Happy Thanksgiving

 It was your first Thanksgiving with your wife at the old Inn you’d bought to fix up and run. Unfortunately, it still needed a lot of fixup before it could host guests. Your finances were also strapped, so traveling home was out of question. So it was just the two of you.

That didn’t stop Cindy from going all out for dinner. Turkey, potatoes, yams, corn, the works. At 2pm on the dot, Cindy called out to you, “Dinner is ready, Honney.” When you entered the dining room, you saw an impressive spread, worthy of a rockwell painting. You walked over to and kissed your wife. Her mouth tasted of wine. Outwardly, she appeared sober, but knowing your wife, she was probably on the verge of tipsy. 

By desert, your wife was very obviously drunk. She’d spilled wine on her shirt, so she’d taken it off. Not wearing a bra, your wife was topless. “You are amazing, babe. Absolutely wonderful meal,” you complimented your wife. 

“Ssangs, honney.  Juzz wait fer desserd. I made a fruit cake, whish i soaked in rum,” she told you. She then clumsily stood, knocking over her empty wine glass. “Ops.  Im sooo ssuffed,” she slurred, before staggering off to the kitchen.

You watched her stagger into the kitchen, Thankful for such a sexy, drunk wife. As you weighed, you grabbed your camera. On her return, you snapped this:

”Oh, beautiful, Cindy, babe,” you say. Your wife carefully sets the fruitcake down. Instead of cutting the cake, you grab your wife and kiss her. You slide your hand into her skirt, and rub her pussy. It’s moist, like the turkey. 

“I wann yoo fer deserd,” Cindy tells you. You drop her skirt to the floor, and then pull your hard cock out of your pants. Once free, you begin to fuck your wife. 

____

Later that evening, after you and Cindy have finally eaten the fruit cake. Their sex desert sobered her some, but the cake and subsequent wine have again drunk. You're both sitting in the living room, watching TV when a clip from the Macy's parade catches Cindy's attention. 

“Thadduzz sooo mush fun bein' inna parade lazz yeer.  Course it wuzza shame wee cuddent zzrink,” she slurred. 

“Do you still have your outfit?” you ask.

“Yah, i thing sooo,” Cindy tells you.

“Why don’t you put it on and you can do a drunken parade just for me,” you tell her.

“Ok,” she says, and knocks back her glass of wine. She goes to get up, only to fall on the floor. “It'll be great-i'm preee zzzrunk,” she declares, as she gets up and staggers off.

You watch her stagger off, and then resume watching tv. 

Some time later, you realize your wife has been gone for quite a while. You’re just about to go check on her, when she returns. 

”I coud'nn fine my shird” she tells you as she drunkenly tries to stand on one leg. She seceedes for a brief moment, before she falls down, her legs spread wide. “Since iss juzz us, i zinninn pud on pannies” she told you.