Midnight owns the forest. Snow falls thick and silent, swallowing every sound but the ragged pull of her breath. She stands in the clearing. Platinum blonde hair spills from a messy braid, strands stuck to sweat on her temples. Her ice blue eyes lock onto the darkness where you watch, her pupils blown wide, her lashes heavy with snowflakes. Her full lips part, her gloss long melted, showing the pink tip of her tongue as she bites her lower lip. That red Santa suit clings to her: the sharp jut of her hip bones straining the wool, the deep dip of her waist, the heavy sway of her tits pushing against the fabric, her nipples hard and dark as cherries against the cold.
Her back meets the pine tree, rough bark gouging the skin above her ass as she sinks deeper into the snow. Her knees part, powder spilling between her thighs where the red fabric pulls tight over the swell of her pussy. Her gloved hands slide down her stomach, over the round globe of her ass. Her fingers dig into the firm flesh of her cheeks, pressing her harder into the frozen earth. Snow melts against her heat, wetting the wool between her thighs, darkening it to crimson where it hugs the crease of her ass.
A shiver rips through her. Her head tilts back, her throat exposed, her smooth pale skin glistening with melted snow. Her lips part on a gasp as she rolls onto her side. Her leg lifts, her thighs spreading wider, the red fabric stretching drum tight over her pussy lips. Her gloved fingers trace the inner seam of her suit from her knee upward, up, stopping where wool meets bare skin just below her mound. Her hips lift off the ground, her ass grinding slow circles in the snow, powder caking the red fabric over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the desperate arch of her back.
No rush. Never.
Her hands drift to her tits, squeezing through the suit. Her palms flatten the heavy weight of her tits, her fingers circling her nipples until they throb. Down her stomach. Pausing just above her thighs where the cold stings sharpest. Her breath hitches, sharp and ragged, as she rolls onto her back. Her legs fall open wider, holding that spread, red fabric pulled taut over her pussy, wet and dark, just long enough for you to see the shadow between her thighs before snapping shut again. Her hands slide up her sides, stop just below her tits. Her chest heaves. Her ice blue eyes lock onto you, her pupils swallowing the blue. Daring you to look away.
Snow catches in her platinum hair, on her shoulders, melting against the fever hot skin of her neck. Her lips stay parted, swollen and red from biting, as her ass grinds slow and hungry against the frozen earth. Her body sings one word: yours.
The forest holds its breath. Snow keeps falling. Soft. Endless. Hers, only for you.
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