An adult stories – My Slutty Redhead Granny by JDSavanyu,JDSavanyu “My Slutty Redhead Granny”
by J.D. Savanyu
Leaving Pasadena High School and strolling down Sierra Madre Boulevard on a lovely Friday afternoon, all by my lonesome at the start of spring break. I’m a dorky eighteen year-old bookworm virgin, listening to celtic doom metal on my earbuds and checking out some random L.A. hotties on the sidewalk. (Those conceited bitches are way out of my league, so I should just settle for the “notties.”)
My parents are at the Los Angeles airport right now, boarding a plane to Tokyo for a super-important semiconductor convention. They’ll be sipping sake for the next five days, and I’ll be staying at my grandmother’s house till they get back. Sounds boring as hell, right?
I should probably mention that my mee-ma became one of the first porn stars in 1970, shortly after the supreme court legalized hardcore fucking and sucking on the silver screen. She starred in thirty-six XXX movies over nine years, under the screen name of Sally Strapper. That was much more titillating than her real name, Dolores Flanagan. That smokin’ hot redhead loved getting tied up and dominated on camera, as evidenced by many hours of grainy VHS rips on retrospank.xxx. Back then, finding BDSM porn was liking finding a needle in the proverbial haystack; forty years before Fifty Shades took millions of housewives by storm. It was an underground niche market in a world that was still very “vanilla,” despite all those drug-crazed hippies and campus riots.
Sally Strapper retired from that shady industry in 1979, turning back into plain ol’ Dolores Flanagan. She mellowed out in the 80’s; marrying an insurance adjuster, buying a station wagon, raising a respectable family, and taking out a life insurance policy. She cashed in half of that policy two years ago, after her husband suffered a fatal heart attack while driving his fifth station wagon, crashing it right into Jerry’s Bar at happy hour.
I go to my parent’s empty house on Hermosa avenue and pack a suitcase in my bedroom. Then I walk five more blocks to my grandma’s dark green ranch-style house. I ring the doorbell, and Dolores opens the door ten seconds later, wearing jean shorts and a pink t-shirt. My seventy year-old granny used to be a ginger Irish bombshell, but she’s still pretty sexy. (As creepy as that sounds from a barely legal teenager.) Her skin is getting somewhat leathery and blotchy, and her d-cup tits have sagged considerably, but her hair is still amazingly red, and she could still bust my balls with minimal effort. A perky GILF with great gams. (Damn, I really need a girlfriend.)
“Hey Jakey! Great to see ya!” she beams with a smoky voice. Half a pack of cigarettes a day; typical for a vintage porn star. “Your parents called me a few minutes ago, and said their plane was about to take off. We’re gonna have a lot of fun this week.”
“No doubt, granny,” I mutter unconvincingly.
“How was school today?”
“Same-old, same-old,” I mutter while lugging my suitcase into her living room. A fading cathode ray television is tuned to M.A.S.H. on a satellite rerun channel.
“I’m good at reading body language, so I can tell something’s wrong. Did you flunk your trigonometry test, or did a bully muscle you out of your milk money?”
“Neither. I just… can’t find a girlfriend.”
“A handsome devil like you can’t find a girlfriend? I find that hard to believe.”
“Maybe my standards are too high.”
“Well, you can’t waste your life waiting for a ‘perfect’ girl to come along. Like Stephen Stills once said: ‘If you can’t be with the one you love, honey, love the one you’re with.'”
“I really hate that song, and I’m glad they don’t play it on the radio anymore.”
She pats my shoulders reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Jakey. I’m sure you’ll find a nice lady-friend next year at Iowa University. English departments are full of desperate people like you.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll hook up with some gothy lit chick, and we’ll earn a degree that will be completely useless by the time we graduate, thanks to artificial intelligence.”
I go upstairs to do my homework while grandma watches her stories in the living room. I prop up some pillows against the brass headboard of her comfy king-size bed, then I open my laptop and start writing a book report about A Raisin in The Sun for my English class.
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it shrivel up like a pathetic loser in the L.A. suburbs? It sure as hell does.
I finish the book report an hour later, and write another report about Isaac Newton’s laws of motion for my physics class. After that, I sit motionless on her bed, staring at an open dresser drawer full of granny panties. She must have thrown out her sexy panties in the late 90’s, a few years before I was born. Back when it took forever to download a low-resolution Jenna Jameson video with dial-up. The “golden age of porn” ended about ten years earlier, when VHS tapes flooded the market and dumbed everything down. I prefer artistic emotionally-charged hardcore films like The Opening of Misty Beethoven, Inside Jennifer Welles, and Shock… but most guys don’t want to think while they jerk.
I close the word processor on my laptop, open the internet browser, log onto retrospank.xxx, and search for Sally Strapper. Indulging my morbid curiosity while I’m stuck in her house for five straight days. The first page of the search results list the most popular films that she made from 1971 to ’79: Punishing Maid Marian, Bound and Gagged Bitches, Biker Dykes Like it Rough, Kinky-a-Go-Go, and my personal favorite from ’77, Kinky Phantom of the Opera. I plug in some headphones and skip right to my favorite scene from Phantom.
The laptop monitor reveals an underground nineteenth-century reservoir, thirty feet below the Palais Garnier, the biggest opera house in Paris. An arched stone walkway along the edge is illuminated by gas lamps, with a disco-classical instrumental tune setting a creepy mood. The camera pans toward a tall mysterious man in a top hat and three-piece tuxedo with a black cape trailing behind. His hands are covered with black leather gloves, and he’s holding a red rose in his right hand. The iconic phantom is played by Mick Hammer, with that iconic white mask covering his disfigured face. The dusty 35 millimeter film gives everything a warm vintage hue. A stone stairway in the background leads up to a series of secret passageways that the phantom used to terrorize the cast members of Faust without being detected.
The camera pans a few feet to the right, revealing a naked foxy redhead lying in bondage on a wooden platform. Christine Daae, a Swedish soprano played by Sally Strapper. Her arms and legs are chained to the cedar beams, and her swollen cunt is dripping with anticipation. Eager for the psychotic domination of a twisted “phantom.” Like most 1970’s porn stars, her big tits are all-natural, and her red pubic hair is untouched by shaving blades. It was much better that way, IMHO. I fail to understand our current obsession with silicone breast implants and pussies that look like sphinx cats.
The phantom lowers the red rose toward her pretty pale lightly freckled face. She inhales the sweet aroma and sighs pleasantly. That opera diva is now his willing kink slave. He lowers the thorns slowly toward her perky tits, and she murmurs in erotic anticipation. One of the thorns presses gently against her erect left nipple, making her moan in painful pleasure. Another thorn presses against her right nipple, making her moan louder.
“I love your kinky games, master!” Christine utters passionately, in a fake Swedish accent. “Make me feel your dark desire!”
The phantom gently taps the rose thorns along her well-toned belly, tracking slowly downward. The disco-classical tune gets more dramatic with the rising tension. He taps a thorn right on her clit, and her ecstatic shriek reverberates across the dimly lit reservoir (which protects the opera house from the swampy ground it was built on.) His big dick presses hard against his fancy pants, demanding satisfaction in his subterranean lair.
“Are you truly in love with me, Christine?” he asks in a creepy fake french accent.
“Yes, master!”
“I can tell you’re lying. Your true affections belong to that rich playboy Raoul.”
“No, master! I no longer care for him.”
“You lousy perjuring bitch! I’ve seen you flirting with Raoul in the opera house, and promenading with him on the Champs d’Elysees in your Sunday finest. I’m your soulmate, and I better teach you the importance of loyalty.”
The phantom reaches under the wooden platform and grabs a genuine leather riding crop. The real solidly-built deal, designed for horses, not hoes. He swings it firmly, lashing her big tits with five crisp thwacks that echo against the stone walls along the huge dark reservoir, chased her own harsh moaning.
“You uncouth lady of the town! You filthy Jezebel! You fucking harlot!”
He whips her hot titties ten more times, covering them with pink stripes. I try hard not to get an erection in my grandmother’s bedroom while watching her much younger self getting dominated real good in a Victorian neo-gothic dreamscape.
I’m still a virgin, but not by choice. A bitter “incel,” purging my frustration with elaborate dark fantasies such as this. Pretty girls usually gravitate toward dim-witted jocks, actors, and band boys, and they act like I don’t even exist, so I “punish” them in my mind.
“You will not open your legs for that lousy lothario! You will keep your pussy pure for your true master!”
“Yes, master! I will stay–” she shrieks, her word cut off as his riding crop strikes her impure pussy. He whips that red hairy twat over and over and over in a rapid blur, as she thrashes about in bondage on the boards. I love how her well-toned core muscles spring into clear view with every blow from that hunky dapper creep.
“Sing for me, my angel of music! Sing for the phantom of the opera!”
She wails in a sweet operatic singing voice. (I like this version a lot better than Andrew Lloyd Webber’s schmaltzy ’80s musical, and the ’04 film adaptation.) Her voice cracks awkwardly when he cracks that whip yet again.
Pash! Pash! Pash! Pash! Pash! Pash! Pash! Pash! PASH! PASH! PASH! PASH! PASH!
He finally stops, growling over her bound writhing body like a french bulldog.
“Have you learned your lesson, bitch?”
“Yes, master. I promise I will never cheat on you again.”
“Merci beaucoup, ma belle poupée d’opéra.”
“Je t’aime tellement, maître.”
“I love you even more, my opera belle. Now I shall prove that love with some rough fornication.”
He frees her from bondage and shoves her down to her knees on the damp stone ground. The phantom unbuttons his pants (before zippers were invented; a nice historically accurate touch) and pulls out a huge prick. Nine inches long and seven inches in circumference, give or take an inch or two.
“Open your fucking mouth!”
She opens wide and braces herself for some hard skullfucking. He grabs her red bangs with both hands and shoves his impressive manhood through her kissable red lips and down her throat, making her gag right off the bat. He keeps thrusting his strong hips at full speed while growling fiercely. Gagging her a dozen more times while slapping her cheeks with his leather-gloved hands. Spittle oozes out of her lips, dripping down to her pale perky breasts. The reclusive phantom purges his deep well of rage a hundred feet below a conceited City of Lights that treated him like a subhuman circus freak. My grandmother groans loudly against Mick Hammer’s hammer. Her eyes get bloodshot from the prolonged gag reflex.
“Bend over like a poodle, bitch!”
“As you wish, master.”
She gets off the wet stone ground and bends over against the wooden bondage platform, spreading her cunt lips and showing plenty of pink for the camera. The phantom grabs her firm heart-shaped ass and slams his dick up her dripping twat, making her squeal in rapture. He keeps bashing his french baguette up her honey-hole while spanking her ass cheeks real hard.
“Oh god, yes! Fuck me and spank me so good, master!”
Her ass gets redder and redder.
“I’m ravishing you like Faust, with all my hellish fury!”
She soon reaches a powerful orgasm, blasting clear female ejaculate all the way over to the lake. Meanwhile, a bunch of rats scurry along the wall behind them, frightened by the sexual commotion. The phantom’s breath gets louder and louder as he thrusts with relentless aggression, making her cum theatrically three more times, turning on the waterworks spectacularly. I love porn stars who squirt like hell every time they get pussy-pounded. Especially Naomi Swann and Bonnie Rotten.
“Get down on your knees, bitch! You will take my seed all over your pretty Swedish face.”
“As you wish, master.”
She gets back down on the ground, and he aims right between her eyes, blowing out a huge thick wad. Drenching her pale white face with whiter jizz. His triumphant roaring echoes across the dark reservoir. Christine sucks every drop out of the shaft while moaning contentedly. She fingers the rest into her mouth, swallowing it with ravenous gluttony. Then she looks up at his white plaster-of-paris mask with a sweet smile.
“That was viciously divine, Erik.”
“You are truly my soulmate, Madame Daae.”
“A match made in heaven.”
“I am your angel of music, soothing your soul evermore.”
“But I’m getting worried about my family in Montmartre. They’re probably wond–”
“Hey Jake, time for dinner!” Old Dolores beams while entering her bedroom. I got a raging boner while watching Young Dolores, but fortunately the laptop screen blocks her view of it.
“Come on down for your favorite meal: corned beef and cabbage.”
“Oh goody. Irish cuisine is my second favorite guilty pleasure.”
Sally Strapper was a good porn star, but Dolores Flanagan is a good cook. I go downstairs, sit down at her dining table, and savor every bite of a traditional recipe that was passed down by our humble tenant farm ancestors from County Cork. My seventy year-old mee-ma looks a lot more Irish than I do. She stares curiously at me from across the table with those sexy green fairy eyes, and I stare back curiously, wondering if she’s still a crazy kink slut beneath that white-bread suburban facade. Meanwhile, my parents are watching in-flight movies over the pacific ocean, heading toward the land of the rising sun for a computer nerdgasm convention. An amazing southern california sunset blazes through a picture window next to a china cabinet, bathing that gorgeous GILF in a flattering orange glow.
“Hey grandma, have you ever read The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux?” I ask with a sly grin.
“No, I sure haven’t. I flunked out of high school, and I haven’t read any of those high culture books that you like.”
“You should read that one, at least. The original phantom is much more interesting than the kinky one you got whooped by.”
She giggles sweetly. I love how her old-lady wrinkles enhance her smile. “Ah, so you’ve been watching my old skin flicks on the web.”
“I can’t help it. I’m an eighteen year-old virgin, and not everyone’s grandmother was a porn star.”
“I had a lot of fun back in the Swingin’ Seventies, but I wouldn’t recommend that lifestyle to anyone.”
“Why? Did those sleazy porno guys treat you bad off the set, like a bunch of cliché pimps with feathered fedoras?”
“Yeah, they treated me like shit. Pardon my french.”
“You can swear all you fucking want, Sally. I mean, Dolores.”
“Okay then. I fucking will,” she giggles.
“I treat women a lot better than that. I’m a real chivalrous gentleman… but oddly enough, I can’t get laid. Those L.A. Barbie girls have tits for brains, and they won’t even give me the time of day.”
She sighs pleasantly, takes another sip of red wine, and lights up a menthol cigarette. “Maybe you should study more real ladies, and less literary ones. Real chicks don’t act like characters in a fucking Jane Austen novel.”
“I know, I know. But a good fantasy life is important for an aspiring writer.”
“But you can’t let your fantasy life ruin your entire life.”
“Like you did?”
“Exactly. I loved getting bound and whipped and fucked hard on camera, but it just left me broken, physically and emotionally. I never experienced true love until I met Conan.”
I glance at a painted portrait of her late husband Conan Flanagan hanging over a fireplace, next to a triangular-folded american flag that honors his army tenure. He got drafted in ’67 and spent four action-packed years in Vietnam, blasting commies in the sweltering jungle.
“I really miss that guy.”
“Me too. He was always fun to be around. He loved my cooking even more than my body.”
I sigh wearily. “Damn. Could this conversation be any more awkward?”
She giggles once again, tossing her amazing red hair. “Count your lucky stars, Jakey-boy. My life was way more awkward than yours will ever be.”
“Probably.”
We have some delicious homemade Irish Bannock for dessert, while discussing the safer topic of Shohei Ohtani’s superhuman baseball skills. Then I go back upstairs and unwind by reading a Dragonlance fantasy novel while Dolores stays in the living room and watches Young Sheldon. The shallow sword-and-sorcery storyline blurs into more kinky daydreams about my granny. Picturing her wild gangbang scene with a bunch of Hell’s Angels in Bound and Gagged Bitches. She got tied up to a motorcycle that was tied to a tree, and then she got ball gagged, nipple and pussy-clamped, whipped with leather belts, dildoed in both holes by ten pistols, and fucked in both holes by ten dicks. After forty long minutes, her face finally got soaked with high-octane biker jizz. (That was back when you had to go out to an actual theater to watch porn. It’s hard to imagine all those leisure suit-wearing creeps packed into an old dingy building on skid row. More blue balls than a racquetball tournament.)
I soon give up reading and decide to do a little snooping through her shelves and drawers, looking for juicy memorabilia from the golden age of porn. Digging through tons of boring shit like old electric bills and insurance market research, until I finally unearth a treasure trove of vintage adult magazines. The one on top is the very first edition of Hustler from July 1974, with a naked blonde bimbo on the cover. I’ve seen a few of those being sold online for a thousand bucks, but this one is far from mint condition, with lots of creases and dog-eared pages. I dig deeper through hundreds of dirty mags, finding more vintage “vanilla” titles like Cheri and Fox, along with many obscure BDSM titles like Taskmaster and Bondage Parade.
The August 1976 issue of Taskmaster has Sally Strapper on the front cover, bound with rope to a mosaic-covered column and gagged with a red bandana, wearing a red leather strap harness that leaves little to the imagination. The caption reads: “SALLY’S HOT DESERT S&M.” I turn to page 35 and see her in that same harness with the leather bra and panties removed; getting bullwhipped, pussy-pounded and sodomized by a middle eastern beefcake. This photo spread is from the movie 1001 S&M Nights, where she played an American news reporter who gets kidnapped by Arab sex traffickers and sold to the harem of King Abdul-Jabbar of Ballistan.
Damn, these kinky pre-digital pics are getting me so fucking horny. I can almost feel the blazing desert heat on my skin, and hear the entrancing belly dance music while watching her get thrashed by a cat o’nine tails and fucked senseless. Before I know it, my pants are unzipped and my right hand is pumping my average six-inch jalopy.
Sally’s pointy pink nipples are so cute, and I love the pink whip marks that cover the rest of her pale milky lightly freckled tits. I wish I could squeeze those big boobies, spank that heart-shaped ass, and slam my dick up that slutty ginger slit. I growl with perverted desire while masturbating with my usual manly aggressiveness, compensating for my lack of manliness in any other department. Jacking off at a hundred miles an hour, like a Hell’s Angel motorpsycho.
“Hey Jake, I was wondering if you—”
Dolores stops dead in her tracks on the threshold of her bedroom, seeing her grandson spanking his monkey like hell to her kinky photo spread from half a century ago. Oh my fucking god. Her jaw drops open just as wide, and her green eyes dart up and down from my dick to the magazine to my face. Her shocked expression soon melts into sweet giggling.
“Sorry, Jakey. Shoulda knocked. That’s my favorite issue of Taskmaster.”
She giggles again, and heads back downstairs while whistling the melody of “Marrakesh Express” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. I keep standing there in mortified autoeroticus interruptus, wondering how the hell I can have a normal conversation with my grandmother after this, only five hours into my five-day visit. I definitely don’t feel like finishing the job, so I shove my shriveling man-snake back into its cotton cage, and go down the hall to her bathroom. Sexual stimulation always fills my bladder real quick. I sit down on the toilet and let it rip, gazing upward through a small window at a crescent moon over the distant Hollywood hills. Loud hip-hop emanates from a house party down the block in the heart of Pasadena. Every other teenager in greater Los Angeles is living it up on a friday night, while I’m stuck here reading medieval fantasy novels and yanking my crank to pictures of my goddamn granny. I’m a weirdo loser with a capital L.
I flush the toilet and step back out the hall, trying to flush that Taskmaster incident out of my mind.
“Hey Jake, why don’t you come down here for a while?” Dolores calls upward from the living room. “There’s something interesting I want to show you, honey.”
Her sultry tone suggests that it’s something related to the “literature” that she caught me “reading.” Another XXX artifact? I go down the steps rather nervously, wondering how strange my spring stay-cation will get. I turn right at a landing on the staircase, and my jaw drops wide open in shock. Dolores is standing near her favorite orange recliner, wearing nothing but a smile. Naked as fuck, in all her wrinkled GILF glory.
“Oh shit,” I gasp with my heart suddenly pounding.
“It’s okay, honey. I love being naked, and I know you love it too.”
“Oh… uh… wow.”
She grins from ear to ear, with her hands splayed on her wide child-bearing hips. I notice that her TV is now turned off.
“You’re eighteen now, and you obviously love women, so… let’s have a little nudist retreat during your spring break. You’ve already learned a lot about sex from the internet and your health classes at school, but I can give you an insider perspective from an ex-porn star.”
“Oh… uh… damn.”
“It’ll be good for your self-esteem, and it’ll give you some inspiration for your writing.”
Her pale milky tits are still heavenly, and the extra cellulite on her thighs only enhances her drop-dead gorgeousness. That spicy ginger is aging like a fine red wine.
“Sounds like good perverted fun, granny,” I utter subconsciously, biting my tongue immediately.
“That’s the spirit. You need to get your nose out of the books for a while, and have some fun. Take off all your clothes, and we’ll watch one of my old unreleased film reels.”
I go into frazzled auto-pilot mode, slowly removing my shorts and t-shirt. Holy shit, I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve often fantasized about fucking my hot grandmother, but I never envisioned a scenario in which I’d actually see her in the buff, right before my very eyes, except by accident for a few fleeting seconds. I take off my tighty whities to complete the nudity, sighing in disbelief and willing myself not to get another erection. Just being naked with her doesn’t count as incest, and I doubt she’s crazy enough to want my teen cock in her ancient dried-up snatch.
“Good boy!” she beams. “You have a nice body.”
“Thanks. I’ve been working out at the gym, purging my teenage angst.”
“And checking out some cute housewives,” she remarks.
I saunter nervously into her living room, and she gives my pecker a good look while tossing her lustrous hair. A natural redhead without a single white strand mixed in, unlike 99.99% of women her age. Lucky as fuck.
“Just relax on the couch while I load the film into the projector.”
I park my bare ass on an orange sofa that eerily resembles the one in Central Perk on Friends. She goes to a closet and digs out an old 1970’s movie projector and a box full of 16 millimeter film reels. She sets up the projector and a portable screen in the living room and winds one of the reels into the antiquated machine.
“This is a private BDSM session I filmed with Conan at our old house near Venice Beach, about a year before we got married. We showed it to some of our porn star friends at a New Year’s Eve party, but then I retired from that tough business, and we never saw it again. The camera didn’t have a microphone attached, so you won’t hear any of our witty kinky dialogue.”
“I usually watch porn with the volume muted. All that moaning and groaning drives me insane after a while.”
“Tell that to all those crazy tennis bitches.”
She sets up a portable white projection screen in front of the TV, turns off the living room lights, and turns on the projector. A grainy silent home movie flickers to life. My 29 year-old grandmother is standing in the nude next to a shelf full of ancient fertility symbols. Sally Strapper / Dolores Flanagan smiles seductively and tosses her flaming red bangs. The picture quality is about as good as the Zapruder film of the JFK assassination, so her hot body is somewhat blurry. Old Dolores sits right next to me on the sofa, with her wrinkly hips pressing warmly against my young firm hips. Holy shit, holy shit. Play it cool, man. She’s one of those freaky chicks who grew up in the height of the hippie era, so try to keep an open mind. Make love, not war, and all that jazz.
“Conan brought those buddhist fertility symbols back from Vietnam,” Dolores explains while lighting up another cigarette. “They’re good conversation starters, to get women ‘in the mood.'”
My thirty-something grandfather enters the picture; a tall dark ruggedly handsome dude with a humongous penis. Go big or go home; that was obviously her mantra. Conan kisses her tenderly on the lips, then he smacks her cheeks playfully with both hands. Young Dolores grins submissively and grabs his long hard dong, but he bats her hand away and says something sternly while wagging his index finger.
“Ah-ah, hands off, my kinky kitten,” Old Dolores giggles. “He loved calling me that.”
The scene shifts to a dungeon room in that Venice Beach house, with various bondage platforms, a big shelf loaded with kinky toys, and ropes and chains dangling from the ceiling. Conan drags Young Dolores into the dungeon by a leather leash that’s now fastened to a spiked leather dog collar around her neck. He barks out an order while pointing toward a barrel-shaped bondage platform. The smoky haze from my grandmother’s cigarette makes this film seem even more vintage. Almost like we’re at the old Holly-Wood Porno Palace on Sunset Boulevard. That place closed for good in 1990, before the internet was even “a thing.”
Young Dolores wraps her body face-up around the circular boards, curving her spine into an alluring yogic position. Conan fastens her wrists and ankles to metal rings along the edges of the platform with leather cuffs.
“That barrel platform was my favorite,” says Old Dolores. Arousal is quite evident in her voice; getting turned on by grainy blurry images of her twenty-something body.
“Bending over backwards has a good energizing effect,” I reply distantly. Conan grabs a red bullwhip from a shelf and waves it through the air above his bound naked girlfriend, making her wince and whimper inaudibly.
“He was such a teasing dominator,” she muses. “I love guys who are good at building up tension, keeping me on edge.”
“I need to build up more tension in my writing,” I mutter.
“You should try writing some porn. Lonely guys like you are usually good at that,” she remarks sweetly. She strokes my hairy right forearm tenderly, and my dick gets even harder. God damn, god damn.
Conan the Barbarian finally lowers the boom, whipping her big tits nice and hard. Her mouth opens to emit a silent moan. Old Dolores shudders slightly with the vicarious impact. He whips her five more times on each breast, making her entire body squirm in that tightly stretched position.
“That’s so fucking hot,” I murmur subconsciously. “My parents won’t even let me watch Law and Order: SVU.”
“Your parents aren’t nearly as puritan as they claim to be. They humped each other like rabbits before they were married. I mean literally, like rabbits. They got arrested for public sex about ten times.”
“Wow, wow, wow. I’m gonna learn a lot this week.”
Conan grabs a tall white candle from a silver candelabra, then he lights up the wick with a match and flicks hot wax all over my young grandmother’s breasts, driving her even crazier.
“Well, well. You may be a virgin, but there’s obviously nothing wrong with your downstairs soldier,” Old Dolores remarks, pointing at my tall proud penis. The tips glistens with precum, reflecting the flickering light from the projector.
“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing.”
“There’s nothing embarrassing about getting a hard-on. You have to love your own body before you can love anyone else’s.”
“Sage advice from my GILF granny,” I reply sarcastically.
Conan flicks more wax right on her fire crotch, sending her to a masochistic cloud nine. The scene shifts to a mod-styled bedroom in that same house. His girlfriend is lying face-up on a king-size bed, still naked, covered with dried wax and whip marks, with her wrists tied to the metal bars on the headboard. He climbs onto the mattress, making literal waves. Waterbeds were all the rage back then. My grandfather spreads her legs and pushes them way back toward the headboard. He grabs two pairs of handcuffs next to her pillow, and uses them to bind her wrists and ankles to the metal bars behind her head, locking her lithe body in a tight ball of pale white flesh and red hair.
“Brace yourself, Jakey. This sex scene is pretty rough.”
“I’ve seen plenty of rough sex scenes from your career, and other ‘careers.'”
“Yeah, but this is more… personal.”
She sighs wearily and grabs my right hand. This is clearly her unconventional way of dealing with lingering grief toward her late husband. Self-medication, recapturing a bit of her lost youth by getting her grandson naked and showing him this dirty private artifact.
Conan hawks a big loogie right onto her wet cunt, and smears it around with his fingers. He glides the tip of his big dick around her outer labia, teasing that spit-soaked twat for a few moments. Then he slams it all the way in with a powerful opening thrust, sending literal shockwaves through her body and making her scream silently. Old Dolores moans in a softer response. He keeps pounding the fucking shit out of that redhead skank. Slamming her body into the waterbed while spanking her ass hard with both hands in a rapid blur. The mattress convulses like the gulf of Mexico in a hurricane. I try like hell to resist the temptation to jack my johnson. I’m good at reading lips, but I can tell exactly what “Sally Strapper” is screaming: “Fuck yeah, baby!” “Spank me harder!” “Pound my fucking pussy!”
Conan wraps his big hands around her slender neck and fucks her even harder and faster, bouncing her balled-up body toward the metal headboard with relentless fury. He pauses for a moment, jams several fingers into her mouth, stretches out her lips, and hawks a loogie right down her throat. He goes right back to pussy-pounding, and Old Dolores clutches my hand a bit tighter amid the onslaught. This is the most intense voyeuristic experience I’ve ever had. I’ve seen lots of wild bondage porn on the net… but my granny is right. This is a lot more personal, and a lot hotter. A private emotional connection amplifies the kinkiness to the max.
“It’s hard to believe this guy was an insurance adjuster,” I murmur awkwardly.
“Never judge a book by its cover,” she murmurs back.
Conan spits all over her face and cunt, spanks her cheeks a dozen more times, and spanks her ass cheeks even more. He finally pulls his dick out of her twat, shuffles up toward her face, and shoots a thick wad into her open mouth. Old Dolores moans softly, squeezing my hand tighter. Young Dolores plays with his splooge for a minute, flicking it all around with her tongue and blowing disgusting cum bubbles. She swallows it with a sweet grin, and says something to Conan while still in bondage, but I can’t make the words out. The home movie ends abruptly in mid-sentence, leaving nothing but a blank white square on the projection screen, with the 44 year-old film reel flapping freely against the vintage projector.
“God damn, what a ride,” I murmur dreamily.
“That’s exactly what I told him, so many times,” granny murmurs nostalgically. She gets up slowly and winds the reel back into the metal canister. Her naked GILF body looks even better in the artistic illumination from the projector in her darkened living room. Like one of those pretentious Marc Dorcel euro-porn flicks from the “golden age.”
“Have you dated anyone else since Conan… passed on?”
“I sure haven’t. No dates, no random quickies, no sex whatsoever. I’ve just been swimming through lots of wild memories for the past two years. You’re the first naked man I’ve seen since he died.” She sighs wearily and leans against an orange recliner. “You must think I’m crazy as a coot.”
“Not at all, granny. I’m glad to help you move on. Whatever it takes to start a new chapter.”
“Much obliged, honey.” she utters sweetly. She tosses her red hair and saunters toward me with a seductive gait, radiating celtic feminine mystique. “Now then, Master Flanagan… shall we proceed to the dungeon?”
Holy shit. My heart starts hammering again. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Come on, I want to show you our old kinky toys. I caught you jerking off to my pictures from 1001 S&M Nights, so don’t act like a fucking prude.”
“Fine, whatever,” I chortle while getting off her couch. “A little more ‘educational’ fun.”
She takes me by the hand and leads me through the dining room, through the back den, and down her basement stairway. I better make the most out of this week-long “nudist retreat.” It’ll be a lot more interesting than those Sex Ed classes with Susan Pavetto, who goes by the pronouns Xe/Xem and has a big CRUSH THE PATRIARCHY! poster in room 227 of Pasadena High.
My family never let me go down to this basement when I was a kid, claiming that it was full of rats. That was a big lie to shield an impressionable child from the disturbing S&M truth. Dolores takes me on a winding path through dozens and dozens of boxes and shelves. I don’t see anything remotely naughty. Just the usual “I might use it later” crap that piles up in millions of basements.
She pauses in front of a locked door to a separate room that fills about a quarter of the large basement. It clearly wasn’t part of the original design for the 1950’s ranch-style house. She grabs a key from a nearby shoebox, turns the deadbolt lock, and opens the door with theatrical flair.
“Welcome to my gothic dungeon, Master Flanagan.”
“Abandon hope, all ye who enter.”
My sarcastic quote from Dante’s Inferno goes right over her high school dropout head. She flips a light switch on the wall, revealing a wide array of BDSM equipment in four twenty foot-long aisles. A lot of the same things I just saw in that 16mm home movie, along with lots of stuff I haven’t seen before, like a big X-shaped bondage platform and a medieval pillory stockade. Contrary to her description, there’s no gothic decorations here. Just plain white walls and a shitload of taboo merchandise from various L.A. sex shops.
“Oh my god, this is fucking awesome,” I beam, unable to contain my pervy teenage enthusiasm. “You’ve been looking forward to showing me this kinky crap for a long time, haven’t ya?”
“Hell yeah, Jakey,” she beams while stroking the leather straps that dangle from her favorite barrel-shaped platform. “You’re an only child, so you got my undivided obsession.”
“Thanks for turning me into a spoiled bratty incel,” I snicker while batting the heavy chains that dangle from a steel suspension bondage rack.
“You’re very welcome, sweetie.” She tosses her hair once again, and saunters toward me with that same seductive gait, wobbling her wide hips. “I’ve done so much for you over the years, but you’re all grown up now… and I want you to do something for me.”
“Like what?”
She goes over to a shelf and grabs a length of manila rope. “Tie me up and whip the shit out of me. Just like all those videos you’ve been watching.”
Whoa-whoa-whoa. My heart beats like a jackhammer, and my cheeks turn red. My rational brain urges me to back away, but my limbic brain urges me to proceed.
“You gotta be fucking kidding, grandma. You want me to pick up where your freaky husband left off?”
“I know you want to, honey,” she coos while batting those sexy green fairy eyes. “You probably won’t see another dungeon like this ever again. Are you really gonna pass up a chance to make your wildest kinky dreams come true, no matter who your sub happens to be?”
“Well… I just… I just…”
“Come on, you handsome devil. I know you’re gonna whoop some whiny ‘woke’ chicks at the Iowa Writers Workshop, so let me teach you how to do it right.”
My dark desire soon overpowers my feeble resistance. “God damn, you’re good, Dolores. You really know how to melt a guy like butter.”
“I learned from the best, sonny-boy.”
She turns around and wiggles her wrinkly heart-shaped ass at me while waving the rope against it.
“I’ve been a real naughty girl, Master Flanagan,” she coos girlishly. “You better punish me real good.”
Holy fuck, holy fuck. This is by far the freakiest thing I’ve ever done. Just go with the flow, and see where the night leads us. A perverted thrill washes over me, seizing total control. Getting into my usual misogynistic dominator character from my frequent masturbatory fantasies.
“All right, you crazy old bag. I’m giving you the trouble you deserve. I’m gonna make you my senior bitch.”
I grab the rope and bind her wrists together against her ass cheeks, loving the warm soft sensation of her pale freckled flesh.
“Good boy!” Dolores beams. She turns around and clears her throat. “But first things first. You should always agree on a safe word with your sub, so you’ll know when to stop and let her recover.”
“How about… Faust?”
“Faust? Like the opera that Christine Daae was starring in?”
“Bingo, bitch. I’m the phantom of the opera, and you’re my willing slave.”
She giggles playfully, wiggling her hips once again. Her ginger pussy literally drips with anticipation. She clearly doesn’t have a problem with “dryness,” like many other septuagenarians.
“Naughty granny, getting all wet just thinking about getting pussywhipped by your fucking grandson.”
“Fuck yeah, I need this so bad. Keep talking dirty and macho, just like that. It keeps you focused, and keeps your sub on her heels.”
This is it, Jake. The point of no return. If this is what it takes to make you grow a pair and turn into a real man, then so be it. Whatever it takes to start a new chapter. I go to that long shelf, staggered by the immense variety of kinky toys. My eyes are drawn to a riding crop with a black and red leather tip, shaped like a rose. Very apropos for our vintage literary role-playing. I also grab a black leather dominator mask and put it on, getting more into that iconic Gaston Leroux character.
“You’re my willing slave now, Christine. You better do as I fucking say, because you know I’m the biggest psychopath in Paris.”
“Yes, master,” she giggles, playing along like a good sport.
“Let’s go back to the French Revolution. Go to that pillory over there, and put your head and wrists between the sliding boards.”
“As you wish, master.”
She goes to that guillotine-style stockade and bends over, giving me a nice clear view of her pussy and asshole. She rests her neck and wrists against the curved notches in the lower board. I unlock the upper board, slide it down on the upper half of her neck, and lock it again in place. My grandmother is now my helpless submissive girl-toy, to do with as I damn well please. She wiggles her ass amazingly in my direction, filling me with an overwhelming desire to shove my dick right up her glistening honey-hole. But that would be highly immoral, not to mention illegal.
“There you go, you dirty fucking diva,” I grunt like the phantom in his dank lair beneath the opera house. “How about some nice melodies for my angel of music?”
“That would be lovely, master. I don’t have any classical records, except for Saturday Night Fever… sort of.”
I go to a record player along the opposite wall and thumb through a bunch of albums on the shelf below. They’re all classic rock or pure disco dance, except for two songs on the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. I put that platinum-selling record on the turntable, turn on the power, and drop the diamond needle on the outer edge, playing a disco-classical instrumental tune that sets a perfect mood: “A Night on Disco Mountain” by David Shire / Modest Mussorgsky.
“You’re a great performer, bitch,” I growl while staring down at her ass and whacking the rose whip against my right palm. The slight stinging sensation makes my erect penis twitch with intense anticipation. “You should have stayed in school and gotten some classical training, instead of dropping out and turning into a fucking kink whore.”
I swing that rose whip at moderate speed, thwacking her saggy left ass cheek.
“Oh fuck!” she shrieks delightfully. Oh fuck, indeed. I’m the first guy to whoop her ass since her husband kicked the bucket. A nagging voice in the back of my mind points out the absolute absurdity of the situation, but I keep swinging that flower on her pale milky ass.
“Every rose has its thorn, bitch!”
“Ah! Ah! Ahhh yeeeeah! Whip me harder, Jake!”
“You will call master, you fucking harlot!”
“As you wish, master!” she groans submissively. I swing the leather rose harder on her posterior, making her yelp louder.
“I love your kinky games, master! Make me feel your dark desire!” she utters dramatically, quoting verbatim from that 1977 “porno chic” flick. I keep whooping her ass with relentless masculine bravado; symbolically punishing all those stuck-up L.A. hotties who treated me like shit, embarrassing me in front of the whole damn high school.
“Whip my pussy, master! Swing that rose right on my twat!”
Her own repressed emotions are also pouring out, making this “lesson” much kinkier than we intended. Spinning out of control, quite nicely. I gladly obey her order, thwacking that twat repeatedly. Conan probably didn’t dominate her with the same high level of enthusiasm in his later years, so I’m really taking Dolores back in a time warp. Rejuvenating her more and more with every stinging lash of leather from her barely legal grandson.
“Harder, master! Slam that rose right on my fucking clit!”
I whip that little pink bundle of nerve endings in a heavy rapid blur, driving her insane. Her pain threshold hasn’t lowered a single inch since ’79. Still crazy after all these years. I keep clobbering her clit, and she keeps begging for more. It soon gets boring, so I just growl over her helpless body, just like Erik.
“The phantom wants to play with some more toys in your secret lair,” I utter theatrically while gazing at her clear natural lubricating fluid that glistens on the leather rose.
“As you wish, master. My back is getting sore, so let me off this thing and tie me up standing.”
I free her from the old-school pillory and untie the rope that binds her hands. Then I lead her toward a bunch of chains dangling from the ceiling. She raises her arms high in the air, and I retie her wrists to a high steel link.
“I’m sure you have a lot of nipple clamps, you dirty old freak.”
“Yes indeed, master,” she giggles. “Third shelf down, second box on the left.”
That box is loaded with flesh squeezers of every shape, size, and material. I pick out the coolest-looking red metal ones, shaped like crab claws.
“Oh god, I love those crabs. Conan got those back in ’81, during our trip to Baltimore.”
I clamp those crustacean claws right on her pointy pink nipples, making her moan and gasp and groan simultaneously.
“Yeah, bitch, you love how that hurts. Redheads have a recessive gene that also gives them a high pain threshold.”
“You’ve done your homework, master. I can take all you got, and still beg for more. I know you love ginger pain sluts.”
“Fuck yeah. I bet your husband ate some crab cakes right off your ass.”
She laughs awkwardly while swooning in painful pleasure from the clamps.
“More!” she shrieks. “Put some crabs right on my pussy.”
Damn, damn, damn. I gaze at her indignantly, wondering how much crazier this “lesson” will get.
“Please! I know you fucking want to!”
She’s damn right. I better go balls-to-the-wall for the next five days, getting plenty of “inspiration” before reverting to a dorky bookworm wallflower. Just touching her pussy still doesn’t count as incest, right? I grab some more claws and grab my grandmother’s outer labia, clamping each pink gateway to her Holy of Holies. Making her entire body shudder while swaying in vertical bondage, with her shrill moaning echoing across the plain white walls. The hot slick velvety sensation of her pink muff lips, combined with the female pheromones wafting through her stuffy windowless dungeon, makes me so fucking horny. Drowning out any lingering rational thoughts in my testosterone-addled teenage mind.
Meanwhile, “A Night on Disco Mountain” fades out on the record player, and “Open Sesame” by Kool and The Gang fades in. I move the diamond needle to another apropos disco-classical instrumental: “A Fifth of Beethoven” by Walter Murphy / Ludwig B. A bunch of Stradivarius violins bark out an uber-famous opening bar:
Ba-ba-ba-buuuhhh… Ba-ba-ba-buuuuuhhhhh…
… followed by some funky ’70s drums and bass guitars.
“Keep punishing me, master!” she pleads desperately. “Whip the shit out of your kinky mee-ma!”
Damn, I love how she points out our blood relation while butt-naked in bondage. I grab a big-ass cat o’nine tails with black leather braids and metal-riveted tips. Going big or going home, just like “Sally Strapper” back in the day. I swing that cat nice and hard, lashing the rivets against the metal crab claws on her tits with a lound ping!
“Ahhhh, shiiiit!” she groans. “More!”
I whoop those big titties ten more times, with equally loud results, until the claws fly off her pink nipples and clatter on the concrete dungeon floor.
“Whack my pussy, baby! Swing that cat so good!”
I swing that nine-tailed cat right on her twat with boundless youthful vigor, feeling so alive and so manly. Grabbing life by the horny horns. I’m the bully now, delivering the fun abuse instead of just standing there in the high school hallway, taking it like a fucking pussy. I try not to picture my dead grandfather doing the same damn thing to Dolores on a regular basis. My grandmother’s wrinkly body dangles in absolute ecstasy from the ceiling chain, swaying to and fro, with beads of sweat trickling downward along the many whip marks on her pale white freckled flesh.
“More, more, more! Holy fuck, you’re so good, Jakey!”
Her guttural groaning is like music to my ears. The crab claws finally fall off her labia, and I finally stop swinging that whip, sweating and panting.
“All right, enough of these fancy porn star toys. Let’s kick it old-school with a nice solid spanking paddle.”
“Fuck yeah, daddy! Spank my naughty ass!”
I go to the third shelf from the left and pick out the heaviest wooden paddle, with a smooth ergonomic leather-wrapped handle.
“The phantom of the opera loves spanking naughty divas. Here comes the overture, bitch!”
I swing that big heavy paddle with manly aggression, impacting her entire derriere with a loud POSH! She groans even louder as the pain registers all the way up to her clit.
“Oh fuuckkk!”
“Ho yeah, that’s the shit,” I growl real macho-like. “My parents never spanked me, but I bet yours did.”
“Oh yeah. They were old-school Irish blokes, so they spanked and switched and paddled me so many times.”
“But it didn’t solve any problems. Look where you ended up, you fucking kink whore!”
POSH! POSH! POSH! POSH! POSH! POSH! POSH! POSH! POSH! POSH!
“Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!” she shrieks as the blows rain down. I spank her harder, and she shrieks louder in masochistic bliss. She still hasn’t said the magic word, so I keep spanking and spanking and spanking that sweet heart-shaped ass, turning it a bright shade of crimson.
“Jesus, that hurts so good! Ah, ah, ahhh, ahhhhhh… Faust, Faust, Faust!”
Her operatic safe word stops my arm in mid-swing. Her body goes limp on the chain, whimpering and pathetically while swinging limply back and forth. My dick is still rock-hard, dripping precum on the concrete floor. I want to fuck that kinky ex-porn star so bad, with no rhyme or reason.
“That’s enough role-playing for now, sweetie. Cut me loose.”
I free her from bondage, and she embraces me tenderly, pressing her naked sweaty body against mine. My erect penis slides upward against her wet belly. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
“Great job, Jakey-boy,” she coos with sweet girl-talk. “Looks like I won’t have to teach you much this week. You’re already a great dominator, reading my signals and giving me exactly what I want.”
“Remote learning was good enough, I guess,” I croak awkwardly.
“But I know you’re sick and tired of jerking off to kinky porn. You need a real girl to whip, and a real girl to fuck.”
She kisses me right on the lips, hard, for about five seconds. Oh fuck.
“What are you doing, grandma?”
“What does it look like, Jakey? I’m so lonely in this big house, and I’ve dreamed about this for so long. I want your cock, baby. I fucking need it.”
She kisses me harder, squeezing my bare ass cheeks with both hands.
“But you’re my… you’re my… fucking grandmother!”
“It’ll be our big dirty secret, baby. Come on, let’s fuck. You’ve been masturbating to all my old pictures, and all my old movies, so I know you want to do the real thing. Even if I’m fifty years older.”
“Holy fuck. You’re fucking… crazy.”
“You fucking love how crazy I am. And I want to find out how crazy you are.” She undulates her hips against my hard-on, getting me even hornier. “I’m really fucking good, boy. I was the highest-paid kinky porn star, giving those studs exactly what they wanted. I’ll make your wild dreams come true, and give you even more inspiration for your writing.”
“Oh my god, oh my god,” I groan. But my hands drift subconsciously down to her ass cheeks, betraying my genuine desire.
“That’s right, honey. I know you love my ass, and my big tits, and my ginger pussy. I love your body even more. But we’ll have lots of time this week, so let’s ease into it. How about I start with just a blowjob tonight?”
My last lingering traces of resistance melt away while gazing into those hypnotizing green Irish eyes. My repressed alpha male personality regains control.
“Yeah, bitch, get down on the fucking floor. Fucking choke on my cock.”
“As you wish, master,” she beams triumphantly. She drops right to her knees on the hard concrete floor of her basement, and tosses her long red hair behind her bare shoulders, giving me an unobstructed view of her pointy pink nipples. She looks up at my face with a naughty grin, with her face just three inches away from my throbbing manhood.
“You already know a lot about BDSM, but you still have a lot to learn about masturbation. I’ll show you how to do it right.”
She grabs the base of my six-inch penis firmly with her dainty right hand, and twists her hand slowly up the shaft with the same tight grip, making me groan loudly in pleasure and disbelief.
“Holy shiiiiiiiiiit.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she hums pleasantly, loving every second of her grandson’s gradual deflowering.
“Sex is the most enjoyable part of anyone’s day, so you gotta make it last,” she says sweetly while continuing that slow up-and-down twisting motion, squeezing tighter on my sensitive tip with each stroke. “Start off nice and slow, building up pressure in your glands and saving your energy for the big finish.”
“Good lesson, granny. I’m hot for teacher.”
She reaches down to her hairy ginger crotch, and strokes her clitoris in slow circles while stroking my shaft.
“Most men don’t massage their prostates while they’re jerking off, but it feels really good if you do it right. Like this.”
She lets go of her clit and slides those fingers under my hairy brunette ballsack, pressing upward in a slow elliptical motion. Good vibrations flare through my prostate, radiating out toward my throbbing dick.
“Ohhh shit, yeah. Just like that, bitch,” I groan gutturally. She keeps massaging my P-spot so good while twisting her other hand up and down my six-inch schlong.
“Stop fucking teasing me, you old bag! Shove that dick in your fucking mouth!”
“As you wish, master,” she giggles. She hawks a big loogie on my prick, spreads it out with her hands, and dives right into the deep end. The moist body heat on every inch of my penis makes me howl toward the moon, high above her dungeon. The real thing is so much better than my convenient implausible fantasies. My nerve endings fire on all cylinders, setting my flustered virginal mind ablaze. “A Fifth of Beethoven” reaches a triumphant conclusion, soon followed by “More Than A Woman.” I hate the fucking Bee Gees, but I feel way too good to go over there and turn off the record player.
“Hoo-leee-fuuuuck. I can’t believe I’m getting my cherry popped by my fucking mee-ma!”
She laughs against my man-meat, and keeps sliding her head all the way down and all the way up at a moderate pace. Keeping her fingers moving against the sweet spot behind my balls, and twisting her neck in that same skillful style, adding good friction to the fellatio. Sucking hard on each upward motion, making a steady slurping sound. I’m gonna cum way too early if I let her keep going like this.
“Bite me, bitch. Give me some pain.”
“Yes, Mister Phantom. A little taste of your own medicine.”
She bares her pearly whites, opens wide, and clamps down firmly on the base of my penis.
“Oh shit, oh shit!”
She keeps nibbling firmly on the shaft, slowly moving away from my ballsack. Her teeth are still in good shape at the big 7-0, just like the rest of her body. The stinging sensation gets more and more intense as she goes up, with fear building on top of my pleasure.
“Oh shit, oh shit. Shit, shit, shiiiit…”
She pauses at the tip with her mouth open and her teeth hovering just an inch above the base of the tip, glaring upward with those naughty green eyes.
“Oh god, it’s so sensitive there, oooohAAAAAAAHHHH!”
She chomps down hard on that dense bundle of nerve endings, and doesn’t let go. Like a pitbull on a Milkbone.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fu-huh-huuuck! God-you-crazy-biiiiiitch!”
The pain is exquisite, yet highly enjoyable. She squeezes her incisors harder against my delicate foreskin while giggling sadistically, pushing me past my limits.
“Oh god, oh god! Faust, Faust, faust!”
Our safe word brings sweet mercy, relaxing her jaw muscles and pulling back with a pleasant sigh. My entire dick stings so good. I stroke her hot red bangs, and my incel dominator character quickly reasserts itself.
“All right, granny, no more games. Open wide.”
She opens wide, eagerly awaiting more incestuous action. I grab her red head with both hands, and skullfuck that gorgeous GILF at full speed. Growling fiercely while pistoning my man-rod like a V8, ramming right through her tightly pursed lips. My dick isn’t long enough to gag her, but it’s long enough to make her scream. I picture Conan doing the same thing to her in that grainy 16 millimeter home movie, and then I picture many other hard-fucking studs from the “golden age.” Deep-throating my vintage porn star grandmother, just like Linda Lovelace.
I keep thrusting my pelvis for what seems like five minutes, panting and sweating profusely as she keeps moaning and groaning against my cock. Lots of good vibrations, figuratively and literally. The first inklings of orgasm ripple through my prostate, and I pull out of her hot wet mouth. I really want to cum all over her pretty freckled face… but another naughty idea pops into my head.
“I want to fuck you for real, granny. In your pussy.”
I can’t believe I just said that… but I totally want it. She gazes up at me with a blank expression for a moment, and then she gets up and turns around, showing off her well whipped and well-spanked ass. She takes a few steps forward, and bends halfway over, resting her naked torso on top of a horizontal padded leather bondage platform. She reaches back with both hands and spreads her labia as wide as she can, just like she did in so many 1970’s skin flicks. My limbic brain makes me take a few eager steps forward, desperate to consummate our illegal passion… but then another idea pops into my overactive imagination.
“No, not here. I’m gonna pound that pussy upstairs, on your king-size bed.”
She giggles against the genuine leather, and rises to face me. “As you wish, master. I love your sense of staging, like a good porno director.”
“Come on, you filthy Jezebel,” I growl like the phantom. “I’m taking you up to your dressing room for the grand finale.”
I grab a leather dog leash and leather collar from a nearby shelf and fasten them to her neck, turning her into my literal bitch. I pull her along like a french poodle, grabbing a pair of furry pink handcuffs on the way out of her dungeon. We zig-zag through a maze of boxes in the ordinary part of her basement, and slowly ascend a creaky wooden stairway, with the sweat cooling off our naked bodies. My dick is getting soft, but not for long. I lead her through the dining room where we had corned beef and cabbage with sweet Irish bread, and through the living room where we watched that kinky home movie. Coming full circle on a freaky friday.
I walk my seventy year-old dog-bitch up another flight of stairs, down a dimly lit hallway, and into the master boudoir. I forgot to put the August 1976 issue of Taskmaster back in her dirty magazine drawer after she caught me in flagrante delicto. It’s still sitting on a table next to various Flanagan family pictures; opened to page 37. King Abdul-Jabbar of Ballistan is sodomizing a hogtied Sally Strapper in his royal harem while spanking her with his left hand, freeze-framing the flesh-rippling moment of impact.
Her blue mattress comforter is still rumpled from where I was sitting earlier, doing homework and visiting retrospank.xxx. I let go of the leash, and she hops right onto the bed with girlish enthusiasm, leaning against the pillow stack and spreading her legs in a wide v-shape.
“Fuck me nice and hard, baby,” she utters sweetly. “Don’t go easy on me just because I’m 70.”
The reminder of my grandmother’s ripe age sends a slight wave of revulsion through my mind, but it doesn’t stop me from hopping right onto the bed and binding her wrists to the brass bars of the headboard with those fuzzy pink cuffs. Seeing her helpless once again, gazing right at me with those hypnotizing irish eyes, makes me feel incredibly manly. Manly enough to forget that we’re committing incest. My dick rockets back up to a full six inches. I shuffle right up to her ginger crotch, gently feathering the tip along the edge of that pink cat’s eye, lingering a bit longer against her puffed-out clit. Knowing I’m gonna climb that mountain eventually, but doing a little light exploring around the base to warm us both up.
“You love how I tease you, you old fucking skank.”
“Fuck yeah. I love how you get my pussy so fucking wet, after whipping it so hard.”
“You’re my favorite porn star of all time. You’re so fucking hot, you dirty fucking redhead.”
She moans louder and louder as I keep feathering her twat with my tip, getting it wetter and wetter. Her handcuffs rattle loudly against the brass bars.
“You wish you could play with your clit while I tease your pussy, but your hands are cuffed to your metal headboard. You wish you weren’t a kinky sub, getting off on pain.”
“Oh god, stop fucking teasing me, master. Fuck me. Fuck me! FUCK ME!”
She thrusts her pelvis outward, forcing my penis deep into her vagina, making her growl triumphantly.
“You naughty fucking bitch. Now you’re gonna GET IT!”
I grab her legs, press them against my chest, and fuck her like there ain’t no tomorrow. My hips crash against her cellulite-ridden ass cheeks in a rapid wash-wash-wash-wash-wash-wash-wash, making her perky pointy tits bounce in a steady circular pattern. It feels much better than a blowjob, especially for a first-timer.
“Oh god, yes! Fucking shiiiit! You fuck me so good, master!”
I grab the leather dog leash while pounding her pussy, treating her just like all those soulless subs in my dark fantasies. Consummating my illicit love for my grandmother with reckless abandon, hoping her aging bones are strong enough to ride it out. Her skillful moaning and groaning drives me steadily toward the summit.
“Fuck yeah, you love getting pounded by young studs.”
“I’m your naughty fucking GILF, baby. Use me up! Use me up!”
I wrap my hands gently around her pale neck, and fuck her even harder.
“Fuck yeah, choke me like I’m your little fuck slave.”
“Call me your ginger whore, granny.”
“I’m your ginger whore.”
“Louder!”
“I’m your ginger whore!”
“LOUDER!”
“I’M YOUR GINGER WHORE!”
“LOUDER!!!”
“I’M YOUR GINGER WHOOOOORE!!!”
The humiliating misogynistic banter pushes my untrained teenage balls to the breaking point.
“I’m gonna cum all over your face, you kinky bitch!”
I bound up to my feet on the mattress, grab her red bangs, yank her head back, and aim right between her big green eyes.
“Ho, ho, hooo, hoooooAAAAHHHHHHHH! SHIIIIIIT! Fucking SHIIIIIIT!”
I’m literally seeing stars, on top of the purple lilacs on her bedroom wallpaper. By far the strongest orgasm I’ve ever had, leaving me whimpering pathetically, and leaving us both completely satisfied. I look down at her face while panting heavily, and admire my work. Her eyeballs are literally plastered with jizz.
“Damn, boy, you fucked up my eyes with that shit,” she snickers, squinting helplessly. “I can’t see anything but white.”
I savor the heavy afterglow for a moment while standing there stupidly.
“All right, that’s enough fun for now. There’s a handcuff key in the drawer of my nightstand.”
I open the drawer and dig through a bunch of dildoes and leather riding crops, finding a small metal key way in the back.
“Bravo, Jakey. Encore, encore,” she cheers sarcastically as I unlock those pink fuzzy police-grade cuffs. She wipes my jizz off her eyes and licks it off her fingers. “I can’t wait for your matinee performance tomorrow.”
“Matinee?” I groan comically, sinking my head down to a pillow next to her naked ass.
“Hell yeah. I got a season pass for this little ‘opera house.'”
She swallows every last drop of semen, then she lights up a post-coital cigarette and lies down next to me.
“We’re gonna have as much kinky fun as possible this week.”
“Until my parents get back from the land of the rising sun.”
“It’ll be our big dirty secret, Jakey-boy.”
“You better keep that big dirty secret.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely not cut out for prison life. That tough guy act was just an act.”
Dolores sighs pleasantly, fiddling absentmindedly with my shriveling cock.
“I love being your sub,” she utters sweetly.
“And I love being your dom.”
“I’m waking you up sexually during your spring break. That’ll open your eyes to many other possibilities. Unlocking your strong creative talent.”
“Sure, whatever. I’ll go back to the real world next week, and get a real girlfriend from Generation Alpha. And maybe I will write some porn. That’s a good way to kick-start my career.”
“I’m sure those stuck-up Iowa English majors will love to hear about your alpha male libido.”
“The competition will be fierce, but I’ll give it the old college try.”
My grandmother takes a heavy drag of smoke, and we sink into awkward silence. A bright future lies ahead of me, and so much history lies behind her. We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, in the city of rising stars.