The Supremacy of Samantha

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Tom raised his head from his wife’s full, comforting bosom and looked up at her in sudden uncertainty. “P-p-pay my debt?” he blinked nervously. “Wh-wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Samantha, her voice a trifle shaky and yet very determined, biting her lip as she rubbed herself more assertively, “that once I let Mike use me, then instead of being in debt to him, you’ll be in debt to me.”

“B-b-but—” Tugging absently, automatically at the meat of his wife’s engorged n*****s, Tom could only blink back confusedly as she m*********d before him. For what she had said— Why, it made no sense! He could not possibly have heard her correctly. Could he?

Eyes half-lidded, Samantha smiled crookedly. “Why, you didn’t think I’d forgotten your bet, did you, honey?” She gave an ironically syrupy-sweet little smile. “You bet your wife on a poker hand, didn’t you?” Her enigmatic green eyes hardened then, however. “Didn’t you, big man?”

Tom gulped, abashed. “Y-yes,” he admitted miserably. “I’m sorry, honey,” he told her again, shaking his head. “I just wasn’t—”

“But I would hate for anyone to think, though,” she said, icily remonstrative, “that I had made you welsh on a promise.”

He swallowed. His stomach did a queasy flip-flop as he goggled uncertainly up at the seemingly unfamiliar wife who glowed commandingly above him, her cheeks betrayingly warm even as she looked down so cool and disdainful. And yet through it all, despite the almost threatening look in those chiseled emerald orbs, he could hear her fingertips swirling purposefully through the top of her v****a. Why, she would not keep touching herself like that if she were truly angry, would she? he asked himself in attempted reasonableness.

God, and the smell of her… Always before, that sharp, fiercely womanly scent had set him rigid with desire, but now he was scared suddenly, his p***s shriveled up so tiny and confused. It made no sense, of course. If his wife was excited, after all, then she was warm and happy, and so was he. Except she was hinting about something improper and disgusting, and yet instead of deflating her arousal, what she implied seemed instead to intensify it somehow.

“You mean…” Tom squirmed, trying to convince himself that he must be misunderstanding her somehow. It was one thing to joke a little, of course, and yet his own dear wife would not actually—actually—actually— He bit his lip nervously. “I mean, you w-w-wouldn’t really—”

“Do they really look at me?” she interrupted quietly, her face warm. “Your friends, I mean?”

Tom blinked, suddenly pushed back to simple, earnest truthfulness, despite the precariousness of a situation he did not dare quite understand. “Baby,” he said slowly, “don’t you know how you turn heads wherever we go?”

“I do?” she whispered, defenselessly somehow.

“You’ve really never seen anybody watch you jiggle?” asked Tom in faint wonderment. “God, honey…”

Samantha was always rather self-conscious about her appearance, and though she was indeed solidly built, that flesh was in good proportion, most womanly. Men did indeed gawk—he had seen it countless times, a little jealous as he did so and yet proud, too, all at once. She had a very full bosom, of course, and while her waist may have been a bit thick, it seemed to fit with her wide hips and cushy bottom, and those heavy thighs that veritably begged to be parted to reveal the thick-lipped, scratchy-soft, fishily fragrant treasure beneath the comfortably soft belly—

He shook his head. “Honey, you’re the kind of girl that makes guys jerk off. I’ve seen that look in their eyes.”

“Really?” she wondered softly.

“Mm hmm,” Tom sighed, pausing to lick briefly at the undersides of the fat n*****s he squeezed through his circled thumbs and forefingers. “Baby, you should have—” He swallowed, then continued quietly, “You should have seen those guys’ faces when Mike took the bet last night.”

Her eyes gleamed behind her lowered lashes, bright and excited.

“You just can’t imagine their—their hunger,” Tom affirmed with quiet emphasis.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

Tom hesitated. “I told you I had to convince ’em to take the bet, right? I guess they knew I wasn’t really serious about it—about the chance of losing, I mean.” He shrugged good-naturedly, then commenced squeezing her mammaries once more. “So what I had to do was—”

“What?” Biting her lip, she touched herself as he watched. “Please, honey,” she begged, “tell me!”

Tom smiled at being able to tell her, knowing at last that she really wouldn’t be angry with him. “I told them how good it was to have you,” he said deliberately.

“Tom…” she replied slowly, trying to maintain some face-saving façade of modesty—and yet the thickened n*****s that he manhandled, he could not help but notice, stayed as crinkled and excited as ever.

“I told them that once I stick my d**k in you, you always just juice up like a whore.” His eyes blazed. “I said how the best time to have you is when you’re not thinking about it first—how I can just strip your panties off and mount you, and see that look in your eyes that shows how much my need flatters you. You’re still a little dry when I put my cockhead in, so tight, but then I just give a push, and by the time I’ve sunk balls-deep, you’re all lubed up. I told ’em that if I didn’t like playing with you so much, I’d just come in half a dozen strokes.”

Samantha gazed up from under her lowered lashes, her own excitement feeding off of his.

“I said that what was really fun, though, was to work you over first,” he said mischievously. “I told them all how good it felt to just grab these big titties and tug at ’em until you couldn’t take any more.” For emphasis he gave those sensitive peaks a sudden double-handed yank that took her breath away. “And I told them that once you’d had your naughty boobs squeezed and pinched and sucked, your cunt would open up like a flower, all wet and shiny and pink, ready for anything.” Grinning, he bundled her n*****s together and sucked at her, hard, then pulled his mouth off with a noisy, relishing smack. “’Cause it’s true, isn’t it, babe?” he teased her. “Isn’t it?”

“Mm hmm,” she replied softly, squirming as her fingers writhed within her panties.

“You should have seen their faces,” he said again. “They were so horny, baby! Some of ’em—why, with some…” He hesitated, then forced out, “I could see they had great big hard-ons in their pants just from thinking about you, Samantha—they couldn’t hide it—and I knew that they’d go home and play with themselves. Or maybe some would hurry home to their girlfriends or their wives, climb into bed without a word, and just f**k ’em like animals, while the girls woke slowly—sleepy, confused, and suddenly just full of c**k—without any idea of why the guys needed it so bad.” He grinned fiercely. “That’s what you do to guys, sweetie.”

“Well,” she admitted softly, at last, “that’s the kind of talk that makes a girl want to frig off, too.” She bit her lip. “To feel pretty and desired, to know that men want to look at you and touch you.”

Gazing up at her adoringly, he handled her flesh more purposefully, plucking at her engorged n*****s, lifting her big titties by those tender peaks. He really made her feel it, and she shivered wordlessly to his attentions for a long moment.

Finally, Samantha spoke again. “I really will pay your debt, sweetie,” she whispered. “If you want me to.”

Licking his lips uncertainly, Tom watched his wife masturbate. She was so beautiful, serene and yet so sensually agitated at the same time. What she proposed now, apparently in all seriousness—what he himself had merely joked about previously—made him feel very strange inside. It was perverse, it was wrong, it was unnatural…and yet it was somehow wildly arousing at the same time. No husband would want to share his own beloved wife with another man. And yet…

And yet he had to admit to himself, somewhere deep inside, that it would be a very, very kinky thrill to step back and watch Samantha perform. When he made love to his dear Samantha, after all, Tom adored the sweet intimacy of the act—filling his arms with her soft fluttering body, feeling her along every inch of his flesh, smelling her, tasting her, seeing nothing but his own dear wife beneath him, open and ready and available. In a way, though, while that meant possessing her utterly, it also meant seeing only part of the picture. What would it be like, he wondered, to draw back instead, to observe his wife’s arousal as if it were a laboratory experiment to study or some piece of art to examine and critique?

Heart hammering in his own uncertainty and anticipation, he would watch her lie back and open those solid white thighs, and as he held his breath, some great big fat purple cockhead would push bluntly through her stickily opening labia—those sweet portals which Tom so loved but which now would plump up thick and juicy for some stranger’s mindless intrusion—and a veiny shaft of turgid meat would slide shudderingly down, down, down, until the scrunched-up skin of the man’s expectant balls pressed home.

Swallowing, Tom imagined it. He would watch his wife’s soft hairy p***y split wide open with the repeated penetration of someone else’s swollen red organ, would smell the excitement of her body and hear the sounds of her forbidden pleasure as her body began to move with his, rhythmically. Oh, how she might lie there beneath Tom’s own best friend, shuddering comfortably to every animalistic thrust, gasping as the blunt digits of unfamiliar hands sank into her meaty hips and grabbed at her rippling breasts! While some hungry mouth sucked her big fat n*****s to make her squeal, Tom would watch his beloved get pounded into the sweaty sheets and used like a w***e.

“You do want me to, don’t you?” she asked at last, quietly and yet with a half-lidded gaze that smoldered somehow. “To pay your debt, I mean,” she husked.

How he loved this sweet, wild wife of his! He would do anything for her, anything! Within his pants his untouched organ, which had shrunken tiny in its fright and confusion, pounded absolutely engorged now, enormously swollen with the terrible lusts engendered by the sweet, forbidden thoughts swirling through his mind. The imagined scenes burned impossibly bright in his perverse fancy, and his blazing ears seemed to ring with the soft sounds of her possession.

“Don’t you…?” she prodded him softly, her eyes burning emeralds as she touched herself.

Tom licked his lips. It was wrong, but, ah, how stiff his poor purple c**k was, thick and cramped and crooked! And he had seen things like this on the internet, had he not? Yes, he had jerked off to dirty amateur videos of the very same acts, thrilling himself with the reminder that the people he saw writhing upon the screen before him were not merely paid performers following the script which some hack had written, but real, ordinary people just like himself…and Samantha. He had never imagined sharing his own wife like that, of course. Not really, anyway… But, oh, how the blood surged and throbbed within his guilty red organ!

At length he found his voice. “Yes, my dear,” he said solemnly, his face very red as he tried to keep his voice steady somehow. “Thank you.”

Samantha smiled naughtily, and for a moment she concentrated on the movement of her well-practiced fingertips within her soaked cotton panties. Then, very deliberately, she slowed, and began teasing herself once more. “How many guys did you say were playing in that card game?” she wondered.

“Well—” He shrugged in surprise, taken aback at the sudden question. “Mike and Steve and me, and Aaron, Joe… I don’t know, about eight or ten of us altogether.” Suddenly his eyes went wide. “Why?” he breathed suspiciously.

“Because maybe Mike was the one to win that hand, but you were betting against everyone else as well.” She smiled tightly, her face suffused with the glow of her incipient orgasm. “Weren’t you?”

“W-well, y-yeah,” he admitted a little uneasily, “b-but—”

“You talked me up in front of all of them, Tom,” she reminded him pointedly. “You talked about me like a w***e in front of all those guys, demeaning me.” Suddenly her eyes flashed dangerously. “But I’m not your w***e, am I?”

Tom blinked. “N-no!” he gulped. “O-of course not!”

“That’s right, big man,” sneered Samantha quietly, m**********g herself with regal determination while he could only fondle her lolling breasts dutifully. “I’m not.”

“N-no, dear!” he assured her again, squirming beneath the power of those burning emerald orbs. “Of course not, dear!”

“Because I am not your w***e,” she pointed out grimly. “Now you’re mine!”

Nervously the man licked his lips.

“You are my cuckold now,” she reminded him vengefully. “My cuckold.”

Poor Tom blanched at the sound of this strange, terrible word, and at the cool, fearsomely powerful look in his wife’s darkly gleaming eyes. Why, fun was fun, but surely talk like this was going too far, wasn’t it? “B-b-but—” he sputtered.