There's Life in the Old Dog Yet

This is an original work which is not to be copied or used elsewhere without the written permission of the author. BB1212

*****

"I miss you too darling," Tiffany said in a throaty voice, "it's really fucking boring here."

The 'here' that Tiffany was referring to is my home, a twelve hundred hectare farm that borders onto Lake Eildon in Victoria, Australia, and Tiffany is my great granddaughter, who had turned eighteen years old just six weeks earlier.

"My parents made me," Tiffany continued in a pouty whine, "they say he is loaded and they want me to be nice to him so they can get all his money when he dies."

Tiffany's mother is Susan, my granddaughter. Susan has always been a manipulative little bitch and I already knew that she had her greedy little eyes on me. Well on my assets if you want the absolute truth. She couldn't care two hoots about me. Susan had rung me, and she had told me that she and her loser husband Robert were going to Bali to renew their wedding vows. She said they needed someone responsible to look after Tiffany for a couple of weeks because they didn't trust her new boyfriend Brandon.

"No way," Tiffany giggled, and she lowered her voice. "I'm going to make sure it's me who gets it all, Mum doesn't deserve anything."

'What a family,' I thought, but it was no surprise. Tiffany's great grandmother was Edith Simpson, a pretty shop assistant who had captured the heart of a naïve eighteen year old boy from Moree. I had joined the army the day after my birthday, and I had met her on that first trip away from the farm. We had started dating, and Edie had given me my first ever sexual experience on my final night of leave before I shipped out to New Guinea. We exchanged love letters as often as the army system would allow, and three months later Edie wrote to tell me I was going to be a father. I was ecstatic when I got the news. But by the time I was on the Kokoda track she had fallen for some Yank, and her letters had dried up. In forty five, when I finally returned to Australia, they were married and were living in Sydney, bringing up Beth, my daughter, as their own. I was not wanted, so I went to Melbourne and got a job selling cars. Ten years later I owned my own Holden dealership, and ten years more saw me owning three of them.

"I've got this plan," Tiffany whispered conspiratorially, "he always has a glass of whisky before bed, and I have a vodka and orange. Tomorrow, while he's working I am gonna swap the vodka with water and get him to drink lots with me. I'll get him like totally pissed drunk. Then, when he wakes up, I'm going to pretend he raped me and make him give me everything to keep it quiet."

I shook my head. It was a plan worthy of most of my descendants. In the beginning Edie had tried to use Beth as a lever to my money when I had started doing well. Beth had gone along with that for a while, but when she was nineteen she had married Harold Anderson and they had produced three children in four years. I had been happy to help them out with school costs and that sort of thing, but then they had got greedy and wanted free cars and holidays. When I said no to that they got angry with me and cut me off from their kids.

"Eeeew," Tiffany said, "no way, he's like ninety. I'm going to wait until he passes out and I'll pull his pants down. I'll tear some of my clothes and leave them there. That should be enough."

I had watched my grandchildren grow from a distance, and I had not liked much of what I had seen. Alan, the oldest, had no ambition. He had worked as a forklift driver on the docks for his entire life, and he had drunk and gambled away all of what was a really good income. Stephen, the second one had got into drugs. He had died in a car accident when he was eighteen. Susan, the youngest had dropped out of school and had worked as a barmaid until she married one of the drunks she served.

"No way Brandon," Tiffany said, "I'm not going to touch it, because that would be too icky." There was a gap while Brandon said something. "Do you really think I have to?" Tiffany asked, and there was another gap. "I suppose so, but I will be thinking of you when I do it, and I will wash my hands three times after I have rubbed my stuff on it."

My great grandchildren weren't any better than my grandchildren. Alan had four now, Michael, Roger and the twins, Nicole and Lauren. They had all been to visit over the years, and had spent time on the farm and in the houseboat I had at my private mooring. Roger seemed to be OK, but maybe that was just in comparison, and he was the best of a bad lot. They all spent every hour of their visits sizing up what assets I had and doing ambitious sums in their heads. They didn't even try to hide it. Tiffany and her elder brother Justin had been here a few times as well while they were growing up, but I had sent Justin home on his last visit when I found him trying to hotwire one of my Bathurst Monaros. I had a full set and didn't want some sixteen year old punk destroying an eighty thousand dollar piece of automotive history just for thrills. He would not be allowed to come back.

"It's OK darling," Tiffany was saying sweetly, "Deliah told me that the first time she went with Freddie he didn't even get it in before he came. We will make it last longer next time. At least five minutes, OK?"

What a bunch of fuck ups. My own great granddaughter was plotting to frame me for rape so she could get my money, and here I was listening on a microphone that I had concealed in her room. Some people would call that an invasion of privacy, but with my family I just called it self-defence. It wasn't the first time that my eavesdropping setup had worked for me either.

"We are sure Brandon," Tiffany said, "Every year he goes to the Philippines and spends a couple of weeks banging young prostitutes... Yes, it is disgusting. But we know he can still do it and he prefers the really young ones, so he will believe he has done it to me too."

A lot of that was true. I had only trusted two women after Edie, and both had turned out to be gold diggers who had fortunately failed in their attempts to separate me from my money. I had first tried out the Asian flesh market in the sixties, and I had been going back regularly ever since. I was now the silent partner in a very busy bar in Angeles City. I went there at least twice a year, and I was happy to take every opportunity to test drive the girls. Our bar was a bit different to most, in the fact that all the girls working there were genuinely eighteen or over, and they were all there by choice. We didn't 'buy' girls from their families, and we didn't force them to stay with fabricated debts if they wanted to get out of the game. The operating concept had been hard to get across to my partner at first, but he eventually saw it was non-negotiable for me, and he went along with it. It had paid off big time for both of us, because the girls working for us knew they were onto a good thing and they all made sure that none of the others mucked it up. They pretty much kept each other in line.

"I love you too darling, but I'd better go and have a drink with him before he goes to bed. Bye."

I might not be the nicest bloke around, I'm certainly not the youngest and I'm also not the smartest, but even so I'm not stupid either. I was patiently waiting in the lounge when Tiffany came back, and I smiled at her.

"You look great Tiffany," I said, "but if you don't wear a bit more you might just give your old Pop a heart attack."

She did look great too. Tiffany would be about five nine and carried no extra weight at all. She had a model's body rather than an athlete's body, and she walked with lithe grace.

"But Pop," she giggled, "it's so hot here." I smiled.

Tiffany had long straight dirty blonde hair that framed a pretty face which was dominated by her intense green eyes. For the evening she was wearing a see through mesh top over a tiny blue bikini top and short denim shorts that showed off her slender legs perfectly.

"Want me to make you a drink?" I asked, and she smiled sweetly, although I did notice that the smile never reached her eyes.

"I'll do it," she offered, and she went to the drinks cabinet. "The usual?" she asked, and I nodded.

The whisky she made me would have been at least a triple, but I can still handle my grog better than most. I smiled and thanked her and then we drank our drinks.

After I had finished mine I went to bed. I locked my door, but that wasn't particularly because of Tiffany, I always make sure I lock my door when I have family staying.

As usual I was up much earlier than Tiffany, so it wasn't hard to prepare my little trick. I made sure that there was a second bottle of vodka which had a similar amount in it, and which was easily accessible but out of sight. Then I also made sure that I had a whisky bottle similarly placed which contained some tea. Then I went out to work.

Most ninety year olds are in retirement homes, waiting to die. If they get around at all they shuffle along behind a walker or ride in a wheelchair. A lot of them have lost their marbles too, and some of them don't even recognise their own families. But that's not me. I never really retired; I just changed from the job of car dealer to the job of beef farmer. Sure, I am a little bit slower now, but I work on the farm every day, no matter what the weather, I march in the ANZAC Day parade in Melbourne every year, and I still drive my own cars and my houseboat too. I have stopped riding motorbikes on the property, but I still use the quad bike every day. Old age is bound to come for me sometime; it just hasn't got here yet.

When I got back to the house Tiffany was dressed in a tiny blue tee shirt that was ripped at the front to show a bit of cleavage, and a flimsy blue miniskirt that looked like it was made of tissue paper. We had eaten our dinner earlier, and then she had gone to her room for a while. She had spoken briefly to Brandon, and promised him that she would ring him again as soon as she had completed her plan.

I had thought hard over the day weighing up what I was about to do, and I had decided that although my plan was evil it was no more so than hers. I had taken a special tablet shortly before dinner. I do take the occasional Viagra for one off encounters, but this was the special all-nighter that I only used when I was expecting a marathon. This was Tiffany's idea after all, and if she wanted to play I was going to play hard.

"Can we talk a bit longer tonight Pop?" Tiffany asked, after I had finished the first drink she had made me.

"Sure," I said, "I'll get us another drink." She tried to hide her smug smile, but didn't do a very good job of it. I quickly swapped the bottles in the cabinet, and made sure that I put plenty of vodka in her drink. I don't recommend cold tea on the rocks as a drink, but it certainly did keep me sober that night.

As far as drinking went Tiffany was definitely a lightweight. By the end of her first real drink she was a getting flushed, and she was giggling quite a lot as well. It was really funny for me to be watching her trying to pretend she was getting drunk when she actually was. At the same time I had to pretend I was getting drunk too, so I started slurring my words after our second drink. Tiffany eagerly poured us both another drink, and I teased her by saying that she would probably make herself a really small one. She held up her glass to show me as she poured half a glass of what she thought was water and then added her orange juice, and she gave me just as generous a shot of tea.

Tiffany giggled, gulped and gossiped. She seemed to think that if she drank quickly then I would drink quickly too. I was happy enough to oblige. She also seemed to think that I would be interested in her inane dribble. I played along, and after her third real drink she staggered unsteadily off to the toilet.

As soon as she was gone I went into her bag and switched her mobile off, I didn't want Brandon to call at an inconvenient moment did I? The silly little bitch didn't even have her phone locked.

By the time she came back I was laying back in the chair with my eyes closed.

"Pop?" Tiffany slurred. I opened an eye.

"Huh?" I said, pretending to be drunk.

"One more?"

"OK," I mumbled. Tiffany went and made another round, but spilled some of the drinks as she stumbled on the way back.

"I feel drunk," she said, as she handed me my drink.

"I feel a drunk too," I agreed as I held her hand with one of my hands and took the drink with the other. She giggled, not really understanding what I had said.

Tiffany sat down heavily next me on the couch, and I decided it was just about time.

"Cheers," I said, and I drank down the cold tea quickly.

"Cheers," she replied, and she drank down her drink too. I smiled and leaned back with my eyes closed.

I could feel her watching me, so I slowed my breathing down.

I waited.

She waited.

"Pop?" she eventually said quietly. I didn't stir.

"Pop?" she said louder, but I still didn't respond.

Tiffany giggled and then mumbled her plan as she tried to get the steps right.

"Gotta tear clothes," she said, and she grunted a bit with effort before I finally heard a ripping noise. I let one eye open fractionally and saw she had torn the tee down the middle, exposing her pert young tits. About a B cup I guessed, and oh so firm. I watched through almost closed eyes as she threw the tee on the floor and ripped the button off the mini. Then she undid the zip and stood up unsteadily letting the skirt drop to the floor. Her underwear followed, and then she was standing unsteadily in front of me, totally naked. Tiffany was shaven clean down below, so there was nothing to block my view at all. As I had guessed, she was stunning.

"Pants," she whispered, and I closed my eyes. Soon I felt her hands fumbling with my belt. I grunted softly and she froze for a moment. Then she giggled and kept going. When she had undone my belt she undid the button on my trousers and then unzipped my fly.

Tiffany struggled to pull my trousers down, and I sure as hell wasn't trying to make it easier for her. She struggled for a while and finally managed to work them down under my ass.

"Eeew, gross," she muttered, probably referring to my white Y fronts, and then she pulled them down as well. By this time my cock had started to stir, but I had nowhere near a hardon. She paused for a moment and then giggled. When she brushed my cock with her fingers I jumped, and I was worried that she might realise I was actually awake, but I think she was just too pissed to notice.

"It really does work," she said quietly, and then she giggled again and rubbed it a bit harder. It slowly grew with the contact.

"Wow," Tiffany whispered as my cock grew. It isn't the biggest around, just under seven inches long, and average thickness, but the only complaints I have ever had have been from the less experienced new girls at the bar who thought I would split them in two. That hasn't actually happened yet, but I have made a few of them walk very tenderly the day after a marathon fuck session. I consider it to be a valuable lesson for them in what to expect if they are going to fuck eight or ten guys every night.

I let Tiffany play with my cock for a while, even though she really had no idea what she was doing. I part opened an eye again and she was staring at it with a mixture of revulsion and fascination. The revulsion was winning, but not by a lot. She was flushed with a combination of alcohol and excitement, so I thought I would let the tension build a bit before I made my move.

Tiffany tickled the base of my cock, and I made it twitch. She giggled and did it again, and then giggled more when it jumped once more.

"Juice," she muttered, still trying to go with her plan, and I surreptitiously watched her drop her hand down between her legs and start rubbing. After a while the aroma of her pussy reached my nostrils. Revulsion was still in the lead, but arousal had moved up on the rail, flanked by fascination, and they were both rapidly catching up.

I waited until she was bringing her hand back up towards my cock, and then I opened my eyes.

"If I feel your teeth you will suffer greatly," I said, and she looked up in surprise.

"Huh?" she said, and as her mouth opened I put my hand behind her head and pushed her mouth down over the end of my cock. She struggled a lot to begin with, but my other hand grabbed her hair and pushed as well. I could hear her muffled cries of protest, but I just pushed her down further until she gagged.

"No teeth," I reminded her, twisting her hair to show her who was in charge. Then I pulled her head back and let her gasp for air for a moment.

"Need more practice sucking cock," I said, pulling her head back down.

"No Pop," she cried out, "I don't..." Putting your cock into a girls mouth is a pretty good way of shutting her up, and it worked well on Tiffany. Sure I could still hear her moaning in protest, but it was sort of indistinct.

"Suck it bitch," I growled, and she tensed with the unexpected abuse, but I just held on tight and fucked her face for a short time. I would push her head down until I felt the resistance of her throat, and then pull back up until only the head of my cock was in her mouth. Then I would push down again.

Tiffany's tears were rolling down her face freely now, leaving long black lines as her eye makeup ran with them. She was still struggling, but it was now as feeble an attempt as it was futile. I was in control, and I decided to ramp it up a bit.

"Want me to stop fucking your face?" I asked, and she looked at me hopefully and tried to nod.

"OK," I said, and I pulled her head off my cock and pushed her away. She stood up unsteadily, and moved back a pace, but I held onto one of her hands firmly.

"What are you doing Pop?" she cried plaintively, and I grinned.

"Teaching you a lesson," I said, and I stood up quickly, making her step back again, but she was very drunk and she stumbled. I shuffled forward and grabbed onto her quickly, knowing that with my pants around my legs I couldn't chase her, and then I span her around and pushed her towards a nearby armchair. She fell forward over the low back of the chair and I smiled. She was gasping for air as I shuffled forward again, then I aimed my rock hard cock at her damp pussy and I drove it in as hard as I could. It wasn't an easy entry, she was extremely tight, but luckily she had made herself quite wet earlier.

"Fuuuuuuck," she screamed, and I wasn't sure if that was an expression of pain, of surprise, a protest or just an observation. I chose to take it as the last one.

"Yep," I agreed, "and it is lovely tight cunt you have there too."

"No Pop," she wailed, "you can't fuck me..."

"I can," I said, "and I am."

I know, I'm a real sick fuck right? You wonder what sort of a man would fuck a girl more than seventy years younger than him? Well I'll tell you the answer to that, just about any man that could. Back in my day we had honesty, respect, loyalty and a sense of duty. Just about everything was better then. But there was one really important thing that we didn't have, and that is the sexual freedom which exists today. Condoms were unreliable, and hard to get, there was no such thing as the pill and by and large the only easy girls where those you paid for twice. You paid once before the ride and the second time a week or so later at the pox doctors. My generation missed out on the carefree part and we missed out on the permissiveness. So give us half a chance and we'll be balls deep in a dumb ass teeny slut faster than Aunty Mabel goes when she knows there's only one glass of sherry left in the bottle and she knows Aunty Edna has realised it too.