Granny, I Want to Show You My Cock

I'm twenty-four goddamned years old, but sometimes I just need my granny. Like today: I'm wet, cold, lonely and horny and I need her. Badly. I'm feeling bad, and sometimes I just need my granny to make me be bad too. It's so good when I'm bad with her.

Arriving at her cottage, I shed my shoes and wet jacket.

"I want to show you my cock, please, Granny."

All the while I was growing up, Granny had a nice little business being strict -- sometimes very strict -- with men she referred to as her "gentleman callers." Once I was old enough to realize why I was frequently sent outside to play no matter what the weather, I sometimes sneaked back in to watch her be the meanie with the men. She even paddled them when they had done nothing wrong that I could see. If they wanted to get naked at her house, they always had to give her a big bunch of money.

Once, when she had been given a stack of fifties, she smiled, told him to come back inside and take his clothes off again. She whipped the fat man hard and shoved something up his arse. "Keep that in until tomorrow to remember me by. If you come back tomorrow with the same again, I'll do you all over again, you nasty little boy."

Granny kept me well-dressed, warm, fed, and loved. She baked cookies. She read to me. She made me mind my manners: "Yes, ma'am, no ma'am, yes please, and no thank you." She didn't have a regular job, but she never was tight about giving me plenty of pocket money nor complained about my expensive school fees or the new roof for the cottage.

I finally figured out the cottage and her appearance were all part of the business. The ambiance was important. She was a little stout with big saggy boobs, wore cotton housedresses and fuzzy slippers when she entertained. The house was a little cluttered, with an old-fashioned dark front parlor and heavy furniture that could take the weight when men were tied down spread-eagled over the sideboard or turned arse-up over the arm of the overstuffed sofa.

Her kitchen was warm and inviting, smelling of fresh-baked bread and stew. It had lots of kitchen tools that could become instruments of punishment at a minute's notice. Those men were all longing for their mums or grannies to do the dirty to them and then punish them for it. They were willing to shell out big money for a trip back down fantasy lane, via granny's wooden spoon. She never took her clothes off.

And then came the day when she caught me watching from behind my bedroom door. She waited until her gentleman caller left and called me to the kitchen. I guess I was eighteen or better then and damned well knew the score. And it turned me on big-time.

When I came, embarrassed, into the kitchen holding my hands crossed in front to try to hide my erection, she said, "You nasty little peeping Tom. Shame on you for watching things that are none of your business."

She grabbed a whippy plastic spatula, knocked my hands away, and started whaling away at the front of my jeans. It hurt so good. She hit my cock until my pants filled with cum. I didn't understand until then why the men would spend so much money to be hurt so bad. Enlightenment flooded my head as my cock erupted. "Show me your cock, you sorry little boy."

Since then, granny takes care of me when my lust for her domination overcomes me. I become a young boy again, yearning for the things she did and said to her gentlemen. Today was one of those days when I needed my granny.

"I want to show you my cock, please, Granny."

"Yes, please," she said. "Make it hard and show it to me. Play with it, you nasty boy. Jack it off until you cum for me. After you wank off, you'll wipe up your mess with my knickers and stick them in your mouth. Dirty, dirty little boy."

After I spurted ropes of cum on the kitchen floor, she reached under her housedress and pulled off her panties -- big old things with stretched-out elastic and showing lots of washing and wear. The crotch was wet. "Here, clean up the floor with these and then put them in your mouth."

Then she made me kneel on the kitchen chair, facing the chair back with my bare arse sticking up. She paddled me hard with the kitchen spatula. Whack, whack, whack, on and on. The knickers tasted of me and her, and filled me completely, making it hard to draw a breath or sob. She worked up and down my buttocks, down over my thighs, and hit hard on my inner thighs, sometimes catching my balls.

I was a mess, tears and snot streaming down my face. I whimpered please, no more. No -- don't stop, please. I didn't know if I wanted it to stop or to go on forever. All I could think was "please."

"Off to the naughty corner with you, nose to the wall," she said. The knickers in my mouth tasted of my cum, her pussy juice, my snot and tears. "I want your red backside on display."

"Hmmm, does that bottom need a big jeweled butt plug peeping out from between those sweet red-hot cheeks? Yes, I think so. Bend over."

She filled my arse with a medium-sized plug, well-greased with lard. "It's good enough for my gentleman callers, so it is good enough for you." It hit my prostate just right and I started to get hard again.

"Now, how should I take that little baby hard-on away?" she mused. She took me in hand and first patted, then slapped my cock. Slapped and slapped and slapped.

"After I've smacked your miserable little willie soft again, I'll kiss it to make it all better again. Then we'll have supper, and you can tell me all about what is going on with you and why you needed your granny tonight."