The Old Fellah Needs Another Hand

This is a sequel to 'The Old Fellah Needs a Hand'.

I rang the doorbell but there was no answer, so I fished out from the pocket of my denim skirt the key I'd been given. The apartment was deadly quiet, I began to fear the worst. My neighbour was a very old man, after all. The phrase 'kicked the bucket' slid unwanted into my mind as I closed the front door.

I called out, "Gramps?"

I stood by the door listening for signs of life, hearing none I trod softly down the hall. I wondered why I was stalking stealthily and decided it was nerves.

'I'm sure he's fine,' I told myself but I didn't quite believe my own reassurance.

I pushed open his bedroom door and smiled affectionately. The relief was immense. The old codger was fast asleep, stretched out on his bed, naked apart from his untied robe. The curtains were closed, shutting out the noonday sun. I crossed the room and stood over him, watching his chest move up and down.

"Still breathing then, Gramps?"

Hearing his gentle snore, my eyes strayed down his body, exposed by the open robe. His cock looked like a snuggly sleeping mouse. I reached down and ran my hand through the grey hair on his strong, wide chest. Down further over the Naval tattoos on his tummy to...

"What's this, you dirty ol' bugger?"

Individual puddles of still-warm spunk were splattered across his belly.

"That's why you're asleep. And you said you weren't a sad wanker!"

I held up my cummy fingers and examined them in the darkened bedroom. I brought my nose to my fingertips and inhaled the musky perfume of pure masculine essence. A ripple of warm familiar feeling ran through me. Since I'd started playing with the old pervert, beginning with a handjob then moving on to licking and sucking on him while I jerked him off, advancing to tasting his thick pearlescent sperm after his breathless climaxes, I felt my inner-cum-slut developing at an alarming rate. Was I really this unashamed cum-hungry whore I was playing at being? Was it just playing or... am I really this filthy? Overcome by an irresistible urge, I leaned down and trailed my tongue through the modern art splatter across his hairy tummy, licking like a kitten at his cooled cream.

He stirred in his sleep and I froze, like a naughty little girl up to no good, with my tongue extended and with a globule of gloop balanced on the tip. His breathing told me he was still asleep. I swallowed and went back to licking his skin clean down to his curly, grey, spunk-soaked pubes. Here I met his pungent male scent again. I pressed my nose into his damp curly hairs and inhaled deeply.

I walked down to the bottom of the bed and opened his robe completely, revealing him, exposing him. I curled my fingers around his beautiful cock and felt its substantial weight. I peeled the skin back slowly and released his hypnotic intimate and unique fragrance into the room. I rested my other hand on the bed, leaned over him and breathed in his sexy, dirty smell.

Unable to resist I squatted down by the bed and lowered my head over his legs to slurp my wet tongue around his cockhead. The taste was animal. It spoke to something deep down in my primordial soul. My hand instinctively snaked up under my skirt to massage my pulsating pussylips through the nylon crotch of my already wet pantyhose.

'I'm such a slut. What is it about him that drives you crazy? Surely lads your own are fitter? Sexier? Cuter?'

His fat cock swelled as my mouth toyed with him. I closed my eyes, my head bobbed and I surrendered to the sensation of sucking this hardening veiny meat that felt so natural in my mouth.

I looked up as he altered his position, sleeping still but now with a huge smile on his face. I wondered what he was dreaming of as he spread his legs wide. I had one hand rubbing my nylon-covered cummy cunt and one hand stroking his now thickened, stiffened cock. I lifted his dick and snuffled around by his sweaty balls, sampling his unwashed and unmistakable male odour. I kissed and sniffed and tasted his wrinkled ballsack for a long time then, lowering my face even further, I used my tongue to gobble his balls into my mouth. I couldn't get them both in, so I took turns suckling on each.

My hand was stroking him faster now as my excitement grew. My fingers were pressing my soaked tights up into my throbbing,

pulsing pussy. Wanking him and sucking on his big sexy wrinkly grandpa balls, I was feeling deliciously slutty and lost in my own world when his chuckle startled me.

In a just-woken-up voice he said, "Hello girl."

*******

As I stood in my octogenarian neighbour's kitchen making two cups of tea I hummed happily to myself. My thoughts strayed to this lad I'd been seeing recently. Everything about him was... fine. Just fine. He was cute, pleasant, had a fit bod, was nice, generous, funny. But. I just didn't feel it. Whatever 'it' is, it was missing. When we kissed, when he touched me, when we made love. The past half hour had confirmed to me that nothing was as truly exciting to me as a much older man. I got so more horny just licking Gramps's thick ol' cock than I had doing all the other stuff with my boyfriend. I was just pondering how I was going to phrase breaking up with him when Gramps poked his head around the door.

"I'm just going for a pee."

"Okey doke," I replied, adding the milk to the tea, "Don't fall in."

"I was, er, wondering if you..."

I looked around to see the old fellah waggling his eyebrows suggestively. I giggled at his comical leering and followed him. I stood next to him in his bathroom, holding his warm and partially engorged willy over the toilet bowl. We waited for a minute, he picked some fluff off his robe and I flexed my grip on his cock. After another minute in this silly position I sensed a growing pressure in my palm and then I felt his piss coursing through him a moment before it jettisoned out of the open slit at the tip of his cock. He watched me watching his arc of hay-coloured piss splash into the pool. I moved my other hand so I could wiggle a finger in his stream, playing with him like a child plays with a hose.

"Don't make a mess, you little fool," he laughed.

I gave him a sultry look, like one of the femmes fatale in the black and white films we sometimes watched together, and put my dripping wet finger in my mouth. I sucked and fluttered my eyelashes at him.

"Oh you dirty fucki-" he was interrupted by my kiss.

I smooched him and held him until he finally finished his micturation (I think that's the proper clinical word, I'd looked it up one day out of curiosity) and then I did the dingle-dangle thing that gets all the droplets out.

We sat on his sofa, his teevee tuned to the classic movie channel, sipping our tea and watching black and white people gabbing to each other. I crossed my legs, enjoying the secret thrill of my juice soaked pantyhose gusset squelching on my tender lips. I saw his eyes roam down my legs encased in sheer coffee-coloured nylon. He reached down and raised my foot in his hand. He slipped off my sneaker and brought my wiggly toes to his nose and then began to kiss my foot. I smirked and drank my tea.

"Sweetheart," he said between kisses to each of my toes,"I have a favour to ask."

"I've told you, I'm not going to have sex with you, we're just-"

"Playmates, yes, you've told me a thousand times," he put down his mug of tea and used both hands to explore my calf and thigh, "And I hope to change your mind about that but that wasn't what I was going to ask."

We sat in silence, watching the movie and drinking our tea; his hands idly but lovingly caressed my legs.

"I have a friend," he said eventually.

"Yeeeeesss?" I said, my voice full of suspicion about what he was about to suggest.

"I told him about you."

"What the fuck!?"

I kicked his hand away and put both my feet on the floor, as if ready to storm out in a huff.

"No, I mean, I didn't tell him anything about you, about who you are, just... just that I have a drop-dead-gorgeous eighteen year-old beauty with a killer body who enjoys, for some unknown reason, fooling about with me."

I eyed him with caution.

"And do you know what he said when I told him?"

"Did he want my phone number?"

"No," he chuckled then looked serious, "He said I was a damn liar."

"Oh. That's harsh."

"Of course nothing I could say would convince him. I felt like a pathetic fantasist. I almost didn't believe it myself for half a minute, I mean, who'd believe you'd want to fool around with some old duffer like me?"

I could tell he was fishing for compliments but my suspicions were growing.

"Aaaand... what this favour?"

"I thought, maybe, if you were up for it, we could... take some photos?"

"Ooooh, that wasn't as bad as I thought it was gunna be."

"What did you think I-"

"Nothing, let's not go there. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, you know... naughty nude ones."

"Noooope. No way."

"Why not, honey?"

"I'm not having porno photos of me spread all over the web by you and him, whoever he is."

"We wouldn't-"

"It happens, it happens, all the time. Maybe you wouldn't mean to but..."

"You think we're a couple of doddering senile seniors who don't know what we're doing!"

I didn't answer, just sipped my tea.

"Or you don't trust me," he said with just the right amount of spite.

Ouch, that was a smart move on his side. He looked so hurt. I kicked off my remaining sneaker, reclined on the sofa and both both my feet in his lap.

"Course I trust you, Gramps," I wiggled my nylon feet inside his robe, "But I just don't wanna risk it."

Suitably mollified, he let his argument falter and sat happily enjoying the feeling of my agile monkey toes stimulating his sleeping penis.

"I know!" he raised his finger like Alfred Einstein discovering the atom (or whatever), "You can wear a mask, then even if they somehow ended up shared on the net, though of course they wouldn't, we'd be very careful with them, et cetera, et cetera, no one would know it was you."

I wanted to rebuff this argument but I couldn't really think of a valid reason to refuse.

"Would they?" he asked.

I tried to think of an excuse.

"Would they, honey?"

"No," I relented, "I suppose not."

He looked very chuffed with himself as he finished his tea, gently stroking my legs like I was his pet dog, a sensation I didn't mind at all.

*******

We tried a bandana, worn as if I were a cowboy bandit but quickly assessed that this would prevent any saucy sucking in the photos. We had both agreed the shots would have to show physical interaction or his sceptical chum would just assume he'd stolen the pictures off a nudey website. I remembered I had a horrible warty witch rubber mask from last halloween (my slutty black outfit with fishnet stockings went down very well with the male members at the party) but Gramps vetoed this.

"The point, genius, is to display my young and incredibly cute sex toy."

"Awwww Gramps, you say the sweetest things, you're making me blush."

He raised his finger again in another lightbulb moment (Alexander Graham Bell discovering painkillers, or something) and led me to a cupboard in his spare bedroom. After some huffing and cursing he dragged out a cardboard box and began sorting through it.

"My Wife and I attended a charity ball once, everyone had to wear fancy masks. Jenny really liked hers so she kept it."

"This is all her stuff?"

I felt a bit weird examining the belongings of a dead woman. I found a couple of photos, one of which looked like a Vogue model draping herself over the bonnet of a car.

"Is this your wife?"

He stood up and we looked at the photo together, he nodded.

"That's her, that's my Jenny."

"She was a babe!"

"She certainly was. I'll have you know I'm very choosy," he kissed my neck softly, "I was very lucky she fell for this raggedy-arsed sailor."

"She had some legs on her."

"That's one of the reasons I'm so infatuated with you."

He slid his hand up my thigh and up my skirt to grope my nylon-covered bum.

"Sometimes," he confessed quietly, "When you're amusing yourself with my old whang, I close my eyes and, I hope you're not offended, but I think of her... remembering."

"I don't mind at all, I think that's so lovely."

I put the photo down and gave him a tight cuddle. He chuckled as I squeezed the air out of him.

"You must've really loved her."

"I miss her everyday. All the time. As soon as I met her I knew, bang, that was it. I'd want her 'til the end of time."

I kissed the old romantic fool.

"How would she feel about you messing about with a young floozy?"

"The point is, she's not here, is she? She's dead."

I let him go. He looked so very old all of a sudden. Old and sad.

"Dead and gone," he muttered and picked up the photos of his late wife.

I didn't know what to say.

And then my brain pulled something out of the air, "I hope I find a man like you one day, with a love for me as strong as yours."

He smiled at me, cleared his throat and then resumed searching through the box. Eventually he found the Venetian style mask, white with gold leaf and studded with fake rubies, wrapped in a silken scarf. I modelled it in the bathroom mirror, it disguised just my eyes and my nose.

"It's perfect," he said behind me in the reflection, "It shows your adorable face and your bee-stung blow-job lips."

"I haven't got bee-stung lips," I replied, wishing that I did.

He pulled me closer and his hands roamed all over me.

"You're lips are amazing, I fucking love rubbing my cock on these," he ran his calloused thumb over my mouth, "You're getting me all excited. Let's take the photos!"

In the bedroom, Gramps handled his expensive digital camera like a pro as he checked the light readings and adjusted the settings and all with his semi-erect cock cheekily poking its head through the join in his robe. I began to feel self-conscious.

"I know you think I look nice," I said feebly, "But I don't really feel like a glamour model."

"Nice? Nice is not the word for how you look, sweetheart. You're a fucking goddess."

"Aw shaddup."

"And anyway nice is the opposite of how you wanna feel."

"How do you mean?"

"Be... be nasty. Be the filthy slut you know you are. Be shameless."

"Like when I'm sucking on your stinky balls?" I smirked, getting the idea.

"Exactly," Gramps raised his camera, "Just like when you're sucking on this old pervert's sweaty bollocks, you shameless little cunt."

I heard the faked shutter sound of photos being taken and I began to pose. I unzipped my skirt and let it fall. I pulled my teeshirt off over my head. Standing in just my tights and bra, I held my breasts and jiggled them but still felt very silly. Gramps particularly liked it when I turned and leaned over, showing my long legs and bum. I sat on the bed and spread my legs, he came close to shoot intimate photos of my crotch. My small tuft of trimmed pubes was visible under the coffee-coloured material.

"Rub it," he growled.

I started to masturbate as he snapped away. I was viewing myself from inside his lust-fuelled desire and getting slowly lost in how sexy I felt, displaying myself, exhibiting my body. I played with my pornstar pussy through my pantyhose gusset until I was thoroughly horny.

"Isn't time we got you involved?" I asked, reclining on his bed.

He tugged off his robe eagerly and stood between my thighs. His bent his knees slightly so his thickening cock was pressing on my squished, swollen pussylips through the thin fabric barrier of my tights.

"That's very naughty, Gramps."

"I'm not attempting anything," he protested as he photographed his cock rubbing up and down my lips, "I can't make love to you through a pair of hose, can I?"

"Bring it here," I said and I lifted his cock up to my mouth.

"Head up, to the side a bit," he directed me as I began to lick him. Swirling my tongue around his sticky helmet, I made sure he got some good angles. I opened my mouth and he took a number of shots as he gradually pushed inside. I smiled up at him as he encouraged me with small appreciative noises.

I felt him reach his full extended length in my mouth, so much so that I couldn't get but half of it in. I knew he liked it when I gagged a little so I forced my mouth further on him until I gurgled at my physical limit.

"Ummm, fuckingbloodyhell thasgood," his low voice grumbled.

I held him in my throat then I pulled my head back and took a breath. He told me to show my titties. I giggled at his choice of word and unhooked my bra.

"Play with 'em," he ordered.

He snapped away while I massaged myself and teased my nipples. I was beginning to feel extremely fucking horny.

"Shit, the card is full, now where is it? Bugger it! Amuse yourself for a minute, love."

Gramps disappeared and I heard his swearing and angry searching coming from the other room. I didn't want to let my heightened emotions fade so I lay down on my back and pushed my hand down the front of my tights. I began to fingerfuck myself and twist my nipples, revelling in the damp scented dirty sheets of his bed. My eyes closed and I could hear my wet pussy responding to my dipping fingers. I heard the old lech return to the bedroom.

"Oh my... don't stop that, that looks reeeaal good. Lemme just, lemme just get this bloody thing in here, there we go!"

He was out of breath. I opened my eyes and saw him on his knees approaching between my thighs, his camera right up against me, getting a close up of my two fingers disappearing up my wet slit. He was taking pic after pic but then he put the camera down and looked pleading up at me.

"Babe? You smell so fine and funky down here, you gotta let me taste you."

Normally I would politely refuse; I had been enjoying the controlling power of me doing things to him, rather than him doing things to me, but I was so worked up I just nodded wordlessly. Within a second my tights were off and his hands were under my bum, lifting my weightless body so he so easily feast upon my oh-so-sensitive pussy. I felt his broad tongue force my lips open and slurp up to my clit. I arched my back as he swizzled and dipped and slid and ate my creamy cunt. I looked down at him and told him to give me the camera. He reached over without pausing his pussy-munching and passed it up to me.

I got him lined up in the small screen and started photographing him. My little tuft of pubes gave him an amusing Hitler-esque moustache so I laughed. His wild eyes gave my chortle a brief look of confusion. I took a few more shots then the potent feelings overwhelmed me and I let the camera drop on to the bed.

I was gasping and humping myself against his mouth, his impressive pussy-licking skills were calculated to add to the scintillatingly sleazy emotions I'd been feeling for some time, wanting this dirty old sod to take me over the edge in a way that my boyfriend could never dream of doing. Suddenly I was fucking thin air and Gramps had gone. I opened my eyes and found him standing over me, using the bloody camera again. He was photographing one handed because his other was tugging fast on his big dick.

"Girl, you are fucking amazing!"

I panted and twisted on the bed, looking up at him, pouting that he'd stolen my orgasm from me. I was criminally frustrated. He plonked his thick, heavy dick on my pussy a few times, bouncing the head on my red-hot button and making me squirm with denied sensation. He let it drop on my pussylips and stood over me, shooting pictures of our almost joined genitals.

I couldn't take anymore. I reached down and it was only a slight nudge and his dick was deep inside me.

I gasped the word 'Grandpa' a few times as I felt every millimetre of his curved cock touching me in all the right places to curl my toes. He quite rightly abandoned the camera, held on to my legs and began to nail me furiously to the bed. Pistoning in and out of me like a steam engine, puffing and panting with the effort. A few minutes of this breathless sensation and I was floating in a rising climax of indescribable orgasm. Someone had hoarsely cried out, "Grandpa!" and a small and still-functional part of my brain worked out that it could only have been me. I went out of my head for a several intense minutes as I climaxed and wriggled like an electric eel on his cock.