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p on the countertop and assume the position.</p><p id="b277">He wastes no time shuffling out of his boxers, moving close to my spread-eagle legs. His drumstick is ready to poke me, no preparation required on my part. I wrap my arms around him and brace myself for impact. He drives into me with all his might and I push myself against him with all of mine. It’s a race against the clock and we are both up for the challenge.</p><p id="bf0c">We hump, we pump, we thrust, we thrash until all of our desires culminate in that ultimate crash. My body shakes against the cold kitchen counter and our mouths are drawn to each other like magnets as we seal this quickie with a deep kiss.</p><p id="a277">The drumstick has been my favorite part of Thanksgiving ever since.</p><p id="6221"><b><i>More from Kiki Wellington:</i></b></p><div id="8282" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/7-thanksgiving-dinner-aphrodisiacs-bd6a21772e"> <div> <div> <h2>7 Thanksgiving Dinner Aphrodisiacs</h2> <div><h3>Your Turkey Day meal is sexier than you may think</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*8mABzvPO2C4K63_S5ooAXQ.jpeg)"></div>

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Photo by HayDmitriy on DepositPhotos

MICRO MONDAY, THANKSGIVING EROTICA, FLASH FICTION

Give Me Your Drumstick

A Thanksgiving quickie

He flings me around and kisses me, not remotely concerned that my hand was just in a turkey’s ass and slimy giblets are still crawling down my arms.

“Come on, you know we don’t have time for this,” I tell him. He knows I have to put dinner in the oven. He knows his parents will be ringing the doorbell at any minute.

But he also knows that between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, we won’t get a moment alone as the parade of relatives march in and out of our house like an orchestra on steroids. And I know that by the end of the holiday season, I’ll be wanting it like a dog in heat.

So I get it.

I quickly wash my hands, feeling myself getting wet above and below. I move the turkey to the side, pulling my apron up and my panties down. I prop myself up on the countertop and assume the position.

He wastes no time shuffling out of his boxers, moving close to my spread-eagle legs. His drumstick is ready to poke me, no preparation required on my part. I wrap my arms around him and brace myself for impact. He drives into me with all his might and I push myself against him with all of mine. It’s a race against the clock and we are both up for the challenge.

We hump, we pump, we thrust, we thrash until all of our desires culminate in that ultimate crash. My body shakes against the cold kitchen counter and our mouths are drawn to each other like magnets as we seal this quickie with a deep kiss.

The drumstick has been my favorite part of Thanksgiving ever since.

More from Kiki Wellington:

Erotica
Flash Fiction
Fiction
Microfiction
Festive
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