Writhing helplessly, I gave in to temptation and simply rubbed. Suddenly, I was on my front with my breasts squashed against the desk. “Don’t mov...,” Mick hissed, holding me in place with a strong hand on my neck. “Give me your hands.” I thought about being a smart ass, as ‘not moving’ contradicted the instruction to ‘give me your hands’. However, I was distracted by Mick’s cock bashing against the insides of my thighs just an inch below my hungry, gaping snatch. I gasped as he handcuffed me. My own grandmother was not even that old at the time. I loved Sunday church because I could oogle the old ladies. At home I would fantasize getting bathed by them and spying on them to get a glimpse of their droopy breasts. It was my favorite and pretty much only masturbation fantasy.In those days which were the early eighties we didn't have the internet and we could not search for porn. My friends had porn magazines and we would all look at them marveling at the female beauties, except I was. More

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