Thanksgiving that keeps giving

My shoulders and legs ached, and my lungs burned as I mounted the final flight of stairs. The heavy grocery bags scraped law across the hallway carpet as I hurried towards my door. In my coat pocket, I could feel the vibration of my ringing phone, frantically juggling bags and directing my keys into the lock. I set a couple bags down in the hall and felt the latch mercifully give way, then I pushed the door open with my hip, dropping the remaining parcels on the floor of the entryway and snatching my phone just in time to catch my mother’s call.

“Sarah?” My mom sounded surprised that I had answered.

“Hey mom! Sorry, just getting home from the store.” The door swung shut with an unrestrained *BANG* in the background as I spoke between heavy sucks of air. With my free hand, I started moving bags from the hallway to the kitchen as we talked.

“Honey, you sound out of breath! Is everything alright? Would you like me to call you back?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. It’s just that eighteen-pound turkeys… uh, weigh eighteen pounds, ya know?” I rotated my throbbing arm in its socket to emphasize my point. I heard her collecting her breath on the other end and winced in anticipation of inevitable bad news.

“Sarah, I really hope you didn’t go to too much trouble… Umm, I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention to the weather…” I hung my head, standing in my kitchen amongst the grocery bags. The looming winter storm that threatened to cripple the region had been front page news since the weekend. “With that blizzard coming through tonight, your father and I aren’t going to be able to make it. They canceled our flight half an hour ago… we’re really sorry, honey.”

I surveyed the aborted holiday feast lying at my feet. My parents were supposed to celebrate Thanksgiving at my place, their first visit since I’d moved into this apartment. However, with the forecast for a “once in a century blizzard”, their flight had joined the growing list of casualties across the region. Worse still, John was marooned on the West Coast after the same storm had canceled his return flight from a business trip.

“God… That stinks, but I understand, Mom. It’s just… you know, I was really looking forward to seeing you guys. It’s been so long since we got to spend Thanksgiving together, and I just bought all this food.” I paused to steady my voice. “And with John stranded, too, now I’m worried I’ll be all alone for the holiday.”

“Oh honey, you have so many nice friends there. I’m sure you know people in a similar pickle.” My exaggerated descriptions of my social circle gave my mother comfort, but I was still concerned. “Do you want to talk to your father? Oh! Never mind, he just walked out to the garage. Honey, I have to let you go. The dog needs to go out and I’m sure you’re very busy. Love you!”

“Love you too, mom.” I hung up and nudged a sack of red-skinned potatoes with the toe of my ballet flat. I hadn’t even gotten to take my coat off in the time it took my holiday plans to disintegrate. Letting out a shallow sigh, I began putting away the boxes, bags, and cans of a meal that might have no one to eat it. A solid knock at my door stirred me from the kitchen and I hurried through the living room to the entrance.

I peered through the peephole and spied the large, handsome, black form of my neighbor, Malcolm. He spied my shadow behind the glass and greeted me through the door. “Hey! Sarah! It’s Malcolm! Either you forgot some groceries out here, or a secret admirer left you a huge turkey.” He radiated his always friendly smile as I opened the door, realizing I hadn’t locked it when I rushed in minutes earlier.

“Oh my God, thank you!” I took the bag containing the heavy frozen bird from him as I explained. “My mom called me right as I was getting home and I couldn’t carry everything, open the door, and answer the phone at the same time.” Malcolm’s broad frame filled my doorway as he read my expression; my disappointment over my parents’ cancelation showed through my bogus cheer as I spoke.

“Everything cool with your parents? They aren’t having trouble with the storm, are they?”

I sniffed away a stray, frustrated tear. “Yeah… no, she was actually calling to let me know that their flight was canceled so they can’t make it.”

“Damn! That sucks, I’m sorry!”

“And John told me earlier today that he’s stuck in San Diego. And that’s after he decided not to take a flight Monday because he wanted to visit with some college friends who live out there. So… I guess I’ll have to donate all this food I just bought, because I won’t eat it, and I don’t want it to go to waste.” I was babbling, dumping the full weight of my afternoon’s emotional toll onto poor, friendly Malcolm. He smiled considerately as he listened, then, when I was done, shared his own tale of holiday weather-woe.

“No, really, this storm is super serious. It sucks about your parents and John; I actually had my flight home canceled earlier today.” He cast a diagnostic glance at the bird in my bag. “Donating food would obviously be really nice, but if you wanted, it could be fun to do our own ‘Friendsgiving’ for blizzard exiles, you know?”

He grinned widely while I considered his idea. I had been craving turkey and sides (and even more, the leftovers!) for weeks since my family had made our plans. My apartment was filled with all the makings of a holiday feast, and Malcolm was in a similarly tough and lonely spot due to the weather.

“That actually sounds really nice! But you’ll need to pull your own weight and bring pie! That’s all I’m missing.”

Malcolm’s grin widened. “Pie is my specialty… as long as I can get someone else to do the baking.” He winked. “So, another question: can I bring my coworker, Anthony? He’s a model who works with our magazine and he mentioned today that his family canceled; they can’t to drive up. Same deal, the storm is shutting down the interstate and screwed up their plans.”

The eighteen-pound turkey in my bag tugged at my arm as a reminder of its surplus. “Yes, of course! The more the merrier, right?” I smiled invitingly, happy to be bonding with new friends in the face of a region-wide crisis. “But another guest means you have to bring another pie!”

Malcolm nodded his thanks and headed home. Shutting the door, I hauled the enormous turkey into the fridge, then set about putting away the rest of my groceries. Spotting a text flash on my phone screen, I was distracted and caught the lip of a jar on the edge of a shelf. The glass slipped from my fingers, and I watched in slow motion as it fell to the counter. Shielding my body with my outstretched hands and arms, I felt the spray of glass shards and gravy splatter across my palms and the stomach of my yellow button-down.

“Fuck!” I shouted, automatically ripping off the soiled shirt in the middle of my kitchen. This was not the first time I had stripped on impulse in my kitchen after dirtying a shirt or pants. “Clearly, I’ve lived alone for too long,” I thought to myself with a laugh as I mopped up the mess in my white lace bra. I reminded myself not to repeat that involuntary action tomorrow while guests were around; John would joke that such a slip-up was inevitable.

Determining that I needed to chill out, I poured a glass of wine and started cleaning my apartment for company. Relieved at finding substitute plans, I barely got annoyed when John ended our text conversation later that night by saying he had to leave to meet ‘Jennifer’.

Thanksgiving morning, I awoke and went to the gym, as I would on any morning of a day-off. I was feeling slightly anxious at my hostess tasks, and as was often the case, my stress was manifesting itself as a tingling excitement in the pit of my stomach and a naughty warming between my legs. ‘If John were here, I’d give him a special wake-up and treat myself to a post-workout protein shake!’ I thought dirtily. Nibbling my bottom lip, I texted him that thought, trying to kickstart a quick sexting session, but his responses were groggy and unenthusiastic. He blamed a late night and the time difference; I tersely told him to get some rest, and that I needed to get ready for my company without elaborating. Dissatisfied, I got in the shower, switching on the cold water at the end trying to quell the bustle in my loins. I needed to concentrate; the monstrous bird on my kitchen counter beckoned, and as the holiday morning lapsed towards one, I finally slid the teeming roasting pan into the oven.

Outside, the snowstorm continued to intensify, whipping at my windows and whiting-out my view until I could barely see the office building across the street. Inside my warm apartment, I was dressed in only a pair of tiny cotton shorts and a thin white t-shirt, feeling my perky tits bounce as I rearranged my living room furniture to accommodate a small folding table and chairs. I made certain that the lines-of-sight from the couches to the TV were clear, since, aside from going back for seconds, the best Thanksgiving tradition is, of course, football.

As the one o’clock hour grew old, I tossed my flimsy cleaning outfit in the hamper. With polite company coming over, I corralled my peppy D-cups into a red bra, then pulled on a matching lace thong. Over the lingerie ensemble, I slithered into a form-fitting navy knit skirt, then ducked into a white v-neck sweater. I completed the outfit stepping into a dangerously high pair of glossy red high heels. “Tall company; tall shoes.” I smiled at the mirror as I flattened the soft fabric of the sweater along my trim tummy, rearranging the scooping neckline to conceal the scalloped lace of my bra. Satisfied, I returned to the kitchen to set out glasses and arrange trays of appetizers.

Promptly at two o’clock, a knock sounded at my door. Tossing my apron on the counter, I gave my wavy red hair one last tousle as I assessed my reflection in the living room mirror, then went to receive my guests. I was greeted by Malcolm’s wide, friendly grin, a second magazine-handsome black man who was the expected guest, Anthony, and a surprise third addition to the party, bearing a stack of boxed pies and a gracious toothy smile. I was introduced to Thomas, another friend of Malcolm and Anthony’s who had woken up that morning to find his flight added to the nearly universal list of cancelations.

“I’m sorry to spring another guest on you, but we followed your rule and got another pie, plus…” Malcolm smiled and held up his offering of a wine caddy loaded with a sextet of bottles. I took the heavy pack of bottles from him and ushered the three of them into my home.

“The more the merrier! I’ve got plenty to go around, and enough for seconds!” I took Malcolm and Anthony’s jackets, brushing the heavy flakes from the shoulders and hanging the coats in the closet as the trio filed into the apartment.

“Mind if I use the restroom?” Thomas asked.

“Huh? Oh, of course not!” I mumbled preoccupiedly. “It’s down the hall on the left. I mean, right!”

Malcolm was quick to open the first bottle, making himself at home as he passed out drinks to my (our?) guests, and handed me one as well. I left my glass of wine on the table and ducked into the kitchen to fetch the first batch of hors d’oeuvres.

After some quick assembly for presentation’s sake, I returned to the living room and set out a charcutier plate on the table in front of Malcolm and Anthony, who had settled in front of the TV to watch the early game. “I hope you guys are hungry!” I announced in a ‘happy housewife’ tone. Hurrying to avoid blocking the screen for too long, I bent at the waist to lay down the platter, feeling the plunging neckline of my top droop precipitously. Anthony conspicuously nudged Malcolm.

“Damn, check out the twins! Oh my God! Hurry! Get a pic of them!” I gasped and shot up, pressing an indignant hand to my sternum to close off the gaping V-neck as I stood, mouth hanging agape in my outrage. I couldn’t believe that my hospitality could be met with such crudeness! The two continued laughing and pointing, but their focus seemed to be not on my chest, but rather over my shoulder. A strong arm draped around my waist from behind as Thomas stood beside me and addressed the others.

“Uhh, it’s a little thing called ‘style.’ Obviously, something you clowns wouldn’t understand.” I suddenly realized Thomas was dressed in navy chinos, a white cashmere sweater, and a pair of shockingly bright red penny loafers. Taken together, our outfits were astonishingly similar. “We didn’t even call each other ahead of time; fashion this sophisticated is like a ‘sixth sense’ thing, ya know?” Without removing his arm from my waist, he bent down and triumphantly collected a slice of prosciutto.

Reassured, I joined the group in a toast after — hoping my misguided outrage had gone unnoticed — posing for pictures with Thomas. “This year, I’m thankful for new friends.” I toasted, met with an enthusiastic “Here, here!” and clinking of glasses. Checking the clock, I returned to the kitchen with my glass of wine, then started chopping potatoes and vegetables. Periodically, Thomas or Anthony would pop in to inquire if they could help in any way, but in the narrow galley kitchen, I insisted that “help” was a four-letter word.

Malcolm appeared as I spread halved brussels sprouts and red potatoes on baking sheets for roasting. I looked up and smiled as he leaned against the counter at my side. “What can I do?” he asked resolutely. Ten feet behind him in the living room, conversation on the couch halted as the others focused on Malcolm and me as we talked. Sensing his assistance wouldn’t be turned away as easily as the others, I pointed to the bottle of olive oil with my chin.

“We need to sprinkle these with olive oil before we add the salt, pepper, and seasoning.” I said as I wiped my hands on a towel. He squeezed past me, and Anthony and Thomas appeared on my other side, wine glasses in hand, eager to observe Malcolm in his role as sous chef. Reading the others’ interest in Malcolm’s apparently novel interest in cooking, I smiled and followed up with a lighthearted “Do you think you can handle that on your first time in the kitchen?”

“Listen, Beautiful,” he said as he picked up the olive oil. I blushed at his compliment, in jest or not. “Not only can I cook, but I do it with aplomb!” Malcolm vigorously waved the bottle over the tray, whipping oil over the vegetables, but also splashing it across the counter and landing a splattering of drops over the white belly of my sweater.

“Fuck!” I cried and reflexively ripped off the soiled sweater. Forgetting everything else, I rushed to the sink, dousing the affected patch with water, dumping dish soap into a towel, and scouring the stain. My generous tits wobbled in their red lace shell as I frantically scrubbed, bent over the sink. A minute passed before I took scope of my topless condition, crowded with strangers in a cramped kitchen. “Uhhh… if you’ll excuse me…” Holding the wet shirt over my heaving chest, I squeezed through the group and scurried to my bedroom.

Standing topless in front of my dresser, I spread the sweater on the flat wooden top. I spied the framed picture of me and John atop the bureau and flipped it face-down on the wood; I didn’t need him looking at my indecency. Scrutinizing the white fabric, I dabbed then scrubbed the spots of oil with the soapy towel. I paused to take scope of my progress, then looked up as an icy gust buffeted the windows. The frosty daylight spilling in through the panes reminded me that my blinds were open, and I blushed and giggled, musing that any worker unlucky enough to be stuck at the office on Thanksgiving deserved my half-naked treat. As my gaze was raised from my work, Anthony walked through the doorway with his eyes cast down at the stomach of his own yellow sweater. He was rubbing and picking at a freckled pattern of oil droplets below his ribs.

“Anthony!” my hiss was low, but sharp enough to draw his attention. He looked up; his mouth gaped at the spectacle of me in my bra. His eyes sparkled with interest, then quickly darted away towards the floor.

“Shit… I thought this was the bathroom; didn’t you tell Tom ‘left’…” Anthony stammered, then pointed to the stain, “See? Mal got me, too,” he tented the front of his shirt towards me to display the damage. His blind progress into the room had frozen at my voice, but now he cautiously inched forward as he tried to show me the stain. I sighed and smiled hospitably, holding up the soaped cloth.

“Here, you should use this on it before the stain sets in.” He closed the distance to the dresser, took the towel from my hand, and started wildly scuffing the wool. I stopped him before he stretched out the delicate fabric. “Look, I can help you, but first I have to put on a shirt.”

“Aren’t stains super time-sensitive?” I nodded. “Because this was, like, super expensive…” He realized my discomfort at my undress. “Don’t worry about it,” he jutted his chin towards my bra, “I’m around this all the time during shoots; totally used to it.”

“Well, I’m not…” I trailed off, noticing that he wasn’t listening. Without another word, Anthony peeled his sweater over his head revealing sculpted chest and abs that seemed chiseled from marble. My stomach flipped at the model’s physique; the nervous, gentle warmth returned between my legs and abrupt dryness swept into my mouth. He handed me the shirt and I set it on the bed, then bent to carefully scrub out the stain.

I gulped heavily, trying to stifle the butterflies leaping eagerly in my belly. Vigorously dabbing and brushing at the specks, I talked while I worked, trying to sound normal. My boobs jostled and waggled gayly as I toiled, riding my body’s motion as they fought against their containment. I sensed Anthony’s presence at my shoulder and felt his eyes on me, observing my work… or maybe just observing me.

“See?” I chirped around the nervous lump in my throat. I raised the garment for inspection before returning it to the bed to continue, “It’s coming right out. Luckily, he didn’t get you too bad.” He rumbled acknowledgment and stepped back a stride, beyond the margin of my vision.

Bending over at the waist until my nose almost brushed the wool, I scrutinized the spot as I swept a few final strokes across the affected area. Satisfied, I picked up the sweater by its two upper corners and proudly held it up. “There, perfect!” I celebrated. “Just give it a minute to dry, and it’s good as new.” As I straightened hurriedly, my D-cups restively sprang and bobbled.

“Groovy.” He spoke flatly from behind me, but his deep voice sent a shiver up my spine. “While that dries, how about you take a look at these…” His khakis flopped to the bed in front of me. I sucked in a stunned breath through my clenched teeth; without looking, I guessed he was the type that eschewed underwear.

“Did Malcolm get oil on your pants, too?” I gulped as I bent again to inspect the chinos. Gravity once more towed my tits heavily against the lace and underwire, swaying as they hovered above the pants spread across my quilt. Muscular pressure arrived against my protruding backside for an answer. Strong hands cupped the soft flesh of my bare back, then journeyed north along my spine.

My skin tingled beneath his fingertips as his hands crossed my ribs. I failed to stifle the soft moan provoked by his touch. He reached the red tulle band of my bra; his fingers convened at the middle of my back and nimbly released the clasp. I inhaled sharply as the hook and eye halves parted and dropped away from my body, but I clutched my hands to my bust to hold the bra in place.

“We shouldn’t…” I was doing a terrible job of convincing myself of that, and he ignored my feeble protest. “But your friends are right outside.” I reasoned in vain. Wordlessly, Anthony wedged his hands under my palms and the bra to cup my bare breasts. My body reacted enthusiastically, and I sighed in blissful assent as I lowered my hands from their protective posture. Keeping his own hands cupped over my tits, Anthony butterflied his elbows to push my bra off my arms until it fell on the pile of his clothes on the bed.

While he busied himself molesting my chest, I reached between our bodies and confirmed my earlier hunch: Anthony was completely nude, with not a scrap of underwear to be found. My fingers tracked from his bare hip, slowly traced along his waist, then finally reached his groin. There, my eager hand was greeted by a thrashing, pulsing monster writhing in his crotch. I gasped in delighted surprise as my fingers grasped — and failed to encircle – his mammoth erection.

“OK…” I turned my back to the bed; his hands moved from my breasts up to my shoulders. With smooth pressure, he pushed me down, helping me sink to my knees. “We have to be quick… before they notice we’re gone.” On my knees, the rock-hard prick waved at eye-level, gently thumping against my nose.

Drawing a deep breath and opening wide, I dragged my mouth onto the massive cock. My crimson lips stretched to snugly ring the girthy shaft. Slowly, my mouth crawled down the broad tube of pulsing black meat. My tongue curled around his rod, coating it in gooey saliva to lubricate the passage of my jaws. In my panties, the damn broke, and my pussy was drenched in its long-denied excitement.

I clutched the base of his pole for balance, scratching the long, red nails of my other hand lightly down his inner thigh and gently across the baby-soft underside of his scrotum. Using my grip on his shaft for leverage, I tugged my jaws deeper onto his erection, filling my mouth and throat with the throbbing cock. Bobbing my head, I hummed busily as my lipstick smeared in the corners of my mouth and my hair messed and fell into my face.

Anthony’s hands moved from my shoulders, loosely gathering my auburn locks away from my face and into a tress behind my head. Gazing up into his eyes from my knees, my mouth filled with his cock, I took the head of his prick deep into the back of my throat. Gagging and choking softly while I held him at this deepest point, my eyes brimmed with tears as foamy slobber overran my lips and dribbled from the corners of my mouth down my chin. As I resumed bucking my mouth over his cock, I felt the drool run from my jaw, dripping and spattering onto my naked breasts.

One of his hands remained at the back of my head, palming my skull and lending energy to my head’s dips. His other large mitt returned to my tits, happily groping the pale, spit-splattered orbs. My sensitive nipples turned into excited, erect bullets of sensation, rolling under his fleshy palm. From his rising growls, it became clear that he was enjoying the lavish service from my mouth. Each time my ruby red lips retreated — maintaining only the tip within them — then plunged back down to swallow his full length, Anthony groaned in vocal appreciation.

Although I knew that it was better — safer — for us to keep quiet, I couldn’t stop myself from garbling out a smothered moan of my own enjoyment. Savoring the sensation of having a thick black cock stuffed in my mouth, I squeezed my thighs together, feeling the soaked fabric of my thong catch and rub against my engorged clit. The narrow lace strip dragged closely between my sodden, bald pussy lips, teasing my ravenous hole as I rocked on my knees; she demanded to be fed. I reluctantly released his dick from my mouth with a syrupy “pop”.

Rising, I dragged my bare breasts against his sculpted abdomen. Craning my neck, I tilted my face up to meet his, my mouth opening to accept his aggressive kiss. Our lips opened wetly into each other’s, wrestling in an enthusiastic embrace. I stroked his throbbing erection in my small, pale hand as he again scooped up heaping handfuls of my plump mounds. I leaned back, resting my hamstrings against the bed as I balanced on my high stilettos.

“Please… Fuck me.” I panted. I reclined toward the bed, spreading my thighs as I settled my butt on the edge of the mattress. Anthony’s cock writhed in my fist as he stood above me. A flush spread across my pale, freckled chest as I waited impatiently for him to take me.

His movements were blindingly quick, flipping me onto my stomach on the bed in an instant; my waist bent, pressed into the corner of the mattress. I straightened my knees and righted myself on my high heels with my ass jutting towards him. As I rose with my elbows on the quilt, my large tits hung and swayed pendulously below my ribs, grazing my prickling nipples along the bedspread as they swung.

Anthony hiked and bunched the fitted wool of my skirt until the tight hem rolled at my waist, gathered above the round, white hocks of my ass. I could feel my high heels and strained pose tensing my buttocks, but still felt the orbs bounce and recoil merrily as he laid stinging smacks upon my backside. The red strip of thong divided the pallid globes like a fiery equator. His fingers folded under the scalloped lace waist, tugging the panties off my body and dropping them to the floor. I lifted each heel and gracefully stepped out of the discarded thong, then kicked it away under the bed.

He grabbed a thick handful of my auburn hair, arching my spine and neck as he yanked my head towards him. At the same time, the thumb and fingers of his other hand burrowed into my back and belly, half-encircling my waist as he tugged my lower half to meet his initial thrust. Without a word, Anthony buried his colossal dick to its hilt with a single stroke.

My gash cringed in vicious satisfaction. As wet as I was — as much as my pussy had been screaming to be fucked — the sudden, monstrous intrusion was a ferocious shock to my body. A cry of lusty anguish started to escape me, but Anthony buried my face in the quilt as he began to thrust. As he forced me flat onto the bed, my ripe tits squished beneath my collapsing body, bulging out at the sides around my ribs. With each steady push deep into my pussy I moaned hot air into the mattress, feeling as it blew back into my own face. His fingers left my waist, clawing a handful of my buttock as he plowed my soaking, eager muff with his broad black tool.

His thick cock galloped into my pussy, hammering hard and deep into my dripping hole. While Anthony still hadn’t spoken in minutes, in his vigorous effort, he uttered short grunts and huffs. My fingers clutched at the quilt, clawing it into my fists as my body thrillingly tensed. Each rasping breath ricocheted humidly back at me off the bed, my face still mashed into the mattress by Anthony’s strong grip. Warm currents coursed from between my legs; tickling electric fingers of sensation that prickled every nerve ending. My shoulders and back seized and my body bolted upwards, fighting through Anthony’s grasp as my mouth was freed from the muffling cushion.

I clapped my own hand over my mouth to muffle my pleasured cries, sucking in desperate breaths through my fingers. “Mmgahfuhmph!” My hold on my volume broke and Anthony shoved my face back to the mattress. His fist twisted in the knot of auburn hair, and I felt my locks pull tighter in his grip. My arms collapsed beneath me as my pussy squeezed and then released. I moaned huskily into the quilt as my orgasmic warmth pooled around his pumping shaft and trickled gently down my inner thighs.

My body was still trembling with the aftershocks of my orgasm as I heard the voice in the hallway.

“Anthony!? Where are you, man?” Thomas called down the hall. His voice grew closer. “You aren’t pouting about your shirt, are you? Come on, you got that for free! Come back, you’re missing the ga- Whaaaat!” His voice stopped in the doorway. Behind me, Anthony neither spoke nor slowed the pace of his thrusts in response to Thomas’s arrival.

Prying my head off the mattress, I caught a brief glimpse of legs and shoes moving across the bedroom carpet before my face was pushed back into the bedding. I rose a second time and caught sight of a waist and belt nearing the edge of the bed. As my eyes again plunged into the quilt, I heard the jangle of a belt buckle and felt the mattress rock, depressing beneath a new weight.

Anthony hauled my head back, bowing my spine and neck by the handle of red ponytail. I faced Thomas’s immense erection waving at eye-level, filling my field of vision. At the same time he yanked my hair, Anthony’s cock slipped out of my drenched slit, dragging its broad head upward across my taint. Without hesitation, the bulbous glans punched through the rigid knot of my anus.

“Nyyyoooh-erk!” My wail of surprise ended abruptly as Thomas took the opportunity to fill my protesting, open mouth with his stiff rod. For a confused second, my spit-roasted pose didn’t register. However, as Thomas braced a strong hand at the back of my neck and began to pump his hips, my lips instinctively tightened around the thick, black pole. The searing pain in my backdoor tapered, and Anthony fell into a firm but steady rhythm fucking my ass. On my bed, I rolled and pitched on my, servicing one prick that pumped metrically in my mouth and another driving into my pucker.

I closed my eyes in deep satisfaction, pursing my lips around Thomas’s bucking shaft. Anthony’s hands were now busy at my buttocks, prying apart the pale globes while he drilled my anus. One of Thomas’s large mitts scooped up my swinging tits, the other clasped the back of my head, dictating the pace and depth of my wet mouth’s plunges on his pipe. His cockhead battered the back of my throat, gagging me and flooding my mouth with bubbly saliva. The foamy drool coated his shaft and lubricated its passage between my humming lips, while seeping messily from my mouth and oozing down my chin.

Without hesitation, Thomas pulled his dick from my mouth and reclined on the bed, pulling me by my biceps to make me straddle him. My pucker bolted damply as Anthony withdrew from my asshole, then stood on the bed. I mounted Thomas’s lap, reaching between my legs to hold him in place as my slick pussy effortlessly slipped down his shaft. My skirt was still rolled into a narrow wool cylinder above my waist at my bellybutton. Anthony stood beside me as I began to bounce on the other rod, holding his pulsing tool in his fist as he pushed the soiled tip against my mouth. I opened my lips, groaning with pleasure around the grimy-tasting cock.

Swiveling my hips, I ground Thomas’s glans deep into my womb. As I sat high in the saddle atop him, his fingers tracked up my hips, over my soft, flat belly, and tickled across my ribs. Finally, his hands reached my breasts, taking twin, heaping handfuls of the round, bouncing globes. My erect nipples rolled under his rough palms and he cupped and squeezed the firm, round melons. A smothered, delighted coo sounded from my throat, muffled by the obstructing dick that filled my mouth.

His pole smothered in slick dribble; Anthony rotated in behind me again. His hand on my back pushed me forward, bending me into Thomas’s chest. My ripe melons squashed between our churning bodies as my butt popped up toward the ceiling. Thomas paused politely, and I hovered with my cunt half-skewered on his cock. There was pinch as Anthony’s tool again distended my rosebud and I gasped and buried my face in the crook of Thomas’s neck.

Anthony hit his pace more quickly this time, and as Thomas regained his cadence, I huffed and hummed at the thrill of my simultaneous penetrations. The two cocks worked in cooperative competition in my eager holes, Anthony pumping my anus from behind and Thomas hammering my pussy from below. In my ecstasy, I staggered and buckled, falling forward onto Thomas, my bulging tits cascading over and burying his face.

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop!” I urgently panted, bucking my pelvis atop the two cocks. “Oh god oh fuck don’t stop! Ffffffuuuhhhk!” My breathless plea crescendoed squeakily as my harried voice cracked. My climax thundered through my tiny body, and my eyes clamped shut as I panted and whinnied in pleasure, disregarding any pretense of keeping quiet. A figure emerged in the doorway as my eyes slit open.

“Well, I never could have imagined how ‘hospitable’ you would be.” Malcolm chuckled as he entered the room. “No one stop on my behalf.” Neither Thomas nor Anthony gave any indication they were going to stop. I gasped and closed my eyes, casting my head back as Thomas’s lips nursed at my dangling breast.

Malcolm undressed as he crossed to the bed. He spotted the reversed picture frame atop the dresser as he passed, flipped it over, and snickered anew. Righting the picture as he stepped out of his pants, Malcolm turned the frame to face the bed. “I imagine ol’ John would want to see this!”

Malcolm mounted the bed, stepping in alongside our stacked, sandwiched forms. He rested two fingers beneath my chin, lifting my face to meet his gaze. Maintaining eye contact between us, I obediently opened my mouth and took his rigid cock into my lips. Closing my jaws around his dick, I took the tip deep into the back of my throat. As his glans dug into my gullet, I felt my final orifice jam, rendering me airtight with the three giant black cocks.

I bounded with my pelvis, pivoting my hips to fuck back against the two rods pistoning into my ass and minge. While my tongue danced and twirled around Malcolm’s shaft, I kept my lips slack enough to allow him to set the pace, bucking his hips to pump my mouth. With each strike of his wide tip at the back of my throat, I gagged noisily. The slobbery “gyuck gyuck gyuck gyuck” of my choking reverberated off the high ceiling and walls in the snowy afternoon sunlight.

The sensation of being so incredibly full — so exquisitely and entirely used — inflated my sexually saturated mind until I could feel the lust pooling in my skull. Sweat glistened on my pale, naked skin as I bucked on the two massive cocks filling my twat and ass. I felt the primeval thrill seep through every inch of me; from my auburn hair wrapped in Malcolm’s grip, to my ruby lips cinched around his girthy black pipe, to my ripe, bouncing breasts, to my straining, eager pussy and anus overstretched by the thumping ebony shafts, to my toes, curling inside my glossy red heels as the electric pleasure intensified and spread throughout my body.

The windows rattled as a squall rushed snowily past the building, reminding me of the open blinds. I moaned around Malcolm’s shaft as I thought of the graphic show from my bedroom that any holiday worker-bees across the street might be enjoying, pushing myself over the edge. I cried out in a muffled squeal as the climax tore through my frame. The gratifying ache stabbed into my pussy and then spiked through every nerve in my body instantaneously. My lips quivered around Malcolm’s prick as the coursing waves of pleasure pounded my senses, but his broad pole filled my mouth so completely that hardly any sound could escape me. Trembling fits shook me, and I finally relented, tearing Malcolm’s cock from my gasping mouth as I cried and pitched forward towards Thomas below me.

My fall was stopped by Malcolm’s grip on my ponytail, firmly but gently holding me suspended as my slumping spine buckled. He sat down on the bed, dragging me toward him as he reclined. Anthony and Thomas conceded for the moment, tugging their tools free from my openings as I crawled across the mattress in compliance with Malcolm’s pull.

I clambered over Malcolm’s legs as he lay on his back. Reaching his crotch, I boosted up on my knees straddling his lap, then lowered myself patiently until my quim was pierced again. My drenched muff eagerly swallowed his manhood; I gasped out all the air from my lungs at the suddenness with which his glans bottomed out inside me.

As Malcolm flexed his hips, burying his cock deeper in my sopping pussy, my rational mind briefly surfaced, reminding me of the Thanksgiving I was meant to have. Rather than servicing three black cocks, I could have been sitting in the living room with John and my parents, eating hors d’oeuvres, listening to John and my dad as they discussed the Lions game, while passive-aggressively exchanging cooking tips with my mother. I laughed aloud at my change in fortunes, while bouncing eagerly on my knees and enthusiastically fucking myself on Malcolm’s thick cock.

Thomas and Anthony stood at either side, impatiently prodding their dicks at my mouth. I leaned over, taking Anthony’s prick into my mouth while stroking Thomas’s in my nimble white hand. After a few moments, I rotated my mouth to Thomas’s cock, tasting the zest of my own cum coating his shaft. Another minute of sucking his dick, and I released him and switched back to Anthony. I pivoted to share the use of my mouth between both men, zigzagging left and right to wrap my plump red lips eagerly and evenly around each ebony behemoth in turn.

Thomas, however, had plans for his tool other than my hand, and circled in behind me. I paused my springing hips, raising my ass invitingly as Thomas’s hands squeezed and parted my cheeks. With level, solid pressure, his cock pressed against my sphincter until finally the knot relented and his tip surged through. My anus yielded more readily to this successive puncture, and as Thomas began to pump into my backdoor, a low, stressed groan rumbled up from my gut and vibrated around Anthony’s pole.

Malcolm lay below me, pumping his hips and pounding his dick into my sopping puss. He reached up to grab my breasts, filling his hands with my firm, juicy mounds. His cock ground wonderfully into the deep recesses of my womb, sparking tingling flurries of sensation through my body. Anthony towered over my double-penetrated figure; his prick embedded in my mouth, while his hands at the back of my head guided the pace of my bobbing jaws. His tip careened into my pallet, but his pace refused to slacken as I choked. Frothy spikes of thick spit bubbled over my lips and chin, spattering on my shoulders and chest and dripping into the dark wool of my bunched skirt.

I groaned and whimpered; the throbbing pleasure pulsed through my loins. Clamping my eyes shut, my cry grew to a howl as I came, the clogged scream gurgling out around Anthony’s pole. Panting around the onyx obstruction as I struggled to recover, Malcolm slowed his pace and lifted me from his prick. My movement caused Thomas’s cock to flop from my anus with a hushed squish. Anthony hauled his erection out of my lips, resting the slobbery tip on my forehead and leaking watery precum into my hairline.

Gripping my waist, Malcolm spun me to face away from him. His cockhead was greased with my own slippery cum, and with a lunge, his tool skidded into my pucker. I inhaled sharply at this third anal penetration, but Thomas quickly filled my empty mouth with his own rigid manhood. Malcolm gripped beneath my hamstrings and hoisted my pale legs into the air, propping me up and spreading my snatch into a defenseless, open target. Taking advantage of my position, Anthony leaned in, stuffing my pussy with his cock.

Massaging Thomas’s shaft in my grip, my lips and tongue feverishly roamed his length. While the other cocks hammered into my lower holes, my mouth busily pleased his black dick. My wide blue eyes watered and bulged as his glans filled my mouth and throat, but I only faltered in my submissive eye-contact as another wave of climax rocked my petite frame. The thick cocks fucking my ass and pussy triggered incapacitating orgasmic tremors that zipped from one quivering tip of my frame to the other in sparkling waves of stinging bliss.

With my energy sapped, I rag-dolled onto my back against Malcolm’s chest. As my head slumped from my limp neck, Thomas fought to keep his tool in my yawning maw, battering my cheeks and nose with his stiff pole before finally giving up. Anthony pulled out of my exhausted pussy, his glans drawing a sticky trail of my cum along my inner thigh. Last, Malcolm retracted his hips and his cock squeaked out of my anus; my knot cinched shut for a final time as he shifted me out of his lap to the bedspread.

The three of them stepped away from the bed; Thomas extended a hand to help me to the floor. I kicked away my heels as I knelt, my back to the bedframe with them in a semi-circle surrounding me. Wheezing as I caught my breath, I looked up at the towering trio, each stroking their cock almost in lockstep. I crossed my arms beneath my breasts, propping them into a plumped shelf of a target.

A strong gust of wind surged against the windowpanes, rattling the frames, and spraying the glass with clinking crystals of ice and snow. I turned toward the windows at the sudden noise. As I distractedly looked away, Thomas unleashed a volley of spunk into my temple, cheek, and ear. Startled, I spun back to face him, right as his dick blasted a second geyser of thick cum directly onto my chin and lips. My mouth dropped partway open as I flinched and recoiled, and another gooey rope sailed between my ruby lips and down my gullet. Malcolm gently closed my jaws with fingers beneath my chin, noting I “shouldn’t spoil my appetite before dinner.”

Standing directly in front of me, Anthony cranked off a sticky burst that doused my forehead and eyebrows. Malcolm’s cock fired a shotgun spray of skeet that speckled my cheek and chin, and another that spattered across my neck and tits. As Thomas’s seed dripped from my chin and splattered on my mounds, he frosted my freckled bust with dripping lines of jism. Cum dribbled off my face, splashing over my heaving breasts and trickling down my belly into the rolled navy wool of my skirt.

Anthony leaned his cock toward my face, and I obediently closed my lids as he “dotted” my eyes, adding an extra dash of jizz across the bridge of my nose. With my eyes caked shut with cum, I guessed it was Malcolm whose loads lashed twice across my face, from my eyebrows into my bangs in two lines that intersected in a lopsided “X” that marked the spot on my forehead. Two last stitches of spunk crossed my pouting lips, breaking as I opened my mouth to suck in a gasping breath.

I scooped cum out of my sockets with my fingertips, then blinked away clotted sperm from my lashes. Around me, my guests ambled in post-coital indecision, sorting out their disordered clothes from the floor. Looking down my tits were coated in interwoven squiggly cords of splooge. The wool of my skirt was peppered with tacky white polka dots. A stalactite of cum stretched then broke and fell from my chin, splattering on my red-painted toes. I felt the weight of the braided ropes of seed that glazed my face. Squinting uncertainly at the clock on the nightstand, I couldn’t read the time but suddenly remembered the in-process meal.

“Oh shit! My turkey!” I leaped to my feet and rushed through the apartment to the kitchen, wriggling out of the cum-stained wool skirt and kicking it away down the hall as I ran. I breathed a sigh of relief seeing that the kitchen timer read almost two hours remaining. I shoved my hands into oven mitts and opened the oven door; the scorching air broiled my naked body. I squatted and pulled the rack forward until the roasting pan was clear of the blistering metal sides, then removed the tented foil from the bird to allow the skin to brown for the duration. As I crouched before the open oven, I felt the heat sear my skin, caramelizing the crisscrossing ropes of viscous cum on my face and tits. I shut the oven and stood, finding that the guys had returned to the living room, mostly dressed, still gawking at my naked, cum-glazed visage.

“This year, I know what I’m thankful for!” Thomas whistled as he tucked in his shirt.

“You can put away the browning torch, Sarah. That ‘cum brûlée’ looks like it’s just about done!” Malcolm joked as he collapsed, laughing and shoeless, onto the couch. The rest of the guests burst into raucous laughter. I smirked, tossed the mitts on the counter, and gave them all a kindly double-bird as I returned to my room.

The portrait on the dresser greeted me as I entered the room. I stared at it for a second, then walked to the closet and took one of John’s shirts off the hanger. The thick cum soaked into the white cotton as I mopped my face and tits, then balled up the button down and tossed it in the hamper.

Rummaging through the dresser, I hunted for comfortable pants and a top; I didn’t see the point of formal dress when each of my guests had already been inside of me. We could pass the rest of the afternoon with traditional Thanksgiving activities: football, wine, feasting, and, of course, seconds. The last word stuck in my mind, and a naughty smile spread across my lips as I said it aloud. “Seconds…”

I shut the drawer and returned to the closet, stooping to reach the low, ‘special’ chest. From the living room, I heard the trio cheering in response to a play. Wine glasses clinked against a bottle, and plates scraped as they were picked up and replaced on the coffee table. Blushing as I imagined their imminent surprise, I selected a suitable piece, then grabbed a glistening pair of glossy black high heels from a nearby shelf.

Holding out the black mesh teddy, I stepped into the skimpy garment, feeling the black lace edges tickle along my prickling, excited skin. The translucent, tight black material silhouetted the puffy lips of my pussy. The lace-edged mesh wedges of the camisole-top tapered up my chest into black ribbons that tied behind my neck in a halter and left my pale back bare down to the waist. The stretchy, triangular front panels only just covered my ripe tits, and the sheer mesh flaunted a hint of the light pink nipple beneath. Between my breasts, black lace trim lined a daringly deep “V” that ended below my bellybutton with a delicate red bow. Stepping into the high pumps, I turned in front of the mirror admiring how the arc of my round breasts peeked out around the scalloped lace edges of the cami-top. I reached back, untwisted the black lace strip of a waistband in the back and centered the heart-shaped keyhole over my buttocks.

Tucking my auburn hair behind my ear, I spied a stray spike of half-dried cum dangling from my lobe. I plucked it with my finger, then sucked the digit clean. I beamed at my racy reflection, blew a kiss to the picture on the dresser, then slowly, quietly walked down the hall to the living room.

My three guests were intently watching the end of the afternoon game. Outside the blizzard continued to rage; cyclones of snow whirled past the window. I stood silently for a moment; my stomach jittered nervously, then I gently cleared my throat.

“Ahem. You know as long as we’re observing Thanksgiving traditions…” Their eyes turned toward my voice and widened as they absorbed my lingerie-clad body. “… who’s up for seconds?”

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