My sister in law I hated has changed on thanksgiving!

The turkey was overcooked, the cranberry sauce lumpy, but no one cared because the real feast was the tension simmering under the dining room table.

It was Thanksgiving at my parents’ house, the usual chaos of aunts gossiping, uncles arguing football, and my husband Jake carving the bird like he was performing surgery.

I sat across from her—Elena, Jake’s older sister, my sister-in-law. At 32, she was the one I’d despised since the day we met five years ago. Back then, she was a whirlwind of sarcasm and superiority, always one-upping me with her high-powered lawyer job, her designer clothes, and her endless digs about how I ‘settled’ for Jake.

‘You could do better,’ she’d say with that smirk, implying I was punching above my weight. It festered into outright hate; family gatherings turned into minefields where I’d bite my tongue to keep peace, but inside, I seethed. Jealousy gnawed at me too—her confidence, her curves that filled out dresses like they were made for her, while I felt frumpy in my mom jeans and sweater.

This year, though, something was different. Elena arrived late, slipping in quietly without her usual fanfare. No snide comments, no stealing the spotlight. Instead, she helped Mom in the kitchen, her laughter genuine as she mashed potatoes.

Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few strands framing her face, and she wore a simple green blouse that hugged her C-cups without trying too hard. When our eyes met over the table, she offered a small smile—not mocking, but warm.

‘Pass the rolls, Sarah?’ she asked softly, and I handed them over, our fingers brushing. A spark jolted through me, unexpected and unwelcome. What the hell?

Dinner dragged on, conversations blurring into white noise. I stole glances at her, noting how she’d toned down—listening more than talking, even complimenting my pie recipe.

Later, as everyone scattered to the living room for pie and football, I excused myself to the guest bathroom upstairs, needing a moment to shake off the weird pull. The house was old, creaky floors and all, and as I washed my hands, the door clicked open. Elena stepped in, closing it behind her with a soft latch.

‘Sorry, I thought it was empty,’ she said, but didn’t leave. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine, eyes locking on mine in the mirror.

‘Actually… can we talk? I’ve been a bitch to you, Sarah. For years. I don’t know why I started it, but it was wrong. You’ve been nothing but kind to my family, to Jake. I hate that I made you feel less.’ Her voice trembled, vulnerability cracking her polished exterior. I turned, heart pounding. Up close, she smelled like cinnamon and spice, her full lips parted slightly. The hate I’d nursed twisted into confusion, then heat low in my belly.

‘Why now?’ I whispered, stepping closer despite myself. ‘Thanksgiving miracle?’ She laughed softly, but her gaze dropped to my mouth. ‘Maybe. Or maybe I’ve changed. Therapy, a bad breakup… made me see how toxic I was. Especially to you.’

The air thickened, charged like the storm brewing outside. I should have left, but her hand reached out, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

‘Elena…’ My protest died as she leaned in, lips brushing mine tentatively. Soft, testing. Then firmer, tongue slipping past to tangle with mine in a slow, exploratory dance.

Hate melted into hunger; I grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against me, feeling the give of her body. She moaned into my mouth, hands sliding under my sweater to caress my back, nails grazing skin.

We broke apart gasping, foreheads touching. ‘This is crazy,’ I murmured, guilt flashing—Jake downstairs, family everywhere—but desire overrode it.

‘Tell me to stop,’ she breathed, but I yanked her blouse from her skirt, buttons straining as I palmed her breasts through lace. They were heavy, warm, nipples hardening under my thumbs.

She arched, whispering, ‘Don’t stop.’ I pushed her against the sink, kissing down her neck, sucking at the pulse point while unclasping her bra. It fell away, and I cupped her bare tits, pinching the dark peaks until she whimpered.

Her hands fumbled with my jeans, zipper rasping down. She shoved them to my knees along with my panties, fingers diving between my thighs to find me already wet.

‘Fuck, Sarah, you’re soaked,’ she groaned, stroking my folds, thumb circling my clit. I bucked against her hand, the emotional dam breaking—years of resentment fueling the urgency.

I spun her around, bending her over the counter, hiking her skirt up to reveal black thong panties. Tugging them aside, I dropped to my knees, spreading her ass cheeks to expose her pussy, lips puffy and glistening.

I licked her from clit to entrance, tasting her musky sweetness, tongue flat and broad. She gripped the faucet, stifling a cry as I delved deeper, spearing inside her tight heat, then sucking her clit with rhythmic pulls. Her juices coated my chin, thighs trembling.

‘God, yes—eat me out,’ she begged, pushing back. I added fingers, two sliding in easily, curling to stroke her inner walls while my mouth worked her nub. The wet sounds mixed with her muffled moans, the risk heightening everything. Orgasm built fast; her pussy clenched, flooding my tongue as she came, body shuddering, a soft sob escaping.

She straightened, turning to pull me up, kissing me fiercely, tasting herself on my lips.

‘Your turn.’ She dropped down, face level with my exposed core. Her tongue lapped at my entrance, scooping arousal before focusing on my clit, flicking it rapidly. I braced against the wall, one hand in her hair, the other covering my mouth to muffle gasps. She thrust three fingers into me, pumping hard, the stretch delicious.

‘Come for me,’ she urged between licks, and the coil snapped—my walls spasming, cum dripping down her hand as waves crashed over me.

We cleaned up hastily, clothes straightened, faces flushed. Downstairs, no one noticed; Jake was glued to the game. Later, as pie was served, Elena sat beside me, our knees touching under the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered again, but now it was laced with promise. ‘And… thank you for seeing the change.’ The hate was gone, replaced by a secret spark, emotional walls crumbling into something tender and electric. Thanksgiving had never felt so full.

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