Her Boyfriend's Aunt

Snowflakes clung to the sleeves of Sarah's wool coat as she stood beside Simon on the front porch. The entire neighborhood was blanketed in soft white, glittering beneath the porchlight like sugar. Wind tickled her legs through her tights, but it wasn't the cold making her shiver.

"Okay," Simon said, wiping his glasses with the corner of his ugly Christmas sweater. "So just a heads up--Aunt Amy's a lot. Like, very... touchy-feely. But she means well. Probably lonely since Uncle Ron left."

Maria had gone on vacation for the holidays, so Simon's Aunt had invited them to have Christmas with her.

Sarah gave a small, polite smile. "That's fine," she said softly. Her voice caught. Why am I nervous? It wasn't as if she hadn't met Maria. And survived. And sinned.

Simon knocked. The sound echoed faintly through the big old house, which was practically sagging under the weight of twinkling lights and inflatable reindeer.

Sarah swallowed and adjusted the strap of her overnight bag.

"She's super festive too. Like, peppermint martinis for breakfast festive. Oh, and her dog's name is Tinsel."

Sarah managed a small laugh, but her heart was hammering. She hadn't stopped thinking about Maria since Thanksgiving. But now, standing here, she couldn't stop wondering: What if Amy's like her?

What if she's worse?

The door handle clicked.

Simon grinned. "There she is."

The door swung open in a rush of warm, cinnamon-scented air.

And there stood Aunt Amy.

She was enormous. Not just in size, but presence -- like someone had taken Maria's lush curves and dialed the knobs past maximum, then wrapped the whole thing in red velvet and holly.

Her robe barely contained her. It cinched just under her tremendous breasts, which swelled upward with every breath, creamy and impossible not to notice. Her hips flared dramatically beneath the sash, and the hem clung to thick, pale thighs. A Santa hat rested rakishly over blonde curls, and her lips were painted a shiny, dangerous red.

"Simon!" she squealed, throwing her arms wide.

Simon stepped forward and was immediately enveloped in her smothering hug. Her breasts jiggled as she bounced slightly, rocking him on his feet. "My sweet boy! Look at you! And in that awful sweater--God, it's adorable."

Sarah tried not to stare.

Amy's eyes flicked to her over Simon's shoulder.

And then they stayed there.

Amy's smile curved, slow and appraising. "And you must be Sarah," she said, her voice suddenly lower. Richer. She pulled back from Simon, but her body remained close to his -- and her gaze never left Sarah.

Simon beamed. "Yep! This is her. She survived Thanksgiving with Mom, so you know she's a keeper."

Amy's eyes slid down and up Sarah's frame in a motion that was far too intimate to be casual.

"Oh, honey," Amy said, stepping forward. "You're even prettier than I pictured."

Sarah stiffened as Amy's arms reached for her -- not fast, not aggressive. Just open. Welcoming. But her scent--vanilla, brown sugar, something darker--hit Sarah like a wave.

Before she could react, Amy's body pressed into hers.

The hug was... comprehensive.

Sarah's face was buried somewhere in the pillowy curve of Amy's shoulder, her cheek grazing an exposed patch of warm breast. Amy's belly was soft and heavy against her, and her thighs enveloped Sarah's in a way that felt intentional.

Amy's lips brushed her ear. "Mm. You're a little thing, aren't you?"

Sarah's heart stopped.

And then the hug ended.

Amy stepped back with a warm laugh, her eyes twinkling. "Come in, come in! Before you both freeze your cute little butts off."

Simon chuckled and wheeled their suitcase through the door.

Sarah moved numbly, trying to breathe normally as she crossed the threshold. Her hands felt tingly. Her cheeks were burning.

Behind her, the door shut with a solid click.

And Amy's voice, low and smooth, murmured just behind her shoulder.

"I do love shy ones."

The living room looked like Christmas had exploded inside it.

Lights were strung across every surface, blinking in time with jazzy instrumental carols playing from a retro radio. The fireplace crackled. The tree -- a monstrous thing that had to be at least ten feet tall -- was smothered in glittery ornaments, oversized bows, and candy canes the size of Sarah's arm. Everything smelled like pine needles and freshly baked gingerbread.

Simon dropped their overnight bag with a grunt. "Okay, this place looks even crazier than last year," he said happily, already walking toward a stack of wrapped gifts under the tree.

"Don't knock my holiday spirit," Amy called after him, swaying past Sarah toward the hearth. "Some of us still believe in joy, young man."

Then she bent over to pick up a stray ribbon on the floor.

Sarah froze.

Amy's red robe rode up immediately, revealing soft, wobbling thighs that shifted and dimpled as she leaned. Her ass was breathtaking -- impossibly wide, round, and plush, like it had its own gravity. The sash cinched just enough to emphasize the curve of her lower back, but the robe did almost nothing to contain the motion.

Sarah's eyes were locked in place.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively.

Amy stood slowly, brushing off her knees as if nothing had happened. She turned with a knowing smile and patted the top of the couch. "Make yourself at home, sweetheart. Want something to drink? Hot cider? Peppermint cocoa?"

"I--I'm okay," Sarah said. Her voice sounded small even to herself.

Amy crossed the room again, somehow gliding and bouncing all at once. She stopped beside Sarah and reached up to gently brush snowflakes off her shoulders. "This coat is lovely on you," she said, fingers grazing the nape of Sarah's neck. "But it hides your figure. You don't have to hide, you know."

Sarah blinked.

Amy smiled with just the corners of her mouth. "You're a guest here, baby. No judgment. Just... warmth."

Her hand lingered on Sarah's upper arm a beat too long. Then she turned and walked toward the kitchen, humming something jazzy under her breath.

Sarah exhaled like she'd been holding her breath underwater. She glanced down at her coat buttons -- all still secure -- and then up again.

Amy had left the room.

But her scent hadn't.

Simon's voice cut through the silence. "Whoa. Mom left us some gifts here. There's, like, five layers of wrapping paper."

Sarah turned and forced herself to smile, her knees slightly shaky.

Her eyes flicked back toward the kitchen doorway, where the faint red flash of Amy's robe had disappeared.

Sarah was halfway through removing her coat when Amy reappeared, holding two steaming mugs in her hands -- one of them emblazoned with NAUGHTY in glittery cursive.

"I brought options," Amy said. "One's spiked. One's not. I'll let you gamble."

Sarah hesitated, her hands fiddling with the buttons of her coat. Amy set the mugs down, then stepped behind her with a playful sigh.

"Here," she said. "Let me help."

Before Sarah could protest, Amy's warm fingers brushed her shoulders. She slid the coat slowly off, letting it bunch around Sarah's elbows before tugging it away with a teasing little tug. Sarah's breath hitched as Amy's hands just barely grazed her sides.

"Oh," Amy murmured, looking her over. "I was right. Much too pretty to be hiding."

Sarah flushed violently.

Amy leaned in slightly, her lips near Sarah's ear. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I've got a few things that'll fit you... perfectly."

Before Sarah could process that, Amy had already turned away, cheerfully tossing the coat over a chair and calling out, "Simon! You hungry yet? I made those pecan bites you like!"

From behind the couch, Simon gave a thumbs up while kneeling in front of the massive gift. "Awesome, thanks! I'm just unpacking snacks and... uh, mind if I open this one from Mom? I think I know what it is."

He pointed at a glossy-wrapped package nearly as wide as the coffee table.

Amy turned back to Sarah with a wink. "Boys and their toys."

Sarah was still standing by the doorway, heart pounding, face warm.

Amy's hand reached out -- palm soft, fingers wide -- and gently nudged Sarah's lower back. "Come in, sweetheart. Let me show you around."

The touch was light. Polite, even.

But Sarah followed.

Amy walked ahead slowly, humming something sultry that might have once been Santa Baby. Her robe shifted with every step, clinging to the thick rolls at her waist, then stretching taut across her hips before sliding down again. The plush red velvet caught the twinkling Christmas lights in flashes of crimson.

Sarah followed a few paces behind, her mouth dry.

The way Amy moved was... deliberate. Her hips swayed dramatically, like she was dragging Sarah forward with every exaggerated shift. With every bounce, her full ass rippled beneath the robe -- lush and obscene, like two massive gifts waiting to be unwrapped.

Oh god.

Sarah's pulse quickened. Her thighs brushed together with every step.

She looked down at her feet, then back up at Amy -- and caught herself staring again.

That was the third time. At least.

Stop. You said you wouldn't do this again. You said Thanksgiving was a one-time mistake.

Amy stopped at the kitchen doorway and turned, catching Sarah in the act.

Her smile curved.

Not teasing. Not smug.

Just... knowing.

Like she'd seen this a hundred times before.

She tilted her head slightly and said, "Sweetheart?"

Sarah startled. "Y-yes?"

Amy's eyes sparkled. "You looked like you were about to faint. Want something sweet?"

Sarah blinked. "I'm okay."

Amy smiled wider. "You sure?"

Sarah nodded too quickly.

Amy didn't press. She turned back toward the kitchen and disappeared inside, humming again, hips resuming their sway.

Sarah stood frozen in the hallway, her heart pounding and a growing, pulsing ache low in her stomach.

She gripped the hem of her sweater and twisted it tightly in her fists.

From the living room, Simon called out: "Babe? Come see what Mom got me!"

Sarah didn't answer.

She stared at the empty hallway, where Amy's scent still lingered in the air -- warm, sweet, heavy.

This was a mistake, she thought.

But her body was already disagreeing. She gulped and walked into the living room.

The box was enormous. Red and silver wrapping with a shiny green bow, it looked like it should contain a small appliance or a piece of furniture.

"Whoa," Simon said, crouched beside it. "This has Mom written all over it. She lives for dramatic packaging."

Sarah sat carefully on the couch, her hands folded in her lap. Her thighs were still warm from where Amy's robe had brushed against them. The couch cushions shifted as she adjusted her legs, but nothing eased the tightness growing between them.

Amy entered from the kitchen carrying a candy-striped bowl of popcorn and plopped down right beside Sarah -- far closer than necessary on the wide couch.

"Snack?" she offered, popping a few kernels into her own mouth, lips glossy and red. "Still warm."

Sarah blinked. "No thank you."

Amy's knee pressed lightly against hers. "Mm. You're polite. That's rare."

Sarah shifted slightly, but Amy didn't.

In the corner, Simon tore through layers of paper and cardboard like a six-year-old.

"Holy crap!" he shouted. "It's the Valkyrie VX Pro! She actually got it!"

He lifted the VR headset out of the box like it was the Holy Grail, eyes wide with disbelief.

Amy chuckled. "She told me she'd spoil you. Said you needed a little escape."

"Oh my god," Simon said, already fiddling with the straps. "I'm gonna try this right now."

"Of course you are," Amy said sweetly.

Sarah turned to glance at her -- and found Amy already watching her.

Amy smiled slowly.

Sarah looked away, her stomach tightening.

Simon was on his knees in front of the TV, untangling cords and muttering instructions from the manual under his breath.

Amy leaned back into the cushions, stretching one arm across the back of the couch behind Sarah's shoulders. Her robe gaped slightly at the chest.

Sarah could see the top curve of one massive breast... and a deep, shadowed line where the robe didn't quite meet flesh.

Amy caught her looking.

Didn't say a word.

Just smiled -- wider this time -- and popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth.

Simon grunted, still kneeling in front of the television. "Okay, just gotta pair the sensors... set the room boundaries... oh, sweet, there's even snow physics!"

He was talking to no one in particular.

The headset slipped over his eyes like a futuristic blindfold, and once the headphones snapped into place, his voice became distant and muffled.

"Whoa. It's like... I'm inside a ski lodge... There's a penguin in a scarf!"

Sarah blinked, then looked to Amy, who was still lounging next to her -- closer now. The bowl of popcorn had been set aside. Amy's arm was still slung behind her, fingertips resting faintly on Sarah's far shoulder.

Her other hand -- heavy, warm -- was now on Sarah's thigh.

At first, it had seemed accidental. She'd reached over her to grab a napkin from the coffee table, maybe? But the hand hadn't moved. It was resting just above Sarah's knee, the weight of it pressing into the soft fabric of her leggings.

Sarah swallowed hard.

Amy didn't look at her.

She watched Simon instead, her mouth turned up in a faint smile. "Isn't he precious?" she said, almost to herself. "Gets so excited over plastic and pixels."

Sarah didn't respond.

Amy's thumb shifted. Just slightly.

A tiny back-and-forth motion.

It was small. Nothing overt.

But the sensation burned.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat. Her thighs tensed, trapping the motion. Amy didn't withdraw. If anything, she pressed more firmly -- not groping, not obvious. Just enough to remind Sarah how there she was.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Amy asked softly, finally turning her head.

Sarah nodded stiffly. "Mm-hm."

Amy leaned a little closer, her arm brushing Sarah's back. "You're all flushed."

"I--it's warm in here," Sarah murmured, eyes fixed on the popcorn bowl.

Amy chuckled low in her throat. "Oh honey... you don't know the half of it."

Behind them, Simon whooped. "I just threw a snowball at a seal!"

Amy's fingers slid lightly off Sarah's thigh at last--but not far.

Instead, they traveled upward, brushing the hem of Sarah's sweater, smoothing fabric that didn't need smoothing.

"You wear this color well," she murmured, tugging gently at the edge of the sleeve. "Moss green. Makes your skin look like porcelain."

Sarah gave the smallest, helpless nod.

Amy leaned in further, the arm around the back of the couch grazing Sarah's hair. "And you've got such a graceful neck," she added, voice just above a whisper now. "So soft. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Sarah's lips parted, but no sound came out.

Amy's knuckles grazed the side of her neck, following the slope down to her collarbone. She used her thumb to trace along it under the pretense of adjusting the collar. Her touch was maddeningly gentle -- not a grab, not a grope, but it lingered, like a thought that wouldn't go away.

Sarah shivered.

Amy smiled.

"I just love how delicate you are," she said. "Like a little dove. A nervous one."

She laughed softly at her own joke, but her hand didn't move.

"I bet you get overlooked, don't you?" she added, stroking a stray hair behind Sarah's ear with exaggerated care. "You're so sweet, so soft... but everyone's always watching someone louder. Flashier."

Sarah could barely breathe.

Amy's fingertip tapped her cheek, then ran along the curve of her jaw, then stopped -- and stayed -- right under her chin.

"Not me though," Amy whispered, her lips a breath away from Sarah's ear. "I see you."

Behind them, Simon shouted, "Oh my god, I'm riding a yeti!"

Sarah jolted like she'd been slapped. Amy retracted her hand slowly, like someone finishing a delicate painting stroke.

She sat back against the couch cushions, one arm draped lazily again behind Sarah, lips still smiling but eyes half-lidded with calm, predatory patience.

Sarah was silent, her body locked in place, breathing hard through her nose.

Amy didn't say another word.

She didn't have to.

Simon flailed near the TV stand, arms extended like a confused scarecrow. "Okay, wait--wait--I'm in a bobsled now? This penguin's driving! I don't know what's happening!"

Amy laughed -- a low, musical sound -- but her eyes never left Sarah.

She leaned forward once more, slow and casual, until her lips were near Sarah's ear again. The faintest brush of breath across her cheek made Sarah's spine tighten.

"I bet you taste even sweeter than you look," Amy whispered.

Sarah inhaled sharply, but her breath caught halfway.

Her thighs clenched involuntarily.

Amy smiled.

Then, with the same breezy energy as someone standing to fluff a pillow, Amy rose from the couch.

She smoothed the robe along her belly, pulled the sash just a bit tighter, and sauntered toward the kitchen, hips swaying like metronomes.

"Simon, honey?" she called. "You want those pecan bites now?"

From behind the headset, Simon mumbled something about igloos.

Amy winked at Sarah as she passed.

Sarah sat frozen on the couch, heart thudding in her chest. Her palms were sweaty. Her lips tingled from the nearness. Her legs wouldn't stop pressing together.

She could still feel Amy's voice -- like it had left a mark, not a memory.

And worse... she didn't want it to go away.

"I'm going to show Sarah where she'll be sleeping," Amy announced, already halfway to the stairs. "You'll be fine down here with your little penguins, Simon."

Sarah stood uncertainly from the couch.

Amy turned at the bottom step and beckoned with one finger. "C'mon, sweetheart. Let's get you tucked in somewhere soft."

The way she said soft made Sarah's knees weaken slightly.

She followed.

Each step upward was filled with tension -- not from exertion, but anticipation. Amy's thick calves rolled beneath the robe, her ankles barely visible above slippered feet. Sarah couldn't stop staring at her wide, swaying hips climbing each step.

Her own legs felt shaky.

She didn't know if she wanted to run, or reach out and grab Amy's waist.

They reached the landing, and Amy led her down a hallway bathed in dim multicolored light from a string of Christmas bulbs pinned along the baseboards.

"Here we are," Amy said, pushing open a door.

The guest room smelled faintly of rose powder and cedar. The bed was enormous -- plush, overstuffed, covered in throw pillows shaped like candy canes and snowflakes. The lamp glowed gold in the corner.

Sarah stepped inside slowly.

Amy followed.

And shut the door behind them.

Click.

That soft little sound of the door latching echoed louder in Sarah's mind than it should have.

Amy didn't speak right away.

She just turned the lock.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a smooth twist of the wrist -- practiced.

Sarah's breath hitched.

Amy turned slowly to face her, and the warmth that had radiated from her voice downstairs was gone -- replaced by something silkier. Something heavier.

The room felt warmer instantly. Or maybe it was just Sarah's body betraying her again.

Amy took a slow step forward.

Sarah didn't back away.

Another step.

Amy's eyes flicked down Sarah's frame, not bothering to be subtle now.

"You've been eye-fucking me ever since you saw me," she said softly. "Haven't you."

Sarah didn't answer.

Amy closed the space between them in two strides.

Her hand cupped Sarah's cheek, thick fingers brushing behind her ear. Her thumb grazed the corner of Sarah's lip.

Then she kissed her.

No warning.

No hesitation.

Just full, hot mouth against Sarah's -- plush and hungry, tasting of peppermint and heat. Amy kissed like she meant it. Like she'd been waiting for hours and didn't care if the house burned down around them.

Sarah made a surprised sound into the kiss, one hand shooting up to grab Amy's arm for balance. Amy was warm and solid, pressing her weight into Sarah until her back touched the wall.

Her lips parted involuntarily, and Amy's tongue slipped inside -- slow, sure, claiming.

Sarah moaned softly.

Amy deepened the kiss, one thick thigh nudging between Sarah's legs as her soft belly pressed against her stomach. Her hands were everywhere -- stroking Sarah's waist, her ribs, cradling the back of her head with unhurried control.

Sarah felt her whole body melt under her.

Every kiss Maria had given her came roaring back in memory -- but Amy was different. Stronger. Heavier. More sure.

More dangerous.

And Sarah couldn't stop.

Sarah gasped as Amy pressed in fully, pinning her gently but completely against the wall.

The plush swell of Amy's breasts enveloped her chest like two heated pillows, and her belly--soft, warm, immovable--pushed into Sarah's hips with firm weight. There was no air left between them. Only heat.

Sarah moaned again, this time deeper, without even realizing it.

Amy's lips trailed downward now -- over her jaw, her neck -- slow, savoring. "God, you're so soft," she murmured between kisses. "So damn sweet. I could eat you alive."

Her hand slipped beneath Sarah's sweater.

The skin-on-skin contact made Sarah arch with a gasp. Amy's fingers found her waist, warm and strong, dragging upward just under the fabric until she touched the underside of Sarah's bra. Not quite groping -- just there, claiming space she hadn't been given permission to touch... but didn't need to ask.

Sarah whimpered.

Amy licked along the curve of her neck. "Tell me you've been dreaming about this."

"I--" Sarah's voice cracked. "I shouldn't--"

"Oh, baby." Amy chuckled softly, nuzzling her ear. "You should. You just don't want to admit how badly."

She kissed her again, this time slower -- tongues brushing, lips melting together in a wet heat that made Sarah's knees tremble. Amy's thigh flexed between hers, thick and firm, spreading her open just enough to make her hips roll down without thinking.

Amy smiled into the kiss. "There she is."

Sarah didn't know how to stop.

Her hands had found Amy's waist -- fingers sinking into the sides of her robe, feeling the plush give of her curves, the motion beneath her skin. She was drowning in soft and scent and sound.

Amy shifted her weight slightly, and her entire body jiggled into Sarah with a delicious, obscene press.

"Mm. You like big girls, don't you?" she whispered, nibbling Sarah's lower lip.

Sarah didn't speak.

She just kissed her back harder.

Amy's hand slid down Sarah's side -- slow and possessive -- over her hip, around the swell of her backside. She squeezed softly, then again, firmer this time. Sarah shuddered, her head tipped back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut.

Amy's voice was like velvet over ice. "You taste better than I imagined."

Then, from downstairs:

"Babe? Aunt Amy? Where'd everybody go?"

Simon.

His voice broke the moment like a record scratch in a dream.

Amy didn't even flinch.

She licked her lips, kissed Sarah's cheek -- almost affectionately -- and stepped back, giving her robe a casual tug at the waist like she'd just finished folding towels.

Sarah remained frozen against the wall, breathing hard, her lips kiss-swollen, her shirt slightly rumpled and riding high on her stomach.

Amy winked.

"Don't worry," she said lightly, as if they'd just been talking about weather. "We're just getting started."

Then she turned and opened the door.

"Coming, sweetie!" she called down the stairs, cheerful and sing-song.

Her hips swayed as she walked away -- and this time, she didn't look back.

Sarah stared at the empty doorway, trembling, her legs still spread from where Amy had stood between them.

She touched her lips.

They were still wet.

And her panties... soaked.

**********

The dining room glowed with candles, twinkle lights, and the scent of roasted ham and buttery rolls.

Amy had changed into a clingy red sweater that hugged every roll and curve of her body, the neckline pulled just low enough to make Sarah dizzy. Her lipstick was reapplied. Her hair had been fluffed. Her scent -- vanilla, musk, something like honeyed wine -- filled every inch of air around the table.

Simon shoveled potatoes onto his plate. "There was this one part where I was skiing down this neon mountain with techno music blasting, and suddenly a Yeti showed up and started singing!"

Sarah blinked at him, nodding vaguely.

Her plate was untouched.

Amy carved into a slice of ham with leisurely precision, licking a trace of glaze from her finger while watching Sarah.

"You like meat, baby?" she asked.

Sarah's fork slipped off her plate with a soft clink.

Amy smiled sweetly. "Dark or white?"

Sarah mumbled something incoherent.

Simon didn't notice. "I should stream the gameplay when we get back. I think this thing lets you record POV footage!"

Amy poured Sarah another half-glass of wine, even though Sarah hadn't touched the first.

"You've barely eaten a thing," Amy said softly. "Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?"

"I'm... fine," Sarah said.

Amy leaned in a little. "Is it the nerves? Or the anticipation?"

Sarah's lips parted, but no words came out.

Amy sat back, sipping her wine. Her eyes sparkled like she was laughing at a joke no one else could hear.

Across the table, Simon was too busy buttering bread to notice the way Amy's foot had gently nudged Sarah's under the table... and stayed there.

The food smelled amazing.

But Sarah couldn't taste anything.

Her hunger had... shifted.

**********

The house had gone still, but Sarah couldn't sleep.

Simon lay sprawled beside her in the guest bed, breathing softly, one hand twitching slightly every few minutes -- probably fighting digital penguins in his dreams. His VR headset was neatly tucked beside his pillow like a second head.

Sarah lay stiff on her back, eyes wide open in the dark.

The sheets were warm. Her thighs were warmer. She kept shifting slightly, trying not to make the mattress squeak. Every nerve in her body felt lit from within -- pulsing faintly, whispering go back to her even though she hadn't let herself think those words out loud.

But she could still feel Amy's kiss on her mouth. Her weight on her hips. Her breath on her neck.

Sarah exhaled slowly, then sat up, careful not to jostle Simon.

She crept out from beneath the covers, slid her feet into the slippers Amy had left by the bed -- soft and red with little pom-poms -- and tiptoed into the hallway.

The floorboards creaked faintly.

She padded toward the kitchen, her silk pajama shorts clinging to her legs in the wrong places. Her body was too warm, too awake. Maybe cold water would help. Maybe.

The house was dark except for the colored lights running along the ceiling trim -- twinkling in slow, sleepy rhythm.

She passed the living room.

And stopped.

Frozen.

There, lit by the flicker of the fireplace and the soft glow of the Christmas tree, was Amy.

She was reclining on the loveseat like it was a throne -- legs spread slightly, one knee bent, cocoa mug in hand.

Red lace lingerie clung to her impossibly full body, barely containing her breasts. Her belly spilled over the garter strap in soft, glorious folds. Her thighs were glowing in the light -- vast, thick, dimpled.

And atop her curls, at a saucy tilt... a Santa hat.

Sarah's mouth went dry.

Amy didn't speak at first.

She just looked up slowly from her cocoa.

Then smiled.

"Well well," she said. "Looks like someone's still up."

Sarah didn't move.

She stood half in the hallway, half in shadow, arms wrapped around her middle -- not from cold, but from the sheer intensity of what she was seeing.

Amy tilted her head, smile widening.

The cocoa mug steamed lazily in her hand, as if she weren't sitting there completely exposed -- heavy breasts barely cradled by red lace, thighs relaxed apart, belly soft and unapologetic. The hat's white pom-pom bobbed with the slight tilt of her head.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," Amy said, her voice low, playful.

"I was just-- I couldn't sleep," Sarah whispered, eyes locked somewhere between Amy's thighs and her chest.

Amy's foot -- bare, wide, and pedicured with shimmering red polish -- slid out from under the blanket that had been carelessly tossed across one leg. She tapped it once against the hardwood.

"I know," she murmured. "You've been tossing around since dinner."

Sarah flushed. "You heard that?"

Amy chuckled and took a slow sip of her drink. "Baby, this old house creaks every time someone breathes."

Sarah's eyes flicked to the hall behind her. Quiet. Still.

Amy leaned forward slightly, resting her mug on the coffee table. Her body shifted -- breasts jiggling gently with the motion, thighs pressing closer together, but not enough to hide the space between them.

She patted her lap. "Come here."

Sarah's pulse roared in her ears.

"I--what if Simon--"

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Still dreaming about virtual snowballs, I'm sure."

She patted her lap again, more firmly. "Don't make me come get you, sweetheart."

Sarah hesitated one more beat.

Then stepped forward.

The distance from the hallway to the loveseat felt endless. Sarah's legs trembled with every quiet step. The soft light made Amy look less like a woman and more like a figure carved from temptation itself -- plush, confident, glowing.

Amy spread her thighs slightly as Sarah approached, inviting without a word.

Sarah stopped in front of her, heart hammering. Her hands twitched at her sides. She didn't know where to look -- the heavy swell of Amy's breasts? The gleam of the lace between her legs? The amused spark in her eyes?

Amy's voice was almost a purr. "Look at you. Shaking like a little gift that's dying to be unwrapped."

Sarah bit her lip.

Amy extended both arms toward her. "Sit."

Sarah climbed awkwardly onto Amy's lap, one knee sliding across the soft skin of her thigh. The moment she lowered herself onto those plush legs, she felt completely enveloped. Amy was warm everywhere -- soft, solid, the kind of softness that cradled and trapped you at the same time.

One of Amy's hands settled on Sarah's waist. The other slid up her back, gently stroking under her pajama top.

"You know what I've been thinking about?" Amy murmured, voice close now, lips brushing Sarah's ear.

Sarah shivered. "W-what?"

Amy's hand slid higher.

"That little sound you made earlier," she whispered. "When I kissed you against that wall. That little gasp, like you didn't know whether to run or melt."

Sarah swallowed hard.

Amy's lips pressed against her neck, hot and slow.

"And that flush on your cheeks at dinner," she continued. "Every time I said something a little dirty... your thighs squeezed together like a prayer."

Sarah's hips twitched in Amy's lap.

Amy smiled into her skin. "You've been a very, very naughty girl, Sarah."

She reached down and smacked Sarah's ass -- just once -- soft but firm.

Sarah gasped, breath catching.

Amy purred.

"And naughty girls," she said, dragging her nails slowly up Sarah's spine, "don't get coal."

Her hand slipped under Sarah's waistband.

"They get spoiled."

Amy's thick fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Sarah's pajama shorts and tugged gently.

"Up," she murmured.

Sarah rose instinctively. The cool air kissed her thighs as the shorts slid down to her knees, then ankles. Her breath hitched as her skin met the warm press of Amy's belly and thighs.

Amy pulled her down gently across her lap, guiding her into place -- one strong hand on her hip, the other smoothing down her spine.

Sarah's cheek rested against Amy's pillowed thigh. Her bare ass was raised in the air, framed by Amy's arms and the crackle of the firelight.

"There we go," Amy whispered. "Look at you. Bent over and blushing."

Sarah whimpered softly, her toes curling into the edge of the rug.

Amy's palm rested on one cheek -- wide, warm, confident. She stroked her first. No rush. Just touch. Savoring the feel of her curves.

Then came the first smack.

Not hard.

Just enough to make her hips jolt.

"Mmh," Amy purred. "That's the sound."

Another smack -- the other cheek this time, followed by a slow caress that made Sarah tremble.

"Such a sweet ass," Amy murmured. "You've been hiding this all day under that shy little sweater."

Sarah gripped the cushion beneath her.

Amy's hand rose again.

And came down.

Again.

And again.

Slow, measured, with just enough sting to make her gasp -- but never enough to hurt. Every swat was followed by a tender stroke, fingers grazing her inner thighs, her lower back, the underswell of her cheeks.

Sarah's breathing was uneven. Her lips parted. She pressed herself harder into Amy's lap without thinking.

Amy leaned down, her breath warm across Sarah's back.

"Are you ready to be touched, baby?" she whispered.

Sarah nodded against her leg, eyes fluttering closed.

Amy's hand slid lower.

Her fingers glided across the backs of Sarah's thighs, barely touching, sending goosebumps racing up her skin.

"So pretty," she murmured. "All this soft little flesh, begging for my hands."

She spanked her again, this time firmer -- a confident thwap right in the center. Sarah gasped, her body jerking forward, face pressing into Amy's thigh.

"Oh, that got your attention."

Amy's hand rested possessively on her now-red cheek.

"You like this, don't you?" she said, voice low and husky. "Being over my lap. Exposed. Owned."

Sarah whimpered, hips squirming.

Amy spanked again -- a rhythmic, teasing pace. Alternating cheeks, pausing just long enough between each one for Sarah to start to breathe again... before taking it away.

"You're such a good girl," she cooed, caressing the spot she'd just struck. "So sensitive. Every part of you just wants to be touched."

Sarah's thighs trembled. Her hands clenched uselessly into the rug. She felt herself dripping, aching -- every nerve tuned to the shape of Amy's hand.

"You know what I see when I look at you, sweetheart?" Amy whispered, leaning down until her lips brushed the shell of Sarah's ear.

"I see a hungry little thing. Someone so sweet on the outside. But underneath? You want to be used. Owned. Ruined."

Sarah moaned -- half a protest, half a confession.

Amy's hand slid between her thighs.

She found the slick heat instantly.

"My, my," she whispered, stroking slowly. "So wet for me already?"

Sarah's back arched, her hips pressing down into Amy's palm.

Amy growled softly in approval. "You've been begging for this since the moment I opened that door."

Her fingers began to circle, deliberately slow.

Sarah whimpered again, completely helpless.

Amy's fingers circled Sarah's slick folds with exquisite patience, slow and deliberate, never rushing. Her touch was skilled--intimate. She wasn't just trying to get Sarah off.

She was claiming her.

Sarah gasped into Amy's thigh, her body twitching with every pass of those fingers, hips rising, chasing the pressure.

"Easy," Amy murmured, her other hand pressing firmly on Sarah's lower back, holding her in place. "Let me take my time with you."

She teased her entrance, just barely dipping inside, before sliding back up to circle her clit again--slick, swollen, desperate for more.

"Do you feel how wet you are for me?" she whispered.

Sarah could only moan in response, her mouth open, face flushed and sweaty from the fire's heat and the burning between her thighs.

Amy slid one finger inside.

Sarah jerked.

Then a second.

Amy moved slowly, curling just right, her palm still grinding against Sarah's mound as she pumped her fingers in and out. Her body rocked gently beneath Sarah with every motion--steady, smothering, patient.

"There it is," she purred. "There's my good girl."

Sarah let out a broken, helpless sound. Her thighs clenched around Amy's arm. Her hands clawed at the cushion. She could barely hold still.

Amy didn't let up.

Her other hand stayed firm on Sarah's back, keeping her grounded as she worked her fingers deeper, rubbing the spot that made Sarah's legs shake.

"Come for me, sweetheart," Amy whispered. "I want to feel your pretty little cunt pulse on my hand."

Sarah moaned, her hips bucking in short, desperate bursts.

Amy's voice dropped, dark and sweet: "Don't hold back."

Sarah shattered.

The orgasm hit her like a rolling wave -- long, slow, and impossibly deep.

She gasped, her entire body tensing as she came, hips grinding into Amy's palm, her mouth wide open but silent.

Amy held her through it, murmuring praise into her hair, fingers never stopping, just easing the motion into something slower, more intimate.

"That's it, baby... oh, yes. That's it. Let it out."

Sarah whimpered again as a second climax surged through her, smaller but sharp, like aftershocks from the first. Her legs trembled. Her thighs shook around Amy's hand, slick and twitching.

She collapsed fully into Amy's lap.

Amy stroked her gently now, no longer teasing -- just comforting. One hand massaging small circles into the small of her back, the other wiping her own fingers on a napkin she'd tucked beside the loveseat like she'd planned this.

"Good girl," she whispered again. "You came so hard for me."

Sarah couldn't speak. Could barely lift her head.

Amy helped her upright and gently repositioned her so she sat facing forward on her lap -- like a dazed doll.

She reached behind her and retrieved a water bottle from the side table. Unscrewed the cap. Held it to Sarah's lips.

"Drink."

Sarah obeyed.

The cool water hit her throat and she swallowed reflexively, gasping a little after.

Amy smiled.

She pressed a soft kiss to Sarah's temple, then stood and pulled the red throw blanket around her shoulders like a cape.

"Back to bed now, sweetheart," she said softly. "Before your boyfriend wakes up and realizes Christmas came early."

Sarah stood on shaking legs, her bare feet nearly silent on the floor.

Amy smacked her ass one last time -- gentle, affectionate.

"Sleep tight, naughty girl."

**********

Sarah sat on the edge of the guest bed, blinking at the light creeping through the window.

Christmas morning.

Her thighs still ached.

She squeezed them together, instinctively trying to recapture the feeling of Amy's lap -- the thick weight of her thighs, the teasing fingers, the control.

A blush crept over her chest.

Get it together, she told herself. Act normal.

She dressed slowly -- high-waisted black leggings, an oversized cream cardigan, a camisole with a high neckline. Everything soft, modest, safe. Still, nothing could hide the sensitivity blooming under her skin. Every brush of fabric felt like a whisper across her thighs.

By the time she stepped into the hallway, she could hear voices downstairs.

One voice, mostly.

Amy's.

Sarah descended slowly, gripping the railing like she might need to catch herself.

Amy stood in the middle of the living room, laughing at something Simon said, holding a mug of coffee in one hand and a serving tray in the other.

Her dress was candy-apple red, tight as a second skin. It hugged her massive breasts like they were being presented on a satin platter. Her belly curved gloriously beneath the fabric, hips flaring out in wide celebration. The hem barely reached mid-thigh. She wore fuzzy white heels with pompoms on the toes.

Sarah stopped halfway down the stairs.

Amy looked up. Met her eyes.

And winked.

Simon waved from the couch, already setting up his VR gear again. "Babe! The snowball game got a patch. There's a Santa boss now."

Sarah forced a smile. "Sounds... fun."

Amy leaned against the kitchen doorframe, one hip cocked.

"Sweetheart," she said, voice like warm butter. "Come help me in the kitchen?"

Sarah hesitated.

Amy sipped her coffee and smirked.

"Don't worry. I promise not to bite."

A beat.

"Much."

Sarah's feet felt like they barely touched the floor as she crossed the living room.

Amy didn't move from the doorway -- she simply turned sideways, letting Sarah brush past her, the soft underside of her bust grazing Sarah's shoulder as she passed.

The kitchen was warm, bright with early sun, and filled with the scent of brown sugar, cinnamon, and roasting meat. It should've felt cozy.

Instead, Sarah's heart was racing.

Amy followed behind her and casually clicked the door shut.

Not all the way.

Just enough to dull the noise from Simon's headset in the next room.

Sarah turned around slowly.

Amy was already tying on a frilly apron -- cherry red with lace at the edges, though it didn't hide anything the dress didn't already cling to.

"We've got a few things to finish before lunch," Amy said lightly, walking to the island. "But first..."

She reached into the fridge, pulled out a bowl of spiced butter, and set it on the counter with a smile that was all teeth.

"I could really use help with the stuffing."

Sarah nodded dumbly.

Amy stepped closer.

Their hips nearly touched.

"You can follow directions, can't you, sweetheart?" Amy murmured.

Sarah nodded again.

Amy smiled wider. "Good."

Then she leaned in -- just enough to press her chest against Sarah's arm -- and whispered, "Because I give very specific instructions."

Amy moved like a dancer -- slow, smooth, completely in control of the space around her. One moment she was at the counter, reaching for a roasting pan...

... and the next, she'd pivoted, crowding Sarah back until her spine met the cold surface of the fridge.

Sarah gasped as the chill shocked her skin through the cardigan -- and then Amy's heat pressed in immediately afterward, all plush breasts and full belly and commanding hips.

"God," Amy whispered, lips already brushing Sarah's. "I was so good to you last night."

Sarah opened her mouth to respond -- maybe to protest, maybe to plead -- but Amy kissed her before she could form a word.

Hot, open-mouthed. Possessive.

Amy kissed like she already owned every inch of her, and Sarah moaned softly, fingers gripping the fridge handle behind her for balance. She tilted her face up, welcoming it -- drowning in it.

Amy's hand slid beneath the cardigan, cupping Sarah's side, then sliding upward until her palm grazed the edge of her bra. Sarah gasped into her mouth again, trembling.

"You're still aching, aren't you?" Amy murmured. "Still sore between those pretty thighs?"

Sarah nodded helplessly, her breath shuddering.

Amy kissed her once more -- slow, deliberate -- and then pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips:

"You tasted like sugar and surrender."

Sarah whimpered.

Amy's fingers traced the line of her stomach. "You came so hard for me, baby. I felt every twitch. Every clench. You were so grateful."

She slipped one hand lower, just brushing the waistband of Sarah's leggings now.

"I bet you're already soaked again."

Sarah bit her lip, eyes wide, her back still pinned to the cold fridge door.

Amy leaned in and kissed her jaw, then her throat.

"Tell me I'm wrong," she whispered.

Sarah opened her mouth--

--and the oven timer dinged behind them.

The oven timer rang out through the kitchen -- sharp, shrill, unforgiving.

Amy froze for half a beat.

Then she laughed, low and delighted, her breath still hot against Sarah's skin.

"Well," she said, drawing back just enough to make eye contact. "That's the potatoes."

Sarah's chest was rising and falling fast, her lips kiss-swollen, eyes glassy with need. She looked as if she might collapse without another touch.

Amy grinned and smoothed Sarah's cardigan, tucking it closed like a mother tidying up a favorite doll.

"Be patient, little treat," she said. "Christmas isn't over."

She turned away, completely unfazed, and moved to the oven like nothing had happened -- hips swaying, humming to herself as she reached for her mitts.

Sarah still stood frozen against the fridge, breath caught, her body aching for what had been taken away so suddenly.

Amy pulled the potatoes from the oven, turned with the pan in hand, and gave Sarah a playful once-over.

Then she reached across the island, grabbed a wooden spoon from the crock -- and without warning, gave Sarah's backside a firm pop.

Sarah yelped.

Amy smirked. "Just making sure you're awake."

A moment later, the kitchen door swung open.

Simon poked his head in, VR headset around his neck.

"Something smells amazing," he said. "When's lunch?"

Amy beamed. "Oh, we just have a few more things to finish, you go back to your game."

"Sweet," he said, and went back to the living room.

**********

Lunch was nearly done.

The table was set, the ham resting under foil, and the last of the gravy cooling by the stove.

Amy wiped her hands on a towel and turned to Sarah with a little smile. "Stay a moment, sweetheart. I have something I want to... taste-test."

Sarah paused at the doorway. Her pulse jumped immediately.

Amy moved slowly, turning the lock on the kitchen door again, the same casual twist as the night before. Then she walked to the counter, grabbed the edge with both hands, and hoisted herself up with surprising grace.

Her dress rode high as she seated herself on the edge -- then higher still as she lifted it fully past her hips.

There was nothing underneath.

Just thick, bare thighs and a slick, glistening center already flushed and ready.

Amy leaned back on her elbows, grinning.

"Well?" she said, voice low and wicked. "What kind of helper just walks off before dessert?"

Sarah stepped forward, her breath hitching as Amy spread her knees.

Amy crooked a finger. "Come here, little elf."

Sarah obeyed before she realized her feet were moving.

She crouched down, her palms trembling slightly as she settled between Amy's open thighs. The scent was instant -- sweet, musky, thick with arousal and already familiar.

Amy's hand slid into her hair -- not rough, but firm -- tilting her face up until their eyes met.

"You remember how," she murmured. "Don't you?"

Sarah nodded slowly, lips parted.

Amy smiled. "Then be a good girl for me."

She guided Sarah down.

The first lick drew a sharp inhale from Amy -- her stomach fluttering, hips rolling subtly forward. Sarah's tongue moved carefully at first, just exploring, reacquainting herself with Amy's warmth, her taste. But Amy's thighs closed gently around her, coaxing her closer.

"That's it," she whispered. "God, that tongue... Maria said you were a fast learner."

Sarah whimpered softly into her, not quite catching what she had just said.

Amy's breath caught again.

"Use your lips, baby... kiss it like it's mine. Because it is."

Sarah obeyed, suckling softly, then harder, as Amy's moans grew louder, echoing faintly off the kitchen walls. Amy gripped the edge of the counter with one hand, the other tangled in Sarah's hair, her voice thick and breathy with pleasure.

"Mmm... just like that," she gasped. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

Sarah didn't.

She pressed deeper, more eager now -- tasting everything, letting Amy's weight and scent and heat smother her senses completely.

Sarah's hand slid down her own body, trembling fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her leggings and underwear in one desperate motion.

She was soaked -- embarrassingly so -- from the second Amy had lifted her dress.

Her middle finger found her clit and began to circle it in slow, steady motions, matching the rhythm of her tongue between Amy's thighs. Her moans deepened, muffled against Amy's slick folds as her face moved in time with the pulsing ache building inside her.

Above her, Amy writhed.

Her belly trembled with each gasp, her thighs pressing tighter around Sarah's head. Her fingers pulled Sarah in harder now, rocking her hips forward with every motion.

"That's it," she moaned, voice cracking slightly. "God, baby... you're so good. So fucking eager."

Sarah whimpered in response, rubbing herself faster, her own climax threatening to overtake her.

Amy leaned forward suddenly, both hands on the counter behind her, her body arching. Her breasts heaved against the neckline of her dress, sweat glistening along her chest.

"You like it, don't you?" she breathed. "Tasting me. Serving me. Getting off on it."

Sarah nodded into her, tongue never stopping, hand now working in frantic little circles between her thighs.

Amy growled.

"You're gonna come while you eat me out, aren't you?"

Sarah moaned -- helpless, lost in sensation.

"Say it," Amy demanded, her voice a rasp.

"I'm gonna come," Sarah gasped against her, "while I taste you."

Amy's whole body tensed.

And so did Sarah's.

Amy's breath came in ragged bursts now -- high, sharp, barely contained. Her thighs clamped tighter around Sarah's head as her hips began to stutter, her fingers tangled deep in Sarah's hair.

And then--

"Oh--fuck--"

She grabbed the nearest oven mitt from the counter, shoved it against her mouth, and bit down hard.

The rest of her scream was swallowed in cotton.

Her whole body shook as she came, thighs trembling, belly rippling with each wave. Sarah held on, tongue and lips moving through it, savoring the gush of warmth, the sweetness, the power of making this massive, confident woman unravel against her mouth.

Amy collapsed backward slightly, panting, legs still twitching.

Sarah whimpered and moaned into her, her fingers still moving furiously between her own thighs.

Her own climax came seconds later.

It ripped through her like a fever -- high, hot, and devastating.

She gasped into Amy's skin, thighs clenching, hips bucking upward against her own hand as she cried out softly, her moans muffled into Amy's slick flesh.

They stayed like that -- tangled, shuddering -- for a long, breathless moment.

The kitchen smelled like cloves and sweat and sex.

Amy's hand reached down, finally, and stroked Sarah's cheek.

"Now that," she panted, "is how you baste a bird."

**********

The dining room was quieter now, heavy with the aftermath of lunch -- half-finished wine glasses, silverware skewed at angles, crumbs and gravy smears marking a meal well-enjoyed.

Simon lay slumped in the recliner, mouth slightly open, headset humming beside him on the end table.

Sarah gathered plates with trembling hands, her knees weak from what had happened only an hour earlier -- crouching in front of Amy, tasting her until they both lost control. Her lips still tingled. Her thighs were sore. Her underwear... unsalvageable.

Amy moved around the room slowly, humming a Christmas tune, smiling, stacking plates like nothing had happened.

Sarah caught herself staring at the gentle sway of her hips.

Amy turned.

Their eyes met.

Amy's smile curled with something private.

She picked up a stray napkin, stepped close -- very close -- and reached over Sarah's shoulder to grab a plate.

Her front pressed lightly to Sarah's back.

And she whispered, lips grazing Sarah's ear:

"Ten minutes. My room."

Then she walked away.

Sarah stood frozen with a fork in her hand.

Amy's words echoed louder than the clink of dishes, louder than the low hum of Simon's headset buzzing through the wall.

Her hands were suddenly useless. She put the fork down blindly, heart hammering as she turned toward the kitchen sink.

Amy was there already, rinsing serving spoons with the same serene calm as if she hadn't just whispered something so dangerous that Sarah's knees had nearly buckled.

Their shoulders brushed as Sarah stepped up beside her.

Amy didn't look over.

But she did smile -- a quiet, knowing thing -- and reached across Sarah again, her palm grazing the small of her back as if it were nothing. As if it hadn't just sent a fresh pulse of heat through Sarah's core.

Sarah gripped the edge of the sink, pretending to focus on the gravy boat.

Amy leaned in.

"You'll knock, of course," she murmured, rinsing her hands under warm water. "Unless you prefer just... letting yourself in."

Then she dried her hands with a towel, winked, and exited the kitchen -- hips rolling, no further comment.

Sarah watched her go.

Then stared at the clock.

One minute passed.

Then another.

Nine minutes had never lasted so long in her life.

Sarah lingered near the hallway, pretending to tidy up the already-clean counter, refolding the same napkin three times while casting occasional glances toward the corridor.

Simon was still snoring in the recliner, half-blanketed, slack-jawed with a faint smile on his face. The headset lay beside him like a second brain.

The house creaked softly with heat. Somewhere upstairs, Amy's door had closed.

Exactly ten minutes later -- not one second sooner -- Sarah moved.

Her feet were silent against the old hardwood floor, her breath shallow and careful. The hallway stretched like a tunnel, the multicolored Christmas lights along the trim blinking in lazy rhythm. The air felt warmer with each step.

Amy's bedroom door stood ahead -- slightly ajar.

A red ribbon hung from the knob, tied into a casual bow.

Sarah hesitated. Her hand hovered just inches from the doorframe.

She knocked -- softly. Once.

A pause.

Then a voice from inside, thick and honeyed:

"Come in, sweetheart."

Sarah exhaled slowly.

And pushed the door open.

The door creaked open.

The room was aglow in soft golden lamplight and the flickering shimmer of fake candle bulbs draped around the headboard. The bed itself looked like something from a pin-up calendar: oversized, over-pillowed, and covered in red satin sheets that gleamed under Amy's body.

And what a body it was.

Amy lay reclined in the center of the bed, propped up slightly on one elbow. She was fully, gloriously nude -- save for the Santa hat still perched at a cocky tilt over her curls. Her legs were spread slightly, one knee bent up for balance, exposing everything without shame.

Sarah stopped just inside the door, frozen.

Amy's breasts were huge -- absurdly so -- round, heavy, resting like twin mounds of soft cream on the swell of her chest. They sagged slightly with their own weight, their full undercurves visible beneath the soft golden light. Her nipples were dark, wide, and taut, begging for mouths or hands.

Below, her belly was generous and plush, cascading over her middle in soft, pale folds. It moved slightly with each slow breath she took, rising and falling like a living cushion -- inviting touch, submission, worship.

Her hips flared wide beneath it, thighs spread indulgently. They were impossibly thick -- dimpled, pale, glowing with heat. Her inner thighs glistened faintly where she'd already grown wet, her soft folds glistening, pink and swollen and perfectly unshaven.

Amy smiled when she saw Sarah's eyes flick down.

"Told you I don't bite," she said, her voice low and amused. "Unless asked."

Her hand reached up slowly and trailed across the slope of her belly, fingers spreading wide, then dipping between her thighs with idle familiarity. She let two fingers slip over her folds, spreading herself gently with no shame, just ease.

Sarah gasped.

Amy's voice thickened.

"You've been tasting me all day," she murmured. "Don't you want to see what you've earned?"

She held out her other hand -- palm open, fingers curling slowly.

"Come here, baby girl."

Sarah took a step forward.

Then another.

Amy watched her from the center of the bed, fingers still lazily stroking between her thighs, Santa hat bobbing slightly as she tilted her head.

"That's it," she purred. "Don't be shy. I want to see all of you."

Sarah's hands went to the hem of her cardigan.

She peeled it off slowly, exposing her camisole, her skin flushed already. Her hands trembled as she pulled the top over her head, baring her soft belly and simple cotton bra. Amy let out a slow, appreciative breath -- not a catcall, not teasing, but warm and reverent.

"Beautiful," she said. "You don't even know, do you?"

Sarah reached for her leggings next, shimmying out of them, her thighs bare now, her modest panties clinging to damp heat.

She stood there in her underwear -- flushed, trembling, vulnerable -- and Amy opened her arms.

"Come to bed, little gift."

Sarah climbed up slowly, crawling into the red satin sheets until she was on her back, heart pounding.

Amy loomed above her, thick thighs straddling her hips, heavy breasts swaying slightly, belly draped between them like a warm, living blanket.

She leaned down, kissed Sarah's lips once -- soft, lingering -- and whispered:

"Let me spoil you."

Amy's wide hands pressed against Sarah's shoulders, easing her down into the soft red sheets.

"Relax, baby," she whispered. "I'm going to treat you right."

She kissed Sarah again -- slow, deep -- then began to move downward, trailing her lips along Sarah's throat, over the swell of her chest. Her bra was tugged down lazily, just enough to expose her nipples.

Amy sucked one into her mouth, her tongue circling slowly.

Sarah gasped, arching beneath her.

"Mmm," Amy murmured, "even these taste sweet."

She kissed lower, over Sarah's soft belly, her thick fingers gripping the waistband of her panties and pulling them down in one slow, steady motion.

Sarah's legs parted instinctively.

Amy's eyes flicked up, dark with hunger. "You've been begging for this since the moment I saw you in that little sweater."

And then her mouth was on her.

Hot, firm, slow.

Amy licked her like a decadent dessert, moaning as she tasted her, her wide tongue sliding up and down with unbearable patience. Sarah writhed, her fingers curling in the sheets. Amy's hands gripped her thighs, holding her open, pulling her closer, keeping her exposed.

"Look how wet you are," Amy growled. "You love when I take charge."

Sarah cried out, her hips jerking upward, completely lost.

Amy sucked her clit softly, then hard, then plunged her tongue deep -- slow thrusts that made Sarah sob with need. Her thighs were shaking. Her entire body was fire.

"I could keep you like this all night," Amy whispered between licks. "Spread out, dripping, squirming just for me."

Sarah came hard -- a long, high moan that vibrated through her chest, her legs, her throat.

But Amy didn't stop.

She licked her through it, groaning against her folds, savoring every twitch, every gasp.

Only when Sarah finally went limp against the pillows did Amy pull away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling like a predator.

"Good girl," she whispered. "Now..."

She leaned in, grabbed Sarah's hair, and tilted her chin up.

"My turn."

Sarah barely had time to catch her breath before Amy's hand was in her hair again.

Firm. Guiding.

"Come here," she murmured. "Show me you can serve, sweetheart."

Amy shifted onto her back, rolling her heavy, luxurious body with practiced ease. Her thighs parted like a curtain drawn open, glistening and flushed, her hips rolling invitingly as she tugged Sarah forward.

Sarah crawled into place on instinct -- still dazed, still tingling from her own orgasm.

Amy cupped her cheek and looked down at her, one eyebrow lifted.

"Eyes on me while you taste," she said, her voice a low purr. "I want to watch you melt for it."

Sarah nodded, lips parted, breath already shaking.

She leaned forward.

The heat between Amy's thighs was intoxicating -- thick with scent and slick from anticipation. Sarah started slow, letting her tongue trace along the outer lips, kissing them reverently. Amy let out a low moan and bucked her hips just slightly upward.

"Don't tease," she warned, voice tightening. "Eat."

Sarah obeyed.

Her lips parted, tongue pushing deeper now, licking through the folds, letting Amy's taste flood her mouth.

Amy moaned again -- louder this time -- and grabbed a fistful of Sarah's hair, guiding her rhythm.

"That's it... yes, baby... there you go..."

Her thighs pressed in slightly, locking Sarah's face against her as her hips began to roll with slow, devastating force.

Sarah held on, licking and sucking, her own moans muffled into Amy's flesh.

Amy's belly rippled with every gasp. Her breasts bounced gently with each thrust of her hips. She was riding Sarah now -- using her mouth, controlling her, owning her.

"That's it," Amy growled. "Don't stop. I want to come all over that pretty little face."

She arched, her body quaking, and Sarah clung tighter -- gripping Amy's thighs, pushing in deeper, her tongue never relenting.

Amy cried out, louder than before.

Her thighs clamped tight.

Her whole body began to shake.

Amy's moan grew into a growl -- long, guttural, filled with heat and triumph.

Her thighs locked around Sarah's head, smothering her completely, hips grinding in short, desperate motions. Sarah kept going, her tongue slick and relentless, her arms wrapped around Amy's thick waist, holding on as the quake overtook her.

Then Amy screamed into the mattress, face buried in a pillow, voice muffled but unmistakable -- a climax so deep and violent her whole body trembled with it.

Sarah didn't stop until she felt Amy go still.

Heavy. Gasping.

Damp.

Then Amy's hands loosened in her hair, not letting go, but easing -- petting her now.

Sarah pulled back, lips slick, face flushed and shining with arousal, and collapsed beside her on the bed. Her own body was still burning -- thighs grinding softly into the sheets, her clit throbbing without even being touched.

Amy rolled onto her side.

And pulled Sarah into her arms.

Her full belly and breasts pressed against her like a living blanket. She wrapped a leg around Sarah's hips, one thick thigh pinning her in place. She kissed her temple with a satisfied sigh.

"You," Amy said between breaths, "are filthy."

Sarah let out a shaky laugh against her chest.

Amy chuckled.

"Don't worry, baby," she murmured. "So am I."

They lay there for a long moment, bodies tangled, skin glowing with sweat and firelight.

Amy reached up and adjusted her Santa hat, which had shifted sideways.

Still smiling, she whispered:

"Merry Christmas, my little treat."

The red satin sheets were rumpled and damp with sweat and heat, but neither woman moved to fix them.

Amy lay reclined on her back, the Santa hat now completely sideways on her curls, her enormous breasts rising and falling slowly with every deep, satisfied breath. Sarah was curled against her chest, one arm draped lazily over her belly, one leg slung over Amy's soft thigh.

Amy's fingers stroked through Sarah's dark hair.

"You were such a good little treat," she murmured. "Every bit as delicious as Maria said you'd be."

Sarah flushed, smiling against her shoulder, too sated to speak.

Amy kissed the top of her head.

"I haven't had seconds and thirds like that since the old days," she chuckled.

Sarah laughed weakly. "I can't move."

Amy smirked. "Don't. I like you soft and spread out on my bed."

She reached lazily for the bedside table with her free hand, feeling for a water bottle.

Then -- a sudden vibration.

Her phone buzzed once, then again.

Amy picked it up and squinted.

Her smile grew wicked.

"Speak of the devil."

She swiped the screen and hit "Accept."

The screen lit up.

Maria's face appeared on the screen -- glowing and radiant under a blue sky, with palm trees swaying behind her and a cocktail in hand.

She wore oversized sunglasses, barely concealing the smug curl of her lips. A bikini top strained to contain her ample bust, and her dark, wet hair clung to one shoulder in thick waves.

"Well, well," she purred the moment the video connected. "Merry Christmas, sluts."

Amy burst into laughter.

Sarah went stiff against her for a second -- then flushed deeper when Maria's eyes locked straight onto her.

Still curled against Amy's chest, Sarah tugged the blanket higher on instinct, as if modesty still applied.

Maria tilted her head, grinning wider.

"Aww," she cooed. "She's blushing again."

Amy smirked and turned the phone slightly so Maria could see Sarah more fully -- the tousled hair, the flushed cheeks, the glint of sweat still on her collarbone.

"She was very good," Amy said.

Maria sipped her drink through a straw. "Mm. Did she beg?"

Amy licked her lips. "Twice."

"Did you ride her face?"

Amy laughed. "Twice."

Maria let out a low, approving hum.

"You're really becoming part of the family, sweet girl," she said warmly, gazing at Sarah over the rim of her glass. "Amy and I... we share everything."

Sarah's breath caught.

Maria adjusted her sunglasses, peering closer at the screen. Her smile curled at the corners like a woman who already knew every answer before she asked the question.

"Tell me, sweetheart," she said, drawing the word out like silk, "did my sister-in-law treat you right?"

Sarah opened her mouth, tried to speak--then just nodded slowly, cheeks burning.

"She treated me..." She swallowed. "Really well."

Maria gave a low, sultry laugh and leaned back into her lounge chair. Her cleavage gleamed in the sun, her belly soft and tan beneath the straps of her bikini. She stretched one thick leg out, showing off a golden thigh slick with tanning oil.

"She's good, isn't she?" Maria said, glancing toward Amy through the screen. "Slow, confident... greedy."

Amy gave a lazy wink. "We're not all nervous and careful like you."

"Careful?" Maria scoffed. "Please. I practically had her moaning into my breakfast tablecloth."

Sarah whimpered softly.

Maria grinned wider. "Oh, baby. Don't look so embarrassed. You're delicious. We both just wanted a bite."

Sarah buried her face in Amy's shoulder.

Amy kissed her temple and whispered, "She's blushing again."

Maria took another slow sip of her drink, eyes still fixed on Sarah with that lazy, feline smile.

She adjusted her sunglasses slightly and purred,

"Well, sweetheart... I can't wait to see you again."

Her voice lingered just long enough to draw out the meaning.

Then she looked past the camera and winked -- directly at Amy.

Amy smirked.

Sarah's breath caught, but she didn't move.

The screen froze for a beat, then Maria's face faded as the call ended.

Amy set the phone down gently, then looked down at Sarah curled against her chest.

She didn't speak.

She just smiled, wide and satisfied, and pulled her in closer.

**********

The house was quiet.

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and ham. A few candles flickered low in their holders. The twinkle lights blinked slowly, lazily, like they too were winding down.

Simon stretched on the living room floor, his back cracking softly as he reached behind the couch, trying to fish out a lost game controller.

"Man," he muttered. "How does it always end up back there?"

His fingers hit cardboard.

He paused, then pulled it free -- a glossy red envelope tied with a green ribbon.

"To: Simon & Sarah

From: Mom," it read in loopy handwriting.

He sat cross-legged and opened it.

Inside were two sleek, colorful boarding passes -- stylized like a travel agency brochure.

✈️ Aruba -- February 1st - 14th

2 Tickets: Simon + Guest

All-inclusive beachside suite -- Romantic Package

Simon blinked.

"Oh, whoa," he grinned. "No way!"

He held the envelope up like it was a trophy, turning toward the kitchen where no one answered.

"Babe? Aunt Amy?" he called. "You guys see this? We're going to Aruba!"

Still silence.

Simon looked around, then shrugged and reached for a sugar cookie from the tray on the counter.

He bit into it with a smile and mumbled through the crumbs:

"Man... this Christmas ruled."