Barebac Sex with Grandmother

Another on a grandmother theme – I seem to be on a roll (no pun).

Anyway, it's grandson/grandmother incest. I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is appreciated.

No more rambling from me. Here it is.

GA – Benissa, Spain – 12th November 2013. Prologue

She wondered if he was there, if he was out there on the patio beyond the big doors. It was where he'd been that other night, when he'd watched her with Marcus.

The gap between the long curtains that covered the glass panes of the double doors, the space purposely left there when she'd drawn them against the dark outside tugged her, constantly drew her eyes.

It was a struggle, but she refused to look that way. If she looked, so much as glanced, it would spoil her fun. Keeping her back towards the doors she eased the towelling robe from her shoulders. It pooled at her heels and she left it there, the pulse between her legs quickening.

Was he there? Could she feel the weight his stare? Was he out there staring at her bare shoulders, her spine and the curve of her waist? Was he out there in the dark, licking his lips while she paused and posed and allowed him time to appreciate her buttocks and legs?

Good legs, she'd always had good legs, fantastic legs.

And if he

was

there, did he realise this was all for his benefit?

She turned, moving slowly, deliberate, graceful. Let him see her breasts, those great breasts that she'd used as bait to snare Marcus It had been her tits that had him gibbering and slobbering and wall-eyed; his long cock rigid for her.

Give him, if he was out there watching, a good long look at her tits. They loved her breasts, the men, and she didn't mind showing them off, not at all, after all they'd cost enough. Several thousand, it would be criminal to keep such works of art all to herself.

When she faced the curtains and flaunted her nudity full-frontal she hefted her breasts in her palms, jiggling them while pulling a face that might suggest to anyone watching her own appreciation at their weight.

She teased her nipples with her fingers, areola tightening, tiny pimples forming on her aroused flesh.

God, but this was good. She felt so sexy doing this for him. A sigh and a soft mewl escaped from her.

Quickly, with the heat between her legs liquefying, hurried by anticipation, she settled her buttocks onto the sofa and lifted her feet from the floor.

She turned onto her side and leaned against one elbow. Resting on one hip she stretched the lower leg along the cushioned seat and bent the other leg at the knee, her thighs wide. The positioning of the settee had been well thought through, and she knew – if he was there – that he would be able to see all of her, would enjoy a clear sight-line to the molten place between her legs.

If she wanted to she could splay the lips of her sex with her fingers and expose it all.

And she wanted him to see. She wanted him to watch while she used the length of latex especially purchased for tonight's show against her body.

Let him stand out there in the dark, a furtive interloper spying on a lone woman.

"Wouldn't you rather be in here fucking me?" she muttered.

The dildo felt so thick in her fist.

She shrugged. "No matter. I'll make do with this."

The latex shaft slid between flaps of flesh already tacky with arousal. She winced and gasped when the knob-end bumped over her clit.

Words hissed out of her. "Your father couldn't get enough of this tight cunt." Fingers mauled at breast flesh. "He was mad for my tits and my pussy."

A pause, she couldn't resist it, had to cast a look at the gap in the curtains. Was he there, lurking outside?

"But you saw that, didn't you? You stood there and watched me suck his cock. And you told me that story about how shocked you were ... How fucking

upset

you were by it."

Her body squelched around the girth of that rubber shaft. She gasped again, head lolling while she groaned in pleasure.

The muttered litany continued: "...So fucking upset that you stayed and watched us fuck."

She moaned and winced and laid it all on for him, legs wide, face slack with that idiotic glazed-eyed expression, shoving the dildo deep.

"I hope you're there, watching this. I hope you're out there seeing me use this big fucker on my cunt."

And so it continued, this lewd exhibition Madeline put on for his sole benefit. It was all for Nate, her grandson. She hoped he was watching.

One

(Friday evening)

Rain and a flat tyre. He banged a fist, the writer's palm fleshy enough to absorb the impact, against the steering wheel.

"Fuck ... Fucking arseholes."

Another blow to the steering wheel and Nathaniel Johnson, Nate to everyone who knew him, cursed the weather. He peered through the windscreen of the BMW M3 but couldn't see a thing, not with the sheet of water cascading over the glass. He sighed and listened to bullets of rain bouncing off the roof with a hollow ponking sound.

Nate had limited options. He could call the AA and get the tyre changed – the downside being how long it might take for a patrol to arrive. He could change the tyre himself – but that would mean arriving at the party filthy and piss-wet through.

Neither scenario held much appeal.

Another option was to leave the car where it was, in a safe enough area, affluent – not as much money as the street Nate lived in, but well-to-do enough that a smart beemer parked at the kerb would survive the night unmolested. Nate could leave the car, hurry back a couple of streets to home, dry off and change clothes and then beg to borrow his grandmother's car.

Which is how, on a Friday night, with rain banging down, Nate found himself passing by the big French windows of the bungalow at the bottom of the garden, the large building the family jokingly referred to as 'the granny flat'.

He carried with him a change of clothes, which were protected from the downpour by a suit-carrier and by virtue of the thick canopy of foliage overhead, the avenue of trees providing some, albeit slightly leaky, cover. Nate made his way from the big house, from where he'd collected the clothes, and hurried through the avenue, keen to get into his grandmother's home. Okay, he'd be a little late for the party, but Nate hoped to shower, change into dry clothes, borrow the car and get on with his Friday night.

He certainly didn't expect to see what he did as he skirted the patio on route to the front door.

**

Marcus Johnson gulped and then swallowed heavily as he watched Madeline's crossed wrists, her fingers lifting the hem of her sweater.

His mother-in-law paused and smirked with a slit-eyed expression of feline calculation.

She might be fifty-seven but the woman had it all going on, she was still desirable ... hell, she was more than desirable, Madeline was gorgeous. She was like a drug to him, all of her: the whisky voice, her face, her white-blonde hair and wonderful body. Marcus was hooked, craved Madeline's legs, her breasts ... Oh, how he yearned for those tits.

Marcus blinked when his mother-in-law paused. She held the hem of the sweater just below the weighty orbs he so desperately wanted to see.

Madeline sighed. "You're a naughty boy," she teased. She chuckled and shook her head, a rueful pout beneath eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I like naughty boys, don't I Marcus?"

The sweater came up, covering Madeline's face while Marcus stared at her exposed breasts, big tits that swung heavily as she carefully stretched the neck of the garment over her hair.

"Madeline," Marcus croaked.

Jealousy spiked in his chest, the corrosive emotion tightening his jaw when Madeline, with the sweater limp in her hand, chuckled and said, "You boys just can't get enough of my boobs."

He didn't appreciate references to other men. Marcus wanted his mother-in-law to himself.

Tendrils of blonde stroked her temples, delicate strands that had fallen loose from the bundle of her hair clasped high on her head, displaced when the sweater had come off.

"All the time, every day it's men staring at my tits, she added." Madeline chuckled again, smirking and dropping an eyelid to her cheek, a heavy, lascivious wink loaded with suggestion. "Not that I mind of course." She hefted the weight of her breasts in her palms, the balls of her thumbs on her nipples. "It gives me a thrill to know that they want me. I can tell by looking at them that they're thinking dirty thoughts." Madeline took a step towards her son-in-law. "Just like I can look at you, Marcus, and know you're thinking about all the things we do together. Like right now, I can tell you're dying to touch me. You want to feel my tits, don't you? You want to fuck me with that lovely cock of yours, don't you, Marcus?"

Marcus could only nod and run his tongue over dry lips. He stared at his mother-in-law, his erection hard-pressed inside his suit trousers.

"You're a naughty boy, Madeline breathed."

By then she was in front of him, her lips close to his ear, her cheek touching his.

"Did you think of me today, Marcus?" Her fingers were at the zip of his flies. Her hand was inside his trousers. "Did you think of me and want me? Did you pause during the day and think of me touching your cock?"

This was one of Madeline's games. She would tease him, taunting him with her body and her words until he thought he would explode. She aroused within him almost uncontrollable urges, the need and desire imperative. Madeline always seemed to know just how far to push him. She pushed and cajoled, sometimes phoning him during the day when he was supposed to be concentrating on the empire that earned him millions, goading him into stroking his cock, but never allowing him the release his body craved.

There were other games, the flaunting of her deep cleavage, the flashes of flesh as she went without underwear and lifted her skirt for him.

It kept him wild with wanting and Madeline amused.

She had him in her fist, slowly caressing his length.

Madeline purred approval while she stroked him. "You're hard for me tonight, Marcus."

He groaned when she squeezed.

"Big and stiff," she added, stepping back a pace, her fingers tight around the girth of his rigid cock. She glanced down and then smiled up into his face. "Shall I suck it?" Releasing the erect penis, Madeline cupped her breasts and squeezed them together. "Would you like a little tit-wank and a suck?"

The breath hissed through his nose. "Jesus, Madeline..."

A laugh burst out of her. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her skirt and, seconds later, stood naked in front of him, nude except for the shoes.

She kept the heels on because she knew he liked it.

Then she was reaching for his cock as she went to her knees. "Let me suck you, just for a few moments. Then we can fuck."

Marcus moaned when her lips closed over the domed cock-head, his fingers pushing into his mother-in-law's hair.

Two

(Sunday night)

Sunday night – he managed to keep it under control until then.

During the downpour the previous Friday, Nate had stumbled away from his grandmother's bungalow, the sound of his footsteps and the rasping of his breath masked by the deluge. He staggered along the avenue of trees towards the big house, mindless, numbed by disbelief.

What he'd seen couldn't be true. It was inconceivable. His brain refused to accept his father and his mother's mother doing that together. Nate's mind rejected what his eyes had witnessed.

He kept it bottled until the early hours, the transition between Sunday night and Monday morning.

Nate's stomach griped with anxiety when he found the key under the flower pot and slid it into the mortise. His hands shook, his knees felt weak and he was sure he was about to chuck up all of the poison that had churned around inside all that weekend.

How many times had he opened his mouth to confront his father since Friday night? He'd thought about telling his mother, held his mobile phone in his hand and contemplated calling her. He'd balked at that when he thought about her, miles away across an ocean, on another continent. How could he tell her what he'd seen? What words were there that he could use?

It took Nate that long to make some kind of sense of it all, and in the end he decided there was only one person he could confront.

In the dark, like a thief, Nate let himself into her bungalow and turned on the kitchen light.

He waited, listened. Nothing.

Nate walked out of the kitchen into the long hall. He glanced left towards the living room where he'd seen them together, the room at the end of the bungalow. Turning right, Nate moved quietly. He went past the door to the second bedroom, carrying on to the end of the corridor.

He sucked in a deep breath and knocked.

"Gran," he said. "It's me, Nate. I need to talk to you."

Her voice reached him, obviously disorientated, expected given the hour.

"What?" Madeline mumbled from within. "Nate? What?"

Anger burned inside him, a hot flare in the pit of his stomach. "In the kitchen, Gran," he said, his tone commanding. Nate sucked a deep breath in through his nose. "I want to talk to you."

She appeared in a dressing gown. It wasn't the robe he'd seen her wearing on the Friday night. This time Madeline was bundled inside the fluffy embrace of a pale yellow dressing gown.

"Nate," she began. "It's the middle of the night."

Nate noticed his grandmother had taken the time to run a brush through her hair. She still managed to appear cool and glamorous despite his untimely visit.

Madeline's expression altered, changing from mild confusion to alarm.

"Oh," she blurted. "It isn't anything to do with Helen is it? Please, Nate, tell me. Is it your mother? Is anything wrong? Is it anything to do with Helen ... or Sarah?"

He wanted to fling the accusation at her, to shout at her and say yes, it was to do with Helen, his mother. He was there, in her kitchen, in the middle of the fucking night because she, his grandmother, had betrayed Nate's mother, her daughter, in just about the foulest way he could imagine.

Nate answered, words pressed between gritted teeth. "It's nothing to do with mum. It's nothing to do with Aunt Sarah. Nothing's wrong in America. My mother's fine."

He heard his grandmother's irritation. "Then what the hell is it, Nate? What the hell are you doing here at this time of night? What is it that's so important?"

He sneered with indignation and attacked. "You want to know? You want to know why I'm here in the middle of the night? I'll tell you."

Madeline shook her head. With haughty indignation, she said, "Well, I wish you would. I don't take kindly to being--"

"Friday night," Nate interrupted. "I saw you on Friday night."

He saw her blink, caught the slackening of her face as her mouth dropped open.

The surprise was there, just for a moment before his grandmother recovered her composure.

"Friday night?" Madeline blustered. "What, Nate, what did you see?"

His arms flapped at his sides, hesitating now the time had come.

"You and my dad. That's what I saw, Gran. The two of you." His arm came up and he pointed an accusing forefinger in the direction of the living room. "In there," he finished.

To his surprise, to his mind-boggling disbelief his grandmother shrugged.

"What did you see, Nate?" she asked, blasé, not a care. "What was it you think you saw?"

Nate's mouth worked, opening and closing with sentences half-formed. How could she deny it?

"You," he eventually gurgled. "Naked ... On your knees in front of dad."

"Oh ... That."

"Yes, Gran, 'That'. I saw you with him ... You were..."

He couldn't say it.

His grandmother sighed. "I recall what I was doing, Nate."

Madeline took two steps to the kitchen table and slumped onto one of the six wooden chairs arranged around it.

Nate pulled another chair from beneath the table and sat down, his eyes level with his grandmother's face as she avoided looking at him.

He glared at her, and her evasion lanced the carbuncle of resentment that had festered since Friday night.

"Oh, so you recall being down on your knees in front of my father? Do you recall what you were doing with your hand and your mouth, Gran?"

The pain and reaction to the shocking scene he'd witnessed poured out of Nate. He wanted his grandmother to hurt, to realise the enormity of her crime. He wanted to make sure she would stay away from his father. Her betrayal of her own daughter could never happen again.

"And then, with my mum, your own fucking

daughter

out of the country, what happened next, Gran? Do you recall?"

His grandmother nodded.

And Nate was off again, spitting mad.

"You stood up, Gran. I watched you. I couldn't believe it. I mean, my father and my grandmother ... How could you two do it to her? How could you let it happen, Gran? What were you thinking?"

Nate sucked in air, his heart hammered.

He was disgusted with her. However, no matter how much revulsion he felt, Nate couldn't quite hate his grandmother. It was more complex than that: a surge of foul feelings, a slurry pit of emotion. But those feelings were all new, and Nate hadn't had time enough for hate to develop.

"You stood up and walked away from him. He was standing there with his ... his...

"You left him standing there," Nate continued, after a pause. "You walked to the wall and put your hands against it and just ... You just

offered

yourself, Gran."

Her voice was low. "You watched it, Nate? You stayed and watched everything?"

The silence that followed his grandmother's murmur eventually dragged Nate's eyes from the table. He looked at her and then swallowed.

Nate nodded. "I saw everything, Gran."

He heard his grandmother's sigh and the sound of the chair being pushed back along the floor. He watched her rise to her feet.

Her smirk confused him.

"So, what is it you want, Nate? Why have you come to me in the middle of the night to tell me this? Why me, why not confront your father?"

"I thought I could make you see what it is you've done, make you see what you've both done to my mother. I thought that if I could get through to you, you'd stop. Can't you think about mum? Come on, Gran, she's your daughter ... You can't do what you did with your daughter's husband. I thought if I could get you to stop, to tell my dad it can never happen again, I thought he'd never have to know I caught you both. My mother wouldn't find out. She wouldn't be hurt." Nate shrugged and implored his grandmother with his eyes. "I can't face my dad, Gran. It's hard enough to look at him as it is, and if he realised I know there'd be an atmosphere that mum would be bound to pick up on. Then she'd ask what's wrong. And ... and..."

His grandmother shrugged, offhand as though it was of no importance. "All right," she said.

Nate blinked – Was it that easy?

"All right?" he asked, wrong-footed by her easy capitulation.

A snort of impatience and a snapped response. "Yes, Nate. All right. I'll end it. Done. Finished."

Relieved – "Oh, Gran ... That's good." The breath hissed out of him, a sigh of relief.

He was nodding, feeling generous towards his grandmother. Nate's mind was already working towards playing down the scene, diminishing the encounter he'd witnessed. He could get over it, put it in a box and compartmentalise.

Her sharp tone cut his internal reverie short.

"What puzzles me, Nate..."

Her stare confronted him, and Nate shifted against the seat under its weight.

"...What I don't quite understand is why you stayed out there so long."

His grandmother stroked her chin, and then tapped it with a forefinger while she pretended to ponder the question.

"I can't be sure," she added with a smirk, "but I think I must have been sucking your father's cock for a couple of minutes."