0 comments/ 89527 views/ 26 favorites The Cougar Game By: sleeplesssailor 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 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 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 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! The Cougar Game What the heck, they thought. They recalled they hadn't bought the new shoes and boots anyway; the Retreat had. The two wives giggled like schoolgirls as they slid their boots and shoes into the steamy water. Leaving on your heels all night made both women think of deep penetration sex each had experienced with bottoms turned up as their husbands had lifted their ankles and placed them onto their shoulders. It was just missionary position sex but Stuart and Brock had gotten every millimeter as deep as their six-inch organs would allow. Once, Joan remembered, on their honeymoon, she and Brock had actually left heel marks on the ceiling in a sleeping car berth. She told Brandi about her memory, and they both laughed. "Heels on the ceiling" had struck a resonant chord with both initiate/wives, just as the Cougar Game designers had intended. A few more sips from their champagne and self-conscious quick glances at their surroundings brought Brandi's attention to a new sight. She nudged Joan and nodded in the direction of a woman in a French maid's costume who was whispering in her seatmate's ear. Something she was saying had gotten his rapt attention because her black male partner began growing an obvious erection. Initially, his penis uncoiled and ran down the length of his thigh. Because the two apparent amours were only ten feet away on a marble bench and because their crotches were at the wives' eye level, the reality of what was happening could not be denied. Although neither the French maid nor the black stud were touching one another, this living, pulsing sex organ thickened, straightened, engorged its veins and then rose at first imperceptibly. Bit then it lifted one, two, three inches off the man's thigh. Eventually his thick black twelve-incher stood out at a 45 degree angle. Brandi and Joan were staring, their moths agape, and their lips went dry. None of this erecting of a massive black cock was anatomically unusual but for the fact that neither wife had ever seen an erection of more than six inches. This jet black monster was close to twice that long and as thick as a Red Bull can. Each wife continued to look on in amazement at the still growing big black cock and quickly drank another long deep swallow of champagne. Jennie appeared out of nowhere again to refill their glasses once more, and remarked, "See what I mean about eye candy? Good lessen there as well for all of us. Just talking about what you plan to do with a man's cock, can make it rock hard without even doing any of what you describe." Jennie then asked if they wanted instruction in using the hookah. Both wives were relieved to be leaving the erection scene unfolding before them. What they didn't know was that this sequence of arousal and escape, arousal and escape had been carefully orchestrated for their benefit as initiates into the Cougar Game. Jennie swung her gorgeous long legs up and out of the hot tub. In the middle of the smooth arching motion, right when her crotch was directly across from Brandi and Joan faces, she made a subtle adjustment opening her legs just a bit, not unnaturally but with deliberation and a sly smile. Again, the wives looked agog at one another. Their older friend's shirttail had swished aside just long enough for each initiate/wife to get a fleeting glance at Jennie's very long pussy lips. The hairless wrinkled folds hung two and half to three inches below the edging of her crotchless fishnet pantyhose. No surprise that Jennie too was fully exposed; they all were. But each wife wondered to herself what sexual tugging and pulling could possibly have elongated Jennie's pussy lips that much? Brandi thought she spotted the flash of some golden ringlets of intimate body jewelry. Maybe the weight of that metal had stretched out Jennie's pussy lips. Soon they were to find out otherwise. Jennie's distended lips had been lengthened by literally thousands of hours of big cock sex. Brandi and Joan realized their own fleshy pussy lips (at least when swollen after sex acts) looked more like Jennie's than they did the tight-lipped crevices the two wives had seen staring back at them in their hand-held mirrors as teenagers. They didn't know it yet, but the wives suspected that by the end of the Game, if they chose to stay and play it to the end, their pussies too would be changed forever. Lips like Jennie's were a badge of honor at the Dionysus Retreat. The hookah pipe proved to be a breakthrough experience for both Brandi and Joan in finally totally losing all their remaining inhibitions. Jennie showed them how to hold the aphrodisiac-laden smoke deep in their lungs and then lean back and stare at the mosaic ceiling. After several rounds of smoking the hookah individually, Jennie encouraged the two good friends to take turns drawing the smoke and then passing it to the other woman waiting still flaked out on her back from the previous round. Twenty minutes later Jennie returned to tell the wives (with pleasant matter-of-factness) that they were actually touching each other sexually in violation of the Floor 3 rules. She then teased, "Go upstairs and get a room" and nodded toward the stairs to the 4th Floor. Helping them to their feet, Jennie said she hoped to run into them later upstairs. As Brandi put a first boot on the step to Floor 4, Stuart and Brock got tape-delayed access to the Floor 3 events their wives had just experienced. Dionysis Retreat, Floor 4 As the two dazed wives stumbled upwards to Floor 4, twelve black studs of various hues, shapes, and penis sizes donned black head-to-toe monk hoods and slipped quietly up the stairs behind them. Floor 4, unlike its predecessors, was shrouded in fog-like billowing mist. Brandi and Joan encountered many corners and intersecting passages and soon found themselves too far removed from the entryway to find their way back. They decided with some trepidation to keep moving deeper into the maze. Each sensed that other shadowy figures were moving through the same passages, neither recognizing nor ignoring their presence. The only logic of conveyance in such surroundings was to pursue a series of faint distant sounds at times indistinguishable but at other times distinctly moans, squeals, or screams (more of pleasure than of pain). Eventually, Brandi and Joan saw a faint light glowing ever brighter as they sped down a long pitch-black hall. On each side they recognized the molding frames of oddly-named doors—Spread-eagle, Jumbo, Nightstick, Lefttwist, Shorty, Stretcher, Thirteen, Double S, None-So-Fine, and Knotted. Behind many of these doors, the sounds of sex poured out into the hallway though louvered vents cut in each door. Approaching one set of louvers, Joan slid them open and quickly slammed them shut again. Volunteering nothing to her friend about the spread-eagled black male with rising obelisk of a giant veined shaft in the middle of a four-poster bed, she nudged Brandi toward the light. The closer they got, the more they wondered exactly what to do. On a circular raised red leather bed in the spotlighted area ahead, two people appeared to be energetically having sex on a stage! The wives felt a stark utter blackness behind them, shapeless without outline or guidepost, neither beginning nor ending, and it proved a little frightening. So, Brandi and Joan continued their cautious progress toward the lighted stage. Now closer to the action as if drawn like moths to a flame, they soon lost themselves in the reverie of the two Retreat members making love. Peering in closer now from less than ten feet of distance but still a little back from the spotlight, both wives could see every anatomical detail of the erotic performances unfolding before them. And what they saw whetted their appetites. A white woman that Joan thought she recognized from the Floor 1 introductions as Melinda Morris was reverse cowboying a black stud with an insanely wide cock, perhaps as much as three inches. A Red Bull can was two inches wide; Brandi had measured. Neither wife could tell how deeply Melinda was embedded on her lover's massive 3-inch wide cock. Every time Melinda rose up the huge shaft sometimes staccato fast sometimes sensuous slow, the cockhead stayed hidden in her distended pussy lip folds. That seemed incredible given the full twelve inches they estimated Melinda's pussy was travelling up and down. Brandi and Joan just hadn't yet internalized the concept of sex with big black cocks, but their education was happening fast. And they wanted to know more. Higher and higher Melinda rocked establishing a rhythm of aching moans of need on the outstrokes followed by thrusting stabs of orgasm-producing delight on the downstrokes. Then with an acrobatic dexterity belying her 58 years, Melinda spun about and rode her partner face to face. Throughout Melinda's repositioning, Michael's cock remained embedded within her and continued the rhythmic coupling. Shallow then deep, shallow deep, shallow deep in a rocking horse motion. Melinda's torpedo-shaped breasts bounced on her lover's chest and swung at his face. This proximity allowed a quick suctioning mouth to capture her tit in midstroke, garnering a new lusty grin from Michael. Kicking off her heels and planted now on flat feet, Melinda rose to the point of juncture then squatted with her full weight and really began to attack her stud's shaft with fierce bounces. "Finish me off, Michael" she entreated. Grabbing Melinda's hips with both hands, Michael stepped up the tempo of their coupling by thrusting from below like an upturned jackhammer. Feeling his frenzied pistoning to the core of her being, Melinda soon screamed out in orgasm, "Oh damn, your big cock feels so good--just THE best; it always makes me go crazy...Ahhhhhhh." At those words, Michael's huge shaft twitched, jerked and began to spasm. Deep within his groin, ounces upon ounces of hot cum boiled toward his cock's expulsion point of no return. Hopping off, Melinda's cunt made an audible pop as a bulbous plum-colored cockhead finally came into view almost a foot and a half off the black leather mattress. Michael's phallus, now fully revealed to all onlookers, was often referred to by regulars at the Retreat as RamCola, drawing an analogy to two Coca-Cola cans double stacked end to end (a 3 inch by 11 inch obelisk of ramrod straight manmeat). Dropping to her hands and knees over Michael's crotch, Melinda squeezed her torpedo tits tightly around the huge shaft. Pressing them up and down in rhythmic thrusts, she wrapped her suctioning lips around his cockhead and milked out Michael's cum. The black cock erupted five times in volcanic streams of semen spewing up on Melinda's hair and covering her dangling tits with long suspensions of white hot cum. After flashbulbs and much gasping, both "performers" fell back exhausted and satiated, for now. Raucous applause and shouted acclaim broke out from all directions. Brandi and Joan were so startled by the uproar, they clung to one another and jumped instinctively back 'til their satin-clad legs touched the edge of the stage. Peering outward, both realized they were encircled in the darkness surrounding the platform bed by dozens of intertwined couples on black leather and chrome lounge chairs lining all four walls. Sliding back out of the center spotlight of this Performance Chamber with some relief, the two women sought each other's warm embrace on the closest empty lounge chair. Stretching out their limbs and intertwining their own hips and chests the way the undulating leather and chrome chair subtly encouraged, the two wives settled in to watch the show unfolding before them. The Cougar Game was playing out just as planned. With little fanfare, Melinda and Michael's bedding was stripped and replaced, so a new couple could step to the raised platform and perform for them. Brandi and Joan were unsurprised and instead felt it quite natural when a black stud named Candyman and his partner a mature white woman named LuAnn were announced. LuAnn was a statuesque 60 year-old made up as Helen of Troy with long blonde tresses hanging to her waist in a braided ponytail. Garments were minimalist. Candyman wore a Cuban linen shirt and the standard open codpiece banana boat favored by nearly all the black men at the Retreat. LuAnn was "dressed" in an ankle-length diaphanous gown and a crotchless red G-string, garter belt and nylons. Her breasts were natural B-cups which at her age had rounded out beautifully and exhibited little or no droop. Red peep toe fuck-me down and dirty five-inch strappy heels and lots of matching red toenail and fingernail polish along with brilliant glossy red lipstick completed the outfit. In no time, the two lovers were pawing one another. LuAnn's gown came off, and the black man's cock rose up like a double-length banana, brilliant in its jet blackness. Reversing directions, the lovers slipped easily into a sixty-nine position with the black man pumping down into LuAnn's upturned mouth. Once her head was positioned just off the edge of the bed, LuAnn's red heels swung up at 45 degree angles and slipped into velvet loops suspended from the ceiling. Her ultra sheer white nylon-clad legs formed a giant totally vulnerable V directing the full attention of her black stud to a beautifully-trimmed arrowhead-shaped patch of blonde hair pointing down to the beautiful sexual organ awaiting his ministrations. LuAnn's bald pussy lips glistened in anticipation. Like all women in the Cougar Game, LuAnn's pussy was completely exposed for all to see, framed by the crotchelss G string attached to her red stretch satin garter belt. Michael's large tongue soon was lapping repeatedly at her clit, and then occasionally he nipped and sucked on LuAnn's two plus inches of gorgeous plump folds of outer lips only a sexually experienced woman can have. Throughout this mouthwork, Michael plowed one, then two, and finally three black digits into LuAnn's reddening swollen cunt. Shaping his long fingers like fishhooks and rubbing them along the upper inside wall of her pussy mound, his fingering easily located her budded G spot. LuAnn responded with more and more insistent wailing moans, "Oh, yes, do me like that, just like that!" and later "Eat away big man; make me come." Really, however, it was apparent to Joan and Brandi as well as everyone else seated in the Chamber that it was the candy stick cock, narrower by far but somewhat longer than RamCola's three by eleven incher, that LuAnn had decided to feature with her choice to have sex in this way. As with all matings at the Retreat, the woman partner was orchestrating the events and totally in control. After many minutes of blowing, tonguing, and kissing, LuAnn began deeper and deeper sucking, eventually deep throating, until Candyman's cock completely disappeared down her throat. Within seconds, the lucky black stud cried out in rapture, and LuAnn took an enormous ejaculation right down her upturned throat. Muscles along her absurdly stretched neck milked the entire copious flow of black seed down into her belly. But this amazing Cougar's face-fucking performance was not yet over. Slowly, ever so slowly, LuAnn pulled an incredible thirteen inches of cock up out of her mouth. Turning to Brandi and Joan, she smiled and then proceeded to lick her lips in a conspicuous gesture of satisfaction. Using Candyman's still erect flagpole as a handle to pull up on and rise to a sitting position on the bed, LuAnn then squeezed a last big glob of cum out of his long shaft and displayed it on the tip of her tongue turning this way and then that for all to see. After exaggerating one final conspicuous swallow, she climbed atop her lover for a long sloppy kiss. The ever less naïve new initiate/wives nodded knowingly to one another, as they realized in the pit of their own gut why this particular black stud was named Candyman. More couplings followed in rapid succession, some traditional with cock to cunt orgasms and others with lesbian dildo strap-ons, fisting, anal sex, and face or tit-fucking. Brandi and Joan noticed one constant however. All the women performers seemed to be serving the sexual needs of their black male partners, even though they remained in control. The female orgasms were indeed fierce and included repeated screams and squealing peals of delight. But both women sensed and were drawn into a new perspective on big cock sex. They marveled in awe with a new-found respect and insight at the demonstrable power of massive cocks to complete and fulfill each woman who gave herself over freely to her utmost erotic desires. Some scholars have characterized the ancient Greek sect of Dionysis as a worshipping of this eroticism, a cult of the phallus. Two hours passed, and gradually the matings revealed a pattern, one heterosexual from the far side of the room followed by one variety event from Brandi and Joan's side. When no one else remained but the two initiates, their guide from earlier in the evening Jennie walked formally in their direction and gently asked if the two women were ready to come to the stage and experience ecstasy at their own command and discretion. Brandi and Joan had each decided about an hour earlier and quite independently that the answer would be "Yes." Rising off their shared couch, each nodded their ascent. Stream upon stream of female juices had soaked their inner thighs and made two now spotlighted large wet spots on the leather couch they had just left, confirming that more was indeed what each wanted. Stepping forward towards the raised platform, Brandi and Joan were filled with not a sense of resignation but instead an eager anticipation, a longing to experience the pleasures that had been laid out before them. Any hesitation waned as the stage lights faded and a blue azure Delphic light flooded the entire Presentation Chamber, revealing all the couples who had mated for them in celebration of their initiation into the Cougar Game. Holding hands, Jennie led the two new initiates accompanying her on each side toward the raised platform. Twelve black Adonis studs lounged on the giant leather circular bed, awaiting their arrival. With sweeping gestures, Jennie invited each woman to sit in the midst of the men. When the new initiates complied and settled onto the supple leather without looking at or touching their male counterparts, Jennie then crawled to their sides and placed one of their hands on the breast of their friend and the other on a nearby black cock. The lights dimmed still further, and Brandi and Joan descended into a sea of pleasure each had fantasized about but neither had ever experienced. Twenty-four additional hands and twelve new mouths feasted upon their tender flesh. Strong massaging palms, fleeting touches, and insistent kisses across the full terrain of both women's bodies were all choreographed by Jennie from an umpire's chair towering over the circular bed. Each contact she signaled to be initiated was designed to bring Brandi and Joan one step closer to giving their consent for an ascent to the ultimate temple--the first violation of their womanhood outside their marriage beds. Many such couplings were thereafter sure to follow. Behind the one-way illuminated Panels, Stuart and Brock were awestruck. To watch their wives go on stage with a swarm of virile black men (and know it had already happened) engendered deep-seated feelings of passion mixed with guilt. Not only did the twelve black studs have cocks that put their six inchers to shame but in addition, their wives clearly exuded an erotic hunger for using these self same horsecocks to do with exactly what they wanted. That is, both husbands now saw their wives taking charge of sex, sexuality, and the sex act itself! Exactly as Jennie Draper, the creator of the Cougar Game, had intended, both husbands felt a twinge of inadequacy, excitement yes, but first and foremost an inadequacy. Having Joan and Brandi break the mold sexually had been their purpose--to create vixens where once there had been sex kittens. But a group sex orgy with twelve black studs suggested the husbands had created not vixens but voracious sexpots. 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.