There’s something deeply satisfying about spending Thanksgiving with a submissive who happens to be a professional chef. No reservations, no crowds, no bland family casseroles. Just one very talented man in an apron, only an apron, cooking for me like his life depends on it.

And it kind of does.

He spent the day preparing everything from scratch. Roasted garlic mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts caramelized in bacon fat, warm dinner rolls, a perfectly glazed turkey. He moved around his kitchen focused and precise, checking seasonings, basting the bird, wiping down counters with military discipline. I just watched and waited.

Dinner was divine. He poured my wine, served my plate, and waited quietly for permission to eat his own.

But of course, that wasn’t the main course I had in mind.

After dinner, I cleared my plate and told him it was time for his stuffing.

I had him bent over the kitchen island, legs spread, cheeks red from the spanking I gave him as I whispered what was coming next. I slid on my strap, slowly and deliberately, while he whimpered and tried to brace himself.

Just like the turkey, he got basted.

Stuffed full, deep, and hard, with my hands gripping those hips as I drove myself in again and again. He moaned and begged, thanking me with every thrust, squirming like a man who knew he had no say in when I’d stop.

By the end, he was shaking, stretched open, and dripping with satisfaction.

And me? I was thankful. For good food, good company, and a boy with a pussy worth giving thanks for.

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