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Grandpa's Little Whore

by Dreamlover 08/14/03

Seventy-eight-year-old, white-haired, tall, handsome, and blessed with a physique better than Paul Newman, Sherman Woodward thought to have just one serious problem and that was suffering from impotence, which was man’s worst nightmare. To have impotence meant the end of your very manhood, your very inner being, and most of all, your sex life. That’s the worst part about living as an old man and it was a damn good thing for heart attacks.

Then a miracle happened.

Chelsea, his youngest granddaughter, whom he hadn’t seen for almost six years, called him up one morning and asked if she could come and visit him at his farmhouse for a couple of days.

He didn’t mind. With his wife passed away, it can be quite boring out here living in a giant mansion in the middle of Delaware’s cattle field. Lonely, too.

Her mother, Mary, who was his daughter, took the phone and made sure if it was okay if Chelsea can sleep over just for two weeks.

He reassured Mary that he sure can use her company here. His interest, at the moment, in seeing Chelsea was pure grandfatherly innocence. She was just twelve when he last saw her and he couldn’t forget how adorably cute she was. He hadn’t seen her since then so therefore he had no idea just how astonishingly hot his little company was going to be.

His granddaughter arrived the next morning and he saw her hauling out a couple of suitcases from a taxicab. You wouldn’t believe your eyes if you’d saw her. It was a sunny day with a cool breeze coming from the north. He stood out on the porch and waved his hand, still unable to make her out in the haze. She was still at a far distance. When the cab drove away and Woodward stepped down to help her with the suitcases, he stopped in disbeliefs to realize what an amazingly fine-looking girl coming his way.

He had no idea Chelsea would grow from a shy, scrawny but cute kid to a gorgeous, voluptuous, spirited teenager at the fine legal-to-screw age of eighteen, her terrific rack bouncing freely as she hurried toward him. Bright hazel eyes and a fine heartbreaking smile, she had grown at the right height; tall but not taller than him. Her fire red hair was pulled in a salient ponytail and she was wearing a (oh, goodness!) cut-to-the-crotch jean short and a tight-wrapped tank top. She also had a face of a yearning princess: big amorous eyes, cute lips, and a delicate nose to nibble on

She rushed over, dropped her two suitcases, and tackled him with a joyous embrace. “Hey! Long time no see, Grandpa!”

“Whoa, isn’t that the truth!” Woodward chuckled and felt her squeezed harder, feeling her breasts pressing against his chest, smelled her sweats, and then, out of nowhere, felt a sudden rip-roaring stiffness growing in his pants.

Oh, Lord, Woodward thought, could that be what I think it is?

It was his first Viagra-free hard-on and it was starting to break through his jean. He chuckled, kissed her gingerly on the cheek, feeling her naive kisses running across his lips, and helped with the suitcases, secretly cheerful at the fact he was a man again and implausibly ashamed that it was his own granddaughter that resurrected his manhood.

Later that night Woodward jacked off in his bedroom like there was no tomorrow and slept like a teenager in love. Beneath his blank was a soaking pool of drying semen. He had been fantasizing how Chelsea would look without her clothes on and how she would sound when being screwed to the mash.

Two weeks with Chelsea prancing around here in her tight short was going to be a mind-bridling torture for Woodward. Two weeks worth of unstoppable erection and that uncontrollable to jerk off. One time, during a breakfast meal, she was chatting to him about her school life as a cheerleader (which explained her incredible physique) while unconsciously gnawing on a fat sausage, giving him nasty thoughts. She swallowed the entire meat like some young porn star doing a magic oral trick and smiled unknowingly at him, strings of hair falling over her face. Woodward had to excuse himself.

“Sorry, Chelsea dear, but I have to go to a bathroom. Bad prostate.”

Her smile broadened. “Sure, Grandpa.”

And at that Woodward was excused to whack on his pipe and let out a fulfilling release. He had never felt so horny in his life; it was becoming something of an addiction. It was the good thing she spent most of her days outside playing with the farm animals while Woodward stayed inside, watching her from the window, whacking on his steel-hard Johnson, seeing she was wearing her brown leather cowboy hat and her T-shirt was pulled up, baring her midriff, and tied just at about her sternum. And just as Chelsea bend over to pet a lamb, seeing her ass stretching through her short in such a revealing exposure, Woodward shot a load of his grand finale.

Then one fine afternoon something beyond incredible happened. This was the day that was going to be the most explicit, mind-boggling day Woodward will ever experience and it might also to be his last. He had never expected this to happen or even daydream that this would become a reality but it did . . .

His granddaughter was last seen slipping in the secluded barn. He found it all because there was nothing in the barn except for some haystack, a broken manure spreader, and a forage blower. The rest of the barn was a deserted in-house filled with mounds of haystack. Yet it made him wonder why would she even bother sneaking in there and it also worried him because she already been in there for over a half an hour. Long enough to make him come out of his farmhouse and investigate.

The door entrance to the barn was closed shut, which was unusual, but Woodward minded this, grasped on the handle, and rolled the door open.

He caught Chelsea laying in a fetal position on the soiled ground with her panties stripped to her ankles and her shirt thrown to the ground, showing her exposed bras as she furiously finger-fucked herself. She still had on her western-style straw hat, looking like a whorish cowgirl slut having a little fun. Her eyes were closed, stifling moans escaping her trembling mouth; she was so beautiful in that position. It was a spectacular, shocking sight. She was using both of her hands to masturbate, as if desperate to fuck herself, and despite the opening of the barn door; she had no idea of his presence here.

She looked like a cowgirl slut in a need of a good fuck. Just watching her like this gave him the urge to get on her and get her fucked hard. She was drenched in a stratum of sweat and, oh God, her string of pristine moans filled the barn. Woodward felt a hard-on cultivating to life, hardening and stiffening with heat until his entire manhood pushed his pant into a tent.

Watching her laying there on the haystack, legs sprawled wide open, burgundy hair thrown about, seeing her cleavages heaving deeply and ardently, Woodward knew right there and then he was going to have her.

His own granddaughter.

He felt he had no choice or else he’ll have to die from unfulfilled fantasies. It was a to fuck or die situation. Unconsciously, he began undressing his shirt, taking it off as he ogled his little grandgirl finger-fucked her cunt. His other hand unzipped his pant, releasing his pole out in a rigid angle, and he could feel the rush of thrilling sexual memories when he last did this before. Except the thrill was greater, much greater and fantastic magnitude, because this was a bombshell red-headed youth and this was complete and utter incest on the rise.

“Grandpa?”

His pant fell between his ankles and there he stood, exposed naked with his fat ten-inch worth of vein-pulsing cock saluting her. He was beginning to feel butterflies in his stomach along with intense excitement, causing his heart to pound at a thudding rate.

Chelsea was obviously aware of what’s going on; he could see the lust and anticipation on that cute babyface of hers. He could see it in her eyes even and the fact that they were fixed on his cock.

“Grandpa, have you been watching me?” Chelsea inquired, arching an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Yes, I believe I have.”

“You’ve been watching me for quite a while, haven’t you?”

This was a question he didn’t expect to hear but he managed to let everything out of the closet. What difference would it make backing out? “Yeah, I’m afraid I have.”

“Yeah, I bet you have,” she replied with a smile. Then she sat back, spread her legs apart, and placed a finger on her slit, twirling with her fuckhole. “I knew you’ve been spying on me. Probably jerking off and thinking how I look when you put that thing in my pussy. I saw all those cum stains in the bathroom, on your carpet in your bedroom near the window, and even in the kitchen. Do you really cum that much?”

He took a breath, trying to regain control of his sanity. Just watching her laying there so vulnerable, so exposed to be fucked turned him on even more. He remained silent, deciding to surprise her with the fact that he could cum in gallons. He want to see the look on her face when he does.

“I asked you a question, Grandpa.”

“Why don’t you find out yourself?”

“Oh, aren’t you the naughty one,” she moaned with delight as she shoved a pair of fingers inside her cunt. “You know it’s illegal in this state for an old man like you to fuck a little girl like me?”

He couldn’t not stand there and do nothing; instead he grabbed his cock and began jacking it in long stroke. Her eyes alighted with yearning hunger, tongue licking across her lips. “Yeah,” he answered gruffly.

“You also know that you’ll go to jail for this? That it’s illegal and unholy for a grandfather to fornicate with his granddaughter? They’ll hang you in this state, won’t they? But I know you want me, Grandpa, and I think I know how bad, too. With all that cum stains I see in the house, with the hard-on you have for me, you want me, don’t you?”

Even though eighteen years old, she was the world’s hottest knockout laying on the haystack in that fuck-me-if-you-dare position. He could see her true physique with her tight clothes gone. Slim to the waist, sanctified with a corpulent pair of breasts, round tits coated with sweats, and long, muscular legs that was beautiful enough to die for. Her pretty little face was framed from filaments of red hair curling down to her neck.

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