Mrs. Crotchy's Daughter

"You vile young pervert! How could you do that to my own mother? Week after week. You're shameless!"

Here I sat in front of Mrs. Crotchy's daughter, receiving the tongue-lashing of my young life---all for something that gave her mother (and me) such pleasure.

As I was finishing up high school, I did more and more odd jobs for some of the nicer old ladies in the neighborhood. Mrs. Crotchy was the nicest. About 66 years old, a widow, with soft silver-gray medium length hair and pale blue eyes. She always had her surprisingly full lips formed into a smile or a sexy O, depending on her mood. While she would usually be referred to as petite, her breasts were decidedly on the full side.

After taking care of a few things around her house, she rewarded me with more than money. At first, what one would expect: cookies, pies, sandwiches. Then one day, after all the work was done and all the treats eaten, she brought out a small cardboard box and placed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Randy", she said(since that was my name), come over and sit down here. It'll be easier to see what I've got for you."

"After my husband died, I didn't have the heart to throw these out. He loved them so. So, since you are of age now and full of life, I thought maybe you would like to have a look at them."

"What are they, Mrs. Crotchy?"

"Some old magazines, men's magazines, glamour magazines, nudies. I hope you don't go telling anyone that I've given them to you."

With that my mouth went dry and my cock went up. The idea of this sweet old woman talking like that and wanting to do that for me!

Carefully opening up the flaps, I looked down and saw the first of the glossy, colorful females smiling at me from the cover of a long-out-of-print porn rag from the '50s. Under that, another, then another. I looked at her and saw her encouraging smile and blush on her cheeks, and started to take them out.

"I don't know what to say, Mrs. Crotchy," I choked out.

"You don't have to say anything, Randy. These never failed to turn on the mister, and I hope they turn you on, too."

"Th-thank you."

"You do like being turned on, don't you Randy? I know most young men do."

"Yes. But I just can't accept these. I don't know how I'd sneak these into my house. And if I did, I'd hate for my folks to catch me with them. How would I ever explain..."

"Oh, dear. I never thought of that. Maybe you could just look at them while you're here. I can make myself scarce and let you have some privacy. How would that be?"

How much privacy? I wondered. But I said, "That would be great, Mrs. Crotchy."

"Alright, then I'll just leave you be...with all these lovelies." Saying that with a smile on her face, she turned and adjusted the cutains to give me more light, then sort of sashayed out of the room.

So there I sat, with a boxful of beauties to ogle to my heart's content and to my cock's pleasure. I took the rest out of the secret vault they had laid in for years and arranged them on the cleared coffee table. My heart and head and hardon throbed with the excitement of it all. The best turn-ons are the unexpected ones and this clearly fit that description.

An hour later, after having made myself comfy and getting the lighting just right, I finished the first of my new treasure trove. It was visual viagra at it's best. Then she came back and asked in a soft voice if she could bother me for a second. Pulling my eyes from the biggest bosom I'd ever seen, I turned towards her to see her smiling indulgently but a bit regretfully.

"Now I don't mind your staying here a bit longer, but your parents might be getting worried. Maybe you should finish up there for tonight and come again some other time. What do you say?

"I guess you're right, Mrs. Crotchy." I relunctantly started putting the magazines back in the "closet" that they came from. Then getting up to go, felt a pull in the front of my pants. Damn! I'd gotten so used to having a woody that it never occurred to me to hide it. Certainly the women I'd been looking at for the last hour didn't mind.

"Oh my, you really did enjoy them, didn't you? I'm glad to see they've done somebody some good."

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry Mrs. Crotchy." As I turned to hide the bulge and tried to do something about it.

With a big smile, sparkling eyes, and cheeks red as rouge, Mrs. Crotchy assured me that she didn't mind a bit, that she actually enjoyed seeing a young man in that state, but that I shouldn't go home in that condition. "Better sit on the front porch for a while and think of something 'less arousing'."

"Yes, thank you. Uh, when do you want me to come back?", I could barely manage to get out.

"Oh, tomorrow would be fine. Yes, come tomorrow," she said, a little dreamily, I thought.

So I did. But the peculiar thing was, she didn't have any work for me to do. After some small talk over milk and cookies, she mentioned the magazines and if I wanted to look at them again. Of course, I agreed, a bit too eagerly. So she brought out the box from it's secret hiding place and put it down on the coffee table. I was stiff with anticipation and couldn't walk the short distance from the kitchen to the living room without revealing my huge hardon. I hid it behind the back of a large upholstered chair while she adjusted the curtains and shades for more natural lighting.

Turning around and seeing where I was and where that box of forbidden pleasures was, she smiled and told me that she would leave me be for a while. This time, I ogled for two hours(since none of my time was taken up by work). This time, after quietly breaking my spell, she escorted me out to the now dark porch, linking my arm and rubbing against my side, and looking down at the front of my shorts. She sat with me for a while and explained that women who like men enjoy it when men they like are turned on, so she enjoys having me over to look at her husband's old magazines. Then she turned to less exciting topics to allow my member to get back to normal before walking home.

Over the next week, the pattern continued, but with me spending more and more time looking at the abundance of beauties that old Mr. Crotchy had enjoyed seeing so many years ago. I certainly enjoyed looking at them, too, but I didn't have the outlet that he had. I realized now that after he got his kicks reading an issue or two, he could relieve his aching balls by turning to his wife...the then young, pretty Mrs. Crotchy. I, on the other hand(so to speak) went home to a house full of kids and other people(this being summer and all). And before I got there, I was increasingly being stroked, caressed, touched, and fondled by an increasingly suggestive and flirtatious Mrs. Crotchy. And one who became less conservative about her dress as the humid summer heat dragged on.

Things finally came to a head(so to speak) when, after reading five magazines over three and a half hours, Mrs. Crotchy helped me up from the sofa, looked into my eyes, told me how sweet I was and gave me a hug as I looked down into her pretty cleavage under a see-through blouse. My stiffy spewed its cream into the front of my thin running shorts as I tried to get away and hide my embarrassment. As she felt the fluid eruption wet her belly, her mouth formed a big sexy O, and said, "OH!" at the same time. She was so good about my losing it. Assured me that it was alright and perfectly understandable and that she was sorry that she hadn't done more to help me sooner. Hearing her talk that way put more life into my soggy sausage even as it was losing the last of it's load.

She helped me off with my clothes, shushing my protests of modesty, and washed them...then me!

As her soft, warm, soapy washcloth swirled around my crotch, she told me how much whe missed the pleasures of a young man and had neglected my needs. She would never let me 'down' again.

And she never did. The next time I came over, she was dressed in her sheerest lingerie, treated me to one cookie while she sloppily drank a carton of milk, escorted me over to the couch where the magazines were already laid out, and left me alone to ogle the naked women...for all of 10 minutes. Returning, she got down beside me and asked if I needed relief yet, since she surely didn't want another episode like last time. She explained that it was actually bad for young men to ejaculate in their pants and that she wouldn't let it happen if she could help it. And she did help it, by using her mouth(after taking out her false teeth). So I finally experienced a blowjob, and from someone who knew how to do it and how to enjoy it.

The next time I came over, she claimed to have misplaced the magazines, but so as not to leave me frustrated, gave me great head anyway. I didn't complain. As time went on, I came over to her place several times a day, and I came...

I also went from a 18-year-old almost virgin, to a young man happily pumping the soft, warm, willing mouth of an experienced womam two or three times a day. Then her daughter found out.

I never learned how. But I found out she did because she, rather than her mother, was waiting for me one day.

So here I sat, with my thinnest, loosest summer shorts on, rapidly collapsing pole under the tent, listening to this 40-something female rag on me for doing the dirty with her old lady.

I came, expecting to lower my shorts and sticking that tent pole into the loving, toothless mouth of a smiling, nude Mrs. Crotchy. Instead, I watched as this matronly, clothed women went on and on about how I had taken advantage of her saintly mother in the worst way.

"You young studs are all the same, thinking your mouth meat is god's gift to women!"

What did she say? Is she crazy?

"You guys just think you can stick you sperm-spewing, cream sticks into every hole you come to. I don't care how big and bloated your balls are, you can't just go around and release your jism into every feminine orifice you find available. We're not a bunch of gob-guzzling gals like those in your filthy fantasies. Our breasts aren't here just to form cock-caressing cleavages for your tit-fucks."

As she went on(and on) I couldn't help but notice a few things. One(or should that be two), even through her old-fashioned frumpy housedress, I could make out that she had big boobs. And that her calves were full, with a hint that her thighs and hips were, too.

Her auburn hair had a longish style that looked sort of '50s-ish. Her eyebrows were full but neatly plucked over large green eyes with some shading and liner. But mostly I noticed her lips...full and puffy and, at the moment, vey animated. Miss Crotchy(never married and a virgin to boot) was actually, to me, a rather attractive woman.

In spite of the lambasting(or because of it), the ol' tent pole was pushing the tent back up into place. As her harangue continued and her descriptions of my wicked equipment continued, her eyes took on a wilder look while her face became more flushed and her lips bigger and fuller. Beads of sweat started to appear on her forehead as she worked herself into an increasingly agitated state. And perhaps it was all because of where her eyes were trained. Now, not only were my shorts pushed out, they were getting wet. Having gone almost a whole day without a hole to cum into, and expecting relief almost as soon as I came in the door, my woody hadn't just grown, it'd started to leak!

"We have a right to the sanctity of our own mouths, for heaven's sake. No matter how many hours it's been since your last eruption, you can't just push you dick through our lips to explode again, and again! Our mouths aren't reservoirs for your joy juice! They were't made just to suck on large slippery penises all day, everyday!"

I was actually getting worried about her. She seemed to be going over the edge. I got up to put my hand on her shoulder, regardless of my condition. As I got closer and my wet spot grew larger, her eyes never left their target. When I got to her, I did put my hands on her shoulders, and tried to say something to simmer her down. But it wasn't necessary. Now that I was standing in front of her, as she sat on the couch, my bloated bulge was staring her in the face...her very womanly, very flushed, very warm face. Woody felt the warmth and responded as her mouth opened in wonder and awe. The tent pole shuddered and the wet spot grew and her tongue reached out.

It turned out to be the best tongue-lashing I'd ever received in my life.