My Kinky Grandmother

'No, it's fine. There's no big deal here, but it's... well, you'll see.

'Anyway, my last year at home, when I'd turned eighteen, things seemed to get even more odd. For one thing, how many eighteen-year-olds get spanked by their father? My sister certainly wasn't when she was that age. And he'd pull my panties down before smacking me and afterwards he'd sometimes rub something into my cheeks to take away the sting.'

'Were you frightened?'

'No! That's the thing! It aroused me. I looked forward to it. I used to do things that I knew would lead him to spank me. And when he did it, I began to want him to do other things, too. I wanted to feel his fingers on my pussy, wanted him to push them in. I fanaticised about him penetrating me!'

'But he never did?'

'No. Well, once, with his fingers.'

'What happened?'

'It was the week before I went to university. I'd stayed out all night at a party and I came home late morning and he was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper and he started having a go at me and I answered back so he told me to bend over the table and I did and he lifted my skirt and pulled my panties down and I was really excited. I had some feeling that this would be it. Then he spanked me, and it was a really sexual spanking; not hard enough to really hurt but hard enough to make my bum cheeks warm. And in between the smacks he stroked my buttocks and even slipped a finger into the crevice. God I was wet!

'After he'd spanked me about eight or nine times he got the balm out and rubbed it into my cheeks and I was tingling all over and thinking about opening my legs and then I felt his fingers go right between my legs and he started stroking my pussy and I nearly fainted and then he pushed his finger into me. Right in. Then another finger and I started moaning a bit and he must have realised I was enjoying it because he started sliding his fingers in and out and I could hear the slurping noises and I could hear his breathing all heavy and gaspy. And then we heard the front door open as mum came home and he took his hand away and pulled my panties up really quickly and told me to go to my room.

'And that was it?'

'Yes. I went to university the next week and I never really lived at home again, so nothing ever happened. I wanted to talk to him about it, tell him that it was fine, that I'd enjoyed it, but somehow the moment never arrived.'

'Wow,' I said. 'That's some story.'

'Yes, and the worst of it is that I've lived for the best part of fifty years wondering what would have happened if mum hadn't come home when she did. Would he have fucked me in the kitchen? Would he have taken me to bed? I can't seem to get it out of my head. It's a sort of unresolved fantasy. You're the only person I've ever told. I couldn't bring myself to talk to Geoff about it.'

'What would you have done if your dad had penetrated you?'

'I'd have enjoyed it,' my gran said firmly. 'Very much! Don't you see, Matthew, I wanted it to happen!

'I wonder if there's a gene that makes you desire incest. If there is, I've got it for sure, probably inherited from my father, lusting after him then... then wanting you. I went away to France because I wanted you so much.'

'I didn't realise that.'

'Why should you. I didn't exactly discuss it with you.'

'And now here we are,' I said.

'Yes, here we are,' she agreed. 'And now I think dinner will be about ready.'

For the next two weeks I think you could say that we fucked like rabbits. Debra put aside any qualms she may have had about me staying overnight and I practically lived at her house. Fortunately it was detached so there wasn't a problem with the neighbours hearing us having sex. Because my grandmother could be quite loud in bed.

We fucked in as many positions as we could reasonably get into, given Debra's age and flexibility. I licked her cunt whenever I could, delighting in her scent and taste, and almost always as a precursor to penetration. She sucked my cock and once or twice brought me to orgasm, swallowing my come with obvious relish. One memorable evening I slid a lubricated finger deep into her rectum as I was sucking her clit and she arched her back and drummed her legs and told me as we lay together afterwards that it was the most powerful climax she'd ever had.

'I'm very sensitive, in that area,' she told me.

'Have you ever... you know?'

My grandmother gave me a knowing smile. 'Had anal sex you mean?'

'Yes,' I said, blushing.

'Yes,' she replied, frankly. 'Geoff and I did it that way quite a few times. We'd have done it a lot more, but he wasn't one hundred percent keen. I think he thought it was too dirty. But I enjoyed it.' She looked down at my subsiding penis. 'Mind you, Geoff wasn't quite as broad in the beam as you.'

I tried not to show my disappointment. I'd tried anal sex once at university and I'd loved the sensation and the feeling of naughtiness, even dirtiness that it had evoked. But the reality was that my grandmother was petite and my shaft was thick. We didn't mention it again. Not then, anyway.

Neither did she mention her father and the spanking again until one Sunday afternoon when we were sitting at the pine kitchen table and sipping cold, white wine. We didn't drink much, but at weekends, and particularly on a Sunday, we generally had a few drinks.

'This was the table,' said gran, suddenly.

'What was?' I asked, puzzled.

'This was the table that my dad used to spank me over. I got it when my parents downsized to a bungalow and couldn't fit it in the kitchen. I really wanted to have the table where it nearly happened.'

'Bloody hell!' I said, looking at its worn surface. 'So this was where all the action was?'

'I wanted to talk to you about it,' she said, taking a swallow of wine.

'Go on.'

'When I told you about it the other day, I called it my unresolved issue.' She paused and sipped her wine again. 'Would you help me to resolve my issue, Matthew? Would you help me to find out what might have happened if my mum hadn't come home when she did?'

I was confused for a few seconds, and then it clicked.

'You want to act it out? Role play?'

'Yes,' whispered my gran, looking at her hands in embarrassment.

'You want me to be your dad and you're going to be eighteen-year-old Debra?'

'Well obviously not the other way round,' she replied, smiling faintly. 'I know it's a big ask, Matthew, but you're the only person I could ever ask. It's the only chance I've got.'

I looked at my grandmother, sitting opposite me across the table, dressed as a grandmother should, in a patterned blouse with a pearl necklace and a sensible skirt. She looked back at me and our eyes locked and I saw the need in her to resolve this thing that had tormented her for so long. And why not? We were already committing incest, what difference would it make if I pretended to be her father and she pretended to be a teenager? Ok, I admitted to myself, it was very weird, but it also had its attractions. My grandmother would be putting herself in a very sexually submissive position, and who knows what might happen then. I felt my cock stirring and swelling.

'Ok,' I said. 'Why not.' I slugged down the last of my wine. 'In fact the thought of it has made me rather horny.'

I got up and went round the table and took my grandmothers petite little hand, with its red nails, in my hand and I pulled and she stood up and I practically dragged her upstairs to the bedroom.

'Goodness,' she gasped when I'd kicked the door shut behind us. 'You are excited.' This dominance by her grandson was quite new to us; our sexual activities so far had been strictly consensual. I would never have done anything that she didn't want, but it was time to alter the dynamic slightly.

'Take your skirt off,' I told her. 'And your knickers.' It felt good to talk to her like this and my cock grew rigid in my trousers.

Gran unzipped her skirt and let it slide over her hips, rustling against her stockings as it slipped to the floor. She pulled her panties down to her knees and steadied herself with one hand on the bed while she removed them.

'Now get on the bed and open your legs.'

She obeyed, looking at me with a calm, almost smug air, as though this had been her plan all along.

I took my trousers and Y fronts off and climbed between her thighs, cock waving in the air. This time there would be no foreplay, no licking and sucking. No fingering and stroking. This time I'd just push myself into my grandmother and hope she was wet enough, otherwise I'd have to use the KY Jelly.

I needn't have worried. She was swimming with juices and my thick member slid easily in, all the way. It felt wonderful. Somehow I could never get enough sex with Debra. Her lovely body, small, mature and wrinkled in places, but gorgeous to me; her willingness and inventiveness in bed. And, most powerful of all, the knowledge that we were so closely related. That put the final edge on it, made it such a sublime experience. I felt sorry for all those young men across the world who never got to have intercourse with their grandmother.

Now I thrust into her hard and fast and she lay beneath me, her blouse rucked up, and looked up at me.

'Go on, have me hard, if that's what you want.'

I rammed my cock in and out of her sopping pussy and she gripped the headboard and closed her eyes and groaned at each thrust, her legs wide open, still wearing her high heels. I fucked her like this for about ten minutes before the feelings started to overwhelm me and an unstoppable climax pulsed through me as I jetted my spunk into my grandmother's cunt.

'Does the idea of being my father excite you?' she asked as we lay together afterwards in a tangle of duvet and clothing.

'Yes,' I admitted. 'More than I would have thought.'

I suppose I hadn't really appreciated how important this daddy/daughter scenario was to Debra. But over the next week it became clear when she outlined how she thought the thing should play out, going into quite a lot of detail about conversations and what we should do. She even scoured the local charity shops and bought both of us outfits appropriate to the fashions of fifty years ago.

'Of course,' she said, I can't tell you what to do after the point where my mother doesn't come through the front door; you'll have to use your imagination on that. But I want you to try and put yourself in the position of my father and his eighteen-year-old daughter who's wet for him. What would you have done?'

We fixed the date for the following Saturday morning, which was when the original drama had played out. I would be in the house, dressed up as daddy, and she would come in after a night out. To enhance the anticipation, we decided not to see each other in the intervening week. During that week I thought carefully about what I would do; what I would say and how I would behave. It was a heady prospect, and I was surprised to find that I was a bit nervous. What if it was a disaster? What if it just didn't work for Debra?

I went round about 11am the next Saturday and let myself in with the key she'd had cut for me. Upstairs in her bedroom I dressed in the clothes she'd bought me: baggy flannel trousers, a soft-collared shirt, a woollen V-necked jumper and tartan slippers. The height of fashion for a working middle-aged man in the nineteen-seventies. I'd also brought a pipe, as a prop, remembering that she'd mentioned him smoking one.

Downstairs, I sat at the pine table with a mug of tea and a custard cream biscuit and read the sports pages of the Daily Express. This was real character acting; Marlon Brando would have been proud of me.

At 11:30, on the dot, as arranged, I heard a key in the front door and a few seconds later Debra came into the kitchen and dumped her handbag on the table. I had been apprehensive about what she'd look like in the fashions of a nineteen-seventies teenager; now I was impressed by how cleverly she'd dressed to look the part.

She was wearing a short, plaid skirt with an electric-blue satin blouse and a striped tank-top jumper. The skirt was so short you could see her stocking tops when she bent over; Further down she was wearing white plastic calf-length boots, with two-inch platform soles. God knows where she'd got them. Her hair was done in a bun on top of her head and she was wearing a lot of eye make-up. I had to admit that she really looked the part. If you ignored the lines on her face she really could be a girl of that time and age.

'How many times have I told you not to leave your handbag on the table,' I told her, pointing at the offending object with the stem of my pipe.

'Oh God! I've only just got in and you're starting.'

'Don't you talk to me like that my girl. And where have you been till half-past eleven in the morning? You weren't in last night were you?'

'No I wasn't, if it's any of your business.'

'Well of course it's my bloody business. This is my house and while you're living here you'll tow the bloody line!' I was jabbing with the pipe stem to emphasise my words.

'Thank God it's not for much longer then,' she replied with spirit. 'I'll be able to do as I please at university.'

'Yes, that's very important to your generation isn't it? Doing as you please.'

'Go on, Dad, start telling me how it was in the war.' Apparently she'd mocked him a lot with this line, although he hadn't been born until the forties, and he was sensitive about it.

'I'm not going to put up with being spoken to like this in my own house,' I shouted at her. 'Get yourself over that table!'

'Oh please Daddy, No!'

'Over the table, I said!'

I grabbed a cushion from one of the chairs and put it on the edge of the table and Debra, with a wonderfully fearful look at me, bent over the table and grasped its further edge with her red-nailed fingers, her head on one side, her legs straight and slightly apart. It did occur to me to wonder how she would have managed without platform shoes on.

I stood looking at my grandmother for a few seconds, admiring her pert buttocks underneath the short, plaid skirt, admiring her stocking tops and the soft flesh above them, noting how the posture made her thigh muscles taut. She lay passively, her eyes shut.

I was very hard by now. Luckily there was plenty of room in my baggy flannels. I stepped behind her and lifted her skirt clear of her panty-clad bum cheeks. Debra squirmed on the table and I told her to lie still and take her punishment. Then I brought my hand down on her left buttock, with a resounding smacking noise. My grandmother squealed and squirmed and I told her to be still and then I slapped her right buttock, a bit harder.

'Is that the best you can do?' she said, and I recalled that this was how she remembered the scene playing out, with her wanting to be spanked harder, hoping that her father would take down her panties.

'Ok,' I said, grimly, 'if that's what you want, I'll take your knickers down and we'll see how that feels.' I grasped the waistband in both hands and unceremoniously yanked her white nylon knickers over her bum cheeks and down to her stocking tops. Then I smacked her again, harder.

'Ouch! Ooh, that hurt!'

'It's supposed to.' I was extremely aroused, breathing heavily, my cock a rigid pole in my underpants. If this was how it had actually been, Debra's father would have had to be made of wood not to be affected by his daughter's naked sexuality.

I smacked her bum again, a bit harder, then the other cheek, then the first. Slow, hard slaps that brought the blood to the surface of her skin, turning her buttocks a bright pink. After about a dozen smacks I stopped. Gran was gasping on the table, her mouth half open, her knuckles white, her eyes tight shut, perhaps imagining the scene all those years ago.

'Right, Debra, I think you've learned your lesson now. Would you like me to rub some balm in?'

'Yes, please, Daddy,' she said in a small voice.

I took the jar from the dresser and, unscrewing the lid, poured a dollop onto the palm of my hand. Then I applied my hand gently to her buttocks, feeling the heat of her chastisement, the softness of her skin. I massaged first one cheek, than the other, leaving an oily sheen on her skin. Debra moaned softly and flexed her buttocks and I slipped one finger into her bum crack and drew it slowly upwards.

Debra gasped and shivered. 'Ooh, that feels nice,' she whispered.

I applied more balm and fondled her bum and touched her crevice again, feeling the tip of my finger graze her anus, hearing her intake of breath. Then, when I deemed the time right, I slid my lubricated hand between her legs and sought her pussy.

Gran gasped louder and wiggled her hips in encouragement and I found her labia and slid a finger into the hot, liquid depths.

'Does that feel nice, too, Debra,' I asked her.

'Oh, Daddy, it's wonderful.'

I slid another finger in, feeling her cunt muscles gently squeeze me, wondering how it would have felt when she was eighteen. I put one hand on the small of her back and started sliding my fingers in and out of her, slowly at first, then deeper and quicker. The air was thick with the smell of her juices and I could hear the squishing noises of my fingers in her liquid depths.

This time, nearly fifty years on, nobody opened the front door. I was breathless with desire, aching to sink my cock into my grandmother's cunt, and I'm pretty sure that that is exactly what my great grandfather would have done to his daughter if his wife hadn't suddenly come home.

I fumbled one handed with my zip and managed, with a little effort, to extract my penis, swollen and leaking, the glans an angry purple. I pressed harder on her back to restrain her and manoeuvred myself behind her, guiding my dick to her bum crack, holding my shaft and seeking her sopping cunt.

'What are you doing, Daddy,' she quavered.

'What we both want,' I grunted, pressing my cockhead into her flesh, seeking her opening.

'We mustn't, Daddy,' she whispered. 'I'm your daughter.'

As she said this the head of my penis found her slit and I pushed myself into my grandmother's cunt and she gasped and writhed on the table.

'Oh Daddy, Daddy! It's so big and it feels so naughty.'

'Does it feel good?' I asked.

'Yes!'

So I started fucking her with long, deep, slow strokes and she hung onto the table for dear life and spread her legs wider and I felt an overpowering surge of desire for her and I rammed my cock into her and she grunted and wriggled herself against the table.

'You're going to make me come, Daddy,' she gasped and as she said this my orgasm arrived with frightening suddenness and I grabbed her shoulders and thrust into her harder and faster and the world dimmed and my cock started pulsing spunk into her cunt and she cried out, 'Daddy!' as her climax swept through her.

And then it was over and I supporting myself on the table and gasping and pulling my cock out of my grandmother and she was getting stiffly off the table and looking for something to mop the semen dribbling out of her vagina and down her thigh.

'Promise me you won't ever tell your mother about this, Debra,' I told her, tucking my now flaccid penis back into my trousers. 'Or anyone else.'

'Of course not, Daddy,' she said, pulling her panties back up. 'This will be our little secret. I won't say a word, provided...'

'Provided what?'

'Provided you do it to me again.'

Then my grandmother almost leapt into my arms and gave me a huge hug, tears flowing down her cheek.

'You were wonderful, Matthew,' she cried, signalling that the play-acting was over. 'Thank you! It's just how I would have imagined it happening. And it felt so real! Perhaps because I couldn't see, I could just hear and feel you, so I could almost imagine it really was my father.'