Kylie & Old Harry

Old Harry had been suffering intermittent erections all morning at the prospect of his amorous neighbour, Caroline, calling to his home with some cooked food, as she did at least a couple of times each week. Ever since the Halloween party at her house, when he and his friend Albert had fucked her, these regular home visits were invented as cover for the adulterous slut. The neighbours, if they noticed anything, would think she was just being charitable to a couple of old age pensioners, but the truth was the married whore was giving Harry the hottest, wildest sex he'd had in many years; not since the time he worked as a roadie for a heavy-metal band called The Silver Slayers during the early eighties.

All that morning, as he resisted the temptation to knock one out, he grew increasingly impatient to get his bony, old hands on the gorgeous looking wife and mother. Her big, firm tits were amazing, and she had a real peachy arse, but he particularly loved eating her dripping cunt, as he brought the horny trollop to multiple orgasms, before finally fucking her.

Therefore, his initial reaction was one of disappointment when he answered the doorbell to find that instead of the licentious Caroline, it was her eighteen-year-old daughter standing there holding a casserole dish, its contents concealed by the lid.

As for Kylie, she was far from impressed with the ugly, old man who opened the door. In truth, he was rather gross, wearing an old, grey threadbare dressing gown, along with his socks and slippers. The awful thought occurred to her that he might be naked underneath the robe. She dismissed the mental image with a shiver.

She'd arrived home early from school feeling somewhat anxious because today was the day, she'd finally decided to confront a major problem head-on. Kylie had yet to tell her parents she'd already agreed with her boyfriend to take a gap year and accompany him on a visit to his older brother in Australia. They already didn't approve of Peter. Being twenty-three, he was five years older than her and already at college.

She knew that if she could convince her mum, her dad would be a pushover, but recently she hadn't been in her mother's good books. Too many late nights out with Peter and she hadn't done as well as expected during the recent mock exams. Then there were her mother's constant complaints that she was not pulling her weight when it came to chores about the house.

Kylie had turned down the invitation to 'study' with Peter at his apartment and instead go home early and begin the dreaded conversation with her mum. However, when she got there, she found a note on the kitchen island which read:

Have gone into town because Auntie Erica is in an absolute panic about wedding dresses. Not sure when I'll be back. Will phone later.

Kylie was only a couple of years younger than Erica, so it always seemed strange to her when Erica was referred to as her aunt.

In an effort to worm her way back into good standing with her mother, Kylie went to her bedroom and tidied up before making a half-hearted attempt at some homework. Inevitably, however, she became distracted when she google-searched the Australian outback. After a short while, feeling peckish, she went downstairs to the fridge to grab something to snack on. It was then she saw the casserole dish, with a yellow sticker and Mr. Roper's name written on it. Her mum was really a good-hearted sort, she seemed to be forever taking home-cooked meals to the two old men that lived on their street.

A thought occurred to Kylie. If she brought the meal to Mr. Roper herself, saving her mum the time and trouble when she finally got home, then, this selfless act, added to tidying her room and doing her homework, might curry some additional favour with her. Put her mother in just the right mood to have a receptive and rational conversation about Australia.

So, here she was standing at the wrinkly, old man's doorstep and feeling slightly disturbed by his sharp, unsettling gaze.

"Hello, Mr. Roper," she managed to say sweetly. "My mum prepared a meal for you, but she had to go out unexpectedly, so I brought it over in case you were hungry."

Harry took a half-step outside and, looking over the girl's shoulder, cast a furtive glance up and down the street to see if anyone was watching this exchange. There was nobody about. "Oh, that's so good of you..."

He paused for a moment struggling to remember her name.

"Kylie," she prompted.

"It's very kind of you, Kylie, to think of an old man like me. Your mother must be very proud of what a considerate young lady you've grown into." As he spoke, he slyly looked the girl up and down. He'd often seen her come and go along the street but had never paid too much mind to her before, but now that she was standing before him, he could see that the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree, and she was in many ways a younger version of her stunning mother. The only real differences he could see was that her hair was auburn, and her eyes were a warm brown rather than blue.

She was still in her school uniform which consisted of a dark, navy skirt and a white blouse with a red striped necktie. Over her blouse she wore a grey cardigan. It certainly wasn't one of those overtly sexualised schoolgirl costumes he loved to drool over in porno films and magazines, but her skirt was fashionably short, and the sight of her long, shapely legs clad in dark nylons was enough to generate a delicious little throb in his old cock.

As he took the casserole dish from her, he saw that, beneath her cardigan, she had a decent pair of melons. Not yet as big as her mother's but well on the way.

Kylie looked like Caroline in so many ways, he couldn't help entertaining the devilish thought that the daughter might also be a filthy, cock-hungry slut.

"Don't worry about the dish, Mr. Roper. My mum will pick it up the next time she calls," said Kylie turning on her heels to return home.

Old Harry had to think quickly. It seemed he wouldn't have the opportunity to fuck Caroline today, but he had nothing to lose if he tried his luck with her beautiful daughter. "What about my bath?" he called after her.

"Your bath?" asked Kylie perplexed.

"Yes. Your mother always runs a bath for me whenever she calls. You see my old hands are arthritic and, when they're playing up, I struggle with the taps. Worse than that, I'm not very steady on my feet these days, so she insists on helping me in and out of the tub, so I don't slip and have an accident."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Roper, but I have to get back to my homework," lied Kylie. From the little of the dilapidated interior, she could see from the front door, she really did not want to go inside.

"It will only take a moment, dear," he said. "I won't keep you long, I promise." Although he made his voice sound as pitiful as he could, the girl's body language clearly indicated she was not going to play ball. Bloody typical! This younger generation were a bunch of good-for-nothing, self-obsessives. Then out of sheer desperation he added, "I wouldn't have asked only I've a hospital appointment early tomorrow morning, you see. If you helped me now, it would save your mother the trouble of having to come over later."

Quite by accident, the old man had struck upon the only matter that concerned Kylie at that moment: accumulating as many brownie points as possible with her mother before having that awkward conversation upon which so much depended.

"Okay, then, Mr. Roper. Where's your bathroom?"

"Oh, thank you so much. It's at the top of the stairs, the last room along the landing. You go on up and get the water running while I put this dish in my fridge for later.

Once Kylie had stepped inside, Harry took one last look up and down the street to check that no one had seen the girl enter. He particularly did not want his friend, Albert, who lived across the street to know that he'd brought the daughter of the slut they were both fucking into his house. The coast was clear.

Then, as she climbed the stairs, he had a wonderous, lingering sight of the girl's legs, all the way up under her short skirt. Smiling to himself, he wondered if she was wearing nylon stockings rather than tights, and, if so, was that the fashion for young women these days.

The further Kylie went up the stairs, the more she became aware of a foul, musty smell. She was somewhat grateful that the bedroom doors were closed. Christ alone knew what they would be like given the state of the old man and the rest of the house. When she found the bathroom, it took some effort to turn the stiff old taps and get the water flowing. No wonder Mr. Roper needed someone younger and stronger to do it for him.

Downstairs, Harry hastily shoved the casserole dish into the fridge, then, from a kitchen cabinet took one of his blue pills out of its wrapper and swallowed it, followed by a dash of water straight from the tap. Despite his age, he was still a horny old goat, but often felt he was in competition with Albert for Caroline's continued attentions. As he'd seen during their occasional threesomes with the married trollop, despite his similar age, his friend was a real cunt hound who never seemed to have any problem either getting it up or keeping it up. Harry always took a Viagra when the dirty slut called. It usually took around thirty minutes for the sildenafil citrate to kick in, just around the time he needed to be hard again to fuck her for a second time. The married slut was insatiable.

If he took one whenever Caroline called, why wouldn't he when her very fuckable daughter was in his house?

Harry skipped up the stairs expectantly, only slowing down, and resuming his frail gait and body posture as he approached the bathroom.

He had decided what was called for was barefaced bravado, as if what he did next was the most natural thing in the world, so once he entered the bathroom, he took off his robe and stood beside the bath, naked except for his socks and slippers.

Kylie's eyes narrowed in disgust. The old man's arms and legs were skinny, but he had a large, hairy belly, under which she could see his limp, wrinkly cock and sagging, grey-haired ball sack. She felt slightly nauseous and found herself swallowing some bile.

"Could you?" asked Harry with a downwards nod of his head.

"Could I what?" responded Kylie, as she followed the old man's gaze and found herself fixated by his wizened manhood. It looked like some mutant bat hanging down under an arch.

"My slippers and socks," said Harry with a seemingly embarrassed smile. "Could you take them off for me. It's so awkward to reach down and, as I explained, my hands are not very good today."

"Oh, of course," replied the young girl, trying to seem brisk and business-like. When she knelt before him, she noted the old man's cock and balls looked even less appealing when viewed at point-blank range. As she peeled the socks off his feet, they felt and smelt as if they hadn't been washed in a week.

Smiling to himself as he looked down at her auburn head, Harry said, "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to help me get in. I'm unsteady on my..."

"Unsteady on your feet," snapped Kylie unable to hide her growing impatience with the situation. Yes, you've already told me." This really was going above and beyond the call of duty. Her mother would owe her big time for this.

Harry rested his hand on the girl's shoulder and gingerly stepped into the bath. Of course, he could have gotten in perfectly well by himself, but he played up the notion of his enfeeblement to ease her nervousness. He reasoned, it was clear from the way her nose wrinkled at the thought of touching him, that she was disgusted at what he was asking her to do, but, for the moment at least, she wouldn't be afraid of him.

When Harry was settled into the bath, Kylie stepped away as quickly as she could, but the sly, old pervert was playing a long game. He said, "Pass me that handcloth and bar of soap on the sink, there's a good girl." When she did as he asked, Harry began to cheerfully soap up the cloth and wash his upper body and arms.

Kylie saw this as the perfect moment to make her escape. "I'll go downstairs until you're finished. Call me when you want to get out."

"When you're down there, why don't you put on the kettle and make a pot of tea," replied Harry agreeably. "I shouldn't be long."

Barely able to hide her sigh of relief, Kylie turned and walked towards the door.

"Damn it," said Harry with sudden venom. "These bloody hands of mine are useless."

"What's wrong now?" asked Kylie with genuine concern.

"I can't reach behind and wash my back."

"Don't you have a loofah or back scrubber?"

"No. Never needed one. I can usually cope quite well, but when my arthritis has played up in the past, your mother was good enough to help me out."

"My mother washes you?" asked Kylie in horror.

"Just my back, and only on those days I can't reach it myself."

"Okay, then," she said wearily. "Pass me the cloth." This whole revolting experience had long passed the point where she thought it was worth enduring in order to get into her mother's good books, but she'd come too far to be able to wriggle out of it now. "Lean forward," she ordered and took the soapy cloth to the old man's scrawny back.

Old Harry bided his time. The young woman was making gentle circular motions with the cloth on his shoulders and back. It was quite relaxing in its own way. Covertly, he began tugging on his cock. It needed very little encouragement to enlarge to its full stature, and he made sure to cover it from the young woman's view with his arms. Then after some time had passed, and he judged that Kylie had properly settled into her task, he suddenly straightened up and leaned back towards her.

"Ah!" exclaimed Kylie. "Sit still, you've soaked me!"

Without the need to look around, the old man knew he'd drenched her white blouse, just as he'd intended. He'd also had the very satisfying, albeit fleeting, feel of her firm, young tits as they pressed into his back.

Right, that's it, he thought. He'd strung this along as far as he could. It was highly unlikely that he'd ever have the girl in his home again, especially not once Caroline heard about her daughter having to bathe him. It was time to play his biggest gambit.

He suddenly exclaimed. "Oh, no! Please, not that again!"

Kylie sprung back alarmed. For a brief moment she thought she'd hurt him somehow. "What's wrong Mr. Roper?"

"No! Damn! It's happened again. Look, see for yourself."

Peering over the old man's shoulder, Kylie surprise was so great, her jaw dropped open. Poking out of the now dirty and soapy water around the old man's crouch was an distended, gnarly cock. It was huge and would have been perpendicular only for his hairy stomach pushing it forward. It looked engorged, ready to burst; so rampant, the foreskin had pulled back to reveal a bright, shiny purple head.

"Oh, my God!" Kylie found herself uttering. In that moment she doubted the nature of her own reaction. Was it disgust at the old man having an erection, or was it simply amazement that his cock was far bigger and thicker than her boyfriend's?

"This is terrible!" said Harry, who continued to appear very distressed by the manifestation.

"Here, cover yourself up," said Kylie, as she threw him the handcloth.

"No, no, you don't understand, you silly girl. This is a medical emergency."

"A what?" responded Kylie dumbfounded.

"I've a serious heart condition. The doctors warned me. Whenever it gets like this, the organ sucks all the blood away from the rest of my circulation. I could have a cardiac arrest or a stroke if it doesn't go away soon. This never happened with your mother!"

"Didn't they give you any medication for it?" Kylie could feel a rising panic because the old man seemed so genuinely agitated by his condition, she truly believed he was only moments away from passing out there and then. "Is there something I can get for you?"

"Don't you think I would take it, if they had, you witless girl? It's a very rare condition. There's no treatment for it." Yet, even as he played out his part, he struggled to keep his gaze away from her chest. The dampness of her blouse had made the material stick to her breasts, revealing the intricate white, lacing of her bra, and the cleavage above.

"Where's your phone?" asked Kylie. "I'll call an ambulance."

"Downstairs, on the table in the hall. No wait! You can't call the emergency services."

"Why not?"

"Think about it, girl. Do you really want them to find me sitting here like this, with you beside me? What would they think was going on, eh?"

"Shit!" exclaimed Kylie. She hadn't thought of that. It would be just too embarrassing. Medics finding her here alone bathing an naked old man while he sported an incredibly big erection. One that actually required medical attention.

Oh, and she didn't even want to think about the trouble she'd be in once her mother found out.

Then, an idea suddenly occurred to her. "Why don't you toss..." No, wait, that was about to sound all wrong, so she paused as she sought the right words. "Can't you relieve yourself? Wouldn't that make the problem go away?"

"I would if I could, but it's these hands. These damned, useless bloody hands of mine. Oh, I wouldn't wish this situation on my worst enemy." Harry found it easy to inject some desperation into his voice. The young woman was absolutely gorgeous, and he was sitting at eye level with her short skirt. That all conspired to make his cock strain painfully for release even more than usual. So much so, he began to fear he might really have a heart attack if relief didn't come soon.

Kylie's imagination had already built up a head of steam and was running wild. Fuck! If this got out, she'd never hear the end of it. Her mother would be the least of her worries. She'd be the butt of every joke and slanderous piece of graffiti written on the walls of men's public bathrooms for years to come. Even worse, when her schoolmates found out, they'd see to it she was slut-shamed across all the socials. She might even go viral, and her life would be completely ruined.

"What if I..." she began hesitantly.

"Please continue. Tell me what you're thinking," Harry pleaded. Had the penny dropped? He felt he'd already nudged her towards the conclusion he was looking for. Was she about to suggest it out loud?"

"I could get some ice from your fridge, and add it to a bucket of cold water and throw it on your... On the affected area. I've heard it works on dogs. Maybe it will work on you."

Shit! Harry hadn't thought of that as something she might suggest as an alternative to what he had in mind. He had to think quickly. "Can't risk it. I've told you already, I've a bad heart. The sudden shock to my system would probably finish me off completely. How would you explain that to the medics, eh?"

It was then the thought occurred to Kylie to simply run away. Just get out of the dilapidated house and leave the old man behind. This whole situation had become nightmarish and surreal. She just wanted it to end. But if the old man died, it would be her fault for abandoning him, and she knew the guilt of that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"What if I were to..." she began but faltered.

"To what?" asked Mr. Roper with urgency. "This is a bloody emergency. Spit it out, girl?"

"What if I were to relieve you?" asked Kylie, instantly regretting the suggestion as soon as the words left her mouth.

"You would do that for me?" he asked, hopefully.

"Yes, but you can't tell anyone. Especially not my mother."

"Oh, Kylie, you truly are a wonderful girl. Thank you so much. Rest assured; it will be our little secret. I can't thank you enough."

Kylie knelt beside the bathtub. This whole ordeal had been a succession of small concessions and compromises that had somehow led to this. She was about to give Mr. Roper, the old man from down her street, a handjob. Kylie felt a little out-of-body, as if she were witnessing the actions of someone else. Yet, she couldn't deny that from somewhere at the back of her consciousness there came an exquisite sense of expectation. An arousing curiosity as to how this massive cock would feel in her hand, and how it might react to her touch.