Grabbing the Brass Ring

Next weekend would be a holiday party at grandma's and in my head, I had worked-out every detail except one. I knew that she would be mostly alone in the kitchen, her authoritarian manner had fairly trained- or scared- folks from bothering her while she cooked. I often ran interference and shuttled dishes and chairs and then ran to the attic for photo books and souvenirs from her many travels to keep the crew occupied. For the first half of most of her parties it was as if she wasn't there because she spent so much time in the kitchen getting everything perfect. Then she would dramatically emerge from beneath aprons and clouds of flour and sauce in a stunning outfit, no longer as sensual but every bit sensational in her understated pearls or designer blouse, to hold court like a queen and confer her judgement on the plebeians.

I was hardly missed for a few hours and many of them felt that the less time catering to grandma's wishes, the better. Small groups would form and the season's newest opinions would be offered. Evie was left to her own creations and the family paused. The folks understood not to incur her wrath because she could suddenly turn her sharp gaze on anybody and drop hints about disinheriting people. They all wished for her good blessing and were dutiful while in her presence to attend to her rules. Only I knew that it was mostly bluster and that she was the kindest woman in the world. I also found her extremely sexy and enticing, making me want to fuck her all the more. She was a dominant figure in an extremely sexual way, but she was yearning for someone to finally assume control and sweep her off of her feet.

She had a way of making an appearance at the table, accepting applause for the food and the presentation in the fine china and crystal glassware. She never came to the table with a hair out of place or a single bead of sweat on her forehead. The flowers perfumed the room and the chandelier gleamed. I know, because I did most of the polishing and was counted-on to follow her routine. She would alert me when the cooking was near completion and I would inform her that the dining room was set. No one sat down until Evie took her place. They would all be drinking and nibbling appetizers until the grand entrance. Anyone could plainly see the grace of an aristocratic socialite. I often wished that I could have been one of those lucky suiters.

Supper would last for two hours with Evie barely eating but enjoying the gathering and interjecting just the right quip at just the right time. Brandies and rich desserts would follow and normally, the two of us would clean the kitchen and then have private drinks, nibbling leftovers while critiquing the event and its players. She trusted me with her secrets and I loved hearing her exotic tales. Recently, our late-night conversations would drift more and more easily into titillation and innuendo concerning sex and loneliness. I was cautious about my responses, knowing that her knowledge was born of experience and seemed happily tucked away. Mine were mere fantasies, and incestuous at that. I would often drive home conflicted with a raging hard-on, feeling like an ungrateful cur.

The big day arrived and I was appropriately nervous. It was relatively informal, but men wore jackets to the table and women took every effort to impress Evie with their finery and breeding. This was a chance for them to remind Evie that they were worthy of her attention and possibly of her largesse. So, for one day atleast, they put their best foot forward. I was lucky, though I always brought a coat and tie, I would come early and arrange chairs and carry trays, sometimes having to go to the store for last-minute items. I could wear jeans and a loose shirt until the serving because just before the time came to sit down, Evie and I would fly upstairs, to separate rooms to freshen-up and change clothes. In about half an hour, she would glide down the steps with me discreetly behind and sweep into the room, then I would stop in the kitchen and grab bottles of chilled champagne for the first toast. Then to help serve the meal.

As the evening advanced and the mealtime approached, the aroma of fine foods drifted through the house. On the patio, cigar smoke wafted above the crowd and in the living room, glasses clinked and laughter prevailed. I circulated, making certain that the liquor flowed so that the crowd would thin-out early and that senses would be dulled, making my taboo mission appear less obvious. In the kitchen, I studiously replaced trays of hors d'oeuvres and swept away empty plates between helping Evie with carving and ladling food on to delicate plates. My mind was whirring a million miles a minute. I was sweating and jittery, almost dropping a saucepan on the floor and spilling hot liquid on the counter. She looked at me and asked if I was feeling ill or if I was nervous for some reason. I shook my head... if she only knew.

The final dishes were placed on the warming table, candles were lit and the lights dimmed. The windows allowed a warm breeze and as I scanned the crowd, movement was already sluggish and some looked as if they'd fall asleep soon. Evie dashed upstairs and I filled everyone's glasses, announcing that the meal would be served in approximately fifteen minutes. A great cheer rose from the masses and conversations became louder. I climbed the steps next. Passing grandma's room, I could hear drawers and closets being opened and the rush of water from her bathroom as she readied her toilette. I slipped into the room I used and changed into nicer pants and a clean shirt, leaving the rest until we were ready to descend the stairs.

This was the final countdown. If I took the next step, I would have a few minutes alone with the woman I wanted to ravish and she would (hopefully) be constrained by propriety. I was banking on her new-found sense of decorum that if things went as planned, we would have a sensual-if crude- rendezvous of deviant, illicit pleasure. And if it went haywire, and a storm of thrown beauty implements mixed with a resounding slap, she would atleast walk downstairs and sit with me through an uncomfortable and unforgivable dinner until all of her guests leave before the swearing and recriminations begin. I took a deep breath, wishing that I had taken a swig of whiskey before coming upstairs. My hands were sweaty and my knees shaky, but this is how I planned it and the clock was ticking. I left the room and headed down the hall. The next step would determine my future.

I approached her door and screwed-up my courage, pausing to take one last deep breath and consider my sanity. I had always respected her privacy and knew to knock on closed doors, but this experiment could only have been accomplished by simply bursting in. So, I turned the knob and entered, throwing caution to the wind. Evie turned quickly and a sudden wild-eyed expression colored her lovely face. "Oh Martin, you scared me dear boy, is something wrong, you have a funny look?" I had a moment's hesitation where I questioned my courage, and my intentions. I needed to remember that I had to carry this through. She was standing, exquisitely dressed and looking sexy and untouchable before a full-length mirror. She instantly allowed her shock at an unwelcome intrusion into her dressing room to dissipate, when she saw that it was me.

"Well, how do I look?" she cooed seductively in that sensual, purr of a voice. "Come and give me your honest opinion," reaching her hand out and pulling me alongside of her. She looked fantastic. Good enough to eat, I was thinking while clearing my throat. I missed my chance to catch her half-dressed. Evie stood bare-legged, her long legs were well-toned and seemed to go on forever. She was very tall, only inches shorter than me. And those legs were tanned a golden light brown shade, enabling her to dispense with stockings and she was currently bouncing on her crimson-painted toes. The same red hue adorned her lips, a shade usually reserved for colder weather, but with her new trend towards modesty, she just had to have a burst of color to remind people that she isn't humbled by convention. This was a lady who never conceded easily.

Her golden mane appeared currycombed, bringing her locks to a velvety sheen as they draped carelessly, (but perfectly styled) across her shoulders and just touching the tops of her impressive breasts. Her top was a cornflower-blue that accented her stunning eyes, a short-sleeved blouse open at the neck with a brilliant sapphire on a silver chain that dipped exotically into her prodigious cleavage with every breath she took. She wore a pleated skirt to the knees, cream-colored with gold piping that matched her lions' mane of hair. I noticed the open-toed, black pumps ready for action beneath her make-up chair. She looked sensual and desirable, and I knew that this would be my only chance.

Her big tits stood-out firmly, like the proud figure-head on the bow of a wooden sailing ship. Two delightfully enticing and erotic globes that attracted men like bees to honey. They were held in place with a bra that was forged by a master craftsman so that they shook in unison and they had a very nice wobble from side to side, when she stepped one way or the other. A hint of lacy fabric protected any more of the generous breasts from ogling eyes. Leaving us to second-rate imaginations. Just the creamy tops of her smooth, rounded globes could be seen straining the remaining buttons of her shirt. The darker-pink areolae and perky nipples that I had spied on many other occasions were now discreetly hidden from view, but just left tell-tale teasing impressions that stretched the dainty material to its limits. I knew that she spent three-times as much on Parisian Lingerie as I did on reference material for my economics courses.

I maneuvered behind my sexy prey so that we were both observing our reflections, hers gorgeous and mine lecherous. When she asked me kiddingly, if I would be ashamed to be seen with her, I bent slightly to kiss her cheek, (careful of disturbing her make-up,) and assured her that I would take her as my own in a minute. Time seemed frozen for that brief instant. I was teetering on the edge but I deliberately placed my hand on her curvy backside and cupped her ass cheek. She squealed in an unexpectedly high-pitched cry, more from surprise than displeasure. She was nearly lifted off of her bare feet and stared at my reflection before recovering her senses. Then a wary smile curved her lips and her brows arched, "Martin really." That sexy, throaty purr again, "you have to be more careful where you warm your hands." She took a deep breath and her boobs rose and fell on her chest. For a second, and the first time ever, I detected a look of panic. I saw her eyes flash to the image of the person to her right.

I took a quick minute to survey the field. I didn't get slapped... or even yelled at. Plus, she didn't swat my hand aside or even get upset, infact she seemed remarkably agreeable to my lewd intrusion. It was as if she were prepared for this but just not quite at this minute. My cock was engorged and throbbing, I felt ten feet tall. Kinky and perverted thoughts rushed to my brain.

Onto the next step. I squeezed a bit firmer on her smoothly rounded ass, feeling the soft flesh give a little bounce and settle nicely in my grip. "Marty, what's gotten into you?" I saw her hands raise up in a gesture to deflect any further advances but really it appeared, only half-heartedly. In the meantime, my other hand reached around her while her arms were guarding her butt. And as she gaped at my audacity, I grasped her large breast and kneaded the soft, warm flesh. When her hands switched from her butt to her bosom, I slipped my hand under her skirt and felt the bare skin of her upper thighs, then upwards along the silky material of her frilly undies and caressed the warm, crevice between her squirming buttocks.

"Martin, are you crazy? Have you lost your head? We can't be doing this? There are people downstairs waiting for us- your parents are there." She pleaded rather than ranted, and her curvy frame leaned back against my chest and wiggled her soft ass against my crotch. This was the calmest form of protest I could have imagined. She wasn't really fighting, she was just worried about the dinner. "Watch what you're doing, you can't wrinkle my blouse. We have to get downstairs. Everyone will be wondering." I wasn't hearing "NO." And now I grew emboldened.

I continued to grope her tits with my left hand and rub my right palm against the quickly moistening honeypot between her legs. She shimmied and tepidly fidgeted to evade my clutches. She melted against me, her head and torso burrowing into my chest. Then I kissed her neck and nibbled her ear, causing a ripple of electricity to surge through her torso. "Evie," I said, never having called her anything but grandma in my life, "I'm going to fuck you tonight! And right now, I want you to suck my cock." I couldn't believe that I said that outloud. And to my grandmother. But as I spoke the words, I was pressing down on her shoulders now with both hands, and for the first time, I felt resistance.

"No please," she began. "I won't do it like this." I was momentarily stunned and sidetracked. This was my grandma. I was attempting to leverage her to her knees so that I could ram my cock down her throat. Trying to buck-up my own courage and realize what she was telling me, I stopped applying force.

"I want you to suck my cock, now!" I demanded with as much gravitas as I could muster with an old lady who held every lever of power over me.

"No, I can't" she countered. "Please don't do make me do this. Martin, do you know what you're doing?" She gradually inched away from me but showed no fear.

I felt that if I gave in on this, I would never gain control. I would walk out of this room with my tail between my legs. And I believed that over dinner, she would see that I had no conviction and could be put-off easily and she might lose all respect for me. "I said now," and again I grabbed her shoulders. "You know Gram, that your guests will be getting hungry, they may even start to come up here. You'd better decide fast. The clock is ticking."

"Okay, hold-it," she replied, looking a bit more nervous and knowing that we had been in this room for a long time, already. I proceeded to jockey her into blowjob position but she stopped me again. "No, not like that." I questioned her with a quizzical look. "I don't want this outfit wrinkled. Now pull down your zipper." As she spoke, she was drawing her chair closer and looked back at me, "C'mon, get your cock out. We need to hurry."

She was smoothing her skirt and listening for sounds from the hallway as I tugged my stiffened cock from my trousers. It was almost fully erect and I struggled to work it through the zipper opening. She was watching me with a steady glare when I spied her blue eyes grow wide. "Oh, my Gawd, it truly is enormous," she nearly applauded. "I knew it was big, but Marty really, what am I going to do with this monster?" Her hand circled the firm shaft and she slid her palm up and down the entirety of it, fascinated with the extended length and girth. She adjusted her seat a bit and brought her lips to my package. I reached behind her head to bring it forward. "Please watch my hair, don't muss it up."

Evie's fingers took one more complete tour of my swaying rod and lightly kissed the tip, then her pink tongue massaged the spongey, helmeted head and I was instantly, seconds away from shooting a full load. She was still licking the rubbery, flanged edge of the cap, and the reddish traces of her lipstick were coloring the shaft. "Hurry Grandma, people are waiting and I'm ready to explode."

She faltered, then looked up at me. "Marty, honey. Not in my face. You can't splatter my blouse. Just let me kiss it a bit and that will hold you 'till later."

"It's gonna happen now," I urged her on. "Open-up and suck it down. I'm going to cum and you're going to swallow. Unless you want bathed in my cream and we have to announce to everyone why you need to take another shower and to change clothes." Then I lifted her blonde mane and grabbed the nape of her neck, pulling her closer while shifting my pelvis forward. She calculated the chances that I was bluffing. Her ruby lips opened and she sucked my enlarged prick into her cheek. As I observed, one of her hands slipped under her pleated skirt and diddled her hidden treasure. I felt her tongue swirl around the tip and the motion increased rapidly. I was thrusting my joint into those moist lips and every time it emerged another layer of lipstick, reddened the veiny pole. And then it happened. "Ready Gram?" I bucked and drove my steely rod towards the back of her mouth, temporarily catching her off-balance and choking her. But she recovered and gripped my wrenching tool, then jerked the shaft like a pro. Eager for a quick outcome but taking pride in her performance and aspiring to impress me. Her suction was intense and she handled my cock like she wanted more. I remembered telling her some story about younger women not being experienced in providing pleasure. And I believed that her strongest desire was to prove that she would please me.

The force of my ejaculate was stronger than I'd felt in years. I blasted my jet against the back of her mouth, spaying her tonsils with my syrupy seed and with only a few minor gags and coughs, she managed to gulp it down. She glanced at me and appeared satisfied with her effort but waiting for my reaction, besides a mouthful of semen. Evie could have spit my cock out from spite or run for mouthwash but she held me in her comforting cheeks and licked the straining shaft. I felt the final drops squeeze-out from the tip and slide along her tongue, down her throat. Before she released her grip and allowed my swollen organ to recede, she licked the shiny column once more and kissed the tapered head like a long-lust love. I was dumbstruck. Nothing had ever been like that and I wanted more. She could read it on my face. I needed to act a bit more refrained and to assert some semblance of dominance, if this were to ever work.

My erection was slowly withdrawn and I noticed the pinkish remnants of her lipstick around the neck, then I tucked it back in my pants. Evie, hearing the mantle clock chime, stood gracefully upright as I took her hand and moved the chair. She glared sideways at me in the mirror but with a knowing smile, then she wiped and reapplied her lipstick, ran a brush through her lustrous locks and smoothed her skirt as she stepped into her heels. "How do I look?" She enquired as if nothing untoward had taken place.

"Marvelous," was my reply as I shook my head in awe. My hair was sweaty and tussled, my shirt appeared damp and clingy and I worried that soon there would be a dank, darker spot on my pants that would look like I wet myself. Evie looked as if she had just strolled out of a salon and I looked like I'd been assaulted. She opened the door and breezed past me. "Grab your jacket and comb your hair before you come down. Then open a few bottles of champagne and we'll toast the evening." Almost as an afterthought she added, "I might get used to that combination, your cum and a nice French wine." She smiled pleasantly, brushed her hand across the crotch of my warm pants and leered, "You were fabulous, with a little more effort you might surprise yourself."

This was another test, I could tell by her snickering tone. If I grew satisfied with that, I fail. If I allow her to dismiss me, I'm a loser. I could see in her eyes when she started, that for minute, she was intimidated. Then she made a chess move and called "check." I have to retake the upper hand if I ever want her to respect me again. She elegantly sauntered down the steps and greeted her waiting audience. I could hear the applause and the "oohs and ahhs" as the feast began. I went to the kitchen and in five minutes was surprised to hear her voice from the hall saying, "I'll get it and be right back." Then she blew into the room. "Is everything okay?" she asked.