Chapter Text
DEVELOPMENT SUMMER
Unlike the average ostensible 10-year-old, Gwen Tennyson prided herself in her patience more so than her maturity. Where other children were likely to rush towards their desires and falter as a consequence—namely her cousin Ben—she had long since maintained the ability to work towards what she wanted incrementally and intelligently.
No matter the scale of her undertaking, doing so rarely failed to reap the outcome that she desired. Consequentially, the positive reinforcement required by children to ‘stick with’ processes that they learned was fed to her in excess for each success that she enjoyed.
Thanks to this, the fact that the latest and greatest desire of her short life concerned the likely oversized and sweat-greased cock of her grandfather failed to change the manner in which she approached acquiring it. Privy to the risks of conveying too much of her desire too quickly, its onset saw her invest herself in presentation.
Shortly, every opportunity that she was given to flaunt her body to her grandfather and tempt him with the idea of draining his balls into her was utilized to the fullest. As the two of them lived alongside her cousin in an RV, most of her opportunities came during periods of time wherein Ben was at least partially present to see them. Undaunted in spite of this, she imposed herself in a way that made her desires unambiguous. Whenever Max drove the RV—and during any period of time he spent seated— she made a point out of planting the unfairly fat-rounded bloat of her capri-pant gloved rear directly atop his crotch. Similarly, when circumstances required that they sit side by side with one another, she shamelessly used one of her hands to grope and rub at his crotch until a massive bulge appeared at the region.
Upon discerning that Ben was not observant enough to recognize any of her methods, she progressively intensified them. Over time, the hugs that she shared with Max came to include slight squats and nuzzling impressions of her face against his crotch, and invitations for the two of them to kiss in situations that did not strictly require them.
As her efforts intensified, so too did the amount of reciprocation she received from her grandfather. Understandably confused by her initial approaches and reluctant to participate in them, Max eventually accepted them as a ‘reality’ inherent to the changes thrust upon her throughout the summer.
Whereas the initial few weeks of the summer had seen Ben acquire the Omnitrix and a degree of proficiency at its usage, Gwen’s body had enjoyed a number of transformative developments unrelated to alien technology. Despite remaining at an average height for an ostensible 10-year-old and failing to present signs of facial maturity, the hormones coursing through her frame had resulted in her developing thighs and buttocks whose plush, squishy excess made the rest of her body appear that much more juvenile in comparison.
Explaining away the wobble-prone spheres as concentrations of baby fat was not an option. With each cheek owning the girth of a dough-engorged beach ball and a mushy-taut, palm-swallowing texture that rendered the backside of her capri pants as appearing skin tight, their appearance reeked of biological design. Topped off by the comparable thickening of her thighs and the fact that the rest of her remained distinctly waifish, seeing the smooth blubber spheres as anything other than the natural development of her frame became too difficult of a task for Max to invest himself in.
Granted the ‘excuse’ of potentially easing her hormone-addled frame, Max soon found himself without a reason to deny her. Where he could, he complimented her ‘hugs’ by finding the ample swell of one of her asscheeks with one of his hands, and willingly reciprocated the kisses that they shared with just enough aggression to avoid drawing undue suspicion from his grandson.
From the pair’s indulging one another was born a status quo that could have been maintained throughout the entirety of the summer (provided aliens or the destruction of Earth did not change things).
However, a status quo was not what Gwen desired. Hell-bent on sucking and fucking her grandfather’s monstrous endowment and quieting the stinging need that plagued her feminine organs of late, the establishment of mutual interest between the two of them saw her turn her focus towards pushing their perverse relationship further forward.
On doing so, what she required for this became apparent to her immediately:
As things were presently, all that she needed was a passable excuse and an ideal opportunity—
Two things that the summer was likely to provide to her as a matter of course.
-
THE INSIDE OF AN RV—PEAK SUMMER
Moving smoothly and confidently, a typically-dressed Gwen Tennyson cleared the miniature staircase leading into the interior of her grandfather’s RV with a smile on her face and a photograph in hand.
Certain that its owner would be present, she turned her line of sight towards the vehicle’s front half. Finding her beach-shirt-clad target seated atop the seating at the right side of the RV’s midsection, she supplemented her entrance with a stride up to his front and a careful concealment of the photograph she had acquired behind her back.
Ahead of him, she said nothing. Presenting no more information about the reason for her presence than could be gleaned from her odd posture, she waited for the aged man to cease sipping from the coffee mug clutched by his dominant before presenting him with a sly smile.
Familiar with his granddaughter’s mannerisms to a point, Max took this as his cue to speak.
“Oh, Gwen. I guess Ben’s still not back from hunting those aliens yet?” he suggested, jovially. “Sorry about asking you to keep checking. I predicted this job would take him most of the day, but you never know when he might finish early.”
“Anyway, by the looks of it, that’s not the only thing you came here to tell me about, is it?”
Provided an excuse to speak, Gwen sharpened her smile and brandished the photograph behind her back up towards Max’s face.
Depicted across it was what appeared to be a clothed, timeworn tome whose pages were on the verge of slipping from their binding. After providing him with a second or so to assess its contents, she began speaking in an inviting and girlish tone of voice that she reserved specially for specific conversations with her grandfather.
Why she chose this tone of voice did not become apparent until she moved most of the way through her address.
“Mhm, that’s right! I’m here for this, actually!” she started, grinning. “Remember that old thrift shop in the last town that we passed? It had this book that looked like it had spell scripts written into it, but I couldn’t really tell.”
“I had some time to check today and it turns out it’s really useful for learning magic and stuff. It costs way more money than I saved up for the summer though, so I wanted to make you an offer…”
“If you’ll buy it for me, I’ll do something really nice for you ♥ .” she explained, earnestly. “I know you try to treat Ben and I equally, but this is really important to me! You can spoil me a little just this once, can’t you?”
Manipulative beyond her years, Gwen spent her time speaking scanning Max’s face for signs of interest in the beginnings of her proposal. Catching an ascent of his eyebrows at her mention of something ‘really nice’, she piped up shortly afterwards to make use of it.
Interestingly, though, she did so in motion rather than stagnancy.
“I get that I seem kinda lazy whenever that dweeb Ben asks me to do something, but I’m completely serious about this, Grandpa.” she continued, eyes slanted back towards the RV space behind her. “Just saying that I’m willing to work is a little too easy, so I’m going to prove it to you…”
“Just sit back and watch, okay?”
This time, Gwen’s utterances saw her transition from her position ahead of Max to one propped up on her knees atop the faded-orange seating installed behind her. Backing towards it word by word, she punctuated her final utterance by raising both of her hands up to the skin-tight waistline of her sky blue capri pants. In place, she slipped their index and middle fingers underneath the fabric suckled to her hips and sensually peeled the garment down along her lower body. After the short fit of tugging and wiggling required for dragging the garment from its skin-tight suckle against the bloat of her buttocks, every inch of descent that she managed exposed stretches of moist, peach-complexion skin to the open-air directly ahead of Max’s line of sight.
Perfectly aware of what she had done, she afterwards turned to flaunt it. Setting the massively overripe pillow-spheres of assflesh at her rear right where her grandfather could see them, she subsequently raised herself up to a kneecap-set plant atop the orange seating ahead of her. Intentionally raising one leg at a time, she followed up the settlement of her position by bracing her upper body inwards against the spine of the bar-style seating whilst at the same time pushing the gratuitous excess of her asscheeks out towards her grandfather.
‘Cutting’ the display here would have sufficed as enough motivation for any other man to spoil Gwen to her heart’s content. Recognizing Max as a man deserving of far more than this, she subsequently moved on to displaying one of the foremost ‘skills’ she had developed over the summer.
Using an ideal combination of her hips, lower back, and thighs, Gwen began bouncing the smooth plush of her asscheeks up and down within Max’s line of sight.
While ‘up and down’ represented the most simplistic way to describe the motion of her rear, the noisy movement set that she created for it was anything but simplistic. From the first miniature bounce of her hips onwards, every ascent and descent of Gwen’s hips acquired complementation from curved flicks of her lower back, slight contractions of her upper thighs, and tiny inward flexes of her buttocks’ fat-smothered musculature. Thanks to the momentum generated by the bounce of her hips, the flicks of her lower back and the contractions of her rear musculature resulted in the pliant bloat of her asscheeks’ inner sides colliding with another. Equivalent in the amount of molestable fat they offered, these impacts resulted in the spheres rebounding away from one another just slightly whilst moist *PLAP!*noises were pushed out into the open air.
Throughout, activations of her thigh musculature expedited the settlement of her buttocks back into its start position. Recognizing these contributions at the speed that Gwen executed her twerking was impossible, but without these adjustments, the visual product that she desired from the effort would never have come to be.
At the pace that one’s heart might throb at the sight of it, Gwen executed a bouncy undulation of all of her assfat that perfectly encapsulated the extent to which her rear dominated her figure. Amidst the noisy impressions of her cheeks’ inner sides against themselves, the extent to which her black panties’ backside was swallowed by their excess was perfectly visible—a circumstance that left the dead center of her anus covered whilst the plush and striated fringes around her sphincter were teased each time her cheeks bounced apart—and the garment’s age-appropriate tinniness was further contrasted against her body’s development.
Having seen girls her own age produce displays like this for their partners, Gwen had become of the opinion that presenting her grandfather with a twerking session of her own would provide just enough of a push to force his hand. Contriving a story about a book that she desired precisely for this purpose, she put her all into the display on a second-by-second basis to ensure that it remained consistent enough to convey her motivation. Then, once certain that she was doing the very best that she could do, she topped it all off by slanting her face back behind her just slightly so that her would-be suitor might catch a glimpse of the absence of exertion on her face.
Where this gesture was concerned, Gwen’s twerking was almost too effective. From the beginning of her rhythmic metronome onwards, Max’s line of sight and all of his mental energy were utterly consumed by the bouncing and clapping of her granddaughter’s asscheeks and everything that they entailed.
To begin with, the knowledge that Gwen had become capable of such a display was stimulating enough to complete the fattening of his cock within a matter of seconds. When the sight of her assfat quaking against itself was set on top of this, sitting and watching the display in a modest stupor became akin to masturbation for him.
Despite having lived long enough to obtain the title of ‘grandfather’, Max was not so out of touch as to be ignorant of the meaning behind what Gwen was doing. Initially by coincidence and later as a result of personal interest, recent years had seen him become intimately familiar with expert displays of twerking and their ‘usage’.
Bluntly, Gwen’s display blew all of the other instances he had seen out of the water. Controlled yet effective—this in spite of the fact that her ass was much fatter and wobblier relative to all of the others he had seen engaged in the activity—losing himself in her display and allowing his cock to attain a level of painful engorgement felt too natural for him to engage in anything else.
If not for the sheer amount of lust and semen that the display plugged into his crotch, watching it forever was likely to have come just as naturally to him.
As a result of it, though, Max was forced to act. Soon enough, the throbbing engorgement of his cock had created a curled bulge at his crotch that threatened to burst from his slacks at a moment’s notice. Facially calm in spite of this, the sensation of its pulsing drew him to his feet, and soon enough pushed him across the narrow floor space of the RV up to a position behind Gwen.
Indulgence nearly as shameless as Gwen’s twerking came from him in short order. Recently made aware of the fact that Gwen had turned her gaze backwards to watch him, he showed no hesitation in pressing the face of his right hand down into contact with the bouncing flesh of her right asscheek. Following a brief pause induced by the fact that his adult-sized palm failed to dominate the cheek’s span, he depressed his digits deeper into its plush, and even began rolling his wrist to swivel the groping impression of his palm around as much of the dough sphere as he could grasp.
What Max sought from the act was catharsis—a means of slowing the arrival of the inevitability heralded by Gwen’s newfound talent.
What he acquired instead was motivation for acceleration. Driven past the point of no return by the meaty pushback that Gwen’s buttock exerted against his touch and Gwen’s refusal to cease her twerking throughout (this in turn making something more intimate of the display), he quickly found his lips dragged apart by a long-since-suppressed desire to speak.
Funnily enough, the shape of his mouth was altered into a sneer well before it was applied to this task.
“…Don’t get me wrong, Gwen—I know how much interest you’ve had in magic these days. I think it’s good that you’re putting your time into something as well. Kids can gain a lot from picking up a hobby or two while their own vacation…” Max began, voice seemingly unaffected by everything that he had endured.
“That said, you should know better…”
“If money is what you want, you should already be doing a lot more than this , right?”
Though he had not uttered anything explicitly perverse, Gwen discerned the underlined meaning of her grandfather’s words instantaneously. Dropping the unaffected coolness that controlled her features, she produced a sly smile in the midst of pushing her right arm back behind her. Twerking maintained throughout, she impressed her palm against as much of the exposed bulge at Max’s crotch as she could.
With this, she abandoned the bouncing of her hips and replaced it with an intimate, circling impression of her hand against the covered bloat of her grandfather’s cock.
“Oh, don’t worry, Grandpa…”
“I know exactly what’ll make you wanna buy me that book… ♥ ” she huffed cutely.
Seemingly certain of what the future held for her, the tail end of Gwen’s declaration bled into an immediate display of the source from which her certainty stemmed. Rotating on her knee caps, she set her face directly ahead of Max’s crotch and braced her palms to either side of his slacks’ waistline. Finding it loosened for her touch, a few heavy tugs peeled the garment far enough downward to expose the vascular root of Max’s trapped endowment and the sweat-glazed pubes strewn out across his crotch.
Long since enraptured by everything phallic, neither of these things (nor the scents of semen and cocksweat that hit her nostrils) were enough to dissuade Gwen from her approach. With the root of her grandfather’s cock exposed, she used both of her hands to fish the table-leg-girth organ out of his pants via a single dedicated peel.
Impressively, facing the organ at its utmost and all of the physical realities attached to it did not result in her shying away from it either.
So far as she was concerned, she had come too far to feel overwhelmed. Now weeks into imagining herself bobbing her lips up and down the organ’s bloat and huffing the masculine aroma plastered to its flesh into her sinuses, the fact that she had at last brought herself face to face with the drooling virility of her grandfather’s oversized cock struck her as something to be celebrated.
Needless to say, the fact that she was undaunted by her position did not stop her from being happily awed by it. For a handful of seconds after all 14 inches of Max’s baseball-bat-girth erection sprang out ahead of her face, Gwen could not help but lose herself in the hole-ruining masculinity that it maintained. Owning a girth that both of her palms together fell just short of encapsulating and a reddened, need-bloated glans inches shy of the span of one of her fists, its dimensions offered a wealth of eye-catching appeal in and of themselves.
While enthralling, hese were not her favorite aspects of the spire. Situated at a height that allowed her to look straight down along its face whilst at the same time breathing in the uterus-warming stench of its precum, Gwen’s eyes naturally traced their way along the inflamed, pink-peach blood vessels that armored it from its glans downwards. Lengthy and branched like obese creeping vines, yet ‘unexcessive’ in the sense that the majority of them existed as worming branches that split off from a handful of vertically-set trunk veins that extended up along the face and sides of his shaft, the sight of them allowed for Gwen to create vivid mental images of what they might feel like impressed against the interior of one of her holes.
In part, the quality of these mental images pushed Gwen to return to the task she had taken up sooner than she had intended to. Snapping forward out of her trance whilst hungrily parting the slender plush of her lips, she abruptly plugged the first few inches of her grandfather’s sweat-lathered erection into her mouth without a moment’s hesitation. Unbothered by (and ignorant to) the perverse spread imposed onto her lips by its girth, the end to her ingress came only after the entirety of his shaft’s tip was plated atop the slimy humidity of her tongue.
At the core of this decision was a combination of capacity and preference. Yet to take anything close to her grandfather’s cock into her mouth, rushing her attempt at creating a satisfactory experience for him in the process was set out as something for her to avoid.
Separately, she held her own ideas about how to proceed. Straight after plugging her mouth with cockflesh, she supplemented the warmth that it smothered against his glans by raising her left hand up into a firm ‘cupping’ of as much of the tennis-ball-sized bloat of his moistened testicles as she could.
Next, she set about creating the beginnings of a metronome. First tightening the impression of her lips around Max’s cocktip slightly, she subsequently began pumping her skull inwards and outwards in mimicry of the older girls she had observed in the graphic pornopgraphy she consumed in her free time. Per stroke, she did her utmost to narrow the confines of her mouth whilst at the same time swinging her tongue from left to right in dedicated pendulum-scrubs against the underside of Max’s cock. In doing so, she applied two different forms of pleasure to his member at once—one focused on outright stimulation, and another focused on growing the load of semen that he’d eventually provide her with.
Simultaneously, she applied her fingers into a chain of depressive undulations meant to tease her grandfather’s balls into hyperactivity. Forgoing a simple clenching of her fingers and palm into the sac-drawn sperm factories, she imagined herself rhythmically molesting the chords of an especially bloated, musk-drenched instrument and intensified the depression of her fingers one at a time over the course of a second or so. Through this, the individual impressions of her fingers against his balls were made distinct, and therefore more ‘grating’ with regards to her grandfather’s stimulation (if the porn she had consumed was to be believed).
Together, Gwen’s suckling and fondling constituted what she believed to be a ‘good start’ for her first indulgence in Max’s cock. All the while conscious of the fact that more would eventually be required of her, she continued pushing herself bit by bit in search of a positive reaction from the man above her.
Surprisingly, it did not take her very long to actually earn one. Immediately enthralled with everything to do with Gwen’s spirited bob around the beginnings of his cock, grunts of stimulation began seeping through Max’s lips mere seconds into her effort.
Compared to what he could tolerate, the amount of stimulation that she provided him with was paltry. However, when considered alongside the perverse adoration that glowed within Gwen’s eyes as she worked and the amount of effort she invested into ensuring that it was directed up at him at all times, Max found himself enjoying her first attempt at cocksucking more and more by the second.
With time, the problem of the amount of stimulation she was generating for him solved itself as well. Seemingly motivated by the grunts that he produced and the throbbing of his member, Gwen eventually injected effective changes into her suckling pattern all by herself. After fondling a decent amount of semen into the root of his cock, she reapplied her left hand in a half-span encapsulation of his shaft’s midsection. Adding her right hand to the effort moments later, she subsequently slipped into a two-handed milking-stroke that left her fingers in constant contact with the pleasure-sensitive cockveins strewn out along the face of his member.
In the midst of this, her dedication to improving with her mouth remained the same. Gingerly, the acceleration of her stroking bled into a compressive bunting of his glans up against the congealed back end of her throat. Loosening its face after a half dozen impacts, the outflow of a fleshy *GLORSH* from her mouth signaled the depression of an additional two inches of cockflesh between her lips. Wrought from the invasion of her esophagus by his glans, Gwen abruptly forced herself to shift the position of her two-handed stroke down to the midsection of his cock so that she could ‘properly’ throat the initial 4 inches of his length.
Even the gagging and mucus-slop discharge produced by these things was utilized to her advantage. As could be expected of a growing girl with an untrained gag-reflex, Gwen’s decision to take additional inches of Max’s cock into her throat resulted in her innards attempting to reject the spire on a regular basis. Actually accomplishing this remained beyond them— a plight that her innards shared with those of older and more experienced women—but this did not stop them from squeezing and spewing against Max’s girth all throughout her changed throating metronome.
In yet another display of natural talent, Gwen utilized the contractions of her throat by attempting to prolong them (thereby creating a fleshy smothering of the beginnings of Max’s cock), and allowing the murky, mildly bubble-strewn slop dredged up her gullet alongside them to spill out into haphazard descents along his length. In doing so, she hoped that the lubrication of her insides would contribute to the creation of a soothing glaze for Max’s cock.
Merely ‘hoping’ was not the sum of her intent, of course. Over time, the pumping of her skull and her lips’ persistence around Max’s cock resulted in the beginnings of his shaft being drenched with far more throatslop than its exterior could manage on its own. Past a certain point of build-up, the syrup-like sheet that the initial 4-inches of his shaft acquired began to ooze a muddy runoff of sweat-infused mire down along the fattest, most vein-riddled inches of his trunk.
These dribbling descents were leveraged by Gwen right as their gooey warmth made contact with her hands. Imagining the throatslop that she had fucked out of herself as a lubricant to be smeared and stroked all about her grandfather’s cock, she intently smothered every trail of slop that arrived partway down the length of Max’s cock into its throbbing flesh and accelerating her stroking effort soon afterwards.
Largely empty-headed throughout, these actions in particular were buoyed by the depth of her desire. Such was her abyssal need for making an ideal cocksucker out of herself that neither the snail’s pace descent of a trail of mucus from her right nostril nor a constant, cock-fattening spillage of *SCHLRP-GLUCK-SHCLP* noises and stroking *SCHLK!* noises from her efforts proved sufficient for breaking her concentration.
A full 10 minutes of her cocksucking passed precisely like this. Drawn into a trance by her investment into proceedings, Gwen became all too happy to mindlessly repeat her metronome in anticipation of additional stimuli or motivation from her grandfather.
Had she selected a man less seasoned—less greedy with regards to dragging backed-up loads out of his balls—the odds of her receiving what she required were likely to have narrowed into negligibility.
Fortunately, Max Tennyson just so happened to be the very worst kind of degenerate that she could have paired herself with. Briefly content with watching her progress and feeling the creation of a pleasant amount of mess along the length of his cock, the stagnation of her metronome soon led him to lower his right hand down into contact with the back end of her skull. Collecting a handful of the red-orange locks of hair at the region into his palm, he applied them as a handle in a smooth, *GLORSH* inducing extraction of his cock from out of Gwen’s mouth.
Much to his surprise, Gwen’s first response to the manipulation of her frame was longing as opposed to relief. Before her spittle-smeared maw could close behind the escape of his member, a whimper of disappointment slithered out of the back of her throat. In its wake, Max’s eyes caught what appeared to be an attempt at replacing her lips at the tip of his cock as well.
Intent on avoiding this, Max tightened his grasp on the back of her skull and chuckled so as to yank her attention off of the glazed state of his cock.
As his eyes met her own, an address from him followed.
“That noise you just made worried me for a bit, Gwen. You almost made it seem like I took something important away from you, haha.” he teased, grinning. “Anyway, I guess I’ve misjudged you. To me, it looks like you’ve got more than enough of a work ethic to earn what you want.”
“My standing like this won’t be good for either of us, though. My legs aren’t what they used to be, and to my eye, I think you’re not really used to the position that you’re in either.”
“So here…”
Pausing briefly, Max released the back of Gwen’s skull and took a single step off to his left. Turning and seating himself atop an unoccupied stretch of seating, he swiftly settled into a far more comfortable position that left his cock and balls just as accessible to Gwen as they had been before.
Set, he turned his features over towards Gwen and waved his left hand to beckon her inwards.
“Come kneel between my legs and keep sucking. Trust me, you’ll have a much easier time working from there...” he admonished.
Beset by lust and earnest drive in equivalent amounts, the sound of Max’s voice coaxed action from Gwen well before he finished speaking. Sliding off of the seating as directed, she promptly wiggled herself up to a position propped up atop her knees between her grandfather’s thighs and dipped her upper body inwards to resume servicing his shaft.
Mentally ‘cooled’ by her minute-long separation from the organ, her approach to the task came from a new angle. At a loss as to how to make her suckling ‘better’, Gwen opted to invest herself in exploratory strokes of her tongue against the opposing sides of Max’s shaft. Beginning at its left side, she dragged the face of her spittle-greased organ from his glans down to the modestly pube-flecked bloat of its root. At the end of her descent, she applied a trio of short, suckle-backed kisses against the region before ascending back up to the nose of his member the way she had come.
On her return, she transitioned to the right side of his shaft. So as to avoid reproducing the same ministrations used at the left side of his cock, arrival here saw her tilt her skull to the left slightly before mushing the face of her tongue back against his glans. On contact, she scrubbed the organ up and down along a two-inch span of throbbing cockflesh, and continually shifted the location of this span by slowly rocking her skull in and out of position.
More than anything else, the localized stimulation that she applied with these ministrations was meant to contrast against the exploratory slurping she produced at the left side of his cock. Intent on highlighting the difference, she capped off several seconds of this lapping by jumping back to the left side of Max’s length to reproduce a descending stroke.
From this arose a spirited oscillation that provided Gwen with the information that she was looking for. Failing to drag any notable responses from Max throughout a full half-minute of exertion, the precum smeared red-head soon herself with no other choice but to roll a different set of dice.
So as to take hold of them, she abruptly halted her licking and sent her green eyes into another sultry stare up at her grandfather.
“Your cock has been throbbing a lot, Grandpa ♥ . Since that means you’re enjoying everything, you can buy me that book now, right?” she started, voice both playful and inquisitive. “I mean, I’ve worked super hard up ‘till now. There's no way you could want more from me…”
“Right ♥ ?”
Attentions drawn downward, the end of Gwen’s address saw Max brandish a grin.
Though her question was one that any other girl might’ve produced in her position, his experience with Gwen allowed him to see it for what it truly was:
An attempt at acquiring information.
“Well now, let’s see…” beginning airily, Max reached down with his dominant hand and smothered the sweat-moistened swell of his erection into his palm as he spoke. “This hasn’t been bad so far, but there’s just one tiny thing missing…”
Situating himself to provide exactly what Gwen sought, Max intentionally delayed her ‘reward’ for his own benefit. Presenting a grin of his own, he began tweaking his wrist outward and inward in sequence to repeatedly slap the sex-moistened underside of his length against Gwen’s features. Dwarfing her skull in the process, the act’s primary purpose (outside of smearing the scent of his length into her pores) was a reiteration of exactly how massive his shaft was relative to her juvenile frame.
Maintaining these chained slaps just long enough to induce a needy furrowing of Gwen’s brow, the sight of it prompted Max to spare his granddaughter from any further frustration.
“All you’ve got to do is take my cock right down to the base.” he stared, sneering. “That should be easy for you by now, right?”
At last provided with a clear and concise path to ‘success’, Max’s declaration carried explosions of ecstasy across Gwen’s face until perverse anticipation became the dominant ‘quality’ of her features.
No less conscious of the act that she was performing as a result, the resolidification of her visage led her to act as her position demanded. Stagnant until Max’s cockslapping came to an end, she raised her lips back up to a sitting position above the tip of his glans, and thereafter reapplied both of her palms around the middle of his shaft.
This done, she began stroking, pouting, and speaking in perfect concert.
“B-But it’s so big...” she complained, breathily. “How am I supposed to—”
“Ugh, alright fine! I’ll do it, you old pervert ♥ . You better not be lying though, okay?”
In stark contrast to the frustration that she threaded into her voice, the end of Gwen’s retort fished her tongue into a hungry slurp across her lips. Following its presentation, she snapped her lips apart in a voracious display of saliva and bulbous throat flesh and plunged her skull downward and inward to drive several inches of Max’s cock straight down her throat.
Relative to the extent of her hunger, her inexperience meant nothing. Past the impression of the 4 inches she had managed thus far, she vigorously punched her skull back and forth along the spire over the course of several seconds to ruthlessly grind additional inches of pulsing cockflesh through her esophagus.
All throughout, her body rebelled. Beginning with a slew of wet gags induced by her first few blows, every chunk of her grandfather’s over-bloated cock that she successfully gored through her lips pushed tears from the corner of her eyes, and fished muted expulsions of mucus from her nostrils. The inches that she wished to consume were delivered into the congested pudginess of her esophagus nonetheless, but over time, her facial features were left more perverse for it.
Just as it began to seem like Gwen’s prodigious talent for taking cock knew no real boundary, a ‘limit’ for her skull-plunging was fashioned by her frame. 7 inches down the 14-inch monstrosity she intended to throat, the engorgement of her neck by cockflesh and the overwhelmed wriggling of her esophagus denied her the ability to force additional inches of Max’s shaft down her throat. Try as she might to force the issue, she found that the stretches of her esophagus past this point remained too taut and flesh congested for her to push past.
Yet again, a point in time wherein another ‘seemingly innocent’ girl would have faltered became a juncture where Gwen thrived. Noting her inability to go any deeper than the 7 inches she had stabbed into herself, she turned her attention towards ensuring that all of these inches enjoyed as much stimulation as possible.
As she worked, internal challenges reverberated through her psyche one after another.
“Hope you’re ready for your nastiest throatjob ever, Grandpa…”
“’Cause that’s exactly what you’re gonna get ♥ . I don’t even care if you want to give me that stupid book afterwards—”
“I’m just gonna make sure that I make you blow out all of your cockjuice instead!”
Needless to say, the verbalization of what Gwen wished to accomplish changed little with regards to her stride towards it. Whilst thinking to herself, her body’s hunger coaxed her lips from the midsection of Max’s cock straight back up to a perverse, mouth-spreading suckle against its tip. Knowing better than to linger here, she set herself here just long enough for several heady blurts of precum to jet out against the back of her throat before shamelessly driving her mouth back down to its new stopping point.
Aided by the glue-thick slime’s coalescence with the mucus that bled from her esophagus lining, this plunge (and all those that followed) were defined by a phallus-draining ease yet to be seen in Gwen’s efforts thus far. Only a split second after initiating her descent, the creation of a greasy *GLUCK ♥ * noise wrought from the mire-caked state of her innards marked the re-engorgement of her neck with cockflesh.
Despite being elated by the sensation, Gwen did not allow herself to break the pace that she had established. Ignoring the needy sputtering of her lower lips, she supplanted her descent with another full-length ascent of her skull to initiate a messy, gag-narrated throatfucking session for herself.
As had been the case up until this point, what defined the metronome was tractable to the amount of energy that she invested into it. Evidently willing to manipulate herself as a masturbation toy that did not require oxygen or comfort to function, Gwen tirelessly ground her maw up and down the vein-studded phallus inches she had chosen without once considering the slovenly condition of her skull. Yet again, languid spurts of throatslop out from under her lips went ignored by her as par for the course, and the face-reddening strain inherent to her efforts was drowned out of her psyche by the satisfaction she derived from her work.
Contributions from her hands followed in short order. Painfully aware of the fact that about half of Max’s shaft remained outside of her gullet’s embrace, her seconds spent scrubbing the scented meat tower with her throat soon became seconds wherein she applied a two-handed pump of her palms along the wriggling girth of its lower inches. Beginning from a start position a pair of inches below the slop-drenched stopping point of her lips, she placed each of her girlish palms around as much of the spire’s girth as she could whilst imagining herself attempting to thread her fingers together. Palms met by a familiar vein-studded expanse of balmy, slop-greased flesh, the sensation it provided signaled her wrists to reproduce the aggressive stroking motions that she had engaged in seconds prior.
As combined with the specifics of her throating, her ability to maintain this stroking became that much more valuable. Despite their being performed over fractions of a second, every inward punch of Gwen’s throat was made up of several pleasurable parts. In order, these were the depression of her lips’ slimy plush down against the bloat of the phallus veins that passed through them, the virginal tightness of her throat and esophagus, and the masturbatory convulsions of her esophagus around a full 7 inches of Max’s shaft.
Whilst the first two of these factors simulated the sort of gooey, pressurized envelopment that her cunt might’ve offered, the last of them ensured that the depths of her mouthcunt could be counted as a potent orifice all its own. When finally her chosen inches of Max’s cock were skewered inside her esophagus, rejective convulsions akin to peristalsis applied fleshy compression along their exterior in waves. Each one sufficient to drag heavy burbles of precum from Max’s cocktip just in time for an ascent of Gwen’s lips, their grip on his length and the vehemence of them made it feel as though her insides were genuinely desperate to work semen out of his length.
Two different forms of complex pleasure as applied to two different fractions of Max’s cock was enough to pull even his experienced frame into a state of euphoria.
The beginnings of Gwen’s efforts had been perceived by him as ‘mild’ enough for him to observe in relative silence. In comparison, her latest display of intent transformed his grunts into verbalizations only minutes into its execution.
If unbecoming in the sense that Max typically proved capable of enduring far more stimulation, the reaction itself was not at all abnormal.
Thanks to the quality of Gwen’s throating, a handful of minutes was really no different from an hour-long session of dedicated oral worship.
“Uwwoohh, f-fuck! Y-you really want that book, huh?” Max exhaled, tone modestly strained relative to the jovial content of his voice. “You’ve gone and built up a decent amount of nut inside my balls, so I think it’s about time I do something about it…”
“Try not to quit on your old man, alright?”
A master of his depraved craft, Max’s words did not provide any indication as to his intent or the severity of it.
Partly as a result of this, he acquired free reign. Acting abruptly right as Gwen worked through the peak of her ministration set, he snapped both of his hands up into a paired compression at the back of her skull. Using his left to dominate the majority of the region's span and his right to press down against the tiny fringe that its counterpart could not smother, he subsequently applied enough force and pressure to turn the latest plunge of Gwen’s hilt into something much more momentous.
Within a pair of seconds whose passage seemed far longer as a result of the stimulation that they contained, a short-lived *SCHLLOO~P* from out of Gwen’s gullet culminated in a wet impression of her lips against the pube-smattered surface of Max’s crotch.
Taken completely by surprise, Gwen’s lidded eyes snapped into a wide, concentrated state at the root of Max’s crotch. Not at all resistant in spite of this, her effort’s sudden culmination into forceful aggression from her grandfather left her too shocked to discern what she ought to do next.
As it turned out, though, thinking was not something that Max required of her. After forcing his length to a hilt within her gullet, the aged man produced a series of heavy, short-length plunges that punched inches of his writhing spire up and down through her seizing gullet at a time. Close range and abusive in nature, the *PLAP!!*(s) produced by their delivery became the dominant noise source within the room until Max cut off their outflow with another hilt.
At this, the dominant noise source within the room became his voice.
“Guuhahhh FUCK! I-I’m cummin’, Gwen!” Max grunted, heartily. “Take everything into your mouth—don’t let any of my cum go to waste!”
“Do that, and I’ll get you any kind of dried-up book you want!”
Bellowing at a volume that enveloped his words in a veil of veracity, Max used his newfound control over the airspace of the RV (and Gwen’s skull) as an excuse to let himself go. Producing one final upward punch of his crotch right as he finished speaking—this delivered whilst his crotch remained firmly flattened against Gwen’s cheeks and nostrils—the internal aggravation that he incurred from it dragged his frame into orgasm the moment the full length of his cock was replanted down Gwen’s throat.
*BLORPPP~!*
As if sentient and opinionated, the beginning of his release announced itself in a manner that set a vile tone for its entirety. Backed up within Max’s balls over the course of several weeks of teasing and ineffective masturbation, the first strand of semen to complete a urethra-fattening ascent up and out of his length offered almost everything that a modest individual would consider to be foul. Largely greyish-white in spite of the extent of its congestion, yet muddy and dense to the extent that it appeared to imitate a foul concoction of industrial resin and lumpy cake batter, the sight of it inspired the eye to imagine something far more reproductively potent than mere semen.
Both as a result of the sheer amount of the substance that Max had prepared himself to get rid of and the ridiculous scale of his cock, the strand’s scale was nearly as obscene as its composition. Representing the width of a nickel and the length of an elongated shoelace, the final blob of it that escaped from Max’s cocktip capped off what would have constituted the release of an entire load from another man.
Appropriately, the discharge itself was marked by a gurgling eruption of noise significant enough to reverberate out of Gwen’s skull and neck. Forged between the discharge of the strand itself and its esophagus-bloating depression through the uncorked reaches of Gwen’s esophagus, its release reaped a slow and steady reproduction of similarly vile (yet notably less loud) expulsion noises per thread of cockjuice Max released.
Conventionally speaking, the compilation of such meaty strands against one another within a virtually untested esophagus was dangerous. Furthermore, such compilation whilst Max’s forearms remained locked in contraction and unwilling to provide Gwen with even a moment’s respite was downright inadvisable.
Coincidentally, Gwen’s desire for her grandfather’s semen was anything but conventional. Following the initial shock induced from Max’s hilting himself down her throat, the explosion of semen down her throat actually resulted in her regaining control of herself as opposed to losing it.
With this control, what was required of her (and her innards) became abundantly clear:
No matter what, she needed to swallow. One gulp at a time, she needed to make sure that all of her grandfather’s semen ended up in her stomach.
As such, she did—firmly, wetly, and incrementally.
“W-Whooaaa…” internally dazed, Gwen’s execution of what was required provided her with a wealth of stimuli to ruminate on throughout. “Grandpa’s cockjuice is so thick and wriggly ♥ . It feels like muddy jelly is getting pushed down my throat over and over…”
“T-This is way better than I thought it would be ♥ ! My stomach is getting so warm and full, a-and every gulp I take makes my crotch feel like it’s gonna start squirting all by itself…”
“I’ve always wanted to do this ‘cause of how huge Grandpa’s dick is, b-but maybe it was just my body trying to tell me something…”
“Maybe I’ve just been meant to slurp out all of his nasty balljuice all along ♥ .”
Unsurprisingly, Gwen’s daydreaming contributed a great deal to her successes. After a handful of strained gulps that culminated in a sloppy clearance of semen out of several inches of her esophagus, the raucous*GLORPS* that reverberated from her neck came to coincide with smooth deposits of Max’s semen strands into her stomach. A certain amount of each one refused to cease clinging to the inner lining of her esophagus, but for the most part, a lumpy foundation of nut was built and supplemented at the pit of her stomach.
To reiterate, any other ostensibly little girl was guaranteed to have regurgitated at least a portion of the sludge on the grounds of its weight and chewable consistency. Every bit the congealed batter that it appeared to be, the nasty drizzles of the substances that were spewed against one another provided more than enough weight to fatten her stomach to a state of engorgement potent enough to render the typically-flat face of Gwen’s stomach as slightly pudgy with semen.
Despite enduring this consequence well before an end to Max’s orgasm appeared anywhere in sight, Gwen stuck to the task that she had taken up as though her life depended on it. Dogged by the sensation of sperm cells squirming against the lining of her stomach throughout, emptying her grandfather’s balls quickly became an ordeal bent between gut-rending stimulation and strain.
Nevertheless, her consistency wrought success. Eventually, the semen welled into Max’s cockroot by proceedings was expended, and the orgasm-induced euphoria that had overtaken him was progressively withered until some semblance of sense returned to him.
Funnily enough, this did not stop him from finding satisfaction in his situation. Well after his palms slipped away from the back of Gwen’s skull (this in response to the end of his release), the noises and tugging contractions inherent to her swallowing continued. Gaze tempted downward by their quality, his eyes found Gwen’s visage in a flushed, affection-infused state that presented her as happier than ever before.
Charged with a confidence hewn from deductions that one could only make from a position of familial intimacy, the satisfaction that he felt quickly bled into another declaration:
“…Christ. It’s been years since I’ve blown a load like that, and fuck me if I’m going to let it stop there…” he exhaled.
“You’d better get ready to keep working, Gwen. You’ve earned your book, but there’s plenty more of my cum where that came from and I’m not letting you leave her until you milk out every stinking drop!”
Stomach warmed by semen and mind enraptured with fulfillment, Max’s declaration found Gwen in a state that was completely receptive to its mandates.
With or without her grandfather’s demanding it, working to drain the log of cockflesh that pulsed and wriggled within her digestive tract was now all but second nature to her.
In her mind, she owed the effort to herself—
To the patience she had displayed, and to the positive reinforcement soaked into the reward centers of her brain...