One thing that sucked about getting older was that you missed your youthful days more and more with each passing year. Max Tennyson tried his best not to think on the past so much, but certain things would just come up when he least expected them. Well... sometimes he didn't expect them.
Like the coldness of his bed for example. The loneliness could be unbearable at times, so much so that Max would sneak out of the Rustbucket, away from the innocent ears of his precious grandchildren, and try to quell the burning in his loins, brought on by yet another hot dream of him copulating with another attractive man or woman he'd seen that day. He'd return to the RV dirty and ashamed of himself. But he figured it was better than doing what took place in his dream in real life.
Max honestly couldn't remember the last time he had had intercourse with someone. It had to have been as long as his wife had been dead. 20 years was a long time for a man to go without sex. Unless you were a frigging monk who'd been a virgin their entire lives, the temptation of the flesh was hard to ignore. Almost every person Max found attractive turned his head and made him stare for that one extra second. And that was all it took to get his libido started, and he would have to will himself to calm down. Its not a comfortable thing, getting a hard on in public.
Of course, the worst that could happen would be if he finally lost it and took his object of desire by force. But thankfully, Max had enough control over himself to prevent that. At least in his waking hours...
When he would sleep, his mental barriers of morality and decency would come crashing down, favoring the more wild and lustfully side of himself that he kept buried away from his Outer Self. The version if himself that he would see in his dreams was more like a spilt personality, the Hyde to his Jekyll. This Max would do and say things that he'd never imagine doing himself. It made him sick with disgust and terror.
But none more disgusting than when he almost gave into the advances of a certain dark witch...
It was when Gwen had found the lost Keystone of Bezel. The advent of Charmcaster, the niece of Hex; had made things all the more difficult for the Tennysons. Then when Charmcaster had claimed to be an unwilling participant, she came under Max's protection. When the two of them were alone near the Rustbucket, Charmcaster was more than willing to show her gratitude for his help.
"If there's anything I can do for you Mr. Tennyson," she said after she'd thrown herself onto Max, forcing him to embrace her supple, all to female body. "Anything at all..." her low tone of voice suggested something more than just a simple 'Thank You'.
Max was tempted to take her up on that offer. The sweet pain in his groin making it all the more difficult to say 'no'. Even as she started to rub her leg against his hip, Max held onto himself and put her down. He told her that it couldn't happen, and as he tried to will himself to calm down, she struck him from behind and left him there. That should have been the end of that little fantasy right there...
But that's not what Inner Max wanted....
In what could only be described as a scene out of a Marquis De Sade novel, Max dreamt that night of vengeance and rape.
He dreamt that he had somehow had gotten hold of Charmcaster after her powers had been drained. First, he roughed her up a little, as pay back for that blow to the head he gave him. He was careful not to hurt her face. "Not that pretty little face..." he said. "Not just yet."
He slammed her against the wall, and ripped her jacket off at the front. Next her tore her purple undershirt to shreds, exposing her round and full breasts to him. The leer on his face couldn't have been any less like himself. He took one nipple and pinched it hard, making Charmcaster scream in pain and delight. Max silenced her in a hot kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth, almost choking her with it.
His other hand unbuttoned his jeans, bringing out his hard cock. He broke the kiss and forced the witch girl to her knees and his dick into her mouth. Charmcaster gaged and almost tried to back off him, but Max's large hands held her in place. He started moving her head up and down his shaft, forcing her to take all of his impressive size down her throat. Charmcaster was in tears at this point, but still she wasn't fighting back. She took hold of Max's hips and sucked him in hard strokes. Soon Max felt his orgasm come, and he told her to suck him harder and faster, until he shot of into her lovely mouth. But he wasnt done with her yet.
He flipped her over onto the ground and removed her tights and panties off her shapely buttocks, spanking her a little bit to make her all the more tender to what he wanted next. After her ass was a nice strawberry red color, he brought it up to his face, where he proceeded to lap at her tight ring of flesh that was her rear entrance. Charmcaster yelled out and beat her fists against the ground, unable to bare the painful yet pleasurable sensations. Max's' nails dug deep into her flesh, leaving deep cuts that seeped hot, red blood.
Max sat her back down, then he aligned his still erect manhood with her entrance and rammed into her without care. The poor witch girl screamed in agony, but her cries fell on deaf ears as older man rape her oh so savagely.
"Ah! Fuck yes! YES!" his dream self screamed. "Who owns you, you little witch? Who?!"
"You!
"Care to run that by me again?" he said before making his thrusts harder and more brutal.
"AAAHH!!! YOU DO!!! ITS YOU!!! Charmcaster screamed before she came hard onto the cold ground. Max kept pounding into the poor girl un till he himself came at last.
In the real world, Max woke up moaning horsley, his orgasm soaking his blanket. When he was awake enough, he buried his face in his hands and cried. Why? Why did he keep having these horrible, disgusting dreams? Why...
"Grandpa?" Max froze. The groggy voice of his only grandson came from the back of the Rustbucket, sounding concerned despite the yawn. "Whats wrong?"
"Nothing, Ben. Nothing. Just go back to sleep, son." Ben said nothing else, doing just what he was told and falling immediately back to sleep.
Max got out of his bed and threw the soiled blanket into a black trash bag, along with two others he had ruined just a few nights ago. He then stripped down and took a long, cold shower. He quietly worked off the leftovers of that dream and just stood in the cold spray, trying to understand why he would have such thoughts. There we're plenty of parts of himself that he kept in check; thoughts, feelings, urges he deemed inappropriate for a man his age.
Maybe he was finally going crazy, just liked he used to joke he would.
So much anger...
So much pain...
So much need...
He couldn't give into them... never...
He had to be a good grandfather for his grandchildren. And a good grandfather didn't have such perverted thoughts, didn't lose their tempers, or let their grandchildren see them cry...
It was what Max had been brought up to believe. And now that he was alone, and had been for 20 years, he felt like he was going to die from all this weight. He needed another in his arms, but he could never hold another woman in his arms again. It would be a betrayal to Emily.
For her... for Ben and Gwen... Max would keep burying his anger, his sadness, his lust, and keep on living.
If it made them happy, then he could be happy to....
"Such a nice little lie to live in...