6 comments/ 101762 views/ 63 favorites Bareback Sex with Grandmother By: geronimo_appleby Another on a grandmother theme – I seem to be on a roll (no pun). Anyway, it's grandson/grandmother incest. I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is appreciated. No more rambling from me. Here it is. GA – Benissa, Spain – 12th November 2013. Prologue She wondered if he was there, if he was out there on the patio beyond the big doors. It was where he'd been that other night, when he'd watched her with Marcus. The gap between the long curtains that covered the glass panes of the double doors, the space purposely left there when she'd drawn them against the dark outside tugged her, constantly drew her eyes. It was a struggle, but she refused to look that way. If she looked, so much as glanced, it would spoil her fun. Keeping her back towards the doors she eased the towelling robe from her shoulders. It pooled at her heels and she left it there, the pulse between her legs quickening. Was he there? Could she feel the weight his stare? Was he out there staring at her bare shoulders, her spine and the curve of her waist? Was he out there in the dark, licking his lips while she paused and posed and allowed him time to appreciate her buttocks and legs? Good legs, she'd always had good legs, fantastic legs. And if he was there, did he realise this was all for his benefit? She turned, moving slowly, deliberate, graceful. Let him see her breasts, those great breasts that she'd used as bait to snare Marcus It had been her tits that had him gibbering and slobbering and wall-eyed; his long cock rigid for her. Give him, if he was out there watching, a good long look at her tits. They loved her breasts, the men, and she didn't mind showing them off, not at all, after all they'd cost enough. Several thousand, it would be criminal to keep such works of art all to herself. When she faced the curtains and flaunted her nudity full-frontal she hefted her breasts in her palms, jiggling them while pulling a face that might suggest to anyone watching her own appreciation at their weight. She teased her nipples with her fingers, areola tightening, tiny pimples forming on her aroused flesh. God, but this was good. She felt so sexy doing this for him. A sigh and a soft mewl escaped from her. Quickly, with the heat between her legs liquefying, hurried by anticipation, she settled her buttocks onto the sofa and lifted her feet from the floor. She turned onto her side and leaned against one elbow. Resting on one hip she stretched the lower leg along the cushioned seat and bent the other leg at the knee, her thighs wide. The positioning of the settee had been well thought through, and she knew – if he was there – that he would be able to see all of her, would enjoy a clear sight-line to the molten place between her legs. If she wanted to she could splay the lips of her sex with her fingers and expose it all. And she wanted him to see. She wanted him to watch while she used the length of latex especially purchased for tonight's show against her body. Let him stand out there in the dark, a furtive interloper spying on a lone woman. "Wouldn't you rather be in here fucking me?" she muttered. The dildo felt so thick in her fist. She shrugged. "No matter. I'll make do with this." The latex shaft slid between flaps of flesh already tacky with arousal. She winced and gasped when the knob-end bumped over her clit. Words hissed out of her. "Your father couldn't get enough of this tight cunt." Fingers mauled at breast flesh. "He was mad for my tits and my pussy." A pause, she couldn't resist it, had to cast a look at the gap in the curtains. Was he there, lurking outside? "But you saw that, didn't you? You stood there and watched me suck his cock. And you told me that story about how shocked you were ... How fucking upset you were by it." Her body squelched around the girth of that rubber shaft. She gasped again, head lolling while she groaned in pleasure. The muttered litany continued: "...So fucking upset that you stayed and watched us fuck." She moaned and winced and laid it all on for him, legs wide, face slack with that idiotic glazed-eyed expression, shoving the dildo deep. "I hope you're there, watching this. I hope you're out there seeing me use this big fucker on my cunt." And so it continued, this lewd exhibition Madeline put on for his sole benefit. It was all for Nate, her grandson. She hoped he was watching. One (Friday evening) Rain and a flat tyre. He banged a fist, the writer's palm fleshy enough to absorb the impact, against the steering wheel. "Fuck ... Fucking arseholes." Another blow to the steering wheel and Nathaniel Johnson, Nate to everyone who knew him, cursed the weather. He peered through the windscreen of the BMW M3 but couldn't see a thing, not with the sheet of water cascading over the glass. He sighed and listened to bullets of rain bouncing off the roof with a hollow ponking sound. Nate had limited options. He could call the AA and get the tyre changed – the downside being how long it might take for a patrol to arrive. He could change the tyre himself – but that would mean arriving at the party filthy and piss-wet through. Neither scenario held much appeal. Another option was to leave the car where it was, in a safe enough area, affluent – not as much money as the street Nate lived in, but well-to-do enough that a smart beemer parked at the kerb would survive the night unmolested. Nate could leave the car, hurry back a couple of streets to home, dry off and change clothes and then beg to borrow his grandmother's car. Which is how, on a Friday night, with rain banging down, Nate found himself passing by the big French windows of the bungalow at the bottom of the garden, the large building the family jokingly referred to as 'the granny flat'. He carried with him a change of clothes, which were protected from the downpour by a suit-carrier and by virtue of the thick canopy of foliage overhead, the avenue of trees providing some, albeit slightly leaky, cover. Nate made his way from the big house, from where he'd collected the clothes, and hurried through the avenue, keen to get into his grandmother's home. Okay, he'd be a little late for the party, but Nate hoped to shower, change into dry clothes, borrow the car and get on with his Friday night. He certainly didn't expect to see what he did as he skirted the patio on route to the front door. ** Marcus Johnson gulped and then swallowed heavily as he watched Madeline's crossed wrists, her fingers lifting the hem of her sweater. His mother paused and smirked with a slit-eyed expression of feline calculation. She might be fifty-seven but the woman had it all going on, she was still desirable ... hell, she was more than desirable, Madeline was gorgeous. She was like a drug to him, all of her: the whisky voice, her face, her white-blonde hair and wonderful body. Marcus was hooked, craved Madeline's legs, her breasts ... Oh, how he yearned for those tits. Marcus blinked when his mother paused. She held the hem of the sweater just below the weighty orbs he so desperately wanted to see. Madeline sighed. "You're a naughty boy," she teased. She chuckled and shook her head, a rueful pout beneath eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I like naughty boys, don't I Marcus?" The sweater came up, covering Madeline's face while Marcus stared at her exposed breasts, big tits that swung heavily as she carefully stretched the neck of the garment over her hair. "Madeline," Marcus croaked. Jealousy spiked in his chest, the corrosive emotion tightening his jaw when Madeline, with the sweater limp in her hand, chuckled and said, "You boys just can't get enough of my boobs." He didn't appreciate references to other men. Marcus wanted his mother to himself. Tendrils of blonde stroked her temples, delicate strands that had fallen loose from the bundle of her hair clasped high on her head, displaced when the sweater had come off. "All the time, every day it's men staring at my tits, she added." Madeline chuckled again, smirking and dropping an eyelid to her cheek, a heavy, lascivious wink loaded with suggestion. "Not that I mind of course." She hefted the weight of her breasts in her palms, the balls of her thumbs on her nipples. "It gives me a thrill to know that they want me. I can tell by looking at them that they're thinking dirty thoughts." Madeline took a step towards her son. "Just like I can look at you, Marcus, and know you're thinking about all the things we do together. Like right now, I can tell you're dying to touch me. You want to feel my tits, don't you? You want to fuck me with that lovely cock of yours, don't you, Marcus?" Marcus could only nod and run his tongue over dry lips. He stared at his mother, his erection hard-pressed inside his suit trousers. "You're a naughty boy, Madeline breathed." By then she was in front of him, her lips close to his ear, her cheek touching his. "Did you think of me today, Marcus?" Her fingers were at the zip of his flies. Her hand was inside his trousers. "Did you think of me and want me? Did you pause during the day and think of me touching your cock?" This was one of Madeline's games. She would tease him, taunting him with her body and her words until he thought he would explode. She aroused within him almost uncontrollable urges, the need and desire imperative. Madeline always seemed to know just how far to push him. She pushed and cajoled, sometimes phoning him during the day when he was supposed to be concentrating on the empire that earned him millions, goading him into stroking his cock, but never allowing him the release his body craved. There were other games, the flaunting of her deep cleavage, the flashes of flesh as she went without underwear and lifted her skirt for him. It kept him wild with wanting and Madeline amused. She had him in her fist, slowly caressing his length. Madeline purred approval while she stroked him. "You're hard for me tonight, Marcus." He groaned when she squeezed. "Big and stiff," she added, stepping back a pace, her fingers tight around the girth of his rigid cock. She glanced down and then smiled up into his face. "Shall I suck it?" Releasing the erect penis, Madeline cupped her breasts and squeezed them together. "Would you like a little tit-wank and a suck?" The breath hissed through his nose. "Jesus, Madeline..." A laugh burst out of her. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her skirt and, seconds later, stood naked in front of him, nude except for the shoes. She kept the heels on because she knew he liked it. Then she was reaching for his cock as she went to her knees. "Let me suck you, just for a few moments. Then we can fuck." Marcus moaned when her lips closed over the domed cock-head, his fingers pushing into his mother's hair. Two (Sunday night) Sunday night – he managed to keep it under control until then. During the downpour the previous Friday, Nate had stumbled away from his grandmother's bungalow, the sound of his footsteps and the rasping of his breath masked by the deluge. He staggered along the avenue of trees towards the big house, mindless, numbed by disbelief. What he'd seen couldn't be true. It was inconceivable. His brain refused to accept his father and his mother's mother doing that together. Nate's mind rejected what his eyes had witnessed. He kept it bottled until the early hours, the transition between Sunday night and Monday morning. Nate's stomach griped with anxiety when he found the key under the flower pot and slid it into the mortise. His hands shook, his knees felt weak and he was sure he was about to chuck up all of the poison that had churned around inside all that weekend. How many times had he opened his mouth to confront his father since Friday night? He'd thought about telling his mother, held his mobile phone in his hand and contemplated calling her. He'd balked at that when he thought about her, miles away across an ocean, on another continent. How could he tell her what he'd seen? What words were there that he could use? It took Nate that long to make some kind of sense of it all, and in the end he decided there was only one person he could confront. In the dark, like a thief, Nate let himself into her bungalow and turned on the kitchen light. He waited, listened. Nothing. Nate walked out of the kitchen into the long hall. He glanced left towards the living room where he'd seen them together, the room at the end of the bungalow. Turning right, Nate moved quietly. He went past the door to the second bedroom, carrying on to the end of the corridor. He sucked in a deep breath and knocked. "Gran," he said. "It's me, Nate. I need to talk to you." Her voice reached him, obviously disorientated, expected given the hour. "What?" Madeline mumbled from within. "Nate? What?" Anger burned inside him, a hot flare in the pit of his stomach. "In the kitchen, Gran," he said, his tone commanding. Nate sucked a deep breath in through his nose. "I want to talk to you." She appeared in a dressing gown. It wasn't the robe he'd seen her wearing on the Friday night. This time Madeline was bundled inside the fluffy embrace of a pale yellow dressing gown. "Nate," she began. "It's the middle of the night." Nate noticed his grandmother had taken the time to run a brush through her hair. She still managed to appear cool and glamorous despite his untimely visit. Madeline's expression altered, changing from mild confusion to alarm. "Oh," she blurted. "It isn't anything to do with Helen is it? Please, Nate, tell me. Is it your mother? Is anything wrong? Is it anything to do with Helen ... or Sarah?" He wanted to fling the accusation at her, to shout at her and say yes, it was to do with Helen, his mother. He was there, in her kitchen, in the middle of the fucking night because she, his grandmother, had betrayed Nate's mother, her daughter, in just about the foulest way he could imagine. Nate answered, words pressed between gritted teeth. "It's nothing to do with mum. It's nothing to do with Aunt Sarah. Nothing's wrong in America. My mother's fine." He heard his grandmother's irritation. "Then what the hell is it, Nate? What the hell are you doing here at this time of night? What is it that's so important?" He sneered with indignation and attacked. "You want to know? You want to know why I'm here in the middle of the night? I'll tell you." Madeline shook her head. With haughty indignation, she said, "Well, I wish you would. I don't take kindly to being--" "Friday night," Nate interrupted. "I saw you on Friday night." He saw her blink, caught the slackening of her face as her mouth dropped open. The surprise was there, just for a moment before his grandmother recovered her composure. "Friday night?" Madeline blustered. "What, Nate, what did you see?" His arms flapped at his sides, hesitating now the time had come. "You and my dad. That's what I saw, Gran. The two of you." His arm came up and he pointed an accusing forefinger in the direction of the living room. "In there," he finished. To his surprise, to his mind-boggling disbelief his grandmother shrugged. "What did you see, Nate?" she asked, blasé, not a care. "What was it you think you saw?" Nate's mouth worked, opening and closing with sentences half-formed. How could she deny it? "You," he eventually gurgled. "Naked ... On your knees in front of dad." "Oh ... That." "Yes, Gran, 'That'. I saw you with him ... You were..." He couldn't say it. His grandmother sighed. "I recall what I was doing, Nate." Madeline took two steps to the kitchen table and slumped onto one of the six wooden chairs arranged around it. Nate pulled another chair from beneath the table and sat down, his eyes level with his grandmother's face as she avoided looking at him. He glared at her, and her evasion lanced the carbuncle of resentment that had festered since Friday night. "Oh, so you recall being down on your knees in front of my father? Do you recall what you were doing with your hand and your mouth, Gran?" The pain and reaction to the shocking scene he'd witnessed poured out of Nate. He wanted his grandmother to hurt, to realise the enormity of her crime. He wanted to make sure she would stay away from his father. Her betrayal of her own daughter could never happen again. "And then, with my mum, your own fucking daughter out of the country, what happened next, Gran? Do you recall?" His grandmother nodded. And Nate was off again, spitting mad. "You stood up, Gran. I watched you. I couldn't believe it. I mean, my father and my grandmother ... How could you two do it to her? How could you let it happen, Gran? What were you thinking?" Nate sucked in air, his heart hammered. He was disgusted with her. However, no matter how much revulsion he felt, Nate couldn't quite hate his grandmother. It was more complex than that: a surge of foul feelings, a slurry pit of emotion. But those feelings were all new, and Nate hadn't had time enough for hate to develop. "You stood up and walked away from him. He was standing there with his ... his... "You left him standing there," Nate continued, after a pause. "You walked to the wall and put your hands against it and just ... You just offered yourself, Gran." Her voice was low. "You watched it, Nate? You stayed and watched everything?" The silence that followed his grandmother's murmur eventually dragged Nate's eyes from the table. He looked at her and then swallowed. Nate nodded. "I saw everything, Gran." He heard his grandmother's sigh and the sound of the chair being pushed back along the floor. He watched her rise to her feet. Her smirk confused him. "So, what is it you want, Nate? Why have you come to me in the middle of the night to tell me this? Why me, why not confront your father?" "I thought I could make you see what it is you've done, make you see what you've both done to my mother. I thought that if I could get through to you, you'd stop. Can't you think about mum? Come on, Gran, she's your daughter ... You can't do what you did with your daughter's husband. I thought if I could get you to stop, to tell my dad it can never happen again, I thought he'd never have to know I caught you both. My mother wouldn't find out. She wouldn't be hurt." Nate shrugged and implored his grandmother with his eyes. "I can't face my dad, Gran. It's hard enough to look at him as it is, and if he realised I know there'd be an atmosphere that mum would be bound to pick up on. Then she'd ask what's wrong. And ... and..." His grandmother shrugged, offhand as though it was of no importance. "All right," she said. Nate blinked – Was it that easy? "All right?" he asked, wrong-footed by her easy capitulation. A snort of impatience and a snapped response. "Yes, Nate. All right. I'll end it. Done. Finished." Relieved – "Oh, Gran ... That's good." The breath hissed out of him, a sigh of relief. He was nodding, feeling generous towards his grandmother. Nate's mind was already working towards playing down the scene, diminishing the encounter he'd witnessed. He could get over it, put it in a box and compartmentalise. Her sharp tone cut his internal reverie short. "What puzzles me, Nate..." Her stare confronted him, and Nate shifted against the seat under its weight. "...What I don't quite understand is why you stayed out there so long." His grandmother stroked her chin, and then tapped it with a forefinger while she pretended to ponder the question. "I can't be sure," she added with a smirk, "but I think I must have been sucking your father's cock for a couple of minutes." Bareback Sex with Grandmother The shock of hearing his gran uttering those words with such a casual demeanour hit Nate like a physical blow. He felt his face warm, heat rising as, simultaneously, his stomach flipped. "And we must have been going at it ... we must have been ... fucking ... for another couple of minutes, perhaps five?" "Gran," Nate blurted. Madeline held up a hand, flat, with the palm facing him. Eyes closed to her grandson's outburst, Madeline said, "Let me finish, Nate. "You were so surprised, so outraged at seeing me with your father that you stayed there at the window and spied on us for all that time?" Nate heard her scoff, heard the derision. "You stayed out there – and it was pouring rain if I remember, right? – You stayed there and watched. A nasty little voyeur in the night scuttling about? You come in here and babble on about your mother and ask how I could do it to her and all the time you lurked and watched me and your father fuck? "I think you're feeling a little guilty yourself, Nate. I think you stayed and watched because you liked what you saw. "Have I got it right, Nate? Did seeing me with your father make you feel sexy? Did your cock get hard when you saw me sucking him? Did you want to pull it while he fucked me?" Her voice, low and dangerous and oddly compelling continued. "And what about when he came, Nate? Did you see that? Did you see your dad come all over my bottom? Did you play with yourself and stare at all his jizm pouring over me?" "No," he gasped. "I mean ... Yes, I saw, but no it didn't make me feel--" His father's body curling over his grandmother's back, his arms around her as he pulled her to him. His grandmother's breasts in his father's hands, her hips thrusting back. His father lurching upright and the wild look in his eyes, his face twisting. Had his father grunted and snarled at that moment? Nate couldn't hear through the glass, not with the rain pounding on the roof of the patio. His grandmother's expression as she twisted, her torso swivelling so she could observe the gouts of semen flicking from her lover's cock. Her body in profile, breasts swinging, heavy undulations while she grinned and her lips moved and she spoke words Nate couldn't hear. What had she said to Nate's father as the semen rained onto her? Madeline interrupted, ploughing on with: "Oh really, Nate, then why did you stay and watch? I think you enjoyed it. You liked what you saw and now you feel guilty. You were hard and aroused and wanted to masturbate ... Or it's more likely you did masturbate, Nate. You stayed and watched and pulled your cock. That's what I think, Nate." His grandmother stepped towards him, skirted the table and got close up. Nate rose to his feet, hands raised as though to ward off a blow. "No, Gran. God, no. I didn't..." A little voice in his ear – insidious and insistent: She's right, you know. You can deny it to yourself, but you know she's right. You wanted to play with your dick and watch your grandmother's tits swing. Nate backed away, stepping around the chair he moved away from his grandmother. He shook his head and murmured, "No." And then he turned and twisted the door handle and staggered into the early morning darkness. Three (Tuesday) Madeline watched the Carrera move down the drive towards the road. The gates swung open and the Porsche accelerated away. Marcus was on his way to the airport and a big deal in Berlin. Madeline's eyes left the gates as she regarded the big house, most of it hidden beyond the trees, and she wondered what was on her grandson's mind at that moment. She'd left him to stew for a day, leaving him to mull over, to think and very probably obsess over what she'd put into his head. She had bided her time, waited until there were no distractions, confident that Nate would hold it all in. But now it was just the two of them, with Nate in the big house and her in the granny flat. She was going to enjoy herself. ** Nate was in his bedroom when she suddenly appeared. "May I come in?" his grandmother asked. "I think we should have a little chat." She was insistent when, at first, Nate mumbled he didn't think it would be a good idea and he wanted to be left alone to think. "It would be for the best," Madeline said as she stepped through the open door. "Clear the air and all that." She threw a glance at the window. "With your father away for a couple of days it's the perfect opportunity to talk and decide how we're going to move on from this point." Nate sat up when the bed dipped under his grandmother's weight. They sat there, side-by side, Nate's fingers interlocked, hands resting on his lap. His body tensed when she slid a hand around his waist, her arm encircling him, but he allowed the intimacy. Madeline began to speak in a low voice, neither one looking at the other. "I get so bored and lonely in my little bungalow," she said. "I know it wasn't the best decision I could make, Nate, but your father and I ... Well, it's a long story, very sordid, and you saw the outcome. I've always been a flirt, Nate. I love men and I love it when they appreciate me. It doesn't have to be flowers and compliments. I'm quite complex, I have varied tastes, I'm not one to get all huffy and offended if a workman on a building site wolf-whistles." She chuckled and Nate felt his grandmother's arm squeeze him. "I take it as a compliment. It means I've still got it." Nate didn't want to hear it, didn't want to listen to his grandmother – of all people – venting about her innermost feelings and desires and how she appreciated the attention of some grubby, lewd-minded construction worker. It did, however, explain the clinging tops, deep cleavage, and skirts that just managed to border on the point of decency. Plus there was the niggling issue of her accusation on that Monday morning early on. She'd so deftly wrong-footed him, turned the tables and made Nate question exactly why he'd stayed so long peering in through the patio doors. He was uncomfortable with the doubt; he could feel her arm around him, the heat coming off her. Nate could smell her scent and was fully – disturbingly – aware of the swell of her breasts. In fact, if he glanced across and down he could see the curve of flesh, the crescent of one inner flank; if he looked down further he could see her thighs, smooth and tanned and firm, the pay-off from hours of yoga and torturous apparatus in the gym above the garage. "Please, Gran," Nate groaned, gulping as he closed his eyes. But she seemed to ignore the plea and kept talking. "I sometimes go out, Nate, on my own, to places I shouldn't perhaps visit. Would it shock you to know I sometimes let myself get chatted up by men?" Nate swallowed again. "I don't need to hear this, Gran. Please, it isn't something you should be telling me." So why didn't he simply wrench away from her arm? Why did he sit there with her breast against him? Why couldn't he drag himself away from the scent of her? Why did the sight of her plunging décolletage constantly draw his eyes? And most disturbing of all – why was his cock thickening? "I'm just trying to explain. I'm not that old, Nate. A woman in her fifties can harbour some deep and dark desires." Madeline shrugged, her cleavage deepening. "I was weak and there was your father ... It was craziness, lunacy, but masturbating on my sofa doesn't always get me there, Nate. When I lie there some evenings, alone, with just the television for company I try to resist the urge. But quite often I have to relieve the itch." His grandmother's voice turned to a whisper in his ear. "And sometimes I just have to have a man inside me." Then, after murmuring that, she slid away from Nate and stood up. "So you see, Nate, you just happened to catch me with your dad, but you could have just as easily seen me masturbating. I do it most nights. I don't trawl for casual sexual encounters too often, which means it's just me, in my living room, on the settee with my little friend." Nate blinked and she was gone. He barely registered the door closing a few moments later as his mind reeled at the revelations. "Shit, shit, shit," Nate muttered as he attempted to deny his arousal. Four (Tuesday evening - Madeline) She got there by calling forth memories of her most recent encounters. Madeline pictured herself as though she'd been a third party present, a voyeur to the scene where two lovely men, barely out of their teens, hard-muscled and vulgar, their big cocks testimony to how much they wanted her, had fucked her rough and hard. Madeline pushed aside thoughts about her grandson. He was either there or not there, Schrodinger's beyond the curtains. Should she part the curtains, the same as opening the box? Madeline decided to indulge herself first. The curtains could wait. Why spoil her enjoyment when Nate could just as easily not be out there. The dildo filled her, her insides clenching at the malleable girth that stretched her open. It was one of those cocks fucking into her – "Oh, fuck," she moaned. "A lovely dick in my cunt, and another lovely boy in my mouth." How they'd fucked her! Both of them using her body, battering into her, young men driven wild with lust for an older woman. Madeline didn't care that those two men had pounded her for their own gain, how they'd hauled her around to suit their own needs, both of them uncaring if they bruised Madeline's wrists or thighs. They were too intent on pummelling her pussy, too engaged with their own desires to bother about offending her with coarse language and casual, obscene references to her age and how enthusiastic she was for young meat. And Madeline didn't want it any other way. She wanted it exactly as they'd dished it out. Just as they'd used her, Madeline attained her own satisfaction by using them. They were nothing to her, simply a means to an end. She'd watched their faces, seen the hunger in their eyes, recognised their desire for her, and she'd made it plain she was up for both of them together. The compliments had come from their mouths: her body excited them, her legs looked so good, she was hot and sexy. They told her how good her breasts were – it was always her tits – and how they wanted to touch them and suck the elongated teats. Her pussy was so wet, so hot and so tight... "Uh, Madeline," the tattooed one had grunted. "I'm gonna come ... Fuck, I'm gonna explode." How she'd adored it when he'd bellowed and held himself over her, the lovely muscles in his arms bunching while his face twisted and he grimaced, swear words blurting from him, his cock pulsing and spitting jizm into the sheath that protected them both. "Come for me," she had breathed, her head turning so she could offer her mouth to his friend. "Let it go. Come and then I can fuck this big cock, too." Madeline's fist moved along the length of thick, chocolate-skinned meat before she sucked the plum-sized head between her lips. And those boys had done all she asked. They fucked her cunt and her face, they mauled her tits and rode her some more. She'd sucked them and fucked them and drained them dry, and in the morning, when she left the hotel, redolent of spunk, their semen crusted on her breasts, the musky heat rising from between her legs, Madeline had felt the ache of where they'd been. Her pussy was sore for days, felt battered and bruised, but that didn't stop her from reliving the experience, fingers sliding over her vulva, labia swollen, clit alive with jagged pulses of electricity. The climax ballooned inside her and Madeline groaned and sighed and grunted, the length of latex sliding out of her opening, the shaft glistening. The image faded, her need for the lewd and obscene sated – for a few moments at least. Then, with the dildo bumping over her clitoris, a hand massaging her breasts, Madeline slid a palm over her skin, down over her soft stomach towards the heat between her legs. With her limbs still trembling from her first orgasm, as her hips continued to jerk with convulsive after-shocks, Madeline decided she wanted love. Nate's face came to mind, and Madeline pictured him above her, his root deep inside her body while he gazed down at her in adoration. Nate would be able to love her, she was his grandmother after all, and Madeline murmured his name and experienced an arterial burst of lust at the imagined incest. Her grandson's cock inside her body. Nathaniel moving with her, their gazes locked until, with a little encouragement from her, he would lean in and they could kiss. The best thing about her grandson loving her would be his kiss while his unsheathed cock slipped into her. "Fuck," Madeline groaned, her legs widening as she held herself open. Her finger slid over her clitoris and she snorted heavily, hoping he was there to see her all exposed and scarlet and hot for loving. Unable to help herself she rubbed at her body, taking herself to a juddering, teeth-gnashing orgasm, two and then three fingers curled inside her cunt while she stared directly at the gap in the curtains. Even before the sensations rolling over had ceased, with the breath rasping in her throat, legs weak, Madeline hauled herself to her feet, tossed the goo-smeared dildo onto the sofa, and walked towards the window. She grabbed the curtains and, fully nude, ripped them apart. Five (Helen's return) The big Range Rover passed the gates, tyres crunching on the gravel drive. The sensor on the garage door recognised the signal from the unit set in the 4x4's windscreen and swung up. Helen Johnson glanced at her husband. "I can't believe it," she said. The Range Rover eased into its bay next to the Porsche, Nate's BMW was parked in the next bay along. Marcus killed the engine. "Is it good news?" he asked, very uncertain. A pause while Helen, just returned from her visit to her sister in New York, considered her feelings. "I think so," she said. "It'll mean changes, of course, but," a determined nod, "I think I can put it into perspective." With a resolute thrust of his chin Marcus said, "Okay ... Sure." He shrugged heavy shoulders. "Right." Helen, in her usual style, elegantly presented in flowing, wide-legged cotton trousers and a sleeveless top – comfortable, crease-proof wear for trans-Atlantic flights in First Class – climbed down from the high cab of the vehicle, heels pecking on the smooth concrete floor of the garage. "Could you take my case into the house?" she asked her husband. Marcus opened the door on his side of the Range Rover. "Sure," he replied. "But what are you going to do?" Helen moved to the garage door and flung a look back over her shoulder, calling. "I'm going to see my mother." Marcus watched her go for a few seconds, his mind working. Then he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket for his phone. ** There were things on Helen's mind as she walked through the avenue, the green canopy overhead, the bungalow flickering between the trunks of the trees. An uncertain future laid ahead, her husband's news the catalyst for uncertainty. It wasn't in her nature to pause and reflect, to take stock. Unlike Marcus, who preferred to examine every angle of a potential problem, probing, investigating before deciding on a course of action – a trait he'd passed on to their son – Helen operated on impulse, her instinct guiding her. She needed to talk to her mother, immediately. It meant nothing that she had just crossed an ocean, she wouldn't be able to rest until the issues in her mind had been aired, sleep wouldn't come until Helen could clear her mind completely. She walked the same path Nate had on the Friday night just over a week before. It was early afternoon and was, although cool beneath the trees, a bright, clear Saturday, with the sun high in a cloudless blue sky. Helen approached the patio, the doors were wide open. Her shoes sounded with a hollow thunk against the wooden deck when Helen walked across the boards towards the open doors. She paused while her eyes adjusted from the brightness outside, and then she stepped over the threshold. She heard a noise from deeper inside the bungalow and walked towards the sound. The living room was behind her, the long corridor ahead. Moving past the kitchen, further into her mother's home, Helen didn't call out. Quietly, she crept past the closed door to the second bedroom. Helen ignored it and went on. She paused and listened and heard the unmistakable sound of a mattress protesting at some rough abuse, the noise accompanied by moans and mutterings – feminine sighs and male grunts. Lifting a hand she pushed the door. It swung open and Helen was confronted by the sight of her mother, forearms and knees on the bed, rump thrust high while she mumbled into the bed cover. Nate, Helen's own son was curled over his grandmother's back, his arms around her waist, holding himself tight against her body, the soles of his feet planted firmly on the bed. What a homecoming, what a welcome – her own mother's body accommodating Nate's long, thick cock. Her son and her mother, fucking. Helen gasped and her mother's face swivelled towards her. Six (Back to Tuesday evening - Nate) He'd been outside. Had lurked on the patio and watched his grandmother use the dildo. He'd seen her approaching but hadn't had the time to react before the curtains were ripped apart. The glass was between them, Madeline naked looking out at her grandson while Nate boggled in at her, his erection in his fist. The shock of seeing her moving towards the patio doors had held him there, helpless, the discovery inevitable. And then she'd turned the key and opened the door and, instead of castigating him soundly for his voyeurism, his grandmother had smirked as though she'd been expecting him, with no flicker of shock or surprise or outrage evident. "Don't stand out there, Nate," she said, cool as you like. He'd gawped at her as she reached for him, fingers closing around the jut of his hard-on. "Come inside," she insisted, giving his cock a squeeze and a gentle tug. And, with his grandmother leading him by his penis, Nate complied. ** Sitting on the sofa side-by-side, her fist working his cock. Up and down, his grandmother fisted his length, fingers squeezing his root as she murmured at him. She was telling him it would all be all right, to relax and let her take care of everything. "I hoped you were there, Nate. I so badly wanted you to be there, watching," she said. As it had been in his bedroom, with her sitting next to him, Nate could feel the heat of her, caught her scent. But this time she was naked, nude while she stroked his dick, slowly yet inevitably milking him. It couldn't be happening. Again, as it had been in his bedroom, her arm went around his waist. She was sitting there, her torso turned towards him while her other hand stroked his length. His grandmother was whispering: "I did it for you, Nate. I wanted you to watch." There were the images in his head: his father and grandmother, her on her knees with his father's cock in her mouth; his grandmother with her forearms braced against the wall while his father thrust into her; the jizm arcing in a high parabola before raining down onto her back and buttocks... Her breath was hot against his ear: "Did you enjoy my little show?" she asked, squeezing. She chuckled. "Judging by how big and hard you were when I pulled the curtains open, you liked what you saw ... A lot. "You're so hard, Nate. Are you excited? Do you like this?" He could only gulp and mumble a vague response. Nate groaned, his hips jerking with small uncontrolled thrusts. "You do like it, don't you?" Madeline's voice squeaked with expectation. "Fuck my hand, Nate. Yes, you dirty boy, fuck my fist." Bareback Sex with Grandmother Her hand worked harder, cranking at the shaft of her grandson's cock. His arm went around her waist; his buttocks squirmed on the settee as he swivelled as far around to face her as he could. "Yes, Nate, touch me. If you want to, touch me. Feel my breasts. Go on. Squeeze them." Nate hesitated, blinking, a hand poised uncertainly, fingers flexing, hovering close to her tits. "Go on," Madeline snarled, abruptly impatient at his dithering. She took hold of her grandson's hand and mashed it against her flesh. His fingers closed over her, Nate groaning. "Be rough with them. Squeeze them, you lovely boy. Grab granny's tits." And her hand worked at him, her fist moving quicker, faster. "Gran ... Oh, fuck, Gran..." The first jet splashed along the front of Nate's tee-shirt, a mild precursor to the second burst that caught Madeline by surprise, a thick spurt of goo that spat out of Nate and flicked against her chin. She yelped when the liquid spattered onto her face, a long thread of the stuff that lay there, glistening against her chin and cheek, the trail of it stretched over the bridge of her nose. "You came on me!" Madeline squeaked. "You spunked on my face." And then, with semen pumping out of him in an indiscriminate outpouring, Madeline milked her grandson's balls. Finally, eventually, her hand slowed, thumb and forefinger coaxing the last dribble from the slit in Nate's cock-head. "Oh my God," Madeline whispered. She sat there while jizm slid down her face, a shivering silver rope dangling from her chin, another dollop of spunk clinging to the rounded underside of one breast while her wrist and forearm were smeared with more of the stuff. The goo was everywhere. It was as though someone had thrown a pot of paste over the pair. She surveyed the damage to her grandson's clothes. They were ruined, copiously stained with spunk. She slid away from Nate, surprised yet delighted by the volume of his appreciation. "Gran," Nate murmured as he slumped against the back of the sofa. "Oh ... Gran ... I..." He said no more, he couldn't, not then, not at that moment. A few minutes later his grandmother led him to her bedroom. ** After that first time he was at her constantly. Madeline's bed was a perpetual ruin of rumpled sheets. No sooner was it stripped and re-covered before Nate tumbled his grandmother onto fresh linen. He came at her in her living room, in the kitchen, and even slid into the shower cubicle with her. She took him on the patio, out in the open air, a light breeze wafting over her while her grandson, as his father had done, pulled his cock from her body and daubed her buttocks with his ejaculate. During a quiet moment, with Madeline and Nate relaxed and momentarily sated in her bed, he turned to her and said, "My dad will be back from Berlin tomorrow." From Madeline, her eyes closed, a gentle ache between her legs, came, a lazy, "Mmm, yes ... And?" "Do we have to stop, when he gets back? Is it over?" Madeline blinked and hefted onto her side, breasts swaying as she rested on an elbow and flicked her hair away from her face. Her fingers caressed Nate's cheek. "Do you want to stop?" His penis thickened in response to her touch and throaty growl. "I ... I don't think I could stand it, Gran," Nate breathed. "I ... I love you; I don't want to stop, but..." Madeline's arm went across his body, her breasts squashing against his chest when her weight settled on top of him. "Then we won't stop," she murmured. Her head lowered, their lips touched and a low moan came from Nate. Her tongue was in his mouth, a hungry kiss, a lovers' moment of deep intimacy. "You know," Madeline purred, "for me the kissing feels naughtier than the fucking." They shared another deep, lingering swirling of tongues. Her hand crept down to find him ready – as she'd known he would be. She chuckled, adding, "But the fucking is naughty as well." Madeline's fist moved over him and Nate groaned. "You're a naughty, wicked young man ... Sticking your lovely cock into your grandmother's pussy..." Nate gasped, wincing with the exquisite agony of his grandmother's fist cranking him yet again. "Oh, Gran, don't say that. I know we shouldn't do this together ... If anyone found out, if we got caught..." She released Nate's penis, her head coming up so she could look into his eyes. Madeline's expression was serious, her tone matching her face. "Don't worry about anything like that, Nate," she purred. Madeline pecked a kiss against his mouth. "I promise that nothing bad will happen." Another quick kiss from his grandmother and Nate spoke: "But I saw you and my father. How can you be so certain nobody will catch us? "And what about my mum? She's always over here ... She could walk in anytime." "There are ways, Nate." Madeline smiled at him. "Trust me, there are ways." Then she was on her back, her legs wide. Madeline cut Nate's protest short when he uttered a doubtful, "But--" "Lick me, Nate," Madeline sighed. "I'm too sore to do it anymore. I can't take your cock. You've fucked me to a standstill." Fingers splayed the tacky folds. "Use your tongue on granny's pussy. Lick me and then come up here so we can kiss and I can taste my cunt on you." She sighed and ran pushed her hands into her grandson's hair when she felt the zephyr of his breath against her sex. Her hips lifted from the bed when she rose to meet him. Seven (Helen's return – Nate's perspective) Nate's mother was due back that day. His father had already left for the airport to collect her. "We've got time," Madeline said. "Your father's going to pick her up from the airport, Nate. The flight isn't due in for another hour, and then she'll have to clear passport control, collect her luggage... "And then they'll have the drive home. Back here from Gatwick..." He wanted to, of course he did. He desperately wanted to get her out of her clothes, to watch her strip down to nothing so he could see all of her. Nate was awed by his grandmother's nudity, amazed at how lovely she was when she bared all for him. Okay, she wasn't flawless, there were indelible signs of aging, but even those minor imperfections had their own appeal. Nate would never have believed he could be so enraptured by a woman closer to sixty than fifty; he would have scoffed at the suggestion if it had been voiced only ten days earlier. Yet there he was, perpetually hard for her. Suddenly, women his age held no attraction. They were usually clones of some media icon anyway – false and self-obsessed, characterless caricatures of tight-bodied predictability. They all seemed to boast the tattooed tramp-stamp and inevitable body-jewellery. They all wore clothes designed to expose skin rather than capture the imagination. For Nate his grandmother had it all: physical appeal – her legs, her tits and her face. She also possessed a quick and very dirty mind, and the things she thought up for their mutual pleasure were beyond Nate's wildest imaginings. He loved her, too. Of course he'd always loved her, but that had been simply because she was his grandmother. Now his love was a burning compulsion to be with her, inside her, to stare at her, soak up every detail before he licked and kissed her, before he fucked into her and made her moan. There were times his heart swelled and he wanted to weep. It was sweet making love to his grandmother. He liked to kiss her gently while they moved slowly together, her body clenching around his girth. Other times he wanted to dominate her, to thrust and drive at her, his tongue in her mouth while his cock probed and filled her, his seed squirting into his grandmother, flooding her with semen. They had time; his grandmother said they had time. (Helen's return – Madeline's perspective) It was a lie, a fabrication, a bending of the truth. They didn't have time. It was also a gamble, there was no way to predict the outcome, and Madeline – with a twist of anxiety inside her – wondered at what the next hour would bring. All she could do was hope for the best. Events were set in motion. All she could do was follow her plan, and hope. Madeline had set the scene and chosen the cast, but there was no script and the characters had complete autonomy to behave as their natures' ordained. She had a degree of control of her daughter via Marcus; her son would, according to their plan, reveal the unanticipated seduction of Nate by Madeline to Helen during the drive home. But she didn't really know how Helen would react. After all, Nate was her son, and regardless of the fact that Madeline and both her daughters were lovers, no strangers to incestuous sex, there was no telling whether Helen would welcome the idea of her own son joining in the family frolics. Then there was Nate. Madeline thought she could convince him, hoped she would be able to, but there were no guarantees. It could go well or it could rip the family apart. There was just no way to tell. It hinged on Helen liking the idea. If that happened then they could concentrate on Nate. If Madeline got him to a level of arousal where Nate was almost crazed with lust – and she'd done that before – then perhaps, hopefully, with a little luck and some coaxing, Madeline could introduce the young man to his mother. Still, there was nothing further Madeline could do. They were nearly at that crucial point. She watched Nate undress, saw him struggle out of his clothes with near indecent haste. What would he say if he knew his grandmother and mother shared his father's cock? How would he react if he knew his mother and her sister, his Aunt Sarah would have loved each other in New York? Then she saw he was stiff, hard with desire for her as he always was. Her insides melted, muscles clenching at the sight of such vigour. God, but she loved his dick filling her, stretching her. He was so ardent at times, thrusting and grunting, hands all over her. Madeline adored hearing her grandson mumbling words of love at the moment of his release, often feeling that love fluttering against her cervix when he poured it all into her, her own orgasm breaking. Taking her grandson bareback thrilled her. She adored having him there inside her, their fluids mingling. Madeline flicked a look at her phone, mentally calculating journey times, time to clear immigration, time standing at the carousel. It wouldn't be much longer, not if Marcus had – according to the plan – revealed the news of her affair with Nate to his wife. Not too long to wait before, as Madeline anticipated, knowing her daughter's nature, Helen would arrive at the bungalow. She knew her daughter would seek her out at the earliest opportunity, would need to have events reconciled for her own peace of mind. Nate was naked, the jib of his cock arcing upright. The sigh came out of her while her body responded to the sight of her grandson's nudity. "God ... Nate ... Darling ... Come here. Come to your grandmother. Let me suck that thing. I want you in my mouth before we fuck." His hands were in her hair, loosening the platinum strands from their fastening. Madeline gommed at the cock-head, slurping and slobbering as she licked the thing from its tip to its root, pre-cum oozing from the slit. Madeline, with her grandson wedged firmly between her lips, her tongue working at the keel of his cock, unbuttoned her blouse. She hauled her breasts free of the constraints of her bra and then yanked her underwear to one side so she could finger her sex. His moan came to her. "Gran, you're so beautiful." She fisted the length of gristle and grinned up at him. His stare fixed on her big jugs cantilevered over her bra sent an arterial burst of lust through Madeline. Even if Helen didn't come straight down to the bungalow Madeline had the beautiful young man for the afternoon. She had his wonderful cock to play with. The fingers of one hand were full of her own breast flesh, the other hand moving through her vulva, the meaty folds of her labia slippery with desire, Nate's penis stretching her lips. That was the moment her phone signalled the arrival of the text. She ignored his desperate plea of, "Leave it. Jesus, Gran, just leave it." Madeline read the message on the screen: We're back. She knows. Seems okay. Surprised but amenable. On her way to you. Good luck! xx With the time upon them, Madeline stripped. The skirt pooled at her feet and she stepped out of it. Her underwear slid down her legs. Shoes were kicked off and she looked at him, fists on her hips, head tilted, eyes fixed on his. "My bedroom," she commanded, bright-eyed with a sudden excitement. He saw her tongue slide over her lips as she cast a glance at the mobile phone she'd just tossed onto the sofa. "In my bedroom. On the bed. I want you inside me, Nate. I want to be on my knees with you fucking into me from behind." A hurried rush along the corridor, past his grandmother's expensive art on the walls, along the corridor to the last door. There was an urgency upon her, his grandmother's hips thrust high, her fingers reaching under her body for him. "Fuck me," she snarled. He grunted, sliding balls deep in one quick glide. "Hard," she demanded, her knuckles hitting his thigh. "Get up. Get up high and fuck into me. Do it to me, Nate. Give me all of it." He was up on the soles of his feet, thighs burning with effort. His arms were tight around his grandmother while, with his cock wedged deep, she bucked and moaned. He could feel the rack of her ribs under his fingers, the weight of his body pressing down on his grandmother's back. This wouldn't last long, not this position, there was no way either of them could maintain this struggle. Nate held on, his feet slipping on the bed cover as he fought desperately to fuck into his grandmother as she'd so vehemently demanded. Then he heard it. It came from behind him, a gasp. His grandmother's head came up from where she had mumbled into the quilt. The shock of that word, the name that came from his grandmother's mouth hit him. "Helen..." He couldn't believe it when she added, "You're home. Come in." Epilogue The brief conversation came back to her. In the Range Rover, what was it she had said? Helen remembered him asking -- Is it good news? And he'd been uncertain; Marcus didn't know how she would react. I think so. It'll mean changes, of course, but I think I can put it into perspective. Helen recalled the surge, the adrenalin rush of the telling as her husband had stared at the road ahead. They'd been on the short stretch of the A3, after the M25 motorway, almost home. Marcus told her he'd been with Madeline, been fucking her in her living room – quelle surprise! He explained how they had both thought Nate had gone out, said they'd watched him leave, the red brake lights flashing through the downpour while the gates opened. Marcus told her of a puncture, a flat tyre and her son's idea to borrow his grandmother's car. He spoke of his own shock when, upon his return from Berlin, Madeline had told, with some relish of Nate's seduction, how she'd tempted her grandson with her body and an act of exhibitionism. Marcus had told her in the car, and Helen had rushed to the bungalow and found them, caught her son hunched like a beast over his grandmother's back. She had seen them fucking, first hand – and had loved it. So there she was, in the armchair, one that matched Madeline's settee, her legs draped over the arms, her pussy sluicing, fingers moving in languid circles through her vulva. There had been changes, as she'd predicted. Her husband no longer enjoyed both women simultaneously. There was some friction, some resistance from him, but he was now restricted to one-on-one sex with either his wife or his mother. Nate, on the other hand, usurping the old lion's position, enjoyed both the pleasure of his mother and grandmother, singly or together, especially while his father was away on business. Helen watched her mother's hips rise and fall. She saw Madeline's arse cheeks ripple, regardless of their taut sponginess as they slap-slap-slapped against Nate's thighs. She heard the fleshy thwack of their coupling, listened to their murmurs and tickled her pussy when the arousal surged through her. Helen's opening squelched and farted around her fingers when she probed with two digits, the ball of her thumb against her clit. She saw the expression of love on her son's face as he looked up at his grandmother, she saw the love in their kiss, Madeline's breasts against Nate's chest, and Helen couldn't take it anymore. Rising to her feet she closed on the couple. "Mother," Helen sighed. Madeline's face came up, her eyes glazed, her hair in disarray. Helen, with love, kissed her mother's mouth, her tongue sliding deep. Then, with love, she dipped in low and kissed her son. "Can I have him soon?" she asked. Madeline's eyes rolled and she gasped: "Soon, Helen, you can have him soon." She groaned and reached for her daughter. "Just let me come, Helen. Just one little orgasm and he's yours." With her mother's arm around her shoulder, Helen knelt next to the couple. She looked from her son's face to her mother and parted her lips for a kiss. Madeline grunted into her daughter's open mouth, her hips juddering as she slammed down and felt Nate's cock-head touch her deep inside. "Don't come, Nate," Helen warned after breaking away from her mother. "Not yet. Save it for me." Her son gasped and blinked and gulped. Madeline's breasts, her fantastic tits, bounced in his face and he caught a thick, elongated teat with his lips. From Madeline – with her forehead touching Helen's, with her daughter's eyes gazing into her own, with her grandson's dick inside her and his mouth at her breast: "I'm going to..." With love, Helen let her mother hold her, their tongues sliding as Madeline's climax broke. When finally, eventually, Madeline slid off her grandson's penis, Helen saw her mother's love for Nate glistening on his shaft. Helen leaned in and slurped at her own mother's desire, her tongue lapping like a cat at a saucer of milk. "Mum," Nate mumbled, his jaw slack as he stared down at her. "Oh, Jesus, Mum." "Come over here," Helen said, standing up quickly. She walked away from the sofa, inviting her son to join her on the chair while Madeline gasped for breath, her limbs an ungainly sprawl. "It's my turn. Come and love me." Helen knelt on the cushion and offered herself with an upward shove of her buttocks. She reached back and held herself open, exposing everything to her son's hot-eyed stare. Knowing he could see the pout of her cunt and the dark smudge of her sphincter, Helen groaned and urged him to hurry to where she waited. Moments later he was there, filling her, stretching her, his body low over her back. She felt her son's hands cup her breasts, experienced the hot breath on her neck as he crouched and murmured into her ear. "I love you, Mum," Nate mumbled. "Doing this with you ... I love it. I love you." Helen told her son she loved him, told him she adored how it felt to have him inside her, his cock pulsing. "And Sarah," Helen whispered. "Wait until your aunt gets here. We can love together, Nate. You, me, your gran..." "And Aunt Sarah," Nate added before he eased his length from his mother's body. He paused, the tip of his cock still inside her. Nate glanced at his grandmother as she walked towards him. "All three of you." A groan from Helen, a deep, curdled moan of pleasure when her son went balls deep again. A whisper from Madeline: "The three of us, darling. My two beautiful daughters and me." With love, Madeline slid her tongue into her grandson's mouth. Bareback Sex with Grandmother Then she stood to one side and watched, a hand kneading her big breasts while she fingered a clitoris swollen and slippery with desire, watching her daughter and grandson rutting together. Madeline came with them, juddering and gasping when Nate filled his mother with spurts of love. "Oh God," Madeline mumbled, chewing her lower lip. "This is only the beginning."