On Being the Thanksgiving Turkey

I'm standing at the front door of my friend's giant house in the suburbs feeling all kinds of emotions chasing each other around inside my body. First, there is the feeling of being out of place. The neighborhood is beyond bougie--all the houses are mansions, all the cars are Porsches and BMWs and Lexuses, all the front yards are immaculately manicured. And then there's me, a late 20s graduate student who's totally broke and dressed in jeans with holes in them and an old, worn jacket.

But if I'm being honest, more than my beater Geo Metro (yeah, a few of those things still exist, believe it or not) parked along the street, it's why I'm here and what I'm about to do that makes me feel I don't belong. You see, my friend and I made a deal, and I'm here to make good on my end of things.

Jessica and I are both terribly nerdy and kinky as hell. We met at a TNG munch and hit it off right away. We must have discussed what happened in the months and years following Star Wars Episode 6: The Return of the Jedi for over three hours and more drinks than I care to acknowledge. She was of the opinion the Empire quickly crumbled and the rise of the New Republic was fairly inevitable. I, on the other hand, wasn't so sure, citing the small size of the Rebellion's forces at the time, their heavy losses during the Battle of Endor, and the daunting challenge of convincing the citizens of the galaxy that the Empire really was dying.

But I digress. Suffice it to say that we indulged each other's nerd-side with gusto. But we also found ourselves quite compatible and similarly aligned on the kink front. Jessica is a dominant, loves control (and using rope to obtain control), is an enthusiastic voyeur (more a 'connoisseur of voyeurism', as she puts it), and loves vore. I, on the other hand, love to be tied up and am a shameless exhibitionist.

In the short time since we met, we attended a couple of community kink events together (a rope practice meetups and a flogging workshop). We found we enjoyed each other's companionship and started to hang out more regularly. The stream of witty banter between us is endlessly amusing, and having someone to enjoy your interests with is priceless.

Fast forward to last Friday (the weekend before Thanksgiving). Jessica and I are in my local comic book store downtown. She's looking for old issues of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ("the older versions are classic!"). I'm perusing the Dungeons and Dragons miniatures section (I'm the dungeon master for my D&D group and am always looking for fun monster minis to spice things up), when I notice that the latest rulebook, Tasha's Cauldron of Everything has finally been released in hardback.

"Jessica!" I squeal in delight, hurring over to her with my arms pressed to my chest and curved in front of me like bunny paws or kangaroo arms or something adorable like that. "You have to see this!"

I'm making myself adorable for comic but also strategic reasons. I really, really, really want this book. And I probably can't wait a second longer to have it. But I'm also, like I said earlier, totally broke. Like, can't-pay-rent-and-eat-anything-but-frozen-corn broke. This book is $49.99, which is roughly 194% of my monthly disposable income. Meanwhile, Jessica is rich. I mean rich. She started a small software company (just her and a handful of freelance developers) and sold it to some medium-sized corporation for millions a while back. She's only 33, but dang is she loaded! To be fair, she's actually not that rich, compared to all the billionaires of the world. But she's got more money than I'll ever make in my life--more money than I can conceive of having--so as far as I'm concerned she's like the Pharaoh of Egypt.

Jessica looks at the book, then across at me. I make my face look so cute and lovable. She's not having it.

"It's a rulebook to the world's most boring roleplaying game," she says in a bored drawl. I pout. She's just insulted what is probably the most important thing in my life. I also happen to know she doesn't hate D&D. She's just sensing that I want her to buy me stuff, so she's throwing cold water on it early.

"It's the most important addition to the 5th edition rules to come out in years!" I exclaim.

No effect.

After an appropriately long pause, I let my face fall and say, "It's really expensive, though."

"Why don't you buy it on Amazon?" she asks, unimpressed.

"Still too expensive," I reply. "Besides, I support the local nerd community."

"No, you don't," came her rejoinder. "I support the local nerd community. You remember who bought that erasable battle map last time, right?"

Touche. Yet I persist.

"Come on! This is really important for my campaign! I'll do anything!"

And there it is. The sound of my fate sealing. Or rather, the look of my fate sealing as a mischievous grin crosses her face.

"Anything?"

My stomach drops a little. I start seriously wondering what's going on inside that wicked skull of hers. I pause, but don't dare hesitate too long. The window of opportunity is fast closing. I nod meekly.

********************

I knock.

No response.

I'm a timid knocker--partly because hitting doors with my knuckles hurts (seriously, it does!), but partly because I'm just sort of a timid person to begin with. The idea of summoning someone all the way to the door feels downright imperious to me, like "who gave you the right to send someone scurrying at your beck and call?" I think this is why I'm a submissive. The idea of controlling someone else is just foreign to me. I feel much more comfortable being small and having stuff done to me.

After a bit I knock again, wondering if Jessica heard me at all the first time. It's a big house, I reason. She could be on the toilet, or in her 3rd office, or 4th living room. Why did she want such a gigantic house anyway? I ask myself. She lives alone, way out here in the 'burbs, far from the interesting people she jives with. I guess that's just what you do when you get money. You buy shit. Like a huge house. Whatever.

Seriously, Jessica?! You're going to summon me all the way here, on Thanksgiving no less, to do crazy, kinky shit and you're not even going to come to the door?! Now I'm feeling imperious, and I knock hard. After two raps, I stop, because my knuckles really hurt. (But seriously, where's the door bell? It's positively barbaric.)

I stand on the front step, shifting on my feet and feeling like a fool, and right as I'm about to turn back to my car I notice movement through one of the thin, glazed, semi-transparent windows that runs parallel to the door from bottom to top. Instantly, my stomach is churny again and my nerves come back. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Jessica opens the door.

"Why, hello there," she purrs, stepping back to let me in. She's wearing a white apron over a fancy brown and black striped button up shirt. The colors and frills look positively Baroque. She's got black skinny jeans on and black socks. She's 5'10" to my 5'6", thin, has straight, black shoulder length hair and bangs, and wears black horn-rimmed glasses. She's intimidating, confident, and classy. Oh, and very in control. Especially at this moment.

Standing like a beggar girl on her doorstep, I'm downright diminutive. I'm 5'6", have jet black hair that I keep pulled back in a ponytail, B cup breasts (that I'm rather proud of), and a slender body. My arms are crossed across my torso, my hands gripping the hem of my jacket. Why am I so shy all of a sudden? It's not like you're not an exhibitionist, I remind myself. And this is your friend. And besides, you agreed to all of this.

"Are you going to stand there all day looking shy or are you coming in?" She raises an eyebrow, looking bored and imperious at the same time. Feeling chastised, I step across the threshold.

Her entryway is gorgeous. A chandelier hangs from two-storey high ceilings. A staircase leads up to the second floor, which I can partly see behind fancy wooden railings. The floor is tiled to look like an Italian villa. The walls are stucco, painted a warm cream color. I follow her straight ahead and through a small archway into a massive dining room/kitchen/living room setup. To my right is the very modern, brand new kitchen, complete with granite counter tops and kitchen island. To the left is a living room setup: two leather sofas, fancy chairs, and a massive flatscreen tv. Straight ahead, in front of a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, sits a large, oak table with 10 chairs. I pause in the middle of it all, taking in the grandeur. Through the windows I can see a small, fenced yard dominated by two massive trees.

"Wow, Jess. This is impressive." She looks at me with a pleased, cocky grin as she heads to the kitchen island. She grabs a massive, white cutting board from it and walks over to the dining table, placing it in the center.

********************

"You want me to do what?" I ask, taken aback.

"Be my Thanksgiving turkey," she responded matter of factly. "How hard is that?"

An incredulous pause ensues.

"You're gonna need to be specific," I finally reply.

"You know I'm into vore," she begins, then quickly clarifies, "I'm not going to actually eat you, of course. Don't be silly." She flops her hand at the wrist to indicate that I'm the crazy one. "I just want to do to you what you normally do to a Thanksgiving turkey... minus the cooking and eating part."

I'm still bewildered. I have never prepared a turkey before. I'm mostly vegetarian these days (primarily because I can't afford meat, but still), and wouldn't know what to do with one. Finally, Jessica caves and starts giving real hints about what she actually wants to do with me.

"Oh, you know! Baste it, stuff it, put it in the center of the table, surrounded by food." She acts impatient and exasperated, but I can sense that in reality she's more than a little embarrassed to describe her kinky desires out loud, to another person who doesn't tick exactly the same way.

I chew on this for a minute. It sounds risky, and kinky as fuck--and therefore exciting. I'm at a stage in my life (which may continue forever, as far as I can tell) where my attitude is pretty much, "fuck it, why not?" And this is definitely an experience I've never had before. I'm intrigued, and Tasha's Cauldron of Everything is right there on the shelf. I need it.

"What do you mean by stuff exactly?"

********************

There's a troubling silence as Jessica turns from slamming the cutting board down on the table and eyes me with a domineering, greedy look. I fill it by chewing the inside of my cheek and shifting back and forth on the balls of my feet.

"Sooooo," I offer. "What's next?"

Jessica grins wickedly. "Next, my dear," she purrs, "you take off all your clothes."

I blush hard. I mean, I kinda knew this was coming, but it's always embarrassing. Every time. It's strange, because I'm a total exhibitionist, and I own it. But to be honest, it's the embarrassment that turns me on, and it embarrasses me to no end to be told to strip while others are watching. I bite my lip and hesitate just a bit.

"Well? Are you going to stand there, or are you going to do as you're told? You can't prepare a Thanksgiving turkey until it's been plucked first." She really leans into the percussives in plucked in a way that felt so objectifying. I could already feel myself getting turned on--a little heat downstairs, a stiffening of my nipples up top. She's gonna see it all in a second and know just how aroused I am.

I turn and walk to the nearest sofa, setting my shoulder bag down on it. Then, without looking at her, I begin taking off my shoes. Then my socks. Despite the tile floor, her place is warm. At least she's thoughtful, I noted to myself. I slip off my jacket and lay it over the back of the sofa. I'm wearing a white t-shirt under my jacket. Jessica looks me over approvingly, almost lustfully.

"Keep going," she prompts, clearly enjoying every second of this. I look down at the floor, my cheeks burning. I can't believe you're doing this, a voice says as I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it up and over my head. I immediately feel the coolness of air against my bare skin. I feel intensely her gaze, the evaluation of my body, my breasts, my belly. I like to think my belly button's cute, but I lose all confidence when stripping in front of an audience.

Jessica's arms are folded across her chest, her eyes fixed on me. I place the shirt next to my jacket and wait--whether hoping she'll be merciful or so totally under her control at this point that I'm awaiting her every command, I can't tell.

"Pants."

Maybe I'm waiting because it's maximally humiliating to be forced to strip each item of clothing on command, as if submitting over and over again. I'm a glutton for punishment, and it turns me on so much. I unbutton my jeans and slide them over my hips and down my legs. My underwear and bra are fairly boring and black; my panties are a little frilly, and a little on the skimpy side. Not that it matters, they're not long for my body anyway.

Jessica pauses, taking me in wearing only my underwear. She's seen me topless (bra still on) once before, at the flogging workshop. This felt different. Alone, in her house, stripping for her. I let her look, content to wait for the next command.

"You look great," she says, breaking character for a moment and becoming nerdy, every-day Jessica again.

"Thanks," I reply with a smile and a blush. I clasp my hands behind my back, giving her an unimpeded view.

"Underwear off, my turkey! Off!"

I scrunch my shoulders, as if I can hide my body or disappear. Then, screwing my courage, I unclasp my hands and swiftly unhook my bra. I shrug it off my shoulders and plac it on the sofa with my left hand while my right arm comes up to cover my tits. Jessica laughs loudly.

"Come now, my sweet, blushing poultry. I'm going to get to know you much better than this in just a moment. You'd best get comfortable." I give her a pouty face, again hesitating. I really am humiliated by my friend seeing my nipples, but decide there's nothing for it. I have already gotten what I wanted. Now it's time to pony up. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my underwear (exposing my breasts) and pull them down with one, swift motion. They join their comrades on the sofa and I stand straight, facing Jessica defiantly with my arms at my sides.

I steal a quick glance down at my body. My large, pink nipples are very erect. My shaved pussy looks bare and vulnerable. My cute little belly button is, I'm sure, getting plenty of visual attention.

"Checking to see what I see?" Jessica crows, lording her dominance over me. I blush further, if possible. "I like what I see," she continues. "Now come over here, my little plaything."

I approach her and the table, feeling the air across every inch of my naked body.

"On the table, please," she asks politely. "Lie down on your back, on the cutting board."

I hesitate for a second. "There's no actually cutting, right?"

"Oh, darling, don't be silly. I'm going to dress you, not cut you."

"Actually, you've undressed me," I retort.

"So I have," she replies, pleased as ever.

Getting no further instructions, I awkwardly climb onto her wooden table. Let me tell you, it's strange crawling across a fancy dining table in a mansion on all fours totally naked with your ass and pussy pointed straight at your friend's face. If you don't believe me, try it some time. I lie down on my back, my knees bent, staring up at the high ceiling.

"Like this?" I ask. It's strange, but all of a sudden I start feeling like food. Not a feeling I'm used to, but I'm definitely lying naked in the center of a dining table, on a cutting board. My firm nipples point straight up. I see Jessica at the end of the table, framed between my thighs.

"Just like that," she purrs wickedly.

********************

"First step is the basting," she cheerfully informs me, walking along the table until she's even with me and placing one hand on my bare belly. I shiver reflexively at her touch. She smiles at this.

"But before we can baste you, we have to tie you."

"Tie me?" I protest. "I didn't know that was a part of the deal."

"Of course it is. Turkeys are always tied. Do you know anything about Thanksgiving?" She narrows her eyes at me, disapprovingly. I shrug helplessly.

"Don't go anywhere," she taunts, giving me a wink.

********************

Jessica is efficient when it comes to rope. She leaves the room and returns with several lengths of well-loved jute rope, and within twenty minutes has me trussed up like... well, like a Thanksgiving turkey, I suppose.

First, she ties my wrists together in front of me, then my calves to my thighs. She then passes the leading ends of each leg tie under my back and up to the other leg, where she pulls it taught and ties it off. The result: my legs are pulled back and down towards my torso, leaving my pussy and ass exposed. I really do start to feel like a turkey ready for eating at this point. But I quickly realize this is just the beginning.

Next she ties a rope around my waist, then runs the leading end between my labia, along my ass and under the length of my body up to my neck. She then pulls my arms over my head and ties them off to the rope from my pussy. At this point she stands back to admire her work.

I'm really tied up, really naked, and really embarrassed. I squirm a bunch, out of a desire to both test the ropes and do something, anything, with this squirmy humiliation I feel. Jessica chuckles softly to herself, then surprises me by stepping forward and taking my right nipple her thumb and forefinger.

"Oh!" I exclaim, caught by surprise and feeling a sudden jolt of pleasure course through my body. I squirm some more, but can't do anything to stop her from teasing my nips.

"You're quite the sexy poultry, you know?" She tweaks my nipple, rolling it back and forth between her fingers while pinching slightly. I surprise myself by moaning loudly. Her eyes narrow deviously and her grin spreads from ear to ear. The combination of helplessness, nakedness, and pleasure were just too much for me right then. But once the moaning is out of the bag, it's hard to put back in, I find. Jessica reaches across me and take my other nipple like the first and spends the next while (how long? I have no idea) playing "tune the radio" with my tits. I squirm helplessly and moan, playing the part of the helpless girl admirably, I like to think.

"Alright," she says finally. "That's enough for now. We have work to do."

With that, she heads to the kitchen. I can't really see what she's doing from my stuck position on the cutting board, but I hear the microwave running for a bit. She returns with a bowl and brush in her hands. The bowl is smallish and glass, and I can see a yellow, buttery looking liquid inside. Her brush is rubbery and blue, with a wooden handle.

"Basting!" She announces with a child-like glee. I get the feeling she's wanted to do this to a naked victim for some time now. I guess that dubious honor falls to me.

Jessica dips the brush into the liquid, dabs the excess off on the side of the bowl, then applies a long stroke to my skin, starting below my breasts and extending down past my belly button to just above my pussy. The liquid is oily and warm, and honestly feels really good.

"Mmmm," I moan. "That feels so good!" Jessica stops short, brush halfway back to my body, and looks back at me as if something is irking her. She walks off, muttering, "Turkeys don't talk back," under her breath. I wonder what I've done now.

********************

Minutes later, the basting is well under way. My belly, breasts, and nipples are well oiled (my nips are as erect as ever, and determined to stay that way). Jessica has finished one side and arm and is working on the other. I grunt as the brush runs gently down the underside of my upper arms, where I'm ticklish. All I can do at this point is grunt, because there's a large, shiny red apple stuck in my mouth. Jessica informs me that if it ever falls out, she will make sure I'm sorry for it. Given my predicament, the apple stays in.