The Cougar Game


Dionysis Retreat, Floor 1

Mrs. Brandi Westerholm, a full-breasted redhead with trim waistline and curvaceous hips, arrived on the first floor of the Dionysis Retreat in a mid-thigh low cut black halter dress that fit her like a glove and displayed to maximum advantage her 38Cs. Her hourglass figure was molded into mythic Wonder Woman proportions by a shelf bra atop a merry widow corset with brass front clasps. Most striking of all were the krinkle black patent leather high heel boots that climbed over the knee well up her creamy thighs.

Teetering on the arm of her husband Stuart, Brandi obviously was not used to wearing five inch heels but tonight she really wanted to step out. The stretch satin fabric of her tight-fitting dress revealed distinct mounded crescents of three-inch areolas but gave no hint of her nipple atop those oversized headlights. Brandi had large thimble-size nipples, but given the shelf-bra exposure, she had taped them down as she often did when out in public. So far, only her husband, masseuses, and shower room girlfriends had seen the full effect of her magnificent tits.

Perhaps that would all change tonight. Brandi knew full well what it meant to enter a sex club like the Dionysis Retreat, but she had wearied of being so modest. With her conspicuous tits trumpeting her presence every step she took, with brilliant full auburn hair flowing to her shoulders, and almond-shaped eyes, long lashes and eyebrows that never seemed to end, Brandi Westerholm remained at 54 an absolute knockout. In short, she was a mature version of the Ann Margaret look-alike she had surely been 30 years earlier. Ball boys at her tennis club were constantly coming on to her and transfixed by her toned curvaceous body whispered on her recent birthday,

“Mrs. Westerholm, you’ve grown even better with age.”

She wondered whether that all meant her now very routine sex life should step it up a notch or two as well. Tonight, while at the Retreat, Brandi was determined to find out.

The Dionysis Retreat was a private downtown social club of like-minded couples and singles age 45 to 60 (with occasional exceptions). It marketed itself and recruited new initiates only by word of mouth. The members were invited to engage in open marriage events of group sex, wife swapping and watching, and spousal training with an emphasis on interracial big cock sex. The Retreat operated discreetly so as to avoid offending non-members. Voluntary association and affirmative consent were scrupulously enforced principles, and disclosure, waiver, and privacy standards were carefully implemented at all Retreat events including the initiations underway this night. Two suburban women (and their accompanying husbands) had been invited to play something the Retreat called The Cougar Game.

In addition to the Westerholms, two close friends, Joan Hockaday and her husband Brock, had also been invited to initiate their membership the same night. Pixie-sized and 53 years young Joan arrived in a double-breasted pale blue cashmere jacket with a bullet bra encasing her surgically-enhanced 34Ds. The taut fabric of her matching belted cashmere pants revealed the outline of an elaborate garter belt attached to hot pink nylons peeking out at her shapely ankles. Joan’s 5’4″ cheerleader stature was amplified by tall Lucite platform shoes with a six inch heel, almost as striking as the thigh high 5 inch boots in which Brandi was trying to negotiate around the reception room.

Many Retreat members came up to both women to deliver good wishes; some were masked but others just introduced themselves straight out. Assuring the new initiate wives that they’d found the right place, Brandi and Joan often heard the words,

“Tonight will change your lives” and “This will be a night that you’ll never forget!”

Instructions were given and then the Retreat members disappeared to ready themselves for the evening’s initiations. Brandi and Joan were soon split apart from Stuart and Brock for separate briefings. One thing the wives were told rather shocked them; women all women in the Dionysis Retreat were to remain fully exposed at all times while in the club, both above and below the waist. Privates were anything but private here.

Joan realized she hadn’t really gone far enough when she put on Brock’s favorite lingerie of see-thru hot pink bra and panty garter under her cashmere outfit. This evening would entail even more extreme risk-taking than Joan had imagined. Before her concerns could set in, a hostess explained that Floor 2 contained face masks and many costumes Brandi and Joan could select from while still complying with the full exposure rule. The wives headed to an elevator marked “Costume Design Shop, Floor 2.”

Their husbands were instructed to wait below, get measured by a tailor who stepped forward with a grin. Only when signaled to do so, could they move up the staircase to watch the proceedings on Floor 2 through one-way glass wall panels. In a special function room Escort bayan off the main reception area, each man was probed and measured for all sorts of garments and for other things.

Somewhat inexplicably, the walls and cases were filled with large sex toys, literally dozens of them. One enormous realistic cock dildo was installed on a doorknob where it impaled a full-size love doll dressed in a black lace garter belt and ultra sheer black thigh-highs. The husbands wondered why they had been shown a substitute love toy, and why everyone around the Retreat seemed to be so fixated on large penis size. They were soon to find out.

Dionysis Retreat Floor 2 Twenty-five minutes later, looking through a one-way illuminated panel on their side of Floor 2, the husbands spied upon their wives. Now costumed, Joan Hockaday exuded sexuality from every pore of her body. Her platforms had been replaced by red high-heeled ankle strap peep toe fuck-me-down and-dirty pumps with the same 5 inch heels she had pranced around on since her teenage cheerleading days. Her legs were encased in shimmering white hosiery as sheer as the best French textilers knew how to make it. They were topped with three inches of red lace that attached to an 8-strap white lace garter belt. Joan’s naturally blond locks were gathered by a wild red sash bandana tied up to look like a pirate queen.

As required, Joan’s pussy was fully exposed, looking slightly different than Brock had remembered from their love-making a week earlier. No one had bothered to offer Joan any panties, and knowing the rules on non-stop exhibitionism, she had not asked.

Taken aback by Joan’s transformation to a sultry siren, Brock was not the first to speak. Stuart was riveted on another part of Joan’s costume. He pointed and said,

“Wow, look at those!” For there on Joan’s chest was an open tit conical bra right out of Madonna’s concert wardrobe. The open tit ends revealed the longest, thickest, reddest nipples Stuart had ever laid eyes on. Joan’s tight blouses and sweaters had always featured her massive boobs but given their sheer weight, she had never gone braless. In the summer, intentionally thick material in her skimpiest bikini tops had not revealed the 1¼ inch elongated nipples the surgeons had been stunned by when doing her breast augmentation from a 34B to a D cup. Having tugged and twirled and sucked on those miraculous nipples for the four years they dated and the twenty years of marriage since, Brock had kept their existence a secret from even his closest friend. But to Stuart’s new found delight, Joan’s startlingly udder-like nips were now on full display.

The cone bra made Joan look like a Viking queen, Lilliputian-sized but still a Viking Queen. It encased her augmented heavy breasts in tighter and tighter circles of elasticized red ribbing on a white background until at the seventh ring they encircled and left uncovered the fleshy structure at the base of her elongated nipples. Elastic pinched the nerve endings, and extra blood flow engorged and reddened the long tit shafts. Brock even imagined that those glorious pleasure centers were several shades redder than he’d ever seen them before . In fact, Joan’s nipples had indeed been heavily rouged by the glamour consultants on Floor 2.

And that was not all Brock and Stuart noticed. In bathing during the afternoon in preparation for the retreat, Joan had decided to shave her pussy for the first time. Below a neatly-trimmed triangle of naturally blond hair, Joan’s pussy was hairless. Her womanly pencil-thick pussy lips were exaggerated by their new-found baldness.

When Brandi appeared in the next illuminated panel, her face was completely hidden by a Rio Carnival mask, but the flaming red hair, 38Cs, and thigh-high boots were unmistakable. The rest of Brandi’s arrival clothes were nowhere to be seen. In their place, female attendants in the costume shop on Floor 2 had persuaded her to wear something Stuart found incredible because it was more revealing than anything Brandi had ever put on even in their own bedroom. Brandi’s gorgeous pear-shaped 38Cs and erect nipples were now on full display for all to see in a cupless heavily-boned corset of Corinthian black leather. Surrounding her wide hip bones was more black leather, a minipant that laced down over her flaming red mound, hardly covering her pussy, and then continued lacing right around and up the crack of her ass.

Stuart realized he should have been more prepared for Brandi’s startling transformation by the briefing on first floor. Tits and pussies of all women in the Dionysis Retreat were fully exposed at all times. He knew that but Stuart just had not yet wrapped his mind around the fact that this condition of admission would include his wife. There was little doubt about it now; there Brandi stood in all her sexed-up glory. If she had been stunning and alluring upon arrival, now on Floor 2 Brandi’s lusty image in the black leather corset/minipant/thigh-high boots costume Bayan escort was enough to take a man’s breath away. His friend Brock broke the silence. “Stuart, I’ve wanted Brandi in the worst way for years. I think you know that. We’ve talked about it. Even talked that one night when we were all so drunk about trying to get the girls into wife swapping, but I have to tell you. Your wife is the sexiest thing I’ve every laid eyes on, in magazines, on videos, anywhere. If she weren’t on the other side of these one-way illuminated panels, I don’t know if I could control the lust I’m feeling right now. Brandi looks like a sexpot fantasy, pure and simple. Any male she meets in that outfit will say anything and do anything to get into those lace-up hot pants. I know I would, and I’m your closest friend. What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Stuart grew momentarily concerned too, but quickly his overriding emotion again took over. This (lucky?) husband found himself feeling an uncontrollable lust not for a stripper or a porn star or an inappropriately sexily dressed woman at work but for his own wife of thirty years. The Cougar Game was already having one of its intended effects on the husbands. But, Brandi was on the other side of the glass and headed for an elevator to Floor 3.

A loudspeaker then projected a strong female voice reminding Stuart and Brock that they must now delay their progress into the upper floors of the Game while their wives got fifteen minutes ahead of them in the initiation proceedings. Just as the husbands realized their wait would be interminable, the woman’s voice noted that the delay from Floor 3 to Floor 4 would be even longer—a full thirty minutes.

Each husband was lost in his own thoughts as the big clock strategically placed beside their stairwell to Floor 3 ticked ever so slowly. Each passing minute was accompanied by a loud tick as the large hand moved one notch closer to their release. Three minutes, five, seven went by. It seemed to Stuart like hours. He could only imagine what Brandi had gotten into, and what or who had gotten into Brandi. Most importantly from the perspective of the designers of the Cougar Game, he desperately wanted to see, to watch her!

At the appointed moment, both husbands were on the bottom step poised bizarrely like tuxedoed track sprinters. When the loudspeaker announced, “You may proceed,” Stuart and Brock raced up the twenty treads to Floor 3.

The psychological and eroto-physical effect on both husbands was just what the designers of the Game had intended. Each lusted after their own spouse, but like never before each also lusted after the other’s wife. Knowing full well the effect his sex partner’s transformation was having on a virile male substitute standing right alongside caused each husband substantial angst. Especially since their wives were calling the shots, both husbands just wanted to rush headlong into the next experience and see what the ladies were up to.

Neither yet fully comprehended the breadth and depth of eroticism and infidelity that was about to unfold. With 6-inch boners raging in their tuxedo pants, the husbands raced towards the next set of illuminated panels that would reveal what was going on upstairs.

Dionysis Retreat Floor 3 The husbands were stopped in their tracks by what they saw. They immediately sensed things would never be the same again. For there in the illuminated panel on Floor 3 was a spa of foliage, waterfalls, and pools with clusters of people whose presence shocked them to their cores. Their scantily-clad wives had been joined by many people — mostly men — and all of them were black. Every shade of the absence of color was present from light-skinned Caribbeans to jet black Nigerians, and everything in between. Each man was an Adonis—huge chests, deeply muscled thighs and calves, and all were naked.

Stuart and Brock’s eyes alighted on one singular object located everywhere they looked across the panoramic scene. Hanging with lazy and therefore somewhat more foreboding indifference between each black man’s legs was an absolutely enormous prick. Bigger pricks than either husband had ever laid eyes on before in all their years of locker rooms at school, college, and the gym.

The black male organs looked like flashlights they were so thick, some two and even three inches. And many were ten or twelve inches long, twice the erections that Stuart and Brock had used to initiate their wives into the pleasures of raw sex. These studs were clearly sex machines capable of driving compliant women who gave themselves over to be pleasured by them up to higher and higher waves of orgasmic delight. There were several other mature women dressed like Joan and Brandi scattered throughout the spa. Drinking from long-stemmed glasses, each “cougar” was surrounded by several attentive black males.

The central alcove of the spa had a giant belching hookah and ten pipes trailing into the foliage. Occasionally, a white woman and her black Escort admirers would approach the hookah and take several tokes before moving back into the steam rooms or hut tubs. Although no touching was visible across the entire spa, Stuart and Brock could only imagine what was happening beneath the water of the hub tubs and in the steam rooms. They were deeply engaged, though disengaged; they wanted to watch.

It was time for the wives to meet Jennie Draper, creator of the Cougar Game. Jennifer Crown Draper (Jennie to her friends and lovers) was a 56 year old knockout. From high cheekbones to slim ankles, every inch of her 5’11” frame was perfection. She had married and divorced five powerful handsome men in the professions and executive management. Not a one of the five could keep up with her wit, her joie de vivre, her self-confidence, her raw intellect, or her voracious sexual appetite. Most people in town assumed Jennie had taken as many lovers when she was married as in her more freewheeling days before or since. Jennie may have been a cougar, but Jennie Draper was no slut. She had broken up lots of marriages, and triggered more multi-orgasmic hours of intercourse than any other woman in the city, but men chased her (always had and still did), not the other way around.

When Jennie simultaneously tapped Joan and Brandi on their shoulders, both women practically jumped out of their skins. Slowly they turned with lowered eyes, drawn ever slowly higher to what they thought would be some guy’s monstrously large cock. Instead, their furtive glances revealed fishnet stockings encasing impossibility long legs atop peep toe red satin high-heeled mules. Raising their eyes still higher, they saw fully-exposed bulbous 36Ds on a shelf bra inside a see-thru men’s dress shirt, shirttail out. Jennie Draper looked gorgeous in gold bracelets and large gold hoop earrings. Her make-up was perfect, her demeanor was calming, and her words allowed the wives to take a deep breath for the first time in 90 seconds.

“So, glad you two decided to join us for the evening’s adventure. I’m Jennifer Draper, creator of the Cougar Game. Although I don’t own or operate the Dionysis Retreat, I did create the concept of the six floors of initiation events you two will experience tonight. Remember you have shown a great sense of adventure just coming here, and you can decide to stop the evening on any floor level at any time.”

“Your husbands and (if you so choose) your new lovers will always follow your lead. That’s the way we play the Cougar Game; you are in charge. I’ll always be close by if you ever have any doubt about that. Throughout your first evening here, just look to me for guidance if you’re uncertain about what to do. For now, you could go check out that closest hot tub over there. But you look like you’re dying to ask me some questions, right?”

“First,” said Brandi quietly, “Why are all the men around here black?”

“That’s actually easy to explain,” responded Jennie. “It drives your husbands absolutely crazy with lust (lust that you can channel) to watch you around these enormous black cocks. Husbands have dicks or pricks. These are not; they’re ‘cocks.’ You’re already beginning to appreciate the difference I suspect. That’s why we celebrate so blatantly their long thick cocks?”

“And second,” Jennie continued. “As I think you’ve already noticed, these black studs make excellent eye candy for building our own female lust. Like men, we Cougars don’t associate sexuality just with relationships; we Cougars like our visual stimuli too. There you’ve heard it; I’ve called us proudly ‘Cougars’ for that indeed is just what we are, and you may wish to be one too.”

“Finally and most importantly, long thick cocks feel really good; they make for wild uncontrollable multiple orgasms unlike anything most women have ever experienced. Tonight is your chance to find out! On the upper floors things get more touch-oriented. But here on Level III you can look all you want. Indeed the rule on this 3rd Floor is no-touch, only look.”

“As first-timers, I suggest you go dangle your toes in that closest hot tub, have some more champagne, and then later maybe try the hookah. I’ll come and check on you again in a few minutes. Remember your husbands are always a level below you in the Game. They’re enjoying watching, but not what you do here, not until you decide to move on to Floor 4. Have fun?”

Brandi and Joan stepped as inconspicuously as high heels on marble and a natural self consciousness about their fully exposed tits and pussies could allow towards the steaming swirling water. Sitting on the edge of the hot tub, they reached down to take off their expensive new shoes and boots from the Costume Shop on Level I. Before they could do so, however, their glasses were refilled. In the relaxed and chemically-induced state of sexual arousal they had already reached, both wives took another moment to look around. The first thing they saw was a sign beside the hot tub which read

Ladies, Leave Your High Heels On At All Times While In the Retreat. So What If They Get Wet. Moreover, You Never Know When You May Get A Chance To Leave Heel Marks on the Ceiling. So, Ladies Don’t Take Your High Heels Off!

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