There Arose Such a Clatter: Tales from the Naughty List

by C.M. Nascosta

Thrusting upwards, he groaned, finally finding the proper amount of stimulation as her stuffed-full throat sucked and quivered around his cock. He could quite happily fuck her this way for hours—off his feet, expending the bare minimum of effort, enjoying her gagging convulsions until he spilled himself into her throat, filling her with fire again and again. Perhaps he would do precisely that, he thought. Only then would he pull her back, lifting her to drop her cunt-first onto his drool-covered cock before starting the whole process over again, chasing his pleasure and teaching her the lesson to be careful what you wished for.

She was uninvolved, an innocent bystander, but it hadn’t mattered to the creature who’d entered the apartment. Large black horns and the hindquarters of a goat, it was draped in chains and carried a heavy-looking woven basket, and had produced a hand-tie of branches. It was there to punish Juliette, but Dara had been collateral damage, guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the creature hadn’t cared, only laughed that she ought to be more selective about the company she kept.

She’d felt the bite of those branches against the curve of her ass and the sting of its broad palm against her thighs, the press of its knuckles into the hot cleft of her sex before the spanking had continued. She’d watched Juliette be used over and over again, had screamed when it was her turn, eyes streaming as she was rutted from behind by the creature . . . she didn’t know when the pain had turned to pleasure, couldn’t account for the way her muscles clenched around the monster’s cock as she came again and again, why the scent of cloves and orange peel had played at her nostrils for weeks after.

Not a week went by when she didn’t dream about the bite of branches against her skin, of being spanked until she was unable to stand, and fucked until her legs were numb, citrus and spice and something a touch smokey clouding her senses.

Her breath caught in her throat when her hair was gripped by long, hooked claws, dragging her forward, and she remembered that as well, the tug at her scalp and the loss of balance as she fell forward. The creature leaned in, pressing its face to her hair. It was smelling her, Dara realized, her heart climbing up to her throat. “Christmas Eve, 2013,” he rasped, rubbing a strand of her dark hair between his fingers. “Money laundering, theft, fencing stolen goods. You were a spare, if I remember correctly . . . I see your luck has remained absent, little one.”

“I seem to remember you screaming so prettily,” his grinding voice hissed, a long, red tongue dropping from the corner of his mouth to flick against her ear. “Are you so eager to scream for me again?”

When she came, there were tears in her eyes, her cry of pleasure cut short on a squeal when his hand raised, coming down on her ass hard enough to make her teeth rattle. There was nothing like this anywhere else. “Is this what you came for, sweetling? Have you found what you’re looking for?”

He would send her out of this place with his own furs to cover herself with, to stay warm and hide her nakedness. It wouldn’t do to allow her to catch hypothermia and expire before he had a chance to enjoy the comforts he offered him, after all.

lifting her from his lap to drop her in a heap on the ground before him, a reminder that he was still in charge, would always be in charge, leaving the cushioned throne for the first time that night to mount her from behind, his tired feet forgotten. There was a birch switch beside the raised dais, and he took it up, admiring the red outline of his hand on the girl’s peaches-and-cream skin. She would redden beautifully. Yes, she could leave the club draped in his fur, a mark of ownership that would protect her delicate skin from the cold.

“In the meantime, sweetling, we have work to do. You’ve been an exceptionally bad girl this year, and you need to be punished.” “Yes,” Dara agreed with a gasp, arching when he brought the branch down against her thigh. It was everything she wanted. “Yes, I do.”

She didn’t need word getting out that she liked to be spanked, that she got off on pain and exhibition, that being a boss bitch in the board room made being a submissive in the bedroom feel so damned good.

Aubrey’s eyes narrowed, annoyed with being cut off. She dealt with pricks like this all week long, and monster or not, this one was going to learn not to interrupt her.

Traditions do not go away simply because they don’t fit into your narrow little world; they simply move over your ignorance.

There were many reasons why people joined the scene — for her, it was the release. The release from obligation and expectation, the freedom that came with absolute submission, and the pleasure the lack of needing to care about every little thing under the sun allowed her to feel.

“I wonder how much of a punishment it is when your cunt is dripping, sweetling.”

“Wait!” she cried, stomach flipping at his words. She would never, ever allow Jacob to be accosted by this nightmare creature, not this one or any other, would lay down her very life to prevent it. . . . But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be interested in this Naughty List. Aubrey thought she might like a permanent entry, preferably near the top. She fished a business card from the bag on the back of the chair, and gave the Krampus a somewhat sheepish smile. “Why don’t you call me sometime. There’s, uh, no reason to wait until next Christmas to do that again.”

“I’m going to stretch this hungry little cunt of yours,” he smiled, a flash of fangs and glimmering red eyes, “and fuck you the way you should have been fucked all along, sweetling, hard enough to knock the naughtiness right out of you.”

“What would happen if I were on your Naughty List?” I’d paddle that bottom raw and have you choke on my cock for good measure.

“What would you do to me if I was on your Naughty List?”

“I’d take you over my knee. Have you ever felt the bite of branches against your bare skin? The sting of a strap? I’d leave you red and smarting, bruised with my handprints. How do you think you’d fare the next day, rolling dough and bending over your ovens, every movement a reminder of your punishment?”

“Is-is that all?” He blew out a breath in exasperation. “No, sweetling, it’s not. We’d take a break during your spanking, and I would feed you my cock. Do you have a gag reflex? We’d cure you of that in short order, if you do. I would use your mouth like a cunt, like a toy for my pleasure. Have you ever tasted the fires of damnation, little one? Mine is a burning rod of justice, and I would choke you with its heat.”

“It wouldn’t make a difference how much you struggled or gagged, liebling, wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t breathe, because your struggles only provide more pleasure for me. I wouldn’t stop until I had filled your throat, and then we’d go right back to your spanking, because it’s what you deserve. Is that what you want, little one? For your throat to be my cock sleeve? To have my burning cum running down your chin while I spank your ass raw?”

Worshipers of these asinine new gods mistakenly believed chastity was the mark of goodness, chastity and piousness, but these ancient trees knew better. There was no crime in passion or in loving freely, for seeking pleasure with others was one of the scant ways these humans had to express joy, and worshipers of the old gods knew this.

but Dara was a good girl, even if she herself might argue that fact. It was not one’s bedroom preferences that determined such things after all, but the contents of one’s heart, their generosity and unselfishness.

“How can I resist my good girl when she begs me so sweetly?”

“Just rest now, sweetling. My good girl has had a very long Christmas, but it’s all over now.”

Perhaps there was value in being a good girl. After all, he visited those on the Naughty List . . . but he had come home to her.