Chapter 2: Mrs. Claus is made to suck Elias' cock
He collapsed beside her, the world swimming back into focus grain by grain—the fire’s dying embers, the smell of their sex thick in the air, the rough velvet against his cheek. His body felt liquid, used up, a hollow shell buzzing with residual energy. Beside him, Miriam’s breathing was deep and slow, her eyes closed, a sheen of sweat drying on her skin. She looked ruined, gloriously so, her hair a wild tangle, the marks on her ass and wrists already darkening.
For a long time, they just lay there in the silence. The immense, towering fiction of the North Pole pressed in from beyond the heavy door, but in here, there was only this fragile, sweaty reality.
Elias’s mind began to churn, the heat of lust cooling into a slow drip of anxiety. What now? Would she dismiss him? Would this be a secret to be carried, frozen in time like everything else here? The thought was a cold knot in his gut.
He felt her stir. She rolled onto her side facing him, propping her head on her hand. Her eyes were calm, appraising. She traced a finger through the mess on his stomach, her touch thoughtful.
“You’re thinking again,” she murmured. “I can hear the gears grinding from here.”
He gave a weak, shaky laugh. “It’s a lot to process.”
“It is.” Her finger moved up to his chest, circling a spot over his heart. “You called me a filthy queen.”
He winced. “I did. I’m—”
Her finger pressed down, silencing him. “Don’t. I told you. I liked it.” She sighed, a long, weary exhalation that seemed to come from the depths of her. “Do you have any idea how tedious perfection is? How heavy the mantle of ‘jolly’ becomes?” Her gaze drifted to the fire. “He’s gone, you know. Has been for weeks. ‘Checking on global goodwill patterns.’ It means he’s in Fiji, or Bali, soaking up sun and adoration. The Workshop runs itself. The elves have their routines. And I am left here, the guardian of the myth, smiling until my face aches.”
Elias stayed quiet, listening. This was a different kind of nakedness.
“You walked in here with snow in your hair and saw me. Not the icon. Not the consort. You saw the loneliness, and you didn’t offer sympathy. You offered… this.” She gestured vaguely at the wreckage of the bed. “A confrontation. A feeling. It was the most honest thing I’ve experienced in decades.”
He turned to face her fully. “What happens now?”
“Now?” A sly, tired smile touched her lips. “Now, I’m still not done with you.”
Before he could respond, she pushed him onto his back. She moved down the bed, her movements deliberate, until she was kneeling between his legs. He was soft, spent, but her eyes were fixed on him with a possessive curiosity.
“You poured so much into me,” she said, her voice a low hum. “Let me taste it.”
She took him into her mouth.
He was flaccid, sensitive, but her mouth was hot and determined. She didn’t rush. She licked and sucked with a slow, reverent intensity, cleaning him of their mixed fluids, her tongue tracing every vein and ridge. It was an intimate, claiming act. As she worked, he began to harden again under her attention, a slow, aching resurgence that felt more like ownership than arousal.
“Look at that,” she murmured, pulling off him with a soft pop. He was fully erect again, standing thick and urgent. “Such a responsive boy.” She stroked him, her grip firm. “My responsive boy.”
Then her expression shifted. The reverence melted into something darker, more demanding. The queen reasserting herself. “You fucked my cunt until I screamed. Now you’ll fuck my mouth.”
She didn’t wait for permission. She climbed over him, straddling his chest, her back to his face. She lowered herself, presenting her swollen, dripping sex just inches from his mouth. “Taste us,” she commanded, and he could do nothing but obey, his tongue finding her familiar folds as she leaned forward.
In one fluid motion, she took the length of him into her throat.
It was not the gentle, teasing suction from moments before. This was deep, immediate, and hungry. She swallowed around the head of his cock, then pulled back, only to sink down again, taking him deeper. Her hands braced on his thighs for leverage.
Elias moaned into her, the dual sensations overwhelming—the musky, familiar taste of her on his tongue, the incredible, tight heat of her throat around him. He reached up, his hands gripping the full curves of her hips, holding her steady as he licked and sucked.
She began to move in earnest, establishing a ruthless rhythm. She was using his cock to fuck her own throat, deep, gulping strokes that made her gag and choke. The sounds were obscene: wet, choked gasps, guttural swallows, the slap of her saliva dripping onto his stomach. Each time she drove down, her ass pressed against his face, smothering him with her scent and her heat.
“Yeah,” she gasped, pulling off for a second, her voice ragged. “Fuck, yeah. Use my throat. It’s yours. Do it.”
She plunged down again, taking him all the way. Her body convulsed with a gag reflex, but she forced herself to stay there, her nose buried in the hair at his base, until her eyes watered. Then she rose, gasping for air, strands of spit and pre-cum connecting her lips to his shining shaft.
“Don’t be gentle,” she rasped, looking back over her shoulder, her eyes blazing with a desperate challenge. “I’m not a porcelain doll. I’m your fuck-toy. So fucking use me.”
The last of his restraint snapped. His hands left her hips and tangled violently in the thick rope of her braid. He yanked her head back, not to stop her, but to guide her, to control the pace. He thrust his hips upward, meeting her downward plunge.
It became a brutal, synchronized piston. He fucked up into the constricting heat of her throat as he pulled her down onto him by her hair. He set a pace that was punishing, relentless. Her gagging was constant now, a wet, rhythmic soundtrack to his own ragged grunts. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, mixing with spit and pre-cum. She was a mess, a beautiful, debauched mess, and she was utterly surrendering to his use.
“Take it,” he growled, his voice rough with strain. “Take all of it, you greedy slut. Swallow it.”
She tried to moan her assent, but the sound was choked, vibrating around his cock. Her body shook with the effort, but she didn’t fight his grip. She yielded, letting him use her mouth as ruthlessly as he’d used her cunt.
The pressure built in his balls, a familiar, coiling tension. The sight of her—teary, debased, utterly consumed—was the final trigger. With a final, deep thrust that held her impaled, he erupted.
He came in hot, pulsing jets directly down her throat. She swallowed convulsively, desperately, her throat working around him to take every drop. Some escaped, leaking from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping onto his stomach. He held her there, spasming, until he was completely spent.
Finally, he released her hair. She slid off him, collapsing onto her side beside him, coughing, gasping for clean air. Strings of thick, white cum still clung to her lips and chin. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, then, looking him dead in the eye, licked her fingers clean.
They lay in silence again, the only sounds their struggling breath and the spit-slick sheen of their bodies. The dynamic had shifted once more, into something even more profound and unsettling.
After a while, she shifted, curling herself against his side, her head on his shoulder. Her voice, when it came, was hoarse and small. “Will you be afraid of me tomorrow? Now that you’ve seen… all of this?”
He thought about it. The fear was there, but it was eclipsed by something else—a fierce, protective understanding. He kissed the top of her head, smelling smoke and sex and her. “No,” he said, and it was the truth. “But I might be afraid for me. This doesn’t feel like a one-night thing.”
She let out a shaky laugh that was half a sob. “It’s not. You’ve cracked the ice, Elias. There’s no going back.” She tilted her head up to look at him, her blue eyes clear and terribly vulnerable. “He returns in three days.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than any declaration of love. The outside world, with all its rules and consequences, came crashing back in.
“Three days,” Elias repeated.
“Three days,” she whispered, her hand splaying possessively across his chest. “So we don’t stop. We can’t stop. Until then, this room is our world. You are mine. And I…” She trailed off, the unspoken words—and I am yours—hovering in the charged space between them.
The fire gave a final crackle and subsided into glowing ash, plunging the room into a deep, velvety darkness. Outside, the endless polar wind howled, but inside, wrapped around each other, they planned their temporary, desperate eternity.