Kevin's Special Delivery Pt. 03

Again I silently questioned the need for the amount of information she was providing, but when Mrs. Grossman tells a story she doesn't spare the details. I couldn't help noticing that she had missed one detail, though, and before I could stop myself I blurted out: "but that's only three."

"Yesssss . . . Congratulations Mr. Smarty Pants. Nothing gets by you, huh?" She sighed heavily and then went on, "OK . . . and one time in a hotel room after my nephew's wedding in New York I had a roll in the hay with a man whose name I am ashamed to say I do not know. Are you satisfied now?"

"Sorry Mrs. G. I didn't mean to be nosey it just slipped out," I told her. "Hey, I'm flattered and everything, but why do you want to have sex with me? Why not continue . . . uh . . . seeing Manny the flower guy?"

"Because Manny told me three weeks ago that he has feelings for me. I told him from the start that I only wanted sex from him -- and it was damn good sex, by the way, let me tell you that man knows how to use his dingus -- but anyway . . . Manny and I agreed to break it off for both of our sakes.

"And why you? Why not you, eh? Because I like you Mr. Kevin Fitzgerald. You're a nice boy, you're kind, you're a cutie pie without acting like you know that you are, you make me laugh, you've got a nice little tuchus on you. Oh yeah, and you're young, and I've never ever had sex with a younger man, and I wanna see if it will make me feel young too. So . . . lots of very good reasons.

"But we wouldn't be having this conversation if I hadn't found out about you shtupping that freckly shiksa Lois Green. And actually, don't get me wrong, I think she's a very nice person. But the fact that I now know for sure that you've been slipping her the high hard one tells me two more things to like about you: 1. That you're not afraid to get frisky with a much older woman; and 2. That you can keep your mouth shut about it. Because like I said, nobody is ever gonna hear about this. Or else!"

Mrs. Grossman paused for a moment to let all of that sink in. But of course she was completely incapable of staying quiet for very long.

"So . . . listen, I haven't got all day here mister. Whaddya say? Do you at least want to see these big bazookas of mine or what? I know you've been sneaking peeks at them today and every other time you stop to talk to me. Just like all the other men and boys around here since I was a teenager. I bet none of you can tell what color my eyes are even."

They were brown, but Ms. G wasn't wrong. Her "bazookas" were hard not to gawk at. For a moment I was truly torn. Would it be cheating on Lois if I just took a quick look at Mrs. Grossman's tits? I mean, I could probably stop things from going any further than that, right? And Christ, who in their right mind would pass on a chance to lay eyes on the biggest pair of hooters for miles around?

Mrs. G was tapping her foot at me, and before she could withdraw the offer, I accepted. "Mrs. Grossman, I would absolutely LOVE to see your baz . . . um . . . breasts."

"So, take a seat for the 12:30 show," she snorted, pointing to an armchair. I sat. Quickly.

Mrs. Grossman reached down, grabbed the bottom of her blouse with both hands and pulled it up and over her head. Her blouse took her head scarf with it, and her wild curly hair fell freely about her head. That left her standing in high-waisted black polyester pants, sandals, and what looked like the Fort Knox of bras. It was flesh colored with wide sturdy straps and massive heavily fortified cups protecting the substantial assets inside.

"So it's not so sexy maybe . . . but they don't make fancy-schmancy bras in my size," she advised, as if reading my mind.

Without further ado, Mrs. G reached behind and with surprising (to me anyway) ease undid what must have been an industrial-strength fastener system.

Holding the cups in place with her right arm, Mrs. Grossman then shimmied the hefty strap off that shoulder and arm. Switching arms, she repeated the motion. At last, she dropped both arms, let the bra fall to the floor, and allowed her ginormous jugs to surge into full view.

Sweet Jesus Christ on a Crutch!

Mrs. Grossman's knockers were works of art. Once freed from their cages, they settled lower on her body, bobbing to rest just above the roll of her naked belly. They looked like two huge, perfect teardrops capped with brownish areolas (I learned that word later) the size of tea saucers, with nipples protruding just above the surface.

She stood before me, naked from the waist up, watching as I ran my eyes over her. Mrs. Grossman's skin was a couple of shades darker than my fair Irish hide and . . . let's just say it looked well lived in. As I stared, she brought her hands up to cup her breasts and raised them toward me.

"So, how do you like the show so far," she asked?

I was momentarily speechless and when I did react, the best I could come up with was: "Mrs. Grossman, words fail me."

"Funny, but in my whole life I've never had that particular problem," she quipped. Then in a brief moment of vulnerability that touched my heart, she urged: "But seriously, you should say something nice."

I told her something that I hoped was nice, and was also certainly true. "Mrs. Grossman, those are the most magnificent, spectacular, fantastic breasts I have ever seen!"

She looked very pleased at that and smiled down at me as she continued to hold them up for my inspection. "Now that is very nice. Was that so hard? So, would you like to see if they feel as good as they look," she asked?

It was impossible to think of any answer to that question that had the word "no" in it. As much as I remained pretty conflicted about letting things go further, I REALLY did want to touch those amazing tits (although "tits" seemed too small a word for them), AND I didn't want to insult Mrs. G by declining her offer. So I said, "YES Ma'am!"

To my great surprise, Mrs. Grossman crossed her arms over her wondrous bosom and declared, "Well now . . . that's gonna cost you."

That was a puzzler. Huh? Cost me?

I'm sure she could clearly see the confusion written all over my face, so she jumped in and said, "show me how much you want to touch them sonny boy."

No clarification there, so I confessed to her, "Mrs. G, I don't know what you mean."

"I MEAN take down your pants so that I can see EXACTLY how much you want to feel these 'magnificent, spectacular and fantastic' titties of mine! Why should you be the only one getting an eyeful here?"

She was upping the ante on me. But at this point I was in too deep to fold.

I unbuttoned my cutoffs, pulled down the zipper and let them drop. That left me standing in front of her in my Cubs t-shirt and a pair of now extremely tight tighty-whities.

"Nice try, but your undershorts have to go too," Mrs. Grossman demanded, "and lose the t-shirt while you're at it."

I quickly pulled the shirt over my head, while feeling somewhat more self-conscious about dropping my Jockey's. It was a little late for modesty by that point though, so I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and slid them down to my ankles.

When I returned to fully vertical, both my body and my fully hardened cock were standing up straight -- which I hoped proved to Mrs. Grossman just how very much I wanted to touch her breasts.

She looked me up and down and clucked her tongue in apparent approval. "Now THAT, Mr. Kevin Fitzgerald, is one nice shvantz! I mean it's nothing compared to what my Morrie was swinging in his prime, but it certainly ain't chopped liver. Manny Schatzman wishes he had a putz like that."

I think I was supposed to be flattered, but I wasn't completely sure. In any case, it appeared that I was in possession of the price of admission to the hands-on portion of Mrs. Grossman's presentation, as she gestured for me to come closer while advising, "kick those pants and shorts all the way off so you don't trip and break that thing on your way over here."

I did and then covered the ground between us in nothing flat and found myself just inches apart from Mrs. G and her magnificent spectacular fantastics. But I wasn't sure about the next step. Should I just reach up and grab a handful, or . . .?

"Well what are you waiting for," Mrs. Grossman asked in an encouraging tone? "I promise you they won't bite. Although they might like it if you did just a little."

She reached over to take my right hand in hers and brought it to her left breast. Ice broken, I began to reverently stroke the smooth flesh, running my fingers all around and letting my thumb brush lightly over her left nipple.

Not wanting to be left out, my other hand went to her right breast on its own and began performing similar operations. Oh my god those tits felt incredible. I stroked and squeezed and groped and pinched my way all up and down those pendulous beauties, as Mrs. G stood watching with a self-satisfied grin turning up the sides of her bright red lips. All the while she kept talking nonstop: "Oh yeah, touch them. Don't they feel good? Go ahead and squeeze harder, they won't break. Do you like them? I think you do."

"Give them a little smooch, why don't you," Mrs. Grossman suggested after a few minutes of putting up with my pawing. "See if maybe they taste as good as they look and feel."

She didn't have to ask twice. I simultaneously lowered my head and raised her breasts with my hands until my mouth was level with her nipples, then ran my lips across from one to the other and back. Mrs. G's breasts smelled like Ivory soap, which I had never before thought of as an aphrodisiac. Her broad areolas had small bumps around them and a few stray hairs erupting here and there, all of which seemed just fine to me in that moment.

Reaching one of her nipples (Left? Right? Who cared at that point!), I opened my lips to surround it and felt it grow larger and harder. I lashed it with my tongue and then sucked it fully into my mouth, which brought a little whimper from Mrs. G in between her usual running commentary. When I let her nipple slip back out of my mouth, I saw it had grown to the size of my thumb.

I switched over to the other side and met that nipple at its halfway point of expansion, drawing it greedily into my mouth to complete the process. When I pulled back to admire both breasts again, Mrs. Grossman's fully erect nipples made her areolas look a little smaller . . . or maybe they had shrunk a bit. Who knows? Who the heck cares?

I dove back in to give the ladies more oral attention, then pressed my face into the deep valley between them. The day was hot and there was a thin sheen of sweat in there, so I reached my tongue out to taste the salty sweetness, rubbing my lips and nose up and down the abyss as Mrs. G's mounds surrounded my cheeks on either side. If I suffocate, I hope they bury me in here, I thought to myself.

Emerging again, I returned my attention to Mrs. Grossman's impressive nipples, giving each more treatment from my mouth and tongue as Mrs. G grunted appreciatively.

After a few minutes of that, Mrs. Grossman reached down to stroke my cheek as I worked her breasts over, and tilted my chin up so that I was looking at her face as she spoke to me again.

"So Kevin . . . would you like to fuck my titties?"

Another question to which the word "no" could not possibly be an answer, but also a question I didn't fully understand the logistics of, so I went with, "I'm pretty damn sure I do Mrs. Grossman."

"Good! So sit yourself down here," she ordered as she pulled over a wooden chair. I immediately did as I was told. Mrs. G then produced a folded-up bath towel from somewhere, placed it on the floor in front of me, and knelt down on it.

"Scooch forward hon," she instructed and I complied, sliding my butt to the very front edge of the seat. In this position, my achingly stiff dick was lined up with the slightly sweaty cleft between Mrs. Grossman's wonderful tits.

Mrs. G put her hand to her mouth, brought a load of her spit back down and carefully anointed my dick with it. That felt so good it was all I could do to keep from cumming. She did this twice more until she was apparently satisfied that the proper level of lubrication had been achieved.

Winking wickedly at me, Mrs. Grossman then took a massive breast in each of her hands and engulfed my slick dick between them.

Oh Jesus!

She began to move, rubbing her chest and the plump pillows of her breasts up and down around my lucky shaft. At the low point of her journey, I could see just the tip of the head of my prick emerge above her cleavage before it disappeared again into the voluptuous valley on the upstroke.

All the while, Mrs. Grossman -- being Mrs. Grossman -- was talking. "Oh yes, Kevin, fuck my titties! Oy, I love the feel of that stick of yours pressed against me. So hard and just for me. Do you like the way that feels? Is it good for you Kevin?"

Oh, it was pretty fucking good for me all right. The sensation, along with the visuals and the sounds was unbelievably good. Too good in fact. There was no way I was going to be able to take much more of this without exploding all over Mrs. G's jugs.

"My God Mrs. Grossman, it's TOO good! You're going to make me cum!"

"So do it already, don't just sit there talking about it all day," she shot back with a smile while increasing the tempo of her gyrations.

That did it! I thrust my hips upward as Mrs. G was moving down, and as a result the first blast from the head of my cock hit her right smack on the chin. I cried out in pleasure, momentarily silencing even Mrs. Grossman herself. She squeezed her breasts harder against me as I continued to shoot hot spurts into the slick gulf of Grossman.

"Oh yes, honey baby, give it all to me," Mrs. Grossman's voice returned. "Let me have it all over my big boobies. Soak 'em good!"

I continued to cry out all the way through the final spasm of my overstimulated cock, and then crumpled back into the chair as my warm goo started to drip down from the chasm between Mrs. G's mounds.

"Sheesh, that's a lot of shpritz," Mrs. Grossman exclaimed as she let go of her breasts and they dangled free in front of her! She slid the towel out from under her knees and used it to mop up the stream of cum snaking its way between her amazing breasts as she stood up. Then she bent and gave my happy cock a toweling off as well.

I felt the need to apologize both for cumming so quickly and for cumming all over her beautiful breasts. "I'm so sorry Mrs. Grossman! It just felt so good I couldn't stop myself."

"What the hell are you sorry for," she asked, wagging a finger at me? "You think you're the first man to shoot his load all over these babies? I wanted you should cum on me Kevin, and I take it as a compliment too."

"Besides, this way maybe that big shlong of yours doesn't go off so quick when you're stuffing it into my shmundie."

With that Mrs. Grossman reached for my hand and pulled me up off the chair. She then took a firm hold of my still quite hard penis and led me by it out of the front room and down the hall. Mrs. G took a sharp right at the first door, and I had no choice but to follow my captive cock into the bedroom of the apartment.

She released her hold on my dick and sat down on the large bed in the room kicking off her sandals as her feet left the floor. Nodding approvingly at my hardon as I stood before her, she began talking again. "Still big and hard, I see. Good boy. Mrs. G has another nice place for you to put that big stiffy. You wanna see where?"

Another rhetorical question it seemed, as all thoughts of stopping short of fucking Mrs. Grossman had pretty much evaporated from my overheated brain at that point. I simply smiled and nodded.

"Well then these pants are going to have to go, don't you think? If only there was a strong young man around to take them off of me." Mrs. Grossman slipped back down off the bed with a resounding bump and stood barefoot and magnificently bare-chested in front of me.

Taking the cue, I stepped forward to help relieve her of her bottoms, but was momentarily sidetracked by the magnetic pull of those amazing melons. Her dismount from the bed had caused them to bounce and jiggle and I couldn't resist the temptation to give each of them another grope. Which of course compelled me to drop my head down for another taste of those highly suckable nipples.

Mrs. Grossman indulged me for a couple of minutes of that, but eventually her patience wore thin.

"That's very nice honey, but one of us is still wearing drawers around here," she carped. "Momma has other parts that need some attention too!" She waggled her ample hips at me for emphasis.

"Yes ma'am," I said with a smile and a quick salute as I reluctantly pulled myself away from her chest, "I'll get right on that."

The black pants were fastened with a small button at the top, at what must have been Mrs. G's navel level. She inhaled and pulled in her tummy in an effort to make things easier for me, but the tightness of the stretchy fabric still made it a two-hand job. When the button finally popped open, and I was also able to pull down the thin zipper below it, Mrs. Grossman actually seemed to expand a bit further.

I gripped the waistband in both hands and began to work her pants down as Mrs. G shimmied in a somewhat counterproductive attempt at helping. Eventually I was able to get the pants clear of her hips, after which the path down her thighs and over her knees went much more smoothly. I held the waistband at her ankles as Mrs. Grossman gripped my shoulder, daintily stepped out of them and stood before me dressed only in a pair of extra-large but actually quite attractive high-cut, flower-print panties.

She followed my appreciative gaze and remarked, "I wore my prettiest underpants just for you today, so be careful when you take them off me. No ripping. But for Pete's sake, get me naked already!"

Geez she was hot to trot! I had my orders and so I obeyed them, carefully but efficiently sliding the flowery undies over her abundant hips and bottom, down her legs, and off each foot in turn.

I stood back up and whistled as I slowly looked at her fully naked body, from the wild curly top of her head, down slowly past those splendid breasts, over the generous swell of her belly, to an absolute forest of dark pubic hair, and down her legs to the crimson toenails on her feet. It was quite a package!

Mrs. Grossman tolerated my visual inspection for a few seconds before striking a comical pose: arms outstretched with palms facing up, one leg bent with her just her toe touching the floor, and her head tilted saucily to one side. She winked and smiled at me and said: "So this is all of me. Shall we fuck?"

As flat-out horny as I was at that moment, I was also getting a little tired of being bossed around. So I decided to assert myself. And also take a few minutes to do something that I hoped we'd both enjoy, before getting right down to the fucking part.

"Geez, hold your horses, Mrs. G! Where's the fire? Can't a guy spend a couple of seconds appreciating the nice view before he jumps you?

"I swear to you that I'm going to give you a good 'shtupping,' as you like to say, but before I do that, I want to do something nice for you. Something I think you'll like. So sit your shapely buns down on that bed again and let me get better acquainted with that pretty pussy of yours!"

Mrs. Grossman's jaw dropped and she stood in stunned silence for a minute. Oh shit, did I go too far? Maybe she was one of those dominant types who had to call all the shots or it's a no-go. Was she gonna kick me out of there now?

Before I could beat myself up any further, Mrs. G returned to form. "Well I'll be . . . who dropped a quarter in you all of a sudden," she cracked? "By all means . . . It's about damn time somebody around here did something nice for me. So here's me, sitting my big ass back down to see what's on your mind."