The Cougar Game

For millennia, sexually unrepressed women from Cleopatra to Catherine the Great, to Wallace Simpson, to Marilyn Monroe and Pamela Anderson had held an awesome power over any man who wasn't crotch dead. Their wives could now harness and channel sex drives--their own, their husband's, a potential lover's, or anyone who lusted after them. Such capability created power, and Stuart and Brock could see that the power relations between the husbands and their now sexually-charged wives were rapidly changing. Jennie smiled as she watched the two husbands on hidden camera as they approached the next twenty steps with trepidation.

Stuart and Brock labored up the stairs to Level 5.

Dionysis Retreat: Floor 5 Floor 4 initiation activities of sexual exploration transform naturally into Floor 5 debauchery. Brandi and Joan's bodies had certainly responded as expected to six sets of lips and twelve hands probing their every erogenous zone and orifice. As the wives reached out to their new potential sex partners, their ever more impatient moans grew louder and louder.

Entreaties of "Oh, yes, right there!" signaled their consent. As they did so, the entire stage was raised up on hydraulic lifts and passed through a hole in the ceiling to arrive on Floor 5.

The wife/initiates were handed tall glasses filled with an elixir of honey and Red Bull to wash it down, a powerful mixture often used as the ingestion source for date rape drugs on college campuses. But here rather than barbiturates to induce stupor, caffeine had been substituted to accelerate the release of Brandi and Joan's endorphins. In case their natural sensual reaction to all the foreplay had not produced enough sexual energy, the Game designers intended each new initiate to approach first couplings at the Retreat with a sexual hunger bordering on frenzy. The wives pussies ached, their nipples reddened and elongated, and what had been erasure-head clits swelled to large marbled orbs hypersentive to the slightest touch. Brandi and Joan were prepared in mind and body for a life-changing sexual adventure.

The Performance Chamber transformed quickly into a new erotic setting. Two black marble platforms each with a black leather and chrome fucking chair bolted atop rolled onto center stage. Each was three and a half feet high, just the distance from the soles of a man's feet to the root of his penis. The two altar-like structures were encircled by matching amphitheatres containing enough curving seat pads on three levels for perhaps thirty on-lookers each. The amphitheatres were steep so altar events would take place close to the surrounding seats, less than ten feet from the on-lookers in the middle row, closer down below and slightly farther away from the top row of seats.

Most importantly, each altar's fucking chair lived up to its name. As designed by the Bauhaus followers of Le Corbusier in early twentieth century Berlin, the undulating black leather and chrome lounge chair's elegant simplicity had markedly improved on the chaise lounges where Cleopatra had seduced Mark Anthony. Rising from a stable dropped footrest to overlay a peaked ridge of chrome that naturally fit the contour of a bended knee, undulations of strong taut leather continued downward to a deep V where asses nestled before the leather circled below a chrome bar and then rose asymmetrically to a long comfortable back and neck support. The whole structure was overengineered to support two adults in passionate rough sex without the slightest give or creak. The genius of the design lay in the positions for intercourse accommodated so naturally by the shape of the leather planes in the undulating surfaces of the chair. Hence, this icon of modern design had been nickname "the fucking chair."

Tingling with a sexual fever they had never known before, Brandi and Joan were led to their respective altars of initiation. The ceremonies would take place simultaneously but neither woman would see what was happening to the other. These were individual matters to be decided by each of the wives/initiates based on their own logic, instincts, and impulses. No one doubted the ultimate outcome would be an act of wild intercourse and mind-bending orgasm, a definitional act of infidelity the women knew their husbands would be watching. But such conflicting issues were the farthest thing from their sex-riveted minds. Brandi and Joan's only immediate questions were their choices of sexual partners, the pace at which their defilement would proceed, and the number of repetitions before the Cougar Game ended at midnight.

From her chrome and leather chair Brandi turned to look at the Dionysis Retreat members at her feet in the lowest circle of seats. None of them were men with whom she had experienced foreplay on Level 4. Similarly, at waist level, onlookers who were not her lovers lounged about, many smiling encouragement in her direction. Only when her eyes rose to the top row did she see the cocks she had played with downstairs.

And lots of cocks there were: long narrow cocks over a foot in length hanging almost to the knee, thick cocks the size of a Coke can that she couldn't imagine would fit inside her cunt. One mammoth three-inch diameter phallus was short perhaps no longer than Stuart's penis. Another three-inch cock was almost twice that length and looked like RamCola's, maybe it really was. A fourth cock was curved with a distinct left veer about one third up from its root. Another had crimson veins throbbing and pulsating in a spider web across the length of the shaft like pencil-size ropes.

Finally, her sixth potential lover who called himself Capstone had a nine incher (50% longer than her husband's). Intriguing to Brandi, this last two inch thick cock was topped by a wide-flanged mushroom-shaped head. Brandi figured the extra wide 3 inch rim of this man's cockhead would rub continuously against her G-spot. Such a phallus would relieve for sure her burgeoning curiosity about just how intense an orgasm induced by a big cock could feel. She wanted to experience that without forcing her love canal to double its breadth in the first moments of her extramarital fucking. Thereafter, she knew Capstone would be able to use her released juices to open her up three inches deeper than Stuart ever had gone.

But she was less intrigued by length than by thickness. An incredible feeling of being "filled up" by a man's thickness not his penetration depth was what made black cock the mind-blowing experience she had heard it could be. Although she wasn't ready to stretch her cunt to accommodate a Coke can, she liked the idea of Capstone's wide-flanged cockhead maintaining continuous contact with the inner walls of her still tight and relatively narrow vagina. She wanted a mind-bending G-spot orgasm to start her evening's final adventure.

Joan had a similar line-up of cock varieties presented to her. But as her laced-around-the-crotch minipants pinched into her pussy lips, she first wanted a lesbian tongue job to soothe the stinging and yet relieve the aching need she felt between her legs. A beautiful buxom woman in African headdress and sporting a large strap-on black dildo awaited her nod. Joan motioned her to come down, and her Cougar Game began in earnest.

Stuart and Brock had always wondered what it would be like to peek in on intimate relations between Brandi or Joan and a new lover. However, nothing had prepared them for the exhibition in an amphitheatre which awaited their gaze behind Floor 5's illuminated panels. Though both couples had discussed threesomes, no observers other than the wife-watching husbands had been contemplated prior to their entering the Dionysis Retreat. Yet, here before their eyes, dozens and dozens of costumed and masked observers were going to witness Brandi and Joan's infidelities.

Just as neither woman could see the choices made by the other initiate, neither husband was able to view more than one altar at a time. The illuminated panels were designed in such a way that Stuart had to watch Brandi and only Brandi while Brock had to watch Joan and only Joan. They could of course have wife swapped their illuminated panels and peered in on their neighbor's act of marital infidelity. But in Jennie's experience, this appealed to fewer than five percent of the husbands brought to experience cuckolding at the Retreat. If a man was to be cuckolded, he wanted to confirm it himself.

So, Brock watched as Joan motioned down the woman with an African headdress named Usa Vondora. She stood to display a giant black dildo attached by thick elasticized beige straps around her waist and thighs. Her strap-on phallus swayed menacingly in front as Usa descended to the fucking chair. Joan rested her own ass on the middle rail of the fucking chair and immediately perched one of her heels up atop the highest end rail intended by the Bauhaus designers for back of the neck support. Except they knew, sometimes one wanted a good tonguing of one's clit. Usa understood immediately and slid one leg through under Joan's raised leg. Straddling the middle of the chair and facing Joan, with her ass on the lowest level leather crease, Usa's mouth was exactly at the level of Joan's pussy.

Cunt eating is an art form, and just as Joan had hoped, Usa was an expert at it. First, Usa removed and unlaced Joan's minipant using only her teeth. It took much longer that way, but Usa knew the wife/initiate would be driven crazy by the delay. Joan was writhing by the time clit lapping and tongue diving started in earnest. The experienced bisexual woman took Joan several times to the heights of passionate oral sexing without letting her go over the top to an orgasm.

"You bitch!" yelled Joan after one particularly close but determined ending. "Finish me, ravage me, make me come," she screamed.

In a blink of an eye, the powerful woman lifted Joan's hips off the padded middle bar of the fucking chair and slid them purposefully down the steep leather seat. At the bottom of this path, Usa's strap-on dildo waited, pointing straight up at Joan's cunt. The shiny ebony dildo looked like a black marble obelisk, eleven inches long and at two inches diameter it was as wide as a Red Bull can.

Arresting the downward progress of Joan's pussy just millimeters from her strap-on's anvil-shaped cockhead, Usa looked up into Joan's eyes and waited for her consent. A moment went by, and time stood still. Jennie Draper held her breath. Stuart's wide-open staring eyes narrowed, and his jaw dropped. Usa's arm muscles spasmed as she held Joan frozen in space. Joan's blood-filled engorged cunt lips were suspended for the moment hanging just above the piercing upright spear Usa had hoped she might get to use to plumb the depths of this new wife, initiate.

Then, Joan nodded her assent, and a piercing scream of orgasmic pleasure echoed throughout the 5th floor,

"Oh, yes.... My gawd! That feels so good!"

Usa had dropped the white woman such that Joan's full body weight left her impaled on eight inches of the upright dildo. Normally, this first penetration of Joan's cunt would have ended about as deep as Stuart had always ended, at roughly a depth of six inches. But because of the excess lubrication each wife/initiate had been expelling for hours, and because of the surprise dropping of her full body weight, and most of all because of the astute design of the fucking chair, Joan found her cunt opened up to greater depth like a pierced peach.

Because the eight-inch depth of Usa's first penetration, two beyond Joan's prior fuckings with her husband, felt immensely good, Joan immediately wondered whether Usa's artificial cock had anything left. Daring to look down, Joan saw three more inches of black dildo remaining below her distended pussy lips. Looking up, Usa was just all smiles, grinning from ear to ear. She'd found another hot one and knew this was the beginning of many similar male-playing roles with this new wife initiate.

Soon the two women were humping up and down in a quick-step cadence that took Joan deeper and deeper into unchartered pussy territory. Screaming, "I'm coming, I'm coming,"

she felt Usa's powerful hands upon her shoulders pressing sharply downward, and then Joan realized she'd bottomed out! All eleven inches of the artificial cock were buried in her stretched out long tube of flesh that constituted the walls of Joan's former tight short pussy, now a distended deep cunt. Just that recognition would normally have put Joan over the top. But in addition in this case, every nerve fiber of Joan's very being screamed out at once for orgasmic relief. She spasmed and shook all over, with firecrackers under fluttering eyeballs in response to the black dildo on which she was impaled.

Brock looked on with admiration and disbelief. His wife had in fact once, while very drunk, inserted a Red Bull can a little ways into her pussy just for fun, but now she sat before him with eleven inches of comparable two inch wide phallus buried deep up in her inner organs. And she was clearly enjoying herself. Indeed, the lesbian coupling resumed, and Joan got off seven (yes, seven) more times before climbing off her lover, kissing, and assisting Usa back up into the "stands."

Brock didn't quite know if he should allow himself to experience relief or whether he dared to feel disappointment. Surrounded by black horsecocks, Joan had chosen to pursue infidelity with a lesbian instead. Of course, the long thick black strap-on dildo Usa Vondora used on his wife had changed the contours of Joan's cunt forever. Just as he and other white males had always read, Joan might never be able to feel his 1½ by 6 incher again. Not with the way Vondora had filled Joan up to a depth of eleven inches with her two-inch-wide artificial penis. Still, Joan had not exactly "gone Black," so maybe she would "Come Back." Perhaps Brock could still give her creditable orgasms with his standard issue white penis.

Curious and wondering, Brock returned his gaze to Joan's amphitheatre. His burning question of whether he would ever again be totally able to satisfy his wife sexually didn't have long to wait for an answer. Joan's gaze scanned the third row of seats. She crooked her finger and called next for a handsome black stud named Rebel to descend to the stage.

Jennie smiled with deep satisfaction over the progress of this session of the Cougar Game. Almost every wife/initiate she invited to the 5th Floor chose to cuckold her husband. Jennie's 980 batting average remained secure. Her vision of a voluntary association of sexually active experienced white women controlling their own sexuality and opting regularly for more and better sex than their husbands could offer was coming to fruition.

Rebel had been a perfect sexual temptation to put before Joan. He looked like a toned sophisticated movie star but exhibited a kid-next-door personality. His deeply-veined twelve inch cock measured just under seven inches around its spider web-looking shaft. Some of the almost two and half inch width was the high protruding veins. But this width was not his cock's most notable feature. Instead, it was the veins themselves.

Rebel's cock made a woman feel like he was thrusting with a corkscrew motion. Pussy lips, especially longer swollen experienced pussy lips, were pulled and tugged this way and that by the heavy veining up and down the entire length of his shaft. That meant his lover's clit was constantly being bombarded with tactile sensations. Not the occasional glancing blow by a cock shaft but an almost continuous rubbing and tugging of his lover's pussy lips pulling continuously at the woman's clit. This unusual anatomical phenomenon made for some of the audibly most intense orgasms the Dionysis Retreat had ever recorded. Many of Rebel's lovers had found that in his absence only big sex toys with similar heavily-veined shafts would do as a substitute. As the prerecorded tape showed Rebel approaching Joan's altar, Brock sank deeper into his elevated chair overlooking the scene from behind a one-way mirror.

Raucous noise erupted from the other amphitheatre of the 5th Floor. Brandi was screaming in ecstasy as wave after of orgasms reached a crescendo that threatened to cause her to pass out. She had chosen for a first heterosexual mating outside of marriage, the black stud named Doughboy. Although only eight inches long, Doughboy's cock was thicker than anything the mind contemplated a penis should look like -- a phallic absurdity. RamCola's eleven inch length made his extraordinary cock look proportional, thick but proportional to other big cocks all cougar women had seen pictured on the Internet, just bigger in all dimensions.

Doughboy's cock, in contrast, was just unreal. Its eight inch length made its 3 inches of diameter look positively insanely squat. Yet many Retreat women chose Doughboy for their first truly big cock experience, and many continued to mate with Doughboy regularly when they wanted to repeat the unique experience of having their pussies stretched out completely and utterly—i.e., when they wanted to be "filled up." The reason was that Doughboy's consistency was firm but pliable like kneaded dough, not rock hard like Candyman's elongated stick. Blood flow made all the difference. No matter how many vessels tried to get maximum systolic pressure to the edge of Doughboy's cock, they just couldn't complete the diastolic journey without a spongy soft layer of flesh appearing right around the great squat shaft. So, a woman could get stretched by Doughboy's manmeat that enveloped and pushed this way and that, without feeling she was riding a baseball bat.

Still, the approach of such a weapon was a daunting first-time experience. Jennie saw the fear in Brandi's eyes and helped boost her confidence. Perched at eye-level across from the reclining beauty on the fucking chair, Jennie caught her attention with a whistle, winked, and mouthed the words,

"Go ahead; take the chance. You'll never regret it."

Brandi had smiled back and then with two hands, she spread open her waiting pussy lips into an inviting entrance soon to be opened wider still. On-lookers could see her inner ring of kegel muscles open and then close down to perhaps an inch in diameter of pink knotted flesh. After Doughboy, they all realized her cunt would never again squeeze Stuart's 1½ incher like that. Brandi knew it too; Jennie Draper's pamphlet Guide to Big Cock Sex had made this consequence of an initiation into the pleasures of big cock sex abundantly clear.

Yet something more powerful pushed Brandi ahead. She was deliberately choosing to change her body to magnify her own pleasure, just like choosing to wear a nipple or clit ring of sexual jewelry. Here of course the impending change was much more permanent. But Brandi wanted it to happen. She wanted Stuart to find, as Jennie's pamphlet suggested, how different it was to practice putting golf balls at his wife's gaping cunt. If she got the timing just right, Brandi would be able to clinch her kegel muscle enough to slow the roll of the in-coming ball and keep it from disappearing into the unseen depths of her new man cave.

After all, Brandi thought to herself, she didn't have to squeeze her husband's 6 by 1½ inch cock tightly. She did have other orifices that Stuart was always trying to breach, and hand jobs or tit-fucking could also get Stuart off. In any case, Brandi was determined to proceed to the pinnacle of female pleasure by allowing her cunt to be filled up.

As Doughboy approached, several first-row Retreat member women anointed Brandi's pussy lips with a desensitizing oil used first by the kings of African tribes when they deflowered ceremonial virgins. After attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and pinching the other between thumb and forefinger, Doughboy angled his cockhead into her reddening gash. One last consenting nod of Brandi's head, and Doughboy's cockhead was pressing forward between her taut folds. The sensation was one of flashbulbs of searing pain as a phallus the size of her first born's head pressed across the threshold into her vagina.