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While the husband’s away, the cougar will prey

wendy52   June 14, 2022   | 11928 Views
As she opened back hatch, her skirt rode up a few inches; despite my sense of shame I couldn’t resist checking her out. stepmom

“While the husband’s away, the cougar will prey, Chapter 1”

I’d seen her sometimes in the supermarket, and my Mom had once pointed her out as the wife of one of the directors at the company for which my Dad worked as a storeman. Although I guessed that she was in her late forties or so, I found my admiring gaze drawn to her each time.

I was eighteen years old and, due to my shyness, was still a virgin, though I didn’t admit it to my friends. To a eighteen-year old virgin, she was intriguing and arousing: she oozed class, but with a hint of teasing, she was more than twice my age and, as if that were not enough, she was married. I sometimes fantasised about her. I wondered how many times she had had sex. I knew how many times I had done so.

 

She was slim, well-toned, and although she was of average height her slim build made her legs look long. Her breasts were ripe, and jigged alluringly but subtly as she walked. I wondered whether in fact she selected her bra to allow for some movement, though. It was appealing to think that she dressed to catch men’s attention, however unlikely it seemed, given the classiness that she exuded. Her dress sense spoke rather of a woman who was confident in herself – and in her appearance.

Her clothes looked well-tailored and expensive. Usually was wearing a business outfit. Sometimes she wore a silky shirt under her jacket. If wearing trousers, they were close-fitting, emphasising her long-looking legs. If wearing a skirt, it was usually modest in length – knee-length or just an inch or two above it – but often with a teasing split in the back or side, offering tantalising slight glimpses of thigh. Her auburn hair was short, and, like her glasses, enhanced her confident and elegant appearance.

On the fateful day, I was walking home from playing pool with my friends, and spotted her as I cut across the supermarket car park. She was pushing a trolley full of groceries. Her legs looked shapely in a sheer film of tan-colored nylon; in my imagination she was wearing stockings rather than tights, though I knew this was highly unlikely. Her skirt reached mid-way down her thighs, and its hem flicked enticingly against their backs as she walked. Her heels were high, causing her hips and shapely bottom, to roll in a way that drew my eyes – and, I noticed, the eyes of some other guys, eyes on her too. Her pin-stripe jacket fitted her closely, and looked smart.

She was about ten yards ahead of me, and I slowed down to match my pace with hers. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no cars were approaching as she moved between two lines of parked cars. I avoided her eyes and pretended to look at my watch. I blushed slightly, suspecting that she may have noticed that I was eyeing her up.

I hoped her car was be parked on the far side of the parking lot, to prolong my view of her, but all too soon she stopped by the rear end of a large, black 4x4. I speeded up slightly, trying not to make it obvious. As she opened back hatch, her skirt rode up a few inches; despite my sense of shame I couldn’t resist checking her out.

I was just a few yards from this classy, sexy woman. My heart was beating more quickly and I felt a bulging in my shorts. She seemed to be messing about with one of the carrier bags, and, as she lifted it, one of the handles must have snapped. The contents fell to the ground. A bag of sugar and a bag of flour burst and shed their contents. A cabbage rolled away and under an adjacent car.

“Oh, shit!”

The expletive shocked and excited me. Although I didn’t know her, it seemed at odds with her classiness, and, in my imagination, it hinted at another, less lady-like side to her. She squatted on her haunches to pick up some of the items. Her skirt rode up her nylon-clad thighs. To my shock – and delight – I saw a darker band just below her skirt hem, and realised immediately that she was indeed wearing stockings.

I gave a low cough to avoid startling her, and tried hard to avert my eyes from her well-toned thighs and stocking tops.

“Can… can I help you?” I offered.

She looked up and smiled.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

She smiled at me. Her eyes were brown. Shyness at having eye contact with me made me look down at the ground – though I couldn’t resist glancing at her thighs as I squatted beside her. I’d never seen a woman in stockings for real, and lust grew in me to be beside a woman wearing them – and an older, married woman at that.

I placed my pool cue on the ground and picked up some of the grocery items. I felt hot with desire and embarrassment. Inside her pin-stripe jacket, the top buttons of her blue satin shirt were open, revealing a short, pearl necklace, and I could see the crease between the tops of her mature breasts. Between her throat and cleft her skin was marked with faint lines and wrinkles.

I knelt down and retrieved the cabbage from under the adjacent car. Between us we scooped up the carrier bag from underneath, and lifted it into the rear hatch of her 4X4. She smiled at me again, and rested her hand on my arm. Although I was sure that it wasn’t intended in that way, it struck me as erotic. I glanced down and my eyes rested on her wedding and engagement rings.

“Thanks again. It was good of you.”

I looked briefly into her smiling eyes, framed by her designer glasses, at her slightly lined face and at her short hair.

“Don’t mention it. It was no trouble,” I replied.

“Whereabouts are you heading? Perhaps I could give you a lift – as a way of thanking you,” she said. Her voice struck me as sexy, but maybe any voice coming from her would have seemed so.

“I… it’s okay. I… I don’t mind walking…”

My shyness annoyed me. She smiled again.

“I’d like to give you a lift, at least part way. Where do you live?” she persisted. I smiled shyly and told her the area.

“That’s on my way,” she insisted. “The least I can do for your kindness is to give you a ride part way… get in.”

I was sure that her double “give you a ride” was unintentional, but it aroused me. I sat in the passenger seat, and tried, unsuccessfully, not to look at her legs as she got in and sat beside me. Once again, I noticed the darker band of tan just below her retreated skirt hem. She shuffled and eased her skirt hem lower down her thigh to cover it. As she swung to take the seat belt, her jacket gaped open. The tailored fit of her shiny blue shirt partly showed the shape and ample size of her breasts.

The car set off. I tried to keep my eyes ahead, but they did stray to her legs from time to time. She made easy conversation. I explained that I was working as a waiter in the evenings, but hoped to go to college the following year. She asked where my dad worked and nodded when I told her, adding that that was where her husband worked. I thought it nicely modest that she didn’t add that he was one of the company’s directors. She asked me about my pool playing, saying that she quite fancied learning to play to surprise her husband. Her next words, though phrased innocently, sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.

“You don’t fancy giving me a lesson, do you?”

I was taken aback. Married. More than twice my age. Asking me, a total stranger, back to her house. It was ludicrous to think that she might have ulterior motives towards someone like me. If she was toying with me, rather than my imagining it, I was sure that she must be exacting a kind of gentle revenge for my ogling of her. In any case, I feared giving the impression of reading ulterior, and especially sexual, motives into what was surely intended as entirely harmless.

“I, er… I could do, er, Mrs…” I stuttered.

She laughed softly, but without any hint of unkindness.

“You can call me Wendy. And you’re..?”

“Daniel.”

 

“Well, Daniel, I hope I don’t make you nervous. I’m only asking you to give me a pool lesson,” she said reassuringly.

I tried to regain my composure.

“No. I… I’m just a shy bloke, that’s all, er… Wendy.”

I glanced at her hand on the steering wheel, and briefly focused on her wedding ring and flashy engagement ring. Using her first name made me blush, given that we had only just met, and given our wide age difference and her married status.

“You’ll give me a lesson, then, Daniel?”

“Okay. I just can’t help noticing – Wendy…”

Again, the use of her first name sent a tingle of excitement down my spine.

“…I mean, you’re married, aren’t you? It might not look good if…”

She laughed softly again.

“My husband’s working away this week. He has a lot of business trips. He loves playing pool with his friends and… I feel a bit left out sometimes…”

Her voice trailed off wistfully. I couldn’t help wondering whether her tone of voice was slightly contrived, to be honest.

“I reckon he’d be surprised – and delighted – if I could have a game of pool with him!” she said.

It seemed pathetic to find further excuses. Besides, I was finding it arousing to be alone with her, and the thought of being with her longer was very appealing. On the other hand, I was afraid of making a fool of myself. I was already half-hard, and feared that she would notice. And if – far-fetched as the thought appeared – if, by the remotest possibility she was to make a move, however slight, I dreaded revealing my lack of experience.

I forced a smile.

“Sure. Yes, yes if you like… Wendy…” I faltered.

As we drove along the road that almost passed my house, I hoped nobody would see me who knew me. Meanwhile, however, although she didn’t speak non-stop, Wendy made a fair bit of light conversation. I enjoyed the sound of her voice, and enjoyed shooting secret glances at her legs and breasts.

We entered the wealthier end of town, and I looked enviously at the immaculate, detached houses and well-tended lawns and gardens. After a few more minutes and a few turns she slowed the car down and pulled onto a driveway in front of a 3 car garage.

I got out of the car, feeling excited and nervous, and held my pool cue across my groin to hide the bulge in my jeans. She slid out of the car and I followed her to the front door, trying in vain not to watch the mesmerising sway of her hips and flicking of her skirt hem.

We walked down the hall. I glanced into the open doorway of the lounge, and noticed the quality carpet and expensive-looking suite and display cabinet. We passed the dining room, similarly affluently furnished, and she led me into a games room off the kitchen.

As well as a high-quality pool table and lighting, there was a refrigerator, a long, low, leather sofa, and a small table made of some exotic wood, maybe teak. Wendy slid off her pin-stripe jacket, and draped it over the arm of the sofa. I glanced furtively at her breasts. Her blue satin blouse shimmered. It fitted her enticingly, neither clinging to her nor quite hanging loosely either. The size and shape of her ample breasts were discernible rather than obvious.

 

She looked me in the eye and smiled. Her lips were painted red, and her brown eyes looked kindly through her glasses.

Would you like a beer or something, Daniel?”

“Thanks. A beer would be nice, thanks… Wendy.”

She kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. Her bum was nicely rounded under her plain black skirt, and the subtle slit in the back gave a tempting glimpse of her lower thigh.

Arrived back a few moments later with an open bottle of Budweiser and a glass upturned over the neck. She passed it to me, and I took it from her hand. Again, my eye rested briefly on her wedding ring and at the large diamond of her engagement ring. A shudder of excitement and guilt ran through me at the evident reminder that I was alone with another man’s wife. She had a glass of red wine in her hand. I thanked her and placed the beer on the small table.

“I know you may prefer to drink it from the bottle, but I thought I’d give you a glass in case, hon.”

HUN! I could hardly believe my ears. Surely this couldn’t be innocent speech – could it? – I wondered, yet her face betrayed no emotion. Either she was naively unaware of the effect she was having on me, or she was teasing me, I decided. The possibility that she was genuinely flirting with me seemed too far-fetched to consider.

I set up the fifteen balls on the table and unpacked my cue. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her run her slender finger around the rim of her glass. It seemed oddly erotic. I glanced at her face, her slightly lined throat, and at the rise and fall of her ripe breasts under her satin shirt. I was about to demonstrate how to hold the cue and how to angle it for the break.

 

“Whoa!” she laughed. “You need to explain the rules and what the aim of the game is first!”

I tried to make myself speak slowly, anxious that my voice and speech didn’t betray my excitement and nervousness. She nodded her head intelligently as I explained.

“Okay… let me watch how you do it. Then you can show me…”

I showed her a couple of shots and she stepped forward to try. She leaned forward and I found it impossible not to look inside her blouse as it puckered open. The tops of her breasts were visible, but although I knew she was wearing one, I couldn’t see her bra. Her shapely bum stuck out, emphasising her slender legs.

“How do I hold the cue?” she asked, apparently trying to work out the best angle and place to hold it. I was sipping the beer from the bottle.

This was getting increasingly embarrassing. My erection was growing with my excitement. I began to wish I hadn’t agreed to come with her. There was no easy way out, though. I tried to guide her hands and to stand close to her to adjust her hold on the cue. Again, my eyes latched onto her rings, then switched to her glossed lips, her brown eyes and large framed glasses, and her drop ear rings. I admit that my gaze wandered down her throat again and to the top of her cleft inside her blue, shimmering shirt.

She adjusted her stance and, to my horror, her bum brushed my erection. She pulled away. Then, as if the contact wasn’t embarrassing enough, she let slip, “What the..?” and glanced round. She gave a little giggle as she realized what had happened.

“Ohhh, sorry, Daniel. I… sorry, hon.”

 

I felt the blood rush to my face again at her second use of the term of endearment.

“I’ll tell you what, Daniel. Why don’t you show me a couple of shots?”

She sat down and crossed her leg. She adjusted the hem, but only after I’d glanced her stocking top. I took a sip of beer and tried to maintain my composure. It really did seem now that she was playing with me, teasing me. I was sure that she was trying to embarrass me for leering at her.

Self-consciously, I demonstrated a few shots. I glanced over to explain what I was doing. She uncrossed her leg slowly and crossed her other leg. I was getting more fraught now – more aroused, but also more annoyed at her playing with me, as this time she gave me a longer view of her lacy stocking top before pulling her skirt hem down to cover it. She had a slight smile on her face, and her eyebrows were raised. Her slender legs looked long and shapely.

That was it, I decided. I tried to sound as polite as I could, and asked if I could use the bathroom. My mind was made up to leave, but it would take me a good three quarters of an hour to walk home (if she offered me a lift I would decline), and I needed the bathroom before setting off.

She told me there was a bathroom just across the hall from the dining room. I smiled politely and walked out of the games room. She had really annoyed me now, and although I wouldn’t use them to her, a number of names came to my mind as I returned to the room.

I froze in my tracks.

She was lying on the leather sofa with her back leaning against the arm. Her shirt was undone, and hanging loosely from her shoulders. Her breasts were bared above her bra. They looked firm and ripe, and I guessed that they were C-cup. Her bra was black, half-cup, ornamented with mesh and lace. Her eyes were closed. Her red-painted lips were parted. So were her shapely legs. Her plain black skirt was hiked up high, and barely covered her crotch. Her tan stockings were shiny and contrasted with the lacey tops.

She was holding her husband’s pool cue the wrong way up. The thick end was inside her skirt, and her hands were nudging back and forth, and up and down. She gave little sighs of pleasure. I watched her exposed breasts rise and fall, and stared at her half-taut nipples.

She opened her eyes and smiled at me.

“Like what you see, Daniel? Why don’t you come for a closer look?”

I stepped slowly and silently towards her. She hiked up her skirt to her waist. I had to stifle a gasp. Her pussy lips were small, neat, and shaved. Her black suspenders framed it deliciously, holding my eye to it. Just above her slit she sported a narrow strip of dark, short hair, like a landing strip. She gave little thrusts of her pelvis, and I watched the shaft of the pool cue sliding lewdly in and out of her engorging flesh.

With a slow movement of her pelvis she expelled the wooden cue out of her opening, and I watched it slide free of her, and watched her pussy lips close and fold back into place.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. She flicked her tongue slowly across her painted lips.

“I reckon, Daniel, that you have a shaft at least as hard as this – show me YOUR cock, hon… And I’m more interested in YOUR balls than those with numbers on that table…”

I avoided her eyes as I pulled off my tee shirt, feeling strangely coy.

 

“Why don’t you allow me, hon?” she said softly.

She sat up and bent forward. Her breasts swayed deliciously above her bra, and her nipples were now hard and jutting out. She unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans, and tugged them down. My eyes locked onto her slender fingers and her wedding ring.

“Don’t be shy, hon… I want you…” she cooed.

I blushed again at her actions, her voice, her wanton declaration of her illicit desire. Her hands hooked into the waistband of my boxers and eased them down.

“Oh yes, Daniel, oh, hell, yesss!” she hissed enthusiastically. I felt a twinge of embarrassment as my erection sprang free and jutted close to her face as she worked my jeans and boxers down to my knees. To my combined horror and delight she leaned forward and kissed my throbbing tip three times. I groaned at the sight and sensation of her married lips on my sensitive flesh.

“Get your fucking clothes right off, Daniel,” she murmured, her voice sounding slightly husky now.

Her expletive dispelled my shyness and nervousness, and I shoved my jeans and boxers to my ankles and yanked them off. Wendy was staring at me, her mature eyes roving over my eighteen-year old body. She cupped her left breast with her hand and caressed it. It looked rude, and very arousing.

“I hope I’m not too old for your liking, hon,” she said, softly. It was a self-assured statement rather than a question, but I needed to respond to her.

“No Wendy. I think you’re a sexy lady…”

“No, Daniel. I’m not a lady. I’m a cheating wife. A slut. A tramp. You won’t be the first young boy to fuck me, and you won’t be the last. I’m a cock-hungry cougar. I seek out my prey and take them.”

I was shocked, but her words fuelled my lust for her. I reached down and groped her breast roughly. She smiled encouragingly, and slid onto the floor, beckoning me to join her. I did so eagerly. It seemed the more wanton; the sofa would have been adequate, and I knew the house must contain more than one bedroom. Yet here we were on the hard floor.

Her wantonness seemed emphasised by her reluctance to shed her remaining clothes. I glanced around in vain for any sign of her panties. She retained her skirt, her bra, her blouse, as well as her sheer tan stockings and her black suspenders. Not that her clothes covered anything; her blouse lay open, her breasts were bared above her designer bra, and her skirt was hiked up to her waist. It all lent a craven impression, as if the act of removing her remaining clothes was an unnecessary distraction, and I liked the way that she cared nothing about her clothes getting dusty or creased.

I knelt on all fours over her and fondled her breasts, fascinated by their feel and their appearance.

“I’m not a lady, am I, hon?”

“No, Wendy. You’re a… a…”

“Tell me, Daniel! Tell me what you think of me!” she urged.

I looked into her mature, married face. Her expression was intense.

“You’re a sexy slut, Wendy. You… a woman your age should know better – especially a married woman your age… you’re… you’re a cheating tramp, Wendy…”

 

I felt ashamed to be speaking to her like this, and wouldn’t have dreamed of doing so uninvited, but the nastiness of it was strangely liberating and arousing.

“Am I… am I the first older woman you’ve been with, hon?”

I began to rub my erection against her well-tone thigh, savouring the feel of her soft skin and of the firmness of her flesh.

“You’re… you’re the first woman of any age I’ve been with, Wendy…”

She groaned with delight at my response, and nudged my face to her breasts.

“Nuzzle and kiss those mature, married tits…”

I planted kisses on her yielding orbs and savoured the feel of her hard nipples against my lips. I sucked each in turn into my mouth. Her fingers caressed the nape of my neck, my back, and my shoulders. I ran my fingers over her sides through the warm, slippery fabric of her shirt, and explored the mesh and lace of her bra below her up-thrust breasts.

“You’re so hard, Daniel, hon. Don’t rub your cock against me too much, though. I don’t want you to cum too quickly…”

I lay beside her on the floor and ran my hand over her belly and thighs. I played with her suspenders and caressed the soft skin of her inner thighs. She parted her legs, and I stared at the narrow strip of close-trimmed hair above her slit, and on her slit itself.

She took my hand in hers and led it to her pussy.

“Fondle and play with that experienced, married pussy, you hot jock,” she gasped.

She was soft down there, soft and yielding and inviting. I rubbed her slit and I found her clit, hard and sticky. Instinctively I began to frig it with my fingertip.

She moaned softly and drew my head to her breast again.

“That’s so good, hon… fondle those pussy lips as well. Get my married pussy ready for your hard, virgin cock, Daniel..”

I kissed and sucked each of her breasts more ardently, tonguing each hard nipple alternately as I continued to caress and frig her. It felt tawdry but exhilarating to think of her husband touching her like this – and to imagine other young guys like myself doing so when he was away on business trips, too. I stared into the eager face of this married woman who was old enough to be my mother, and swept my eyes, and my hand, all over her body, before resuming playing with her pussy again.

“Oh, Wendy… I want to put it inside you…”

“What do you want inside me?” she urged.

“My cock. My hard cock. It… it’s never been inside a pussy before. I… I want it in your married pussy, Wendy. I… I want to fuck it. I… I want to cum inside it, you… you nasty slut…”

She groaned at my taunting words, and, no doubt, at the arousal in my voice.

“Do it! DO IT!” she implored. “It’s yours for the taking…”

I raised myself onto my elbows, and watched her left hand encircle my erection. I saw and felt her wedding and engagement rings against me. I watched her guide me into her opening, and a shudder of delight ran through me as I felt her body engulf my throbbing member.

I kissed her throat and neck, then her breasts again. I thrust inside her slowly, and deeply. I saw her raise her knees and saw and felt her lock her legs around my waist, clasping me tight as I pumped in and out of her. We were both grunting and murmuring our pleasure.

I began to up my pace, thrusting faster and harder into her. Her eyes were closed, and her face was serene. I swept my eyes over her face and breasts as I ground into her. I knew I wasn’t going to last very long, and hoped I wouldn’t disappoint her. She whispered over and over how good it felt, encouraged me with gasps of “Yes, that’s it! That’s it!”, and urging me, “Shoot it, hon! Shoot it!”

I did. I panted as I emptied myself into her mature, married body, thrilling in the feel of her arms and legs locked around me, thrilling in the sound of her ragged breathing. I began to slow down.

“No, hon. Keep going. Make your slut cum now… with your cock and your fingers…” she pleaded.

I carried on thrusting, though my erection was beginning to subside. I reached down between our perspiring bodies and found her hard clit again. I stroked it and began to frig clasped me tight again.

I felt her twitch a few times. It felt good, and reassured me, despite my inexperience. Her arms and legs clasped me tighter, and I felt her begin to buck and grind underneath me. I did my best to keep thrusting as best I could as her whole body began to convulse. Then, with a few final thrusts and quivers, she, too, was spent.

She gave a low chuckle of delight as I rolled off her.

“Wow, hon, that was quite something!” she sighed. Perhaps we’d better get dressed soon and finish our drinks. And maybe we can do it again some time. I’ll be honest, I’m not into affairs. They’re too complicated. But…” and she gave another low chuckle, “casual, no strings fucking. Wendy’s into that alright!”

 

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