Chapter Text
Patty wasn’t above lying to children, or their guardians for that matter. Convincing the crowd that Santa was about to make a special entrance in the far side parking lot of the mall wasn’t terribly difficult, and even if their parents were skeptical, few could manage to escape the flood of children that eventually swept them away. Better that than subjecting the poor sap inside the shack to the collective anger of forty children and their parents on Christmas Eve for hogging up the rest of their Santa time. The gingerbread house now stood all on its lonesome as the surrounding stores began to close their shutters.
“Jesus Christ,” Patty said. “How long of a list does this kid have?”
By technicality, Patty had achieved her goal. The Santa booth had remained manned and operational for the entire evening, even if a plurality of that time was taken up by a single individual. Despite that though, Patty could only smile; both for a successful end to the Christmas season, and for a bit of self-satisfaction. She always had a keen sense for understanding people, even at a brief glance. Call it a gift, call it intuition, but she could tell that the giant woman she met in the bathroom would be an absolute hit with the little ones. And seeing as the little one’s mother was not here, it would doubtless fall to Patty to relay to the mom any gift information being exchanged between the pair inside the chamber.
Placing a decorative gift box up against the rearmost wall of the shack, Patty hopped on top and leaned her ear to the semi-permeable listening barrier, only to abruptly fall through the empty box, landing in a haze of bunting and packing peanuts. Patty muttered some very un-Christmaslike things before gathering two boxes this time to better distribute her weight, and trying again.
SHLAP, SHLAP, SHLAP…
Patty removed her ear from the listening grate. Then, she leaned in again.
That didn’t… sound… right…
Reaching into her fanny pack, Patty pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock beneath the listening grate. Click. The noise would’ve typically echoed in the rapidly emptying food mall, but it was instead swallowed up by the repetitive sounds that could only be described as wet skin on hot flesh. With practiced precision, Patty lifted the grate, finally getting the chance to peer inside…
From behind, Patty could make out the amazon woman on her chair, her massive buttcheeks jammed tightly between the armrests. And buttcheeks was apt; she had not divested herself of clothes but rather had rolled up the entirety of her dress into a bundle that collected in her lap, tucked between her jiggly abdomen and the dick that sprouted beneath it.
Mrs. Claus had a dick.
And on that dick, being speared repeatedly by Mrs. Claus’s muscular arms, was a tiny, red-haired, green-eyed girl. Over and over again, the dick traveled the length of her body, retreated back to her cunt, then repeated the process. Rosalie herself was naked, and aside from her stockings, barefoot. Perhaps even more ludicrous than the scene before her… was the fact that the child seemed… happy about it. The picture of enthusiasm.
“Keep going!” she shrieked. “I want your warmth… please! Put the warm stuff inside of me!!”
“Fffffuck…”
The amazon’s efforts redoubled, and the girl—more onahole than girl at this point—entered a trance-like state for just a moment before she became a blur.
Patty shut the listening grate. And she took a step down from the jerry-rigged stepstool.
“I’m… I’m fired… right?”
“Fired for what?”
Patty jumped, screamed, and turned. She recognized the woman before her as the little tyke’s mom, and she more than recognized the signs of inebriation.
“Hey… my daughter’s in there, isn’t she? I, ah… I guess Mrs. Claus was able to bring out some of that… pow… Christmas magic?”
The woman’s gesticulations made Patty flinch every time. After collecting herself, Patty prepared to respond with some canned lie before the woman squatted, putting a hand on Patty’s shoulder.
“L-look… I-I’ve been, a bit, distracted… lately. Been going through a lot. Like…” The woman gestured broadly. “A lot! A lot. At home, and all. You get it, right?”
Patty nodded slowly.
“Great!” Olivia smacked Patty on the back, nearly causing the elf to stumble. “Great!” she continued, breathing what seemed to be a genuine sigh of relief. “I knew someone like you would get it. Dealing with kids all day. I mean, I only have the one, and don’t get me wrong, I…”
Olivia’s face twisted.
“I… love her… to bits. But…” Even shitfaced and rosy-cheeked, Olivia still had the wherewithal to at least pretend to the conspiratorial nature of what she was about to say. She had to crouch if she wanted Patty to hear her whisper. “Sometimes… I just think about how much simpler my life would be if she’d… never—”
Still, Olivia stopped, and a trace of shame leaked out.
She sighed.
“If, maybe, her dad could keep her for… longer… what’s the word… starts with an ‘I’... internships… interviews…”
“Intervals?” Patty offered.
Olivia smacked Patty again.
“Ha-ha, yes! Why do they have you doing this? You could make three times as much as my secretary, you know?”
Before Patty could inquire if she was serious, Olivia was already fumbling about in her purse. “Now normally… I wouldn’t do this. But. You seem… trustworthy… got a pen?”
Patty did, in fact, have a pen. Wordlessly, she pulled it out of her fanny pack, along with the notebook she typically used while waiting tables at the Outback Steakhouse. The mother didn’t wait to snatch it out of her hands.
The woman’s scrawl was difficult to parse, but the meat of the address was legible. What Patty did not expect, however, was the wad of cash that was soon shoved into her hands.
“That ought to cover the… it should, c-cov—hyurk!”
Something between a burp and a gag erupted inside of Olivia’s closed mouth. Her pink eyes slammed shut, and with tremendous effort she swallowed… whatever just crawled up her throat… back down. Then, she grabbed some deep breaths and began again.
“It oughta… cover the cab. If you can make sure Rosie gets home safe, I don’t mind you keepin’ the rest.” The woman glanced at the gingerbread shack behind the both of them, and smirked. “If you ask me, Mrs. Claus can keep her occupied as long as she wants. I’ve done my job, by now. Sounds good?”
Patty nodded.
“Good! M-merry Chrysler!”
The woman stumbled away.
Patty looked down at the wad of money… almost all the bills were huge enough to be unusable for typical taxi services.
Patty didn’t know if she was trembling from anxiety, horror, or utter excitement, and at this point, she didn’t entirely care as she shoved the sum into her fanny pack.
***
Scratch what Trish said earlier.
Using a girl as a living cumrag was fun. It was enlightening.
It was life-affirming.
But it was not everything she ever wanted.
However.
Squeezing her dick through the vice-grip cunt of that same girl as she giggled all the way through, feeling the way the cock practically radiated in tune with the lolita’s heartbeat as the crown imprinted upon the child’s sternum? Repeatedly as she continued to hammer the child down the length of the spear?
This. Was everything she’d ever hoped for.
If time hadn’t lost meaning before, it certainly had now. Time seemed not to exist when her cock was inside of Rosalie. To Trish, Rosalie had become time, become her world. Every sensation that circulated through Trish seemed to emanate from whatever occurred while Rosalie was wrapped around her dick, to the extent that Trish couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything except for the pleasure. With as much force and gusto that Trish repeatedly slammed the child down on her cock, Trish knew the truth. Even if the girl in her arms and outside of her cock didn’t know it, she was the one calling the shots. Every contraction of her once-virginal pussy set off a bomb of urge and longing that would not be satisfied until Trish had expelled every last drop of it into that little womb.
Rosalie, meanwhile, had a dumb smile on her face. She’d had that dumb smile on her face ever since they started, since Trish had managed to shove even the tip in, in fact. Her mouth twitched as her breath escaped her. Her nose slightly tickled as the nectarine scent of their copulation entered her lungs. And her eyes were glazed, no longer really seeing anything. The sensory details that Rosalie had been so proud she’d taken note of simply refused to register in her brain anymore. All that had been overwritten in much the same way the space in her body allocated to the internal organs had been overwritten by the presence of Trish’s cock. Her vagina had been reprogrammed into a mere extension of Trish as well, as if the nerves rooting through the babe’s nascent erogenous zones had quite literally been married together with those that made the tree trunk inside of her pulse with vigor. Rosalie’s toes curled inside her socks with every slam onto the root of Trish’s groin. And even the constant contact endured by the underdeveloped nub that was Rosalie’s clit did its part in reconditioning the girl into becoming a servant for the cock that now graced her insides. She was a sleeve for a dick, and she was loving it.
Love…
Love…
Love…
“It’s fucking coming… get ready…! Rosie? You hear me?”
Trish ceased the pounding, and she held Rosalie by the tyke’s pits at the apex of her bitchbreaker. She finally, briefly, reckoned understanding in those silvery emerald eyes of hers, and Rosalie looked almost annoyed. She wiggled her hips and seemed to almost drop out of Trish’s grip, firmly lanced on the flared cockhead.
“D-do it,” Rosalie said, weak with a toothy smile. “Give me everything… your warmth… I can take it… I want to feel good inside…”
Where have you been all my life? was what Trish would’ve said if she could think coherent thoughts. Instead, she gave Rosalie her wish. The girl was soon back in the SHLAP, SHLAP, SHLAP of getting pounded like mochi.
Trish’s arms were the real saving graces, and they were the parts of her that screamed out the most in agony from overuse. The soreness of her muscles almost demanded that she put an end to the marathon fucking, or at least change position to something more amenable to their current states. God knows that Trish’s thighs were a force to be reckoned with. But there was something so incredibly sultry about using a girl small enough to be a doll like a toy. A living, breathing sex toy that actually reacted and responded to you. Rosalie’s life was in Trish’s hands, and she loved it. She loved her.
Love.
Love.
Love.
Oh my God, Trish thought.
Had she… ever… used that word to describe her relationship with anyone?
There was indifference, grudging tolerance, and occasionally family-mandated affection.
But love?
Did she love this girl?
The gurgling in her nuts was beginning to overwhelm Trish, overwhelm any stray thoughts. She could table that thought for later. For now, she needed to—
Suddenly, Rosalie woke. It was as though her prior catatonia was a fever dream. With ninja-esque precision, Rosalie grabbed onto the fabric of the apron coating Trish’s tits, prompting a tertiary moan as her little hands enclosed around fistfuls of boobflesh. Trish was full hilt inside of Rosalie, and Rosalie knew it. Rosalie wanted Trish as deep inside her as possible.
For a moment, there was no movement. Rosalie could only look up at Trish’s gobsmacked face.
Rosalie broke the silence first. “I… I think… I lov—”
Climax.
Rosalie’s body seemed to expand, as though her form were made of goo. This did not last long—the cum which spurted into her needed to exit somewhere, and it left in spectacular fashion. Most of it simply squeezed past the airlock seal formed between Rosalie’s pussy and Trish’s dick, in massive white spurts that stained both women’s remaining garments down there beyond repair, before spilling out onto the floor in a concerningly continuous waterfall of gelatinous white soup. What was left was—if Trish’s knowledge of hentai and smut was to be believed—presumably deposited in her womb, as evidenced by the pregnant-seeming belly that now expanded from Rosalie’s midsection.
Rosalie would’ve been foolish to think she could take Trish’s entire load. But the amount she did take was impressive. Her belly had grown enough to dig into Trish’s own midriff, and Trish almost had to resist the urge to rub against it to feel for a kick.
The thought filled Trish with concern.
She didn’t… just get… this girl pregnant, did she?
Then, Trish realized.
She didn’t care.
Even in the unlikely scenario that this seven-year-old was ovulating, for once Trish could not bring herself to care. For once in her life, she wouldn’t worry about what other people thought. Because Trish didn’t choose this, and Rosalie didn’t choose this either.
They chose it, together.
They’d navigated this copulation together. The decisions they’d made were made together.
Trish looked down at Rosalie, still full hilt on a dick that despite its slight softening maintained a semblance of rigidity. The mere trickle of cum that still flowed through the veiny staff was expanding the girl’s stomach even now, but much of it simply continued to dribble out onto the slick floor of the shoddily-built gingerbread cottage.
And Rosalie was asleep.
Trish gathered herself, and with a mighty grunt… she rose to her feet. Rosalie came with her, impaled on her dick like an ornament, her sleepy arms wrapped around the amazon with the tightness that a child gave their mother. Her legs meanwhile seemed to mindlessly twitch and kick out before hooking themselves around Trish’s waist and tightening, pulling the sleeping child even further down on the shaft.
Trish tried to blink away her tears as she wrapped her arms around the girl and held her even closer. So close, Trish could still feel Rosalie’s heartbeat if she tried, and the pace remained consistently rapid. The girl’s breaths were the second clue, light and airy. But the way her toes clenched and unclenched, grabbing hold onto Trish’s dress at regular intervals, was the clincher.
Rosalie’s orgasm hadn’t stopped. She was cumming even now.
It explained Trish’s continued erection, and even to an extent the liquid that continued to expel from their joined genitalia. The feeling Trish’s cock had for Rosalie’s body was apparently mutual.
Tentatively, Trish released Rosalie from her arms. Like a limp corpse, her head fell back, eyes glazed up at the papier-mâché sky, but the child’s arms retained their grip and her hips went on strong as they milked any extra cum out of Trish’s shaft.
At full height, Trish lamented that she couldn’t be able to kiss her from this distance… but even the loveliest of dreams had to fade eventually. And besides, simply being acknowledged as worthy of love remained the single greatest Christmas gift Trish could ever want.
***
With her dress fully equipped, one could be forgiven for confusing Trish as pregnant herself. It was easy to assume if you didn’t pay too much attention to Trish’s belly and notice its irregular lumpiness. That most of the mall lights had turned off helped sell the illusion. Logically, Trish knew that a not-insignificant amount of time had passed… but even this was a surprise. The mall was, doubtless, closed. Only the bare minimum lightning necessary for a skeleton crew’s worth of janitors to do some final security checks and cleaning.
Trish whistled… she did not envy whoever would need to mop out the gingerbread shack.
Trish looked down her collar at the girl beneath her cloak, and she felt a wave of warm feelings flood into her. Even concealed by the fabric, the mere thought of Rosalie made her feel indescribable things, to say nothing of the girl’s physical attachment to the giant. Now, Trish intended to take her to the bathroom, utterly drench the pair in soap and water, and hopefully make up a lie on the way to the (assuredly closed) Dave and Busters to justify their long absence. At least that was the plan, until a tug at the back of Trish’s dress caused her to swing around in a circle, nearly knocking Patty off balance.
“Holy, God, watch where you’re swinging that… thing…” Patty’s eyes widened as she realized precisely what the bundle permeating from Trish’s midsection was.
“Patty?” Trish had forgotten the whole impetus of this whole affair. “S-s-sorry! I—”
“SSSHHHH!”
Trish shut up.
Patty looked furtively behind her. Then, to the side.
Then, finally, she dug into her fanny pack, and she pulled out a crumped set of bills, along with a similarly crumpled handwritten note.
“If you make sure to keep your mouth shut about what happened here…” Patty began, with a pointed glare upwards at Trish. “You can keep all of that.”
A-all?
Trish took and thumbed the collection of bills. One-hundred, two-hundred, three-hundred, five… Trish’s eyes grew to dinner plates; she’d barely peeled even a few layers off the ream of cash before she stopped counting. It wasn’t enough to retire on, but it was doubtless more money than Trish had seen at once in her lifetime.
Trish looked up, “But… but what about you and your job and all? W-what about her Mom? I-I mean, this is, I, huh?!”
“I, uhh,” Patty began with another anxious look over her shoulder. “…I’ll just say, she didn’t strike me as the type to be overly concerned if she were to not get her daughter back. Now, I have no idea what the two of you were doing in there…”
Patty gave Trish a deathly serious wink which implied… a lot to the miniature giant.
“But as long as we promise that I’m not a part of… this… I’m not going to judge. In fact, if I’m lucky, we never see each other again. I don’t want anything to do with you. But, the same can’t be said about…” A pointed glance at the lump beneath Trish’s dress. “For better or worse, she seems obsessed with you. So, just, figure something out. Or something? Take her with you, take her home, drop her off, I cannot be paid enough to care anymore. I’m fucking done with this.” And Patty turned to stomp away, ripping off her elf’s hat and stepping on it in the process.
“B-b-b-but—hey! Wait!” Trish was about to run, but her dick cleaved further inside the little fleshlight being worn on it, eliciting a soft moan that had only the barest sliver of anything approaching discomfort. But that sliver was enough; Trish stopped dead in her tracks. She lifted the hem of her dress gazed down her collar. Trish’s breasts obstructed the view, but she could just barely see the bounty of crimson hair that signaled the tender, sleeping girl impaled on her cock. Rosalie’s eyes were half-lidded, and her thumb was planted firmly in her mouth. She slipped her saliva-ridden thumb partially out of her mouth and looked up at Trish before she whispered one thing:
“Mama…”
This was not the fear-laced squeal of a creature lost and alone. This was the soft, gentle mewl of a creature who knew exactly where she belonged, and to whom.
Trish looked up once again to see Patty preparing to turn the corner. The former elf only stopped once, to turn around and yell, “Merry fucking Christmas, Tasha!” before flipping the bird and disappearing into the shadows of the mall.
Trish was left to contemplate only herself, her thoughts, and the steadily pumping low-level drip of semen still entering this girl’s womb.
She looked at the note, and the address.
Trish snuck another look down her cloak. Each time she looked at the redhead, Trish realized, a rush of endorphins flooded her. In part a result of the desire to simply pick up this handheld girl and slide her up and down the cock she currently called her home. Trish’s primal greed and euphoric bliss threatened to send her into a frenzy so depraved that she would be ramming her cock into Rosalie’s freshly hollowed holes into the new year.
But that was just a fraction, and frankly a comparatively small one, of the whims twisting their way into Trish’s heart. There was something in Trish that was new. Something that radiated through her every cell, a feeling she’d never believed she had the capacity to genuinely feel. A feeling that was overwriting every other instinct and habit she’d cultivated over a life of keeping to herself…
The desire to have, hold, cherish, and protect another human being.
Trish had to protect this girl. There was simply no alternative. It was now as crucial to her as air.
Trish savored the feeling as her tummy pudge was nuzzled into by Rosalie’s cheek, and a closer glance revealed the girl had replaced her thumb back between her lips. A dribble of warm drool was running down her chin where it met Trish’s navel before continuing downward, ultimately mingling with the cocktail of fluids that formed where their bodies merged.
As the faintest hint of a contented snore emerged from Rosalie’s nose, Trish was met with clarity.
For once. For the first time, God had answered a prayer.
But it wasn’t Trish’s.
Roughly seven years ago, a girl was born into a family that was unable to provide the love she needed. This girl was everything a little girl needed to be—sweet, caring, funny, adorable, the angelic confluence of clouds and honeydew given flesh. A girl who had learned to subsist on only a fraction of the necessary diet of love little girls needed to feel whole, and still traveled through life unnourished. A girl who had such a dearth of love in her life that to her being called “fucking hot” was a compliment worth submitting her body to.
On Christmas Eve, this girl would walk into the life of an apathetic NEET with no hopes, no (legal) dreams, no prospects, and frankly, no future.
Trish’s prayers that day hadn’t quite been answered. She couldn’t relive the past; the pretty clothes and the nice shoes and the expensive games of yesteryear could not make her happy today, and they were mostly long gone anyway. But Trish did receive the next best thing:
She would be the means by which another’s prayers were answered.
She would be Rosalie’s love. She would take her, and give her everything this girl needed, and more, and then some extra, and even more, with a cherry on top. She would drown her in the love that only the bastard combination of a mother and wife could give. She could give her the thing that Trish never knew in her own time.
With a single squeeze, Trish crumpled the letter into a ball and allowed it to fall to the floor. The janitors can sweep that one up too.
Trish didn’t know the first thing about being a parent; in fact, she was self-aware enough that she knew if a list existed of women who should under no circumstances be moms, she would be on it. She didn’t know the first thing about how to make a delicious and nutritious lunch; the closest thing to a meal she knew to prepare was cold cereal and grilled cheese sandwiches. Rosalie’s outfit had certainly been spent; the only clothes shopping Trish had ever done for herself had been for massive garments knitted together from the remains of thrown-out window curtains. She didn’t know where to begin buying clothes for a seven-year-old. Doctors’ appointments, school registration, toys and books and games? Fuck, was there even a bed waiting for Rosalie when they got home!? That was a question Trish wanted to be certain of… but the truth is she wasn’t. She wasn’t certain about anything.
But she would learn. She would let this baby girl share her own bed if need be. She was willing to learn to cook, to clean, learn how to construct a fruit salad and sign a girl up for elementary school and patch holes in overalls and kiss booboos and hold her close and give her all the love, care, semen (of course), affection that she needed… everything that Trish never received. Nobody on Earth deserved it more than this girl.
And as Trish made that promise to herself… her anxiety melted. Her fear remained, but just the thought of the little girl who had fallen under her care made that fear seem small, trivial even. For this child, Trish would endure any fear.
She could endure anything.
Trish sighed… and she mentally prepared herself for the sob story she’d need to spin as she pulled out her phone to dial her ride. “Izzy is gonna hate me for this,” she said under her breath, before thinking back to the clump of bills. “But she’ll get over it. She still owes me one for that thing with Dad.”