Thanksgiving Secret

Year one, it was Aunt Patricia.

Year two, Cousin Melissa.

Year three, my mother-in-law Donna.

Now it's year four, and I'm standing in my wife's childhood kitchen, surrounded by all three of them, and they're not pretending anymore.

"We've been talking," Patricia says.

"Comparing notes," Melissa adds.

"And we've decided," Donna finishes, "that it's time to stop taking turns."

Let me explain how I got here.

My wife Sarah comes from a family of big women. Not just curvy—big. Generations of soft, voluptuous flesh, wide hips and heavy breasts and bodies that take up space without apology.

Sarah broke the pattern. She's slim, athletic, takes after her father's side. But her mother, her aunt, her cousins—they're all built the same way.

And they all look at me the same way.

Year One: Patricia

Thanksgiving at the family home. Sarah's helping in the kitchen. I'm in the den, watching football, when her aunt Patricia drops onto the couch beside me.

She's fifty-two, divorced, and has to weigh close to three hundred pounds. Her body is aggressive—breasts that strain against every button, a belly that rounds out proud and soft, an ass that takes up half the couch. She's wearing a sweater that's at least one size too small.

"You look bored," she says.

"Just relaxing."

"Mm." She shifts closer. Her thigh presses against mine. "I know something more interesting."

"What's that?"

She takes my hand. Places it on her thigh. Slides it higher.

"The bathroom down the hall," she says. "Lock on the door. No one will miss us for twenty minutes."

I should say no. I should remove my hand. I should go find my wife.

Instead, I let Patricia lead me down the hall.

She was ravenous.

The moment the lock clicked, she was on her knees. "I've been watching you since the wedding," she said, freeing my cock. "Wondering if you'd taste as good as you look."

She swallowed me before I could respond.

Her mouth was hot, experienced, relentless. She sucked me like she was trying to drain my soul. When she finally pulled off, gasping, she bent over the sink and hiked up her skirt.

No underwear. Just Patricia—wet, ready, waiting.

"Quick," she said. "Before they notice."

I fucked my wife's aunt in her childhood bathroom while the family ate turkey twenty feet away.

When we came back separately, no one suspected a thing.

Year Two: Melissa

Same house. Same holiday. Different woman.

Melissa is Sarah's cousin—thirty-four, never married, with the family curves in full effect. She's maybe two-sixty, two-seventy, with the kind of body that makes men walk into walls. Red hair, freckles everywhere, a smile that promised trouble.

She cornered me in the basement.

"Patricia told me about last year," she said.

My blood froze.

"Don't worry." She stepped closer. Her breasts—massive, barely contained by her low-cut dress—brushed my chest. "I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm just... jealous."

"Melissa—"

"I want what she had." Her hand found my belt. "Fair's fair, right? She got Thanksgiving. I want Thanksgiving too."

The basement couch was old and creaky.

Melissa rode me like she was making up for lost time. Her body bounced, her breasts swayed, her moans filled the room. I grabbed her hips—so much soft flesh—and pulled her down harder.

"Fuck yes," she gasped. "Patty was right—you're worth it—"

"She told you—"

"Everything." She ground down, clenching around me. "How big you are. How you fucked her. How you made her come twice before anyone noticed she was gone."

She came around me, shaking, flooding. I followed her over, filling her with my cum.

"Same time next year?" she asked, climbing off me.

I should have said no.

I said yes.

Year Three: Donna

My mother-in-law. Sarah's mother. The matriarch of this family of big, hungry women.

She's fifty-eight, widowed, and the biggest of them all. Has to be three-twenty, maybe more. Her body is a monument—breasts that hang to her waist, a belly that cascades in soft rolls, an ass that could smother a man. She moves slowly, deliberately, like she knows exactly how much space she takes up.

She found me in the garage.

"Patty and Melissa think they're being subtle," she said. "They're not."

I said nothing. What could I say?

"I've known since the first year. Since Patty came back from the bathroom with a glow she hasn't had in years." Donna moved closer. Her body blocked the door. "The question is: what am I going to do about it?"

"Mrs. Harrison—"

"Donna." She reached for my belt. "And what I'm going to do is get my turn."

She didn't ride me. She was too big for that, she said. Her knees couldn't take it.

Instead, she bent over the hood of Sarah's father's old car—still parked in the garage after all these years—and let me take her from behind.

She was wet. Soaked. She'd been thinking about this, she admitted, since the wedding. Since she saw me looking at her during the reception. Since she knew, even then, that I wanted more than her skinny daughter could give me.

"That's it," she moaned as I thrust into her. "That's what I needed—fuck—give it to me—"

I fucked my mother-in-law in the garage while my wife carved turkey inside.

When I came inside her, she laughed.

"I win," she said.

"Win what?"

"I got you last. That means I get you next time too."

I didn't argue.

Year Four: Present

But now they're all here. All three of them. Cornering me in the kitchen while Sarah runs to the store for forgotten cranberries.

"We've been fighting over you," Patricia says. "Behind the scenes. All year."

"Every family dinner, every phone call," Melissa adds. "Who gets the next holiday. Who gets you next."

"We're tired of fighting," Donna says. She's wearing an apron over her dress, like she was helping cook. She probably was. "So we've made a decision."

"What decision?"

They exchange looks. Something passes between them—understanding, agreement, anticipation.

"This year," Patricia says, "we're all taking you. Together."

"Together?"

"At the same time." Melissa's hand finds my arm. "The three of us. And you."

"Sarah will be back any minute—"

"Sarah is at a store twenty miles away," Donna says. "And she's going to call me to complain that they're out of the brand she wanted, and I'm going to tell her to try the other store. We have an hour. Maybe more."

"An hour to do what, exactly?"

Patricia leans in. Her breasts press against my chest. "Everything."

They lead me upstairs.

Not to Sarah's childhood room—that would be too weird, apparently, there are lines even they won't cross. To a guest room at the end of the hall. A room with a king-size bed, a lock on the door, and enough space for four people.

Or rather, for one man and three large women.

"Clothes off," Donna commands. She's already unzipping her dress. "All of them."

I obey. What else can I do?

By the time I'm naked, so are they.

Three BBW goddesses. Naked. Waiting.

Patricia is the smallest—and she's still two-ninety. Her breasts sag but they're still full, her belly is round and soft, her thighs are thick and inviting.

Melissa is in the middle—two-sixty or so, with that red hair cascading over freckled shoulders, her curves young and firm despite their size.

Donna is the largest. Three-twenty of maternal flesh, every inch demanding attention. She's the oldest, but her hunger is the sharpest.

They surround me. Hands everywhere. Touching, stroking, exploring.

"We've all had you separately," Patricia says, her hand on my cock. "But we've never had you together."

"Never compared notes in real time," Melissa adds, her mouth on my neck.

"Never made you choose," Donna finishes, pressing against my back. "Or rather—never made you admit you don't have to."

They push me onto the bed.

Melissa mounts my face immediately—her thick thighs clamping around my head, her pussy settling onto my mouth. She tastes sweet, tangy, desperate.

"Eat me," she demands. "Show them what you showed me in the basement."

I tongue her while Patricia and Donna take positions on either side of me. They're stroking my cock together—four hands, passing me back and forth, building me up.

"He's good, isn't he?" Donna says to Patricia.

"The best I've ever had," Patricia admits. "And I've had a lot."

"He should be inside you," Melissa moans from above. "One of you. Both of you. I don't care—just make him—fuck—just like that—"

She comes on my face. Floods me. I drink it all down.

Patricia goes first.

She straddles me while I'm still recovering from Melissa, taking me inside her with a groan of satisfaction. Her body settles—nearly three hundred pounds of aunt on my hips—and she starts to ride.

"Fuck yes," she gasps. "Missed this—missed you—"

But Melissa isn't done. She positions herself behind Patricia, hands sliding around to grab her cousin's breasts. "Ride him harder," she says. "Show us what you've got."

Donna moves to my head. Kneels. Lowers herself.

"Your mouth," she says. "Keep it busy."

I eat my mother-in-law while her sister-in-law rides my cock and her niece cheers them both on.

They rotate.

Donna takes my cock next—struggling onto me with a groan, her massive body settling, adjusting, finally taking me deep. She's the tightest of the three, despite her size. Or maybe because of it.

"He feels even better than last year," she pants. "Did you get bigger?"

"Harder," Melissa corrects. She's rubbing herself while she watches. "He's harder. More desperate. He knows what he needs now."

Patricia has her turn on my face. Her pussy is still wet from riding me, tangy with her own taste and my precum. She grinds against me without mercy.

"Make me come," she demands. "Make me come while my sister-in-law fucks you."

I make her come.

Melissa's turn on my cock.

She faces away from me—reverse cowgirl—making me watch her ass bounce while she fucks herself on me. Her red hair flies as she moves. Her moans fill the room.

"God, I love this cock," she gasps. "I think about it all year—every time I fuck someone else, I'm thinking about this—"

Patricia and Donna take positions on either side of me. They're touching each other now—not sexually, but possessively. Hands on each other's breasts, each other's bellies. Claiming their territory.

"She's going to make him come," Donna warns.

"Let her," Patricia says. "First round goes to her. We'll take the rest."

"Can you go again?" Donna asks me directly. "After she drains you?"

I'm forty-two years old. I've fucked three women in four years. I have no idea.

"Yes," I say anyway.

Melissa slams down one final time and I explode inside her.

I can go again.

Twice, actually.

The next hour is a blur of flesh and pleasure. I fuck Patricia on her back, her massive body bouncing with every thrust. I take Melissa from behind, her ass rippling like waves. I let Donna ride me again, slow and deep, savoring every moment.

They kiss each other. They don't seem related in these moments—just women, sharing a man, taking pleasure wherever they find it. Patricia's mouth on Melissa's breast. Melissa's fingers inside Donna. Donna eating her niece while I fuck her sister-in-law.

By the time we're done, the bed is destroyed.

And my phone is ringing.

Sarah.

"Mom, I'm on my way back. They didn't have the brand, but I found something similar."

"Perfect, sweetheart. We'll be ready."

Donna hangs up. Looks at the three of us—naked, sweaty, satisfied.

"Twenty minutes," she says. "Clean up. Shower. Pretend this never happened."

"Until Christmas," Patricia adds.

"Same arrangement," Melissa agrees.

They look at me. Waiting.

"Same arrangement," I confirm.

Thanksgiving dinner is perfect.

The turkey is moist, the sides are excellent, Sarah is happy. She holds my hand under the table and tells her family how lucky she is.

"He's the best husband," she says. "I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Neither do we," Donna says, and catches my eye across the table.

Patricia smiles into her wine glass.

Melissa's foot finds mine under the table.

And I realize this is my life now. Every holiday. Every family gathering. Three women who share me in secret while my wife sits oblivious.

I should feel guilty.

I finish my turkey instead.