Bisexually Stuffed By An Orgy Of Sentient Thanksgiving Foods

As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches, Treebo has found himself in an unfortunate situation. Due to an unfortunate lack of planning, he’s found himself without a Thanksgiving or a Friendsgiving to attend.

Fortunately, Treebo’s buddy has a connection with another kind of celebration — a Poundsgiving — and now Treebo is on the list.

But when Treebo arrives he discovers that he’s the only human in attendance. Now surrounded by gorgeous sentient food, Treebo’s about to discover there’s only one thing on tonight’s menu… his ass.

This erotic tale is 4,200 words of sizzling bisexual human on sentient Thanksgiving food action.

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BISEXUALLY STUFFED BY AN ORGY OF SENTIENT THANKSGIVING FOODS

By Chuck Tingle

The second he looks at me, Greg can tell something’s terribly wrong. He’s likely even more aware of this oppressive sadness than I am, since I’ve spent the last few days trying to bury these issues deep within. Of course, it hasn’t worked, as these things tend to hide away in the shadows of your mind, rather than leave entirely.

Gradually, signs of my frustrated emotional state have started creeping back in, displaying themselves in unexpected ways. Ever since I realized my fate, nothing has felt right. Even the things that usually give me immense joy seem boring and dull.

Meeting up with Greg for chocolate milks is one such thing, and while I’d never just tell him I found the prospect of our current hang less than stirring, he can read it right on my face.

Greg rises from his seat at the milk café and opens his arms to greet me, his embrace feeling the slightest bit tighter this afternoon as if to say ‘I know you need a buddy right now.

The second we separate he jumps right into it, getting down to business.

“What’s up?” Greg questions, motioning to the empty chair next to me and taking a seat of his own.

I let out a long sigh, suddenly feeling a bit overdramatic about all this. I’m acting as though I just learned a family member died, or something equally traumatic, and my current situation is far from traumatic.

Annoying, maybe. Depressing,even.

Before I get the chance to say anything our drinks arrive, ordered before I got here it seems. Two frosty glasses of chocolate milk are placed before us.

“They have a really amazing pumpkin pie,” Greg explains, “but I’m saving that for tomorrow night. Thanksgiving, you know?”

His words hit me a lot harder than they probably should, the sour expression on my face somehow becoming even more pained for the briefest second. I manage to pull myself back into line, but the damage is already done.

Greg just stares, waiting for me to speak. By now, however, I’m sure he’s starting to understand what’s going on..

“I know it’s silly,” I start, “but I’m just kinda sad about having nowhere to go on Thanksgiving.”

Now it’s my friend’s turn to struggle with his expression, hoping to hold back the empathetic sadness that immediately crosses his face. “Your family thing didn’t work out?” he questions.

I thought this might be coming, but over the last two days nothing was definite. Now, the whole picture has fallen into place, revealing my fate.

I shake my head. “Nope, the parents are going to Hawaii this year and my brother is in New York. Sister is headed back to Billings. The rest of the family is even farther spread out.”

“Sounds like everyone else is okay with being spread out,” Greg notes, trying his best to not be an asshole, but making this observation none-the-less.

He’s not wrong, this is definitely a me problem, but still.

“They had time to prepare,” I explain. “I figured I’d still go home and see my parents, as usual, but this trip came out of nowhere. I could always fly and join someone, but plane tickets are out of control right now. I mean, it’s already expensive to fly this time of year, but tickets the day before? Forget about it.”

Greg takes a long sip of his chocolate milk, considering my predicament. “Well, I’m sorry I won’t be here, or you could spend Thanksgiving with me,” he finally offers.

I laugh. “The one year I choose to stay in Los Angeles is the year that all my friends decide to go home.”

“Quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in, Treebo,” Greg offers. “No other friend groups around? You’re a popular guy!”

“Everyone is gone,” I reiterate.

Not being around the people I love and care about is going to make this holiday miserable, I’m sure, but as my gaze drifts to the counter over Greg’s shoulder I can’t help the other sinking disappointment that washes over me. From here I have a perfect view of the café’s glass front counter, the day’s pastries and pies all out on proud display.

The pumpkin pie that Greg opted against is sitting there in perfect stillness, almost taunting me. It looks absolutely delicious, but right now it’s serving as a terrible reminder that, not only will I miss the company this year, I’ll also miss the food.

My stomach grumbles slightly.

“You sure you don’t want to fly back to Texas with me and have Thanksgiving with my family?” Greg questions.

I shake my head. “That’s a very kind invite,” I gush, “but it really is just so expensive. I think this year will have to be my first November with no Thanksgiving and no Friendsgiving.”

The two of us fall into silence for a moment, the weight of my statement sinking in. There’s something about it that seems tragically final.

“If only there was some other tradition I could find,” I offer with a laugh. “Petsgiving! Aquantiancegiving!”

The second these words leave my lips I catch a spark in Greg’s eye, a sudden realization bubbling up from deep within. Still, my friend hesitates.

“What is it?” I ask.

Greg chuckles, shaking his head as some inner battle wages within him.

“What?” I insist. “You have to tell me now.”

“Well, there is one other way to celebrate,” he finally admits. “Have you ever heard of a poundsgiving?”

I shake my head. “What’s that?”

A mischievous smile slowly makes its way across my friend’s face. “It’s a place where people get together on the fourth Thursday of November and pound.”

At first I’m not entirely sure what he’s trying to say. I understand the words, but there’s something about this particular combination that causes my mind to temporarily short circuit.

Suddenly, however, it all clicks into place. A sight gasp escapes from between my lips.

“Oh!”I blurt, a little too loud, then lower my voice and lean in. “Are you serious?”

Greg nods. “I mean, you don’t have to pound or anything, it’s very casual, but if you want to pound then it’s highly encouraged.”

I’m still not entirely sure if my friend is fucking with me, but I’m willing to go along with it. At this point, what other options do I have?

“Would you like me to get you in?” Greg continues. “I know someone who can make sure you’ve got a spot.”
 “I… guess,” I stammer.

Greg eyes me, clearly not convinced by my response.

“Yes,” I finally reply, this time with all the confidence I can muster.

Strolling up the front walk I’m surprised at just how Thanksgivingy it all seems, despite the slightly more carnal circumstances.

I’ve parked my car on the sidewalk out front, finding myself in a quiet neighborhood located deep within The Valley. This particular slice of the suburbs is free from any palms or other Southern California signifiers, instead offering up a glorious row of broad, leafy trees on either side of the lane.

Most of the leaves are still hanging on, but they’ve transformed into a glorious shade of burnt orange.

The home I’ve been directed to is luxurious but quaint, with an adorable front walk that winds through the yard and leads to an inconspicuous red door.

I can immediately smell the mouthwatering aroma of every Thanksgiving favorite wafting over me. Whoever’s in charge of this meal has clearly gone all out, a little something for everyone.

I catch a whiff of the garlic mashed potatoes, the herby stuffing, the sweet and delicious cranberry sauce and, of course, a moist turkey.

Based on what’s in store, I’m a little shocked they have this kind of food at all. I’ve never been to an orgy before, but I can only imagine they’d usually keep feasting to a minimum. A small assortment of snacks, sure, but going all out like this is really committing to the theme of the season.

Who am I to critique it, though? I’m just happy to be here.

I stroll up the front walk and knock three times on the door. From out on the porch I can hear excited conversations bubbling up within, a warmth both literal and metaphorical exuding from behind this door.

“Coming!” someone yells out.

Seconds later, the door opens, but the figure standing before me is not at all what I expected.

Floating in the air is a beautiful plate of steaming, buttery mashed potatoes.

“Oh, hey!” I stammer. “Is this the Lort residence?”

I step back a moment and glance around, searching for the address in an effort to double check I’m at the right place.

The living mashed potatoes smile. “Are you lost?” she questions. “We were just sitting down for a nice, quiet Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Sorry about that,” I reply, shaking my head. “I must be at the wrong house.”

“You’re probably looking for the orgy next door,” the mashed potatoes continue.

My heart skips a beat as she says this, a mortifying sense of self-consciousness erupting through my veins. I try my best to act natural. “There was an… orgy next door?”

The sentient food nods. “Really disgusting stuff over there,” she offers, her expression deeply solemn until she finally can’t take it anymore. “I’m just fucking with you, this is Lort’s house.”

A wave of relief washes over me. “Oh my god,” I stammer. “I felt so awkward. I really thought I was at the wrong house.”

The mashed potatoe’s face drops again. “Why? Because food can’t fuck?” she questions.

“No!” I stammer, the emotional whiplash almost too much to handle.

Fortunately, the living food relents again.

“Just kidding,” she blurts with a smile, then motions me inside. “Come on in, I’m Emily.”

“Treebo,” I reply, introducing myself in turn.

The second I step through the threshold of this warm home I’m hit with yet another wave of the powerful Thanksgiving scent, the smell of this glorious feast nearly bowling me over.

I’m immediately greeted by all the seasonal senses one might expect, but as I round the corner I find myself screeching to yet another halt. I now have a view of the dining room, and from here I can see there are no other guests this evening. Well, no other human guests.

Instead, the scene is filled with several delicious portions of happily chatting living food, these sentient dishes hovering above each chair that makes their way around a large central table. Everything you could hope for is here: corn, bread, green beans, stuffing, and cranberry sauce.

The only thing missing is a turkey, which has been replaced by a similar looking loaf of tofu.

The whole group stops when they see me, immediately falling into silence.

“Oh, hi,” I stammer, not entirely sure what to say. “I’m Treebo, my friend Greg said I could celebrate Thanksgiving with you all.”

This moment of awkward silence lasts a brief second longer, then finally breaks in a round of excited cheers and warm smiles.

“You’re here!” says the dish of sentient stuffing, floating over to introduce himself. “I’m Lort.”

“Thanks for having me,” I reply. “I really appreciate it.”

I can’t help it as my eyes continue wandering over this assortment of diners, taking them all in. Everyone is startlingly attractive, not just as plates of food, but as erotic partners.

“I can’t help but notice I’m the only human,” I cautiously add.

The stuffing grins. “It’s you’re lucky day, I guess. We rarely have humans around on this evening. It’s dangerous for sentient foods, you know?”
 I shake my head, not entirely sure what he’s getting at.

“Well, people are in the mood to eat,” Lort explains. “Usually that’s not a huge problem, but hunger sometimes the best of folks on Thanksgiving. All the non-living food is served up, while all the sentient food takes the evening to hunker down and spend some quality time.”

I suddenly feel quite guilty about noting how delicious they all look, taking a moment to suppress these cravings that bubble up within me.

I now notice there’s no food on the table, a completely empty spread.

“I never really thought of it that way,” I reply. “What do you eat then?”

Lort hesitates. “Greg didn’t tell you? Tonight we’re having human for dinner!”

These words immediately make my blood run cold, a sharp icicle of terror erupting through my frame.

“Oh!” I stammer, baking away.

The second Lort sees just how frightening I am his expression drops. He quickly waves away my concerns. “Oh my god, I’m kidding” the living stuffing interjects with a laugh. “We’re sentient food, we don’t eat anything.”

A wave of relief washes over me. I can’t help but reach up and grip my heart, as though this instinctual movement might slow the pace of its elevated slams.

“You got me,” I admit, shaking my head. “You sentient Thanksgiving foods sure like to joke around.”

“Haven’t you heard of a Thanksgiving roast?” Lort questions. “That’s where the phrase comes from.”

“I figured it meant roasting something in the oven,” I suggest.

The stuffing shakes his head. “No, like comedyroast. You humans love to get in there and change the meaning of everything.”

I laugh. “Let me guess, next you’re gonna tell me Thanksgiving isn’t really about giving thanks.”

“Oh, it is,” the living food counters. “It’s just that we like to show our appreciation for one another a special, unique way. That’s what poundsgiving is all about.”

I realize now that the dining room has fallen into silence once again, the living food items exchanging mischievous glances with one another.

Lort addresses the room. “Maybe now that our final guest is here we should get started.”

The second he says this the living feast springs into action, each item pairing off in a wild eruption of carnal lust. Lort and me find one another in the chaos, our lips meeting in a fit of unbridled passion. He tastes incredible, a savory, herb filled stuffing that immediately reminds me of all the things I love about this holiday.

The two of us being to explore one another’s bodies, our hands roaming excitedly across each form.

I take note of Lort’s exceptionally crafted dish, running my hands across the smooth surface of his semi-rectangular form. The sentient stuffing lets out a long, satisfied moan as I touch him, his enthusiasm returning in the form of a gentle walk with his fingers across my chest and stomach. He’s pulled away most of the fabric that once hid my body, exposing my skin of the cozy warmth of the evening.

The closer his attention draws to my waistline, the more anxious I get. My swelling cock lies just below, an aching member that yearns for his savory touch.

The stuffing teases me, lingering here with his fingers and allowing the tension to build.

“Please,” I beg, the singular word falling softly from my lips.

Finally, Lort has mercy, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around my rod. The living food immediately gets to work, pumping his fist slowly across my length as my hips push back against him.

I go in for another deep kiss, and when I pull back I find that another figure has appeared behind me. I lean back and turn my head slightly, my lips meeting with those of a beautiful corncob.

The vegetable kisses me in turn, wrapping her arms around my body from behind and exploring me in the same way that Lort had. Her hands work their way across my skin, drifting lower and lower until, eventually, they find the pumping movements of my sentient stuffing companion.

She starts helping Lort along, finding the pace and working me with equal erotic fervor. Eventually, however, her fingers slip down a little lower and begin to cradle my hanging balls.

The sensation is incredible, and to be honest I’d have no problem staying like this forever, however impractical that may be. I could probably cum right now if I wanted to, blow my load and be done with it, but deep down in my heart I know this is not what poundsgiving is all about.

I’m here to share some quality time, not to fuck and run.

I’m also here to give, not just receive.

With that in mind, I take an entirely new approach, slowly dropping to my knees between the handsome stuffing and the gorgeous corn cob. I gaze up at them with lustful enthusiasm, then jump in with a handjob of my own.

I reach up and grab ahold of Lort’s stuffing cock, slowly beating him off while my mouth works the corn cob before me. I’m eating out the vegetable, rhythmically licking her clit while she moans and groans above.

I have no problem stating that my technique is admirable, especially given the fact that I’m servicing two of them at once. It feels as though I’m performing some kind of carnal party trick, like patting my head and rubbing my belly at the same time, but with a sexual twist.

I switch back and forth between these living food lovers a few times, first orally servicing the beautiful corn and then moving over to the stuffing as I slip his cock between my lips. These maneuvers continue for a while until, finally, my aching desire gets the best of me.

I open wide for Lort, taking the sentient stuffing within and pushing him father and father down. This time I don’t pull back, somehow managing to relax my gag reflex and slipping the living food’s massive cock all the way into my gullet. Deeper and deeper Lort slides, until eventually my face is pressed up against his herb encrusted abs.

I hold like this for as long as I possibly can, savoring this delicious treat that tickles my tastebuds just as well as it tickles the back of my throat.

Finally, however, I’m forced to pull back in a desperate search for air, sputtering and gasping.

I’m slightly out of sorts, but I’m clear enough to hear the simple words “fuck me,” as they erupt from a nearby slab of turkey-flavored tofu.

I turn to find the tofurky has laid out on the ground, spreading her legs and waiting for me to climb into position. Gazing at this vegetarian alternative, it’s hard to believe anyone could ask for something else. She looks absolutely gorgeous, a stack of rectangular blocks that are well seasoned and baked to perfection.

I follow her lead and position myself, first giving the tofurky a deep kiss on the lips and savoring her flavor.

Next, I slip inside, sighing loudly as my cock is enveloped by the living food’s velvety warmth. The tofurky is equally pleased by this penetration, arching her back and letting out a long, satisfied groan.

The two of us begin moving together, grinding our bodies as the pleasure blooms at the pit of my stomach. The tofurky is below, so in theory her movement should be limited, but she’s somehow rocking her body in a way that elevates the sensation to previously unexplored heights.

Our pace begins to quicken as the glorious feelings of carnal satisfaction spill across my form, shooting a wonderful tingle down my arms and legs as it gradually consumes me.

It’s only then that I sense a presence behind. I glance back to see that a handsome cranberry sauce has positioned himself at the rear, his cock swollen and ready.

“You one of those people who likes a cranberry and turkey sandwich?” he questions.

“Fuck yeah I am,” I snarl, then reach back and slap my ass.

I hold myself open for a moment, showing off the tightness of my puckered backdoor while the handsome cranberry sauce floats into position. I can feel him aligning his cock with my anal seal, teasing my limits for a moment and then finally thrusting deep with a singular swoop.

“Oh fuck!” I cry out, not entirely prepared for the enormity of this sentient food’s massive cock.

The cranberry sauce fills me up, stuffed to the brim by his mighty member. Fortunately, for as stretched out as I am, my new anal lover is slow in his movements.

At first he stays entirely still, allowing me a chance to return to my previous grind as I thrust into the tofurky. Gradually, however, all three of us fall into a rhythm together, the pulse of our bodies speeding up as we hammer away.

The pleasure that had been overwhelming my frame only grows in potency, guided by a new source that swirls within like an erotic cocktail. These sensations are incredibly distinct, yet they somehow find a way to work together and swell into something that is so much more than the sum of its parts.

With every passing second the trembling vibration that floods my body grows, overtaking everything. Of course, it’s not just me who’s experiencing these glorious feelings, but our entire trio of lovers, passing this energy back and forth in an escalating feedback loop.

My eyes can’t help drifting around the room, watching the other pairings of delicious Thanksgiving food and taking note of their beautiful forms. There’s something deeply erotic about sharing this moment, not just taking pleasure for myself but accepting my place as a single participant in this parade of carnal sensation and joy.

Most of all, I’m just thankful to be here. It’s strange to think that just hours ago I’d been deeply worried about how I’d be passing this evening, saddened by the thought of spending the night alone.

Now I’m here surrounded by sentient food and appreciating the carnal warmth of this moment. Sure, it’s not quite what I expected, but it feels incredible, and it’s proof there’s no wrong way to spend the holiday. Especially if you can muster up a little gratitude.

As unexpected as it sounds, spending this evening alone wouldn’t have been so bad either. I’m thankful for myself — for the body that, despite the grand cosmic chaos of it all, I’ve somehow ended up in. My existence alone is almost impossible to quantify, yet here I am.

I’m thankful for that, too.

Below me, the beautiful tofurky begins to whimper and moan, her vocalizations growing louder and louder until they erupt in a wild screaming fit. She loses herself in the moment, the powerful orgasm overriding every one of her senses.

“I’m cumming!” she screams.

By now the sensations within me have built to an unprecedented level. I’m ready to cum, and as if all this stimulation wasn’t enough, I motion for the nearby corn cob to come join us.

She’s wearing a strap on, which she promptly shoves down my throat and gags me in a glorious moment of vegetable domination. This is more than enough to push me over the edge, and the next thing I know I’m erupting in a volcano of pleasure.

A powerful orgasm rips through my body, prompting an unbridled howl to escape from the bottom of my throat. It comes out as a muffled yelp, however, thanks to the corn cob’s strap-on that blocks its path, but the enthusiasm is there. I completely lose myself in the moment, hammering away at the tofu below as hot milky seed spills out of my cock.

All the while, the handsome cranberry sauce keeps pounding my ass, maintaining his pace and carrying me through the entirety of this glorious climax.

The second I’m finished, the cranberry sauce pushes deep and holds for an eruption of his own, blasting a massive payload of his cranberry jizz up inside me.

It appears the entire poundsgiving is on a similar timeline, a soft choir of pleasure escalating into belligerent shrieks and then finally dying down as the orgasms settle.

I collapse to the floor, sticky with sweat and cum, but utterly satisfied in a way that I never dreamed possible.

Lort floats down to join me, basking in the afterglow of his own uncontrollable orgasm.

“That was amazing,” I gush. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“No, thank you,” the stuffing offers in return, then turns to address the room. “Thank all of you.”

When I arrived here earlier I was just looking for a way to pass the time on the night of this annual tradition, a simple bit of company and not much else. What I found, however, was an important lesson.

Old traditions are important, but starting a new tradition can be equally fulfilling. This may have been my first poundsgiving, but it certainly won’t be my last.