Grandmother's Sexy Surprise

I saw a photo on one of the threads and this idea popped into my head. As usual with me, the principal character is an older lady with large breasts. It's Michael's grandmother. She has history. It gets heated between them.

I hope you enjoy this piece. It was a quick delivery and there will be errors and typos in it.

Thanks for reading.

GA - Cambridgeshore, UK - 1st Feb 2023

*

I noticed it straight away. She wasn't her usual self. My grandmother was listless, with an air of sadness about her while she was normally bright and vivacious.

My grandmother sighed and gave a half-shrug when I asked if there was anything wrong.

"I'm being silly," she said.

I paused, hesitating, unsure about what to say or do.

My grandmother was on the low, wide sofa, a paperback book laid face down next to a glass of red wine on the coffee table off to one side. She was wearing a skirt, the hem at a very flattering point on her thighs, a pale blue cardigan buttoned across her generous frontage. I felt my cock stir with interest, a mortifying and guilty response in my body I'd been experiencing for the past couple of weeks whenever I was in my grandmother's orbit. It wasn't that I wanted to fancy my own mother's mother, it was just something that happened. I couldn't help it. I found my grandmother very attractive: mature, elegant, big at the bust with, her figure all about ripe, voluptuous promise under her clothes. I could feel the draw of her aesthetic and sexual appeal. Despite being mid-50s, and blood family too, I still cranked my cock to a spitting orgasm while letting lewd, impossible fantasies scroll across my mind's eye. I'd been staying at my grandmother's house for the past month, a convenience because she lived in the university city I was studying in.

It was Saturday afternoon and I'd come back to the house after a five-a-side game to find my grandmother in the living room and halfway down the bottle of red.

"Early for wine," I said.

My grandmother shrugged again. "Yes, it is," she said.

The look she gave me suggested: So what?

"I'm not judging," I said in a hurry.

My grandmother sighed with a grimace. "I'm sorry, Michael," she said. "I'm just a bit prickly."

I sat down and tried to ignore the urge to lunge for her tits.

I asked: "Is there anything I can do? You seem sort of ... sad."

"I am a little sad actually."

I nodded, worried for my grandmother and also about being out of my depth. I was nineteen - what did I know about counselling melancholy women?

"Oh, okay," I said.

"I miss your grandfather," my grandmother told me. "Sometimes more than others. Today is one of those days."

"I'm sorry," I said.

My grandmother smiled. "You're sweet," she told me, and then moved in for a hug.

It caught me by surprise. We were sitting with two feet of polite space between us, both turned in to look at each other when my grandmother slid across the gap and reached out with both arms.

"Oh," I said.

My grandmother's breasts squished against me as I returned the hug, albeit clumsy from the way we were sitting, her scent and the heat of her body coming at me, the effect in my underwear about my cock swelling to full-blooded tumescence.

The hug went on for about ten seconds before my grandmother broke away.

"Michael, are you all right?" she asked. "You look a little flushed."

Embarrassment flared in my face. "Oh, it's probably from all the running around. Football," I said.

My grandmother nodded as she reached for the glass, my focus shifting from her face to where the cardigan stretched tight across her front. The buttons strained. I had a thought about them popping to reveal the bra beneath.

My grandmother was sipping wine when I dragged my attention back to her face.

"He was so much fun," my grandmother said.

I pulled a face, confusion on me because of what was happening inside my jeans.

"You're grandfather, silly," my grandmother added.

"Ah, okay. Got it."

I was nodding as my grandmother's expression glazed over like she was thinking.

"We had some times," she went on with a sigh. "We were very..."

My grandmother paused as her eyes cleared and she looked at me.

"As a couple," she continued.

I didn't speak because the flash of devilment I saw behind her eyes was unsettling for me. I thought I saw something sexual in it, pushing the notion aside immediately. I put it down to my own body's response, arousal bubbling within.

My grandmother chuckled and swirled the wine in her glass. "He wasn't a jealous man," she put in through a smirk. "I miss that."

Silence followed as time stretched elastic during those few seconds while, inside my head, it seemed like I had hours to process my grandmother's meaning.

Weird sensations fluttered inside me when I figured it out, again pushing the idea away because I was sure my own mind was trying to trick me into thinking my own grandmother was being sexual.

But then my grandmother said: "I miss the physical side as much as the love. I know this is probably embarrassing for you, but, well, I do like sex and ... well ... I haven't had much of it over the past eighteen months."

I sat with the impression my mouth was hanging open at the back of my mind. I could feel the weight of my dangling jaw, surprise like a cold-water wave hitting me as my grandmother shrugged.

"I've been out with a couple of men," my grandmother added. "But so far..."

She paused and gave another half-shrug, pouting like the failings of the men she'd dated were disappointing for her.

"God, I don't know why I'm telling you this, Michael," my grandmother breathed. "Perhaps it's the wine? Maybe you're right? It is a little early to be drinking. Especially when I'm in this low mood." Despite what she'd just said, my grandmother took a deep swig out of the glass. "I usually talk to Daisy when I'm in this mood," my grandmother went on. "But she's up in York. Visiting her daughter."

"It's ... it's all right," I managed to gurgle.

More silence followed as we looked at each other, but I could only manage a couple of seconds of eye-contact before my attention slithered away from her face.

"God, I've embarrassed you and made an idiot out of myself," I heard my grandmother sigh.

I shook my head and looked at her again. "No, it's okay."

I saw gratitude on my grandmother's face. "Oh, Michael, are you sure? I mean, bloody hell, it's more than a little inappropriate to blurt about my life with my husband to my own grandson. I'm so sorry for doing that, darling."

Delight and arousal surged when my grandmother's hand rested on my leg.

"Daisy's not here. I am," I said with a shrug. "If you need to talk..."

My grandmother's eyes went wide. "What? You mean talk about such private, intimate things?"

My first thought was I'd caused offence. I couldn't see how, but couldn't be sure. Not in the middle of what was a confusing time, and her hints at how her marriage might have been a little loose and my erection all caught up inside my jeans and underwear weren't helping at all.

"I didn't mean to sound nosey," I said.

My grandmother frowned and shook her head. "I don't think you are," she said. "I'm just wondering if you really don't mind me telling you things ... You know, about my life before your grandfather passed."

I wanted to know and I didn't in a paradoxical whirl of conflicting impressions and emotions.

"I ... I don't mind," I said after a pause. "It's up to you, really."

The smirk I saw on her face set tingles running through me, the atmosphere around us suddenly heavy like we were under a blanket of secrecy and clandestine intimacy.

I felt the charge go through me as my grandmother put the predictable caveat in place.

"You can't ever tell," she said in a near whisper.

"I won't," I said.

"I mean it. I'd be mortified and very disappointed," my grandmother told me.

"Daisy knows," I said.

My grandmother blurted a laugh, the sound half surprise and half delight. "Good god, I should think she does! Daisy's been part of it right from the off!"

I pictured Daisy as I tried to reconcile the new information with what I knew about my grandmother and her best friend: two apparently normal, intelligent, articulate, well-mannered modern-day women who dressed conservatively in an age-appropriate way who weren't as moralistic or straight-laced as outward appearances might suggest. Daisy was around my grandmother's age, with long, chestnut-brown hair, a smaller bust, and very long, very eye-catching legs.

Embarrassment made me hesitate, but curiosity and the sexual arousal working through me made me decide I wanted to hear.

"I promise I won't say a thing," I said.

My grandmother stared for several long seconds. Then she drained off the glass and held it out to me.

"The bottle's in the kitchen," she said. "Top me up, would you? Be a love."

I was grateful for the chance to adjust the lie of my hard-on. I stood up, albeit a little awkward, took the glass, and went to the kitchen. I poured a generous measure, the idea being the more wine my grandmother drank, the looser her tongue might get, thoughts on gaining as much insight into any kinkiness as I could. I had an idea I could use my grandmother's real-life confessions as wank-fodder when I was alone in bed, those thoughts setting ripples of excitement rushing through me as I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went back to the living room.

"Oh my, you're going to get me sozzled," my grandmother gasped. She looked at the glass, sighing as she shook her head.

"I don't know much about wine," I said.

My grandmother grinned. "I'll be pissed on one bottle. Cheers," she added, raising the glass.

I popped the tab on the can after sitting on the sofa, sipping while my grandmother put her glass down on the coffee table.

She reclined, skirt rising a little higher on her thighs.

"All right, so, I suppose I'm just missing the fun I used to have," my grandmother started.

I nodded and moved around so one leg was on the sofa, bent at the knee, torso swivelling in my grandmother's direction as I let her speak.

**

"We used to meet other people," my grandmother said. "For sex," she went on. "It was fun. I enjoyed it. We met one or two couples who weren't suitable. Not to our tastes for one reason or another. But, well, for the most part I had a wonderful time."

My grandmother paused and looked at me like she was assessing my reaction.

I was staring and nodding, willing her to keep it up.

She said: "You sure you want to hear all this?"

I nodded some more, the sense of something clandestine setting a delicious shiver through my core. It was thrilling to be part of the secret, the sensations enhanced because of the dark taboo of what was passing between us.

"I might use rude words from time to time," my grandmother said.

I nodded again.

She chuckled. "Well, I expect it's nothing you haven't heard before."

My grandmother tutted, rolled her eyes, sipped wine, and continued.

"It was part of us before we got married," she said. "I've always been ... adventurous. The pejorative might be to call me a slut. And perhaps I was...? Perhaps I still am...? But I prefer to say adventurous.

"I liked boys and, yes, boys liked me. I met your grandfather and fell in love. We talked about marriage but couldn't decide on whether monogamy would work for us. There were a lot of discussions. I won't bore you with all of those details. They're largely irrelevant anyway. The upshot is we decided to be open about fancying other people. We experimented. Trial and error.

"Oh, and in case you ever get to wondering ... we planned when we had children. There's absolutely no question about your mother's or uncle's paternity.

"Trust me on that."

I knew I was staring but couldn't break away from the fascination of hearing my grandmother speak.

"Daisy was actually with your grandfather before I met him. She was always involved with us. I've known her since school. We're kindred spirits. Daisy's adventurous, too."

My grandmother paused.

"Should I go on?" she asked.

I nodded, eager for more.

My grandmother leaned over and picked up her glass. She sipped wine and then thrust her chin at me, grinning as she said: "You've hardly touched that beer."

"Oh," I said before I took a deep swig.

My grandmother chuckled. "Shocked you, haven't I, Michael?"

I nodded again.

"Hmm, well, I could tell you about all sorts of mucky shenanigans," my grandmother said. "We used to get up to all sorts. We went to some parties.

"This would have been the mid-eighties and into the nineties. We swapped partners ... did some group things. Orgies...

"I was happy with whatever we did. I'm very open about sex. We tried a lot of different things but your grandfather was very interested in me with other men. He liked to watch. And, well, of course I was happy to indulge him. I was getting a lot of sex. Why would I complain?"

My grandmother paused and smirked.

"I talked to him about it, of course. About how he could love me if I did it with other men. He couldn't really explain it. He said he didn't get it himself. He told me it was this thing about watching me get pleasure, about how he loved to see my face as I gave in to it all but with this anger and jealousy in it too.

"It sounded complicated," my grandmother said with a shrug. "But he was always keen and I told you before that I liked it because I got a lot of sex...

"I loved it when he held my hand I looked at him as another man was ... was ... was, well, fucking me, Michael.

"Sorry to be so crude but that's what it was. It wasn't making love. It was just about sex."

My grandmother paused again, tilting her face towards the ceiling, her expression like she was thinking back to those days.

"There were a couple of fellows who wanted to take me away from your grandfather. There's always someone who pushes the boundaries. I got offers and sneaky phone calls asking me for sex without your grandfather there.

"That wasn't acceptable," my grandmother said as she shook her head. "And it was dangerous. I was always aware that emotions could wreck it with my husband. That sort of thing had to be nipped in the bud. There were a couple of confrontational scenes. Jealous, possessive men. Testosterone."

My grandmother snorted and chuckled.

"But that wasn't often," she went on. "Two or three times...?

"Mostly it was fun. I've met and enjoyed some wonderful men..."

My grandmother stopped talking and dabbed at her eyes.

"Sorry," she said, "I'm just being silly again.

"I just miss him, Michael. I miss the security. I always felt safe because he was there.

"But now he's not and I haven't had sex for so long.

"Oh, at first I wasn't interested in sex. When he died it was like my libido had died as well. But, well, these past few months I'm starting to feel the need. I want to get out there again but, well, I haven't met anyone to match your grandfather. There's always something lacking."

Another pause followed while my grandmother sipped more wine.

Then she shrugged and said: "I'll be all right. This mood doesn't last long. And I'm sure I'll get back on the horse, so to speak, when the time's right.

"Daisy will probably introduce me to someone ... Or she might have a little party...?"

"So, there," my grandmother added. "What do you make of all that?"

The question was a surprise I wasn't ready for.

I shook my head and shrugged. "It ... I ... Jesus," I gasped.

My grandmother laughed. "God, I feel better already," she said. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "But I suppose that's most likely the wine."

"I don't think I can take it all in," I said. "I mean ... Shit ... I never knew."

My grandmother said: "Why would you? It's not like we were blatant about it when your mum was growing up. And it's not something one usually talks about with a grandson."

"But you just did."

My grandmother nodded. "Yes, I did," she said. "And I really am trusting you to keep your mouth shut."

"I promise," I said.

Then, after another sip of the wine, my grandmother stared at me for a few seconds.

"You know something, Michael," she said.

"What?" I asked when she paused.

"This is probably a ridiculous thing to say, but ... well, I always had a thing about dressing up. For sex. It was a bit of a ritual. I'd take ages getting ready, primping and preening. It was a real thrill for me to get ready knowing it was for sex. I'd get so turned on ... so incredibly randy I could barely keep my hands off myself..."

I knew I was staring as my grandmother said it, excitement squeezing my cock.

"The thing is," my grandmother added. "I've still got a load of corsets and stockings upstairs.

"And, well, I wonder if you'd mind giving an opinion on if I'm Still attractive? I'd like to wear something when and if I meet someone. But, I'm not as young as I was, things are sagging and spreading a little...

"And I realise it's an outrageous idea, but, would you let me put something on to show you?"

I didn't know what to think in the moments that followed. It was too good to be true and I was already reeling from the revelations, the suggestion my grandmother would model her lingerie one shock too many.

"Yuh-you're kidding," I gasped.

I saw surprise flash across my grandmother's face.

"I'm so sorry, Michael," my grandmother gasped. "I won't if you don't want me to."

Confusion muddled my thoughts. "That's not what I mean," I said.

My grandmother frowned. "Then what is it? Am I too old? Too fat? Is it because I'm your grandmother? Is that too odd?" she finished.

I shook my head. "What? No? It's not any of that," I said. "I just can't believe you'd do it."

My grandmother shrugged. "I told you I would."

"I know, but..."

"But what? I wouldn't have said if I didn't mean it, Michael. Surely you know me by now?"

I nodded quickly, anxious in case I was talking her out of it.

"I want to," I blurted. "I'd love to see you ... That way."

My grandmother smirked as she looked at me.

"Hmm, you seem awfully keen all of a sudden."

"No, it's just if you want to, I'd like to see," I said.

"I'm starting to wonder if you're not like your grandfather, Michael. Just a little bit," my grandmother said. "He was always very keen to see me dressed up." She blurted a laugh and reached over to squeeze my thigh. Then she murmured: "I'm only teasing."

Another pause followed.

"But you do remind me of him sometimes," my grandmother said. She pouted and looked at me. "To look at. Something around the eyes and mouth. You're tall as well." My grandmother nodded. "Perhaps that's why I've been thinking about him so much just lately. You being here keeps reminding me."

"I don't mean to upset you," I said.

My grandmother smiled. "Oh, I'm not upset. It's just a bitter-sweet thing. I'll be all right."

My grandmother drained off the wine and passed me the glass.

"Give me twenty minutes," she said. "I'll just go up and try something on. I'll give you a shout when I'm ready for the unveiling."

I gulped and said: "You're really going to show me?"

"It's just stockings and shoes and a corset," my grandmother said. "I'll be decently covered. You won't see anything, Michael." She chuckled as she stood up. "God, I swear that's disappointment I can see on your face," my grandmother added. "Tell me, are you as big a perv as your grandfather, darling?"

My grandmother hooted a laugh and shook her head.

"Don't answer that," she said.

I watched her walk out of the room.

"Oh, bring that glass and another bottle of wine," my grandmother called as she went. "I'll need some more or else I might lose my nerve!"

***

I drank the beer and went to the kitchen for another. I drank that one too, my backside against the kitchen counter as I went through the conversation again and again. I had thoughts about it being a dream: the standard cliche. I told myself it couldn't be real or I'd slipped into another dimension. It was the shock of it all, the situation surreal. I couldn't grasp the notion of how a normal day could twist into something weird and unbelievable in almost the blink of an eye.