Bareback Sex with Grandmother

The shock of hearing his gran uttering those words with such a casual demeanour hit Nate like a physical blow. He felt his face warm, heat rising as, simultaneously, his stomach flipped.

"And we must have been going at it ... we must have been ... fucking ... for another couple of minutes, perhaps five?"

"Gran," Nate blurted.

Madeline held up a hand, flat, with the palm facing him. Eyes closed to her grandson's outburst, Madeline said, "Let me finish, Nate.

"You were so surprised, so outraged at seeing me with your father that you stayed there at the window and spied on us for all that time?"

Nate heard her scoff, heard the derision.

"You stayed out there – and it was pouring rain if I remember, right? – You stayed there and watched. A nasty little voyeur in the night scuttling about? You come in here and babble on about your mother and ask how I could do it to her and all the time you lurked and watched me and your father fuck?

"I think you're feeling a little guilty yourself, Nate. I think you stayed and watched because you liked what you saw.

"Have I got it right, Nate? Did seeing me with your father make you feel sexy? Did your cock get hard when you saw me sucking him? Did you want to pull it while he fucked me?"

Her voice, low and dangerous and oddly compelling continued. "And what about when he came, Nate? Did you see that? Did you see your dad come all over my bottom? Did you play with yourself and stare at all his jizm pouring over me?"

"No," he gasped. "I mean ... Yes, I saw, but no it didn't make me feel--"

His father's body curling over his grandmother's back, his arms around her as he pulled her to him. His grandmother's breasts in his father's hands, her hips thrusting back. His father lurching upright and the wild look in his eyes, his face twisting.

Had his father grunted and snarled at that moment? Nate couldn't hear through the glass, not with the rain pounding on the roof of the patio.

His grandmother's expression as she twisted, her torso swivelling so she could observe the gouts of semen flicking from her lover's cock. Her body in profile, breasts swinging, heavy undulations while she grinned and her lips moved and she spoke words Nate couldn't hear.

What had she said to Nate's father as the semen rained onto her?

Madeline interrupted, ploughing on with: "Oh really, Nate, then why did you stay and watch? I think you enjoyed it. You liked what you saw and now you feel guilty. You were hard and aroused and wanted to masturbate ... Or it's more likely you did masturbate, Nate. You stayed and watched and pulled your cock. That's what I think, Nate."

His grandmother stepped towards him, skirted the table and got close up.

Nate rose to his feet, hands raised as though to ward off a blow. "No, Gran. God, no. I didn't..."

A little voice in his ear – insidious and insistent: She's right, you know. You can deny it to yourself, but you know she's right. You wanted to play with your dick and watch your grandmother's tits swing.

Nate backed away, stepping around the chair he moved away from his grandmother.

He shook his head and murmured, "No."

And then he turned and twisted the door handle and staggered into the early morning darkness.

Three

(Tuesday)

Madeline watched the Carrera move down the drive towards the road. The gates swung open and the Porsche accelerated away. Marcus was on his way to the airport and a big deal in Berlin. Madeline's eyes left the gates as she regarded the big house, most of it hidden beyond the trees, and she wondered what was on her grandson's mind at that moment.

She'd left him to stew for a day, leaving him to mull over, to think and very probably obsess over what she'd put into his head. She had bided her time, waited until there were no distractions, confident that Nate would hold it all in. But now it was just the two of them, with Nate in the big house and her in the granny flat.

She was going to enjoy herself.

**

Nate was in his bedroom when she suddenly appeared.

"May I come in?" his grandmother asked. "I think we should have a little chat."

She was insistent when, at first, Nate mumbled he didn't think it would be a good idea and he wanted to be left alone to think.

"It would be for the best," Madeline said as she stepped through the open door. "Clear the air and all that." She threw a glance at the window. "With your father away for a couple of days it's the perfect opportunity to talk and decide how we're going to move on from this point."

Nate sat up when the bed dipped under his grandmother's weight. They sat there, side-by side, Nate's fingers interlocked, hands resting on his lap. His body tensed when she slid a hand around his waist, her arm encircling him, but he allowed the intimacy.

Madeline began to speak in a low voice, neither one looking at the other.

"I get so bored and lonely in my little bungalow," she said. "I know it wasn't the best decision I could make, Nate, but your father and I ... Well, it's a long story, very sordid, and you saw the outcome. I've always been a flirt, Nate. I love men and I love it when they appreciate me. It doesn't have to be flowers and compliments. I'm quite complex, I have varied tastes, I'm not one to get all huffy and offended if a workman on a building site wolf-whistles."

She chuckled and Nate felt his grandmother's arm squeeze him.

"I take it as a compliment. It means I've still got it."

Nate didn't want to hear it, didn't want to listen to his grandmother – of all people – venting about her innermost feelings and desires and how she appreciated the attention of some grubby, lewd-minded construction worker. It did, however, explain the clinging tops, deep cleavage, and skirts that just managed to border on the point of decency.

Plus there was the niggling issue of her accusation on that Monday morning early on. She'd so deftly wrong-footed him, turned the tables and made Nate question exactly why he'd stayed so long peering in through the patio doors.

He was uncomfortable with the doubt; he could feel her arm around him, the heat coming off her. Nate could smell her scent and was fully – disturbingly – aware of the swell of her breasts.

In fact, if he glanced across and down he could see the curve of flesh, the crescent of one inner flank; if he looked down further he could see her thighs, smooth and tanned and firm, the pay-off from hours of yoga and torturous apparatus in the gym above the garage.

"Please, Gran," Nate groaned, gulping as he closed his eyes.

But she seemed to ignore the plea and kept talking.

"I sometimes go out, Nate, on my own, to places I shouldn't perhaps visit. Would it shock you to know I sometimes let myself get chatted up by men?"

Nate swallowed again. "I don't need to hear this, Gran. Please, it isn't something you should be telling me."

So why didn't he simply wrench away from her arm? Why did he sit there with her breast against him? Why couldn't he drag himself away from the scent of her? Why did the sight of her plunging décolletage constantly draw his eyes?

And most disturbing of all – why was his cock thickening?

"I'm just trying to explain. I'm not that old, Nate. A woman in her fifties can harbour some deep and dark desires." Madeline shrugged, her cleavage deepening. "I was weak and there was your father ... It was craziness, lunacy, but masturbating on my sofa doesn't always get me there, Nate. When I lie there some evenings, alone, with just the television for company I try to resist the urge. But quite often I have to relieve the itch." His grandmother's voice turned to a whisper in his ear. "And sometimes I just have to have a man inside me."

Then, after murmuring that, she slid away from Nate and stood up.

"So you see, Nate, you just happened to catch me with your dad, but you could have just as easily seen me masturbating. I do it most nights. I don't trawl for casual sexual encounters too often, which means it's just me, in my living room, on the settee with my little friend."

Nate blinked and she was gone. He barely registered the door closing a few moments later as his mind reeled at the revelations.

"Shit, shit, shit," Nate muttered as he attempted to deny his arousal.

Four

(Tuesday evening - Madeline)

She got there by calling forth memories of her most recent encounters. Madeline pictured herself as though she'd been a third party present, a voyeur to the scene where two lovely men, barely out of their teens, hard-muscled and vulgar, their big cocks testimony to how much they wanted her, had fucked her rough and hard.

Madeline pushed aside thoughts about her grandson. He was either there or not there, Schrodinger's beyond the curtains. Should she part the curtains, the same as opening the box? Madeline decided to indulge herself first. The curtains could wait. Why spoil her enjoyment when Nate could just as easily not be out there.

The dildo filled her, her insides clenching at the malleable girth that stretched her open.

It was one of those cocks fucking into her – "Oh, fuck," she moaned. "A lovely dick in my cunt, and another lovely boy in my mouth."

How they'd fucked her! Both of them using her body, battering into her, young men driven wild with lust for an older woman. Madeline didn't care that those two men had pounded her for their own gain, how they'd hauled her around to suit their own needs, both of them uncaring if they bruised Madeline's wrists or thighs. They were too intent on pummelling her pussy, too engaged with their own desires to bother about offending her with coarse language and casual, obscene references to her age and how enthusiastic she was for young meat. And Madeline didn't want it any other way. She wanted it exactly as they'd dished it out.

Just as they'd used her, Madeline attained her own satisfaction by using them. They were nothing to her, simply a means to an end. She'd watched their faces, seen the hunger in their eyes, recognised their desire for her, and she'd made it plain she was up for both of them together.

The compliments had come from their mouths: her body excited them, her legs looked so good, she was hot and sexy. They told her how good her breasts were – it was always her tits – and how they wanted to touch them and suck the elongated teats. Her pussy was so wet, so hot and so tight...

"Uh, Madeline," the tattooed one had grunted. "I'm gonna come ... Fuck, I'm gonna explode."

How she'd adored it when he'd bellowed and held himself over her, the lovely muscles in his arms bunching while his face twisted and he grimaced, swear words blurting from him, his cock pulsing and spitting jizm into the sheath that protected them both.

"Come for me," she had breathed, her head turning so she could offer her mouth to his friend. "Let it go. Come and then I can fuck this big cock, too." Madeline's fist moved along the length of thick, chocolate-skinned meat before she sucked the plum-sized head between her lips.

And those boys had done all she asked. They fucked her cunt and her face, they mauled her tits and rode her some more. She'd sucked them and fucked them and drained them dry, and in the morning, when she left the hotel, redolent of spunk, their semen crusted on her breasts, the musky heat rising from between her legs, Madeline had felt the ache of where they'd been. Her pussy was sore for days, felt battered and bruised, but that didn't stop her from reliving the experience, fingers sliding over her vulva, labia swollen, clit alive with jagged pulses of electricity.

The climax ballooned inside her and Madeline groaned and sighed and grunted, the length of latex sliding out of her opening, the shaft glistening.

The image faded, her need for the lewd and obscene sated – for a few moments at least. Then, with the dildo bumping over her clitoris, a hand massaging her breasts, Madeline slid a palm over her skin, down over her soft stomach towards the heat between her legs. With her limbs still trembling from her first orgasm, as her hips continued to jerk with convulsive after-shocks, Madeline decided she wanted love.

Nate's face came to mind, and Madeline pictured him above her, his root deep inside her body while he gazed down at her in adoration.

Nate would be able to love her, she was his grandmother after all, and Madeline murmured his name and experienced an arterial burst of lust at the imagined incest.

Her grandson's cock inside her body. Nathaniel moving with her, their gazes locked until, with a little encouragement from her, he would lean in and they could kiss.

The best thing about her grandson loving her would be his kiss while his unsheathed cock slipped into her.

"Fuck," Madeline groaned, her legs widening as she held herself open. Her finger slid over her clitoris and she snorted heavily, hoping he was there to see her all exposed and scarlet and hot for loving.

Unable to help herself she rubbed at her body, taking herself to a juddering, teeth-gnashing orgasm, two and then three fingers curled inside her cunt while she stared directly at the gap in the curtains.

Even before the sensations rolling over had ceased, with the breath rasping in her throat, legs weak, Madeline hauled herself to her feet, tossed the goo-smeared dildo onto the sofa, and walked towards the window.

She grabbed the curtains and, fully nude, ripped them apart.

Five

(Helen's return)

The big Range Rover passed the gates, tyres crunching on the gravel drive. The sensor on the garage door recognised the signal from the unit set in the 4x4's windscreen and swung up.

Helen Johnson glanced at her husband. "I can't believe it," she said.

The Range Rover eased into its bay next to the Porsche, Nate's BMW was parked in the next bay along.

Marcus killed the engine. "Is it good news?" he asked, very uncertain.

A pause while Helen, just returned from her visit to her sister in New York, considered her feelings. "I think so," she said. "It'll mean changes, of course, but," a determined nod, "I think I can put it into perspective."

With a resolute thrust of his chin Marcus said, "Okay ... Sure." He shrugged heavy shoulders. "Right."

Helen, in her usual style, elegantly presented in flowing, wide-legged cotton trousers and a sleeveless top – comfortable, crease-proof wear for trans-Atlantic flights in First Class – climbed down from the high cab of the vehicle, heels pecking on the smooth concrete floor of the garage.

"Could you take my case into the house?" she asked her husband.

Marcus opened the door on his side of the Range Rover. "Sure," he replied. "But what are you going to do?"

Helen moved to the garage door and flung a look back over her shoulder, calling. "I'm going to see my mother."

Marcus watched her go for a few seconds, his mind working. Then he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket for his phone.

**

There were things on Helen's mind as she walked through the avenue, the green canopy overhead, the bungalow flickering between the trunks of the trees. An uncertain future laid ahead, her husband's news the catalyst for uncertainty.

It wasn't in her nature to pause and reflect, to take stock. Unlike Marcus, who preferred to examine every angle of a potential problem, probing, investigating before deciding on a course of action – a trait he'd passed on to their son – Helen operated on impulse, her instinct guiding her. She needed to talk to her mother, immediately. It meant nothing that she had just crossed an ocean, she wouldn't be able to rest until the issues in her mind had been aired, sleep wouldn't come until Helen could clear her mind completely.

She walked the same path Nate had on the Friday night just over a week before. It was early afternoon and was, although cool beneath the trees, a bright, clear Saturday, with the sun high in a cloudless blue sky.

Helen approached the patio, the doors were wide open. Her shoes sounded with a hollow thunk against the wooden deck when Helen walked across the boards towards the open doors. She paused while her eyes adjusted from the brightness outside, and then she stepped over the threshold.

She heard a noise from deeper inside the bungalow and walked towards the sound. The living room was behind her, the long corridor ahead. Moving past the kitchen, further into her mother's home, Helen didn't call out. Quietly, she crept past the closed door to the second bedroom. Helen ignored it and went on.

She paused and listened and heard the unmistakable sound of a mattress protesting at some rough abuse, the noise accompanied by moans and mutterings – feminine sighs and male grunts.

Lifting a hand she pushed the door.

It swung open and Helen was confronted by the sight of her mother, forearms and knees on the bed, rump thrust high while she mumbled into the bed cover.

Nate, Helen's own son was curled over his grandmother's back, his arms around her waist, holding himself tight against her body, the soles of his feet planted firmly on the bed.

What a homecoming, what a welcome – her own mother's body accommodating Nate's long, thick cock.

Her son and her mother, fucking.

Helen gasped and her mother's face swivelled towards her.

Six

(Back to Tuesday evening - Nate)

He'd been outside. Had lurked on the patio and watched his grandmother use the dildo. He'd seen her approaching but hadn't had the time to react before the curtains were ripped apart. The glass was between them, Madeline naked looking out at her grandson while Nate boggled in at her, his erection in his fist.

The shock of seeing her moving towards the patio doors had held him there, helpless, the discovery inevitable.

And then she'd turned the key and opened the door and, instead of castigating him soundly for his voyeurism, his grandmother had smirked as though she'd been expecting him, with no flicker of shock or surprise or outrage evident.

"Don't stand out there, Nate," she said, cool as you like.

He'd gawped at her as she reached for him, fingers closing around the jut of his hard-on.

"Come inside," she insisted, giving his cock a squeeze and a gentle tug.

And, with his grandmother leading him by his penis, Nate complied.

**

Sitting on the sofa side-by-side, her fist working his cock. Up and down, his grandmother fisted his length, fingers squeezing his root as she murmured at him. She was telling him it would all be all right, to relax and let her take care of everything.

"I hoped you were there, Nate. I so badly wanted you to be there, watching," she said.

As it had been in his bedroom, with her sitting next to him, Nate could feel the heat of her, caught her scent.

But this time she was naked, nude while she stroked his dick, slowly yet inevitably milking him.

It couldn't be happening.

Again, as it had been in his bedroom, her arm went around his waist.

She was sitting there, her torso turned towards him while her other hand stroked his length.

His grandmother was whispering: "I did it for you, Nate. I wanted you to watch."

There were the images in his head: his father and grandmother, her on her knees with his father's cock in her mouth; his grandmother with her forearms braced against the wall while his father thrust into her; the jizm arcing in a high parabola before raining down onto her back and buttocks...

Her breath was hot against his ear: "Did you enjoy my little show?" she asked, squeezing. She chuckled. "Judging by how big and hard you were when I pulled the curtains open, you liked what you saw ... A lot.

"You're so hard, Nate. Are you excited? Do you like this?"

He could only gulp and mumble a vague response. Nate groaned, his hips jerking with small uncontrolled thrusts.

"You do like it, don't you?" Madeline's voice squeaked with expectation. "Fuck my hand, Nate. Yes, you dirty boy, fuck my fist."