A Mommys Christmas Gift

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.

"Patience, Mommy," Amaya teased," Good things come to sluts who wait."

Sluts,

she had thought,

that is what I have become, and I am revelling in it.

When she had finally laid herself bare, Saloni was utterly stunned. Amaya's firm breasts needed no support, her erect nipples silently screaming for attention. Her smooth, bare mound and delicate pussy lips contrasted with Saloni's full, womanly lips, exuding a virginal perfection that captivated her.

Turning slightly, Amaya had revealed her peach-shaped, firm bottom, parting her cheeks, exposing the intimate, untouched spot--its tightness both daring and undeniably intoxicating.

For Saloni, a prim and proper straight woman, the sight was breathtakingly erotic- her inhibitions shattered, pulling her into a world of unforbidden desire, where every command and climax deepened her surrender.

One afternoon, during a rare day off from work, Saloni had hesitated while adjusting her camera, her voice tinged with nervousness. Amaya had skipped classes to join her.

"We might have to hurry today," she had said, pointing at the clock. "Solanki is expected any time after four."

Eyes glinting with mischief, Amaya had snickered,

"What would you do if she caught us, Mommy?" she had teased, her voice dropping low. "Would you hide? Or let her see how much you love being mine?"

"Amu!" Saloni had scolded, blushing, but her words had lacked conviction. Amaya, true to her self, had leaned in closer.

"Imagine this," she had paused, "She watches you, Mommy. Don't you think she wonders what it feels like? To be so utterly slutty... so completely mine."

The words had lashed through Saloni's carefully built composure. She had wanted to recoil, to deny the crude suggestion outright, but the heat stirring inside betrayed her.

Now, with Amaya in front of her, the memory clung to her like the faint aroma of Amaya's perfume--heady, inescapable, and as sharp as the Delhi winter that sneaked in, every time the glass door swung open.

Amaya's voice cut through Saloni's thoughts.

"What's on your mind, Mommy?" she asked, her tone low and teasing.

Saloni hesitated, her thoughts a chaotic swirl. "Nothing," she said, her voice steady but unconvincing.

Amaya's glint widened, the same one she had worn during that fateful conversation--her look carrying a promise of mischief, as if she knew exactly what was caressing Saloni's mind.

"Liar," she said lightly, smiling as she held Saloni captive with her eyes.

Saloni's pulse quickened, her eyes dropping to the table as she struggled to compose herself. Across her, Amaya's eyes danced with amusement--and a hint of something mischievously familiar Saloni couldn't quite name.

***

Reflections in the Mirror

Lift your sari," Amaya had commanded earlier, "slip those soaked panties down, and fuck yourself until you're begging. But don't you dare cum--not until I let you."

The words had landed like a blow, filthy and thrilling. Saloni's thighs had clenched beneath the table, her breath tightening at the casual vulgarity only Amaya could wield with such ease. Yet, here she was, trembling, her hands moving almost instinctively. The hem of her sari rose inch by inch, baring her skin to the chill and the burn of her own arousal.

Saloni had stood before the mirror in the unisex washroom, the elegance of reflection betraying her flushed cheeks, trembling lips, and eyes dark with shameless hunger. The lace panties crumpled in her hand felt like a bold confession, her skin prickling under the cold that seeped through Delhi's winter howl. Central heating offered no refuge, the chill clung to her abdomen, unbridled and defiant, mirroring the fire she no longer cared to hide.

"You're mine, Mommy," Amaya's voice had rung in her mind, devastatingly beautiful.

"Every inch of you--your dripping cunt, that tight asshole, and the nasty thoughts you think no one knows about. I want you soaking so they can smell your pussy from across the room."

Amaya, her Amu, what dangerous magic had she weaved!

Saloni shivered as the winter's chill brushed her bare thighs, her breath frosting the mirror while Solanki's face flashed in her mind.

Amaya's words had been audacious, wrapping around her like a taut string, dangerous and binding.

"She's curious, Mommy. Like you... it's in her blood?"

The words had stayed with her, tightening like a noose long after the call ended. That night, she had bitten her lip so hard to silence her thoughts, she had tasted blood. And the next morning, when Solanki had noticed, a small, knowing smile had tugged at her daughter's lips.

"Rough night, Mumma?" she had said, casual yet her eyes stayed for that extra bit, as if she knew more than she would admit.

Right then, in the washroom, Amaya's shameless words echoed as Saloni's fingers brushed the damp lace of her panties. In her mind, Solanki's face merged with Amaya's daring smile--their eyes, innocence and defiance, colliding as one.

'

What if Solanki wasn't as innocent as she appeared? What if Amaya's confidence came from something Saloni hadn't dared to see?

' The possibility felt like a jolt, equal parts of thrill and dread.

Saloni's legs had trembled, the tension knotting deep in her core.

And her daughter's words this evening before she left had come back to haunt her.

"Enjoy the evening Mumma," she had said," but tomorrow..." she had paused before adding, "...you are all mine."

It wasn't what she had said. It was how she said it-casual yet unnervingly confident. Before she could even react, Solnaki had left, leaving Saloni to deal with the vortex of desire, which was consuming her maternal pride, slowly but surely, drawing her into an abyss of dangerous lust.

Saloni's spine had tingled as she had tried to push the thought away, but it clung, dark and unshakable. Even as she gripped the counter, the cold marble biting into her palms, her sari's silk teasing her tender skin, she loathed how deeply Amaya's words had infiltrated her, their suggestion both thrilling and terrifying.

While chill of the tiles had steadied her body, her mind had spiraled, Amaya's voice caressing her ears like a ghost she couldn't escape.

"Go on, Mommy," the words had echoed, teasing and insistent. "She is watching."

Her breath faltered as trembling fingers slid between her legs, meeting undeniable heat. Each slow, deliberate stroke had sent waves of raw pleasure through her, her body's eagerness catching her off guard. Even as her breath grew heavier and her thighs trembled, Amaya's invisible voice had echoed relentlessly in her mind.

'Yes Mommy,' the voice persisted in her head, "show her how shameless you are."

Her body trembled just as she stopped short of the edge, forcing herself to hold back. Amaya's command reverberated in her mind, gripping and unrelenting.

'Don't you dare cum Mommy.'

Saloni had straightened slowly, her legs unsteady, every nerve alight with unspent desire. Trembling hands adjusted her sari, but her reflection offered no answers--only a woman trapped between shame and longing, the damp panties in her hand, a silent damning witness to her surrender.

The thrill of her actions mingled with Amaya's deliberate and persistent voice echoed in her mind, as she had stepped out of the washroom, her heart pounding, the chill of winter brushing her heated skin.

"Good girl, Mommy. You will spill every filthy thought to me--all of it. And you will thank me when you do."

Saloni shivered, her body betraying her. She wasn't sure if she could admit the thoughts that had consumed her--but deep down, she knew one thing. Amaya would draw them out, one word at a time, until there was nothing left to hide.

***

Words That Sting, Eyes That Hold

Saloni returned to the table slowly, her steps deliberate and shaky, as though carrying a secret too heavy to bear. The crumpled lace in her hand felt impossibly weighty, a forbidden token she couldn't let go of. With her fingers still shivering, she quickly tucked it into her handbag, avoiding Amaya's scrutiny.

On her part, Amaya sat waiting, relaxed, the glint in her eyes betraying her awareness of every faltering step. A sly smile had escaped her lips as Saloni slid into her seat, the air thick with unspoken tension.

"Mommy," Amaya hushed, "You took your time. Did you enjoy yourself?"

Saloni blushed, her eyes searching for the napkin beside her plate, desperate to avoid the knowing snicker directed her way.

"I..." Saloni began, but her voice caught, her throat dry, "I needed a moment."

Amaya's smile deepened as she leaned in, her elbows on the table, chin resting lightly on her hand. "A moment," she echoed, her words steeped in mischief. "How mysterious, Mommy."

Saloni glanced up but quickly looked away, her composure unravelling under Amaya's naughty stare, her voice, low and deliberate.

"Tell me," Amaya whispered, just for Saloni. "Did you fuck yourself? Did you think of me, Mommy? Or..." Her smile sharpened, wicked. "Were you thinking of her? Solanki, naked on her knees, watching you... her eyes locked on your fingers, wet and desperate?"

The words whipped through Saloni, her breath faltering as she fidgeted in her lap. Solanki's face, innocent yet knowing, juxtaposed in her mind alongside Amaya's provocative smile as a wave of shame and raw arousal swept through her.

"I... I don't know what you mean," Saloni stammered, her trembling hands betraying her lie.

Amaya chuckled softly, the sound indulgent. "Oh, Mommy," she said, her tone playful yet knowing. "You're a terrible liar."

Her foot brushed lightly against Saloni's beneath the table, the touch deliberate and teasing, sending a jolt of heat through her. Saloni's grip tightened on her glass, her body betraying her resolve.