Christmas morning had always been sweet in our house: gentle wake-up calls, coffee, presents with the kids. But the kids were with their grandparents this year, and I had been planning something far less wholesome for weeks.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom, admiring the outfit I’d ordered online and hidden away like a dirty secret. The “Mrs. Claus” costume was pure filth: a tiny red velvet skirt that barely covered my ass, white fur trim brushing the very tops of my thighs. No panties, of course; every time I moved I could feel cool air kissing my bare p***y. The top was even worse: a corset-style bodice with deliberate cutouts around my n*****s, the fur-trimmed edges framing my hard pink peaks like they were on display. Thigh-high white stockings and red heels c
