She wondered if Grampa would stop by like he normally did or if that was all done, screwed up because of what happened the day before.
Had she teased him on purpose? Was she so desperately horny that she’d subconsciously tried to get her elderly Grampa to make a move on her? Would she had kicked and screamed? Tried to fight him off?
She was so confused. She was so fucking tired… and she was so goddamn horny.
If he showed up, what should she do?
How should she act?
What would HE do?
How would HE act?
As the morning progressed, she got more and more nervous and stressed. Enough that the children picked up on it and became even harder to handle.
She was sitting in the kitchen, staring off into space with the two children crying, one in a high chair and one in her arms, when Grampa’s familiar loud aggressive knock echoed through the house.
Startled, Yvette nearly dropped her infant as she jumped out of her chair.
Her body shaking uncontrollably, heart hammering in her chest, her throat dry as a desert, she walked to the door and opened it wide.
Grampa.
He stood there eying her for a moment then shoved his hands in his pockets.
He was at a loss for what to say.
The young mother stood in the doorway with her hiccupping crying infant in one arm. She wore a thin pink robe that clung to her like a second skin. A sash synched her narrow waist but its top was wide open, exposing her large and heavy flushed breasts. They were oh so perfect.
Her usually merry eyes looked sunken and dull, her face, neck and chest were flushed bright red, her shoulders were hunched and her long fine hair was a tangled ratty mess. She looked feverish and worn down to a stub.
Her eyes were downcast as if she dreaded looking at him directly and her body language screamed frustration and exhaustion.
She stepped aside to give him room to enter.
He’d debated coming, imagining all kinds of scenarios but not a single one of them involved her answering the door with her glorious breasts bare to his amazed and admiring gaze.
He stepped inside nervously and turned to face her but no words came out. He just stood there with his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish while both of the children screamed for attention.
Yvette watched him for a moment and then walked to her rocking chair and pressed her baby’s face to her boob. She rooted for the fat swollen nipple, found it, latched on and gulped contentedly, her little arms massaging her mother’s huge breast as she fed.
Grampa watched as she looked down at the infant and saw the stress lines disappear from her face, the tenseness left her proud narrow shoulders and she let out a long and ponderous sigh as if releasing all her problems and worries.
“Grampa, could you please take care of her,” she said pointing at the toddler squirming and bawling in her high chair. “I was kinda out of it this morning and haven’t taken care of them.”
She looked at him shamefaced.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
Concerned, the old man put the back of his hand to her forehead.
“You’re burning up,” he graveled roughly. “When was the last time you pumped?”
He knew that for some reason her body made way more milk than the baby needed and when her breasts were full she got feverish.
“Yesterday, I think,” she said quietly. “I… I… after yesterday, I’ve felt kind of weird and then I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
The old man nodded turned to take care of the toddler. She was hungry, thirsty, dehydrated and tired from hours of constant crying.
He fixed her something to eat then went to check on Yvette as she ate.
Almost in the exact position as the day before, she and her baby were fast asleep on the rocking chair, her arms still cradling the child protectively.
When he turned to check on the toddler, he saw she was sprawled on the high chair’s table with a mess of half chewed Cheerios and milk dribbling from her open mouth.
He cleaned up, changed the children’s diapers, dressed them in dry clean clothes and put them to bed then he went to check on their mother.
Just as he had the day before, he found himself staring down at the sleeping young mother. Once again he marveled at her untarnished beauty, at how much she looked like his late wife and again his heart lurched in his chest at the remembered pain of losing his beloved.
His eyes wandered down to the large bare breasts, watching them rise and fall to the rhythm of her breathing.
He felt himself harden and again his mouth watered as he wondered what her milk tasted like, how much he’d love to manhandle those enormous milk-filled monsters.
His old twisted body trembled and shook powerfully at the force of his restraint.
Staring down at her, he pictured himself licking a fat nipple and after a heartbeat’s hesitation, action followed impulse.
He leaned down and swiped a fat enticing nipple with his long wet tongue.
When he showed up at her door earlier, he’d expected her to chastise him, to curse him out, to tell him to stay away from her and her family, but instead she’d opened the door wide and let him feast his eyes on her naked breasts yet again.
Was she teasing him? Did want him to do something he shouldn’t so she could cry rape? Was she trying to tell him something in the age-old woman’s language no man understood? He didn’t understand, but the moment he licked her hard fat nipple all the questions and objections faded away.
The taste was indescribable… sweet, with a hint of tart, a hint of salty, and a hint of nutty. There was a lot going on there and the eroticism of the moment sent a pleasant shiver down his old twisted spine.
———————————–
Yvette dreamed that she sat in her rocking chair.
Grampa stood over her, looking down at her huge naked tits, staring at them intently with his sharp flinty gaze.
She had no desire to cover herself. She wanted the old man to feast his eyes on her. She wanted to feel his old hands on her. Her nectar dripped liberally between her flowery petals to dampen the rocking chair’s deep cushion at the naughtiness of exposing herself so blatantly to the hideous old man.
Her great-great-grandpa’s ancient grooved and wrinkled old face was twisted in a horrifying scowl, reflecting an intense internal battle. The grooves on either side of his mouth were as cavernous as valleys, the deep wrinkles crisscrossing the folds and runnels of his dark weathered face and forehead made him look as ancient as the earth.
His large bulbous nose and enormous ears seemed to twitch as a series of expressions flitted quickly across his face like ghosts.
Suddenly, she saw him bend at the waist and then felt his hot wet tongue swipe her nipple from the bottom up.
She sucked in her breath at the sensation and squirmed her firm behind deeper into the rocking chair cushion. She’d felt his tongue on her nipple as if he’d actually done it for real and not in her dream.
Her areola puckered with thick bumpy goosebumps, her nipple hardened and an electric thrill shivered its way from her nipple to her belly, to her loins, leaving her clitoris tingling as if the old man’s fat tongue had licked it rather than her nipple.
———————————–
Grampa straightened, expecting the girl to wake up and scream at his unwelcome touch, but all she did was slowly shake her head from side to side and squirm deeper into the rocking chair’s thick cushion.
He put his hands on her shoulders, under the thin robe and kept them there.
The rocking chair swayed but nothing happened. He eased the robe off her shoulders and down her lean arms, expecting her to wake at his touch and careful motions, but all she did was gasp loudly when his old rough skin made contact with hers. She’d been holding her breath.
Her slim shoulders bare, he decided to see how far gone she was, how deeply asleep. He pulled her arms through the robe’s sleeves and feasted his eyes on her bare and naked upper body.
She was absolutely glorious, fresh and vibrantly youthful in her beauty. She was voluptuous in all the right places and slim and feminine in all others. She had a body most men could only dream of and women would envy. Enormous tear-shaped breasts, narrow shoulders, tiny waist leading down to wide matronly hips meant to ease the difficulties of childbirth.
His eyes went lower.
Grampa reached down and pulled on the end of the sash holding the bottom part of her robe closed and held his breath as the knot pulled loose and the robe’s light material fell heavily to either side of her shapely legs, revealing a thatch of untrimmed light brown pubic hair. The carpet matched the curtains.
Making no attempt at subtlety, he put his rough work-callused hands on her knees, spread her legs and slid his hands up her inner thighs slowly, marveling at the silky softness of her skin.
The rocking chair swayed.
He paused, expecting her to wake at his unsubtle touch and the sudden sway of her rocking chair, but she slept on, catatonic. Unaware of what was happening.
Getting down on creaking arthritic knees, the old man knelt between the lovely young mother’s legs and ran his hands over her upper and outer thighs as well, drawing in a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the heady scent wafting up from her heated sex as he did so.
He drew his face closer to the moist thatch of brown hair and saw the dark pink lips of her outer labia poking through the hair. Again, he drew breath, inhaling her intoxicating womanly perfume, but this time when he let it out, he blew out, hot and damp, over her heated pussy. Oh, and it was heated, he could feel the heat coming from her body, it felt like he was kneeling in front of a furnace.
He saw her hips churn towards the source of the warmth bathing her loins. He looked up and saw her lovely face was bright red, sweaty and knotted in an expression of pain and pure unfiltered lust.
Her eyes looked slightly open but she didn’t appear to be able to see.
Her plump lips were parted and she kept moistening her lips with the tip of her little pink tongue as she panted for breath.
Her enormous breasts quivered and swayed before his intensely penetrating glare. The mammoth jugs shone wet with sweat and there was a thick creamy drop of milk quivering at the end of each fat dark pink nipple.
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