tagNonConsent/ReluctanceThe Devil and Mrs. Claus

The Devil and Mrs. Claus


From far outside her window, I could see Mrs. Claus dressing. But she couldn't see me. She didn't look like a Norman Rockwell painting, that was for sure. Elves aged slowly, so even though she was technically hundreds of years old, she looked like a college sophomore. She had auburn hair to her mid-back, long shapely legs, and pert b-cup titties bound in a red-and-green lingerie set.

Lucky fat fucking Kris Kringle.

Christmas. I've always hated Christmas, ever since little you-know-who popped from his mommy's immaculate vagina. But it's been a million times worse since the bastard Saint Nick came along. As if it wasn't hard enough dealing with all of the sober religious reflection and vomit-inducing piety, now my demon-minions had to overcome spontaneous gift exchanges. It was enough to make a lesser angel give in, and by "lesser angel" I mean any of the lackeys who chose to keep groveling at the Old Man's boots.

But I wasn't one of those angels. I was superior. I wouldn't give in. And I'd shown up at Santa's Workshop on the one night of the year I knew Santa wouldn't be around -- Christmas Eve -- so that I could pay back a little of the joy he'd provided me all these years. After all, 'tis the season for giving.

I'd watched the sleigh carry Santa's enormous ass off to cheers, and now the elves gathered in the Workshop's Great Hall to celebrate. Mrs. Claus donned her party dress, a saucy red-velvet number trimmed with white fur, and matching hat. The dress cut off at mid-thigh to black silk stockings and buckled ankle boots. She left her bedroom for the party in the Great Hall, and with my supernaturally acute hearing I could make out the reactions clearly.

"W-wow," some moronic anonymous elf stuttered. "You look b-b-beautiful!"

"Yeah, Mrs. C," another said. "I mean, you're always beautiful... but wow!"

Mrs. Claus laughed. "Now, now, boys. Just because Daddy Claus is away for the night, don't go thinking that you can sweep me off my feet. I am a respectable woman."

Daddy Claus? Disgusting.

"Oh, we r-respect you, honest we do!" the one elf said.

"Yeah, Mrs. C, respect. Absolutely. Can I get you some punch?"

"Eggnog, please," she said. "Extra-nutmeg?"

"E-e-eggnog. Extra-nutmeg. Right away!"

I closed my mind to the rest of that pap before I could hear their noses scrape the ground in prostate servility. Instead I surveyed my surroundings, looking for some tool I could exploit to achieve my ultimate revenge. Mrs. Claus would be mine this night. Oh yes she would.

The North Pole was nearly as cold at that moment as Hell was hot, so there was virtually no activity outside of the main Workshop compound. Adjacent to the Workshop were the elves' barracks -- currently empty on account of the party -- and the reindeer stable, also vacant. I walked into the cavernous stable, amazed at the general lack of security, and kicked the snow off of my goat hooves. The stable itself was a marvel of engineering, almost completely insulated from the extreme conditions outside. Every individual pen was labeled for its normal occupant and appointed with luxurious animal toys and its own feeding trough. The troughs were supplied by a mechanical chute leading back towards the workshop, triggered by a button.

Pretty swanky, that. Whenever Dasher wanted to nibble on something, all he would have to do is nose the button, and presto. Instant gratification. Then it occurred to me that I was hungry -- actually, I'm almost always hungry -- and that's when my plan came together.

I changed form into a reindeer. Not just any reindeer, but one with a very shiny nose. Then I wandered into the stall marked "Rudolph" and hit his food button. A meager little stream of brown kibble trickled down into the trough in front of me. I hit the button again. And then again. I figured that the system reported back to the main control room, and that sooner or later someone would come check things out. I'd barely pressed the button for the twentieth time when I heard the Workshop door crack open.

"F-f-fine, I'll go check it out," Derpty-Der-Elf said. "Just save me some c-c-c-cake."

A few moments later he appeared in the stable bundled in coats, mittens, scarves and hats so that only his face was visible. Derpty-Der was just a normal, run-of-the-mill elf -- not elven royalty like the Clauses -- so he stood a little more than halfway to my haunches in my current manifestation. Covered in snow he looked like a gigantic marshmallow with eyes.

"R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-udolph!" he cried. "How come you're b-back so soon? What's g-going on out there? I'll go get help!" Derpty turned to leave.

I whinnied and nosed the food button with my large red schnozz.

Derpty turned back. "You okay? You h-hungry?"

I snorted and bobbed my head up and down, scraping my antlers against the wood railing of my stall. I had no idea whether Santa's reindeer could communicate so directly, but Derpty seemed to buy it.

"Aww, okay. I'll help you out first then, but q-q-quick. I gotta get to the control room. Santa has to be missing you out there. How else can he guide his s-sleigh tonight!?"

I stepped away from my food trough to let Derpty in. He stared down at my full trough and scratched his head.

"I don't get it, Rudy. Looks like everything's al-al-al-al-okay. But maybe you're hungry for something else? We got some fresh veggies in the Workshop for the party. You want some carrots?"

I blew snot out of my muzzle onto the top of his woolen knit-cap and swung my head.

"N-no? Okay. How 'bout celery?"

Again I blasted him with my bright, bulbous nose.


I swung my head so ferociously that my antlers nearly stove his head in. He jumped backwards and slipped, winding up butt-first in the food trough. Derpty tried pulling himself out, but with all of his protective padding he was wedged tight.

"Wh-wh-what do you want then, Rudy?" He squealed, trying to escape the trough.

I clopped towards him then stopped, my massive jaws positioned directly above his marshmallow face. My glowing nose -- like a light bulb -- painted him red.

"Meat," I said.

Derpty's eyes went wide, a gigantic stupid grin spreading over his features. "Rudy! You can t-t-t-t-t--"

I took a big bite from my trough and, for the time being at least, my hunger was satisfied. That food button had worked like a charm.


"Everything okay out there?" the elf said. It was the other one I'd heard earlier. He'd greeted me at the door.

"Everything's f-f-f-ine," I said, doing my best to mimic Derpty's stutter and general dull-wittedness. "I don't know what p-pushed the button, maybe a p-polar b-bear wandered in and out? But it was stuck. Fixed now. Y-you guys saved me cake like I asked, right?"

"You'll get yours after Mrs. C has her fill. Now come on." He waved me into the Great Hall of the Workshop. It was a gigantic complex, usually humming with toymaking industry, but tonight filled with decorated pine trees and strings of multi-colored lights and tables covered with an awesome assortment of food. Cheery music poured from speakers built into the walls, and everywhere elves danced with one another, or played games. "You need to whip up some more eggnog," the elf said. "Mrs. C's been asking for it, and you're eggnog tonight."

I was His Infernal Majesty, the Great Satan; how dare a creature such as this order me around? And of all things to make eggnog. I wanted to reveal my true demonic self at that instant and strike him down in a bloody heap. Santa would be sad enough with two elven casualties, and I could count that as revenge, couldn't I? But no. The elves would be replaced soon enough, and the magic of the others could banish me back to Hell easily. It had taken a long time to marshal the energies necessary to make the journey from the netherworld, and then to inure my body against the cold of the North Pole long enough to find the magically hidden Workshop. All of my remaining power was required to maintain the glamour keeping my true self camouflaged.

No. I had already taken every allowable risk in killing Derpty. And while that had been a sweet satisfaction, I wanted to make sure that my next blow was more hideous and unforgettable than slaughtering ten score of elves: cuckolding Father Christmas. To accomplish that, I would have to rely on my wits, not my dread powers. The other thing that I knew I could count on was the nature of my adversaries. All supernatural beings have to obey the rules specific to our kind. If I sign a contract, for instance, I am absolutely powerless to break its terms. Leprechauns must grant wishes when caught. Selkies belong to those who own their skin. And elves, too, have their quirks and foibles. For instance, they can't refuse food or drink to a stranger in their home.

"Say," I said. "Do you know where I c-can get some b-bourbon?"

"For the eggnog? You know that Mrs. C can't drink. Goes right to her head."

"N-no. For me."

"Oh, well, there's Santa's private stash. He wouldn't like anyone else taking it. You know we're not supposed to." The elf -- I decided to call him Bossy -- frowned, as if confused. "I don't know why I'm saying this, but I guess it's okay. I mean, it's Christmas for us too, isn't it? And you've been a good boy this year, right?"

I smiled. "Very good."

Bossy led me through the Workshop to Santa's study. Along the way we passed Mrs. Claus playing a game of charades with a group of slack-jawed elves. She was giving clues, but the elves were too dumb to guess the answer -- clearly "Ace of Cakes." Or maybe they were too distracted; from my current vantage point, Mrs. Claus' dress was like a window onto a whole new world. Every time she moved, some corner or other of her short red skirt would flare up, allowing a peek of her creamy upper-thigh and the green garter straps holding up her black stockings. Occasionally it would jump high enough to reveal the plump swell of her ass and the thin red fabric hiding her pussy.

"Jesus on a pogo stick," I said to Bossy. "Does she know what the view's like from down here?"

"Watch your language," he replied. "And no, she doesn't. Don't tell her either. Mrs. C's party dresses are the best thing about working in this place."

We slipped into the study. The door wasn't even locked, everyone being so foolishly trusting, and Bossy selected a square glass decanter full of rich-looking amber liquid from among a fully stocked bar. To my current size it was enormous.

"Bourbon," Bossy said as he handed it to me. "Now get the nog made stat and a glass to Mrs. C."

I grinned and left the study to find the kitchen. Elves were thronged in every nook and cranny, making pies and cakes and cookies to bring back out to the multitude. I quickly found my ingredients and concocted a big batch of eggnog, then ladled out a glass for Mrs. Claus. To that glass, and no other for fear of discovery, I added a generous dollop of bourbon along with her extra nutmeg.

Returning to the Main Hall, I found Mrs. Claus, who was now sitting in a circle among those guessing at charades.

"Special delivery for the l-lovely Mrs. Claus." I offered her the glass. "There's a s-special ingredient," I said. "You have to guess."

She sipped the drink. "Woah, that's good and strong. Tastes like bourbon, my favorite. But I'm not drinking tonight, sorry. Can you get me a fresh glass?"

I smiled. "Don't w-w-worry, Mrs. Claus. It's not alcoholic. This is a special recipe. Tastes just like the real thing, don't it?"

She looked at the drink then back to me with wide eyes. "Amazing!" She took another swig. "I'd have sworn that was real bourbon. What an accomplishment. Whoever's responsible for this, give them my personal regards."

"Oh, you'll thank him later." I watched as she drained her glass to the bottom, then licked the rim of the glass. Everyone here simply took everyone else at his word. It was almost too easy.

I received the empty glass from Mrs. Claus and sped back to the kitchen for a refill, which she killed nearly as quickly. Then Mrs. Claus stood to take another turn at giving clues, but she was uneasy on the thin heels of her boots and nearly crashed back down. Her skirt flipped over my head temporarily, giving me an excellent view of her panties and the outline of her sex underneath.

She laughed, smoothing her skirt down. "Yikes! If I didn't know better, I'd think that this eggnog really was alcoholic. That would be a disaster. I get so silly when I'm drunk."

"It's fine," I said. "Sometimes our brain plays t-tricks on us. We think we're drinking alcohol, so we act a little drunk. It's the authentic taste that has you confused. But after another few glasses, I'm sure your b-b-body will adjust."

"That's probably right," she said. She held out her empty glass. A slight flush had already crept into her pale cheeks.

"Another drink c-coming up!"


Mrs. Claus was seven glasses of eggnog and three sheets to the wind. She was dancing on the tables now, playing air guitar to "Jingle Bell Rock." Quite a show.

Bossy came up to me, frantic. "This is terrible, absolutely terrible! Santa will flip when he hears about this. Obviously Mrs. C's gotten ahold of something. Please say it wasn't the bourbon that I--?"

"Of course not," I said. "The bourbon is safe with me. Mrs. Claus must have had something saved for a special occasion."

"Okay, well that's a relief at least. But what are we going to do? Remember the last time Mrs. C got like this? The stains didn't come out of the carpet for months, and we had to call in a reindeer whisperer for Blitzen before he would fly again!"

"I'll tell you what," I said. "I'll handle Mrs. Claus."

"You'll what?"

I put my hand on Bossy's shoulder. "That's right, ch-chief. No need to fear. You get the other elves to the barracks, ask them to forget what they've seen, and I'll make sure that Mrs. Claus gets s-safely to bed." And how.

"You'd do that for me?" Bossy looked genuinely touched. It took everything I could muster not to laugh in his face.

I pointed to Mrs. Claus who had started a strip tease atop the dessert table. She took off her puff-balled Santa hat and flung it into the stunned face of a nearby elf. "Better hurry," I said.

Bossy nodded and got to work.

Ten minutes later only a few elves remained, most of them sprawled on the floor in a food coma. Bossy had herded the others home and these ones were too far out of it to stand in my way.

I took Mrs. Claus by the hand and led her towards the bedroom.

"Hey!" she said. "Why's it so quiet all of a sudden? I was just starting to have a good time!"

"The party's over for the evening, Mrs. Claus. It's time we put you to bed."

"Sure is hot in here. Not like outside. Is it okay if I take this dress off?"

"More than," I replied. "We're almost there."

We stepped into the master bedroom, a gargantuan bed as center piece with a red-and-green quilted blanket. Printed on the blanket in white lettering was "Santa's Loving Home." I planned to stain it with my cum.

Mrs. Claus was struggling to take off her dress. I approached to help.

"Okay, little one," she said. "I think I can manage from here. You should go to the barracks with the others."

I feigned a yawn. "Yeah, it's late. I guess I should. Oh, wait, Mrs. Claus! Would you look at that?" I pointed above her head to the doorway. Right there, just as I'd planted it, was a small sprig of mistletoe.

"Mistletoe kiss? Now? But I'm so tired. Can I owe it to you? Maybe tomorrow?"

I frowned. "Rules are rules, Mrs. Claus. You know that as well as I. An elven man and woman standing underneath mistletoe must kiss one another. It's best we get it done now. And besides, I know how jealous Old Saint Nick can be. We wouldn't want to upset him unnecessarily, would we?"

"I guess you're right," she said. "He gets jealous for no reason sometimes. He says, 'Why do you wear those short skirts around the elves? Don't you know they're looking at your...' and I say, 'Well at least someone thinks I'm worth looking at.' Say... aren't you the elf who goes around stuttering all the time? Sounds like you're getting a lot better."

"Oh, yes." I smiled. "Now about that kiss..."

She bent forward and offered a cheek.

"It has to be on the lips. Rules."

Mrs. Claus sighed. She puckered her red lips and closed her green-shadowed eyes.

I walked under her breasts, feeling them brush my hair, and slipped underneath her skirt. I was staring directly at her thighs and panties, and if I stood tiptoe the top of my head would reach her navel.

"What are you doing under there!?"

"Lips, Mrs. Claus. The rules say 'lips,' but they don't specify beyond that. Nor do they indicate a requisite duration for the kiss. Therefore, these particulars are left to the claimant's discretion. I will let you know when my kiss is complete. Furthermore, in order to access the lips I have in mind, it will be necessary to move your panties aside. Should you attempt to impede my kiss, or interrupt me in any other material fashion, that will be considered an unacceptable breech of protocol on your part. As is standard with such breeches, recompense will involve utter forfeit; your indenture to me and my bidding for no less than seven years. Are these terms understood?"

"Huh? You sure it works like all that?" Mrs. Claus said.

"Absolutely sure," I said.


Having spent an eternity wrangling over contracts, I could hear the confused resignation in her voice. When it came to law, as with medicine, or fiscal management, politics or religion, the naïve were always ready to hand themselves over to a confident voice. I was ready to begin.

"Just stand still and let me do my thing," I said. "After all, it is only a little kiss."

I reached up and pulled her red panties to the side, exposing her pussy. It was petite, the inner lips slightly longer than the outer, naturally exposed just a touch. Her folds were darker than the surrounding flesh which was covered in a soft down of fine auburn hair.

"I... I don't think this is quite what the rules have in mind," Mrs. Claus said, sounding nervous now.

"That's the glorious thing about rules," I said. "They have no mind except for that which we supply."

I angled my chin up, hovering less than a centimeter away from her sex. She smelled like allspice. I breathed out from my mouth, letting the warm air run over and through her pubes.

"I don't think Daddy Claus would approve."

"No, he wouldn't. How does that make you feel?" I asked. "Does it make you feel naughty? Or nice?"

At this distance we weren't yet making contact, but I knew she could still feel my presence. Feel me almost touching her, the vibration of every word I spoke.

"Naughty, I guess. Oh, hurry up, please! This isn't right!"

"Hurry up?" I asked. "Then you want me to kiss your pussy? Even though you're a married woman, you want my lips and tongue on you? Are you imagining what it will feel like right now?"

"Yes," she said, "I mean no. I mean, you said that these are the rules."

There was slight movement in her loins now. Something less than a quiver, but her body was responding to the strange situation. Her outer labia opened a touch, giving easier access to all that lay within. I could see the pink of her vagina now. It was moistening.

"Yes. These are the rules. Think about that. I'm going to tongue fuck -- I mean kiss -- you and there's absolutely nothing that you can do about it. You're helpless. How does that make you feel?"

"I hate it," she said. "It's stupid and archaic, and this is not fair because I don't feel well. I think I must have eaten or drunk something I shouldn't have. This is humiliating."

Her pussy was active now. Her walls had parted of their own accord, and the treasure of her clitoris was fully exposed. She was wet and rank with desire.

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