All my stories take place in a parallel world, very similar to our own, where STI’s do not exist, so my stories are filled with practices that are highly unsafe in this world. I’m not going to say don’t try this at home, but take care of yourself.
All my characters are of legal age, and you should be, too—do not read my stories if you are under the legal age in your country/area. Any resemblance to real persons, locations, or events is entirely coincidental.
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“Okay, guys, whoever comes in last on this one has to be the turkey,” Parker warned as we all took up the vintage Nintendo controllers and got ready for the next race. It was Thanksgiving, and the four of us had nowhere to go, for various reasons. When Parker found out, he’d suggested we have a “friendsgiving” at his house instead. We all gave him a funny look.
“What does that even mean?” I asked, absently choosing my avatar for the game.
“Be the turkey?” Wade asked, clearly on the edge of laughter.
“What if you lose?” Melvin asked, and I could feel the rumble of his deep voice all the way at the other end of the couch. “You going to be the turkey yourself?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I know what it is, so I’m not going to lose.”
“Why would we agree to that?” I asked.
“Yeah, man, you aren’t even telling us what you mean,” Melvin backed me up.
“Who cares?” Wade asked, grinning.
“See! That’s the spirit! Don’t worry, guys, it’ll be fun. You don’t want to be the turkey, but you’ll have fun even if you are.” And with that he started the race…
I stared incredulously at the screen. More specifically, I stared at the little “4th place” icon that was hovering over my avatar.
What did that mean now?
“Okay, Quentin, looks like you’re the turkey,” Wade taunted me, laughing.
“I still don’t now what that means,” Melvin muttered. “At least it wasn’t me.”
“It should be you, Parker. You cheated,” I accused.
“Shortcuts aren’t cheating, or else they wouldn’t be in the game. Suck it up, turkey.” He grinned wickedly at me.
“Whatever… What do I have to do, and is dinner almost ready?” As if on cue, my stomach rumbled.
“It’ll be ready by the time we’re done,” Parker promised. He got to his feet and walked over to the table, pulling out a chair and waving me over. “Take a seat.” I got up and walked over, sullen and annoyed. I plopped down in the chair and watched him take out a cardboard box and place it on the table.
“What’s all that?” I asked, eyeing the box over my shoulder.
“It’s the turkey kit,” he said in a tone that implied my question was stupid. He reached into the box and I heard plastic rustle. He pulled out a bundle and shook it out, revealing a clear, oversized plastic bag roughly the shape of a body. “Here, put this on,” he instructed, passing me the bag.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered as I lifted my leg to slide it into the bag.
“Hey,” Parker stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “You have to take off your clothes first.”
“I have to what?”
“You have to take off your clothes,” he repeated.
“Yeah, man,” Wade chipped in, “Turkeys don’t wear clothes.”
They all laughed.
I went red.
“I am not stripping for you faggots,” I snapped, and the laughter died.
“Dude, you lost,” Melvin rumbled. “Don’t be a pussy.”
“Puuuuuussssssyyyyyy,” Wade taunted.
“Puuuuusssy,” Parker joined in.
“Oh, fuck all y’all,” I said, getting to my feet and pulling my shirt off over my head.
“There you go!” Parker cheered, and the guys went from taunting me for losing to cheering me on as I removed each piece of clothing. Finally, I was standing there naked. It was awkward, but we’d all been naked around each other so often in the past that it wasn’t a big deal. I slipped my feet into the bag. It reminded me of those clear food service cloves. It fit loosely around my body as I pulled the bag up. When my hands were in the sleeves, I tried to reach up and gather the bag around my neck, but it was awkward
“I gotcha bro,” Parker said, reaching out and gathering the bag around my neck, gently so that I didn’t feel strangled. I crossed my arms over my lap in a subconscious attempt at modesty.
“So… What now?” I asked awkwardly. “This is so fucking retarded,” I muttered under my breath when the guys just stood around watching me. Their facial expressions were a little odd… Wade just seemed amused, as usual, but Melvin and Parker were both giving me these intense looks. Finally, Parker spoke up.
“Now it’s time to baste our turkey,” he stated matter of factly as he reached into the box and pulled out an unmarked can—it almost looked like a paint can—and a few turkey basters.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Shhhh, Turkeys don’t talk.”
“Fuck you,” I muttered. Parker pried off the lid of the can as I watched, and then squeezed the bulb of the baster and filled it. I watched as a thick, milky looking liquid was sucked up.
“Fill yours, guys,” Parker encouraged Wade and Melvin to participate. He walked up to me, and I felt him press the tip of the baster against the spot where the bunched up plastic met the nape of my neck.
Then, he squeezed.
I gasped as I felt warm liquid run down my back, following my spine. Whatever it was oozed slowly down my back, causing the flesh beneath to tingle.
“What is that?” I asked, the funny feeling growing and growing as I watched Parker walk back to the can to refill his baster. Without intending or it to happen, without thinking about it at all, my hand fell to the side, exposing my crotch to my friends once more.
“Shhh, Quinten, turkeys don’t talk,” Parker admonished me. My mind struggled past the pleasant, tingling sensation that had oozed down my back and tried to be frustrated. That was when I felt the oil start to drip out from under my balls, running in a slick stream along my ass crack. I couldn’t help it. It was so funny, I started to giggle again. Melvin stepped up to me, having filled his own syringe, and squirted it down my front.
Then Wade squirted a baster full down my left side.
Then Parker was back to squirt it down my right side.
Then Melvin squirted another down my back.
Everything felt so strange, I thought, as I giggled up at my friends and let them keep squirting that stuff into the bag.
Basting a turkey!
The tingling was so intense, and it was getting hard to think. This was so much fun, I just wanted to go along with it. I felt something happening that should terrify me. As the tingling spread across more and more of my skin, my cock started to get hard.
In front of Parker.
In front of Melvin.
In front of Wade.
I looked down and watched as my penis kept swelling, larger, harder, slick with oil. It stood straight up between my legs, and I could see my heartbeat in the minor twitches and bounces. The guys started to laugh, and I laughed along with them. It all felt so good. I felt so tingly! I felt so horny! I knew I should care about being hard in front of my friends, but I didn’t care.
I was wearing the bag, so at least I wasn’t naked.
I started to think about being naked around them without the bag on, and started to giggle when I realized that idea was making me horny, too.
Another baster full of syrupy liquid was squirted into the bag, intensifying the sensations that were overwhelming me.
“You ready to get stuffed?” Parker asked, and I froze. It was hard to think, and I couldn’t figure out what he meant, but I wanted to get stuffed, whatever that entailed. Getting stuffed seemed just the thing!
“Yes! Please, stuff me!” I begged
“Silly, Turkey’s don’t talk. Now, are you ready to get stuffed?” He asked again. I struggled to think of how to reply without speaking. I was still trying to puzzle it out when a strange sound broke the silence.
“GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE!” I cried out, and then realized what I’d done and started to giggle again.
I’m a turkey!
“GOBBLE GOBBLE!” I pleaded, once more, to be stuffed. Hands tore away the plastic bag, and I felt a rush of cool air hit my oil-slicked skin.
“Get on all fours,” Parker instructed.
“Yeah, we’ll stuff you good,” Melvin rumbled.
“Holy fuck, look at him!” Wade laughed.
“Just you wait,” Parker said to Wade before turning his attention back to me. “Now, get on all fours, turkey.” The chair was taken away, and I sank down to the tile floor, the oil dripping from my body creating a slick patch. I struggled to hold my limbs in place, my muscles straining as the weight of my body tried to side them out from under me. I caught myself, and then I noticed that the guys were taking off their clothes.
Wade wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Parker was unfastening his jeans.
Melvin’s cock was out.
My eyes slid up the thick, flaccid shaft. I’d never looked at another guy’s penis before, but wow… Just… Wow… My concentration failed me, and my limbs slid out in all four directions. I strained, and struggled, and got back into place, and by that time they were all naked.
Just like me.
My eyes locked onto their cocks as they continued to swell, filling with blood, becoming rigid, demanding, needing…
They’re hard just like me! I thought with another giggle. I’d never seen them hard before, but seeing their huge, throbbing cocks in front of me now was…
It was kind of fun!
It was fun to get to see my friends’ penises.
It was fun to see them naked.
They looked good. I just looked at them and giggled, muscles quivering as I struggled to keep myself in place. They started to stroke their cocks, and my attention fixated on Melvin’s thick, dark, shaft. Then I felt someone move between my legs. I started to quiver again, struggling not to slip on the slick ground. I felt my legs squeeze together, tightening around… Was it Parker or Wade? I knew it wasn’t Melvin, because I was still looking at his cock.
My legs pressed against him, curling around him to hold myself up.
My hands started to slip, so I wrapped my legs around him, tighter.
I felt a pressure against my ass, unrelenting, waiting… Hands grasped my shoulders, squeezing gently.
“Ready to be stuffed?” I heard Parker ask.
“GOBBLE! GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE!”
I’m a turkey! I need to get stuffed! I wanted it! Parker laughed and then pulled on my shoulders as he pushed his hips forward.
They had basted me well.
The oil that they had soaked me with had slicked my ass up, and he slid right into me. No resistance. No complaints. That warm, tingling sensation from the oil spread up into my hole as he fucked me, and I just wanted it more. I vaguely remember some comment about how tight my pussy was. I just moaned, and giggled, and let him keep going.
I was so happy!
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so… Right.
“Fuck!” He cried out. “Here you go, faggot!” He pressed into me, and I felt his cock start to pump his cum into my guts.
I’m getting stuffed!
“GOBBLE! GOBBLE GOBBLE! GOBBBBBBLLLEEE!” I cried out, firing a load between my legs onto the floor. When he was done, Parker withdrew and got to his feet. I struggled to muster the strength to fight the frictionless floor, the need for more stuffing rising up within me.
“Wait, stay still,” Parker instructed, and then he removed the bulb from his baster and started to scoop my cum up into it. He replaced the bulb, and then shoved the baster into my ass, giving it a squeeze and driving my own load into my guts. My arms slid apart, and my right cheek met the ground.
I kept my ass raised.
I needed them to stuff it until it was full. Melvin moved between my legs, and I tightened them in desperation. I felt the head of his cock at my hole and squeezed my legs tight, trying to pull him inside me…
The next morning, I woke up in my own bed and was shocked by the events of the night before. I’d been fucked by my friends while I gobbled like a turkey.
That was fucked up.
That was wrong.
That was fucking hot.
I shook my head and tried to pay attention to how I was feeling. It wasn’t the same. I didn’t have that need… I didn’t feel drugged… But I did feel…
I shook my head and thought about my girlfriend. We’d been together for six months, and I fucked her all the time… Thinking about fucking immediately shifted my mind back to the events of the night before.
Back to getting stuffed.
As memories of fucking my girlfriend fought with memories of getting stuffed filled my head, I realized that getting stuffed had felt so much better than fucking my girlfriend.
I remembered Parker’s cock sliding into me. And Wade’s. And Melvin’s. I shuddered at the memory of Melvin’s thick tonfa of a cock, and then melted into my sheets at the memory of Wade’s more modest shaft driving deep to bump into just the right places.
Getting stuffed felt so good.
Do you have to be gay for guys to stuff their cocks into your ass?
I’m not gay, I just want to get stuffed like a turkey again. My hand absently found its way to my own swollen shaft and started to stroke it while I thought back to getting stuffed by my friends.
By their cocks.
By their cum
I thought back to the humiliating sounds I’d made as I came my brains out with my friends’ dicks up my ass.
Fuck! I loved getting stuffed! I need to get stuffed again! It didn’t matter if it was gay.
I need to get stuffed with cocks!
I need to… Stuffed…. Cocks…
My eyes rolled back into my skull as my cock exploded, showering my body with cum.
“GOBBLE!” I cried out, feeling the first splash hit my tongue. “GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE!” When it was over, I understood, truly understood, that getting stuffed was what I needed now. It didn’t matter that whatever that tingly stuff was had worn off, I just needed more stuffing. I scooped up my cum and started to shove it into my ass, funneling as much cum as I could into my guts. Maybe if I asked nicely enough, my friends would let me be their turkey all year long!
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