Gramma Torrie

Roger's Story

Once again I didn't truly sleep. It was more dozing, and when I felt her stirring I came fully awake. I felt her roll onto her back and then the subtle little movements as her hand moved between her legs. I waited until I felt the little vibrations that told me her fingers were busy. It was a very light movement, but it was enough.

When I heard her breath catch I covered her hand with mine, chuckling a little at her sharp little scream of surprise.

"Push," I said, my hand covering hers, "let me tell you, and show you, how much I love you and how beautiful I think you are."

"Roger," she said, her voice weak and breathless.

"Shhhhh," I shushed her, "push now."

Her eyes were on mine as she took a deep breath and then I felt her bear down. I was covering her hand as that beautiful woman's core slowly emerged into the light. We held it, together, while I told her I loved her.

And once again I was surprised that I meant it.

She was crying softly, but I knew it wasn't from any pain or hurt. She was crying, as the saying goes, tears of joy. And in her happiness, she was oddly young. Her eyes were red and swollen and her nose was running, thin lines of silvery saliva connected her lips. But the way she was swollen up also smoothed the lines in her face and I could see, very clearly, the gorgeous 18-year-old bride she had once been.

I kissed tears, tasting salt, and kissed her lips, feeling them snotty and slick. They were very good kisses as I told her I loved her and very gently massaged her core, shared between our two hands.

On some level, this was an intimacy, a sharing of love, beyond any sex. When I would squeeze, very gently, where I held her core in my hand, she would respond with a squeeze on the opposite side. She was wet and warm and very firm as we played with her womb, the same age as she had been when puberty quickened her femaleness.

I moved around, moving slowly, carefully holding her womb, not wanting it to slip back inside, until my knees were between hers.

I moved her hands around until they were under that beautiful pear-shaped pink core until she was holding it by herself.

"Offer yourself for my kiss," I said softly and watched as she lifted it.

Her cervix, that tiny mouth that guarded her core, was swollen with her thick, white nectar hanging in a thick rope from it like it was drooling.

When she squeezed gently, her cervix opened, like lips ready for a kiss. I'm not sure I have ever seen anything more intimate than that.

I wanted to taste her so I bent slowly, my tongue catching it. It was salty and oily and different from her lubricant.

I was addicted instantly.

I opened my mouth and covered the end of her uterus, sucking gently, my tongue probing very gently, feeling almost drunk on her taste and the heady scent of her arousal. I could feel as she began massaging, her cervix acting like a hungry mouth, and I damn near came from the pure intimacy and excitement of what we were doing.

I sucked gently, that special thick taste like nothing I had ever experienced. I couldn't get enough. Nor, it seemed, could she. Her fingers were working harder, almost milking herself into my mouth.

When she came it was absolutely spectacular. I had never felt a woman's body so completely involved in her orgasm. She sprayed, hot, thin, clear nectar and that went on too. It felt like I was in a shower as she sprayed my face, soaked my hair, and that thicker, hot, sticky honey from her cervix kept flowing, filling my mouth as I drank her ecstasy greedily. My hands on her hips felt her tension, almost like every muscle was cramped, not just tense, RIGID. And when my hands moved up, feeling her belly and finding her arms, EVERY muscle was the same. And still, she kept cumming.

I have no idea how long that went on. I was lost, My mouth was latched on, my tongue probing her cervix, and her uterus, like the rest of her, was so hard it felt cramped.

She was making a soft sound. I had read the word "keening" before to describe the sound a wounded animal made, and that word came to mind as I sucked and her body responded.

That sound stopped as she ran out of air, and I felt her body trembling.

Suddenly she giggled softly and gasped in a huge breath, sort of groaning as she did so, sounding like a woman finally breaking the surface after nearly drowning.

And she relaxed.

I chuckled as I released her from my mouth and leaned up to look at her. I wanted to make sure she was still awake. Hell, I wanted to make sure she was still breathing. Her relaxation was perfect.

Her eyes were open and she was smiling.

"You're beautiful," I said, "I love you."

She just smiled up at me and there was that teenage bride again.

Her womb hadn't retreated, maybe those supporting muscles were too relaxed to do that, so I bent and cradled it in my hands and kissed it. Like the rest of her, it was completely relaxed, and when I lifted it drooped over the end of my hand. I kissed it again before moving up to lay beside her, my hand still holding her womb while my lips found hers.

We said, "I love you," back and forth a few times and then I heard that very soft snore of her drifting off to sleep.

I laid like that for a while, inhaling the soft scent of her hair and her breath and her skin along with the residual scents of her sex, holding her womb like the precious gift it is.

I guess I drifted off too, because I woke later. It was funny, but the first thing I was aware of was that my hand was empty, her womb had retreated back inside.

I felt an instant of regret at that but smiled at myself, thinking "Christ, Roger, don't be greedy."

She was deeply asleep, snoring softly, her mouth open a little, a thin line of drool running out of the corner of her mouth to make a little puddle under he cheek. I controlled my urge to taste it, letting her sleep.

Looking at her, I was aware of the difference in our ages as I hadn't been before. When she was so completely relaxed, there was none of the fullness of arousal or swollen membranes to smooth the lines and wrinkles of her face. Her eyes and mouth were both surrounded by tiny wrinkles, that wattle under her chin dangled, the coarse hair in her ears showed up somehow, and the general sagginess of all of her skin was on display.

She was even more beautiful than when arousal hid the years.

I whispered, "I love you," very softly, feeling a little silly since I knew she couldn't hear me, and then very slowly rolled out of bed.

I padded down the hall to the other bathroom, peed, washed my hands, and went in search of breakfast makings. I had burned a LOT of energy and I was starved.

I started coffee in her Pyrex pot, fascinated as the water started boiling and popping up through the glass tube to splash onto the basked of coffee grounds and then drop down, those first drops slowly diffusing throughout the clear water in the bottom of the pot. While that was going on I hunted and found a mixing bowl, frying pan, plates, and silverware. I took the time to set the table, well, to put knives and forks on paper towel napkins at either side of the dining room table, broke six eggs into a bowl, added a splash of milk, and started whipping them with a fork until they achieved the proper color - buttercup yellow - just like my great grandmother taught me. I put two slices of bread into the toaster but didn't push down the little lever, laid out a half dozen slices of bacon, poured two cups of coffee, and turned to go wake her and let out a little yell.

She was standing in the doorway looking, I might add, extremely fetching.

Her hair was a mess, flyaway, the perfect opposite of her normally perfectly maintained coiffe. She hadn't put on any makeup, I was glad to see. She stood, evidently comfortable in her nudity, watching me. She had to be aware of the thick leakage down her thighs, but she made no move to stop it.

"Well," she said, smiling, "at least you didn't run screaming from the room seeing me in all my glory."

I laughed and closed the distance between us, kissed her, arched my back so my not-quite-erection pressed against her, and said, "the only way I'm leaving is if you use dynamite. I told you, and I meant it. Now sit."

I pulled out a chair and seated her as a gentleman should.

"So tell me," I said, between bites, "do you know how beautiful you are."

She giggled.

"You know," she said, carefully wiping her lips, "when you say that, in that moment, I can believe you."

"Good," I said.

"I could get used to this," she said.

"Good," I said again.

When she smiled like that, the years sloughed off like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.

We finished breakfast and then did the dishes, me washing, her drying and putting away, me observing for future reference.

Dishes done she looked at me in the sidelong way only someone without a Y chromosome can pull off, head tilted a little, eyelids at half-mast, lips parted in a smile.

"And now?" she asked, doing a pretty good Barbary Stanwyck imitation.

I stepped close and embraced her, my lips covering hers, my hands covering every square inch of her back from her neck to her ass.

"I think," I said, breathing the words directly into her ear, "today is a Torrie Day."

"Oh?" she said, the question mark clear in her voice.

"Think of it as a spa day," I said, and kissed her again, a slow, lingering kiss, "with benefits," I added after breaking the kiss.

I scooped her up, left arm under her knees, right across her shoulders, and carried her into the bathroom.

I had her wait while I prepared her a bubble bath, about as hot as I thought she could stand it.

I left her to soak while I gathered the things I would use later.

When everything was ready I went back and bathed her. I took my time, doing her face first, then her hair, and finally her body, taking my time, being thorough. She giggled as I found ticklish spots and squirmed when I did pussy and ass. Her nipples were hard as I scrubbed them, making her giggle some more.

When she was nice and clean I dried her, just as thoroughly, and then carried her into the front room where a small wash tub was full of steaming water with Epsom Salts in it. I had her sit, with her feet in the tub.

"You are gorgeous," I said, "but I absolutely HAVE to do something about these talons."

I stood, smiling. I wanted to show her my interest.

"See anything you like?" I asked.

She giggled and crooked her finger, beckoning me, so I closed the distance between us, my erection demonstrating my desire.

She started playing with my cock, lifting my balls, and smiling up at me.

"I want you in my mouth," she said, looking up at me with the rawest desire in her eyes.

"You don't have to do that," I said, smiling, mimicking what she had said the day before.

"I'll stop if you tell me to," she said.

I didn't, of course. I watched as she opened her mouth, hesitated at the last instant, but then took me.

She wasn't very good, but I stroked her hair and said, "oh yes."

But this was a Torrie Day, so I entwined my fingers in her hair, holding her, and slowly pulled myself free of her mouth.

"But I want to," she said, looking up at me, a hurt look in her eyes.

"You'll have what you want," I said, "but there's no hurry, I'm here for the long haul Torrie," and then I bent and kissed her again.

I turned on the television, her Fox News on and something called Fox and Friends playing. I wasn't paying much attention. I was focused on her feet.

Her beautiful, long, narrow feet with their long toes, the joints a bit knobby with her arthritis. And her nails, thick and yellow and horny, in desperate need of attention. So I gave them what they needed. I started with a diamond file, reducing the thickness and shaping the nails, especially that big toe, where apparently the toenail fungus had thickened it even more than normal on a woman of her age. I did her bunions with the callus tool, something looking for all the world like a tiny cheese grater. I was very careful because where the skin is that thick the nerve endings don't send clear signals and I didn't want to go too deep. I followed with the corns on her little toes and next toes, carefully abrading away the hard material. Her heel calluses were next.

When I had everything shaped I got out the cotton balls, separated her toes, and painted them with the reddest polish she had, making a mental note to get some REALLY red polish for future use.

Finished, I smiled at her.

"Now," she asked, reaching for my crotch.

I laughed and said, "Jesus, I've created an insatiable wench."

Her grin was almost feral but I kissed it away as I crawled up onto the couch and laid my head in her lap.

"But you're not messing up my work," I said as I latched onto her nipple and started nursing like a hungry baby.

I could feel it getting to her. Her fingers were stroking my hair and her eyes were closed as she hummed a soft lullaby.

As I nursed I heard the rhythm of her breathing change and then the womanscent of her arousal filled my nose.

I was surprised when I felt the sudden tension and heard the soft keening sound of her orgasm.

I kept nursing.

And she kept saying, "I love you," over and over.

It was a good morning.