Gramma Torrie Ch. 11

I dozed, very lightly, lost in the sensations he had given me. I had never imagined anything like that. Hell, I had never realized anything like that was possible.

I laid, holding still, “processing” is the word I had learned years and years ago in a sophomore psychology class. But I couldn’t ignore that urge deep in my belly. I wanted THAT feeling again. I wanted it desperately.

It seemed like I held off for hours although I imagine it was only a couple of minutes. I used my fingers on my nipples, thinking that might help. It didn’t. It just made that gentle ache deep in my belly even more intense.

So I slid my palms down my body. I started at my titties, pressing them against my ribs, hard, wanting ALL of the sensations I could get. Then down my belly, pressing hard again, feeling some relief as the pressure moved lower. Soon, though, the relief turned to even more need until all I could think about was what was between my legs. It was as though my entire world was there.

My fingertip found that little bud of pleasure he had introduced me to, and I toyed with it very gently, trying not to move, trying not to awaken him. My movements were slow and I could feel my body responding. My finger, where I was playing with myself, was slick with my need. I may have three-quarters of a century on my odometer, but my Skene’s Glands work just fine.

But it wasn’t enough.

That pressure, that terrible, beautiful pressure so deep inside was building. And I couldn’t ignore it.

My finger moved a bit faster, trying to meet my need, that desperate need that grew from the place so deep in my brain it was below thought.

But I couldn’t finish. I just couldn’t achieve my release.

And there it was, just as when my children were born, that need, that URGE to push that was undeniable. I felt muscles deep inside working, contracting, pushing, and the URGE was just too great to deny.

I pushed, bearing down, hearing myself grunt a little deep in my throat.

And screamed, softly, as I felt his hand cover mine.

His breath was warm in my ear, giving me tingles, as he whispered softly, “push.”

“Oh Roger,” I sort of moaned.

“Push,” he said a little more forcefully, “let me hold you while I tell you how much I love you, how beautiful you are, how perfect you are.”

“Roger,” I said softly again, but I knew I would do what he wanted. I could no longer resist this urge, any more than I could have during childbirth.

“Push,” he said again, his hand covering mine.

It wasn’t so much that I pushed as that I just released my hold on preventing the push. I felt those muscles contract, turning almost hard as things cramped, and then that wonderful pressure as I stretched and as my center, my core, my womanness emerge into the air, into my hand, and into his hand.

“Oh God,” I heard myself moan as he held me so gently, supporting me.

He was looking at me, holding my eyes with his as I moaned softly, helpless with my need.

“I love you,” he said and I was crying suddenly. Not hurt or sad. I had heard the phrase “tears of joy,” many times but for the first time, I truly understood them.

He covered my face with kisses and held my core, gently massaging, bringing me wave after wave of that pure ecstasy. It wasn’t an orgasm, a “climax,” with the sudden blast of pure pleasure. This was the physical pleasure I had only found almanbahis at the peak of my release with Roger, but it went on and on, taking my breath.

He was telling me I was beautiful, telling me he loved me, and I believed him right then. My legs were scissoring and my body was shuddering. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted this to go on forever.

He moved around then until he was on his knees between mine.

“So beautiful,” he said, almost reverently, and his hands held my core. God, my nose was running so badly I could feel snot running on my cheeks.

He moved my hands until I was cupping myself.

“Offer yourself for a kiss,” he said, and I did. I lifted myself, feeling my slickness running down the crack of my ass.

I squeezed gently, offering myself for his kiss, and when his tongue touched, and his mouth began sucking gently I exploded. Every nerve ending fired. My body was rigid and I could feel something deep inside contracting.

I came that time, a true orgasm, hell, THE true orgasm. I felt those muscles contracting and heard him cough gently and then begin swallowing noisily and my body clenched, every muscle cell contracting, one giant cramp and I screamed my pleasure and my pain.

And it didn’t stop. I was reduced to harsh little gasps, as my body panicked, desperate for oxygen, and then another wave would take me. His mouth, his greedy, beautiful, hungry mouth kept at me, drawing more from me than I thought possible. Another of those terrible, wonderful cramps struck and I screamed again.

And again.

And again.

Until I collapsed, too spent, my body too exhausted to even move.

Then he was beside me, holding me, kissing me, his face and hair slick with what I had done. My own scent strong.

And I laid there, exhausted, spent, barely managing to whisper, “I love you,” over and over.

He was holding me again, my womb, my core, just holding, supporting me, and I was too relaxed to try to bring it back inside of my body.

It felt natural.

It felt wonderful.

He kissed me and said something but it was only a distant sound.

I slept, deeply.

I woke sometime later. It didn’t feel like I had slept long, but I was refreshed.

And Jesus, I was sore. When I stretched I groaned. It was like every muscle in my body was sore, like the day after my one experience with weightlifting.

I reached down and touched, and was mildly surprised to find everything back inside.

I just laid there, relaxed, breathing deeply, willing my body to relax, taking inventory.

I touched between my legs and shivered. When I tested long-dormant muscles I felt movement deep in my belly and squeezed my legs together, taking a deep breath, and then sighing it out slowly.

**Jesus, I asked myself, is it even possible that he loves me.

**No, I replied, you crazy old broad.

I giggled softly, laying there, and then rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom to pee.

I brushed my teeth and looked into the mirror. I patted sort of helplessly at the mess that was my hair, reached for the hairbrush, and just thought, “fuck it, he made it he can see it.”

So I walked, barefoot and naked, following the smell of coffee to the kitchen.

I giggled softly again as my nipples got hard when I saw him moving around in the kitchen, as naked almanbahis yeni giriş as I was. I just stood, watching him, aware of how I must look, aware of the way I was leaking down my things, and more than anything, aware that I was in love.

He jumped, startled, when he noticed me standing there.

And then he closed the distance and kissed me. It was a good kiss, not necessarily sexual, but lingering and sensual and, in some way, possessive.

I liked it.

“Well,” I said, a little breathlessly, “at least you didn’t run screaming from the room when you saw me before I spend an hour making myself presentable.”

“Put on some clothes and I’ll take you to breakfast looking just like this,” he said, and kissed me again, “and be proud to have you on my arm.”

I giggled, feeling foolish and happy all at once, and said, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Up to you,” he said, holding me at arm’s length and looking me up and down, “but I’m serious Torrie. I would LOVE to take you to breakfast just as you are.”

“Oh God,” I giggled but went to a chair, mildly surprised when he held the chair and seated me like a perfect gentleman.

He got me a cup of coffee and when he sat it on the table before me he took my hands and smiled.

“Do you have any idea at all,” he asked, looking very serious, “how beautiful you are?”

I smiled and said, “Roger, when you say that I can believe it.”

He kissed me and went back to work.

He was quite comfortable in the kitchen. I watched as he stirred a half dozen eggs with a splash of milk into a bowl, set some bacon frying (jumping back when it popped and looking around until he found an apron), put some bread into the toaster, poured glasses of orange juice, and set the table with forks and paper towel napkins.

We ate in companionable silence and I was finding myself oddly comfortable sitting and eating naked, something I would never have imagined doing with Chester.

We did the dishes together, giggling with splashes and pinches, and a loud yelp from me when his towel snapped my ass.

Done, I gave my best coquettish look, something I wasn’t very practiced at, and asked, “And now what?”

He took me in his arms, strong and fast, and kissed me. His hands were busy on my back, starting at my neck and working down, slowly, to my bottom. When he goosed me, touching lightly, I jumped and giggled, and said, “watch it buster.”

So he did it again, pulling me to him, his palms spreading my cheeks, and touched again, making me shiver. “Roger,” I breathed, “I can’t do that?”

He leaned back and grinned at me.

“Welllll, he said, “not yet anyway.”

“I think,” he said, his hands on my arms, smiling, “today is Torrie day.”

“And what’s that?” I asked.

“Think of it as a spa day with benefits,” he said and made me squeal when he scooped me up, one arm under my knees and the other across my back. I had no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck.

Back in the bathroom he stood me and got the water running in the tub, waiting until it ran hot before he put the drain plug in. It seemed he had been exploring because he went directly to the spot in the linen closet where I kept the bubble bath that I would use maybe twice a year. When the water was hot and steaming he helped me into it. It was almost too hot, but I eased in and started relaxing. He almanbahis giriş folded a towel into a little roll and laid it on the edge of the tub and I leaned back relaxing, using it as a pillow.

I must have dozed a little. I woke with him starting to gently wash my face. I had never imagined that being bathed could be so wonderful and sensuous. He did my face and then my hair, making me giggle when I got soap in my eye and he was so concerned. He did my body then, slowly, thoroughly, SENSUOUSLY. Jesus, he had me on the edge and kept me there until I was squeaky clean. He never did finish me.

It was almost as sensuous when he dried me. I really don’t think I was THAT wet between my legs or my breasts, but I was certainly dry when he finished.

And he wanted me. I could feel his desire between us, his erection hard against me.

I started kissing my way down his body, his chin, his throat, and his chest, nipping at each nipple.

“I want you in my mouth,” I said, imagining something I had never done before.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, mimicking what I had said before.

“I know,” I said, holding his eyes and I eased to my knees, glad that my arthritis wasn’t too bad this morning.

“But I want to,” I said, and did.

I opened my mouth wide, holding him, and took him.

I don’t know what I had expected, but this was better.

God, he felt so good in my mouth as I gently closed my lips.

It seemed natural for my tongue to caress.

I bobbed my head, holding him, wanting to feel him fill my mouth.

But his fingers entwined in my hair and he slowly pulled me off.

“Please, Roger,” I said, “I want to.”

“You’ll have anything you want in time,” he said, smiling, “I’m here for the long haul.”

When I tried to bend forward and take him again his fingers twisted, making me cry out.

“Later, wench,” he said, “I love you, but I HAVE to do something about those talons of yours before you disembowel me some night in your sleep.”

And he carried me again, this time into the front room where the small tub I used sometimes was full of steaming water and the scent of Epsom salts was strong.

He sat me on the couch, my feet in the little tub. He found Fox news on the television and then knelt at my feet.

He lifted my right foot and put it on a towel he had on his lap.

I hate my feet, always have. They’re ridiculously long and bony. Bunions and corns. Thick hard heel calluses. I’ve always hated them.

But watching him tend to them I started to reconsider. He used a callus remover, a tiny, very fine cheese grater, on my heel and bunion and the hard corns at the top of my little and next toes. Then he use a file to reduce the thickness of my horny big toenail and shape it. He did each toe like that, reducing the thick yellow horny nails in thickness and then shaping them to match the arc of the toe. Finally, he did the cotton ball between each toe thing and painted them with the brightest red nail polish I had.

By the time he finished with the other foot, I was so damn aroused I swear I’d have made love to a broom handle.

I reached for his cock, soft now but quickly hard as I held and squeezed gently.

“Now?” I asked, wanting him very badly.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, grinning, “you ain’t messin’ up my hard work.”

He climbed up and laid his head in my lap. When he found my nipple and latched on like a hungry baby the little shock from my nipple to my crotch was undeniable.

He kept suckling and I kept getting wetter. When he found me with his finger he brought me to orgasm almost instantly.

It was a very good morning.