Flamingos Ch. 23

But she wasn't done with me.

The Cialis usually works for me, but she turned out to be better. She knew EXACTLY how to touch, to tickle, where to probe, and hard to squeeze. With her bony finger up my ass, lightly pressing my prostate, I was almost instantly hard again.

"Good boy," she said, making me chuckle. I couldn't remember the last time I had been called "boy."

She played, very gently pressing on my prostate, that true center of a man's pleasure, until I was swollen and hard, making me remember what it was like to be a teenager when you didn't need any, well, "help."

She pulled her finger out, quickly, making me jerk, and then, holding my eyes with hers, put it in her mouth. Her lips were puckered around her finger and her eyes closed as she sucked. I could see her throat working as she sucked and swallowed.

"Now," she said, flashing that toothless smile, "let me show you how grannies handle their men."

She started kissing down my body but she didn't just take my cock into her mouth. Instead, she moved around until her knees were between my ankles and took my balls into her mouth, sucking gently, taking me right to the edge of pain. She seemed to sense when she found that point, right where the tiniest bit of additional pressure would take me from this pleasure into pain, and she held me there.

She bit down, no, that is too strong.

She slowly added pressure until I could feel her gums pressing on the delicate and terribly sensitive tangle of ducts and blood vessels and nerve endings, the epididymis, the vas deferns, the seminal vesicles, all of those special things that make a man fertile. I couldn't breathe. I was so completely at her mercy. Another tiny bit of pressure and I'd be screaming but unable to move for fear she would castrate me.

But it felt good too.

When she moved her head slightly, changing the pressures involved, I couldn't help the gasp that escaped.

She pulled off, slowly, her lips holding me, stretching me, taking me just a little into the world of pain before her lips came off with an audible little popping sound, and my scrotum sort of flopped loose.

"You like your granny, honey," she said, that toothless smile looking so inviting.

"Oh, God, yes," I managed.

"And what would you like?" she asked.

"My titties?" she asked and lifted her fallen breasts and let them fall with a soft audible slap.

"My pussy?" she asked and lifted the full soft lips between her legs, used her fingers to open them, and show me the pink inner lips.

"Maybe my ass?" she asked, reaching behind herself and spreading her cheeks.

"I won't say 'no,'" she said.

I grinned and held out my arms.

"Come here," I said.

She smiled and leaned forward.

"I want all of you," I said, lightly brushing stringy hair away from her face.

She kissed me, the toothless kiss giving her mouth an odd feel.

"Take what you want," she said in her breathless, oddly distorted voice, "or would you rather I chose."

"Take me through your menu," I said and she giggled.

"Wellllllll," she said, swinging her leg over me and impaling herself on my cock in one smooth movement, "how's this for a start?"

Her toothless grin was an odd combination of happy and feral.

"A good start," I said, "what comes next."

She moved her hips in that weirdly boneless way some women can pull off, very wet and slick where she was riding me, and then lifted off, adjusted her body, pushing her hips forward, and reached down, pushing my erection back a little before she settled down. I felt resistance as she adjusted our bodies to get in line and suddenly a tight band around my cock as she took me anally.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh," she breathed out a soft sigh and then surprised me by starting to talk.

"I believe," she said, almost conversationally as she settled slowly, accepting all of me anally, "that there are two kinds of women in the world when it comes to this."

"Oh?" I said, accepting whatever kind of game this was that she was playing, "and what are they?"

"There are women who enjoy this," and she squeezed, powerful anal sphincter muscles tightening down on the base of my shaft, "deliciously, wonderfully full feeling she can't get from a man any other way."

"I see," I said, into the play now, "and the other kind?"

"Oh," she said, giggling, and pausing to grunt softly, squeeze on me, and I felt her vaginal love honey flow suddenly, soaking the thatch of my pubic hair.

She giggled, an oddly young sound from her old face, and said, "sorry, honey, orgasms are SO distracting. Where was I?"

I laughed at that and said, "You were going to tell me about the other kind of woman."

"Oh yeah," she said, and I honestly couldn't tell if she was joking or had really needed her memory jogged, "and there are those women who lie and say they don't enjoy it."

That made me laugh again and she joined me but held her position with me buried deep in her ass.

Since we were having this over-the-top weird conversation I decided to push it along.

"Tell me, MaryLou," I said, being sure to use her name, "of the first time you discovered which kind you were."

She laughed at that, a thick throaty laugh, age and, I imagined, cigarette and whisky coarsened.

"I was an 18-year-old bride on my honeymoon," she said, and this time the real smile took years off of her face. I couldn't see that teenage bride, but I could see the 20-something mom she had become.

"Neither of us was very experienced," she went on, "but we were sure willing. The third day, I woke with him slipping inside of me, spooning, his belly against my back."

She giggled at that and said, "you should have seen me back then, David. These," and she lifted and dropped her fallen tits, "stuck straight out and he loved playing with them, and this," and she patted her belly and hips, "was firm and smooth."

She took a deep breath, almost a sigh, and I could almost see her remembering. I was aware, of course, that I was still inside of her ass, deep in her rectal vault to be technical, but I was also kind of fascinated with the story and the uniqueness of this whole conversation.

"Anyway," she went on, smiling down at me and brushing a stray hair off of my forehead, "he reached around to play with them and when we moved he slipped out. I moved and he moved and suddenly he had me, well," and she grinned, "like you do right now."

I was processing this, the image clear in my mind.

"What did he do?" I asked.

"Oh, as soon as he realized what had happened he started to pull away," she said and giggled, "but I said, 'wait.'"

"And?" I asked, since she obviously wanted the question.

"And I caught his hands and said, 'wait,' again, as I relaxed, feeling the sensation building," she said.

"And?" I asked again.

"He asked if I was okay and I said something like 'God yes,'" she said, "and then I, well, I 'squirted,' you know, I had my first full-body orgasm. Oh, he had made me climax, especially after that first awkward night, but this was new."

"You liked it?" I asked.

"Oh fuck, David," she said, "I was addicted, instantly and completely. It became part of our normal sex play."

Talking about it was getting to her. Her face was flushed and her breathing was rapid.

"Soooooo," I said, "did you lick him clean after that first time?"

She smiled and caught my hands in hers, using her full weight to pin them beside my ears.

"Of course," she said and bent down and licked my cheek, up my left eye, and to my forehead.

"Like this," she breathed into my ear before probing the ear canal with her educated tongue and then licking my face like she was a cat, bathing a kitten.

"I enjoyed pleasing him, David," she said, her tongue licking my neck, "and since he died, well, I don't need to give up something I enjoy.

"What a good wife you must have been," I said.

"Oh, we fought," she said and again the surreal nature of this conversation struck me as she squeezed, "and I got my share of spankings but I don't regret anything we did."

"Will you lick me clean?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, "the real question is - will you lick me clean?"

I grabbed her sparse hair, stopping her as she licked my cheek, "is that what you like?"

She laughed, that coarse laugh, and said, "oh, David, I like it ALL!"

"I would be honored to lick you clean," I said, pulling her down and kissing her.

She giggled again, pulled off of me, and moving with a speed and grace that surprised me, swapped ends until she straddled me, her skinny, bony ass inches from my face.

I reached up and used my fingertips to spread her cheeks. She still gaped open a little from what we had been doing and, unsurprisingly, there was a distinct brown ring around her asshole and matched smears along her ass cheeks.

I pulled her down. There was a very faint scent and no taste at all as I did as I had promised and started licking her clean. I mean, it's not like this was the first asshole I had ever licked. The surprise was how she came again, thick white nectar running free, soaking my chin and running down onto my throat. I'm good at analingus and it's especially good with a partner who enjoys it.

And she was good at it too. Her tongue made long licks, starting at my coccyx, that vestigial tail at the base of my spine, and licking slowly all the way until she separated my balls with her tongue and eventually touched my sensitive urethra with her tongue before starting over. The trip around the world, with her tongue penetrating deeply into my anus, was as good as any I ever had.

She came, hard and wet, hot and thick, her Bartholin's and Skene's glands still working quite well in spite of her age, and I drank greedily, pulling her down, covering her with my open mouth and letting her flow, filling my mouth.

When I came she guided me, accepting my ejaculation in her hair, on her face, opening her mouth, and slurping noisily.

"Okay, sweet cheeks," she said, giggling, her face a mask, "I need to get ready. Brett doesn't like to be kept waiting and his spankings hurt."

That shocked me, the first thing with this odd old woman that had.

"Spankings?" I asked.

She giggled and said, "Oh, he indulges my whims and he recognized my well-diagnosed sexual disinhibition, but there are some things he just gets a little weird about."

She turned then, giving me a look that can only be called "sly."

"Why? Wanna try?" she asked.

"I think I'd be afraid to break you," I said and she laughed loudly at that, sounding, if not young, then middle-aged.

"Up to you, sweet cheeks," she said, turning and shaking that skinny ass at me.

"I don't think so," I said although I did feel some regret.

So I made a sandwich while she showered and got ready. Back in her wig, her teeth in place, and dressed, she looked like that skinny granny again, old but still moving very well.

We sat, companionably, drinking a beer and watching Breaking Bad reruns, until we felt the trailer shake. Ashley and Brett came in.

"She's okay," Brett said, "and I imagine she learned her lesson."

"Good," I said, "want a beer?"

"No," he said, "I think I'll take Gramma home now."

I stood, walked them to the door, and then turned back to Ashley.

"Are you really okay?" I asked.

She smiled, wanly.

"Aches and pains," she said, "but yes, I'm okay."

I mixed her a screwdriver without being asked.

"Wanna go out for something to eat?" I asked.

She smiled and said, "I'd like that."

Back at the trailer after a quick dinner at the local diner, I asked if she wanted to do some singing but she said no.

And that was how we finished our year and a day together. We stopped four times on the way to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Paula and I had stayed in touch, of course, texting and the occasional phone call. Our meeting in Santa Fe was long planned.

As for Ashley, I have no regrets. It was a very special eleven months and if we tended to sleep back to back that last week, well, I have no complaints.