Free Susie Learns the Hard Way by Roger Quine

of his chest and left him wheezing for breath.
    â€˜More than seventeen year,’ he croaked, the source of his sinister whisper now revealed as a chronic smoker’s cough. She sat, spellbound by the whole procedure; every rasping cough made the fleshy pole between his legs jerk in perfect time, as if it was the baton and his chest were the orchestra. But interesting though its syncopated wobbling may have been, the reason she was staring was simply that it was still there , almost as erect as it had been at the beginning. He saw the direction of her stare, and he saw the look on her face.
    â€˜Reckon yer wants what yer shouldn’t have,’ he whispered throatily, and flexed his hips with a surprising agility so that it flopped around again, spraying sticky droplets from the end. She continued to stare as he grasped it with one hand, his bony fingers wrapping around it so that she noticed, for the first time, the nicotine stains, the cracked and blackened nails and the ingrained dirt in the coarse skin of his fingertips. Fingertips which only a short while ago had been prying her soft pink lips apart and fumbling their way into her body. She shuddered.
    Now it was over she didn’t want to look at him any more, at his wrinkled, loose-fitting skin, his dirty hands and face, or the still-hard shaft with its rough hedge of grey and white hair.
    Primly she reached down and tugged the damp rag of her knickers back into place before she stood up, making a pretence of studying herself in the dressing table mirror, but watching to see what he would do next. She was relieved to see him struggle to his feet, bend down and pull up his baggy old cord trousers, fastening the belt at his waist.
    She turned, crossing the room towards the door, planning to hustle him out and then get away herself.
    As she did he finished tucking in his shirt and was just trying to cram his softening erection back inside his pants. He paused, watching her cross the room; short skirt and long legs, white socks, and lovely youthful tits inside the nice white blouse. She was hardly any different to the senior girls who’d surrounded him at school all his working life. She could have been any one of them, loose-limbed and coltish, with an easy grace and a hot little pussy. The memory of it was still fresh in his mind and still damp on his knob, which was slowly straightening again in his hand.
    He saw her staring in total disbelief as it lengthened and thickened once more. ‘Shame to waste it,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Don’t know when I’ll see it like this again. Or you, come to that.’
    Susie’s mouth flapped uselessly open and shut several times. What was there to say? What could she say? Later she realised that she could have flattened him with one good push and been halfway down the street before he was back on his feet, but she’d started off playing the role of Annie because she didn’t think there was any choice, and it simply didn’t occur to her now that things were any different.
    He shuffled towards her, taking one shoulder in his hand, turning her towards the end of the bed and bending her forward, and she felt the other hand lifting her skirt. She grasped the rail that ran waist-high across the end of the bed as he draped her skirt up over her back, exposing the supple curves of her bottom, straining against the sheer cotton of her panties.
    â€˜Ar,’ he grunted, apparently never tiring of his sole expression of emotion, and he reached down to caress the taut globes inside their thin covering. After only a few moments his bony old fingers were digging down between them, scrabbling at the wet material stretched across the full curves swelling her gusset into a squashy, squeezable mound.
    Susie gasped as he squeezed. ‘Oooh...’ she moaned, as he squashed firmly. Her knees buckled slightly, parting her thighs and making room for him to push deeper between them. She shuffled