The Cock Star & The Cuckquean Ch. 03

For those of you joining us right now, this story will make infinitely more sense if you take the trouble of reading the previous chapters. If you haven't the patience to go back, this story focuses upon the private life of a public couple. As the most accomplished porn star of modern times, Samson lives out popular male sex fantasies on a daily basis. Yet his heart still belongs to Sandra Kong, his business manager, high school sweetheart and shameless cuckquean.

*****

APRIL 22, 2017: MEDITERRANEAN SEA

The 96" plasma screen illuminated the darkened bedroom through a dense haze of marijuana smoke. Olivia and Anaïs shared a joint. Lola and Samson watched television. They all chilled nude in his Ultra King Size bed.

"Though the incident has sparked international fascination," explained the newscaster. "Samson's spokesman offered no comment."

Lola hit the remote. The TV blipped to another station.

"I can't decide if that dude is a pervert or a hero," declared Rosie O'Donnell. "Pervert," answered Whoopi deadpan.

Blip.

"Breaking news," intoned the announcer. "Stay tuned for new footage of Samson's daring escape from Ibiza after this commercial break."

Blip.

"It sends a terrible message to the youth of America," opined a stern Bill O'Reilly. "Hollywood liberals have gone too far this time."

Samson grabbed the remote and muted Fox News. The rock stud and his female entourage had been watching the 24-hour news cycle for almost... 24 hours. Little new information had emerged but there would be enough titillating biographical material about the erotic superstar to sustain a week of programming. Now that Samson and his scandalous reputation had entered mainstream culture, millions began to Google his name. And any search on the sexual iconoclast quickly sucked the innocent web surfer into the digital gutter of online porn.

Though his publicist called him a "musician," Samson had never even been to the Grammys, let alone acquired one. However, he did have a trophy case full of AVN awards. The stallion-hung superstud took the porn industry by storm five years earlier and starred in thousands of films. Moreover, he continued to act in adult movies even after acquiring vast fame and fortune. While most celebrities would hire a publicist to conceal their shady pasts, Samson basked in his shady present and made no apologies for that. The cockslinger knew a good thing when he saw it. Most of his wealth did not come from music. It came from porn.

Lola grabbed the remote back from Samson.

"C'mon, girl," he pleaded. "You know what he is going to say about me already."

"We may not know where Samson is hiding out today," bloviated an unmuted O'Reilly.

"But I assure him the whole world is watching."

"Speaking of which," smirked Lola. "Where were you hiding out today?"

"You saw where I was. Fucking Ava on the deck."

"Yeah, but what happened after you carried her inside? You did not come back here for at least an hour."

"I took Ava back to her bedroom."

"And who else was in her bedroom?"

"Celine."

"So did you fuck her?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Not really. Just curious."

"She took a shower with Ava and I. That's all."

As they spoke, Samson's hand crept toward the remote in her grasp. Just as he tried to grab it, Lola yanked her arm out of his reach and rolled to the other side of the bed with a laugh. Samson crawled after her. Before he closed in, she tossed the remote to Anaïs. Anaïs tossed it to Olivia. Olivia tossed it back to Lola. Samson playfully wrestled Lola to the mattress. Olivia and Anaïs piled on top of Samson. They were all naked and getting friskier by the second...

No one heard her knock. No one saw her enter. Ava had to tap Samson on the shoulder to get his attention. He glanced up at her while continuing to pound Lola from behind. It had not been the first time his valet caught him in flagrante delicto. The only surprise was that she did not take off her clothes to join the orgy.

"She's here," Ava told him.

Samson froze in mid-thrust.

"Where?"

"She's waiting for you in my office."

She was none other than Sandra Kong, Samson's ex-girlfriend and current business manager. He became uncharacteristically serious. Samson did not fuck with Sandra. He had big balls but she would slice them off without a second thought. Eva handed him his robe.

"How come you didn't tell me?"

"She just showed up."

"How? We're on a fucking yacht in the middle of nowhere."

"We do have a helipad."

"Right."

Though Samson might have been his own man. Samson, Inc. was Sandra's personal creation. From an early age, she guided his career in porn and sculpted his iconic persona. Their beginnings were humble. She was a dancer in a strip club. Samson was a bouncer. Their love was passionate and kinky. Sandra told him he could never be her only lover. She needed to be with girls. However, because Sandra loved and trusted him, he would need to be there for her. Her boyfriend would have to be an active participant in her relations with other women.

As a result, Samson and Sandra had many, many threesomes. Sandra already had dated quite a few strippers and most of them were more than happy to share Samson. Almost every dancer lusted after Sandra's hot boyfriend. Before the bouncing gig, Samson reputedly won many bodybuilding competitions as a teenager until getting disqualified for being too well-hung. The truth was a bit more complex. As the muscle hunk matured, the obscene bulge in his posing suit became a major distraction on stage. His package freaked out so many judges that the NYBA (National Young Bodybuilders Association) quietly cut him a $25,000 check to not participate in any more tournaments until he turned 18.

Gossip about the sexy couple began to circulate around the strip club. They were taking home a different chick every night and the lucky girl got pumped for details the next day. While the guy in a threeway often became an inept, slack-jawed third wheel, Samson proved himself a stud to be reckoned with. His stamina could be measured in hours. His erection was too big to fit in a Magnum XL condom. His prowess reportedly left women in tears of ecstasy. At closing time, Sandra received a nightly flurry of texts asking to hang out with her and Samson.

Inevitably, one of their girlfriends recorded their playdate on her smartphone. She forwarded the video to her cousin. Lisa James worked in porn and recognized his talent immediately. She reached out through her cousin to Sandra. The opportunity could not have come at a better time. Sandra was tired of stripping. Call her old-fashioned but she wanted her boyfriend to be the breadwinner even if that meant doing porn. Samson was cool with that. He loved Sandra and he loved sex.

Within a month, the couple relocated to LA. Sandra acted as his business manager and the rest was history. While most of the adult film industry was geared toward male viewers, she identified an underserved market. Female audiences had been thirsting for a leading man in porn, an X-rated equivalent of Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp. However, Sandra did not settle for making Samson into a second-rate clone of an existing celebrity. He would develop his own persona.

With his dark mane of waist-length hair and ultra-muscular physique, Samson had presence. Like wearing a bandanna or fringed buckskin chaps, few men could pull off his look. And, of course, there was the most alluring feature of his amorous persona. In an aroused state, it extended thirteen and a half inches, measuring eight inches around, thundering upwards in a dramatic, powerful arc, hard as steel, hot as flame. A lesser man would look ridiculous with such outsized equipment. However, between Samson's corded thighs, his tool only affirmed the alpha stud's exuberant masculinity.

Through his girlfriend's skillful representation, the stallion-sized heartthrob quickly became the go-to guy for any porn studio's specialty line of "big cock" videos. Not only was he a literal workhorse that could shoot three scenes a day, Samson shared a uniquely intense sexual chemistry with his female partners. Actresses never had to fake an orgasm with him. They came early and often. Because his scenes possessed a genuine intimacy and erotic tension rarely captured in most videos, Samson earned a devoted female following. Girls sensed they were watching real passion unfold on screen.

Word quickly got around the biz about him. Samson had a huge waiting list of A-list porn stars that wanted to work with him. That's when Sandra took him off the market. She raised his rate to $500k per scene, a price not even the biggest studio would be willing to pay. Meanwhile, Sandra set up their own production company. XXXL Entertainment only signed one star. His name was Samson. It only had one owner. Her name was Sandra.

The company released videos on its own website. The website made $5M in subscription fees in its first year. Three years later, revenues would top $50M. Sandra would have appeared on the cover of Fortune had she been in a different line of work. The businesswoman had begun to become legit by diversifying into other businesses. However, Samson's stunt on the beach made her look like a complete idiot. Just the thought of the potential liabilities made her want to kick him in the nuts.

Samson doused himself with cologne. It did not help. He now smelled like cologne and pussy instead of just pussy. He had not spoken to Sandra in awhile. They had broken up... again. Ava sensed his unease.

"Chill. She's still your friend."

"Right," he grimaced as they walked into the corridor. Ava's office was on the upper deck. The door was closed. Ava gave him a peck on the cheek and went downstairs. Samson knocked.

The door swung open. Sandra wore a T-shirt and jeans. The outfit was modest but she could make overalls look sexy. Kong was not just beautiful. She was uniquely beautiful. Sandra did not look like a plastic model off the San Fernando Valley assembly line of porn models. The mixed race bombshell had African curves on a slender Asian frame. Very few women carried DD-cup breasts, weighed 130 pounds, and stood just below six feet. This was not due to an eating disorder or plastic surgery. Her preposterous measurements were purely the result of good genetics and a strict Paleo diet. She also worked two hours a day and had a black belt in Aikido. Samson had suffered her wrath. He feared he would suffer it again in that office.

Sandra raised her hand and slapped his cheek. The blow reverberated inside the corridor like a crack of thunder. A perfectly duplicated imprint of her hand marked the right side of his face in red. She stepped in closer before he could recover, and shoved him against the wall with surprising force. Her eyes glowed with a rage he had not beheld since she caught him in bed with Paris Hilton.

Without warning, his hands snapped forward, gripping her wide, flared hips, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her luscious bottom. Before she could react, he pivoted, rolling the two of them along the wall until their positions were reversed, her back striking the wall with a thump.

They locked eyes. Samson closed in for a kiss. In an instant, the tension unraveled. Their hearts sped up with dizzying pulsations of lust. The couple's mutual attraction existed at such a primal level that it superseded any anger or suspicion that one harbored against the other. They were not husband and wife nor boyfriend and girlfriend. Samson and Sandra were superstud and supervixen. Like Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson, they were individuals of extraordinary appetites and attributes. The oversexed couple bonded in a way that defied logic and morality.

A month of separation was a long time for them. No matter how promiscuous the orgiastic Lothario appeared in the tabloids, Sandra always came first. And she came hard. Their relationship was as passionate as it was open and unconventional. The sexual freedom they allowed each other kept their mutual lust blazing at a feverish intensity.

Sandra untied the belt to his robe and yanked it off his broad shoulders. It felt like an unveiling a statue. Samson's strength was palpable. His abs creased with each labored breath. His exquisitely ripped torso just graced the covers of Muscle & Fitness and Rolling Stone last month. Yet nothing compared to being in the same room with her gorgeous boyfriend and his big cock.

Samson's fingertips glided up the contours of her hourglass figure. Her nipples spiked. They poked through the fabric. Sandra went braless today. Samson palmed her jugs. His hands had fresh callouses. He just climbed a 70-foot cable. A billion people saw the video. The stunt got her hot. Even hotter than his sex tape with Kim Kardashian.

Samson reeled from a pounding headrush. His condom-busting anaconda required more than a pint of blood to grow erect. The sudden drain of blood from his brain made him dizzy. Fogged by lust, his hands moved by instinct. A finger popped open the buttons of her fly. Another loosened the knot of her G-String. Sandra tore off her T-shirt. The girl was DTF.

Samson kicked the door shut with his foot. He scanned the office. There was a desk and a couch. He chose the desk. His arm swept it clean of business crap. Samson laid Sandra on the desktop. She spread her legs. He buried his face in her crotch. His infamous tongue slid from between his lips. The tip flickered with the speed of a hummingbird's wing against her clit. Sandra clutched the edges of the desk. Her lover gave amazing head.

Fully extended, Samson's tongue hung several inches below his chin. Though often compared to Gene Simmons, Samson out-tongued even the legendary frontman of KISS. Dr. Michaels measured it at an astonishing nine inches. Samson could wrap the prehensile organ around a giant candy cane and lift it into his mouth. He could crack it in the air like a whip. But he mostly employed his lingual agility to drive females berserk with pleasure. Porn actresses lined up to work with Samson not just for his stallion-sized endowment. They wanted to feel his serpentine tongue scouring the inside of their pussies.

Samson delved deep into her steaming honeypot. The ribbon of flesh grazed her G-spot. The tip probed places only known to her gynecologist. It began to undulate rhythmically. Samson grasped her twitching hips and began to count down. Just as he reached zero, Sandra instantly climaxed, whimpering, sobbing, tears spilling down her cheeks. Drawing her down, he held her close until her sobs quieted and breathing slowed. Samson stroked her hair and whispered into her ear, "A month is a long time."

She nodded. The throbbing between her legs resumed within seconds. Samson rose back to his full height and tossed back his mane of long black hair. His thick dangling python slapped against his legs as he stretched his strong arms behind his broad back.

"You're wearing your wedding band," she smiled. "How sweet of you!"

Unbeknownst to the press, Sandra and Samson had married long ago. By some miracle, they managed to keep it a secret. The union had been arranged for legal reasons. According to U.S. law, a spouse could not testify against her mate in a criminal trial. Though it had just been a precaution back then, the marriage would prove essential in light of Samson's recent legal troubles.

Despite its utilitarian nature, Sandra insisted they have some kind of ceremony. She recruited a few of their favorite bisexual playmates for bridesmaids. Ava acted as Samson's best man. A Wiccan priest, who moonlighted as a stripper, married the libertine couple. The most memorable part of the ceremony involved the wedding bands. Rings were out of the question since the marriage was secret. Instead, a jeweler designed two identical diamond bracelets. Samson slipped one of them on Sandra's wrist. Sandra slipped the other on her husband's erection. They had taken their vows in the nude.

Since the bracelets were adorned with a half-million dollars of diamonds, neither wore them except on special occasions. Samson noticed Sandra also was wearing her bracelet that evening. Tonight felt just like the first time. They would remember that day forever.

Samson (née Lance Leo) was a first-semester freshman that already took both the varsity wrestling and football teams to the state championship. Sandra was an aloof straight-A senior that had ignited the collective lust of the entire male student body. She shot down every quarterback and Prom King who dared make an approach. Sandra was into girls. She had a talent for identifying and seducing lipstick lesbians. But Lance tempted her like no other man.

Like everyone, she heard the rumors. The teenage Casanova exclusively hooked up with seniors and went all of the way with each and every one of them on the first date. Within his first month of high school, he allegedly had banged his way through the entire squad of varsity cheerleaders. Before their boyfriends got wise, Lance moved on to older women. He seduced the blonde and buxom Miss Tracey, a 25-year old French teacher, and possibly hooked up with another half-dozen desirable females on the faculty.

Sandra played it cool. She stalked him quietly and learned his routine. After classes, he worked out in the weight room of the high school. Lance never attended practice. As long as he kept winning championships, the coaches did not complain. Further, the athletic department had to find a new jockstrap for him before he could get back on the mat. His massive endowment fell out of his wrestling shorts at the last state tournament. Lance was more amused than embarrassed but the school grew very concerned.

After his "wardrobe malfunction," Lance's reputation began to spread beyond the schoolyard. He spent his evenings with a titillating assortment of cougars. Teachers showed up in the mix but any attractive female was fair game. Sandra could hear impassioned screams from inside their homes at night. The sensuous racket lasted for hours. Lance couldn't drive a car to school but he could drive a woman to tears. Sandra vowed to give up her cherry to him.

Sandra owned a van. It had no windows in the back. She drove up to Lance one morning. He had just snuck out the back door of Miss Tracey's house. Sandra asked him if he wanted a ride to school. He got in but they did not make it to classes that day.

Sandra had decked out the back of the van into a cozy love nest. A king mattress with satin sheets covered the floor. The mini-bar was stocked with Evian and energy bars. They would not need to leave for a long time. By the time she staggered out the back of the van that evening, they had become a couple.

Going steady with Samson was never simple of course. The teenage heartthrob was a natural born player. Lance never lied though. He confessed to every last infidelity. It angered her. It also turned her on. Much as he adored Sandra, she could never tame him. They fought and they fucked. They fucked and they fought. Samson had a simple philosophy. The more time he spent fucking a woman, the less time he argued with her.

The stallion-hung playboy pushed slowly into Sandra's pussy, feeling her moist labia stretch to accommodate his thick shaft and giant knob. Inch after inch sank into her cunt as he claimed her body. He started to feel slight tremors inside her passage. Each wave would build, crest, and recede, like waves crashing onto a beach. Sandra would lie still for a moment, and then he would feel her body tense as another spasm rippled through her cunt. Samson kept pushing slowly in, penetrating her and filling her with cock.

"Oh ... fuck... fuck..." she moaned, as Samson sank deeper into her hot, wet recesses. Sandra's succulent pussy unfolded around his throbbing tool with tantalizing deliberation. Her passage had tightened up considerably after a month of abstinence from his thirteen-and-a-half inch ladykiller. He had to proceed with more caution than usual. Yet both of them felt the impatient throb of lust in their loins. They wanted it harder...deeper...faster. Yet there was also the novelty of rediscovering each other's bodies.