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Look at this masterpiece 🥰 This is an intro for a homebrew D&D campaign of Vecherniye Kosti (Night Dice), guys from Ukraine 🇺🇦.

They are high-skilled players and GMs. They've been developing their channel for 5 years, they built their own studio for streams and other shows with their fans' support. But since the war started they had to stop their project. They are doing charity now to support Ukraine army.

I love them really much, they inspired me into playing tabletop RPGs and I think there are a hundred more people beside me.

Wish them peace and love, may the Sun save them 🥺💓💟☀️

I like this ring a lot 😊

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That feeling when you finally c^m after your periods is a pure bliss 🤤

Omg 🥵❤️‍🔥

Two Ghosts One Stone [Ghost x Reader x Ghost]

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration, Binding/Restraining, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Stomach Bulging, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Name Calling, Degradation (Slut-Shaming), Fem! Reader, Mentioned/Implied Aftercare, The Masks Stay On, etc.

Simon watched, his eyes dark and intentions darker, his pants drawn down his thighs. Behind you, Ghost gripped you by your hips, pulled you back so you could feel something prodding you. You gasped.

“Come on,” said Simon, a drawl in his voice; haste. “Hurry up and take her already – we ain’t got all night.” And, the demand hanging in the air, both Ghosts laughed, a joke between the two of them – one you understood all too well. As if Simon’s impatience rubbed off on him, Ghost’s fingers dug into the skin of your sides, making you wince. And, before you could breathe, you felt him – his girth, his weight – his tip had been at your centre, and now, he was halfway inside. You yelped.

“God !” he strained. You felt his stomach to your back – he was leaning against you, as if for support. His breathing, heavy, gave the illusion of exhaustion; of relent. “Fuck, you’re tight, Princess,” he rasped. Leaning forward now, his lips came to your ear. Even through the mask, you could feel his breath, scorching, against your shell.

“Let’s see how loose I can get you by the end of the night.”

Now, rubbing circles into your hips, he erected to his full height, his front no longer to your back, and pulled out. Time was but a pinprick between then and now as he slammed himself inside you – all of him, all at once. And, just as before, you let out a noise of surprise, though this one was subdued – steeped in the beginnings of euphoria. And, just as before, he was heavy. Thick and veiny, you could feel the veins along his cock, bulging and wide as he took you, his breath shuttering, his head thrown back as he let out a yell, short and sweet, a shriek.

And Simon watched. Watched you grip the bed sheets, trying to catch your breath; watched as your head rose to face him, lips parted. The image of his cum drooling from your mouth, you thoroughly used and enjoyed flashed in his mind. He pumped himself once. Twice. He’d coated himself in saliva; a makeshift solution to his aching problem.

His chest fluttered with every breath, chest heaving as he watched you, pumping himself faster once Ghost took to a rhythm. Ghost wouldn’t let you fall far; his grip on your hips kept you glued to him, his praises of “Good girl, keep taking me,” enough motivation to at least try and remain at your spot on the bed. And to send electric euphoria between your legs. You whined, and Simon, still at the wall, gave a minute gasp.

To begin with, with his founding strokes, Ghost made this task somewhat possible, the force of his hips against yours enough to knock you forward, his strength pulling you back. But, as the seconds turned into minutes and Ghost began to lose himself, his thrusts became…stronger. Insatiable.

“That’s it,” he told you through breathless praises, the feeling of his thighs against your backside becoming more frequent, bruising. “Such a good girl–” He pulled out, almost all the way. You scarcely had the time to scream as he slammed himself – all of himself – back inside, sending a stab of pain through your middle. You choked, your breath catching in your throat, and fell forward, your chest to the bed sheets, Ghost’s grip no longer able to hold you. He was gone. Truly and utterly. You could tell in the way he moaned, low and loud and filling the air with dark electricity – a call to arms. He didn’t even reassure you as you tried to regain your breath, tears burning your throat, warned off by the building euphoria in your centre.

“Fuckin’ Hell, Ghost – be gentle,” came Simon, whose voice, gruff as usual, was sharp with territory. His breathing, though hitched as his hand stroked himself, particularly close to his agitated, reddening, weeping tip. Pre-cum beaded from his slit, collecting on his palm as he slid it down his shaft.

“There’ll be nothin’ left of her the way you’re pummelin’ her.”

Even though he was behind you, you could feel Ghost’s smile beneath his mask, felt a weighted darkness pressing on you.

“That’s the goal.” He pulled out all the way and tore his way back inside. You shrieked, moaned, your mouth pressed to the sheets, muffled by the mattress. As little as you wanted to admit it, you wanted them to destroy you, to fill you so utterly and entirely that nothing else existed except them. And it seemed they wanted that, too. Especially with the blackened gleam in Simon’s eye as he picked up the pace, fisting himself with an almost voracious sentiment, his eyes narrowing as he refrained from succumbing to the tidal euphoria building within.

You felt that the ecstasy building between your legs mirrored Simon’s, exceptionally so when Ghost, still slamming into you, forcing you deeper and deeper into the pillows, ceased, pulled you close to him by your hips, and continued, hitting a hidden, wanton angle. Electricity spasmed through you, and you gasped, letting out a breathy moan. Ghost laughed, sly and slender, his hand sliding up your thighs, straying between your legs, drawing ornate patterns into your skin. You shivered, the feeling of his incongruously gentle touch with his harsh, biting thrusts almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself clenching down on him, lips mouthing his cock as if choking on his girth.

His hand, large, rough, warm, slid from between your legs. His palm rested on your stomach while he rolled slow circles against your clit. The static building in your core spasmed, a phantom tendril lashing out. By reflex, your legs tried to close, but Ghost was having none of it. His other hand gripped your thigh, hooked around it and forced it apart. You wailed, unable to shield yourself from his attack. Not like you actually wanted to.

“Oh no, Princess,” Ghost said, his voice a low purr. Simon’s breath quickened, the slick sounds of his solo excursion the vocals to the symphony of ghost ploughing into you. “I want to see all of you,”

 And see you, he did. In fact, he watched, observed you – like an experiment. Not that you could see it, rather felt its palpable presence – Ghost’s stare was sharp, razor. He took in the red, sodden, aching mess you’d become, friction marks from where his thighs met yours in a slapping, thumping manner, crescents where his nails had dug into your skin and kept you tethered to him, to the outcome he was forcing you closer and closer to. You could tell you were soaked; the brief chill hitting your backside and thighs whenever Ghost pulled away gave you a horrendously honest look at how desperate you were for the two men. That, and the collation of fluids collecting and rolling down from between your thighs.

“‘F only you could see her, SImon,” came Ghost. His breath shuttered, wavered as he worked to keep his pace, his skin slapping against yours, his hand becoming drenched between your thighs. “If only you could feel her,” he pressed his palm into the bottom of your stomach. And you wailed. Of course, you’d felt Ghost’s dick weighted inside you, but to have you feel him more, pressing your stomach so you could feel his cock against your skin, felt unreal.

“Bet you couldn’t fill her like this.”

Had your euphoria not built to a point where everything was muffled to you, you may have seen the room darken, the atmosphere grow heavy. But alas, you were past the point of oblivion, innocent to the pointed, glaring, fiery stare Simon gave Ghost, and the immediate ceasing of his strokes. Even Ghost seemed to slow, though kept pumping into you, rubbing you, agonising you.

You didn’t hear Simon’s footsteps, the heft of his boots against the floor as he approached the end of the bed, and, with his free hand, grabbed you by your hair. He yanked your head up to meet his, and while you gasped, a shriek died in your throat as Simon shoved his cock into it, stifling you, choking you. You let out a yelp, tried to retract, but Ghost’s frame behind you and Simon’s painful grip on your follicles made such a manoeuvre an impossibility.

“Suck it up, cum slut,” said Simon. Now, looking up at him through bleary eyes, you saw the steel in his stare. He didn’t let you accustom yourself to his intrusion before he pulled out and slipped back in, protruding deeper into your mouth, the taste of salt smattered against your tongue.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want Ghosty here to get upset,” came a voice from behind. You almost turned around, flashed a pleading look to him, asked him if he were intentionally trying to invoke Simon’s wrath on your behalf. But an ache formed in your jaw as Simon used you as he had his hand prior. And, just like Ghost, he was anything but gentle.

The longer he had you wrapped around his shaft, the more potent the taste and viscosity of a foreign substance coated the insides of your mouth, painted it white, drooled and dripped down your chin like saliva. And all the while, you couldn’t stifle or help the moans Ghost drew from you, the vibrations of which seemed to reach Simon as his mouth dropped open he threw his head back. “Fuck,” he breathed, his Adam’s apple thick and protruding just beneath the lip of his mask. Ghost smiled, lips drawn thin beneath his mask. “Looks like Simon’s close,” he said. You could say nothing in response, to which Ghost gave a short, stark laugh – a scoff. A hand reached up to your jaw, gripped you by the cheeks. And squeezed. You could feel Simon’s cock slick against your gums. And so could he.

Before you could accustomed yourself to this feeling, Ghost’s crushing grip about your cheeks, Simon’s pounding, unrelenting rhythm, Simon twitched in your mouth and, with a lasting, gruff cry, became blinded by ecstasy. The after-effects of which you felt fill and drip from your mouth and down your throat.

As if like clockwork, Ghost, his breathing remaining laboured, began to feel loose behind you. His killing pace remained but there was a softness to it there had not been before – a bluntness. With Simon panting above you, his release dripping down your throat, making your chest sticky, and Ghost’s increasingly rhythmless strokes bringing you both closer and closer to your end, your body scorched, ached where you had been used – where you were being used. You’d have cried for a moment’s respite had it not been for how Ghost’s hand slipped to your breasts, held them, squeezed them to his palms. The way he held you had stray electricity shock between your legs, tipped you ever closer to the edge.

“Go on, Princess,” Ghost rasped. His voice was deeper now, serrated – as if his throat was seared with…something. “Cum for me,”

Not that you’d been holding out for Ghost, but something about the authority in his voice, the fact that you had warranted his permission, sent you spiralling. Still gasping around Simon’s girth, he finally looked down at you, and, instead of pulling out, gripped you by the hair again.

“I wanna feel your screams, angel,” he said, eyes half-lidded yet still piercing. And you couldn’t hold it anymore.

White-hot euphoria took your senses, had you hostage to the whims of the two men before and behind you. You clenched, gripped Ghost, to which he made a strangled noise that not even his mask could contain, filling the dense, moist air with a primal growl. You practically shrieked, the reverberations of your staining voice stimulating his softening, sensitive appendage. He grunted, glowered, sucked breath in between gritted teeth.

“God, Darlin’ – fuck – you’re so tight,” panted Ghost, his strokes becoming slower, almost stilled by the force with which you held him. 

The fireworks within evolved, dimming with each wave that flowed from your core outwards, leaving you limp. Simon took the liberty of removing himself from your mouth, stroked your bottom, puffed lip with his thumb. You scarcely made out his praise, him calling you his “Good girl,” between Ghost’s panting, his low moaning, and the static in your head.

“(Y/N) – I-I’m–”

Ghost didn’t have chance to finish his sentence for his climax tearing through him, reaching into his soul and withdrawing from him a deep, guttural moan, breathy yet weighted at its centre. You felt warmth filling you from within, felt Ghost still, his pounding no longer stoking your fire, letting you ride the wave with your cheek in Simon’s hand, eyes glazed and lips parted as you tried to regain your breath.

A stillness settled, rearing its head.

At some interval of this quietude, Ghost pulled out, the only indication being the sound of liquid friction and his weight falling back onto the pillows behind. You’d felt little of this – merely a blunted retraction, your lower half growing numb with every second that passed.

“Almost milked me dry,” said Ghost, and while there was a distinguishable whine to his tone, he wasn’t complaining.

“Yeah,” came Simon, taking a step towards the bed. “Thought you wouldn’t be able to hack it, Love.”

You did little in reply save for a smile, reserved and quiet, but a response all the same.

You hadn’t realised yet, but your body was much weaker than before, being that Ghost had thoroughly enjoyed and used you; Simon, too. But somehow, you knew that wouldn’t let you off the hook, warrant an ‘early night’. No, not if the feeling of Ghost all but sneaking up on you from behind, his arms enclosing your waist and pulling you into his chest was anything to go by.

You whined. Ghost growled, gripped you by your jaw and forced your chin to point heavenward, making swallowing very difficult and making some form of eye contact with him facile.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he drawled. “We’re not done with you yet,”

“He’s right,” Simon said. The same Simon whose belt now lay wrapped around his wrist like a serpent, one knee on the mattress, his chest puffed with newfound vigour. “He might’ve had his fill of you,” his eyes flickered down to your stomach, a bump having formed there, the culmination of Ghost’s thick load still oozing from between your legs. “We can’t stop ‘til I’ve had you, too.”

Everything happened so fast it may as well have been a technicolour show of memories, time skips and jumps, for during the scuffle (which was really just Ghost forcing your wrists together, Simon tying them, and you whining when Simon forced your legs apart, exposing your already sensitive parts to more punishment) you were bound, restrained and defenceless.

Ghost had finished what Simon had started, prying and keeping your legs apart by digging his ankles between yours, spreading your legs as far as you could allow. Simon slid your bound wrists over the back of his neck, keeping your front open. The look he gave you – veiled almost entirely by his mask – was visible in his eyes; a rabid determination seen only in those with nothing left to lose.

Between the numbness between your thighs and the newfound proofing feeling at your back, Simon edged closer, held himself in his hand, stroked once. He almost twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“Now, Angel,” he said. He leaned closer, his nose an inch from yours. You felt his tip against your lips. “I don’t wanna what any complainin’ or cryin’ unless it’s because your pathetic little cunt can’t take any more of me,” a hand came to your throat, stroked the ridges – your Eve’s apple – still stretched by Ghost’s grip.

You said nothing, but a look of hazy resolve in your eyes told Simon all he needed to hear. He looked past you, to the man behind you, who, when Simon nodded, released your jaw. You almost wanted to celebrate. In unison, they lifted you, Ghost by your waist and Simon by your thighs. The next thing you knew, you were full – painfully so – pressed between two walls of men.

You let out a winded cry, jostled between the idea of leaning against Ghost or taking to Simon’s chest for comfort. The former made the decision for you, taking his hands from your thighs and bringing them to your waist. He shushed you, gently, voice free from condescension and irritation. It was an imitation of comfort, a gesture.

“It’s okay, Princess,” he whispered in your ear. He massaged slow, calm circles into your sides, his hands coming to rest upon your stomach. “It’s alright, breathe for me – there’s a good girl.”

Simon’s expression seemed to mirror Ghost’s, for a softness possessed his gaze, one which encouraged a hand to trail to your cheek, holding it. He wiped a lone tear. “I know, Sweetheart,” he said. “It won’t hurt for much longer, promise.”

Perhaps their altruism was only a show. Perhaps they were true in their comforts, purveyors of their reassurances, for the pain did pass in the minute that followed. And, when you nodded, told them they could continue, the air changed.

Simon and Ghost brought you up and slammed you back down on their lengths, following a rhythm to which, accustomed now, but no longer numb, you tried desperately not to get lost in. Not again.

The embers of your last orgasm ebbed within as the two took you, Ghost’s hands resting on your waist, feeling him and Simon inside you, your stomach swollen. You hadn’t even noticed until you felt Ghost give a short laugh in your ear, and spoke over you.

“God, Simon – have you felt her ?” he said. Simon, looking to where Ghost’s gaze rested, gave a groan. He could see perfectly well what Ghost was talking about; having two men inside you at the same time, two particularly well-endowed men, no less, was bound to have some physical effects on your body, but Simon hadn’t anticipated them to be so immediate, rather assuming them to be an aching between your legs the next day or the inability to walk properly.

You couldn’t help but pay attention to their conversation, one which, while about you, did not include you. Or so you thought.

Simon’s hand came to lay upon your front, and, while he ploughed into you, he felt himself inside you. “God, (Y/N) – ‘m surprised you ain’t burstin’ from the seams,” he said, a deep drawl in his voice. You wanted to retaliate, say that you were, but the vigour with which he slammed you onto him now knocked the air out of you, made arguing pointless. And, as if in competition, Ghost followed suit.

“Seein’ as you’re so eager to get ahead,” said Ghost. “How’s about we see who can ruin her first.”

It wasn’t a proposition.

Simon smiled.

He pulled out, entirely, and threw himself back in. You let out a moan, something between a scream and a whimper. Whatever hopes you’d had of holding out for the whole night were dashed in that instant. 

And you couldn’t be happier.

The coil in your centre tightened, the telltale sign that you wouldn’t last another ten minutes if you were lucky. And, given your track record of the evening, you weren’t going to place any bets.

Simon and Ghost’s breathing was deep, heaving, and you had no doubt the masks and the physical excursion did little to help things. Though, the sounds which poured from them – micro-whimpers and whispered moans – existing within the crevices of these pants were too enticing for you to care.

Simon’s hands came to rest on your thighs, where he squeezed your skin, grabbed any conjuration of muscle, meat and fat he could, and uttered more praise to you. “My girl,” he said. “You’ll always be my girl – no one else’s,”

Ghost did nothing to dispute Simon, but the squeeze to your sides suggested he wasn’t agreeing. Or going down without a fight.

A mere ten minutes into this fresh Hell and you already could feel yourself going numb again, the electricity at your centre having grown, your nerves burning with a need for release. You’d have conjured the words if you’d known them, but you feared your mind had been turned to jelly under the competition of the two military men.

You could tell they were close to finishing, what with their breathing growing deeper and more uneven by the second, their thrusts becoming uncoordinated, desperate, seeking any and all solace they could glean from burying themselves within you. And, of course, the praises.

“Doin’ so well, Angel,” one would rasp, while the other would show you their gratitude, moulding your breast in his hand and sucking his mark into your throat.

There came a point where you weren’t even sure you were human anymore, with you still remaining conscious yet limp amidst this exchange. Save for the need to let go, to have the energy inside you now burst free, you felt a mere toy to these men. And you loved every second of it.

“I c-can’t–” you managed to choke out. Simon and Ghost kept at their attack, their pursuit of that which they coveted most; your pleasure. The room, heavy with everything you’d done, was filled corner to corner with your gasping moans, Simon’s guttural growls and Ghost’s grunting. All the orchestra of a dream come true.

“Cum for me, Princess,” heaved Simon. A desperation lay in his voice – one which sought the same release as you, and that only through your climax could he achieve his.

“Yeah, Darlin’,” came Ghost, thick and hot behind you. “Show us how we make you feel.”

And that was the last straw.

You moaned, long and hard, and you came. Your body scorched with fire and electricity, a storm you could hardly keep to yourself as you threw your head back against Ghost’s shoulder, your stomach arching into Simon’s. Your coil snapped, combusted, and you were left a heaving, panting, near-crying mess.

You gripped Simon’s shoulders while Ghost’s front pressed to your back. Within quick succession, one finished after the other, their growled moans carrying through the room and into your mind as, still impaled and overcome with a euphoric exhaustion, you rested against the two men. 

You knew they’d take care of you – run you a bath and tend to your every need in the minutes following. But right now, you just wanted to be here with them, feeling their hearts thunder like drums against your skin.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

Taglist: @montenegroisr @projectdreamwalker @animarix @konigsblog @sweetirilly @crystaljade22 [will not be adding ageless blogs]

🥵🖤

Have a very Krampus Christmas!

Hallmark Christmas Movie meets kinky Monster Fucking in this holiday installment of König AU content

non-con to dub-con, MDNI, 18+

more CWs: kidnapping, BDSM, impact play, bondage, pure smutty monster fucking (He has claws, so kind of knife kink vibes as well - and a long tongue *wink wink*)

What if Krampus was real? But he surely can't be! I have been studying folklore monsters and legends from all over the world, and I never laid eyes on any of them. So, when I take a trip to the Austrian alps over Christmas trying to get away from any family celebrations, I don't actually expect to run into him, let alone become his new plaything. Because he needs to show me that he indeed is very real...

a/n: This is an idea I had for Christmas time, taking some of the tropes surrounding Hallmark Movies and combining them with some Austrian folklore (I added some links to explain some stuff!) and our favourite Austrian Big Boy. Non-con/dub-con elements due to the "getting kidnapped (and punished) by a monster" side of the plot.

Read under the cut or on AO3 (7.2k words)

I don't know what the fuck I was thinking when I booked my Christmas holiday in the Austrian alps.

I mean, I know what I was thinking when I saw the ad for this perfect little cozy retreat in the middle of nowhere. In one of my favourite countries that I have never visited before.

The pictures of the mountains, the sun glistening on the snowy slopes, trees peeking through. The little cabins, almost snowed in, the petite village down the hill lit up by Christmassy decorations, small stalls selling baked goods and local specialties, like Glühwein, Kletznbrot and Vanillekipferl.

It all seemed much more appealing than driving home to my family, the big Christmas party with my parents, aunts and uncles, everybody's partners and their children and me in between.

The family weirdo, the only one that moved to another state to study at university, who made her passion for the occult and folklore her job, working at the history department as the specialist for everything about old legends, folk stories and everything in between. Whose job is more important to her than anything else. Who's the only one without a partner and children. The designated kooky aunt. And I'm only turning 30 next year.

My nieces and nephews adore me because I always tell them the most obscure stories I would hear and read about, of the weirdest terrifying creatures that were said to roam the earth, from the chupacabra, the yeti and the wendigo to - especially at Christmas - the Austrian Krampus.

The latter being yet another good reason to travel to the country.

So I booked the trip, packed my bags, told my family they had to celebrate without me and flew to the other side of the ocean, reading up on the local folklore, getting excited for the quiet and relaxed days to come.

Now that I'm standing in the little wood cabin, my breath forming clouds in the coldness around me, I'm not so sure anymore. I sigh which only forms bigger clouds around me and look around. Seems like there only is a fireplace to heat up the room, but there's no fire in it. And no firewood.

I sigh again, leave my suitcase and head back out, pulling my scarf tighter, because it's even colder outside.

I go in the direction of the little house in the middle of the resort where the reception and everything is. I approach it when I hear the loud noise of metal into wood and on the right left side, a few meters into the forest, there's a logging site. And there's a guy chopping wood, lifting the axe over his head and then bringing it down on the log.

The snow under my boots crunches as I come closer. "Excuse me.", I pipe up and the guy throws down the axe, so it gets stuck in the chopping block.

He turns to me. "Yes?"

When I look him up and down, I finally get what they mean with "ruggedly handsome". Strong arms, broad shoulders that even show in the thick flannel shirt he's wearing. Long dark hair that's put into a messy bun. A serious face with a crooked nose, a strong jaw and a stubble.

And ridiculously tall. Ridiculous. What do they eat in Austria to get that tall?

I clear my throat, ignoring how the man in front of me is obviously very attractive (also - chopping wood like that? Ugh) and start to explain: "Uh, I just wanted to ask uh, because the cabin is cold, uh with the fireplace-"

Great, apparently my eloquence goes out the window as soon as I talk to a man. An attractive one at that, but still.

The corners of his mouth tip up, even from a few meters away, I can see how the grin transforms his face. I groan inwardly, smiling back hesitatingly.

"Yes, those logs are for your cabin, ma'am.", he answers, the voice loud and friendly. He has a singsongy tone while speaking English that I've already heard from other Austrian people.

"Oh, ah, thank you, that's very nice of you.", I say.

"Of course! If you would be so kind and help me carry a few of those, I can show you how to get the fire started asap.", he waves me over.

I come closer, taking some of the logs he hands me. Standing next to him it's even clearer how freakishly tall he is, surely way over 6 feet tall.

We make our way back to my little cabin, he is carrying at least thrice the logs I have in front of me.

"You must be Mrs. Miller, right? This cabin is yours?", he asks gesturing in the direction of the little building that the receptionist showed me.

"It's Miss, and uh yeah, that's mine.", I answer not really sure why I felt the need to clarify that I'm not a Mrs. "And you are...?"

We're at the cabin and I open up the door, slipping in first and then turning around as he ducks his head to fit through the frame.

Now it's his turn to get seemingly a little nervous. "Oh, scheiße, my bad, I didn't even introduce myself. I'm König, the son of the owner.", he says, setting the firewood down on the little rack, and extends his hand to shake mine. I take it, feeling the strong hand, the calloused palm, but still gentle enough not to squish me.

The owner's son, huh?

"König, like king in German?", I ask which earns me a surprised look on his face.

"Exactly.", he says, letting go of my hand and kneeling down to get the fire started. "So, you speak German?"

I shake my head. "Not really, just a few words. You know, those words you stumble over as a historian, like 'kaiserlich und königlich' - oh, I'm sure I butchered the pronunciation."

He grinned up at me while he stacked the logs in the fireplace, making sure they're all evenly spaced out. "No, you're fine. So, what does an American historian do in Austria over the Christmas holidays?", he enquires. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Honestly? I just needed a few days away from everything.", I explain. "And sometimes celebrating with your big extended family is not really a vacation."

He laughs, a deep full sound, that makes my stomach jump because damn, even that is way too attractive.

"I can understand that.", he says. "Most people come to the resort after the holidays, to also go skiing, but we do have some people staying over Christmas, like you." He gestures me to hand him the matchbox and some newspaper sheets.

"So, yeah, I'm just gonna relax for a few days, go on some walks in the idyllic countryside, and get to know some local traditions rather than explaining to my mom why I don't have a boyfriend." I almost bite my tongue because I really could have chosen any other example. Especially when I see the amused look he shoots me.

Laying it on thick, Missy. I reprimand myself. Leave the poor man be, I bet with his looks he has every second woman coming to the resort - single or not - flirt with him.

The fire is burning now, the little flames licking at the wooden logs, and he straightens back up. Now I have to tilt my head back to keep looking at him.

"Why did you come to Austria then?", he continues. "There are many places with beautiful scenery and local history to visit."

"Well, actually I'm a historian for everything folklore and occult, and the need to shoo away evil spirits with scary looking creatures always fascinated me, so Krampus was a big plus as well.", I explain.

His brows shoot up in surprise, something I'm used to by know, whenever I tell someone about my job and interest.

"Oh, that's quite unusual.", he comments, a sly smile on his face."So, you already know everything about the Perchten and Krampus?" The way he rolls the R and pronounces the ch, damn. The harsh German words in between the English sentences are something else.

"Well, I don't know everything, but I know of them. Krampus is actually one of the favourite stories of my nephews and nieces.”, I tell him.

“Oh really?”, a grin lights up his face. “Isn’t that too scary for them?”

“Not at all.”, I laugh. “It may be a bit scary, but after all it’s just a story, right?”

"Right. Well, if you're interested in some more of the folk legends and history around Christmas, we have a small little museum with a bunch of Krippen (nativity scenes), but also knowledge about the pre-Christian folklore. And - we actually have a Perchtenlauf tomorrow, if you're up for that.", he tells me.

"Oh really?!", I almost yell, getting excited now. "Oh, I have to look at that for sure. Thanks for telling me!"

He waves it off. "Ah, no problem. - And who knows, you might get a little glimpse of the real Krampus?", he jokes, a certain aura of something I can't quite pinpoint in his eyes.

I laugh and shake my head. "No, I don't think I will. You know, him not being real and all?"

He joins my laughter, but at the same time shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head to the side.

"Because he's just a legend.", I reiterate. "And I've never met one of those in all of my years of studying them."

"Who knows...", he trails off ominously, still laughing as he waves and leaves my cabin.

Kind of endearing that the locals still believe their own folklore tales.

The little town down the hill is as cozy and cute as the pictures made it out to be. I looked at all the goodies and thingamajigs at the stalls, tried everything there was to eat and drink, my belly revolting against all the sugar I ingested. I talked to the people in the stalls, those who could speak English at least, bombarding them with questions about what they were selling and this and that about the history of the little town and all of the traditions they were celebrating. Being the exemplary American tourist I truly was inside. Maybe I should have asked König to come with me, to work as a translator, to show me around.

But when I saw him shortly this morning and he gave me a friendly look, his eyes sparkling with something I couldn’t quite read, all of my fervor left me, and I couldn’t bring myself to even approach him. I sigh when I think about it now. But well, whatever. I’m here to spend some time relaxing in the Austrian alps, not shacking up with the son of the owner of the resort I was staying at. (Even though he looks like a tall tree waiting to be climbed)

My nose is already red and frozen, but the rest of my body is still warm and snug, tightly packed into a thick parka, knit mittens on my hands, a scarf around my neck and a way too big beanie on my head. Not winning any beauty contests with that, but that’s not the point either.

With another Glühwein in my hand I wait for the Perchtenlauf to start and even though I know what to expect in general, I’m surprised what I see. Small children sitting on their parent’s shoulders, grandparents chatting to their teenage grandchildren. People of all ages waiting with me.

The little parade starts and different kinds of demonic goat-looking Krampus-like creatures roam the streets, trying to scare the people behind the barricades. They are backing off in return, bumping into each other and into me.

I take a few steps back, getting my mulled wine to safety before any more can be spilled, and watch the Perchten from afar. All the different shapes and sizes of them, in darker or lighter fur, with different horns, different rods, different masks, some a bit scarier than the others. And every single one of them just having fun running around like this, trying to scare and hit people.

After I finish the drink, I dare to come closer again. My god, people getting flogged by fur-clothed creatures in masks in the middle of the street sure seems kinky to the foreign mind. They all don’t seem to bat an eye.

It’s all good fun, laughter intermingling with the screams when some of them come too close. More than one teenager tries to pick a fight with one of the Perchten, almost always losing to them, getting hit with the birch rods for it.

One of them comes closer to me, the mask a scary looking face with big teeth, a long tongue and glowing red eyes. They stalk closer and closer until they reach me, pushing against the barricades to get to me. A damped down voice resounds from the mask, but I don’t understand anything anyway because they’re talking in German – and then they start to hit my calves with the rod in their hand. I yelp, more surprised at the sudden sensations than really scared. I start to laugh and they join me, hitting me one more time, this time a little harder, then giving me a little wave and stalking off again.

I shake my head, a grin forming on my face. Nobody’s gonna believe me when I tell them about my little winter vacation back home.

I finally made it back to my little cabin after a long day in the village, the last climb to the resort made me pant and huff. A lot. God damn it, I’m out of shape.

I cooked myself a nice hearty stew, ate the hot meal to warm myself up and then I bundled up in front of the fireplace with a book in my hands and a mug of tea. And the stories about "Österreichische Sagen" (Austrian Folk Tales) are fascinating, yet it doesn’t take long until the letters start dancing in front of my eyes, and a sleepy drowsy feeling comes over me.

The room is only lighted by the flames flickering in the fireplace and I almost feel like I'm drifting away into sleep when all of a sudden the door swings open with a bang. I startle, a small scream escaping me, from the sound alone. But my head whips to the side, looking around what happened, panicked as I feel the cold gust of wind blow through the cabin.

My eyes widen in shock, any more screams getting stuck in my throat, at the sight in front of me. The creature fills the whole doorframe, looking like the Perchten I saw a few hours before, only bigger and fucking scarier. Broad hairy shoulders are spanning from one side of the door to the other. Long arms with clawed hands holding it open. A dark black hood hides the face of the creature, but the eyes - glowing red - protrude out from the mask. Horns of a ram, long and coiled, adorn the head, almost grazing the roof of the cabin.

Even with the mask, I know what or rather who this is - Krampus. Fear licks up my spine and I scramble to get up from the couch. "No, no, no, that can't be.", I whisper to myself in panic, looking around to find somewhere to escape to, but there is nowhere to go.

The creature comes closer, taking long strides with the fur-clothed legs, hoofs clomping on the floor. Chains around the hips that drag over the floor, the sound stoking my fear.

This can't be real. It has to be a practical joke - or maybe I did fall asleep, and this is all a dream. I'm still backing off, frantically shaking my head, the creature almost standing right in front of me now, until my body is backed into the wall.

My breath is going hard and rugged, and I'm starting to hyperventilate, when he grabs me, the big, clawed hands pulling me against the broad hairy chest as I wail and try to free myself from his hold on me, but it doesn't work. "No please.", I wine, the screams and flailing of my arms not doing anything, not strong enough to fight the demon looking Krampus and no people around to hear my cries. His eyes stare me down and I feel their pull as much as they terrify me at the same time.

I slump down, my strength leaving me, and the last thing I'm aware of is Krampus setting down the big basket on his back, the one he uses to carry the naughty children, then my vision fades to black.

When I wake up again, I don't know where I am.

I barely know who I am.

I sit up trying to collect my thoughts when I feel cold metal scrape against my ass. My naked ass.

I'm butt naked in a cage. The only thing on my body is a tight sitting something around my neck. My hands find it, exploring it, and it seems to be out of leather, tightly secured with nowhere to open it, and a metal ring in the front.

Almost like a dog's collar.

And even though I'm naked, I'm not freezing the slightest, the light chill against my skin from the metal cage not the main reason why I'm shivering.

I come closer to the bars of the cage, looking around.

It looks like I'm in a shed, a tall wooden one with a gate, but not just any normal shed, oh no.

All kinds of whips, floggers, masks, gags and handcuffs hang on the walls, as a decorative display of sexually stimulating gadgets, and a row of furniture-esque playthings stand about the whole room. A rather normal looking bed, albeit huge with a canopy, a throne with chains hanging over it, a sex swing, a cross on the wall, and as the center piece a bench with arm and leg rests, for a person to lie on, their front against the leather covered material, with easy access to head and behind.

Everything decorated in even more hardcore sex paraphernalia.

And don't forget the cage I'm currently sitting in. Naked. Taking everything in I can't help the panicky laugh that escapes me. Because this is just ridiculous.

Looks like the fucking Krampus is into fucking BDSM.

"Good morning, Dornröschen.", a dark voice booms through the shed. A voice that doesn't belong to a man, to anything human.

The fur-covered legs are the first thing I see of him, he's crouching down to come face to face with me.

The glowy red eyes intensively stare at me through the hood, the black fabric concealing the rest of his face. His gaze rests on me, almost with a hypnotic pull, a weirdly soothing feeling washing over me. And I get that I should be much more scared than I am - given the current situation - but I can't bring myself to scream again, when he opens the cage door, and his clawed hand reaches for the collar around my neck. He pulls at it, pulling me out of the cage and into him.

As I'm getting up, he lets go of it for just a moment and I take the chance to make a run for it.

A foolish attempt, because I don't even manage to reach the tall gate on the end of the shed, before his long arms snake around me, securing me. "Oh no, don't even think about it.", his demonic voice grunts into my ear. "You're mine tonight."

He lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder.

"Stupid Gör, trying to run from me. Oh, I'm gonna punish you for that.", he grumbles, his hand coming down on my naked ass. I yelp at the slap, a flurry of pleading "please" dropping from my mouth.

He carries me over to the bench I was looking at before and sets me down on it, my front hitting the leather covered plane hard. Air gets knocked out of my lungs. He's quick to secure my arms and legs to the rests on the bench, so I can't escape anymore.

Being strapped to it like that, I can't see what he's doing anymore, my head turning from left to right while I hear him fumbling around with something in the background.

He approaches the bench again, the hoofs scraping over the ground until he stops, and the anticipation is deafening. Only my panicky breaths cut through the silence until some kind of whip resounds in the air, coming down on the plump flesh of my ass, and a scream from my throat follows.

"Tell me, what kind of whip does Krampus use to punish the naughty and disobedient?", he asks me, almost sounding like a teacher questioning a student. At first, I don't even react, still reeling from the sting in my asscheek, the pain hot and pulsating. He hits me again, my body convulsing.

"Answer me.", he mutters, stroking over the sensitive skin with whatever he's hitting me.

"A birch rod.", I answer, my voice hoarse and panicked.

Instead of confirming or denying my answer, the rod leaves another streak on my cheek, the skin surely red by now.

"But I wasn't even naughty!", I plead, referring to Krampus punishing the naughty and disobedient, straining against the chains that secured me to the bench, and his birch rod comes down again. I whimper.

"Oh, I know, you're a very good girl, aren't you?", he drawls, the demonic voice almost purring. "Almost too good, hm?"

He hits me again. The sting in my ass is making me squirm against the leather and even though I'm currently strapped to a bench in a sex dungeon shed in the middle of nowhere in Austria getting flogged by fucking Krampus, I can't help but feel the pleasure through the pain he's inducing.

Especially after he called me a good girl.

And the realization douses me in ice-cold shame, my spine going rigid, even before he hits me another time with the rod.

"Then why me?", I whisper.

I hear his steps coming closer to my head, until he stands right in front of me, leaning down, coming face to face with me. He grabs my chin, so I can't look away, his hot glowing eyes staring into mine.

"Because I couldn't believe that the stupid, but oh so cute American folklore historian thought I wasn't real.", he says, and my eyes widen as I take in his words. And the suspicions I already had about him got confirmed. The ridiculously tall stature and the light Austrian singsong in his words, although his voice is much more demonic now, are the only real clues, because the rest of him looks so different and his face is covered. But it's him. I’m sure.

"So, I plan on showing her just how real I am and leave her with the marks to prove it.", he continues. Talking about 'her' like he doesn't mean me right in front of him.

He leans forward, coming even closer and I try to back off, but I can't, so I just see in the corner of my eyes how he lifts the hood, latching onto my shoulder, a little bite that makes me yelp, to showcase what kind of marks he's talking about.

He pulls back, and I see the hint of a devilish grin and the tip of a tongue before the hood falls back over his face again.

"But, but, but I don't understand.", I whine again.

"I think I've heard enough from you right now.", he says assertively, and before I can register it, he put a gag in my mouth, securing it behind my head.

He moves to the other end of the bench again, his claws stroking down my spine, the sharp edges against my soft skin stoking the fear that has me shivering against the leather underneath me, but at the same time sends zaps of pleasure to my core.

The sounds I'm making get muffled by the hard silicone-covered ball in my mouth, the restriction on my breathing making me even more panicked. And turned on at the same time.

His hand slides over my ass, the sharp claws drawing little lines on the plush skin. The sensation is foreign and... exciting.

The fingers drop down between my cheeks, until they find my treacherous wet pussy.

"Oh, Liebes, you are fucking soaked.", he coos, playing with my clit, flicking against it with the claw, pressing on it with his rough fingertips.

And I feel how the little touches are making me even wetter. I squirm against his fingers, almost needy, almost searching for more friction.

He chuckles, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Someone's eager, huh?"

I shake myself, having a hard time coming to terms with it. My head is still trying to catch up with what my body already knows, the horny little thing.

His fingers are slipping into me, and my spine goes rigid as I expect the claws to scrape my insides, but I only feel the digits stretching me. The claws seemingly gone.

"Tiny little thing you are.", he coos, spreading his fingers inside me. "And I don't want to break you." The stretch inside me intensifies as he tries to push in another finger and I mewl, my nails digging into the leather arm rest. "Hmm, well, maybe a little.", he chuckles darkly.

The rod comes down on my ass again, the sudden pain making me jump, moving his fingers inside me, and the sound I make around the gag is something muffled between a scream and moan. He works me open with his fingers while he keeps flogging me, the sensations making me dizzy, panting against the gag in my mouth, straining against the chains that hold me down, until he stops.

"So fesch, so pretty, how your ass turns red for me.", he praises me, the words registering in my mind as I go limp and rest my face against the cool leather. It's short lived because suddenly I feel his teeth digging into the swell of my ass. He's biting me while his fingers work themselves in and out of me at a brutal pace. My mind can't keep up anymore, but I feel my body become pliable, my thoughts hazy and my pussy wetter and needier.

He pulls his digits out of me, and I whimper at the loss of fullness, but that doesn't last long. His hands grip my hips, the hold almost bruising, and then I feel his tip against my entrance, pushing once with punishing force.

Krampus doesn't give me long to adjust myself to his size, he just starts fucking me. The whole bench shakes with every push of his dick into me, skin slapping against skin hard, the sounds filling the room, intermingled with my desperate muffled mewls and moans.

"Fuck, you feel even better than I imagined.", he grunts. "Taking me deep like a good little whore."

His words cut through the hazy pleasure. Deep indeed. Hard and brutal as well. And I don't think anybody has ever called me a whore while fucking me. But then again, I've also never been strapped to a bench like this, never ballgagged, never flogged. Never fucked by Krampus.

He keeps up the punishing pace and I can feel the waves of arousal growing. Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum. I want to say it out loud, tell him, but with the ballgag I can only produce incoherent ramblings. My thighs start to shake uncontrollably, and when he hits the sensitive spot inside me again, hard, I cum on his dick, my body shaking and pulling on the restraints.

He doesn't fucking stop, fucking me through my orgasm. "Oh, what a little slut.", he chuckles, then the next thing I hear is him spitting and I feel wetness running down between my cheeks.

His fingers spread the saliva on my other hole, dipping into it, stretching me out, at first just one, then two digits. Pushing in as deep as they can reach.

I feel like I'm gonna burst, full of his dick and his fingers, fucking me in unison, the stretch being way too intense. "You swallow me up so nicely.", he praises me, filling me deep and hard.

If I could have said something, I would've cursed him out. Even if he would have punished me for it. How am I supposed to go back to my boring life as a folklore historian who goes on dates maybe five times a year and gets laid like - never? Whose only reason for taking the pill is to combat her terrible period pains? Whose most adventurous sexual experience was a bad quickie in the back of a car?

Not an unwitting participant in Krampus' punishment of the disobedient and naughty that's already stoking my second orgasm. Not being a submissive plaything that's forced to take everything. Not me actually enjoying this, even though my body can barely keep up and the pain is radiating through my core. The pleasure coursing through me is even more intense.

I feel his hand snaking around my thigh until he reaches my clit, and when he flicks it with his claw, I come undone, pulsing around him, screaming into the ballgag until I can't scream anymore and almost feel like fainting.

He pulls back, pulling his dick and fingers out of me, the intense stretch gone in an instant, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.

His hoofs clomp on the floor as he makes his way to my head, his shadow looming over me first, before his huge stature appears in front of me.

My eyes widen as I take in his dick, long, thick, hanging heavy in front of him. Glistening with my juices. A bit of precum dripping down when he positions it in front of me.

My god, that was inside me? Holy hell.

"Mmh, is your mouth as hot and tight as your other holes, huh?", he teases me, finally pulling the gag from my mouth, and I take in a big breath of air. My jaw hurts from being pushed open like that, the muscles still tense.

"Please..." is all I say, and I don't even know what I'm pleading for. For him to let me go or to fuck my mouth?

He doesn't hesitate, taking the chance to bully his cock into my mouth, my lips closing around the girth.

"Taste yourself on my cock, hm? I bet you taste fucking divine.", he grunts teasingly, pushing himself deeper until I gag around him.

I can't take much of him, not even in this position. I lap at his tip when he pulls back again, tasting his pre-cum on my tongue, before he starts to fuck my mouth. Shallow pushes of his hips that still make my eyes water and tears run down my cheeks.

"Fuck, so fucking pretty.", he growls, gripping my hair. He moves me to his rhythm as far as the restraints on my limbs allow it, the eyes fixed on my face.

I look up at him, tears blurring my vision, sticking out my tongue to make room for more of him, violently gagging when he pushes deeper into my throat.

"You squeeze me so tight, whore.", he mumbles, the degradation making me moan around his thick length, my eyes rolling back, everything getting hazier.

"Oh, you like that, huh?", he chuckles, a satisfied little sound. "Then take it, take more of me, slut."

He lifts his hood a little bit and spits in my face, the little dollop of saliva dropping down on his dick, and he feeds me his spit with the next push of his hips.

It doesn't take long until he cums in my mouth, shooting his arousal down my throat, groaning loudly, and I swallow everything down. He pulls back, his cock leaving my throat hoarse and used. I lick my lips, still tasting him, lapping up every little drop that got spilled.

He crouches down again, his red eyes finding mine, and I could have sworn, he's wearing a satisfied grin underneath the mask. His hand cups my cheek, softly wiping away the tears, while he kisses the other side of my face through the hood, leaving stains of wetness on the fabric.

"I need to fuck you again.", he grumbles, the dark voice sending another shiver over my body, but I don't know if I have another round in me. My muscles hurting, my pussy sore. My mind reeling from everything we've done so far, everything he's done to me.

He unchains me, first my hands, then my feet, and this time I don't even try to run, I can't, my legs wouldn't support me. I just let him do as he pleases.

He lifts me and carries me over to the throne like seat, placing me onto it, spreading my legs over the armrests. He raises my wrists over my head, snapping handcuffs on them and pulling me up by them, until I'm half-suspended in the air over the throne. Spread out for him.

He comes closer, kneeling before me on the seat of the throne. His hands grab my waist, lining me up, the tip nudging against my wet abused entrance, and I can't rip my eyes away from the point where we are connected, as he slowly fills me up.

The first rounds were punishing, brutal and almost impersonal, with him standing behind my body that was strapped to the bench. This however seems like he wants me to know, to see that it's him fucking me. The pace isn't less wild, his dick stretching me open, my legs spread wide to accommodate his hips between my thighs, his lap colliding with mine with full force. My gaze is fixed on him, the unusual sight of him keeping me somewhat grounded. This is happening, this is still fucking happening.

He’s pulling me into him, the sound of the chains over my head intermingling with my desperate cries and moans, not damped down by any gags. I look up at him, only able to take what he gives me, and with a mumbled "fuck fuck fuck, gonna cum", I clench on his dick, squeezing him hard, harder than the first times, which makes him cum as well, a guttural moan escaping his lips, rolling back his eyes, the red pupils switched out for pitch black nothingness, as he spills inside me.

He pulls back and I can feel a gush of wetness dripping out of me, our combined cum staining my inner thighs.

He straightens up to reach the cuffs, flicks them open, my arms dropping down, my whole body collapsing onto the throne. I groan, relieved not being held up by my arms anymore and my chest is shaking with every breath I take.

Krampus is still towering over me, his eyes are fixed on the spot between my thighs, my pussy with his cum still slowly drooling out.

"You look fucking delicious.", he growls, kneeling down right before me.

He lifts the hood, pulling it up and to the side, letting it rest over the bridge of his nose. And I see his mouth, formed into a devilish grin, the teeth bright, white and sharp, sharper than human teeth, and his tongue.

The tongue. Oh my god.

Red, thick and long. Reaching way beyond his jaw as he sticks it out.

And he has the fucking nerve to wink at me as I look at him in disbelief.

His eyes are fixated on my face as he licks me for the first time, the tongue rough against the puffy wet folds, and the moan that leaves my throat almost comes out like a little scream.

Teasing, licking, kissing - biting. The inside of my thighs is littered with hickeys and bitemarks, small little marks he leaves in his trail. He's licking up everything, hungrily lapping up my arousal. I squirm in the seat, my hips grinding against his lower face, my arms flailing around, looking for purchase.

"Hold onto them, hold onto my horns.", he orders, speaking against my pussy.

Unsure, I grip the horns, closing my fingers around the smooth ridges, which earns me a satisfied hum.

"So obedient, so good at following my orders.", he murmurs while he lazily licks up and down, tasting me. "And good girls deserve to come on my tongue." Oh fuck, I don't think I can, is what I want to say, but I'm already to fucked out to even speak.

He licks deeper, his tongue dipping into me repeatedly until he doesn't pull back anymore, just pushes his tongue into me. Deeper and deeper until I'm almost as filled by his tongue like I was by his dick before.

Whimpers and moans drop from my lips as I pull him closer to me by the horns, a dark satisfied chuckle dropping from his lips. His tongue retreats as he speaks: "You like that, huh? How my tongue feels inside you? Yeah, you do, du unanständiges Gör." and all I can do is nod and whimper, grinding my pussy against his mouth, searching desperately for the next high. He flicks over my clit with the tip of his tongue and then he latches onto it, sucking hard, and I cum again. Weak moans and screams escaping me as I hold onto his horns to steady myself, gushing wetness against his mouth, jaw and down my thighs, even onto the hood and the fur on his chest.

"You can do one more.", he says not stopping at all, and if my tear ducts hadn't been dry already, the overstimulation would have made me cry hot tears. "I want you to fucking soak me."

"Please, I can't.", I cry out, but his tongue is already filling me up again, ready to teach me better.

Ruthlessly searching for the spots inside me that make me squirm against his face, his nose nudged against my clit.

Then his hand finds my other hole again, pushing into it with one thick digit, I almost feel like starting to pray. He abuses the sensitive spot from both sides, his fingertip massaging inside my ass, while his tongue flicks against it inside my pussy, a strange feeling, but my god, it does feel good.

I look down at him between my thighs and the sight pushes me over the edge. I gush around his tongue which pulls a satisfied hum from his lips, and he starts to lap up every drop, when I still squeeze down on his finger in my ass, the orgasm getting drawn out by the digit still moving inside me. Lewd moans and sounds fill the shed until I'm finally all spent, and he's satisfied as well, pulling away from me.

I slump down, letting go of the horns, almost falling off the throne, but he catches me, pulling me against his chest, the big hands caressing my back, the aching muscles and skin.

He lifts me up, carrying me to the bed that we didn't even use, laying me down on the soft comforter, whispering sweet nothings into my ear, some English, some German. And even in his voice I felt the soothing blanket they put over me, just like the one he pulls over me as I start to shiver. His strong arms embrace me, and the warmth of his body against mine easing the come-down, and I feel myself noticeably relax into him.

"That was something else.", I whisper against his chest, hearing him chuckle, the sound not as demonic as before, when darkness engulfs me again, his faint whispered praise washing over me.

I wake up when a little ray of sunshine tickles my nose. Hesitatingly I open my eyes and instant relief washes over me when I see that I'm in the cabin. On the sofa where I fell asleep. I sigh, but when I want to pull the blanket away, I almost can't move because my muscles are hurting.

Realisation hits me as I pull it away and bruises and bitemarks adorn my legs and arms.

I don't think this was a dream at fucking all.

He must have carried me to the cabin again, put clean clothes on me and tucked me in. And put logs into the fireplace, so the flames won't die down.

Right next to me is a tall glass of water, and two little painkillers (still packaged).

Although the pain isn't as bad, I'm mostly sore, I still wash them down instantly. The rest of the day I spend snoozing on the couch, only getting up if I have to, getting back the strength and energy I spent getting fucked like that.

Also thinking a lot about what happened. And every time I think it might just have been the weirdest wet dream I ever had, the bruises of the hardcore sex remind me that I really got fucked by Krampus. And I can't tell anybody because they would think I've finally truly gone crazy.

I don't see him - König or Krampus or whatever you would call him - anymore the next few days. The anticipation of seeing him, accompanied by a hint of fear, keeps me on my feet, but he doesn't show.

And I try not to feel disappointment over it, even though I mostly tell myself that it's better this way. I probably wouldn't have survived another round.

I'm all the more surprised when he suddenly stands in front of me after I've already checked out, ready to leave.

I look up at him, a light smirk on his face, and I see it, even in this more human form, I see the Krampus inside him, with the long hair on his head, the broad shoulders, the big hands. The little sharper than usual canines. The red reflection in the pupils of his eyes. The ridiculous height and body build.

"Leaving?", he asks, a kind of small talk start, as I clearly am leaving.

I just nod, pointing at my suitcase. He nods. And silence falls over us again.

"Did you manage to get a glimpse at Krampus?", he starts anew, a surprising question to be sure.

I nod again, clearing my throat, before I speak: "I did."

"And?", he wants to know and I can see the tiniest bit of apprehension in his eyes.

"He was definitely different than I imagined.", I answer truthfully, but I can't help the little smile forming on my lips.

The smirk on his face widens. "I see.", is all he says. "Get home safely and maybe don't forget about Krampus."

I laugh a bit at his words, aware of the marks that still adorn my body. "Don't worry, I won't. And maybe I'll see him again when I visit next year. Who knows?"

„ Are you Lorkhan? Because I want to explore the secrets of your heart thoroughly ” 🫀

happy Valentine's day! 💘

[04.25.21]

I kind of lost the original pic of the meme lmao. Also fun fact: I made a poll and people wanted this threesome ship. So, not my fault. I almost got to draw Vergil x Urizen x V

Another collage based on my friend's character from our D&D homebrew campaign.

Demash is a Tiefling Rogue. He got power of spider after his resurrection in old castle ruins somewhere in Faerûn. He was teleported from Faerûn with his companions.

It appeared that Tieflings almost extincted in the world they found themselves at the end of their "journey". Tieflings' cities (Spirals) were destroyed centuries ago and none knows where to even look for them. The only thing is known about these lost ruins that magic works poorly near them.

Demash has to find Spirals to find his destiny in this world.

About me in a few words 🥞

She/her, identify as agender though. Pansexual, polyamorous, 22 years old.

I'm into BD/SM (sub). I have way too many kinks to list them here but if you ask me I'll answer 💅🏻

I love foreign languages (parlo l'italiano 🇮🇹, talar svenska 🇸🇪), Scandinavia in general, playing the guitar. And my another biggest passion is playing tabletop RPGs (especially D&D and Vampire the Masquerade).

I really like The Elder Scrolls (Skyrim specifically), Star Trek TOS (1960-s, yeah), Tarantino films, heavy music and many other things.

This blog is 18+ since I may go kinky and dirty.

I'm an easy-going and open-minded person, I'm here to follow my friends (all 2 of them), meet new people and exploring somthing new.

Live long and prosper 🖖🌈