Enter Robin

The next week, Carrie and Cassie went to the chalet in the mountains that Aunt Maggie had rented. It had a woody, wealthy Western vibe to it. Carrie hadn't seen Robin in at least a decade. Robin was 28, slightly older than Carrie, the daughter of Maggie and some lord of something-or-another in England, although Maggie had never married. Carrie always envisioned Robin's life as one of pomp and snobbishness. Tea parties and frilly dresses and similar nonsense.

Robin arrived while Carrie was looking out the second floor overlook of the mountains. There was some snow on the high peaks, but they'd only received traces at this elevation. Robin was not what Carrie expected. She was a redhead, like Cassie and Maggie, with slightly tanned skin and shoulder length hair. She was wearing the shirt for her favorite band, a leather jacket, and jeans. She bent over to fix her tennis shoes, and Carrie could see a large, round ass. Her jaw dropped a little. Even the ass she wanted from the plastic surgery wasn't as round and gorgeous as Robin's big ass. She was fit, with C-cup breasts, so at least Carrie had her beat there. Robin looked up and saw that Carrie had been staring. She smiled wryly and started to walk up the stairs, followed by a smaller, thinly built male her own age who fumbled with the suitcases. It was clear who was in command between the two of them, Carrie thought.