A Festive Date with April (AFAB)

Disclaimer: NSFW. There are 2 versions of this story, for the 2 different sorts of genitalia that the reader might have. There are no pronouns used specifically for the reader, so anyone of any gender identity can read and immerse! This is the version of the story for people with AFAB (Assigned Feale at Birth) genitalia. You can find the version for AMAB (Assigned Male at Birth) genitalia HERE.

Content/Kink Warnings: Femdom, AFABsub, Asymmetrical Relationship/Attraction, Ownership Play, Shapeshifting (Penis Growing), Futa x AFAB, Futadom, AFAB Receiving Anal Sex, AFAB giving fellatio, Licking Clean, Scent Kink, Denial Play, Flavour Kink, Christmas

The snowfall is lethargic but steady, large clumped flakes drifting slowly to the ground around you as you wait anxiously on the streetcorner bench. It’s Christmas Eve, and the lights downtown are certainly demonstrative of that; between the large central city Christmas tree towering over the nearby park and the strings of golden fairy lights festooning the power lines and streetlamps, the dim evening around you is bathed in radiant gold that seems to warm you, despite the puffs of steam that your breath lets out into the crisp winter air. 

You had been waiting there for fifteen minutes already, meaning you were almost getting to the appointed meeting time. You had been in such an anxious rush to make sure you wouldn’t be late that you hadn’t even realized how early you would be arriving until you were already here, bag in hand and humble gift pressing open your pocket. You drift your gloved hand down to touch the small box gently through your jeans, puffing out a sigh as your mind wanders to the girl it’s meant for. 

Of all the things you possibly could have been anticipating when you had so boldly asked her out for the night, you certainly hadn’t expected her to actually bother taking out her calendar and finding a day to make time for you. You had met professionally, and had been working together for months now, albeit indirectly. She was talent and you were crew, so you knew how busy her schedule was. The idea of her actually carving out an evening for you was stunning enough, but when it had been Christmas eve itself, you had needed to stop and wonder if it was some sort of joke. Despite it all, though, here you were. And as the chill breeze carried a deliciously familiar fragrance to your attention, you took a deep breath, and turned your head in greeting.

“Hey, there.”

The golden streetlamp above shone brilliantly down upon April’s shimmering streaked hair, flecking her violet eyes with gilded sparks as she greeted you casually. Despite the cold, she was dressed very casually - A corseted tank top left a small band of stomach visible above gray denim shorts, fleecy grey striped thigh socks led down into cute tan fuzzy boots that strode through the snow towards you. Atop it all, she wore a fluffy indigo sweater that looked like it might have been warm enough for the weather had she not been wearing it slumped off of both shoulders, but despite her rose-tinted cheeks and cold-reddened nose, she wore no signs of discomfort as she reached you, smiling down. You stood up to greet her, heart jumping abruptly as she pulled you into a warm embrace. 

You open your mouth and stammer through a greeting of your own, feeling off-balance in a way you hadn’t been before you had witnessed the world shimmering around her. A slender-fingered hand reaches up to caress the back of your head affectionately and pull you in closer, and you breathe nurturedly into the crook of her neck. The scent of violets, petrichor and ambergris twists and twirls its way through your nose and spreads throughout your mind, making you want to simply drift your eyes shut and stay right there, breathing her in. Just as soon as it does, though, she pulls away and meets your heady gaze with a smirk, hands winding down your arm to curl up with your fingers, and she gestures to the bag slung over her shoulder. 

Skating, you recall. That was the plan you had tossed out back when you had planned this, when your head had been spinning from the lack of the outright rejection you had honestly been anticipating. The festooned city central park had a frozen-over lake that it was customary to go skating on over the winter, that was why you had arranged to meet at the bench just outside it. You shake your head to clear it, grabbing your own skate bag from the bench where it had been beside you and nodding slowly, the slightest bit perturbed at how suddenly distracted you had become. April hadn’t stopped smiling at you the whole time you floundered, though, and you awkwardly squeeze her hand and invite her to follow you to the lake. 

It’s when you reach the entrance to the park, a high wrought-iron gate with seasonal wreaths dangling down from its arch and swaying gently in the breeze, that April stops you just for a moment. You glance at her, tilting her head in confusion, as she seems to take a moment to look you up and down, expression affectionate and almost inspective. Finally, she seems to nod to herself, resolving some evaluation in her mind that you couldn’t so much as guess at, before she leans over to you on her toes to whisper in your ear, breath puffing warmly against you as her tone drops sultrily.

“Last chance to back out,” her tone is just as serious as it is teasing, “You know you’re mine forever after this, right?”

It’s a strange thing to say, but in the moment, it doesn’t seem like it. You look into her eyes as she pulls back away to meet your gaze, and as you catch that scent again, you just know her words to be true without needing to consider them. 

You just nod and continue onwards. April’s rewarding giggle and nuzzle into your shoulder makes you ache in a way you never have before, but you choose not to address to yourself just why that might be. 

The skating goes well enough, until it doesn’t. You suppose you should have expected the lake to be as busy as it was - after all, a skating date on Christmas Eve was hardly novel, and it seemed you were only one of many boyfriends and husbands without a better idea of somewhere to take their partners and dates tonight. You make it work, though, both you and April gingerly changing into your skates and slotting yourselves into the ongoing rotation neatly enough. You’re unsteady on your feet, either from inexperience or distraction, you aren’t sure, but the woman before you takes to the ice as easily as she would a runway. Her hips sway and legs twirl as she flies alongside you, occasionally taking a break from lending you a supportive shoulder to whisk out in front and fly free, allowing you the chance to marvel as her gold-streaked hair swirls up in the breeze to catch the light. You know yours aren’t the only eyes that drift to her in those moments, but you can hardly find it in yourself to mind. Such is how it always was and would be, and as an invisible thread seemed to tug from your heart to her eyes, you found yourself nothing but utterly content in that. 

And then your right skate catches on a small stone, and you realize on your way towards the ice that you maybe should have been paying more attention to where you were going instead of falling hopelessly in love.

The cold smack upside the head you get serves as a nice jolt to your senses, if nothing else. You hear a surprised gasp from April as she much more gracefully slides to a stop and kneels down at your side, hand gingerly and caringly caressing your shoulder as other pairs of skaters are forced to give you both a berth. You shake the dull ache off and awkwardly stammer out an assurance that you’re fine, but as you unsteadily make your way to your feet, April has already taken hold of your arm and begun toting you away off the ice and towards a small concrete block to sit down on. 

You continue to insist that you’re alright as you take a seat at her behest, insisting that it’s just a bump at worst and you’re already feeling fine, but you can’t deny that the proximity and care of having her gently part your hair with her fingers to inspect the small bruise is quite comfortable. She fusses briefly, before finally giving in to your assurances and sighing good-naturedly. She really needn’t worry, though - all it ends up taking is for her to press a gentle, tender-lipped kiss to the bump, and you’re already feeling better than you ever have in memory. 

Both deciding to be about done with skating for the night anyway, you change back into your boots and stow the skates away in your bags. There’s a small roofed cart nearby, lit up in Christmas lights, that’s advertising itself as selling Beaver Tails - not actual beaver tails, as April laughingly explains when you scrunch your face up in confusion. She whisks you away towards it and has a brief conversation with the large man behind the counter, returning to your side not too long after with a pair of fried confections wrapped up in wax paper. It doesn’t look too unlike schnitzel, you remark as you take yours from her proffering hand, to which she only giggles, a noise that sends a jolt through your body with every beat. Your mouth floods with the taste of brown sugar, cinnamon, and fried dough as you take a bite, and you let out a long sigh of satisfaction as the warmth spreads throughout your entire body. 

There’s a picnic table nearby, which you trudge towards as directed by a gentle tilt of April’s head and a smile. It’s a little snow-covered, but you dust off the seats by hand and find yourself taking off your coat to lay down atop the seat for her. She smiles and makes a small joke about feeling ‘dainty’ and ‘ladylike’ as she sits down upon it, and her glimmering eyes as she smiles at you make you forget to even feel the cold without it. 

The sun had long since set by the time you had arrived, given the long seasonal nights, so there’s no real way to tell how long you talk, save for the slow trickling of the other couples skating on the frozen lake finishing up and vanishing off into the night together one by one. Apparently, April’s status and connections earned her VIP tickets to The Outsiders on Broadway a few days ago, and you can’t help yourself to get drawn into the conversation, every twinkle in her eyes and little gesture or impression or joke she makes seeming to tighten the tug of that string around your heart. She asks you about your work, to which you struggle to come up with any interesting anecdotes, but her affectionate and invested smile never leaves her face. When you ask about her friends, you’re regaled with stories you can only half pay attention to, forcing yourself to hear what she’s saying instead of fuzzing over with the heady bliss of your proximity. You can still smell her, that intoxicating, domineering seduction hooking you in and keeping you rapt. 

Your eyes trail unbidden from her face to her collar, framed and contoured beautifully by the cozy evening light. You notice for somehow the first time how low her top really sits, and desire suddenly flares up in your mind. You want her, of course you do. Everyone wants April Cloverleigh. But your desire is not to possess her, or ensnare her with affection or partnered care, you realize. Your desire is one for belonging. A place at her side, always close and kept at her hand. 

You want her. And you want to be hers. And as that thought finally forms coherently in your mind, breaching the surface amid the soupy, addictive swirl of devotion and intoxication, you feel a pang in your soul that mirrors an aching pulse in your core. 

She’s stopped talking, you realize all of a sudden. A jolt of flustered panic rips through you, and you jolt out of your reverie, tearing your eyes back up to meet her gaze and whirling through your mind to piece together the last half-heard words to try to catch yourself up and pretend you had been listening. April doesn’t seem affronted when you come up dry, though; her chin rests coyly in her palm as her lidded violet eyes sweep over you once again. For some reason, you can’t help but quiver, and you know from the heat overtaking your body that it’s not from the cold. 

April remarks that it’s getting late. You nod. She remarks that her apartment is not too long a walk away. You nod. She asks if you have any Christmas Day plans you need to get home for tonight. You do. You shake your head no. 

She asks if you’d like to come home with her. And you nod. 

And it doesn’t bother you at all that you both knew every answer you were going to give before you did. 

The wind and snow both pick up on the way, as you walk in step with her through the city streetlight. You don’t notice the cold, though, as you’re too busy focusing on the way her hands squeeze around your forearm as she takes you home with her. You inquire about if her roommates will be home, but she shakes her head and smiles. She informs you that this isn’t her main apartment she’s escorting you to - she maintains a secondary residence in all of her favourite cities, and that you’ll have the place to yourselves. That makes your very soul leap with exhilarant joy, of course, but you still find yourself asking if she doesn’t mind missing Christmas morning with her friends just for your sake. She laughs again, a noise that now devours you whole, and says that she won’t miss a thing so long as she’s home before noon. A benefit of living with two egregious night owls is apparently getting to enjoy two different Christmas mornings if you chose to. You nod slowly, finding yourself oddly relieved that there is no part of this night you could truly call completely selfish. 

Before you have time to interrogate that thought further, April at last guides you up the stairs of a tall carved-brick apartment building, reaching high into the sky with slate-lined windows and beautifully intricate columning. Christmas trees line the edges of the entrance, and as you step foot into the lobby, you get a sudden blast of centralized heating. It looks more like the lobby to a hotel than an apartment building, and a young woman in uniform steps up to April to greet her courteously, inquiring if there’s a car she would like validated, or any bags she’d like taken up to her apartment for her. She declines and dismisses the staff with a coy, appreciative wink, and you’re just as quickly whisked away into an elevator as you had fully computed the scale of the glass-shard chandelier hanging above, or the fact that festive music was playing from an array of speakers that seemed to double as plant pots around the lobby. 

There are 45 storeys listed on the elevator keypad. April presses the 45th and highest one, and the doors slowly drift shut. She turns to you with a tilt of her brow as it begins to move, remarking with a thinly-veiled point that this elevator can be very slow during cold months, when the rooftop gears settle in the chill air. 

You just wordlessly nod, breath hitching in the back of your throat. Not because you don’t understand what she really means. Because you do, and you realize that you need it more than life itself, right then. 

Every drop of your poorly-feigned pretense of shared footing with the girl before you drains away in the instant her fingers coil up over your shoulders and her lips pull close to yours. You gasp, mind invaded by her scent again, hands fidgety and jaw quivering as she holds herself close, so very close, but not quite kissing you yet. Her eyes bore into yours with possessive intensity, piercing directly to the truest you, and the desires and needs hidden therein, and her smile broadens. Your knees shake, your hands fidgeting and uncertain where to touch her in turn, or if you even have the right to do so, as she waits for you to finally shatter beneath her fingers. 

And you do. You don’t even get the full, shaky syllable of ‘Please’ out from your lips before she silences you with a kiss, and you fall irretrievably out of reach.

April Cloverleigh tastes like stars. The kiss isn’t tender, not even for a moment - from the very beginning, her tender lips pry yours apart and open, her tongue snaking into your mouth to brand her flavour everywhere that will take it. The lingering flavour of cinnamon and sugar from your shared baked goods gives way to a syrupy, almost alcoholic sweetness that seems to drip from her tongue and fill your mouth. In the back of your mind, where some vestige of coherent thought is still possible, you only partway manage to realize that her tongue feels impossibly long, filling your mouth completely and invading you entirely. You swallow, a reflex to bring her flavour deeper inside you, and find yourself partially throating the end of her tongue, and your eyes roll up into your head in dutiful bliss. 

As her tongue claims your insides, though, her hands are quick to show their command over your skin. Her fingers trail thin, delicate lines down your chest and stomach as her impossibly warm, plush breasts push up against you, trapping you in a corner of the elevator you’ve already completely forgotten you’re inside of. Your pussy aches for attention, slick and dripping down your inner thighs, which her fingers trace against tantalizingly as they slide down. You almost cum from that alone. You gasp around her tongue, needily quivering so much you almost fall to your knees entirely, hands finally wrapping up around her back and urgently pulling, as if wanting to pull yourself into her, body and soul. Your mind fuzzes, tears of blissful surrender begin to well up at the sides of your eyes, and–

Ding!

The elevator slides open, having reached its destination. April suddenly breaks off the kiss and steps back, and you’re suddenly the coldest you’ve ever felt. You gasp desperately for air, sweat dotting your brow as you crumple in place. It takes you a few long seconds to regain any cogency, after which you look back up to find her thumbing a trail of drool off of her chin, regarding it satisfiedly, and licking it up. Whether it was your own drool or hers, you don’t know, but you know exactly what it must taste like now, and you’d give anything to taste it again. 

She gestures wordlessly for you to follow. And it would be impossible to disobey.

April’s “secondary apartment”, it seems, comprises the entirety of the 45th floor of the building, with the elevator letting out directly into an open living room. Puffy velvet sofas stand adjacent to a roiling brick fireplace inset into the wall, matching ottomans and lace-bordered pillows dotting the surrounding floor alongside a dark coffee table and reading light. Plants are potted in corners and climbing the walls with vines, every surface covered with trinkets and photographs and mementos to make the room feel enclosed and comfortably cluttered despite the open floor plan. An immaculate Christmas tree, every light a scintillating gold, stands up against a full-wall window, looking out into the light-speckled city below as the snow falls outside, seeming to have picked up some time in the too-short eternity you were in the elevator. 

April instructs you to hang your coat up on a rack by the door, and asks if you’d like some cocoa to warm up. You obey, and you accept, despite the fact that your body has never felt more feverish. 

She’s only gone long enough for you to awkwardly make your way over to one of the sofas and sit down. She returns holding two steaming mugs of cocoa with marshmallows, which you realize she must have prepared and thermossed ahead of time. You graciously accept and take a sip, sighing at the flavour and allowing it to finally ground you back to reality, and you offer your compliments to the chef. She giggles and lays a hand on your thigh, making some deft, silly joke about promising she didn’t spit in it. As if you wouldn’t be able to taste the difference if she had. 

As April’s fingers slide up your pant leg, they brush over the outline of something box-shaped in your pocket, and recollection floods through you. You’d completely forgotten amidst the heat of the many moments since waiting on that bench, a somehow different person in a slight but meaningful way than you were now. April must have noticed it in the elevator, pressed up against you, you realize, as she thumbs over the shape in your pocket deliberately and gives you a curious, expectant look. 

The small jewelry box, topped with a ruby red bow, springs free from your pocket as you take it out, implicitly apologizing for forgetting about it until so late. April cocks her head coyly and smiles, chiding you and reminding that you both had agreed on not doing gifts and just having a nice date. You nod awkwardly, but admit you couldn’t help yourself, and invite her to open it. She rolls her eyes and smiles, but she tucks into the crook of your shoulder affectionately as she pulls the bow free and clicks the box open. 

The golden treble clef earrings glimmer in the radiant light from the Christmas tree, glinting as April’s smile broadens and she plucks them up to inspect them closer. They’re beautiful, she tells you. And you say nothing, because you had thought they were beautiful too, before this moment arrived and you realized beauty has an entirely new meaning to you now. You smile anyway, though, at least glad to have made her happy with the offering.

She sighs and shakes her head, remarking that now she feels bad she didn’t get you a gift, in return. You clumsily tumble out an assurance that her company is the only gift you need. 

With a glimmer in her eye, April shakes her head, and says she’s just gotten an idea. She tells you to wait, though, while she goes to put the new earrings on, and she vanishes out of your reach and around a corner. 

You’re still conscious enough to know, of course, that everything tonight had gone perfectly according to her plans, secret surprise gift included. But you are far beyond the point of caring, because you know that nobody feels the need to go to privacy if all they’re changing is their earrings. 

When the sound of her footsteps returns, and you glance over your shoulder to see her rounding the back of the couch to return to you, you lose the last shard of your mind you’d been holding onto, and you are nothing but ecstatic to see it go. 

A crimson lace bra presses her heavy, warm, beautiful breasts up to accentuate her curvaceous figure. A garter belt cinching around her naked waist connects to red stockings hugging her legs tightly, all framing around a matching lacy thong that’s too translucent to hide anything at all. Festive fingerless gloves reach up to her biceps, and a santa hat adorns her head, along with the glimmering of the treble clef earrings that shimmer and shine in the light by her head. 

She just plants a hand on her hip and looks at you wordlessly, a satisfied smirk parting her lips as she sees exactly what she knew she would in your eyes. You don’t need to say anything, nor does she. 

You nod anyway. Not for her, but for yourself. Because this is right. You know it is. You knew it was from the moment you laid eyes on her. And you are so very grateful to her for helping you realize it. 

April plucks a small controller off the coffee table and presses it to the side, spurring a jukebox you hadn’t noticed before to life. It lights up and begins drolling out a sensual, festive tune that she must have selected and preloaded especially for you. She smiles and lets her eyes drift shut, her hips beginning to sway to the rhythm in much the same way as they had swayed out on the ice, making you realize it really had always been leading here. Exactly by design.

She dances for two whole songs before she finally touches you. Your cunt is the neediest it’s ever been, practically staining through your jeans with its slickening want by the time she deigns you with her touch, but you don’t complain. At this point, you wouldn’t so much as dream of it. 

Her fingers coil around the base of your shirt at last, and you dutifully lit your arms as she pulls it up and off of you, revealing your flesh to her. She takes a moment to observe you, leaning down and pressing a knee into your lap to keep you still whilst she traces every line and contour of your torso with her fingers, unhooking and tossing aside your bra as she does so. Giving a satisfied hum at last, she leans in closer and straddles you, the heat of her cunt pressed so close against yours even through your clothes that you let out a gasp of heady need. 

You are swamped in her aroma, huffing the air around like an addict whilst grasping desperately at the couch in a hungry mania. She leans in to whisper, and gives you permission to touch her, so you instead knead the soft flesh of her hips and waist reverently. She reaches down and unbuckles your belt, and gives you permission to make love to her, and you’re the happiest you’ve been in your entire life. 

Her thighs wrapping firmly in the straddle around your lap makes it easy for you to tug your pants down at last, allowing your aching cunt to finally breathe and glisten in the low, hazy light. It’s pink and swollen with desperation for her, more so than ever before, and she titters out a satisfied giggle while tracing a light circle around your protruding clit with the tip of her finger. You whimper for her softly, and she at last abides by tugging aside her lacy thong to press her bare, soft, moist and beautiful lower lips in a sensual kiss to yours.

She all but invites you into her, it feels like, in beautiful and nurturing warmth. Your mouth falls open in gasping spasms of pleasure as your clits brush together, and a gentle hand caressing your cheek leads your lips to latch around something soft, warm, and nubbed. April gyrates up back and forth against you, and the resulting spasm jolts you back to life, finally realizing that the thing you’re now suckling on is her nipple, having been fished out from her lacy bra and given to you generously to nurse on. Your tongue twirls against the delicate barbell piercing through it, each lap and suckle seeming to make her lidded eyes widen with pleasure and care, and you don’t think there’s any higher purpose for you in the world than this. 

And then she beats against you again, and you can’t hold it any longer.

You prise your lips free from her nipple to let out a howl of surrendering pleasure, pulling yourself free from her pussy at the last minute before you cum. Your pussy, slathered in your combined fluids, spasms and squirts wildly as you finish, a high stream shooting up to coat your bare chest and stomach, dripping down your body in rivulets as you gasp for steamy air. 

She hadn’t forbidden you from soiling her. Not verbally, anyway. But she hadn’t needed to. You knew it wasn’t your place to. That wasn’t what you were to her. And that wasn’t what she was to you. She was something far, far more than that to you. 

Your mind feels sluggish and steamed as your orgasm finally winds to an end, leaving your head lolling back against the couch and your tongue falling out of your mouth. April’s face is a mere six inches at most away from yours, but her satisfied smile is blurred in your vision, at least until she leans down.

You yelp suddenly as your sensitive flesh jolts, the sensation of warm lips prising you open and a delicate tongue worming inside you making your hips buck and shoulders tense in rapturous pleasure. You look down to see her, eyes closed easily and effortlessly, kissing you lovingly from below, her tongue eagerly and carefully wrapping up and about to clean every drop of your fluids she can.. Slowly, she pulls away and off you, trails of saliva and lubrication still connecting her face to your cunt, and the sudden chill of separation makes you nearly cry. As you gasp and moan incoherently, April licks her lips and almost purrs in delight, before stooping down and grooming the rest of you with her tongue as well, every droplet and river of fluid that had splashed around your thighs and navel lapped up and licked clean. As she finishes, her head tilts back up to put her face tantalizingly close to hers, and you find yourself mourning the end of her delicate care.

Just as they had in the elevator, however dimly you can remember that or anything else coherent in this moment, her lips pause millimeters out from touching yours. Her breath beats up against your face, and you can smell her flavour wafting out from under her tight-lipped smile. 

“Good, pet,” she whispers, “Now, are you ready for the final part?”

The praise sparks in your mind like a blaze, and you honestly get quite close to cumming a second time, despite nothing touching your cunt except the very base of her cock.

You blink, pausing on that thought. And then you look down. 

April’s cock is around as thick as your wrist, if not slightly more, and quite long, reaching almost up to your belly button as she presses up against you. Her thick, hooded cockhead points directly up towards your face threateningly. No. Promisingly. 

You wonder dimly, in the back of her mind, where it had come from. She hadn’t had it a moment ago.

And then you realize it didn’t matter at all. Because it was just as divine as the rest of her was, and it was not your place to question her.

So, you just nod. And she rewards you by kissing you again, and everything in the world made complete and perfect sense. It was right. It was all right.

It was right when she broke off the kiss and told you to get to your hands and knees on the sofa.

It was right when she wrapped her fingers around your cheek and into your mouth, and when she called you a good pet again when you dutifully suckled on them. 

And it was right when she pressed her cock inside of you, making you moan like a bitch around her fingers as you felt her shape stretching and filling you perfectly, as if you were made for her to nestle herself inside of. 

April is gentle with you at first, clearly noticing your inexperience and choosing to humour it. In and out, she fucks you slowly, pushing deeper within, towards the very core of you, further and deeper than you’ve ever experienced anything ever before. And when your moans of exertion transform into desperate pleasure, you watch over your shoulder as she smiles wide and at last elects to make full use of her new toy.

Your entire body bounces as her hips slap against you, breasts swinging to the rhythm of her dominance and sweat beating down your face in rivulets. You leak, you drool, you tear up with pleasure, and before you know it, you cum. Your fluids pool beneath you, ruining the velvet of the sofa on which you were claimed, and even though you couldn’t muster the control of your voice to apologize, you found her forgiveness in a tug of your hair and a warmth filling you so completely that you can’t believe you hadn’t realized you were so empty without it until now. 

Your last coherent thought from the night was her planting a kiss against your temple, cock pulling free of you to let a glut of her steaming-hot cum flow out, and you winked away at last. 

On Christmas morning, you awake to the sensation of light streaming in from a nearby window. You blink against it confusedly, shaking the heady weight of a deep, heavy sleep from your mind as you sit up, smacking your lips against morning breath and taking in your surroundings. You were in a bedroom, now. Not yours, not one you recognized, but given that it was decorated in the same style as the living room had been, you realize that it must just be April’s. 

April.

Last night returns to you in flashes all of a sudden. All the events leading up to when you lost consciousness that first time stand starkly clear in your mind, but the rest only returns as half-conscious glimpses, no matter how hard you try to remember. 

A kiss so deep that it invaded your every sense. Your face and breasts pressed up against the chilly glass of the window, ass stuffed full of cock and pussy dripping with cum, shown off to the world below. Choking and gasping around a member too thick and long for your mouth, gulping desperately to swallow every last drop as your lips were forced down to its hilt and it exploded with claiming heat down your throat. Being taken to a bath. Gentle, caring fingers nursing cum out of your hair and scrubbing you clean, since you weren’t strong enough to lift your arms to do it yourself. A gentle kiss to the forehead as you were set down in bed. Drifting off to sleep with your face pressed tenderly into the crook of a neck. 

You glance out at the window, raising a hand against the sunbeam, and you see snow gently drifting along in the morning air. 

And you remember that it’s Christmas. And you know that she’s waiting for you. So you stand, no matter how strange it feels to do that after last night, and you walk out of the room. 

April is waiting for you on the couch. Not the same one that you ruined with your utter surrender the night prior, but the other, right next to the Christmas tree. She looks exactly like she had the previous night - lingerie re-donned, not a hair out of place or a single piece of evidence of sweat in sight. She simply waited wordlessly for you, meeting your gaze as you walked in and saw her once again. 

There were presents under the tree, now. They hadn’t been there last night, and you could see they were all for you. 

April crooks her finger at you. And you approach. 

She asks if you want to open your presents now, or later.

You ask what she’d prefer to do.

She smiles and parts her legs. 

And you kneel.

And she plays with her Christmas present.

-END-

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