Grampa

A young man experiences an erotic secret with his grampa (NOT incest)

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Grampa

Grampa had a rifle slung over his back and a bag on his shoulder. I was hoping that he might have brought a rifle for me. I wanted to hunt alongside him, but I guess we were going to take turns using his rifle. Assuming he even let me have a go at all. Of course, I was also assuming that were going hunting. Grampa was being particularly cryptic about the entire purpose for our field trip.

I’d been spending time at my grampa’s place since I was born. We lived out in the country, and his smallholding was only a few miles from ours. He lived alone – gramma died when I was just a little kid. I’d often ride out there on my bike, and now I was older0, I used the quad bike my dad had bought for my thirteenth birthday. That was two years ago almost to the day. In fact, when grampa summoned me to his farm, I assumed it was because he wanted to give me a gift for my birthday which had fallen during the week.

He gave me a card when I arrived, but I was mildly disappointed when he didn’t hand me a gift as well.

“Don’t you worry Rich, I’ve got a very special gift for you today.”

I smiled at him.

“Thanks grampa.”

“Leave your phone here and follow me.”

I put my phone on the table, watched him pick up his bag and rifle and followed him outside. I knew that he occasionally used his gun for controlling pests around the farm, but it didn’t seem like a task that he needed me for.

I walked alongside him as he headed off into the wilds. I thought I knew the woods and fields within half a mile of his place pretty well, but within five minutes we were striking off an animal track into a part of the woods that I was less familiar with. The trees grew larger and the thicket denser, making it harder to see where we’d come from or where we were headed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here before,” I told him.

“No I don’t imagine so. Easy to get lost here. But you’ll learn your way around soon. I expect you’ll be back many times in the future.”

I was getting excited.

“Are we going hunting?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. What are we doing then?”

“Something much better than hunting.”

Grampa wasn’t giving anything away. I grinned at him.

“So you’re not gonna give me a hint?”

“Nope!” he replied, a mischievous grin in eye.

 

We continued walking and the woods suddenly parted onto a large clearing. A pond occupied most of it, sinking away into reeds on the far side. Fishing then? But grampa had not brought fishing rods. Unless he had something in his bag? I enjoyed spending time with him but a fishing trip would be a strange gift for my fifteenth birthday. Kind of ordinary.

We walked around the edge of the pond to an area at three O’clock to the point we had entered the clearing, and grampa put down his rifle and bag.

“Don’t suppose we’ll meet any bears here,” he said.

So the rifle was simply for protection? Another minor disappointment. But I trusted my grampa. He wasn’t a man in the habit of letting me down. I tried to suppress my instincts and trust him.

“Get undressed,” he told me.

“Excuse me?!”

“Get undressed. You know, take your clothes off.”

He started taking his clothes off. I was shocked. He’d seen me naked plenty of times as little boy when he bathed me, or even in the summer, when he or my parents would let me run around his farm or ours naked as a jaybird, but I hadn’t been naked at all around him since I was eleven or twelve. At first, it was simple teenage modesty. When I had nothing to see I didn’t give a damn who saw me naked. But since my hormones kicked in, my junk started changing, I got shy I and started to cover up more and more. I realised that my dick had some new tricks beyond letting me write my name in the dirt – and by the way, the dot over the i takes really bladder control, just sayin’!

Then it was more than simple modesty. What if grampa had brought me all the way out here to rape me?! I pushed the thought out of my head immediately. He loved me and would never do anything sick like that. Besides, if he was gonna rape and murder me, he didn’t need to bring me all the way out here to do it.

I reluctantly started to undress. When I was down to my starched cotton boxers I stopped, and looked to my grampa to see if he needed me to strip to my skin. He was already butt naked.

We often joked that grampa was Wilford Brimley’s twin. He was a big man, tall, powerful and what Eric Cartman would describe as “festively plump”. The thick white handle bar moustache increased his festive appearance, and it was matched by a generous rug of white fur that covered him from barrel chest to pubic bush.

I glanced down at his dick. I don’t know what I expected. A shrivelled old man dick I guess. But he had nothing to ashamed of. A thick cut log, seven inches long, hanging straight down, with large ripe balls behind, all coated in that same white hair. There was no way I could compete with that.

I dropped my boxers in one swift movement, refusing to be shy around my grampa. He glanced very briefly at my junk, then back at my face with a reassuring smile. I knew I wasn’t impressive. Three inches soft, made all the more stumpy-looking by my circumcision. I’d seen my fair share of dicks at school, and I knew I could be worse off. I was grateful that the doc who’d cut me hadn’t done one of those extreme circumcisions where they seem to cut half your dick off. A small dick and no skin at all looks really pathetic, like a little knob of flesh dangling on a wilting flower stem! Lol. They left me with a fair bit of skin, but the only trouble was it kind of wrinkled up behind the head and made me look smooth from root to tip. I wish I had a bigger dick head – something deadlier looking that girls would look at and be nervous about, rather than the smooth sausage nature gave me. Even my pubes were less than they might be. I mean, I had some at least, but no treasure trail, no thick bush, just a neat oval no bigger than the diameter of a coffee mug viewed from above. And arm hair – don’t speak to me about that. I kept checking, but so far not so much as a single one!

 

Still, I keep getting distracted. There I was standing there with my unimpressive weiner and my nuts tucked up in a round sack almost hidden behind. Grampa could easily have said something with just an edge that would have made me feel bad.

“Don’t worry it’s cold!” or “I see you still have some growing to do.”

But he didn’t, he just gave me a pleasant smile, slung his bag over his shoulder, and said, “Follow me.”

I was REALLY intrigued and baffled now. We weren’t heading into the water, and I had no idea whatsoever why he might need his bag.

We walked further around the pond leaving our clothes behind on the short grass, until we came to an area where the reeds were growing. We passed behind the reeds, and to my surprise, I saw plants that I had never seen before. They were a light damson colour, kind of purple red. For some reason they made me feel queasy. The colour looked more animal than plant. They were nothing but rubbery-looking stalks each between half an inch and two inches thick, that came to a rounded tip like a broomstick or bulrush. But the thing that made me most uneasy was their movement. They were slowly swaying. At first I put it down to the breeze, then I realised that they were all moving in different directions and there WAS no breeze. It was a humid later summer day.

I looked to my grampa with shock.

“What are they?”

He grinned.

“You’ll find out soon enough. We’re going to take a little walk through them. They’ll move. Don’t flip out. That’s what they do. If you feel anything unexpected, just go with it okay?”

I swallowed so deeply that I could hear the sound of it. This was quickly turning into the weirdest day of my life.

“Ummm, okay grampa,” I replied, nervously.

“Good boy Rich, come on then.”

Grampa lifted his arms and walked slowly into the plants, carefully sliding his feet between them to avoid damaging any. I followed walking equally carefully, and I was disturbed to feel that their movement intensified.

“They’re moving,” I pointed out redundantly.

“Oh yeah,” grampa replied with a grin.

Ten paces in, he stopped and turned to face me. I stopped as well a few paces away from him.

“What is it? What’s supposed to happen?”

I was surrounded by plants, ranging from knee high to just above my belly button.

“Just wait. It’ll happen soon enough,” grampa said.

I stood, watching him in silence, waiting for something unknown to happen.

Then the constant movement of plants around my legs took on a purpose. They started to brush against me, swaying and writhing. It was an unsettling feeling and an image of charmed cobras popped into my mind. I looked at grampa, trusting his judgement but nervous nevertheless.

“There’s no need to look so worried. When have I ever done anything to hurt you?” he asked.

“Never.”

“Then trust me. Your life is going to change today. Enjoy it. This is a treat that only the men in our family get to enjoy.”

It sounded momentous. I was proud and apprehensive in equal measure. I sensed that this was some kind of rite of passage.

The plants were curling around my thighs now, like vines clambering for the sunlight. One touched my balls. I yelped, surprised. Grampa tilted his head, questioning.

“One of them touched my balls,” I told him sheepishly.

“They’re going to do a lot more than that.”

I started to get an inkling why we were here.

The plants continued moving up my body. I could feel one probing between the cheeks of my butt. It was slimy and I reached down to pull it away.

“What are you doing?” grampa asked.

“One of them is trying to go into my butthole!”

“Let it.”

I was shocked. This was incredibly intimate, kinky, weird, borderline depraved surely? But my trust in grampa was absolute. I raised my hand and allowed the plant to go where it wanted. It writhed in small circles between my bottom cheeks. I could feel it seeking my hole. Then it found it. The slippery tip twisted and turned like a mole burrowing into the damp soil. I had never had anything go INTO my butt before. It was unsettling, lewd, yet, well, I had to admit it was strangely exciting. I mean, being naked like this with grampa was weird enough, and it had the same sexual charge as when me and my buddy Frank wrestled in just our shorts out in the field. Sometimes one of us would even get a boner.

But the actual feeling; the slippery thing slithering into my hole was kind of nice-feeling. Sexy in a way I would never have considered.

I wondered how far up it would go – not too far I hoped. I had visions of it going right through me and out my mouth. I started to worry but before I could work up a head up steam, it stopped rising inside me. I don’t know how far up it went, but not far. It started twisting and turning, and the tip was pressing against something inside that made me feel weak with pleasure.

“Ooooh,” I said, and my knees literally buckled for a moment. Saving myself from tumbling, I jerked my body suddenly, involuntarily, as I did when waking from a falling dream.

I looked at my grampa with a big ol’ dumb open mouth of surprise and he smiled back.

“I guess it pressed your button huh?”

I nodded dumbstruck and feeling like an idiot. I could feel something coming out of my dick. I looked down. I could just see myself through the plants. My cock was still soft but I was cumming. Or at least cum was dribbling from my cock. I looked at grampa with a frown.

“I’m cumming,” I said matter of factly.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re here.”

“But I’m not even hard.”

“Yeah, your button will do that.”

I had never discussed sex stuff with my grampa, and now here I was describing my reactions to him like I was narrating a nature documentary!

 

I looked down at my dribbling dick. Below it, three tendrils were showering in my jizz, twisting and turning like Salome doing her snake dance. They moved towards my dick. I resisted the urge to retreat, and then the closest, following the trail of spunk back to my cock, opened at the end and enveloped me. To say I was shocked would be a massive understatement. I looked down at myself, wide eyed.

The inside of the plant was warm, wet, soft – just how I imagined a pussy would feel. It closed around my helmet and started to suckle me. I presumed correctly that it was after my juice. I felt it sucking me. It was warm, insistent, and intensely erotic.

It’s hard to tell if I got hard because I was turned on by the sucking, or because it sucked the blood into my cock with its suction pressure, but either way, within 20 seconds I was hard as a rock.

I looked up at my grampa. He was watching me with a benign smile on his face.

“I’ve got a boner,” I informed him.

“Yeah me too.”

I don’t know why but his answer came as a surprise. I mean, he was naked, so he was clearly not just here as a spectator, but the thought of him standing there with his big ol’ cock sticking up: well, like I said, it came as a surprise.

My feelings were complicated. Here we were, a boy and his grampa, standing around together, both with boners, whilst the plants sucked us off. I knew it was intensely weird, but it also made me feel closer to him than ever before. And I have to admit, I couldn’t stop thinking about his boner. How big was it, what did it look like?

I was almost unbearably horny, but also excited in the emotional sense; a little kid on Christmas morning. I wanted to jump up and cheer, but I resisted the urge.

I could feel my dick straining as the plant insistently sucked it. I giggled.

Now it was my grampa’s turn to wrinkle his brow, questioning my humour.

“I just had a thought,” I told him, “This must be the first time a snake has sucked the poison out of another snake!”

It was a childish joke, but he grinned appreciatively and we stood sharing the moment, just a boy and his grampa getting their dicks sucked!

 

I felt another plant nuzzling at my scrotum, then my balls both disappeared inside its maw. Who’d have thought getting your balls sucked would be so hot. It pulled downwards, and the other plant tugged at my dick. I felt like they were having a tug of war for control over my junk. The one on my dick felt like a calf roughly suckling a teat, pulling hungrily at me, trying to force me to feed it. It had a surprising amount of suction, and it tugged using a combination of pressure and its grip on my helmet. I had pounded my own pud pretty hard on occasion, but this plant was pulling at me far harder. My hips were jerking forwards rhythmically as it tugged me and I could see grampa was moving in a similar rhythm.

“They get pretty rough,” he said, answering my unspoken question.

“Yeah,” I replied, allowing my dick to be yanked, but feeling a bit like I was at the mercy of the plants now.

“They get… excitable when they get a smell of cum,” grampa explained. “You have to come prepared to calm them down.”

“How do you… unhhhhh”

I never finished the sentence. I was cumming as violently as the plant was tugging me. The one on my balls must have sensed it and it pulled downwards powerfully. My legs buckled again, but this time I almost fell all the way to my knees. The plant on my dick went crazy, pulling and twisting like it was trying to unscrew my dick head. I don’t know how much I squirted, especially as it was my second time in 15 minutes, but the feeling was overwhelming. I came and came, seemingly for over a minute, and even when my balls finally stopped pumping, the plants continued working on me, forcing my body to surrender every last precious drop of cream.

I smacked my lips repeatedly, my mouth awash with saliva, gasping as though I had just finished a sprint, and then forced my legs to straighten.

I looked to my grampa sheepishly.

“I just squirted.”

“I noticed,” he said grinning serenely.

My dumb grin spread.

The plants continued working on my junk.

“How do I stop them?” I asked.

“Don’t. It’s your first time. Lucky three.”

“Three times?!” I queried. “I can’t do three. I’ve never…”

I trailed off, aware that I was giving away more personal information than I wanted him to have.

Grampa smiled at me.

“Today you can.”

I looked at him. My balls felt drained, but I had to admit, the plant still felt good on my dick. It had calmed down a little, but its warm wet softness was extremely pleasant on my helmet. It was wrapped around, touching me behind the head too. That was soft skin, fine, incredibly sensitive. The plant’s touch was electric. Then I noticed it was also touching me at the back of my dick – my banjo string. It was not a part that I touched when I jacked off, but now that I became aware of it, it was driving me crazy.

Another plant joined the action, it prodded between my legs. It opened then closed like a toothless mutt, trapping my gooch in its mouth. This was like a tour of my erogenous zones and the plants were putting on a clinic, tutoring me about parts of my body that I had never considered during my artless adolescent jerk off sessions.

A second plant prodded at my asshole, and a third. Each was finger-thin. They entwined around the first then forced their way into me. I felt my hole stretching, wider initially than was comfortable.  They slithered up, joining the first at what I later discovered was called my prostate. It felt like they were fighting for control, like a knot of water snakes, each vying for the right to drive me crazy.

I looked at my grampa with a look of consternation.

“You okay junior?” he asked.

“Uh, uh, yeah,” I grunted back. “Just f… f…feeels s..so goooood!”

I started squirming in time with the writhing in my hole, no longer able to control my body. My balls were being tugged and suckled, my dicks was being teased, my gooch was being massaged, and there was a party going on in my asshole. I was in ecstasy, unbearable, joyful physical pleasure the like of which I had never before experienced.

My grampa’s mouth opened and he grunted, looking right at me, and I knew that he was cumming. He grunted several more times.

The thought of us cumming together drove me over the edge and I came a third time, this time to more gentle coaxing, and I felt the plant on my dick swallowing every gulp greedily. I looked at my grampa with a dopey, dreamy expression, a dumb kid forced to give up his seed in front of an old man. And I was never so happy.

Eventually I stopped pumping, and now I really was completely spent. The plants’ touch was uncomfortable, and I couldn’t bear to be milked for another moment.

“I’ve had enough now grampa. Make it stop please.”

Grampa smiled and took a bottle from his bag. He poured a little on the plants around him, then he waded in slow motion through them to me. He couldn’t arrive fast enough. My young dick was unbelievably sensitive, just short of pain.

He poured some of the liquid on the plants that were working on my body, and they instantly released me, recoiling away.

Grampa smiled and put his arm around my shoulder.

“Have a good time?”

I gave him a lopsided grin. I was feeling like a dumb kid again.

In a husky voice I said, “Yeahhhh.”

 

We walked slowly to the edge of the plants and then beyond. My dick was pressing up against my belly, hard as it had ever been. I looked at grampa’s dick. It was massive, sticking out of his thick white bush, swaying in front of him like the boom on a crane.

“I’ve still got a boner,” I said, announcing the obvious.

“I can see,” grampa answered. “It takes about an hour to go down. It’s something the plants squirt on you. Keeps you hard.”

“What was that stuff in the bottle?” I asked.

“Oh just salt water. They don’t like it, but they’ll be ok. Never, ever try that without a bottle though. They won’t let you go without ripping your dick off. Or your nuts.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“C’mon, let’s get home,” grampa said.

I pulled on my clothes, tugging my shorts up over my still straining tent peg. It was throbbing.

“If you come out here every few days, you’ll get a dick like mine by the time you’re a man.”

I looked at grampa’s hefty meat. It seemed almost as big as my forearm. I pulled my shorts away and looked down at my five inch boner, then made a decision: I was going to visit the pond every single day.