Commission for IftheArtistConstents (Minds), thanks again!
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, A creature was stirring, but twas not a mouse, Not Santa, not reindeer, nor elves made a hush, Pouring over her plans, it was the satyr; Krampus. She prepared the spells from within her book, She had vials of potions, ready to cook, “I will destroy Christmas,” She muttered “And there will be no more carols uttered.” “I will be rid of that Jolly Saint Nick,” “That piece of shit. That fat fucking dick.” Krampus was not the only thing stewing As some other kind of trouble was brewing The dreaded Fuckman was lurking, And Fuckman was wholly smirking, He was sent by Missus Claus, There was no time for him to pause. Wearing naught but a panty mask, He set about onto his task, To defeat the satyr and her schemes, And her anti Santa memes. Krampus poured over her work, Her cauldron bubbling, oozing murk, Upon her door there came a tapping, A form of Christmas kind of rapping. Her cloven feet stomped towards the door, As she strut across the floor, A curious look up upon her mug, “Who could it be, some kind of thug?” “All the way to the South Pole.” “Perhaps it is one of Saint Nick’s moles?” Krampus stopped as she neared the door. She glanced behind her, the stench of magical herbs and incense hung in the air. She only held a candle in her hand. With the flick of her wrist, her gnarled, blackened wand flew to her hand. She pushed herself against the door, “Who goes there?” Answer if you dare!” She started to grumble, waiting for someone to call back to her. She shook herself, stepping away, “I must be going mad,” She cackled, “I should lower my usage of liquor, just a tad.” Krampus turned and looked around her little hovel. She had not much more than a bed with a thick mattress, a pile of furs and blankets, and a few pillows in the bedroom in her meager bedroom. The main room served as a makeshift kitchen stocked with mostly knives and the biggest area was where she prepared her magical components and spells. Salts, herbs, dried magical fruits and a hatred of Christmas were what he used to prepare her spells. She looked at herself in a cracked mirror that hung on the wooden wall. She glared at herself with bright yellow eyes that were filled with a hatred of Christmas. Her hair was a dark forest green, short and ragged just like the hair on her cloven legs. They stomped across the floor with an anger towards holiday joy. The horns on her head that she so desperately desired to use to gore anything bright red and bright green were gnarled and black. The black robes she wore hung loosely on her shapely form, large breasts, thick thighs and wide hips that all hated that jolly Saint Nick in one way or another. Did I mention that Krampus really despised the holiday season? Every year around Christmas she hid in her little hole beneath the ice of the South Pole, as far away as she could get from that jolly fat oaf and everything happy. But this year, oh, this year was different. Krampus had a scheme, a scheme to suck all the joy from the world. She grinned maniacally as she returned to her work. She jumped as her door was kicked in. She grabbed her wand and turned to face the intruder. A man clad in no clothes, nothing more than a panty shaped mask on his face and an in season hat on his head. He wore nothing but oil on his skin, “Vile witch,” The man growled, “I’m here to stop you from destroying Christmas!” “Foolish Fuckman,” Krampus hissed back, “You’d be better off if you turned tail and ran!” He slammed the door shut behind him, keeping out the cold air. He dropped low and started to approach her. She slung a spell or two, neither doing much as he slowly and confidently walked to her. Both bounced off the oil on his skin, “Prepare to face the Cock of Justice.” Thinking quickly, Krampus grabbed one of the potions she was brewing, a special curse that had been festering for years. As Fuckman reached to grab her, she splashed the brew in her face. He panted as he tried to recover from the witch’s magic. She started to cackle as he tried to rise, “What did you--” He stumbled and fell, “W-what!?” He faltered again, his strength leaving him. “You must take your time!” She laughed, “To do anything, you must rhyme!” “You’re lying!” He tried to lunge at her. Krampus easily side stepped his attack and gave him a playful smack on his ass, “Alas, poor boy,” She mused, “Why not give up and become my toy?” “No. I never will! I-I’ll...” He paused as he tried to rhyme, “Kill?” He tried. He felt some power return, “I, um, will defeat you. And it will... be easy too!” He readied himself for another attack, “Hey, this is kinda easy,” He mumbled to himself, causing him to stumble again. “End these childish games. Join me and assist with my aims.” “I have to stop you!” Fuckman growled, “And I know just what to do!” Fuckman moved his arms straight up, “Forgive me, Missus Clause. But I must, to release myself from the witch’s claws.” “No! It cannot be!” Krampus cried as he began to glow, “Do not do this, hear my plea!” She begged. Fuckman was stoicly silent as his body began to glow. Bright beams of red and green rained from the heavens, “Vile evil doer!” He shouted in a commanding tone, “I will bring an end to your grandeur!” He cried, “Christmas Ghosts! Give me your power and joy so that I may end her boasts!” All at once, the lights shot into the muscular, oiled body of Fuckman. He screamed as the power of the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future fuckings and horny all flew into his body. He screamed aloud, the power coursing through him. “This is Chrismas’s power,” Krampus gasped. She suddenly scowled, her resolver was steeled, “It will have no effect on me! I am too sour!” She raised her wand, preparing a shield to block whatever magic was thrown at her. Fuckman cried loudly as the power left his body. A bright Christmas colored beam filled with all the joy and magic of the season crashed into the shield that Krampus had erected. She cried out as the strength of the attack caused strain on her body. She felt time slow down as her black shield shattered, she gasped as the beam struck her. The power entering her pushed the air from her lungs and made her fall to her knees, “How?” She gasped, “I--” She paused realising she had to abide by her own curse, she had to rhyme to maintain what little power she had, “W-wow...” She shuddered as she felt something in here. A warm-- No, hot, boiling sensation. Her nipples felt uncomfortably hard. She started to rub them, causing a moan to escape her lips. One hand went to her groin, rubbing her wet cunt as she kept feeling hornier and hornier, “What is happening to me? The ghosts of fucking and horny, it has to be!” “Surrender yourself to me, witch,” Fuckman growled, his cock red and throbbing, completely hard, “Or don’t. I care not, evil bitch.” “Never,” She moaned, “T-though you seem quite clever. B-but...” She trailed off, hardly able to speak as she rubbed herself. With the failure of her rhyming on account of how horny she was, the last of her magical strength was sapped from her body. Fuckman lifted her in his arms, taking her to her bedroom. As soon as she was lain on her back, the Christmas hating witch removed her clothing. Her large breasts and pussy were made visible to Fuckman, who grunted as his cock throbbed, “Hateful witch, I will make you mine,” He grunted as he climbed onto the bed, “With this cock of mine, I will make you feel divine.” He began to touch and feel her lewd parts, one hand fondling a nipple and the other rubbing her clit. She cried loudly and shuddered, “Come, boy,” She grunted at the young man as she panted “Show me a bit of that Christmas joy,” Fuckman nodded silently and grabbed hold on her fluffy goat legs. He touched the surprisingly soft hair and ran his finger through it. She grabbed his cock and pushed herself towards him, “So big and thick,” She purred, making Fuckman’s face glow red, “Shove it in, boy, that should do the trick,” She stroked him as she was brought to the edge of the bed. She lined his member up with her gash, incredibly excited to be pierced by it. It slid easily into her tight cunt. Fuckman grunted and Krampus moaned loudly. He slid his cock back out, his hips brushing against her soft thighs. He slid back in with a somewhat wet, sloppy noise. The man’s hands wandered the satyr’s body, one moving to her hip and gripping it tightly as he thrust into her. His other hand grabbed her boob, fondling the soft warm sack of meat, causing her even more pleasure. His thrusting continued, shoving himself into the witch. He groaned and moaned, the tight, hot and wet tunnel driving him mad as a furious lust took over. He leaned over her, plowing Krampus as she cried out, “Fuckman! Fuckman!” She called his name. He wondered for a second if that counted as a rhyme. He realised he didn’t care if it did or not, all that mattered was violently thrusting with the power of Christmas joy into the witch, “I-I’m cumming!” He announced as the pressure snuck up on him, preparing to burst into the woman, releasing his seed. “Cum in me!” She shouted as her fluffy legs wrapped around him. He couldn’t pull out, her legs were surprisingly strong. He gave in, knowing what he had to do. As the Fuckman violently splurt into Krampus, his balls draining as the Christmas spirit and cum shot into the satyr’s womb. As the precious baby making fluid filled her, she felt a warmth in her heart. They say as the Fuckman had his way with her, or as some say; her way with him, her heart grew three times that day. She hugged the man, running her hands over his muscles before he got off of her and stepped back, nodding in satisfaction as he gazed upon the cum that leaked from her. She smiled and crawled under the blankets, “Come lay with me boy,” She smiled with love in her eyes, “Continue to bring me so much joy.” Krampus hummed a Christmas song as she stirred the food she was making for her holiday feast. She sipped on the glass of wine that sat near her with a smile on her face. She loved the Christmas season, she found it almost silly how much she used to hate it. She carefully took the roast out of the oven, being extra cautious due to her baby bump. The house was toasty warm, contrasting the snow that littered the ground outside. Five stockings hung over the fireplace, with a tiny sixth one next to them for the yet to be born baby. She was a little disappointed it wouldn’t be a holiday baby this year. She sighed as she stared out at the sky, wondering what old Saint Nick was up to on Christmas day. She shook her head. It didn’t matter, she had already moved past that. She smiled and softly scolded her three little children for demanding their feast, “It will be done soon, return to your toys,” She grinned ear to ear, “You will have to wait another year for more Christmas joy,” All three children groaned at her rhyming, just like they did every time.