Chapter Nine Grandpappy’s Weekend Getaway
Grandpappy’s Weekend Getaway
Melody sat in her home office (which was really just a dedicated corner of her bedroom with a ring light and a high-end laptop) and watched the numbers climb.
Her self-made business felt different lately.
In the beginning, it had been a frantic scramble, a desperate attempt to monetize her body and her smile to earn college money.
But the last few weeks had shifted the ground beneath her feet.
Things were starting to look like a career.
She leaned back in her chair, chewing on the end of a pen. Almost a one-month anniversary since she started doing collabs. She could do a whole series of “one month anniversary” team ups with all her partners.
But Melody had a different anniversary on her mind.
It had been exactly one month. One month since that afternoon in the rail car.
One month since she had met the homeless old man who had changed her life even more than having a bunch of fans on some website.
She had crossed a line with him that few women, and virtually none her age, would want to cross.
She didn't think of Red as a boyfriend. That term felt too normal, and frankly, not good enough for what they had.
A boyfriend was someone you brought home to meet your mom, someone you argued with about what movie to watch or someone who fingerbanged you while you jerked him off in the backseat of his car.
Red was something much more interesting. He was her "Grandpappy." He was a secret, a dirty, grounding indulgence that kept her tethered to the earth while her public life tried to float away into the clouds. While she was fooling around with influencers, she was thinking of Red.
And she wanted to celebrate that anniversary.
Melody decided to splurge. She bypassed the motels and the mid-range chains and went straight for the top: The Chesapeake Hotel.
It was a historic landmark downtown, a place of marble floors, velvet drapes, and guests who didn't look at the price of the room service menu.
She had earned more than enough to afford a whole weekend.
She booked the "Presidential Corner Suite" for three nights.
But the hotel required a certain… aesthetic. Even when he cleaned up, Red wouldn’t quite fit in with the surroundings.
Her first stop wasn't a boutique, but a Goodwill on the edge of town.
She spent an hour sifting through racks of discarded clothing until she found a charcoal gray suit.
It was a decent brand, perhaps from the late 90s, made of heavy wool.
She eyed the measurements. It would fit Red, but barely.
The shoulders were a little too boxy, the sleeves likely a half-inch too long.
Perfect.
She got a message to Red at the payphones in the gym and told him she had something special planned. He knew better than to ask her questions.
She picked Red up from his usual spot behind Fitness World just as the sun was setting. He had followed her instructions. He was shaved (mostly), scrubbed clean in the gym showers, and waiting near the dumpster where nobody would bother him.
"Put this on," Melody said, handing him the garment bag through the window of her car.
Five minutes later, he climbed into the passenger seat. He looked like an old man trying his absolute hardest to seem respectable for church or a court date. And she looked like his granddaughter offering him a helping hand. He tugged at the collar of the stiff white dress shirt she’d bought him.
"I feel like a trussed turkey in this getup, Melody," Red grumbled, though his eyes were twinkling as he looked over the dashboard. "Where are you takin' me?"
"We're going on a trip, Grandpappy," Melody said, testing the word on her tongue. "My grandfather is visiting from out of town, and I'm treating him to a luxury weekend. That's the story. Can you handle that?"
Red smoothed the lapel of the ill-fitting jacket. "For you, sugar? I can be the Pope if you want."
Walking into the lobby of the Chesapeake was like stepping into a different century. Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the polished marble floors. A pianist was playing something soft and classical in the corner.
Melody, dressed in a modest but chic sundress and a cardigan, looped her arm through Red’s. She was glowing with youth and health, while he was weathered, his face an overly tanned map of hard years, his suit baggy at the knees.
"Come on, Grandpappy," Melody said loudly as they approached the front desk, patting his arm affectionately. "Let's get you checked in. You must be tired from your flight."
The concierge, a young man with a name tag that read Lyle, didn't even blink. "Welcome to the Chesapeake, Ms. Applebottom. And… sir. We have the Presidential Suite ready for you."
"Thank you," Melody beamed.
"I'm fine, dear, just glad to be bag in Peach Valley with my favorite granddaughter,” Red rasped, leaning into the role with surprising ease. He patted her hand resting on his forearm.
Lyle handed over the key cards with a polite smile, completely buying the act. As they walked away, Red leaned in close to Melody’s ear. To anyone watching, it looked like an old man asking for clarification.
"Favorite granddaughter," Red whispered, his hot breath sending a shiver down her spine. "I wonder if the front desk boy knows that my favorite granddaughter likes a finger up her sweet peach while I’m pounding her little pussy.”
“Grandpappy!” Melody stumbled slightly in her heels, her face flushing crimson. She squeezed his arm hard. "Behave, or I won't let you order dessert."
The suite was absurdly opulent. It opened into a living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sleepy city of Peach Valley. There were heavy velvet curtains, a mahogany bar, and a bedroom that featured a king-sized bed topped with roughly forty pillows.
Melody closed the heavy oak door and threw the deadbolt. She engaged the security latch for good measure.
"The world doesn't exist past this door, Red," she said softly, turning to face him.
Red stood in the middle of the room, looking out of place and yet strangely commanding in his gray suit. He looked around at the luxury, then back at her.
"It's a lot, Melody," he said quietly. "For a guy like me."
"You deserve a lot," she replied. "Wait here."
She disappeared into the massive marble bathroom with a swing of her hips and a teasing lift of her skirt, leaving the door cracked just enough so he could hear a zipper falling and the rustle of fabric.
When she stepped back out, the air in the room seemed to vanish.
She was wearing her "Premium Tier" set. It was bridal white lace, but the cut was pure filth.
It was sheer, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
The bra was a shelf style that lifted her breasts like offerings, barely covering her nipples with delicate floral embroidery.
The panties were a mere suggestion of fabric, high-cut to elongate her legs, with a thong back that disappeared entirely.
She had paired it with white thigh-high stockings and a garter belt that cinched her waist.
She walked out in towering white heels that sank into the plush carpet and posed like a pinup in the doorway.
Red was sitting on the edge of the bed. He stopped breathing. His hands gripped his knees, the knuckles turning white. He looked at her like she was an angel sent to send him straight down to hell, and he was more than willing to go.
Melody sauntered toward him, her hips swaying hypnotically with every step of her heels. She stopped between his spread knees, towering over him.
"Happy anniversary, Grandpappy," she whispered, running her fingers through his thinning white hair. “One month since you rocked my world and gave me an appreciation for… finely aged gentlemen.”
Red let out a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against her stomach. Through the sheer lace, his hot breath dampened her skin. "You are… god, Melody. You're too beautiful for an old dog like me."
"Shhh," she silenced him, gently pushing him backward until he was leaning against the mountain of pillows. "Let me take care of you. You've been such a good Grandpappy this month."
She crawled onto the bed, straddling his legs but not touching him yet.
She reached for the top button of his dress shirt.
Her manicured fingers worked slowly, undoing them one by one.
With each button, she revealed more of him.
The white chest hair, the tanned, leathery skin, the faded scars and blurry tattoos.
She pushed the jacket and shirt off his shoulders, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. But she left the suit trousers on. There was something intoxicating about the visual: his weathered, naked torso rising out of the formal, charcoal gray slacks, lying on the pristine white sheets.
Melody leaned down, pressing a kiss to his sternum. She felt his heart hammering against her lips. She trailed her tongue down the center of his chest, navigating through the hair, tasting the salt on his skin.
"My sweet girl," Red groaned, his hands coming up to hover over her waist, afraid to touch the expensive lace with his rough palms.
"Touch me," she commanded softly against his skin. "This is all for you, Grandpappy. For the next three days… treat it like it belongs to you."
His callused hands landed on her hips. The friction was thrilling. Rough pads catching slightly on the delicate lace of her garter belt. Melody moaned at the rasping caress.
She moved lower. She unbuckled the belt and unzipped his trousers, the sound loud in the quiet room. His cock sprang out, thick and heavy, red with lust, already weeping with pre-cum. It stood stark and demanding against the dark wool of his pants.
Melody looked at it with genuine reverence. "Look at you," she murmured. "So strong and vital. That’s the cock of a young man."