His Grandson’s Hot Prom Date: and Her Secret Sex Plan

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Publisher Description

When 81-year-old Morris Cooper gives his grandson’s sexy prom date a ride home, little does he know that the hot young minx has dirty things planned for him.
And 21-year-old tease Selena soon gives filth a new meaning when she invites the pensioner up to her bedroom, where an age-gap sex romp soon develops.
But Selena has a secret strategy… and she is soon taking selfies of her and Morris as they indulge in all sorts of sexual shenanigans.

Morris watched the girl as she sashayed over to the phone, the hem of her dress flittering around her lovely thighs. Morris licked his lips and felt things stir in his ancient balls.
The girl dialed and she waited, and the more she waited, the more her brow furrowed. She put the phone back in the cradle. Her hair fell over her face and they way she brushed it back just with a finger made Morris shudder. She sat back and her breasts jiggled a little. Morris blew air out of his cheeks. Selena picked up the phone again, dialed another number. As she held the phone to her ear, she caught Morris staring. And she stared right back.
A little smile formed on her lips—a pouty one. She bit her lower lips. Her eyes narrowed. Then, she slowly twirled her hair around her finger, cocking her head to one side.
Morris felt weak at the knees and his belly fluttered. He felt something stir in his groin.
Then the girl jerked, making her boobs vibrate again, and she said, “Hi, Mum, where’s Dad? He was going to pick me up from Joe’s.”
She listened to her mum, her eyes still on Morris, drilling into him. Her nostrils flared. Her lips were moist, and she pursed them. She narrowed her eyes now. And then she spoke again, though Morris really didn’t hear what she said.
Selena put the phone down.
Morris’s daughter asked, “Everything all right?”
“Well, my Mum is at a conference so won’t be back until tomorrow night, but Dad’s been called into the office—”
“At ten-to-eleven at night?” guffawed Morris. “What does he do?”
“He’s finance officer at the oil company, Brunson, and there’s a problem at their American office or something. Some spill thing. So he’s had to go into the office in Canary Wharf for a conference call with the New York office. I’ll get a taxi.”
“Stay here,” said Morris’s daughter.
“I have to be up early, so I will call a cab if I can,” said Selena, picking up the phone.
“I’ll drive you back,” said Joe, who had appeared at the top of the stairs.
Selena laughed. “You’re drunk, Joe.”
“I’m not,” said Morris.
“Dad—” said his daughter, but Selena stepped in very quickly:
“Oh, that’s really kind of you, Mr. Cooper, we should go right now.”

More fun filth from the randy old British writer, D.F. Darke.

Fiction & Literature
12 May
Rebecca Ryatt

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