Holiday Weight | NEON LIT

My car dies two blocks from Aunt Dolores's house.

It feels like an omen. I'm already regretting this trip—a week with family I haven't seen since I was twenty, because my apartment flooded and I had nowhere else to go for the holidays. But now, pushing my dead Honda through the snow while Dolores's house glows in the distance, I feel like I'm walking into something I can't walk out of.

I don't know how right I am.

"¡Mijo! You made it!"

Aunt Dolores fills the doorway.

Not a figure of speech. She fills it—side to side, her hips brushing both sides of the frame. She's gained weight since I last saw her. A lot of weight. She must be close to three hundred pounds now, and she's only five-three. Everything about her is massive: her breasts straining against a red silk robe, her belly a round mountain beneath the sash, her thighs so thick they force her legs apart when she stands.

She pulls me into a hug, and I disappear.

Soft flesh everywhere—her breasts crushing against my chest, her belly warm against mine, her arms enveloping me in skin and silk and the smell of cinnamon. She holds me too long. Her lips brush my ear when she whispers, "You've gotten so handsome."

"Thanks, Tía." My voice is strange. "You look... good."

"Liar." She laughs, stepping back but keeping her hands on my arms. Her eyes travel down my body, slow and obvious. "But I like liars."

Behind her, someone clears their throat.

"You gonna let him in, Mami, or just feel him up on the porch?"

Marisol.

My cousin. I haven't seen her since her quinceañera, and she was a chubby fifteen-year-old with braces then. Now she's twenty-eight, leaning against the hallway wall, and she's...

Fuck.

She's thick. Not as big as her mother—maybe two-ten, two-fifteen—but packed into a body that was built for sin. Tight black leggings that show every curve of her massive thighs. A crop top that barely contains breasts almost as large as Dolores's, with a soft belly peeking out below the hem. Wide hips. Round face. Lips slicked with something glossy.

"Hey, Danny." She smiles, and it's not a cousin's smile. "Long time."

"Yeah." I swallow. "Long time."

They both watch me drag my suitcase inside. I can feel their eyes on my back like heat.

This is going to be a long week.

Day Two

Dolores cooks breakfast in that silk robe.

Nothing underneath—I can see the dark shadows of her nipples through the fabric, the way her belly sways when she moves. She "accidentally" brushes against me reaching for plates. Her ass grazes my hip when she passes. She bends over to check the oven, and the robe rides up, and I see the bottom curve of her cheeks, dimpled and pale.

"See something you like, mijo?" She's not even looking at me. She knows.

"Just hungry."

"Mm." She turns, plates in hand, and her breasts are at my eye level. "Me too."

Day Three

Marisol works from home.

"Works" means sitting on the couch with a laptop, wearing shorts so tight they disappear between her thighs and a tank top with no bra. She stretches constantly. Arches her back. Spreads her legs when she knows I'm watching.

"Danny." She pats the couch beside her. "Come help me with something."

I sit. She leans against me, her breast pressing into my arm, pointing at something on her screen.

"This part—" She shifts, and now her hand is on my thigh. "—I can't figure out."

"That's just... a dropdown menu."

"Show me." Her hand squeezes. "I learn better with hands-on instruction."

From the kitchen, Dolores watches. Her eyes narrow.

The competition is on.

Day Four — Christmas Eve

Everyone goes to bed early.

I can't sleep. Too much tension, too many cold showers, too many nights jerking off to the thought of both of them. I go downstairs for water and find the kitchen dark.

Not empty.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Dolores is sitting at the kitchen table in that silk robe. A glass of rum in her hand. The moonlight through the window makes her look silver.

"No. I—"

"Sit." She nods at the chair across from her. "Drink with me."

I sit. She pours. The rum burns going down.

"You know what I want for Christmas, mijo?"

"What?"

She stands. Moves around the table. The robe whispers against her thighs.

"I'm fifty-four years old. My husband's been dead five years. I spend every night alone in a bed that's too big for one person." She stops in front of me. "And for the past four days, I've been watching you try not to stare at me."

"Tía—"

"You think I don't see?" She takes my hands, places them on her hips. The silk is warm from her body. "You think I don't know what you're thinking when I bend over? When I hug you too long?"

"We can't—"

"We can." She unties the robe. "I've wanted this since you walked through my door. I've wanted it longer than that, if I'm being honest."

The robe falls.

She's naked.

Every inch of her, silver in the moonlight. Her breasts are enormous—each one bigger than my head, hanging heavy to her waist, nipples dark and wide and already hard. Her belly is a mountain of soft flesh, folding into itself, cascading down toward thighs so thick they could crush me.

Her pussy is bare. Wet. Glistening.

"Touch me," she commands.

I should say no. She's my aunt. My mother's sister. This is wrong on every level.

I grab her hips and pull her onto my lap.

She gasps as she settles on me—all that weight pressing down, her belly covering my stomach, her breasts crushed against my chest. I can feel the heat of her cunt through my shorts. She rolls her hips, grinding on my cock, and the sensation makes me groan.

"That's it, mijo." She cups my face in her hands. "Give in. Let Tía take care of you."

She kisses me, and I'm lost.

Her mouth is rum and hunger. Her tongue slides against mine as her hips keep moving, rubbing herself on my cock through the fabric. I grab her ass—two massive handfuls of flesh, soft and dimpled and overflowing my grip—and pull her harder against me.

"Need you inside me," she pants. "Now. Now."

She reaches down, frees my cock. Positions herself. And sinks.

I nearly black out.

She's tight—impossibly tight for a woman who's had a child—and wet, and burning hot. Her weight presses me into the chair as she starts to move. Bouncing. Grinding. Those massive breasts swaying in my face while she rides me like she's been starving for it.

"Tía—fuck—"

"That's it. Fuck your aunt. Fuck me like you've been wanting to—"

"Well, this is a nice Christmas present."

We freeze.

Marisol is standing in the kitchen doorway. Leggings. Crop top. Arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up.

She doesn't look angry.

She looks hungry.

"Mari—" Dolores starts.

"Don't." Marisol walks closer. Her eyes are fixed on where we're joined—on her mother's pussy stretched around my cock. "I knew you'd make a move first, Mami. You've never been patient."

"This isn't—"

"It's exactly what it looks like." Marisol stops beside us. Reaches down. Trails her fingers along her mother's spine, making Dolores shiver. "The question is whether you're going to share."

"Share?"

"I've wanted him just as long as you have." Marisol's hand slides lower, cups her mother's ass. "Longer, maybe. Since we were teenagers and he'd come visit in the summer." She leans down, whispers in my ear: "Did you think I didn't see you looking at me, Danny? Every year, watching my tits get bigger?"

I'm still inside Dolores. Still hard. Still throbbing. And now Marisol's hand is on my chest, and her mother is watching with something that isn't anger.

"What are you proposing?" Dolores asks.

"Tonight, you finish." Marisol's eyes meet mine. "Tomorrow, it's my turn. And then we see who he wants more."

Dolores smiles. Starts moving again, and I gasp.

"Agreed." She leans back, rides me harder. "Watch, mija. Watch how a real woman fucks."

Marisol watches.

She sits on the counter, legs spread, hand between her thighs, watching her mother ride me. Dolores performs—moaning louder, arching her back, making sure her daughter sees every bounce, every ripple, every inch of me disappearing inside her.

I've never felt anything like this. Dolores's weight pinning me to the chair. Her cunt gripping me like a fist. Her breasts slapping against my face while she uses me. And across the room, my cousin rubbing herself to the sight, her crop top pushed up, one massive breast in her hand.

"She's gonna make you come, isn't she?" Marisol calls. "Gonna fill up your aunt? Go ahead, Danny. Come inside her. Show me what I'm getting tomorrow."

Dolores clenches around me.

"Do it," she hisses. "Come for me, mijo. Fill me up—"

I explode.

I grab her hips and slam her down, burying myself to the hilt, pumping into her while she screams. Her orgasm hits at the same time—her whole body shaking, her pussy milking me, her nails raking my shoulders. Across the room, Marisol comes too, moaning my name, fingers buried in herself.

We collapse against each other.

"That's one," Marisol says, climbing off the counter. She walks over, leans down, and kisses me—hard, possessive, tasting like sex. "Tomorrow, I show you what I can do."

She walks out.

Dolores laughs breathlessly against my neck.

"This," she murmurs, "is going to be the best holiday I've ever had."

Day Five — Christmas

Marisol makes good on her promise.

Afternoon. Dolores is napping off a food coma. Marisol appears in my doorway in nothing but a thong, two hundred pounds of thick, hungry cousin, and pulls me to her bedroom.

She's different than her mother. More aggressive. She pushes me onto the bed, straddles my face, and grinds her pussy against my mouth.

"Eat me," she commands. "Prove you're worth fighting over."

I eat her like my life depends on it. Her thighs squeeze my head—so thick, so soft—and her wetness floods my tongue. She tastes different than Dolores. Sweeter. Younger.

"Fuck—right there—don't you fucking stop—"

She comes on my face. Then flips around, swallows my cock, and sucks me until I'm begging.

"Inside me," I gasp. "Please—"

She spins again, positions my cock at her entrance, and drops.

Different than her mother. Wetter, maybe. Less tight, but hotter. She rides me reverse cowgirl, and I watch her ass—round, wide, each cheek jiggling with every bounce. I grab her hips, her thighs, her belly. I can't get enough of her.

"Your aunt's good," she pants, "but I'm better."

She takes my hand, guides it to her clit. I rub while she bounces. She screams when she comes, clenching so hard it almost hurts.

I flip her over. Pin her to the mattress. And fuck her like she's the only woman in the world.

"Yes—yes—fuck me, Danny—harder—"

I come inside her while she comes around me. We collapse in a sweaty, sticky heap.

"Well?" she gasps.

"Well what?"

"Who's better? Me or Mami?"

I kiss her instead of answering.

She bites my lip.

Days Six and Seven

They pass me back and forth.

Dolores in the morning—riding me in her bed, her belly covering my stomach, her breasts in my face. Marisol at night—bent over her desk while I take her from behind, watching her ass ripple with every thrust.

I'm exhausted. I'm dehydrated. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die, and I don't care.

But the competition is wearing on them. I see it in the sharp looks. The cutting comments. The way Dolores watches when Marisol kisses me, the way Marisol listens at walls.

On December 30th, they have a conversation in Spanish I'm not supposed to hear.

On December 31st, everything changes.

New Year's Eve

"We have a proposal."

They're both in the living room when I come downstairs. Dolores in that silk robe. Marisol in her leggings and crop top. They're sitting together on the couch—not across the room, like rivals. Together. Touching.

"A proposal?"

"We've been fighting over you all week." Dolores pats the space between them. "It's exhausting."

"So we've decided to stop." Marisol reaches for me, pulls me down between them. "We're going to share you instead."

"Share me?"

"Tonight." Dolores's hand finds my thigh. "Both of us. At once. The way it should have been from the start."

"And after?" Marisol's hand mirrors her mother's. "You stay. Not for a week. For good. This is your home now."

"You'd both... be with me?"

"Is that a problem?" Dolores leans in, her breath hot on my ear. "Having two women who worship you?"

"Who'll take care of you?" Marisol's lips brush my neck. "Who'll fuck you every night?"

I should ask questions. Set boundaries. Be a reasonable adult.

Instead, I say: "Show me."

They lead me to Dolores's bedroom.

The bed is king-sized, covered in fresh sheets. They undress each other first—Marisol untying her mother's robe, Dolores peeling off her daughter's top. I watch them reveal themselves: Dolores's massive, hanging breasts and round belly; Marisol's thick curves and wide hips.

Then they turn to me.

"Your turn." Dolores reaches for my shirt. Marisol goes for my pants. They strip me together, four hands pulling away fabric, and when I'm naked between them, they both drop to their knees.

"Fuck."

They share my cock.

Dolores takes me first—her mouth hot and wet, her lips stretching around my girth. Then she pulls off, and Marisol swallows me to the root. They pass me back and forth, licking and sucking, sometimes both tongues on me at once, their massive breasts pressed together as they worship me.

"On the bed," Dolores orders.

I lie down. They crawl up either side of me—two hundred and eighty pounds on my left, two hundred and ten on my right. So much flesh. So much softness. I'm surrounded by curves.

"Who do you want first?" Marisol asks.

"Why choose?"

I pull Dolores onto my cock. She sinks down with a moan, and I feel her swallow me whole. Then I guide Marisol up, over my face.

"Sit."

She lowers herself onto my mouth.

I'm drowning.

Dolores's cunt gripping my cock, her massive body bouncing on me. Marisol's pussy smothering my face, her thick thighs clamped around my head. I can't see. Can barely breathe. All I know is heat and wetness and flesh—endless flesh, pressing me from every direction.

Above me, I hear them kissing.

"That's it, mijo—" Dolores moans. "—fuck Tía while you eat your prima—"

"He's so good with his tongue, Mami—right there—right there—"

I tongue Marisol's clit while I thrust up into Dolores. Their moans blend together, mother and daughter, and I feel them both start to shake.

"Gonna come—" Marisol gasps.

"Me too—me too—"

They come together.

Marisol floods my face, her scream muffled by distance. Dolores clenches around me so hard I see stars, her nails digging into my chest. And then they're collapsing, and switching, and I'm inside Marisol now while Dolores settles on my face.

"Again," Marisol moans. "Fuck me, Danny—fill me up like you filled her—"

I fuck my cousin while I eat my aunt.

Dolores's cunt is sweeter after her orgasm, slicker, and she grinds on my face without mercy. Marisol rides me hard, her breasts bouncing, her belly rippling, her voice getting higher with each thrust.

"Inside me—I want it inside me—"

I come in Marisol. She screams and collapses.

Dolores climbs off my face, bends down, and licks my cock clean.

"One more round," she murmurs. "You can give us one more."

I don't know how. But I do.

They lie on either side of me, pressed close, tangled together.

Outside, I hear fireworks. Midnight. New Year.

"You meant it?" I ask. "About staying?"

"Every word." Dolores's head is on my shoulder. "This is your home now. We're your family."

"All of you?"

"All of us." Marisol's hand finds mine. "However you want us. Whenever you want us. You just have to stay."

I think about my flooded apartment. My dead car. The life I was supposed to be living.

Then I think about this—two women who want me, who'll care for me, who'll fuck me senseless every night. Taboo made flesh. The most forbidden thing I've ever done, and the most right I've ever felt.

"I'll stay."

Dolores kisses my cheek. Marisol kisses my jaw. I feel them both relax against me—two hundred and eighty pounds on one side, two hundred and ten on the other. So much warmth. So much weight.

"Happy New Year, mijo," Dolores whispers.

"Happy New Year, Danny," Marisol echoes.

Outside, the fireworks keep exploding.

Inside, I hold my aunt and my cousin, and I think:

This is home now.

This is mine.

And I've never wanted anything more.