The Cock Star & The Cuckquean Ch. 01

APRIL 20, 2017: A YACHT IN THE MEDITERRANEAN

"Holy shit... Your schlong is just as big as Pamela Anderson claimed on Twitter." The Eurobabe cast her blue-eyed gaze upward, admiring the musclebound physique of the raven-haired Adonis sprawled across the large bed. His appearance could not be described as anything other than devilishly handsome. In particular, his sinfully large endowment bespoke a deal with the dark one.

Without any prompting, she stroked the length of his towering shaft with her wet tongue. Reaching the glistening tip, her penciled eyebrows arched with determination. Her pupils dilated. She was focused. And ready. His size did not intimidate her. The jezebel was determined to conquer him. Following a long and deep breath, her mouth plunged downward. Her cascading blonde mane framed an elegantly chiseled visage that could have graced the cover of Vogue had it not been for the dick in her mouth.

Samson felt her begin to gulp him as she bore down his pole. Her throat muscles milked his manmeat with exquisite technique after she engulfed the first seven inches of cock. The temptress tilted up her gaze to meet his own. She longed for his approval. Samson merely grinned and brushed a lock of hair off her face. The celebrity stud looked entitled yet pleased. She would not be his first this week nor would she be the last. But his companion had a shot to be the best.

The fellatrix pulled off for air. Steadying the base of his throbbing shaft in both hands, her tongue darted from between her lips and polished the sensitive underside of his fist-sized knob. Samson moaned out loud for the first time. She flashed a victorious smile before inhaling his massive tool almost to the hilt. Samson was impressed. The blonde had heart.

A DAY EARLIER

As a conquistador of the flesh, Samson had learned the art of seduction lay not merely in winning the girl. That came almost too easy to the legendary Lothario. However, one needed a practiced and discriminating eye for beauty. When Samson performed a rock concert in a five-thousand seat arena, hundreds of lust-crazed fans cheered him on. His options felt overwhelming at times. Yet he always spotted the hottest girl in the crowd by the end of the first song. And 99 times out of 100, he could invite her to his dressing room after the show.

The Playa d'en Bossa in Ibiza presented a similar dilemma. The crowded beach offered innumerable options for the playboy. Anticipating his predicament, Samson stayed offshore for the moment. He swam the sea at a safe distance from the coastline so he could scope the beach for what girlfriends jokingly called his "catch of the day." Notably, Samson had been endowed with 20/5 vision. His visual acuity allowed him to see four or five times farther than individuals with 'perfect' 20/20 eyesight.

Even if she had tried, Anaïs could not see him. At that moment, he appeared as little more than a dot on the horizon. But Samson already had noticed her. Like many of her sunbathing peers, she wore a black two-piece swimsuit that revealed more than it concealed. Just shy of six feet, the Amazonian had runway legs – long, lithe, toned, and tanned. Her hips had those curves perfect for gripping a lady from behind as he slamfucked her against a wall. A flat midriff and heart-shaped ass completed her hourglass figure. Samson particularly appreciated her thong. Very few women could get away with wearing a scandalous G-string like that.

Almost on cue, the blonde rolled onto her back to reveal her face and chest. To his delight, she had the face of a cover girl. However, Samson could not help but lock his gaze on what lay below. Quite simply, she had enormous jugs. That clenched it for Samson. He loved his ladies slim and stacked. Many a supermodel had been spurned for her bustier personal assistant. One-night stands usually wore a D-cup or larger. And more serious paramours were endowed with bra sizes that shot much farther up the alphabet. This girl was definitely a candidate for a multi-day fling. Samson briefly wondered if she worked for one of the lingerie houses in Milan. She wore the indefinably elegant visage that belonged more to a fashion model than the usual strippers and groupies that hooked up with the playboy.

Actually, Anaïs probably was a complete unknown. Even though she had the right look, Victoria's Secret and their ilk had a bias against big-bust models. Besides the small number of bra-busters that went into porn, Samson only came across them by luck and he got very lucky that day.

Among the minefield of bombshells that populated the beach that morning, Anaïs commanded the playboy's attention and attraction with a ferocious intensity. Accordingly, Samson decided to fuck her. He would fuck her to an inch of her life and she would love it.

Samson looked at his watch. Most likely, the paparazzi would not find him for a couple more hours. The playboy had given them the slip last night. After a long car chase on the A4 highway that led to an empty parking garage at Heathrow Airport, the pack of photographers discovered they had been following an empty limousine. Samson's personal jet had taken off from a private landing strip fifty miles East.

As a famous porn star transitioning into a career as an even more famous rock star, the press hounded him relentlessly. A photograph of Samson with a typical C-list celebrity was worth $5000. To accompany the shot, a quickly fabricated story would detail how the Lothario had seduced the girl the night before. Samson never sued for defamation because the tabloids were usually right. He fucked all of them and many more they never found out about.

Samson did not mind the attention. Being a legendary porn star, he understood the joys and absurdities of life as a public figure. His thirteen-and-a-half inch schlong provided a running joke for stand-up comics, gossip mags, and playa-haters that trolled Internet chat forums. Nonetheless, he preferred that his companions retain some anonymity, unless they were porn actresses who would get a career boost from being spotted with him.

Nonetheless, the seduction would need to be swift. He could not appear in public for very long these days without stirring up a commotion. Further, he was randy as hell. The ladykiller needed sex as often as most people hungered for food -- three times a day with a few snacks in between. His voracious appetites were legend.

Samson switched on his waterproof headset to phone in his arrival. "I'm finishing up my swim. Do you have the coordinates for my landing?" he inquired like a military commander. "Set up base camp."

With that, Samson's squadron of uniformed attendants exited an unmarked truck. They wheeled boxes of beach paraphernalia out of the back on trolleys and carted it onto the sand. A highly attractive bikini-clad brunette supervised construction of his deluxe canopy on the beach. It looked like a Bedouin tent except for the neon pink awning. His advance team selected a location about fifty feet away from Anaïs and her girlfriends, three more stone-cold foxes behind mirrored sunglasses. As he swam to shore, Samson noted their positions on the sand. Two of them bracketed Anaïs from the side. A third lay lengthwise in front of the others. Their arrangement had been strategic. The blonde's cordon of galpals formed an effective cockblock against unwanted attention.

Unfazed, the ladykiller walked straight towards them. There was not much point in keeping a low profile. Samson tended to attract attention even before he became famous. Like his Biblical namesake, the sexual icon had been blessed with a luxurious mane of jet-black hair that reached his waist. Though he wore it longer than most women, no one would mistake him for a chick.

Samson possessed a truly awesome appearance, standing over six and a half feet tall with mighty arms and legs bulging with muscle. The superstud was not modest about his body and made no mystery of his physique. The bodybuilder strode across the crowded beach with his head held high, his torso flaring from the waist like the head of a cobra, his stomach rippling with abs, his chest armored with a breastplate of muscle that glistened like bronze in the sunlight.

The alpha stud could feel the hungry female gazes following him. He wore a skintight speedo that left nothing to the imagination. Even at rest, Samson was hung nine inches. Female fans often asked him to whip it out so they could take selfies with his notorious cock. Anaïs quietly peeked up from her magazine to behold his exuberant display of masculinity. Her girlfriends were already mesmerized. "That has to be Samson," whispered Lola. "What is he doing here?"

As she would find out later, Samson was enjoying a long-needed vacation in Europe. Between a sold-out U.S. concert tour and starring in five back-to-back big-budget porn productions, he needed a break. As always, the celebrity stud had been getting lots of play with groupies and porn stars but his schedule was grueling. Most of the time he spent in bed entailed fucking, not sleeping. And now Samson just wanted to hit a few nude beaches and enjoy the local selection of women at his leisure.

After his attendants set up his stylish tent, Samson ducked underneath the low canopy and planted himself in his custom chaise-lounge. Like a shadow, his foxy valet followed just two steps behind. Ava had become one of Samson's favorite personal assistants. Sultry, slim, and stacked, the former Italian go-go dancer chose a Missoni bikini today. The wraparound top looked to be a size or two small. Her cups ranneth over and Samson anticipated an imminent wardrobe malfunction.

His leering gaze followed her nubile form to and fro as she served him his four-course breakfast. As always, he began the day with three dozen oysters on the half-shell. A seven-egg omelette with chili peppers followed. He then drank a concentrated protein shake with an exotic formula of vitamins and antioxidants that only his nutritionist understood. Ava brought him a banana for desert. She peeled it for him with a smile.

"Are you still hungry, sir?" Ava queried in a smoky accent.

"You don't need to call me, 'sir', Madame," he smiled without answering her question. Ava decided to enjoy the banana for herself. She licked the length provocatively before sliding it seductively into her mouth. Samson appreciated Ava's devotion but the superstud could have her whenever he wanted. He felt adventurous that day and wanted to find someone new.

"Relax, love," he told her calmly. "We have no bananas today." Ava pouted but resumed her duties. She wiped off his face with a napkin.

"Did you call her yet?" she asked.

Ava didn't identify "her." But they both knew who she meant.

"Why doesn't she call me?" he replied.

"Because it's the guy's job to call first."

"Why?"

"Because guys are always the ones who screw up, stupid."

Ava brought over a stack of magazines and newspapers for Samson to read. He had little interest in current events but liked to know what journalists wrote upon him. He picked up the current issue of "Muscle & Fitness". He wasn't on the cover this month but the magazine ran a pictorial of him as the lead article. Photographing Samson always presented a dilemma for the editors. They usually refrained from shooting him below the belt to hide the stallion-sized bulge in his posing trunks. For this article, they made him wear sweatpants for a full body shot.

Samson didn't even bother to read the article. The magazine was merely a ruse to examine his surroundings undetected. He discreetly glanced over at Ava and she immediately looked away. Trying to appear uninterested, she pretended to look at her smartphone. Had she not been playing a porn film of Samson on mute, her act might have been more convincing...

While Ava snuck glances at her employer, Samson observed Anaïs and her companions from behind the magazine. The girls huddled together on the towels and he could guess the subject of their conference. Samson hoped Ava didn't scare them away. Of the six lounge chairs underneath the canopy, she had taken the farthest one from him. Moreover, if they were a couple, she would be occupying his lounge chair. Samson's custom-built beach recliner was wider than the others and could accommodate two people...as it often did.

Samson yawned, lay back, and basked in the balmy morning air. A few passers-by stopped and pointed at the celebrity from a polite distance. He knew his appearance might be a bit provocative. Though the speedo certainly complemented his trim waist, his massive schlong, although not in the least aroused, jutted out of his groin with the subtlety of a steel pipe. The elongated bulge was actually pulling the waistband of the swimming suit away from his body! Back in America, Samson probably would get arrested for public indecency.

Ava cleared her throat. Samson turned to her. His valet had an unspoken request on her lips. With a familiar grin, Samson told her, "Of course, you can take it off. I want you to be comfortable, dear."

"Undo me," she answered with a defiant gaze before turning her back to him. Never one to back down from a challenge, Samson undid the hooks of her top with astonishing speed. The ladykiller had great familiarity with a vast range of buttons, clasps, and hooks that held together female swimsuits and lingerie. In fact, he could strip a woman of her clothing faster than she could.

"36D? I thought you wore a double D," he remarked casually while examining the label of her discarded top.

"Do you always memorize your employees' cup sizes?"

"Darling, I just want you to be comfortable!"

Comfortable or no, Anaïs looked upon his valet with a little annoyance. Even though they had never met, Samson read the Euroblonde like a book. Ava diverted his attention from her and Anaïs did not enjoy interlopers.

Having accepted Ava's challenge, Anaïs sat up and untied her top. Samson naturally chose a topless beach but the sight of her massive rack still caused a murmur of excitement from bystanders. The men on the beach gazed back and forth between the pair of gorgeous women, like spectators at a tennis match. By now, everyone knew of Samson's presence and sensed an emerging love triangle between Anaïs and Ava.

Upping the ante, Anaïs arched her back to thrust her chest outward. Her tits were firm and big as they were natural. In his line of work, the porn stud developed a keen eye for fake ones. The ladykiller felt a familiar twitch between his legs. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his growing python from escaping the nylon confines of his skintight swimsuit. But what could he do? Samson had found his catch of the day. She would eagerly play his game, even when he made up the rules as they went along. A girl like that was just waiting to get fucked.

Samson needed no more than a nod to summon Ava back to his side. He sat up and quietly conveyed his instructions to her. She asked no questions. After all, this was her job. Fucking him was not one of her actual duties. It was more of a performance bonus for fulfilling them above his expectations. Samson hired her as a "facilitator." She was a Eurotrashy party girl and exotic dancer who helped navigate her client in foreign locales. Samson knew the usual spots to get laid back home but needed assistance when traveling in other countries. He needed to know the best foreign clubs and beaches that abounded with young, attractive females.

A quick text to an attendant brought a chilled bottle of Cristal to their canopy. A tray of bubbly always proved an effective icebreaker. As soon as Ava departed "base camp" on her mission, Samson started the stopwatch on his iPhone. 15 seconds: Ava casually introduces herself to the girls. 30 seconds: They engage in small talk. 60 seconds: Ava pours them all champagne and the party of five clinks glasses. Before the two-minute mark, Ava convinced her new girlfriends to visit his canopy. The Eurobabes were in such a hurry to meet Samson that they did not even take their beach towels and suntan lotion along. Except for their mobile phones, they left everything behind.

The spectators looked on with surprise as the topless rivals happily sauntered back to the canopy together. However, Samson understood their dynamic. Throwing shade at Anaïs had been a ruse on the part of Ava. She only undid her top to pique the blonde's interest. Truth be told, most females, not just lesbians, ogled beautiful women like Ava. Due to their friendlier nature, women tended to become affectionate with other women. In turn, their openness allowed for romantic feelings and casual intimacy to develop.

Ava understood this mysterious dimension of female sexual desire and used it to her own ends. Specifically, she cultivated the bisexual feelings of girls like Anaïs to arrange orgiastic encounters for Samson. The playboy's proxy brought a hedonistic vibe to any gathering and helped loosen inhibitions. Through subtle remarks and actions, she stimulated curiosity in novel and exotic forms of pleasure that involved one ultra-virile alpha male with multiple heteroflexible women.

Though disarmed by Ava's friendly manner, the quartet kept their distance from Samson and his double-wide lounge chair. Although his valet assured them of his hospitable intentions, they obviously suspected that acquaintance with the pornographic heartthrob inevitably led to more intimate activities. His notoriety preceded him.

Samson bade his time. The seasoned rake knew the rules of the game. He could parachute in to almost any location in the world and enjoy the local females the way other tourists might sample the regional cuisine. In major cities like LA or London, he already had a roster of bedmates on speed dial but he loved visiting new places and racking up new conquests. With Ava leading the way, he already landed a couple threesomes at some of the quieter beaches along the Mediterranean. However, having performed a couple warm-up seductions, he wanted to hit a hot spot like Ibiza. He partied there on tour and always was reluctant to board his jet for the next concert.

Ibiza provided instant gratification even by Samson's outrageous standards. Yesterday, he had not even bothered to leave the hotel. Ava befriended an attractive cocktail waitress at the hotel bar and ordered "room service" for Samson. In other words, she invited her new friend up for drinks in his presidential suite so they wouldn't need to prowl a nightclub for a partner. They were tired and an intimate threesome hit the spot.

Of course, Samson planned to make a few more notches in his stratospheric bedpost before the end of his vacation and Anaïs looked like a perfect candidate. The blonde temptress reclined in the chaise-lounge next to his and borrowed Ava's suntan lotion. She lathered up her huge titties with a confident smile. The display seemed particularly gratuitous since the canopy offered plenty of shade. "Blondie is a show off," texted Ava. "Play nice," typed Samson. "We can have a 3sum."

"So," started Blondie. "Are you going swap texts with your girlfriend or introduce yourself?" Her tone was provocative yet friendly. "Which girlfriend?" retorted Samson. Ava chuckled quietly. She had heard that line before but it never failed to push his quarry off-kilter. If Blondie had been following the tabloids, she would have known the horse-hung heartthrob usually dated between ten to fifteen different women at any given time. Since his breakup with Sandra Kong, his longtime partner and business manager, he "came out" as "proudly polyamourous" in a Maxim exclusive. And Samson's stable of girlfriends only formed a single facet of his decadent love life. That group did not include one-time flings, groupies, and the porn stars he got paid millions of dollars to fuck on camera. To further complicate matters, these more casual acquaintances often became "official" girlfriends. And others moved on... There was a lot of turnover in Samson's harem and Ava needed a spreadsheet to keep track of it all.