Granny Gets a Massage

When I started at London University back in 1984 I was looking forward to a freedom that had previously been absent; no parents to oversee everything I did - or tried to do...

Sure enough the physical education degree was not proving too onerous and the wine, women & song (beer, birds and bawdiness more like) were in full flow. Fate dealt me what appeared to be a very cruel card; to whit my grandfather died leaving behind a 72 year old widow who was very bitter that he should die before her; despite the fact that he left her a cool half million, a country cottage and a six bedroomed mansion in St John's Wood, just twenty minutes from my own very modest digs.

Which was where the problem came. She sold the cottage and moved full time to the smoke "To be nearer my physician, my club and my grandson." Her exact words.... You've seen the type before; twin set and pearls weren't the half of it - bigoted, bullying and brash came closer. At first she was relaxed about my wild ways across NW3, insisting only that I attended Sunday Lunch once a month - cooked by a club footed Latvian with a serious scowl and even more serious moustache.

But then came the request for aid, a bombshell dropped over port and cheese. "David, you are aware of course that I have long suffered from poor circulation." She did not wait for a response but merely viewed me over the rim of her glasses, looking for, and receiving, a nod of recognition. "Well, among other things - including these damned hot and itchy stockings." At which she raised her thick tweed skirt a little and displayed a surgical looking pop-sock encasing a hugely impressive calf above which was a dazzlingly white leg, dimpled knee and a hint of massive, fat thigh disappearing north into the dark (and presumably sweaty) confines of her Harris covered mid-section. For a moment, a fleeting moment only at that point, I wondered whether her knickers were similarly surgical. But then she let the skirt drop and continued. "Your late Grandfather was a great help, he would massage my feet and calves most expertly. The resultant relief was exquisite." She really did speak like that, a throwback from Victorian society with strict moral values to match. Aye, that's what I thought then. "Since he passed on" she continued, "I have occasioned the use of a masseur, a handsome brute with impressive credentials but not the faintest clue. You, as a PT Instructor" (She was disinterestedly vague about my degree course) "will have been trained in physio-therapy and muscular manipulations I would imagine and I will need you to assist me." Note that it was not a request, merely a demand.

As a matter of fact I excelled at massage and the like, I saw early on that it was a superb key to the fairer sex and a marvellous way to get my hands on them in an apparently innocent fashion. With Granny I was cautious though; "I'm not qualified Gran and poor circulation isn't something that I can even pretend to know about." "Nevertheless" she replied while standing up to her full 5'10", "you'll have to do. There is a couch in the drawing room that is perfectly suited to the job in hand. I will meet you there directly." And she marched out, huge arse swaying as she did so.

At this point I should describe Grandma; 5'10" 15 stone (210lbs) long grey hair - always in a bun - absolutely gigantic tits that, despite what I imagined would be top quality supporting bras, still rested on top of a bulbous and disconcertingly solid stomach. Her hips and arse were similarly proportioned - tree trunk legs that appeared joined together somewhere mid calf. All in all a formidable woman with temper to match and a cast iron sense of dignity. Ho ho ho.

I sat waiting in the drawing room - hitherto unexplored by yours truly - and was casually admiring the view across to Lords Cricket Ground when in strode Granny. I was lost for words. The Tweed twin set was gone and the bun unravelled to display long, lank, greasy grey hair to her waist. Thin hair and apparently very dirty but still impressive for a 72 year old woman. The pearls had gone as had the glasses and she was dressed in what can only be described as an old nighty - white cotton, scoop necked and stopping an inch short of the floor. One other thing was absolutely certain - the bra had been dispensed with too for her pendulous tits swung free beneath the cotton and would have been brushing her thighs had her stomach not been in the way. For the first time I saw that my grandmother was vulnerable as she looked first at me and then at the floor. "I, I thought it would be easier if I were changed." She stammered, "Ernest [my grandfather] would massage me morning and night when were in our nightwear." I bet he did I thought and once again took in her huge bosom and couldn't help imagining what those titties were like in the raw as it were. "Good idea Gran." I chivvied her and rose to guide her to the couch - a medical looking affair that would suit her purpose just fine. "Firstly just sit on it and relax." All professional like, I elevated the backrest and got her comfortable and positioned myself on a footstool at her feet, looking up at her I could just see her face above the swollen stomach - her tits had fallen either side of her and were, I swear, resting on the couch either side. A later peak at her underwear confirmed it, 62HH.

She sat there stiff as a board as I began to gently manipulate her toes, balls of feet, instep and heels. First the right foot, then the left. It was hard work to get her to relax her leg and foot muscles in order to properly manoeuvre her joints but, presently, with a sigh of contentment she closed her eyes and settled into it. Her feet were clean and smelt faintly of coal tar soap and before very long I forgot it was my granny and became engrossed in the massage. Briskly and decisively I rose her nighty to the knees and began kneading her shins and, without thinking of the result asked Granny to bend her knee so that I could get at the calf without rolling her over. She complied immediately and then it happened. Her nighty slid up her thigh and I was presented with the view that no grandson should ever see. Her underthigh was, as the rest of her was, bright white. Blue veins stood out starkly all over it and my eyes popped to see her arse cheek flattened out on the couch. The tiniest portion of navy blue knicker was peeking out at the very bottom - other than that it was all flesh, more flesh than I had ever seen in one place and remember I was a PE Major and used to seeing naked shot-putters in the shower...

At the same moment that I saw all this, granny realised what I must be able to see and she froze, all limbs going stiff and her knuckles showing white as she clasped her hands together. "Relax Grandma, I've seen plenty of arses before and while yours might be the oldest, it's certainly not the biggest." You might think this bold or even dangerous given her demeanour but remember it was me in the driving seat for once and I wanted to enjoy the short moment of power. I'd lied of course, it WAS the biggest I'd ever seen by some distance. She relaxed a little and I continued with my manipulations and, to my own disgust, I was getting more than a little turned on by the situation. As I kneaded her this way and that I manoeuvred her in such a way that eventually I had an unrestricted view of her crotch - knicker covered of course - but perhaps more intriguing for that. Sure enough they were navy blue passion killers, thick cotton and generous in cut with the elastic cutting deep into her legs creating intriguing bulges. Despite the vastness of the fabric, two good handfuls of wispy grey pubic hair were not to be contained - bushing out either side of the knicker legs. Camel-toe was not an option here, it seemed that she had a mattress of pubes stuffed down there. Just below all this action her thighs were pink and chafed, fat rubbing together under thick tweed in June, it was bound to happen. Couple this with dimpled cellulite and more veiny eruptions and you might say it was an all-together unappetising site. Not to me. The more I looked, the more I wanted to smell her old fanny, taste her juices (if she still had any) and pound her senseless - then see how the haughty old baggage reacted! My cock was beginning to get uncomfortable and I hastily rearranged it.

I was snapped from my reveries by her polite cough and I looked up to see her peering at me over her stomach. "If you've finished down there," blimey she had a twinkle in her eye, "I wonder if you might try my neck and shoulders. Ernest believed that relaxed muscles lead to sound sleep." I didn't like to point out that it was only 5.00pm, instead I zipped round to the head of the couch and lowered her to a near horizontal position. I neglected to pull her nighty back down and she, having straightened her leg, left it where it was; affording me my first view of the front of her granny knicks - her bush was barely restrained, even by these industrial underpants.

I started with her neck, gently probing the knots and loosening her tension. Moving down to her shoulders I was bold enough to let my hands slide under nighty and engage her upper arms, not a stir from the elderly harridan. As I pulled back up her upper chest I pulled her nighty up and away and I could see almost all of her milk white, veiny tits as they flopped by her sides. The nipples though, the prize if you like, were still out of sight. These breasts were absolutely huge - almost not like tits given their size and sag. And so back up to her head where I was truly disconcerted, her hair was dirty, greasy and with a slightly stale odour and although I was trying to put that out of my mind as I massaged her scalp I was struggling.

"Granny," I decided to seize the bull by the horns, "Would you like me to wash your hair for you? It needs it and I really don't mind." I let the silence ring out as I continued to knead and stroke. Finally she broke, "I wash it once a month, it's such a fiddle to get it dry afterwards." "Oh, I can dry it for you."

She paused for a brief while before she croaked in a throaty whisper "Should I wear my bathing costume?" I had imagined her kneeling by the bath with her head bowed over it - still in her nighty. She, on the other hand, had come to a completely different conclusion. "If you want to Gran," I was all nonchalant teenager, "but it really isn't necessary I can assure you." She paused for the briefest second and tried to regain her bluff old self, "Lead on then MacDuff; help an old lady in her toilet." Prophetic words I can tell you but I didn't realise that at the time, I was more interested to see whether she would be in costume or in the buff.

It turned out to be the latter and how she came to that state is a memory that will live with me forever. We went up two storeys to her bedroom - me following behind that stupendous rear as closely as I could. Once in her inner sanctum she directed me to the en-suite in order to run the shower - not a bath, take note. She followed in an instant, clutching towels and dropped them to the floor. Standing directly in front of me she fixed me with steely pale blue eyes and proceeded to unbutton her nighty so very slowly. Never taking her gaze from mine she was daring me to break her stare and look at her nakedness as it was slowly revealed. My peripheral vision was straining to the maximum as her chest hove into view, then her stomach and then, presumably, her muff. I was quivering with excitement now, what had I got myself into? "Well?" she barked. "Are you going to look and get it over with? The lavatory is there if you need to spew, I shan't be offended." Finally I took her naked form in, Firstly those immense knockers - they did indeed hang below her belly button and were topped by massive areolas at least the size of saucers and distended by gravity into vertical ovals; salmon pink in hue and with nipples that looked to be long and rubbery. She broke in to my wonder "Eight children - all breast-fed, and old age does that to a woman, among other things." "Relax Gran, I'm here to wash your hair not pass comment on your bust." All my bravado was gone and now it was she who seemed to be calling the shots. Her bulbous stomach and granny knicks precluded a full-on view of her fanny but the bush could be seen peeking over the top. Those pubes must have been six or seven inches long when straightened out. I returned to look her in the eye and there, behind the aggressive bravado was a woman. A 72 year old woman to be sure but a woman that was naked in front of a young man - her grandson no less - and apparently wondering what he thought. "OK Granny, in you get." I chivvied her and she turned away from me, steadied herself with one had on the sink and bent to pull her knickers down. In this position I saw her magnificent bum in all its glory. Dimpled, veiny, milk white and huge. I suppressed a cheer and an urge to slap it hard. Settling for a mental image that I have stored away to this day.

She stepped into the large old shower cubicle and shuddered as the warm water cascade over her. I was all business; standing at the entrance and applying shampoo to her lank grey hair. It was at this point that I realised my dilemma. I was going to get soaked, why had she chosen the shower over the bath? Surely not! "Gran, I need to take my shirt off really otherwise I'll get too wet." She pointed out that nudity had ceased to be an issue between us and I took it off, followed swiftly by my trousers and socks - why not, it made sense... With inconvenience set aside I proceeded to lather up her hair and massage into her scalp. It was silent between us but for the running water. Rinsing followed and conditioner came next - I was dragging this out as long as I could and constantly manoeuvring her around; ostensibly so that I could rinse her hair but really so that I could study her closely. She stood with her eyes closed and my gaze was all over her - her fanny hair was hanging half way down her thighs now - like nothing I'd ever seen. Her tits were breathtakingly cow-like and her arse just begged for a spanking, a licking and a fucking. Such was my absorption that I had not realised that Granny had now opened her eyes and was appraising me coolly. "You really have grown into a very muscular young man David" I jumped and found her eyeing me up and down - only fair I guess. "What do you call those?" She nodded toward my Speedo style pants that clung to me even more now that they were soaked through. "Pants, I guess, Granny."

A weak response but once again the see-saw of the power struggle was unsettling me. "Well they leave very little to imagination young man."

I looked down and saw that my half boner was as clear as day and my balls beneath were similarly bulging. "Depends on how good your imagination is Gran. Turn round I'll do your back."

My heart thumping, I quickly removed my underpants and joined her in the shower, she knew I was there but said nothing. Taking the soap from the rack I rubbed it up and down her spine to the top of her arse crack before getting a lather up and washing her neck, arms and armpits - glory be these too were full of thick matted hair, grey to boot. I had to do it, I simply had to. With two soapy hands I reached round her and gently started soaping her tits - it was a long stretch and I had to step so close behind her that my now fully erect cock bumped in her in the lower back. She gasped but, again, said nothing. Oh I could have come instantly, the feel of those deformed titties, covered in soap and each weighing more than my girlfriend of the time (a dancer from the Royal Ballet but that's another story). Her nipples were hardening in my palms and were so delightfully soapy that to pinch them was both a challenge and a joy. I hefted the tit flesh in order to clean underneath them, all the while crouching a little lower so that she could feel my thick cock knocking urgently at her back door. All pretence was lost and I dropped to my knees behind her - manfully abandoning the titties for a while - and soaped up her arse cheeks. "Oh my God, Oh my God" It was all she kept saying over and over again as she braced herself with both hands against the tiled wall. Expertly kneading her bum I was slowly but surely getting closer to the crease and when I did, my thumbs slid down the crack - soaping as they went - diddled briefly with her brown puckered star - a couple of odd lumps that I took to be piles - and continued down under to her fanny. It was the hairiest thing ever seen outside of a zoo. From behind in a steamy shower it actually looked like a road killed tarantula - all hair, flesh and the occasional bit of pink showing through. I grabbed it, couldn't help myself, just grabbed with one hand gave a gentle squeeze. Granny gasped and mumbled something, I couldn't hear her and probably couldn't have complied with anything other than my own out of control desire. Here I was, 18 years old, hard as rock staring at my Granny's 72 year old twat that had pushed out eight children, my mother included and I wanted to suck it and chew it.

I somehow restrained myself, for some reason I continued cleaning her. It was as though if the spell were broken it would be all over. But when I had run out of flesh to soap and rinse I just stood there looking at her, my cock harder and thicker than it had ever been before. And she, the old tart, tried to look demure and simply asked if I had any further surprises for her.

That did it for me. "Yes I have as a matter of fact Gran." At which point I dropped to my knees in front of her again, pushed her legs further apart, placed my thumbs either side of her sopping bush and spread her fanny as best I could. She gasped loudly and seemed about to say something but I simply buried my face in her muff and started sniffing round for her hole - I tell you no lie but if Dr Livingstone emerged with a mule train and caravan of natives I would not have been surprised. Instead I found a cavernous cunt - no other word for it I'm afraid, a simply massive hole with crinkly, long lips that hung down some three inches - curiously a bright pink, almost vermillion colour. When I pulled them apart I looked into a gaping void - topped by a disproportionately tiny clitoris - if you weren't looking for it you wouldn't see it. And it would seem that my Grandpa Ernie never looked; for when I latched on like a starving infant and began the Alphabet tongue play, Granny set up a terrible howling: "What are you.. what is.. what are you doing? That's wrong, it's a private place!" Curious logic you'll agree. Here we were naked in a state of arousal in her private shower and she cries 'Hands (mouth) off!' when I get down to the button licking department. Not to be dissuaded I simply upped the ante by plunging my thumb up her. It literally did not touch the sides so I joined in with the first two fingers. Private or not she set to with gusto - leaning back against the wall and carrying on with a mewing, gurgling, staggering commentary. Somewhere along the line she claimed that I was evil and debauched - the evidence certainly concurred. Eventually disaster was bound to happen and it did when her orgasm hit. The screaming and swearing were simply astonishing "Suck me Suck Me SUCK ME oh my cunt my poor cunt suck my cunt you cunt." The disaster happened though when she lost control. First of her bladder - I didn't mind that, I just drunk it all down in a fit of passion regardless of source. Second she lost control of her legs - doing a fair impression of an elderly Elvis staggering down the wall and catching me a fearful crack in the chops with her knees.

Luckily her unconscious state was through passion rather than concussion and with a fair bit of towelling, dragging and staggering I go her onto her bed - she just a shambling, incoherent deadweight throughout.