Birched by the Krampus

by Siggy Shade

I glance down to find the longest, thickest, reddest cock, standing to attention. And it's shaped like an upside-down Christmas stocking.

His cock is thicker than my bicep, adorned with prominent veins along an impossibly long shaft. It's probably the length of my forearm, but it's hard to tell since it bends forward about two-thirds of the way up and ends with a bulbous head the size of my fist.

I lean forward and run the flat of my tongue up his slit, finally getting a taste of his precum. It's sweet and creamy, with hints of nutmeg, vanilla... cinnamon, and bourbon.

Tongues are nothing like cocks. While erections are hard and unmovable, tongues are infinitely more flexible. This particular one is covered in thick taste buds that drag up and down my inner walls.

The tongue stretching my pussy is now thicker than a standard wine bottle and only getting larger. It twitches inside me, making the thick tastebuds stroke up and down my walls.

"I'd like to exercise my safe word," I mutter. He throws his head back and laughs. "There are no safe words in hell."