Cougar Cocktales Read online

  Dear Reader:

  Buckle up and prepare for five authors who take you on an erotica journey with tales compiled by N’Tyse, whose name represents “Never Tell Your Secrets.”

  Some spin stories of “cougar” women who fantasize about seeking sexual pleasure from younger men while others find that it’s spontaneity that leads to these tantalizing escapades. And yes, these ladies are definitely satisfied with their adventures.

  If you haven’t checked out her novels, you will be excited to read N’Tyse’s Twisted series filled with deception and drama.

  As always, thanks for supporting myself and the Strebor Books family.We strive to bring you the most cutting-edge, out-of-the-box material on the market. You can find me on Facebook @AuthorZane or you can email me at [email protected].

  Blessings,

  Publisher

  Strebor Books

  www.simonandschuster.com

  Thank you for downloading this Strebor Books eBook.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Foreword Shelia M. Goss

  Catchin’ Feelings Michelle Cuttino

  The Truth About Mimi

  Kickin’ It

  Rough Rider

  As We Lay

  House Arrest

  Compromising Positions

  There’s No Place Like Home

  The Choice is Yours

  Someone Please Call 911

  Fatal Attraction

  A Million Thoughts

  Checkmate: A Cougar's Tale Shakir Rashaan

  You Should Let Me Love You Anna Black

  Madison

  Jerome

  Madison

  Jerome

  Madison

  Jerome

  Madison

  Jerome

  Divorce Party Jada Pearl

  Champagne Whores (Erotic Quickies) N’TYSE

  Victoria

  Emil

  Jackie

  Shalise

  About N’Tyse

  Dedicated to the dynamic, fabulous woman over forty—the financially independent, and the sexually liberated. You are the quintessential embodiment of feminine power. I salute you.

  —N’TYSE

  FOREWORD

  The title Cougar Cocktales caught my attention. Maybe because I’ve been known to be a Cougar myself. I’m from Louisiana so we like our stuff spicy and Cougar Cocktales doesn’t disappoint. It’s a hot and spicy read. Regardless of the weather outside, it will surely have you fanning as you flip the pages. Hopefully, you’ve read some novels by these five authors before. If you haven’t, Cougar Cocktales is a great introduction to each one of the authors’ writing styles. At some point in our lives, we all have fantasies. Let the authors of this book take you on an erotic journey. You might see some of your fantasies displayed on the pages. If you’re looking for ways to spice up your love life, then be prepared to take notes from the authors Michelle Cuttino, Shakir Rashaan, Anna Black, Jada Pearl, and N’Tyse. Cougar Cocktales is more than a simple appetizer; it’s a full sensual thrill.

  —SHELIA M. GOSS, AUTHOR OF The Joneses AND The Aftermath

  THE TRUTH ABOUT MIMI

  Most women will never admit to what I’m about to tell you, but I’m different from most. Surrounded by men my whole life, I guess their ways and thinking rubbed off on me. Why else would I find so much comfort in admitting I’m a freak? I love sex. No, not making love—SEX! Emotionless…raw, but protected, uninhibited fucking. The kind that makes weave tracks slip, inner walls chafe and spoken-for men wander.

  It also has a lot to do with my upbringing. Growing up, I was on the heavier side and a tomboy. Hanging with the guys was second nature; I became their BFF (Best Friend I Fuck). It wasn’t exactly by choice, but if that was the only way I was going to get these brothers to claim me, so be it. I was game.

  By day, I was a loyal friend to their girls. By night, I was fucking their men. I was that shoulder their girls cried on when they discovered their man was cheating. I was always overly attentive when they explained how they were going to beat the bitch down as soon as they figured out whom she was. All the while I looked at their dumb asses and shook my head, because that bitch was me. There was no way in hell any of them would or could kick my ass.

  I always kept a journal and recorded my exploits in great detail—down to the color of the condom wrapper. After looking back on one journal in particular, I noticed a pattern. Not only was I a fan of fucking, but I was also a lover of alcohol. Each night the lucky guy and I would get toasted and then get busy. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not Jamie Foxx, and I won’t blame it on the alcohol. I was always aware of what I was doing, and it was all by choice. If I didn’t want to fuck a guy, I never drank with him. Period. I was thick, not desperate. I did have my standards. No matter how limited they were…

  I’m no Zane, and this is by no means Fifty Shades of anything. It’s simply my sex life—unadulterated, uncensored and usually unspoken. By the way, my name is Mimi Jackson. I’m a forty-two-year-old, childless, never-married account executive at an upscale media-training firm. I’m saying this just to let you know I’m not some young, clueless chick. I’m an intelligent, grown-ass woman with grown-ass desires.

  I’m so tired of being misunderstood and misrepresented. I’m neither a slut nor a cougar. I’m sexually liberated. If you can’t handle that fact, I suggest you stay the fuck from around me because my temper is just as short as my list of virtues. Besides, after several of my long-term relationships ended in heartbreak and mental collapse, I promised myself I would never get close enough for anyone to hurt me again. I realize now it was actually one of my random drucking (drinking and fucking) experiences that led me back to this unwelcome realm called love—a place I said I’d never revisit, but through no choice of my own has now become home once again.

  KICKIN’ IT

  Keith and I have been friends forever, or at least that’s how it seems. He came sauntering into my office five years ago, fresh out of high school, looking to gain access to the intern program I was promoting. I liked him right away. He was self-assured, cocky and just the right amount of sexy to be some nice eye candy, but the wrong amount of life span for me to act upon my sexual cravings. He’s been in a very committed relationship since then. Whereas his girlfriend is fully committed to him, and Keith is fully committed to getting as much ass as he can on the side. We kick it, but we never “kicked” it because he’s not my type. He’s just too fucking young, and too fucking pretty. You know the type—spending more time in the mirror than any woman I know, and way too conscious of how he looks. He calls himself a metrosexual; I call his ass borderline bitch, and that’s why he’s only good for dinner on those rare no-one-else-to-do evenings. He’s very intelligent, and I love conversing with him about any and everything. That’s where we match—nowhere else.

  Here we were at our favorite Harlem lounge, sitting in the back booth next to the DJ. I was enjoying the atmosphere and the music when I decided to mess with Keith because I was feeling horny and my usual booty call canceled to take wifey to the ER. Really the bitch only had the sniffles, but this was a test and he passed it. Well, in all honesty, he had to. How are you going to be a thirty-five-year-old pothead with a $40 a day habit and no job? Easy! You find a “wifey” to foot the bill. But who was I to judge? In the beginning, his wifey was actually my good friend, and he was just her man. Somehow, over time, he and I became best friends, and she was pushed to the sidelines. She’s still trying to han
g onto our friendship ’til this day.

  Anyway, Keith and I were drinking Jack and Coke and my lips became too loose.

  “So Keith, are you planning to settle down anytime soon?”

  “Nah,” he said, chewing with his mouth open and getting on my damn nerves.

  “Well, that’s not what Phyllis told me,” I teased. “She said she has you so sprung that you’ll be buying that ring any day now.”

  “Yeah, whatever. You already know how I puts it down,” he countered.

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I said, hitting him with my sex-me smile. “Never had that inclination.”

  “Fuck outta here with that dumb shit, Mimi.” He laughed and sloppily licked his fingers. “You know damn well you’ve always been feenin’ for this dick.”

  All I could do was laugh. I looked at Keith sitting there looking all smug, smacking on his ribs like it was the last meal he’d ever be treated to. I had to admit, his hands were turning me on. They were huge with nice, long, thick fingers.

  “Yeah, I must be drunk,” I slurred.

  “Why you say that,” he asked.

  “ ’Cause I’m over here looking at those crusty shits you call fingers wondering how they would feel inside me. So you know . . .”

  “Oh really now,” he asked with a smirk. “Told you you was feelin’ the kid. You ain’t gotta front for me, ma. Just spread them legs and let me show you what I can do.”

  He licked his lips seductively and started wiping his hands with the cloth napkin he had balled up beside his plate. I took another gulp of my drink and stared him dead in the eyes.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Serious as cancer,” he said, wiping the last of the sauce from his juicy lips.

  He placed the napkin back on the table next to his plate, and then scooted over in the booth until we were shoulder to shoulder. He smelled good and his scent was more intoxicating than the five cocktails I had already consumed. I turned to see him looking at me like I was one of the ribs he was just molesting.

  “Keith, if you don’t get your husky ass back across that table, I’m . . .”

  He slipped his tongue in my mouth before I could complete my sentence. His kiss was better than I thought it would be, and I found myself kissing him back with a hunger I usually suppress for real conquests. His right hand moved past my breasts, and he began caressing my muffin top, trying unsuccessfully to unbutton my jean skirt. Turned on and pissed off at the same time, I grabbed his hand roughly, spread my legs and pushed his hand between them.

  “Negro, if you don’t stop playing and lift this shit up,” I blurted out. “I’m wearing a fucking skirt. This isn’t brain surgery. You . . .”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he said, as his fingers slid inside my panties and got lost in my moisture.

  I did as I was told. I had no choice. His thumb was caressing my clitoris and his other four digits were fucking me into a frenzy. Something about the way he was twirling his fingers inside me, and thumping his thumb against me while sucking on my neck with a vengeance, had me moaning his name like he was the best shit since sliced bread.

  “Damn, ma,” he whispered in my ear as he sucked on my lobe. “You’re so fucking wet. Wish I was beating that shit up right now.”

  “I wish you were, too,” I cooed. “Your fingers are like magic, so I can only imagine what the rest of you feels like.”

  “Oh, you like this, huh?” he asked, while intensifying his gyrations.

  I couldn’t answer. I was on the verge of climax; my legs were partially numb from the sensation. I stared him in the face and blinked three times like the deaf-mute his finger popping was turning me into. He hit me with that first-day, cocky, self-assured smile. Any other time it would have warranted a good cursing out, but his thick fingers were inside me, and his thumb was making small circles in my dampness. I placed my hand on top of his and forced his fingers deeper. I guided his thumb to my spot and helped him massage my core the way I’d taught myself back when I first figured out that masturbation was a great alternative to the real thing. We played in my moisture until I couldn’t hold on any longer. I helped him bring me to a satisfying climax. My body pulsed and writhed under his touch and our fingers were soon drenched from my release.

  “That’s what I’m saying. I want to taste you, ma.” He pulled his hand from between my legs and slowly licked his fingers from the palm up.

  We didn’t take our eyes off of each other as I followed his lead and did the same to my own. I then grabbed his hand and placed each of his fingers in my mouth one by one. I licked my juices from them and gave his fingers a blow job that surely made his dick jealous. I used my jaws to pull his pointer in from the tip to the base and wrapped my tongue around it, sucking my stickiness from his skin.

  “Damn, ma, I’m so hard right now,” he said, massaging his crotch with his free hand. I placed my hand over his and felt a very impressive bulge.

  “Mmmmmmm, Mama may have to do something about that, Boo.”

  I started repositioning myself in the booth, trying to figure out how I could get my plus-sized frame in a position to jerk him off and then be able to receive his elixir as he peaked. I finally nestled my head onto his chest, placed one arm behind his back and laid the other in his lap. While he stroked my hair, I undid his zipper and maneuvered his shaft through the opening. The bulge I felt didn’t do Keith justice. He wasn’t only long, but thick as well. He was so thick my hand could only close a little more than halfway around his girth.

  “Damn, baby,” I murmured. “I wish I was riding this shit right now.”

  “Me too, ma,” he said, resting his head back on the booth and closing his eyes.

  My up-and-down motion was starting to make him relax. The low moans escaping his lips let me know he was definitely pleased. I spat into my palm, then stroked the length of his shaft. I moved up in the booth and stuck my tongue in his ear as my hand continued to massage him. His veins began to pulsate, as his moans grew louder.

  “Quiet down, baby,” I whispered while palming the tip of his shaft and adding pressure.

  He began to buck slowly against my hand under the table. I moved my hand down to the base and cupped his balls. I massaged his sack with my fingers while palming him. The double sensation was driving him crazy. He dug his fingers into my neck.

  “Damn, Mimi, you gonna make me cum.”

  “Really, baby?” I prodded. “You want me to speed it up a little?” I asked, already increasing my momentum.

  My knuckles bumped the table rhythmically and his hips began to thrust to the beat. I felt him tensing; he was almost there. I quickly ducked my head in his lap and took him into my mouth.

  “Oh God,” he shrieked as the warmth and wetness enveloped him. I continued jerking him off while sucking him dry. I spat on his tip and deep-throated him until my gag reflex kicked in. I slurped his skin and swallowed his milky secretion, making sure to catch every drop before placing him back inside his boxers.

  I straightened myself up and pushed him back over to his side of the booth. He looked deep into my eyes and called my name softly. I didn’t answer because the sound of his voice, coupled with the reality of wiping a twenty-three-year-old’s cum off the sides of my mouth in the middle of a crowded lounge, undoubtedly had a sobering effect.

  “Yo, Mimi, did you hear me?” Keith asked, bringing me out of my reverie.

  “No, I didn’t. What did you say?”

  “Let me find out this good dick and hand game got your ass over there stuck,” he said with a laugh. “Imagine when I spread those legs. You’re going to be ready to marry a brother.”

  “See that right there is the reason your young ass should have never experienced any part of a real woman. You just aren’t ready.”

  “What you mean I ain’t ready? I just proved I was ready.”

  “No, you just proved that if I direct you, you could make me cum. You also proved you’re so used to handjobs that a two-minute rubdown will su
rely get your juices flowing…and I mean that literally,” I said with venom.

  “Wow, ma. It’s like that? Why you attacking the kid?”

  “Because…” I trailed off. Why was I attacking the kid? That’s just it—because he was a kid, too damned arrogant and he was right. I was stuck and oddly intrigued. But what I wasn’t going to be was some Sugar Mama, stroking his overblown ego after blowing his inflated dick. “Let’s just call it an evening, Keith.”

  “Yo, Mimi, why you trippin’? It’s still early,” he said in a sing-songy child’s voice. All he needed was the puppy dog eyes and the pouty lips to make the mini-tantrum complete.

  “I’m not tripping, Boo. I’m tired. I’m drunk. I’m moist and slimy. I just want to go home, take a shower and dive into my nice, warm bed.”

  “Well, then let me dive into that bed with you. Why do we have to end the night like this? I want to finish what we started.”

  “And I want to pretend it never happened. We can’t do this, Keith. We are colleagues and great friends. I don’t want to confuse anything.”

  “I’m not confused,” he said loudly. “You know I’ve been wanting you since day one. You’ve been wanting me, too, but you always got those Similac jokes coming strong. You ain’t spending all this extra time with me outside of work just because we’re friends. You know you want me just as much as I want you.”

  “Keith, no one wants you more than you want you,” I said, standing and throwing four crisp fifty-dollar bills on the table. “Thank you for a lovely evening, but I’m out.”

  “Yo, Mimi,” he said to my back as I made a mad dash for the exit.

  ROUGH RIDER

  Thank goodness for weekends. I don’t think I could have faced Keith without a couple of days to pull myself together. I was dressed to thrill in my red, two-piece skirt set with a black sequined tank and red stilettos to cap off the look when I stepped off the elevator and right into Keith’s open arms.