The Supremacy of Samantha

Chapter Four-2

At last, therefore, with his nostrils flaring at the imagined scent of the sweet abomination, he had agreed. Whimpering in his need, he surrendered to her and gave himself up, squirming happily even while he cringed in his shame, and he dropped to his knees between her solid white thighs, and he buried his face in her commanding cunt, and he made love in the most profound way he could. She did not deign to allow him an orgasm—why, she claimed he would have no s****l relief at all until next weekend, after the terrible deed was done—but even in his degradation and his neglect the adoring man could only cling devotedly to her full hips and slobber his wanton fallen angel into a beautifully sighing rapture.

He tried to reassure himself as he blinked uncertainly now in the harsh light of morning, that had all been just play, hadn’t it? Mere harmless fantasy, outrageous though it was. Why, yes, they had, ah, said certain things in the height, or perhaps depth, of their desperately mounting sensual agitation last night, but that was all it was—just words, empty words, merely some silly bed talk that got out of hand. These things happened sometimes, he supposed. Oh, he didn’t mind, Tom told himself magnanimously. His excitable darling had been simply so turned on, and he, of course, had craved to force her wondrous excitation higher and higher, stoking her surprisingly inventive appetites to make her ever more wild-eyed in her crazy need, ever more beautiful, ever more desirable. Ah, for to the loving husband the broad-beamed Samantha was desirability incarnate, and always had been…and yet how much more irresistible she could be when her sometimes-shy libido could be coaxed and inflamed!

Shivering in his own holy need, Tom rolled over upon his side, and he reached now for the sleeping form of his round-hipped wife. She was warm and soft, and she felt good in his hands. Caressingly he ran his palms across her soft belly and her hips, the lolling masses of her negligee-clad bosom, her meaty thighs. Kissing tenderly at the silken skin of her freckled shoulder, the man reached farther down, and he prodded something thick-lipped and yielding through the cotton of her panties, feeling the crinkly blonde hairs rasp beneath the sliding fabric. The cleft there grew warmer, and her panties were damp now, and he could smell her, salty and sharp and utterly feminine, with his wondering nostrils drawing deep of the heavenly scent. Samantha stirred groggily, confusedly, beneath the molestation, and with his other hand he stroked the tousled waves of gold back from her flushed forehead, and he nuzzled tenderly into her faintly sticky neck even as he prodded her responsive body into readiness.

Groaning, the green-eyed angel shuddered as her consciousness bubbled up from whatever crazy s*x-dream he had engendered in her vulnerable synapses, up into the realm of reality, where suddenly her head was tossing upon the rumpled pillow as Tom finally reached under the crotch of those soaked panties and found her cunt wet and open, and he rubbed it, eagerly, panting, and then, still touching her urgently, he started to get up so that he could climb between those wide-open knees.

And yet suddenly, catching herself, Samantha with an effort forced her seething body into stillness, and she rolled her face to regard him eye to eye, sardonic and self-composed. Taken aback, Tom could only bite his lip as she scrutinized his wildly agitated features, herself icily cool. Despite himself, the veins in his erection loosened uncertainly.

“Don’t you remember what I said last night?” she murmured darkly, narrowing her emerald orbs.

Tom licked his lips nervously. “W-well…” he began at last. And yet, awkward beneath her stern gaze, he could only trail off helplessly.

“I said,” she told him in dangerously soft tones, pointing one commanding finger for emphasis, “that I was going to cuckold you with all your poker buddies, didn’t I?”

“W-w-well…” he attempted.

“And I said,” she continued gloatingly, “that a naughty little boy like you wasn’t going to get anything—anything!—until I so kindly paid off the bet which you in your male foolishness had made to Mike, and then I was paid off with my gangbang.” Lids slitted, she held his gaze challengingly. “Didn’t I?”

“W-well, s-s-sure,” admitted Tom, “but—”

“‘But’ nothing, big man,” she insisted quietly. She regarded him unblinkingly for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You do remember all the things you said about me to your friends, don’t you?” wondered Samantha, arching one smoky eyebrow ever so slightly.

Tom bit his lip. Yes, how he had talked up the s****l charms of his poor unsuspecting wife before all his wide-eyed friends! She was the sun about which his entire world revolved, the love of his life, the mother of his children…and yet the thoughtless man had demeaned her like a piece of meat. All the secret, special things that a loving wife shows only to her husband— He had revealed those treasured intimacies before leering strangers, betraying her hallowed trust. Thinking only of winning that filthy money that so many other men’s grasping hands had dirtied, he had, essentially, put his own wife in the same category. He had swaggered and boasted and bragged like some insecure teenager, selfishly. He had thought nothing of the consequences, or of how his poor Samantha would feel. Oh, his conduct was unforgivable, and he knew it.

“Yes,” he said at last, miserably, “and I’m just so sorry, honey.”

“Then don’t you dare forget,” she told him flatly as her expressive brows drew down at the center and hard little lines etched the fine skin about her eyes, “that I am not your whore.” Again she held his cringing gaze. “You,” she reminded him very distinctly, “are mine.”

Tom gulped. “Y-y-yes, dear,” he agreed, abashed but dutiful.

Her face softened then slightly, and the corner of her lips quirked. Hurriedly she reached down, and to his amazement she wrestled off her moist panties and flung them aside, leaving her suddenly hairy and split-lipped and fragrant between the solid masses of the thighs that she now threw wide. “Now eat me!” she hissed urgently.

How his erection throbbed thickly into life once more! Gripping her rounded hip in his arousal, he pulled down the waistband of his pajamas to expose the purple-headed thing, and then, giving himself a few quick, comfortable jerks that sent an expectant glow through the base of his hungry belly, he scrambled quickly down between Samantha’s pulled-up knees. There, with his hips angled awkwardly to the side to give his joggling p***s—and the fist that gripped it!—room, he lay happily down and reached excitedly for the comfort of that familiar vulva, petal-soft and glistening beneath a garden of aromatic blonde curls. He opened her up with one trembling hand, and he lunged in, gasping—

But Samantha stopped the surprised man with a swift, disdainful look. “Ah-ah-ah!” she remonstrated him, wagging her forefinger grimily. “None for you, big man!”

“Wh-what?” stammered Tom. Uncertainly he blinked up across her soft belly into once-familiar green eyes whose coldness frightened him almost as deeply as the intimate fishy reek of the crinkly strands that tickled his cheeks and his nose, and his lips piqued and riled his every erotic sensibility.

“Out of the kindness of my heart,” she crooned ironically, “I allowed you the privilege of granting me an orgasm last night, but I see now that I was being too lenient.” Her eyes flashed. “Now it’s not just gonna be no s*x, therefore. Not merely not just a quickie pity-f**k that would embarrass you even more than it would me. Not merely not just laying on top of me and sliding all the way in, balls-deep and shivering, and promising so pathetically to stay motionless and not come, and not soil me with your disobedient sperm. Not merely not just putting in only a teeny-weeny inch or two as you beg and squirm and try to tell me that just that little bit shouldn’t really matter.” She smiled grimly as by the look on his face she knew that she, of course, had anticipated the predictable man’s every possible suggestion—or, perhaps more properly, plea.

“But now,” continued Samantha softly, “now that I see what I’m really up against, there isn’t going to be any naughty little jerk-job either. Last night’s generosity, I see, was far, far too much.”

Tom could only blink back at the highhandedness, the unfairness of it all. “B-but I d-didn’t—” Strangely embarrassed, he bit his lip. It felt stupid somehow even to say it, as if the admission would make him look even more foolish and worthless and small. And yet he had knelt there and jerked off as excitedly as a kid, and yet he hadn’t had an orgasm.

“You didn’t ejaculate,” she nodded calmly, “no. You didn’t come. You didn’t squirt. You didn’t soil yourself. You didn’t spill your seed like Onan. You didn’t thwart me completely by giving your undeserving male body an orgasm in a time that was meant to be solely for me.”

Uncomfortably the man fidgeted beneath those mocking green orbs, narrowed as they were beneath lids fringed in pale yet dense lashes. God, how excited he had been last night, slobbering so gratefully in the lap of the soft, motherly woman whom he had wronged so! It had felt so good to snuggle in there face-first and sighing, to feel her and smell her and taste her, to please his forgiving darling in the most intimate and heartfelt way he could. Why, after what he had done, she deserved it all, and more. It had felt good, too, to keep rolling his wrist as he knelt there, to rub the thin, stretchable skin back and forth up over the sensitive rim of his bloated purple cockhead and feel the buzz ripple straight down into the bottom of his tight-pulled scrotum. Ah, he felt he could have done it forever, wallowing in the gentle, undemanding bliss of it all.

And yet when at last his buxom dear had groaned out her sumptuous release, and he kissed and sucked so passionately, so selflessly, upon the engorged little protrusion of her wildly spasming c******s, then once Samantha finally had caught her breath and collected her wits, she looked down at the devoted worshipper who knelt, literally knelt, rapt before her, and proud at what he had done. At the expression in those icily self-composed emerald orbs, however, the man had flinched. Why, he had pleased her, he told himself almost pleadingly. He had showed how much he loved her, and how sorry he was. Surely she understood now, and would forgive him. And about all the strange, humiliating things she had said…she had only been kidding, had she not? he asked himself. Either that, or at least now she was mollified, and would relent.

It was not to be, however. Erect and needy and subservient before his haughty goddess, poor Tom could only gape, aghast, as she commented simply, “Good w***e,” and then strode calmly off to bed, leaving him pathetically unsatisfied. Now, though— she made it sound as if even that had been even more than he deserved.

“Yes, merely not having an orgasm,” continued Samantha imperturbably, bringing him back to the present, “is not enough.” For an unhurried moment she stared off into space, considering. At last she seemed to nod to herself, then cast her eyes once more down at her confused and dreading husband. “It’s not just intercourse you must be denied,” she explained in great reasonableness, as if to a child. “It’s not even just orgasm. It is everything, all s****l pleasure in any of its manifestations.”

Her lips curled at the hurt look he could not keep from suffusing his helplessly unguarded visage, and the once-empathetic creature seemed now to drink in the torment and the confusion in his silently pleading eyes. God, it just wasn’t right! he told himself stubbornly. No on deserved this kind of denial, this degradation, this humiliation. Why, she was his wife! Didn’t that mean anything?

Perhaps she was asking herself the same thing, and with even more cause for grievance, he realized at once, deeply abashed. For what had the sanctity of his marriage meant to the supposed high-roller at the poker table last night? Nothing, nothing at all. He had acted like a big man before all those other guys, had strutted and leered, had objectified and demeaned the spouse who instead deserved to be put on a pedestal and looked up to. No, there was no excuse for his actions, he admitted again sorrowfully. She was in the right—she was—and he was low and unworthy. Oh, he deserved her scorn; he knew ruefully, he truly did.