Forced to Finish the Job

Gary Thomas heard the knock and ignored it.

The night before had been an epic drunk at a friend's house. He had no idea what time or how he made it back to his apartment across the college town. All he knew, or could vaguely remember, was that he hit on any woman within reach that night and failing miserably, somehow made it to his shitty little one-bedroom hovel on the third floor, falling asleep on the couch where he now was ignoring the knocking that would not stop.

It would knock, stop, he'd drift back to sleep, and it would knock again. Gary was getting very aggravated.

"Fuck me, seriously?" he groaned, blinking as fully awake as his crushing hangover would allow and swinging up to sit, head throbbing, mouth bone dry, kicking aside beer cans and pizza cartons that had been there forever as he stood. "Christ, it's four in the fucking..."

He looked at his watch. And then outside. Where it was starting to get light. Or dark. He couldn't be sure. It was winter and who the fuck knew? Then he saw cars streaming by his apartment house on a very busy street that wouldn't be in the wee hours.

"Fuck," he growled, rubbing his eyes. "Damn, I slept a long time..."

He mumbled profanely at the insistent knocking, walking toward the door in the same jeans and sweatshirt he had on last night, the one bearing the name of his college where the 20-year-old was a junior.

He opened the door. There stood a short older women looking at him with a "well?" look on her face.

"Uh...hi?" he said gruffly, scratching a hand through his bushy dark hair. "Can I help you?"

She laughed and brushed by him, a not terribly unattractive older woman but decidedly out of his usual fuck-anything-that-moves age range. She plunked her bag on his kitchen counter. Or tried to. It was full of boxes and dishes and assorted other detritus of the young and sloppy. She held onto it, looking around and sighing.

"God, what a dump," she said. "You young men are such pigs."

"Yeah...thanks," he grumbled moving his hands in little circles to signal his uncertainty. "And you...are...?"

She smiled, shaking her head, saying "Don't remember me, do you? That's OK, didn't think you would."

"No, sorry...did...was it...last night?" he asked, trying to recall her, and that rather pretty, smiling face looking at him.

He reached past her for a clean glass and not finding one tucking his head under the kitchen faucet, bumping his unshaven face into another pile of dirty dishes and turning on the tap for a quick drink to drench the cotton infesting his mouth.

"Yes, last night," she said, leaning on the counter, crossing her arms.

He looked sidelong at her as he drank. It registered. She was...his name escaped him, but she was the woman who owned the house at which he got blindingly shitfaced the night before. The grandmother, he foggily recalled, of the girl hosting the party.

It also registered that as his hangover cleared up just a bit, she was rather good looking. She wore a red tight-fitting fleecy overcoat that hugged her slightly thick torso and accentuated the size of her big boobs. Big boobs. He remembered now, he remembered her big boobs from the night before, when as host of the party for her granddaughter and her college friends, they were more on display.

She'd had on a pair of tight black slacks and a low-cut top, his mind recalled and also recalling how delicious her old tits looked to him in his drunken stupor. Sober now, he looked at them tucked behind her snug overcoat and realized they looked pretty good now, too.

"Oh, right!" he said brightly, standing to shake a finger at her in recognition. "You're the lady, grandmother...the house, last night, Betsy's party, right..."

"Right, right, Betsy, my granddaughter, right," she smiled, nodding, eyeing him with bemusement.

He looked harder at her, in that jacket, and tight jeans stuffed into stylish short boots. He liked what he saw, perhaps owing to always being horny when he woke up no matter what time of day that might be. Or from not connecting with any pussy at all the night before.

She was looking better, as his hangover lifted slight, with her short, spiky brownish gray hair, chiseled facial features and squinty eyes, dark and bright. She moved to walk about the kitchen, checking things out, and as she did he stared at her ass packed into those tight jeans. For a woman her age, whatever that was, at least old enough to be a granny, that ass was spectacular, he thought, a bit large and wide at the sides, but shapely and seemingly firm.

"That's a start, you remember me and where you were," she said, walking up to him, a shortish woman of five-four or so, much shorter than Gary's six-two. "But beyond that..."

"Beyond that?" he asked, head cocked.

She smiled and shook her head again. He noticed the slight wattle of her neck as she did, long cords of flesh. He never liked that part of older women, but now at this moment, it looked enticing.

"You hit on me, Gary...well, hell, you hit on every woman at the party, including my granddaughter, I might add, but toward the end of the night, you cornered me in my pantry,"

she said plainly by way of explanation, not complaint.

"I...I did?" he asked, mind racing to recollect that portion of the evening and coming up blank.

"You don't remember, but that's OK," she sighed, peeling off her jacket, revealing a snug sweater, cut fairly low, revealing thick, freckle-covered cleavage. "I knew you were pretty drunk."

She looked for a clean place to lay her coat, finding none, and draping it over a bunch of his clothes piled on a kitchen chair instead.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

"No, no, not at all, make yourself at...well..."

"At home?" she laughed. "At pigsty, more likely."

"Yeah, well, my cleaning people are in Nice on holiday," he said dryly.

She laughed. It was a deep, hoarse, throaty laugh, like her voice. He recalled her chain smoking the night before, which would explain the voice, which last night sounded sexy. It sounded more so now in the clear fading light of day.

And as she laughed, she lifted her head, that sexy flesh of her throat jiggling, drawing his attention to it, and down. Her boobs. Those boobs! He remembered now, looking at the freckled dark V of her cleavage, a fold of flesh cascading down the low-cut blouse, short sleeved, highlighting her big, thick arms, strong looking, a hint of muscle there. All of it, but mostly the boobs packed into the blouse and revealing themselves in a teasing bunch at her cleavage, was now driving him mad. He was glad to be sober and focusing more clearly.

"Yeah, you remember these though, I see," she said, catching his staring at them, drawing her eyes up to hers, his face blushing. "Oh, that's OK. I got quite the rack for an old broad. Oh, and that's 68, if you want to know. Yeah, last night you were all over these puppies..."

She looked down at them, adjusting the blouse. And not up. She tugged it down, the thick meat of her big tits more evident, flesh covered with those freckles he now noticed on her hands, forearms, upper arms. He instantly wondered if she were freckled all over. He hoped to find out.

"I...I was?" he said as a question at first, a foggy memory overcoming him, a smile on his face, and adding, "Oh..right, I was...the pantry..."

"Yeah, the pantry, you were hugging and kissing me, and I gotta say, kid, you kiss really well, you got a pretty long tongue," she laughed. "And you kept cupping these babies, you were squeezing them pretty good, licking my neck and in here..."

She playfully hoisted her tits from beneath in her hands, bouncing the exposed flesh above, in essence giving him permission to stare, which he did, hard. Which was also what his dick was becoming. He felt it thicken in his pants and hunched over a bit now as he leaned on the kitchen counter.

"Did...how much...I mean..." he asked awkwardly, trying to remember.

"Did we fuck?" she said, shaking her head. "No, no we didn't. I wanted to, believe me, and you clearly did, but it didn't seem appropriate, not then, all those people...kids, my granddaughter in the house."

"So...so what happened?" he asked timidly, striving to remember, hoping for a hint.

"Nothing, really, we kept making out, you kept feeling my tits, my ass...oh, you loved my ass, you were squeezing the shit out of it," she said, adding with a chuckle, "Not literally, but you were really digging into it through my pants."

She turned, spanking her ass with one hand.

"Not bad, huh?"

"God, no," he heard himself say in a shocked whisper at the sight of the magnificent old rump. "It's a great ass, uh...Mrs...?"

"Albert, Mrs. Albert," she said, smacking her ass again, the sound echoing in the kitchen. "Tits and ass, my best assets, so I've been told!"

"And correctly," he groaned, as she turned back toward him. "So...so what...we didn't, but we were in the pantry..."

"We made out, you felt me up, you tried sucking my tits, you groped my ass, I could feel what seemed to be a pretty big dick pressing into me as we did, and then we left the pantry before anything happened," she said in a straightforward chronology. "Oh, and you said 'Anytime you want, baby, you come see me, we'll finish what we started'."

"Christ, I said that?" he said, wincing.

"Yeah, pretty cheesy," she laughed. "I know you didn't mean it, you're a kid, you were just horny as hell. But guess what? So am I. That's why I'm here."

He blinked as she smiled. "You...you are?"

"Yeah, why else would I come to a dump like this?" she said, shaking her head. "Shall we take this to the bedroom? If I dare, I can only imagine what that looks like.."

She didn't wait for his answer, walking down the hall, Gary's eyes locked on flexing ass as she walked, packed in her jeans. He heard her gasp when she got to his room. He raced to it, and by her, frantically shoveling old clothes from the long unmade bed and onto the floor, contributing to the massive mounds of them already there.

"Uh, sorry, I haven't had a chance to do laundry...much...at all," he said nervously, watching the pile grow.

"Jesus, it stinks in here!" she said, but sitting on the now vacated bed anyway, her short legs dangling above the floor. "But what the hell, we won't be long..."

She waited as Gary awkwardly shifted from foot to foot looking at her sitting there, hands beside her on the bed, big tits pushed up in her tight blouse that clung to them and the slight paunch of her belly below. She calmly peeled off the blouse, tossed it aside, and then shucked the bra.

Gary gasped. They were huge, freckled like the rest of her except for the immediate area around the biggest, longest and pinkest nipples he'd ever seen. He wasn't sure why, but he thought old woman nips would be nasty raisins, brown and wrinkled. These were suckably perfect, nipples the color and texture he'd seen on women his own age. He licked his lips as she sat with her hands on the bed, those enormous old titties splayed slightly out to either side, a big saggy but otherwise silky smooth.

"Well?" she said, kicking her feet playfully.

"Well..." he said.

"These aren't gonna suck themselves, kid," she snarled.

He froze. He wasn't sure of this. He was sure she was hot, as hot as a woman 48 years older than him could be, which he realized with a shiver was exactly his own grandmother's age who in a million years could never look as hot as this one. But still. He couldn't really decide what to do but then the decision got made for him in a flash of pain.

She shot out her right hand, slamming it up and into and around his balls. Gary's eyes went white and wide as his balls compressed in Mrs. Albert's grip, looking at him with a maniacal, determined look on her pretty, freckly face.

"Look kid, you don't know me but I think you figured out that I'm pretty dominant, I take what I want," she snarled. "And I want you. And I want you MY way, got it?"

"OW OW OW!" he yelped, watching her gnarly old hand as it worked his nuts, her freckly forearm dancing with sinew and tendon.

"You said you wanted to finish what we started, so guess what: You ARE gonna finish what YOU started! And I have some rules," she hissed, accentuating her statement with a vicious squeeze, almost lifting him off the floor of his shabby bedroom as she did, Gary fairly dancing on tip toes trying to alleviate her ball-busting pressure. "First, you'll do what I say, when I say, whatever I say. Second, see rule number one!"

"OK OK!" he wailed, in pain and not sure at all he liked the idea of being her sex toy.

"You're gonna start low and go high," she hissed, punching down with her bony fingers, making him scream again. "You got a tit thing, right? Well, I got a foot thing, I like 'em worshipped. So get down on your knees and pull off my boots and socks and worship 'em! Then you got my tits. You got that?"

"GOT IT GOT IT!" he yelp as she continued to squeeze his balls, the flesh oozing between her tight fingers.

She turned her wrist to look at the watch there, the twisting motion applying more pressure to Gary's nuts.

"We got an hour," she said, letting go, Gary staggering back, hands over his aching crotch, banging into the bedroom door, ajar and draped with more clothes in a ramshackle way. "Meeting my husband for an early dinner downtown."

He looked at her, mouth agape, rubbing his nuts.

"Husband?" he squeaked.

"Yeah, husband, he's 10 years older than me and his dick hasn't worked for that long or longer," she said, leaning back, her meaty boobs quivering out more to the sides. "He doesn't care if I fuck young guys, keeps me happy, so it's a wash. And fuck it, I wouldn't care even if he did."

"Jesus Christ, Mrs. Albert," Gary said, shaking his head. "You...you do this a lot?"

"Fuck young guys?" she laughed. "Just when I need to. And today, I need to. Now, you gonna stand there and talk about it or are you going to actually finish what you started last night?"

He looked confused, suddenly embraced by moral ambiguity, something he'd not had a problem with ever before. He'd fucked older women, some into their upper 40s and married, and that didn't bug him that much. But this one was married and SO much older, which for some reason didn't set quite right in his horny little mind. Plus there was the fact he knew her granddaughter, and even though he wasn't sure exactly what that had to do with anything, it was something, enough that made him hesitate now, even as she sat there, bare from the waist up, tits bobbling out to the sides of her freckled chest. Which looked fucking glorious.

She read his uncertainty.

"Oh, right, suddenly you have morals about fucking a married older woman when last night you tried to fuck her granddaughter?" she laughed, head back, that sexy wattle displayed again which Gary could not stop looking at.

"Yeah, that's right, she told me, she tells me everything, she said you flat out asked to fuck her."

"Well, yeah, but...that's...," he said weakly, standing up straight, hands leaving his crotch.

"Oh, oh, oh, different, that's different!" she roared. "Why, cause Betsy is a gorgeous young woman and I'm an haggard old lady?"

"NO!" he protested. "God, NO, Mrs. Albert, damn, you're old...older, but Jesus, you're beautiful! I know where Betsy gets her good looks!"

"A little late for charm, kid, but thanks," she laughed. "Now stop wasting time and kneel down, Gary, I need to cum."

She snapped her fingers and pointed to her dangling feet.

"Ah, what the hell," he groaned.

He knelt, tugging off her little boots, then wrinkling his nose at the scent of the black socks below.

"Yeah, they stink, get used to it," she sighed. "Take 'em off and get busy."

He obeyed, peeling her socks off, cupping the heels of her feet in his hands as she wiggled her toes in his face. The smell hit him like ripe cheese with a hint of vinegar, just a nasty overall foot funk. He'd sucked the feet of younger women and liked it only because they did. But now he realized he liked this a lot, as his cock throbbed to hardness, despite the ache still in his balls from her crushing hand.

'Fuck', he thought to himself, burying his face into those toes, sniffing, the stench acrid and sharp and inviting, making him realize he was adding feet to a list of preferred female body parts that until now just had 'Tits' on it.

"Lick 'em, bitch!" she snarled darkly, eyes half lidded as she watched him work, his tongue scraping up and down the soles of her old feet and into her toes, then his mouth closing over them, sucking. "Oooo, you learn fast! You a foot boy, huh? You a granny foot boy?"

"I...think...so..." he moaned, tongue washing over her long old toes.

"See if this helps," she laughed, nearly choking him as she stuffed a foot down his throat.

OK, so he was a foot boy, he realized, eyes rolling over in the sockets as his hands moved up under her jeans leg to cup her calves, amazed at the hardness of them, feeling the muscles flex, pushing against his fingers as they squeezed them. Her foot tasted worse than they smelled and he was shocked that he was loving the hell out of it.

"Get that tongue going up and down my soles, stud," she snarled.

He obeyed, running his long tongue up and down the wrinkled flesh with a hard, papery feel, digging into and worshipping every salty crevice of them. Her heels were calloused and rough and he sucked them moist as he worked her rugged old calves. He looked up her; she was moaning, head back, fingers on her own pink nips, twisting them. He ran his tongue up to her toes to suck them, working his tongue between each, grimacing at the grit there. But not stopping.

She reached down, pulling up her pant legs, exposing her rugged, thick, freckle-covered calves, and now Gary licked up her ankles, over the flexing tendons in them, lapping up the salty length of her shins. He spread them a bit, shuffling forward, tonguing the meat of her calves, marveling at the hardness. He sucked, lips wide over the flesh, letting it fill his mouth. She wiggled her feet, flexing those calves and he felt them dance in his mouth as his tongue caressed their steely feel.

"You love my calves, doncha! I got great legs, too, for an old lady, strong as shit...watch!" she hissed, suddenly and savagely wrapping them around his neck, squeezing, locking her feet behind his head, instantly cutting off the blood to his brain and rendering him dizzy, his extremities tingling as the blood left his hands and feet to rush to the site of the scissoring trauma. "I got some strong gams, kiddo, you fuck with me, you disappoint me, I WILL fucking knock you out in them!"

"Yesh...Mrsh...Albbberrt," he said in a drunken-seeming slur, hands falling to his sides as he fought unconsciousness.

She laughed and released her leg lock, dropping her feet to the floor. She leaned forward, those giant tits swinging into view. He dove at them but she caught his face in her hands, nailing him with a growling, open-mouthed kiss. He obliged, lancing that tongue inside, stabbing at and sucking hers, making her moan as he did.

"Damn, can't wait to get that lizard in me," she hissed, sucking it like a wet dick before popping free of his mouth and sitting up straight, hoisting her meaty melons in her hands. "Have at 'em boy!"

He did, hungrily, eagerly, frantically. He wanted them all, every inch, in his mouth. He sucked her thick left nipple first, drawing it into his lips, tongue lashing the long thick nubbin, and then sucking more flesh inside until he nearly had the entirety of it inside.

She growled, tilting her head back, that wattle wobbling into view above his eyes. He wanted it as well, but now contented himself with the feast of her old tits, slurping madly one to the other, tweaking in his fingers the nipple left behind.