Cougars on the Prowl Read online

  COUGARS ON THE PROWL

  A collection of five erotic stories

  Edited by Miranda Forbes

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2010

  ISBN 9781907761515

  Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2010

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Bigtime Viva Jones

  Orgasm Bandit Garland

  Fast and Foxy Toni Sands

  Lust on the Lot Thomma Finland

  Cougar Catch Kaysee Renee Robichaud

  Bigtime

  by Viva Jones

  Jed woke, as usual, with a blinding pain behind the eyes that only a strong coffee and two aspirins could cure, and a mouth that felt like a dog had just died in it. He stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen, where he put on the kettle, before going to check the mail. Spotting a huge mound of flyers on the ground floor, he shuffled down the stairs, the chill of the wood stinging his bare feet. Riffling through the pile he found the usual taxi and takeaway cards, pizza delivery menus and a brochure regarding home improvements. Hiding under the local paper, however, was the envelope he’d been dreading, addressed in his own handwriting – the first three chapters of his latest novel, rejected yet again.

  Jed resolved to make the coffee extra strong.

  Ten years earlier he’d been considered a literary enfant terrible whose first novel, about a group of disaffected inner-city teenagers, was released to widespread critical acclaim and stayed on the bestseller list for months. His second novel, about a serial killer, had had the misfortune to come out just a week before several vicious murders rocked the nation, putting an end to the lucrative promotional tour his publisher had been planning. The third resulted in such fury and condemnation that it effectively ended Jed’s career altogether. For the life of him he still couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about: in parts of Europe 14 was, after all, the age of consent.

  Sipping his coffee he glanced at the letter – the usual platitudes, not sufficiently enthusiastic, we wish you every success, etc, etc – before the front page of the local newspaper caught his eye. The headline read: Local Hits Bigtime, and was accompanied by a picture of a buxom blonde proudly showing off a pink-covered paperback. A sick feeling creeping into his stomach, Jed started to read: Local woman Tammy Greene, 47, describes the moment she learnt about her huge six-figure book, TV and film deal, and explains how creative writing classes at the local community centre gave her the determination to carry on.

  Three years earlier, newly-divorced and universally rejected, Jed had moved out of the marital home and into a one-bedroomed flat above the pub with the intention of either making an astonishing literary comeback or drinking himself to death. Just as he thought life couldn’t sink any lower, a representative from the local community centre approached him about teaching a creative writing course. A national competition had been announced to find an unknown bestseller, and he would be responsible for selecting one entry to represent the region. The money wasn’t great, but had at least meant some income, and, he’d persuaded himself, the potential of indirect publicity should he find himself mentoring the winner.

  With serious misgivings, Jed had accepted.

  He had 13 students: middle-aged women looking to prove themselves, rambling old-timers keen to tell their life stories and an elderly lady called Gloria who was midway through what appeared to be a pretty good gothic murder mystery. And then, ten minutes into the second class, in walked Tammy. She may have been a few years older than his traditional ‘type’, but she was like a goddess come to deliver him, with her flowing blonde hair, the shortest of short skirts, and a pretty pink top which struggled to reign in her breasts, large and voluptuous, like balloons signalling a children’s party, and the fun and joy that was to come.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t make last week,’ she told the group cheerily. ‘Only I was doing perms at the old people’s home. I’m a hairdresser, beautician and nail technician,’ she added proudly. ‘But inside, I’m really a writer.’

  Jed found it hard to believe, but could barely take his eyes off this ageless siren. As she took her seat in the front row, her skirt rode up, revealing her plump, welcoming thighs. How long had it been since he’d had a woman, he asked himself. Too bloody long, came the reply. And he’d never had an experienced woman who knew herself as well as he suspected Tammy did.

  They were discussing characters, and character development. Jed urged the group to ignore stereotypes, and to consider every character, even minor ones, as fully-formed identities with fears, emotions and ambitions of their own.

  ‘Allow everyday situations in your own lives to help you form your characters,’ he started. ‘In the queue at the supermarket, for example. Study what the person in front of you has got in their trolley. What are they going to do that night? Do they live alone, or are they throwing a party? Are they happily married, do they have kids, is this a first date or a special occasion?’

  He produced some items for sale that he’d cut out of a supermarket brochure. (Jed had surprised even himself with how much effort he’d put into this course.) ‘OK, an elderly man has bought two pork chops, a few carrots, a deodorant, some washing-up liquid and four packets of biscuits. What does this tell you about him?’

  It was Tammy who spoke first. With a smile that could raise the leaning tower of Pisa, she suggested, ‘He likes pork chops and carrots, eats loads of biscuits and is running out of washing-up liquid and deodorant?’

  Jed looked at her in despair before Gloria cleared her throat. ‘He’s a widower, struggling with life since the death of his wife. He can’t cook, as she always did it for him, but he knows how to grill a chop and learnt from her how to boil and mash carrots. He let himself go a bit initially after she died, but since meeting a rather charming widow through his daughter, he’s getting to grips with life again and is catching up on all the housework and his own personal hygiene. His daughter’s bringing her children round for tea tomorrow, so he’s stocking up on biscuits. He’s going to ask her if she thinks it’s too soon to remarry, and she’s going to give him her blessing.’

  A muted round of applause rippled through the room. ‘Well done, Gloria,’ Jed told her admiringly. ‘That was quite brilliant.’

  He offered Tammy, who was pouting unhappily, a conciliatory smile. ‘You’ve got to look beyond the superficial to find your characters and their stories. Use your imagination. Be inventive and creative about it.’

  Tammy continued to pout, but a steely glint appeared in her eyes, and suddenly she made an inventive and creative move of her own. Unseen by her fellow students, she parted her thighs to reveal a pink g-string which was struggling, and failing, to contain her plump and enticing lips. She shifted slightly, encouraging the material even further to one side, so that the intricate and mysterious form of her cunt was not only visible, it was calling out to him, teasing him. This cougar knew exactly how to demand his attention.

  For the rest of the lesson, all Jed wanted to do was push aside Tammy’s desk, lower her to the ground and thrust his stiffening cock deep inside her. Instead, he sat down, masking his bulge with an A4 notebook, and continued, painfully, to elicit characters from his group. When the class was over, and the participants filing out, Tammy made an approach.


  ‘I can see I’m going to need extra tuition,’ she told him. ‘Cause I’m determined to make it as a writer.’

  ‘I live above The Black Horse,’ he said with a gulp. ‘We could always have a session there.’

  ‘I’d like that. You stallion.’ She giggled cheekily.

  They were halfway up the wooden staircase when Jed couldn’t wait any more, and grabbed her from behind, swung her around and kissed her, hard and deep. To his relief, she kissed him back just as enthusiastically. Before he even knew it was happening, his right hand had migrated down her body and up her skirt, and his fingers were sliding in the place where lacy fabric met moist flesh, and his middle finger was alreadytunnelling inside her vagina, while his forefinger began to stroke her clitoris.

  Her breasts were still bouncing in that tight pink top of hers, but happily for Jed, Tammy pulled it up, revealing a see-through pink bra he’d never have imagined on a mature woman; boy, did she know how to defy stereotypes and pull it off, Jed marvelled. With a smile that could harden butter, she reached round to unclasp it. As her breasts were unleashed, Jed wondered how long it had been since he’d held such a joyful, jubilant pair. Smearing her nipples with her own juices, Jed then licked and sucked and devoured them; her nipples felt large and sweet in his mouth, and he thought that he could happily die, there and then, smothered by her fleshy skin.

  There were worse ways to go.

  Tammy was now rubbing compellingly at the swelling in his jeans, and just as he thought he was going to come, she paused to unzip his fly. ‘We are an eager beaver, aren’t we?’ she asked, dropping to her knees and reaching inside Jed’s boxer shorts for his cock, which sprang out with alacrity. She took it in her mouth, gently playing with his balls at the same time. Her lips were full and sensual, and her experienced tongue seemed to know exactly where to lick next, and how much pressure to apply. Jed had to hold himself back from coming straight away, shooting hard and deep down her throat. Holding the stair rail and looking at the blank walls for inspiration, he forced himself to imagine that Tammy was Gloria, and that it was Gloria’s papery lips that were now enveloping his cock.

  This bought him some time.

  Next, Tammy produced a condom from her handbag and peeled it onto him with practised ease. Then she turned around, spreading her legs and jutting her generous bottom out, the stretched and dampened material of her thong still pulled over to one side. Parting her buttocks, Jed held back for a minute, admiring this woman he barely knew, and her hairless anus and cunt. Although his cock was almost screaming to enter her, he first poked his tongue at her greedily, devouring her juices and immersing itself in her folds. Then he let it burrow down into the tightness of her anus, savouring the earthiness of her taste. Finally he could wait no longer, and plunged himself inside her, amazed at how wet and warm and welcoming she felt. He pounded a few times – it had been months after all – before coming in a jagged, violent and incredible eruption.

  ‘That was rather superficial of you,’ Tammy taunted him cheekily as he clutched her, fighting for breath. ‘What about my pleasure? Are you going to get inventive and creative about that?’

  ‘Get upstairs and give me a couple of moments,’ he panted. ‘Then I’ll make you come like a fucking thunderclap and a whole lot more.’

  Inside his bedroom, Tammy took off what was left of her clothes as if she’d known him for weeks, and he marvelled at her generous proportions and the ease at which she felt in her own skin. Her breasts were sweeter than melons, and her pussy, pink and hairless apart from a neatly-tailored strip – not unlike an arrow, Jed persuaded himself, pointing to the manifold pleasures below – tasted of warmth and lust. Her stomach was rounded and well-fed, her thighs brushed like silk against his cheeks, and her buttocks, surprisingly firm, were like dewy mountains in whose valley he longed to slide.

  They had sex from then on every Thursday night after the course. He’d read and correct her week’s work as they indulged in each other’s bodies:

  ‘Your apostrophes are all over the place,’ he grunted as she raised her legs so that they rested on his shoulders, allowing him to drive himself deeper inside. ‘Its should only ever have an apostrophe if it’s short for “it is” or ‘it has’. And since when does “hers” have one?’

  She’d simply giggle and change position, surprising him with the suppleness of her movements more like a 20-something than a 40-something, as if she’d spent years honing her body like a gymnast. Suddenly they’d be lying side by side, with him taking her from behind, and she’d swing her top leg back over him, and place his middle finger on her clitoris, and she’d rub herself up and down against his finger until she came.

  ‘Don’t ever write crap like “work colleague”,’ he admonished her while parting her buttocks and rubbing his dick between them. ‘A colleague by definition is someone with whom you work. It’s tautology.’

  But by God, he had to admit, as he eased the tip of his cock gently inside her anus, was she willing to be taught.

  ‘Your heroine doesn’t have two choices,’ he snapped as she lowered her cunt inches above his face, opening her lips up with her fuchsia-painted nails. ‘You make a choice between two or more things. Like now. I’ve got a choice. Do I lick your cunt until you’re screaming like a banshee, or do I push you down and ram my cock hard up inside it? That’s a choice.’

  And the delightful thing about Tammy was that, no matter how much he abused her work, or her grammar, or her ideas, she simply rejoiced in their sex. Was there a room they hadn’t done it in, a position they hadn’t tried? Nothing seemed to escape her febrile mind: she’d smother her pussy in whipped cream and honey and not allow him to stop until every last mouthful was eaten; she’d tie him to the bed and blindfold him, lowering her cunt onto his face and then teasingly raising it again as he reached up to eat her; and she’d sit astride him, clamping herself hard down on his cock, her jubilant, still-perky breasts pushed in his face, and then guide his middle finger towards the delicately ticklish opening of her anus, and sit back to let it enter just as much as she liked.

  If she could only write like she could fuck, Jed thought in desperation; she’d win the Man Booker every year.

  For six nights a week he’d fantasise about her, trying to remember every detail of her body, from the dimples in her buttocks to the hard nub of her clit. He’d wank himself to sleep imagining he was spraying her buttocks, or her breasts, or deep inside her throat. He’d beg her to come over more often, but she’d refuse, insisting, with that girlish yet defiant giggle of hers, that she reserved the other evenings for her writing. By day he’d walk the streets, catching brief glimpses of her in the hair salon as she permed and highlighted, waxed and manicured, but whenever he begged her for an appointment, she’d politely tell him they were fully booked.

  One Thursday night, after a particularly intensive class on dialogue, she forced him onto the bed and tied his hands to the headboard with a fake Burberry scarf. Then, enjoying the sense of power this gave her, she sat herself the other way round on him, squeezing his face with her thighs, and stretched forward like a cat to take his cock in her mouth. He popped his tongue out and started snaking it between her folds, relishing the different textures and tastes he encountered. Giggling, she lifted herself above him and pulled open her lips until she was totally exposed to him, and he memorised that image: her swollen lips, her pinkness and her wetness, wanting almost to drown in it. He could still taste her juices on his lips as she began to stroke herself, and a purple talon massaged her clitoris, then popped up inside her vagina, where it gathered more wetness before returning to her clit again, stroking herself rhythmically, while rocking to and fro on her haunches.

  It was his own personal viewing, Jed thought: the show to end all shows. Of all the works of art he’d ever seen, there was surely no finer specimen than Tammy’s cunt.

  The show over, Tammy lifted herself off his body, turned around so that she was facing him, and guided his cock deep insi
de her.

  ‘But you’re going to submit my work, right?’ she asked as she rode him, leaning forward to dangle her breasts in his face.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘For the regional competition, silly,’ she went on, stroking his balls beneath her. ‘That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? The chance to represent your borough in the nationwide writing competition. To win an agent, a publishing deal. That’s what I’m doing all this for.’

  Finishing the words, she came with such a deafening cry he thought the windows might break.

  ‘Oh Tammy, Christ.’ Jed felt his hard-on slipping away. This was the moment he’d been dreading. ‘Tammy, you’re great and everything,’ he started as she panted above him. ‘I mean, your work’s really spirited and you’ve come a long way. But Gloria’s writing’s just outstanding, she’s got a real chance of winning.’

  Abruptly, Tammy climbed off him and off the bed. ‘You were never going to submit it, were you?’

  ‘No, I–’

  ‘Then why did you let me sleep with you? Why all the extra tuition if you didn’t think I stood a chance?’ She was pulling on her clothes now, hiding herself away from him for ever.

  ‘Well, I thought that was obvious. I mean, what we do together, you know–’

  ‘You’re such a loser!’ she spat at him through her tears. ‘After everything I’ve done for you, you’re submitting Gloria?’

  Jed was naked, vulnerable and still tied to the bed. ‘Tammy, you’ve got to be reasonable–’

  ‘Does Gloria give you mind-blowing sex? Does Gloria give you blowjobs that make your dick feel like a NASA rocket? Does Gloria let you stick it up her arse?’

  ‘If you could just untie me–’

  ‘I’ve had it with you, Jed. I feel so betrayed.’ She was fully dressed now and slipping away from him; ending the chapter in which she’d played such a major part. ‘You wrote a crappy novel about ten years ago and you think you own the world. But just you wait. If I can’t do it with you, I’ll do it alone. There are loads of women like me out there who’ll want to read what I write. I’ll show you.’