The Poppa of Evenings

I finally broke my writer's block. I hope this story doesn't offend anyone. If it does, just delete it okay. I guess when my muse came back it brought some debauchery with it. Hope everyone is doing okay. I am glad summer is almost over. I hope fall is kinder to my muse. Anyway here goes: Poppa the Evening!

Melanie and I got home around the same time Sunday night. I had been over at the Holiday Inn lounge, killing some time on a lazy Sunday evening. Melanie had a date with her newest boyfriend. I sat listening to the vanilla details, wondering just how many times the poor guy had to take her to dinner before she gave him dessert.

We had been roommates for about 6 months now. We had shared our views on abortion, having sex while on our periods, compared douche brands, yet we had yet to share the dirty details of our intimate adventures.

It was late and I should have been in bed, dreaming of a hard cock, which reminds me of my evening. Should I share it with her? It involved me getting stood up by my girlfriend and sitting in the Holiday Inn Lounge all by my lonesome until a handsome elderly guy came in, sitting 2 seats away. I guessed his age to be around 55. But he was in fact, 68.

He made small talk with me about some the tough guys who were playing pool in the corner. They were arguing, smoking cigars and showing their cracks when they bent over the table. I made a remark that I wish I had flowers to stick down the cracks. That comment made him laugh, and encouraged him to move closer. The bar keep was too busy flirting with some chicks to notice us.

His name was Walter, a New Hampshire insurance salesman who was traveling down to Florida. He was the catch of the bar for the moment. I was in a flirty mood, letting my skirt ride up my leg and leaning over so he could catch a glimpse of ripe cleavage.

He asked my age. I told him 40. If he had been younger I would have trimmed a few years off my age. He told me he had a granddaughter 5 years my junior. I made a joke about never having a Granddad who looked as handsome as he did. He replied that he wished he had a Granddaughter as hot as I was. I leaned over, whispering in his ear, why couldn't he? I raised an eyebrow, to make the point. He looked shocked, and then excited. He asked if he really could. I grinned, saying that Granddaddy sure could.

After my insinuation, he slipped even closer. He asked if I wanted to go upstairs to his room to watch TV. We slipped out very quietly. When we got to his room he asked if I had been a good girl. I smiled, saying that I had been and was Granddaddy going to reward me. He said yes, pulling out his cock, telling me to suck it like a lollipop.

His dick was long and semi-hard. I wondered if it would get harder without Viagra. He moaned when I licked the head. I felt it jump under my tongue. He started moaning the name Amanda. With a flash of insight, I realized that it was his Granddaughter's name. I paused for a moment, asking him what did his she call him. He looked puzzled for a moment. I guess the low blood supply did not help his thinking. He said that she called him Poppa.

I smiled coyly and told Poppa to take his pants off, so I could suck his cock all the way down. He inhaled sharply. I noted his trembling hands, and figured I had hit the spot in his kinky twisted fantasy. I had him sit on the end of the bed , so I could kneel between his legs. His cock was rock hard. I could have bounced a quarter off it. I sucked in down, deep throating it while making slurpy slutty sounds. I kept calling him Poppa. He called me Amanda.

I began Amanda for him. I stood up, to do a strip tease, telling Poppa to stroke his cock for his favorite Granddaughter. He absorbed me with lust in his eyes. I saw him slow down his stroking a few times.

He laid back and I crawled over his face. I asked when was the last time that he had eaten some hot cunt. He didn't answer, as I lowered my wet pussy over his eager mouth. He started slurping up my juices as I lowered my mouth back over his cock. He ate me as if it were his last meal. I came several times, screaming out Poppa. It made him eat me faster. I kept calling him a dirty old man, telling him to tongue fuck Amanda. It took all my skill to keep him from popping his loud in my mouth.

I told him to stick his tongue in my ass, to do all the dirty things he has dreamt of doing to his Granddaughter. With that comment, I licked over his balls and to his ass, to slid my tongue into it for a moment. I took it out and said that Amanda loved tongue fucking Poppa. He pulled my ass down onto his tongue and tongued me with gusto. It felt fucking good, making me want his hard cock inside of me.

I climbed off him, saying that he should fuck Amanda really hard, because she has fantasized about her Poppa since she was 18. I laid back, watching as he slid into my cunt. His face showed every emotion that a kinky 68-year-old man that was having the fantasy of his life could. He let my cunt have it, literally lifting me off the bed with each thrust. Putting my legs over his shoulder, he started to do short fast strokes with each one hitting my G-spot. I was working up to a major orgasm and I could feel the pulsing and thickening of his cock. He was getting ready to explode a major one inside me. I came screaming out that Poppa was making me cum. He pulled out, stroking his shiny wet cock fast once or twice. I urged him to cum all over his Granddaughter. His spunk was hot and thick, covering my stomach and pubic mound. Some even splattered on my breasts.

He collapsed beside me on the bed. I put my fingers over his mouth, before he could ruin the fantasy. In silence, he watched me dress. I blew him a kiss as I walked out the door. Sometimes fantasies should stay perfect in our minds.

Melanie's voice interrupted my thoughts. She had to repeat her question, which was asking if I had a great evening. I pondered whether I should tell her the dirty details or not. "Poppa's" happy blissful face smiled at me in my mind. Yes, sometimes fantasies should stay perfect. I smiled at Melanie, telling her that my evening was the Poppa of boredom, and I would spare her.