Crimson Hollies

Angelika Grays stood apart while her stepsisters Alyssa Bounty and Annalisa Atomic Blonde whispered about tinsel and candy canes. Their excitement grated on her. She smiled, then felt the first switch inside her head—the one that never tolerated holiday cheer. A second voice answered from deeper in her skull, already drafting ways to turn their glee into something cold and red. Neither of them noticed how quiet she had gone. Yet the other two were not the simple prey she imagined. In their own rooms they traced the same cruel shape, only their target was Angelika. Blond hair loose over the pillow, Annalisa’s fingers circled slowly beneath silk, picturing Angelika stripped of power. Alyssa watched her reflection, brunette curls brushing her nipples as she touched herself with equal purpose. Their plans sharpened while Angelika still believed she was the only one sharpening knives. Later, firelight flickered across three bodies in the drawing room. Angelika’s dress slipped first, baring small, pale breasts to the heat. Alyssa moved behind her, hands gliding up her ribs, and Annalisa knelt to press her mouth to the blonde’s stomach. Fingers slid, tongues tasted, and every motion carried a hidden edge: each woman measuring how much the others could take before pleasure tipped into punishment. Gasps replaced laughter. The night stretched, thick with need and the promise that someone would leave marked.