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.
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