Speaker 1: Hi, Welcome to Dear Nikki. My name is Nikki. And
Speaker 1: on today's show, a divorce hostess gets absolutely wrecked in
Speaker 1: her own pantry while the entire family argues over pie
Speaker 1: just a few feet away. An engaged woman lets her
Speaker 1: fiance's cousin finger her to a silent shaking orgasm beside
Speaker 1: a roaring fireplace while her future mother in law hums carols.
Speaker 1: And in a small town girl finally gets railed against
Speaker 1: an apple tree under the harvest moon by the crush
Speaker 1: she's wanted since high school. That and so so much more.
Speaker 1: Are you ready to spice things up? Here's a sneak
Speaker 1: pink of the steamy audio content a waiting for you
Speaker 1: on Patreon. This is your utmost desire. Allow me to
Speaker 1: come over and over without having the need to yourself.
Speaker 1: This is total control. This is how I rule your
Speaker 1: mind and body. Join now for ad free access to
Speaker 1: the Wednesday Show, an exclusive Friday episode packed with erotic
Speaker 1: role play and pleasurable audio experience. Treat yourself to something
Speaker 1: naughty you deserve it. Join Patreon today and indulge in
Speaker 1: your fantasies. If you're new here, welcome to my show
Speaker 1: where people can share their deepest sexual secrets in Fantasies anonymously.
Speaker 1: Each week, I read out letters and emails from listeners
Speaker 1: who have bravely shared their intimate experiences with me. The
Speaker 1: show is a safe space for people to confess their
Speaker 1: hidden desires and encounters, free from judgment or repercussions. By
Speaker 1: sharing these stories, we're creating a community that acknowledges and
Speaker 1: accepts the diversity of human experience. If you're looking for
Speaker 1: place to explore your own desires or simply listen to
Speaker 1: other experiences, you're in the right place. Tune in for
Speaker 1: some raw, honest, unapologetic accounts of the human intimacy and connections.
Speaker 1: If you have a secret story or experience you've been
Speaker 1: dying to share, now's your chance. You can write to
Speaker 1: me directly at Nikki in Ikky at dear Niki dot com,
Speaker 1: or submit your confession anonymously at dear Nikki dot com
Speaker 1: under the confessions tab. Perhaps you have an erotic fantasy
Speaker 1: that's been burning inside you, or maybe you just want
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Speaker 1: amazing businesses I work with. But first, because I love
Speaker 1: watching you squirm, Here's Tonight's filthy little riddle to thrive
Speaker 1: your legs while we feast. I'm long and firm and
Speaker 1: always rising. On Thanksgiving Day, the hostess beats me hard
Speaker 1: until I'm light and fluffy. She spreads her legs wide open,
Speaker 1: just to me deep inside. Then she bakes me till
Speaker 1: I'm golden, and the whole house smells my pride. For hours,
Speaker 1: I get stuffed and basted, poked and prodded too. Every
Speaker 1: guest can't wait to pull me apart and savor all
Speaker 1: my goo. By the end, I'm moist and steaming, torn
Speaker 1: to pieces on the tray. Now tell me, darling, what
Speaker 1: am I that makes you groan this way? Keep thy
Speaker 1: dirty thought warm. I'll give you the answer later in
Speaker 1: the show. The table's groaning under the weight of desire.
Speaker 1: The air is heavy with anticipation, and these stories, all
Speaker 1: tied to Thanksgiving, will leave you hungry for more. Suppour
Speaker 1: your glass of something bold, sink into your softest seat,
Speaker 1: and let's savor the forbidden bite of these tails. Dear Nikki,
Speaker 1: Thanksgiving has always been my sanctuary, the one day where
Speaker 1: my sprawling family crams into my house, fills it with laughter,
Speaker 1: and leaves me glowing with the chaos of it all.
Speaker 1: I'm thirty four, divorced, and I've made the hosting holiday
Speaker 1: my thing, turning my modest dining room into a stage
Speaker 1: for a roasted turkey, candid yams, and my grandmother's pecan
Speaker 1: pie recipe. But last year, the heat of my kitchen
Speaker 1: came from more than just the oven, and I'm still
Speaker 1: reeling from the memory. My brother's best friend, Marcust was
Speaker 1: a wild card at the table. He's thirty six, a
Speaker 1: firefighter with a body carved from years of hauling hoses
Speaker 1: and a grin that could set kindling a blaze. He'd
Speaker 1: been to our Thanksgiving before, but this time he showed
Speaker 1: up in a fitted black, buttoned down sleeves rolled up
Speaker 1: to show off four arms that made me forget how
Speaker 1: to hold a ladle. When he hugged me hello, his
Speaker 1: hands lingered on my lower back. His dark eyes held
Speaker 1: mine just long enough to make my breath catch. I
Speaker 1: chalked it up to pre dinner chaos, too many bodies,
Speaker 1: little to air, but the spark was undeniable. The day
Speaker 1: was a blur of cooking and corraling the relatives. I
Speaker 1: was in my elements, stirring gravy, checking the bird, dodging
Speaker 1: my aunt's questions about my love life. Marcus kept drifting
Speaker 1: into the kitchen, offering to help with a voice like
Speaker 1: warm molasses. He peeled potatoes, his fingers deft and sure,
Speaker 1: and every time our elbows brushed or our eyes met
Speaker 1: over the cutting board, my skin tingled. By the time
Speaker 1: we sat down to eat, I was flustered, my cheeks
Speaker 1: flushed from more than the wine. Dinner was a triumph,
Speaker 1: but the real story started after. When the house settled
Speaker 1: into the post feast haze. My cousins were sprawled on
Speaker 1: the couch, my parents dozing from the hum of football
Speaker 1: on the TV. I slipped in the kitchen to tackle
Speaker 1: the mountain of dishes, craving a moment of quiet. Marcus followed,
Speaker 1: carrying a stack of plates, his presence filling the room
Speaker 1: like smoke. You're a superhero, you know that, he said,
Speaker 1: setting the flights down and leaning against the counter, close
Speaker 1: enough that I could smell his scent, clean sweat, a
Speaker 1: hint of cedar, and something dangerously male. I laughed, told
Speaker 1: him to grab a towel, but the air was thick
Speaker 1: with something unspoken. We worked side by side, the clink
Speaker 1: of dishes mingling with the thumb of my pulse. Then
Speaker 1: as I reached for the serving spoon, his hand caught mine,
Speaker 1: his thumb brushing my wrist in a way that scent
Speaker 1: the heat pooling low in my belly. I froze, looking
Speaker 1: up and his eyes were dark, hungry, like he'd been
Speaker 1: waiting for this all day. Tell me stop, he murmured.
Speaker 1: But I didn't. I couldn't. Instead, I stepped closer, and
Speaker 1: that was all the permission he needed. His lips crafted, mind,
Speaker 1: hot and demanding, tasting of cranberry and desire. The kiss
Speaker 1: was like wildfire, consuming every rational thought. He backed me
Speaker 1: against the pantry door, his hands sliding under my sweater,
Speaker 1: his fingers rough and warm against my skin. I gasped
Speaker 1: as he cut my breast, his thumbs teasing my nipples
Speaker 1: through my lace, braw sending jolts of pleasure straight to
Speaker 1: my core. My hands were just as greedy, tugging in
Speaker 1: his shirt, finding the hard plains of his chest, the
Speaker 1: heat of him searing my palms. The pandry door creaked
Speaker 1: open behind us, and we stumbled insides surrounded by shelves
Speaker 1: of can goods and spices. The space was tight, forcing
Speaker 1: us closer. Our bodies pressed together in a delicious crush.
Speaker 1: His mouth found my neck, sucking gently, then harder as
Speaker 1: I arched against him, my nails digging into his shoulders.
Speaker 1: I could hear the faint murmur of voices from the
Speaker 1: living room. The clink of glasses, and the danger of
Speaker 1: it only made me bolder. My fingers fumbled with his belt,
Speaker 1: the lover giving away to reveal a hard length of him,
Speaker 1: straining against his jeans. He groaned low and guttural as
Speaker 1: I touched him, my hands stroking with a rhythm that
Speaker 1: matched the pounding of my heart. He hiked up my skirt,
Speaker 1: his fingers slipping beneath my panties, Finding me slick and ready,
Speaker 1: I bit my lip to stifle my moan as he
Speaker 1: teased me, his touch, slow and deliberate, driving me to
Speaker 1: the edge. Marcus, I whispered, half a plea half a prayer.
Speaker 1: He answered, being by lifting me, my legs wrapping round
Speaker 1: his waist as I pressed himself against me. The shelves
Speaker 1: rattled as he entered me, slow at first, and deeper,
Speaker 1: each thrust a pulse of raw need. We moved together,
Speaker 1: frantic and silent, the pantry a cocoon of heat and risk.
Speaker 1: When I came, it was like a wave of crashing,
Speaker 1: my body shuddering against his as he followed, his breath,
Speaker 1: racket against my ear. We stayed there, tangled and breathless,
Speaker 1: until a shout from the living room stamped us back.
Speaker 1: We straightened our clothes and slipped out of the pantry
Speaker 1: and rejoined the chaos. My heart's still racing. No one noticed,
Speaker 1: thank God, and Marcus left with a wink that it
Speaker 1: promised more. We haven't spoken of it since, but every
Speaker 1: time I open that pantry, I taste him again. Yours Louise,
Speaker 1: Hello Louise. I hope you're not a pecan girl or
Speaker 1: a pecan girl. It drives me nuts. It's the one thing.
Speaker 1: There's so many things in my life that set my
Speaker 1: teeth on fire. This is not sexy, but it's pecan,
Speaker 1: and there's a big history of it, and this isn't
Speaker 1: place for it, but it's Pocan. Sorry, ah Yah, Souther's
Speaker 1: its Pecan. I honestly can say that I've never had
Speaker 1: a Thanksgiving like this. Wish a Thanksgiving like this? Can
Speaker 1: I have a thing? I am still alive, I can
Speaker 1: still arrange to have a Thanksgiving like this. I'm just saying,
Speaker 1: oh my god, I love it when we get a
Speaker 1: confession that and I know most of them are like this,
Speaker 1: but there really is or was no verbal communication. It
Speaker 1: was all just passion and touching, And I mean there's
Speaker 1: communication there. It's just not on a verbal level, right
Speaker 1: Could you if you were at your place being the
Speaker 1: host or hostess and something happened like this, could you?
Speaker 1: Could you have an encounter and your spice cabinet, you know,
Speaker 1: little nook? Absolutely I could in me if I had
Speaker 1: that many people in my house, I really wouldn't give
Speaker 1: a damn who heard me that. I'm just laying it
Speaker 1: out there, because yeah, I really wouldn't because maybe I'm
Speaker 1: a little sexually frustrated right now. Say one you, Elise,
Speaker 1: Dear Nikki. I've always thought of Thanksgiving as a time
Speaker 1: for family, for gratitude for playing it safe. But last
Speaker 1: year I threw safe out the window, and it ended
Speaker 1: up with a memory that still makes my skin burn.
Speaker 1: I'm twenty nine, engaged and living in a cozened cabin
Speaker 1: style house in Oregon with my fiance David. We hosted
Speaker 1: Thanksgiving for the first time in biting his family and
Speaker 1: a few friends, including his cousin Liam, who I'd never
Speaker 1: met before. Let's just say Liam turned our holiday into
Speaker 1: something I'll never forget. Liam was thirty two, a freelance
Speaker 1: photographer and with a lean build, tasseled brown hair, and
Speaker 1: eyes that seemed to see right through you. He arrived
Speaker 1: with a bottle of Scotch and a story about a
Speaker 1: recent shoot in Iceland. His voice was low and easy,
Speaker 1: like he was telling secrets just for me. I noticed
Speaker 1: him immediately, how his jeans hugged his thighs, how his
Speaker 1: flannel shirt gaped just enough to show a hint of
Speaker 1: collar bone. But I told myself it was nothing. I
Speaker 1: was happy with David planning a wedding, building a life.
Speaker 1: This was just a harmless vibe. Dinner was a hit.
Speaker 1: The table was groaning with turkey stuff and my attempt
Speaker 1: at homemade rolls. Liam sat across from me, his gaze
Speaker 1: catching mine every time I looked up, his foot brushing
Speaker 1: mine under the table, once, then again, until I wasn't
Speaker 1: sure if it was by accident my dessert. I was flustered,
Speaker 1: my laughter too loud, my wine glass too empty. After dinner,
Speaker 1: David and his parents settled by the fireplace, swapping stories
Speaker 1: while the others played cards in the dining room. I
Speaker 1: excuse myself to clean up, needing air kneading space. Liam
Speaker 1: found me in the kitchen drying wine glasses. His presence
Speaker 1: like match struck in the dark you're killing it tonight,
Speaker 1: he said, leaning against the counter, his voice the caress.
Speaker 1: I thanked him. I tried to keep it light while
Speaker 1: he stepped closer, offering to help. The room felt too small.
Speaker 1: We moved to the living room to gathered stray plates,
Speaker 1: the fire crackling and casting shadows that danced across his face.
Speaker 1: Everyone else was distracted. The house was alive with noise,
Speaker 1: and maybe that's why I didn't stop him. He touched
Speaker 1: my arm, his fingers lingering, his intent clear. I should
Speaker 1: have walked away, but I didn't. Instead, I followed him
Speaker 1: to the nook by the fireplace, half hidden by a
Speaker 1: book shelf, where the heat of the flames matched the
Speaker 1: heat in his eyes. He kissed me, slow and deep,
Speaker 1: his tongue exploring mine with the hunger that made my
Speaker 1: knees buckle. His hands rowed, slipping under my dress, tracing
Speaker 1: the curve of my hips, the sensitive skin under my thighs.
Speaker 1: I gasped as he pressed himself against me, the hard
Speaker 1: evidence of desire unmistakable through his jenes. My fingers tangled
Speaker 1: in his hair, pulling him closer as I ground against him,
Speaker 1: the friction sparking pleasure that curled my toes. The bookshelves
Speaker 1: shielded us with the risk of being caught. David, just
Speaker 1: a few feet away, made every touch electric. Liam's hand
Speaker 1: slid beneath my panties, his fingers finding me wet and aching,
Speaker 1: teasing until I was trembling, biting my lip to stay quiet.
Speaker 1: He whispered my name, his breath at my ear. I
Speaker 1: was lost, my hands fumbling his zipper, fraying him, stroking
Speaker 1: him until he groaned softly. We didn't have time for more,
Speaker 1: not there, but the urgency was enough. His fingers worked
Speaker 1: me into a shuddering climax, my hands bringing him to
Speaker 1: the same edge, my breasts mingling as we stifled our gas.
Speaker 1: We pulled apart, just as David's voice called out, asking
Speaker 1: for another log for the fire. I smoothed my dress
Speaker 1: and Liam tucked himself away. We rejoined the group, my
Speaker 1: cheeks burning, his smile smug. He left the next day
Speaker 1: and we never spoke of it. David and I are
Speaker 1: still together, but that fireside moment is my secret Thanksgiving
Speaker 1: Ember that I can't extinguish. Clara Well, Hello Clara.
Speaker 2: Oh that would be so hard to say, though too.
Speaker 2: I am just in a naughty mood today. Let me
Speaker 2: tell you, Oh my goodness. You know, I don't know
Speaker 2: about anybody else. I am not having these sexy Thanksgivings,
Speaker 2: and it's quite a shame. I'm gonna have to try
Speaker 2: to put me in a place where I'm having going
Speaker 2: to have maybe not this year. That sounds very chickenish,
Speaker 2: I know, but already have plans sort of to have
Speaker 2: a sexy Thanksgiving. What you know, Usually it's and I
Speaker 2: know that the families what we make, you know, So
Speaker 2: if you were in a position where you know, and
Speaker 2: you know, someone else caught your eye and the tension
Speaker 2: was just right, and you know, could you Yeah, it's
Speaker 2: a yes for me on this one. I like.
Speaker 1: I like them both equally. They're both really hot. That's
Speaker 1: all I will say. So, yeah, I think I'm gonna
Speaker 1: have to put myself in some sexy situations for holidays,
Speaker 1: just saying, Dear Nikki. Growing up in rural Washington Town,
Speaker 1: Thanksgiving was more of a meal. Was a celebration of
Speaker 1: the land, the harvest, the people who made our little
Speaker 1: corner of the world hum. Every year, our community throws
Speaker 1: a grange feast in an old apple orchard. Bonfires hay
Speaker 1: rides and tables stretched across the grass. Last year, I
Speaker 1: went to the feast single, twenty six and not expecting
Speaker 1: anything more than a good meal. But then I ran
Speaker 1: into Nate, and an orchard became the garden of temptation.
Speaker 1: Nate was thirty, a mechanic could grown up a few
Speaker 1: towns over, but moved back to help his dad's auto shop.
Speaker 1: I'd known him in high school and always crushing on him,
Speaker 1: quietly and tensely, his calloused hands, his blue eyes that
Speaker 1: seemed to hold a thousand secrets. At the feast, he
Speaker 1: was there with friends, wearing a leather jacket and a
Speaker 1: smile that hit me like a shot of cider. We
Speaker 1: ended up at the same table, sharing plates of smoke,
Speaker 1: turkey and corn bread, our knees brushing as we laughed
Speaker 1: about the old teachers and the bad prom dates. His
Speaker 1: touch was casual at first, hand on my arm, a nudge,
Speaker 1: but each one lingered, stoking a fire I hadn't felt
Speaker 1: in years. After dinner, the bonfires roared and the people
Speaker 1: started dancing to a local band's fiddle tunes. Nate grabbed
Speaker 1: my hand, pulling me into a slow sway, his body
Speaker 1: close enough that I could feel his heat through my sweater.
Speaker 1: Wanta walk, he asked, his voice low, and I nodded,
Speaker 1: my heart already racing. We wandered away from the crowd
Speaker 1: into the orchard, where the apple trees stood bare under
Speaker 1: the starry sky, the air sharp with scent of frost
Speaker 1: and wood smoke. We stopped by a gnarled tree and
Speaker 1: a bonfire's glow faint in the distance. Nate leaned against
Speaker 1: the trunk, pulling me close and kissed me, a slow,
Speaker 1: searing kiss that tasted of whiskey and pie. His hands
Speaker 1: were everywhere, rough and sure, sliding under my jacket, finding
Speaker 1: the soft skin above my jeans. I pressed myself against him,
Speaker 1: feeling the hard length of him and his denim. The
Speaker 1: ache between my thighs grew unbearable. My fingers worked at
Speaker 1: his jacket off, then his shirt, revealing his top muscles
Speaker 1: of his chest dusted with hair that I couldn't stop touching.
Speaker 1: He lifted me against the tree, my legs wrapped around
Speaker 1: his hips, the bark rough against my back, but forgotten
Speaker 1: in the heat of him. His mouth trailed down my neck,
Speaker 1: sucking gently, then lower, teasing my breast through my braw
Speaker 1: until I was writhing. I tugged at his belt, desperate,
Speaker 1: and he helped me, his jeans falling just enough for
Speaker 1: free him. My hands stroked him, warm and heavy, and
Speaker 1: he groaned. His fingers slipped beneath my skirt, pushing my
Speaker 1: panties aside to find slick and ready. The orchard was
Speaker 1: silent before our breaths. The distant music of a faint
Speaker 1: pulse and the thrill of being so exposed made every
Speaker 1: touch sharper. He entered me through a slow, deliberate thrust,
Speaker 1: feeling me completely, and I clung to him, my nails
Speaker 1: biting into his shoulders. We moved together the tree, creaking
Speaker 1: in our rhythm, urgent but hushed, aware of the feast
Speaker 1: just beyond the trees. His hands gripped my heaps, guiding me,
Speaker 1: his mouth on my to muffle my moans as pleasure built,
Speaker 1: coiling blood. When I came, it was like stars themselves,
Speaker 1: shattered my body from trembling. As he followed his release,
Speaker 1: a low growl against my throat. We stayed there, panting
Speaker 1: until the cold seeped in. We fixed our clothes, shared
Speaker 1: a final kiss, and slipped back to the feasts. No
Speaker 1: one the wiser Nate and I haven't crossed passed since,
Speaker 1: but that orchard tryst is my Thanksgiving harvest, a memory
Speaker 1: I carry forever. Sophie, Hello, Sophie, how are you? Maybe
Speaker 1: it's because I'm not wearing a dress to Thanksgiving? That's it.
Speaker 1: Because the common denominator in all these stories she's wearing
Speaker 1: a dress or a skirt. So I'm gonna have to
Speaker 1: start wearing dresses and skirts and panties. Oh wait, I
Speaker 1: already do those. I'm never in an apple orchard either.
Speaker 1: Are we fucking an apple orchards? Now? Just wow? So
Speaker 1: Thanksgiving skirt if you want to get fucked, you know,
Speaker 1: if you're a girl or a lady or divine as
Speaker 1: one or whatever. So it's male and jeans, button up
Speaker 1: shirts and girls and dresses and skirts. So if you
Speaker 1: wear those two factors, according to these three stories, we're
Speaker 1: all gonna get laid. Thank you. Ronnie Changerfield. Oh my gosh,
Speaker 1: this one. Yeah, I would really have to be teased,
Speaker 1: really really really really really really have to be teased.
Speaker 1: Sex in public is a little for me. I know,
Speaker 1: I know, I'm all turned on by the the one
Speaker 1: where your family's like, right, next, like on the other
Speaker 1: side of the wall. But this, I'm concerned about this.
Speaker 1: I know I'm probably about to talk myself into it,
Speaker 1: just because it seemed like everybody was further away and YadA,
Speaker 1: YadA YadA, that kind of thing. So yeah, so maybe
Speaker 1: could you guys, you know, leave the harvest moon or
Speaker 1: harvest or whatever and harvest party and we'll have after
Speaker 1: you've had your pecan pie and whiskey and go fuck
Speaker 1: somebody against narld tray. Okay, maybe you've got my intention now,
Speaker 1: Dear Nikki, I'm thirty one, married five years. In last Thanksgiving,
Speaker 1: my husband's entire family was at our house, twenty three people,
Speaker 1: three dogs, and one finished basement nobody ever goes into
Speaker 1: because the TV down there only gets static. I'd spent
Speaker 1: all morning cooking in a tight little black dress and
Speaker 1: an apron. Yes, the apron was intentional. My husband Chris
Speaker 1: kept smacking my ass every time he passed, whispering he
Speaker 1: was gonna fuck me in the kitchen island the second
Speaker 1: everyone got sat down to eat. He never got a chance.
Speaker 1: His little brother, Tyler did. Tyler is twenty eight, built
Speaker 1: like a rugby player, and has been eye fucking me
Speaker 1: at every family gathering since the wedding last year, he
Speaker 1: showed up in a gray sweatpants that left absolutely nothing
Speaker 1: to the imagination. I swear that outline of his cock
Speaker 1: was visible every time he reached for the mashed potatoes.
Speaker 1: By the time we finished dinner, I was so wet
Speaker 1: my thighs were sliding against each other. People were napping,
Speaker 1: arguing over football, and starting dessert. Chris was upstairs referring
Speaker 1: his drunk uncles. I went down to the basement to
Speaker 1: find more chairs. Tyler followed two minutes later with the
Speaker 1: bullshit excuse about needing another bottle of bourbon from the
Speaker 1: bar down there. The second the door shut behind him,
Speaker 1: he had me pinning against the pool table, no words,
Speaker 1: just his mouth crashing into mine, tongue demanding his hands
Speaker 1: yanking up my dress to my waist. I heard the
Speaker 1: rip of my lace thong. He literally tore it off
Speaker 1: and stuffed it into his pocket like a trophy. His
Speaker 1: fingers plunged straight into me, two thick ones, uans curling
Speaker 1: hard while but his thumb worked my clit like he'd
Speaker 1: studied a map of my body for years. I came
Speaker 1: quiet under thirty seconds, biting his shoulder through his heady
Speaker 1: to stay quiet. Then he spun me around, bent me
Speaker 1: over the green felt and pulled those sweat pans down
Speaker 1: just enough. Nikki, I've never seen a cock that big
Speaker 1: in real life, thick, heavy, the head already slick. He
Speaker 1: rubbed it up and down my soak slit once twice,
Speaker 1: then slammed it into the root of the most brutal
Speaker 1: stroke the pool table rock so hard eight ball rolled
Speaker 1: into the pocket. He fucked me like he hated me
Speaker 1: and worshiped beyond at the same time, deep punishing thrust
Speaker 1: that had my tits spilling out of my braw, nipples
Speaker 1: dragging across the feld. With every slam, one hand fisted
Speaker 1: my hair, pulling my head back so he could growl
Speaker 1: my ear, You've been dripping for this cock all day.
Speaker 1: Heaven's you sys. I couldn't even answer, just whimpered yes
Speaker 1: around the fingers as he shoved them into my mouth.
Speaker 1: Up Stairs, we could hear Chris's mom calling for more
Speaker 1: whipped cream. Tyler sped up his lips, slapping against my
Speaker 1: ass so loud I was sure some one would hear.
Speaker 1: He reached around, pinched my clit hard and snarled, come
Speaker 1: on your brother in law's dick right now. I exploded,
Speaker 1: legs shaking, a vision, widing out, pussy clinching so tight
Speaker 1: around him that I had to bite my neck to
Speaker 1: stay quiet. He unloaded, pumping rope after rope, so deep
Speaker 1: I felt it in my throat. He pulled out, smacked
Speaker 1: my ass once, tucked himself away like nothing happened. I
Speaker 1: was still bent over the table, dress around my waist,
Speaker 1: come running down my thighs will He leaned down and whispered,
Speaker 1: happy Thanksgiving, corties, save me some pie. I wobbled upstairs
Speaker 1: thirty seconds later, face flushed, hair messy, no panties. Chris
Speaker 1: kissed my neck and said, babe, you ok, you look rocked.
Speaker 1: I just smiled, tasting Tyler on my tongue, and said,
Speaker 1: never better, Still married, still hosting this year, and yes,
Speaker 1: the basement door now has a lock that only Tyler
Speaker 1: has a key to. Burning for you every day, Avery, Well,
Speaker 1: thank you Avery. Not many people say they're burning for me.
Speaker 1: I mean they might insinuated, but never directly they do think. So, yep,
Speaker 1: that's it. That's four for four. I'm gonna have to
Speaker 1: start wearing dresses and skirts. I have never ever been
Speaker 1: bittened over a table pool table table, yes, pull table
Speaker 1: now I do have one in my basement. Maybe I
Speaker 1: just need the right man to fuck me on it.
Speaker 1: I wouldn't be the same though, because I'm not having
Speaker 1: I don't this thinks is not having anybody upstairs. So
Speaker 1: I need to find three twenty three?
Speaker 2: Was it?
Speaker 1: Twenty three? Random people have Thanksgiving here? Background checks all
Speaker 1: that stuff, because you're gonna be strangers, and I need
Speaker 1: to volunteer to go to the basement with me and so
Speaker 1: I can be railed on. Well, you guys are watching
Speaker 1: TV and stuff upstairs. Any volunteers. This one was hot
Speaker 1: and yeah, I could see this happening, just saying could
Speaker 1: you Oh what the hell You're gonna say? Yes? But
Speaker 1: could you that? Yeah? This is this is completely Yeah.
Speaker 1: I think this is a perfect place to end today.
Speaker 1: And all I have to say is fuck me sideways
Speaker 1: with a turkey baster lover. Ugh Avery took the entire holiday,
Speaker 1: bended over the pool table, and ruined it for every
Speaker 1: future Thanksgiving. Four Confessions for dripping wet reminders of why
Speaker 1: the real family tradition isn't the Cranberry sauce. It's finding
Speaker 1: out exactly how filthy gratitude can get when nobody's looking.
Speaker 1: Elise got a pantry pounded with canned goods, rattling like
Speaker 1: apple sauce. Claire came so hard beside the fireplace she
Speaker 1: probably fogged up her future mother in law's glasses. Sophie
Speaker 1: got harvested against an apple tree like a ripest fruit
Speaker 1: in an orchard. And Avery, Avery took in law to
Speaker 1: a whole new illegal level that left us all jealous
Speaker 1: of a goddamn pool table. More of this Thanksgiving night,
Speaker 1: Be thankful for stretchy watepands, soundbroof basements, and brother in
Speaker 1: laws who know exactly how to stuff you better than
Speaker 1: a bird. And the riddle still just a dinner roll, darlings,
Speaker 1: But after tonight, I don't think any of us were
Speaker 1: ever looking at bread the same way again. Now go
Speaker 1: touch yourself stupid thinking about which relative you'd let wreck
Speaker 1: you this Thursday. And inclosing, hello lover, why don't you
Speaker 1: take me downstairs to that fool table I have down there?
Speaker 1: I wanted to feel you lose control, want your hand
Speaker 1: clapped around my mouth when I scream. I want you
Speaker 1: filling me up so much that when I sit down
Speaker 1: for dinner, dripping you onto the chair and smelling like
Speaker 1: the sweetest angel at the table, what do you think?
Speaker 1: Doors cracked? Come stuff your favorite turkey and until the
Speaker 1: next time, Ladies and gentlemen, habby fucking Happy Thanksgiving.