Kylie & Old Harry - Another Visit

"Why can't I?" asked Kylie yet again, this time with exasperation in her voice.

"It's a terrible idea," replied Caroline, her mother. "Can't you see that? This boyfriend of yours, Peter, is five years older than you and wants to drag you to the other side of the world. What about your A-Levels? And then there's college to think of."

"It's only for a year. I'll get back into all that when I return from Australia."

"Sorry, Kylie. The answer is no. That's my final word on the subject."

"Don't I get any say? I'm eighteen now. Legally, I can do whatever I want."

"I don't care how old you are. While you're under our roof and dependant on me and your father for everything, you're going to knuckle down for your exams and start filling out college applications."

"You're such a hypocrite! You never went to college, so why should I? At my age you were already married with a baby."

"BILL!" Caroline shouted loud enough for her husband to hear upstairs.

"You selfish bitch!" Kylie didn't mean it, of course. She realised this even as the words left her lips, but she was just so frustrated. By summoning her dad, her mother had played her trump card. There was no way she was going to be allowed to go to Australia with Peter once her dad saw the extent of his wife's opposition to the idea.

"You may as well leave him where he is, I'm going out," said a petulant Kylie.

"At this time of night? It's already gone ten. What about school tomorrow?"

"I can't stay here with you a moment longer. Not when you're like this. I'm going round to Cynthia's for the night and then I'll go to school with her in the morning."

Then to ensure she'd won this minor battle even though she seemed to have lost the war, Kylie went to her bedroom to change and gather a few overnight toiletries into her knapsack. When she slipped out of the house, she made a conscious decision not to disturb her parents, who were watching television in the living room. This was in part because she knew that when her mother realised, she'd gone without saying goodbye, it would serve as a little twist of an emotional knife, but it was also because she didn't want them to see her leave the house so scantily clad in a tight crop-top and short skirt.

Despite saying she was going to visit her friend; Kylie was unsure of where she actually wanted to go. Cynthia only lived on the next street, but Kylie had often used the excuse of visiting her friend only to turn the corner and use her phone to call an uber and go to Peter's apartment instead. However, as she walked along the street, the realisation came to her that she was unsure if she really wanted to see her boyfriend after all. Still, having used such a dramatic flourish to conclude the argument with her mother, she felt she needed to follow it through and go to one or other of them.

This type of indecision was nothing new to her of late. It was a consequence of her whole world being put into a spin ever since she let old Mr. Roper fuck her with his big, gnarly cock on the floor of his grotty bathroom.

When she'd left the old man's house, her tights torn and his grey-coloured jism escaping her vagina to leak into her panties, which were already drenched because of the heightened state of arousal she'd experienced, she felt a combination of shame and embarrassment. As she made her way home, Kylie was unable to shake the notion that all the neighbours were watching her from behind twitching curtains, and they all knew what a dirty little whore she'd just been. Imagine having sex with an old-age pensioner, the brazen little slut.

Yet, behind that immediate and natural reaction, there were also other feelings Kylie only became truly conscious of later. She'd had to admit, if only to herself, there was a sense of immense sexual release that followed the unbelievable orgasm he'd given her. Since then, it seemed that anytime she let her mind drift in recollection of the old man's huge, gnarly cock, some sort of body memory kicked into place. Her nipples hardened and her pussy moistened.

The most recent occurrence was earlier that day during a math lesson when the urge to slip her hand down into her panties became so irresistible, she had to request permission to visit the bathroom to address her arousal, unable to shake the idea that all the eyes following her out of the classroom, somehow knew what she was about to get up to in the stall.

Of course, no one, either on her street or her friends at school, actually knew what had taken place between her and Mr. Roper. It certainly wasn't something she was ever going to tell her friends. In her calmer moments, that these days only seemed to come after she'd masturbated, she realised that nobody treated her any differently than before. Yet, she couldn't get out of her mind the interrogation her mother had given her that evening about whether or not she'd entered the old man's house when delivering the home-cooked pasta.

Did all mothers have such sharp antenna when it came to suspecting their daughters of misdeeds, merely by looking into their eyes?

Then there were the nightly, recurring dreams. In them, Mr. Roper was just about to fuck her again, but she was always somehow distracted by something or someone. Usually, it was her mum calling to her to get home and complete her homework. She would wake up flushed and aroused and resort to using her fingers for release.

Mr. Roper had conned Kylie into giving him a handjob, and this had escalated into the old man fucking her. However, despite this trickery, she couldn't help comparing that experience to sex with her boyfriend and finding the latter very much lacking. It wasn't just that Mr. Roper had a much bigger dick, although that always subsequently featured in her fevered dreams, it was the way he... it was the way he'd fucked her. Despite his age, the old man was full of a horny, infectious energy that had added greatly to her experience.

The next time she'd visited Peter at his apartment, she'd torn his clothes off just as soon as she entered, and they'd screwed furiously while she perched her butt on a small table in the hallway. Her boyfriend fucked her, with his now seemingly inadequate cock for all of two minutes. Peter had come inside her, then zipped himself up and strolled off to the kitchen to make coffee before Kylie's body had had any chance to achieve the release it sorely craved.

In fact, it was at that moment when she decided, albeit at a subconscious level, to end it with Peter. She'd deliberately asked her mother to allow her to go to Australia knowing deep down she'd never agree. It was Kylie's way of precipitating the breakup.

As Kylie continued walking down the street, vacillating in her mind between going to Cynthia's or Peter's, it seemed her subconscious had chosen a third option. Something she only realised when she came to a halt at the garden gate of Mr. Roper's dilapidated house. There was a downstairs light on, which meant the old man must still be up.

A shiver went through her, beginning at the bottom of her spine and only dissipating when it reached her neck. She couldn't tell if this was because of the coolness of the night, or if it was a quiver of excitement, because inside that house was the man who'd made her come so forcefully.

Kylie took a deep breath, walked towards his door and, as she had done only a couple of days before, rang on Mr. Roper's doorbell.

"Oh, it's you. What do you want calling at this hour?" asked the old man when he opened the door.

Kylie was surprised by his gruffness; she'd expected the old pervert to light up when he saw her. She certainly hadn't anticipated the need for an excuse to be standing there scantily dressed at that hour of the night.

"My mum sent me to collect the casserole dish I left here the other day," Kylie said, thinking on her feet. "She's making a lasagne."

"At this hour?"

"She's going into town tomorrow and want's to have it pre-cooked for our evening meal."

From somewhere behind Mr. Roper came a shout, "Who's there?" It was the voice of another old man. "Whoever it is, Harry, get rid of them and come back to the game."

"Shut the fuck up, Albert," shouted Mr. Roper over his shoulder. "I'll be there in a minute. And don't you go messing about with that deck. It won't do you any good. I'm going to shuffle 'em again before I deal."

Kylie could have kicked herself. This was so embarrassing. No, it was worse than that, it was actually degrading. She'd dressed very slutty, accentuated her naturally dark eyelashes, and applied some very striking pink lipstick. It was ostensibly for Peter's benefit, although, as she rang his bell, she had to acknowledge to herself it was really for Mr. Roper all along. However, the old man didn't appear at all interested in her. It seemed that rather than fuck her again, he'd sooner get back to whatever shitty card game he was playing with another rude old man.

Old Harry for his part was feeling just as awkward, but for reasons Kylie could never guess. He was surprised to see her standing there, looking like a trollop in need of a good fucking, but the timing was so bad. The girl's mother had visited earlier that day and grilled him about Kylie having called to his house. He swore blind her daughter had never stepped a foot inside his home. As much as he'd enjoyed fucking the little tart, he'd thought of it as a one-time-only occurrence, and didn't want to fall out with Caroline, she was his only regular source of wild sex followed by a home-cooked meal.

When Caroline was eventually placated, she and Harry spent the rest of the afternoon fucking each other silly. After all these exertions, his old schlong was totally spent, and not even the sight of the gorgeous young floozy presenting herself to him on his own doorstep, so unexpectedly, could spark any life into it. He could try another Viagra, but two in one day might just bring about the 'medical emergency' he'd invented in order to get Kylie to give him a handjob while in his bath.

However, the worse circumstance of all was that his friend, Albert Fucking Brent, was inside his house for one of their regular games of gin rummy. He didn't want that old perv knowing he'd fucked Kylie, he wanted to keep her all to himself. It was bad enough he had to share Caroline with him. He just had to get rid of the girl before Albert saw her and hope he could somehow get back into the girl's good graces at some later point. Perhaps in a day or two he could waylay her as she went past his house on her way home from school.

"Who the fuck's calling on you at this late hour?" The old man called Albert was still shouting as he came down the hallway but seemed to trail off when he saw Kylie standing there. Then he suddenly changed tack. "Harry where's your manners, eh? Invite the young woman inside. She must be frozen standing there."

Fuck it, thought Harry, the old bastard's seen her now. Trying to sound very casual, he said, "Go back inside, Albert. Kylie's just called to pick up a casserole dish. Make yourself useful for once and go get it for me, will you? I left it soaking on the sink's draining board."

Albert didn't move. He just stood there staring at Kylie, his eyes lingering around her breasts before darting to her long legs, so exposed by the high line of her skirt. She recognised him as another old neighbour from their street, Albert Brent.

While she'd deliberately dressed provocatively for the benefit of Mr. Roper, she now felt very underdressed when being viewed by Mr. Brent.

"Go on," said Mr. Roper. "Don't keep the girl waiting."

"Why don't you invite her inside?" asked Mr. Brent. He was smiling. It came across to the girl as being more leering than welcoming.

"Get on with it, you old fart," said Mr. Roper. "Just get me the dish, like I asked. The girl's in a hurry. Her mother's expecting her back any minute. You don't want Caroline to come down here looking for her, now do you?"

Mr. Brent looked like he was about to query the logic of this statement but decided against it. He turned back and headed for the kitchen.

"I'm sorry about this, Kylie," said Mr. Roper placatingly. His earlier gruff tone seemed to have disappeared. "I'd have invited you in, but, well, as you can see, that old codger's here. I'm sure you understand." He was wearing that old robe of his, but this time she could see he had pyjamas on underneath.

"That's okay, Mr. Roper," replied Kylie. "Although, it's a pity. After what you told me last time, I made sure to wear nylon stockings." As she said this the girl raised up her short skirt and the light from the hallway cast a sheen on the flesh-coloured nylon.

Old Harry's only utterance was, "Fuck me!"

"Isn't there any way you could get rid of Mr. Brent, so we could be alone."

"No," said a clearly crestfallen Harry. "The old bugger has a nose for sniffing out things. He'd just get suspicious. There's no telling what he'd say to your mother."

"Pity," said Kylie, letting the front of her skirt fall back over her thighs. If any of her friends knew she had deliberately made a sexual approach to an old decrepit like Harry Roper, they would shun her in person and slut-shame her on social media, calling her a terrible skank. It made her wonder if the thrill of transgression was part of her arousal.

"Mind you," said Harry, "if you're not busy tomorrow afternoon, I've some cleaning around the house that needs doing. I can't get to it myself because of my..."

"Your arthritis," said Kylie, knowing full well the old man had no such ailment or otherwise he couldn't have fucked her so energetically a couple of days before. Then she said, with the hint of a seductive smile, "Well, I might be free, but my mum insists, I complete my homework before I go anywhere after school."

"Well, does she have to know?" asked the old man conspiratorially. "In fact, to my way of thinking, it's probably best she doesn't have any idea about you calling here." Having barely gotten away with Kylie's first visit, he really didn't want Caroline to know about any subsequent return.

"What she doesn't know can't hurt her, I suppose," replied Kylie, looking up at the old man coquettishly, as she playfully swayed from side to side.

She could see Mr. Roper grinning from ear to ear. He was about to say something, probably something very rude about what he was looking forward to doing to her young, randy body, but just then they both heard Mr. Brent coming back up the hallway.

"I presume this is the one," said Mr. Brent holding the empty dish.

"Yep, that's it," said Mr. Roper. "Kylie, be sure to tell Caroline that I'm very grateful for the meal. She's a very generous soul, that mother of yours."

"Oh, she is that" added a beaming Mr. Brent. "She's a very giving woman, is your mother."

Harry gave his friend a warning look. He was afraid the old duffer would go too far and let the cat out of the bag. However, Kylie did not seem to pick up on the innuendo."

"Right," said Mr. Brent brightly. He stepped out of the doorway, brushing by the other old man. "I've got to be going."

"You do?" said Mr. Roper suddenly perplexed. "What about our game?"

"We can pick up where we left off tomorrow. Besides, it's not right to let this young lady walk home alone at this time of night. I'll see Kylie to her house."

"But... But..." Harry struggled to think of a reasonable objection. "I'm sure there's no need for that." He had more than a suspicion as to what his old friend might be up to.

"That's okay, Mr. Brent," said Kylie, not feeling the need for the old man's company on the short walk back up her street.

"No, young lady, I insist," said Albert. "There are all sorts out at this time of night. I won't be able to rest unless I know you've arrived home safely."

"Okay, Albert, you have a point," said Harry quickly. "I'll go with you."

"In your pyjamas and slippers?" scoffed Albert. "Get inside you old fool before you catch pneumonia. Kylie, come along now, let's get you home before your mother starts to worry."

Mr. Brent walked briskly down the garden path, still carrying the casserole dish. Kylie gave Mr. Roper a departing shrug of her shoulders, indicating she'd no choice but to follow the old man.

Old Harry could only watch on forlornly as the incongruous pair walked up the street.

He was a sneaky old fuck, that Albert. Harry even began to wonder if his friend had seen Kylie enter his house previously. Well, at least they had walked past Albert's house, from what he could tell anyway. His eyesight wasn't the best these days, but it was significantly worse when outdoors at night. Sighing at what was a lost opportunity, he closed his front door and went inside.

Kylie and Mr. Brent walked along in silence for a while. This suited her because the situation felt very awkward, and she'd no idea of what to say to the old man. She comforted herself in the knowledge it was not too much further to her house and then she would be rid of him.

"Oh, dear," said Albert, suddenly stopping in his tracks. He knew that Harry was as blind as a bat at night, so he'd deliberately walked past his own house just to fool the old duffer into thinking he wasn't going to play any tricks on the young woman. He judged that his friend had probably gone back inside his house by now. However, even if he hadn't, or if Harry had managed to run up his stairs to get a view of them from his window, well, fuck him! Albert wasn't about to do anything old Harry wouldn't do himself if he got the chance. "I only just realised, I've one of your mother's large Tupperware containers in my house. We should go back for it. It'll only take a minute."

"There's no need," replied Kylie, keen to just get home. It had been a long and depressing evening when all was said and done. It was bad enough rowing with her mother, but then to have her advances to a grisly, old goat like Mr. Roper turned down, well, that just took the biscuit. She just wanted to go to bed and forget about everything.

"No, I insist," said Mr. Roper. "We've only just passed my house. It will merely take a moment."

"Okay," replied Kylie dispiritedly. It really had become one of those tiresome, endless nights when nothing was straightforward.

The first thing Kylie noticed about the interior of Mr. Brent's house, after they had entered and he switched on the lights, was that it was so much tidier than Mr. Roper's. The decor and furniture was certainly old fashioned and quaint, but it seemed quite clean, and there wasn't that old musty smell of the other house.

When they stood in his kitchen, Albert said, "I put your mother's Tupperware in that corner cabinet. I can't bend down so easily anymore. Would you mind getting it out for me?"

"No problem," said Kylie, although she let out a little sigh. She was beginning to think that all old men feigned helplessness, just to be annoying.

Albert Brent had the girl exactly where he wanted her, alone with him in his house. He couldn't help but smile with pride and congratulate himself for the quick thinking and deft footwork that had swept the gorgeous young woman away from old Harry's front door to his kitchen.

While she had her back to him, Albert was afforded the opportunity of a long, lingering look at the girl. Christ! The way young women dressed these days. She wore a tight-fitting crop-top and a skirt so short that when she bend down it rode up to reveal the flesh of her thighs above her nylon stockings. Then there were her black high-heeled shoes that clicked along his tiled floor. If he hadn't known better, he'd assumed she was a streetwalker out looking for customers.

He was all too ready for action and even had a raging boner, but it was then he suddenly found himself in a dilemma. If this were Kylie's mother, he'd already be fucking her, probably before they made it anywhere near the kitchen. Caroline just loved to be taken roughly and fucked mercilessly. But this wasn't Caroline, this was her daughter. He couldn't just reach out, grab hold of the little tart, and fuck her; or could he?