GRANDMA'S COTTAGE free porn video

He had no business being there. Why had he entered? If questioned afterwards he'd have no explanation as to why he went in. There was no malicious intent, he'd just been nosey and acted on a whim. He'd always been inquisitive. The clocks had gone forward an hour the previous weekend, it was officially spring and with the days lengthening and gardens to be tidied there were opportunities for him to supplement his income from his day job with a few odd jobs for friends, neighbours and family. The more jobs he did, the quicker he'd have the motorbike.

Granny, his mother's mother, could put some work his way.

"Come around next Saturday," she'd said over the phone. "The garden needs a brush up after winter. I'd do it myself," Granny added, "but I'm so busy with the village fete and all that. There's only a week left to go," she fussed. If I didn't keep on top of things ..."

They agreed a time of 8:30. He pressed the red key on his mobile to end the call. Another twenty quid in the fund, he thought, smiling as he imagined the runs down to Brighton this summer with the lads. The bike, birds and beer -- What more could a twenty-two year old bloke want?

"I've got to go to the church hall," his grandmother said when he arrived promptly. She clicked her tongue, tutting with annoyance at being called to some crisis of committee. She put on her wide-brimmed sun hat, waved cheerily, and bade her grandson goodbye. "There are beers in the fridge," she called just before the front door slammed. "Help yourself to a sandwich later. I don't know how long I'll be."

And she was gone.

The work was easy enough and he cracked right on. The benign spring sunshine warmed his shoulders despite being relatively early in the season. In deference to the warmth of the day he slipped his tee-shirt over his head. Following a further half an hour of working he decided he'd earned a little break. The kitchen clock said 9am, too early for a beer so he settled for a glass of Coke instead. Then he needed a piss.

It was then things changed. Not that he knew it but a turning point in his life had arrived. He was about to make a shocking discovery.

The door was only slightly ajar when he walked past it on the way to the toilet. He'd moved from the kitchen into the hall and climbed the stairs to the second floor of his grandmother's modest cottage -- a detached place with three-bedrooms, tastefully furnished (no chintz, and which had been modernised and renovated in the last decade. He supposed, distantly, that being the only grandc***d he'd inherit the place one day; not that such thoughts were in his head right then, he was focussed on an event much closer on his horizon, namely the bike and the fun he was going to have. He noticed the open door on his way to the toilet. On the return trip he paused.

Her bedroom. He'd never been inside. There'd never been cause. Why he pushed the door open wider? No clue. There was no reason at all other than his curiosity.

At first nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bed wasn't made and he was surprised by that, Granny was usually meticulous in all things. Perhaps it was the call to the committee -- the desperate emergency concerning the village fete? Maybe that was the reason for his grandmother's uncharacteristic untidiness. Surveying the scene from a point a pace inside the room he saw a dressing table with neat rows of cosmetics, all martially arranged. That was more her style, neat and tidy; she was always immaculately turned out, well-groomed and well-spoken, the precise rows of bottles and lotions and potions were just as he'd expect. He moved stealthily into his grandmother's boudoir and slid open a mirror-fronted wardrobe. Within he saw clothes, all arranged according to colour, orderly. A massive television was mounted to the wall opposite the bed, which linked to a DVD player that sat on a small table. The close proximity of the DVD machine meant that Granny could easily insert a disc into the machine while sitting in bed. He noticed a colourful box lying half open on top of the silver player. Idly he wandered over, curious as to the film his grandmother would choose to watch in bed.

He blinked several times, his brain unable to grasp the reality of what he held in his hands. A cement block lumped in his guts as he gawped at the lurid cover of the DVD box, which depicted a Barbie doll blonde with her face distorted by a mouthful of enormous black cock.

The shock slapped him across the face; he hadn't expected Blacks on Blondes to be a title his grandmother would choose.

As if things couldn't get any more shocking, he then saw something nestled in the rumpled folds of his grandmother's bed. An indefinable feeling swept over him. He looked at the picture on the box, then towards the thing on the bed.

"Shit," he gasped, not realising he'd spoken out loud. That weird feeling tickled in his guts. It felt as though fingers were gently squeezing his testes, and he experienced the sudden, illicit urge to touch himself. "No," he muttered. "She can't ..." Then, not realising what was doing so great was his shock, he rubbed absently at the front of his jeans, palm moving against a sudden erection. The insistent urge to touch himself was irresistible. In his mind he saw her naked, on the bed watching the pornography on the screen while she used the dildo -- the long, thick, black length of rubber that lay there on her bed. The thought, which would have disgusted him if it had been articulated, overwhelmed him. His Granny watching porn and fucking herself with that rubber cock ...

Just as he picked the thing up to examine it, still not believing what his eyes told him was true, he heard a sound. Another cold water wave of shock washed over him. Inevitably, with fated timing, it could only be this way, when he turned towards the sound, he saw his grandmother standing in the hall looking in at him with her palms against her cheeks and her mouth an oval of surprise.

He saw her face redden with embarrassment, he first assumed, but he was wrong, his grandmother was livid.

"What do you think you're doing?" she stormed at him as her hands fell to her sides, fists clenched. "Get out. Get out now! You've no right to be in here. Not in my bedroom snooping through my private things. Get out!"

"But ... I ..." He stood there, bare-chested, gaping like a goldfish, with the lurid DVD case in one hand and his grandmother's dildo in the other.

Almost a scream: "Get out, I said!" The woman trembled with anger.

And he fled. He dropped the box and rubber cock onto the bed and all but ran from the room. He pushed past his distraught grandmother and took the stairs two at a time. Pausing only to collect his tee-shirt from where he'd dropped it in the back garden he got away from the cottage as fast as he could.

"Shit, shit ... shit." How could he ever look her in the eye again? What was he thinking? She was right, it was her private stuff. "Fuck," he hissed, grinding his knuckles against his forehead with chagrin twisting in his guts. What had he been thinking about just before she burst in on him? I was imagining her fucking herself, he admitted, and I was going to wank. He groaned when he thought of it. Being caught red handed was ignominy enough, how much worse would it have been if he'd been knocking one out when she came in?

During the short walk home, past the pub, past the church with its adjacent village hall, the site of next weekend's fete, he worried. What would she do now? Would she report his trespass at all?

But, as he thought that point through, he came to the conclusion that his grandmother, as angry as she was now wouldn't broadcast the mortifying event. After all, he reasoned, she wouldn't really want her porn and dildo made public. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all?

It wasn't until that night, in bed, that the insidious desire tickled his scrotum. At first he pushed the thoughts away, but eventually relented and, with images in his head of his grandmother easing the long, black length of dildo into her opening, he slid his fist along his erection.

His grandmother was a good-looking woman he realised; even he could see that she'd taken care of herself over the years. He visualised his grandmother's breasts. Fine pair of tits he conceded, stroking his erection faster, applying some squeezing pressure to the girth. "I bet she's got some piss-flaps on her," he murmured lewdly into the dark. And then the semen gushed from him in a torrent, making him gasp and scrabble for the tee-shirt at the side of his bed. Wiping the outpouring from his stomach and chest with the shirt he chastised himself, grinning ruefully. "You fuckin' perv," he muttered. He dropped the soiled garment to the carpet at the side of the bed and rolled onto his side. sleep remained elusive, tormented as he was by fantasy scenes playing in his mind.

Scenes of his grandmother in old-fashioned lingerie, masturbating with her dildo while sucking on a thick, rigid cock.

"You look rough," his mother commented the next day when he eventually crawled out of bed.

"Bad night. Couldn't stop dreaming." He didn't volunteer any information on the subject of his nocturnal disturbance. Somehow he thought his mother might not appreciate it.

The toast stopped halfway to his mouth. "Your grandmother phoned," his mother said as she left the kitchen. "Something about you not finishing the job yesterday?" His mother's voice receded upstairs, dwindling as the distance increased. "She wants you round there today ... About one o'clock."

This was going to be awkward. At first he considered an excuse, and then thought about simply just not going at all. What mood would she be in? Still angry? Had she asked him to go around just to berate him further? His face burned when he recalled his actions during the night. Had he really thought of his grandmother while he wanked? That was just too sick. What kind of human being thinks like that?

Evidently he did.

Anxious and with his heart hammering he found himself at the front gate to the cottage at the allotted time. There was a brief flash of hope as he knocked timidly on the back door, the customary portal to his grandmother's house -- the reason he'd not heard her ill-timed return, for the back door had been open and she'd walked right in. The hope that she'd ignore the event completely, never mention it, was dashed as soon as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Ah, there you are, Michael, there's something we have to discuss." His grandmother indicated a slat-backed wooden chair. The feet sc****d across the ancient flagstones when Michael dragged it from beneath the kitchen table. He sat, elbows on the wood, forehead in hands, waiting. "Would you like a beer?" He looked up.

To his surprise she seemed quite calm, cheerful in fact as she'd smiled at him and welcomed him into the kitchen. Now his grandmother waited for an answer, her head tilted to one side, questioning. Michael noticed the wavy, honey-blonde hair -- did she colour it? At 62 he was sure she must. He saw the usual immaculately presented matron, neatly dressed in a bright yellow summer dress which fell to a flattering point just above the knee. Michael remembered how he'd admired his grandmother's legs in his fantasy. She did have great legs. He blushed at the thought. His eyes, of their own accord, flicked to her chest. Big tits he confirmed mentally. In fact the old girl looked pretty good all round. Then he blushed deeper when he caught his grandmother's eye. Had she seen him checking out her boobs?

Her voice interrupted the whirling thoughts in his head. "Did you want a beer?" she asked with a strange expression on her face. "I thought we could go through what happened yesterday over a drink. Civilised. Adult. But you seem ... distracted."

Her face wore a sly grin, unsettling the young man even more than the lewd imaginings of his grandmother's sexuality. "A beer would be good," he replied, voice wavering with consternation. "Thanks."

The woman handed him a can of lager. "I can't open it with these nails." She extended her fingers to show her grandson red-painted talons before pouring a glass, a large one, of red wine. Sitting adjacent to him, ninety degrees around the table, she crossed her legs and sipped at her drink.

His eyes went to her calves again.

"So, Michael ... About yesterday—"

"I'm sorry, Gran," he blurted, interrupting. "I shouldn't have been in your room. It's private. Those ... things ... I shouldn't. I'm sorry ..."

"I've been thinking about all that, Michael," the woman said softly. "And I'm sorry I got so angry and shouted at you. It was just such a ... shock seeing you there, with my ... things. I normally tidy away but with rushing about yesterday ..." She shrugged, her cheeks colouring slightly.

"Yeah, but—"

Her upraised hand halted Michael's protestation. "It was a shock, Michael. That's all. But after you'd gone and I'd calmed down, I began to think. I'd like you to know some things; I'd like to explain ... Just to clear the air. I mean, this could be so awkward for both of us." His grandmother regarded him soberly. Her light blue eyes were steady on his face. "Don't you agree," she added, sipping wine.

"Yeah, it'd be ... weird," Michael concurred, grateful that the whole awkward mess could be put aside.

The woman shifted position, wriggling against the hard chair. "Bring your beer into the best room," she instructed, standing and smoothing her dress over her hips. "We can talk more comfortably in there." Michael followed his grandmother into what she called her best room, a cosy space with a two-seater settee, a single seat chair in the same modish fabric, a flat screen television and decorated with an arrangement of family photographs from over the years. It was a room familiar to Michael; he'd spent a lot of time in there, unlike his grandmother's boudoir. "That's better." The woman settled into the two-seater and, after kicking off her shoes, tucked her feet under her body. Again there was that distracting flash of bare leg. "Now, where was I?" She sipped delicately at her wine. "Ah, yes ..." Michael sat opposite his grandmother as she began. "I've been a widow for fifteen years, Michael." Her eyes moved to a portrait of a grinning sunburned man, Michael's grandfather. "And after a while I realised I had certain ... needs." Michael shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at the tone the monologue was taking. "It took me a long time to go through your granddad's things, but when I did, I made a little discovery."

Oh shit, Michael thought. I don't really want to hear this.

"I found some dirty books, magazines they were, quite explicit." His grandmother's precisely sculpted eyebrow arched. "And some videos," she added. Michael gulped several swigs of beer. "Another drink, dear?" the woman asked. Without waiting for a reply she uncurled her legs and went into the kitchen, returning with a second can.

"You don't have to do this, Gran," Michael said with a catch in his voice. "I understand, I do, really ..."

"Oh, that's good to know, darling." The lady responded, giving her grandson the benefit of a wide-eyed smile. "So we're going to keep this little incident between us? Strictly confidential."

With an air of relief, Michael said: "Oh yeah, sure. I'm happy enough to forget the whole thing." He placed the empty can on the side table next to his seat and popped the fresh one.

"It would be so embarrassing if we hadn't cleared the air, Michael," the woman continued softly. "I mean, you thinking the worst of me, I don't know what you must have thought ... Granny's a pervert who watches dirty films and ..."

Michael flinched. She didn't know that he'd thought about her in a carnal way, or that he'd actually fantasised -- and masturbated -- imagining her doing just as she'd described, his grandmother watching a porn film while she drilled herself with a rubber cock. And not just any rubber cock, a black dildo of quite eye-watering proportions.

"Are you all right, dear?" the woman asked, her voice full of concern as she leaned forward. "You look queer all of a sudden." Michael coughed, alarmed by a sudden erection. "It's the surprise, isn't it?" his grandmother continued. "Finding something like that is a bit of a shock." She nodded. "I know it is from when I discovered your grandfather's little cache. Of course," she continued blithely, apparently lost in her reverie. "I had to watch the videos ... Well one at least ... And to my surprise I found I quite enjoyed watching it. It gave me a totally unexpected thrill. I felt like some kind of voyeur. I'd never seen anything like it. People doing it. And so brazenly! The girls just didn't seem to care about what they did, or with whom they did it. It was all so casual and indiscriminate. And the films were so explicit ... There was no plot to speak of, and some of the situations were laughable, but," the woman paused, staring intently at her grandson. "That's not the point is it -- the plot?"

"No, Gran," Michael managed to croak.

"So I like sex, Michael. I'm a woman and I like sex. I enjoy my films and I like to ... relieve myself as I watch them."

"Shit, Gran. I don't need to know this ... Please."

Ignoring him she ploughed on. "I'm a woman of standing in the village, Michael. I have to be careful of rumour and gossip. If I were to take a lover it would be subject to so much scrutiny. Not that it really matters but I have my pride. Hence my private collection upstairs."

A long silence developed between the pair. The cottage was still and silent around them, nothing disturbed the Sunday peace other than a fat bee that wove its meandering way into the room from the kitchen. The thing buzzed a lethargic circuit and departed, disappearing back into the kitchen where it presumably found the open door to the garden. Then, in the distance, the church bells, long since automated, tolled the half hour.

The sound of the bell brought a comment from the woman, breaking the silence at last. "Another blasted committee meeting at two." She sipped at her wine and shifted position on the sofa. "You know," she continued, "yesterday, when I found you upstairs ..." Michael could only nod. "... I thought ..." The woman grinned, her eyes downcast as though embarrassed to finish.

As usual his curiosity got the better of him. "What?" Michael asked.

"With your shirt off..." She giggled then, actually tittered behind her hand. "I thought you were ... You know ... Relieving yourself."

Michael's face filled with blood. If she knew what he'd been about to do, if she'd been five minutes later returning home she'd have caught him in exactly that situation.

He explained in a rush to mask the discomfit. "I was hot in the garden, working. I took my shirt off and then needed a drink. Then I needed a pee. The door to your room was open, and ..."

"It doesn't matter, Michael," his grandmother said kindly. "We all do it."

"Gran ..." Michael groaned, closing his eyes, shutting her out. "Please, this is just too embarrassing. We shouldn't talk like this. Let's just put it behind us ... Please"As best we can. It will always be there, Michael; we can't turn back the clock, but at least we're clear between us. Nobody needs to know." She stood briskly, attending to business after their talk. "Now, if you'll excuse me I'd best tidy myself up and get off to the meeting. Will you be staying on and doing a little work?" She nodded at the can in his hand. "You can finish your beer first. I'll be back at five if you want to stay for some supper."

Michael sat and stared into space, thinking about his grandmother's revelations as she moved about upstairs. The woman came back down, bid her grandson goodbye, and left.

Michael gave her ten minutes. He checked outside through the mullioned front window, and then, with elephants feet dancing in his stomach, went to his grandmother's room. It was madness. Insanity. What was he doing? He'd been caught only the day before doing exactly this. He hated himself even as he crossed the threshold, the border of illicit territory. His grandmother had laid bare her personal secrets, confided in him on such a personal level, and then trusted him enough to leave him alone in the cottage. But he couldn't help himself. He had to see what else she had hidden away. She'd said five, which gave him three hours. If he only stayed twenty minutes, half an hour at most, he'd be well clear, with the garden tidied too by the time she returned.

A second wardrobe contained normal clothes -- dresses, shoes, hats, nothing of any note. A chest of drawers was the same. Michael flushed, feeling a further twist of guilt when he came across his grandmother's underwear, some of which he was surprised to find was a bit on the skimpy side.

His grandmother certainly had hidden depths. He wondered about her statement denying lovers.

Another chest of drawers, and bingo. "Fucking hell," Michael muttered, eyes widening when he saw the array of DVDs, magazines, sex toys, even a laptop computer. "She's into this in a big way."

Michael picked a DVD at random and inserted the disc into the tray on the player. The film started. A few moments later he was standing with his jeans shoved down to his thighs, slack-jawed with lewd concentration, stroking his hard-on.

The voice sent a cold wave of shock over him. "You dirty bastard," his grandmother said.

It had been a trap and he'd fallen into it. The committee meeting had been a fiction. She'd set him up to see what he'd do. And he'd lived up to her expectation. Upon leaving the cottage rather than walk down to the village hall she'd called in at Clara's, a neighbour, for a cup of tea. All the while, as Clara chatted away, she was almost overwhelmed with curiosity, dying to know what was happening in her home.

Would he be working in the garden innocently, or would he ...?

Forcing herself to accept a second cup of tea, she sipped slowly, chipping in to the conversation at intervals. Eventually she made to leave, offered Clara her thanks and arranged a reciprocal visit the next day.

No sign of him in the garden, in fact there was no change there whatsoever. She crept into the kitchen, checking the best room on her way to the stairs. With her heart hammering and pussy oiling she moved along the landing and ...

Oh. My. God, she thought. There he is. Her cunt clenched as she watched him in secret for a few seconds. Look at him. Pulling that cock ... And what a lovely cock ... I'm damned, she thought. I'll go to hell for this -- looking at my own grandson, watching him masturbate. It was as she'd pictured the night before. In her fantasy she'd fucked herself with her favourite dildo while he watched her, stroking his cock, his eyes devouring body.

She was proud of her figure; the yoga had given her a taut, toned body that belied her years. Oh, she was no flawless youngster, but she looked good, knew she was desirable to men. Even young men had commented on occasion. Thank God for the internet which had opened up a whole new world of sexual opportunity to her.

In her imaginings, which coincided with those of Michael's, although she had no way of knowing this, Michael stroked his erection to a squirting climax, covering her breasts, chest and face with his semen. She'd come violently, clasping her thighs against her wrists as she jammed the dildo deep into her body, writhing and groaning and muttering obscenities, exhorting her dream grandson to drench her with jizm.

And here was her chance to live the reality. He'd done exactly as she'd hoped. But would he be complicit in i****t?

With the madness in her veins, overcome by her lust and desire for her grandson, casting all to the fates, she spoke to him.

"You dirty bastard," she said, moving into the room. He turned, pinning to face her, wide-eyed with shock. "You beautiful, filthy boy. Look at you, looking at Granny's porn and stroking your cock." She smiled at him, gambling all. "And what a lovely cock it is, Michael. It's one that I'd like to kiss." And before Michael had chance to recover, to perhaps recoil from her advances, she pounced. Lifting the hem of her dress to reveal her smooth pudenda, in her married days she'd been all natural, but since discovering pornography, and seeing the models predominantly favoured shaven mounds, the woman had adopted the look. With her right hand she reached for her grandson's erection. "I wanted you last night," she murmured, stroking the iron length of him while the young man merely boggled at her. "When I saw you half-naked something came over me. Call it a curse, I don't know, all I know is that I want you, darling. I want you in my mouth, and I want you here." Holding her skirt against her body with her forearm, the woman touched her vulva, showing Michael just where she wanted him.

Michael's gaze went from his grandmother's face to between her legs. "Gran," he said in a stunned whisper. "This can't ..."

"I know. It's crazy, Michael. I can't believe it myself. Don't think about it. Put the fact that I'm ..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. She had him now, but he could still balk and run. The moment was so febrile. One wrong word ... "Forget who I am, Michael," she continued, her voice low and hypnotic, her hand squeezing and manipulating. "Just follow my lead. Let me take you on a journey."

"We shouldn't ..." Michael began, then groaned when his grandmother's fist quickened.

"Feel my hand on you, baby. Am I doing it all right? Does it feel good?"

Glassy-eyed Michael nodded. "Yes," he murmured.

"I'm tight inside too, darling. I know I'm tight in there." The woman judged her moment perfectly. It was time to let her prim facade crumble completely. With her fingers moving along her grandson's tumescence she murmured into his ear: "When I fuck myself with my favourite dildo I can feel how my cunt grips it. I could do that to your cock."

Michael gasped, his eyes opening wide. "Oh, Gran. I ... I ... I thought about you last night," he confessed. "I imagined you doing that."

"You did?" A high note of excitement entered the woman's tone. "You thought about me? Oh, Michael ... I was doing the same. I was doing it to myself, fucking myself with my dildo and wishing it were you." She released her grandson's cock. The thing waggled and swayed, a long heavy jib hanging in the air. Michael watched as his grandmother slid the bootlace straps of her dress over her shoulders. She let the garment slide over her body and then she turned. With her back to him she instructed the lad to unclasp her bra. Trembling fingers fumbled with the catch but eventually succeeded.

"Shit ..." Michael gasped when his grandmother turned again, revealing her breasts to him for the first time.

"I've always had good tits," the woman said, smiling. "Good tits and great legs."

"Shit," Michael repeated. She wasn't k**ding. He reached for her, his fingertips touching the smooth flanks of his grandmother's breasts.

"Feel them," she moaned, her eyes closing as her head fell back. "Feel my tits, suck my nipples." The woman's voice cracked with arousal: "Go on, suck Granny's big tits."

Michael broke. His dream had come true and, spurred by his grandmother's words and obvious eagerness he squeezed the globes of tit-flesh together before leaning to take a distended teat into his mouth. His grandmother groaned, pushing her fingers into his hair as Michael sucked and licked her long, thick nipples and puckered areola. He switched his attention between the pair, licking and nibbling each in turn before finally lifting his head and encountering the woman's blue stare. His grandmother's eyes gleamed with desire.

"You're beautiful," Michael murmured.

"So are you." The woman pressed her body against her grandson. "Kiss me," she said.

That first kiss went on and on. As his tongue touched his grandmother's Michael became so overwhelmed with burning lust that he couldn't stop touching her body. His hands ran down her sides, over the swell of her hips and cupped her buttocks. He pulled her tighter into his embrace, grinding his erection against her soft stomach. He was desperate for her. As the kiss rolled on, their tongues sliding and slipping, Michael mauled briefly at his grandmother's breasts before his hand moved between her legs. When he felt the heat of her there, the molten slide between her labia, Michael broke the kiss.

"Jesus," he blasphemed.

"Out of those clothes," the woman ordered. Michael complied. "Goody," Michael's grandmother said gleefully when he stood naked in front of her. "You're such a gorgeous young man. Tight and firm ... And so hard," she added with a smirk. "Lick me," she commanded, suddenly serious. "Lick my cunt ..."

His grandmother collapsed onto the bed and lifted her legs to offer herself. Michael growled and leapt at her.

"So smooth," he muttered.

He heard a low chuckle from his grandmother. "You like it that way, Michael? Do you like Granny all bare for you? Piss flaps like elephants ears, your granddad used to say."

It was true, the woman's labia were uncommonly large, but rather than being revolted, Michael found the meaty folds erotic.

"And my clit is quite large too," the woman, splaying her labia, informed her grandson. "Suck it. Lick Granny's cunt and suck her clit. Make her come ... And then you can fuck her."

Michael did as he was told. He flicked the pink, glistening nub of his grandmother's clitoris. The woman gasped, sucking breath between her teeth as the sensations pulsed through her. He held the wings of the woman's labia splayed with his fingertips to squirm his tongue into her opening, eliciting further moans and obscenities from her mouth.

His grandmother was transformed, taking on a role from her films. The language she used, while shocking coming from her mouth, encouraged Michael to greater feats of endeavour. Finally, as he used his fingers and tongue in those erstwhile taboo places -- his own grandmother's body -- Michael coaxed from the woman a shattering orgasm.

Even as she writhed and clawed at the bedcovers, Michael moved to a kneeling position between his grandmother's legs. As her climax cooled, she looked up, eyes heavy-lidded with lust, and urged him to enter her.

"Do it, Michael," the woman grimaced, face twisted with urgency. "Just do it. Love me with that lovely cock. Go on, put it in there. Fuck your own grandmother. Oh!"

i****t, the woman thought when Michael penetrated her. We're doing it. My grandson is fucking me.

Michael was thinking much the same while his grandmother, true to her word, squeezed tight around his girth. He thought vaguely about the irreversible leap into sin they'd both taken.

'We can't go back," he gabbled into the woman's face as she stared up at him. "Never."

"I don't want to, darling. We've committed such a sin, but I don't care. I just want you, my darling grandson, inside me where you are now. Fill me with love, darling. Fuck me and squirt into me. Give me that lovely semen. Love me. Kiss me."

And they moved together, their conjunction growing ever more desperate as they both sought the peak of their emotions. Michael, with words of love on his lips, promised to make love to his grandmother whenever she wanted; vowed to keep visiting; to sleep with her and to keep this great thing a secret between them. The woman also gabbled about love. How she wanted her lovely boy to lick her and fuck her and love her. How she wanted him to hold her close, to fill her with his lovely cock and to show her how much he loved her.

"Come for me," the woman sighed, and then cried out with delight when, as her arms and legs embraced her grandson, she felt him convulse, sensing the flutter of his ejaculation spitting into her body. "Let it go," she crooned. "Fill Granny with it ..."

And the great tide washed over her own senses as she too climaxed.

"What have we done, Gran?" Michael asked, astonished at the enormity of what had just transpired.

"i****t," his grandmother replied with a delighted chuckle. "And we're going to do it again soon." She opened a drawer and took out the black dildo. "Now, you watch me fuck myself with this thing until you get hard again. I know about young men," she said mysteriously. How? wondered Michael. He set aside questions about that subject, instead gazing open-mouthed as his grandmother eased the rubber thing into her body. "You'll be stiff soon," she said. "And then I want to suck you."

There would be a lot of work to do around his grandmother's cottage over the coming months, Michael decided.

His grandmother paid for his motorcycle.