The Cougar and Me Ch. 03

Chapter Three

"Tell you a secret?" she said in a pretty obvious attempt to delay.

I kept tickling although my arm was tiring, and said, "yes. Tell me something no one else knows."

"Oh God," she said and I knew she had something already in her mind.

I stopped tickling, resting my arm, and gently brushed the hair away from her face.

"Tell me," I said, softly, not demanding but encouraging.

She opened her eyes then, meeting mine, but she didn't say anything.

I let my hand settle, slowly, gently, on her back, right where the arch of her ass started up, and said again, "Tell me."

I saw her make her decision, take a deep breath, and start.

"I went to college on a combination of scholarship and work-study," she said. "I had thought about joining the service and letting Uncle Sam pay, or, you know, the Peace Corps or VISTA, or something like that, but I managed to put together a package that meant I could go and not have a zillion dollars in debt when I got out. I tracked down some scholarships, nothing big but a few thousand dollars here, purchase of books there, stuff like that. And I found a college with a pretty strong work-study program. My parents might be able to give me a few dollars from time to time, but I was pretty much on my own."

I said nothing, just held her eyes, and waited.

"It was hard work," she said. "I had to carry at least 12 hours a semester and I was working 20 hours a week in the cafeteria. I was tired all the time and my grades were slipping and I was desperate. If I didn't keep up a 'B' average I would lose one of the scholarships and it was kind of a wobbly structure anyway."

She closed her eyes and I could almost see the way she was organizing her thoughts.

"You know how it is in college. Especially those first two years, those introductory courses," she said, "when you might see the actual professor once a week but most of the time it was a teaching assistant, some graduate student like two years older than you are. Well, I was a Social Studies major," she giggled, "going to be a high school teacher. But there were all of those pesky general requirements."

The tone and cadence of her voice was changing as she got into her story. Her secret.

"Algebra was kicking my ass," she said, giggling, so I rubbed her ass a little making her giggle more, "so I worked up my courage and went to the TA. I suppose I was a cliche' in many ways. I went to him and gave him the classic, 'Mr. Roberts, I'll do ANYTHING for a 'B' grade.' And he just grinned and told me to come up to his office, that he had office hours two to three."

She took a deep breath and I could see she was winding down, so I caressed that wonderful arch at the small of her back and said, "go on."

I realized she was, well, she wasn't exactly crying, but tears were overflowing her eyes.

I brushed a tear away and said, very softly, "go on."

She took another deep breath, let it out slowly in a long hiss, and went on.

"He smiled at me and I didn't think it was possible to feel so cheap," she said, "and he said, 'anything.' David, I was pretty desperate and VERY stupid, but I said, 'yes.' I was surprised not at all when he said, 'swing the door shut,' and then, 'down on your knees, LaVerne.'"

She squeezed her eyes shut, sighed, took another deep breath, and went on.

"So I got down on my knees," she said, her eyes closed now, I could almost see her remembering, "and watched him stand and take the small step to me. It was a small office, hardly a room at all, more like a broom closet with a desk, and he said, 'take it out.' I realize now it was a dominance thing, making me do all of the work. But, anyway, I did it, on my knees, in his small office, I undid his belt and the button of his jeans and the zipper and pulled them down enough and got it out. He was hard," she giggled a little, "hell, he was VERY hard, and I just took a deep breath and took it in my mouth. He said, 'good girl,' and on some level, and God, I don't claim to understand it, I was kind of proud of that. So I gave him a blow job for a B."

"When he came he yanked out and came on my face and in my hair," she said, and she squeezed her eyes shut with that memory, "then he said, 'okay, you got your B,' now go study. I wiped my face with my arm, went out into the hall, saw a couple of other students as I was walking fast, not quite running, to the bathroom. I barely made it to the stall before I threw up. And threw up, And THREW UP! Jesus, David, I would not have been surprised to see my toenails come up. Eventually, that was finally over so I got a big wad of toilet paper, cleaned cum out of my hair as best I could and went to the sink to wash my face. Another girl was in there, someone I knew very casually, and she asked if I was okay. I spun a quick yarn about too much to drink or something like that, rinsed my mouth, and went home."

She wound down then, opened her eyes, red from tears now, and smiled. I had seen the phrase "smiled wanly" before, and now I knew exactly what it meant.

"Well," I said, my hand caressing her back, not playing with her ass, just caressing from the small of her back to her shoulders, "that's not so bad."

She snorted, literally, a quick glob of snot on her upper lip and hanging, she made no attempt to wipe it off, and said, "oh David, it's much worse."

I brushed her hair back again, and wiped her nose with my finger, leaned over and kissed her softly, and said, "go on."

"David," she said, a quick intake of breath as she sniffed, "they talk."

"Huh?" I said, demonstrating sometimes I can be ridiculously obtuse.

"They talk, those TAs," she said, "and the word got around. For the next three years, it became almost automatic. If I got a 'C' I would report to the office and give them what they wanted. And it wasn't always men, David. And the thing is," and here she wound down and took a few seconds, breathing hard, gathering her thoughts.

"The thing is," she started again, and then met my eyes, directly, almost defiantly, "I liked it. Oh, it wasn't the sex, if you can call giving blowjobs on command sex, but it made my life easier. I could keep up, you know? I had a way to protect my GPA. I suppose I thought of it, on some level, as," and she giggled softly here, "extra credit."

When I didn't say anything for a few seconds she said, "So now you know, you're here in bed with a grade whore."

I laughed at that, wrapped her in my arms, and kissed her, a snot slick, salty kiss that I thought was a very good kiss.

And she was crying then. So I held her, stroking her hair, feeling the way she shook against me.

Finally, she cried herself out. When she pulled away her face was a mess. Her eyes were red, her sinuses were swollen giving her face an odd shape, her nose was running, and thick strings of mucus-laden saliva connected her lips when she smiled at me again.

I liked it and kissed her. It was a good kiss, snotty and salty and slick and good.

"Well," she said, her voice very shaky, "at least you're not running screaming from the room."

I laughed at that and said, "just like sex, intimacy is often messy but never, EVER dirty."

She giggled, a sort of bubbly sound after the way she had been crying, and said, "you asked for something nobody else knew."

I kissed her again, and said, "I did, and thank you for sharing."

She started to say something but I touched her lips with mine and said, "Soooooooooooooooo," deliberately dragging out the vowel, "how about showing what you learned."

She giggled at that, nothing wan, a real, joyful giggle like a girl might, and said, "you want me to show you how to solve a quadratic equation?"

Which made me laugh.

"Very good, wench," I said and slapped her ass hard enough to draw a little yelp, "now show me what you learned to do with that pretty mouth of yours."

She smiled again, a legitimate smile, and said, "pervert."

I chuckled and said, "do you want that B or not."

She giggled and squirmed around, oddly graceful making me wonder if she hadn't been a gymnast in her past, and took me in her mouth. She was very, VERY good with her mouth. She had been crying and the snot and saliva made her mouth and lips slick. She had a thing she did with her tongue, each time she would accept my length in her mouth, swallowing hard to get past her gag reflex and accept it all, she would kind of wrap her tongue around the bottom of the shaft and almost hold me as she slowly pulled off.

I kind of lost track of how long she took, bringing me along slowly, taking me beyond the level where any other time I would have cum and been done. Certainly, it was minutes. It might have been an hour. Maybe a measurable fraction of eternity. It was a VERY good blow job.

When I came she pulled off quickly. She used her hand and with each pump, she would pull, almost milking me. My body normally does a solid three or four pumps when I ejaculate. She took me through at least a half-dozen, leaving me gasping, my fingers forming claws trying to dig into the mattress.

She squirmed around and when I opened my eyes, that wonderful agony/ecstasy in my belly finally fading, she was smiling down at me, a thick line of semen running across her left eye, a big wad in her hair at her hairline, and a white rope dangling from her chin.

She bent, slowly, that white string wetting my lips, and kissed me, a long, lingering, thorough, very good kiss.

When she broke the kiss she laid on her side, her fingertips doing that light touching on my face, and said, her voice low and very husky, "is that intimacy?"

I took a deep breath, looking straight up at the ceiling, and said, "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah."