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Under normal circumstances, I would have thought it odd that a statuesque redhead would be waking me in what appeared to be my room in Ms Marjorie’s house. These were hardly normal circumstances though. The IV tube leading from my arm, coupled with a severe ache in my abdomen confirmed that something strange was going on. You see, the spathic, though aged vision, meticulously checking my vitals was the resident (only) physician to the remote town of Golden Glory, the all-female town in eastern Arizona inhabited by retired matrons; for her to be standing over me was strange indeed. Her primary reason for being here is the care of the 24 women, her secondary reason was that she was one of the founders; the entire village was practically her idea.
Let me explain what I mean, Golden Glory was designed to be more than a simple retirement home. It was a place Ms Marjorie had purchased and designated a private sanitarium for her and her extended circle of friends. Here, these women would live and die with dignity, surrounded by people who truly care for them and did not merely wait on their insurance or inheritance money. At first, elderly men were allowed, though that had required another doctor to be on-call at all times. Like two cooks in the kitchen, the fighting was constant. So in the end, it was decided to make the senior village a place strictly for elderly women.
You would have thought they would be concerned about having a young and virile male in their community, but if a perpetrator was to do anything here, they would have to overpower all 25 women and then escape through the open desert. A very tall order while on foot. Even if attempting escape on a vehicle, motion sensors tracked anything larger or faster than the random jackrabbits attempting to survive in the arid environment. Further, lethal security was provided by a well-paid private security company roaming obscurely through the countryside.
No, it was the wrist watch that kept any unwary men (i.e. me) in line. More than a watch, more than a pager, it delivered a dose of electricity large enough to cripple. A simple tingle meant some small rule was being broken; a full-fledged shock however could render a 400 lb. man unconscious. My 150 lb. frame, as I later learned, could only handle half of its full charge. I received the band when I signed my contract to effectively escape from the world for a few years so as not to go to actual prison. After all, I was to be compensated at the end of my “sentence.”
It wasn’t as if I had done anything “wrong,” but I was smoking a joint while gassing up a gas station outside of Albuquerque while on my way to California. Some biddy in a Jaguar was spouting off about how pot is a drug and she was calling the cops. I paid my bill then began back to my car when suddenly this old lady spun me around and BZZZT! One million volts later, I woke up in Golden Glory being threatened with jail time. If that wasn’t acceptable, and it wasn’t, I could become a sort of handy-man to the women of the community for a while. It wasn’t like I could refute the charges made by an old woman against a man just passing through so guess which option I picked…
Back to the tale…
“How do you feel,” Dr. Deidre asked. Her grey eyes seemed to pierce mine through her black framed bifocals in a way that combined both genuine concern and the odd under-the-microscope glare that only a doctor or police officer can convey. Such a glare demands that only the truth will be accepted. It was also irrelevant as, at the moment, I was in no shape to lie. I genuinely hurt.
“What happened?” I weakly croaked, completely confused.
“You passed out while mowing Ms Ellen’s yard,” she related with a slightly British accent as her beautiful green met my brown ones. “She had said that you were complaining of stomach ache before you started mowing. Now, how do you feel?”
“Um…,” Her story served to jog something and my last memory flashed back. When I woke up that morning, I had not felt well at all. The lower left side of my stomach hurt and tying my shoes proved to be quite a challenge because when I bent over, the pain immediately straightened me up again. Using the bathroom proved briefly effective, but I always feel better when my bowels are empty; so fully dressed with shoes in place, I set out on my day of cleaning the shed behind Ms Ellen’s spacious, if Spartan home.
Her helping had actually sped the task along greatly and seeing the 60 year olds ample posterior squeezed into those orange spandex shorts definitely improved my outlook on the day. She was not withered like some of the other women in town. She, along with the doctor and a select few, still retained their voluptuous figure despite their age. Every day, I would watch the geriatric ladies make laps around the walking course precisely in the center of the virtual commune consisting of 15 homes.
Call me a pervert, but seeing those silver (or pink and even blue) haired grannies kurtköy escort puffing along was mildly erotic. Watching their perpetually flat chests and crooked figures draped in floral housecoats, I often had masturbated in the same shed I found myself cleaning. The Arizona sunset seemed, if truth be told, to highlight the blue veins visible on their scrawny white stocking covered legs as they chugged around the specially constructed ring. With each slow stroke, the floor of Ms Ellen’s shed had repeatedly become slick with precum while I slowly worked my way through the appetizer of elder flesh surrounding me.
The main course however, when I would invariably lose my load, was when the overweight women would take their turns power-walking on the track; after the sun had set but while there was still light to see. These were still women, not hags, like before. These women had curves, Dr. Deidre among them. Their stupendous figures would sway enticingly as sweat trickled into valleys and down peaks I would have died to scale. Doubled chins, watermelon sized breasts, bulging bellies, all at some point had served as a fetish over the past few months. Lately though, seeing their cellulite pocketed hams bounce had become a focal point at my moment of orgasm.
It was as if my soul was rushing out of me through the tip of my dick, providing life (even vicariously) to them. I knew that if these aged beauties had known I was agonizingly milking my baby-oil coated cock while some struggled to even walk, they would have fired me on the spot and probably have alerted the authorities in Tucson. It didn’t matter though; I was the only man within 50 miles of desert and alone with 25 women. After six months of being adrift on the Geritol Ocean, I was literally going delirious with the need for sex, kept in check only through constantly whacking off.
We had almost finished returning the usable items to the shed when the pain returned along with a chill that wouldn’t go away despite the Arizona heat. Two Aspirin from Ms Ellen helped, though her going inside complaining of the heat certainly hadn’t. Finishing the shed, I retrieved the lawnmower to attend to today’s round of assigned yards before the sun completely set.
It wasn’t until I had made my third pass around the small lot, the smallest in the community actually, that things became hazy. I vaguely remembered hitting a rock that ricocheted off of waist-high picket fence I had painted the month before. That small rock hit me in the right side and would have missed me completely had I not been in such a hurry to complete the mowing to escape the rapidly rising Arizona sun. After that, nothing.
“Um…,” I repeated. “My side and back hurt.”
“It damn well should! We had to remove your appendix last week,” she pronounced. “You were lucky Ellen was just going to bring you a glass of lemonade. You couldn’t have been out for more than a few moments but we brought you here, performed a blood test and decided we had to act. Normally operating without patient consent is illegal except under life threatening conditions.”
“Oh… well, thanks Doc, I guess I owe you my life,” I confessed as I attempted to sit up. “How long will this take for me to work…” Then what she said caught up to me. Last week? Something else must have gone horribly wrong. I remember my brother had an appendectomy but he left the hospital the next day and returned to work that same week.
“You owe a lot more than that to Ms Ellen,” she said to my puzzled expression. “Just how long have you been pleasuring yourself in her garden shed?”
The temperature had to rise at least 20 degrees in only seconds for I immediately broke out in sweat. Apparently, my sojourn into self-abuse was not as private as I had thought. They saved my life only to turn me in for being a sexual predator. I’m going to jail…in Arizona?! I think, for a second, my ears actually leaked because every sweat gland I had went into overdrive instantly. I am not made for prison.
“Just a few times…,” I lied guiltily.
“You are a dirty little shit, aren’t you? We have observed you precisely 27 times in the last month spending much more than a required amount of time in Ellen’s garden shed,” she confessed haughtily. “Watching old women walk around the circuit, then pulling on yourself. How does it make you feel to realize that any of them could be your grandmother? You should be ashamed of yourself. Well, I suppose we can only expect that sort of thing from someone your age. You men are always thinking with your pricks!”
My shame firmly settled on my shoulders with the accusation in her tone. As she never asked me anything, I said nothing. My eyes settled into my lap as I endured the scolding while dressed in only a hospital gown; I wanted my head to retreat into my shoulders like a turtle climbing into its shell. Unfortunately though, something else did rise…and at that beşiktaş escort second a small chirp, like the one from a certain push-to-talk phone sounded from her pocket.
She narrowed her eyes as if I had called her a name and stated, “There’ll be no more of that, young man. Do you understand? And you had better learn to keep this under control.” With the last she very brusquely backhanded my rising erection. I doubled over in pain which caused yet more pain, so I just as quickly straightened up with a gasp as the pain in my back overcame the pain in my cock.
The next thing I knew I was waking up again, this time at night with Ms Marjorie herself asleep in the only chair I was given during my indentured servitude. On the oak dresser next to her lay a white box the size of a cigarette pack with a blinking light on top. I thought it odd because she doesn’t smoke and the blinker proved quite annoying. I had no idea how long I was out this time, but the IV had been disconnected. Her soft snores were what woke me. Surprisingly though, my back didn’t hurt; I took this as a good sign. Still, the fact that I was naked did cause some alarm. And the familiar ache in my scrotum demanded attention.
“Ms Marjorie,” I called softly, and then more strongly when I realized that talking did not cause pain anymore; all the while looking for the blanket, now missing, to cover myself with. Getting caught with an erection then willfully remaining nude in the presence of a senior citizen, ironically, felt different, exciting even. It wouldn’t have mattered any way. After boarding in Ms Marjorie’s home for the past 7 months, I had learned that nothing short of an explosion could rouse her from her slumber.
And then I saw the tissue box laying on the bed-tray beside me.
Five minutes. Done in five. Maybe less, it has been over a week. All the while these things ran through my head, I looked between Ms Marjorie and my rapidly inflating cock.
As I reached over to grab a tissue with one hand and myself with the other, I again heard the chirp from Dr. Deidre’s pocket. This time, the silence of night seemed to magnify the small sound so that it echoed throughout the peaceful house. My pulse increased and I froze, thinking how unlucky I would be if my warden woke up suddenly and saw me getting ready to play pocket pool with her in the very same room. Fortunately though, Ms Marjorie sleeps soundly.
Returning to a recline with Ms Marjorie asleep in a chair four feet away, I regarded the woman illuminated by the moon shining through the gaps in the curtains over the windows. Tall, at almost 6′, Ms Marjorie was the tallest woman in the community, and also the most outgoing. It was she who agreed to take me in during my incarceration in Golden Glory, despite the fact that I tried to rob her. She was a forgive-and-forget person, more like an aunt than a warden.
Her orange colored hair, styled in an outmoded style made famous by county singer Dolly Parton, seemed to halo her sleeping visage. Her typically garish makeup was gone, leaving an almost comical face, devoid of eyebrows and pasty in the silver moonlight. The sleeping matron’s nose hinted at a Jewish heritage. Lips glistened, not quite with drool, but still shining. Awake, Ms Marjorie commanded my attention. Asleep, she commanded my lust. Even if she did not have such a remarkable bust and a rotund backside, I would have been attracted to her. There was something about a woman who embodied life, especially in a community where everyone is dying. She had seen most of what life had to offer and passed judgment on what she disapproved of. She was for all intents and purposes, a respectable woman, a pillar of any community.
All the while marveling at the sleeping beauty, I played with the head of my member, slowly making circles around the crown then lazily drawing one finger up the length of the underside. I ached to simply grab hold of my joystick and slam away, but something said to hold off and it would be better. Perhaps I would even cum without touching myself; it had happened before when I had not ejaculated in some time. That thought sent butterflies from my soles to my head, causing my skin to pucker and a bead of precum to emerge and drip down to my pubic hair.
Another chirp. What is that sound?
Continuing an inventory of my sleeping guard I paid close attention to her night gown. Instead of the average floral printed Mumu, hers appeared made of a pink shiny satin that accented her hair color. Spaghetti strapped, it seemed barely able to hold in her mountains of sweater meat. Even as I watched her breath, it seemed to stretch, making the, what looked to be thimble sized, nipples poke through.
I could lie and say that I didn’t watch those magnificent mammaries rise and fall for a few moments. But I won’t. I spent many long and glorious seconds watching them inflate then deflate over her pouch-like belly. şişli escort The low cut neckline of her attire allowed me to see the beginning of the valley between them as well as the diamond solitaire on the golden chain around her neck. With each breath, it would rock from one side of her chest to the other. It was if it wanted me to look at it, and in turn her breasts. So I did.
The need to stroke my over primed cock eventually took hold and I reveled in pleasure as my semi-closed fist encircled the corona, now copiously covered in clear slime. Each slow stroke down brought the feeling of sliding into an impossibly responsive pussy. Each upstroke brought with it yet another bead of slime to the tip for use as my own personal lubricant.
All the while Ms Marjorie slept, blissfully ignorant of my situation. If at any moment she had awakened, I would be caught “Red Handed” so to speak. The danger of the moment had my heart pounding in my ears, interrupted by the increasingly frequent beeps issued by the device on the counter. Meanwhile, I steadily worked myself to frenzy. I knew it wouldn’t be long when the clear precum began to run freely even after I stopped stroking. My cock fairly throbbed when I released it.
Looking down to the hem of Ms Marjorie’s sleepware, I saw faint fine black hairs on her pale legs. Liver spotted, they were more like trunks designed to hold a woman approaching 250 lbs upright rather than legs. Thrust out and crossed, her swollen feet were covered by pink house slippers that matched the dress in color if not fabric.
Fucking hell man, I thought as I closed my eyes tight to ride the wave of approaching orgasm. I could feel the cum rising and struggled to keep my breathing under control but I knew the battle was lost. I blindly groped for the tissue I had laid on my chest so that my immanent squirt would be easier to conceal.
“You had better enjoy that one because the next one will hurt, boy.”
I froze, terrified, when I heard Ms Marjorie’s distinctive nasal whine pierce the near silence. The butterflies in my stomach all suddenly fluttered at once and my mind went blank. My entire body went into lock hoping that I had not heard the statement from the sleeping woman. It happened, I was caught. I would go to jail or worse. I was a pervert who got off looking at old women. My eyes peeled wide as I realized that something even worse was happening.
Unfortunately, my cock didn’t freeze. Caught mid-orgasm, it became an uncontrollable fire hose. The first shot had to hit six feet in height, I heard it splatter somewhere over the headboard onto the wall behind me. I couldn’t help but moan deliciously as my overburdened balls released. Reflexively I arched my back thrusting my dick into the air like a flagpole stuck on a hill. The second shot leapt from my cock as it swung away from me and arched straight in Ms Marjorie’s direction. She didn’t move and the shot landed into that perfectly coifed hair. A thick white line connected the tail, which started in the middle of her forehead to the main body of baby batter, making her big hair appear to become two hemispheres sticking from the sides of her head. Her blue eyes narrowed at this and third shot took a decidedly wrong trajectory and slammed into my own face, curving to extend from just over my left eye to down my nose and ending on my top lip. I closed my mouth but some still seeped in and left me sputtering.
With cum covering my face and Ms Marjorie rising from her chair, my cock continued its volcanic eruptions. The fourth and fifth shots basically covered my chest while my free hand finally located the forgotten tissue. Ironically, in my haste to catch the remainder of my seed I accidentally tore straight through the fragile paper barely slowing the sixth shot that filled my navel.
“You little pig!” Ms Marjorie shouted. “My hair! Do you know how long it takes to get this hair the way I want?! “
Her hair could have been on fire for all I cared at that moment. Shot number seven barely emerged an inch into the air but coated my pubic hair and the hand holding the now useless tissue. The eighth, which seemed long in coming, hardly produced a bead of cum and the ninth and tenth produced little more that twitches from my spasming body. I fell back down onto the bed, my back unknotting as I returned from Nirvana. Heart racing and knowing the end has come.
As I struggled to catch my breath I saw an incensed 72 year old six foot tall pink giant with my cum in her hair snatch the device from the counter. I almost laughed because she reminded me just then of an alien from a bad B-movie from the 50’s that had played on TV recently.
“You little bastard,” she fumed with a Northern accent, “you like to cum so much, well then cum!” She then stabbed the button on the front of the small box.
Immediately, I returned to Nirvana. This time Nirvana was actually Hell. My balls quivered again and another volley leapt forth from my exhausted body. Different from the first orgasm, this one was painful. My stomach clenched harder than any other orgasm I had ever had and I could not catch my breath. My heart raced out of control beating so fast that I thought it would explode. I felt the cords in my neck pop as I toed the line between torture and ecstasy.
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