This was the year Thanksgiving became a fancier affair. Of course, the menu wasn’t changing. My wife is an expert who has the spread down to a science. Instead, we were going to change.
“Let’s dress up and give the evening more of a dinner party feel,” she told me a few weeks prior.
I didn’t mind. I was as comfortable eating and drinking in dress pants and a blazer as I was jeans and a t-shirt. The crowd was larger this year with several friends joining us, including Gina, my wife’s new crossfit partner at the gym.
I’d heard my wife talk about how hot Gina was and how she had a girl crush on her that intensified every time they worked out together. I enjoyed the running commentary.
On Thanksgiving morning, I was nursing a Bloody Mary and doing some kitchen prep while our kids watched the parade downstairs. My wife came in wearing a black sleeveless dress that accentuated her curvy, petite body with her hair up and secured by a stylish silver clip. Her popped booty was a magnet for my hands.
“Good God, baby,” I said.
“You look really handsome,” she told me. “Come here and let me see.”
She pulled me into the hallway.
She nimbly dropped to her knees and pulled up the front of her dress enough to reveal thigh-high stockings as she slipped her fingers inside her thin, red lace thong. My cock already was bulging out of my flat-front gray dress pants before she used her right hand to whip off my belt and open my pants in one smooth motion.
The fingers of her left hand danced briskly against her pussy while she cupped my balls with a soft touch, midnight purple nails lightly pricking my scrotum. Her glossy pink lips parted and wrapped around my rock-hard cock while her hot tongue lashed my shaft with spastic lust.
I wanted to grab her auburn hair and fuck her throat in the hallway, but she was a portrait of sophisticated beauty. Fitted black dress pulled up just enough, stockings and black closed-toe heels tucked under her fine ass, thick hair expertly styled for a dinner party. I let her control me at her own pace. She was hungry for cock and quickly covered me with a lacquer of warm saliva.
Fewer than five minutes later, I was rhythmically jamming my cock into the back of her throat while releasing a hot flood of cum into her. In the middle of my fourth spasm, the front door opened around the corner.
“Hello! Happy Thanksgiving!”
My wife pushed me away quickly while I was still spurting and scrambled to her feet to greet Gina. I ducked into a side room and stuffed my wet cock into my boxer briefs. I’d have to stand there until my raging hard-on backed down.
When I came out to see Gina, I knew why my wife crushed on her. Above strappy heels, her petite-size black pencil skirt wrapped invitingly around an ample ass and a clingy maroon v-neck hugged B cups. Her curly chestnut hair twirled in soft spirals over her shoulders.
Gina went in to kiss my wife on the cheek and landed closer to the corner of my wife’s mouth. She pulled back with an inquisitive look and ran her tongue across deep red lips.
“You have something there on your cheek.”
My wife shot me a look and used her finger and tongue to clean up.
“Oh, I was just tasting the gravy before you got here. Gina, I want you to meet my husband.”
I probably drew Gina in too closely and allowed my hands to stray too far from the neutral zone of her upper back when I hugged her for the first time. It must’ve been the vodka. No one seemed to mind.
Our house eventually filled with 20 people. It was a loud and energetic evening, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off my wife and Gina while I sipped bourbon. They giggled and interacted playfully at the table, smudging their wine glasses with mouths that had tasted my cum.
Bio: Clyde Gunn is a horny bastard of a writer living in the Northeast.