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Remember that thing under your bed? Well...

I'm 6'-3" and I weigh a little over 220 pounds. Most of it hangs in a whisky belly around the middle. The hair is long and still mostly dark brown and I usually wear a full beard, because I hate shaving. All the years of sitting in the bars playing music and drinking have taken its toll on me. My one saving grace, I guess, is I still have eight inches of thick meat that'll get hard as iron, when correctly provoked.

This woman exuded a subtle elegance that I have seldom seen in my fifty-eight years. So you might expect that sitting here with my dick hanging between my legs, trying to act nonchalant, should have embarrassed me. It did.

"Lainie tells me you still fuck like Trigger," She said. "Been a long time since I've had a sausage like that one in my old tired pussy."

Like an idiot, I looked down at my dick, lying there quietly on the sheet between my legs. Then I looked back up at the woman sitting across from me at the table. I felt Mr. Johnson start to crawl along the sheet.

"How long has it been?" I asked.

"Forty two years, four months and six days," She said.

"Keepin' pretty accurate track of time, aren't you?" I asked.

"Some things are worth remembering," She whispered. "So tell me, whose idea was it for you to fuck the kid?"

"Well, if I'd known who she was, it never would have happened the first time," I said. "This afternoon, it was all her idea."

"That's what she told me, too," She said. "Is she any good?"

"I think she's fantastic," I answered.

My cock had picked himself up off the sheet and was staring straight at Mitsy. And he was hard as granite.

Mitsy stood up and walked around the table to where I sat. She kneeled at my feet, put one hand on my chest pushing me back down on the bed, and took my cock in her other hand and lowered her head to my lap. Her tongue reached out and slowly curled under the smooth head of my blood filled dick. Lapping slowly and easily, she soon had me dripping in a steady flow of clear fuck fluid, which she savored ravenously. I saw her lips part and her head advance, covering me with her red painted lips. Then I was gone into her mouth. Mitsy gave better head than her daughter. Our daughter.

Her head moved smoothly up and down on my cock. She used her tongue to massage me as she worked her magic mouth over me. All I could do was lie there and revel in the sensations she bestowed on my stiff prick. I could feel myself building toward a monster cum and told her I was getting close. She kept sucking for all she was worth until I dumped a gigantic wad of scalding sperm down her throat.

"Now, Sweet Meat," She said. Get dressed and pack your shit. You're taking me to dinner, and then you're coming to my place and fuck me stupid. And you won't be needing to stay a this rat trap motel."

"I'll just be a second," I said. "I have to catch a quick shower."

"No need," She said. "I just sucked Lainie's pussy smell off your dick a few minutes ago."

I took the shower any way and put on a fresh pair of chinos and a Hawaiian shirt. I threw my stuff back in my grip and we left the room. Of course, Mitsy has a Mercedes convertible. She climbed aboard and waved for me to follow her and we headed for the other side of the city.

She guided us to a small steakhouse on a major thoroughfare, where she instructed the mater-de like she owned the place and soon we found ourselves in a very private little nook far away from all the rest of the patrons. Wine appeared, as if by magic, and we were suddenly alone in a very romantic scene right out of a movie. Mitsy found herself a smoke and held it for about three seconds before a tiny female hand appeared with a light. I hadn't even had time to fumble for her lighter, which lay in plain sight on the table.

"You've obviously been here before," I observed.

"I own it," She stated.

Silly me, I thought to myself, why didn't I think of that?

"What prompted Lainie to come looking for me?" I asked, after taking a sip of very expensive wine.

"I suppose it was me," She admitted.

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