lmao i guess we're doing christmas in july? i'm so off my seasons.

WARNINGS: taboo brother-in-law, revenge, father christmas kink, fingering, tittyfuck

It's Christmas morning, and Lily is suddenly regretting the generic cologne she'd picked up for Vernon at the shop in town, when what the man really needs is the gift of bloody discretion.

It's almost funny, the whole audacious tableau. Petunia had unsurprisingly woken up that morning sullen and sunk, unimpressed with the holiday spirit and seemingly incapable of muttering more than a few cross words at any one time, even as she's showered with gifts beneath the jollily decorated tree. Dad teases her about her overindulgence, Mum tries to force-feed her porridge, and Vernon spends most of his Christmas morning completely ignoring his limp and shrewish fiancée and instead shoots Lily increasingly filthy and conspicuous looks across the living room.

He passes a hand over her bum as they cross paths by the tree.

His meaty fingers curl tightly around the shaft of the golf club Petunia had bought him, and he stares at Lily with a naughty smirk as he begins to slowly move that fist up and down the slim wood.

At the breakfast table, he personally delivers the heftiest banger to Lily's plate, then tells her to "eat up" while essentially licking his chops.

The real Christmas miracle is that Lily's family are such oblivious prats. If any one of them had cared to be even the least bit observant, Vernon would've had them caught out by noon.

As it is, Lily matches Vernon's every ogle with a coy, needy look of her own, imaging she can still feel the taste of his cum splashing down her raw throat, and they make it safely through to lunch with no one the wiser.

The Evans clan is a small one, both Lily's parents only children, so Christmas lunch is traditionally done with a smattering of neighbours up the road at the Duffys. Mrs. Duffy is an irritating halfwit, the sort of holiday-obsessed hobbyhorse who decks her halls from tip to top at the very first winter wind, and cackles with goonish laughter at every snowman and Father Christmas idolatry she sees. She calls Lily "muppet," can't seem to keep lippy off her teeth, and has a penchant for clicking her tongue in censure at even the idlest offense…so naturally Lily has considered pettily fucking her husband on no fewer than three separate occasions. Alas, she could never quite muster up the enthusiasm to close the deal with the ghoulish bore of a man, and now that she's already juggling a different ghoulish bore, it seems yet another year will pass without Mr. Duffy up her cunny and Mrs. Duffy set in her place.

Oh, well. There is always next year.

"Don't you look pretty, muppet!" the hag herself says to Lily when the whole Evans party troops through her door. Garish pink lipstick is undoubtedly smeared across Lily's skin as the woman drops a peck on her cheek, then loudly adds, "Skirt is mighty wee, though, isn't it? And no tights! Tsk tsk—fashions these days!"

Fashion any day when you don't have a body like an overstuffed scarecrow, Lily bites back in her head, striving not to roll her eyes. And, see, stockings would just prove a nuisance considering I fully expect my future brother here to be jamming his hand or mouth or big hard prick up this wee little skirt sometime today, so I'm only being industrious.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Duffy," is all Lily says, smiling prettily.

But despite her inner musings, Lily spends the next two hours on her best behaviour. While she and Vernon had struck gold with her oblivious parents and sister, it seemed pressing their luck entirely too much to expect an entire houseful of neighbours to prove equally as blind. So instead of playing dirty games with Vernon, Lily dutifully chats with the other lunch guests, doffs her paper hat and snaps her cracker, and even manages a tittery laugh for Mr. Duffy, who predictably trots out in his Father Christmas outfit as he passes round snack platters. Mrs. Duffy orders him back into his holiday finery just before the Queen's speech, and Father Christmas is tucked away until next year.

…or so Lily thinks.

"Muppet, will you dash up to the study and see if Mr. Duffy has any more sherry tucked in the cart there?" Mrs. Duffy asks her just as the speech is coming to a close, and everyone is gathering to carol sing in the living room.

Lily has to stifle a giant yawn, bored out of her bloody mind. She agrees to Mrs. Duffy's inane fetch task only because she fully intends to down whatever fucking alcohol the Duffys have in their study and then innocently come out shrugging with empty bottles. She wants to be absolutely smashed if she's expected to tolerate middle-aged carol singers.

Mr. Duffy's study is on the second floor of the house, and Lily ambles up the stairs with lazy nonchalance. Mrs. Duffy has clearly consumed too much Austen, because the tiny room with its bulky dark wood furniture, rickety wall-sweeping book shelves, and honest-to-god upholstered settee is a Victorian eye sore. Lily lets out a giant sigh as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her. Fortunately, the bar cart beneath the nearby window is both easy to spot and full.

"Don't mind if I do," Lily murmurs as she gleefully unstoppers one glass decanter.

The liquid inside is a brownish amber, and Lily quickly swigs a healthy gulp. It's pound store scotch—hardly Lily's preferred firewhiskey or that posh champagne James had poured over his dick after exams last year for her to sample—but beggars can't be choosers. Wincing, she throws back another swallow. Then another.

Behind her, the study door opens.

Shit. "I found the sherry, Mrs. Duffy—"

But it is not Mrs. Duffy standing behind her.

Lily very nearly drops the decanter.

It is Vernon.

Vernon…dressed in Mr. Duffy's jolly red Father Christmas hat and coat.

"Vernon," she squeaks, genuinely not knowing whether to laugh or moan. It is absurd, and perhaps only encouraged by the utter dullness of the past two hours…but Merlin damn her if Lily doesn't stand there staring at Vernon in his getup with the darkest, most lascivious look on his face and suddenly contemplate the possibility of a new Father Christmas kink. She fidgets as she turns fully, her body beginning to tingle.

He is nearly twice the size of Mr. Duffy, so the red and white ruffled coat hangs open on either side of his protruding belly. The ill fit somehow makes the whole thing even more dirty and salacious.

She hears the distinct sound of him closing the study door and locking it behind him.

"I offered to put Mr. Duffy's costume back in the cupboard," Vernon tells her with that little smirk of his she's now becoming terribly familiar with. He moves smoothly for a whale squeezed in a llama's cloak, and Lily watches as he makes for the gaudy settee.

He sits on the floral upholstery, trousered legs spreading widely. He pats his thigh.

"Come sit on Father Christmas's lap, precious."

Lily's mind tips into a whirl. Merlin, this wanker. They can't…can they? True, they both have legitimate excuses to be gone. The door is locked. But that will only serve them for…what? Ten minutes? Lily's own slutty history offers a wealth of options for ten minute interludes, but she's meant to be playing a bit more naïve with Vernon. And it's mad, trying to get away with it here. A house filled with neighbours! The queen's speech just finished! Besides, Petunia is a complete clingy harridan. She could come stomping up the stairs any second looking for Vernon, unable to function properly without him attached to her hip for more than a minute. And then where will they be?

aught. Which…well. Honestly? Wouldn't be that terrible, would it?

Merlin, the look on Petunia's face if she walked in to find Lily bent over the settee, rocking and moaning as Petunia's fiancé pounded into her from behind!

But Pet would make a scene. Such a scene. Lily isn't certain she wants to deal with that sort of nonsense. She prefers her flagrant sluttiness with discretion, thank you very much. She'll shove it all in Petunia's face some other time, with less of an audience, when her sister's shame would be sure to keep her silent.

What to do, what to do.

"Vernon…I'm not sure we should…" Lily dawdles and dithers, but her feet inch closer. "Last night…we shouldn't have…"

Lily should have known from Slughorn—even the most rotund of gentlemen can develop a sudden shocking limberness when it comes to fucking. But she is somehow still not expecting the alarming speed and extensive reach Vernon executes in order to suddenly lean up, swipe an arm out, and hook Lily around the waist, reeling her in and tossing her down on his lap in one, swift movement.

"Vernon!" she yelps, bum tipping over his meaty thigh.

"Shhhhh," he urges her, settling her squirming body with a tighter shackled arm around her waist, and a second hand that has naturally found purchase high up her own thigh. She continues to bristle, but lets him soothe her with his cupping and cooing. "None of that. You need this. Look at you—yes, that's it, precious. Settle nice and steady on Father Christmas's lap. Feel that? Yes, you do, my little slut. Why don't you tell me if you've been nice or naughty this year, hm?"

He accompanies this question with another slick movement—taking the arm that's shackled around her waist and moving it downward until he reaches the hem of Lily's knitted Christmas jumper. He shoves the bulky material upward, until it's bunched high over her chest. Her slinky red bra is flimsy, made of a sheer lacy material. It's also almost too small, which means her giant tits are already rounding high and weighty over the tops of the cups.

Vernon lets out a near animalistic sound, mouth delving down.

"Mmm-mm," he hums, using his teeth to pull down the fragile left cup, popping her whole lily white tit out of its holster. It plumps out, wide and heavy, and he immediately nudges the big, round globe with his chin and begins to gobble at her berry-coloured nipple.

Lily moans, arching her back against his arm, pushing her tits higher.

His mouth is hot and slobbery. He motorboats her cleavage, making quick work of the second bra cup until both Lily's giant titties are presented for his pleasure. The strained straps of the bra dig into Lily's skin as her future brother licks and lavishes her mounds until they are chapped and wet with his attentions. He is not gentle. His teeth bite at her skin, his tongue rough against her pebble-hard nipples. He gorges at her plump pillows like they are his own private little feast.

"Vernon…" she tries to protest, but her murmurs and hesitations are half-hearted at best. When she tries to prod his head away, Vernon suddenly grabs hold of her hair, yanking back viciously. The sudden jolt of pain sends a matching pang of pleasure straight to Lily's submissive little pussy. He holds her neck arched back as he lifts his head from her tits, the devilish little smirk he shoots her now moist with his own spit.

"None of that," he tells her, yanking her hair again with the scold. "You're going to give Daddy everything that he wants, aren't you, precious? Anything he wants. No, don't you even try to give lip—you proved what kind of woman you are when you let me cream your slut mouth last night. You need this. Need a real man to show you what your body is meant for…anything Daddy wants…yes, precious…anything Daddy wants…so naughty for Father Christmas…so naughty…"

His hand is up her skirt now, and Lily can't help but squirm in fevered bliss as is thick fingers begin to prod at her damp knickers. Part of her wants to laugh uproariously at how outrageous Vernon is—how a mere few days of playing with him has turned his ego into such a colossal supernova, thinking himself so irresistible that he can manipulate women like this. "Anything Daddy wants." Please. If Lily didn't have ulterior motives, she'd tip him straight on his arse for that nonsense. But she does have ulterior motives, and so the second part of her—the one that is a submissive slut who loves to be ordered and used and toyed with, no matter how outrageous or grotesque the man—takes the lead on this one.

She moans. Loudly.

"That's it." Two porky fingers slick up and down her cunny, his other hand wrenching back her hair again. "So wet already. Wore this tight whore skirt. Letting Father Christmas play with your pussy. So naughty…you ought to be punished."

She doesn't quite know how he does it. She's admittedly limp from even the brief stroke of her cunny, and he does still have a powerful grip on her hair, but she's still very surprised when she suddenly finds herself yanked over his lap, exposed tits bouncing as she's thrust onto her hands and knees atop the settee. Before she even manages to let out a squeak, Vernon has risen slightly from beneath her. He flips up her skirt.

WHACK.

Lily yelps at the first resounding slap, Vernon's giant hand landing, ringing and hard, against her bare arse cheek.

WHACK.

WHACK. WHACK.

"Naughty, naughty girl," Vernon pants, sounding breathless and rough. His hand paddles her again, and she flinches, then moans. "Need to be punished…Still getting just what you wanted, aren't you? Father Christmas is going to give you a big present. You better work to deserve it."

With each hit, Lily feels her plump arse cheeks bouncing, perfectly in time with her tits, hanging heavy and hefty, which also sway and clap with each of Vernon's spanks. Her pussy is gushing and her throaty mewls release with every swing. It hurts, and yet it is delicious.

WHACK.

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

"Daddy," she whines.

Vernon grunts, clearly liking that, and strokes her quickly reddening arse cheek before his next brutal spank.

Lily begins to rock, needy to meet his punishing hand more, faster.

She glances over her shoulder and catches his gaze, which has gone bright and wild with lust. The Father Christmas hat is still draped over his head, but the sides of the coat have been thrust back behind his hips now. Both hands have begun to plump and shape her abused bum before they rain more blunt slaps. Lily lets out an impatient moan when he doesn't spank her fast enough, and Vernon's eyes shoot sharply to hers.

"Eager little tart," he laughs, and he licks his lips as he stares at her. She can only imagine the image she presents: snug slut little redhead on her hands and knees with her plump, scarlet bum presented, now nearly rocking back in horny willingness for this man's every touch. If Vernon hasn't creamed his trousers yet, he has more willpower than she ever gave him credit for.

And, honestly, not just willpower. More creativity, too. Which he proves when his hands move back down to her arse, stroking and shaping again.

Then, without so much as a warning, he spears two meaty fingers straight into her pussy.

"FUCK!" Lily shouts, forgetting herself, forgetting everything, eyes near blinking out of focus with the sudden slam of sensation in her cunny.

She can hear Vernon's low and satisfied chuckle behind her, and it takes her a few seconds to register that he hasn't done anything more than impale her. His fingers aren't moving.

"Daddy?" she whimpers.

He gives her arse one last slap. "You think I didn't notice your little whore body rocking toward your punishment? You want to hump that cunt, you do it so Daddy can watch and enjoy. Fuck yourself on my fingers, precious. Set those slut titties bouncing as you grind your wet cunny against Daddy's hand. Yes…yes, like that…fill that tight little pussy…"

Lily is helpless. She's so fucking turned on and genuinely impressed by Vernon's filthy dominant ingenuity, her hips are rocking back before she even makes a conscious decision about it. It helps that Vernon's fat fingers are spreading her drenched pussy wide, that they're shallow but hard inside her velvety, sensitive sheath. Her body undulates slowly at first, testing the feel, but she's too fucking randy not to quickly start a faster pace. She loves the feel of her big tits slapping against her sweaty skin as she bucks back against the fingers inside her. She preens under Vernon's perverted, disgusting gaze, taking it all in like his own private porn movie. She even loves the tease of it—the way she has to grind harder, faster, to get the right penetration. The way she aches to press her own hand to her clit, rub herself off, but doesn't dare. The slick, delicious gushing sounds her drenched pussy gives as she rides her future brother's hand are a slutty symphony to her ears.

Is it any wonder she quickly begins to crest to cumming?

"Daddy…Daddy…" Lily's eyes snap closed and her red-painted mouth pinches to a sultry o as her hips begin to jackhammer against Vernon's hand.

"That's right." Vernon's voice has gone hoarse, panting. His eyes are riveted to the vision of his fingers slipping in and out of Lily's sopping cunny. "Yes, precious…naughty, needy bitch, aren't you? Look at you suck Daddy's fingers so tight. Can't wait until that's his big fat cock, can you? Look at you go…Hmmm…"

Lily has completely lost her character, doesn't trust herself not to unleash a filthy slew of swearing instead of simpering in the heat of the fuck. All she can rely upon is the greedy, needy noises she lets loose as she continues to fuck Vernon's fingers. She cries and mewls and moans and begs.

"More…more…" she pleads at one point, winded and wound up, her heart thumping in her chest as the pressure inside of her continues to build and build.

So close. She's so close…

"Can I cum, Daddy?" she asks, sticky and shaking, barely able to keep herself up. She is grinding harder and harder against Vernon's hand and wants to scream. It's only the (admittedly, delicious) thought of being heard by the gathering downstairs that keeps her from it.

She is not the only one breathless and battered. Vernon is openly sweating, his breathing ragged and his eyes unable to move from the undoubtedly pretty picture Lily makes fucking his fingers. He probably doesn't give a shit whether Lily cums. His only interest is the pleasure this production is giving him. But that just makes Lily more horny, her orgasm so close as her channel begins to shudder and clench, that final wave only just out of reach.

She cannot stop the sharp, horrified cry she gives when Vernon abruptly removes his fingers from her pussy. The tight channel weeps and pulses in protest as she feels Vernon's hand clamp forcefully around her arm.

"On your back," he barks, pudgy face gone completely red, indistinguishable from the Father Christmas hat. His moustache quivers as he licks his lips yet again. She is putty in his hands as he manhandles her, using his grip on her arm and her compliant, unfulfilled body to jerk her around until she's lying, gasping and wheezing, on her back upon the settee.

His gaze narrows on her heaving tits.

"Good girl," he coos, shifting higher up her body. She has no idea when he undid his trousers and pulled out his cock, but the fat, gorgeous hunk of meat is released now, and looks near purple in stiff and defiant anger. He tucks his knees on either side of her torso, neatly trapping her against the cushions at her back. Panting, he leans forward until the velvety, weeping head of his cock brushes Lily's lips.

"A-hhhhh," he shudders, shoving the full length of his cock into her mouth.

Lily can do nothing but take it. Her mouth opens around the bulky girth of dick, the bitter acrid taste of it, and just swallows as he shoves it down her throat.

It is not what she was expecting, but her eyes near roll back in her head in bliss anyway.

She is just reaching down to hopefully squirm a hand to her still desperate clit and rub herself out to finish when Vernon abruptly jerks his dick from her mouth.

It releases with a hefty gulp of air from her and a messy splash of spittle.

Vernon's hot, sharp grin widens. He leans back, and roughly grabs up her tits.

"F-fuccck," he stutters as he slips his now wet dick in the valley between her breasts.

He closes his eyes in pure ecstasy for a moment, then begins to methodically hump her cushy melons.

It doesn't take long. Not for either of them. Lily's resourceful fingers finally find their way south, to the swollen little button between the lips of her shaved pussy, and she frigs her clit like a madwoman, gulping and panting under the weight of Vernon perched over her chest. For his part, Vernon is messy and uncoordinated, already spurting precum by the time he's given his fifth or sixth hump, and Lily generously holds out her tongue to give his mushroomy cockhead playful licks every time his furious hip jerks find his dick battering her chin. He rolls and pinches her nipples as he uses her tits like a fuck sleeve, and they both make noises better served for rutting animals.

He calls her names and Lily mewls. He cares only for his pleasure and it makes her gush. His tittyfuck is coarse and chaotic and when he throws back his head and gives a (thankfully!) muffled shout, the feel of his slick, creamy, cornucopia of cum painting stream after stream across her heaving breasts is enough to send her into her own long, shaking orgasm.

She honestly thinks she blacks out afterward. Maybe for a few moments. Maybe for a few minutes. All she knows is that when she comes to, her head lolling laconically to the side, Vernon is standing beside the settee, quickly redressing. When he meets her gaze, he gives another little smirk as his eyes rove her. She doesn't blame him for the satisfied gleam in his eyes. She knows what she must look like—absolutely shattered fuckdoll sprawled across the settee, skirt still hiked up her hips, jumper bunched up around her neck, big juicy tits covered in cum, bright red lipstick smeared around her mouth from his dick.

A Happy Christmas, indeed.

"Leave your door unlocked tonight," he tells her before he leaves. "I'm not finished with you yet."