Welcome to

March arrived with a whisper—no fanfare, no warning—just the quiet, shifting magic in the air as Gena blinked up at me from her place on the couch, her plush lips parting in surprise.

“Oh my…”

The words slipped from her mouth already changed—softer, slower, with a husky tremor that hadn’t been there a second before. Her hands—oh God, her hands—twitched as she lifted them in front of her face, watching as the skin wrinkled slightly, veins tracing delicate paths beneath paper-thin skin.

I couldn’t breathe.

It was happening again.

And this time, it was fast.

Gena gasped as her blonde locks streaked with silver, her ponytail loosening as her hair thickened into a voluminous mane. Her face—fuck, her face—melted into something regal, mature, framed by laugh lines and the faintest hint of crow’s feet that only made her piercing blue eyes pop.

But her body—

Oh, fuck no.

Her tits sagged—heavy, pendulous, drooping into perfect T-cup globes that spilled over the cups of her tight top. Her waist nipped in, but her hips flared wider, her ass growing rounder, softer—a thick, lush playground meant to be gripped by desperate hands.

I was hard before I realized it.

Gena—no, not Gena anymore—blinked slowly, her manicured fingers (now lined with age but still elegant) plucking at her suddenly-too-tight shirt with a bemused frown.

“Goodness, what in the world am I wearing?” she chuckled, her voice like honey and crushed velvet.

I swallowed. “Gr-Grandma?”

Her gaze flicked to mine, bright with recognition. “Oh! Nicholas, my sweet boy!” She cupped my cheek, her palm warm and slightly wrinkled. “Look at you, all grown up and handsome as ever.”

My chest ached.

Because she didn’t know.

She didn’t remember.

To her, I’d always been her grandson.

Granny Gretchen (because of course that was her name now) tutted as she glanced down at her clothes again—Gena’s tight crop top barely containing those monumental T-cup udders, her shorts straining against her newly thickened thighs.

“This simply won’t do,” she murmured, standing with effortless grace despite her age—because magic, because fuck logic—before shuffling toward the bedroom with a sway in her hips that made my mouth water.

I followed like a puppy.By the time I reached the doorway, she was already digging through the closet, humming some old-timey tune under her breath as she pulled out a dress—floral, flowy, with a neckline that plunged dangerously low.

“Ah! There we are!” She beamed, unashamed as she shimmied out of her clothes right in front of me, her aged body on full display. It should’ve been grotesque.

It wasn’t.

Her tits hung full and heavy, swaying slightly as she moved, pink nipples hardened with age but still so suckable. Her belly was soft, rounded—real—and her hips flared into a perfect hourglass, her ass dimpled and plump.

And between her thick thighs?

Wrinkled, yes, but pink.

Soaking wet.

Granny Gretchen didn’t seem to notice my stare—or if she did, she didn’t mind—as she slipped the dress on, adjusting the cleavage until those T-cup monsters threatened to spill out.

Then, with a coquettish smile, she grabbed a string of pearls, a pair of wire-framed glasses, and pinned her hair up into a prim bun.

*GILF incarnate.*

She turned, giving a little spin. “How do I look, sweetheart?”

I was going to hell.

“Perfect,” I rasped, stepping closer, unable to stop myself from reaching for her.

She gasped—not in outrage, but in delight—as I palmed one of her enormous tits, my fingers sinking into the pillowy flesh. “Nicholas!” she scolded, but there was laughter in her voice. “What’s gotten into you?”

I squeezed, my cock impossibly hard. “You.”

For a moment, I thought she’d pull away—that she’d laugh and swat my hand and call me a silly boy.

Instead, her eyes darkened.

“Oh, my naughty grandson,” she purred, her fingers trailing down my chest. “Always so hungry for your Granny…”

I shoved her onto the bed.

She landed with a breathless oomph, her glasses askew, her dress riding up to reveal thick, soft thighs and that pink, glistening pussy.

Still wet.

Always wet.

I didn’t hesitate—I buried my face between her legs, my tongue lapping at her folds with desperate hunger. She tasted different—deeper, muskier, so fucking mature—and the way her back arched off the bed as I flicked her clit?

Perfection.

“Oh! Ohhhh—Nicholas!” Her voice was high, sweet, trembling with sixty years of unchecked desire. “O-Oh, goodness, right there—!”

She came with a shudder, her thighs clamping around my head as her pussy spasmed against my tongue. I didn’t let up—sucking, licking, devouring—until she was tugging my hair, begging for air.

I crawled up her body, my cock bobbing between us as I hovered over her.

Granny Gretchen’s eyes widened—not in shock, but in hunger.

“Oh my,” she breathed, stroking me with a shaky hand. “W-Well, aren’t you just your father’s son…”

I groaned at the implication of that, slamming my lips against hers as I lined myself up with her entrance.

She was so wet.

So ready.

When I pushed in, she howled, her nails raking down my back as her ancient pussy stretched around me.

“Y-Yes! Yes, my sweet boy, fuck your Granny—!”

I obeyed.

And if the neighbors heard her screaming my name all night?

Well.

That was their problem.

-----
Next Morning,...

I woke up with her wrinkled hand tangled in my hair.

Granny Gretchen was already awake, her pearl necklace glinting in the morning light, her T-cup tits spilling from the unbuttoned top of her floral nightgown. She smiled down at me—that smile, the one reserved for good grandsons who knew how to please their elders.

"Morning, Nicky," she cooed, scratching my scalp with her manicured nails. "Sleep well?"

I swallowed hard.

She didn't remember being Gena.

Didn't remember anything except being my doting, oversharing grandmother.

"Better now," I murmured, nuzzling into the soft, papery skin of her inner wrist.

Her scent was different now—lavender and peppermint, with an underlying musk that made my cock twitch. She smelled old, in the best way—mature, earned, like pressed flowers and well-worn leather.

Granny Gretchen chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. "My sweet boy," she sighed, guiding my hand to her bare thigh. "Always so needy in the mornings."

Her skin was softer than I expected, loose in places but warm and smooth. I traced my fingers upward, watching goosebumps rise in their wake, until my palm cupped the bare swell of her hip.

She wasn't wearing panties.

I groaned.

Granny giggled like a schoolgirl, adjusting her glasses with one hand while the other tugged her nightgown higher. "Something catch your eye, honey?"

Fuck yes.

The silver curls between her legs glistened with arousal, framing puffy pink lips that looked younger than the rest of her. I licked my lips, transfixed by the sight—

—until her thin fingers gripped my chin, forcing my gaze upward.

"Now, now," she scolded, though her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Granny likes a little foreplay first."

She guided my hand to her chest, pressing my palm against the soft, sagging weight of her left breast.

"Start here."

I obeyed.

Her nipple puckered between my fingers, stiff despite her age. Granny sighed happily, rolling onto her back as I worshipped her massive tits—pinching, sucking, burying my face in the intoxicating warmth of her.

"Good boy," she purred, spreading her thighs wider.

The wrinkles around her pussy deepened as she hooked one leg over my shoulder, her wrinkled skin brushing my cheek.

I didn't hesitate.

Her taste exploded on my tongue—musky, rich, deeper than Gena's, more complex than Geraldine's. She groaned, her pearl necklace bouncing as she arched off the bed.

"Oh, yes! That's my good boy—right there! Just like you did when you were little—"

I almost choked.

Wait—what?!

Granny Gretchen just gasped, lost in pleasure, her swollen clit throbbing against my tongue as she babbled:

"R-Remember how you'd kiss Granny's boo-boos all better? Nnngh—now you're really fixing me up—!"

Every word should have killed my erection.

It didn't.

If anything, the sick thrill of "when you were little" sent a jolt of forbidden electricity straight to my cock.

I fucked her with my tongue, two fingers curling inside her dripping old pussy, until her thighs clamped around my head like a vice. She came with a high, keening wail, her back arching off the bed—

—just in time for me to flip her onto her stomach with one rough tug.

Granny yelped as I yanked her hips up, her round, wrinkled ass jiggling as I positioned myself behind her.

"N-Nicholas!" she gasped, peering over her shoulder with mock disapproval. (The way she licked her lips gave her away.) "Is this any way to treat your granny?"

I spanked her—hard—leaving a red handprint on her saggy cheek.

"Yes," I growled.

And when I slammed into her from behind, she screamed, her pearl necklace bouncing wildly as she clutched the bedsheets.

"Fuck! Oh fuck, my good boy—! Give it to Granny! Gimme that big—ohhhh—big grandson cock!"

The bedsprings creaked in time with our moans.

And when I came—when I pumped her full like the dirty old woman she loved being—she collapsed beneath me, giggling breathlessly.

"Mmm... You always take such good care of me," she sighed, stroking my hair as I lay atop her.

I nuzzled into her soft, wrinkled neck.

"Always, Granny."

And as March stretched on, I proved it.

Every. Single. Night.

-----

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight as Granny Gretchen stood at the stove, stirring a pot of warm milk. Her floral housecoat clung to her curves, the strings loosely tied to allow a sinful glimpse of her pillowy T-cup bosom when she leaned forward. I sat at the kitchen table, my sweatpants doing little to hide the effect she had on me.

Clink. Clink.

Her spoon tapped the edges of the pot, a rhythmic sound that matched the pounding of my heart.

"Nicky, honey," she cooed in that syrupy voice, turning to face me with those age-blue eyes sparkling behind her glasses, "You're staring again."

I didn't deny it.

The way the dim light caught the faint peach fuzz on her arms, how the silver streaks in her hair glowed like moonlight—fuck, she was gorgeous. Not in the polished way Gena had been, nor the motherly warmth of Geraldine. No, Granny Gretchen was a decadent feast of a woman, her body telling the story of decades lived fully.

"Can't help it." I smirked, spreading my legs wider. "You're wearing my favorite apron."

She glanced down at the frilly thing barely covering her thick hips and tsked. "Oh, this old thing? Don't be silly. I wear this every—oh!"

I had crossed the kitchen in two strides, crowding her against the counter, my hands on the swell of her waist. Her breath hitched—a delicate, trembling sound—as I brushed my lips against the paper-thin skin of her neck.

"Exactly," I murmured, sucking lightly on her pulse point. "Every night since March started. Like you want me to see."

Her pearl necklace pressed between us as she arched into me, her sagging tits flattening against my chest. "Maybe I do..."

That was all the permission I needed.

The spoon clattered to the floor, forgotten, as my hands slipped beneath her apron, squeezing the softness of her hips before sliding up to palm those glorious, heavy breasts. Her nipple pebbled against my fingers through the thin fabric of her nightgown, and she moaned—so loud, like she’d forgotten (or didn’t care) that anyone might hear.

"Nicholas!" she gasped, but her fingers were already fumbling with my sweatpants, yanking them down just enough to free my aching cock.

I groaned as her wrinkled fingers circled me, her touch knowing—like she had spent decades learning just how to tease a man to the edge.

"Granny…"

She shushed me, pressing a kiss to my jaw, her breath hot against my ear. "Show me… show me how much you love your grandma."

I turned her around hard, bending her over the kitchen counter. Her apron strings came undone with one tug, the fabric falling to the floor as I hiked her nightgown up to her waist.

No panties. Again.

"You planned this," I accused, dragging a finger through her wet folds—so slick, so ready despite her age.

She wiggled her thick hips shamelessly. "An old woman forgets things, sweetheart."

I smirked, guiding myself to her entrance. "Then let me remind you."

When I pushed in, she shrieked, her arms flailing to grip the edge of the counter. She was tighter than I expected, her pussy clasping me in velvety heat.

"Oh sweet Jesus!" she cried, her ass jiggling as I set a brutal pace. "Th-That's it, baby, just like—ohhh—just like you did when you were a teenager—!"

My hips stuttered.

What?!

Granny seemed to realize what she'd said, clapping a hand over her mouth with a muffled giggle. "Oops."

I should have been horrified.

Instead, I hammered into her harder, my hands clutching her wide hips as the counter rattled beneath us.

"I knew it," I grunted, sweat dripping down my back. "You remember, don't you?"

Her only response was a breathy moan as she pushed back against me, meeting every thrust with a roll of her hips.

The truth?

I didn’t care if she remembered being Gena, or Geraldine, or some innocent old woman.

All that mattered was the way her wrinkled body milked my cock as she chanted, "Yesyesyes, gimme that good grandson cock—fill up your granny!"

And when she came, screaming like a much younger woman, I did.

March couldn’t be this good.

-----

The silk sheets rustled as Granny Gretchen stretched across the bed, her body—softened by time but still undeniably delicious—gleaming in the dim candlelight. She had dressed for the occasion tonight: a lacy black lingerie set that cupped her massive, sagging T-cup breasts, the deep red of her nipples just barely peeking through the sheer fabric. The garter belt hugged her widening hips, and the stockings... Christ, the stockings were held up by pearl clasps that matched the necklace still hanging between her tits.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

She noticed.

Her wrinkled lips curled into a smirk. "Like what you see, my beautiful grandson?"

I didn't answer—couldn't—not when she hooked a finger into the side of her panties and slowly pulled them down her thick thighs, revealing the neatly trimmed silver curls between her legs.

Fuck. Me.

Granny giggled, the sound like whiskey and honey. "I know you do," she purred, spreading her legs just enough to give me a glimpse of glistening pink folds. "Now come here and remind me how much."

I was on her in seconds.

The second my lips crashed against hers, her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer with a hunger that defied her age. Our tongues tangled, hot and messy, as I palmed her heavy tits through the lace, rolling her stiff nipples between my fingers.

Just like Gena used to love.

The thought sent a jolt through me.

Granny broke the kiss with a breathy laugh, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "Still thinking about her?"

My fingers froze.

...She knew.

She smirked, rolling over so she could straddle my waist, her wet cunt pressing against my stomach. "Don't look so surprised, baby," she whispered, grinding down just to watch me twitch beneath her. "March doesn’t erase me... it just... reminds me."

I groaned as she rocked her hips, her swollen clit dragging against my abs.

"Gena," I breathed.

She leaned down, her tits spilling from the lace cups as she nipped at my earlobe. "Geraldine. Gretchen. Call me whatever you like, Nicky—just don’t stop fucking me."

I flipped her onto her back, tearing the lingerie off with one rough yank.

And when I buried myself inside her—when her wet, aged pussy clamped around me like a vice—she screamed, nails raking down my back as she came instantly.

"Just like that! Yes! Oh, fuck, my good boy—!"

I pounded into her, our sweat-slick bodies sliding together as the bedframe slammed against the wall. Granny’s legs locked around my waist, her tits bouncing wildly with each thrust, her moans getting filthier by the second.

"Cum inside me!" she begged, clawing at my shoulders. "Fill me up—breed your grandma like you did your mother!"

My vision whited out.

I came harder than I ever had in my life—pumping load after load into her clenching depths—as Granny sobbed, her body convulsing beneath me.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, her pearl necklace digging into my chest as she nuzzled into my neck.

Just like Gena used to.

"You’ll always be mine," she whispered, pressing a kiss to my racing pulse. "No matter what I look like."

And as March stretched on, the magic thrumming in the air...

I believed her.

------

The end of March had always loomed over us—inevitable, bittersweet.

But this time?

This time I was ready.

Granny Gretchen sat on the edge of our bed, her silver-streaked hair loose around her shoulders, the deep violet of her silk nightgown hugging every curve of her GILF body. She looked regal—like she was born to be worshipped.

And tonight, I would.

One last time.

She smiled softly as I knelt before her, peeling the flimsy straps of her nightgown down until her T-cup mammaries spilled free, swaying like ripe fruit begging to be plucked.

"I'm gonna miss these," I murmured, palming their heavy weight, pressing my lips to the paper-thin skin of her décolletage.

Her breath hitched, fingers carding through my hair. "Such a sweet boy," she sighed, but her voice wavered—just a little.

Because she knew.

Just like Geraldine had known.

Just like Gena would remember.

I kissed my way up her neck, capturing her lips in something slow, deep, aching. She tasted like mint tea and the cherry lipstick she’d started wearing "for fun," her tongue tangling with mine like she wanted to memorize this.

I knew the feeling.

My hands slid beneath her nightgown, skimming over the soft swell of her belly, the coarse silver curls at the apex of her thighs. She was already dripping.

"Nicky—"

I didn’t let her finish.

Pushing her back onto the bed, I yanked the nightgown up to her waist, spreading her thick thighs wide.

"Look at you," I groaned, rubbing my cock against her soaked folds. "Still so fucking tight for me."

Granny’s back arched off the bed, her breasts jiggling as she clawed at the sheets. "P-Please, baby—don't make me wait—!"

I sheathed myself in one brutal thrust.

Her scream was muffled by my mouth as I swallowed every filthy moan, every gasp—every time she chanted "my good boy, my perfect grandson" like the dirty old woman she loved being.

The bed creaked beneath us, the rhythm desperate, furious, like if I fucked her hard enough, I could stop the clock.

Granny came first—shattering with a sob, her nails drawing blood down my back as her pussy pulsed around me.

"I love you," she panted, cupping my face in her wrinkled hands. "Always."

I lost it.

Burying myself to the hilt, I pumped her full—one last gift for the woman who’d been everything to me.

When the last tremors faded, Granny Gretchen held me close, humming a lullaby I swore I remembered from childhood.

---

Morning.

Sunlight.

A soft gasp.

"N-Nick...?"

I turned—

—and Gena stared back at me, her smooth skin flushed pink, her blue eyes wide with dawning realization.

No wrinkles.

No silver hair.

Just her—my gorgeous, buxom girlfriend—naked in my arms with my cum still leaking from her pussy.

She touched her face. Then her chest. Then lower.

"...Holy shit," she breathed.

And then she laughed—bright, beautiful, Gena's laugh—before tackling me back onto the bed.

"Okay, first of all," she grinned, straddling my waist, "holy fuck, being old was hot."

I choked.

"And second," she purred, grinding down on my already-hard cock, "We are so doing this again next March."

I didn’t argue.I just fucked her senseless.

(The End.)