Cougar

by Lily Harlem

  Debbie laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I stocked up at the weekend.’ The thought crossed my mind: is this what she does every night, sit around doing overtime and glugging her way through a few bottles of wine? No wonder she always looked so cheerful.

  She read my mind. ‘It’s OK, I’m strictly a one-glass-a-night girl. But you never know when people are going to drop by,’ and she said it as though that was how she really spent her time, throwing open her doors to a phonebook full of friends. I guess she really enjoys talking to people.

  She was right. She certainly had stocked up. We’d sunk three bottles before we’d even finished eating, and, whenever one looked even two-thirds empty, she’d be up to grab another. Conversation, on the other hand, was – I think ‘odd’ is the word for it. The more Martin drank, the more tongue-tied he seemed to become, but that was understandable. He’d been desperate to get into Debbie’s pants for so long that simply sharing the sofa with her must have made him feel like he was halfway there. And Debbie had something on her mind as well, but we’d switched from white wine to red before she let on what it was.

  ‘So, you two at the last but one Christmas party.’

  I laughed aloud. ‘Were we that obvious?’

  ‘When do you mean?’ she asked. ‘Before you disappeared into the ladies’ room for ten minutes, or after?’

  ‘That was never ten minutes,’ Martin shot back. ‘It was at least half an hour.’

  Debbie raised her eyebrows playfully. ‘Really? Half an hour. Chrissie – what do you say?’

  I was still trying to remember if it had even been ten. From what I recall, the cubicle was so small that we gave up trying after thirty seconds, and went back to his place instead. ‘I don’t know. Maybe not half an hour in there. But I think we made up for that later.’

  ‘Go on then, tell.’

  I looked over at Martin. His eyes were wide and he was shaking his head vigorously, in that strangely over-exaggerated way people do when they think that nobody else is watching them. Debbie, however, had eyes like a hawk. ‘Come on, Martin, it wasn’t that bad, was it?’

  Now it was my turn to feel oddly defensive. ‘Yes, go on, Martin. Was it?’

  ‘Why do women always gang up on guys?’ He took a long drink. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have come here tonight. As soon as I said yes, I knew that the two of you would wind up picking on me.’

  ‘Ah, poor Martin.’ Debbie draped an arm around his shoulder. ‘Tell mommy all about it.’

  I smiled, because at that moment she did look almost maternal, and again I thought about my own mating motto. Chemistry not chronology. Well, they certainly had that.

  Debbie glanced towards me, her expression clearly asking my permission to continue. I smiled reassuringly. One night, eighteen months ago; it was scarcely a binding contract, was it? Martin, meanwhile, had turned so alarmingly crimson that it was worth watching Debbie paw at him, simply to see which would explode first. His head? Or his balls?

  Debbie clearly had the same idea, running a fingertip down his chest, teasing around the buttons of his shirt. I wondered just how drunk she was, and then realised, probably no more than me, and certainly a lot less than Martin. He’d practically polished that last bottle off on his own.

  ‘Hey, Chrissie, what do you say? Should Martin volunteer to tell me all the sordid details? Or should the two of us tickle them out of him?’

  Martin squirmed out of her grasp, the confusion on his face reminding me of just how young twenty-one, twenty-two, really is. ‘Hang on, this isn’t fair. If you want to know what happened –’ he looked around wildly, as though he’d forgotten where I was sitting ‘– ask Chrissie. She was there as well.’

  ‘OK, I will. Chrissie – marks out of ten for Martin.’

  ‘No!’ he howled. ‘No marks out of ten! I mean,’ he spluttered as we both burst out laughing. ‘I mean, you can’t give marks out of ten for something like that.’

  ‘I bet you do,’ Debbie hit back. ‘I bet you and your little friends get together and compare notes. Girls do it all the time. So come on Chrissie, if “ten” is an orgasm that lasts all night, and “one” is a sticky hand and a box of Kleenex, where does Martin fit?’

  Oh, I liked this girl; she reminded me of me. But I liked Martin as well, and I know how fragile men’s egos can be. ‘I’d give him an eight,’ I only half-lied. ‘Seven for performance, and an extra one for size.’ There, that should please him.

  ‘Ooh, an eight, and a big one?’ Debbie was almost cackling now. ‘OK, marks out of ten again. “One” is for dental floss, “ten” is for tripod. And don’t just invent something to try to make him feel better. I can very easily check, you know.’ And her hand fell onto his lap.

  Have you ever seen the expression on a rabbit’s face, just before a python swallows it? No, neither have I. But when I glanced at Martin, I had a good idea what it would look like.

  ‘Come on, Chrissie, I’m getting impatient!’ Debbie’s hand was on his belt buckle now, slowly unthreading the strap.

  ‘I dunno. A seven? Seven and a half, maybe?’

  ‘That’s your final word?’ She had the belt undone now, and was fiddling with the buttons on his waistband. I smiled at Martin, who still sat frozen to the spot. ‘I’m sorry, kid, I did my best. But it looks like she’s going to check, anyway.’

  ‘Damn right I am,’ Debbie said softly. But then she withdrew her hand. ‘Not right now, though. If that’s OK with you, Martin?’

  He nodded; not too willingly, I thought, but you couldn’t mistake the gratitude in his eyes. ‘She gave you an eight. What would you give her?’

  ‘Oh … er, definitely an eight,’ he stammered. ‘Maybe even a nine.’

  Oh dear. I could see where this was going, and I had a horrible feeling that it would be me beneath the microscope next. The only saving grace was not knowing how far Debbie would be willing to take it with another girl. Or was that a saving grace? Maybe it just added to my predicament.

  She swung off the sofa, and perched herself on the arm of my chair. ‘A nine. I don’t think I’ve ever had a nine. Or an eight, come to that. So, Martin, what does a nine actually do? What makes a nine a nine, and not a seven-with-honours?’

  ‘I dunno. She just was.’

  ‘OK, be specific. Does she scream and swear a lot?’

  He shook his head, and she looked down at me.

  ‘No I don’t,’ I whispered. Now I was getting bashful!

  ‘Does she prefer to be on top or underneath?’

  ‘Both … either … I mean …’

  Please, Martin, don’t say it.

  ‘We did everything, you know.’

  He said it.

  ‘Everything!’ Debbie sounded triumphant. ‘Absolutely everything! You fucked her tits? You fucked her ass? Did you suck her ass?’ She wheeled back to me. ‘Chrissie, spit or swallow?’

  OK, that’s enough. I was weak from embarrassment, but even weaker from laughter. I stood up shakily, looped my arms around Debbie’s neck and pressed her face to my chest. I wondered if she could feel my nipples through the flimsy bra and not-much-better blouse I’d thrown on that morning. She should – they felt like bullets to me.

  ‘That’s a good question, Debbie. But I’ll tell you what, why don’t we find out?’ I looked behind me. ‘Martin, over here.’

  He rose and, very uncertainly, made his way over. ‘Now, how about if I tell her everything we did, and maybe a few things we didn’t do, but we could have, and, while I’m telling, she can be doing. How does that sound?’

  Martin nodded nervously; I released Debbie’s head from my tit-grip, and her broad smile was all the answer I needed.

  ‘OK, so we’re back at Martin’s apartment. I unbuckled his pants. Well, you’ve done that, so you’re ahead of me already. And then I knelt down in front of him.’

  Debbie slid to the floor, crouching on the backs of her knees, so that her head was more or less level with his knees. ‘A little higher,’ I suggested. ‘Now finish
undoing his pants.’

  She obeyed, then pulled them down around his feet. His underpants travelled with them, and his cock hung bare, just a few inches in front of her face.

  ‘Now,’ I continued. ‘You probably don’t think that looks much like a seven, do you?’ To be honest, I felt bad for the guy; I expected him to be soft, but he wasn’t even making an effort. ‘So, what you need to do, first of all, is pump a little life into it. Can you do that?’

  She was still smiling. ‘Oh, I can do better than that.’ She grasped his meat between two fingers and raised him slightly while she ran her eyes over his helmet. ‘Handsome little thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not so much of the little,’ I cautioned her. ‘Do this right, and it’ll poke your eye out.’

  ‘Really?’ She leaned forward, and started rubbing his knob-end over her face, across her cheeks, against her eyelid. ‘No, it would never do something like that. It’s so soft, so sweet … you know, it reminds me of a piece of saltwater taffy.’ She was giggling now, and her mirth was contagious.

  ‘With a little button mushroom on top,’ I added.

  ‘Yeah, and I love button mushrooms. Especially in wine.’ She reached for her glass; it was empty, so she grabbed the bottle instead, took a deep swig and sloshed it around her gums, and then very slowly engulfed the tip of his cock.

  Martin gasped and then let out a long moan. I don’t know exactly what she was doing to him, but I could see her cheeks working as her tongue rolled around her mouth; could see her jaw extending too, as the excitement rushed into Martin’s prick, and he started to grow.

  She broke away and took a deep breath. ‘I’m still not sure about a seven,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe a six. Or perhaps I just need to work harder.’ Her mouth descended again and wrapped around his erection, and her head started bobbing quickly up and down. I could see traces of her saliva clinging to his flesh, and felt myself growing wet as she gently popped him out of her mouth, dripped a great pool of spit onto his glans, and then stroked it across her face again.

  ‘OK, now we’re getting there.’ She swallowed him again; almost literally swallowed him, her lips sinking down to the root of his cock, and only slowly releasing it from her grasp.

  I jumped. Her hand was suddenly on my leg, and sliding up my thigh. I realised how wet – how absolutely soaking – I was, and stepped a little closer to her, as I grasped her fingers and drew them closer to my puss.

  She glanced at me out of the corner of one eye, and her finger slid through the leg-hole of my panties and into my snatch. I moved again, willing that one digit deeper, praying for her other fingers to join it there, almost cried out in disappointment when her hand suddenly left me, and then yelped for real with pleasure as I realised that she was simply pulling down my panties.

  Now she was inside me, two fingers, then three, pumping to the same rhythm that she was playing on Martin’s prick – and suddenly four fingers, forcing me apart, back and forth, harder and harder. I opened my eyes; Martin was staring in rapt fascination, his eyes drifting from the girl on his cock to the hand in my cunt.

  Suddenly I wondered, why are we letting Debbie do all the work? And then, why not? After the figurative tongue-lashing she’d given him earlier, how appropriate that she should now be performing the real thing. Besides, I had a ringside seat for the greatest show on earth, and I wondered whether Martin would give her any more warning of his approaching climax than he’d given me, that Christmas Eve.

  He wasn’t being truthful when he told Debbie we’d done everything but, in the course of that night, we did do a lot. His first orgasm was the one I remembered the best, though; after that, everything just blurred into one long fuck. But the tenderness with which he guided my face down towards his erect cock; the disbelieving gasp of ‘Oh, God … thank you’ that hissed from his lips as my tongue snaked around his swollen glans; the gentle roll of his hips as I sucked at his flesh; I wouldn’t swear to it, but it felt as though I was the first woman ever to go down on him, and I wanted to make sure he’d never forget that.

  I went slow, slower than I ever have before, fighting against my own excitement, to make sure that my every movement burned itself into his memory. It was magical, it was mantric; I moved like a hypnotist’s watch, and he moved with me, rolling … rolling … rolling, and then, without a sound or a twitch or a flicker of warning, he was coming, and that was gentle as well, the slightest sensation of a slowly growing warmth, followed by the feeling that my mouth was suddenly filling. I continued to suck, I started to swallow, and only then did he make a sound, moaning aloud as he raised his ass off the bed in one tight, rigid spasm; a sharp cry and then silence again.

  I released him and rested my head on his thigh. I felt a trickle of liquid leak from my lips and pool on his skin; my lips were sticky as his come dried stringy in the air. I gazed at the unblinking eye of his prick, as it lay staring back at me. A bubble of come leaked to the tip; I stuck out my tongue and lapped it up. I hadn’t felt so content in months. Until tonight.

  Debbie’s movements were growing faster. I was coming, and coming hard. I rested my hands on Martin’s shoulder, looking into his eyes as that express train barrelled down on me, and then down at his cock as my personal fireball hit me. I looked down to where Debbie’s blonde hair still bobbed; I had never seen a cock sucked like that, with such grace and beauty, her eyes closed as she melded herself to his skin, and so completely in control. If she felt as good as she looked, she must be coming buckets – because I know I was.

  My legs buckled and I crumpled against Martin, my breath coming in ecstatic gasps; and then he was clutching at me, as his cock flew free of Debbie’s open mouth and spurted its own magic through the air, across her face, into her hair.

  She fell back, looking up at me, parted her lips and let slip the first mouthful that Martin shot into her. Ah, spit, not swallow, I thought to myself, as I watched it pool on her breasts, and her hand rose absent-mindedly to run a fingertip through the goo.

  I finally caught my breath. ‘See, I told you he was a seven.’

  Debbie’s eyes flashed. ‘At least that. And you’re not so bad yourself.’ She sniffed her sopping fingers as she pulled them from my cunt, then leaned across and kissed me there. ‘Hey, Martin – play your cards right, and who knows what else you’ll see this evening.’

  He shook his head, as though trying to focus. He made a sound that might have been a breathless ‘wow’, and then collapsed onto the sofa. ‘I’m not ready to become a spectator yet,’ he said with a smile. ‘You give me ten minutes and I’ll be raring to go.’ He cupped his balls in his hand as he spoke. Debbie and I giggled, then crawled across the floor towards him. ‘In that case, I’ll tell you what I want,’ she whispered, as she lay her hand upon his. ‘I want to watch you and Chrissie fucking, and then I want you both to fuck me.’

  ‘I think we can do better than that,’ I murmured. I pushed at her shoulders, pressing her down on the carpet; then, crouching above her, facing her feet, I began to slow-kiss down her body – her forehead, her nose, her lips, her neck, her breasts. I took a nipple in my mouth and bit down gently; moved to the other one and sucked hard. By the time I reached her pussy, as mine poised itself just inches from her face, she was as wet as I still felt. And, as her lips made contact with my screaming clit, I buried my face in her folds, revelling in the thick dampness, slurping her into my mouth and thrusting my tongue in as deep as I could.

  And then another sensation, something knocking against the backs of my thighs; a whisper, a hiss, and then Debbie’s voice, shaking with excitement. ‘Brace yourself, girl, wonderboy’s coming in from behind.’

  Martin entered me hard, his entire length slipping instantaneously into my wetness, until his balls were slapping against my wet skin. Debbie was still down there as well – I could feel her tongue drift soft across me; could imagine her sucking at Martin’s balls.

  He was fucking me so hard that it hurt. No matter how wet I was, it was nev
er enough to accommodate the cock that was now clattering against my uterus, so that every thrust, every breath, sent a sharp jab of pain shooting through my body. Yet, even though every nerve-end pleaded with me to make him stop, and my bottom lip was raw from biting it, I could not, would not, call a halt. Because always, at the back of mind, a little voice was telling me that it could only get better. And, when it did, it would be worth every iota of pain.

  He was so deep inside me now, and he was still growing. I’d forgotten the pussy spread out before me; forgotten everything except what was happening inside me, the thick (and growing thicker) cock relentlessly pile-driving into my flesh, slamming harder and faster until my cunt was bursting and my body was tearing, and my subconscious was praying for him to come, even as I screamed aloud for him to last forever, for Debbie to stay forever, for the two of them to lick me and fuck me and hold me tight, and never, ever stop.

  I was coming again, and again and again, three waves, four waves, just one after another, pounding me until I writhed flat against the body that still rocked and squirmed and suckled beneath me. The smell of cunt was everywhere, and that was driving me crazy as well – and then Martin came, with a roar this time, and a jolt so deep inside me that it might have dislodged my teeth.

  I raised my head and prised myself off Debbie’s sweat-slicked body. ‘You OK under there?’

  ‘Oh, Chrissie … Martin … that was amazing. I’ve never felt like that … never done that …’ – for the first time all evening, she sounded lost for words. I knew what I had to do.

  ‘Your turn, then. Spit or swallow?’

  Her tongue ran long and hot against my thigh, sending a shiver through my entire frame. ‘Well, I guess I usually spit.’

  I licked her back. ‘That’s because you’ve never tried this.’ Raising my hips, and crouching over Debbie’s expectant face, I parted the lips of my pussy, and watched the come hang suspended for a moment …

  And that, I believe, is exactly where we started.