Andy - tomboy, and her loving Pops

A deathbed request from the man she calls granddad: see 14-year-old Andy naked. Her answer is a sinful gift, a final, illegal send-off.

Disclaimer: Welcome to a world where forbidden desire is the only rule. This story is part of a collection where all lines are meant to be crossed. If you keep reading, you're already on the other side.
Reader discretion is advised.
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Read ‘Andy - 14, Ryan's Kiss, and her taboo fun with College Freshman’ for Andy’s first story, by tapping on my name!

The alarm on her phone blared, but Andy was already awake. She lay in bed, the thin sheet tangled around her legs, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton panties and an old, faded Iron Maiden t-shirt. It had been two weeks. Two weeks since Ryan and Mike had fucked her in a raw, brutal fashion that had rewired her soul. Since then, a hunger had taken root deep inside her, a constant, low-grade fever that masturbation couldn't seem to break. She’d even bought a vibrator online, hiding the plain brown box under her bed. It was good—fast, efficient—but it wasn't the same. It had no weight, no heat, no breath. And no depth.
She swung her legs out of bed and stood in front of her full-length mirror. She looked at herself, at the body that was changing almost daily. Her breasts were no longer just slight mounds; they were growing teenage boobs, soft handfuls with sensitive, puffy nipples that tightened under her own gaze. She was fourteen. A teenager. And she felt ancient.
The shower was her sanctuary. Their house had one of those fancy systems with multiple jets, and she knew exactly how to use it. She let the hot water cascade over her skin, turning it pink, then angled one of the wall-mounted jets directly between her legs. The pulse was hard and insistent, a focused, stinging spray against her clit. She braced her hands against the tiled wall, her knees going weak as the water worked her. It was a mechanical, relentless pleasure, and she adjust her hips, chasing an orgasm that when it hit was still a frustrating ghost of the real thing. She finally collapsed, her body buzzing with a teen’s sexual energy.
Still not as good as Ryan and Mike.
Downstairs, the smell of frying bacon and sausages greeted her. Her mom was at the stove, a spatula in hand. Andy grabbed a mug and poured herself some coffee.
“Andy, you know you’re too young for that,” her mom scolded without turning around.
“And you know you’re too old to be worrying about it,” Andy shot back, her voice sharp with teenage defiance.
Her mom sighed but let it go. Before Andy could escape with her toast, her mother’s voice stopped her, this time softer, heavy with unspoken dread. “Andy, honey. The results from Pops’s tests… they came in.” She turned, her eyes glistening. “He’s very sick. We thought… we thought maybe a year, maybe two. But it’s changed. The doctor said… three months. At most.”
The world tilted. The coffee mug felt like it weighed a ton. Three months. Pops. A man she deeply loved admired. The anchor of her entire world. A crushing weight settled on her chest, stealing her breath. She saw his face, his kind eyes, his big, calloused hands. She felt the grief like a physical blow, a tidal wave of despair that threatened to drown her. She stood there for a full minute, just breathing, forcing the air in and out of her lungs. Then, something inside her clicked shut. She scooped the grief into a small, hard box and locked it away. There was no time for it.
She sat down and shoveled the eggs, sausage and bacon into her mouth, chewing mechanically. Slugging from her coffee.
“Don’t eat like a heathen,” her mom muttered, but Andy barely heard her. She finished off her breakfast. And was gone.
The backdoor to Pops’s house was unlocked, just like always. Charlie McFadden, a retired engineer who had done very well for himself, had treated Andy and her brothers like his own grandkids for as long as she could remember. His house was bigger, nicer than theirs, a monument to a life well-lived. He was a widower, and his own kids and grandkids were states away, a fact that gnawed at him. But he wouldn’t move. So instead, he spoiled Andy and her siblings. And they loved him for it.
He was sitting at his kitchen table, staring into a cup of coffee. He looked up, his eyes tired and knowing. “She told you?”
Andy looked down at her hands, twisting a thread on her jeans. “Yes. Sorry, Pops.” The words felt useless, pathetic.
He waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing to be sorry for, kiddo. It is what it is.” They sat in a heavy silence for a moment. Andy’s mind raced, the grief box rattling in its locked corner.
“Pops,” she said, her voice small. “Is there anything… anything you want? To do, or see, or have? Before… you know.”
He gave her a funny look, one she’d seen before but couldn’t quite place. A flicker of something intense, hungry. Then it was gone. “No - But thanks, Andy.” He stood to get more coffee, shutting her out.
But she knew. There was something. “Pops, tell me,” she pushed, her voice gentle but firm.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I can’t have what I would like,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He wouldn’t look at her. That look was back, and suddenly, she remembered. She’d seen it on Granddad’s face in his last years, when the home health aides would come over. The beautiful young Black and Hispanic girls who would help him wash and dress. A look of deep, wistful longing.
And because of Ryan and Mike, something clicked for her.
And Andy smiled.
She pushed again, softly, until he finally cracked, his face crimson with shame. “I would love to see you naked,” he said, in an almost whispering tone, sure she would hate him forever.
“Why?” she asked, genuinely curious. “I’m just a kid. I don’t have anything to show.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. But he left it at that.
An idea, born of grief and a desperate, newly awakened hunger, sparked in her mind. She walked out of the kitchen and onto his enclosed patio, where the hot tub sat, its cover shimmering in the morning light. She flipped the switch, and the jets began to churn, the water bubbling with promise. He used it for circulation, but she knew he loved to relax in it at night.
A few minutes later, Pops followed her out, a curious look on his face. “Andy? What are you doing?”
“Get naked and get in, Pops,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.
He hesitated, his mouth opening to question her. She cut him off with a look. “Do it.”
Slowly, as if in a trance, he stripped. His body was soft and wrinkled, but there was a strength still in his frame. And as he stood there, exposed, her presence, her youth, her sheer audacity, made him hard. He was impressively erect, and he seemed surprised by it himself. “Well,” he chuckled, a low, embarrassed rumble. “Can’t help it. There’s a beautiful young woman standing in front of me.”
He eased himself into the hot water, hissing at the heat. Andy didn’t join him. Not yet. He pointed to a small stack of clothes on a chair. “There’s a pair of shorts and a t-shirt if you want to… you know, cover up.”
She ignored him. She began to undress, putting on a little show, peeling off her jeans and her t-shirt, then her bra and panties, slowly, deliberately. She climbed up onto the edge of the hot tub, giving him a long, lingering look at her naked, fourteen-year-old body, at the small, perfect breasts and the smooth, bare mound between her legs. Almost bald glistening pussy lips. Then she stepped into the water, the heat enveloping her.
She didn’t sit. She waded over to him, the water swirling around her thighs. She reached into the water and took hold of his erect cock. It felt hot and alive in her hand. She stroked it slowly, and he let out a low moan. “God, Andy,” he breathed. “You’re such a good girl.”
Then she shocked them both. She swung a leg over his lap and straddled him. She took his cock, lined it up with her hungry pussy, and impaled herself in one slow, fluid motion.
He expected resistance, the tight barrier of her innocence. Instead, she slid down his length in a single, slick, perfect stroke, taking him to the hilt without a hint of pain. A choked gasp escaped his lips, his eyes widening in shock. There was no hymen. He wasn’t her first. The thought hit him like a thunderclap, and instead of disappointment, a dark, thrilling wave of admiration washed over him. She was not the innocent girl he thought she was. She was something else entirely, something far more dangerous and exciting, and it was the biggest fucking turn-on of his life. He was so incredibly, deeply impressed.
He took her smiling, devilishly beautiful face in his hands, and they kissed. It was a passionate, desperate kiss, a clash of grief and lust, of innocence and experience. His hands slid down to her breasts, his thumbs rubbing her nipples, then he leaned forward and sucked each one into his mouth, nibbling and teasing until she was moaning, a small orgasm rippling through her.
She fucked him faster, from slow and sensual to hard and deep. She came again, her pussy clenching around his old cock, and then again, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Finally, with a deep, shuddering groan, he buried himself inside her and blew his load, filling the beautiful teenager who was like a granddaughter to him.
The water lapped around them, still and warm in the aftermath. Pops was breathing heavily, his eyes closed, a look of utter, blissful shock on his face. He opened them slowly, a new fire smoldering in their depths. “Incredible,” he breathed, his voice a raspy whisper. “Andy… that was… Thank you.” He looked at her, his gaze dropping to the space between her legs, still submerged in the churning water. “Now… climb up. I want to taste you.”
Andy’s pussy, already sensitive and well-fucked, clenched with fresh anticipation. She didn’t hesitate. She pulled herself out of the water and sat on the wide, tiled edge of the hot tub, spreading her legs for him, offering herself up. The cool air felt amazing against her heated, slick skin.
Charlie moved between her legs, his old hands gently gripping her thighs. He leaned in, and for a moment, he just looked, his breath fogging against her. Then his tongue was on her. It was a different kind of pleasure than the jets, different than her own fingers. It was warm, wet, and impossibly intimate. He licked her slowly, reverently at first, then with a growing, desperate hunger. He slid a thick finger inside her, curling it to find that spot, that magical spot that made her whole body light up. He finger-fucked her with a practiced, knowing rhythm, his tongue working her clit in relentless circles.
The pressure built fast, a coiling spring of pure pleasure. “Oh, God, Pops… yes… right there…” she chanted, her hands flying to his head, her fingers tangling in his wet hair. He sucked her clit into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue, and that was it. She screamed, her back arching, her hips bucking against his face as a powerful orgasm tore through her. It was her third of the morning, but it felt like the first in comparison, and it left her trembling and breathless.
When she finally came down, he was hard again. His cock stood up, thick and demanding from the water. This time, he didn’t ask. There was a new authority in his eyes, the look of a man taking what he wanted. Getting permission or being guided was not how men fucked a girl, especially a young girl.
He rose from the water, his strength surprising her, and lifted her from the edge in his powerful arms. She squealed, then giggled as he turned her around. He placed her hands on the hot tub edge, kicking her legs apart and spreading her wide. He positioned himself behind her, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. Then he drove into her, hard and deep.
She gasped, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge. He fucked her with long, deep, punishing strokes, his heavy balls slapping against her with every thrust. He raised a hand and brought it down on her ass in a sharp, wet slap that made her cry out in pleasure.
“You like that, you little tease?” he grunted, his voice rough with lust.
“Yes! Harder, Pops! Fuck me harder!” she egged him on, pushing her hips back to meet his brutal rhythm.
He gave her what she wanted, spanking her again and again, turning her pale skin a delicious pink. He was a man possessed, pouring a lifetime of regret and a final, desperate surge of life into every thrust. He slammed into her one last time, his body going rigid as he shot multiple, thick loads of cum deep inside her.
He fell back into the water with a loud splash, sinking onto the bench, utterly exhausted.
Andy turned slowly, her body humming. She sat on the hot tub edge, her legs dangling in the water, feeling his cum leak out of her. Her hunger was sated for now – but he would need more treatments before it was time. She felt powerful, whole.
“Thank you for that wonderful cock, Pops,” she said, her voice a satisfied purr.
He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a profound, tearful gratitude. “Thank you, Andy. Thank you for that. The last thing I’ll get to enjoy before my time.”
She smiled, a slow, devilish, beautiful smile. “Oh, Pops,” she said, her voice full of wicked promise. “There’s plenty more where that came from. You’re not dying for a while yet – and we’ll make them memorable!”

Andy – 2
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My world is built on shared desires and whispered sins. Now, I invite you to add to the silence. Leave a comment with your thoughts on the story, or offer something more forbidden: a true experience. Let me weave it into the life of a character, giving your secret a new voice. [email protected]