Taboo Desires: Dirty Forbidden Secrets Bundle (The Complete Miranda Cougar Collection)

by Miranda Cougar

  The bluebird made me think of her granddaughter Emily’s kind blue eyes, and of the blue birds inside my tiny kitchen back home at my family’s property.

  My kitchen back home was a small industrial kitchen, but it also had winged birds in it. Blue and yellow hens danced around the circumference of the plastic plates that I served my famous country breakfast specials on each morning.

  Emily was probably cooking in my kitchen right now. She worked in the diner preparing the meals while I was away. That way the busy family diner wouldn’t lose any business while I was out making the weekly produce deliveries in the city.

  My parents had officially left the family roadside diner to me, the family farm to my twin brother Calvin, and the family bed and breakfast to Emily.

  For nearly two years, my parents had hoped that Emily and I would marry. I believe they left Emily their bed and breakfast partially because she loved it so dearly, but mostly because they hoped it would somehow force a romantic relationship to blossom between us. It never would. After my parents had passed, Emily fell in love with Calvin, and I fell in love with Emily’s grandmother.

  Although we each owned separate inheritances, Mrs. Labret had encouraged Emily, Calvin and me to run the three ventures as one big family business. It was sage advice and had been the best way of ensuring everyone’s happiness and continued success.

  Emily and Calvin were happy staying at home, running the organic farm and the bed and breakfast. They hated the hustle and haste of making the produce basket deliveries in the city. I didn’t mind the hurry of the city. In fact, I enjoyed the anonymity of being swept up in the rushing crowds, alongside thousands of other nameless people.

  No one in the city stopped me on the street to ask me why at the age of twenty-two, I was still single, or to recommend their niece or best friend’s daughter as the ideal wife. No one pushed me to attend the local church’s courting dances or asked why I’d never invited a local girl out on a date.

  In the city, the only person I had to converse with was the one I wanted to; the lovely Mrs. Lena Labret.

  ***

  “This is heaven, Brandon. This omelet is like a warm fluffy cloud inside my mouth.” My hostess raised both of her softly sculpted eyebrows and shook her fork at the side of her chin as she spoke.

  “Thank, you, ma’am,” I responded, panting slightly between bites of egg and cheese, trying to cool the heat crowding my cheeks.

  The loose curls of her black and silver hair caressed and cradled the sides of her face, neck and shoulders as she chewed the final bites of her meal. I followed her every movement with my eyes as she stroked the side of her lightly blushed cheek with one delicate finger, and then lifted her coffee cup up to the soft pout of her lips to take a sip.

  “De-lic-ious,” she raved and then coughed after gulping down too much of her java. “This omelet was every bit as delicious as the scrambled eggs, country fried steak and hash browns you made for us last week.”

  “Thank you, again, ma’am,” I replied as I lifted both of our empty plates and forks, took them over to the sink and washed them.

  Without warning, Mrs. Labret slid off her stool and sauntered over to me with an exaggerated sway of her hips. The seams of her well-fitted black linen dress swung with every step, and the pointed metal tips of her black heels clicked crisply against the tile floor as she strode toward me.

  Uncharacteristically, she twirled the end of one shoulder length swath of silver hair around her index finger and spoke to me as I dried our plates and forks.

  “As you know, I’m now a docent at the Hall of Man Museum, downtown.” She took a deep breath and paused before continuing. “The museum is having its annual charity fundraiser next week—”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m aware of the fundraiser,” I interrupted her before she could complete her statement. I couldn’t risk her inviting me to attend the function with her as her male companion.

  I couldn’t risk her asking me out, at all. If she did, I knew it would ruin both of our lives forever.

  If I allowed her to take the lead in this courtship dance, I would always be her boy toy, and never her man. She would never respect me again. And I couldn’t risk losing her respect. I’d worked too hard to earn it. Earning her respect and admiration had been my primary goal in life for every day of the last four years.

  Earning her approval was why I worked 80-hour weeks. It was also why I’d struggled so hard to triple the profitability of the diner, the bed and breakfast, and the farm fresh produce basket delivery business. I knew I had to make myself into a successful businessman before I even dared to ask such a stunning, accomplished woman out on a date.

  As my little brother told me for perhaps the hundredth time this morning, women expect a man to be financially successful and to take the lead when it comes to both business and romance.

  After four years of hard work, I’d finally achieved financial success. But that hurdle of financial respectability had taken me so long to overcome that time was running out for me to take the lead with the lady I loved in the romance department. She had clearly lost her faith in my ability to act and was now prepared to ask me out on a date herself.

  Following her recent retirement, the woman who I admired most in the world had given me multiple hints that she wanted me to ask her out on a date. She’d even told me repeatedly how important this charity fundraiser was for the museum and how much she looked forward to attending it.

  Today was my final chance to steel my nerves and do it. Today was my final chance to ask the woman of my dreams out on our first official date before she beat me to the punch and asked me out on the date herself.

  I’m fully aware that my hesitation to ask her out is illogical. She obviously wants me to be her date for the charity fundraiser next week. I know she will say yes—to the date.

  But, will she say yes—to me?

  Her saying yes to the date is only her saying yes to me becoming her arm candy for the night, her rugged muscle bound boy toy. That might be all she wants from me. A young, well-muscled stud to show off for the evening.

  I don’t want to be her boy toy or her stud. Well, I do. I want her to use my body in every delicious way a woman can use a man.

  But, I don’t want to be just her stud. I also want to be the love of her life. I want to be the one person in the world she wants to spend every day of the rest of her life making love to and loving.

  Stop stalling, and just ask her out.

  “Mrs. Labret, would you do me the pleasure of—of – of— enjoying an after dinner glass of brandy with me?” I asked the powerful and alluring woman standing next to me, still too fearful and unsure of my standing in her eyes to ask the accomplished woman out on the date. A date I’d been planning every detail of for the last month.

  “Yes, Brandon, I would love to share a glass of brandy with you,” She smiled demurely, took my hand in hers and led me out of the kitchen and into her game room.

  Chapter 2

  “Brandon, would you be a dear and help me remove my pearls,” Mrs. Labret said, her full bosom rising sharply as she gestured toward her neck with a single delicate flick of her wrist.

  “Yes, ma’am, I mean, yes, I’d love to help you,” I stammered as I clumsily dashed behind her, quickly grasping the small delicate clasp of her pearl necklace between my too large fingers.

  “Easy, easy, there, big guy,” She crooned as my fingers fumbled and rushed to unclasp the delicate string of pearls. “No need to hurry, we still have three hours and nineteen minutes before you need to return to the farm to complete your chores.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I stifled a chuckle at her joking reminder that I didn’t need to rush. This wasn’t work. This was fun. The woman I loved and I were having fun and it was high time I relaxed and treated it as such. I breathed out a slow puff of air, slowed down and steadied my fingers which were trembling as they glided over the warm, bronze length of my beautiful lover’s neck.

  “Got it!”
I practically shouted in triumph as I held the string of pearls out in front of her face for her to grab.

  She winced as she grabbed the pearls and then swiveled her body so that she was facing mine. “Thank you for your assistance, my dear boy,” she crooned in her low sultry voice.

  The silken tones of her voice caressed my ears as she reached up and caressed my cheek with her hand. I leaned into the soft strength of her palm and inhaled deeply, breathing in the gardenia scent of her signature perfume. Her scent filled my lungs and fueled my need for her.

  “Pour yourself a glass of brandy.” She leaned forward and whispered into my ear. “Per our usual arrangement, I’ll be back to play a game with you in less than ten minutes.”

  Her hips swayed with the smooth ferocity of a pendulum as she strode out of the room. And her well-formed body’s undulations inspired my bare cock to pulse against the seam of my jeans as I licked my lips with the pleasure of ogling her fine ass as she walked away from me.

  I’d arrived at the game room commando again and I was already regretting it as my cock rubbed itself raw against the too tight pressure of my jeans. I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to remove my jeans and walk around with my cock hard and extended once Mrs. Labret returned, so I rushed to strip myself naked and steal a few minutes of relief for my poor painfully hard dick.

  Once I’d disrobed, I stretched my arms high above the perfect V of my chest and torso and swiveled my hips back and forth allowing my hard erect cock to whip freely from side to side. God, it felt good to have freed my cock from its blue jean prison.

  I stretched my legs and ran up to the floor to ceiling mirror at the back wall of the room, almost tripping on one of the ornately gilded legs of Mrs. Labret’s victory throne in my haste. I examined my naked body in the mirror. I’d grown bulky and handsome over the past four years. My body was a prize any woman would crave, with its thick bulging arm and thigh muscles and tightly sculpted chest and abs.

  My cock pulsed and swung in mid-air begging for me to grab it and stroke its hard thickness to completion. It wouldn’t take me long to relieve myself with the scent of Mrs. Labret’s perfume still lingering in the air and the memory of her touch still present on my cheek.

  But she hadn’t given me permission to cum. She never did. So I dare not overstep my welcome in her home or desecrate her game room by taking it upon myself to cum all over it.

  I needed a distraction to soften my cock and get me past the next ten minutes while I waited for her to return, so I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror.

  I thought back to when I was an awkward, lanky, and significantly less muscular eighteen-year-old, and it was obvious that Mrs. Labret’s only interest in me was as a potential boyfriend for her shy granddaughter, Emily.

  Back then, Mrs. Labret had taken a chance on befriending a shy delivery boy whose only real friends were his brother, a skillet and a feisty brood of hens. Eventually, after two months of us sharing dinners and playing board games together, she trusted me enough to introduce me to Emily.

  Emily was just as shy as me back then, but we bonded over our shared love of cooking, and hens. To my surprise, Emily and I quickly became best friends. And after only two months of weekly dinner dates with her grandmother as a chaperone, we officially became an item.

  Thanks to Mrs. Labret’s interventions, four years later, Emily and I are still best friends, although we no longer date. Emily’s a great girl. But she’s just a girl, and from the moment I’d first noticed the beauty of the female form, I’d always known that I wanted and needed to be with a woman.

  Thanks to Ms. Labret’s continued encouragement, my best friend and I are now business partners, housemates and something else complicated involving my twin brother Calvin that I still don’t quite understand. Those two couldn’t be more different from each other, but they still managed to fall in love during our annual vacation last year.

  I wish Ms. Labret had accompanied us on the luxurious train ride through the Canadian Rockies that she’d gifted the three of us for our birthdays that year. It was torturous to witness the romance blossom between Emily and Calvin while I basically vacationed alone, far away from the woman I loved.

  But, Emily and Calvin’s blossoming romance gives me hope. Their unexpected love affair gives me hope that Emily will forgive me when she finds out I’m in love with her grandmother. If Emily can fall in love with and see my twin brother naked, then it’s certainly fair that I fall in love with and see her grandmother naked. Right?

  ***

  “N.A.U.G.H.T.Y. Read it and weep. Triple word score. I win!” Mrs. Labret’s breasts bounced up and down, and she nearly spilled her half-empty glass of brandy on her robe as she leapt to her feet and danced her victory dance. “You know the rules—time to kneel before your queen, defeated hero.”

  She flung her head back and cackled out an overly dramatic wicked queen laugh as she turned away from me and strode towards her victory throne.

  She was a serious gamer, so of course, she’d had a literal throne custom made for her gaming room. I hated the humiliation of having to bow down to her while she sat on her throne gloating. But, at least, she was fair about her rules. Whoever won a game was allowed to sit on the throne and enjoy its opulent comfort while the loser prostrated themselves in obedience.

  My queen’s throne was an imposing structure that dominated the small room. It was also a fine work of beauty with its ornately sculpted golden tigress arms and legs, and tall elevated back molded into the sleek, powerful form of a roaring lioness. Her throne was exquisitely comfortable. If she had allowed me to, I would’ve loved to sink my sore ass into its soft cushion seat, and my sore back into its smooth purple velvet tufting.

  In all of my four years playing games with her, I believe I’d only sat on that throne about a dozen times. If I wasn’t so in love with the woman, I don’t think I would keep playing games with her. Putting up with the constant humiliation of losing to my woman has become a difficult cross for me to bear.

  When she reached her throne, my queen glanced back at me with her sexy mahogany brown eyes. Immediately, I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to hurry up and play along with her favorite game. Our game playing wasn’t finished; it was just beginning.

  As the loser, I did my duty and played the part of the defeated hero. But this time, I spiced up my dialogue to let my cruel queen know I wanted her to make me do more than just bow down before her.

  “I will never serve you wicked temptress queen,” I jumped to my feet and pounded one fist against my chest and raised the other to the ceiling as I shouted my rebellion into the air.

  My formidable temptress sat down on her throne in silence, clutching her brandy glass with white knuckles. She was grasping the fragile glass so firmly that I feared she would fracture it and send sharp shards plunging into her delicate skin.

  My concern for her welfare must have been apparent because she released her grip on her liquid courage and lowered her glass onto one of the end tables that sat on either side of her thrown.

  She was wearing nothing but a shimmering platinum-hued silk robe and a pair of royal purple-colored stiletto heels with platinum tips. Although the top of her robe was completely closed, the outlines of her full, round breasts were clearly visible. And the hard peaks of her nipples were popping up and rubbing against the thin shiny material.

  My bare chest ached with the exertion of repeatedly pumping up my pecs as I flexed every muscle I owned for my lady’s viewing pleasure. And I watched in silent desperation as she swiped her pink tongue swiftly across her full lower lip in womanly appreciation of my display. I shifted my hips to relieve the growing soreness in my cock as it hardened against the seam of my blue jeans in anticipation of what I hoped would come next.

  Up until five weeks ago, when she’d retired from her job, the most we’d ever done was tease each other. Now each week, before we play our games, she excuses herself to her bedroom to undress and put on a flowing silk robe and a
sexy pair of stilettos. After we play a game, she places my hands on her robe. She allows me to undress her slowly and encourages me to trail my fingers up and down the silken curves of her body.

  The palms of my hands and the tips of my fingers are already tingling with anticipation. I want to lift my hands up to touch her tear drop shaped breasts and squeeze them again. I want to caress and fondle the indent of her waist and the flare of her hips in the exact way I’ve done it for each of these past weeks.

  I’ve been a patient man for the last five weeks, but now I can no longer restrain myself. Now I want more from this game. I want to strip my body naked and place my queen’s delicate hands on the hard chiseled lines of my chest and the firm sculpted muscles of my abdomen.

  I want my queen to wrap her strong fingers firmly around the thick, rod of my cock. I want her to be the first woman to tighten her lips around my manhood and invite me inside the silky warm comfort of her mouth.

  I want to give the woman I love my virginity. I want to love her, and I want her to love me. I want us to love each other with the full passion of our physicality and our lust for each other.

  “You just called your queen a temptress. How does your queen tempt you, young hero?” She broke her silence with a question while raising one eyebrow and twisting the corners of her pouty lips into a devious smirk.

  “You know the power you have over men’s hearts…over their bodies,” I dramatically clenched my eyes shut then popped them open again as I pretended not to have control over my body’s movements.

  She lifted her right hand from the golden tigress arm of her throne and with a flick of her wrist beckoned me to walk closer to her.

  “See! You command me!” I shouted as I unfastened my jeans and dropped them to the ground with furious swiftness before she could change her mind and put a stop to our role playing game.

  “Brandon,” she gasped as the long, thick, turgid length of my manhood leapt upward and then pointed forward in her direction.