A Mommy's Christmas Gift
In the quiet of the Christmas night, desires that should remain buried rise to the surface. Can Saloni face them?
_____________________________________________________________
Beneath the Winter
's Veil
It was Christmas evening. The lounge of the upscale hotel exuded quiet elegance as the warm lighting softened the gleam of polished silverware and crystal glasses and chandeliers above cast gentle reflections that flickered like stars gently shining in the night sky.
The winter outside was biting, a sharp contrast to the cozy warmth inside as faint strains of carols from the nearby church floated through the hotel lobby, occasionally broken by the distant honk of a passing car. A chill slipped through the slight gaps in the doorframe and brushed against Saloni's skin. With temperatures plummeting recently, the cold outside was persistent and indignant, so different from the intimate warmth created by Amaya's presence here.
Saloni adjusted the cream-colored pashmina draped over her shoulders. Though the soft fabric complemented her emerald silk sari perfectly, it offered little resistance to the chill that seemed to seep into her core.
Yet, the cold was not what unsettled her. It was the heat or arousal coursing low inside her--a warmth that had nothing to do with the restaurant's central heating and everything to do with the girl seated across from her. It was Amaya,
her Amu,
and this Christmas evening, Saloni was spending it with her, waiting in anticipation of an unforgettable night to follow.
Saloni shifted in her seat, her thighs pressing together beneath the carefully pleated folds of her sari. The smooth fabric brushed against her bare skin, a tantalizing reminder of what she had done in the unisex washroom only moments earlier. The lingering tremors of that audacious command still reverberated through her, both thrilling and disorienting.
Across the table, Amaya sat with her characteristic ease, the corners of her glossed lips curving into a knowing smile. Her dark curls framed her face like a naughty angel and her eyes--glinting with mischief--seemed to pierce straight through Saloni's carefully composed exterior.
"Cold, Mommy?"
Amaya's voice was soft yet teasing, her tone, naughtily intimate, something that no one else in the room could quite understand. Her foot brushed lightly against Saloni's beneath the table, the touch deliberate and teasing.
The first time Amaya had called her 'Mommy', Saloni had felt a jolt--a forbidden thrill that unsettled her more than she had cared to admit. It wasn't just a teasing nod to their age difference; it was a claim, a deliberate disruption of boundaries Saloni hadn't realized Amaya would strive to shatter.
At first, the word made her blush, her cheeks turning red.
But as Amaya's voice lingered on it over time, Saloni realized it wasn't just a playful tease. It was about power, control, and an unspoken promise to dissove all the lines between them.
"It's the chill in the air," through a faint smile, Saloni, barely managed the words, her voice steady, despite the chilling heat spreading through her.
Amaya tilted her head, her naughty smile deepening as her eyes fell on Saloni's reddening cheeks.
"Chill?" she repeated, her tone dropping to a an audible whisper.
"Is it?" She leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Or are you thinking about what I made you do?"
Saloni's breath caught, the reddish tinge on her cheeks deepening. Her hands instinctively tightened around the edge of her shawl, her knuckles brushing against her wine glass. She couldn't bring herself to answer, but the uncertainty in her eyes was answer enough.
"You are beautiful when you blush, Mommy," she said, her voice smooth yet commanding. "Hold it..." she let the words settle, "... we have only just begun."
Saloni's pulse quickened as she glanced away, her eyes steering away to the frosted window where condensed vapor blurred the twinkling lights outside. Tomorrow was her daughter's birthday, she remembered, but tonight-the first time she was spending time only with Amaya-was all about her, her Amu.
"Relax, Mommy," Amaya whispered, her voice cutting through the haze of Saloni's thoughts. "Tonight is ours. Forget the rest of the world for a while."
***
Whispers of the Past
Saloni inhaled deeply. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe it was possible--to let the world fall away, to let herself be undone in this perfect, dangerous Christmas evening.
Her eyes lingered on Amaya's hands as they played idly with the stem of her wine glass. Those hands--delicate yet commanding--had undone her in ways she couldn't begin to articulate.
It had all started innocently enough--a single comment on an Instagram post Saloni had shared a photo from a rare family holiday months ago. In the image, she stood beside her daughter, Solanki, both glowing in the summer sun. Their modest swimsuits reflected their understated grace, while their relaxed smiles exuded effortless warmth.
The caption read simply,
Cherishing this moment with my beloved daughter
.
Among the predictable heart emojis and comments from friends, one reply had stood out--
The elegance of two generations--one classic, the other blossoming.
The words had caught Saloni off guard, striking her with their flirtatious undertone. It was a message from a young girl, her profile picture trendy but telling nothing, just a large trendy hat pulled low to hide her face. Her profile was mostly blank, the few photos tasteful but faceless. Intrigued yet cautious, Saloni had replied politely, Thank you.
That might have been the end of it. But it wasn't.
Amaya's comments began appearing on more of Saloni's posts. Always thoughtful, sometimes playful, but never overstepping. Then came the private messages.
What began as casual exchanges about travel, photography, and fashion, soon delved intimate. Amaya's questions peeled back the layers of Saloni's life with effortless charm, her candid curiosity drawing Saloni out of her carefully constructed exterior.
Saloni had been hesitant at first. At twenty-two, Amaya was her daughter Solanki's age--a vibrant, confident fashion student who seemed worlds apart from Saloni's reality of corporate routines and family obligations. But unlike Solanki who also was a student of fashion, Amaya was bold and magnetic, her unfiltered honesty a sharp contrast to the restraint Saloni had built her family around.
Slowly, Saloni found herself drawn into Amaya's world, her initial reservations giving way to curiosity, then trust. One evening, Amaya's message had struck a chord that reverberated long after.
You and Solanki are so alike. Has anyone ever told you that?
The question had been simple, yet it unsettled Saloni in ways she couldn't explain. She had replied quickly, deflecting with humor,
I will take that as a compliment, though I am sure she won't agree.
Amaya's response was swift,
It's a compliment. But you are different. She looks deceptively cute--you are irresistible...Mommy ;)
The words had stayed with Saloni--a strange mix of flattery, unease, and forbidden thrill. Amaya's casual yet pointed mentions of Solanki, had slipped so subtly into their conversations, it had left Saloni uneasy, evading questions she couldn't face, all while feeling the sharp, growing thrill of the "Mommy" woven in between.
"
She must get her grace from you,
" Amaya had once said later, her tone light but her voice teasing.
The teasing had escalated over time, coinciding with Saloni's frequent business travel.
It was during these trips that Saloni's calls with Amaya evolved from intimate chats to intense late-night video sessions where boundaries blurred. Amaya's words, at times soft and coaxing, at others commanding, leaving her breathless and yearning.
"Take off your blouse," Amaya had ordered one night, her voice firm.
Saloni's hesitation had been brief, her hands trembling as she followed the instruction, her nerves tingling with the thrill of being seen. Amaya's praise had been immediate, her voice dripping with approval.
"You're stunning, Mommy," she had said, her eyes fixated through the screen, drawn to Saloni's slightly sagging yet full breasts, their medium-sized areola and thick nipples exuding a sensuality that excited her.
The praise had left Saloni strangely exhilarated, her soul warming under the effects of such deliberate admiration.
"You have no idea how much I want you," Amaya had added, her voice laden with desire.
Amaya's demands grew bolder, turning increasingly obscene, leaving Saloni utterly exposed--every intimate part of her laid bare. Yet with each command, she surrendered willingly, utterly thrilled by how this petite girl seemed to revel in her ageing beauty, flaws included.
"Finger your cunt, Mommy, finger it for me," Amaya had instructed one night, her voice effortlessly dominating, as she knelt on all fours, her ass close to the camera, puffy folds glistening and unmistakably wet.
Before Saloni could even process, the words had escaped her lips almost involuntarily.
"Yes, Mistress."
Saloni had complied, her breath heavy as she moved her fingers to the rhythm of Amaya's commands, her body aching for release. But as her desire reached its peak, Amaya's voice had stopped her.
"Not yet," she'd said, her tone firm. "You don't get to cum until I say so."
Those nights left Saloni trembling with aching desire, until Amaya's sultry commands finally broke her restraint, making her climax under her hungry eyes. Drawn to Amaya's uninhibited confidence, Saloni, who had never been with a woman, eventually dared to ask for more, her voice trembling with anticipation.
"I want to see you, too, Amu."
Amaya had grinned, leaning back on her bed, her dark curls framing her face.
