Dear Hostboard friends,
I’m a bit late with this, but I wanted to share with all of you what happened this year at the family Thanksgiving dinner. It’s all true, I swear! (LOL)
Also, I must confess to taking a certain amount of “artistic license” here due to the fact that breast meat from a Thanksgiving turkey is usually presented in slices. An in tact, whole breast rarely presents itself with a carved turkey. At least that's been my experience. I hope that you can all forgive me for this heinous error, but the story (such as it is) doesn’t work with slices of breast meat, no matter how juicy and succulent they are.
Thanks,
A.P.
BATTLE FOR THE BREASTA TALE OF GIVING THANKS
by A. Penman
And now for the blessing:
“We thank thee, oh lord, for the blessings we are about to receive…”
The table had been mostly cleared, except for a few remnants of the holiday feast. Mom had gone off to the kitchen to make a pot of her notoriously bad after dinner coffee that everyone either graciously declined or reluctantly choked down. After so many years of this, we had all come too the conclusion, privately of course, that either she wasn’t using cold water, or she just didn’t have her coffee scoops to water cups ratio in the correct proportion. But who was going to tell headstrong mom that, for all these years, she’d been making bad coffee? Not me. Maybe her beloved, recently departed brother, Phil, could have pulled off such a task. But he was always half in the bag anyway, so he never gave a shit what came out of his mouth. God, I miss that old bad hairpiece, two-pack-a-day Herbert Tareyton smoking lush.
Anyway, the huge platter that held the huge, now mostly ravaged turkey carcass had been removed in favor of a much smaller plate. The only thing of significance left on the table/plate was one succulent-looking, perfectly seasoned and cooked turkey breast. Uncle Charlie had greedily consumed its chest mate just moments earlier.
One breast was left. One breast and two, licking-their-lips, un-satiated women…
Cousin Debbie was a 37 year old divorced, single woman of pulchritudinous proportions. She was quite busty, and maybe ten pounds overweight.
Her nemesis, sister-in-law Clarice was also a woman in her mid thirties with a delightfully abundant figure, also busty and maybe five or six pounds overweight. The two women had always had what could be describe as a chilly relationship. Often at these family get-togethers, there were harsh looks and, sometimes, sarcastic remarks between the two women. But today, over Thanksgiving dinner, the two rivals, for reasons nobody knew, had been especially snarky to each other.
“Love your dress, Clarice. Is it Salvation Army?”
“At least mine fits.”
Stuff like that.
Well, here we go…
Clarice had been eyeing the final breast. So had cousin Debbie. Everyone knew that sharing it was out of the question. From opposite sides of the dining room dinner table, they both reached for the luscious morsel at exactly the same time. Debbie got her hand on about half of it. Clarice got a grip on the other half. And so, it began…
“Get your hand off of my breast, Debbie.”
“You get your hand off of MY breast, Clarice
“It’s not your breast! It’s MY breast! I got it first.”
“No! I got to it first! It’s mine!”
They both looked at nephew Robert for a decision. But he held up his hands in one of those “don’t ask me, I want no part of this” gestures.
Just then, mom returned from the kitchen with a couple of cream pies for dessert. She set them on the table, looked at the two bellicose women and quickly assessed the situation.
“Queste due femmine hanno voglia di combattere per anni,” she said in Italian, then finished it in English, “let the bitches fight.”
Needless to say, this surprised everyone at the table. But when momma spoke, nobody objected, unless she was clearly wrong about something. But she wasn’t wrong about this. Debbie and Clarice had been almost locking up for as long as I can remember. It was time for this to end. Who knows, it could have been entertaining. Little did I know.
All of the men perked up at the possibility of seeing two women fight. Come to think of it, all the women did too. I had a feeling this was going to be epic. I was right.
Almost casually, Clarice reached for one of the cream pies and smooshed it into Debbie’s face.
“Bitch!” she screamed. And then, she returned the favor by grabbing the other cream pie and smashing it into Clarice’s face.
“Whore!” Clarice cried out, as if she couldn’t have seen that one coming.
Debbie cleared coconut cream from her eyes. Clarice also cleared her eyes, but hers were covered with chocolate cream. It should be noted here that while her coffee sucked, Mom’s cream pies were notoriously good. Indeed, they were “to die for” good. So both women took time to lick filling from their lips before they reached across the old mahogany dining table, snarling, faces still covered in cream pie filling, in order to tear into each other’s hair.
Everyone anticipated what might be coming next and scrambled to clear the table of any remaining wine glasses, coffee cups and, especially, knives and forks. You never know how heated things might get in a brawl like this; a brawl that was so anticipated; a brawl that was so long in coming. Indeed, we all suspected that these two were going to tangle one day. We just didn’t know where or when. Everyone felt that a wild bitch fight over the last turkey breast was as good a reason as any.
Then, what everyone had anticipated, actually happened. Both women climbed up onto the dinner table, wanting to get into close quarters, wanting to slam body into body. I would estimate that there was likely 270 pounds of angry female anatomy on the old dining table.
But I wasn’t worried because it was one of those old, solid mahogany tables built in the 1950s. It weighed a ton, and was as solid as a rock. It could have held a dozen or more fighting women. And wouldn’t that be great?
Anyway, Clarice and Debbie really got into it. And within the narrow framework of a dining room table, they had to keep things up close and personal. Clearly, that’s what both of these furious women wanted anyway. This was so good! Everyone at the table was loving it!
Every once in a while, one of them would break away and end up in a kneeling position on the table. The other one would mimic her. Facing each other, they would throw slaps and wild punches at each other that mostly missed. Occasionally, one or two slaps would connect, and they would lunge and fall back onto the table, screaming and wrestling vigorously in each other’s embrace.
In a quick, in your face kind of move, Debbie found the turkey breast and snatched it in a tight grip, mocking Clarice as she held it just out of reach. But Clarice persisted and got her hand on the turkey breast, causing the two of them to struggle and eventually tear the tasty holiday bird tit into several bite-sized morsels.
But momma had enough. She got up and, with two handfuls of hair, pried the two women apart. They screamed and looked at momma like “what the fuck?”
“Puttannas!”
For those of you who may not know, puttanna is one of those versatile Italian words that is often used in situations just like this. It’s a great word, always an insult, never a compliment. So, when Momma used it, as she threw her hand in the air in a gesture of frustration, she was essentially calling both of them bitches, or whores.
But she wasn’t done. They both sat up on their haunches, then momma laid down the law. She glared at the two combatants, handed them each a couple of the good cloth diner napkins to wipe their faces and told them exactly how they would finish things.
“Tette a tette per il seno.”
The two fighters looked confused. Most of us second generation Italians only spoke bits and pieces of the language. But when momma picked up her hefty G cup breasts, shook and bounced them, we all knew what she was telling them.
At first, both women looked a little uncomfortable with the idea. Then, beautiful Clarice shrugged and started to unbutton her dress. She pulled it over her head and presented her rather lovely body to the dazed onlookers, as if for their approval. She got it. There was a chorus of Oohs and aahs from the crowd. Well, of course, this annoyed cousin Debbie. She was out of her dress in milliseconds. Two very attractive thirty plus year old women now faced each other on the dining room table in their bras and panties. Momma finalized things when she gestured for them to remove their bras. Everybody understood that one. All eyes were glued on the two busty women. Both were very hesitant about baring their breasts in front of family and friends. It took them several long, agonizing seconds before a slow building chant of encouragement from the gathering inspired both women.
Uncle Tony who, at 5 feet 6 inches and about 245 pounds, had his own respectable set of man tits, got it started.
“Tette…tette…tette!” he chanted, and a few more of the men and, surprisingly, all the women picked up the slowly escalating call for bare breasts. We all followed his lead and began to chant.
“Tette, tette…tette!” A round of appreciative applause erupted when both women peeled off their bras and threw them at each other. I mean to tell you, the mountains of fabulous mammaries that poured forth once the restraints were removed was truly a sight to behold. Both sets were equally beautiful. And, as far as I could tell, they were evenly matched in terms of size, shape and fullness. I found myself wondering if this was the point of contention between these two women. I found out much later that Debbie suspected Clarice of boffing her ex husband. It wasn’t true, but somehow the idea got planted in her mind. No mistake, her ex husband was a real ass who catted around, but he never got into Clarice’s panties. Not that he didn’t try.
As far as these things go, tit fights, I’d heard about them, but I always thought them to be some kind of urban myth or legend. But when Debbie and Clarice squared off with their turgid nipples, my cock responded appropriately. Then, Clarice pulled away, turned and looked right at me.
“Joey honey, would you be so kind as to spread a little of that chocolate cream on my nipples?”
Holy shit!!! Boner or not, I was all in on this one! I wasn’t going to miss such a golden opportunity. I stood up, reached for the pie pan and scooped up a large glob of momma’s tasty chocolate cream filling. Then I reached out to Clarice and applied a generous amount to each nipple, making sure to swirl it around those pretty areolae.
“Thank you, honey.” She winked, smiled, then turned back to Debbie. I was about to sit down, but…
“Don’t sit down just yet, Joey.” Debbie said as she gestured to the remaining coconut cream pie. I was on it, even as my hard-on grew embarrassingly more noticeable. I scooped up the remaining pie filling and applied it with the same loving care to Debbie’s pink buds as I did with Clarice’s nipples. She winked at me and smiled, just like Clarice had done.
Next, there was the most wonderfully sleazy and disgustingly hot squish and smack I’d ever heard. It came from the angry slamming together of four big, firm tits. I’ll take that sound, and the visual of four tits colliding in anger to bed with me tonight when I “relieve” myself.
Everyone, men and women, was mesmerized as the two attractive, busty women met, kneeling up, on the old mahogany dining table, in a full on battle of big tits. Two women, who initially seemed prudish about baring their breasts in public, now seemed oblivious to shame and consumed, not so much in hatred, as they were in the pure thrill of naked breasts rolling and mashing with naked breasts. Hands on hips, chests forward, they rolled their shoulders in order to crush and roll their impressive bosoms into each other. Then they would separate and slam back together. All of this was accompanied by those exquisite female grunts and groans. And with each slam and press, coconut cream filling mixed and mingled with chocolate cream filling, creating a unique, new taste treat. If only I could have stuck my tongue between those antagonistic tits for a sample. Yum!
The more the two women slammed and rolled their big, beautiful bosoms together, the more angered they became, and the more aroused they became.
Then, in some unspoken agreement, Clarice and Debbie went down to the table, stretched out on their sides, entwined their long bare legs and locked up in a full frontal embrace. There was no longer any concern about where they were and who was in the room with them, which was an audience of about eighteen aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews. They were going to finish things just like this, corpo a corpo, “tette a tette.”
Uncle Tony got up to check and see if there was any space between the two bare bellies and sat back down with a perverted grin, “Niente.” Nothing.
So we all watched as Debbie and Clarice wrestled tightly together on the old mahogany table. The width of the table allowed for a single body roll. Anything further would have deposited two nearly naked women onto appreciative laps, but would have broken the intensity of this long anticipated female fight. Both women seemed to understand this, and they would roll around precariously to within inches of falling off. But roll they did. It was almost a necessity in a fight such as this. And when one or the other gained the top position, we all got a really good look at four naked, locked breasts and how the women were using them against each other. Whoever was on the bottom would squeeze her tits inward, and whoever was on top would slam her tits downward into a mass of quivering tit flesh. Always, it had to be a full on confrontation of tits, and always, with each tit to tit smash and press came the grunts and groans of anger mixed with sexual pleasure. At the moment, double D cup Debbie was on top of equally endowed Clarice. Neither woman appeared ready to give in, so they rolled once again, keeping their tits tightly squashed. It now seemed to have come down to a pure battle of glorious tits, just like momma said. There was a dollop of hair pulling, cursing and name calling thrown in, but it was mostly for show. This was, for all intents and purposes, a tit fight. Nobody seemed to care. Every man and woman at the table was completely taken with this most erotic struggle. As for the two combatants, both now seemed fully content to keep their sumptuous breasts mated, hoping one or the other might eventually tap out. But these were two determined women. I expected that there was going to be a lot more smacking and squashing and breast to breast bear hugging before either one surrendered. My expectations, and everyone else’s, were then fulfilled by a dream come true.
Clarice pushed herself away, then she knelt up. On Debbie’s face was a look of confusion and a bit of frustration.
“Get up, you bitch,” demanded Clarice.
“Don’t call me a bitch, putanna.” Debbie said, rising up to her knees to accept whatever challenge Clarice had in mind. And, I’ve got to say, what Clarice had in mind was nothing short of spectacular.
“Move in close.” Clarice said, as if Debbie needed an invitation. “Nipples to nipples.”
“That’s not going to do anything. We’re still covered in cream pie filling.”
Clarice thought about it. Then, in a move that shocked everyone, Clarice dropped her face down to Debbie’s nipples and licked and sucked and slurped until the remaining pie filling was cleared. Debbie feigned shock and disgust at this highly erotic move, but the look on her face expressed her true delight over what Clarice was doing to her sensitive mammaries. She rose and looked Debbie squarely in the eyes.
“Now you.”
Debbie shrugged, “Why not? I’ve always loved Momma’s cream pies.”
She got busy. Debbie then gave a tutorial in tit licking and nipple sucking. Clarice didn’t bother to act like she was disgusted. With each lick and suck of Debbie’s clearly skilled mouth, she groaned in ever deepening pleasure.
“YES,” she cried out. “suck my nipples you slut!!!” she gasped excitedly. “lick those tits. Oh yes!”
On their knees once again, the two women faced each other, forehead to forehead, eyes locked. They draped their arms across each other’s shoulders and set about a rather long nipple duel. I couldn’t help noticing that there was also no discrepancy in the size of their fleshy nubs either. A perfect nipple match and a perfect bosom match. If there was ever four knockers that were destined to come into conflict, it was these four.
Everyone was captivated by the sight of four pink, protuberant nipples grappling in such an erotic manner. First the girls would flick and snap them in opposing movements, which was truly hot. Then they would line them up directly in an attempt to push opposing nipples back into their tits. I reasoned this to be some sort of woman to woman dominance challenge. The most either girl could establish in this sexy test was parity. It frustrated them both. Something else needed to be done, something spectacular.
They pushed off and gave each other a look of exasperation.
“I thought this would be over by now, Debbie.”
“Me too, Clarice. You’re better with your tits than I thought you’d be, considering that I wasn’t expecting this to be a chest battle.”
“Let’s finish this.”
“How?”
Clarice thought about it for a couple of seconds. She then put her hands on her hips and began to swing her shoulders back and forth. At the proper velocity, this amazing movement caused her beautiful knockers to take flight. It was an amazing thing to see. Debbie needed no further explanation. She mimicked Clarice, swinging her shoulders back and forth, causing her boobs to swing out wildly, back and forth, back and forth. Clarice then narrowed the distance between them until these four fantastic breasts met in a succulent series of mid air collisions. You could see that each collision of fleshy tit meat brought with it a sting of pain, mixed with a dollop of pleasure. But this did not deter either woman. They swung back and forth, harder and faster. Smack, smack, smack! Sweet Jehovah, what a sight to see! Again and again their gorgeous tits smacked together. I was mesmerized. The family was too. Why had we never let these two tangle before? There were plenty of previous family gatherings when these two seemed ready for a skirmish. Oh well, better late than never.
The robust mid air battle lasted for quite a while longer, or until both women began to feel aching and soreness in their chests. Debbie pushed away, clearly in need of respite. Clarice would have smiled, but her tits also needed a break.
“Bear hug?” Clarice asked, somewhat uncomfortably.
“Sure, why not?” Debbie responded, cupping her tits in order to soothe them.
Then, the two antagonists moved together into full body contact and embraced hard. This seemed to be the final test. They squeezed each other hard, with the emphasis on their boobs. They grounded, grunted and groaned. They crushed their beautiful spheres so hard into each other that I was convinced that I was going to hear the sound of balloons popping.
First Debbie squeezed, then Clarice squeezed. And always the throaty grunts of pain mixed with pleasure. Back and forth, repeatedly, until Debbie signaled she’d had enough. Her breathing slowed, she put her head on Clarice’s shoulder and whispered.
“Sei la donna migliore.” (you are the better woman)
Clarice understood. Surprisingly, she resisted the chance to make fun of the vanquished opponent.
And then, Debbie faced her long time rival, eye to eye, face to face. To everyone’s surprise, the long time adversaries shared a long, deep, open mouth kiss. I didn’t understand this. The crowd gasped, and then there was a smattering of applause. I looked across the table at momma.
“Momma, why are they kissing?”
“Because, Joey, that’s how this kind of woman fight often ends up.”
“How do you know all this stuff, momma?”
Momma reached down and once again lifted her gigantic breasts into her hands. She gave me a cheshire cat grin.
“Because, Giuseppe, momma’s had to put a bitch or two down in her time.”
Uncle Tony then made everyone at the table join hands while he said the final Thanksgiving prayer.
“Dear Lord, on this day of giving thanks, we thank you for that which has been given to us by your grace…Amen.”
“And we especially thank you, Lord, for Clarice and Debbie and their bountiful breasts.” I added.
This brought a resounding chorus of appreciative AMENS.
LA FINE (THE END)
ITALIAN WORDS:
PUTTANNA: BITCH/WHORE
combattimento: fight
queste due femmine hanno voglia di combattere per anni: these two females have been wanting to fight for years
cagna/bitch
tette su tette: tits to tits
tette a tette per il seno: tits to tits for the breast
niente: nothing
corpo a corpo, tette a tette: body to body, tits to tits
Sei la donna migliore: you are the better woman
Last edited by apenman; January 6th, 2022 at 09:22 AM.
"I’ve always loved Momma’s cream pies" Sir you need to stop lol.
So I'm guessing the rematch would be a messy late night snack? I've got this dumb grin on my face from how balanced the silliness and sensuality of the story is, and the critical detail of the dining table . Amazed there wasn't some oh btw these are Sandra/Beth neighbors.
Looking forward to whatever the next story maybe.
Such a hot story A. Penman.
I can only wish; I had a family Thanksgiving feast like this one.
The whole story is a feast of humor and hot, rolled together = love it.
And a story with its own glossary, a first for the board - I think.
Thanks A. Penman, and Merry Christmas.
DC
Thanks, Eights! Sometimes I just can't help myself with those silly one liners.Originally Posted by Eights
AP
- - - Updated - - -
Thanks DC!
I enjoyed writing this one. It's one of the stories that's been in the back of my mind for a while.
Happy Holidays to you!
AP
An absolutely wonderful story! The imagery had me on cloud nine. Now I will imagine Mama joining the fray!
It was different than the most of the stories here, funny, well written.
I realy liked lt !
Thanks friend !
Gracie Amico ! LOL
Thank you Giannis!
I'm considering switching my focus to writing humor (not really) LOL!
I'm glad you liked this story. Hope all is well with you.
Stay safe my friend,
A. Penman
- - - Updated - - -
Anna!
Thank you, sexy lady! I'm glad that my story could take you to an ethereal plane.
I hope you are well. Drop me an email sometime, to let me know how you are doing.
Love,
A.P.
Hahaha, I'm going to run out of other words to use besides funny/sexy each time you post a story. Short and sweet, another great one!
Thanks King! Glad you liked my little tale of "holiday cheer."
A.P.
Nice Story! Thank you!
Bookmarks