Shattered Taboos: A Thanksgiving Inferno
🔥 Jump to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 💋
Chapter 1: The Fevered Pickup
I idled the engine of my beat-up Ford in the dim lot of the Greyhound depot, the acrid tang of diesel fumes clawing at my nostrils. It was that brittle gray afternoon before Thanksgiving, the kind where frost clung to windshields like desperate fingers. My pulse hammered wild against my ribs. Mia. My little sister, home from her freshman year at State U. Two months since that wild bonfire party where everything shattered between us.
A bus wheezed to a halt, doors hissing open. Passengers spilled out, bundled against the chill, their chatter a dull roar in my ears. Then there she was—Mia, lugging a battered backpack, her raven hair chopped into a fierce pixie cut that framed her sharp cheekbones. Gone was the shy girl I’d known; this version wore ripped fishnets under a leather mini-skirt, combat boots thudding on concrete, lips smeared cherry red. Our eyes locked. Heat flooded my veins.
She slung her bag in the truck bed and vaulted into the passenger seat without a word. Before I could blink, she was on me, thighs straddling my lap, her scent—a heady mix of vanilla body spray and something muskier—enveloping me. “Jake,” she breathed, crashing her mouth to mine. Tongues tangled in a furious dance, salty and sweet from whatever gum she’d chewed. My hands gripped her hips, denim grinding against my swelling cock through my jeans.
“Missed this,” I growled, nipping her lower lip. She moaned low, rocking against me, the friction sending sparks up my spine. Her fingers clawed my shirt, nails scraping skin. The windows fogged quick, our heavy breaths syncing like a primal rhythm. Outside, folks hustled by, oblivious or not—I didn’t give a damn.
My phone buzzed insistent on the dash. Mom. “Fuck,” I muttered, easing Mia off. She pouted, eyes dark with frustration, sliding back to her seat. I hit answer. “Yeah, Ma?” Elena’s voice crackled, demanding we hit the market for fixings—they’d partied too hard last night with Victor, her new husband, couch-bound and hungover.
Mia rolled her eyes, but smirked when I hung up. “Guess the house ain’t empty.” Her voice dropped husky. “But I need you, Jake. That audio I sent? Fingers deep in my slick heat, moaning your name…” She trailed off, hand drifting to my thigh, squeezing. I groaned, cock throbbing at the memory—her voice, breathy and desperate, echoing in my headphones last night.
We peeled out toward the supermarket, air thick with unspoken hunger. At a red light, she leaned over, whispering hot against my ear, “Feel how wet I am already?” Her fingers guided mine under her skirt, past lace panties soaked through. I dipped in, her warmth clenching greedy around my digit. “Passionate fire like this… can’t wait forever.”
Chapter 2: Supermarket Sparks and Kitchen Grind
The fluorescent buzz of the grocery store grated like a hangover. We pushed a cart through aisles stacked with canned cranberries and pumpkin pies, Mia’s hip bumping mine deliberate. Victor’s clan was invading tomorrow—his sleazy brother, nagging wife, teenage brats—turning our cramped ranch house into a sardine tin. No privacy. But Mia’s proximity? Electric torture.
She grabbed my hand casual, lacing fingers as we snagged a twenty-pound bird. “Remember the beach that night?” she murmured, squeezing. Flashback hit hard: bonfire crackling, salt wind whipping, us stumbling behind dunes. I’d pinned her down, skirt hiked, plunging into her tight pussy under stars. Her cries muffled in my shoulder, body arching passionate against mine.
Back home, the screen door slapped shut. Mom and Victor snored oblivious on the living room sectional, TV blaring infomercials. Cinnamon wafted from the kitchen—Mia, donning an oversized flannel that barely skimmed her thighs, flipping French toast at the stove. Her ass swayed hypnotic, bare legs gleaming. Wholesome tradition from Grandma, twisted filthy in my head.
I crept up silent, morning wood rigid as steel. Pressed flush to her back, my hardness nestled between those plump cheeks. She gasped soft, then ground back deliberate, slow circles that made my balls ache. “Jake,” she hissed, voice thick. My arm snaked ’round her waist, palm sliding up to cup one full breast, nipple pebbling hard under my thumb. I pinched, rolled, eliciting whimpers that vibrated through her.
Her hand yanked mine lower, urging toward her core. Fingers found her drenched folds, slipping easy into velvet heat. She bucked, stove forgotten, toast charring. “God, fuck me right here,” she panted, passionate need raw in her eyes.
“WHO’S BURNING BREAKFAST?” Mom bellowed from upstairs. We froze. Mia flipped the ruined slice frantic, I snatched OJ and plopped at the table, cock straining painful. Mom shuffled in, yapping about the mess, oblivious to Mia’s flushed cheeks, stiff peaks tenting the flannel. We exchanged sly grins under the table, her bare foot nudging my crotch teasing.
Later, sheets fresh on my bed—soon surrendered to Victor’s kin—I heard the shower cut. Knocked. “Mia?” Door cracked, steam billowing like a veil. There she stood, nude and dripping, skin flushed rose from hot water. Raven strands plastered to pert tits, water beading down toned abs to that neat landing strip above her swollen lips. Arms outstretched, towel draped back, pose pure invitation.
“Come get me,” she purred. I lunged, but she wrapped up quick, sauntering past with a wink. “Not yet, big bro.” Left me raging hard, fist pumping furious in the hall shadow later, cum splattering tile to her taunting giggle from the bedroom.
Chapter 3: Basement Blaze and Digital Desire
Victor’s horde arrived midday, tires crunching gravel. Hugs reeked of cheap cologne and travel sweat. Step-uncle Ray, loudmouth with a beer gut; Aunt Lila, pinched face; cousins—bratty 16-year-old Dex and little Tara, 12. Luggage avalanche. Mom barked orders: “Jake, Mia—basement duty!” We’d rigged it dorm-style: air mattresses, sleeping bags amid concrete damp.
Dragging bags down dim stairs, laughter echoed above. Paused midway. Mia spun, eyes feral. Crashed into me, lips bruising passionate, tongues warring sloppy wet. Hands everywhere—mine hiking her corduroy skirt, palming ass through sheer tights; hers clawing my back, grinding mound on my bulge. “Rip ’em off,” she begged, nipple tweaking through sweater drawing mewls.
“MIA! KITCHEN NOW!” Mom’s screech shattered. Groans synced, we straightened rumpled clothes, ascended flushed and frustrated.
Afternoon dragged in the living room, parade balloons bobbing onscreen amid family yammer. I perched cornered by Ray’s hunting tales, eyes stealing to Mia across the rug, legs tucked under black-stockinged thighs. Phone vibrated. Her text: Hostess act is cringe. Still throbbing from basement.
I smirked covert. Your tits in my grip? Perfection. Ass grinding my dick this morning… bend you over stove next time.
Her reply quick: Wet reliving it. Panties ruined. Choke me on your cock later?
Face heating, cock tenting jeans, I shifted discreet. Bury face in your dripping slit till you squirt. Bedroom, panties gagging you, bouncing that ass.
She bit lip, eyes locking hungry across the room. Mom yapped nearby; Mia fumbled phone drop, cheeks blazing. Texts flew filthy: her craving cum down throat, me vowing to fist her tight cunt raw. Pretzel cough covered my near-moan when Ray eyed me suspicious.
By dusk, tension coiled spring-tight. Mia vanished kitchen-ward; I nursed a beer, balls blue aching. New spark: garage escape later? Tools and shadows perfect cover.
Night fell heavy. Family crammed—Ray and boys basement-bound, Lila couch hog. My room to them; I couch-surfing. Mia bunked with Tara upstairs. Whispers in dark: her slipping note under door. Midnight. Back porch. 🔥
Chapter 4: Feast Under Siege
Thanksgiving table groaned under bounty: bronzed turkey steaming sage-scented, creamy mashed peaks, sticky candied yams, rolls butter-drenched. Mom and Mia slaved stoves hours; air thick gravy-rich, oven char linger. We bowed heads, Ray droning prayer endless. My foot found Mia’s under tablecloth, calf stroking deliberate.
Carving commenced, Victor monologuing truck woes—latest DUI scheme, pressure-wash van flop incoming. Revenge brewed: bathroom tease payback. Passed potatoes casual, knuckles grazing her thigh ‘neath skirt. She jolted subtle, eyes widening when my pinky traced lace edge. Family chattered oblivious; my hand delved bolder, fingers parting slick lips.
Mia clamped thighs trap my wrist, but rocked micro-thrusts, sauce spoon clattering her distraction. “Pass the rolls,” she gasped breathy. I plunged two fingers knuckle-deep her clenching heat, thumb circling clit swollen. Her free hand gripped table edge white-knuckled, bite lip bloody near. Juices coated my palm, obscene squelch masked by cutlery clink.
Ray eyed odd: “You okay, girl?” “Fine… just passionate about the meal,” she choked, orgasm crashing silent—thighs quaking, walls milking my digits fierce. I withdrew slow, sucking clean her tangy essence amid napkin dab. Her glare promised hellish payback.
Dinner blurred laughter, pie slices oozing cinnamon. Cleanup chaos; I dodged to garage, hood up on junker Chevy, pretending oil check. Mia slipped in minutes later, door clicking shut. “You bastard,” she snarled playful, shoving me against workbench. Fumbled my zipper frantic, fist wrapping my veined length, stroking velvet-over-steel.
“Suck it,” I demanded, tangles her hair. She dropped kneel, gravel biting knees, mouth engulfing hot. Sloppy glurks filled oily air, her tongue swirling ridges, cheeks hollowing. Gagged deepthroat, tears streaking mascara, saliva dripping chin. Balls drew tight; pulled out, spun her ’round.
Skirt flipped, tights ripped crotch, panties yanked aside. Slammed home raw—her cunt gripping like vise, velvet fire. “Fuck, so tight,” I grunted, pounding relentless, hips slapping ass echoes. She braced tools clattering, back arched catlike. “Harder, Jake—ruin my pussy!” Climax ripped us synced, my seed flooding deep, her squirt soaking thighs.
Panting aftermath, she turned tender, kissing sweat-slick brow. “Love this forbidden rush.” We straightened hasty, rejoining pie cheers none wiser. Bond deepened slick with cum.
Chapter 5: Midnight Eruption and Lingering Embers
House slumbered deep past midnight, snores rumbling walls. Porch note burned urgent in pocket. Slipped out back door creak-muffled, crisp air nipping skin. Mia waited shadowed swing, silk robe barely concealing curves, moonlight silvering skin.
“Finally,” she whispered, pulling me down. Lips met slow at first, building passionate storm—tongues exploring lazy then feral, hands roaming fevered. Robe fell open; I suckled nipples berry-hard, teeth grazing drawing gasps. Her fingers freed my cock anew, stroking worshipful as she straddled lap.
“Ride me,” I urged, guiding her descent. Inch by throbbing inch, she impaled slick—inner walls fluttering welcome, juices sluicing shaft. Swung rocked hypnotic, tits bouncing hypnotic, nails raking chest bloody trails. Moans mingled night chorus crickets, wind.
Flipped positions, her back to swing chains, legs hooked shoulders. Piledrove merciless, balls smacking swollen folds audible wet. “Your cock… owns me,” she babbled, heels digging ass urging deeper. Fingers invaded her ass dual-stuffed, star clenching greedy. She shattered first—scream bitten shoulder, gush flooding us sticky.
I chased, erupting ropes painting cervix hot. Collapsed entwined, breaths syncing ragged. Stroked her damp hair gentle. “What’re we doing, Mia? This passionate chaos…”
She traced lips soft. “Doesn’t matter. Feels right. Family tomorrow? More risks.” We shared lazy sixty-nine cleanup, tongues lapping mingled cream, her musk coating my beard.
Dawn crept reluctant as we parted guilty-thrilled, house stirring. Holiday stretched four days packed—stolen glances loaded promise. Basement brushes, kitchen winks, text barrages filthy. One night, Ray’s boys asleep feet away, she crawled my bag silent, mouth milking quiet cum-swallow. Another, shower tandem risky, water masking cries as I fisted her gaping.
Guilt flickered rare—Mom’s weary eyes spotting our closeness “new.” But desire drowned it. Victor’s plea-fest family cash flopped comic; we smirked united. Departure bus loomed, her kiss final porch scorching: “Christmas… no holds.”
Alone post-drop, fist blurred memory-fueled. Shattered taboos forged us unbreakable—passionate inferno banked, not quenched. Truck roared homeward, cum stains seat trophy eternal.
💋 Yet hunger gnawed eternal, siblings bound filthy flame.
