Editor's note: this submission contains scenes of incest or incest content.
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Who doesn't like Thanksgiving? Only Americans could have come up with a holiday devoted basically to gluttony. Turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, and so much moreâit was a day when all diets were off, and you just ate and ate and ate until you could eat no more.
Of course, there's also the pleasureâif it can be called thatâof having family members, from parents to grandparents to aunts and uncles and cousins and everything in between, gather together for the feast. It didn't matter whether, in the ordinary course of events, you actually got along with all these relatives; on Thanksgiving Day you would at least make the pretense that you did.
Myra Jenkins enjoyed both of these aspects of Thanksgiving: food and family. For years she had summoned relatives from both sides of the familyâhers and her husband Dennis'sâto come over to their spacious house for the feast. In all honesty, she liked preparing the feast more than eating itâbut she always glowed with pride when everyone else ate their fill and showered her with compliments.
She was forty-five years old, but looked ten years younger. And, if she did say so herself, she was quite a knockout. Truth be told, she thought her breasts in particularâlarge, round, and still firm even after two children had been suckled on themâwere spectacular. That's why she wore a expensive white cashmere sweater while cooking: it showed off her bust splendidly, and the eager looks sheâor, rather, her chestâreceived from the various males in the house convinced her that she had made the right decision in putting it on.
But it ended up causing her some unexpected problems.
As the dozen or more guests chatted away in the living room, Myra was puttering in the kitchen. There wasn't all that much more to do, since she had prepared many of the dishes earlier that day. But the turkey would take another hour or so to cook, so she decided to spend the time profitably by doing a little bit of advance cleaning up at the kitchen sink. And that's how she got into trouble.
Her hands soapy with dishwashing liquid, she suddenly noticed that her wedding ring had slipped off her fingerâand as she heard it clattering down the drain, she was horrified at the thought that it had fallen into the garbage disposal. The thing wasn't turned on, of course, so there was no chance of the ring being ground up; but she definitely faced a delicate task in rescuing it. Reaching down the narrow drain, she thought she'd found the ring in the midst of the sharp, jagged teeth of the garbage disposalâbut as she was about to pull the ring out, she found that she was stuck.
In fact, the cuff of her cashmere sweater had caught on one of those teeth.
Rolling her eyes, she thought:
Can anything be more absurd?
She didn't want to yank her arm out of the drain, for fear of tearing the fabric and essentially ruining the sweater. And she wondered whether she could even slip her other hand down the drain to release the cuff. It was going to be a tricky operation.
It was at this point that her twenty-two-year-old son, Jerad, sauntered into the kitchen.
Jerad, perennially hungry as he was, was looking for a little snack to tide himself over until the actual meal was served. When he saw his mom with her hand apparently stuck in the kitchen sink, he chortled.
"What's up, Mom? What are you doing?"
"Never mind that," Myra said sharply. "Just help me get my sleeve out of this thing."
Jerad approached her and peered at the drain. The matter was instantly clarified. But he made no effort to help his mom extricate herself.
You see, Jerad had an insatiable fascination with women's backsides. From the sloping shoulders to the arching back to the curvy bottom (especially the bottom!) to the back of the thighs and calves, this part of a woman's anatomy was to Jerad the pinnacle of female beauty. And he had long been aware that his mother had one of the loveliest backsides he'd ever seen.
And now he was gazing at that backside as she was stuck fast in the drain.
"Come on, Jerad!" Myra snapped. "Help me!"
But Jerad only smiled to himself. Continuing to gaze fixedly at his mother's posterior, he reached out and took hold of her hips. Then he pulled down her skirt to the floor.
Myra had been wearing only a thin wraparound skirt, since she knew the kitchen would be warm. When she realized what her son had done, she squawked: "What on earth are you doing, you little brat?"
That kind of language might have intimidated Jerad years ago, when he was a kid; but now that he was an adult, and a lot bigger and stronger than his mom, it had little effect. But even Jerad now paused as he saw his mother now bottomless except for some thin cotton panties covering her.
Do I really have the balls to pull those down and expose my mom's derrière to my sight?