textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/senator.txt

                           The Senator
                            by Wilma

          wherein David and I humiliate his wife


     "David, I don't believe what I'm hearing.  Why me?"
     "Judi likes you.  I like you.  We've been fantasizing you
since you started working at the lounge."
     I was flattered, of course, and completely flabbergasted by
it all.  I was a 22-year-old cocktail waitress.  David and Judi
were regular customers who always sat in my section and left big
tips.  David was an executive in an aircraft manufacturing
company, and Judi was state attorney general, for crying out
loud, often in the news for her activist approach and the
governor's pick to fill the seat left vacant by the death of one
of our senators.
     Waitresses get to know the rich and the famous, it's true,
but the relationship generally stops at the door.  Not always,
but generally.  Alright, I had been to bed with David a couple of
times, okay?  But that was nothing serious, and it was just
straight sex with no kink at all.  (Uh, sucking cock and getting
your pussy licked isn't considered kinky is it?)

     But this.  This was a real shocker.  We were parked on a
hill overlooking the city.  I had unzipped him because I had that
need in my throat I sometimes get.  There's a certain matchless
moment I love in a blow job, that magic moment when my throat
opens miraculously and there's this sloppy little popping sound
as a man's erect organ clears my throat for me and slides down
like an organic roto-rooter.
     I suppose I could get it from a length of kielbasa sausage,
which is how I learned to deep throat in the first place with the
help of a girlfriend.  But a disembodied organ leaves the rest to
fantasy and an empty, incomplete feeling that keeps me disturbed
and needy afterwards.  I like to feel a man -- or a woman, for
that matter -- his legs, his chest, his hands on me, guiding me,
participating with me in his pleasure.  When I want a man,
nothing else will do.
     And sausages don't cum, a feature of real sex no fantasy can
replace.  I love the taste of it and its consistency, the way it
feels in my mouth, whether it's girlfuck or manstuff.  I
literally salivate at the very idea of sucking genital goo into
my mouth and swallowing it right out of the pit of my partner's
sex organ.  But the idea without the reality makes me psychotic
eventually and susceptible to risky ventures.
     Besides, the erect male organ is a phenomenal sight
duplicated nowhere and for which there is no adequate substitute. 
There are times when I could worship a naked man with a hard-on,
veritably pray to his phallus, sing arias to it, but there has to
be a man connected to it or it just isn't the same.  And a man
spurts, you know, and that's nothing short of amazing.  It is an
uplifting and fulfilling thought that I can actually activate a
man's nervous system without even touching him.  Just because I'm
a sexy woman, I can stimulate a man's autonomic nervous system
and change the chemistry of his body.  Amazing.
     Trouble is, I've never been able to do that for very long
without altering my own chemistry just as radically and turning
myself into a drooling animal whose pussy needs can reach a point
of swamping out all cortical supervision.  I had tried the erotic
dancer line of work at a local establishment, for example, but
when I sold a couch dance to a man, the man often had to be
thrown out for losing control.  The manager caught on after a
week or so that the hapless customers were not at fault.

     Where was I?  Oh yes: I had unzipped David, and he had
stopped me.  He wanted to talk, for crissakes.  Seems his
attractive wife, the attorney general, the Senator-Elect, had a
nasty little secret.  heh-heh.  The Honorable Judith Anne
Bradbury languished for want of having her dignity stripped from
her by a commoner, a sexy girl of lower class, a demimondaine who
would demean her without conscience and reduce her to the odious
fool she needed to be for sexual release.
     "If she doesn't get it once or twice a year, she can't
function," David told me.  "We've tried everything we know: the
best psychiatrists, fantasy, my raping her, bringing her soiled
panties or shoes I buy from prostitutes--you name it and we've
tried it.  Now she's got this fixation on you.  I even brought
her a whore a couple of weeks ago, and that did seem to help. 
But once she fixates on a particular woman, she could be
worthless for a year unless she gets that particular woman.  She
needs you at this critical juncture, or her career is over."
     "How'd she get fixated on me?  I've never teased her or
anything.  I didn't even know she liked girls.  Must be my
waitress outfit.  It shows off my legs and my cleavage."
     "Your eyes, Wilma."
     "My eyes?  She wants my eyes instead of my legs?"
     "She wants all of you.  It's just that your eyes look like
Karen Black's eyes.  You know, the actress?  Judi goes mushy
gooey every time a Karen Black movie comes on."

     First time I ever turned anybody on because of my lazy eye. 
Sheesh, go figure obsessives, huh?

     "Your wife's a national figure.  Why doesn't she go for
Karen Black herself?"
     "Miss Black is an equal."
     I hadda ask.  Oh, well.

     It was my patriotic duty to do what I could for a soon-to-be
member of the United States Senate, so I zipped David's pants
back up and patted him on the bulge and agreed to go home with
him, there to apply my healing art to his poor wife.
     David called his wife on the car phone.  "She'll do it. 
We're on our way.  What?  She's wearing a plain white dress, no-
quarter heels that show lots of foot, paints her toenails blood
red, bare legs, has her pretty blond hair down--and she's sitting
here listening with a big happy smile on her face."

     The Senator-Elect was in her library when we arrived.  All
lawyers have libraries in their homes.  It's an ABA requirement I
think.  She was working at her desk when we entered.  She peered
over her glasses at us.  She looked like she had just come from
chairing an important committee meeting.  David moved off to one
side, leaving me standing in the middle of the room wondering if
the most powerful woman in the state was really in on this scene.

     She removed her glasses and retrieved something from a
bottom drawer while her eyes surveyed me.  I held my ground and
just looked at her.  She stood up and came around the big desk,
maintaining eye contact all the way.  I readied myself to punch
her goddamn lights out if it turned out David had tricked me into
being a victim for a sadistic lamia.  While that was more my
element than playing Dom, I didn't like being tricked.

     You never know about rich and powerful people.  Strange and
sinister longings lurk within the breast of the like.  Unable to
risk exposure and inveterately sociopathic, they chop up their
victims in little pieces and feed them to their Rottweilers.
     My mind began entertaining scenarios of being tortured to
death.  Every horror movie I ever saw floated through my brain as
I watched the woman approach me in her million dollar lawyer
skirt with the matching lawyer suit coat and expensive white
blouse with the elegant lace trim.  These were my thoughts when
she started raising her hands and I saw the chain coming toward
my dove-soft throat.  These were my thoughts when I screamed like
a demented banshee and brought my fist up from the basement and
knocked the attractive, dignified Senator-Elect Judi Bradbury out
of her Guccis and sprawling unceremoniously across the floor.
     "Holy Shit, Wilma!" David exclaimed.  "You're not supposed
to kill her!"  He dashed over to revive his wife.
     "I ain't letting nobody strangle me with a chain and feed me
to their Rottweilers," I yelled at him.
     "What in the name of sense are you talking about?  She was
offering you a collar and leash to put on her!"
     Oh . . . okay, so maybe I had led myself afield slightly.
     "I'm alright," Judi mumbled.  "I think I love this one,
David.  Please, may we continue?"
     David looked at me, shifting seamlessly back into gear.  "I
like naked, ok?"  Men can be so task-oriented and succinct.

                            * * * * *

     "Now crawl to David so he can see my shoe print on your
face, Stupid."  She was completely naked now, and I had shed
everything but my heels.  David was naked on the couch watching
what I was doing to his wife.  I had made sure her forehead
showed the smudge of dirt from my shoe and her cheek the imprint
of my heel.  I straddled her back and used her hair for reins.
     "Look, David.  Look what I did to your wife."
     David feigned complete disdain for her.  "Look at you," he
told her.  "You inferior slut, crawling around naked with a
waitress riding you.  We're going to fuck in front of you, Judi,
and you're going to lie there beside us in bed and watch.  I'm
going to make you watch me fuck a pretty woman."
     Sounded okay to me, but I intended to have the beautiful
Staff of David down my throat somewhere during this scene, too. 
Anything we did would be humiliating for his wife, so I might as
well get my throat cleared and maybe white washed while we cured
Judi of her debilitating obsession.
     "Kick her some more," David said.
     It was in her best interest, after all.  We were doing this
for her.  Having started with a wicked punch that would leave her
with one hellava shiner, any rough stuff thereafter was mild
compared to what she wanted me to do to her.  She had begged me
to use my fists on her face, but I couldn't do it.
     I got off her back and positioned myself at her side.  She
braced herself and gave the nod we had chosen to signal consent,
and I began kicking her.  Deliberate, measured kicks to her side
and her stomach.  She could hum a tune or say "no more, stop,"
and it would be over.  But she hummed not, neither did she speak.
     So I kept kicking her.  She crawled as though to get away,
and I stayed with her, delivering kicks at will and hitting her
on the back with my fist.  A glance at David revealed a man
enthralled with what he was watching, mesmerized by it.  His
breathing was labored, his eyes were aglaze, his mouth hung open,
and his prick was engorged and mighty, its pulsing reminiscent of
an alien probe straining to see the action with one eye.
     I slipped my shoes off so I could stomp on her and kick her
in the face with the bottom of my foot.  I let her grovel at my
feet and lick them.  "Crawl," I ordered, but just as she rose to
her hands, I delivered a perfect kick to the side of her face
with the bottom of my foot and sent her reeling.
     "Your husband's watching you, Slut.  Watching me degrade
you, watching his wife submit to another woman.  Look at your
husband.  Let him see the face of his stupid wife.  Feel the
shame, feel the shame of what you're doing -- Senator."
     I stomped on her between her shoulders and kept on stomping. 
My pussy was in on the act and taking over.  She crawled.  I
stomped on her.  She crawled.  I kicked her until she rolled over
on her back.  I raised my foot high above her face.  It was a
close call for a few seconds as my loins sought to wrest
authority from my brain.  Fortunately, my brain won and I lowered
my bare foot slowly down and planted it on her face.
     "Bring her to bed," David said.  <do-dah, do-dah>  His
impatient male organ led the way like a battle staff as he went
toward the bedroom.  I dragged the Senator-Elect by her hair most
of the way, but my muscles were starting to fatigue.  David came
back to help, his turgid pole waving back and forth comedically
as he walked toward us.  It was no time to giggle, so I covered
it up by trying to look cruel.  Ever see Bela Lugosi with a gas
pain?  <sorry>
     David and I dragged his wife by her arms into the bedroom
and lifted her to her feet.  David held her up, and I hit her
until her knees buckled, then he dumped her onto the bed.  David
and I looked at each other, reading each other's minds, knowing
it was cum time and could not be forestalled.
     "I'll take her face," I said.
     "Face me," David said.  "I'm going to rape her."
     We worked on his wife like she wasn't even human.  Nor hum
nor safeword, we fucked her face and cunt hard and greedily,
grunting and moaning and hunching like the sex crazed animals we
were.  I thought she hummed a tune and stopped to check, but she
was moaning in the throes of orgasm from her husband's pounding,
prodding, poking, peter-piston powerfully penetrating her private
pudding pan.  She pulled me back down on her face, and I fucked
it with uninhibited abandon.  David emptied himself into her.  I
flooded her mouth and face and slid around sensuously in my own
sweaty fuckslop and her saliva.  Judi's orgasm knocked her
unconscious.  David and I fell into each other's arms and
collapsed off her like snails melting in salt.

                            * * * * *

     David was on top of me, slow-fucking me, sensually moving
his manly nakedness on my body, our sweat commingling, his
arrogant maleness filling my vagina, sliding in and out, in and
out, in and out with a rhythm Nature intended for man and woman. 
We were fucking in front of his wife.  I made eye contact with
her and gave her a cruel-slut smirk as my body responded in
synchrony with her husband's.  I made her watch my face grow
dopey with lust, my mouth enticingly wet and my attitude lewd. 
David and I were as one, locked in our copulatory embrace.
     David whispered in my ear, "Hit her."  I backhanded her. 
"Again," he grunted.  I backhanded her again.  I began hitting
her hard in time with our fuck beat, watching her try to keep her
eyes from defocusing.  It was a discovery worthy of note, for
David and I orgasmed simultaneously and splendidly as Judi cried.
     It would not be the last time Senator Judi Bradbury would
need me in the years to come.  I did make one rule, though, after
that first time: I either get cock down my throat or *nobody*
gets any nooky!
                    -- end of The Senator, by Wilma --
      @@@@@@@
    @@  O O  @@
   @@@   x   @@@
       ^\_/^
     w i l m a