"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 The couple's mutual attraction existed at such a primal level that it superseded any anger or suspicion that one harbored against the other.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.
