The Supremacy of Samantha

Chapter One “You did what…?” Samantha said dangerously. “W-w-well, you see, honey,” Tom attempted, sputtering, “I had a full house.” What had seemed so commonsensical just the night before was crazy now to have to admit aloud—but his wife’s slitted eyes gleamed darkly, and with this much already out, he had no choice but to force himself to continue. “A full house,” he said pleadingly, “aces over fives! Come on, only four of a kind or a straight flush would’ve beaten that!” She pursed her lips, looking bleakly into his forlorn face with an intensity that made him shrivel somehow deep inside. Samantha could be funny and warm and open-hearted, yet when affronted, the curvy-hipped thing could hold a grudge like a hornet—and her wrath was little less painful. Her smooth voice now held a subtle note of warning, like honey dripped over with some bitter black poison. “Aces over fives,” she repeated softly. “But Mike had…?” He swallowed, then licked his lips. “Fucker had four threes,” he murmured. “And you had bet?” Samantha raised a smoky blonde eyebrow, waiting in mock patience. Tom hesitated. She was so beautiful, so regal, even now—but the queenly disdain that smoldered in those green eyes was as cutting as a dagger. “It was such a good hand, baby,” Tom whined, “but I was out of money! And if I didn’t see Mike’s bet, I would’ve lost all my dough anyway—” “So you…?” Again she gave that chillingly bleak parody of a facial shrug. She held him fast with her slitted gaze. “He had raised me, baby, all the money he had left. It was more than I could cover.” Tom looked pained. “I just couldn’t believe he really wanted to bet that much, so I asked him if he was serious, and he said, ‘You bet your life’.” She nodded for him to continue, waiting as if in encouragement. And yet those wondrously expressive lips of hers were compressed, immobile, betraying not a hint of warmth or compassion. Boy, oh boy, was he in trouble… “So I—” Tom bit his lip. “I…” Helplessly he trailed off. “Say it again,” she said quietly. Golden waves framed her face like the halo of some avenging angel. Her jaw was set, and the little furrow in her brow seemed to brood like a thundercloud roiling upon the horizon. “Say it.” Tom let out his breath. “I said…” He licked his lips again and finally burst out, “So I said, ‘No, I bet my wife!’ and they all just stared at me.” Her eyes flashed, but she merely held her stony gaze. Tom swallowed. It was hideously embarrassing to have to tell now all of the terrible things he had said last night, and his wife’s smoldering fury made him shrink within himself all the worse. Yet there was nowhere to go but forward, and he continued sheepishly, hoping at least, perhaps, to win some points for his truthfulness. “I told ’em, ‘I know you guys all think she’s hot—I’ve seen everybody looking at her big juicy rack often enough. I know you’d all grab that round ass if you got the chance. Well, go ahead, man, just take the bet, and let’s settle this pot’.” Slowly his wife nodded, slowly, her arms folded tight beneath her bosom. Her nostrils flared, but she said nothing. Squirming beneath his wife’s threatening green eyes, he found himself suddenly admitting, “At first they didn’t want to take the bet, but I kept egging ’em on, saying how what I was putting up was worth more than what any of those other guys had anted up…” He glanced nervously at her, but her expression was unreadable. “I kept saying how much I wanted a chance at that pot,” he said miserably, “and some of the guys finally said that they sure wanted a chance at what I was offering, so they—well, they finally accepted my bet.” Samantha stared at him for a long time, her eyes hard. “And then you lost,” she concluded witheringly. “You bet your own wife on a goddamned poker hand, and you lost!” “I was sure I was going to win,” he said bitterly. “Hell, with what all the other guys had already put in, that pot would’ve been close to a thousand dollars. A thousand dollars!” Raising both of his hands, he tried to appeal to her. “We—we would’ve split it, honey” “But instead,” she reminded him, “you lost, and now I presume everyone thinks I’m supposed to pay up…” There was a long, uncomfortable silence. As she brooded darkly, Tom fidgeted there, feeling like an i***t, and worse. Last night looking at those three aces and two fives, he had thought he was going to be a big man, strutting home to impress his adoring wifey with a thick wad of bills in his pocket…and now he was just a stupid nobody feeling small and worthless with all his cash blown, and Samantha sneering at him. It was humiliating. Yet, sighing, Samantha finally looked down at herself. She uncrossed her arms, put her hands beneath the heavy curves of her full breasts, and weighed the meaty things appraisingly in her palms. “You really think these would be worth five hundred bucks each?” she said at last, mildly. Tom could only blink at her for a moment, thrown off by her sharp change in direction. “Why, baby,” he said truthfully, when he had found his voice, “they’re priceless!” She looked up at him again, and for the first time she smiled. “Really?” He shook his head in slow wonderment. “They’re the best in the world, honey,” he said. Tentatively he reached out and placed his hands atop hers. She did not resist. Gently, then, very gently, he squeezed her supple flesh through the faint resistance of her motionless fingers—and suddenly he felt the front of his trousers begin to grow tight. Tom swallowed, blinking. It made him feel good to comfort his poor long-suffering wife, to apologize for his awful behavior, and yet…well, it felt good, too, just to touch her like that. Thrilling secretly even as he posed as so selfless and contrite, he continued the motion experimentally. Ah, for what a joy it was to start to get a little squeeze of those titties. “You know how much I love ’em, don’t you, baby?” Tom asked softly, earnestly. Inwardly, though, he congratulated himself on his seemingly selflessness even as he groped the fleshy woman through the intermediary of her unresisting fingers. Mm, and that simply made it all the kinkier, didn’t it?—to make those placid hands of hers do that to herself while he watched it all. Oh, what a bad, bad boy he was, he marveled. “You gotta know,” Tom continued as he grew restless and red-faced, “how much I like to squeeze ’em and suck ’em, don’tcha? Mm, and to slobber all over ’em… I just—” Almost helplessly he licked his lips. “Why, I just can’t help it, baby!” he whispered, suddenly desperately truthful. Despite her fury of bare moments before, Samantha’s eyes glowed drowsily at his heartfelt flattery. Taking a deep breath, she removed her own hands and ran her palms slowly down her waist and her solid hips, across the top of her jean-clad thighs. She shivered faintly as at her silent acquiescence her husband unbuttoned her blouse, dug the soft warm masses of her rippling white bosom reverently out of the tops of the lacy cups of her brassiere, and started squeezing the naked things in earnest. Mm, it felt good to do her. Her jugs were big and full anyway, but the bra pushed up the heavy mounds, sticking her crinkled pink-brown n*****s right up in his face. Oh, how he loved those fat titties! He ogled them constantly throughout the day, of course, and when given the chance, he would tease and torture them mercilessly. Whether with his grasping hands or his watering mouth, he was always delighted to molest the overflowing globes, squeezing them, wobbling them, rubbing his poor purpled cockhead—agitated and drizzling—teasingly across the thickened fistfuls of their over-sensitized centers. Now and then, of course, he got himself so worked up that his indulgent wife simply let him masturbate all over those full, supple breasts, happy as a baby. Really, it was just so very kinky—it thrilled the poor man probably more than Samantha could know. The act was so dirty, so purposeful, and so completely shameless. Like many married men, perhaps, Tom, when he got the chance, enjoyed jerking off just as much as he had when he was a teenager. In a way, perhaps it was even naughtier now, for the act so often was seen as something that a grown-up, happily married man simply didn’t do anymore. Yet sometimes when Samantha had a headache or was on her period, she would indeed let the poor thing masturbate. “Tom, I’m sorry,” she might say when he, not realizing her indisposition, had begun to handle her flesh encouragingly in bed some night, “but I’m really just not up for it right now.” As he bit his lip in disappointment, she might smile a little. “Do you wanna just go out in the other room and, ah, take care of everything?” she wondered, reaching down beneath the sheets to pat very gently at the poor needy erection that tented his pajama bottoms. “I don’t mind.” “Really…?” Tom might whisper. “Y-you don’t?” “You go ahead, baby,” she urged him benevolently, taking her hand away to pull up the covers and snuggle her aching head down into the pillow. “You can watch a porno if you like,” she suggested with a sleepy little smile, watching him shiver. “Maybe a really dirty one…?” As he could only bite his lip in a wicked anticipation made all the more piquant by the strange exhibitionism of it all, she might nod, and let her heavy lids flutter closed. “You go ahead, Tom,” murmured his wife solicitously, “and take your time.” Her lips might quirk with the most endearing little ghost of mischievousness, and then, drowsily, she would nod to herself. “I know you need it, baby—you just go ahead and do it all, eeeeeverything you need. You spend just as long as you want, and work up a great big ol’ load that you’re realllly gonna feel…” And as she drifted off to sleep, the restlessly excited man, deeply touched even as his brute desires raged and seethed, kissed his dear solemnly upon her forehead…and then hurried breathlessly out to the living room to whack off like an utter and unrepentant pervert. And yet the only way such a self-indulgent session of wife-approved m**********n could be even better was…when, looking sly, his buxom spouse was feeling well enough to keep him in bed, and the gracious thing deigned instead to actually help him. That was the very epitome of kink, it seemed, a thing that could set him rigid like no other. Why, it was naughty enough to go out there and pleasure himself like a beast, grinning bright-eyed and completely unhurried as he jerked at his upright red organ while his understanding wife drowsed unconcernedly in their hallowed marriage bed. But to have her watch, and help, and smile knowingly at his every sweating struggle… God, it was delicious! “Oh, I don’t mind, sweetie,” she might assure her husband patiently, patting his hairy naked thigh matter-of-factly. “You just really need to come, huh?” she commiserated. For a moment her eyes blinked down almost longingly at the upstanding red thing that, at least tonight, her familiar fleshy body could not satisfy. “Go ahead and yank it all out if that’ll feel good—if you like, I’ll help.” A little embarrassed at first, but unable to resist, he would begin to play with himself. This, after all, was something he had spent years trying not to get caught doing, first as an eighteen-year-old so eager and needy and yet still living in his parents’ house, and then later at college, when a roommate might come back to the dorm unexpectedly at any time. Squeezing his suddenly uncertain organ brought back all the confused memories of those unsettled times. The boyish excitement of sitting wildly erect in bed with a big glossy porno magazine on one vibrating thigh, rubbing himself urgently as he gazed down in impossible longing at the smooth alluring curves of a creature such as the somewhat shy high-schooler had never yet even dared touch in real life— The sweet breathlessness of rolling his wrist faster and faster, exploring himself and the reactions of his body, feeling guilty and yet happy all at once as his heavy balls jounced and sloshed with their slow-building passion that promised such fulfillment— Touching himself as quietly as he could because he knew his parents were not yet asleep just down the hall, but faster, faster, ever faster as the poor teenager longed to turn himself inside-out and squirt what felt like half a pint of frothing c*m all over his belly and chest, his gasping face, everything— Samantha, however, understood it all. Smiling gently, his wife might fondle his balls or kiss him along his burning ears or the sensitive skin of his neck. Ah, despite his initial awkwardness, that always got him going! Eventually, playfully inventive, she had taught the uncertain man to crave a scratching, even pinching, at the hairy little points of his tight-crinkled n*****s. It was embarrassing at first, because wasn’t that something only a girl was supposed to enjoy? Why, he couldn’t do anything like that! But, oh, how she led the once-reticent man onward! The little peaks were indeed surprisingly sensitive, and the inventive Samantha brought strange pleasures such as he had never imagined. Oh, it felt good! And it was just so wickedly thrilling to whack himself unashamedly off beneath her calm green eyes, performing a familiar ritual once secret and forbidden but now naughtily exposed, shivering, sweating, wallowing helpless as a baby and knowing that it was all right, and that she would give the poor needy man anything he needed. Now and then, snorting with the joy of it all as he vibrated red-faced so close to orgasm, he would beg her to get his n*****s—really get them. Sometimes it seemed to amuse the green-eyed bawd to smirk then, to tease and hold back, to make the poor man grovel and plead. But he did it—oh, how he did it! Later, perhaps, he would feel embarrassed at the way he had reduced himself, all pride gone as he wallowed in pure sensation, but at the time he simply could not help it. In the throes of his exhibitionistic masturbatory excesses, Tom could only shiver and sweat, utterly shameless as he begged whimperingly for the sweet thing that enslaved him, and as those determined red-nailed fingers finally tore at his happy chest with a fierce skill that made him convulse with the ecstasy of it, the flush-faced beast would simply squirt himself from navel to neck and forehead, and everywhere in between, as he splatted and dripped and oozed. But jerking off on her big blue-veined bosoms…that was the very ultimate it dirtiness. Sometimes she held up the big jiggling things for him to gawk at and ogle, biting her lip as she looked up from under her lovely lashes in a quiet sort of awe, helplessly flattered by something that perhaps should have disgusted her. Ah, how her hugely dilated eyes simmered as she watched him pant and snort, watched one hand fondle and grope the tempting mounds so desperately while his other fist flew faster and faster. God, the joy of soiling her, of pointing his engorged purple cockhead right at the pushed-up creamy swells and splattering her, on and on and on! Oh, how his semen splashed and glopped, making a culmination usually taken out of sight in the squelching velvet between her splayed thighs now becoming a thing public and exhibitionistic and oh-so dirtily right. And occasionally Samantha herself couldn’t help reaching one hand down to give her moistening p***y a little rubdown as well. How exciting to see that he had affected her so! Once, in fact, so turned on he was that although she was still only halfway to orgasm, he could not help just spurting all over her t**s while she shivered and struggled, and the poor unsatisfied thing begged him to rub the thick, stringy mess all over. He complied happily, squeezing and twisting and plucking at her sperm-slicked n*****s with his agitated hands as she watched sly-eyed, her breath coming ever more urgently as she m*********d. When finally she began to gasp out her own beautiful climax, he was still so helplessly aroused that he simply dropped his poor mouth onto those thick, goop-smeared n*****s and devoured the salty things like a fiend as she writhed beneath him. Breathless now on this evening of remorse, apology, and forgiveness, he felt her respond to him once more, and the man began pinching rhythmically at the thickened points of desire that crowned those tempting ivory globes. “Oh, honey…” she sighed. Eyes bright, Tom tugged at her engorged nubbins of sensitive flesh, pulling them, twisting them, stretching them. It felt so good to be able to turn her mood around, to take her breath away and make her beautiful with pleasure once more. He wanted to make her all his again and to feel her respond, and he wanted to apologize, too, for being such a stupid jerk the night before. It was so deliciously arousing to grapple with the overflowing handfuls of her meaty white bosom…and all at once it made him feel wanted again, and reassured. Oh, how he loved her! Breathing heavily, he dropped to his knees between her open thighs and wallowed his red face deliriously in her silky warm cleavage for a long moment. “I’m sorry, honey,” he gasped pathetically, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be such an ass.” Soon, however, he could speak no more—he simply wrapped his hungry lips around her big teats and started sucking and chewing upon them. Groaning, he felt her shiver gratifyingly under the welcome assault of his desperate attentions. Her flushed eyelids grew heavy as he nursed upon her in the sweet desperation of his love. Samantha’s quiet fingers had unbuttoned her jeans as he clawed at her bosom, and now she reached farther down, down through tangled golden curls suddenly damp and smelly, and began to touch herself beneath her panties. He heard the rasp of her red-nailed fingertips scratching through crinkly pubic hair, heard the bubbly squelch as those tapering white digits began to sport in slippery, musky flesh. Oh, she smelled so exciting in his helplessly dilated nostrils! “But, Tom,” she said breathily. “Yeah, baby?” he wondered, his teeth releasing her n****e for a moment so he could roll one eye up toward her serenely glowing visage. How beautiful she was, how buxom and blonde and desirable! Even after years of marriage, still her smooth pale flesh set him rigid with desire, instantly—he wanted to breathe her, taste her, and feel her. Happily he clutched at her rippling mammaries. “Well,” asked Samantha in a sly, somehow deeply insinuating tone, stroking herself with regal purpose beneath her belly as she regarded him speculatively, “once I’ve paid off your debt, how are you going to repay me?”