The Bully Pt. 18

At least Samantha was looking directly at me as I nodded affirmation that I wanted to fuck her fist. Her eyes were glazed over, a combination of her inebriated state and her overall feeling of sexual satiation. I shuffled forward slowly, trying to figure out the mechanics of this handjob. A smile appeared on Samantha's face as she processed my capitulation, and she relaxed her fist slightly.

"Go on then, stud," she taunted. "Mount up. Fuck it like you own it."

Judging by the lack of co-operation on Samantha's part, this was going to be a very mechanical handjob. Her dainty fist was positioned at the wrong height for me to mount it comfortably, in either a standing or kneeling position. I settled for an awkward half-squat, struggling to maintain my balance as I sidled up to her greased hand. Once I had found a sweet spot in terms of my footing, I immediately felt discomfort in my knees, which wasn't surprising seeing as how I had been on them for much of the evening.

As soon as my glans made contact with the soft skin of her palm, I inhaled sharply. Despite Samantha's apparent lack of interest I was so worked up that I knew that this was going to be a very short-lived encounter. I eased my cock into the lubricated confines of her loose fist, and Samantha closed it around my shaft. Fortunately for me, Samantha had used the perfect amount of force to tighten her fist, and it felt just like a surrogate pussy.

"This is how I let John come most of the time," Samantha taunted me. "A lubed fist. Although with him it was mostly in the shower. I loved it when he blew his load all over the glass wall of the shower enclosure, knowing that he was required to clean it up afterwards."

I am not sure why Samantha felt compelled to ramble on about her subjugation of my nemesis, but as she detailed John's submission to her, it was apparent that she really was a man-hater.

"Of all the men I have pegged," she continued in a boastful manner, "John was the most enjoyable. That smooth-talking lothario cried like a little girl when I bent him over my desk. It was very satisfying to take his anal-cherry."

The mention of John's anal-cherry triggered a memory from within, and I immediately understood the significance of the bright red cherry emoji that had been next to his name in Samantha's journal.

As Samantha taunted me, there was a twinkle in her eyes, and her position of control seemed to elevate her state of arousal.

"Go on, stud," she mocked. "Fuck that fist. I haven't got all night. I have a date later with a real man."

It was the mention of Samantha with a real man that took me to the edge, and in an effort to maximize my pleasure I reached for her panties that were hanging around my neck and sniffed them. I just wanted some physical connection with Samantha as I approached my climax, and the aroma of her desire that permeated the silky undies was sufficient to get me off. With a final frantic thrust into her perfectly-formed fist, I let out a low moan of pleasure and exploded into her dainty palm.

"Pussy," Samantha said disdainfully, as I continued to fuck her fist in order to prolong my orgasm. "Panty-thief. Cuckold."

In an ideal world, I would have been permitted to enjoy a brief post-orgasmic moment, but Samantha had other plans. As she slowly opened her fist, revealing her dainty palm coated in a mixture of ejaculate and olive oil, she flashed me a grin and the twinkle returned to her eyes.

"Eat," she whispered seductively. "Good boy."

I flashed Samantha a quizzical glare, but the look in her eyes left no room for discussion, so I lowered my lips into the rapidly cooling mess.

"I almost poisoned you," Samantha said with a giggle, as I licked up my ejaculate and the olive oil from the palm of her hand. "I was going to use the Vaseline but luckily I read the instructions first. Who knew petroleum jelly was dangerous to ingest."

Silence had descended on the bedroom as Samantha watched me intently. The only sound in the room was the lewd slurping noise as I ate my load. It was virtually impossible to clean up Samantha's hand without making noise, such was the consistency of the viscous fluid.

"What do you think the CumSlut is up to right now?" Samantha asked in a mocking tone. "Maybe we should call her and let her know that you just put the wood to me? That dirty slut is probably on her knees sucking her lover's cock."

I knew that Samantha was just testing me. I had followed her directions to the letter, submitting to her as if she were the most important person on the planet. I had passed her test, and had fully demonstrated my obedience and attention to detail. Surely, I was off the hook.

Several minutes later, once Samantha deemed her hand sufficiently clean, she addressed me.

"Mark, you disgust me," Samantha said disdainfully. "However, you kept your side of the bargain, so your secret is safe with me. I promise I won't tell Lela that you stole my intimates."

"Thank you, Samantha," I whispered as I processed her words.

Samantha rose from the bed, walked over to her make-up table, and grabbed an almost empty perfume bottle. As she approached me she had a contented look on her face. Samantha spritzed the panties that were still hanging around my neck with her favorite scent and then handed me the bottle.

"Something to remember me by," she said with contempt. "Now get out of my house, you fucking cuckold. See you in the office tomorrow."

Samantha's commanding tone left me with no reason to pushback, so I left her house quickly, with her scented panties still hanging from my neck. By the time I reached my car I could feel my cock stirring in my pants, which had become my usual response to being humiliated. Lela was ensconced in a luxury suite in the local Hilton pampering another valued client, and I drove home with Samantha's intoxicating scent permeating my car.

When I got home I retreated to the sanctuary of my bathroom, and as I stripped naked to take a shower, I had the overwhelming urge to masturbate again. My decision to pilfer Samantha's pink Fendi suit and her silky intimates had cost me almost four thousand dollars, a protracted butt-fucking, and any remaining trust that Samantha had in me. At least I could enjoy a few clandestine orgasms before Lela returned in the morning.

I had the first one even before I entered the shower enclosure. Tossing Samantha's soiled panties onto the countertop, I lubed up and masturbated furiously, blowing my load into the crotch within sixty seconds. That took the edge off at least, and I ended up taking a long, hot shower. Once my physical needs were attended to, and I was showered with a full belly, my thoughts turned to the fucked-up dynamic that existed between Samantha, Lela, John and I.

I was in love with two women, one of whom regarded me with complete disdain, and the other who fucked anyone who could stump up the price of entry, namely six hundred dollars per hour. I closed my eyes trying to recreate the visual of a naked Samantha rotating slowly as she allowed me to feast my eyes on her perfect form.

I knew that I had made the wrong decision by leaving Samantha for Lela, but I also knew that it was irreversible. Samantha viewed me as less than, and Lela would probably hang herself if I decided to move on. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and there seemed to be no way out.