I can still smell the scent of that pathetic little brat’s fear clinging to the sheets. My grandson thinks he’s a man, but the moment I locked the bedroom door and stripped him naked, he looked like a trembling pup. I love the way his eyes widen when I call him a useless, limp-dicked failure while I tower over him.
I didn’t give him a choice. I shoved his head down, forcing his mouth open with my wrinkled hand, and commanded him to suck my clit until I told him to stop. He gagged on me, tears streaming down his face, but I just slapped his cheek and hissed, “Eat it, you little shit. This is the only way you’ll ever get a taste of a real woman.”
Once I was dripping, I flipped him over and shoved my fingers deep into his tight, shaking ass, stretching him out while I mocked his whimpering. I love how he begs; it only makes me want to degrade him more. I finished by grinding my soaking wet pussy against his face, smothering him in my musk until he was choking on my juices.
He’s currently sobbing in the hallway, and I’m just getting started. Who knew being a grandmother could be this fucking addictive?
Dahlia
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