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>holy shit
>you hit the jackpot!
>canned chili and beef stew!
"Morg! We're rich!"
>you hear a grunt coming from the upstairs of the abandoned house you're ransacking
>"Unless you found a fuckin' brick of gold then no we aren't!"
>you scoff
>chili is way better than useless shiny metal
>not that you don't like shiny things, but gold just doesn't taste that good
>you've checked
>you shovel the cans into the looting sack labeled "food"
>you even begrudgingly shovel in the green cans of vegetables
>asparagus is bad enough when you find it fresh off dust farmers, the canned stuff is vile
>but it beats starving
"Find anything upstairs?"
>you call up the staircase as you haul the clattering sack of cans down the hall toward the front doorway that doesn't have a front door in it
>"A gun. Some ammo."
>you drop the sack and fly up the stair
"Holy shit a new gun! What is it? Is it big? Does it fuck? Morg does it fuck?"
>sprinting from room to room until you find your partner, Morg
>"Jesus Munc, don't have a heart attack. Just an old .38. Here."
>the tall, muscle-bound roo is standing in the ruin of a master bedroom
>she's ready for trouble, in her old police body-armor
>custom defaced by yourself to make it double flash
>and she's not wearing much else, just her battle panties
>that's how you like it
>you stop ogling more to take in the room
>there's an old gunsafe that's all smashed to bitty bits on the floor
>she tosses a dull looking revolver toward you
>which you catch happily
>sure it's no kill-o-matic like Morg's own custom auto-shotty
>but new gun is new gun
>you twirl it merrily around a finger before point it at the wall
"Blam! Blam blam blam! Three holes in ya!"
>you're slapped across the back of the head with Morg's heavy tail
>"Stop fucking around with a loaded gun, tardo. If you get gutshot again I'll make you live in this dump, hand-cuffed to the radiator."
>you give Morg a raunchy look and a few air humps
"You have handcuffs and we haven't fucked wearin' em yet? First we'll do me handcuffed to the radiator, then me handcuffed to you, then my hands cuffed around your back--"
>you get smacked again
>"You check the basement yet, shit-for-brains?"
>nope
"Nope!"
>Morg points out the door
>"Then go check the basement. Don't use that gun we don't know if it works yet."
>you roll your eyes and stuff the revolver in the waist of your shorts
>pulling out your super-short sawed off double barrel
>a lovely little mutilator you modified in admiration of Morg's giant fuckoff shotgun
>you don't expect there's anyone in this place but the skellingtons you found
>but maybe you'll get lucky and get to blast some poor dumb fuck what tries to ambush you
"See you soon Morg! Love ya!"
>Morg snorts and waves you on
>"Get going dumbass. I'll pack up the shit and meet you at the killmobile."
>you salute with your sawn-off and scramble back downstairs to the basement door in the hall
>it's mostly dark down there, but there are windows set into the top of the walls that let in enough sunset light
>and what you see is mostly a mess
>old rotted boxes, scraps of clothes, busted up shitty furniture all fallen to pieces
>but hey, maybe there's another gun down here!
>you paw through crusty old boxes
>jab at a pile of bones with your sawn-off in case it comes to life
>and then, crawling over a couch in actually decent condition you find it
>the motherload
>stuffed in one corner of the concrete basement is a stack of boxes, full of shiny baubles, strings of gold and silvers, and standing in the corner, a statue
>it's a tall, bearded figure, clad in a simple robe
>he holds up a hand reverently, and has a serene smile on his face
>despite sitting in the dark for so long, it's still in immaculate position
>you recognize this man from the stories Morg told you
"Morg!"
>you call up, hoping she can hear
"I did it! I found Jesus!"
>there's stomping on the floor above your head
>and then the basement stairs thumping as Morg descends
>"The day you find Jesus is the day that hell freezes--Ow!"
>there's a thwack as Morg's massive height makes her smack her head on the low ceiling
>you laugh
"Ha! 'Nother bonk like that and you'll have scramble brains like mine!"
>Morg growls and stomps down the rest of the stairs with her head lowered and her paw rubbing the top of her head
>smushing down the shock of elongated fur that runs down the top of her head and down the back of her neck
>her Morg-hawk
>you bound up to her over boxes of useless crap
>she reaches out when you arrive
>and clonks you over the head with a double-huge paw
>"Wear your fuckin' helmet and you won't be so retarded, tardo. Now what the fuck are you talking about?"
>you point to the corner of the room
"Jesus! The big beardy magic guy you told me about!"
>Morg sighs, giving you the angry 'stop being a tardo' frown as she follows you in to the back corner of the room
>you point to the statue of the holy man you found
"There! Jesus! I found him!"
>Morg stares at the statue
>you stare at her ass
>it all works out
>except she gives you another whap with her tail
>"You dumbass. That's not Jesus, it's Santa Claus."
>oh
>you see now
"Who the fuck is Santa Claus?"
>Morg just sighs longer and louder
>like a leaky valve full of anger
>you sidle up closer to her
"Is he Jesus's dad?"
>Morg slaps you with her tail again
>man you're getting it a lot tonight
>maybe she'll be angry enough for an angry 'shut the hell up' fuck!
>"Stop blaspheming. He's an old Saint who showed up for Christmas."
>you nod your head
>you understand now
>no wait, you don't
"What's a saint? Who's Chris Mes?"
>Morg closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and then releasing it
>"You wanna learn about Christmas, or you wanna fuck off outta here with dinner for a month?"
>you shrug
"Can you tell me about Chris Mes and then we fuck?"
>Morg swishes her tail back and forth cause you know she wants to be mad at you but she really likes that idea
>so she swoops you up and hurls you across the room
>you land ass-backwards on the mostly undestroyed couch
>and Morg follows after, nearly smashing you to goo-paste under her ass as she lands
>so close
>you flip yourself upside and start crawling on top of Morg
>she shoves you back to the far side of the couch
>"Slow down dumbshit. Christmas first."
>you whine and jump back on her leg
>searching for the tiny bits in her armor where you can find exposed fur
"Why can't we fuck first? It's been a whole six hours!"
>you're tossed back again
>and you're up again
>ready to put finger to fur in your quest for a good fuck
>since you haven't got a good fight
>this time Morg grabs you by the harness you wear over your shoulders and holds you up like a dust-dog caught in a net
>"You little shit, I--"
>while she's shaking you stupid, she gets a gleam in her eye
>the kinda gleam she gets when she's gonna do something awful to you
>you can't wait
>"Okay dumbshit, first lesson about Christmas."
>Morg stands, carrying you with her to the boxes
>with her free paw she starts rummaging through
>she mutters like you can't hear her thinking out loud
>"Knew I saw it somewhere...Aha!"
>she pulls a role of shine-brighty tape from one of the boxes and holds it up to your face
>"See this? It's called ribbon. You use it to tie up presents. Or little retards who refuse to listen."
>Morg heaves and you're slammed on the couch again
>before your brain stops boggling she has your wrists over you head
>and she wraps a bunch of that ribbon around them and ties it tight
"Ah shitfuck!"
>you try to squirm and struggle away
>but she already has your legs like a legbreaker-trap
>tying them all the way up to your thighs
>and then making a big fancy knot at the top right over your cock and balls
>Morg snorts
>"There. I'm giving myself a dumbass for Christmas."
>no matter how you squirm and tug, the ribbon stuff holds tight
>Morg used up the whole damn thing to make sure you're double tied down
>you still squirm and tug anyways
>Morg whomps down on the couch again
>and drags you up to sit across her lap
>"Now. The first rule of Christmas. If you're a little shit, you get coal."
>you cock your head
"Fuck is coal?"
>Morg blinks, probably cause you said something so dumb she didn't expect it
>but she goes on talking like normal
>"Coal is a shitty crusty rock. Not even good for throwing at hill bandits."
>oh
>wow that sounds fucking awful
>probably doesn't taste as good as gold either
>"But, if you're a good little homunculus, you get a reward. A Christmas present. From Santa."
>you look over at the statue standing in the corner
>then snort
"Morg that's a plastic statue."
>Morg rolls her eyes
>"I know that! But it's a story for kids. Christmas is a holiday you dumb fuck. Santa's a story to get kids excited and make them behave. Clearly something you never learned."
>you laugh
>of course not
>if you worried about your behavior you wouldn't be the best driver in the dust
>and you wouldn't have run into Morg and the two of you wouldn't be the baddest, killingest partners in all the badlands
>Morg keeps talking
>"So when Christmas is coming up, people would put out decorations, like that gold and silver tinsel, and wreathes--which are these little circles made of leaves--and they put a tree!"
"A tree?"
>"Yeah, a tree. A pine tree made of plastic that they hang a bunch of ornaments on. Those little round shiny things in that box there, see. You cover it up with those things and then you put presents under them. That's where Santa leaves gifts for good children."
>Morg has this real far away look in her eyes, and she's smiling but in the kinda sad way she does when she talks about her life before you two met
>or when her food is a little moldy
>so you decide to shut up and listen
>Morg goes on, an arm around your shoulders, the other holding your legs
>"And on Christmas morning you wake up and have breakfast with your family. A big breakfast with sweets. Fruit and bread with jams and butter. Eggs if we had them."
>wow
>that sounds REALLY good
>your mouth is starting to water
>"Then you'd open the presents. They were wrapped up in plastic, or cardboard boxes, and painted in different colors. Toys for the kids to play with."
>her smile turns downward
>"Parents got tools, mostly. Practical things, if they could afford anything."
>but then the smile's back again like a ground-hopper sticking its head out a hole
>"It's a holiday for spending with your family. And it's also Jesus's birthday, but that doesn't matter to your heathen hide."
>Morg chuckles
>you don't mind being a heathen, mostly
"Can we do Christmas?"
>Morg gives a little gasp and blinks her eyes until they're back in the right now
>you feel bad for waking her up from the dream of eggs for breakfast and toys in colored boxes
>but she ruffles a double-huge paw through your hair to show she's okay
>"It's July, Munc. Christmas is in December."
>damn
>you were hoping for those eggs
>"Though now that I do have you tied up, that does give me an idea."
>oh
>oh fuck yeah
>it's not handcuffs and radiator but you're all tied up and you and Morg are gonna fuck!
>but she doesn't fuck
>she sets you to sit on the couch and starts rummaging through the boxes again
>you start squirming again
>"Hold still. If you fall over on your face I'll just laugh at you."
>it takes all your will when the chance of getting a good kinky-fuck in is high
>but you manage to sit still
>"So this was a game we played when I was young. I'm gonna put my paws behind my back, and you pick one, and that's your gift."
"Is one of those gifts another gun? Or letting me cum on your tail? Or--"
>"Shut it! It's none of those things. Pick a paw."
>Morg stands in front of you, as straight as the low ceiling allows, with both paws behind her back
>and the scowl on her face says you better make a choice or she's gonna go find a coal to give you instead
"Left!"
>Morg frowns
>not in a "I'm angry at you for being retarded" way or a "I'm gonna have to wash that out of my fur" way
>more like she's a little disappointed as she presents a red cloth trimmed in white fluff
>"Ta-da! Your very own Santa hat."
>you do not want the Santa hat
>it's very hot outside, and that thing looks very thick and very warm
"Can I choose the other paw?"
>Morg snorts
>"Nope. Not until you wear the hat."
>when she holds out the hat, you duck it
>bobbing and weaving like a buzzy bug to escape the dreaded fuzzy hat
>until Morg sweeps up her tail to whack you on the head
>"I'm not telling you again, put on the fucking Santa hat."
>you are defeated
>Morg settles the sweaty-burny scratchy as fuck hat on your head
>then stands back with her paws on her hips and smiles
>not in a "we just found a room full of unopened food" kind of way or a "that was fun enough to be worth washing that out of my fur"
>more like she's laughing at you for wearing a stupid hat
"Hell's fells Morg it's like I'm wearing a tumble-bramble on my head."
>then you snicker
>you probably look like a tardo
>but imagine gutting some poor dust bandit in it
>Morg clears her throat
>"Okay! Since you put on the hat, I guess it's only fair I show you the other gift I had."
>Morg looms over you
>which is fine cause you can ogle her thick-kicker thighs and tail
>but your focus is drawn up to the little branch of green she holds up over your head
>"You know what this is, Munc?"
>you shrug
"Doesn't look like food."
>"It's mistletoe. And if you're caught beneath the mistletoe, it means I have to give you a kiss."
>then she drops the branch, grabs your harness, and drags you up to press her muzzle to your lips
>and force her tongue down your throat
>you gag
>and choke
>and squirm against Morg for dear roo-fucking life
>she holds you down
>pressing you into the couch as she explores your guts with her triple-long roo tongue
>your mouth and throat and esophagus all thoroughly scraped and licked
>least it feels that way
>Morg stares you down
>her pretty eyes the last thing you see as color fades and the whole world swims
>this is it
>death by makeout session
>you always hoped it would be that way
>then your throat is freed
>Morg's tongue taking your tonsils with it as she finishes the kiss with a loud slurping sound
>she grins down at you all smug
>"That's for being a pest about Christmas. Now--"
>Morg pushes you over onto your side
>then turns about with her tail raised
>she holds the little branch just under her tail
>"--it's your turn under the mistletoe."
"Oh fuck ye--mmrf!"
>you don't get a chance to finish before Morg drops her full weight down on your head
>burying you under a ton of roo and sweat and musk
>just what you wanted
>you hear her voice teasing you through body
>"Start kissing!"
>you don't need to be told twice
>you kiss
>you kiss ass
>you kiss thigh
>you kiss her panties and fur alike
>you kiss every little inch of Morg she puts on your face by grinding her hips side to side and back and forth
>Morg moans and groans and grinds until her pussy juice soaks through her battle panties and start soaking through your face
>so you kiss pussy too
>tastes like Christmas
>the full weight of your partner pushes down hard and for the second time you're prepared for the good death you always envisioned
>but then you can breath again
>Morg lifting her weight so you can take a breath still gloriously filled with roo musk
>"Still alive?"
>you're straining to keep kissing
>but it's a struggle with your legs bound together and your arms tied over your head
>but when you plant your lips against a furry cheek Morg gives a throaty laugh
>"Think it's time to open my present."
>Morg swings a long leg over you, then the back of the couch, all the way so she's facing toward your feet
>you feel her legs binding up in your tied hands
>you rub what little fur you can reach for that extra touchy-feely
>above you you can see Morg reach back and yank aside her panties
>she's burning hotter than the killmobile after a hill-bandit dustup and ram-raid
>you have to remember that line, you're sure Morg will love it
>you can't see it, but you can feel her paws
>tracing claws down your belly and tickling you
>before reaching your shorts
>your cock twitches at just one touch
>you're desperately eager to feel it
>"A pretty little toy, with a bow on top..."
>Morg sways from side to side as she lowers herself forward
>her tail sweeping side to side in amusement
>she's teasing you crazy
>slowly unwrapping the big knot of ribbon around your legs
>not all the way for you you kick free and start thrusting into the crazy fuck you need right now
>just enough to undo your ropey belt and slip your cock free
>Morg huffs
>and then you feel her breath against your tip
>a few sniffs and snuffs
>and then a snicker
>"Well look what's under the mistletoe now!"
>you can't see
>but from the sensation of her lips pressed against your balls you think she put the mistletoe over your balls
>she kisses them like you kissed her ass
>with plenty of tongue
>she alternates between deep sniffs and kisses and licks
>swabbing your balls with just as much effort as you tongue her cunt when she lowers her hips to once more to bury you in roo
>Morg's double-thick tail waps against your arms as it swings in reaction
>and then you feel two things
>first the warm wet sensation of Morg's tongue wrapping around your cock
>tasting from tip to testes
>second your hand feels something sharp
>Morg's crazy-big kicker nail
>and then you have a wicked idea
>with a quick jerk of your wrist, the ribbon is cut and your hands are free
>to grab Morg's cheeks, spread them, and really dig in
>Morg gasps
>then growls playfully
>the tongue doesn't leave your cock
>but her lips wrap around it
>and in a move that has your head spinning she plunges down to take you all the way to the base
>"Mghwah!"
>she makes somewhere between a cough and kiss
>and you giggle into her pussy as you realize what she's doing
>kissing your whole cock at once!
>Morg starts bobbing her head while you tongue-fuck her for your life and glorious death
>your face is drenched
>your cock and balls are drenched
>it's amazing
>if this is Christmas you want to celebrate it all the fucking time
>only thing would make the day perfect is a fight
>but right now you're fighting for your life, with a big bad battle roo battling to suck your life out of your cock
>you quiver, thrusting ineffectually with your tied-up legs
>squeezing ass with your freed-up hands
>swirling tongue over clit and fold with a tongue that loves every inch of her
>Morg grips your thighs suddenly and slams her hips down hard
>mashing your head back into the couch with violent thrust of her hips
>she huffs and groans around your shaft
>and with her next grind starts to really drown you in her pussy
>Morg grows
>you keep eating
>and swallowing
>and bucking your cock into her muzzle that still lucks and sucks and teases and kisses
>and just as the savage slamming of her body down against your head slows, your own climax comes
>blasting down Morg's throat while she groans in satisfaction
>shit and spit
>you're thrusting and busting
>haven't fucked this good in over six hours
>Morg licks your clenching balls as they empty down her throat
>then releases you with another soft 'mwah' sound
>you get a breath of fresh air as Morg lifts herself off your face
>but you whine and try to hold her down
>Morg laughs and obliges, pressing her full weight down and grinding hard one last time to really rub her scent in
>then she rises again
>this time turning and dragging you upright
>"So, you like your gift?"
>you nod enthusiastically
"Fuck and ruck Morg, I nearly died down there!"
>you see she's taken off her battle vest
>and is wearing nothing underneath so her tits are out for you to ogle
>you grab her arms to look her in the eye all serious
"Do it again."
>Morg just laughs and hauls you up by the harness
>tossing you over her shoulder to carry you upstairs
>it's dark outside by the time you get there
>so when she gets you outside, she just tosses you in the back of the killmobile
>right next to the cans of food
>she crawls up next to you and grabs you in her arms, twisting to let you lay on top of her
>then she sniffs
>"What the fuck is--you're still wearing the hat? Jesus Munc it's fucking soaked"
>you blink
"My hands were tied."
>Morg is silent for a moment
>"Oh right."
>the hat is yanked off your head, and you hear the soft 'splat' of it landing outside
>man
>gross
>Morg sighs and settles in on the back bench
>cuddling you close despite the burn and sweat heat outside
>"Mm. Oh yeah."
>you pick your head up to look into her night glow eyes
>"I guess never fully told you what Christmas is about."
>you stare, eager to listen
>"The presents and the decorations and the food are nice. But the main point is you spend Christmas with your family. With the people you love."
>Morg strokes her fingers down your back as she explains
>and you nuzzle your face against her chest
"So it's like every night I spend with you is Christmas."
>Morg coos
>her fingers run through your hair and you feel her kiss the top of your head
>"Aw, Munc. No. It's still fuckin' July you retard."