Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Simone
My fingers trembled as I reached for the collar, hesitation warring with a need so profound it terrified me.
This moment felt bigger than just the two of us in an empty café, it was the line between the Simone I showed the world and the Simone I'd hidden away for years.
Between what I thought I should want and what I actually craved.
I took the collar from his outstretched claws, the leather unexpectedly warm against my palm, as if it had absorbed his heat just as I seemed to whenever he was near.
The weight of it surprised me, substantial without being heavy. I fumbled with the buckle for a moment, my usual dexterity abandoning me as awareness of his eyes tracking my every movement sent heat blooming across my skin.
"Allow me," he said, taking the collar back.
I turned, presenting my back to him, lifting my curls away from my neck in silent invitation.
His claws brushed against my skin as he placed the collar around my throat, the leather warm and unexpectedly soft against my pulse point.
The sound of the buckle closing sent a shiver through me, a small click that somehow felt monumental, like a door locking or a key turning.
The silver chain hung down between my breasts, cool metal against heated skin, a delicate weight that anchored me to the present moment.
I turned back to face him, my fingers instinctively rising to touch the leather at my throat. Something had shifted between us, a boundary crossed not just physically but emotionally. The collar wasn't tight, yet I felt the presence of it with every breath, every swallow.
"Good girl," Krampus rumbled, his approval.
The words triggered something needy inside me, something that had been starving for exactly this kind of approval.
He crooked a claw, beckoning me forward. "On your knees, little star."
The command was simple, direct, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
I sank to the floor before him, the wooden boards hard against my knees, my dress pooling around me.
From this position, he seemed even more massive.
I felt a curious sense of freedom in the surrender, allowing myself to be exactly where I was without pretense or performance.
The sound of his zipper was shockingly loud in the quiet café.
I watched, heart hammering in my chest, as he freed himself from his trousers.
My eyes widened at what emerged, his cock was nothing like a human's, though it shared the basic shape.
Thicker, for one, with raised ridges spiraling along the shaft that caught the dim light.
The head was broader, slightly tapered, and the whole length seemed to pulse with its own heat, emerging from what appeared to be a natural sheath.
I swallowed hard, equal parts intimidated and fascinated.
"Since you won't use your mouth to be honest," he told me, one claw gently tracing the curve of my jaw, "you can use it to pleasure me."
My experience with this particular act was limited, and nothing in that limited experience had prepared me for something so obviously non-human. Yet instead of fear, I felt curiosity and a surprising eagerness to taste him.
"I've never..." I began, uncertain how to explain my inexperience without sounding childish.
"I know," he said, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "I'll guide you. Just start with what feels natural."
I leaned forward, my hands resting lightly on his thighs for balance.
I gave an experimental lick along the underside, startled by the taste, not unpleasant but alien, like spiced honey with a hint of something I couldn't name.
His growl of approval emboldened me. I wrapped my lips around the tapered head, taking him into my mouth inch by inch, surprised by the way my body responded to the act.
My core clenched with each sound he made, wetness gathering between my thighs at the power of knowing I could affect him this way.
"That's it," he encouraged, one hand coming to rest at the nape of my neck, just above the collar. "Take as much as you can."
I worked my way down his length, using my tongue to trace the ridges that spiraled along his shaft.
They were sensitive, I could tell by the way his thighs tensed beneath my fingers each time I gave them special attention.
The size of him made it impossible to take him fully, so I used my hands for what my mouth couldn't accommodate, establishing a rhythm that drew increasingly deep groans from his chest. Drool escaped from the corners of my mouth, but I didn't care.
I was lost in the task, in the heady sensation of his pleasure becoming mine.
The collar around my neck felt like permission to enjoy this, to revel in the submissive act without shame or hesitation.
Moans vibrated in my throat as I worked him, my enthusiasm surprising even me.
Just as I found a perfect rhythm, his hand tightened at my nape, gently but firmly pulling me away. I looked up, confused, lips swollen and slick, chin wet.
"Strip," he commanded, voice rough with desire. "And sit on my lap. Facing away."
I stumbled to my feet, suddenly self-conscious.
My hands went to the buttons of my dress, fumbling slightly under his intense gaze.
He made no move to help me, just watched as I slowly revealed myself.
The dress fell away, followed by my bra, then panties, until I stood before him in nothing but the collar and chain.
His eyes raked over me, taking in every curve, every dimple, every stretch mark I usually kept carefully hidden beneath modest clothing. There was no disgust in his expression, no disappointment, only hunger, appreciation, desire so naked it made me flush from head to toe.
"Beautiful," he said simply.
I approached his chair, uncertain of the mechanics of what he'd commanded.
He helped position me, massive hands gentle but firm as he guided me to straddle his thighs, my back to his chest. The size difference between us was shocking, his thighs beneath mine were twice as thick, his chest broad enough that my shoulders didn't even span it completely.
His hands slid up my arms, guiding them behind his neck, forcing me to arch my back in a position that thrust my breasts forward and left me completely exposed to the empty café.
"I'm taking a page out of Santa's book," he rumbled in my ear, his breath hot against my skin, sending another cascade of shivers down my spine. "Let's see what the naughty girl really wants for Christmas."
His claws traced feather-light patterns across my skin, each touch leaving trails of fire in their wake.
I arched involuntarily into the contact, my body betraying how desperately I craved his touch despite any remaining reservations my mind might harbor.
Seated on his lap, completely bare save for the collar around my throat, I'd never felt so exposed, or so seen.
The holiday lights cast muted, colored patterns across my naked skin, painting me in festive hues that somehow made the moment more surreal, as if we existed in some dimension where normal rules and expectations had been suspended.
"Look how responsive you are," Krampus murmured. "I've barely touched you, and already you're trembling."
He was right. My body vibrated with anticipation, each brush of his claws against my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hip sending fresh shivers cascading through me. The position, arms pulled behind his neck, back arched, left me completely open to his exploration, unable to hide or shield myself.
"I've thought about this," he continued, voice dropping lower.
"Wondered what sounds you'd make when I finally got my hands on you.
If you'd beg for me again." His claw traced the underside of my breast, deliberately avoiding the hardened peak that ached for his touch.
"If you'd be as sweet here as the treats you serve. "
A whimper escaped me, embarrassingly needy. His words were as arousing as his touch. One massive hand moved to cup my breast fully, the heat of his palm shocking against my skin. His thumb and forefinger rolled my nipple, the pressure perfect, not too gentle, not too rough.
"Please," I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for. More. Everything. Anything.
His chuckle rumbled against my back. "Already begging, and we've barely begun. So eager." His other hand slid down my stomach, fingers splaying across my lower abdomen. He’d retracted his claws to keep from hurting me. "Let's see how wet you are for me."
When his fingers finally dipped between my thighs, finding me slick and swollen, we both groaned.
"Dripping," he observed. His middle finger circled my entrance, gathering wetness before sliding up to find the sensitive bundle of nerves that made my hips jerk. "Your body's more honest than your mouth has ever been."
He continued his merciless teasing, alternating between circling my clit and dipping just the tip of his finger inside me, never giving enough to satisfy.
Meanwhile, his other hand worked my breasts, switching from one to the other, pinching and rolling my nipples until they were almost painfully sensitive.
All the while, his mouth remained at my ear, whispering filth that made me blush and moan in equal measure.
"You were made for this," he told me, biting gently at my earlobe. "For pleasure. For surrender. For me." His finger pressed more firmly against my clit, drawing tight circles that had my thighs shaking. "Tell me what you want, Simone."
"You," I managed, my voice breaking on the single syllable. "Inside me. Please."