Grandma's Big Oven and Mebyelleann©
(Author's note: this story is partly about the "girl cooking" fetish which to me is both hilarious and sexy but if it turns you off, this is your warning to stop here. Otherwise, I hope you like it.)
Two weeks after my 18th birthday Daddy ran off with his secretary and I moved in with his parents, my Grandpa Abner and Grandma Lucy. Mom came right after I did which made my going there pointless, or would have made it pointless under normal circumstances since I had left home because of her. (You'll see what I mean about 'normal circumstances' later in this story). Daddy's secretary was cute but she couldn't compare to Mom who was thirty eight but looked twenty eight and was totally gorgeous. I figured Daddy leaving us had to be partly Mom's fault and maybe all her fault for not satisfying him the way a good wife should. I admit I was a little judgmental about the situation. I'm not a big time feminist.
Grandpa and Grandma have a big farmhouse on lots of land set far back from the road by a brook at the bottom of a hill. You can't even see it driving by. The biggest room in the house is the kitchen which was big to begin with but got to be twice as big when Grandpa took down the wall to the dining room, and the biggest thing in the kitchen was an oven. I mean it was ridiculous, or so I thought when Grandma showed it to me .
"We put it in a little while ago, right after Grandpa broke out the wall" she said as we were standing there that first morning with sunlight streaming through the windows making everything bright and cheerful.
The only part of the oven you could actually see was a glass door like a picture window practically and the control panel beneath it on the wall, the rest of the oven taking up most of what had been a pantry on the wall's other side. The reason for the glass door was "so we can watch our roast cooking," Grandma said.
"Why do you and Grandpa want to watch a roast cook?," I said.
"Oh, it's not just Grandpa and me, honey. We have a little club, a dining club, I suppose you might say, and we all get together now and then for a nice roast. People like to watch it cook is all."
"Oh," I said, wondering if Grandma was getting goofy in her old age.
"We roast whole piggies in there, and we've discovered that the piggies taste nice and tangy if you start to cook them while they are still breathing. That's also the best time to watch, you see, right at the beginning."
"Oh," I said again.
"Yes, and, you know, Elle, your Grandfather I and are very happy you've come to live with us for awhile but a week from Saturday you'll have to go home for the day because we are having one of our club events here and I'm afraid it's a private gathering. You don't mind going home for the day, and for that night, do you? You can come back Sunday after we clean up."
"No, that's fine, Grandma," I said, but it didn't seem fine to me. It seemed pretty weird. I had to leave the property?
Grandpa came in wearing his pj's, yawning like he just got out of bed. He stopped when he saw me and stared. I get stared at lot so I'm used to it but Grandpa embarrassed me, being my own grandfather. It was the last week of school, the last week of my senior year in high school, actually, and I was wearing a skirt for a change and a jersey which didn't leave much to Grandpa's imagination. I don't always dress to show off but I felt like it that day because of this like underground yearbook which was called "The Smear-Book" that some of the boys made up and which I had just seen a copy of the day before. It had two pages; the first page was about teachers, with lists of the "Ten Worst", also "Smear Awards" for the "Meanest", the "Laziest" and so forth, but it wasn't dirty at all in a sexual way, unlike the second page which was about the students. I was named "Girl We Most Want to Fuck" on the list of "Smearpurlatives". The Smear-Book picked me for a couple of other things that would help explain why I got that first award, which was the only sex type award I received. Marcy Daniels won for "Best Gang Bang" and Katherine Broderick-Adams won for "Best Blow Jobs". I hope you are noticing the difference between the wording of my award and those awards for Marcy and Katherine. I wasn't a virgin exactly but, unlike Marcy and Katherine, I wasn't a total slut either. Anyway, I was dressing a little slutty just for fun. I guess I felt like showing the boys they hadn't made a mistake in picking me for my award.
"Damn, Elle, you look good to a man who hasn't had a decent piece of ass in thirty years," Grandpa said, looking me up and down.
"Well, thank you, Abner," Grandma said, sarcastically, but I could tell she wasn't upset.
"Yes, thank you, Grandpa, for calling me a piece of ass," I said in the same tone as Grandma's, turning around to interrupt his peering at my tits.
Grandpa loves to say things he shouldn't say, so I wasn't shocked. But I was disappointed in him. Later, driving myself to school, I started thinking about Grandpa's situation. I could understand what a strain it must be for him to get aroused over Grandma, who is very nice and a really excellent cook but if you were a guy you would have to be blind to want to have sex with her. I thought what a treat it would be for Grandpa to be able to have sex again with a young, pretty girl, like Grandma had been when she was my age. Elle, you idiot, are you considering what I think you're considering?, I asked myself. The feeling I suddenly had in the pit of my stomach, running up my spine, hardening my nipples, and bothering me in one other place answered this question clear as a bell. I was deciding to let Grandpa fuck me. It's what I get for being open minded, I sighed.
I was still absorbing my decision about Grandpa when Katherine Broderick-Adams came up to me in the hall.
"Have you seen the fake year book?," she said, gripping my arm.
"Yeah. Congratulations, Katherine."
"It's all over the school. My father's going to sue them." Katherine has a way of bobbing her head when she's excited which causes her long hair to fall in front of her face and she has to keep pushing it back, and she was doing that now. You wondered if all that bobbing limbered her for her blowjobs.
"What? It's just a dumb joke."
"My parents don't think it's funny. And Daddy says Dr. Peterman knew all about it and that he gave the guys his secret permission."
"Uh oh. I can almost imagine Dr. Peterman doing that. How does your father know that?"
"Roger Erickson heard it from Bernie who helped write the fucking thing and then Roger told Daddy and showed it to him."
Roger was a brown noser. I remembered that he had a part time job with Mr. Adams' business.
"Darn it. I feel sorry for Dr. Peterman. I wonder if it's true. So, I guess your parents weren't that proud of you for your big award?"
"Don't be a wise ass. We're in the same boat, remember."
"We're in different boats, Katherine. I'm in the Want Boat. You're in the Been There Done That Boat."
- - - - - - - -
I was already going to be late for my first class but on an impulse I turned around and went back toward the admin office. I don't know why I did except that I was worried about Dr. Peterman and wished I could talk to him. The office has a glass wall. Just inside there is a counter and behind it a bunch of desks for the secretaries and behind the desks two private offices side by side, for the vice principal and for Dr. Peterman, our great principal, who is liked by all the kids for his tolerant ways and sense of humor. He's sexy, too, tall and athletic. I had a kind of crush on him. It must have been fate that made me go back because as I was going by the glass wall Dr. Peterman came out of his office and saw me. I gave him a friendly wave. He beckoned me inside.
"Good morning, Miss Blake," he said.
"Hi, Dr. Peterman," I replied, ignoring the secretaries who were staring at me, thinking God knows what.
Without another word, Dr. Peterman ushered me into his office. Seated in front of his desk was a distinguished looking man with thick white hair and a ruddy face, wearing a blue suit and red tie, in contrast to Dr. Peterman's chinos and corduroy jacket. The man looked at me through his horn rimmed glasses.
"Mr. Adams meet Elleann Blake," Dr. Peterman said, pulling up a chair for me. I smiled at Katherine Broderick-Adams daddy and sat down beside him.
"Ah, the Miss Blake who has been libeled like my daughter, I presume."
"One in the same," Dr. Peterman said, quietly. "She happened to be out in the hall just now. I asked her to come in given her possible interest in the matter. Mr. Adams is rightly offended by our underground publication, Miss Blake. He informs me that he intends to sue."
"Oh. For libel? Was I libeled? I thought I was flattered."
Dr. Peterman laughed. "Mr. Adams misspoke in your case. The Smear-Book said nothing about you directly. It merely disclosed the high opinion in which you are held, in a manner of speaking."
"I've heard about you, Miss Blake. Frankly, I'm not surprised you would feel flattered," Mr. Adams said in a tone I didn't really care for.
If Mr. Adams had to be a jerk, I wanted him to be a disgusting jerk, but he wasn't. He was ruggedly good-looking, and he seemed fit like Dr. Peterman, about fifty, I'd say, which would be a few years older than Dr. Peterman, and he had a deep, mellow voice which was very sexy when you got used to it. I crossed my legs, knowing my short skirt would slide further up my thighs. Then I patted my top as if I were brushing off a crumb, which in this case was like pushing a snowball down a ski jump, one with a poky nipple at the end. I could tell Mr. Adams was paying attention.
"Yes, and are you trying to flatter me, Mr. Adams."
"I mean are you flattering me by looking at my legs and my breasts. I do feel flattered, sir. You don't have to be sorry about it."
Mr. Adams ruddy face got ruddier. "Why you little snit!"
"None of that!" Dr. Peterman snapped. Then he smiled at me and softened his voice. "Mr. Adams feels aggrieved by what the students published about Katherine. I don't blame him. He wanted the satisfaction of telling me in person of his intention to sue. He believes that I personally authorized it. The truth is, I was aware of the first page, but not the second. I saw no harm in the students expressing themselves anonymously about some of our faculty, though I couldn't officially condone it. I did not sanction or know of the obscenities. I called you in, Miss Blake, because of your knowledge of the situation."
My knowledge of the situation? It took me a second to catch on. Then it came to me in a flash. Dr. Peterman was gambling that I would back him up, first by being smart enough to realize he wanted me to invent some kind of a story, and then inventing one. He could have asked me before he brought me into the office, but he had too much integrity for that. If I was going to do it, I had to come up with it on my own. Wow! Double wow!!
"Oh, well I'm sorry, Dr. Peterman, but the only thing I know is that you asked me if I knew anything about some of the boys making up a fake year book that made fun of a few teachers because Roger Erickson had told you about that and that you wouldn't object as long as the book didn't go around libeling students with lewd comments about them, because you wouldn't stand for something like that. That's all I know, really."
As I said that, I looked down at my crossed thigh and rubbed myself with my finger as if I had an itch where the hem of my skirt was and I had to push the hem up even higher than it was to get at the rest of that darn itch.
Mr. Adams looked right at me.
"The other thing is that if I'm right about libel, and I think I am right, a nasty comment isn't libel if the nasty comment is true."
Mr. Adams grinned, still looking right at me. "And you're suggesting it's true that my daughter sucks cock. Okay, I know she does. And I know what libel is. You're an effective tease, Miss Blake. I can see why the boys want to fuck you. But I wonder what your purpose is in teasing me. Anyway, you're correct that a libel case wouldn't stand up in court. It's also true that the publicity would only heighten my daughter's notoriety. So why would I do it?"
"I....are you asking me?", I stammered, totally amazed.
"I'm asking you. Any ideas?"
"He would do it just to get me fired," Dr. Peterman said. "Mr. Adams and I have a history. He also would do it because he's a lunatic. But you need the facts on your side, Henry, and as you've just heard, the critical fact isn't on your side. I didn't know about the second page."
"Hmmmm, so you and Miss Tease say. What's your first name, Elleann right?"
"Sit on my lap, Elleann, while we continue our discussion."
"Cut it out, Henry," Dr. Peterman said.
Mr. Adams just looked at me and smiled and patted his lap. I almost laughed. I didn't like Mr. Adams because of the threat he was making against Dr. Peterman but I was suddenly finding him kind of interesting. He was right that I had been teasing him, which is like a habit of mine. I think the reason I was teasing him was to make him aware, if I could, of his own sexual weakness so he wouldn't be so holier than thou about the same thing in other people, but Mr. Adams being holier than thou obviously wasn't the problem.
"I don't mind sitting on his lap," I chirped, and I hopped off my chair and onto Mr. Adams, who made a big gasp when I landed.
I sat sidewise on his lap with my legs dangling over the side of his chair, which was armless. I put an arm around his back to support myself and then I ran my fingers through his white hair.
"Jeepers, Mr. Adams, do you think it would be fair for a person to make a naughtiness complaint against a school principal if that same person decided to be naughty himself in the school principal's office?"
As I was saying this, I felt something getting hard and big against my bottom. Mr. Adams put his hand on my knee.
"I think that depends," he said, sliding his hand up my thigh to the edge of my skirt.
"On what?" I grabbed his wrist to let him know his hand had traveled far enough.
"On the degree of naughtiness involved," he said, ignoring my hand and pushing his beneath my skirt, then stopping, having let me know who was boss. I started to tingle all over. Dr. Peterman looked pained, as if he didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do either, but I definitely was becoming impressed by Mr. Adams in more ways than one.
Looking back, Mr. Adams had been bluffing or he'd decided that having me on his lap was more fun than making life miserable for Dr. Peterman. Either way, I already had Mr. Adams' number if I had used my head, but with the man's hardon poking at me from one direction and his hand moving in from another, I wasn't thinking clearly, which is why I didn't say, "Speaking of degree, sir, I'm sure you are committing right now some degree of sexual assault that I will report to the police if you sue Dr. Peterman," and why I did say, "Mr. Adams, are you like the boys who voted for me?"
"Jeepers, do I have to spell it out?"
A smile spread across Mr. Adams' red face. "You mean, do I want to fuck you!"
"That is what I mean, yes."
"Right here? Right now?"
"Yes, if that would be a good enough degree of naughtiness and if you promise cross your heart and hope to die not to sue anybody."
"I might agree to that."
"Okay, do it and then you can fuck me right in this dumb chair, or maybe on the floor if you would like that better or maybe Dr. Peterman could take the papers and phone off his desk. That might be neat, doing it on Dr. Peterman's desk."
I was talking like a magpie which is typical of me when I get excited, and I was pretty excited. So was Dr. Peterman. He had been listening to me and Mr. Adams with a flabbergasted expression on his face, and now he stood up at his desk. I wondered if he was going to start clearing it off.
"Elle, good God! What are you doing!?"
"You heard her. I suggest you lock the door," Mr. Adams said in his great voice. He was excited, himself, of course, as proven by his poking stick, but he sounded like a guy calmly in charge. Boys are never like that, they have like zero self control, whereas a man, at least a man like Mr. Adams, can melt you simply by the way he says, "I suggest you lock the door."
I didn't answer Dr. Peterman. I liked it that Mr. Adams answered for me, so I just looked at Dr. Peterman the way a person looks when she is waiting for the person to do something, which in this case was for the person to lock the door. Dr. Peterman looked back at me a few seconds. Then he went and locked it. When he turned around again, his face had changed and there was a bulge in his pants, a giant bulge which I'm sure I would have noticed when he first stood at his desk if he had had it then. Why was Dr. Peterman having that bulge!? I had crush on him like I said but it was a school girl's crush, a dreamy thing that never was supposed to have his actual bulge in the picture, or eyes that looked right into you. I wanted Mr. Adams to let go of me. I wanted to get out of there.
"Everything okay, honey?," Dr. Peterman said, grinning.
I wanted to say, "No!", but I said, "I...I guess so."
Mr. Adams put his hand that wasn't near my panties on one of my tits.
"She guesses so," he said.
"Yeah, she guesses so," Dr. Peterman said.
Mr. Adams turned me on his lap so that I was facing out toward Dr. Peterman who was directly in front of me as he came up. He put his bulged fly almost in my face.
"Don't make a lot of noise, sweetheart."
I wanted to say, "Dr. Peterman, why are you talking to me this way?," but I said, "I won't."
"Good girl. Henry, is it safe to assume this suit idea is dropped?"
"Not dropped, exchanged for Miss Sweetie Pie here."
"Right." Dr. Peterman went back to his desk and pushed a button on his phone. "Stacy, hold my calls. I'm tied up in here for the next few minutes....I'll let you know." He returned with Mr. Bulge for me to practically breathe on. "Girls will wonder what the hell is going. Let them wonder," he said.
Mr. Adams, meanwhile, had been feeling up my tits and stroking the front of my panties with his forefinger, and I had been trying to figure a way out of this mess and keep myself from squirming on the man's lap and I wasn't doing that well at either. In fact, I was starting to feel warm and sexy again, which almost worried me. I was acquiring a friendlier attitude toward Dr. Peterman's bulge, as well. I began to study his bulge. This was pretty easy to do considering the bulge was like six inches from my eyes. You had to be impressed at how big and strong looking that bulge was, and as I was doing it, studying the bulge I mean and being impressed, the finger at my panties changed course and slipped inside.
"This reminds me of that time at the picnic," Mr. Adams said, moving his finger to you know where, then pushing it all the way in.
Dr. Peterman looked down at my bunched skirt. I looked there, too. You might have thought an animal had gotten under my skirt, the way Mr. Adams was moving his hand.
"You're finger-fucking her," Mr. Peterman said.
I was saying something, too, like, "Ooohhh," but I was trying to be quiet about it so the secretaries wouldn't hear me.
"Yeah, I am. Remember how we did that one, at the picnic. I finger-fucked her the whole time we carried her to the spitting horse."
"Sorry," Mr. Adams said, fucking me fast as anything.
"Elle, I told you the man is a lunatic. Forget what he said," Dr. Peterman said.
I was "Elle" again. I wondered why on earth Mr. Adams and Dr. Peterman would bring a girl they were having sex with at a picnic to a horse that was spitting but it was impossible to concentrate, so I stopped thinking about that and I stopped thinking about why Dr. Peterman felt he needed to call me "Elle" again instead of "honey" or "sweetheart" and I forgot about why he snapped at Mr. Adams for mentioning that girl with the horse. For the time being, I forgot about everything except what Mr. Adams was doing to me with his finger and Dr. Peterman's bulge that was seeming to me more and more like a wrapped up candy bar.