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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 karaman escort 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 kars escort 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 kıbrıs escort 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.

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