[F/m] Cougar. Isn’t he a sweet boy? [19yrs]

Hey Community :)
First post here.
Not sure how it goes around here… so let me just introduce myself.
~30 yrs old, male from germany.
Writing this story for a friend of mine.
I have a very … unique … way of writing and to make it short I am just very, very curious on what you think about it!
Please excuse mistakes since ENG is not my first language, but I tried hard :X

Feedback & PM’s are very, very welcome!

**Chapter 01**
What a fine young boy he is, isn’t he?
It’s technically wrong to call him a boy … with his 19 years he has grown into a handsome young man who left most of his childish features behind. The fact that he is considerable younger than you does no justify the term boy either … the real reason we will call him like that is quite a simple one: you enjoy it.
There is no reason to deny it.
You like to see him that way because it underlines the feelings that you have towards him.
He is so soft and sweet. It makes you want to protect him.
He is so shy and timid. It makes you want to take control.
He is so inexperienced and insecure. It makes you want to teach him.
He is so adorable and full of potential. It makes you want to surrender to him.

Once again you catch yourself staring at him from across the table.
Your friend asked you to take care of her house and check for her son once in a while for the duration of her business trip.
You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t hesitate at all.
You even were afraid that your quick answer could’ve given something away but your friend just replied with how good it is to have trustworthy and reliable friends like you.
You feel ashamed when you think about what your true motivation was. 
But you can’t help it. You can’t deny it.

He seems to enjoy the dinner you cooked for him.
And you enjoy the sight you get while he takes bite after bite.
Every time you shift your weight just a tiny bit you can feel how your panties stick to your labia.
All you would have to do is lift your leg, navigate your foot between his legs, press your toes against his cock … how much effort would it take to make that bulge grow you wonder?…
But the only thing growing for now is the wet spot on the fabric between your pussy lips..

Goddamn!
This is silly! There isn’t even sexual tension in the air and yet the sole fact that you will spend the evening alone with him under the same roof drives you crazy.

“Pull yourself together!” You think to yourself and lower your view to the plate in front of you.
You made his favorite dish: vegetarian Pizza.
You are not really hungry but force yourself to take a bite anyway.
It’s not bad at all but for your personal taste there’s something missing nonetheless but you can’t pinpoint it.
You lean forward to take another bite and notice that – if you move in a very particular way – you are able to force a very pleasant friction between your legs.
Even though it’s almost not noticeable you want more … it’s a very soft almost tingly sort of stimulation and it makes you even more needy … you stop your movement … make sure he isn’t paying attention … and you start to rub your crotch against the chair.
Your heart starts to beat faster. It’s fucking wrong and you know it. Your friend has entrusted you literally with her home and family and here you are … secretly grinding your cunt against her furniture while you stare at her boy thinking about possible ways to seduce him. You want to feel his hands … you want to feel his passion … you want …
You want to fight it. You want to be strong. Concentrate, God damn!
Focus. You can do it.
Just take another bite and everything will be fine.
You stop the grinding and look down on your plate again.
But no matter how hard you would love to deny it or think otherwise – the second you rest your eyes on that pizza again your realize that you’ve lost the war already. Because all you can think about is how much tastier the dough would be if it would be glazed with his cum. You could never explain what’s happening right now to anyone else since you can hardly understand it yourself but despite how silly you feel admitting it, your consciousness starts to inspect the surface of the pizza thoroughly. You study every valley, every elevation … you feel like in a trance. His cock, aimed right at your slice, spraying thick strains of hot sticky cum in a quantity that would never be possible. Even though it’s such a surreal scenario you are so deeply trapped in your daydream that it feels almost real. Everything is so detailed, … even his purple veins that are encase on his cock are twitching with every jet of ‘seasoning’ he releases. It’s like your own thoughts hypnotized you.

You lost track of time and have no idea how long you have been staring on that slice of pizza but the spell is broken when you hear him say that you should excuse him for a moment since he has to go to the bathroom.
You feel like you just woke up from a deep sleep. You node and watch him leave the room.
There is no running away from it. There is no other choice. There is no turning back. You start to rock your hips back and forth again and again and again. Your eyes fixate a family photo on the wall on which he looks extra … delicious … and you try to ignore the fact that his mother, your friend that you are betraying so badly, is right next to him while you give in to your urges. Your hands hold tight on the edge of the table while you increase the pressure, you try to hide the moan, you bite your lip, you can’t control yourself anymore, it’s to late, you HAVE to find relief, you HAVE to let go.
Right now? You are merely more than an animal. But deep down in your heart you know: it’s okay the way it is. It’s how it’s supposed to be. You know it. And you will show him. You swear … you will teach him how to treat you right. You will teach him where your place is. You will teach him to take advantage of you.
With that in mind your body starts to shiver. The fireworks in your head grow stronger and stronger. The sensation is overwhelming but you force yourself to keep your eyes open fixated on his picture. He might not know it but HE is about to earn you that orgasm and keeping your eyes open staring at him is everything you can do right now to show your gratitude. You wish it was him, you wish he could watch. You wish he could see your true self.
The climax is building, it comes closer and closer, you grind harder and harder, your thoughts go wild and experience tells you, if you don’t restrain yourself, you will end up squirting. But what does it matter? He deserves it. He deserves that you squirt for him. He deserves that you stop fighting, stop pretending.
You give up – for him.
You let go – for him.
You come so hard, like you didn’t come in a very long time, – for him.

**Chapter 2**
Isn’t it funny how the consciousness filters out unnecessary information?
Slowly you begin to notice the world around you again.
The high rate of your pulse and your heavy breathing.
The pain in your fingers from clinching the table so hard.
The amount of juice that your pussy has squirted into your panties, soaking them.
How dry your eyes are.
You are still looking into the eyes of the picture when you hear the flushing sound of the toilet.
Your lewd thoughts fade away, you finally blink and release the grip on the furniture.

You try your best to play it cool when he came back from the bathroom.
What would he think if he knew that his mom’s best friend just came at the kitchen table thinking about him?
Would he think it’s inappropriate? Would he think it’s wrong? Or would he think it’s hot?
More importantly than what he would think – you wonder about how he would feel.
Would he be shocked? Would he be nervous? Would he be flattered? Would … he get hard?

You would love to find out … but you know you can’t afford to risk it right now. It’s not the right time. You need to keep your head straight. Stay focused. Don’t show any signs of what just happened … calm down … control your pulse … breath in, breath out … 

He comes back into the kitchen, smartphone still in his hand, and stops right across the table and looks up from his screen, down on you.
“Hey, you feeling alright? You look a bit uneasy”
You feel how you start to blush.
Fuck… you need an excuse, now!
“Oh…erm… my stomach just act’s like a little diva. Maybe because I missed the meat”
Omg you didn’t just say that, did you?
You want to slap yourself across the face for that ambiguity!
You fail to see any reaction on his face. Either he did not catch the unintentional drift or he does a great job at hiding it.
“Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe a glass of water?”

He looks at you and waits for an answer but you don’t answer him right away. You can’t.
The post-climax convulsions are still pretty intense.
You enjoy the shivers that crawl through your body and try to make you twitch.
Just for a brief moment you allow yourself to think about a perfect world.
A world where no fear exists. No fear of misunderstandings. No fear of rejection.
A world where you could tell him exactly what you are and what you want to be for him.
A world where you could seductively open your legs just enough to take his hand and use his fingers to scoop up your honey-like lubricant. 
A world where both of you can see the creamy evidence of what his presence does to your body and mind – and a silent nod is all it takes to ensure you that he understands your desires – with all it’s implications and consequences.
He won’t debate. He won’t ask questions. He won’t hesitate.
He will just take you and make you his.

“Okay, let me go upstairs and get something for your revolting stomach!”
His voice brings you back to reality.
“What? Uh, no… no. That’s very sweet Darling. But I am fine, really.”
You stand up, and walk to the front door, meticulously careful to not let him get a view of your crotch.
You haven’t checked yet but from the feels there ought to be a clearly visible wet spot.
“My chores for the day are done anyway so I will leave you alone. But promise me to do your algebra and history homework. Don’t sit in front of your screen all night, understood?”
“Yes Ma’am, understood!”.
Damn even with that sarcastic tone his answer is music in your ears…
“Well I trust you young man. I will come back tomorrow and check on you again, around 8 P.M”
You leave and close the door behind you. Since you are neighbors the walk home is quick but you catch yourself almost sprinting the short distance anyway. Each step reminds you of the moisture between your legs, the soaked fabric of your panties is aggressively scrubbing your sensitive flesh to the point where it’s painful but you don’t care.
Grabbing the keys, opening the front door and slamming it shut isn’t your typical attitude but you rush straight into your bedroom.
You know you aren’t done for the night.
There is a hunger that wants to be stilled.
Since you are an emancipated woman the drawer of your nightstand holds quite an impressive arsenal of little and big ‘friends’.
But you don’t even have to think about what your body – or more precisely – your submissive state of mind, wants and needs right now. You grab a very naturalistic one.
Balls, big veins, a nice cock head. It’s not massive and not the biggest toy in your collection but it’s how you imagine HIS cock would maybe look like and – more importantly – feel like. Just now you notice that even it’s color somewhat matches his skin tone … you have to smile for a second but then you remember what you are here for.
The best thing about this replica is the suction cup on it’s bottom.
It holds perfectly on the smooth surface of the headboard.
You choose the right height and press it firmly against your bed and bring yourself in position, on all fours the tip of the dildo pointed right at you.
You didn’t even undress yourself and frankly you don’t want to waste any more time.
There is this voice in your head.
Sweet, yet dominant.
Subtle, yet decisive.
Distant, yet understanding.
Is it **his**? Is it **yours**? Is it **mine**? (Embrace the 4th wall breaking!^^)
Does it matter? Is it of any relevance who’s voice it really is?
Idon’t think so. We both know, the only thing important is… that you obey.
And we both know. You will obey. Because that’s who you really are.
The voice makes the rules.

Unbutton your pants. You obey.
Pull the messy panties aside. You obey.
Push back your body. You obey.
The cock head pushes against your labia but it wont slide in so easily.
Your first instinct is to use your hand to guide it in.
But the voice says **no**.
You obey.
You will **work** for it.
You will **earn** it.
Tonight, **nothing** is given to you **for free**.
Way differently as when you where masturbating in the kitchen this time your eyes are tightly shut.
It helps you to imagine. It helps you to enjoy the pictures which **the voice** draws in your mind.
It’s almost like you can observe yourself from a third person point of view.

A dressed slut. On all fours on her own bed. Needy and craving for cock. But not any cock. **Teenage cock**. And as if this wouldn’t be bad enough already she is even denied the decency to stuff herself. She is not allowed to get it the easy way.
If she wants **the cock** she has to **work for it**.
And look at her, how desperately she’s working for it indeed!
Lowering her back, aiming, pushing the body to the headboard just to be frustrated when the dildo just scrapes against her swollen pussy lips and fails to find the entrance.
*Again. And again. And again. And again.*
A neutral observer could see her despair grow with – every – single try.
One could almost feel pity for her if the sight she’s providing wouldn’t just be so… *entertaining*.
All she would have to do is simply take her hand, grab that fake cock and push it in. It would be so easy. She could be done in a few minutes.
But she wont do it.
We all know she wont do it.
Because she is not allowed to. The voice forbids it.
She’s still confused about who’s voice it is that’s literally makes fun of her in her own mind but the very twisted truth is she’s just happy that this voice exists. The voice makes everything easier. The voice understands. The voice knows her secrets. The voice knows the face behind the mask.

She could just grab that cock and pleasure herself.
We all know that she could do that. And so does she.
The lesson to be learned here is:
She **wants** it the hard way. She **wants** to earn it. She **wants** to entertain. 
The **frustration**? It’s what she deserves.
The **neediness**?  It’s what she deserves.
The **denial**? It’s what she deserves.
The cock? It’s what she has to **earn**.
The attention? It’s what she has to **earn**.
The dominance? It’s what she has to **earn**.
Deep down she know’s that the voice is merely a device to unleash her inner slut.
To come to peace with what she is. A tool to assure her that she can be who she really is.
No hiding. No judging. No fear.
And we, the observers, we who we are lucky enough to be part of her journey, should assure her as well that she is good the way she is.
She wants his cock. And that’s fine. It’s good. It’s perfect.
She will work for it. And that’s fine. It’s good. It’s perfect.
She will make him understand where her place it. Even if she has to be the dominant part for a while, even if she has to take the lead and help him see the truth. The truth that he can take the lead and make her do unspeakable things. The truth that she is cock drunk. A desperate doll craving teenage cock. That nothing turns her on as the thought that he can use her body, her holes, her entire persona to fulfill his wildest dreams.

Look at her. Humping the air like a frenzied bitch in heat. I think it’s time, isn’t it? What do you think, dear observer? Should we let her try even longer, let the wet spot under her dripping cunt get bigger and bigger while we watch and amuse ourselves? Or are we generous and decide that she suffered enough – for the moment – and let the veined cock slide right into her? I think we should let her have some pleasure now. Show her how grateful we are that she invited us on her journey. Show her our support. Show that we admire her bravery. That we are proud that she tries to be who she really is. No second thoughts. No hesitation. A good girl. A greedy girl. Let’s give it to her, show her our respect and our support.

The fake cock pushes your labia aside and slides right into your dripping cunt. The sensation silences the voice and you are “you” instantly again. You moan in pleasure. Words can’t describe the wild thoughts and feelings you had a moment ago – the word surreal, maybe even schizophrenic comes into your mind again. It felt so… so Kafkaesque. But now – with the cock buried deep inside you – there’s no time for philosophy.
It’s getting raw now.
Now that you are finally able to enjoy that dildo you don’t waste any time and start to thrust it in and out of your body furiously. Each time you impale yourself your moaning grows louder and louder. You press your own head into the mattress and scream into the sheets.
It’s no ordinary toy anymore.
It’s a symbol. It’s a relic. It’s him. 
*You are not fucking it.*
*You are milking him.*
You are not doing it for yourself.
You are doing it to prove that you are worthy.
Your goal is not to come – you could do that literally within seconds – your goal is to last.
Last as long as you can.
Your desires are **not important** right now.
Your cravings are **not important** right now.
Your aching lust is **not important** right now.
*Milk him. Milk him for hours.*
He wont move. He wont thrust. He wont take you.
You have to prove that you can endure. That your pussy is available for as long as he needs it.
This is not a sprint. It’s a marathon.

“You can come, but you can’t stop. Be a good girl. Make us proud”
And with these words the voice finally fades away for the night and leaves you all alone, milking teenage cock with your cunt.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/kfw3fz/fm_cougar_isnt_he_a_sweet_boy_19yrs