The Supremacy of Samantha

Chapter Two-2

“You already asked me to give myself to Mike, didn’t you?” she reminded him purposefully, her eyes narrowed. “You weren’t man enough to handle the situation, apparently, and now I have to step up and take care of it. Lie down and take care of it, that is,” she murmured wickedly.

Feeling embarrassed, somehow trapped, he felt the blood drain from his face. “B-but…” he whispered uncertainly.

“But nothing, my cuckold,” Samantha derided him calmly. “You set yourself up for it. Why, apparently you wanted this as much as they did.”

Swallowing uncomfortably, he tried to shake his head, his eyes wide. But his p***s was so strangely rigid.

“But clearly you did,” crooned Samantha hypnotically. “Perhaps subconsciously—but secretly, desperately, oh-so guiltily…yet undeniably nevertheless.” Her smile was slow and almost predatory as her fingers swirled languid and deliberate within a squelching nest of hairy pink velvet. “Why else would you even have suggested such a thing, Tom? Clearly you are a bad, bad boy who gets off on the thought of watching his wifey get f****d by someone else.”

Tom’s lips were dry, his mouth cottony.

“I can see your hard-on,” she pressed him remorselessly. “You are a dirty, perverted cuckold who wants to see someone else’s d**k inside of me.” Her nostrils flared. “Oh, what a bad, bad boy.”

Fiercely ashamed, he could make no reply. He wanted to deny it, but what could be say? The only thing more humiliating than being teased and taunted like this was the secret knowledge, somewhere way deep down inside, that maybe, just maybe she had a point. Even as his sensibilities recoiled, after all, his poor betraying c**k still throbbed its mindless acquiescence. Abashed and pitiful, as if she was doing him a favor merely by allowing this intimacy, he began to fondle her stiff-tipped white bosoms once more.

“So how many others were there at this poker game…?” she wondered again, icily soft,

Tom licked his dry lips. “B-besides me,” he replied unwillingly, “th-there were—” He thought quickly. “There were eight,” he admitted at last, feeling somehow that he should not.

“Well, then,” explained Samantha in grand mock-patience, “that’s how many will get to f**k me.”

The poor man’s jaw dropped. “B-b-but—” he sputtered helplessly, his palms suddenly motionless upon silken rippling mounds whose pink-brown centers stood deliciously sensitive and crinkled.

“Because what it’s gonna take for me to feel like you’ve paid me off for paying off your debt to Mike,” Samantha told her shocked husband purposefully, “is to lie back and get ogled and groped and f****d by every single one of those guys.”

“B-but, honey…” he whined. Unconsciously he had let his grasping hands stop, but she just kept on rubbing herself, unnoticing.

“Every single one,” she repeated dreamily, “c**k after c**k after c**k…” Her eyelids fluttered. “If I took that, then we could almost call it even.”

Kneeling before her, Tom could only stare at his wife, helplessly entranced. Without even realizing it, his hands commenced working over her upstanding n*****s once again.

“That’d be okay, wouldn’t it?” she wondered, saccharine-sweet. “Wouldn’t it? Just to make us even? I mean, as long as you’ve already essentially begged me—” Eyes flashing, she pursed her wicked lips. “But not quite, come to think of it,” she corrected herself. “You’ve only asked me to pay your debt.” Her sultry green orbs bored into his. “You need to beg me.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” he whispered in a small voice.

“Beg me,” she instructed him solemnly, her eyelids flushed and heavy. “Beg me to pay your debt.”

For a moment Tom could only fidget uncomfortably. At last, though, he began to touch her n*****s once more. “Please, Samantha,” he murmured dutifully, performing beneath her self-satisfied gaze, “w-w-would you please pay my debt? I-I-I—” He swallowed. “I beg of you,” he whispered formally.

“You want me to make love to Mike?” she wondered matter-of-factly. “You weren’t man enough to take care of things, and now you need me to lie back naked and soft and open, to spread my legs and let him do aaaaanything he wants, aaaaanything he needs, inside of me?”

The blood pounded at Tom’s temples, and his engorged purple cockhead. “Yes,” he whispered finally. “I—I beg of you.”

“Reallllllly?” she teased him, smirking.

“Yes,” he murmured meekly, utterly defeated, and yet somehow, very secretly, wallowing joyously in it as well. “Please. P-please?”

“Well,” she shrugged in a magnanimous tone, “since it’s that important to you…oh, I guess so.” Her voice was light, and yet her eyes were triumphant. “And now, since you have begged so humbly for me to let some other man’s throbbing red c**k inside of my once-sacrosanct body, why, what difference does another seven make, eh?” Breathing heavily, she rubbed herself at the top of her naughty cunt.

Blinking, he thought about it. If this was her level of arousal now at merely proposing this abomination, how excited would she be when she finally went through with her plan and offered herself up to his friends as payment? Oh, she would tease them like a w***e, he realized slowly, anything just to make them truly wild with desire, to guarantee that they would really work her over as she craved. Would she strip for them, perhaps, teasing and slow? And then, with all eyes upon her desirable flesh, would she preen and pose and touch herself before them? Yes, she might even push those big jugs of hers up to her face and suck the thick n*****s herself, sly and smacking before the wide-eyed crowd. And then, surely, she would smirk and lower her flushed eyelids, and commence m**********g in earnest.

Most likely, though, she would not quite bring herself to orgasm—not from any squeamishness, of course, but merely so she could cherish every stroke of those strangers’ plumped-up c***s! As Tom watched silently, then, trembling with pent-up emotion, all of his friends would gather around and take turns pleasuring themselves within his dear wife’s nakedness. Bright-eyed and erect, those men would ogle her like a piece of meat, groping her exposed flesh all together—squeezing her supple t**s, tugging at the swollen crinkles of her responsive pink-brown n*****s, putting their fingers in her p***y to see what she felt like inside. Soon, naughtily excited by their attentions, she would open herself up and lie back beneath their lusts, smooth and soft and white, taking them balls-deep into her sweaty hole one by one. Oh, how she would shudder and squeal!

And as she shook to the welcome ravishment, smirking and sly-eyed, she might encourage them softy. Perhaps she would coo against a flushed and stubbly cheek, grasp possessively at some muscular male buttock, even reach up her red-nailed fingertips to scratch and pinch at hairy male n*****s… Yes, although she liked to pretend to be shy and demure in bed, once she got started, she could indeed be a real slut when she got all worked up. Sometimes Tom liked to make her come first, and then as he sawed his rigid organ back and forth within her satisfied pink pit, he loved to arch his back between her raised knees, silently offering up the sensitive little points of the n*****s crowning his flat chest for her to tease and tantalize. How his wicked wife had taught him to crave it! She really knew how to treat the often-neglected things, and once she started twisting and pulling at them, the naughty electric buzz that ran straight to the base of his clenching balls was sure to make the long-suffering husband ejaculate in bare seconds.

And what would it be like, he wondered slowly, to watch her treat another—no, not just one but a whole group of them!—like that? Though it was she who lay impaled, pinned to the bed with one intrusive red c**k after another, it would be she who was truly in control. If she wanted to touch and taste her own body before them, she would. If she wanted to be stroked and fondled by eight pairs of eager, strange male hands, she would be. If she wanted simply to lie back and yank some gasping man’s helpless n*****s so that he was forced immediately to squirt all over the inside of her, she would do it, smirking. Though a pang of instinctive jealousy still gave a painful little twinge at the pit of Tom’s belly, counterbalancing that reaction was a perverse sense of arousal at the thought of watching his wife abandon herself to her dirty pleasures and comport herself like a total slut. The notion was just so primal, so powerful, that he could not deny it.

“You do agree, then?” prodded Samantha, smirking at his own reciprocal excitation, secret and deeply shameful though it was. She rubbed herself between her warm thighs. “It’s only fair, isn’t it—to pay me back? You’d give it all to me, and watch me perform.”

Tom pursed his lips as if still trying to make up his mind. He watched his wife touch herself. He opened his mouth—then closed it. Despite the dirty thoughts that danced within him, it was still so hard to say, to admit aloud that he would want to see her simply f****d, over and over and over.

“Come on, naughty boy,” she teased him prettily. “You do want me to do it, don’t you? You begged me, after all. Don’t you? Don’t you?”

His face felt as red as his poor blazing c**k. Oh, how desperately he wanted her! How he wished he could do it all himself—simply mount her and work his raging body to orgasm a dozen times in a row, feeling her slippery and sucking all along the stretched skin of his raging hard-on, feeling her damp and hairy and open against the sweaty belly that he pressed into again and again, compulsively. How he wanted to wallow in his desires, as she would be allowed to do!

“Wouldn’t you like to watch me, sweetie?” she wondered slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to see what I can do?”

“I guess so…” he found himself whispering finally.

Her sultry eyes blazed in triumph, and her lashes fluttered as she polished herself with renewed fervor.

“But—” Biting his lip, he stopped.

“What, honey?” she cooed.

Tom flushed more deeply. Eyes downcast, he murmured, “I just don’t want you kissing any of those guys.”

Samantha’s eyes came wide open, and she stared wonderingly at him for a moment. “Why, Tom, you’re serious!” she exclaimed with a little laugh.

“I just don’t want that,” he repeated stubbornly.

“Really?” she persisted. “But you’ve just begged me to cuckold you with eight other men! Why, you’d let all of your buddies…” She pursed her lips, then continued, “You begged me to let them all climb up on top of me and stick their great big fat yummy erections right in my p***y and do whatever they want with me, but you don’t want a—a kiss?”

Jaw set, he just shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he grunted, frowning.

“Oh, okay, you big sweetie,” she chuckled, “I won’t do aaaaanything naughty.” His eyes snapped up to hers, and he found her smirking faintly. “Those boys can feel me up all they like, and jiggle my big ol’ titties, even suck ’em and smack ’em and stretch ’em. Mm, they can push my cunt wide with their bloated purple cockheads, slide every thick inch of their p*****s inside of me, and just hump me balls-deep until they come, but just for my sweet hubby I won’t do anything naughty like kiss those boys.”

Tom squirmed, helpless beneath her challengingly self-composed gaze. “All right,” he replied somewhat truculently, feeling mocked and yet knowing that he no longer had any way to save face or even try to redeem himself. “I just didn’t want that, that’s all…”

“No, that’s fine, baby,” Samantha said airily, “but—” She thought about it for a moment, her cheeks warm. “Well, since I am so magnanimous to agree to your silly condition, it goes without saying, doesn’t it, that I should have one of my own?”

“Such as…?” came his wary reply.

“There’s no need to get testy about it,” she said mildly. “It’s me who’s doing you a favor, after all, not the other way around.”

“Mm hmm,” he conceded, smiling crookedly despite himself. What fun it was to plan her debauchery, to see her pose playfully and cajole him for ever more naughtiness! Oh, she excited him so! It was terrible, wicked even to admit to himself that he had agreed to such a perversion of all that was right and holy…but, what desperate fun it was, too! And really, he told himself, because he had given her free rein, in a way he had given up responsibility and hence guilt as well, had he not? It was not his idea, after all, not his choice. In bowing to her resurgent feminine superiority, it was almost as if he had absolved himself of all blame for this shameful and unnatural thing. Almost…

“All right, my most forgiving and magnanimous wife,” nodded Tom, “what is it? Because of me, no kissing. And for you?”

“No condoms!” she whispered, her eyes bright upon his.