopped and yanked her upright. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed in her ear.

That someone should be me, she thought.

Ylva and Hjalmar straightened their coats, which hid their state of undress, and leaned against the fence just as Hjalmar’s boss came around the corner of the barn. 

“Allo,” he said.

“Allo,” Hjalmar replied.

Ylva nodded.

The older man took his time sorting through the firewood piled behind the barn.

Ylva pressed her legs together, desperate for any sort of sensation. In response, her own wetness ran down between her thighs.

As Hjalmar’s boss started back in towards the barn, Ylva wiggled eagerly, eager to resume her activities.

“Aye, since you’re free, Hjalmar, I need yer help gettin’ the fires goin’.”

“O-Of course, sir.”

Hjalmar glanced back apologetically, then scurried after his master. With a little twinge of sadism, Ylva wondered how long he’d have to keep his coat on before he found a way to tuck his cock back in his trousers without anyone noticing.

She sighed, the puff of air trailing off on the wind. Ylva considered finishing what she and Hjalmar had started… but then a bell clanged from the town square.

Ylva grunted with frustration, then gave up on satisfaction and hasted towards the sound. The Krampus run would start soon, and she did not want to be late.

Ylva crunched across the snow and into the town square, sidling up to one of the basins of mulled wine simmering on a wood stove.

Baker Aki, a plump man with a full brown beard, distributed clay cups of the hot drink.

The cup was nearly in her hands before Aki narrowed his eyes and pulled it back.

“This is for the Krampus run,” he said.

Ylva turned to survey the crowd of men already drinking. They wore scraps of fur over their clothes and held homemade masks with frightening faces and long curved horns. Most of them were already totteringly drunk, with two of them pissing against a nearby building at that exact moment.

“They look like they’ve had enough,” Ylva said, “And I just wouldn’t want your hard work to go to waste.”

“Tch. Naughty child,” Aki said, but he handed her the cup with a wink, like she’d known he would.

“That’s their job to take care of, isn’t it?” Ylva said, blowing on the hot wine. She’d learned the hard way a few years back that Aki always served the wine so hot that if you took a drink too soon, you’d burn your tongue and taste cotton for days.

“Yet it doesn’t deter you from coming back every year,” Aki said.

Even from the time she was a toddler, Ylva had never been afraid of the Krampus run. She thought all the frightening faces were good fun. She liked how each costume was unique to the person who’d made it, even though they all represented the same character. Some looked almost like a real goat’s face, while others were exaggeratedly grotesque.

She’d made her own Krampus mask her seventh winter, pieced together with shed pony fur, old rags, and chicken bones for the horns.

Her father had smiled. Her mother had thrown it away. Ylva had never understood why only the men were allowed to have fun.

Every year, the brave children would dare each other to venture out during the Krampus run, then race away as soon as the men came near.

Ylva would dare the other boys to see how long they could spend in the middle of the crowd, where birch branches lashed and drunken elbows flew.

Her tenth winter, Ylva had emerged proudly with a black eye and a bloody cheek—winning a bet and losing permission to attend the run again.

Her eleventh winter is when Ylva learned how to sneak out.

Her fifteenth was when her breasts were coming in, and Ylva’s mother sat her down. Men do rude things to young women, Ylva. You have to be careful.

Ylva was not careful. They were rude, yes, but never cruel. And drunk enough to easily avoid.

Besides, Ylva liked the groping, the pushing, the birch branches flying—it was exciting.

As a man came up for more wine, Ylva scurried up the street in the direction she knew the Krampus run would start. There, a few teenagers and the bravest of the young children waited to see the start of the run.

Petrie was there, with his little brother hiding behind his leg.

“I thought you were old enough to be a Krampus,” Ylva said.

Petrie frowned and looked down at his brother. “The brat begged to come and Mama made me promise to watch him. The run is stupid, anyway. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“Tch. You must not be a real man, then.”

Petrie’s face went bright red as he correctly guessed at Ylva’s second meaning. “Maybe I do get it. You deserve a beating.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Petrie scowled. “Tch. You’re insufferable.”

“You seem to suffer me very willingly.”

“Ylva, I swear on—”

A horn sounded in the main square, and all the children went quiet.

Gudmund, the mayor, leaned hard on two of his friends and stood shakily on a box in the middle of the Krampus crowd. He cleared his throat, and the drunken men elbowed each other until most of them were paying attention.

“Odin, soaring through the sky on that mighty eight-legged stallion Sleipnir, brings blessings to the good and kind in spirit.” Gudmund slurred, but he gave the speech every year and knew it by heart. “But to the naughty and devious, another visitor calls…”

“Krampus!” cheered the men, putting on their masks.

“And we bring not gifts but…”

“Lashes!” they said, raising their twigs and branches high.

“Tonight, we Krampuses…”

“Run!” they jeered, turning the word into a threat as they started up the street.

Several of the children yelped, some with fear and some with excitement, as they turned and sprinted up the road.

The first stretch, they always ran together. Two blocks they’d sprint all-out, a clump of children and the mob of Krampuses behind them.

As they reached the edge of the village, a pair of Krampuses that had been lying in wait burst out of bushes on either side of the path.

Several children screamed with genuine fright, especially as the Krampuses lunged towards them and tousled the nearest children.

The children scattered, sprinting up every side street.

The ambush happened every year, so Ylva had already changed direction. The Krampuses also dispersed, and soon every street of the village was filled with yelps, screams, and growls as the costumed men chased the children.

Ylva slowed to enjoy a few lashes from the birch across her coat and stockings, then sped away again. It wasn’t hard to run faster than a drunk man, that was true, but Ylva was particularly fast.

One man noticed and chased after her in particular. She glanced over her shoulder, made a rude gesture, and picked up speed.

A block later, she glanced back, expecting to have gained distance—but he was even closer.

Excitement pounded through Ylva’s chest as she broke into an all-out sprint, weaving around several sharp corners that usually sent the men reeling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Krampus leap over a low pile of firewood with all the grace of a real goat, and he stayed right on her heels.

She turned a sharp corner, then another into a narrow alley between two buildings. Even though it was nearly pitch black, she wove deftly through the crates and jugs of oil, then cornered hard and slipped into an even narrower alleyway. By the lack of thumping and banging behind her, she was sure she was putting distance between them. Smirk on her lips, she angled for the opening back to the main street at top speed—

Then collided with a furry chest, bouncing off and skittering back into the alley.

Ylva reeled, breath knocked out of her. It couldn’t be the same Krampus, could it? He’d followed her into the alley, she was sure of it. He couldn’t have known which exit she would choose.

But also, why did he smell so good? Her brief collision with his chest had smelled of musk and vanilla and pine, not the mulled wine and piss that usually clouded around the Krampus run—and the slightest hint of rosemary from her token.

With the light of the town behind him, he was just a silhouette. Without the details of the costume, Ylva didn’t have much of a guess as to who was behind the mask.

“Aren’t good young women supposed to be safe at home on midwinter’s night?” he said.

“Isn’t Krampus supposed to be frightening?”

“Tch. Quite a mouth you have, don’t you? You must be very naughty and give your poor mother and father all sorts of heartache. Especially one as pretty as you…”

Ylva’s heart gave a little jump in her chest. He didn’t sound like anyone she recognized from the village. A visiting relative, maybe? A merchant? Or a wintering hunter? Regardless—someone new. Someone exciting. Ylva stood, dusted off her coat, and crossed her arms.

“So what if I’m pretty and naughty? What are you going to do? Beat me?” She half hoped he would. But he’d have to catch her first.

“I think I might,” he said.

Ylva turned to run back up the alleyway, but before she could make it three strides, her feet swept out from under her and she landed hard across fur-covered legs, musk and vanilla and pine surrounding her again.

“How are you so fast?” She hissed, trying to turn to get a closer look. But a firm hand on the back of her head forced her gaze downward and sent a thrill down her spine. She wasn’t sure if she could get away this time.

With his other hand, he turned up her coat and pulled down her stockings, exposing her ass to the chill night air.

Ylva hardly had time to gasp before a birch branch cracked across her bare skin—harder than she’d ever been hit before. Her whole body echoed the pain, like she’d just plunged into ice water. But then something strange happened—her toes curled under, her fingers grasped at the fur beneath them, her back arched. It hurt—there was no mistaking that. But it also felt good.

The second crack of the branch forced a whimper from between her lips, and then, as her wince relaxed, a subtle tingling drifted up her spine.

“Have you leaned your lesson?” The Krampus asked.

“Unlikely,” Ylva murmured.

Pain burst from the branch again, even sharper.

Ylva yelped, whole body going stiff and then melting deeper into that strange tingling sensation. She wanted more.

The next hit made her moan. It was a dangerous game, making noises like that while in a compromising position, but the Krampus seemed to take his duty seriously, keeping up a slow and steady set of lashes.

Before long, that tingling sensation rose to envelop Ylva, and she lost count. She thought she might melt away entirely into that soft fur and that cozy forest scent. 

Just when it was getting to be too much, when her ass was so sore that the sting barely subsided between strokes, the Krampus stopped.

Ylva floated for a long moment, every nerve glowing. A warm hand rubbed her ass, and she had never felt a sweeter touch.

And without the strike of the branch scrambling her brain every few seconds, she realized she was extremely aroused.

Ylva couldn’t help but wiggle.

“You’re not trying to escape, are you?”

“Fuck me,” Ylva murmured. She didn’t know who was behind the mask and she didn’t care—she just wanted cock. Now. She’d deal with the rest later.

The Krampus chuckled. “Well, you didn’t learn your lesson at all.” His fingers trailed down her ass and to her inner thigh.

Ylva trembled, and her breath caught.

His fingers cupped her cunt, just that light pressure sending sparks down every limb. Ylva moaned lowly. 

“In fact,” the Krampus continued. “You seem to be enjoying this.”

Her cunt was so slick that his fingers slid easily in.

Ylva whimpered and moaned, unable to stay quiet. Fuck, that felt good.

“Hm, I smell a male on you. Not the first time you’ve bent over today, I see. Naughty girl.”

Before Ylva could think much about the strange choice of words, the Krampus’s fingers pressed hard against that special spot and Ylva’s vision turned to stars.

Slowly, maddeningly, he lightened and then pressed again.

Ylva trembled, yearning. “Please…”

“I guess you do have some manners,” the Krampus said. “But whatever are you asking for?”

“M-more, harder, please…”

“Oh do you mean… like this?”

She meant exactly like that, but could not say as much because she was too busy screaming with ecstasy. She couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing, but she didn’t care. He somehow hit both that inner spot and her clit at the same time, and she writhed with ecstasy. Her fingers curled in his fur again, her back arched, her cunt clenched.

And that familiar heat tightened around her clit.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Don’t stop, I’m—fuck!”

Ylva screamed as she came, the throbbing waves of pleasure too much to contain in her body. He kept up the attention on her cunt, drawing out her orgasm far longer than usual. 

As Ylva finally quieted in his lap, she noticed something hard throbbing against her stomach—almost certainly his cock.

But Ylva could hardly move. She was dizzy in the best possible way, tingling all over, whispers of pleasure still echoing in her cunt.

A warm hand cupped her ass again. 

“No sooner have you taken your lashings than you’re tallying up new ones…”

Clawed fingers stroked Ylva’s hair, and she shuddered.

“You deserve a proper punishing. Maybe then you’ll learn your lesson… but not if you stay here. Only one thing to do about it, then.”

Ylva’s world upended again and after a rustle and a blur of lights, she found herself in darkness, surrounded by rough burlap. The unyielding fabric pressed her into a tight ball as she lifted off the ground, weight swinging and then settling against a soft cushion that smelled like candlelit forest.

“Oh, are you ‘kidnapping’ me?” Ylva asked, pushing at the burlap—but it hardly gave her any room to move. “Very clever. Are we going back to your place?”

“You could say that,” the Krampus replied.

Ylva counted his steps, listening for anything she recognized, trying to guess where in the village he was taking her.

But from the moment she’d entered the sack, she hadn’t heard anything. No children yelping, no men howling, no branches slapping against window panes, no fire crackling.

Only the hush of fresh snowfall, the distant hooting of an owl, and the soft breath of the Krampus. 

Ylva must have been distracted, or spent longer over the Krampus’s lap than she thought, because the only other explanation was that the Krampus had in two steps gone from the alleyway to some place that wasn’t in the village at all.

Continued in Part III

Standard
Shorts

The Krampuslauf (Part I)

Yuletide was Ylva’s favorite time of year.

The smell of fresh greenery indoors, all the little candles twinkling among the boughs—it was like bringing the glimmering night sky indoors to the warmth of the crackling fire. Then there was the singing, the games, the feasts, the wine, the drunken kisses, the sneaking outside for a little bit more than a kiss… the long nights had their benefits. The cover of darkness made all sorts of delightful deviance possible. 

On the new moons, when you could hardly see your own hand in front of your face, she only bothered pulling the boys a few strides off the path before reaching down their trousers.

They called themselves “men”, but they were still barely twenty, so they were “boys” to her. She’d just passed her nineteenth name-day herself, but she’d hardly call herself a “woman”. Women practiced embroidery and fretted about dowries and thought about finding a husband. Girls were still wild, unkempt things with dirty feet and tangled hair.

It was the day before the solstice, and Ylva rode Petrie, the butcher’s son, on a snowbank behind the meat shop. Strands of wavy brown fell loose from her braid clung to her face. Her fur coat and tunic were half-unbuttoned, and Petrie grasped her bare breast.

The cold hardly bothered her—her body ached with so much heat. She loved being on top—she could rock her hips just-so and almost always cum.

“Y-Ylva, I’m close…”

“Me too,” she whispered. “J-just a few minutes more—oh, this feels so good…”

“M-minutes, Ylva… I’m not… I’m gonna…”

Ylva lifted her hips just in time—Petrie’s seed spilled out over onto his stomach.

Ylva huffed and plopped into the snow next to him.

“Why did you stop?” Petrie said, sounding disappointed.

“Because I don’t want to get pregnant. I told you that,” Ylva said. “Besides, you can touch it yourself. And not just now. Any time, did you know that? You won’t even go blind or turn into a goat or whatever your mother tells you.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because maybe if you did that a little more, you’d last longer,” Ylva snapped. “But if I’m the first hot thing to touch your dick in a week, of course you’re going to pop like a keg.”

“We-we could go again,” Petrie said, hopeful.

Ylva signed. “No, I’m not in the mood to suck cock.”

“Well, but… you were just…”

“No, now I’ve got to be careful. That…” gestured to the smear of white on Petrie’s cock and stomach, “Is what gets you pregnant, you know. You have to wash it with soap and make water before it’s safe again.”

“Says who?”

“Says Auntie Helda.”

“That old witch? You can’t trust her.”

“Oh? Didn’t you trust her when Grulna missed her bleeding last year?”

Petrie exhaled sharply. “We’re done here.”

“Good, I already said I wasn’t in the mood. I’m leaving first. And don’t bother slipping me another note until you can last longer than it takes to wash your hands, hm?”

Ylva stalked off into the snow. She knew the last jab was unnecessary—but so was the discombobulated arousal she was going to be stuck in for the next few hours. She could use her own hands, too, but sex was always such a strong sensation, it took a few hours before she was sensitive enough. Ylva buttoned up her coat and clomped out from behind the butcher’s shop.

Other villagers hustled to-and-fro, walking by the gold light of the candles in every window and the thin silver of the moon, finishing preparations for the solstice celebrations.

Seeing the massive evergreen in the center of the town square with every candle proudly lit, limbs sparkling with ornaments that held well-wishes for the next year, improved her spirits a tad.

Still, it was too cold to just stand around, and Ylva wasn’t quite ready to head home. That left only one place to go. 

As Ylva pushed into the little herb shop, the jingle of the bells on the door and the scent of dried sage and tarragon greeted her.

A fat calico cat jumped down from the windowsill and wove between Ylva’s legs, purring. She bent down and scratched the cat’s rump.

Auntie Helda stepped out from behind a shelf of pickled vegetables. The herbalist looked to be in her sixties, with white hair and soft, weather-worn skin—but she moved like someone not a day over thirty. She wasn’t Ylva’s aunt—she actually wasn’t anyone’s aunt, and as far as Ylva knew, she didn’t have any family in the village—but everyone called her ‘Auntie’ just the same.

“Ylva, my little sprig!” she called out. “Happy Yuletide.”

“Happy Yuletide.”

“Looking for anything particular today?” Auntie Helda’s eyes twinkled knowingly.

Ylva stopped by often for contraceptive teas whenever one of her partners failed to manage his timing. Auntie Helda had never judged her—by the contrary, the older woman seemed to approve.

But Ylva’s cautions had been successful this time. Wryly, she wondered which was worse—the cramps that the tea caused or this visceral frustration. It was almost enough to tempt her to let Petrie finish next time.

“Just a moment of peace and quiet today,” Ylva admitted.

Auntie Helda winked. “Understood. But before I leave you be… take this.”

She tied a cotton cord around Ylva’s neck, and at the base hung a sprig of dried rosemary.

“What’s it for?” Ylva asked.

“Protection,” Auntie Helda said. “And mostly it just smells good.”

Ylva smiled. She’d always appreciated how down-to-earth Auntie Helda was. “Any specific reason I need extra protection?”

“Perhaps,” Auntie Helda said. “It might just be the little insanities of an old woman, but… my bones are creaking like they used to in the old days.”

“During the convergence?”

Auntie Helda nodded. “The veil between worlds was much thinner, then. Sometimes, the heavens align just right… and Yuletide has always been when the veil was the thinnest.”

“So you think spirits might come through the veil? What kind?”

“Well, when I was a little girl, it was not men in masks that we ran from during the Krampus parade.”

“There’s a real Krampus?” Ylva breathed. She’d thought it was just another fairy tale to get children to behave.

Auntie Helda nodded. “I saw him, once. Dreadful, beautiful creature. But I wasn’t quite naughty enough for him to drag me away…” She sounded almost disappointed. “Now you, on the other hand…” Auntie Helda winked. “You might need to watch out.”

Ylva grinned. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

Ylva rolled around a ball of wool for the fat calico cat until she knew it was late enough that she’d be getting a lecture. She ruffled the cat’s fur one last time, then trudged home.

As cold as her hands were when she reached her home, she knew as she pushed the door open that it would bring her no relief.

“Tsk, Ylva!” barked her mother, who stirred a cast-iron pot of soup in the fire. She was plump and strong, her curly black hair going grey early—something she never missed an opportunity to blame it on Ylva.

“You’re late and tracking mud in,” her mother snapped.

“Sorry Mama,” Ylva murmured insincerely as she back-tracked and wriggled out of her boots.

Her hand was mere inches from the knob of the door to her room when her mother said, “Ylva, I need to talk to you.”

Ylva sighed, tromped back to the living room and plopped down in front of the fire. If she was going to be lectured, she may as well be comfortable.

“Priest Jorin told me he caught you engaged in certain activities with one of the candle lighters… again.”

“So?”

“It’s like you’re trying to get caught!”

She was, actually. She thought it was funny how mad it made Priest Jorin.

“So you’re fine with it as long as I don’t get caught?”

Ylva’s mother sputtered. “That’s not what I’m saying. Ylva, I’m worried for you.”

“You’re always worried for me. If this is about no husband wanting me—that’s fine. I don’t want one.”

“Ylva, it’s not just about you. It’s about starting your own household, not being a burden on this one!”

That one stung. Ylva looked away and forced her shoulders to shrug.

“Tch. Ungrateful child.” Ylva’s mother whipped the spoon through the stew.

“So if that’s everything…” Ylva stood, stepping towards her room.

“Peel the potatoes. And do it right this time.”

Ylva’s mother was unrelenting in her demands through dinner, when she ranted to Ylva’s father about their daughter’s latest deviances.

Ylva’s father murmured an obligatory “Listen to your mother,” but his mind was clearly still in the wood shop, dreaming up new joineries or something.

Ylva thought his work was interesting, but she resented that he seemed to care more about it than her. Her own mind wandered back to the snowdrift behind the meat shop. She shifted restlessly under the table, her cunt still wet and aching from her earlier denial.

Finally, her parents climbed the ladder to their loft, and she was allowed to go to bed. She opened the door to the closet that she’d taken over as her room, only barely large enough for the cot. It was the only door in the little house, other than the entrance.

She flopped down and pulled the door closed behind her. It wasn’t much. But it put a sheet of wood between her and her parents, and that was all she needed to plunge her hand into her cunt.

The denial always made the relief that much sweeter, but Ylva was not usually one for delayed gratification. The Petrie in her imagination could last as long as she needed, and Ylva bit her pillow to stay quiet as the release rolled through her. It took the edge off, but a restless horniness still bubbled under her skin.

When Ylva finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of endlessly running, the shadow of a birch branch always close behind her.

Continued in Part II

Standard
Shorts

Christmas Moonshine (Part II)

Continued from Part I

Ruth perched the knit version of Obbie on her dresser, and while it certainly helped imbue some Christmas cheer into the air, her apartment still felt a bit lonely and chilly.

Ruth still wasn’t quite sure what to do alone on a holiday. She sat on the edge of her bed, rolling the little glass bottle between her hands. It was unlabeled, and wiggling the stopper out released the scent of peppermint. Peppermint schnapps, then?

“Christmas cheer in a bottle, right Obbie?” With nothing better to do, Ruth tipped back the little bottle and downed the whole thing. The liquor bit at her tongue, but she liked it. She liked her little apartment and she liked her little life, dammit. And she liked Christmas. Even when her mother called her tacky.

Ruth went to the kitchen and dug out a candle, then brought it back and lit it on her dresser, a safe distance away from the knit cat. It wasn’t exactly a roaring fire, but it was better than nothing.

Within a few minutes, the warmth of the liquor dispelled the cold. So thoroughly, in fact, that she might as well have been next to a bonfire after all. Ruth dove under her covers and wiggled out of her pajamas. 

She was feeling very warm. Hot actually. Especially in some specific areas. So, hot and bothered. Was she really getting off so much on finally being able to say ‘fuck you’ at her ex?

Or maybe the peppermint schnapps was stronger than she’d realized. Her pussy was throbbing something fierce. Was this the era of her life where she went and bought a bunch of sex toys? That seemed good. Who needs dick, anyway?

As the thought of growing her sex toy collection instead of her and her ex’s joint bank account sent hot arousal through her, Ruth officially hit the point of overheating and threw her covers off.

And then saw the strangest thing. Sprouting from between her legs was a life-size peppermint swirl candy cane dildo.

“What the…”

Ready to prove it an illusion or examine it closer, Ruth grabbed the end of the strange apparition and tugged, only to moan as pleasure zinged through her entire body. Touching the candy cane dick felt like how she could only imagine actually having a dick felt.

Ruth blinked rapidly, scanning her room for any sign that she might be dreaming. But as far as she was aware, she hadn’t fallen asleep. That was how dreams usually worked though, right? Except she could still remember her day, the shop and the…

Wait, did the old woman brew her moonshine with LSD or something?

Ruth turned and stared at the knit Obbie, half expecting it to blink at her. “Do you know anything about this? What’s going on?”

Knit Obbie was as silent—if cheerfully—as ever.

Needy throbbing turned Ruth’s attention back to the candy cane cock.

Tentatively, she reached for it again. Pleasure zinged up its length, sending her heart racing and her chest heaving.

“Ooooh boy. This is, uh… this is a good trip, right?”

Knit Obbie offered no response, but it was hard to feel apprehensive in his cheerful presence. If she was dreaming it was a non-issue, and even if she wasn’t… it wasn’t like she could un-chug the moonshine. Or, well, she could maybe call 911 and tell them that she’d eaten something, but…

Her hand drifted down to the base of the candy cane cock. It felt so fucking good. Not as intense as when she played with her clit, but she could feel every little touch along the length…

Ruth gave herself a couple experimental strokes and she shuddered. This was fine. She was fine. This was either a very good dream or a very good trip, and she didn’t care much either way.

Ruth quickly found a rhythm with the candy cane cock that had her moaning and bucking her hips. Then she felt something inside the cock, a pulsing heat and tingling cold down the entire length, the sense of squeezing and dripping… and then something thick and white oozed out of the tip of the candy cane cock.

Ruth paused, curiosity briefly overwhelming arousal. She swiped a finger over her tip, shuddering at the sensation, then put it on her tongue.

It was icing. Peppermint icing.

She turned to glare at knit Obbie. “You’ve got to be shitting me. What the fuck is this?”

The candy cane cock throbbed, and Ruth’s hips bucked, sliding the cock through her hand again and sending pleasure sparking out from the base. Ruth moaned. “Okay, fine, this is really fucking hot, is what this is…”

Ruth indulged, and no matter what she tried with the candy cane cock, it felt amazing. Pre-orgasmic ripples of pleasure sent more icing dripping from her tip, which she licked off her fingers.

Slowly, Ruth’s arousal built, and she could feel the familiar-yet-different edge, right there.

She’d better cum and get to bed… why exactly? She didn’t have work the next day. In fact, she had all night and nobody to bother her.

Ruth bit her lip, squirming with pleasure, forcing her hands to stay off the candy cane cock as icing dribbled down its length and she backed down from the edge. 

Then she resumed her luxuriant attentions, stroking and moaning, working up quite the sweat.

“Not so cold and lonely anymore,” she muttered to the knit Obbie as she teetered on the edge a second time.

This time as her hand found the shaft, every movement tingled with orgasmic pleasure. “Oh fuck… Obbie, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop this time…” Her hips bucked reflexively into her hands as she fucked the air, ribbons of icing already oozing out. Her breath quickened. “I can’t fucking stop… oh fuck… fuck!” Ruth’s thrusting hips lit some kind of new fire in her core as every muscle in her body clenched. A pulse of pleasure radiated from her base and then the candy cane cock erupted, huge arcs of warm icing hanging in the air and then spattering down around her.

“Ohhhh fuck…” Relaxation spread through Ruth’s limbs as she stopped bucking but still stroked gently. As she caught her breath, she expected sensitivity to overtake her, but it was actually the heat of greater pleasure that she found.

“Oh Obbie, I’m gonna… again… yes… fuck…. Oh!” Another climax thundered through her, even more intense than the first. And just when she thought she was spent, it happened again, a third wave of rhythmic ecstasy, showering her with yet more peppermint icing.

Finally, Ruth collapsed back into the bed, both hands at her sides but still cumming, little pulses of icing still oozing out of the candy cane cock.

Ruth scooped a handful of peppermint icing from her stomach and pressed her fingers deep into her mouth. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

As she shifted to scoop up more, the candy cane cock fell next to her on the bed, as if it had never been attached to her at all. She picked it up and licked the icing off the end—and found that it was, indeed, made of candy cane. Ruth wasn’t quite sure of why, but she giggled at that.

She licked up a few more handfuls of icing, then settled back into her bed. Whether it was a dream or drugs or actual magic that would result in her having to do a lot of laundry tomorrow, Ruth didn’t care much.

She sighed happily. “Happy fucking Christmas to me.”

Then, she added, “And happy solstice to you, Obsidian…”

And as her eyes drifted shut, too heavy to keep open any longer, she would have sworn the knit cat’s eyes glowed golden for an instant as the sound of purring brushed by her feet.

Enjoying these stories? The best way to show it is to share with your friends and buy me a bubble tea! ❤️

Still hungry? You can read more Bite-Sized Stories here, or head over to The Cookie Jar to see everything, including full-length novels.

You can also follow me on Patreon, Twitter, or subscribe to the blog here:

Standard
Shorts

Christmas Moonshine (Part I)

The bells on the door jingled merrily as Ruth pushed in from the cold. She had taken the long way home, as much to enjoy all the Christmas lights as to put off her inevitable arrival at her cold and empty home. This shop had caught her eye, with the window display of antique nutcrackers and Christmas-themed nesting dolls. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed it before.

She was greeted with a wave of warmth, the smell of cinnamon and juniper, and floor-to-ceiling shelves of seasonal antiques. Christmas carols crackled from a vintage record player next to the door.

“Welcome, deary!” called an old woman’s voice from the back. “Do let me know if you have any questions.”

“Will do,” Ruth called back, but as she stepped around the shelf to properly greet the woman, she found another equally tall shelf behind it. The delightful array of miniature rocking horses, little birds, and glistening glass ornaments quickly distracted her from her concerns of politeness.

Ruth browsed, finally feeling some warmth in her bones again. She lost track of how many shelves there were in the little shop, each packed with innumerable wonders. 

A cuckoo clock chimed at the end of the aisle, and Ruth’s heart rose with the merry little tune and dancing children, then sunk as she saw the time. She really did need to get going. 

As she stepped to go back up the aisle, she saw something she’d missed before on a shelf she’d passed. A cheerful little plush black cat, no doubt hand-knit, wearing a big red Christmas bow.

Glee bubbled in her heart. She’d hardly decorated at all, and here was something that would bring some Christmas cheer to her dreary apartment all without any tree or effort.

Ruth picked up the little cat and stepped towards the cuckoo clock, not sure if she remembered which way the woman’s voice had come from. She nearly jumped as she came around the end of the aisle and found the shop’s counter right there.

A plump old woman with white hair wearing a red velvet dress sat knitting behind the counter, upon which a black cat slumbered. 

“Hello deary,” the woman said, looking up from her knitting. “Find what you were looking for?”

“Y-yes,” Ruth said. “My apartment’s a bit empty this year, a-and—” She realized as soon as it was out of her mouth that there was no way to make it not sound pathetic. “Well, this fellow seemed like some quick Christmas cheer.” She held up the knit cat and hoped she looked cheerful.

The old woman’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, yes. Quite unlike the inspiration, I’ll have you know.” She tilted her head towards the black cat on the counter, who peeled open one yellow eye, surveyed Ruth, then returned to sleeping.

“You made it?” Ruth said.

The old woman nodded. “Most things in here I did. I have this shop as much as a place to put everything as to sell it!”

Ruth then noticed that there was a little doorway behind the counter, and sure enough, it was covered with all kinds of tools—paints, wood shavings, other balls of yarn, and more.

“Well, everything’s so lovely! I’m surprised you can keep the shelves stocked.”

The old woman smiled and shrugged. “This place doesn’t get as much foot traffic as it used to.”

Ruth thought that was odd, since she’d thought this part of town was doing quite well, but as she was far from an expert on local economics, she just offered an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh! Don’t you worry about me. I like it that way, honest. Just me and Obbie here.” She inclined her head at the cat.

“Obbie, that’s a fun name.”

“Short for Obsidian, but as you can see, that’s far too noble a name for this goofy little grump.”

Ruth found a real smile tugging at her lips. “Well, Obbie is a dashing model, if nothing else.”

“That he is,” the woman said.

“Do you have any Christmas plans?” Ruth asked, before realizing that she might have to return the answer.

“Ah yes,” the old woman said, “and they’ll look quite a lot like this. I’m a bit of a, oh what do they call it…”

‘Witch’ stirred in Ruth’s mind, but she had no idea why she’d think such a rude thing about such a nice woman.

“A spinster,” the woman finished. “That’s the word.”

“Do you ever get lonely?” Ruth asked.

“Me? Nah, Obbie keeps me good company. And now he’ll be able to keep you company, too.” The woman tipped her head at the knit cat.

Ruth turned to look at the cheerful face and big red bow. She could already imagine feeling a little less lonely with the little knit cat perched on her dresser. A genuine smile found her. Ruth nodded to the woman. “Yes, I quite agree.”

The old woman smiled warmly. “Anything else I can help you find tonight?”

Ruth shook her head.

The old woman nodded, then wrapped up the cat in a paper bag. Her eyes twinkled. “One more thing.” She ducked into the next room and returned with a little glass bottle. “One of my other hobbies. Call it a freebie.” She shook the bottle, then dropped it into the bag with the knit cat. 

“What is it?” Ruth asked.

The old woman winked. “Moonshine. You’ll have to tell me if it’s any good. I used to be quite the cook, back in the day.”

Ruth would have immediately believed that the old woman had experienced prohibition first-hand. While she tried to do the mental math of whether that was even possible, the woman finished arranging the bag.

Obsidian stood and stretched, sniffed at the bag, then jumped off the counter and wandered off into the shop.

The old woman shook her head. “See? What a grump.” She handed Ruth the bag. 

Ruth blinked and reached for her purse. “Oh, what do I owe you?” In her enthusiasm, she’d forgotten entirely to check the price tag—something both her boyfriend— her ex and her mother would have loved to berate her for. And one of the reasons that she was not presently traveling to visit either of them.

“Hm? Oh, you already paid, deary,” the woman said.

“D-did I?” Ruth said.

The woman nodded warmly and chuckled. “It’s late, happens to the best of us. Be sure to bundle up all the way before you head out.”

Ruth nodded as she pulled on her gloves. “Merry Christmas!”

“And to you too, deary. Just be sure to wish Obbie a happy solstice on the way out, if you don’t want the old grump to hiss at you.”

Ruth nodded and turned towards the labyrinthine shelves, not sure how she was going to find her way out. But while it had taken her more than a half an hour of browsing—and she would have sworn dozens of shelves to get to the counter, she only walked by four on the way out.

And she nearly jumped as she spotted Obbie sitting on top of the record player by the door, staring directly at her with two gleaming golden eyes.

Ruth gulped. “Happy Solstice, Obsidian.”

The cat jumped off the record player, purred, rubbed against Ruth’s leg, and then disappeared into the shelves again.

Ruth stepped out into the cold before the cat could change his mind and come back to hiss at her, then headed home.

Continued in Part II

Standard
Shorts

Christmas Dinner (Part IV)

Continued from Part III

The guests thus attended to, Elden turned his attention to Rosie, who was once again quivering eagerly.

“Now, what to do with these leftovers…” he said.

Rosies eyes fluttered, her legs straining against her bonds, wanting desperately to press together or somehow resolve the cold emptiness between them.

“Now remind me, how long does this concoction take to dissipate if you don’t cum it out?”

Rosie whimpered.

Elden grinned. “Days, isn’t it?”

Rosie shuddered, then reluctantly nodded.

Instead of giving her an answer, Elden brushed his finger through the air and the serving platter spun slowly on his magic.

“You do look quite pretty like this,” Elden said. “All bound and glazed.”

A golden tendril of magic trailed up Rosie’s cheeks, inspiring a shiver and a burst of hope in her heart.

“As much fun as it would be to keep you like this for days,” Elden said, “I do have need of you tomorrow.”

Rosie nodded solemnly, lest her enthusiasm earn her further denial.

“Good. You won’t make any such mistakes tomorrow, will you?”

Rosie emphatically shook her head.

“That’s a good girl. If you did, I’d have to punish you like this again. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Rosie’s cheeks flushed red, her legs quivered, then she nodded. Then paused, shook her head. Then nodded.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Elden crooned. “Did you lose track of which way I asked the question?”

Rosie nodded.

“With your brain so muddled, you really will be useless tomorrow. And we can’t have that, can we?”

Rosie shook her head, trying but failing to keep her breathing from quickening, her breasts from heaving.

Elden went and stood by her head, and Rosie turned her eyes up at him. 

He said, “All this attention tonight was really quite the tease, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. 

“You poor thing,” he crooned. “None of them know just how hard you can cum.”

Before Rosie could nod again, a tendril of golden magic traced up from her knee to her hip, and Rosie’s head tipped back against the table.

“Especially with all that magick in your veins. And so, so warmed up…”

More golden tendrils appeared, curling around each of Rosie’s breasts, trailing towards her mouth and her cunt.

She trembled and moaned, no longer able to hold back her pleas.

Elden smiled and the ring gag vanished from Rosie’s mouth. Her eyes widened. “Please, please I need it, I need to cum so bad, please, I-I’ll be so good, I promise, please I need it, please…”

Hot, red, ancient magic flared in Elden’s eyes and a golden tendril surged down Rosie’s throat, muffling her words again. Fiery magic that threatened to melt Elden’s icy calm tingled down his spine, and he took a deep breath and extinguished the flare. He needed to be careful with this one. One more word from her, and she might have unleashed what he had spent centuries carefully containing. Not that it was a bad containing. Perhaps channeled was a better word—guided and shaped how he willed, in the ways that brought him pleasure.

Just as he shaped his magic into the golden tendrils that thickened and probed, filling her throat and her cunt and her ass, squeezing her waist and her breasts, pinching hard at her nipples.

For as much as these guests and her begging had reminded him of when he was king, the cheerful red baubles in the evergreens, which Rosie had so carefully arranged, reminded him that he liked this life far better.

His magics wrung climax after climax out of the little elf who was by far the cleverest apprentice he’d ever had. As Elden pulled her through another climax, he resolved to do a better job of assuring her that he’d not be firing her for something so silly as mixing up bottles.

Perhaps it was that she was a young fae, and so overly afraid of mischief. The Convention was to blame for that, and Elden was happy to pay more than a few fines in order to teach Rosie what fae life really was. She was well on her way. In fact—

Elden was disturbed from his musings by a buzzing tension and the strong smell of juniper and jasmine. Had he not been distracted, he would have already felt the air shifting and pulsing with the will, I want… I want…

All fae magic started with the will, and Rosie’s was unwinding into the room around her. 

The hair on the back of Elden’s neck stood on-end like a concerned cat’s as his golden tendrils sniffed out the silky green ones forming in the air.

And then in the span of a moment in-between moments, Rosie was standing—no, floating—in front of him, a dress of silky emerald magic swirling around her, her eyes gleaming green like sunlight through leaves, looking like a queen of old.

Her voice whispered from the air all around them as her hand gently landed on the back of his neck. “I want you to feel good too…”

Elden swallowed. It was unwise to try and quell spontaneous outbursts of fae magic like this, and yet, between teacher and apprentice it was wise to maintain a certain amount of professionalism…

An emerald tendril brushed against the front of Elden’s ruby velvet trousers and he shuddered.

Rosie grinned, showing her own pointed canines. “‘Professionalism’? Come now, didn’t you say this is our culture?”

Elden forced a wry grin. “How long have you been reading my thoughts?”

“Since I decided I want you…”

Moments shifted, and then Rosie was standing in front of him, cheek against his stomach, hand against his growing bulge.

“…to feel good too.”

“You naughty little thing,” Elden gasped.

Rosie grinned. “I am, aren’t I? I messed up the potions… and now I’m being unprofessional…”Rosie’s fingers curled into the ruby velvet, and then it was gone, her own magic having pulled it away.

Elden stood, suddenly exposed, unsure of what to do, until her hot mouth folded around his length. Arousal quivered through him, rediscovering sensations. How long had it been? Decades? He had kept everything and everyone at arms’ length, and now here he was, cock-deep in his apprentice.

And it felt amazing. But he was supposed to be the one in charge, supposed to be the one taking care of…

“Shhhhh,” whispered the air around him as Rosie pushed him onto the plush chair she’d conjured behind him.

“Y-you won’t get me quite that easily,” Elden said, mustering his will and magic to stir his golden tendrils again. If he could exhaust Rosie first, he could get through this with some amount of dignity intact.

Elden’s genius plan had the effect of inspiring Rosie to moan around his cock, which put his willpower on much slipperier ground. Here she was, enhanced by a fae stamina potion, and here he was, some decades since his last proper indulgence. To say that his heat was rising quickly was a understatement. She bobbed down his length, tongue swirling and pressing, moans buzzing under his tip.

“R-Rosie… if you don’t stop that, I’m going to… I’m going to…”

He tried to think of some suitable punishment, but all he could think was I’m going to cum.

He was on the brink and Rosie knew it.

“How do you feel?” her voice asked from the air.

Her tongue swirled under his tip. He was dripping, but he could hardly afford to encourage her. And he was far from lucid enough to lie.

She pulled him slowly down her throat, lips pressing tight around him, and he couldn’t keep the moan from escaping. She brought him right to the edge again, then paused.

“I said, how do you feel?”

Dread mixed with hot arousal in Elden’s core as he realized that she was going to make him say it. She would keep him here, right on the brink, until he pushed her away or he said it. And the former was not an option, not with the way his whole body throbbed under her touch.

“It feels good,” he breathed.

“What’s that?”

“It feels so fucking good.”

And then she unleashed herself upon him and his arousal flared. “Rosie… Rosie!” Elden’s hips bucked as he hissed and plummeted over the edge.

Every candle flared, the logs in the fireplace cracked into sparks, and motes of light appeared around them. Outside the house, snow shuddered off tree limbs and the ice skating pont cracked from the center. Rosie drank deep and delighted, her lips around his base and their magic entwining.

Elden’s magic in Rosie thickened and swelled, pushing her into one last gushing climax.

As Elden’s breath finally slowed, Rosie tucked her cheek against his thigh. The dining room was dim, all the candles burned to their bases and the fire now only embers. The air now smelled of soot, juniper, and sex.

Despite Rosie’s best efforts, sleep soon overtook her slight form.

Elden’s magic swept her clean, but he lifted her into the plush bed she’d conjured and tucked her in with his own hands, then turned his attention to the guests and the fluid-drenched wreckage of a dining room.

Elden chuckled wryly to himself. “Just like the yultides of yore, if I do say so myself…”

Then he took a deep breath and undammed a stream of ancient magic. In a swirl of snowflakes and golden warmth, each guest was cleaned, their hair resettled, their clothes redressed, until they were just as they had been when they arrived. Coils of magic then spirited them away, each to their homes, dropping on their doorsteps at just the moment nobody was quite paying attention.

Each would remember a carriage ride home and report to their loved ones that they were quite sleepy, but would be happy to recount the experience the next day.

After a long, peaceful sleep, they would awaken to report an absolutely delightful dinner. Exactly what had made it so delightful, they couldn’t quite say… except that it was definitely the little bird, which despite its small size had been so very delicious that they couldn’t help but go back for thirds, fourths, or more.

Enjoying these stories? The best way to show it is to share with your friends and buy me a bubble tea! ❤️

Still hungry? You can read more Bite-Sized Stories here, or head over to The Cookie Jar to see everything, including full-length novels.

You can also follow me on Patreon, Twitter, or subscribe to the blog here:

Standard
Shorts

Christmas Dinner (Part III)

Continued from Part II

From the hallway Elden called, “And for dessert, we have…”

With a soft creak, Elden wheeled the serving cart into the dining room.

In the center of an oversized silver platter lay Rosie, on her back and utterly naked, trussed up with cotton twine—legs folded and spread, ankles bound together, arms tucked and bound by her sides, breasts tied together so that they shone upwards—like the prettiest Christmas turkey.

She wore a ring gag, her head tipped back on the platter, her brown eyes dilated to a shining black.

A slick sheen surrounded her on the serving tray—none other than the juices from her puffy, glistening cunt. While the guests had been struggling through their last course, Rosie had already been trussed up and marinating in the kitchen.

And now she was hot, wet, and ready, quivering with excitement.

The two men closest to the door—the ones who’d been debating the best way to cut a cigar, and the founding members of the club—stood suddenly. Their chairs went clattering and would have fallen, if not for a wisp of Elden’s magic.

Elden wheeled Rosie to the end of the table, the room silent except for the crackle of the fire and the quickening of breath.

“W-what is the meaning of this?” said one of the men at the end of the table, with a golden pocket square and curled mustache.

“Oh fuck,” moaned the man who’d been surreptitiously stroking himself under the table.

“I’m taking seconds,” breathed the woman seated at the middle of the table.

“Good friends, p-please,” said the man with the golden pocket square. “This is h-highly unprofessional…” His cock strained mightily against the front of his trousers, a wet spot spreading from the tip.

Elden smiled warmly at them, as if he’d brought out nothing more scandalous than a pumpkin pie. “There’s plenty for everyone, I assure you,” he said to the woman in the middle of the table. Then, to everyone, “You know the manners. Take your portion and pass, please.”

The silver tray slid onto the now-empty table, aligning Rosie’s mouth with the bulge of the man with the golden pocket square, and her cunt with the other founder.

He hadn’t said anything since Elden had wheeled Rosie in, and he now stared at her quivering breasts as his hips rocked slowly, rubbing his bulge against the table.

Tension thickened in the air, as ten desperate guests looked towards their de-facto leaders for whether they were allowed to break decorum. The man who’d been stroking himself edged, but brought himself to a quivering halt, not wanting to be the first to ‘break the seal’, so to speak. The woman in the middle of the table was now quite certain that this was a dream and so didn’t see any reason to hold off.

But they all looked to the two trembling men at the end of the table, who seemed frozen in place.

The only one moving was Rosie, who trembled and wriggled with desire to free both cocks. Her pleas turned to moans around the ring gag as another gush of juices joined the puddle in the serving tray. She wanted nothing more than to be spit-roasted like the holiday meal she so closely resembled.

It was for her benefit that Elden let the moment drag on so long. He would not let the Convention claim that he had not rendered adequate punishment. He could leave out the part about her enjoying it.

Finally, Elden said, “Please, honored guests. This is a cherished Christmas tradition of our culture. Your enthusiastic participation would be most honoring.”

“W-when you put it that way,” said the man who had been humping the table as he promptly dropped his trousers and freed his throbbing length. He plunged it into Rosie’s cunt, and they both moaned with the ecstasy of relief.

Still, the man with the gold pocket square hesitated. 

“Now, be very honest,” Elden said to him, magic weaving into his words. “Do you want this?”

“Fuck, yes,” breathed the man.

“Why do you hesitate?”

“It j-just seems so… so… crass.”

“Ah!” said Elden. “But of course. I may as well have asked you to take your own coat off, good sir.” Elden’s slender fingers hovered over the man’s belt buckles. “May I?”

The man nodded with as much dignity as he could muster while his friend pounded into Rosie.

Elden was in no hurry as he carefully undid the man’s belt, slipping it out of the loops and drawing a deep shudder, carefully placing it over the back of the chair and then slowly undoing each trouser button.

The man’s decorum melted with each touch until his throbbing cock rested naked on Elden’s fingers, and the elf guided it into Rosie’s mouth.

“Don’t worry,” Elden said, trailing a finger down Rosie’s breast before giving her nipple a light pinch. “She doesn’t need to breathe much.”

The last few threads of the man’s will snapped as his hips bucked of their own accord, driving his cock deep into Rosie’s hot throat. She gulped and swallowed around him, desperate for his release, heedless of a mortal’s need for oxygen.

And so the two founding members fucked Rosie onto each others’ cocks, moans quickly reaching a fever pitch.

Those anxious for their turns did not have to wait long, as the vice grip of Rosie’s cunt and the greedy pressure of her tongue soon rewarded her. As the co-founder gave one last thrust before he burst, Rosie sucked the other over the edge.

They had barely slumped into their chairs before the next pair of men grabbed the platter and pulled her onto their waiting cocks.

The man who had started stroking under the table had now edged two more times and was openly masturbating, leaning against the table with one hand and pumping with the other. “H-hurry the fuck up,” he growled.

Elden appeared at his shoulder. “Come now,” he crooned. “There’s no rush. Wouldn’t she look lovely basted? You’ll have plenty more to give.”

“Oh fuck, you’re right. I’m s-so… s-so… oh fuck, here it comes!” The man’s whole body stiffened as he erupted across Rosie’s leg, stomach, and breasts—far, far more than should have been possible.

In the doses usually administered, the supernatural effects of the Valentines Day concoction were subtle, but at these doses there was no hiding it, especially as the man hardly slowed his stroking.

“Fuck, I’ve never cum that hard…” The man kept moaning as his slicked hand slid easily over his shaft. “And I think I might… I think I’m gonna cum again… I’m gonna, I’m gonna!” The man’s eyes rolled back as he fucked through his hand and showered Rosie with another equally thick orgasm. This time, his stroking slowed, though his cock still throbbed and dripped.

“H-holy shit, Chuck, where did that come from?” said the woman across from him, who was rubbing her breasts through her shirt, her suit coat already haphazardly slung over the back of her chair, as her own wetness ran down her leg.

“I d-don’t fucking know,” he said, “But fuck it felt good…”

The man at Rosie’s mouth groaned and came down her throat, her chest bobbing with every swallow. 

The woman wasted no time kicking off her trousers and hauling the end of the platter with Rosie’s head towards herself, even though the man at Rosie’s cunt wasn’t done yet. The woman clambered up onto the table, and dropped her sopping cunt onto Rosie’s face, earning a delighted moan from Rosie.

“Fuck!” said the man at her cunt. “T-that’s making her squeeze so tight, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” His legs nearly dropped out from under him as he pumped into Rosie.

The woman riding Rosie’s face smirked. “All these greedy men, and you haven’t cum yet, have you sweetie? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Before the man who’d basted Rosie could take his position, the woman buried her fingers into Rosie’s cunt and reached around to find Rosie’s spot.

Rosie screamed with delight, as the man who’d basted her looked up incredulously.

“It’s my turn,” he said to the woman.

She rocked her hips against Rosie’s face. “Is it? You just came. Twice. So I think that means I get both holes now. Unless this little cutie likes it in the ass…” The woman looked back at Rosie.

Rosie nodded emphatically into the woman’s cunt.

“Well there you go.” The woman pulled hard on Rosie’s spot and Rosie moaned, tucking her hips to give easier access to her ass. With her legs so nicely trussed and spread, it was an easy thing.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” said the man, and he plunged inside.

Rosie’s moans escalated to smothered screams as the woman worked her cunt and the man pounded her ass. Rosie gushed around the woman’s hand, splattering the man’s hips.

“I-is she cumming?” he asked.

The woman chuckled. “Oh, when she cums, you won’t have to ask.”

As if on cue, Rosie’s breathing quickened and then hitched into one long, high scream as she squirted even harder, cunt and ass clenching with the waves of her climax.

“Fuck!” the man said, slamming one last time into Rosie’s ass. He emptied with a few clenches of his ass, even as Rosie kept cumming around him. “I-it’s like she’s m-milking me…”

The woman’s breathing quickened too. “Th-that’s right cutie, fucking milk that ba— ah… Ohhhh fuck!” She trembled through her own pulsing orgasm, and would have fallen off the table if Elden hadn’t been there to catch her and lower her into her chair.

As the next pair of men claimed Rosie’s throat and ass, the following pair were struck with that particular creativity that comes from being overwhelmingly horny, and found angles that let them fuck Rosie’s tits and cunt respectively.

That left only the man and woman who were closest to the fire, and who were now already entirely naked, due to the sweltering heat both within and without. They were both still in their seats, the woman with her fingers buried in her cunt and the man stroking his dripping cock, contemplating what they would do on their turn.

Hardly four thrusts in, the man at Rosie’s throat grunted and stiffened. The one sliding between her tits smirked. “Losing it already?”

“N-no,” he said, pulling out as if to prove it, but his cock throbbed and oozed from the ruined orgasm. Two more strokes with his hand had him erupting all over Rosie’s face. Instead of slumping back, he slid his still-dripping cock down her throat. “Fuck, I need more…”

One by one, the four men fucking Rosie finished (or finished again), moaning and emptying, filling and coating Rosie with another layer of cum.

As the platter slid to the end of the table, directly in front of the final man and woman, they were each hard pressed to part their hands from their throbbing genitals. So they didn’t, and the man buried his face in Rosie’s cunt while the woman cupped a breast for Rosie to suck on.

Meanwhile, the founders found themselves craving another round and stood at the end of the table, soon basting Rosie with their own prodigious contributions.

The sight and sound pushed the last two over the edge, the man bathing the floor and the woman soaking her chair.

Though that was hardly the end of it. True to Elden’s promise, they each had seconds and thirds and fourths or more. The platter filled with jubilant juices, and Rosie was thoroughly glazed with them. As the haze of urgency gave way to merry fucking, the two women took bets on who and how Rosie would cum again, and the men did their best to prove their prowess.

They milked another pulsing, gushing orgasm from her with a cock down her throat, a cock up her ass, fingers in her cunt, and a mouth at each breast. Her muffled screams of ecstasy filled the festive dining room as her juices filled the serving tray to nearly overflowing.

One by one, each guest succumbed to exhaustion, and Elden returned them to their spot at the table to slumber peacefully.

The last one standing—or, more accurately, sitting in his chair, head in his hand, too tired to stand but too horny to stop stroking himself—was the man who’d been first to stroke himself under the table and who had consumed the most of the magicked wine.

Rosie caught her breath, still trussed and juiced on the table, as Elden conjured himself a clean chair so that he could sit next to the last guest.

“And how are you feeling?” Elden asked.

“S-still so fucking horny…” he said. Indeed, his cock was dripping and had been for some time, forming a growing puddle at his feet. He stroked desperately, but his exhausted arm couldn’t provide enough stimulation.

“Put your arm down,” Elden said.

The man obeyed, though his hips bucked reflexively.

“Look into my eyes,” Elden said. “Focus.”

The man did so.

Elden’s eyes gleamed with magic. “Let it all out. Every last drop.”

Heat rushed over the man’s body and he relaxed, even as his cock twitched. His hands stayed limp at his side. “O-okay… yeah… oh yeah… fuck…”

With a quiet sigh of relief, the man’s twitching cock erupted another two orgasm’s worth of cum onto the floor between his feet, working out the last of the aphrodisiac and finally releasing him into peaceful slumber.

Continued in Part IV

Standard
Shorts

Christmas Dinner (Part II)

Continued from Part I

Elden returned to the dining guests to find that none had noticed his or Rosie’s absence, except that the wine in their glasses had fallen a bit low without her attentions.

With the slightest inclination of his will, the wine that Rosie had prepared and abandoned now distributed amongst the twelve glasses as if rising from below. Were any of the guests paying attention, they would have found their minds wandering in that crucial moment, and their senses then certain that nothing had changed.

But none of them were paying much attention at all. They were all finding that the warmth of the wine was settling into a few particular places more strongly than it usually did, but to their credit, the prim and proper group had remained professional so far. Elden licked the backs of his canines. It would be all the more delicious to break their decorum later.

It had been ages since he’d had an excuse for good, old-fashioned mischief. Now that Rosie was prepared for her next role, there was nobody to wheel out the fifth course—brie and toscano with steaming fresh bread—so it simply appeared amongst the existing dishes on the table.

The guests crooned with delight and helped themselves. The private thoughts of a few guests murmured that they ought perhaps to slow down on the wine if they were starting to think that food was magically appearing, but they dared not share notes with their friends lest they be mocked for getting too drunk.

Elden could help them forget that care. They’d soon have little need for it, or any others. He stepped to the head of the table and raised his hand, a matching glass now there.

“Honored guests!” he said, and every pair of dilated eyes turned towards him. These last few centuries, subtlety had served him better, but the moment reminded him of what it had been like to a be a king. He smiled warmly at his subjects, whose pliant wills were now all too ready to turn towards Elden’s regality. 

“I propose a toast,” he continued. “To charity, good food, and great friends.”

Twelve glasses and twelve smiles rose to meet the toast, along with a cheer of “here, here!”

Elden inclined his glass towards them. “Rejoice and drink deep the blessings of life.” A little golden thread of magic curled through his words, and the merry revelers did as they were told. Every glass was empty before it touched the table again.

Elden returned to his spot by the door to enjoy the progression of the fifth course.

In truth, he’d suspected Rosie’s mistake before she’d confessed. By the end of the third course, there hadn’t been a soft cock or a dry cunt at the whole table. The guests had done an admiral job of distracting themselves with conversation and commentary. The two men at one end of the table had gotten into a spirited debate about the best cigar cutting method, while the woman closest to the fire was speculating alongside the man with the tree-shaped pocket square about what cooking method might have produced such exquisitely juicy meat.

These efforts were quickly unraveling. The throbbing of cocks against the insides of neatly ironed trousers became to pressing to ignore, and the best one could do with the moan inspired by an accidental brush against a nipple was try to play it off as a reaction to the cheese.

And so the praise of the food took on a distinctly erotic tone. Moans and curled toes rippled down the table as the diners found they could string together no more cohesive a sentence than how good the food was, how incredibly good, oh and by the way, is it just me or is it very warm in here? 

The eyes of the man with the blue pocket square fluttered as his fingertips found the tip of his throbbing cock through the fabric of his trousers, muddled mind insisting that somehow this would solve his problem. “So, so good,” he muttered, at his turn to praise the food.

The one man who had not even dared to so much as subtly reposition his shaft, and who was now feeling the pinch of too-tight trousers especially strongly, finally determined that he could not help but retire to the restroom and do something about this. But as he reached for his napkin to disguise his condition from the rest of the guests, he found that it was no longer there. And before he could think much on the fact that he would have sworn it was just there, another wave of arousal overtook him. He flatted his palms against the top of the table, lest he do what he was so sorely tempted to do, and he muttered something about feeling very, very full.

Elden stepped up beside him then, gleam in his eye. “I hope you’re not too full for dessert.”

The man shivered despite himself, mouth parting as a gasp escaped him. “C-clearly couldn’t be more excited,” he said, forcing a polite smile.

“Excellent,” Elden said. “I think you’ll find it’ll hit the spot just so.”

Twelve glassy eyes fixed on Elden as he stepped out of the room.

Continued in Part III

Standard
Shorts

Christmas Dinner (Part I)

A fire crackled merrily, illuminating the dining room of the old Victorian mansion. Evergreens and red baubles trimmed the fireplace, gold velvet banners softened the walls, and the chandeliers twinkled with dozens of candles. Outside the frosted windows, fresh snowflakes swirled.

The smell of roasted turkey and caramelized sweet potatoes drifted around the twelve diners at the long oak table as they chatted, jabbed, and laughed. They were dressed to the nines in two-piece suits and seasonal pocket squares—even (especially) the two women. The attire was a touch more modern than the mansion itself, but still a hearkening to Christmases past. One should expect nothing less from the vintage-obsessed Main Street Cigar Club. They usually went all out for Christmas, but this year they hadn’t had to lift a finger—just their wallets. When a ‘Magical, Victorian Christmas Experience’ had popped up in the local charity auction, the vote to put the club’s funds toward it had been unanimous. 

The event company that owned the mansion had nearly all five-star reviews, though details were sparse. Common themes were ‘indescribable’, ‘beyond what I could have imagined’ and ‘downright magical’. The first three courses had not disappointed, nor had their hosts for the evening.

There was a tall, slender man in a prim tailcoat of ruby velvet, standing quietly by the door, watching the merriment with cool grey eyes, always available but never overbearing. He need only incline his head at the other host, a short, plump woman in an emerald silk dress, and she understood what was needed next and would cheerily bounce to it, her ringlet curls flouncing on either side of sparkling brown eyes, her ample cleavage nearly escaping the cling of the silk. They had introduced themselves as Elden and Rosie as they had first welcomed the guests into the warm air of the mansion.

One of the quieter guests did privately think to himself that it was a bit quaint—yet charming, in the end—that despite the overall elegant and high-end feeling of the event, the two hosts had chosen to wear (impressively natural) pointed ear prosthetics to fashion themselves as elves.

The true reason for the hosts’ appearance was, unbeknownst to any of their guests, that they were in fact elves. The promises of ‘magic’ were quite literal. Though, perhaps ironically, Christmastime was the only season where they disposed of the glamours and disguises for their ears and wore them as they naturally were.

The six-course meal, three courses of which had now been plated and served, that seemed as though it would have required a kitchen staff of half a dozen to pull off, was in fact accomplished by Elden’s innate magics. Rosie was his apprentice, not yet qualified to use her magic with guests, so she went about any mundane tasks that remained.

One that she attended with the utmost faith was quietly topping off each guest’s glass of wine. When the woman nearest to the fireplace thought to herself that Rosie must be moving with supernatural subtlety, she was correct. No glass dropped more than half full, even as empty bottles lined up against the kitchen wall.

Rosie poured out the last of her carafe into the glass of the man whose pocket square was folded into the shape of a tree, and then glided into the quiet of the kitchen to uncork another bottle. She hummed a carol to herself as she lifted a little red crystal vial and poured in a generous splash to this latest bottle.

As she placed the vial back in its spot, the faded label twisted into the beam of a candle’s light, and made clear the outline of a heart and the letters V and D.

Rosie froze, her cheeks flushing bright red as her trembling fingertips pressed to her lips. She left the bottle of wine, snapped up the vial in a tight fist, smoothed out the front of her dress with a shaking hand, and stepped back into the room, pausing at Elden’s side, where she was barely taller than his elbow. Even without stooping, he heard her quiet whisper with perfect clarity:

“Elden, might I speak with you in the hall a moment?”

One of his pointed ears swiveled down towards her, but his eyes remained focused on the guests. Though it would appear that he was doing little, he was actually deeply focused on watching every guest’s littlest reaction, sifting through every whisper, all for clues on what foods might best delight in the next course.

“Is it important?” Elden said, his voice as cool and smooth as the ice skating pond behind the mansion.

“Would I interrupt you for anything else?” Rosie hissed through her cheery smile.

Elden took a slow breath—more to clear his head than to signal his exasperation, Rosie had recently learned—and then followed Rosie into the hallway.

Once they were in the dim quiet, he kneeled in front of her, lest he worsen her anxiety by towering over her. This was one reason that Rosie had fought so hard to become Elden’s apprentice—despite his aloof and sometimes bizarre nature, he was really quite kind.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Rosie took a deep breath. “I-I’ve made a mistake, I…” The words caught in a tangle in her throat. What if Elden fired her for this? What if this would be the last time she got to entertain humans, when she’d made such a terrible mistake? The honor of entertaining humans was sacred to fae, and nothing had made her more honored than this opportunity, and—

Elden’s hand on her shoulder dispelled Rosie’s clouded thoughts.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “we can figure it out together.”

Rosie nodded, but all she could manage past the brink of tears was to extend the near-empty red crystal vial towards Elden.

Elden took it up in his slender fingers and turned it towards the light, then quirked an eyebrow at Rosie as the corner of his mouth twitched.

But not towards a frown, as Rosie had feared—but towards a smile!

“Let me make sure I understand,” Elden said. “Instead of infusing the guests’ wine with a Potion of Merriment, which has the effects of increasing the appetite and the sensation of flavor to divine heights, you’ve instead been dosing the guests tonight with our Valentine’s Day concoction which is…” Elden looked at her expectantly.

“An extremely potent aphrodisiac,” Rosie squeaked.

“And just so that I fully understand,” Elden continued, “While we would normally put just a single drop of the Valentine’s Day concoction into an entire bottle of wine, you’ve been dosing this as if it were a Potion of Merriment, so something like ten times the dose?”

Rosie winced and nodded.

“How did this happen?” 

“I f-forgot that Christmas wasn’t the only red bottle.” Rosie squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for punishment.

But instead, Elden laughed. And not just a wry chuckle, which was the most she’d ever seen from him. He laughed from his core, deep and full, and the sound filled the air with the memory of a hundred dozen Christmases, centuries of mirth and mischief, warmth and whimsy, and every candle in the house burned a shade brighter.

Somehow, Rosie’s shame melted away, and she found herself laughing too. When Elden finally settled, his blue eyes still twinkling like a starry sky, Rosie said, “So you’re… not going to fire me?”

“Oh, heavens no. Dear Rosie, we have guests to attend to, and I will need your help.” Elden grinned wide enough to reveal his pointed canines and the predatory gleam in his eye. “I have an idea that will ensure our guests have a delightful night, that will be appropriate penance for you for this little slip-up, and that will keep the Convention from levying anything more than a nominal fine. Does that sound agreeable?”

Rosie’s heart pittered like the hooves of a reindeer yoked to a sleigh, ready to run, eager to work, waiting only for her master’s ha. Her cheeks warmed again, but for a different reason. She bit her lip and nodded.

Elden handed her the red crystal vial. “Good thing you didn’t use it all,” he said. “You’ll want to drink that.”

Excitement tingled all the way down to Rosie’s fingertips and toes, and she obeyed.

Continued in Part II

Standard
Shorts

Cutie Cumpire Measures Up

Nora and Jasper were first introduced in Cutie Cumpire Goes to the Movies

You can find all of the Cutie Cumpire stories at Cutie Cumpire Story Index

Jasper carefully folded macaron batter by the oven in his—well, theirs now—little studio apartment while Nora sat on a bar stool by the island.

“You really do measure everything!” Nora said. She giggled as Jasper counted the number of strokes as he folded.

He quirked an eyebrow at her but didn’t dare lose his count—not until the batter was at the correct honey-like consistency and ready to be piped.

“I never would have thought the math degree would be relevant to baking, but here we are.” Jasper scooped the batter into the piping bag and double-checked the oven temperature. He’d gone so far as to calculate his oven’s heating curve and to tweak the bake temperature and time accordingly.

“So we are,” Nora said with a grin.

Jasper carefully piped the macaron shells, and once they were safely tucked to the back of the counter to rest, he started to clean up.

“If you like measuring things this much,” Nora said, “I’m surprised you haven’t measured your cum yet.”

Jasper’s cock twinged eagerly as if to say, did someone say cum? but he ignored it. “I’ve been tempted, but I know how you feel when I waste my cum.”

Nora blinked and tilted her head. “Wait, you’re being serious.”

Jasper’s cheeks heated. “Yeah.”

Nora laughed gently and looked at him like he was a puppy slowly rolling down the stairs. “Aw, babe. You should have said something! If you cum in a measuring cup, I’ll drink it.”

Jasper could not keep his cock from responding to that summons. He gulped. “Really?”

“Yeah, as long as it’s still hot, I don’t care.”

Jasper’s cock throbbed and pressed against his jeans. “I’m a Grade A idiot, aren’t I?”

“Yeah but you’re my idiot and you’re cute, so. You’ve already got the stuff out and you’re about to run the dishwasher, right? Let’s find out!”

And though it was true that Jasper’s brain became incredibly slow when it was blood deprived, Nora also moved unnaturally fast around the island. Perks of being a vampire, apparently. Within a moment, she was stroking his cock to full hardness.

His whole body quivered with pleasure. “Fuck, Nora, how does that feel so good every time…”

Nora giggled. “Isn’t it supposed to?”

“D-doesn’t seem like it should be allowed to feel this good…” Her hands were so soft and warm, and she knew all his most sensitive spots.

“Well, you have a point. I am demon-spawn. Satan knows what’s up.”

“Remind me to send them a thank-you note…”

“Filling this measuring cup with an obscene amount of cum seems like a good way to thank Satan. What do you think?” Somehow, Nora had also grabbed a clear glass measuring cup, which now sat on the counter next to them.

Jasper’s balls throbbed in agreement. “S-sounds good to me…”

He let himself sink into appreciating Nora—the strokes from her tongue, the gentle sucking at his tip, the warmth of her hands. And then, just as he was getting close to the edge, he had an idea. Because if there was one thing that Jasper was good at, it was torturing himself.

“If you want to get a really good sample, I should go get my butt plug.” Jasper blinked, and then Nora was no longer stroking him and was instead standing in front of him with said toy in one hand, a bottle of lube in the other, and a wicked smile across her lips.

Jasper nearly came just from the sight of it, even as his cock throbbed in the air.

Satan was definitely the right one to thank as Nora started on his ass with her tongue. Nothing turned his mind so utterly and completely to mush as that. He made no conscious decision to stroke himself, but his cock was in his hand and his moans filled the little kitchen. And then, after a generous application of lube, the thick plug filled his ass and the vibrations from the toy sent him trembling with pre-orgasmic sparks of heat.

Nora let him stroke himself but took charge, encouraging him with her own moans and gasps and then ordering him to stop as he reached the edge. Then she edged him a second time. And a third.

Pre-cum dripped into the measuring cup in time to his ass squeezing around the toy, and Nora cooed eagerly. “There’s already so much!”

Another thick surge answered. “Fuck, Nora, I’m gonna…”

“No,” Nora commanded.

Jasper gasped, groaned, and somehow stopped stroking long enough to recede from that point of no return. “H-how do you do that to me…”

Nora grinned. “You’re just naturally obedient.”

Jasper spurted pre-cum again.

“Stop,” Nora ordered.

He did. But the sparks of pleasure lingered, trailing around his ass and his base, through his aching prostate, riding on the vibrations from the toy. If he’d stopped even a half a second later, he would have cum even while he wasn’t stroking at all.

“Nora… this toy is…” He clenched around it, grimacing. “It’s gonna make me…” His hand started stroking again, despite his best efforts to stop. “Nora…”

Nora growled hungrily. “Make this fucking cup overflow.”

The heat ignited, gathering tight at his base. “Nora, I’m gonna…”

“Yes,” she hissed. “Cum for me!”

Jasper cried out as his two remaining brain cells struggled to direct the torrent of his orgasm into the measuring cup. Every spasm of his muscles around the toy was so intense, every spurt was so thick that he could feel it all the way down his length, his balls and ass and cock throbbing in time with each other and fulling the measuring cup with pump after pump, right to the brim.

It was only by Nora’s careful attention and balance that it didn’t spill all over the floor. She waited patiently for every last drop.

Finally, Jasper was finished. He turned off the toy, but left it in place for now. He didn’t dare look away from Nora, because she was staring up at him with those bright blue eyes and a wicked smile on her lips.

She unfolded her mouth, curled her tongue under the spout of the measuring cup, and then tipped it back and chugged his cum.

Jasper caught himself on the edge of the counter as he wobbled. His nerves had no idea what to do. He was so exhausted, so empty, so spent, but a sight like this deserved nothing less than bone-boiling arousal. Jasper memorized every detail. He would fantasize about this for many, many orgasms to come.

As Nora tipped back the glass and drank the last of it, Jasper’s body finally started to relax. But then her tongue arced out, and she licked the viscous remnants from the inside of the glass, like a cat licking out a bowl of cream. The glimpses of her tongue through the glass and the milky white of his cum sent his frayed nerves buzzing.

“I think I’m short-circuiting,” Jasper muttered.

Nora laughed, but she didn’t stop licking until the measuring cup was clean. She wiped off her mouth and then proudly deposited the cup in the dishwasher.

Jasper sunk another few inches. “I need to go lie down.”

Nora snickered, but wrapped an arm around him and helped him over to the couch. She returned to the kitchen to get him a glass of water and then snuggled in next to him.

Jasper drank almost the whole glass immediately. “I, uh… I knew I came a lot, but I didn’t realize it was that much.”

“How else did you think my ass was getting so round?”

“One, your ass has always been amazingly round. Two, you know I don’t understand vampire metaphysics.”

“I’m kinda surprised you didn’t cum again from watching me drink it.”

“Oh, my body tried to, believe you me. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem possible. If it were, I think I’d end up in some kind of infinite while loop—when Nora is drinking cum, cum more for Nora to drink. It would only end with you too full to drink any more or me dead, and my money’s on me dying first.”

Nora snorted a laugh. “We can’t have that. You should video me next time. I want to see what it does to you once you’ve recovered.”

“I will, and don’t worry, I took a very detailed mental recording too.”

Nora nestled her cheek against his shoulder. They rested there for a long few minutes, Jasper’s body doing its best to restore his internal fluid distribution to equilibrium.

Then Nora said quietly, “Just… for the record… If you’re ever sick or sore or just not feeling it… I can still go get cow’s blood. I don’t want you to get hurt. And if—well if you ever stopped cumming so much or even not at all—I’d still want to be with you. I mean it.”

Jasper looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against his chest. She fit so perfectly there. They fit each other so perfectly in so many ways. “I believe you,” he breathed. “Thank you for saying so. I am, for the record, very happy with our arrangement. I promise I’ll tell you if I need a break.”

Nora wrapped her arms around him. “Good. Yes. I love you.”

Jasper kissed the top of her head. “I love you too. Now how about we finish these macarons and then head to bed and see how many ways we can thank Satan for making us so lucky.”

Enjoying these stories? The best way to show it is to share with your friends and buy me a bubble tea! ❤️

Still hungry? You can read more Bite-Sized Stories here, or head over to The Cookie Jar to see everything, including full-length novels.

You can also follow me on Patreon, Twitter, or subscribe to the blog here:

Standard