Not-so-Old Age Home

[©2011 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS ARE WELL OVER THE AGE OF 18 WITH IDENTITIES DISGUISED; FOR AGES 21 OR ABOVE]

[Community service at the old age home; what could be worse...or better?]

*

Okay, I admit it. I was a jerk. I was busted for DWI. The judge could've put me away for a little time, first offense, or let me walk.

Instead, he split the difference, giving me the old 'community service' routine. I had to do 100 hours of community service: "see the court clerk and choose."

There was a list of ten places, including the Agnes Senior Citizens'(ASC) Center. I picked that, because seniors were by far the easiest group to get along with: no hazards there.

As I drove up to the ASC, just north of Los Angeles, I got my first surprise. It wasn't an old age home. The courts had screwed up, thinking that an over age-55 home development was the same as a (creepy) retirement home. This place was actually a subdivision of up-scale homes with a clubhouse.

I walked in and got surprise number two. The place was empty and I set up my presentation. Then, it filled up. Well, the women there all laughed. I had brought knitting supplies and projects, you know: knit one, pearl two.

It was perfect...if you were seventy-five. The women that arrived were all 45 to 47. That was because the rules of these places normally are that only one of the buyers needs to be at least 55. So, instead of grandmothers, I was confronted with hot MILF soccer moms. Some wore tennis shorts, others slacks, with one even wearing hot pants.

When I told them why I was there (court orders) and what I had planned (Knitting 101), I received three types of reaction. The whole place erupted in laughter at the thought of being 'Whistler's Mother' and sitting idly with a ball of yarn.

Then a lot of them just up and left. Of the 30 there, 7 remained. All of a sudden, there was ashen silence. I didn't have the slightest idea what was 'going down'.

A quorum of the remaining women convened amongst the folding chairs. Then there was lots of whispering and laughing. They broke: Six sat down while one came forward.

Stella was forty-five. She was the one wearing hot pants. From a distance, she was as hot as any woman I have ever seen. As she approached, I could see her face had some 'character' lines; her legs had veining that some would object to; and other flaws.

That is nitpicking, though. Her figure was good for a woman of any age; for a woman past 45, it approached miraculous. Frankly, considering the fact that this was 'punishment' from the courts, nothing she could say or do would bother me.

Stella: "Young man...Doug is it? Doug, we took an impromptu vote. Now don't freak out or anything, just because we like privacy."

I noticed that the other six were not just sitting idly but were a flurry of activity. Two were closing windows, blinds, and locking doors. Two others were rolling out two cots that were in reserve for local crises like fires or riots. Another was adjusting the lights.

Stella: "We KNOW that this is court ordered. One of these fine lightly aged women is an attorney, in fact. She said that you either perform to OUR satisfaction or the community service time is thrown out and you have to serve HARD time. In other words, we have you by the balls, young man!"

With that, she actually reached into my draw-string athletic pants, gripping my unit. She gave it a squeeze. Ouch! Well, they had me. I was at their mercy. I mean, they were a pack of [slightly] over-age women. What COULD they do, really?

Sure enough, I noticed that all the windows were closed, all blinds cinched up tightly, and all doors locked with 'CLOSED' signs. Worse, their cots were set up in the middle of the folding chair 'audience'.

Even more ominous, the lights had gone from overall room fluorescents to focused overhead spot mercury lamps, making the cots the only illuminated point in the room. Uh-oh!!

Before I had a chance to comment on the 'arrangements', Stella had grabbed me by my 'Brady Bunch' tee shirt and dragged me into the light. Those hags all applauded as she stood me up like a mannequin.

Then her slightly spotted hands went up and down me like a trophy, ending up at the belt line of my draw-string athletic pants. She undid the knot and pushed them down. I wasn't wearing briefs—only a supporter. Stella reached to the back and announced:

Stella: "Attention, ladies: XXX-Large!! I think this boy hangs some serious meat. Let's just see what the court has ordered up for us?!!"

As the murder of magpies all cackled, she roughly grabbed my manhood with one hand, the other cupping my old scrotum. They spontaneously clapped and chanted "G0" as her hand keyholed me past six, seven, eight, nine, and finally ten inches of market ready sausage. The cheering reached playoff volume at that point.

The "GO GO"'s now resumed. As I stood there, steel hard, two other women stood up and started to undress her while another finished with my clothing.

Stella was all of 45, but wow...her hair was dyed blond with large shocks of grey. Her original color was unknowable and unimportant at this point. At five foot six, she looked like Pamela Anderson would have looked at that age.

Well, this WAS an upscale development; she looked like one of those trophy wives on 'the real housewives of xxxx' where the ladies had stuff done. I didn't know, nor care, whether those boobs were real. This was court ordered punishment, and it was a tough job...but someone had to do it.

As I stood up, I felt compelled to flex my 'guns', hoping the ladies would enjoy seeing twenty inch arms on their 'boy-toy' of the week. They applauded. Then, as we stood near each other in the spotlight, one lady cupped my family jewels. She first tried using one hand, but their size and heft required both of her hands.

Meanwhile, another of the women turned my face to the side, laying a frenetic French kiss to my lips. As all of this was going on, Stella was still standing, enjoying the 'preparations'.

So one attractive woman was making out with me while another cupped my seed bags and a third fell to her knees. Her talented 47 year old lips proceeded to do a number on my ten inches of pride and joy.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I had never been 'serviced' before, always going directly to 'it' without foreplay. Well, let me tell you. Foreplay was fun too. As my powerful cock swelled, I had to pull her off. Fun is fun, but I would never waste my 'juice' down the gullet.

As if by magic, in unison the 'ladies in waiting' withdrew, opening the way for just myself and Stella. I put her flat on her back on that folding cot.

Getting between those slightly aged but velvety smooth and incredibly tanned and shapely legs, I smiled, remembering that this was court-ordered. As I halted for only a second thinking about that, one of the women in attendance thought I was waiting for her(!!) She sprang up and inserted my huge babymaker into the crevice.

Stella moaned and all of the women moaned in unison. Thereafter it was remarkable. You won't believe me, but every sound...I mean EVERY sound...that Stella made, the other women emulated so quickly that it sounded as one.

At that point, I felt a strange power. Could I just WILL them to do things? With my oversized cockhead just peeping into the entrance, I paused again, this time on purpose. Sure enough, another woman sprang up. She grabbed my mighty cock and started stirring it in there, exactly as if she were stirring a thick soup.

Stella moaned in pleasure, as did the clutch of women. I closed my eyes, really liking it too. Stella's still tight pussy was alternately gripping and releasing my long sword.

At first it hurt because her muscles in there were still strong. At some point I just started digging it. I bent forward, gently pushing the 'lady in attendance' away. I put those shapely legs over my arms, rolling that middle age soccer mom into a compact package.

I began pile-driving into her with titanic force. My balls were flying; as they descended they made a loud slapping sound. The inner springs of that cot were straining, about to give way.

Stella had one, then two, and finally three all-out orgasms. The crowd howled in time with her, almost a wolf pack howl. Finally, one of the women stood up, pointing to my family jewels.

Bernice: "Oh, God, look at those things! They're huge! Wait, he's about to blow, and I mean BIG TIME! I wonder if this young stud knows that none of us have had 'the change' yet. I don't think her husband would appreciate a new kid, or believe it was his: not with his pathetic 'count'..."

Neither one of us heard what they were saying, so Bernice actually put her head down to remind Stella. Stella just pushed her away, dismissively.

Stella: "Dear, you are doing great. Fuck me like THAT, and I will give birth...you STUD!!"

Well, I was too into it to ponder the odds that I could knock up an 'old lady'. I was a man first and foremost, and this was what we were designed to do. I just grabbed her surprisingly firm behind as I rolled her up even more. Allowing my full weight to push me even deeper, the tiny opening on my cockhead expanded to the size of a gold doubloon.

Meanwhile I could feel the other ladies' hands cupping my swollen bull sack as it tightened up, ready to fire. The women 'oohed and aahed' as they felt the pulse go thru, the surge of cum exploding out the length of my babymaker and eventually reaching her unprotected womb.

One woman couldn't take it and let go, while another held on, feeling the first, second, third, and fourth powerful tidal wave.

Panting, I kissed that lightly aged lover (Stella) and fell over. The women all clapped, their applause reaching crescendo levels as a 'creampie' of unbelievable thickness and volume seeped out.

Bernice grabbed a flexible plastic cup from the refreshment table. She ran it along Stella's thigh, the cup indented to the contours of Stella's bikini-waxed smooth thigh. That cup took in every single loose sperm on that leg. Bernice then went to one of the cots in the darkness of the back and raised her dress, inserting that seed into her own dripping pussy.

Stella now joined Bernice in the darkness of the rear as the other five ladies proceeded to keyhole my Johnson into ten inches of manhood once again.

While one did that, another cupped the old family jewels. A third made out with me, while another whispered and blew into the other ear, saying terrible things (I mean TERRIBLE things) about what SHE would do with me if I was HER boy-toy,

Well, that murder of crows did it. I was up again. Not only was I ten inches of chromium hardness; my balls were again inflated to the size of oranges, heavy with potent seed.

Thereafter, it was not a pretty picture...but it was court ordered after all. I proceeded to just (barely) have enough to service all of those ladies.

Okay, to be technical, three of them (including Bernice) had to settle for excess love that oozed out of their friends sperm-filled pussies. But, seed is seed, and all of those fine 'lightly aged' women had their gardens sown.

I left that meeting room a wreck. It was the hardest day of my life, albeit the best one too.

After the meeting, all seven of the women returned home, their snatches filled with my sperm-laden cum. Three of the women had second thoughts, and washed themselves out thoroughly. Stella, on the other hand, took no measures to do anything.

Bernice got into a fight with her husband. It was ironic, as she was going to wash out until her wimpy cuckold harangued her for something trivial. At that point, furious, she sulked off into the study, put her legs up, keeping that warm pool of seed incubating deep inside of her.

Three weeks later, I got a letter from the court, accepting my service as fully done. I'm not sure how they figured that except that those fine ladies just covered for me.

Six weeks later, I got another letter. Stella, Bernice and two other ladies were pregnant...by me! They all said that they would cover for each other and convince the wimpy cuckolds that it was their doing.

Then, surprise! Instead of any of them being mad, the three that were NOT pregnant insisted that I make a return 'guest appearance' at their clubhouse.

Same ground rules, with all seven to be in attendance with rapt approval. If I didn't show, or didn't perform well, they would go back to the court and tell them that I hadn't served those hours. Oops!

Well, I'm happy to tell you that it took that next session and one more. All seven of the fine, ever so slightly-aged women of the ASC were returned to the 'family way' by yours truly. It was tough, grueling work, but it was community service...and court ordered after all.

Eight months after the first meeting, the now totally satisfied ladies of the ASC emailed me. They wondered if I would do VOLUNTARY service and address them about Lamaze, c-section, and other birthing options. I was an expert, after all (at least that was what they told their cuckolded husbands.)

Well, who could resist? As I entered the room, it was a sea of swollen bellies, all of them sporting one fetus via yours truly (except for Stella and Bernice, who were expecting twins and triplets, resp.) There was great applause and fine refreshments.

Then, after blinds were drawn and doors locked, the special guest (i.e. me) was asked to lie down. I did.

Thereafter each beautifully pregnant lady proceeded to use my ten inch tool as their own scratching post, whether cowgirl or reverse cowgirl. After seven tingling pussies from seven incredibly well-preserved hot ladies, you better believe that I had a huge load.

To my surprise, everything stopped. Two women lifted me into a sitting position as I was swung around. Another got a quart jug with a wide mouth. Yet another sexy lady proceeded to 'finish me off', her hand eventually becoming only a blur of motion. As my breath came faster and faster, I got that 'good feeling' and I blew...big time.

All of the ladies there could hear as the powerful spray of my cock struck the insides of that quart jug with amazing force and volume. Jet after jet, spray after spray, the draining of my 'lizard' continued for several long minutes. The women began gasping in disbelief as that quart jug started actually filling. Finally, it was all over. I fell back to the cot, spent. More applause.

Everyone broke up at that point. I assumed that they would wash out the jug or throw it away. No, Bernice had it tucked firmly under one arm.

Me: "Just curious, what's with the jug?"

Bernice: "Well, three of us have daughters that aren't married...they're not getting any younger after all."