Cooke And Boggs

I pulled my shitty old car up the long driveway of Cindy Peregrine's house and parked it, then paused to allow my hatred for that awful woman to subside enough for me to get out. "Stay here," I said to Kyla, who was sitting in the backseat for some reason rather than up front next to me. Like I'm her chauffeur. Kyla didn't answer me, and I didn't expect her to. She's a girl of few words, and - as much as I love her - just about as much brains.

I exited the vehicle and walked past the dozen or so cars and pickup trucks that littered Cindy's front lawn in the blue evening. There were people my age milling around, laughing, smoking, and a few high school kids too. Somebody had got a small bonfire going and there were several people I knew standing around it. In any normal town a house and an accumulation of wealth like Cindy Peregrine's would be just one of many upper middle class spooge piles, but in our ass-end town she gets to be the queen of everybody, and when she throws one of her repetitive house parties everybody treats it like it's the big red date on their social calendar. Not me. I was there for one reason and one reason only. A girlfriend of mine, Carlie Herrington, had called me earlier in the evening crying, saying her boyfriend (and ride home) had broken up with her and ditched her almost as soon as they'd arrived. Some stupid fight; I didn't catch the details. But I intended to pick up Carlie, cram her into the car with Kyla, and we'd all go to the much more pleasant - and much smaller - party over at Steve Lachman's place.

I was almost all the way to the door when I realized I was still holding the bottle of Cooke and Boggs whisky I had bought to take over to Steve's. I held the thing up to the porch light as if to ask it why it had come with me rather than stay in the freaking car with Kyla. She wouldn't have drunk it; it takes a direct command and sometimes a slap across the face to get her to do anything. Cursing myself, I carried the bottle by the neck into the house, still focused on my mission to find Carlie.

That is, I was focused until I saw Freak Benton. Ritchie "Freak" Benton is lean, stupidly handsome, and perpetually distracted. By some accident of psychology and sexual upbringing he developed an unquenchable desire to eat pussy. So he spent most of his formative years with his head down between the thighs of one girl after another, and by the time he had finally ended up down between mine for the first time he'd become very very good at what he does best, and acquired a reputation as such. He was hanging out with his best friend, that idiot Slots Kepfer, when I laid sight on him. I feel bad about it now but I let myself become derailed from the task at hand. Without thinking much, I made eyes at him from across the room and nodded my head toward the door that led to the first floor bathroom. He caught my glance and excused himself from the conversation with Slots to come follow me.

I got into the bathroom with Freak close behind, closed the door, and locked it. "Hey Freak," I said.

"Hey Dana."

I could have followed up with something like, feel like eating my pussy? Or maybe, my good sir would you care to perform the cunnilingus for which you are so widely renowned upon my regrettably unshorn womanhood? But instead I said absolutely nothing and just pulled down my jeans and panties and sat on the toilet lid with an expectant look on my face. He got the gist.

He started warming me up by kissing my thighs, running his tongue over my skin in a way that sent shivers through my body. His mouth moved from one thigh to the other, inching closer to my pussy. By the time he eventually arrived there I was all but bucking my hips in anxious anticipation. Then he sank his long muscular tongue right into me and pressed his generous upper lip against my clit. It felt like such a release, and I moaned while squeezing my breasts through my shirt and bra. He held that position, drawing his tongue assertively against the underside of my clit a few times before withdrawing it. And then he really started to get to work.

As he licked my clit I could feel myself starting the long delicious rise toward climax. I hugged Freak's head with my legs and played my fingers through his hair while he ratcheted me upward with every stroke of his tongue. Then I heard the metallic sound of his belt buckle coming undone. I looked down and saw that he had pulled his dick from his pants and was stroking it rapidly while he worked. Oh God did that push me even further. I hoped he wouldn't finish before I did and waste a lovely load of his semen into a puddle on the bathroom tiles. I resolved to finish as quick as I could and then suck his load right out of him.

Then the bathroom door opened. Dammit, I thought I had locked it! The sounds of the party outside came roaring in along with two people: Chelsea Leicester and her brother Jack. Those two blond beanpoles were always together, joined at the hip in a way that bordered on weird, and now both of them were staring wide-eyed at me while I sat helplessly about three quarters of the way to a mind-expanding orgasm.

"What the fuck, dude!" Jack said, amusement on his face more than anything. But Chelsea's face betrayed a different reaction as it went limp and her mouth came open involuntarily.

"Hi Freak," she said.

He pulled his mouth away from my pussy just long enough to say, "Hi Chelsea," then dove right back at it.

"Can I have a turn?" she asked.

I waved a hand in her direction and said, "Just let me fucking finish, Chels. I'm so close."

"Okay. I'll wait," she said, plopping herself down on the edge of the bathtub and immediately putting one hand down the front of her long red skirt. Jack let out a stupid-sounding guffaw and left, not bothering to close the door behind him. Soon a crowd of onlookers was gathering just outside the door. Now I had an audience. I didn't care. I grabbed Freak by the back of his head and pulled him tight against me, closing my eyes while his tongue and lips propelled me the rest of the way.

"Oh my God. Oh, fuck!" I gritted my teeth and winced as the climax took hold. Wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me while Freak expertly slowed his tempo but increased his pressure, extending my orgasm as long as it would go. "Holy shit, Freak! Oh my... fuck!" As I finally released my death grip on Freak's head and melted into a limp puddle on the toilet, I opened my eyes and saw Chelsea pulling her skirt up to her waist and her panties down to her ankles. Her pussy, unlike mine, was bald as a baby's asscheeks. Freak gave my thighs a polite kiss, then shifted over to Chelsea and got right to work on her. I looked down and saw that I had left a small puddle of juices on Cindy Peregrine's toilet seat.

As I pulled my pants back on, ignoring the jeers and cheers from the crowd outside the door, I looked at the sink countertop where I had left the bottle of Cooke and Boggs. It was alarmingly absent. A fierce surge of anger swept away the pleasant post-nut haze on which I'd been drifting. Aside from Chelsea and Freak, who were now fully engaged with one another, the only other person who had entered the bathroom was her thieving brother Jack. I buttoned up my jeans, said a quick, "Thanks Freak," and stormed out of there, pushing aside the bodies of onlookers as I went. New mission: find Jack and kick his narrow ass.

I searched the living room, then the kitchen. No luck. And then I went out the rear door onto the back patio. There he was, holding my bottle of whisky by its neck, laughing at something that one of two dudes standing nearby had just said.

"Hey Jack," I said loudly and firmly. "Gimme back my Cooke and Boggs."

"What?" He turned to me as I approached with an expression on his face like someone might give to a flea-bitten stray mutt on its way to sniff your crotch. "This here? This is mine. I found it."

"Found it!? You stole it from me not five minutes ago, you shit-eater."

He raised the open mouth of the bottle to his own and took a brief tug. "Sorry, Dana. I think you're confused. Probably left half your brains in Freak Benton's mouth."

Even though his joke was as stupid as climbing the backside of a ladder, the two other guys laughed at it. This called for a measured and considered violent overreaction. I took three steps toward Jack Leicester and threw a right hook that caught him square in the middle of his smug grin. A jolt of pain went through my fist, but not as bad as he felt. He staggered back with a look of shock that quickly turned to fury. Before I knew it he had his arms around me and I felt a hit of dismay as my center of gravity lurched sideways. He pulled me to the ground with a vicious thud that caused my lungs to spit out all their air, and then we were both on the grass, hitting each other in a rapid mutual hail of blows that mostly did little damage. However a few of the punches found meat, and he got a few good ones into my abdomen. Fear and rage and pain mixed inside me like baking soda and vinegar in a sealed Coke bottle. I cracked him as hard as I could on the side of his left eye with my right elbow. That sent him rolling off of me, clutching his face. My breaths were heaving. I stood up, the world spinning around me, found the bottle of Cooke and Boggs where it lay in the grass, and grabbed it. The lid was nowhere to be found and half the whisky had poured out onto the earth. Then as I wobbled away from the scene of the crime, I saw Carlie Herrington holding Kyla by the arm the way you might hold a child to keep her from running off. Both of them were staring at me with their eyes the size of plums.

"Oh, hey Carlie," I said. "I'm here to rescue you." Then I bent over and vomited onto the patio.

The party seemed to follow us as I led Carlie and Kyla back to the car. People rubbernecked at me from every direction, yelling the same crap they always do, hoping I would put on another show to liven up their night. "Get the hell out my way," I said as I pushed past a couple of girls I knew from back in the day.

When we were finally ensconced in my old beater Carlie sat real low in the shotgun seat with a sullen look on her pretty face. Her cheeks were streaked with trails of mascara from crying. She said, "I can't believe you. What a shit show. I should have called Desiree to pick me up. You're such an embarrassment."

"Ah, buck up, buttercup," I replied. "It could have been worse."

"How? You got yourself ate out in front of everyone we know and then went and got your ass beat on purpose, again in front of everyone we know. If I hadn't found you when I did we'd probably be in the back of Deputy Jenninger's car right now. You'd probably have put a broomstick up a dog's ass just to top yourself."

I started the car and pulled backward down Cindy's driveway. "Alright, I'm sorry. I promise I'll be a good girl the rest of the night. What happened with you and Ian anyway?"

She spat out a puff of air. "Forget him. Basically I was pissed that he was driving me around drunk and he said I talk to him like I'm his mom. I said he's an asshat, and that made him madder. Then as soon as we got there he went and started talking to Beth Kirsch just to piss me off even more. You know she's been sniffing after him ever since we graduated? Anyway within less than a minute she had her tongue halfway down his windpipe."

"Aw hell. C'mon Carlie. Let's just go to Steve Lachman's party and I'll get you cheered up. There's probably some eligible men there."

"Whatever," she said, sinking even lower in her seat. "None you haven't fucked already." She looked out the window. As a point of fact, this was most likely true. But I didn't admit to it.

Despite the pain that pumped into and out of my bodily awareness, I was too hopped up on the thrill of life to care, listening to frogs and crickets singing outside the lowered window and letting my left hand ride the cool breezes.

The three of us arrived at Steve's place. It was mostly quiet, just five people there sitting around a table busy with some drinking game that involved playing cards. Steve was there with his wife, plus Desiree and her boyfriend, and Tommyjohn the fifth wheel. Tommyjohn was my ex. My most recent ex, anyway. We had broken up because he went and fucked Jenny Lynn Cushing. I couldn't really blame him; Jenny Lynn is the hottest hundred pounds of fairy princess in three counties. In fact, if he'd just given me a heads up first I would have offered him my blessing and probably asked to go along and tag team. But instead he went and did it behind my back, which forced me to respond by fucking his little brother. And that was all she wrote. As I came in the room and saw him, and as he saw me, I wondered how much of that was water under the bridge. It was hard to judge by his expression. But Tommyjohn was still as easy to look at as ever. And as far as I knew, still single.

Kyla immediately went over to a pile of throw pillows that sat empty in the dark corner of the room and flopped into it to scroll her phone and ignore everyone. That was exactly the sort of thing I was trying to train her not to do, but I didn't feel like engaging with that struggle just at the moment.

"Hey girls!" Desiree said, smiling. She and Steve's wife came over to give us hugs. Luckily Jack Leicester had done the gentlemanly thing and not hit me in the face, so I didn't look as bad as I felt. I sat the bottle of Cooke and Boggs on the table and Carlie and I joined the game. We gave a quick summary of our night so far, editing out details as needed. I started with beer and then followed up with the whisky. Tommyjohn and I hadn't said any words directly to one another by this point but we were definitely playing the game where you give meaningful looks at the other person while pretending not to be giving any kind of looks at all. Pretty soon I was feeling warm and sociable enough to give myself permission to say fuck it, and I went to sit in his lap. Right away he put his arms around me and nuzzled his face into the back of my right shoulder, which made me feel comfortable and relieved so I put a hand in his hair and played with it a little, and it was like Jenny Lynn Cushing had never happened.

The night wore on and we all talked and joked and got progressively more drunk, and soon enough I lifted my shirt up to show everyone the bruises Jack had painted all over my belly and flanks. They all gasped and exclaimed and Steve said, "I once got in a fight with Jack back in the day, and I was about to whoop the hell out of him when his sister jumped in and started beating my ass with her handbag. Swear to God that thing must have been full of rocks, and Chelsea was madder than a hornet to see me hitting her brother like that. I got my shit kicked all the way in that day, so you're lucky you only had to take on one Leicester at a time." We all had a good laugh at that.

Pretty soon the three couples started getting handsy. I let Tommyjohn kiss my neck and run his fingers over my bra, which felt really nice. Then I saw Carlie sitting there all forlorn, suddenly the odd woman out. "Hey Tommyjohn," I said. "Have you met my girlfriend Carlie?"

"Yeah of course. I know Carlie from way back. Why?"

"No reason, just making sure you're all acquainted. Hey Carlie, you need to go to the bathroom?"

"No," she said with a pissed off look, tapping her empty Solo cup against the table.

"Yeah you do. Come on." I took her by the wrist and pulled her to the bathroom. We got inside and locked the door and I said to her, "Hey. You wanna fuck Tommyjohn with me tonight?"

"Hell no Dana. I'm not gonna be your next pity project like Kyla."

"Come on Carlie. He's got a perfectly available dick waiting right there for you."

"Is that really the way you think? 'There's a dick, so I better go sit on it?' Dana, do you ever extend your thought process beyond the next five minutes?"

"Not when I'm drinking I don't. And tonight I'm drinking. And so are you. So let's just say fuck it and we can sort it all out in the morning. Hey, didn't you want to get back at Ian for running off with Beth Kirsch? This is how you bounce back. So let's get your ass laid, huh?"

Carlie pulled up the toilet seat and sat down to pee. While she dribbled into the bowl I could see in her face that she was coming around to the idea. "You're such a bad influence," she said as her pee came to an end. "I don't know why I even called you tonight. Fine, whatever, let's go hook up with Tommyjohn then."

"That's the spirit!" I said, clapping her on the back.

Steve and his wife retired to their bedroom, where their two babies were already asleep. Desiree and her boyfriend staked out the living room couch. Both of them were too far gone to do much of anything besides fall asleep, which they did right away, barely noticing that Kyla was still sitting there on her phone. I took Tommyjohn by the hand and led him and Carlie into the spare bedroom. It was pretty bare bones, just a mattress with a fitted sheet and some pillows along with one blanket and no bedsheet. There were kid's toys and old kitchen gear and even a few of Steve's tools stacked like junk around the edges of the room. But we didn't care. Tommyjohn and I laid down on top of the blanket and started kissing. He put his hand down the back of my jeans and got to rubbing my ass, and I put one hand in his front pocket to see if I could reach his cock that way. It wasn't hard yet, but I'd remedy that in a hurry.

Carlie sat on her knees a few feet away, watching us with a small smile that said she was feeling loosened up enough by my old pals Cooke and Boggs to start considering a little fun. "Come on Carlie," I said. "Come and get on the bed with us." Tommyjohn rolled onto his back and Carlie stepped toward us, tentatively placing a hand on his chest. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her down on top of him in a surprisingly slow and gentle motion, then began running his hands up and down her thighs. I nuzzled his neck and nibbled his ear while he kissed her. Honestly I was shocked at how much chemistry the two of them exhibited right from the get go. He was being such a sweetie to my girl, lovingly pressing his fingers into her lower back and whispering things into her ear that made her giggle like a little kid. You'd think they were already lovers.

Getting all our clothes off was kind of a production. Our coordination was impaired, and the bed was small enough we kept bumping into each other. But soon we were all as naked as God intended.

Tommyjohn laid on his back and Carlie straddled his belly, dipping her modest tits into his face so he could lick and suck them. While she was busy with that I crawled down south of her ass to start in on his dick. It hardened in my mouth as I bobbed up and down on it, tasting the sweet saltiness of his skin. I reveled in the feel of his rigid penis as it slid back and forth over my tongue. He moaned into Carlie's chest while I fellated him. At one point I looked up and I could see that his hand was vigorously masturbating Carlie's pussy. From this angle just behind her ass I had a more intimate view than I really cared to get of my friend, so I closed my eyes and concentrated on sucking Tommyjohn's lovely little dick.

"Hey, Dana, stop for a second, will ya," he said. "Would you be a sweetheart and go get a condom from my pants pocket?" I pulled off of him, gave his penis head one more little kiss, then went to rummage through his pockets. I pulled out the condom, opened it, and returned to the bed to roll it down over his cock. As soon as I was done he lifted Carlie by the hips to position her over his lap and inched his latexed dick slowly inside her. She gasped as he bottomed out, then Carlie started to buck, gently at first but with increasing tempo.