Rags to Riches

Michael pumped his cock into my no longer virgin pussy and told me to wrap my legs around his waist. My hips began to sway, wanting even more of him inside me. As he held me tighter, his cock drove deeper, and when I looked up at him, he started pumping faster.

"Oh Michael, Michael," I whimpered.

He pushed my legs back until my knees touched my chest and he got onto his knees so that he could push even deeper and harder as he began teaching my pussy how to respond and accommodate him. When he finally got his full length inside me, his cock stiffened even harder than before. "Bobbie Jean," he groaned and kept pumping with now long deliberate strokes shooting cum inside me with each inward thrust. He kept ejaculating, filling my tight, young pussy with his cum.

*****

Momma still had not completely gotten over Daddy's death, and during the last few months had seemed to drift into a depression that overwhelmed her. Her doctor suggested having her spend a month or two at an excellent retreat up around Toledo Bend. It was expensive, but I wanted Momma to get the help she needed and deserved. I began working all of the overtime I could to earn extra money.

Not long after Momma was admitted at the Toledo Bend Retreat, Michael was discharged from Geneva Rehabilitation. Though recovered from his accident, he still needed temporary in-home assistance. He could have had a professional nurse fill this position, but instead he asked me if I would be interested in the job and of course, I said yes.

"Wonderful, I'm glad you're going to stay here with me Bobbie Jean," he said. "You'll make a good salary working for me, enough to keep your Momma safe and well taken care of until she gets better."

I quit my job at Geneva Rehabilitation and moved into Michael's large, comfortable home within a few days. In addition to the two of us, there was Francine his long time live-in cook/housekeeper who was from our first meeting welcoming and non-judgmental. Michael had three grown children (two sons and a daughter) who understandably did not like me or approve of me being there openly fucking their elderly father. Michael was estranged from all of them, which explained in part why they had not come to visit him while he was recuperating from his accident.

Michael's sons were standoffish, but polite whenever we were thrown together. However his daughter Pamela disliked me with a vengeance. To her, Michael was a silly old man, being made a fool of by a girl young enough to be his granddaughter, hell his great-granddaughter; but to me, Michael was my protector, lover, teacher, and best friend. Though Pamela and I would not have been friends regardless of the situation, I know the fact that she walked in on Michael and I making love, probably didn't help.

He wasn't expecting a visit from her, and we were alone in the house so aside from the front door we had not closed, let alone locked the bedroom door.

Michael was between my legs fucking me so hard that he would sometimes make me cry out as the sensations of pleasure rippled through me. My cries of, ". . . too big . . . Daddy, your cock is too big for your baby's pussy," only served to spark his excitement.

"You like this old cock, don't you?" He said, stating a fact rather than asking a question.

"Yes, oh god yes," I whimpered.

The man was amazing! To my knowledge, he had never used Viagra or anything like that, but he started cumming hard with forceful thrusts shooting full, thick threads of his cum inside me, my pussy squeezing his cock with each thrust. As I came, I could feel his cum fill my pussy, the overflow running out, down my ass crack and onto the bed sheets. Even as my pussy milked his cock dry, he continued to stroke. We both loved the friction, the pressure of his cock moving in and out of my warm, inviting pussy. Oblivious to everything except each other we didn't notice Pamela in the doorway until her screech brought us back to the moment. All I recall is seeing her standing, petrified in the doorway watching us, her mouth open, speechless.

When Michael turned and saw her, he tossed the sheet over my sweat glistening body. With anger more so than surprise registering on his face, he got off the bed, walked naked across the room, his cock hanging long and heavy between his legs, and slammed the door in her face telling her to, "fucking knock the next time."

I had never wanted to cause problems or come between Michael and his children. Michael could see I was upset by what had happened, and he was adamant in making me understanding that the dysfunctional nature of their relationship was longstanding and had nothing to do with me. I know Michael eventually spoke with Pamela and her brothers and told them they were not to come to the house again unless invited by him.

*****

Within a few more weeks, Michael had fully recovered from his accident, and I became more of an intimate companion to him than anything else. Of course, I had feelings for him, Michael and I were very, very good and special friends; he had always been there to help me monetarily, emotionally, whenever I needed him. Though Michael and I never spoke of love or anything like that, I thought things were fine between us. We enjoyed each other.

One night we went out to dinner to my favorite restaurant. As we sat side by side, enjoying our meal his hand slid casually up my thigh occasionally brushing over my clit making me squirm and open my legs wanting more. At one point, he had me on the brink of an orgasm.

"Oh fuuuckkk, I'm going to cummmm Michael," I breathlessly stuttered when I came for him.

Afterward, we sat talking, our eyes clouded with lust, and I thought about what I would do to him when we got home. Then, out of nowhere, he started talking crazy.

"I don't want you seeing other people," he said.

"What?" I didn't understand where this was coming from. I hadn't been with anyone besides him since we first met and definitely not since he had taken my virginity months earlier.

I was now barely twenty, and Michael sixty-one years old, and in the time we had been together, I had never wanted or even fantasized about anyone else. Some people saw our relationship as sick, and under their breath called him a pedophile but he didn't care, and neither did I. Michael was more of a man at his age (in all ways) than many who had tried to draw me away from him.

I think I was hurt more than I realized at the time by his implied accusation of cheating. We didn't talk the whole way home. As soon as he pulled into the garage, I got out and hurried into the house. I went to the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of wine before heading upstairs to my room. After showering and drying my hair, I slipped a soft, yellow camisole over my naked body. Now angry and still hurt by his words I took a sleeping pill and was soon fast asleep in my bed, in my bedroom.

*****

It was late and thin, wispy beams of light shone through the slats of the window shutters. I think I was awake, but it felt like a dream, and I was vaguely aware of Michael coming into the room and standing next to the bed above me, looking at the pill bottle on my nightstand.

My eyes felt heavy as I struggled to focus.

"It's me, baby," he said, raising my arms up and pulling the thin camisole over my head. Michael spread my legs and stretched out between them. He began licking me, gently sucking my clit and I gasped when he slid his tongue into my pussy. I started moaning and humping his mouth, whorishly rubbing my aching clit against his face until I felt my building orgasm burst and surge through my body.

After I orgasmed, my body relaxed back onto the bed as an exhausted moan escaped my lips. Michael pulled himself up and began rubbing his swollen, monstrous red knob along the length of my slit before burying his cock inside me. Half asleep, the sleeping pill still casting a veil over my consciousness, I lay there helpless to resist as Michael fucked me. Even in my drugged stupor, I sensed he was angry, and struggled to understand what he was saying, shouting at me.

"You think I'm just an old man, only good to give you money, buy you things and fuck you," he said pounding into me for emphasis.

Then it all came pouring out, "I heard you talking to your Momma the other day when she came to visit. I was standing outside the kitchen when she said my relations with you were against nature and God and if you didn't want to go to Hell, you shouldn't let me touch you again that way."

He pumped into me hard, holding my legs open and I moaned quietly.

"You told her you were thinking about moving out, about leaving me. I could see the two of you sitting at the table when you started crying and you told her you wanted a baby, and you knew I couldn't give you one. Your bitch of a Momma told you I was too old to make babies, and you needed to meet someone younger who could."

"I care about you Bobbie Jean, I always have. All I ever wanted to do was take care of you," he said, his voice shaky with emotion.

Suddenly, he was the old Michael, self-assured and confident.

"I'm going to knock you up little girl," he said almost threateningly. "What do you think people will say when they see an old fart like me walking down the street with a baby on his arm, carrying a baby in her arms?" He pushed my bent legs back and began thrusting into me, his long, thick cock, plunging into my pussy, literally kissing the mouth of my womb. "Yeah, we're going to make a baby tonight," he groaned as he came, his cum covering the opening of my cervix, drenching the walls of my pussy.

"Michael," I managed to say groggily, as I looked at him and caressed his face.

He paused, looked down at me, but continued to slowly stroke into me. He had filled me with his semen. He slipped his hands under my hips to elevate them and keep as much of his semen inside me as possible. Michael kept his cock in my pussy for what seemed a long time until it began to soften and he pulled it out allowing a sudden gush of spent cum to escape.

He lay there on top of me, already drifting into an exhausted sleep, his age finally having caught up with him.

"I have no intention of ever leaving you Michael," I whispered into the darkened room.

*****

Michael passed away in his sleep two months later of a stroke. We had attended a surprise birthday party for him, and come home where I gave him my gift, something he enjoyed very much, oral sex with prostate play.

My first thought was that maybe it was my fault. That the blowjob caused it, that maybe it was the prostate massage, but I quickly dismissed that guilt. Though he had tried to keep it from me, I knew that Michael had been experiencing health problems for some time and even if it had been the sex, he would have gone happy and contented.

Despite what his children thought or what my Momma said, Michael and I had thoroughly enjoyed the time we were together, and he showed his appreciation and happiness when he left me his house, car, and a very nice monetary gift. His children hate me even more and continue to call me a gold digger and a tramp wherever they can and to whoever will listen. To further demonstrate their greed and disregard for their father's wishes, they told me they planned to contest the will. Michael's attorney, however, felt there was nothing about which I needed to be concerned. Michael wanted me taken care of, and his will was solid and legally binding.

*****

I asked Momma to move into Michael's house with me, and she said yes. Heaven knows there's plenty of room, and I'm going to need her help.

Its funny when I think back, how in my youthful bravado and self-confidence I foolishly though someone Michael's age could only shoot blanks (as my Daddy used to call it) and so I was never concerned with using birth control or him impregnating me, it could never happen. It was a miracle he could still get it up to say nothing of fucking me the way he did at his age. From the very beginning, we would make love wherever and whenever we wanted; the fact that we went almost a year and a half without even a pregnancy scare proved my point. As it turned out, I was wrong.

As of my doctor's appointment today, I learned I am officially nine weeks pregnant with Michael's baby. Contrary to what we all thought, he was still a very virile man, fully capable of giving me a child.

Oh, Michael . . . I did love you, and I wish I had told you so.