DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666.

STORY CODES: LGBT themes, Cohesion, Corruption, Lolita, NC, Rape, Bondage, Sadism, WS, Drug use, MC, Black Magic, Devil Worship, Demons, and Evil themes.

CREATED: 31.05.2015 / REVISITED: 30.07.2023



The word Krampus originates from the Old High German word for claw (Krampen). In German-speaking Alpine folklore, Krampus is a horned, anthropomorphic figure. According to traditional narratives, Krampus punishes children during the Christmas season that had misbehaved, in contrast with Saint Nicholas, who rewards well-behaved children with gifts. There seems to be little doubt as to his true identity for, in no other form is the full regalia of the Horned God of the Witches so well preserved. The birch—apart from its phallic significance—may have a connection with the initiation rites of certain witch-covens; rites which entailed binding and scourging as a form of mock-death. The chains could have been introduced in a Christian attempt to ‘bind the Devil’ but again they could be a remnant of pagan initiation rites.


This is a classic tale of good versus evil.

All children know that if they have been good throughout the year, their reward will be brought to them by Saint Nicholas – a jolly fellow, who exudes peace, happiness, joy, and good tidings. Back then, unlike today, these same children were told that if they had not been good that there was a price to pay for bad behavior to be extracted by a demon called ‘Krampus’ (the alter ego of Saint Nicholas). You see, Krampus lurked, watched, and waited. His amusement would be to be able to beat and abuse the mild wrongdoers; and molest, torture, and even eat the more serious offenders. Sometimes, he would deliberately, tempt and taunt the mischievous ones to help extract his prize and wicked revelry.

Our story begins with two children. One good. One bad. Greta is eleven and her younger sister Franziska is ten. They live in a small village called Oberndorf situated on the border to Bavaria. On the night of December 5, Greta is fully expecting a visit from the demon Krampus, as she believes that she is destined for hell.


A poem to Krampus.

Violent night, Unholy night,
All is evil, all is blight.
Darkest demon, horny and beguiled,
Seeking the wicked and sinful child.
It knows what you hide,
It knows what you hide.

‘Twas a bone-chilling November night in 1860. Friday, November 16th to be exact. All the town folk of Oberndorf had taken refuse by the firelight. As the weather turned toward the full gloom of winter, they choose to hibernate amongst the wondrous smells of delicious stew, Klumpen, smoked sausages, sauerkraut, and mashed potatoes.

Snow had begun to fall over the medieval village, but did not seem to settle evenly. Just a few patches of white here and there, with the promise of more on its way. Oberndorf was usually a picturesque place filled with rural charm against the dramatic snow-capped mountains, where bubbling streams flow down smooth hills into the nearby lakes of Wallersee and Fuschlsee. Famed for its cobblestone streets and quaint homes; its bustling market gardens, fetes, and harvest festivals; its welcoming faces of Benedictine monks; and for where Joseph Mohr penned the poem entitled ‘Silent Night’.

Inside the home of the Schmidts’, everything was cozy. Eleven-year-old Greta and her ten-year-old sister, Franziska both sat by the open fireplace. They could both feel the orange-red glow in their cheeks as the fire popped and crackled. Their mother, Elsa, busied herself with clearing the remnants of their evening meal; while their father, Erik, smoked his hand-carved pipe and read his leather-clad bible.

“Remember the miracle plays from last Christmas?” Erik said in his heavy Germanic accent between puffs of soft grey smoke.

His girls both nodded in quiet acknowledgment. After a long period of silence, Erik said to his daughters, reading from Isaiah.

“I will punish the world for its evil, the wicked for their sins. I will put an end to the arrogance of the haughty and will humble the pride of the ruthless,” Erik drew the girls closer, “Remember girls. Be pious. Be chaste.”

Greta felt her stomach turn somersault. Her father’s words always reminded her of her own shortcomings. It was as if his words of warning were directed towards her and her alone.

“Do you know what that means?” he asked.

It was a rhetorical question of course. He always said these words and he did not expect an answer.

“The Lord is watching. Temptation is everywhere. The Lord is not benevolent. He demands grace. He demands goodness. He demands righteousness. Are you both righteous?”

“Yes, Father,” responded the perky Franziska immediately.

“Yes, Father,” said Greta, betraying a lack of sincerity in her meek response.

“Contemplate your sins. Remember the ‘Krampus’ – he comes for the sinful ones. He is relentless in his pursuit. He does the work of the Lord. He punishes the wicked. Repent before it’s too late. It will shortly be the season of goodwill and with it comes the ‘Krampus’.”

“Father,” said Elsa, his gentle wife, “You are scaring our girls. Talk of the ‘Krampus’ is always so unnerving.”

“They must learn or face the consequences,” Erik replied sternly.

Elsa cuddled at her girls and patted them off to bed. Greta’s look of discomfort was matched with her mother’s disarming smile that said all would be fine.


With the girls off to bed and Erik already snoring in the over-stiffed armchair by the fireplace, Elsa, retired to her bed chamber. She undressed and sat naked warmed by the large bedroom fireplace. Elsa watched herself as she luxuriated before the full-length dressing mirror, brushing her long black hair that reached down to the base of her spine. The long brush strokes soothed her mind. Her breasts were small but firm and her nipples were long and hard pressing outwards as she frequently dragged the bristles of the hairbrush across them.

She rolled her nipples as she pressed the long handle of her hairbrush into her wet cunt and reminisced about the time before her marriage. All those years ago, before her parents had arranged for her and Erik to be betrothed. Yes, it had not been as bad as she had imagined and the marriage had brought her two beautiful young daughters that reminded her so much of herself at their age.

She had learned to love Erik in her own way as his wife. He was a kind and gentle soul. Far too God-fearing to fulfill her perverted tastes and desires. Occasionally she had enjoyed his penis inside of her, but all that talk about the Krampus – that demon with his beastly instincts and ravenous sexual appetite. How it made her so wet. She thought of how as a young girl she had so enjoyed the pleasures shared with other like-minded young ones – how much they loved to taste each other between the legs before taking turns mounting a phallic-shaped candle that they had all so lovingly carved.

Now in the quiet of the night, she allowed herself a moment with her private diary that she kept hidden from everyone, especially her husband. They would not understand. This is where she chronicled her most wicked and forbidden thoughts. Her secret desires would not be for the likes of her dear friends and family. She had even taken to draw and sketch these debauched fantasizes for her own amusement and masturbatory pleasures.

What would they think of her? Madness? Monster? Blasphemer? Child-molester? Certainly not the loving mother that they believed her to be. Extracting sexual pleasure from the suckling child placed upon her milk-laden breast? Delighting in licking the genitals of her newborn? Masturbating with sacred objects? Praying to the devil for greater and greater sexual pleasures?

Her sketches showed images of a graveyard filled with fornicating young ones; an orgy of strange beasts and children offered in human sacrifice; amongst a misty moonlight, naked witches paying homage around a prone phallus; and at the center of it all was the high priestess, Elsa, dancing naked before the throne of the Krampus for his amusement and sexual pleasure. Secrets are best locked away. Enjoyed only during those very private moments.


Sunday, November 18th. Greta had not always had these errant thoughts. Like her sister, she had once been pure and innocent of spirit, mind, and body. In her younger days, she had been afraid of the dark – afraid of all manner of ghosts, spirits, and monsters. She used to pray to God Almighty, Jesus, and Mother Mary for their strength and fortitude. Now the shadows hide her nasty little secrets. She welcomed the darkness like a co-conspirator. Hiding her. Keeping her most unclean thoughts a secret. She could not remember how these immoral ideas had started. But once they took root in her mind she found it hard to shake them.

As her younger sister stripped for their evening bath, Greta’s eyes could not help but roam longingly over her kin’s gracile body. Her thin and nubile form brought such delicious incestuous thoughts. Such perverted sexual exaltation. She yearned to touch her in those taboo places. The sight ignited a passion that would only be quenched by Greta’s own fingers. But she would have to wait until her sister slept. Fast asleep and unaware. Luckily her bath-time arousal went unnoticed.

After bathing the two girls got into their matching nightgowns and knelt at their bedside to say their prayers. With hands pressed together, Franziska’s lips moved with the words of praise as she recited the ‘Lord’s prayer’ to herself. She asked God Almighty to keep her father, mother, and her sister safe. She asked only good things for others; that she may live to serve Jesus and do that which he intended for her. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. She made the sign of the cross.

Greta closed her eyes but thought only of mischief. She imagined frolicking with a group of horny young boys. Rubbing herself against their excited cocks; taking their testicles in her eager hands and tasting their pre-cum juices.


Then came the words of her father …

“Remember girls. Be pious. Be chaste.”

She vexed some, feeling impugned as she only pretended to pray. After all, she thought, praying was for losers. God was for losers. Jesus was for losers. If she were to pray, it would be to the god of mischief. Yes, the god of mischief would encourage her to indulge her licentiousness. The god of mischief would expect a sacred kind of wantonness. Greta climbed into her single bed and lay still in the darkness. Waiting. She could soon hear the soft purr of her beloved sister, Franziska, as she fell into her quiet slumber. Greta closed her eyes briefly and tried to sleep, but she knew that could not. Not until she had to sate herself.

She ruminated about the evil Krampus with his long matted fur, furious goat-like face, and long curved horns. Like a Baphomet. Between his sharp canines hung his long wet tongue. Pink and disgusting it lulled. It wriggled like a serpent searching for her in the darkness. She had seen the Krampus depicted carrying the chains of bondage and the fistful of birch twigs to beat his victims. She shivered at the thought of this evil wicked creature stalking her. He hunted those who harbored wicked thoughts. Maybe she would be next?

Sometimes she prayed that he would overlook her. Pick another. Anyone. Not her. She quaked with fear of discovery. If she remained perfectly still, he may pass her by. If she did not breathe, he would think her dead. He was so close. She can smell his greasy pelt. He reeked of wet beasts, of sour sweat, stale urine, and fecal matter. Greta bit her hand to stop herself from crying out in fright. Pick my sister. Take the little bitch. YES, pick Franziska. Greta was never going to be like the good children favored by the likes of Saint Nicholas. Not like her sister without a bad thought in her head. The perfect daughter. The holy one. The good one. Too angelic. Butter would not melt in her mouth.

But as Greta’s hands slid beneath her nightgown and she pressed her index finger into her oily little slit, she imagined the Krampus catching her red-handed. With her hand in the cookie jar (touching herself). She imagined him pulling her from the safety of her bed in the dead of night and forcing her into his heavy sack. Carried off to his hellish place of wrath. She saw everything in shades of black and red. Flames licked the wall of his cavernous grotto. This was the place the Krampus brought the wicked ones to meet their wretched end. Here, he would punish the naked children. Here, he would mutilate them. Here, he would broil them, scorch them and devour them. Nobody could hear them scream!

She had heard all the stories. Dare she imagine the unimaginable? Dare she think the unthinkable? Yes. She prayed to the god of mischief … she prayed to the beast. The Krampus had her in his evil clutches. His clawed fingers pierced and tore her flesh. The heat of the fire is unbearable. There was no escape from her purgatory. Terror had her in its clutches. She now belonged to the beast.

Her juices flowed. So wet. So horny.

She was a wretched child. It was her fate to face this nefarious god. He lashed her naked body over the leather-clad birching horse while other naked children watched. There she lay humiliated with her little puffy cunt and dirty ass fully exposed. She could not hide. He called out her sins. Every misbehavior, every digression, every disobedience. He was going to birch her bare buttocks with his thorny bundle.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

He beat her until her pretty little back and bottom was crisscrossed with thin red marks, her skin was torn and bloody from the thorns. The cuts stung from the brine. She cried out for forgiveness but the merciless Krampus heeded no pleas. He would not be sate. The miscreant girl got what she deserved.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Dare she look back over her shoulder? Around her, the others masturbated at the sight of her misfortune. Dare she look upon her aggressor? His opposing black shape rose up behind her. She saw his beastly knot, long and hard, as it telescoped forth from its woolly sheath, its long veined length now fully exposed.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

He intended to impale her, to take her virginity upon its red-purple anger. To spoil her forever. He was the devil. The god of mischief. She prayed to the devil. Her fingers danced across her hard little neb. She smothered a groan of extreme excitement. Pray to the devil. It always began that way. The shame of it. The sin of it. Hail Satan. The thought of sin was so divine.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Bent over the uncomfortable birching horse, she finally felt the thickness of his knot pressed against the outer lips of her tiny slit. He would feel her wetness and arousal. He would know that she wanted him. It’s too big. It’s too long. Roughly the disgusting Krampus grabbed her, racking his craws as he thrust his hot fleshy rod into her tenderness. She bucked against her agile fingers as she finally reached her needy release.

Oh, Krampus. Oh, Krampus. Praise be to Krampus – hurt me harder oh horned beast! Hurt me and ravage me! Over and over! More! Hurt me with your fleshy blade. Penetrate me and make me scream. Make me your slave. My tortured soul is yours to keep … next Christmas, let me join in your devilish hunt. Let me birch them. I want to hurt them. Let me have my wicked way. I want to see them suffer, naked and aroused as I. I want to hear them scream. Inspired by a plan…

… she fell into an uneasy sleep.




A poem to Krampus.

Violent night, Unholy night,
All is evil, all is blight.
Darkest demon, horny and beguiled,
Seeking the wicked and sinful child.
It knows what you hide,
It knows what you hide.

Violent night, Unholy night,
Son of Satan, evil’s pure delight.
Wicked grin upon its face,
With the dawn no redeeming grace.
It knows what you are,
It knows what you are.

Friday, November 23rd. Franziska stirred in her sleep. Half asleep. Half awake. She felt her big sister slip into her bedclothes beside her as Greta’s body heat pressed against hers.

“What’s the matter, Greta?” Franziska mumbled sleepily in the darkness.

“I’m scared Franny,” said Greta whispered in a frail voice.

Franziska noticed Greta’s hands touching her softly. It was nice. Poor dear, she must have had a nightmare.

“Why haven’t you got her nightgown on?” Franziska asked innocently.

“I was feeling hot and sweating too much,” she replied, “Please let’s cuddle. Father’s talk about the Krampus has scared me … that I cannot sleep alone.”

Obligingly Franziska turned and embraced her naked sister. It felt a little awkward at first but still sisterly and pleasant. Greta could be so aloft sometimes. So far away. She loved her sister dearly with all her heart and being physically close was a nice change. She sensed that lately that they had drifted apart. It was good to be needed sometimes.

These would be the things that brought them both together as sisters again. She knew exactly what Greta meant about their father. He was a kind man but his words were sometimes overbearing and unnecessarily austere. All the talk about the mean demon Krampus – they were both good children and should have nothing to worry about. Krampus was sent only to punish the bad ones.

“Take off your nighty. It’s nicer to cuddle together that way,” suggested Greta.

Not wanting to disobey, Franziska did as her big sister told her. Trusting every word that Greta said. She felt Greta’s thigh press against her, parting her legs to draw Franziska even closer to her big sister’s body. Legs against legs, body against body, skin against skin. It felt cozy and warm. Greta kissed her cheeks. They were soft, gentle, and loving kisses. Butterfly kisses. Franziska returned the gesture lovingly. Greta kissed her on the lips this time. It was wonderful to have such a loving big sister. Franziska returned the kiss on the lips.

“I love you Franny,” She said and kissed her more urgently.

This time Franziska felt Greta’s mouth open over hers as she pressed the tip of her tongue to part her lips. It felt weird. Franziska was a little confused. She momentarily pulled back.

“Don’t you love me?” asked Greta.

“Yes Greta, of course, I love you,” Franziska responded but still felt very conflicted about their last kiss.

Something felt wrong about their embrace too, but she did not want to offend her loving sister. Greta’s hand roamed over her sensitized nipples making them hard against her sweaty palms. At the same time, Greta’s mouth closed over hers again and she felt her sister’s tongue worming its way insistently between her reluctant lips. Franziska pulled back again only to find her sister more adamant in her efforts. Her kissing became much firmer, her fondling became more aggressive.

“Say you love me, Franny. Say you want me.”

Urged Greta as she began to wriggle and grind her mons harder against Franziska’s upper thigh. Franziska could now feel the moistness of her sister’s vagina against her. The smell of her sexual arousal only added to Franziska’s conflict.

“I … I do love you, Greta,” naively and faintly responded Franziska.

“Don’t be shy,” asserted Greta as she slid her hand between the cheeks of her sister’s bottom. Franziska momentarily giggled childishly.

It tickled.

It felt strangely delightful as Greta’s fingers brushed lightly against her dirty place. Franziska involuntarily quivered. Greta’s tongue searched for hers. Probing further into Franziska’s mouth. Franziska wanted to stop this madness. It was wrong and ungodly for them to do such things – to kiss and touch each other in this un-sisterly way.

She pushed Greta back.

“Please, Greta. Please stop. It feels bad. I want you to stop.”

Greta said nothing. Greta lay still next to her for a moment and then returned to her own bed. Franziska began to cry quietly to herself. She had rejected her sister’s advance. Had she spoiled their love for each other? What would her mother think? Oh God, please help me, she thought.


Friday, November 30th. The days of the week seemed all so familiar. So normal. Nothing different. But as Friday nighttime drew near, Franziska was overcome with a new nervousness. Greta’s behavior had greatly afflicted her. She pretended to herself that it had all been a bad dream. She tried to wipe the thought from her mind, but at the same time, seemed to linger on the physical pleasure she had briefly experienced with her big sister, so close, so gentle, so intimate. What did it all mean? Was she breaking God’s laws? Would He strike her down? Would she be fodder for the Krampus?

At bath time, she found herself looking at Greta in a different way. She felt ashamed of herself. Guilty by association. Unwillingly part of something unnatural and unsavory. She needed to pray harder, to pray for forgiveness. God Almighty – her kind and caring God would understand that this was none of her doing. She was always good. She was grateful, respectful, and always well-behaved.

Then, she remembered how it felt when Greta lay next to her, the heat of their naked bodies together. Her nipples hardened unintentionally. Now alone together again, Franziska’s eyes glanced over at Greta’s nakedness. Her heart beat loudly in her ears. She wanted to be touched again. She wanted it more than anything she had wanted before. Yes, Greta. Touch me, she mused.

“Let me soap you, Franny,” asked Greta.

Franziska nervously nodded. It was hard to contain her excitement. Greta grinned like a Cheshire cat and rubbed her hands together, leathering the fragranced soap into, a rich and creamy, foam. Greta smoothed it over Franziska’s flat stomach and down over her bare mons. There was a tickle that needed to be scratched. Franziska parted her thighs ever so slightly and let out an unconscious moan as Greta’s tiny fingers danced between her legs stroking her clitoris to an erection.

Franziska felt truly strange. It was as if she was having an out-of-body experience, looking down upon herself – watching herself surrender to her sister’s incestuous seduction. God would say that she should love her sister but not in this way. What would he know? Her body felt differently, it was enjoying this sensation. It did not want to stop.

“Come on you two,” called out their mother, Elsa, as she opened the bathroom door.

Alerted by her voice, the girls splashed in the soapy water in the deep copper bath, as if nothing was out of the ordinary and then jumped out to wrap themselves in damp towels.


Elsa came back down to the kitchen. Her breathing was erratic. She steadied herself for a moment remembering the first sign of her daughters’ incestuous behavior. From the kitchen doorway, she could see Erik was already settled by the fireplace busying himself with his stupid bible. He was so self-absorbed in that book of lies — full of hypocrisy and deceit. But tonight she was pleased that his attention was fully occupied.

She slipped back upstairs, returning to the bedrooms. Hovering outside the girl’s bedroom, she put her ear to the door. Her hearing was very sharp, as was her sight. She was still shaking from first witnessing her daughters at play in the bathroom. She didn’t see much, only catching a glimpse. How wonderful it would have been to watch her eldest daughter seduce the younger one — corrupting her innocence. Their sexual playfulness was obvious and would surely lead towards even greater salacious behavior in the seclusion of their bedroom.

She quickly and quietly moved to her own bed chamber but left her room in complete darkness. Removing a small plug in the adjoining wall she could clearly see the girls in their bedroom. Her hand could not resist touching herself as she waited in the darkness. Waiting to see, what she desired most. Oh, delicious sinfulness let it be.


Franziska knelt quietly and pressed her damp fingers together. Did mother see us? Oh God! Did Mother see us doing that bad thing together? Please, God, I will never allow it to happen again! Her mind was all over the place. The dimness of their moonlit room seemed to buzz with an electrical charge. At first, she refused to look at her sister. She tried desperately to make an appealing prayer for forgiveness, but it did not succeed.

Her sister was to blame.

She had brought this upon them. Jilted she climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up around her neck. Then, she looked guiltily over at Greta. Her sister’s head was still solemnly bowed but her hands were not together, instead they were between her legs, lifting her nightgown up and touching herself in front of Franziska as she prayed to the shadows. Franziska was transfixed. She could not move.

After a while Greta stood up and removed her nightgown, discarding it to stand naked in the cool light from the dull bluish moon. Her eyes seemed to reflect the moonlight. Franziska’s mons were already wet with anticipation. Greta boldly stepped over the bedside and drew slowly back Franziska’s bedcovers uncovering her like a prize to be claimed. Franziska’s breathing became fast and sharp. It was as if they had both moved to a secret dance.

Franziska awkwardly pulled her nightgown over her head and parted her legs wide — offering her big sister complete access to her itchy wet pussy. Greta knelt next to the bed, her head bowed over the pillow as she kissed Franziska urgently on the mouth. Their tongues immediately twisted together as Greta’s fingers stroked her sister’s dew-wet flesh. Light touches soon became unashamed groping in the moonlight. Franziska gasped as her sister kissed and then closed her mouth over one of her tiny breasts, sucking madly at her nipples, bringing each to a hardness she had never felt before. The stimulation brought her buttocks to lift from the damp bed sheets, beckoning her sister lower.

“Do you believe in the Krampus?” Franziska panted.

“Yes,” answered her sister.

“You aren’t afraid of the Devil?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she purred evilly.

Greta’s mouth came down upon Franziska’s mons. As her mouth kissed and her tongue licked, her fingers played back and forth between her baby sister’s clitoris and her moist little slit. Franziska groaned in adoration at the pleasure she was experiencing.

“Oh! Wonderful! Oh! More!” she whispered, never wanting the sensations to end.

Greta lifted her head and slid her naked body over her sister’s so that her dripping mons were aligned with Franziska’s face. She leaned forward once again and continued her eager cunnilingus, as she hovered her own pussy over Franziska’s mouth. Greta arched her back in response as Franziska’s tongue first pressed against her engorged clitoris, then sucked it like a tiny penis. Every nerve ending twitched and tingled with incestuous delight. It was everything that the Krampus had promised. Bliss. Deviant bliss. The god of mischief had kept his word to Greta.

“Oh Franny. Lick me there. Suck my cherry,” she crowed enamored with lust.

She lifted her upper torso into an upright position above Franziska’s face.

“Taste my slit. Mmmmmmm. Lick my cherry harder.”

Her orgasm was close, very close. Now, seated upon her sister’s upturned face, she felt the full penetration of her baby sister’s tongue. This is what it was like to be a true priestess. She was the priestess of mischief – there to serve her demonic god. To take her incestuous pleasure, corrupting the innocent, in exchange for a more benevolent fate. The Krampus would see how she served him. How ingratiated she was. See how she was worthy of his libidinal attention.

“Oh! Oh! YES! YES! Lick my dirty place, Franny. Rub my cherry. YES! That feels so good … OHHHHH …”


Elsa stroked her clitoris in circles of increasing tempo and pressure as she watched the two girls in the vestige of moonlight. Yes, my darlings. Yes, oh blessed demons. Oh, incestuous delights. She bit her lip softly as she bucked against her right hand as it plunged her phallic hairbrush handle in and out, faster and faster. She was now reaching what must have been her fourth or maybe her fifth orgasm in as many minutes.

She could clearly see her eldest daughter riding upon the upturned face of her youngest. Oh to do such a thing, she thought. Such devilment, such bliss. She must experience these sensations for herself. Yes, oh Krampus, grant me these wicked desires – so that I may use my own daughters to sate my taboo passions. I pray to you, oh demon, oh sweet devil – give them to me! Let me use them for my venereal pleasures! She came hard. Another orgasm rippled through her.



A poem to Krampus.

Violent night, Unholy night,
All is evil, all is blight.
Darkest demon, horny and beguiled,
Seeking the wicked and sinful child.
It knows what you hide,
It knows what you hide.

Violent night, Unholy night,
Son of Satan, evil’s pure delight.
Wicked grin upon its face,
With the dawn no redeeming grace.
It knows what you are,
It knows what you are.

Violent night, Unholy night,
Bad children quake, at the sight.
With devilment it stalks its prize,
Nothing escapes its vicious eyes.
It knows what you’ve done,
It knows what you’ve done.

Saturday, November 29th. Greta watched her mother, father, and sister leave their house. They would all be gone for the rest of the day. Her faked illness would give her some time alone. She waited impatiently from behind the upstairs curtains as they disappeared down the street together. Finally, alone she rubbed her hard little cherry thinking about her intended mischief.

She enjoyed her own company, especially when it involved masturbation. On this occasion, she stripped naked while exploring her parent’s bedroom. She loved to rub the gossamer thin fabrics of her mother’s undergarments against her breasts and pussy while she masturbated herself in full view of the tall dressing mirror by the fireplace.

Today, whilst ferreting around in her mother’s private things she found an old leather-bound book that looked like a journal. It was easily missed and obviously hidden from view. She flipped the pages absentmindedly to discover a treasure trove of perverse drawings and short passages. She recognized it as her mother’s own cursive style but was taken aback by what she saw and read.

The evil sexual images left nothing to the imagination. They draw her breath away as her fingers pressed wantonly against her engorged clitoris. Greta physically shook as she turned the pages. There were sketches of evil beasts with enormous erect penises, worshiped by sexualized young girls and boys.

Exquisitely drawn was the crucifixion of Jesus Christ depicted as the center of a dark orgy, where horned demons sodomized eager angels before their messiah’s over-seized erection. Page after page of filth, bizarre sexual fantasies played out, each reached out to her as if she was not alone in her dark world. Reading from the last entry in the journal, it became immediately obvious that her mother had seen what Franziska and she had been up to. Their secret was no more.

“Tonight, oh demons you bless me with wondrous orgasms as I observed my own daughters at play. How I long for them to come to my bed, so that I may taste their sexual juices. To rub our wet cunts together. To pleasure me with their mouths and fingers. Oh darkest demons, I offer my soul.”

The accompanying drawing showed her, Greta, naked whilst riding upon her sister’s face. An older woman, presumably her mother, was also naked and stood lewdly over them, whilst baptizing their nude bodies with fluids that flowed from her between her slit held agape with Greta’s fingers.


Sunday, December 2nd. The church bells had ringed out across the frosted village rooftops calling the faithful to their much-anticipated Sunday festive service at the old Saint Nicholas Church.

The village had been in high spirits with the feast of Saint Nicholas only four days away. Decorations had been hung in every house. Choral singers sang to collect alms for the poor. And despite the freezing temperatures, the streets were alive with well-wishers and holiday cheer. There had been much hand-shaking, hugging, and jubilation.

The approaching winter wind across the Oberndorf River brought even more icy snow. Elsa had encouraged her girls to return with her after the service and now, after the celebrations, they were once again in the comfort of their humble cottage. Erik had continued the manly merriment with his church friends — aiming to drink a substantial amount of beer before the end of the night, returning only in the early hours.

About this time, the celebrations always started to take a darker side. Prior to the famed arrival of Saint Nicholas on the sixth day of December, to reward all the well-behaved ones with gifts, it was the tradition that the young men would take to the streets. They would dress up in masks and costumes in accordance with the local folklore festivity, assuming the pernicious likeness of the Krampus. These fearful goat-like masks with bedraggled fur, curved horns, and protruding tongues came complete with black animalist body suits and even hoof-like feet. Naughty children often believed that the Krampus would come for them, bringing a time of estrangement and even fear.

Elsa watched the girls playing with their favorite bisque dolls. She had busied herself in an attempt not to allow herself to think about her daughters in their Sapphic embrace. She needed release. Her erect clitoris pressed uncomfortably against the inside of her split draws and her vagina soaked and re-soaked the thin material of her undergarments. Her libido was working overtime. The grinding sensation of being so aroused was like an itch she could not scratch and it began to drive her crazy.

“Girls,” she said, “It’s time for your bath.”

“Yes, Mommy,” they both chimed.

She noticed how Greta and Franziska looked at each other surreptitiously. Wordless communication told their mother of their intended devilment behind the closed door of their bathroom. She smiled to herself. As eager for them to begin as they obviously were.

“Greta, now run upstairs to fill your bath would you my dear?”

Greta nodded and disappeared.

“Can I help her Mommy?”

“Of course dear.”

Slipping upstairs Elsa pressed her ear to the bathroom door. She imagined them both already completely naked – they would be eagerly touching each other searching out forbidden pleasures, as they had done the night before.

Dressed in just her split draws she pushed open the bathroom to catch her daughters in the act. She was not disappointed. There on the big bathroom rug were the two of them, both naked and wet, their faces buried in each other’s laps.

The suddenness of their mother’s arrival had caught both Greta and Franziska off guard. They scurried to separate and both scrabbled to their feet. Franziska blushed bright red from the naked truth and embarrassment of being caught in the act by her own mother.

“Er. Er. Eh. Mom … it’s not what you think!” Fumbled Franziska and then burst into tears of despondency.

“Hures!” spat their mother, “Kneel you filthy little hures!”

Her severe tone was not one to be argued with.

Both girls complied immediately in complete acquiescence. Their awkwardness was obvious with chagrin eyes cast down at the floor. Though the situation had come as a complete surprise, Greta quickly reminded herself about her mother’s private diary. She recalled the scandalous drawings and her mother’s repressed depraved desires. Knowing what she knew, would this not be the moment when their mother could satisfy her vile hunger? Wouldn’t that be exactly what Greta would do in this situation? She decided to see what would unfold, keeping her discovery of her mother’s diary as a trump card.

“Please, Mom,” Greta swooned, pretending to be as embarrassed as her younger sister, “Please don’t tell Father. It’s just that it felt so good.”

She looked up briefly and could clearly see the glee in her mother’s hungry eyes. The devious plan unraveled itself. Their Father would never hear of their mischievous behavior – because their mother would join in. She would force them both to do the depraved things she had drawn in her diary … and she couldn’t wait.

“Hures of the Devil!” recanted their mother.

Greta saw through her mock anger but played along.

“Mother. Please! We’re wretched. Punish us. We deserve your wrath. The devil is between our legs – we have sinned before the King of Heaven.”

“Wretched. Sinful! Shameless! Bend over before me. Present your buttocks!”

Greta did as she was told. Her sexual fluids flowed freely, running down the inside of her legs. Franziska was still bawling, but never-the-less, bent over with her bare ass facing her both.

The blood was already rushing to Greta’s head. She saw her mother remove her split pants exposing the dark vie of pubic hair. Her mother’s hand ran across Greta’s buttocks. Her finger slipped between the crack of her ass, brushing against her freshly washed anus and then over her exposed mons. Greta was dizzy with anticipation. She would know that Greta was sexually aroused by her predicament. Still pretending to have her eyes closed, she saw her mother put the slick finger into her mouth – tasting her daughter’s sexual secretions.

Her mother’s eyes closed in a kind of private rapture. Greta thought of the diary. Then, without warning, there was a swoosh of air as her mother’s hand came down hard upon her delicate skin. The sharp slap stung like a bee sting and Greta yelped out loud. Then another. And Another. The pain amplified her masochistic pleasure. Each cry brought more slaps and more pain until Greta was on the verge of orgasm.

“Turn around and kneel,” said her sadistic mother.

Greta did as she was told, turning around and kneeling so that her face was inches from her mother’s hairy vagina.

“Beat your sister, as I have beaten you.”

Greta stood up and repeated her mother’s actions. First, she touched her sister’s most intimate parts. She saw her mother’s eyebrows rise as she licked her sticky fingers.

Whack! Whack! Whack! She beat Franziska. Her sister was not expecting the pain and yelped licking a baby.

“Stop Greta! Stop! Please! It hurts!” she screamed.

“Again,” said her mother as she discretely masturbated.

Whack! Whack! Whack! She beat Franziska until she fell to the bathroom floor. Greta’s palms stung from the ferocity of her beating. Her sister lay on the floor sobbing openly.

“Enough!” cried her mother, “Kneel – both of you and pray for forgiveness.”

The two girls knelt before their mother.

“Oh darkest demons, I offer my soul,” recited Greta from her mother’s secret diary as she began to kiss and lap eagerly her mother’s moist open slit.

Her mother looked horrified. The shock of her daughter’s words buckled her legs and her hands fell upon Greta’s shoulders to steady herself.

“You’ve seen my diary?”

“And it’s beautiful Mommy,” replied Greta grinning from ear to ear.

Franziska looked over at her sister, not understanding what was going on – only that her body felt bruised and hurt from the beating.


Friday, December 5th. A heavy mist had engulfed the village as the night of the Krampus began. Erik had passed out in his chair by the fireplace. He had consumed a larger than usual quantity of beer – but his forced sleep came from a compound that his wife had added to his evening meal. The potent ingredients would have him sleep through an earthquake. Spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth and the remnants of his last beer dripped onto the floor from the mug still gripped between his useless fingers.

Returning to her bedroom, Elsa clutched one of her husband’s Landjager. The smoked beef sausage was long, hard, and slightly curved. Upon the bed, she laid out her Krampus costume complete with chains and birch twigs. She had purchased it, saying it was for a boy, but had intended it for a different purpose.

Elsa picked up the ugly horned mask and inspected it. It was the head of a Baphomet – a demon she prayed to frequently. Next, she picked up the furred-covered leggings that ended with hoof-like feet. Elsa slipped from her wool dress, her bodice, and split draws. Standing naked in front of her dressing mirror she began pulling on each of the thigh-high leggings until she stood upright on the faun-like appendages.

Next, she took the full-head mask and pulled it on over her head. She pranced around in front of the mirror – admiring the way she looked from the front, the sides, and even from behind. Standing with her legs wide open, she touched her exposed breasts bringing her nipples to an instant hardness. She then began to rub her damp pubic hair pressing down on her hard clitoris as she lauded how wicked she looked and felt.

Taking the thick Landjager, she rubbed its smooth surface against her vagina lips, wetting its length in her sexual discharge. She groaned to herself as she pushed it into her cunt. The girth of the stiff fleshy sausage filled her while her fingers frigged her hard clitoris bringing a delicious combination of pleasures. She pressed more of the hard flesh of the sausage into her cunt, pushing it up until it bumped against her cervix. Now that it was stuck half in and half out – she felt stuffed with the thing that stuck out another eight or so inches extending up and outwards from her pelvis. She purred as she drew its meaty length back and forth, marveling at how cock-like it appeared in her reflection.

Greta and Franziska sat impatiently on their mother’s bed. They had watched the whole transformation process, from mother to devil, touching themselves and each other. Their mother’s diary lay open on the bedding, the image shows a goat-headed demon with horns and hoofs, the breasts of women, and the cock of a man. It was hideous and was cruelly fucking a reluctant little girl in the anus.

Their mother had called it the Baphomet – a demon much like the Krampus that was to be adored, to be worshiped. They giggled and could not wait to take turns in impaling themselves on the exposed end of the Landjager. Their mommy had promised that they would both have many orgasms this way. Greta had no doubt about her mother’s knowledge of the subject. Tonight they worshiped demons together, consummating their incestuous love. Tomorrow would be the night for the good children … but tonight, was theirs!




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