Spending time with my Grandpa!

My grandmother had been gone for exactly six hours, and I already felt like I was getting away with something.

I loved Grandma, I really did. But her being away meant I got Grandpa all to myself, and that was a different kind of fun entirely. We'd already had our routines established for years, and by now, I knew exactly what a weekend alone with him meant.

I arrived on Friday evening with my overnight bag and a fluttering in my chest that I tried to ignore. Grandpa met me at the door with a warm hug that lasted a beat too long, his hand resting on the small of my back as he led me inside.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving."

He made us grilled cheese and tomato soup, and we ate at the kitchen table like always. He asked about school, about my friends, about my mom. I answered between bites, swinging my legs under the table, feeling the familiar comfort of his house settle around me.

But there was something different in the air tonight. A tension. A knowing.

After dinner, we watched TV in the living room. I sat next to him on the couch, close enough that our thighs touched. His arm came around me naturally, pulling me against his side, and I leaned into him, breathing in the smell of Old Spice and coffee.

"Tired?" he asked around nine.

"A little."

"Spare bed's made up for you."

I bit my lip and looked up at him. "Can I sleep in your room? Like when I was little?"

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching mine in the dim light of the television. Then he smiled, slow and warm, and nodded. "Of course you can, sweetheart."

I changed in the bathroom, slipping into a thin cotton nightgown that fell just above my knees. It was soft from years of washing, pale pink, with a little bow at the collar. I looked at myself in the mirror for a long moment, my cheeks flushed, my hair messy from the day. I looked a bit immature for fourteen, I thought. Maybe that was a good thing.

I padded barefoot into his bedroom. The lights were off except for the small lamp on his nightstand, casting a golden glow across the rumpled sheets. He was already in bed, propped up against the headboard, reading glasses perched on his nose and a worn paperback in his hands. He looked up when I came in, and his eyes traveled over me slowly, unhurriedly, taking in the thin fabric of my nightgown, the bareness of my legs, the way I stood in the doorway like I was waiting for permission.

"Come here," he said softly, and set his book aside.

I crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, slipping under the covers next to him. The sheets smelled like him — clean and warm and familiar. He I settled into the crook of his arm, my head finding its usual spot on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my ear, steady and strong. His hand found my hair, stroking it gently, and I let out a soft sigh, my body relaxing against his.

For a while, we just lay there like that, the way we had a hundred times before. But this time felt different. My nightgown had ridden up slightly as I'd climbed into bed, and I felt the bare skin of my thigh press against the rough fabric of his pajama pants. I didn't move to fix it.

His hand travelled from my hair down to my shoulder, then lower, tracing the strap of my nightgown with a featherlight touch. "This is a pretty nightgown," he murmured.

"Mama got it for me last Christmas."

His fingers found the thin strap and slid it down my shoulder, just an inch. "She has good taste."

I held my breath. The strap slipped lower, and I felt his hand brush against the curve of my chest through the thin cotton. My skin broke out in goosebumps.

"You cold?" he asked, his voice low, knowing.

I shook my head. "No, Grandpa."

"Good."His hand continued its slow descent, palming my small breast through the fabric. I let out a shaky exhale and pressed into his touch, my body responding before my mind could catch up.

His thumb found my nipple through the fabric and circled it slowly, deliberately, until it hardened under his touch. I arched into his hand without thinking, a soft sound escaping my lips. He chuckled low in his chest, the vibration rumbling against my cheek.

"So eager tonight," he murmured. "Something on your mind, sweetheart?"

I didn't answer. I just pressed my face into his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He took that as permission to continue, his hand sliding lower, over my stomach, until his fingers found the hem of my nightgown. He pushed it up slowly, bunching the fabric around my waist, leaving me bare from the hips down.

I felt the cool air on my skin, then the warmth of his hand as he cupped me between my legs. He let out a soft, approving hum when he found me already slick and ready.

"Look at that," he whispered, almost to himself. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you?"

I nodded against his chest, my face burning.

His middle finger slid through my wetness slowly, gathering it, before pressing inside me with an ease that made me gasp. He worked me open gently, one finger, then two, curling and stretching while his thumb found my clit and pressed in steady circles. I clung to him, my breaths coming shorter and quicker, my hips beginning to move against his hand in a rhythm I couldn't control. "That's it, sweetheart. Let go for me." I felt the pressure build, coiling tight in my belly, and I came undone against his hand with a soft, broken cry, my body shuddering through it while he held me close and whispered praise against my hair.

I lay there panting, my face buried in his neck, feeling his fingers slow to a stop inside me. He pulled out gently and brought his hand up, examining his glistening fingers in the dim lamplight before bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean.

I watched him through half-lidded eyes, mesmerized by the casual intimacy of it.

He caught me looking and smiled. "You taste amazing, sweetheart." Then he took my hand and guided it down, pressing my palm against the hardness straining against his pajama pants. "Think you can return the favor?"

I swallowed hard, my fingers pressing against the warm length of him through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. He was bigger than I expected, and I felt a flutter of nervous excitement in my stomach.

I looked up at him, my eyes wide and uncertain. "I've never... I don't really know how to..."

He smiled down at me, soft and patient, and brushed a strand of hair from my face. "That's alright, sweetheart. I'll teach you. Just do exactly what I say, okay?"

I nodded, trusting him completely.

"First, take these off," he said, gesturing to his pants.

I sat up slowly, my nightgown still bunched around my waist, and hooked my fingers into the waistband of his pajama pants. I tugged them down his hips, past his thighs, until he kicked them off the rest of the way. His boxers followed, and then he was bare before me, his cock standing upright, thick and flushed in the dim light.

I stared at it, my breath catching.

"Go on," he said gently. "Wrap your hand around it."

I reached out hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his skin before curling around his shaft. He was warm and smooth, and I felt him twitch in my grip. I looked up at him for guidance, and he nodded encouragingly.

"Slowly, sweetheart. Start slow."

I began to move my hand, pumping up and down in an awkward rhythm. He let out a low hum of approval and placed his hand over mine, guiding my movements.

"Like this," he murmured, showing me the pace. "Yes, that's it. Good girl."

I found the rhythm after a few moments, my confidence growing as I watched his chest rise and fall faster. His hand moved from mine to the back of my head, gently pushing.

"Now use your mouth."

I lowered my head hesitantly, my lips brushing against the tip of him. I glanced up at him one last time, and he met my eyes with a look of warm encouragement.

"Open wide, sweetheart. Take as much as you can."

I parted my lips and took him into my mouth, the taste of him salty and foreign on my tongue. I heard him let out a long, shaky breath above me, and his hand tightened in my hair.

"That's it," he breathed. "That's my good girl."

He guided me slowly, his hand gentle but firm in my hair, showing me the rhythm. I followed his lead, bobbing my head, learning the angles that made him sigh and moan. He praised me constantly—"so good for me," "you're doing so well, sweetheart"—and I found myself eager to please him, to earn every word. I kept going, my mouth working him, my hand stroking what I couldn't reach. His breathing grew ragged, his hips beginning to buck slightly into my face. His grip in my hair tightened just a fraction, and his voice dropped lower, rougher.

"That's enough, sweetheart. I'm going to—"

But he didn't pull me away. Instead, he held me there, his hand firm, as his hips thrust up once, twice, and then I felt him pulse against my tongue. A warning—and then he pulled out quickly, his hand shifting to guide himself, and I felt hot streaks land across my chest, my collarbone, my nightgown. He groaned through it, low and deep, his body shuddering above me.

I stayed still, my lips parted, my chest painted with him. He looked down at me, breathing hard, and his expression softened again as he reached for a tissue from the nightstand.

"You did so good," he murmured, dabbing gently at my skin. "Taking your grandpa's cock so good."

(Yayy!! I finished writing 🙂 I tried making this longer than my first one but I struggled a bit :/ I think my praise kink came out a bit to much but whatever. Also if you want to email me: [email protected] and my discord is: lollypiegirl I really like talking to ppl :3)