Granpa Bobby makes Becky a Woman

He never thought he'd take a girl's virginity. But his neighbor's 14yo daughter has other plans, and she's chosen him to make her a woman.

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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Bobby, I hope you enjoy seeing your fantasy on the page. It was a pleasure to help bring the world you imagined to life.
The air in the town of Patrick’s Cross always smelled a little like dust and hay, a scent Bobby had come to know as the smell of home. At fifty-nine, with a bit of gray in his hair and the lean, corded muscle of a man who’d spent a lifetime hauling fifty-pound bags of feed, he was as much a part of the landscape as the longleaf pines. His 1984 Dodge pickup, still gleaming under the Texas sun, was his trusty steed. At the feed store, he wasn't just an employee; he was a landmark. Everybody knew Bobby.
That's when the Davenports' minivan crunched into the gravel lot. Annie Davenport stepped out, a vision of country-girl prettiness even with a light sheen of sweat on her brow. Behind her piled out David, her sixteen-year-old son, already looking bored; Paula, her ten-year-old shadow; and Becky, at fourteen, starting to bloom with a quiet confidence that caught Bobby's eye more often than he cared to admit.
"Hey, Bobby," Annie said, leaning against the counter. "Need the usual. The okra and squash are drinking the pond dry this year."
"Figured as much," Bobby grunted, already pulling a pallet from the back. "Tom still out at the markets?"
"All day. Trying to nail down that contract for the restaurant supply in The Woodlands." She sighed, a familiar sound of a woman carrying a world of weight on her shoulders. "It's just me and the three terrors today."
Bobby loaded her supplies, his movements efficient and practiced. As he finished, he wiped his hands on his jeans. "You know, Annie," he said, his voice carrying just enough for the kids to hear, "I'm clocking off in an hour. The pool's just sitting there, sparkling and cold. You all should come over for a swim and some lunch. Give you a break."
The kids erupted. David even looked up from his phone. Paula started bouncing on her heels. Annie shot Bobby a look that was half-annoyance, pure exasperation, but the corners of her mouth were twitching. "You just had to say it in front of them, didn't you?"
He just grinned. "What? It's hot. And I love having you all over."
She shook her head, but the smile won. "Alright, you old troublemaker. We'll be there." She gave his arm a playful swat and herded her excited crew back to the van.
An hour later, Bobby had a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of sweet tea waiting on the patio table. The Davenports arrived in a happy, chaotic splash. The kids, shrieking with delight, cannonballed into the pool while Annie collapsed into a chair with a grateful groan.
"Bobby, you're a saint," she said, sipping the tea.
"Just a neighbor with a pool," he replied, watching the water churn. "Listen, if you've got errands to run, go. The kids are fine here."
"David wants to hit the comic book store, and Paula's my little shadow," Annie said, already gathering her purse. "Becky, you mind staying? You good with that, Bobby?"
Becky popped up from the water, her dark hair slicked back from her face. "Can I?" she asked, her eyes bright.
"Course, darlin'," Bobby said. "You know I love having you."
As the van pulled away, a peaceful quiet settled over the yard, broken only by the gentle slap of water against the tile and the distant hum of cicadas. Becky, it turned out, was serious about swimming. She did laps, her form strong and sure. Eventually, she tired of that and paddled over to the edge where Bobby was sitting.
"Aren't you getting in?" she asked.
He chuckled. "Maybe in a bit. Just enjoying the peace."
"Come on," she insisted, splashing him playfully. "I'm bored."
He couldn't say no to her. He slid into the cool water, and for a while, they were just two people having fun. They splashed and raced, their laughter echoing in the humid air. In the midst of a playful wrestling match, his hand brushed against her. It wasn't just a touch; it was the soft, full weight of her teen breast, firm beneath the thin fabric of her swimsuit.
The world stopped for a second.
Becky just smiled, a slow, knowing smile that didn't belong on a fourteen-year-old's face. She didn't pull away. She held his gaze for a moment longer before splashing him again and swimming off. Bobby's heart hammered against his ribs. He felt a heat in his blood that had nothing to do with the Texas sun.
"I'm... I'm getting tired," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He hauled himself out of the pool and sat on a lounger, grabbing a towel to hide the undeniable evidence of his arousal.
He watched her swim a few more laps before she, too, got out. She dried off with quick, efficient movements. Bobby turned his head, looking out at the wooded property line, trying to will his body back under control. When he turned back, she was standing right in front of him.
And she was naked.
He froze. The towel in his lap did little to conceal his reaction. She was a vision of forbidden youth. Her skin was golden from the sun, still glistening with water droplets that traced paths over the gentle curves of her hips and the small, perfect mounds of her breasts. They were tipped with a soft, dusky pink that made his mouth go dry. Her stomach was flat and tight, and below it, the sparse dark hair of her womanhood formed a neat triangle, drawing his eyes down to a place he knew he shouldn't look. Her cute pussy lips, slightly showing. The scent of chlorine on her skin mixed with something else, something uniquely her, a sweet, musky perfume that went straight to his head.
Every decent instinct he had, every lesson learned in fifty-nine years of life, screamed at him to grab a towel, to cover her, to send her away. But his body, a traitorous beast, roared its approval. His eyes devoured the curve of her hip, the shadow between her thighs. It was a sickness, he thought, a horrifying sickness... and it was the most alive he'd felt in a decade.
"Becky... what in God's name are you doing?" he managed to choke out.
"I see you, Bobby," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I see how you look at me. And at my mom. At other girls. You look, and then you turn away, like you're ashamed of it."
She stepped closer. "Am I pretty, Bobby?"
His throat was tight. "Becky, you shouldn't..."
"Am I?" she insisted.
His brain screamed at him to lie, to be the adult. But his cock, hard and throbbing under the towel, had other ideas. "You're... you're hot," he blurted out, the words tearing out of him. It twitched in response, a traitorous acknowledgment.
A triumphant smile lit up her face. "I've been thinking about this for a long time," she whispered. She reached into her discarded backpack and pulled out a tablet. Her fingers flew across the screen, and she turned it to face him.
It was porn. But not the usual kind. A young woman, who looked remarkably like Becky, was with an older, silver-haired man. The title read, "Daddy's Little Girl." Another tab was open: "Grandpa's Sweetheart."
"I've thought about this," she said again, her voice thick with a desire that both terrified and electrified him.
"Stand up," she commanded.
And Bobby, forgetting who was the adult and who was the child, who was the neighbor and who was the granddaughter, obeyed.
She reached out, her small hands hooking into the waistband of his shorts. She tugged them down, and he stepped out of them, his cock springing free, thick and engorged. Her eyes widened, but with hunger, not fear.
She sank to her knees on the patio towel. He watched, mesmerized, as she leaned forward and took him into her warm, wet mouth. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and determination, as if she were tasting a forbidden fruit she'd only ever read about. Her inexperience was a clumsy, beautiful thing, but her eagerness was a force of nature.
After a moment, she pulled back, her lips glistening. "Sit," she ordered, pointing to the lounger.
He sat, his mind a fog of lust and panic. She straddled him, her knees on either side of his thighs. She took his cock in her hand, guiding it to her entrance. She was tight, impossibly so. With a slow, deliberate movement, she impaled herself on him. As he pressed into her, he felt the final, tight barrier give way. She cried out, a sharp, surprised sound that was half pain, half triumph. For Bobby, it was a point of no return, a line crossed that could never be uncrossed. He was not just taking her body; he was corrupting her innocence, and the dark thrill of it was unbearable.
She began to ride him, slowly at first, finding a rhythm. Her small breasts bounced with each movement, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching up to cup them, his rough, calloused hands a stark contrast to her smooth, teenage skin. His thumbs brushed over her hard nipples. She threw her head back, lost in the sensation.
The sight of her, the feel of her, was too much. He needed more. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her effortlessly. He turned her over, positioning her on her hands and knees on the lounger. He entered her from behind, his strokes deep and powerful, claiming her in the most primal way. The shocking heat of her core was a revelation. She pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, her soft cries of pleasure urging him on.
He felt his own climax building, a tidal wave rising in his groin. He couldn't risk it. He wouldn't. With a guttural groan, he pulled out at the last second.
"No, don't stop," she whimpered, looking back at him over her shoulder. "I want it all."
But he was already moving. He turned her over and pressed his slick, throbbing cock to her lips. She didn't hesitate. She opened her mouth and took him in, not just to finish him, but to claim his essence, to taste the proof of her power over this man, this 'grandpa' who was now hers and hers alone. He fucked her face with short, sharp strokes, the ragged sound of their breathing the only sound in the yard, until his body seized and he exploded, pouring his cum down her throat. She swallowed it all, her eyes locked on his.
When it was over, she snuggled against his chest on the wide lounger, her naked body warm against his. He kissed her, a deep, possessive kiss, his hand roaming over the soft skin of her back, down to cup the perfect curve of her ass. He was massaging her small breasts, loving the feel of them in his calloused hands.
He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he knew, with a sinking certainty in his gut and a fire in his blood, that he could get used to this.
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