Page 11
My God, it was my father! He was young, about my age when I had the first exchange with Mom. I was surprised to see he looked very much like me at that age. I couldn't see all of his face because it was mashed so close to the wall that a little drool dripped down it. How long had he been here watching? I followed the drool as it passed over older, dried stains, stains that were yellowed with age. Or, was it something else? By God, Dad was masturbating feverishly, as frantically as Grandpa and Grandma were fucking, as frantically as I had seen him pull his pud years later watching pictures and films of Grandma.
The lovers cried out in the other room and father responded, the finger letting go of the slide-away and clamping over his mouth as his other hand beat his cock even harder. Seconds, that's all it took, and then he was unloading on the wall, confirming my suspicion about the origin of the darker, yellow stains.
I had never seen the slide-away in all the years when I lived in that room even though I had pressed my ear to the wall when I thought my parents might have sex. It must have been papered over, for I also didn't remember any stains when the room had been mine.
I couldn't hear anything in the other room. They were finished, like my father was. I wandered out into the hallway and back to Grandma's room. Grandpa crossed in front of me, pulling up his uniform trousers and dragging a suspender onto his right shoulder. He closed the door as I pulled abreast of him so I turned into Grandma's room. She was sitting up in bed, the shreds of her nightgown hanging off her shoulders which were bruised where Grandpa's fingers had clutched them. Her tits, now full and succulent, swayed from her chest, blotchy red around and below the nipple where they had been manhandled by my grandfather. Oddly, a satisfied smile adorned Grandma's face. Why wasn't she angry or ashamed?
Grandma pulled the ripped right side of her nightgown onto her shoulder, then stood and shrugged the robe off. She walked calmly to her dressing table, sat down, and began to brush her hair. She seemed anything but upset. In fact, she seemed serenely satisfied, a beautiful, satisfied woman with a stunning body.
Five minutes passed and the whole time, Grandma brushed her hair. With the constant movement of her arm, the ripped nightgown slipped off her right shoulder, leaving it bare and forcing the delicate, lacy material to hang off her breast. Several minutes more passed by and then there was a click behind me. Re-orienting my senses, I was surprised to see my young father at the door. He had just closed it. Grandma didn't turn around when she spoke to her son.
"I told you not to visit me at night, Harold."
Dad, who may have been waiting at the door for some time watching his mother brush her hair, didn't reply. He closed the door and then walked softly toward her making no noise on the wood floor. He stood quietly behind Grandma, watching her chest move in the mirror as she brushed her hair.
"I told you. Your father isn't really hurting me. It's just a game."
"But it upsets me," Dad replied, dropping his forehead upon his mother's shoulders and circling her waist with his arms.
"I know it does honey," Grandma comforted my father, patting his head with her left hand but still brushing her hair with her right. "Let me finish now, so I can get to bed."
Dad straightened part way up, stooping awkwardly to keep his arms around Grandma's waist. His hands slid up and cupped her breasts.
"Harold, I told you not to do that."
"I know, Mother. But it looks like he did hurt you this time."
Dad leaned over Grandma's shoulder to watch his hand brush the torn nightgown off his mother's right breast. The material fell away, exposing a mature tit and still swollen, rosy nipple.
"Is it sore, Mother?" Dad asked, brushing his thumb over the nipple while still cupping the breast.
"It is, a little," Grandma replied.
Dad moved around to Grandma's side and kneeled by her right knee. Her hand stopped mid-stroke in her hair.
"Should I make it better, Mother?"
"You mean, kiss it?" she asked.
My father nodded and waited, expectantly. Grandma didn't reply but began brushing her hair again. Dad leaned forward and kissed Grandma's stiff nipple. His lips moved around the nipple and she breathed in deep, then sighed as Dad applied small kisses to the rest of her tit while flicking the nipple with his tongue. When Grandma breathed in again, Dad sucked the nipple into his mouth and slipped his right hand inside the nightgown to grasp her other tit. Grandma put the brush on the dresser and placed her hand behind Dad's head, her fingers winding into his hair.
"I told you, only your father should do that," Grandma said, weakly trying to tug her son's head away.
"But he doesn't," Dad mumbled, keeping his mouth on her tit, working the nipple.
"And you do it so nicely, don't you?"
Dad nodded, tugging Grandma's nipple between tightened lips. Grandma's hand writhed in his hair and he dropped to her lap. Her fingers stopped twisting in his hair and she started to get up.
"Why don't you lie down," he urged in an obvious attempt to distract her attention from his latest, unwanted advance.
"I should go to bed now."
"Can I stay with you for a while?"
"Yes, but only for a few minutes."
"Of course, Mother."
Grandma stood up and Dad got up with her, rising smoothly while keeping his head on her shoulder above her breast. They walked awkwardly to the bed and, as Grandma started to lie down, Dad pulled the tattered nightgown off her shoulders. Grandma shifted toward the center of the bed to leave room for my father. He lay beside her and quickly regained possession of her tit. Grandma's nipple was very stiff and extended and she arched her back to help feed it into her son's mouth.
For some time, Grandma steered Dad's head from one tit to the other while he pressed his body against the side of hers and rubbed the other side with his right hand. It took me a while to notice that he was gradually pushing the nightgown down toward Grandma's hips, gaining a inch with each loosening twist of her body. It wasn't until the nightgown was stretched across her lower stomach that she acknowledged awareness of what her son was up to.
"I told you, Harold, only your father can touch me there."
"No Mother. You said only my father can put his penis there. You didn't say I couldn't touch you there."
"That's right, Harold. I didn't. It's a very good habit to be precise."
"I know, Mother," Dad mumbled around Grandma's right nipple while his hand stretched beneath the nightgown below her tummy.
"Ohhhhhhh," Grandma sighed.
Grandma reached down to grab Dad's forearm and tried to pull his hand from between her legs but he sucked her nipple hard and her fingers lost their strength. Dad's forearm moved and I knew he was twisting his wrist so his fingers could slide inside his mother's pussy.
"Harold, you shouldn't."
Dad lifted his head from Grandma's tit.
"I know I shouldn't, Mother."
"Oh yes, yes. You're being very naughty, Harold. I should call your father."
"But he doesn't know how to touch you properly, Mother. You said so yourself."
"Don't be vulgar, Harold."
In answer, Dad suddenly jerked his hand forward, burying his fingers deep inside Grandma's cunt. She cried out and arched her back, drawing her legs and knees up in an intense reaction to Dad's twisting, active fingers. He rapidly jack hammered his fingers in and out of her cunt and Grandma's neck strained up, her head bouncing awkwardly with each thrust.
Dad's hand slowed and became still, but only for a few seconds. His fingers closed together as they slipped out of Grandma's cunt and the heel of his hand moved up until the palm cupped her full mound. Slowly, Dad ground his hand in a circular motion around Grandma's pussy and she writhed on the bed, twisting her hips to shove it harder into his hand. He paused to flick his thumb back and forth across her clit, then resumed the rubbing palm massage.
This went on for a long time. Occasionally, Dad lowered his mouth onto one or the other tit and sucked it's nipple into his mouth. His fingers returned to Grandma's cunt, sliding down to insert themselves through her slit, but slid out a minute or two later to let his palm grind on her pussy. This happened several times, and all the while, Dad watched Grandma's face closely. When her expression clearly showed she had lost all awareness except for the sensations ravaging her nipples and cunt, Dad positioned himself so he could enter his mother. Even I hadn't noticed that he had somehow managed to push his pajamas down to his knees.
"No, Harold. I told you, you can't do that."
"But Mother, I need to."
"I was almost there, son. Finish what you were doing and I'll show you what they did for your father in Palestine."
Grandma blew a kiss at Dad and opened her mouth, swirling her tongue around the inside of her lips. Her meaning was unmistakable.
"I want more than that tonight, Mother."
Grandma contemplated her son for a long minute. Dad waited eagerly, but nervously, for her answer.
"I can't let you do that but you could make me do something else," she finally answered.
"What?"
"Something else. Are you man enough to make me? Your father isn't."
"Yes," Dad cried in a thick, hoarse whisper. His eyes were alight. "Do you want me put on one of Dad's uniforms?"
"There's no need for that. You'll just have to take it off right away."
Grandma rolled away from Dad and climbed off the bed. She strode to her dresser, holding the nightgown around her waist, and retrieved something from the drawer. Then, she strode into her walk-in closet. A moment later, she returned and took her former position beside Dad on the bed.
"Do you want to make me?" she asked Dad, her voice thick with excitement.
"Yes," Dad confirmed. "Make you do what?"
"Can you?"
"Yes!" Dad cried.
With that, Grandma twisted away from Dad until she was lying on her side with her back to him. She looked over her shoulder and began pushing the nightgown over her hips. Dad followed the progress of the nightgown until it was halfway down her thighs. His eyes latched onto Grandma's swollen ass.
"Take it off," Grandma said.
There was an urgency to her voice which was reflected in Dad's frantic actions as he literally yanked the nightgown the rest of the way down his mother's legs and off her feet. As soon as the deed was done, Grandma twisted her upper torso until she was on her tummy, lifting and bending her right leg until her ass was much in emphasis.
"Make me," Grandma commanded.
Dad looked confused.
"Make me," Grandma repeated.
Dad looked up and down Grandma's completely naked body, passing over her back and returning down her legs, now partly spread open, then fixating on her ass which she was pushing toward him.
"Make me," Grandma cried.
"Make you what?" Dad cried back in frustration.
"Make me be dirty," Grandma said.
She turned her face away but her right hand reached back to grasp her buttock and pulled it, spreading it away from the other cheek and opening the little hole above her pussy. Her pussy lips gaped, exposing the moist slit amidst her lush bush but Dad's attention was fixated on the little hole above, barren of surrounding hair. It glistened with a gooey wetness from a white cream that hadn't completely melted into her anus.
"Make me be dirty," Grandma husked. "Like they do in Palestine." She turned completely onto her stomach, leaving her legs partly spread, and raised her rump. "Do it, Harold. Make me be filthy."
Dad got onto his knees, tried to get them both between Grandma's legs, then changed his mind and put them outside her thighs. He lowered himself onto Grandma's ass, aiming his cock with his right hand but she covered the target he coveted so he lined the tip up above it, squarely on the beckoning little hole.
"Gently," Grandma warned.
Dad's cock trembled as he nudged it between Grandma's cheeks. Her hands stretched back, both of them this time, and pulled her buttocks apart. The little hole stretched open and Dad tried to insert the tip of his cock in the greasy pit.
Grandma cried out.
"Did I hurt you?" Dad asked, frightened.
"No," was the muffled response.
Dad pushed and Grandma cried out again. This time, he didn't say anything but waited until she relaxed and then nudged into her rear hole again. The exchange was repeated many times. Finally, Dad's cock popped into Grandma's ass. Both of them froze, then she released her buttocks and tucked her forearms beside her breasts, flattened on the bed, and used the leverage to help lift her ass. Meanwhile, Dad stretched his legs wide until he was spread-eagled and, arm and leg muscles straining, tried to keep his weight from pushing his cock deeper into Grandma's ass.
In the end, Grandma made the first move, flexing her hips slightly upward to force her son's shaft an inch past her tight ring. She groaned into the mattress and then again when Dad flexed his own hips to push in another inch. Push and shove, push and shove and, before I knew it, Dad was plugged fully into Grandma's behind.
Eventually, Dad's weight pressed down upon Grandma's ass too heavily for her to push up but she succumbed to his unilateral thrusts and seemed to enjoy them, especially the little twist he delivered at the end before withdrawing. He varied his strokes but mostly he dropped full force upon Grandma's rear and then withdrew slowly.
Grandma seemed to have resigned herself to receiving whatever her son dished out but the way she occasionally lifted her head only to let it flop down as if it belonged to a rag doll reminded me of the way Mom abandoned her body to my desire when I pummeled her from behind.
On one upstroke, Dad withdrew completely from Grandma and let his cock hang suspended above her now gaping rear entrance. Grandma lifted her head and twisted around to look but she could only see the state of her rear hole in the reflection of her son's mind as it painted itself upon his face. It was enough to force a guttural moan from her body that wasn't silenced even when her face turned back into the mattress. Dad plunged his cock back into her.
"Umphhhh."
Pound, pound, pound. Pull back, way back, and out. Pause, for effect, then back in. I was shocked to recognize my own technique in my young father. He was a natural ass fucker yet this was obviously his first time.
"Umpphhh."
"Oh yeah."
Faster, shorter pause, and back in quicker.
"Umphhhh."
Rabbit-like rat-a-tat-tat, then slow, pulling out, looking, then pulling Grandma up onto her knees and pushing her shoulders back down to the mattress, squatting over her open hole, re-entering, and starting again, quickly regaining full penetration and ramping up to speed. Slap, slap, slap. Muffled groans, ragged panting, dropping Grandma full-length upon the bed again, working her hard then, suddenly, closing his feet in and bending his legs to clasp hers, quivering in her bottom, coming, emptying within her, clutching her head and bending it up, which was odd because he didn't even try to look at her face.
Dad rolled off Grandma and she turned to face him. She started to speak but I couldn't hear because they began to fade, disintegrating before my eyes. Their presence slowly dwindling until I couldn't detect a single trace of their existence.
Bewildered, I stood in the empty room that had fallen into twilight. Why was I having these hallucinations? Hallucinations? It had seemed so real. There were too many vivid details for it to be a dream. No, it was a real memory, only not one of mine. I looked around, surveying the room. This old house had been in my family for generations, but if it was haunted or had its own memory, why hadn't I experienced them before? Was it because I was nearing the end myself?
I shook my head in an attempt to clear my mind as I returned to my own room. Grandma had liked anal sex but only with her son. I remembered what Mom had said when she first offered me the same joy and the vehemence in her voice when she said she wouldn't let my father have her there.
My God. My father had been watching us all the time and Mom knew it! All those times when she turned her head to the side, always to the left, facing my room, the room with the peephole in the closet where my father used to watch his mother, and then his wife, with me. I knew in my heart I was right. Mom knew Dad was watching when she offered me her ass and declared that he would never have it.
But that wasn't the message the house was trying to send me. This personal revelation was simply a side effect of a more important directive. Mom was gone and I was near my own end. I had no children and the house, or whatever possessed it, needed replacements. I had provided them but my job wasn't done yet.
I shook my head. The house? Whatever possessed it? What utter nonsense. I was getting spiritual in my old age. The simple truth was I had invited Susan and her son here so they could experience the same joy that had blessed Mom and me, and evidently my father and grandmother. And, more selfishly, I wanted to see it happen.
I had work to do.
*****
In the days that followed Nate found an old, plain-covered magazine on the floor of his closet and a pile of dustier ones on the shelf, the same ones I had discovered so long ago hidden in my grandfather's bedside table. I had taken an apparent turn for the worse and Susan was feeding me broth in bed. Of course, my hand was between her knees.
"Nate seems to be liking it here," I commented, suggestively.
"Yes," Susan replied. "I guess there's something about old houses that appeals to him."
"Yes, evidently."
Susan smiled. "You're a dirty old man."
I wiggled my hand further between her legs. "I can't argue with that."
"Just eat your soup."
I opened my mouth wide to accept the spoon before it could dribble down my chin.
"I think it's time to reassess the situation," she said.
"It might be too early," I suggested, trying to dissuade her from stopping now. With Nate, that is, not feeding me soup.
"Nate is becoming too attentive."
"How can you have too much attention from your son?"
"You know what I mean."
"I suppose, but you wouldn't withhold medicine when the patient shows the first signs of recovering, would you, especially if there's a danger of a relapse?"
"I guess not."
"So maybe you should let things ride for the time being."
"I suppose."
"And doesn't it also make you feel better to see him doing so well?"
Susan blushed and I rushed on, sensing I had made a mistake in openly alluding to the 'treatment'.
"I meant to say you look much happier, probably because it's a relief to have Nate away from those gang types."
"You think he'll stay away?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Well, if you think…"
"I do."
Emotions flitted across Susan's face—concern, apprehension—all based on love for her son. She didn't just look beautiful, she smelled gorgeous too, even over the powerful scent of chicken noodle soup.
"Look what you've done."
Susan put the spoon I the bowl and leaned forward to clean my chin with a napkin. She forgot about me being the dirty old man I was and thus my hand was able to slip through her loosened legs a good six inches. She laughed.
"You have a one track mind."
"I can't think of anything better to occupy it."
"You spilled it on purpose."
"Maybe," I laughed.
"The soup's almost gone. Now, be good until it's finished."
My fingers stretched out and just managed to brush the front of Susan's panties.
"Don't you ever stop?"
"Never," I replied.
