A Box Full of Candy

Note: This is my entry for the Winter Holiday 2026 challenge. I hope you like it!

*************

I

"Come on, Candy, it will be fun!" Lyn smiles her smile to end all smiles.

"I don't see how," I grunt, "and don't call me that. Makes me sound like a stripper."

"But you are a stripper!" she shouts, throwing up her arms in exasperation at my reluctance to humour her in this surprise.

"Yes, but not a cheap one," I reply, looking at the box she's brought down from the storage room. It looks tiny. And dirty, even after she's spent five minutes clearing out actual cobwebs that were stuck to all of its corners. She was clearly thinking that spiders were the fundamental problem with her proposal.

Lyn slumps down on her ass and looks at me with a contemplative look. Her hands leaning on the side of the partly water-damaged cardboard vehicle. The one she'd like me to spend a substantial part of the entire goddamn evening in. Half-naked. As a prank. I'm developing a bladder infection just imagining it.

"You're messing with Christmas tradition," she pleads, hoping that she can tug at my heartstrings by dragging her disjointed childhood into the conversation. I've heard her venture down this line of reasoning before. 'I miss my home. This is what we did back there each Christmas.'

"I miss my home," she says. "Christmas is for pranking, where I come from."

Close enough.

"You think putting me in a tiny box and having me miss half the party, while you are getting halfway hammered, is honouring the 'pranking' tradition of your homestead?" I scowl. "Feels like I'd just be setting myself up to be the pranked one, if I say yes. Hilarious."

"Creampuff, you know I wouldn't do that to you."

Creampuff, seriously?

"Creampuff? Seriously?"

"Uhgh!" She slaps the side of the box like a petulant toddler. A puff of dust and junk leaps from the thick cardboard into the air. "Can't call you Candy, can't call you Creampuff, can't suggest harmless pranks—you are killing the Christmas spirit!" Her indignation is reaching boiling point. She sneezes twice in quick succession. Not helping her case. "Besides, isn't this something you sometimes—you know—get asked to do?"

I look at her with a wry smile. "What? You mean professionally?"

Lyn nods. Her angry eyes are searching for validation.

"You think I'm a cartoon character? Jumping naked out of wedding cakes and removal boxes?"

Her eyes are stuck in a question mark. I can't believe I have to rectify these kinds of childish misconceptions, this far into our relationship.

"Lyn—no!"

She smacks the box again. Another puff of dust. Another couple of sneezes.

When she recovers her composure, she just sits there. For twenty whole-ass seconds, pondering the enigma. Drumming her fingers on the box in a rhythmic sequence of thuds. And then she stops. Looks up.

"I'll repay you by covering rent for you."

Shit.

"For how long?"

What are you doing? You've just opened negotiations!

"Two months."

Shit!

"Four."

Stop engaging with the enemy! It's a literal trap!

"Three and I'll give you a foot massage on Christmas morning."

No foot massages are worth this!

"And we find me a bigger box."

"And we find you a bigger box!"

Coward!

.

I've been in this box for two minutes and I am already fucking sick of it.

How surprising.

The biggest box we had in storage. Washing machine. I didn't even remember we'd bought one new. Let alone that it came in a box that is still whole enough to pass as one.

Lyn had dug up festive gift-wrapping paper from somewhere. Enough to cover most of the cardboard and with a visually loud enough pattern that she could provide me with an undetectable looking-and-breathing hole. So that I wouldn't, you know, die.

At least I managed to talk her down from having to be completely nude for the entire affair. Short shorts. Short shirt. Bare legs. Bare feet. Bare belly. The curve of my tits peeking out from under the bottom hem of the top. It wasn't exactly businesswoman attire. But at least I didn't have to worry about a spider crawling up my snatch while I was hidden.

I scratch my leg at the idea of little, hidden, multi-legged creatures sharing this cubic metre of space I am in. We checked, obviously, but there's no telling what we might have missed. Hidden in the folds.

I have just enough headroom to reposition from one sleeping ass-cheek to the other without disturbing the box. The peephole is at about eye level. I don't have to lie down on my stomach to get an idea of what's going on in the room, but it's not exactly giving me an unobstructed view of everything, either. Lyn has added some plastic ribbons and fake plants on the outside. I can see, but it feels like looking from within a plastic shrub. Which is the whole idea, I suppose.

As a top cover we cobbled together some more cardboard and constructed a similarly decorated box-lid. Just like a huge present would have. It sits on top without being tied down. So I can spring free, boobs bouncing, when the time comes.

According to Lyn, the plan is quite simple—at least by her own psychopathic definition of that word. When our guests have arrived she goes out to "fetch me from work", and comes back after a while, alone, in a state of advanced distress over my disappearance. There will be an emotional scene. The others will be convinced to join in at the more dramatic level. At a certain peak of the chaos I will jump from the box. We will laugh. We will cry. We will drink. Memories will have been made.

I got in when the doorbell rang. Hunched down. Lid back on top.

My phone still on the kitchen table.

Brilliant.

.

I can hear voices, muffled by the cardboard and the distance and the doors. Lyn is cackling. There's a courtesy laugh from a man's voice. Frank has arrived. First of two guests.

"—forgot you haven't been here yet!" Lyn's voice bursts into the room, halfway into a sentence when the door to the hall opens. "Well, this is it! We've made it homely enough for two girls shacking up."

Frank enters, the door held open by Lyn. He inspects the floors, the walls, the windows. Casual stuff you do when entering someone else's home for the first time.

"It looks very nice, Lyn. You've done a great job."

"Yes! We have! We didn't want it to be too permanent. Who knows when one of us will move out, right? But you can't just keep looking at empty walls and default light fittings, you know? Doubly so at Christmas."

He walks deeper into the room. Looks at the TV.

"That is a tiny TV!"

Real class acts, some guys.

"Yes, and soon to be no-TV-at-all. I don't see the point."

Over my remote-control-gripping corpse, doll.

Lyn walks away from him, towards the kitchen door. "What can I get you? We have beer, wine, something stronger?"

He walks to inspect the miniature television. His eyes travel towards the wall above it. Holiday pictures. Family pictures. An Art.

He looks closer at something specific, but I can't really make out what it is. The plastic shrubbery from the box is preventing my view from reaching that far.

"Beer, please. Whatever you have is fine."

Lyn dives into the kitchen, leaving him standing alone in the room. Still getting his bearings. I can hear her wrestling with a bottle. The short hiss of a vessel losing its pressure.

"Where's Sid?" he asks loudly towards the kitchen door. I'm glad he at least notices I am not in the room.

"Had to work a little late!" Lyn yells back. "I have to go and pick her up in a minute, when Abbs arrives." Lyn steps back into the living room. A glass chalice of sparkling beer in her hand. She hands it to him, but doesn't immediately let go. Instead she holds on, and takes another step closer. Bringing them almost toe to toe.

Lyn looks up at him, the cold glass somewhat awkwardly pressed between their torsos, and smiles shyly. "Unless, of course, you want me to cancel all plans. Make it just the two of us." Her voice thick and forced.

We appear to be in a slutty mood this evening!

She lifts the chalice up from between them and sips from the top. Or rather, from the foam. The bitter taste contorts the expression on her face briefly. Frank smiles gently. His free hand reaches for her top lip and with his thumb he removes the foam that has accumulated there.

"I'm sure we can find a more opportune moment than tonight to work on that," he says, and licks the foam from his finger.

Sluts! Both of them!

I can't believe Lyn is making this horrible play. Now. With me watching. Through a hole in a box.

Never have I been so glad to hear the doorbell ring again. Lyn disengages from Frank's proximity, letting go of his hand and stepping towards the door. "Too late," she whispers, and shouts, "I'm coming!" as she exits the room.

.

There's twice the amount of cackling now.

Abbygail—Abbs, for short—has about the same energy as Lyn does. They are entirely compatible, on all fronts. Having them both in a room together can be extremely overwhelming. I have enough on my plate with one Lyn. Two of them is often a bit much. But it's Christmas. And we don't have many friends in the city. None that live nearby. So for this tiny Christmas party, a week before actual Christmas Eve, she was an obvious guest.

We don't go out much, the two of us. Between me working most nights and Lyn bouncing from one ill-fitting menial job to the next ten times a year, there is little time or energy left to spend on extracurriculars. So after almost a year of us living together, on our own, we were hard-pressed to get a "party" together for our first Christmas.

Frank and Abbs are both from Lyn's circles. Both colleagues from along the way that she had managed to ensnare into her personal circle. Abbs for obvious reasons. Frank, I suspect, for a near-romantic one. They flirted. But Lyn flirted with anything with a pulse.

I got along with the two of them pretty well, enough to consider them my friends. None of the people I know myself live nearby. Or have gone back home for Christmas, wherever that may be. So it will be just the four of us. Some drinks, some food ordered in, some chats, some gifts exchanged. And for Lyn, a chance to be an annoying little trickster.

.

Frank's still standing in the centre of the living room when the two-headed hurricane bursts through the door.

"Frank! How wonderful to see you again, how's the cat? You have to tell me all about her, I heard she had kittens! Wow, Lyn, what wonderful decorations look at all the lights! Gosh it's so warm here let me just get rid of this jacket. Why yes it's new! Bought it in a clearance sale last week isn't it lovely? Yes a glass of wine will be wonderful. My God it is cold outside but you managed to keep things so toasty here, this will be wonderful. Can I vape inside the house for just this occasion? I can? Lyn you are such a darling. White, please, if it's from the fridge!"

She hardly seems to be breathing while she goes through the room. She hugs Frank. Her jacket gets thrown on a chair and she lets herself collapse into the sofa. Legs popping up off the floor for a second. Giving me a clean shot up her skirt from my vantage point.

She sits for a mere second before she's back on her feet again. Walking straight towards me. An expression of wonder on her face.

"Oh!"

Here we go.

"Lyn, what's this? Presents! What an insane box! Did you buy a canoe or something?"

Does she think a canoe can fit in this box?

She starts poking my surroundings. I hear her fingernails rattle the lid. Hit the sides. Pluck at the paper and the ribbon. Her crotch presses right against the peephole and I shift back, careful not to bump into the sides.

The auditory assault continues. It almost sounds like she's just going to unwrap the thing then and there.

Would that be such a bad result?

I get ready to jump up and improvise, but Lyn intervenes before the lid can be lifted. "Hey, no touching that!" The rattling around tapers off, and stops. "Get away from there! Have you no respect for tradition!"

The light comes back through the peephole and I carefully angle myself forward again. Abbs' butt retreats from my view. She accepts the huge wine glass from Lyn and walks back to the sofa. Sits down. Another flash up her skirt. Crosses her legs, like a lady.

Frank sits down in the space next to her and Lyn briefly walks up to my box, blocking my view again. I hear her rustling on the lid, recreating the big ribbon's arrangement, I'm sure. She turns back to the side. My vision restored.

"Can you two hold the fort for half an hour here?" she pleads. "Grab whatever you want from the fridge. I have to go and pick up Candy."

Candy? She's actually going to make that name a thing? This is cruel and unusual.

"Candy? That's so cute!" Abbs coos. "We will be fiiine!" She waves her hand in the direction of the door. "Go and fetch her. We will make sure the house doesn't burn down."

II

She could have left something to drink in here.

No alcohol and no phone in the box. Just a peephole and a show about two people who think they are alone in a room.

"So, when are you planning to tell her?" Frank asks Abbs, as soon as the outer door slams shut. "About us?"

Holdon. What?

"I don't know, Plumcake. Not tonight, that's for sure." She shifts on the sofa and stands up. "Tonight we eat. We laugh. We drink. As planned."

Plumcake? Is this a memo I missed? Everyone needs a nickname now?

"She came on to me, you know," Frank says, watching how Abbs is walking away from him and how, upon hearing those words, she stops and turns around.

"When?"

"Just now, right before you rang the doorbell. Gave me my beer. Suggested we cancel the evening, fuck a bit on the big box."

Liar!

Abbs laughs heartily. Her wine sloshing in her glass in rhythm with the syllables from her mouth.

"That does sound like her." She takes a sip and turns back around. Facing me again.

"What do you think is in it?"

Uh-oh.

"What, the box?" Frank leans to his right so he can look at it properly. Shrugs his shoulders and straightens back up. "I don't know. A billion pellets of Styrofoam and a bottle of Eristoff at the bottom."

Sounds better than the reality of the situation, Frank.

"These people aren't very rich, Abbs. Don't expect a solid block of gold."

Rude.

Abbs walks over to me. Slowly. Something crazy and devious in her eyes.

"You mean you're not even a little curious?"

She's within arm's reach again. I'm more or less looking at her crotch again. There's tapping on the box-lid. Again.

"I could just have a quick peek. Just a tiny one. If it's full of junk, like you suspect, it won't even spoil anything major."

Rein in your woman, Frank! She has a madness about her!

"Leave it be, Abbs. Be nice."

The rummaging at the lid continues. The box moves a bit. Shakes.

"Sounds largely empty." A larger tug. "Heavy, though. I can't move it."

Rude!

"The ribbon's just for show. I can probably take it—ohhh."

She breaks off mid-sentence. I was prepping for a premature surprise again. But the lid stays put. I lean back towards my little viewport, still showing an image of Abbs' crotch. But now, instead of only her dark-green skirt, there's a hand there as well. Fairly masculine. Fingers curled and grabby. Slowly moving. Massaging.

"Oh my, Frank."

Oh my, Frank.

.

This is wrong. This is very, very wrong.

Frank's fingers keep massaging through Abbs' skirt. I can't see the rest of their bodies—their faces are up too high—but I can hear a gentle smacking sound. Like wet kisses on her neck.

"What are you—hmm… what are you doing, Frank?" Abbs' voice is weak and lacks resolve. "It's not proper."

No, it's not!

The fingers keep moving. Kneading. Not more than fifteen centimetres from my face. I can hear his fingernails rasp on the fabric. The fabric rasp against her panties.

"I'll let you look in the box. After." Frank's voice comes somewhat muffled. "She said half an hour. That's more than enough time for both these things."

His other hand joins the first. All his fingers are now pulling at the skirt, crumpling it upwards. I can see the hem, rising, centimetre by centimetre. Each pull showing more of Abbs' legs. First her knees. Then her thighs. Higher and higher. Until I am looking at her exposed panties. Third time this evening. Close enough to see the darker patch of her pubic hair, softly shining through.

This is hot. This is very, very hot.

I should put an end to this. Pop up and explain. I didn't mean to spy on them. This must be irreparably breaching the bond of trust. This isn't something friends do.

But instead I just keep watching. How Frank's fingers reach down underneath the dark-green fabric, and touch the one below. Abbs makes the smallest of sounds from above. Frank's middle finger presses down, disappearing partly between her folds, and I almost make a sound of my own.

My God, am I getting off on this?

A subtle, hot smell reaches me. A very private smell. I can feel my nipples get hard. My pussy thumping.

Oh God. I am.

Frank's left hand pulls the underwear to the side. The smell becomes stronger. The other hand moves in from the opposite side. Abbs spreads her legs a bit. I can see her open up, I'm that close. He reaches in, and slips gently inside her with one of his fingers. I can hear the wet sounds from her pussy. I can hear the moaning sounds from up top.

"You like that?" Frank asks. And I almost answer instead of Abbs.

"Yeah, you know I do," Abbs says, her voice between a whisper and a moan.

This isn't fair. I should be allowed to—

My hand travels practically on its own. I'm not really trying to stop it. I look at how Frank's fingers part Abbs' lips, and I reach into my own shorts, and part mine. He slides another finger into Abbs' pussy, and I slide the first one, into me.

This isn't my fault.

Abbs sighs loudly from above, and I circle my clit, slide in and out, and try not to respond with a sigh of my own.

"Hold on, babe," I hear her say, and so I stop. And Frank stops.

His hands retract and their stances rotate. Toe to toe. Looking at her legs from the side. And looking at his legs from the side. Abbs' hands reach for his crotch. And down. I hear the unmistakable sounds of kissing, and of flies being unzipped.

Yes.

My left hand kneads one of my nipples, reaching in under the tiny shirt. Abbs' heels lift from the carpet, her legs bend, and she drops to her knees, right when she pulls his cock free.

Yes!

With her on her knees, our faces are now so fucking close to each other that if she looks over at the box, the game will be up. I'll be exposed. But she doesn't look over. She only looks at what's in her hand—growing. And as I stare, I see her lips part, her tongue come out and carefully, gently, she licks the tip of Frank's dick.

He grunts. Abbs smiles and moans. And I do everything in my power to not make a single sound. My face is pressed against the side of the box, half hunched over, one hand on my tit, one hand in my panties.

Stop teasing.

Very slowly, her face moves forward. Her lips part, and Frank's dick slides into her mouth. The sound is disgusting. The view is disgusting. Saliva forms at Abbs' bottom lip, drips down, and she slides him back out. Her tongue flicking the head as she releases him. Frank makes a noise. I'm sure I make a noise as well, but somehow it goes unnoticed. Drowned out by the slobbering sound of Abbs' mouth sliding forward again.

Her lips reach to about five centimetres from the base of his cock, before a gag refuses more. And she moves him back out.

She closes her eyes, and her hand travels over her legs, under her skirt. I can't see it, but I can hear it. The wet sounds from her lips on his cock, together with the wet sounds from her fingers on her lips, together with the wet sounds from my fingers on mine. In unison, building and moaning.

And trying to be fucking subtle about it.

We spend a minute like that, the three of us. I feel the pressure build around my thighs. I have no idea what I am going to do if I burst.

But the scene outside the box suddenly changes again.

Abbs gets pulled to her feet. The skirt down to her ankles. The panties follow quickly after. She steps out of both. The sight makes me almost gasp anew. Such a perfect little bush. Wet lips. Needy from interrupted touch. I can see it all in detail as she gets turned back to face me—

Rough!

And shoved forward against the box. The light from the peephole almost disappears. I move backwards. Her actual pussy gets pressed against my little window. The little hairs on her skin rasp against the cardboard. If I want, I can touch her. Check how soft she is. But my hands are occupied.

There's shuffling above my head. A small giggle.

"Come on, babe, don't leave a girl waiting too long." Her head must be right above me. Lying chest-down, on top of the lid.

A lid that doesn't look structurally sound.

I can see light return, so I move back to my place as an audience member. And the scenery is glorious.

She's standing with her knees against the box and I'm looking at her, slightly upwards, almost from between her legs. I can see her pussy, wet and swollen, held spread by Frank's gentle fingers. And as I look on, his dick, carefully wrapped in a condom, presses against her opening. And pushes forward.

Her pussy widens and swallows him whole. Deep. And halfway back out. Her moan comes from above me. Loud and close. The lid shifts.

But before I can think too much about it, Frank drives himself forward again. His dick burying itself into Abbs' spread pussy with a wet smash. His thighs hit her backside. She yelps. The box moves. Some actual pussy juice hits my face.

He pulls back a bit and so do I. Touching the speck of arousal from Abbs with a finger. Tasting it with my tongue. Another thud. My whole boxy house shakes. Abbs' voice pitches up. The fingers in my shorts pitch deeper. Frank makes a grunt.

Okay fuck it. Let's just go.

I put my face against the box, as close as I can to Abbs' perfect little bush. And with every thrust from Frank's hips, with every smash into her tight pussy, with every shudder of the box, with every drip of arousal shot at my eyeball, I bury my fingers deeper. Bury more fingers. Knead my breasts and assault my nipples.

I start moaning. It doesn't matter any more. Abbs is being way too loud for me to worry about it. My fingers slide in and out, while Frank's balls fly towards me and back. Still stretching lucky Abbs. Driving her wilder and wilder.

The rhythm grows and grows. The smashing against the box becomes intense. I can't watch any more. The sound is enough. I slump into a convenient position and have my fingers go wild on my clit. Sliding in and out. Flicking my clit. I am gushing down there.

This is about to become very awkward!

Abbs gets rammed harder and harder. Her voice just about gives out. It's like she is right on top of me. Screaming in my ear. Louder with every thrust of Frank—every blow into that cunt of hers. I close my eyes and concentrate. Her breathing next to my ear. Her screaming next to my ear. Higher. More feverish.

Another smash. And again. And my fingers bury deeper. And again. And my moan joins hers. And again. And I pinch my nipple with all my might—and then daylight.

Oh no!

A huge ripping sound. Abbs' face comes crashing on top of mine, through the lid. Followed shortly by Frank's whole fucking body as the rest of the box collapses. He's still mid-thrust. But he doesn't stop. There's carnage everywhere, but he keeps going, ramming into Abbs, while half lying in the remains of the box. He just slams her again. And Abbs gets slammed into me. Grabs me. And holds on while Frank keeps going. And I keep going.

Because fuck it why the hell not!

Abbs bounces into a scream. Frank bounces into a roar. And I grab Abbs' half-clothed chest while one of my legs pops free and I just let everything fucking loose. Screaming harder than the two of them combined. My hand stuck between Abbs and some cardboard and some Christmas wrapping and my pussy. And everything shakes. And everything makes noise.

Here it comes!

And I cum. Gyrating like a lunatic together with the two other lunatics who have probably yet to grasp the full reality of our situation.

Everyone loves a threesome.

And I buck my hips. And Abbs bucks her hips. And Frank looks spent. And bucks his hips.

And with some twitches that travel through our trinity, I feel things slowly dying down. The noise of the destroyed wrapping paper around us becomes louder than the noise from our sweaty bodies for the first time.

Confused faces for the first time.

Frank on his knees, partly bent over Abbs' back. Abbs on her knees, partly bent over my front. Me on my ass. Legs wide. Still holding my pussy. The remnants of a nice prank, all around us.

I could get used to this idea of pranking.

Abbs looks at me, and I at her. Our chests still largely touching. Still not completely having caught our breath.

"Seeing as there's no Eristoff, I could do with another glass of wine, if you still have some refrigerated."

III

The door down the hall opens, and slams shut again. There's a rustle of winter clothing being taken off.

"Abbs? Frank? We have a problem!"

Lyn's voice sounds genuinely panicked.

Such a good actress.

"I looked everywhere for Sid, and I couldn't find her!" The door opens. Lyn stumbles inside. "Put on your shoes and jackets, we have to—"

She stops dead. Her eyes on the massive destruction around the Christmas tree. Something that used to be a nicely gift-wrapped box, lying in ruins.

"What the actual fu—"

She turns to the sofa and sees us, all three of us, sitting with tangled legs and arms, glasses of wine and beer, fresh from the fridge, in hand.

She deflates. Is lost for words.

It's a Christmas miracle!

"There's room for one more here, Lyn," I venture. And nestle closer into Abbs' still partly dressed body.

Lyn's posture changes. Inflates again.

"You've ruined the surprise!" She pouts.

"Something like that. Now get over here."

Lyn takes one final look at the shattered remains of her prank, and shrugs meekly.

"Okay, I suppose there's always next year."

She steps towards the sofa and squeezes herself into the small opening I made for her. Her butt against my legs. Her head on my shoulder.

Sure. We'll see.

***********

Thank you for reading! Happy holidays!