Cougar Page 4

What’s it like to make a guy want it so bad he’d give you his car, sign over his last penny, curse his mother, sell his soul, just to be allowed release?

  I wanted to experiment early on with the person whose name shall not be mentioned here, but he wasn’t interested. Waiting made him impatient and annoyed. So I’ve only ever explored in my imagination. It’s been my naughty secret for the last twenty-odd years. But now the gates of the playground of my imagination have been broken wide open. I cannot run out fast enough.

  I wanted to make a guy wait. I wanted to feed off his desperation. What would happen if I did? I wanted to know.

  And at that moment I decided Bradley was gonna help me find out.

  November 6

  Had to put you away last night. It was a late night already with my new little friend so by the time I got to you, Dear Diary, I could barely keep my eyes open.

  But before I continue to tell you the tale of Bradley, let’s change your name. I hate Dear Diary. Let’s call you Dear Fuckbook. Because that’s my dream for you.

  What a night young Bradley had! What an eye-opening, cock-pulsing, desperate night of begging! Oh, it was delightful.

  Once he realised he had to at least pretend to be a gentleman by giving me a chance to come first, he submitted to me slowing down. To me riding him in long, sensual glides up and down his pole. But pretty soon that was getting difficult for him too.

  He grabbed my hips on a downthrust and stopped me. ‘Uh, are you close yet?’ he asked, puffing. Was it wrong of me to take pleasure in the innocence of that question. Of that look in his eyes?

  I told him how I like to come by rubbing my clit down hard on the base of his cock, how I need to angle myself just so. It was so cute the way he asked me to go ahead and do that, then. He said, ‘I can last, just not forever, you know.’

  ‘Can you?’ I asked. God, I’m naughty.

  ‘Can I what?’

  ‘Can you last?’

  Apparently Bradley thinks of himself as quite the stud. He assured me he would be able to last. And really, I would be doing the guy a disservice not to test him on it.

  So I pushed myself down on him. And oh, it was good. I was really horny by that point so that when my hard, swollen clit mashed down on the base of his cock it took only a few minutes of strong, rhythmic movement of my skewered pussy on his rock-hard dick before I burst into the first shuddering, pulsating orgasm of my new life.

  And here’s just a note about that orgasm. I mean, I guess there’s no such thing as a bad orgasm, and certainly there was no lack of them in my old sex life. But this one. It had power. It had strength. I rode that cock hard, with intention, with complete focus on what felt good to me and me only.

  And I came.

  When I opened my eyes and remembered Bradley he was lying beneath me, panting, but with a look of amazement. Apparently he’s never had a recently released cougar have one of the best orgasms of her life while riding his cock. Oh, there was so much pride in that look too, as if it was all him, smug little bastard.

  ‘See? I told you I could last,’ he said, all sweat and smiles.

  ‘You did. But, aw, do I only get one?’

  I know. I know it’s really bad of me to think the look on his face in that moment was hilarious. But spank my ass and call me Mary because right there, on top of him with my pussy all relaxed from that huge orgasm and his cock all hard and needy and thrust up inside me, I laughed. I giggled so much just the movement almost sent him over so I had to jump off.

  When I told him he could climb on top of me I could read the look in his eyes. That look showed confidence; he was thinking now he could call the shots and control the stroking. Did he notice the little twinkle in my eyes?

  He positioned himself between my legs, put his condom-covered cock at my opening with his hand and eased himself in. Mm, it was nice. He started off at a good pace. But soon, of course, he picked up speed and started slamming it into me.

  I stopped him. I twisted my body away from his cock so he couldn’t push into it.

  ‘Aw, dude!’ (Dude. To me. A forty-three-year-old woman. This is how twenty-six-year-olds talk now, apparently. Even during sex.) ‘No! Why are you stopping me? Are you ever gonna let me come?’

  ‘Of course!’ I giggled. ‘It’s just, you’re doing it so hard! It hurts a bit.’ It actually felt fucking amazing being rammed into at full speed. But Bradley didn’t need to know that.

  I told him,‘You can come. Just make sure you do it gently. Not so fast. Not so hard. You can do that, can’t you?’

  He assured me he could. With a voice deeper and gravelly with lust he said, ‘Yeah, I can do it that way,’ as he started thrusting again.

  Alas, I must report, he could not. Or, at least, not as far as I was concerned. Because each time his orgasm loomed closer, his hips helplessly bucked forward, like a dog in heat, and just began jack-hammering into me. I must have stopped him ten times, and, oh, how each time he begged me not to. But stop I did, because, ooo, I’m such a fragile little thing. He mustn’t slam into me that way. Wink.

  Finally I pushed him off me. I shushed his panicked protests and assured him he would get his much beleaguered orgasm. ‘But,’ I told him, ‘you just have to do it the way I say. And it’s apparent that you can’t do it the way I want with my pussy. So now we’ll try it with my mouth.’

  Imagine wrenching an ice-cream cone from a small child. And then handing him a bag of chocolate-covered sunshine and candy-coated rainbows. Such was Bradley at that moment while I stood him up, knelt before him and peeled the condom off his hard prick.

  His cock was uncut. And the head at this point was an angry shade of purple. ‘Awww,’ I whispered, as I grabbed the base of his shaft and pressed that sensitive flesh to my wet lips, pushed it into my hot mouth.

  He bucked and shook and immediately started thrusting and calling out, ‘Oh, God! Oh, God!’ I couldn’t have that. I pulled his cock out of my mouth and warned him again. I told him that, if he absolutely could not hold still, I would be forced to stop. And go home.

  That made him focus.

  Sitting here typing this, I still get all creamy when I think of the noises he made, the nonsensical words he spouted, the way his body shook so violently. I could tell just how hard it was for him to be still while I coaxed what was no doubt the most earth-shattering orgasm of young Bradley’s life out of his cock with my mouth.

  As he crested I had mercy on him. I took my mouth off and pumped his cock with my sloppy wet hand at a nice steady pace. Even though his hips thrust uncontrollably then, I kept going. I knew he really, physically could not stop that.

  I couldn’t help but be impressed with the volume of the jets of come that burst up out of him, the heights they reached, how long they lasted. I pumped and pumped and Bradley screamed out his relief, all ‘yes’ and ‘God’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘Christ’. If his neighbours called the cops to register a noise complaint I would be unsurprised.

  So that was Bradley, Dear Fuckbook.

  Who will be next?

  November 23

  I dated a bit after university. I didn’t marry right away. But I was always worried about seeming promiscuous. So I didn’t sleep with many guys before I got married. Because that’s what you did then, you got married. I had these old-fashioned notions about what a guy wanted in a girl he would marry, these sayings in my head, like about cows and milk and getting it for free. I thought of myself as a nice girl. I didn’t want to be a slut.

  Today I have no such concerns.

  Such closed-minded thinking.

  Who do I have to tell you about today, Dear Fuckbook? Well, actually there are a few. You see, I’ve been busy.

  There was Arturo. He was lovely, if a little slow. Not such a great conversationalist was Arturo, but his massive cock more than made up for his smallish intellect. We fucked standing up in the alleyway outside a club.

  Then Jason. Jason was the kind of guy who projected goth dom, what with his shit-kicking boots,
his leather jacket, his shaved bald head, the piercings all the way up both ears. I could tell he was a teddy bear though. No amount of leather or piercings could mask the sweet sparkle in his soft blue eyes. We went back to his loft apartment and I used a strap-on in his ass to subdue him. I spanked him as I fucked his hole and precome dribbled down his erect shaft while he whispered for Mommy to stop, he’d be a good boy.

  Vikram and Russell were next. They told me they’d been best friends since first grade, had shared everything, so naturally I asked them if they shared women too. They looked shocked. So uptight for thirty-somethings! But they’re all the more open-minded, not to mention tight as friends, now that they’ve felt each other’s prick through the thin membrane of skin between the pussy and ass of the woman they were fucking. Namely, me.

  And finally Stephanie. I mean, I’m pretty hetero on the sliding scale of sexual orientation. But Stephanie’s short, punky black hair and striking blue eyes just sparked something in me. She raised the act of licking pussy to an art form. God, to have that slithery creature’s mouth on my quim! She used her tongue like a fine artist uses a brush, licked me in the most knowing way I’ve ever experienced. Plus, I learned a thing or two. You see, you think you’re going to know how to do it, seeing as you have access to the same equipment and you know how you like it, but then you get down there and realise you have no fucking clue. But she was patient and willing to offer advice, as she panted and shook and pointed, no here, love, lick it right there, oh, God, yes, just like that. Lucky for Stephanie I am a quick study.

  But here’s another truth about something, Dear Fuckbook. As much as I’m having the sexual time of my life, quite literally a coming of age, there is an elusive something missing. I can’t say what exactly. But, as I meet these delightful people and try these new things, I have a feeling that there is something even more just around the corner.

  It’s almost as though … someone is waiting for me.

  December 12

  The prophetic nature of that last entry scares me just a bit.

  I am waiting here, Dear Fuckbook, to meet the most amazing man I have ever known.

  Do I need to lay out the particulars? The chat room we met in, the interests we share, all the emails flying back and forth that led me to realise who I really am, the reason for neglecting you for these past three weeks? It doesn’t matter.

  All that matters is that in just about half an hour now the doorbell will ring. I will answer. And he will be here.

  December 13

  Dear Fuckbook, how I cannot wait to tell you what transpired.

  I could bore you with all the details of my anticipation, of our slightly awkward initial greetings, of my first impressions of seeing the man of my dreams for the very first time and how he reminded me of Colin Firth, just a nice man, no hint of the twisted, horny leanings of the man he’d revealed to me over the past weeks. But you are a Fuckbook not a Romance book. So let’s get to that.

  He sat down on a chair.

  ‘Come here, pet,’ he said.

  I was giggly. A giggly little forty-three-year-old schoolgirl. I felt ridiculous but I couldn’t help it. His presence in my little house was so overwhelming. All the things we’d emailed about were all things that lived only in my fantasies. The words hadn’t even been spoken aloud. And so to have this embodiment of my fantasies sitting on a chair in my kitchen seemed so completely unreal, like my world had shifted, tilted a bit to the left, everything askew and strange and therefore hilariously unbelievable. In the best possible way. I never wanted real life to come back. A shaft of light broke into my kitchen, fell across his lap and shone so brightly at that moment. All I could do was grin like a madwoman, giggle uncontrollably.

  ‘Now, puppy,’ he said. ‘Listen to me. We need to make you focus.’ And he looked at his knee.

  My heart dropped into my stomach.

  I knew what he meant. We’d emailed about it. The fantasy of it drove me insane with lust, but, again, reality was so much different.

  He sat closer to the edge of the chair so that half of his thigh extended from the edge of the seat with nothing underneath.

  ‘Heel,’ he said.

  Oh, how I didn’t want to at that moment. I really didn’t want to. But, as I looked up from his knee to his eye, I suddenly walked forward with ease. I would do anything for the look of control in his eye. Anything not to disappoint him.

  I straddled his knee. So close to him now. I could smell him, just faintly, this man whom I’d only ever seen in my dreams before today and couldn’t even begin to imagine what he might smell like. Just hints of smells. Soap. Shampoo. Deodorant. And underneath, just barely, his own scent: woods and something musky. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and inhale. But that’s not what he commanded. ‘Heel,’ he’d said. He nodded at me then and, even though his look was stern, his eyes shone.

  I pressed my cunt down on his upper thigh.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said, low. ‘There’s my good little puppy. Now I know you want to do what all little puppies like. Go ahead. You know the rules. I know you’ll stop when you need to.’

  I grabbed the corners of the seat, behind his ass, and began to rhythmically ride his upper thigh. I laid my cheek against his chest so he couldn’t look at my face, so I could press my shame into him and so I wouldn’t have to acknowledge what was happening or how much it ignited a fire in me.

  In moments I was gasping, shaking.

  ‘Aw,’ he said, putting his hand in my hair, on the back of my head, holding it gently to his chest. Oh, God, for him to be holding me that way! His gorgeous scent strong in my nose, my cunt firm on his thigh, him all around me. I hovered close, my climax loomed. ‘Does that feel good, little puppy girl?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ I breathed. Oh, it did feel so good. All of that delicious pressure from the soft but firm flesh of his thigh pressed against the wet centre of my need. Even through all our clothes that pressure and just the fact of him, his presence, his smell, his voice, his words. I needed to stop. I desperately needed to stop.

  ‘It’s OK, you can stand up now. I know when it’s too much for my little girl,’ he said. Confirming that he knows me, knows what’s best.

  Shaking, I rose.

  ‘It’s time for some puppy training,’ he said. And oh, Dear FB, I don’t mind telling you, I swooned a bit.

  He reached into a bag and pulled out a leather dog collar attached to a fine metal chain.

  My stomach proceeded to complete a gymnast’s routine in the lower part of my body.

  You might imagine that a collar for this purpose would be black, might have metal grommets or spikes around it. But no.

  It was pink.

  He saw the surprised look in my eyes. ‘Well, I wanted something pretty, for my pretty little puppy,’ he said.

  And my heart bloomed into a state of pure love for him.

  He stood and fastened my new collar around my neck. He gave a gentle tug and led me to the bedroom. Without hesitation he removed his clothes quickly and sat down on my bed with his back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. I could see he was already erect.

  I felt a sharp tug on the collar and took a quick step forward.

  ‘Can’t take your eyes off my cock already, little slutty girl?’ he said. ‘You’ll look when I say you can, pet, and not before, understand?’

  I nodded my assent.

  He had me strip for him. He pulled me close to the side of the bed with the leash and watched as I took off each piece of clothing at his behest. I tried my best not to look down at his swollen prick but it’s like my eyes were drawn there by some force beyond my power. Each time I looked it was bigger and each time earned me a quick smack on my ass, sometimes with his hand, sometimes with the leather handle of the leash.

  He took out a condom. ‘Now, pet,’ he said. ‘Do you think you can be a very good little girl and put this on my hard cock without too much stimulation?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,�
�� I said, taking the little square of foil from him.

  You might think this odd, Dear Fuckbook. Most stories you read about doms have them fucking their subs for hours. My Sir is not like that.

  And I love it.

  I love how horny he is. It’s like he’s so masculine, he has so much testosterone, he cannot keep it at bay. I love how turned on by me he gets. I knew he was so turned on watching me strip that I would need to be careful just putting the condom on. I took this task seriously. He was trusting me to do it right.

  ‘You may look at my cock now, little girl. And proceed.’

  I climbed up onto the bed, knelt between his legs and opened the package. Carefully, I rolled the thin membrane down his thick shaft, being careful not to touch too much on any of the areas I knew were sensitive for him: that gorgeous-looking head, along the ridge of it, the frenulum. Oh, how I wanted to, though. Those parts and all the rest of him were just calling out for my tongue to swirl around and caress them. It would be so good.

  When the condom was on he patted my head. ‘Good girl,’ he said and his voice was low and thick with lust. ‘I know that required some restraint for such an eager little puppy. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re allowed to fuck me whichever way you’d like. Play with your bone and hide it in whichever hole you wish, little pet. But here are the rules: you cannot come. And you cannot make me come until I say I’m ready. It’s all up to you.’

  Oh fuck. Fuck! I thought this was the hottest thing I’d ever heard. I imagined myself impaled on his rod and trying to control myself, trying to stop myself from pounding up and down on him in the desperate attempt to quench the aching fire burning at my centre. I thought it was the hottest thing. Until he said what he said next.

  ‘If you show me you have enough control of that slutty, wet little pussy to accomplish this, then I will reward you, little girl. I will reward you with my tongue. Succeed in not making me come until I say and you will get just what you’ve always dreamed of. My hot wet mouth slowly licking your pussy, teasing your clit, making you scream and beg and plead for release.’

  I could have said so many things at that moment to tell him how his precious words made me feel. If only my brain could form words. But as it turned out I didn’t need to. My body showed us both what words could not express.