A Fly on the Wall: Savannah 9 5 15
A Fly on the Wall.
by Ganymede
A Fly on the Wall is the story of Savannah Martin, a ten-year-old fashion model, and the journey to change gender. With surgery in Mexico depending on meeting certain conditions, the responsibility falls on Grampa.
To read the rest of the story, click here: Contents
To read other Ganymede stories, click here: Ganymede
Copyright 2019
The responsibility falls on you, the reader, to support Nifty.
It’s easy, safer than using a condom, and personally satisfying.
Why let others pay the bills for your thrills?
<< Savannah is nine years, five months, and 15 days old >>
Savannah dozed, contented, still-sleepy eyes closed to slits to block out the remnants of dawn. Remembering.
Los Ansias Conquistador was a real hacienda, yellow roses all over a long pergola, growing up the walls, and spilling from planters, just like Grampa said. Missus Carduso wasn’t grumpy at all, nothing like Grampa said. After settling in, they watched the sun set from on the river terrace as Frank gorged on Arizona-style lamb ribs. Savannah nibbled on fresh garden greens, cheesy garlic focaccia, and lemon linguine.
Back in their adobe-walled La Casa de Rosas Amarillas, they showered together; and then they made love, long, slow, sweet, passionate love. Afterwards, they watched the moon rise over the river until they drifted off to sleep.
At 7:30 am, Grampa still lay behind her. His right arm draped her side, his hand clasping her hip, as much holding her in place, as claiming her ass.
She smiled and wriggled back slightly. His soft sigh was unmistakable, unparalleled joy. It didn’t seem possible that anything could feel as good as waking up to a man’s naked body. Pressed so close, it was surely the best thing ever, yet it paled beside falling asleep, knowing his seed filled her rectum. No longer any doubt; he belonged inside her.
The feeling was mutual. Pitch dark, middle-of-the-night, with his sweaty groin pushed up against her equally sweaty butt, a sleepy Grampa had finally murmured, ‘You’re mine, now.’
And she was.
Eight hours later, she still belonged to him. She trembled at simply being with him, not truly joined, not in the way she needed. It was hot behind her, his sex separating her buttocks, more sticky than slimy.
Somehow, Savannah resisted the urge to explore. Even without touching, just inside felt itchy, not really sore. She was very aware it was bigger back there; it was reassuring, too.
Thinking about his hot hard penis kept her from going back to sleep. Remembering the throbbing, the slick suctioning shaft sliding in, reaching into her bowels, the spasms getting stronger, longer, squirting his seed, all of it unforgettable.
Without warning, the urge returned, a surge from deep inside, desire that made her wriggle and squeeze and push back to increase the pressure. More contact was nice, yet his penis wasn’t buried deep inside like it had been during the night.
“You awake, Grampa?” Savannah murmured.
Just two times, and eager for more, so far beyond innocence there was no stopping. Impossible now, not when she knew where and how far it went, and what it did. There was no getting past it, all part of being loved by a man.
Suddenly, she missed the oh-so-strange giggly feeling that got better and better.
“Grampa,” she whispered, anxious and hoping he’d wake up.
Yawning, needing him to hold her, knowing she still had to call her mom and tell her... What? To call Doctor Stein? That having sex was everything she’d hoped for? That she’d never been so happy, more than happy...
Savannah poked his flank, little fingers annoying, wanting, needing affection. Nothing. She pulled his arm over her flank, clutching his fingers against her bare lower belly, soothing the persistent emptiness.
Barely awake, his hand strayed, rough fingertips stroking her warm soft flesh. She loved his thumb rubbing into her bellybutton, his hand outstretched, covering her lower belly, fingertips avoiding her maleness, yet lightly brushing a very-hairless pubis.
“You’re so smooth,” Frank crooned.
Unable to stop himself, his little finger edged sideways, tickling the exposed tip. The little penis jerked into action, bouncing with excited spasms as his fingernail scraped in the sensitive groove, tantalizing juvenile nerves. It tingled more than tickled, getting harder, a tiny bit bigger, the shaft so tender she twitched when he touched it. Mostly, he pinched the tip, rolling the swollen helmet between his thumb and index finger, squishing. IT was all she could do to breath.
One hand held her pelvis steady. His other arm was under her, wrapped around her chest. He nuzzled the top of her head, his chin securing her in his embrace. Between sighs, Savannah lifted her upper leg, offering. His bulbous glans nudged her scrotum. Without warning, his penis cleaved her buttocks, sliding in the crack. As nice as it with his erect penis splitting her crack, inside was infinitely better.
“What about Emile, Grampa?” she whispered into her pillow.
“You’re still slippery after last night,” he whispered.
She sighed again, not at all nervous as he cautiously probed the opening, definitely bigger.
“Any more lubricant, it’ll come out your ears.”
She smiled into her pillow, hoping, still anxious; still very sensitive. Her soft whimper made him stop.
“I want you to,” she whispered.
Suddenly, alpha-male asserted itself. He rubbed back and forth, playfully poking at the tender pucker, almost annoying, though no longer sore.
He pushed gently, giving her time to adjust. The T-G app was right; after D-5 and lots of Extended Medicated Internal Lubricant, penetration was stress-free. However, a juvenile anus still had to dilate. Stretching to accept his thick helmet took time, and some getting used to.
“Same as last night, Savy-baby. Relax and push out,” he crooned in her ear.
Even now, the stretched sensation lingered. Penetration took longer—she was still achy after the night’s prolonged pummeling. Not a lot of resistance, though; the muscles quickly weakening, relaxing to welcome him inside; then, straining down to increase the pressure as soon as his glans breached the sphincter.
After just two times, she was ready to tell him she needed him all the way inside her.
“Go in more, Grampa.”
Already withdrawing, he murmured. “Shhhh.”
His swollen glans poked into her anus again, not too tight, not too loose, just right.
“I love you, Savannah,” he whispered.
Being joined made everything else unimportant.
Under the bedcovers, his thick slippery erection possessed her for the third time, inching into the taut hot tube. As soon as he gained sufficient depth not to be easily pushed out, he began thrusting, very carefully.
Surely, it was a dream, gentle and sweet, with undulating waves. Always the waves, getting bigger and stronger, until something deep inside Savannah’s body was pounding like her heart.
“Grampa, oh, ohhh.”
“Hurts, Sweetie?”
Just a headshake, urgent, gasping, pelvis twitching, gulping saliva. He kept stopping, pulling back, surging, making her groan and whimper, biding his time until she couldn’t stop shuddering.
He grasped boyhood, rigid shaft and crinkled balls, squeezing, pushing her forward with every abrupt thrust, grownup fucking, pulling her back and onto his cock. Burying himself, rhythmic, erratic, craving the ultimate closeness.
“You’re my beautiful little lover,” he crooned. “I love you... love you so much...”
“I love you, too... Don’t stop, Grampa... please,” Savannah whined.
Like a metronome, sliding in, sliding out, tingling all over, sniffling, gasping, shuddering as the pressure intensified. Unimaginable joy. Leaking piss as Grampa pummeled a pint-sized bladder, juvenile prostate aching.
“Cum for me, Sweetie..”
“Ssss, h-hurts.”
The app said for her to strain down, for him to go faster, concentrating his thrusts on her special place. She shivered and shoved back at him, writhing as his erection stabbed at her core. The pressure exploded, her little body quaking as powerful spasms erupted. Sadly, it lasted only a few heartbeats, cramping, groaning blasts of intense joy.
Savannah groaned through the aftermath, throbbing in her core, and cock. Surely, something should burst forth from a boy dick when it was that hard, tiny veins swollen, the glans like a plump crimson cherry, just a wrinkled knot underneath. He fondled gently, feeling tiny testicles scooting under his fingertips, pressing one, then the other into inguinal canals, pretending they were gone.
“I’m going to miss these little guys,” he mused aloud.
She stiffened. “I won’t.”
“Don’t get angry, Savannah.... Please.... I have to say this... I love you... because you’re a boy... my beautiful boy.”
He regretted it instantly. It didn’t come close to what he wanted to say, yet he couldn’t think of anything else, and it needed to be said.
“Sav, I’ll pay for implants, okay? I told your Mom... for as long as you want.”
She shook her head.
Angry at himself, he churned her insides to mush. It left her shaking, too discombobulated to speak, let alone stop him. He trembled mightily, unable to stop thrusting, testicles aching as the need to empty himself inside Savannah grew. She cried, blubbering happiness, her little body exhausted, no longer hers to control.
For a few moments, he fought back, eyes and jaws clenched, resisting the culmination. Savannah sniveled, shivering, burning hot, disbelieving. His swollen erection was so big she seemed about to burst, and he was scarcely moving it. She wriggled, trying to get it where she needed. For the second time, pelvic pulses became spasms, making her writhe, the pressure increasing until she could barely breathe.
“Grampa... Go harder, Grampa.”
Instead, he muttered how much he loved her, again and again.
Then, he strained, his throbbing sex way up inside her slender abdomen. He was frantic, the throbbing deep inside initiating orgasm. Pulsations became little jerks, became savage shuddering as he ejaculated. He slumped, trembling, the intensity of his release overpowering.
On the edge of consciousness, Savannah would always remember him wiping up excess lubricant with a wad of toilet paper. His semen wasn’t messy at all; only a little dribble managed to escape.
<<>>
Frank Martin woke up again when someone hammered on the door. Its thick wood slabs should have dulled the sound of a fist, however, the noise was metallic and hollow, like an aluminum baseball bat.
Old Missus Carduso told Savannah all about the door when she escorted them to La Casa de Rosas Amarillas. An eight-mule wagon had hauled the hacienda’s doors and windows from Flagstaff in 1882. A local blacksmith forged its hinges, black-iron same as his horseshoes. It had two bullet holes after a finicky whore snubbed a drunken cowboy from Abilene.
“Maybe they’ll go away,” he whispered, wondering if Savannah was awake.
Still pressed up against Savannah’s back, inhaling flowery shampoo scent, nuzzling sleepily, the last thing he wanted to do was get up and get dressed.
“Open up! I know you’re in there.”
It was a man’s voice, so loud, so demanding that Savannah shoved back the sheet and scrambled up. Frank’s scowl fleeted; there was no getting past bare smooth boy, not with boyhood standing stiff and proud. Gorgeous small buttocks no longer virgin because of him; the very idea entranced him.
Even as the man hammered again, he pointed to the bathroom door and whispered, “Shower.”
“After I poop. I got to go something awful.“
Hurriedly, Frank pulled on yesterday’s blue jeans. Fastidious to a fault, Savannah grabbed D-5, ‘Emile’ lubricant, and a still-moist clump of toilet paper. No sign of her silvery TOMBOY Wonder panties on the table where they’d been tossed the night before. She shoved Grampa’s Remington pump-action shotgun aside to make sure, before she grabbed a clean pair from her backpack. Then, she scampered, gleefully smirking back at Grampa.
“Don’t forget to flush,” he called before she closed the door behind her.
“I know you’re in there!” The man hammered again. “I’m speaking to 9-1-1 right now. You got ten seconds to open up.”
“Hold yer horses, I’m comin’.”
Frank drew the bolt and turned the door handle, stepping back just in time as the man thrust the door open. He stood on the porch, smirking, swinging a kid’s aluminum baseball bat in his left hand.
“Well, well, what’ve we got here.” He looked Frank over. “A grampa pedo.”
He was unshaven, balding, otherwise plain looking in a Western-style checked shirt with wide lapels, turquoise bolo, greenhorn jeans and pretend cowboy boots. He shoved past Frank, stalked a few paces into the room before looking around.
“Where is she? Savannah Martin?”
Frank frowned; it was all he could do with his heart hammering at hearing her name. Like being in the corral with a wild stallion, sweating; a single wrong move would be fatal.
The man scanned the room, still swinging the baseball bat as he spoke into a cellphone. “I’m inside the room.”
The woman on the phone was surprisingly calm. “Sir, I told you to wait outside, out of sight. I said not to go inside.”
“I heard the kid scream, Ma’am. I had to do something, didn’t I?”
He stared at the bed nearest the window, sheets shoved aside. The other bed was untouched except for a few crinkles on the Navajo-blanket bedspread.
“The police are on the way, Sir. You need to leave the premises, right now.”
Frank’s voice went up a notch. “She’s right! You need to leave, whoever you are.”
“No way, Ma’am. He was raping her for sure. There’s signs all over.” He turned to the bathroom door. “She in there?”
Frank shrugged.
The man hefted the baseball bat. “You’re under citizen’s arrest for sexually abusing a kid, Martin.” Still looking around, he gestured, ‘Back up.’
“Sir, I understand you’re worried...”
At hearing the woman’s voice, he clasped his cellphone to his chest. “Dumb bitch! You fuck her, Martin?”
Frank shrugged, certain the man was out of his mind.
“Who is it, Grampa?” Savannah called over the sound of the shower.
“Savannah, stay in there. Lock the door,” Frank ordered.
The man smirked. “You just did her, that’s why you don’t want me to see her. Don’t try to deny it.”
Frank took a slow deep breath. “If I was you, I’d leave, cowboy. Barging in here and accusing me... I’ll sue your ass!”
“You aren’t suing anyone, you goddamned pedo!” the man shouted back. ”You’re all the same. I bet you sell her to other men so you can watch.”
He started towards the bathroom door, clutching his baseball bat as he tried the door handle. “Open the door, Savannah. He can’t hurt you anymore, not with me here.”
“Grampa, who is he?”
Frank took a step closer. “Stay in there, Sav.”
“I’m prepared to defend myself, Pedo. Get out of the way.
“Savannah, get away from the door! Don’t let him in there! He’s crazy.”
Clutching his cellphone to his chest, the man swung at the bathroom door. Savannah screamed. His mind made up, Frank took a few steps sideways, reaching back. His shotgun was on the table, behind Savannah’s open backpack.
“The only pedophile here is you,” he said, calm as can be.
The man banged the baseball bat against the door again before he spun around. “What?”
Frank glared back, aiming to antagonize, ready to do whatever it took to protect Savannah. The man took several deep breaths before he realized the 9-11 operator was speaking.
“Sir, you need to leave the room immediately. I want you to wait outside until the police arrive.”
Frank didn’t delay, hoping he was doing the right thing. “You’re Wayne! You’ve been stalking Savannah online!”
Wayne jabbed his baseball bat at Frank. “Sit down and shut up.” He spoke into his phone. “How long before the cops get here?”
“Sir, I told you they are en route. I need you to wait outside the room until they arrive.”
Frank leaned against the table, arm extended, fingers touching smooth American walnut, the stock of his Remington.
“You’re all hat, Cowboy.” He hesitated, wondering if the man realized. “Savannah told me about your emails, texting, all kinds of queer shit.”
He figured he had a few minutes before the police arrived, maybe as long as fifteen minutes.
“You’re stalking her, Wayne. That why you’re here, pretending to be some kind of do-gooder? You disgusting pervert!” He kicked the chair. “Jesus! Okay, I’ll sit.” His panicked tone got attention.
“What’s going on?” the woman demanded.
“Can you tell him to put down the damned baseball bat?”
Wayne hefted the bat, lifting his camera to record video. A threatening step closer to Frank. “What?”
“What’s happening?” the woman demanded, her tone now strident.
“What the Hell are you doing?” Frank growled. “Don’t threaten me, Wayne.”
“Fuckin’ pedo! Your kind deserve to die!”
He kicked the chair again, sending it flying across the room. “Jesus! What the hell are you doing?”
“What’s happening? You need to stay calm, Sir. Leave the room, NOW!”
A moment passed before the man realized. “Shut the fuck up!”
“For God ’s sake, NO!” Frank shoved the coffee pot and microwave onto the floor, shouting. “Help! Put it down! Help!”
Then, as Wayne stared in disbelief, he pivoted, grabbing his shotgun, bringing it up as he pumped a round into the chamber, thumb already off the safety.
“What the fuck!” Holding his cellphone out to capture Frank, still videotaping.
A heartbeat to aim at the man’s cellphone, and Frank pulled the trigger.