Grandma's Big Oven and Me

Dr. Peterman reached for my skirt and hiked it up, exposing my panties with Mr. Adams' hand inside going like a pump. By now I was squirming to beat the band.

"Mmmmm, ohhh," I kept saying, plus comments of a similar nature.

Dr. Peterman decided it was time for my candy bar. I watched him unzip his fly, and there it was huge and hard, a white invader with a pink head. Dr. Peterman put his hands on my head, stopping that part of me from squirming but not my other parts, and I opened my mouth like Dr. Peterman expected.

Then I could only say, "mmmm," because my mouth filled up. Some girls don't like to suck on this kind of candy, but I love it, not that I'm a pig and do it all the time. I try to control myself like I do with fattening foods.

Anyway, it was soooo exciting! I sucked and sucked while Mr. Adams kept on doing me with his naughty finger. The finger stuff was almost over, however, because Mr. Adams I guess got jealous of what Dr. Peterman was doing. Mr. Adams pushed me up to get my panties off, which was tricky with me having M\Dr. Peterman in my mouth but he did it, which is to say, we all did it, and then Mr. Adams pulled my panties down and also managed to get himself ready, and the next thing you knew, there she was, an eighteen year old piece of ass, according to her own grandfather, with one man's cock in her mouth and another man's cock in her honey hole, having a grand old time for herself. Yup, that was me!

I can't say I did a great job. I had no experience being fucked by two guys at once, but I did an okay job. A few times going up and down on Mr. Adams I lost Dr. Peterman and had to get him back again and a few times I got so much into what I was doing to Dr. Peterman that I stopped what I was doing on Mr. Adams. I'll spare you the rest of the gory details except to say that Dr. Peterman thought he would do me a favor by not coming in my mouth, which I had been looking forward to!, and so he came all over my face instead and Mr. Adams made me almost faint the way he finished. When it was over, I slid off Mr. Adams' lap and lay on the floor, panting myself back into the real world. By then, my jersey was pushed up over my tits and my skirt and panties weren't even on me. Mr. Adams had yanked them off at some point.

"Click."

My eyes blinked open and there was Dr. Peterman standing over me with a digital camera.

"Click."

"Elle, you are never not gorgeous but in the nude and covered with cum (which thanks to Mr. Adams I had lot of on my thighs and tummy to go with Dr. Peterman's contributions to my face) you are a wonder for the ages."

Well, with a compliment like that, how could I complain?

"Cheese!," I said.

- - - -

Until the day I had sex with Dr. Peterman and Mr. Adams, which was the same day I decided to let my grandfather screw me, I blithely thought of myself as a different kind of girl from girls like Marcy Daniels and Katherine Broderick-Adams. Those girls were sluts and I wasn't. But driving home from school that afternoon, I could see there was room for argument about this. I wasn't sorry for my experience in Dr. Peterman's office. I still tingled from it, actually, and I wasn't backing away from my decision about Grandpa either. Okay, then why wouldn't I be in the same slut boat with Katherine, as she would say? I decided the answer was episodes. A person could have episodes of slutty-ness and not be a slut as her primary thing provided her slut episodes didn't last too long. In other words, if episodes were all that you had you could still be a worthwhile person. You would have to go from hot to cold, like literally, for this to work, but a strong person could do that and I am a strong person. I felt much better after I thought up my episode theory. It was especially reassuring since I apparently was having a pretty intense episode at the moment. My theory meant I didn't have to worry about stopping yet. I could have all the sex I wanted. I could be like a total nymphomaniac if I felt like it. I would just have to end my episode before it was too late, whatever that meant. Also, a slut episode would have to be followed by a good girl episode, whatever that meant, for a reasonable period of time, whatever that meant. Obviously, there were details to be worked out here, but I would worry about that later. For now I was in a pretty good mood.

Home temporarily being at Grandma's house, I was looking forward to seeing her because she was always so nice to me, not that Grandpa wasn't but that situation had become a little complicated because of me, mainly, and also because Grandma is a wonderful cook, unlike my mother who stinks at it. I was hoping to have some of Grandma's home made cookies and milk for an afternoon snack and maybe have a nice talk with her while we waited for Grandpa to come home. Grandma was in the kitchen when I got there getting ready to bake a pie. You should understand that from a dimension standpoint a pie in Grandma's oven was like a bale of hay in Grandpa's barn. So there she was bending in front of the cavern of her oven looking at this tiny object on a heavy metal tray. She closed the oven door and turned on the oven.

"Have a nice day at school, honey?" she said.

"Mmm, I really did. Grandma aren't you supposed to preheat the oven before you put the pie in."

"Not always," she said.

We chatted a bit about this and that for a minute, and then she said,

"If I were you, I would change out of those clothes before your grandfather comes in. They are all rumpled up. Grandpa will wonder what you have been doing in them."

My top and skirt were rumpled a little but they weren't that bad. Grandma was overstating things. Why was she doing that and making a suggestive remark about what I did in them? I was in a devilish mood, thanks to my episode idea plus the tingly after effects from my experience in Dr. Peterman's office, so if it was bait for a sexy conversation that Grandma put out for me I was in the mood to take it. I also thought it was very cute that she might want to have a sexy conversation with me, considering how prim and proper she tended to be about things.

"Yes, my clothes got all wrinkled. Are you wondering about that, too, Grandma, what I was doing in them, I mean?"

"Well, you left here neat as a pin and now....yes, what happened, dear? If some boy fucked you in the bushes or some such thing, that's perfectly appropriate for a healthy girl your age. Grandpa and I would have no problem with your having sex, no problem at all."

"Really?" I was shocked.

"Sex is a grand thing. I hope you are having lots of it. Here, you have some spots on that skirt. Hmmm," she said, going to the sink and coming back with a sponge. She made me sit on one of the ladder back kitchen chairs while she got down on her knees in front of me and rubbed the spots off the front of my skirt.

"These are jism spots," she said.

She was right about the spots. I had been too preoccupied to notice them. I didn't understand how cum could have got on that darned skirt which Mr. Adams had ripped off me before anyone even had an orgasm, that is, anyone but me.

"Are you sure?," I said, like a moron.

Grandma chuckled. "You're the one in a position to be sure, dear."

"Well...," I said, not knowing what to say after "well" but it turned out I didn't have to say anything because Grandma pushed up my skirt to see if I had any spots on my panties. I sat there with my mouth open while Grandma made her inspection.

"You have spots on yourself, dear. Did you know that? Never mind," and Grandma began to clean me up, not with the sponge, but by using her forefinger which she licked and then rubbed on me, starting midway on my thigh.

"Mmmm, jism has a taste even in itty bitty amounts that dry on a girl," she said, and she put her licked finger on me for like the fourth or fifth time, each touch getting closer to my panties. It was amazing enough that Grandma had such a liberal attitude about sex, but she was totally blowing my mind with what she was doing. I didn't have spots on my thighs. Grandma was just making that up. I had washed myself in the girls' room right after I left Dr. Peterman's office. Good grief, she was being naughty with me!

"You heard your grandfather this morning, wishing he didn't have to go to bed with me, old thing that I am!," she said, looking at her finger to see if there was any cum she could lick.

"He didn't say that, Grandma."

"It's what he meant. It's true, isn't it?"

Grandma sat back and made a sour face.

"I think you're very pretty Grandma, the way you fix your hair and so forth. And look what a pretty dress you have on?"

"This old thing?"

Grandma's house dress was sort of cream colored with blue flowers on it and it hung on her without a waist which was all right because Grandma didn't really have a waist. She wasn't fat, she was more like even from her shoulders to her legs. She had her hair in a bun on the top of her head.

"I think what Grandpa was saying was that it might be fun for him to have sex with someone younger, you know, just for the variety. That doesn't mean anything, really."

"The hell it doesn't."

"Grandma! I can't get over you."

Now she was looking at my thighs again where my skirt had been pushed back almost to my panties.

"Here, Grandma. Let me hold up my skirt for you," I said, using my cutest voice, and I held the skirt straight up. I opened my legs. If Grandma wanted to play with me, I would let her.

"Maybe Grandpa isn't the only person who wants a 'decent piece of ass'," I purred.

"Oh, my," Grandma murmured. She put her hands under me and I lifted up for her to take off my panties. She knelt there a few moments looking at me. Then she put her head between my legs to have herself a different kind of pie She kissed and licked me around but not on my vagina, taking her time, and pretty soon driving me nuts.

"Mmmmm," I kept saying, gritting my teeth, forcing myself to stay still.

Lick, lick. Kiss, kiss, went Grandma. When I wasn't holding my head back or squeezing my eyes shut, I watched her grey head moving between my legs. Finally, she put a finger in me a little way.

"Not enough honey yet. Grandma likes lots of honey, dear," she said.

Grandma finger-fucked me then, my second one of the day by fingers other than mine. She straightened on her knees while she did it and watched my face, to catch my reaction, I guess, and also because she wanted to talk! I had been finger-fucked a few times by boys but none of them ever wanted to have a conversation.

"I'll tell you a secret about that oven," she said, finger going in, finger going out.

"What?," I breathed. "Well, we do cook piggies in it but before that we play a game. We pretend that one of the ladies in our group is a pig and we oil her up and put her in the oven and pretend to cook her. It's only pretend, mind you. And then we serve her on a platter and people lick her all over and, well, you get the picture."

"Oh," I said.

"Honey, I want to put you in the oven, " finger going in, finger going out.

I just blinked.

"You can be our dessert at supper, Elle. It's Friday and I always make Grandpa a nice dessert on Fridays. It's a tradition your grandfather and I have. He always says to me when he comes in, 'What's for desert?' and tonight I was going to say, 'Cherry pie!' Oh my, that would be a lie in your case, wouldn't it, dear? But when he asks tonight, I'll say, 'Hot cunt!!'" Finger going in, finger going out.

"Grandma!," I gasped.

I don't know why I ever agreed to do it, but I went along with Grandma's crazy idea. She made me lie on my back on her butcher block table with all my clothes off. By the time she finished oiling me up, like she had said, finding lots of naughtiness opportunities along the way, I was in a daze, so that when she told me to put my hands behind my head in order to tie my wrists, I did it without thinking, and when she told me to put my feet together so she could tie my ankles, I did that, and when told me to open my mouth so she could put an apple in it, I opened wide.

Next to the dining room (now part of the kitchen) was a small den with a door that had one of those old fashion locks beneath the door knob, the kind that has a key hole. Grandma went to the door and opened it, using a big metal key, and then she rolled out a metal cart and brought it over to the table I was lying on.

"Gonna put you on here, honey," she said, braking the cart.

Being oiled all over, I was easy to push. Grandma got me on the cart and then rolled me to the oven. She had taken out her pie and left the oven door open for the oven to cool, and it was cool enough she said. Since the top of the cart was even with the bottom of the oven, she pushed me right inside, no problem. I lay there looking up past my apple at the dark coils. It was hot but like summer day hot not like getting yourself cooked hot. In one of the top corners, I noticed what looked like the front of a speaker, and it was the front of a speaker.

"The oven is wired for sound, Elle. That's so we can talk to the girls and make fun of them while they are cooking, while they are pretend cooking, I mean. When we actually cook something, there's a heat shield that closes so the speaker doesn't get damaged. It's supposed to close at 125 degrees. Anyway, you'll be able to hear Grandpa when he comes home and how surprised he'll be when I tell him about you being in the oven."

Grandma closed the oven door, leaving me feeling strange and alone but also, in a weird way, sexy.

She was right about the speaker. I could hear her working in the kitchen and humming to herself. It seemed like forever, but it probably wasn't even half an hour before I heard Grandpa come into the house. The first thing I heard him say was, "What's for dessert?"

I waited for Grandma to say, "Hot cunt", but instead she said, "What's the sheepish grin for?"

"I got the boys outside," Grandpa said, worriedly

"Your bowling team, pardon the expression!?"

"Ha, ha. Yup. I know how you feel about surprise guests for dinner so I left 'em on the porch while I talk to you about it. Saw the cherries on the counter fore I left and figured sharing a cherry pie with the fellas after a hard afternoon of, um, bowling would be a good thing. What do you say, Lucy?"

"Oh my. You better take a look in the oven, Abner."

I lifted my head so I could see Grandpa when he saw me.

"Jesus-H-Christ," he muttered as we peered at each other through our "window".

Before Grandpa could say anything more, sounds came of people storming into the kitchen. I guess the guests got tired of waiting. It turned out they weren't exactly a bowling team but a bunch of old guys from Grandpa's senior citizens club who went downtown to the "Xellent Cinema" on Friday afternoons to watch porn flicks. Bowling was a cover story for some of their wives, but not Grandma who knew all about it.

"Howdy, Lucy!," a voice boomed so loud you didn't need a sound system to hear it. Other guys chimed in, saying hello to Lucy and making apologies for barging in but they all sounded pretty happy to be doing it. I heard the words "cherry pie" a few times. Meanwhile, Grandpa had turned around and put his back against the oven door to hide me though he still hadn't thought of anything to say, apparently.

"Let's take a look there, Abner. What ya doin?," the man with the big voice shouted and then a face appeared over Grandpa's shoulder.

"God damn, there's a whore in there! Abner's got a whore in the oven. Young one!"

Suddenly the old guys were jamming at the oven door, jostling Grandpa out of the way, staring at me like monsters coming to get you in a dream. They all talked at once - about me being a whore, being young - almost a kid, being pretty, wondering where Grandpa got me from, why there was an apple in my mouth, about fucking me, etc.

"Open it!", one of them said, meaning the door to the oven.

"Wait!" It was Grandma. Everyone quieted down.

"You're right, the girl in there is a whore, a nice one, too, as you can see. Abner and me got her for you fellas as a surprise treat when you thought it was going to be a cherry pie. Now the apple is so she can't talk cause the man we got her from doesn't want anyone to know about her or about him. Understand? Now, I'm gonna take her out of the oven, Abner and me, and we're gonna put her on the dinner table and you fellas can eat her to your heart's content, but that's all. She's a cherry pie, remember? You don't have sexual intercourse with no cherry pie. You eat a pie is what you do."

"Why can't we fuck her if she's a whore?"

"Cause you can't," Grandma said, which wasn't much of an answer of course, as Grandpa must have realized, because he finally thought of something to say.

"We only paid the man enough to eat her. Cost too much to fuck her."

"How much it cost?"

"Never-you-mind. Just be happy you got this much," Grandma snapped.

The oven door opened. Grandpa and Grandma slid me out on my tray, then onto the metal cart, while the men stood off a little ways, watching. There were five of them, plus Grandpa. The guy with the big voice was big all over. His name was Bob and as I was being wheeled to the table he asked what my name was.

"Hester," Grandma blurted.

"What kind of name is that? Sounds like an old lady's name"

"It's a whore's name, Bob, that's what it is," Grandma said.

"No way. You saying her folks figured she was going to be a whore when they named her?"

"Come on, Bob," another guy said. "It's a fake name for a whore. Like the one in the movie, Lorna Cunt. You think Lorna Cunt's that whore actress's real name?"

"Could be," Bob said, stubbornly defending his stupidity.

They got me onto the table, which was this antique pine table about twelve feet long with sides that folded up to make the table wider but Grandma was leaving the sides down for me. Grandma leaned over me and said,

"Hester, I'm going to take out the apple and put in this gag. Don't try to say anything."

I nodded that I wouldn't, but Grandma didn't have to worry. I could see what she was doing and I wasn't about to wreck it. I was glad about the apple. My jaw was numb. I just hoped the gag would be smaller and not stretch my mouth as much and, sure enough, it was the right size, made of rubber and round, with a strap that went around my head. I wondered how come Grandma and Grandpa had a gag like that.

"How old is she?," a guy named Fred asked, as Grandma was getting me ready on my tray.

"She's twenty," Grandpa said.

"She ain't twenty. Looks like a high school kid," Fred said.

"Shut up, Fred. She's old enough to be a whore, that's all that matters," some other guy said, but I didn't see who. It was pretty confusing. The old guys were blabbing away at each other and walking around the table, looking at me and poking me with their fingers, not to feel me up but more like to see if I was real was the way it seemed. They talked about me as if I wasn't there. I worried a little that they wouldn't like my boobs because they are small and it didn't make me feel any better when big, dumb Bob said, "fucking tits are for the birds". I wanted to smack him. But a couple of the other guys told Bob he was crazy, that my boobs were "perfectly round and firm", as one of them said, that "they're smallish, yeah, but they have nice shapes," as Fred said. I figured the guys would like the rest of me and it seemed that they did. They also seemed to like the fact that I don't have much hair on my you know what, which was understandable considering what they were planning to do to me. All I have down there is a blonde tuft above my slit and a few strands at the side, like whispy welcomers, so light in color you hardly notice them. Anyway, the guys were all pretty excited which is probably why they didn't think about what a guy named Elmer said, until he said it: