Cougar in a College Bar
You've seen this general storyline before and for that I apologize. However, this story derives from an IM session I had with a thirty-something MILF with an abnormally filthy mind. She inspires my fantasies.
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When Dan first entered the world of gainful employment, his first job had him posted at a client's corporate headquarters in Raleigh, North Carolina for a few months. The assignment wasn't so bad, insofar as two of his friends were still attending North Carolina State, located in Raleigh. Dan worked, they studied and, more often than not, they met at various bars around campus for drinks later in the evening.
This story goes back to that time.
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He wasn't that surprised to see her hanging around the corner of the bar, near the dance floor. He'd seen her in this place before; many times, in fact. For the longest time, her patronage had perplexed him.
It wasn't so much that she seemed above it, or too good for it, but this particular bar simply wasn't frequented by people her age, situated as it was so near to North Carolina State's campus in Raleigh. Not that she looked old, or even out of place, really.
On second thought, perhaps she was somewhat out of place, given that most of the patrons of the bar were in their late teens and early twenties. To Dan's now-practiced eye, she was clearly in her thirties, and probably on the downward slide toward forty.
Of course, "downward slide" is probably the wrong phrase. It implies old . . . frumpy . . . boring. And very clearly, she was none of these things.
At least based upon Dan's observations thus far. That he had seen her at the bar on a number of occasions proved Forest Gump's adage: life is like a box of chocolates -- you never know what you'll get.
On some nights, she really did look out of place. Low heels. A pair of khaki pants. A form-fitting yet still very respectable white oxford buttoned just above the swell of her cleavage, the starched collar flipped up. Her French-manicured nails and engagement ring were evident when she lifted a Cosmopolitan, the rose-tinted liquid dribbling into her mouth over the soft, muted red of her full lips.
And then there were other nights. Nights like this one. Nights when she made an effort -- for whatever reason -- to fit into the demographics of the bar. To be sure, an up-close-and-personal examination may have revealed very faint crows' feet at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. But that's all that gave away her true age, or at least an approximation of it.
It certainly wasn't her attire on these nights. There was only one way to describe her manner of dress: age-inappropriate. Not the moo-moos of certain grandparents, either. The other way, towards the clothes favored by girls Dan's age. Girls in their late teens and early twenties. Heels. Skirts that showed soft knees and tanned thighs. Super-snug Baby Gap tee-shirts or tank tops.
To look at Kristen Vickers tonight, one would never guess that she recently celebrated thirty-eight years on this earth. The open-toed, four-inch heels revealing bright red toe nails certainly didn't give it away. Neither did the silk skirt, the bottom hem of which brushed lightly against her taut thighs. And as she sauntered toward the bar earlier in the evening, the white, ribbed tank top that clung to her torso screamed "teeny bopper."
Actually, it didn't. Because her breasts were nearly bursting from the neckline as they wobbled with each step, it actually screamed "store bought." And because emblazoned across her chest -- distorted of course over the massive bolt-ons -- were the words "Boys Make Good Pets," the tank top also screamed "Cougar."
And gone was the muted lipstick. Tonight, her lips shone brightly. Red. Wet. Soft. But most of all, hungry. Also gone was the conservative, suburban-housewife manicure. More red. Fire engine red. Long nails.
From the other end of the bar, Dan watched her raise a dirty Martini to her lush lips. His cock stirred in his pants as he waited for the bartender to bring his drink. It stirred at the thought of her glossy lips stretched around his thickness. It lengthened at the sight of her engagement ring and wedding band flashing in the haze of the smoke-filled college bar. It lurched as he imagined her skirt bunched up around her waist, her bald, wet vagina being split apart by his cock, the thick head shoving her slick labia aside, stretching the silky inner walls of her cunt. Her long, manicured nails digging into his firm ass cheeks, willing him deeper, harder.
Her soft lips at his ear, hot breath tickling him. 'Fuck me, young man,' he imagined her whispering. 'Pound me. Stretch me. Abuse me.'
"That's six bucks, Dan."
The bartender, returning with a drink, startled him, and his daydream was brought to an abrupt and wholly unsatisfying end. His fat cock had slid down his thigh, hot, searing almost, and he felt pre-cum leak from its head.
"Thanks, Tony." Dan slid a ten-dollar bill across the bar and told him to keep the change. He nodded his head toward the woman, who was now leaning on the bar with her back to it, her eyes locked on the dance floor. "Who's that?" he asked the bartender. "I think I've seen her in here before."
"You have." Tony looked down the bar toward Kristen, then back at Dan, and raised an eyebrow. "Almost every Thursday night. More often, if her husband's traveling."
"Yeah. And she's friendly." He paused a moment. "If you understand what I'm saying."
Dan nodded. He understood. He was no stranger to the Hunt. The Cougar Hunt. It had become, over the previous few years, more than a pastime. More than a hobby. He lived for it.
Tony continued on. "But you gotta play it right with her."
"Yeah? How's that?"
"Come on strong. Real strong." He paused to pour a Bud draft for a kid in cargo shorts and a tee-shirt displaying his fraternity letters, then returned to the conversation. "Play the cocky college kid. Big man on campus. All that bullshit."
"Yeah. But she'll shoot you down, dude. Harshly, too. She can be a real bitch. I mean, just look at her. She knows she's got it. Jams it in your face. Almost invites you to play with her. And then, WHAM!"
Dan raised his eyebrows as Tony moved off to pour a few drinks for some sorority girls waving to him from the other end of the bar.
Dan thought he knew where this was headed. There are patterns to these types of women. Modus operandi, if you will, that they follow. But each Hunt is different because, alas, each woman is different, with her own method.
"But don't get discouraged," Tony continued. "Walk away. Take it like a man. Move on to the next girl."
Dan smiled. He definitely knew where this was going now.
"But make sure the next girl is young. Our age. Twenties. Flirty." Tony paused for a moment. "Oh, yeah. And make sure she has a small chest. No tits, Dan. Hit on a young chick with no tits and you'll get your reward."
Dan lost the thread on this one and confusion must have showed on his face.
"C'mon. Look at the tits on that woman. She didn't buy them for herself. Or for her husband. They're for guys like us. She loves to show off. To show what she's got. It'll drive her abso-fucking-lutely CRAZY if you shrug her bitchiness off and move on to some no-titted slut. Makes her feel . . . I don't know . . . like she's got to prove herself or something."
Dan was a bit skeptical, and it again must have showed.
"Trust me, dude. You play her this way and you know what?"
"She will rock your fucking world. Trust me, dude. I've hit that before. Several times."
Dan wasn't too surprised at this revelation. A bartender in a college bar, getting laid? No shit?
Tony nodded as he wiped his hands on a bar towel, proud of himself. "She'll do anything. Anything you want. No boundaries."
Dan smiled broadly now.
"And the best part is, you don't even have to ask. She likes it a little rough. So just roll her over if that's what you want. Straddle her face. Whatever."
Dan's cock smiled along with him now.
"Just trust me on this. Send the little slut housewife into a jealous rage by moving off with some teeny bopper college bitch, and she'll be putty in your hands." With that last bit of advice, Tony gave a wink and moved off to serve another patron.
Dan picked up his drink and moved away from the bar, circling around the dance floor trying to get a better angle on Mrs. Kristen Vickers, to see her from the front. As he moved, he laughed to himself. 'It's a funny thing, this Cougar Hunting,' he mused. 'I'm the one on the Hunt, but what do I have to do to take the Cougar down? Play the Hunted. Be the Prey. I have to let her think she's in control.'
He stopped to stand on the opposite side of the dance floor for a moment and took in her beauty. Kristen took another sip of her Martini, her inflated chest pressed hard against the thin fabric of her tank top.
'No bra,' Dan thought to himself, her thick nipples tenting the soft cotton.
Her eyes were alight but fixated. She was staring, but Dan was not sure at what. However, given what he now knew of the lovely Mrs. Vickers, he could certainly fathom a guess. A man. A young man. A college student. Certainly not her husband.
But that was okay for Dan's purposes. In fact, it was preferred.
She bit her lower lip gently and Dan could see her shuffle her thighs, rubbing one against the other. She glanced at the elegant watch draped around her thin wrist.
Dan glanced at his own. 9:30. It was getting late. 'Probably has to get home soon,' he thought. 'Can't be out all night. Her husband will worry. Or get suspicious. How many movies can she see with the "girls," anyway?'
He made his way around the dance floor slowly, weaving between throngs of people. The vodka sloshed in his glass as he moved. Still half-full, he downed what remained of his drink before he reached the bar, saddling up on an empty stool next to Mrs. Vickers. He raised his glass to Tony, signaling his desire for a re-fill.
Tony's eyes locked on him for a moment, then shifted to Kristen, and back to Dan. He smiled and gave him a curt nod, as if to once again say, "Trust me."
While Tony poured his drink, Dan took a quick peek at her from the corner of his eye. Her back was to the bar still, leaning against it. Her elbows behind her, resting on the rail of the bar, caused her overstuffed breasts to thrust forward, to put themselves on display, and her engorged nipples serves as beacons to anyone that cared to home in on them.
Dan's mind registered again the filthy words that stretched across her ample chest and he groaned from deep in his throat. Her eyes flitted briefly his way before quickly moving back toward the dance floor, ignoring him.
Tony returned with his drink and Dan slid a twenty dollar bill across the bar. "Keep it," he said, ensuring that Tony got a little back for his helpful advice.
He then turned toward the dance floor, mimicking Kristen's position, elbows back on the bar. He then titled his head slightly toward the older woman. "I'm a boy," he announced, his eyes still cast on the dancing throng.
Her head turned his way slowly, her dirty blonde tresses brushing over her shoulders. It was barely there, but Dan could see it in her eyes: amusement. Like a cat about to pounce on a mouse.
But it disappeared just as quickly as it had presented itself, and she turned away again.
"And I'll let you pet me," Dan continued, a slight smirk distorting his lips. He knew that such an inflammatory statement would anger her, but he said it anyway. It was a means to an end. And the end had her married cunt impaled on his twenty-something, sperm-spitting cock.
Mrs. Vickers' head turned slowly, again, toward him. There was no amusement in her bright blue eyes this time. Only fury. Her soft, shiny lips were set in a scowl.
"Excuse me?" she asked, the irritation plain to hear in her soft southern accent.
Dan smiled, all arrogance and swagger and cockiness. He was waiting for Mrs. Kristen Vickers to take him down. Knock him down a peg or two. And then he'd saunter off, as per Tony's plan. He'd already picked out the little college slut who'd get to wiggle her demin-clad ass against his crotch right in front of the older woman, enraging her. She had no tits but was showing off what little she had in a baby-blue tank top.
He put his mouth close to Kristen's, inhaled the feminine scents of her shampoo, her perfume. "I'm a boy," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her inner ear. She didn't show it, but the sensation caused goose bumps to pop along her tanned arms and sent a shiver down her spine. "A big boy, but a boy just the same. And you can pet me all you want, ma'am."
He pulled away slightly, waiting for her reaction. His eyes drifted to hers, only to see fire. He'd done it. She's going to rip him apart now. He felt it, wanted it, couldn't wait for it to happen. The teeny bopper in the baby blue tank was at the periphery of his vision but he refocused his eyes on Mrs. Vickers. And waited.
But she was conflicted. That some young kid would have the nerve to talk to her that way! But she felt her nipples harden. And her vagina moisten. And it wasn't lost on Dan. He smirked again.
"You . . . arrogant . . . little . . . prick!" she spat. "Where do you get off talking to a married woman like that!?! I'm old enough to be your mother, for God's sake! I should have you thrown out of here, right on your little scrawny ass!"
Dan held up his hands, the smirk firmly in place and backed off a step or two. "Sorry, lady. I meant no offense."
He turned and eased onto the dance floor to find his bait. He saw her, and she saw him at the same time. He barely heard her joyous giggle over the constant thumping of the music. They weren't strangers, Dan and the college-aged bimbo. During his stay in Raleigh, he had met her through one of his friends and she became a convenient fuck whenever he, or she, struck out elsewhere.
They met on the edge of the dance floor and she snaked her thin arms around his neck, giving him a soft kiss on the neck. Dan took her in his arms and they danced for a few moments before he turned his attention back to the Cougar at the bar. It was clear she was still fuming over Dan's brazen approach. Or was she fuming that he had moved on to a little college girl?
Dan slid his hand down the young woman's back to her small, tight ass cheeks and gave them a squeeze. The two continued to dance and Mrs. Vickers looked on in a rage. Her fury over Dan's audacity had subsided, then flickered again: he had chosen a flat-chested sorority bitch rather than pursue HER with more vigor.
His eyes still on Kristen, he leaned in and gave the girl a kiss on the mouth, their tongues battling each other as their lips smashed together. Through this, Dan's focus remained on the older woman, his eyes roaming up and down her lithe body, over her open-toed heels, up her bare, tanned legs and over her age-inappropriate skirt. He wondered briefly whether she was wearing panties or a thong. Or anything, for that matter.
They lingered on her protruding chest, taking in the words distorted by the swell of her inflated breasts. He tore his eyes away from her distended nipples to once again make contact with his Prey, and slipped his tongue into the college girl's mouth at the same time. His eyes smiled at Mrs. Vickers as he pulled away, raising a questioning eyebrow.
Kristen sucked the last drops of her Martini from the glass and turned slightly, distorting even more the wicked words across her chest, placing the glass on the bar, a ring of red where her glistening lips had been. She straightened her skirt and strode toward the dance floor, her movements more those of an angry mother than a Cougar on the prowl.
Dan's eyes widened at the woman's seeming aggressiveness but he held on to the bimbo, sticking his tongue in her mouth again. He was taunting her now. 'You rejected me, Mrs. Vickers? Fine. I'll take this little slut home, then.'
Kristen came to a stop, hands on hips, just before reaching the young couple. The young girl felt her presence and turned to look at her.
"Get lost," Mrs. Vickers ordered her. "I need to talk to my son about this positively disgusting behavior."
Dan smirked. 'Nice move,' he thought. He patted the young girl on the bottom, telling her it was okay, and she skipped off looking for another young man to entertain her for the evening.
He then turned back to Mrs. Vickers, facing her on the dance floor. The music around them was deafening. He didn't move. He just waited for her to do something.
Kristen raised her left hand, her wedding band and engagement ring glimmering in the bar's overhead lights. She beckoned Dan to follow her with a long, painted nail. Dan, of course, complied, maintaining the farce that she was the Hunter and he was the Prey. He followed her off the dance floor and she turned to face him.
Dan came to a stop just before her, her massive breasts against his muscular chest, so close that he could see the light powder on her cheeks. He leaned to his left and whispered in her ear. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
"You think you're pretty hot stuff, don't you?" she spat back.
He straightened and smiled. "That little bimbo you just shooed away seems to think so."
Mrs. Vickers harrumphed, crossing her arms beneath her marvelous breasts; they nearly swelled from the neckline of her tight top. "Tell you what, little man. My husband and kids are expecting me home in about an hour. That means you've got half-an-hour to make a great pet."
"Well, ma'am. I'm not even sure what you're talking about here. All I know is that if I don't catch up with that girl, she's out of her with some other guy."
"Tough break for her, sweetie. Follow me," she commanded, turning on her heel to go.
Dan caught her gently by the arm. "I don't know about this, ma'am. After all, you're married. And . . . uh . . . I seem to recall some comment about you being old enough to be my mother."
"Quite true. I'm also an upstanding member of the PTA and a Daughter of the Confederacy. But that hasn't stopped me yet. Let's go."
Like a good puppy dog, Dan followed the older woman through the crowded bar and out the front door. But once outside, he again took her by the arm.
"So what am I supposed to do? Leave a sure thing behind the bar for you? For a married lady old enough to be my mom who has to be home to her hubby in an hour? Why would I do that?"
Kristen smirked and dropped her eyes to his crotch. "I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you?"
Dan decided to toy with her a little. He shrugged his shoulders. "So tell me, ma'am. What incentive do I have to even find out? That girl back there has little in the way of morals, you know."
"Actually, I don't know. I don't know the first thing about her, nor do I care to. What I do know is that the PTA mom standing before you has less morality than an entire brothel full of little sluts like her. If you wanna pass that up, be my guest."
With that, Kristen turned and strode purposefully toward the parking lot. Dan, groaning deep in his throat, decided that enough was enough and dutifully followed the older woman. He smiled as he sought to catch up with her. 'Hook. Line. Sinker. I caught the Cougar by the tail.'
As they entered a parking lot down the street from the bar, Dan heard the double chirp of an alarm being deactivated. "Where we going?" he inquired.
"Sweetie," she sung in her sweet southern drawl, "we're not going anywhere."
With the push of a button, the sliding door of a deep blue Chrysler Town & Country mini-van slid open. Kristen leaned in, fiddled with a child's car seat and, when it came loose, pushed it toward the back of the van.
Dan's knees quivered.
"Get in," she ordered, and Dan again complied. He squeezed past the older woman, her bloated breasts squishing against his forearm as he did so. He climbed into the mini-van and half-slid, half-crawled across the first captain's chair to the next, on the far side of the cabin.