Taboo: Generations Bk. 01

Babes

Book I: Country Strong

You never really hear of incest in the black community. I’m not saying it doesn’t exist. In fact, I will assert that it is just as prevalent in our community as in other cultures; you just don’t hear of it very often, especially the kind I encountered: ESPECIALLY the kind I encountered.

Let me go on record as saying that I didn’t hate my grandmother. Really, I didn’t. Did I resent her? Yes, but that same resentment stemmed from my parents, both of whom would force me to spend one month per summer on my grandparents’ farm in an effort to “build character.” In and of itself I liked the farm, especially when I was with Granddaddy, because his mentality was not to do chores, but to have fun while communing with nature. Gram, though … She was born on a farm, raised on a farm, and lived her whole life working on a farm. I used to watch her heft fifty-pound bales of hay above her head and toss them six-or-seven feet across the barn. Granddaddy said she was “country strong.” I didn’t know what that meant, but I did know that she was five-foot-eight and weighed three hundred pounds and there wasn’t an inch of fat to be found on her anywhere.

As opposed to Granddaddy, her motto was “Up before dawn, don’t stop till the work is done,” which usually meant a twenty-minute break for a light lunch and then on until six o’clock. At times I thought she was a tyrant, but I still loved her because she was my gram. She never understood my studious nature (I would bring books to the farm with me those summers long ago), saying that everything one could ever need to know was on the farm. I wanted better for myself, though, and Granddaddy encouraged me to seek my intellectual pursuits, just as he had Ma, who had attended college and married a fine middle-class man, neither of whom were interested in farm life.

Granddaddy passed away my junior year of high school. Gram was devastated, but she had decided to stay on the farm and continue running it herself despite the protestations of my parents, who encouraged her to sell the place for something smaller and more manageable. She finally gave in when a corporate agricultural firm offered her five bucks on the dollar for her land. She came out of this deal with over two million dollars, a small part of which she used to purchase a two-acre farm so she would have something with which to busy herself. Ma and Dad were happy for her, but already they had begun to make plans for the place upon her death. There was no malicious undertone there; they were simply planning for their future, and their future, at least as the new farmhouse was concerned, included a country-style bed & breakfast.

This new farm being smaller, Gram didn’t really need my help for an entire month in the summer. In fact, I would spend about a week there as my extra-curricular activities had me taking trips to Kennedy Space Center, The Museum of Natural History, and the like, which my parents were ecstatic over as they understood these pursuits—coupled with my 4.0 GPA (and certainly my ethnicity)—would almost certainly guarantee a scholarship to the ivy league school of my choice, and they were right; upon graduating from high school I proudly entered Brown University.

The beginning of Fall break—Thanksgiving week—I jumped into my car and made it halfway through Massachusetts to our home in New Hampshire when my phone rang. It was Ma telling me that Aunt Linda, Dad’s sister, had fallen and broken her ankle. They were on their way to Pennsylvania to pick her up and bring her back to our place to convalesce. Because they had made such a hasty departure, Ma told me that her mama, Gram, had agreed to put me up until they returned due to the fact that they recently replaced all the locks and had yet to give me a key; I could expect one when they returned. I was a little less than excited about this as Gram and I had become a bit estranged since Granddaddy’s death. Even still, I tried to look at it through a positive lens and decided that this would be a wonderful opportunity to reconnect.

I arrived at Gram’s on that Sunday at three p.m. She was every bit as big as I remembered her, and she still seemed to be a solid mass of muscle. “Country strong,” as Granddaddy called it, flashed through my mind, and a small smile came to my lips, not so much for the sentiment for Gram but the memory of him. She greeted me with indifference and asked for the sake of substantiation if I was going to be there for just three days. “Yeah,” I told her. “Ma said she, Dad, and Aunt Linda should be back by Wednesday, so no worries about missing Thanksgiving this year.” She grunted and went into the living room.

As was the case at the old farmhouse, Gram didn’t own a television. I knew she likely wouldn’t have internet either, thus rendering my cell phone useless. Good thing I brought my laptop bostancı escort and some DVDs. I went to my designated room and made myself comfortable. A few hours later the smell of fried chicken filled the air. I went downstairs and said, “Something sure smells good down here, Gram.”

“Bet you use to cold pizza and those five-dollar coffees,” she said without looking over her shoulder. “Bet ain’t had a decent meal since you left.” She was right. I hadn’t, but I was sure planning on making up for that this week. Between Gram’s cooking over the next three days and leftover turkey, I would be in culinary heaven. “Go on and have a seat. It’s about ready.” I sat, and a few minutes later she set in front of me a glass of sweet, iced tea and a plate that had a breast and a thigh fried to golden crispiness, and on the side was—she remembered how I liked them. She put the mashed potatoes on my plate, then made a huge crater in the middle, then dumped green beans in that, then liberally doused the whole thing with gravy.

I took one bite and said, “Damn, Gram, can’t nobody cook the way you can.” She looked up at me from her plate, grunted, then resumed eating her own meal. I finished mine in record time and praised her cooking skills again before placing my plate and glass in the sink. “I think I’m going to head upstairs and digest a little before heading out. I’m supposed to be meeting up with some friends later on.” I hugged her then—a kiss on the cheek just didn’t feel right—before thanking her again and disappearing up the stairs, her grunt of acknowledgement barely audible but still prevalent.

I started down the stairs a little before eight and noticed Gram standing at the midway point. “What you doing tonight?” she asked.

“I told you earlier, Gram, I’m meeting up with—” Before I could finish my sentence, she slapped the ever-loving dog shit out of me. I lost my footing and tumbled down the stairs. The back of my head hit the wall and I immediately felt a goose egg rise on it. I dazedly looked up to see Gram jump like some crazed professional wrestler mere seconds before she brought her forearm crashing against my skull. For a few seconds there I was knocked out cold. I barely remember her hefting me over her shoulder, and while I was somehow able to manage the thought of “country strong” through the haze of my delirium, no smile came to my lips this time.

Gram had carried me into the living room and threw me onto the couch. She then lifted her dress, dropped her hairy pussy onto my mouth, and began to grind until she came, at which point she lifted herself up and looked down at me between her big bosoms and said, “I asked you what you doing tonight.”

I looked up to see a clit about three inches long and as big around as my thumb staring at me. Any other time this would have been a major turn-on, but at this moment, under these circumstances? “G-Get off me, ya fat—”

She dropped on me again and ground her pussy even harder. Her clit found its way into my mouth and she pushed it as far down my gullet as it would go. She tensed, shuddered, and my mouth filled with her cum. She looked down at me again and said, “I ain’t going to ask you but one more time, and the ONLY correct answer is, ‘I’m gonna eat your pussy, Gram.’ Got it?” I nodded my head. “Good, now, what you going to do tonight?”

She raised off of me just enough so I could say, “I … I’m gonna eat your pussy, Gram.”

“Got-damn right you are,” she said as she raised herself off me. She then lay on the couch, lifted her dress, and said, “Now get over here and get on your J-O-B!”

I obeyed her. I crawled closer, placed my mouth between her legs, and ate her pussy for what seemed like hours. I can’t tell you how many times she had cum, but when she finally waved me away it looked like someone had emptied half a can of shaving cream on her pussy. She got up, and without a word went into her bedroom, leaving me on the couch to fend for myself. I eventually made my way upstairs, cleaned myself up, and lay on the bed. I honestly didn’t know if I had a concussion or not, but try as I might to stay awake, I finally gave in and accepted some much-needed sleep.

I awoke the following morning to the smell of bacon and eggs. I got dressed and went downstairs. Gram was a bit more talkative today, but there was still that air of indifference about her. She set a glass of milk before me, then a plate of bacon, eggs, cheese grits, and home-made buttermilk biscuits. She sat, then looked at my black eye and bruised, swollen cheek. She didn’t say anything in acknowledgement of appearance, just grunted like she always did and began to eat. As wrong as I knew it was to do so, I decided to take the hit for what happened last night, which is why I said, “Look, Gram. I can see that it might have been disrespectful to make plans without ümraniye escort bayan telling you, so I apologize for that.” That didn’t give her the right to cram her pussy down my throat, but I wasn’t going to say anything about that. “Do you think that maybe tonight you can do without me for a few hours?”

She looked up at me and, what I took as negotiation, said, “Got some chores that need doing. Firewood needs chopping. Gutters need cleaning.”

“Yeah. Sure thing, Gram. Whatever you need.” I finished my breakfast and immediately got to work on the chores, only every time I finished one, she would have another waiting for me. Around four-thirty I noticed her placing steaks on the grill. I took this as a sign that she was pleased with my work and everything would be fine.

I finished the last of my chores around five-fifteen and walked into a kitchen that smelled heavenly. My place was already set at the table, and on my plate was at least a pound of ribeye with a baked potato that she had already placed butter, sour cream, and chives on, and a small tossed salad. “Go wash up,” she told me. “You can bathe after dinner.”

I did as directed, and after dinner I praised her cooking once again, only this time I did give her a kiss on the cheek. She grunted, as usual, and I went off to wash the sweat and filth of the day from my body. I came downstairs and found Gram standing next to the front door. “I’ll be in at a decent hour, Gram. Don’t worry.”

“What you doing tonight?” she asked.

“We talked about this this morning,” I reminded her. “I’m going—”

There is no reason in the world that any woman seventy-one years old should be this fast, or this strong, as far as that goes, but she caught me with an uppercut that immediately brought me to my knees. She then grabbed me by the lapels of my sports coat, hoisted me up against the wall, and caught me with three hard shots to the diaphragm. I was gasping for air as she once again threw me over her shoulder and carried me into the living room, and much the same as yesterday she threw me on the couch, lifted her dress, and dropped her pussy onto my mouth before ferociously grinding out an orgasm.

After she came, she lifted herself up and said, “You know how this game’s played, boy. Now, what you doing tonight?”

Gasping for air, I said, “I … I’m eating your pussy, Gram.”

“Got-damn skippy you are,” she said as she rolled off me and onto her familiar place on the couch. She lifted her dress before saying, “Now, tend to your business!”

I feebly crawled toward her and immersed my face into her wiry, grey-haired pussy and began to do as I was told. I thought she’d never call me off, but she finally did. She stood and made her way to her bedroom with nary a word to me, and I made my way to mine.

The following morning, I was awakened around nine a.m. by a light tapping at my door. Without permission to do so, Gram entered carrying a serving tray. She made her way to my bed, set the tray in my lap, and removed the lid from the plate. “Good morning, sleepy-head. Gram made your favorite for you: Pancakes and sausage with blueberry syrup.”

The stack was five-high, and she had cooked those little link sausages that I love so much. “Wow. Thanks, Gram,” I said with much appreciation. I attempted to move up a little and my gut reminded me that it had been severely abused last night. I gave a small grunt as I winced with pain, prompting Gram to ask,

“Everything okay, Jason?”

“I … Yes, ma’am. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

She picked up a DVD—Precious—and said, “I kind of resemble her, don’t I?”

“You know, you do, now that I think about it,” I agreed with her. She grunted, but this time there was a small smile—almost minute—on her lips. “We can watch that later if you like, Gram,” I offered.

“We’ll see,” she said, and she remained in my room engaging me in small talk as I ate my breakfast. She asked how school was going, what my plans were after graduation, and the like. Once I finished, she took the tray and exited the room, leaving me to wonder more and more curiously about her Jekyll and Hyde persona.

I eventually made my way downstairs with my copy of “Theoretical Physics” and fell into the Lay-Z-Boy. I had gotten a good five chapters in when Gram appeared and said with a smile, “Dinner’s going to be something special tonight. Just you wait and see.” I told her I couldn’t wait, and as she disappeared into the kitchen I returned my attention to my book.

Gram called me to eat around six o’clock. When I entered the kitchen, she pointed to my usual chair and told me to have a seat. She then placed a large, silver serving tray in front of me and disappeared behind me again. I noticed just then that there were no delicious smells to be found. I looked on the stove to find there kartal escort were no pots or pans, nor was anything baking in the oven. I even gave the microwave a quick glance to see if I could discern anything in it, but there was nothing. That’s when it dawned on me. I stood up and said, “What the fuck—”

Gram dove across the floor and caught me with a sucker punch right in the mouth, splitting my bottom lip wide open. My head hit the doorframe, immediately reawakening the goose egg from two nights before. Both throbbed horribly as I tried to shake the spots from my field of vision, but that didn’t happen soon enough. Gram was on me like a rabid wolverine. She had raced across the kitchen and drove a knee into my diaphragm. I doubled over from this attack on my already-abused belly, and at that point Gram grabbed me by the collar and the belt and drove my head through the sheetrock wall. She then dragged me to my chair and threw me onto it before grabbing …

At the time I would not have been able to explain what it was. It was hours later, only after my head had cleared enough, that I inspected it to find it to be the … torture device? BDSM accessory? that it was. She had affixed a collar around my neck which was attached to a three-foot metal pole. On the other end of the pole were shoulder straps, like a bookbag has. Gram hopped onto the table, placed her ass on the serving tray, placed the straps over her arm, and when she leaned back she pulled my face directly into her pussy. I fought with all the alacrity of a newborn kitten searching out it’s mother’s teat, but to no avail; I wasn’t going anywhere.

Gram held me there as she flopped like a fish out of water, the coarseness of her pubic hair ripping the split on my lip wider and wider, and when she came her juices felt like nothing more than salt on a wound. I cried out as best I could, and at that moment her engorged clit found its way into my mouth. She bucked and ground and praised God Almighty as she fired off one nut after another, and as her succession of orgasms finally came to an end she unhooked me, lay the harness next to the fridge, then said, “Eat leftovers if you’re still hungry,” before making her way to her room.

I lay there, head on the table, and eventually fell asleep. When I awoke, it was three a.m. That’s when I inspected the harness Gram had used on me earlier. I looked at the three-foot pole, and for the briefest of seconds thought about taking it to her room and beating the hell out of her with it, but I didn’t. I went to bed. Ma and Dad would be getting home later today and I sure as hell would be glad to get the hell away from my demented tormentor.

I awoke at eleven-thirty and began to make my way downstairs. I stopped midway down when I heard Gram telling my parents, “We were walking through the parking lot and two hoodlums tried to take my purse. Jason tried to fight them off, but they overwhelmed him.” Ma gasped and Dad asked if I was alright. “Oh, doctor said he’d be fine, just that it’s not as bad as it looks. Y’all don’t coddle him, now. Make him proud that he stood up for his Gram.”

I came downstairs knowing that I would have to feed into this lie. I mean, who would have believed me if I told the truth? Ma cried when she saw me while Dad asked if I was at least able to get a few good shots in. I assured both that I was fine and I did the best I could.

“Well, your Aunt Linda’s in the car,” Dad said, “so why don’t you go grab your things and we’ll see you at the house.”

I sprinted up the stairs, my ribs feeling every vibration of every step. I hastily packed my stuff and was on my way to the front door when Gram whistled at me from the Lay-Z-Boy. When I turned to see what she wanted, she pointed two fingers at her eyes, then pointed them at me before extending her thumb and running it along her neck, in effect telling me, “I’m watching you. Say anything and you’re dead.” She didn’t have to worry about that, though. I was going to take these past three days to the grave.

Once home, I reiterated for Aunt Linda’s sake what Gram had already told Ma and Dad, then she explained how one too many shots of Tequila was not the ideal recipe before going roller skating. I went to my room and chilled before dinner and was happy to see that Dad had not only gone to SUBstantiation, but that he remembered to get banana peppers on my Philly steak & cheese. We socialized over dinner, and once done I returned to my room citing fatigue.

I thought about the past three days as I lay there: How Gram kicked my ass not once, not twice, but three times; how there was really nothing bad I could say about her pussy … I mean, yeah, it was so hairy that it looked like a dilapidated bird’s nest, but that aside it had a pleasant odor, her cum tasted good, and the size of her clit was something I had always fantasized about experiencing with a woman. As these thoughts filled my mind I could feel my penis growing, and that triggered the memory that when I was eating her out last night, I had a hard-on. I wanted to jack my dick so badly right then and there, but I wasn’t going to give Gram the satisfaction.

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