A Good Girl Now

5 December 2018

I was late.

Not, you know, late: I’d been on the pill for two years; I wasn’t stupid. But I was late for curfew — again — because I was an adult and too old to have a curfew, no matter what my parents said. “It’s a school night, Kenzie.” “It’s not safe, Kenzie.” “Sleep is important, Kenzie.” What-fucking-ever. It’s not like I didn’t get good grades; I wasn’t into drugs or anything. I had some beers when I went out sometimes, and I’d toke a joint if people were sharing. Not like it was the end of the world.

So I was late. Ten o’clock curfew, and I hadn’t even left the party until after midnight. It was close to two a.m. by the time Jason dropped me off home. I kissed him goodnight and hinted we’d hook up that weekend. He drove off before I got back into the house. Not very gentlemanly, but I wasn’t dating him for his manners.

Mom and Dad had already turned off the porch light. I mounted the steps anyways, and eyed the doorknob with my lips pursed before grasping it and giving it a turn. Locked. I had a key for the actual door, but I didn’t have a key for the deadbolt; that was their way of keeping me under control. I crouched down and checked under the fake rock next to the little boxwood shrub. The spare key wasn’t there. Hint, hint. We’d played this game before, me and Dad. It was supposed to ‘teach me a lesson’ about respecting his rules. If I didn’t come home on time, he’d lock me out, and then I was supposed to either wait outside in the cold or make enough noise to wake them up to let me in. Cue the weekly lecture on responsibility and ‘my house, my rules’, until they were either tired of talking or I’d looked appropriately contrite enough for them to let me go to bed.

I stood up with a sigh and brushed my hair back behind my ears. Natural brunette, with the remnants of bubblegum pink Halloween dye still clinging to the ends. Next time I was going aqua blue. I shoved my hands in my coat pockets and trudged along the side of the house. The grass crunched quietly underfoot. December’d been cold, but snow this far south was a rare and wonderful thing: we got frost and ice, but actual snow? I hadn’t seen a white Christmas in my lifetime. My breath fogged as I left behind the safety of the street and made my way to the back yard.

My bedroom was on the second floor, and I left my window unlocked. Dad had probably checked that and locked it again, but it’s not like I could scale the side of the house to get up there anyways. No conveniently placed trees with perfect reach. The laundry room, though, was on the first floor, and I’d made a habit of making sure the window was accessible when I knew there was a party night. No one ever checked it. Kind of a tight fit, but I was a limber girl, and the chance to look smug at breakfast tomorrow morning was a Hell of a motivator.

Except now that was locked, too.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I muttered. I pressed my palms flat against the glass to try to slide it up, and then wriggled my fingertips under the bottom lip to try to force it up. It didn’t budge. A little rattle, half an inch of movement, and… nothing.

I stepped back from the window and glanced over the side of the house. There were other windows. If this one was locked, I didn’t have high hopes for the others. Was there any way to get to the second floor without breaking my neck? I tilted my head back to look up towards the roof. No. No, especially not at night. It was pitch black: a new moon.

I thrust my hands back into my pockets and huffed out a sigh. What a fucking miserable end to a great night out. Maybe I’d just call Jason and go home with him.

I turned around, and caught a glimpse of someone — someone huge — behind me in the darkness. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular. A razor-wire smile of white teeth like a wolf, like a Halloween mask. My entire body froze in fright. By the time I thought about screaming, the bag was already over my head, and it was too late.

The date was December 5th. Krampusnacht.


I learned a lot about Krampus over the next twelve months. I’d never even heard of him before that night. I’m American; we have Jolly Old Saint Nick, and little elves in green leotards. Candy canes, sugar plums… nice things. Sweet things. Krampus isn’t nice, or sweet. I learned that right away.

I’m not sure where we live. I heard some of the German girls call it Niflheim. There’s boys here, too. Krampus, they say, beats naughty children with reeds or sticks, shoves them in a bag, and carries them away. It’s true. The little kids get scared straight and sent home… but the big kids? The rebellious ‘I’m eighteen; I’m an adult now’? We’re kept for a year, and used.

Used how…? Well. What would you do with three dozen naughty girls?

I was on my knees right now, looking up at him. Powerful, shaggy-haired hircine legs — goat legs — that tapered down to large, heavy cloven hooves. From the waist up, he took on a more human appearance. A thick and well-muscled stomach supported a surprisingly broad chest. That was hairy, too, speckled with long, coarse fibers of musky brown pelt, under which dark skin showed through. His face was mostly human, though angular and sharp. What twisted it into ‘alien other’ were his yellow eyes, slit from side to side with horizontal black pupils. And the horns. Huge, ribbed, curving horns. Ever seen a picture of Satan? With the goat legs and all? Yeah. Like that.

There was one more part of him front and center of my attention. It was also huge, ribbed, and curved. And red: bright, vibrant red, jutting out of the mass of dark fur between his thighs. It used to disgust me, but now I ran my hands over his furred thighs as I stared up at him. He bared his fangs in what passed for a smile when my fingertips curled under his balls. Each one individually was big enough to fit comfortably in my palm. I’d learned to like those, too.

I leaned forward and lifted myself to slide my tongue over the slick shaft and the rigid ring of tissue that helped hold its massive length erect. He laid a clawed and gnarled hand atop my head. I tried to hold his yellow gaze while I bathed him and let the heat of my breath warm his flesh. I ran the tip of my tongue along the ridge under his glans, then repeated the trip on the other side. He was huge. A cock almost as long as my forearm; it fit well on a seven-foot frame.

When I reached the head the second time, I took him into my mouth and sucked the tip. The tip was almost all that would fit: it, and a few swollen inches. I couldn’t deep throat him, and God knows I’d tried. Instead I massaged those heavy, virile balls with one hand and pumped the lower half of his cock with the other, while start to work my lips up and down what I could reach. After almost a year of servicing him, I’d learned how he liked it best.

Krampus’s sneer widened, and one hoof stomped against the ground. The satyrine legs quivered as I sucked, stroked, and hummed my submission around that sensitive head. His musk filled my nose and mouth: a heavy, woody odor that was unmistakably animal. I smelled like that, too, most of the time. We all did, after months as his mates.

His hips jerked, then again, then a third time in quick succession. He pawed at the ground again, like a fevered bull, and then tangled his gnarled fingers in my hair and pulled me off him. His swollen tip left my lips with an audible pop of suction.

“Auf Hände und Knie.”

I didn’t speak German, but some other girls had taught me the basics: the things I’d need to know. I licked the salt of his taste off my lips. I hadn’t been wet when he’d first picked me from the stable, but now I felt a surge of arousal and anticipation. Heat coiled tight between my thighs and licked along my nerves like slow burning flames.

I nodded, my eyes wide and still fixed on his bearded, inhuman face. I was already on my knees. I couldn’t help but glance one more time at his rigid member before I twisted around to press my palms to the floor. I wasn’t as limber as I used to be, this late in my pregnancy.

I heard the bone-clatter of hoof against wood and then the thunk of his knees on the floor. The scratch of shaggy, unkempt pelt greeted my bare rump and the backs of my thighs. My heartbeat quickened; I knew, intimately and viscerally, what was about to happen. My mind was already filling in memories of sensations, of his hands pulling my hips, of that giant, goat-horse cock splitting me open until I wanted to scream in agony or ecstasy or both.

Tonight it would be ecstasy. One thing I’d grown to enjoy about my growing belly: the larger I got, the gentler he bred me. Not even a winter devil wanted to risk his own child. I heard the pant of his breath behind me; his thick, wrinkled fingers, tipped with blackened claws, slithered down my back. Goosebumps sprung up over my shoulders and down my spine.

“Halt still,” he rasped. Stay still.

I dropped my head towards the floor and let my hair fall over my face like a curtain. That was my little kink: knowing, but blind. My mind’s eye painted my imagination in pornographic detail with every sound and smell and scratch of sensation. Both of his hands curled around my waist to hold me still. He shuffled, kneeling, behind me, snorting like a buck in rut. I could feel the wetness slicking my folds as I parted my knees. The heavy, hot shaft of his member jostled against me; I gasped and sucked in a quivering breath to replace it. The air tasted like woolly musk.

The head rubbed against the junction of my inner thigh. A shift of weight, and the second attempt aimed almost true. The heavy head parted my lips enough to be kissed with the juices inside. He snorted; his grip tightened; and I closed my eyes and exhaled, hard.

The first time, the very first time, I’d screamed like I was being murdered.  Now, the flash of pain was followed by incredible fullness. The head forced me open and the first several inches speared inside. The first ridge, just under his tip, was always the hardest to get in; about six inches down was the second. I felt that one jut up against my entrance and bring him to a temporary halt. My mouth dropped open with a deep, heartfelt moan of approval.


No, not Jesus. Jesus wouldn’t hold a candle against the furred, feral monster who fucked me as his personal whore. Krampus snarled with frustration and pleasure. He pushed forward; I braced my palms under his weight. The aching pressure finally yielded with another brief stab across my nerves, and the second knot of tissue sank into my pussy. Eight inches or more, and he hadn’t even hilted. I squeezed my inner walls around his massive cock; I was drenched and dripping, and whispered the only German word I knew.

“Bitte.” Please.

His wiry pelt scratched against my ass as he started easing himself in and out of me. I knew the leisurely pace wouldn’t last for long. He was more animal than man, and animals fuck fast and furious. He was testing out the limits of my body, making sure I could take it. I was seven months’ pregnant; he wasn’t taking any chances. As one of his breeders, I was given extraordinary care.

“Bitte. Bitte! Please!”


The torturous teasing continued, slowly picking up pace. The twin rigid rings around his length added texture to length and girth. I lifted a hand and slipped it between my thighs. My pleasure wasn’t what he was concerned with, but as long as I behaved I was allowed to get off. I’d learned that, too, in my time here: that being a good girl made things so much better. I played with my clit, rubbing my fingertip back and forth over the small ball of nerves, brow knit and mouth open in silent, breathless pants.

Faster. Faster. He rocked into me, quicker and deeper each time, still holding me firm with black-clawed hands. He growled — I couldn’t tell if it was a word or not. I knew the tone. I knew what his face would look like, from the countless times I’d been on my back with Krampus between my legs. I could envision the sharp, gaunt features split by bared fangs; I could imagine those yellow eyes wide and wild. I knew how strangely sexy it was to see the red rod of his cock glisten as it slid in and out of me and how it stood out in vibrant contrast from the long, dark hair that covered his crotch and goat legs.

The circles I rubbed grew tighter and smaller; my moans grew in inverse volume. Each time I pressed my fingertip over my clit, the friction gave way and slipped, and a jolt of sensation raced through me. Lather, rinse, repeat, faster and faster each time, flicking up and down with desperate need.

I was almost there, almost, when I had to slam my hand back to the ground. Krampus was riding me with sharp, staccato thrusts worthy of any wild animal: one arm wasn’t enough to hold me up against his tempo and force. Now that my hand was out of the way, the swing of his balls slapped against my sex with each pump of his hips. Heavy and hairy, they hit with an audible thud.

It gave me the last little push. I stuttered and begged him, pleaded, as I came. Heat flooded through my body and contractions rippled through my muscles. My pussy squeezed around his cock. Every time those thick ridges rubbed across my walls, I felt a fresh surge of wetness in response.

He kept fucking me. Animal instinct was winning out over paternal concern, and the closer he came to his own climax, the deeper he lodged that massive cock. A pulse of pain went through me each time the blunt head hit my cervix. I knew a woman’s body was meant to take this; I knew sex wouldn’t hurt the baby. But was a woman’s body really meant to be bred by a creature like this?

He hilted into me and snarled. Drops of slavered saliva splattered on my back as cum surged inside of me. It used to revolt me just how much there was. Jet after jet of sticky warmth filled me; I could feel each pulse of his cock as it emptied. When he was buried that deep, I could swear I felt the pressure build from each voluminous spurt that had nowhere else to go.

It took him nearly a minute before the last, oozing drops were spent. My arms had given out and I’d sagged to the floor, supported more by my breasts than my muscles. My ass was still high in the air; he held it there until he was done. With a satisfied grunt and release of breath, he pulled out. I whimpered with every inch. I tried to keep my rear up and my front down and angle my body to keep his seed inside me. It spilled out anyways: a stream of milky-white semen that quickly died down to a trickle and then drops, splattering the wood planks beneath me. I knew that easily twice that amount was still inside me, and that made me happy in the strangest of ways. After being filled to the point of breaking, I always felt so empty after he withdrew.

“Braves Mädchen. Jetzt bist du ein richtig braves Mädchen. Bald wirst du soweit sein.”

A calloused hand patted my raised ass, and the heavy clop of hooves echoed as he left. I stayed there for nearly ten minutes, repeating the words in my head, until finally I was uncomfortable enough that I had to move. More of his cum dribbled down my legs as I stood.

Later, I asked the girls what it meant. They translated it for me: that I was a good girl, and I’d be ready soon. It was a bittersweet reminder of why I’d been brought here — why we’d all been brought here. We’d all been terrors to our families. ‘Naughty’ was such an innocent-sounding word, but that’s what we’d been. Naughty children, and Krampus had stolen us away. He’d trained us, punished us, rewarded us, and made us realize the importance of being good. We all tried to be good girls. Even the ones who had kicked and screamed and swore on God Himself that they’d rather die… we all wanted to be good girls, genuinely so. We wanted to behave and obey, and do whatever was best for our family.

Most of us were pregnant now. A few, the girls who’d been bred first, had already had their babies: all little boys, with tiny nubs on their foreheads and adorable little goat legs. Mine was due in October.

We only got to keep the children a few months. When December 5th came back around, the good girls would be sent home again, alone, and wake up none the wiser. Time worked differently here. I didn’t understand how, but I believed what they said. We wouldn’t be a year older, and no one would notice we’d been gone. We were all taken on Krampusnacht, and all returned before dawn, with the year in between slipped between the cracks like some atemporal ghost. I wouldn’t remember anything: not Krampus, not my friends, and not my child.

Part of me was looking forward to it. I missed my parents. I never thought I’d say that, but I did. But I’d miss this, too. I’d miss my baby and my ‘sisters’, and — I admit — I’d miss getting fucked until I was begging for more and wishing he’d cum in every hole I had, until I was covered and dripping and content.

It almost made me want to be naughty, just so I could stay… but I was a good girl now.

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