Derek Kohn would be President someday. Everybody said so, and Everybody is who would decide. He was the kind of politician the people noticed in a campaign. His open and easy style marked him out at once as someone to be trusted, and his positions, which were always new and fresh, but never very far from what most people thought on the issue, gave the impression that he would always know what to do in any situation.
He had been through the mill, starting when he was in college by working for local candidates, and either doing a good job of helping them or else doing a good job of choosing which ones to help. Then he went into advertising, as a supposedly raw apprentice in a large agency. But with the contacts he had already made, he easily had the pick of a lot of important clients. He personally took on the public relations work for several elected officials, and at election time, the candidates came begging him to take charge of their campaigns. Only one of his clients lost, and that was because he was running both campaigns in that race. He managed to do that without losing anyone's goodwill, which in itself is an indication of how skillful a politician he was.
He left the agency to run for City Council, which he won without any trouble. That was when his personality and his ideas first became well-known. It was also when his taste for women-both the quality and the quantity-became well known. He was once quoted as saying "I never met a woman I wouldn't like." But he never seemed to get anywhere near the bottom of the barrel.
He always brought a woman to any public function he attended, and had her stand where he could look at her if she couldn't be right next to him. He even interrupted a city budget debate one night to tell the television cameramen to move their lights because he couldn't see. He didn't say what it was he couldn't see, but he didn't have to, because the tall blonde he had come in with was there in the front row behind the lights, her silky white slacks so tight against her thighs that you could see the muscles flex when she moved, like arrows pointing up to her crotch. No, he didn't have to say, because everyone in the audience remembered very well the perty little ass see-sawing its way down the aisle when she came in, the two dimpled hemispheres cut off from each other by the seam of her pants which followed her crevasse perfectly down to where it crept between her legs. And the other councilmen had seen her watching Derek steadily, invitingly, and all the time moving in some seductive way, licking her lips, or fingering the buttons that seemed ready to burst over her abundant breasts, or stroking the insides of her thighs, moving her long fingers closer and closer to where the crevasse continued from the rear, in a line that could only have passed between the outer lips of her vagina and chafed the tender pink flesh with even the slightest move she made. And no matter what she was doing with her hands, she continually gyrated her hips in the soft chair and pressed her smooth firm thighs together rhythmically.
They knew she was there all right, and the councilmen seemed restless, squirming around as though their chairs were uncomfortable, and excusing themselves to go to the bathroom. In fact, Derek was the only one who seemed to be able to keep his mind on the budget that night, but then he had the best reason for getting the meeting over with as soon as possible.
Then there was the fund-raising dinner when the foxy, frizzy-haired red-head sat across from the union official. She was wearing a gauzy blouse with a hanging neckline that just covered her tits when she didn't lean to one side or the other. During the whole meal, and the speeches afterward, he couldn't take his eyes off the pale, delicate skin that showed clear down, not to a cleavage, but to where the high, proud softness rounded into perfect shapes, firm, full cones he could almost feel.
She would laugh, or swing her shoulders lasciviously, and the fine material would fall to one side just long enough for the briefest glimpse of pink. All his blood seemed to be pushing to get down to his genitals, and he could feel his pants getting tighter and tighter against his growing bulge, and getting as hot and moist as a tropical rain forest. There wasn't much he could do about it; he could stroke it up, but he couldn't stroke it down.
One of the speakers had slides, and while the lights were dim, she asked him in a sly, conspiratorial whisper, for a light. He obliged, being a gentleman, but didn't make an effort to reach too far, so that she had to lean over the table toward him.
His cock took a sudden leap, and he could feel little drips of fluid oozing out the end, somehow making its way down the twisted tool straining to escape its cloth and elastic prison. For there, in the light of the flame, were her two contoured pyramids, the front of the blouse fallen away from the luscious, ivory mounds, and the two pink nipples standing erect in their puckered nests.
He could feel their hardness on the tip of his tongue, and their softness on his palms, on his chest, on his hairy thigh. Automatically, he reached down with his free hand to the painful throbbing between his legs, but the pressure of his hand through his pants only increased the pain and the pressure.
They say he stayed like that for quite a while, not noticing that his lighter was nowhere near the girl's cigarette. Then she wiggled her shoulders, and he saw the heavenly ripe globes quiver in their naked freedom. His eyes grew bigger, as though they were part of his sex organs, and he looked up to see her smiling at him, knowing he was looking at her exposed breasts, and just letting him look. The story goes that he knocked his chair over getting up and then charged out of the room. People talk about how he must have taken his burning scarlet cock in his hand and pulled the skin from one end to the other as fast as his arm could move, hopping on one foot and then the other all over the lavatory until at last, like a subway tunnel when a train is coming, he felt a rumble start deep inside of him that couldn't be stopped, that kept getting closer and more powerful until, with a violent shudder great gobs of sperm came shooting out of his rigid manhood, probably onto the floor, while all the blood drained out of his face and his fingers and toes felt as though they were collapsing. And people talk about how silly he must have felt to get so worked up over a pair of breasts, though everyone who saw them said they were uncommonly sensual and had seemed to promise him more than they showed. People talk about these things, but as far as anyone knows for sure, he might have remembered suddenly some pressing business, and rushed off to make an urgent phone call. It is known that he was seen with that beautiful, bubbly redhead later, and that Derek's faction had the total support of labor in the next election. But only his political enemies, and in particular the Los Angeles Viewer, claimed it was Derek's doing, or even that anything more improper had happened than a fat, powerful middle-aged man getting into the warm wet cunt of a young and flirtatious beauty.
The Viewer was the tool of a handful of corrupt businessmen and politicians, but trumpeted a shrill moralistic tone to its readers. At a press conference Derek had called to announce an investigation into, the dealings of some of these grimy, money-grabbing barons, he brought with him two women, probably twins, but at least sisters, their long straight hair falling down their backs to the waist, wearing identical shirts with slits open down the fronts far past where the nipples of their full, round breasts were outlined against the stretched fabric. Their oriental features both carried the look of adoration when they looked at Derek.
The photograph the editors of The Viewer ran, along with a shrieking editorial about Derek's loose morals, was of Derek with one hand on the ass of each of the girls as they left the room. Inside the paper, they even had closeups of his fingers nestled in the cracks between the cheeks, and it makes obvious that he was massaging their anuses with his fingertips through their skin-tight pants.
But most people didn't mind Derek's sexual activeness. It was, after all, the Twentieth Century, even as far west as California, and even very high officials openly and unashamedly led the same kind of lives their constituents did, and partook of the various forms of entertainment available to all, acceptable to most, and legal. The men simply admired him, unless they had ulterior motives for their vicious moral attacks. And women loved him-or else he couldn't have been doing what he was doing, and there wouldn't have been a problem-and tended to forgive him, even the old wives who scolded him in front of each other, but one by one, alone with their thoughts, especially in the voting booth, said they appreciated men like him, even if they themselves could never take advantage of him.
He moved up the ladder of offices carefully, not so fast that he risked toppling, nor so slow that he got bogged down, but at exactly the speed Derek Kohn knew was right. From city to county to state office he climbed, cementing alliances, gathering coalitions, making sure of every step before he took it. Then he ran for United States Congress and went to Washington, D.C., and his life changed abruptly.
On his first visit back, he brought his new wife, Becky, from an old Virginia family. Gradually the crowds of young girls with voluptuous, eager bodies and longing eyes that hung around his local offices began drifting away. They still supported him, still worked for him, but there was no reason for them to wait for his caressing hand on their supple, tender breasts, or to reach down in such a way to pick something up that he had ample opportunity to admire and perhaps "nudge" a well-rounded buttocks exhibited to him under the least possible covering. It was no use, because the caresses and nudges didn't come anymore, nor did the admiring, hungry looks and the confident, strong arm across the shoulder and the invitation to come up and see his collection of pillow-cases, which usually got a laugh as well as an immediate acceptance. There were no more precious, wild and ecstatic nights, no chance for the honor and glory of being chosen as escort for an official function.
His offices filled up with earnest and enthusiastic young men who saw Derek as a political force, a national figure of rising importance, a complex of positions, standings, accomplishments and projections, rather than as a person, a man with flesh and blood, with very human needs, and with skills that can best be appreciated on a one-to-one level, or at least in small, intimate groups.
No one was surprised when Derek Kohn announced he was running for the United States Senate.
CHAPTER 1
Becky Kohn turned off the television as soon as the speech was over. She didn't want to hear anybody's instant analysis of her husband's latest proposals. She sighed and flopped back down on the couch, realizing that she hadn't even listened to the speech itself. She had just listened to Derek's voice, just looked at his face. He had been on the campaign trail for over a month, and before that he was so busy getting ready for it that he might as well have been gone.
She was the most envied woman in California, married to Derek Kohn, the bright, ambitious, and rising politician. How many other women under thirty had such a brilliant life to look forward to; she would be a Senator's wife before long, and after that, well ...
Not everyone who looked at her would have felt envy. Most men would have felt something quite different. She was a tall, slender woman with flowing honey-colored hair and a face that would grow more dignified with age and still be beautiful. Dignity was important in her family, which traced its ancestry back to the Jamestown colony and had become a proud, aristocratic clan. It was also important to a Senator's wife.
But there was more to her than dignity, she half-thought to herself as she rose and swept with the grace of a gazelle toward the bedroom. Dressed in her elegant, floor-length dressing gown patterned with gold and silver squiggles that gleamed even in the dimmest light, it was impossible to say anything about the rest of her. But when she had laboriously undone all the tiny buttons and stepped out of the heavy gown as though out of a tent, her filmy nightgown that came down as far as her crotch, did nothing to obscure her charms that might be of interest to others.
Despite her slender build, she had large breasts that did not look out of place. Perhaps that was because they were so high and firm that the delicious mounds looked almost weightless, with their brown nipples like chocolate kisses on a sea of cream. For her skin was that rich shade of white that was not pale, and yet not tan, but a tint that both matched and contrasted with her hair. Her hair, somewhere between yellow and brown, lay lightly on her shoulders and divided, some cascading forward over the transparent night gown, the rest falling down her back to where the bottom edge of the gown tickled the lower halves of her buttocks, those finely-formed hemispheres with the concave sides, smooth as ivory, but yielding to the touch, and warm.
She cupped her hands over her genital area, pushing the thin material of her night gown against herself, then wondered why she was doing that and released it. From under her hands sprang a tuft of soft down the same color as her other hair. It puffed out and down, looking almost like a little cloud, so thin that the lips of her vulva were visible through it in the right light.
Becky wondered why she had put on the sexy gown at all. She knew Derek wouldn't be home that night. She stood in front of the full-length mirror and studied herself. Then, as though stalking some creature hiding in a bush, her hands crept down her flat, smooth stomach, and all at once snatched the front corners of her night gown and spread them as wide as they would go. "Ah-ah," she announced triumphantly, as though she had just discovered something. The front edges pulled her breasts apart too, the malleable flesh squeezed, and the border catching the nipples.
She let the corners go, and watched with exaggerated sadness as they floated back down and together. Then suddenly, she discovered that the sadness wasn't exaggerated anymore, that she was very sad, and lonely. If Derek were here, she thought, he wouldn't let them close again.
Her little game continued, as she took the corners again and pulled them down taut, so that the edges worked their way into the opening of her vagina, pressing the lips back just as her breasts had been pressed. Only this revealed the deep red skin beneath, the folds and folds like a wilted rose now, wasted and unused.
"There's more to me than dignity," she said aloud, and wiggled her hips so that the cloth rasped against the tender interior of her opening. It was irritating, but it also felt good. She did it again, and then with a rhythm moving one hip and the other down, feeling the material slide against her most sensitive parts. She also noticed that the halves of her ass were rubbing together too, and her little buried and secret anus was being stimulated as well. But when this mild stimulation brought her clitoris rising up from its sheath, and the sliding, silky gown made contact, a feeling like an electric shock passed through the solitary wife.
She let go of the gown as though it was red hot. She knew all about masturbating, she had read all about it, and she didn't believe in it. It took a minute for the feeling to subside, for in that one instant, her blood has started flowing faster, and she could feel juices still being secreted down inside her unused cunt, dammed up there and yearning for the chance to flow.
It wasn't right, she reminded herself. It's one thing to submit to a man, to let him delve into her and open her floodgates and let all the passion, all the passion, all the juices, out. But to do it to herself wasn't dignified; she shouldn't have to do that. That was a man's job, Derek's job. She flopped down on the empty bed, and stretched one leg over to Derek's side, though she knew she wouldn't feel him there. The low light from the lamp on the bedside table played across her spread-eagle whiteness, visible now in all its naked glory, since she had let the night gown fall to the floor beside the bed. The long shadow of her hip bone made a deep triangle pointing at the glowing fur covering the slit where her womanhood opened. In the depths of her belly, she could still feel the confusion, the frustration of a few minutes ago, when her body, the anxious crimson lips, and the skin that was meant to be stretched around a hot, surging cock, thought that relief had finally come, and then it didn't.
He said he would call after the speech, but she knew he probably wouldn't have time. He hadn't actually proposed to her by saying "Would you be a President's wife?" But she was beginning to think that's all she meant to him. She, with her beauty and her family, was just a part of his campaign.
She loved him though, and shook her sad face to clear away such thoughts, making her breasts wiggle back and forth on her chest, and shaking the bed so that it rocked her slightly. He looked like a politician, with his square, strong jaw, his quick eyes and ready smile. They said his broad chest inspired confidence in people, and his grace of movement, so rare in anyone but an athlete or a dancer. Yes, he was the perfect public man; she knew that.
But he was also a private man. That chest was also good for laying her head on, or squeezing her round soft breasts against to feel the hardness of the nipples when they had been stroked and kissed and licked until they stood up like little brown towers on the top of their fleshy hills. And his powerful arms with their clever hands, and his tongue, they were all useful for something besides looking at.
Drifting into a light doze, Becky let the memories of her times with her loving husband fill her mind. Her naked, exposed body, lying lonely and available on the bed twitched at times, and her breath caught as she remembered.
Congress had recessed the day before, and they flew home that night. All their first day home, Derek had been out talking to people, and didn't get back until about ten.
"I'm going to run for the Senate," he announced. He was a little tipsy and very proud.
Becky didn't say anything, just put her magazine down and rose to a sitting position on the couch. Even though she was wearing a rather bulky sweater, and her legs were covered by her slacks, Derek didn't miss the bulges of her breasts, or the curve of her hips as she moved. He knew what was under those clothes, and he knew what he wanted to do about it.
"I'm not too sure how happy that makes me," she said in her sweet Southern drawl, which could be so seductive at times, even when she didn't mean it to be. "We don't seem to have much private life even now. And if you have to run a state-wide campaign, and then when you're a Senator, I'm afraid we'll have even less."
She saw him looking at her breasts, and saw his eye fall to where her stomach and her legs met in the shadow of her crotch.
"Would you like something to eat?" she stammered.
"I'd like to eat something," he leered at her. "But I don't need any food."
"Derek," she said firmly. "We have to talk about this. You know I miss you when you're campaigning all the time."
"Come with me then," he answered, sitting down next to her and placing a hand on her thigh.
Becky took his hand in hers to hold it in place. She could sense how easy it would be for her to give in. Just the touch of his hand had started her blood running faster, and already she could feel a tingle deep inside her, down between her pelvic bones. "I don't like public appearances; I told you when we got married that I wouldn't campaign with you. I just hate people staring at me, especially staring at us, and thinking things about us that are nobody's business but ours."
Derek laughed. "That's one of the best parts. You'll get used to it." Despite Becky's grip, he began moving his hand up and down on her leg, and slid it inside, where he knew her most tender skin was.
"But I just feel so naked." She could feel little thrills, like electric shocks, shooting up her spine from her now tense ass, to the base of her neck. She had to force her breathing to remain slow and regular, and tried not to pay any attention to the itch she could feel building up in her loins.
"What do you suppose they are thinking about us?" Derek could feel her muscles tighten under his hand, and the feel of it made his cock stir in his pants, as though it were just waking up. Becky shrugged at the question, and he watched her every move intently. Her breasts rose even higher for an instant, then jiggled when she let her shoulders drop. "I bet they think we do this." Suddenly, he leaned over and planted his mouth on hers, and at the same time, moved his hand quickly up to her crotch and pressed his fingers into the tantalizing softness just under the thin material.
She tried to protest, but he held his mouth tightly against hers, and as soon as she parted her lips, he thrust his hot tongue between them. Just for a second, she relaxed in the bliss of his tongue inside her, and began sucking it, pulling it in as far as it could go, feeling the rough surface rasp against the roof of her mouth, and the slimy bottom slide against her own tongue. But then she remembered, and tried to expel the invading member from her mouth. But his tongue was stronger than hers.
Just then, for the first time, another sensation hit her like the blast from a furnace opening: someone was stroking her nether fires, and what had been a little itch she could almost ignore, was now a fierce burning radiating throughout her body from her swelling cunt where Derek's fingers were probing. But this wasn't a fire that wetness could extinguish, because she could feel the wetness there already. It seemed to be flowing down from inside her towards the insistent stroking, as a dog might come when its master beckoned.
With a supreme effort, Becky twisted her face away from Derek's, and tried to push away his hand, which was now caressing her all the way from the mound of her cunt to where her pants were bunched up between the tight globes of her ass. But it felt so good, that she had instinctively brought her thighs together over his hand, and so the strength of her reflexes as well as the strength of his arm, fought against her.
"Derek," she tried not to gasp, but to pretend she was perfectly calm. "I don't want to..." she paused to think of the coldest way to say it. "I don't want to have sex with you right now."
"All right then," he said in his most diplomatic voice. "In that case, let's just fuck."
Now she gasped, supposedly at his indecent language, but then she felt out of breath and had to inhale deeply a couple of times before she answered. Her face, her ears, and her breasts were beginning to feel warm, and her whole body seemed just about to start trembling. "Don't make a scene, Derek!" she warned.
"No scene," he replied, pushing against her warm, pliant cunt even harder. He could feel her body loosening up under his stimulation. He could also feel his cock pulsing, and with each heart-beat growing larger and harder, and quickly using up any extra space in his shorts. "If I had wanted a scene," he told her, "I would have brought some people over to watch."
With his other hand, he wormed under the back of her sweater and moved his eager palm up her smooth, long side, feeling the ridges of her ribs rise and fall under his rough palm. Suddenly she squirmed and twisted like a fish on a hook, kicked his arm from between her yielding thighs, and scooted herself up over the back of the couch.
But Derek had grabbed hold of a handful of her sweater, so when she went over the top, his grip forced her to spin lengthwise, and land on the floor feet first. It also pulled her sweater off. The stretchy garment was bunched up around her wrists, which Derek held tight against the back of the couch.
"Well, well," he said. "I wonder what I've caught here. Maybe it's something good to eat, something that would taste good hot and soupy."
"Let go of me!" she said, almost sobbing. She was sitting with her hands held above her head, and she couldn't move.
"I think I'll just lean over and take a peek," he said. She was completely helpless. She tried to get her feet under her so she could stand up, but she couldn't do it, and had to sit there while he looked down at her.
Her fine, light hair was strewn all over her shoulders. Derek reached down with his free hand and lifted it away to give him a clear view of her bra, with the breasts pressed inside the large cups, seemingly about to burst. He let his hand linger there, tracing the edge of the bra, and jamming his finger under the straps. But her back was to the couch, and he had no way to unhook it without letting her go.
Without meaning to, Becky drew her thighs together convulsively and rubbed them against each other. The swelling in her crotch had grown larger, so that the tightening of her legs squeezed the engorged lips and pumped dribbles of thick liquid out into her panties. She could feel a craving to be touched inside her, deep in her vagina.
After feeling the voluptuous softness of her imprisoned breast, pushing it down and feeling it spring back up under his hand, and feeling around with his fingernail until he found the knob of the tender nipple, hard and erect against the stiff, scratchy material, he pulled the sweater off over her hands and set her free.
"Dearest, you know I wouldn't ever force you to do something you don't want to do," he said in his most gentle voice.
Becky was too flustered with conflicting feelings to be angry. She wasn't sure what she wanted, but the thought of his strong arms around her was attractive. She stood up and faced him over the back of the couch. "Of course I know that." She melted into his embrace. "I love you so much." She was unconsciously leaning against the couch, so that the velvet-covered wood frame was pushing against her cunt, which by now seemed to have acquired a hunger of its own, no matter what she thought about it. The tingles rushing up and down her bare back distracted her from other activity going on there until suddenly she felt her bra slacken, and a rush of blood flowed into the released globes. She moaned slightly with relief. Before she knew what was happening, Derek had them in his hands, kneading the magnificent, throbbing whiteness with his moist palms, and pinching the pebble-like tits and the brown halo around them between his thumb and fingers, not so hard that it was painful, but hard enough to make her undulate involuntarily from pleasure, the pressure and vigor of the couch against her now hot and soaking cunt increasing with her movements, he let the useless, limp bra fall off her arms and roll and slide down Derek's back.
But her will was stubborn, and asserted itself before she had completely surrendered to her fiery desire. She staggered back a step, and then two. "No, Derek," she panted. "Not now. I don't want to." She was out of breath, and her legs were quivering beneath her so that she wasn't sure how long she could stand up.
"Don't want to what?" Derek asked, coming around the couch. He was having trouble walking too, for the tightness in his crotch had become an ache throbbing throughout the length of his eager cock. "Don't want to what?" he insisted, putting his hands on her trembling shoulders and staring at her high, firm breasts quivering with the vibrations.
"I don't want to ... fuck!" she blurted out in desperation. The sound of her voice making the obscene word broke all resistance remaining in her. "All right! All right!" she cried, putting her arms around his neck and pressing her aching tits into his wool suit coat. "Let's go to bed."
"No," he said breathlessly, reaching down long enough to unsnap his pants and give his cock a little more room. "No, not in bed, right here."
Becky was shocked. The thought of sex anywhere but in bed, in a bedroom carefully shut off from the rest of the house, was unthinkable. It was almost perverse. Once again she jerked back away from him as though he had recommended sodomy or whoring to her. But he had also unfastened her pants, and when her luscious, undulating body lost contact with his hard, firm eagerness, the pants slipped down, the silky fabric sliding quickly along the smooth, white curves of her legs to her ankles. The first step she tried to take, she fell, without hurting herself, flat on her back, her loose breasts flying in circles before settling back to their exquisite shape atop the plain of her chest, sloping down to her flat, narrow stomach, which in turn widened into her hips, the smooth, white skin visible down to the elastic band of her white panties.
It was nearly more than Derek could stand to see his beautiful, sensuous wife lying on the carpet in front of him, wearing nothing but her panties. Half trying to get up, half just responding to the glowing insistence of her now-pleading cunt, she lay writhing on her back, her delicate skin grinding against the rough carpet, her knees up, alternately opening and closing to the rhythm of her convolutions. "No, no, not here," she said weakly.
But Derek had already dropped to his hands, hovering over her accessible glory, whipping up the cream of her belly and her naked breast with his strong hand and his quick tongue. He felt as though his clamoring prick was on fire, as though the white-hot tip of it would soon burn its way out of his pants to find its goal.
He slipped his hand under the elastic of her panties and probed beneath the fine, soaked pubic hair to her fat, slippery lips. At his touch, Becky lost all desire for anything but to have his thick, hard cock in her cunt, to have it stretch her as far as it would go, to be filled with his driving ramrod manhood. She crossed her legs, catching his groping hand between her sweating ivory thighs, and raised her head to look at him through glazed, wild eyes.
With a single, swift jerk, he stripped off her panties and exposed the glistening honey-down triangle of hair, split with the crimson lips of her burning cunt. He was sweating and panting too, still in his suit and tie, though his swollen cock had pushed the zipper of his pants down without his help. He poked two fingers between the bloated rolls of Becky's labia, into the sticky darkness with the walls sucking at his knuckles.
Becky uttered a sharp cry of pleasure at the intrusion of her most private space. She longed for him to touch all of her, every inch of her, inside and out, all at once. Her head rolled back and forth uncontrollably on the carpet, flinging her fine hair from one side to the other like a thousand tiny wisps forming a halo around her head. Her moans got louder as Derek's experienced fingers moved in expanding circles inside of her furnace-like clitoris, that center of her sensual being now extended out of its wrinkled sanctuary to meet the world, it was as though an electric switch had been turned on, and her whole body lit up. Everything that touched her became erotic stimulation: the carpet against her flailing back and contracting buttocks; the silky constraint of her slacks still tangled around her feet and ankles; the elastic of her panties, cutting into the soft, white flesh just above her knees. All that, as well as Derek's fingers pinching and rubbing her aching, stiff nipples, his tongue and teeth on her heaving belly, and his fingers inside her, sliding around and around until the walls of her cunt seemed to glow with excitement. It all added to her lust, which tortured her for release for fulfillment. And still, Derek's thumb scraping against the horny nub of her clitoris was like a screaming to her nerves. She couldn't hold still, but flung herself this way and that in her animal frenzy. She tried to call Derek's name, to beg him to put his torch to her raging lust, but the only sounds she could make were whimpering cries.
But Derek knew what they meant, and even if he hadn't known the meaning of the cries, he would have known the meaning of his own flushed face, and the whirring sensation in his loins, and the excruciating agony in his blood-stiff cock willing to break in half rather than give up its quest for freedom. He reached down, unbuckled his belt, and pushed his pants and shorts away.
It sprang out of captivity nearly purple with its raging engorgement, the smooth head shiny with j uice that had prematurely crept out of the gaping slit in the tip, and the shaft, rising up out of its thicket of hair, ribbed with pulsing vessels stretched with the coursing blood inside. It bobbed its joy, but the ache would not allow Derek to forget, if he ever could, that it still had a mission to fulfill.
Becky sensed somehow the new presence. Without bothering to look, she reached down through her spread thighs and grabbed it, moving the loose skin up and down along the length of the rock-hardness underneath. But her intention was to pull it toward her, toward the oozing mouth where her frustration was centered. At the same time, she wormed her legs free of their entanglements, and spread her knees wide so that her sweet red lips all covered with the moisture from her cunt, opened around Derek's fingers, as though it were gulping for air or food.
Derek let her guide it to the opening of her voracious depths, so that the swollen tip rubbed against the soft brown pubic hair, and then the hard point of her clitoris, and then the inviting, red gateway to her vagina. She still couldn't talk, but she pulled and tried to push the throbbing staff into where her unendurable passion wanted it, and with her other hand, she clawed at his buttocks to pull him closer.
Then with a mighty thrust forward of his hips, he plunged the thick length into her waiting cavern. She would have screamed with delight if she had had the breath, as it was, she froze for an instant, so overwhelmed with ecstasy that none of her muscles would work. But that lasted less than a heartbeat, then she pushed against the impaling shaft, forcing it deeper and harder into her stretched cunt.
Back and forth Derek pivoted his powerful hips, his gnarled cock glistening when it emerged like a piece of well-oiled machinery, He could feel it slithering against his wife's cunt walls as he drove it deeper and deeper up into her belly, until she thought she would split in half. But she didn't care; still she pulled him, her fingers gripping the white flesh of his buttocks, spreading them so he could feel cool air on his anus.
She lifted her legs up over his back, their long alabaster curves waving and jerking above him like tentacles. Now with each lunge forward, Derek's loins slapped against the back of her quivering thighs, the teeth of his zipper biting into the tender sensitive flesh. As he looked at her delightful body writhing in pure pleasure under him, her mouth open and emitting short squeals to the rhythm of his thrusts, her eyes glazed with lust, he suddenly knew that he couldn't lose the election, that he could do whatever he set out to do.
Becky was once again under his complete control. She had no thoughts, no feelings, except the savage rapture that her young husband had brought out of her. Her whole being was focused on the repeated plunging of his hot, slick cock into her fiery, clamoring cunt. All her muscles moved according to his violent heaving, and her breath, even her mind felt as though it were immersed in the ocean, and Derek's relentless strokes were like the billowing waves, sweeping her this way and that, wherever they wanted, and now they boiled in a storm that ravaged her tiny, helpless body with its turbulent rage of passion.
He could feel her creamy, pliant body respond to his every move, and knew that she was completely subject to his will. He felt as though all his swirling, coursing blood was passing through his penis as it delved into her secret, mysterious depths lapping and sucking at his inflamed skin, and then the blood raced back, making room for more, and taking some of her burning, some of her molten ecstasy back to his legs and shoulders, and down to his toes still closed up in his shoes. Deeper and deeper he reached with his turgid cock, mining the sex from her throbbing vagina walls and bringing it to the surface with long strokes, then hammering back for another load, the weighted sacs of his testicles crashing into the taut muscles of her upturned ass.
Suddenly she felt him lower his body onto hers, his strong, broad chest covering her soft, vulnerable flesh. Then his insistent mouth was invading her own gaping, gasping mouth and his hands rubbed harshly along her sides, up to her breasts, where they rolled the liquid-like mounds in frantic circles, and squeezed the erect brown nipples until they felt like pure flame dancing on her chest. His whole body slid against hers with each thrust of his cock, the buttons and rough wool of his coat rasping her white skin, soaking up the layer of lubricating sweat that had gathered there. She felt as though his cock was reaching up inside her clear into her belly, and she felt sandwiched between him, surrounded by him, and completely dominated.
She thought all at once of the politician Derek was, thought of him standing in front of a crowd of people, and all of them watching him, and how this was the same man now filling her with his scalding turgid manhood, and covering her. Then, through the fire of her lust and the convulsions of their rapid, wild movements together, she began to see, began to feel, something else coming from beyond, like a brilliant light shining through, or growing out of the light of the white-flame of her still growing passion.
"Oh Derek! Derek!" she managed to gasp when he had released her mouth for a moment to breathe. But that was all she could get out before his eager mouth clamped down on hers again, and his thick curling tongue snaked down past her teeth and glided along her own tongue, the insides of her cheeks, the roof of her mouth.
But he could feel the change in her, and he increased the tempo of his driving strokes into her hungry cunt. She wrapped her legs around his bare ass, one of her heels sliding in between his buttocks and rubbing against his sensitive anus. With the mindless strength of her excitement, she pulled him with her legs even harder on the downstroke into her. She wanted to feel even more pressure at the dark, far end of her cunt, and even faster friction against the sides as the bulging, vein-ribbed cock slid back and forth against the tender, inflamed walls.
She was starting to come, and was flailing around so violently that Derek couldn't keep his mouth on hers. "Yes, Yes! Yes!" she called in a hoarse whisper. It felt as though all her nerves were slithering out of her arms and legs toward her throbbing, swollen cunt. Faster still Derek pumped into her, and her orgasm was getting closer and closer until it engulfed her like a blinding flash and a ringing crash. The sound she heard was her own animal scream of release, of unbound ecstasy escaping from every cell of her hot, straining body. She felt a jolt like an electric shock pass through her, then another and another. She heaved her fiery loins upward, pushing against Derek's weight and the downward thrust, forcing his merciful, stabbing sword of flesh deeper into her jittering, uncontrollable body. She lifted them both off the floor with her convulsive swells against him, and when they hit the floor again, his hard cock penetrated farther still until it pushed against the stretched end of her clamoring passage.
Then everything whirled before her, and she clutched at Derek's shoulders to keep from falling into some unseen abyss. He was the only safe, sure thing in the whole universe.
Becky's climax had ignited Derek's lust to a higher intensity as he felt her turn to liquid beneath him, and felt the fresh hot juices surge around his driving, stiff cock like a thousand tongues lapping at the skin. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, and she inhaled in sharp gasps, but her hips kept gyrating as though with a will of their own, answering his long, fast strokes into the pocket of flesh that had become her heaven.
Now he could feel rasping, a vibration behind the base of his penis, as though forces were gathering for a charge. The skin on his face grew tight and flush, and the violent heaving of his hips accelerated on their own, faster than he could have moved them. And he could feel it coming. He could feel the pressure mounting, and the burning trail winding through him, heading for the point of escape, for the pinnacle of sensation at the tip of his cock where the blunt head made its way back and forth in its dark journey to ecstasy.
Then he came. His back arched and his hips bucked as the molten white syrup surged through the rigid hose of his cock. Becky half rose to a sitting position at the new power of his sundering thrust into her glowing cunt. He could feel it spew into her, filling the already filled cunt beyond its capacity, so that it oozed out around his pumping shaft. Twice. Three time! Over and over he squirted his juice into her, shuddering and bucking while she rotated her vagina around his cock and pressed harder against him.
He was empty. All his muscles went slack, and he felt as though his arms and legs were hollow. Becky subsided back onto the floor with a moan of total satisfaction, total fulfillment, and he followed her down, resting his exhausted head on the cushion of her breasts, the still-hard nipples like pebbles against his cheek. And she stuck her fingers into his sweat-soaked hair while they lay together catching their breath and feeling the soothing friction of his penis shrinking back to its carrying size, the circular wrinkles folding and folding it back into itself until next time.
Becky half woke, lying alone and naked on her bed. Her exposed, cream-colored body was slick with sweat, and her muscles seemed tired and aching. She thought for a moment that she still had her hand in Derek's wet hair, but then she woke up enough to realize that her hand was in her own wet hair, cupped over the soaking tuft of her pubic hair over her hot, slippery cunt with its lips swollen and tingling.
"Undignified," she mumbled, and quickly moved her hand away from herself. But she felt much better, and fell into a deep and satisfied sleep.
The next afternoon, the doorbell rang, and she answered it to find a small, greasy-looking man dressed in a vulgarly flashy coat. Before he said anything at all, he leered lewdly at her high, large breasts, and sized up the curves on her hips and legs with obvious and obscene relish.
"Yes, what do you want?" She said with her distaste not disguised. There was something about this ugly, leering creature that frightened her, put her on her guard. Just the arrogance he showed, thinking he didn't even have to pretend to be polite.
"Simmons from the Viewer," he said, without taking his eyes from her lush, young body. "Came to interview ya."
"I don't give interviews, and certainly not without making arrangements beforehand," she said in her haughtiest, aristocratic voice.
"I just want to ask you a few questions, maybe take a few pictures. A sexy girl like you always-likes a little exposure, even if she is a famous politician's wife." He sure would like to take a look at those big, firm tits on her, he thought, and get his hands on them too. To say nothing of getting between those lovely, slender thighs. "Let's go inside where we can talk." He started through the door, but Becky stopped him with a forceful hand in front of him. For a moment, he considered pushing past her-he could do it easy-but he remembered that he was supposed to get a story from her, not rape her in her own living room.
"What do you want to know?" Becky asked. She didn't know enough about the political situation to know that the Viewer was already opposed to her husband, and nothing she could say would change that. So she thought she should at least answer a question or two.
"Well," Simmons replied. "Is Kohn going to get the support of Anthony Fischer? And if so, what will he have to promise him?"
"I don't know that," she said, angry at the implication of her husband's ethics being slack. "Why don't you ask at Derek's headquarters?"
"Yeah, I'll do that." The leering reporter still caressed her stunningly seductive body with his squinting, beady eyes. "Why aren't you with your loving husband? Staying home to see your lover?"
Becky pursed her thick, full lips and glared at the obnoxious man. She would have been even angrier if she had seen the bulge at the crotch of his pants. She started to turn away and close the door.
"Come on, baby," Simmons said in his lewdest whine. "I've covered a lot of campaigns, and I know about candidates' wives who stay home. I'll bet you haven't had a good fuck in weeks, have you?"
The beautiful Virginia woman was shocked at his obscenity, and for a second, could neither move nor say anything.
"I can help you out honey," he smiled and tried to look appealing, something it would take more than a smile to accomplish. "I'll bet you'd just love the feel of my hands on your big tits, there, wouldn't ya?" He reached out, but she backed away. "And I'm sure you've got a nice hot pussy when it's treated right. Well, I've got a cock that'll just fit it, sweetie. I can light you up like a roman candle; I'll suck your pretty little cunt until you go through the ceiling. Just let me in and I'll show you." He swaggered a step forward and wiggled his bony hips at her. "I brought it with me just in case."
"You get away from here, you vile, disgusting creature," she said. "Before I call the police, and then a lawyer to sue both you and your paper." Her eyes were hard with hatred and disgust; the thought of sex with him made her stomach turn. "Go on! Get away, and don't you come back here again!"
"All right," he flinched back from her aristocratic wrath. "But you'll see me again, you little piece of tight ass. I'll get your sweet thighs open one of these days. I'll make you beg for my cock in your cunt." He walked down toward the street, but paused to call back. "You just wait, you arrogant bitch; you just wait and see how fucking superior you are when that time comes."
Only her good breeding kept Becky from slamming the door. She closed it gently and stood absolutely still for a moment, amazed that people like that actually existed, and wondering how anyone could ever stand to touch them, or be touched by them. She shivered, and went back to her chores, thinking instead of making love with her loving, handsome Derek.
CHAPTER 2
John 'Mac' McGreer walked into his office and took off his expensive, tailored suit coat. He wasn't wild about expensive clothes, but he knew they were necessary in his job. He was the campaign manager for Derek Kohn, and next to Derek himself, probably the best in the state. He was tough and hard-boiled, one of old timers who learned his politics in the streets and alleys. He learned it because he had to, because he wasn't the biggest kid on the block, and something inside him just wouldn't let him knuckle under to the bullies.
It was a makeshift office, like most road campaign offices, put together next to the bedroom in a suite at the local
Holiday Inn. He took off his tie too, and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a mass of thick curly hair like a wool blanket on his chest. It had been a long day, but the best part was still to come. He sat down in the cheap swivel chair and lit up a thick, dark Conestoga. He was from the old school.
Soon Linda would come in, and they would have sex. Probably. He grinned around the fat cigar poking out of his mouth, and tapped the layer of ash off the burning tip. There was always just a chance she wouldn't do it. That was what made it fun. He'd been married off and on in his checkerboard life, but he wasn't very good at close relationships. He preferred dealing with people he didn't care much for, and who didn't care much for him. So much more was possible that way. Yes, there was just the chance she would refuse, and he'd have to put his hungry cock to bed without any supper tonight.
But. most people did what he wanted them to do. Not because they liked him, and not because he was suave and persuasive like Derek. But because they respected him. They soon learned that for his gruff, often insulting ways, if he told them to do something, it usually turned out to be the right thing to do. Being right was his only weapon, because he wasn't very nice and he wasn't very pretty.
The door opened on his reverie, and Linda Faulkner came in with a big stack of papers, which she set on the desk. "Hi Mac, she said tiredly. "Think we convinced them?"
Mac didn't move, leaned back in the chair, his big shoes on the edge of the desk. "Sixty-three percent of that crowd tonight will vote for us," he said confidently.
Linda was a holdover from Derek's earlier days. Her bright red hair was cut about shoulder length, and dressed in her conservative dress and wearing dark-rimmed glasses, she looked like the perfect, efficient secretary, bustling around impersonally. But Mac had seen her differently, and knew that under those clothes was a woman with a lot of charm, who could move her delicious body in waves and undulations that would pop a champagne cork.
He uncrossed his ankles to keep her in view as she bent over to file something in the bottom drawer, the thick material drawn tight over her shapely ass. If he couldn't get his hands on that tonight, he decided, he wasn't worth dog piss on a fire hydrant.
"Let the workers do that tomorrow," he said gruffly. "Come and sit down."
She smiled to herself with her back turned, then came and sat down across the desk from him with an innocent air, as though she expected him to discuss more campaign business. But she knew better than that. She had a sense for what men wanted, and could be very accommodating when she had a mind to be.
"What d'ya know about Anthony Fischer?" he asked.
"Anthony Fischer the Third," she corrected him. "A rich man, who took his inherited money and used it to get a lot more. He has interests in a lot of banks, industry, airlines, resorts, that sort of thing." She could see right down between Mac's propped-up legs to his crotch, where an occasional twitch of the material told her that the subject of Anthony Fischer was not the main thing on his mind.
"And he gives a lot of money to political causes. He can make a campaign by contributing to it, or break it by contributing to the opposition." Mac had seen her eyes drop to his crotch, and linger there with a certain degree of interest. They both knew where the conversation was heading, now it was just a game of when and how. He loved it!
"And he's a horny old bastard."
Mac flinched internally, thinking for a moment she was talking about him, but then remembered. "Is he."
"I went to his house once-one of his penthouse flats in
Los Angeles, really. It wasn't exactly turning a trick," she batted her long, eyelashes at him provocatively. "I just thought it might be worth my while to get to know him."
"What happened?"
"He didn't like me," she sighed. "I knew too much. He wants to teach his women." She sat for a moment remembering how he would stop her every time she made a move. The pert redhead chuckled and shook her head, unconsciously, or seemingly so, bringing her hand up the neckline of her dress and letting it slide slowly down across her breasts back to her lap.
Mac gave her that moment, relishing the pause, then asked the obvious question. "How much do you know?"
"Oh!" she cooed in mock disappointment. "Haven't you and Derek talked about me?"
Mac was surprised. Either she didn't know Derek as well as she claimed, or else she was teasing him. "Derek never talks about it. At least not to me." They weren't really friends, though, just associates. "So, what do you know?"
"I could tell you, but that wouldn't be much fun." Linda realized at once that she had laid a trap for herself. She hadn't really decided whether she was going to have sex with Mac or not, but suddenly it looked as though she might not have the chance to make that choice. She avoided looking at him, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see his thick legs pointed at her, and thought she saw a bulge where they met.
"Show me then," Mac said. There was no question in his mind about that bulge, and he didn't have to see it to know it was there, he could feel it pressing his cock against his testicles, which were churning in activity.
"Look, Mac," Linda said, lowering her bright green eyes to the floor. "I didn't mean to lead you on. You know, maybe someday we can get it together, but it's been a long day."
"Come around here." Mac said in the same tone he would use to ask for a report, or tell her to take a letter.
Before she knew what she was doing, the dutiful secretary got up and walked around the desk to his side. He lowered one leg from the desk and nudged her directly in front of him, then replaced the leg, so that she was trapped between his two legs and the desk, facing the growing expansion in his pants, his knees touching the outside of her nervous thighs, pressing the light, full skirt of her dress into the flesh underneath.
"Sit up on the table there," Mac said, his voice, though still one of authority, was trembling a little now with the excitement, not only of the thought of sex with this beautiful redhead who had been swishing her skirts around him for weeks, but also with the excitement of seeing how far he could make her go just by telling her.
Linda lifted herself up onto the smooth surface, her skirt bunched under her ass, and creeping up on her pale, smooth legs just above the knees. "Really, Mac," she said. "Why don't we make a date for it, sometime after the election, when we'll both have more time. We can go out for some drinks, and then back to your place or mine, and do it right."
They were doing it right now as far as Mac was concerned. "No," he answered simply. "Now."
He put one pudgy hand on her knee, covered with slick, transparent nylon. He was surprised. The contrast of his rough, hairy hand on her smooth leg excited him, and the lack of resistance as he slowly slid his gnarled, working-man's finger up under the hem of her dress. He could feel his genitals working, stoking up for the job they knew was coming.
Linda reflexively jerked her legs together, but relaxed them again at the pleasurable feel of a man's hand working its way up her thigh. She decided she wasn't as tired as she had made out, and it was about time she took a while out of her schedule to have some fun. And fun to her meant only one thing. How much did she know? She knew enough to realize that Mac would be disappointed if she just gave in and agreed.
"OK," she said. "You can feel me up if you want, and then we'll call it a night."
Mac didn't say anything. He was leaning forward now, his large head hovering over her knees, and his hand had reached the moist, warm softness of her cunt. He pushed against it, and felt the tissue yield before his fingers.
"I'll even jerk you off, if you want," Linda was saying. The touch of his fingers electrified her, sending waves of warning pleasure up her spine. She wasn't sure how long she could keep up the pretense of not liking it, even to please Mac.
She was wearing panty hose, and panties under that, so Mac was massaging her vaginal lips and the mound over it, through two layers of cloth. "You sure wear a lot of clothes," he complained.
"The people out there," she motioned with her head, and then leaned back and propped herself on her arms. "They don't want to know I have any sex. They want me all covered and invisible, just somebody to fetch and carry for them. I even have to wear a bra." She wiggled her shoulders seductively so that her ample breasts bobbed back and forth in their constraints of bra and dress.
As she had intended, Mac paused for a moment and looked up at her sloping belly with the large, high breasts rising like full, round outcroppings on the side of a mountain. But her movement had also rubbed her warm cunt against his probing fingers and thumb, and the sudden stimulation made her gasp. Mac could feel her labia start to swell, and he returned his attention to the dark intimacy between her now-spread legs.
He reached up and slipped a rough, hairy finger under the elastic waistbands, both of them at once, and began to pull them down over the smooth, tender skin of her belly, until he could feel the first strands of her pubic hair. He was aware of his own pubic hair now, getting a little damp with sweat from the activity right next to them, as his cock was gearing up.
Without saying anything, Linda closed her legs, now that Mac's hand wasn't between them, and lifted her hips off the varnished desk. As though they had it all worked out beforehand, Mac jerked the garments down to her knees, brushing against the damp forest of her hair, and just barely touching the top of her soft, delicious mound.
"All the way off Mac," she requested. "I don't want to be bothered with them later."
With his thick, tanned fingers contrasting with the smooth silkiness of the nylon stockings, and his rough fingernails snagging once and tearing them, he peeled them off, the thin gauze coming off to reveal an expanse of pale white, smooth and finely curved skin underneath.
When he had dropped the wad off the end of her toes, he looked up to find Linda sitting up again, her skirt back down almost to her knees, looking at him slyly and smiling.
"So, now we start over," she announced.
Mac's rising cock jerked suddenly with lust as he looked at the dress hem and the legs running up under it, knowing that this time when he ran his hand up there, the only thing at the top would be her waiting pussy, already warmed up, already moist and starting to fill with hot blood, and willing.
Once again his rough hand snaked up under her dress, this time the roughness of his palms scraping against skin, her lovely white smooth skin with ripples of excitement passing through it. She kept her legs pressed together, so that all he could feel was the moist fur of her pubic hair and the skin of her soft belly under it. That belly was starting to heave a bit now, and he could hear Linda taking short, fast breaths. He knew she was reacting to his kneading and rubbing of her awakening genital area.
He slipped his thick fingers down into the crevasse between her legs, but she kept them clamped together, the muscles firm on both sides of his eager hand. He could feel the softness of her cunt, warm and wet, but all he could do was feel it, because her legs were still together, he couldn't push his fingers into that inviting swell that he had brought to its heat and wetness with his caresses.
She laughed coyly. "Dig for it, Mac," she said breathlessly. She was tantalized too with the nearness of his hand to the burning center of her quickening desire. "If you want it, dig for it. You know where it is."
"All right, baby," he growled good-humoredly. "I know where it's supposed to be, and we'll just see if it's there." He turned his hand sideways and balled it into a fist, his knobby knuckles jabbing into the soft flesh of the insides of her thighs. Then he pushed down with all his might, forcing her legs apart until he could cup his hand over her whole crotch and feel the furnace-like lust radiating from the slick, swollen lips. He separated his middle finger from the fist and thrust it up between the smooth, hot lips to the first knuckle.
"Ahhh," she sighed with delight, and flung her legs wide apart, throwing her skirt back and up to reveal the dark cloud of hair covering her exposed crotch, each single hair shiny with moisture. And under the hair, Mac could see the dark red barrels of her blood-filled cunt lips, and the glistening slit between them, where his gnarled, thick finger was inserted.
Linda was panting rhythmically now, in time to his strokes against the inner lips of her hot, wet cunt, teasing her sensitive skin with his rough fingers, and releasing a flood of juice from deep inside her with every stroke.
Her whole body was starting to quiver, and her arms were getting too weak to hold her up, so she lowered herself flat onto the smooth, hard surface of the desk top, and involuntarily began rubbing her shaking hands over the mounds of her breasts under her dress. She could feel the blood rushing through her large breasts, and she could feel the nipples harden and rise against the harsh stiffness of her bra, but there was no way she could get to them, since her dress buttoned up the back. She had to be content with squeezing them through the material, rolling them in circular motions, and pinching the sensitive nipples to try to relieve their discomfort.
Mac was getting hot, and with his free hand, unbuttoned his shirt to the waist while his other hand was still buried in the throbbing, depths of her cunt. Then he couldn't stand it any longer, and lowered his face to her glowing crotch, and spread her smooth, engorged lips to receive his tongue.
At the touch of his mouth on her clamoring, lust-fired tissue, Linda caught her breath. His mouth opened and closed on her convulsing opening, and his tongue curled down into her, down toward the focus of her desire, but stopped, maddeningly before it reached the deep places she wanted touched.
He could feel the soft tickle of her pubic hair on his sucking cheeks as he pinched the slippery tissue with his lips and tried to catch it and hold it. He rammed his nose up into the belfry of her soaking cleavage and probed with it until he found the hard prick of her erected clitoris, and scraped it against the roughness of his skin. He sucked the delicious juices out of her flooding cunt until his lips and cheeks were as slippery as the dark, intimate folds they were pressing against and forcing to disgorge their sweet nectar. He could feel it running down to his chin and dripping off, and he knew it was running down her crack too, down to her anus, where it must have itched and tickled the tiny pink pucker between the two billows of quivering buttocks.
She moaned with pleasure, and clutched at her fiery breasts locked away from her touch, and then began rocking her hips against the passionate licking and sucking of Mac's mouth, pushing her hungry, succulent womanhood harder against his tongue and stimulating lips. Every sweep of her pelvis brought her sharp, searing clitoris into sensual contact with his nose, causing an explosion of wild lust that sped through her entire body, causing her legs to jerk upward and her hands to flutter helplessly.
Suddenly, she wrapped her long, white, shaking legs around his head, and curled up so that her smooth, heaving belly was pressed against his bobbing head. She reached under his arms from the back and pulled him even harder into the private opening, contracting around him in time to his licking, probing tongue against her pulsing, white-hot vagina.
He could hardly breathe, but when he sucked in air, it was filled with the sweet aroma of a hot woman with her juices flowing under his surging incitement. That added to the stimulation already exciting his genitals, and his growing cock grew even faster, shoving against the tight cloth of his shorts, searching for a way out to where it could perform the way it was meant to, to escape from its own thick moisture and plunged into the delectable moisture of some hot, waiting cunt which would relieve its aching desire.
But there was more to come. Linda, with her arms still around him from over his curved back, reached down and began caressing his now-twitching thighs, and tried to reach up to his crotch and liberate the prisoner inside. But her arms weren't long enough to reach at that angle.
So she straightened up again, her sweat-covered, slick belly unfolding under her bunched up dress. Then, as much as she hated to lessen the pressure of her scalding, churning crotch, she began to slide backward, her ass sliding on its layer of sweat and cunt juices that had run down her crack, across her anus, and down her contracting, smooth globes of ass to the shiny top of the desk.
Mac felt her scoot away, and drove his face back into her hot pulsing cunt almost angrily. But she backed away again, this time with a little twist, as she moved first one hip and then the other, the soft mounds of her buttock rotating in the slimy juice on the hard polished wood.
"Hold still, you teasing bitch," he growled. "Don't ever disturb me when I'm eating, especially something as tasty as this hot dish of pussy."
"Come on, big boy," she said invitingly, with gasping breath. "Come on. Come on." She left a wide smear of wetness on the desk as she continued to slide up, and Mac followed her, keeping his face buried in her undulating furnace.
Finally he had to get up from his chair and lean over the edge of the desk to reach her. That was what she wanted. Then she doubled up again and with knowing hands, reached under him to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his pants and unzip him, all in the twinkle of a lust-lit eye. Her hands were sweating from the blood her excited passion was pumping through her enlarged veins, but they felt cool to Mac when she slipped them under the waistband of his shorts and took the hard, thick rod in her hand.
Mac felt shudders of heat and cold bouncing around his lust-tense body as the little secretary slid her hand up and down the long shaft as though milking his sperm out of him, and rubbed her thumb over the head, now slick with the juice that had seeped out. She spread and fingered the lipless mouth at the end waiting to spew out its white-hot honey.
"What are you doing hiding in there?" she teased, squeezing as hard as she could against the unyielding hardness of his cock, then reaching down and gently cradling his balls, holding back the confining cloth of his shorts so the hairy sacs could swing like two bulging pendulums, almost like the balls they use to knock buildings down. "Why don't you come and see me?" Linda said between gasps. "I've got a nice place for you, all warm and cozy."
Mac was beginning to think it was a good idea, before he shot his load of white sperm in his shorts. He began working his licking tongue up out of the molten depths of Linda's cunt, across the tingling pyramid of her clitoris, and into the tangle of her hair, now all matted and sopping from the sweat and cum juice and saliva they had spread around when she was moving.
As he moved up, she held his shorts, so that he wormed his way out of them, and at last his frantic, throbbing cock was out in the cooling air. With her legs, she pushed down the backs of his shorts and pants, so that his white, hairy ass was exposed too, sticking up into the air as he bent over the squirming secretary.
When Mac's ugly face came to Linda's dress, bunched around the middle of her convulsing belly, he nosed under it, and began pushing it up with him as he crept. She was tugging on his eager cock now, trying to hurry its leisurely approach to her lapping, burning cunt. He could feel his shoulders and face sweating, the blood rushing through all his veins so fast that he thought he could feel the friction every time his racing heart spewed out its contents into the stretched, pulsing vessels, and gulped down another load.
Linda would coo at him once or twice, then have to stop and catch her breath, moaning with pleasure and frustration at the overwhelming passion he had released from her prim, proper body. It had been too long since a man had appreciated its smooth, white skin arranged in seductive curves, and the inviting undulations she could make when someone gave her a reason. It had been too long since she had been touched where she wanted to be touched, and how she wanted to be touched, down deep in the secret passage to her inner being, that would wither up and get stale without frequent handling and proper use. It had been too long since she had felt the throbbing, hot stick of a man's cock stretching her vagina walls, grating against then to pull out the juices and the sensation, the pure animal feeling of ecstasy.
She pulled harder on his waving, bobbing cock, running her fingers up and down over the scalding ridges of blood vessels that traced their impatient way down toward the bulbous tip, smooth and slippery and almost glowing with the heat it was putting out.
Mac slipped his rugged, calloused hands under her smooth, tender buttocks all covered with slick, warm juice from her flooding cunt. He took each tight, quivering haunch in one hand, with his fingers sticking down between them against her little pink star of an anus. He pulled upward, forcing her flowing, melting cunt against his stomach, and so as he moved upward, the full, flush lips rubbed against his hairy stomach, leaving a trail of wetness like a puppy does after he licks your arm or face. The edges of his open shirt rubbing their dry woven texture against her inner thighs, making tender white flesh shudder and jerk each time he moved, each time she pulled him closer by his long, hot handle.
"Like tits, mister?" she gasped with a wide grin. "There's a couple big luscious ones under there if you can find them, all hot and soft, with nipples so hard and sharp you'd better watch your eyes."
With a mighty, lust-inspired lunge he forced his way up, pushing the obstructing dress in front of him, until his nose touched the bottom edge of her stiff bra.
"God damn!" he burst out with his slavering lips. "You're tied up tighter than a pig going to the butchers."
"Come on, big boy, get your ugly nose under there and pry the fucking thing off. You've still got a ways to go," she reminded him with an extra violent jerk on his penis. "Unless you want to call it off."
He burrowed, he drilled with his misshapen nose, until he got it under the lip of the bra, and it clamped across his widened nostrils like the bony, toothless mouth of a fish. Then, pushing on the flush carpet with his toes, he strained to lift it up, the hard ridge cutting into his skin until tears came to his eyes.
But finally it began to yield, the whole bra coming off like the shell of a tortoise and leaving the soft, delicious meat exposed to a voracious tongue. He worked his way up the sweet mound of her breast, and just as his mouth found and closed over the pebble-hard kernel of her nipple, the end of his throbbing, burning cock first touched the slick, pulsing, blood-inflated lips of her yearning cunt.
He thought he could feel her stiffen at the tantalizing contact. He wasn't sure, because his own body jerked at the realization of how close to his goal he was.
"Keep coming, keep coming," Linda whispered hoarsely between gasps. "It's all downhill from here."
"I'm not coming yet," he growled back at her. "But you'll know when I am. I'm going to fill you up with my hot cum, until it squirts out this big tit of yours, and then I'm going to suck it up again and swallow it down, and before you know it, I'll be shooting back into your cunt a second time."
"Sounds just fine to me," she panted, and tried to laugh, but when he inched up again, forcing his rigid cock a little ways into the depths where her juices churned like a boiler overheating, she gasped and couldn't get the laugh out.
Inch by inch he worked his way along her throbbing passage, stretching the tender walls apart with the blunt, hot head of his cock, and keeping them stretched with the blood-stiff thickness of its shaft.
Every time he plunged a bit farther, she gasped until she thought her lungs would burst, and let the air out in increasingly loud and shrill moans, until the moans were more like shrieks of uncontrollable lust escaping through her mouth because her fiery cunt was corked tight.
Finally he reached the end, and could feel the hard stone of her cervix. Then quickly, he withdrew his long cock so that it was just barely nestled in her sucking opening. She squealed at the sudden intense sensation of his thick cock moving so fast against her vaginal walls, but that was nothing compared to the sensation of it driving back home a second later. She gurgled, helplessly impaled on his bursting cock as his strokes accelerated to the speed of chugging steam engine.
Again and again he thrust the length of her yielding cunt, crashing against the back each time he levered the great lust-hot limb far up into Linda's expanded belly. He heard her emit sharp, shrill cries of sensation beyond pleasure and pain, and heard grunts of thrilling exertion coming from his own lungs up through his lips which were fastened still on her hard, pointed nipple.
"Faster, faster!" Linda cried in her lust-induced delirium. "I'm going to come. I'm going to ... " She still had her hands on his hard, knotted buttocks, her fingers clawing at the thick skin to pull him in, harder, faster, deeper than her stretched belly could take.
Mac continued to slam his throbbing, engorged cock deep into her writhing, cleaving cunt with long hard lunges, feeling the searing sperm in his clanging balls reach boiling point, as though it would turn to steam and blast a hole in him from the pressure. He grunted hoarsely and increased the tempo of his savage strokes, driving hard and deep until his cock delved into untouched recesses far inside the secretary's lubricated bore.
Her breasts heaved and shuddered, one under his hand and the other still in his sucking, nipping mouth. Nothing mattered to her now but the exhilarating waves of pleasure emitted from her aching cunt each time the tough campaign manager drove the bulb at the head of his burning cock down into the unseen depths, and each time he returned the stroke, cocking his hips for another shot. All the teasing games were over now, nothing left but the final ecstasy, the fulfillment of her wild, awakened desire. "Oh fuck!" she cried out involuntarily. "Oh! Oh! It's coming! It's coming! Harder! Now! Now!"
With an inarticulate cry, Linda's body stiffened and began flailing uncontrollably, wet, searing juices gushing out of her throbbing cunt around Mac's gigantic driving tool, covering both their pubic hair with the sticky, aromatic nectar.
The pounding backroom politician nearly spun into unconsciousness as she pressed her wild climax against his burning, dripping pelvis, her body jerking in spasms into his hard, tight muscles. He responded by pulling her cheek-spread ass harder against his rapidly oscillating hips, and rammed his flaring cock all the way in until his loins slapped the flat skin of her upturned ass.
Linda thought her insides would burst out of her as she felt the tip of the buried cock grow, unbelievably, even larger until she thought the elastic skin would stretch too far and rip into shreds. Then suddenly, he shot his thick white sperm deep into her expanded vagina where it mixed with the hot swirling currents of her own climax. She lost track of the number of times he erupted inside her in powerful, white hot spurts scalding her deep, tender skin which sucked and clasped at the vibrating penis as though to get every ounce out of it.
It filled up her expandable cunt, and still more and more sperm lunged out into her like a second, liquid penis, spilling out around him, and down between the clenching globes of her buttocks and onto his pulling, clutching hands. Blinding, dizzying flashes of light filled her glazed, unfocussed eyes, and she couldn't breathe fast enough or deep enough to keep her speeding sensations provided with oxygen.
Her long, white legs unclasped from behind his back and jerked uncontrollable in the air above him, then spread, wide, wider to make more room, to let his flowing sperm sink farther down inside her. His driving cock still throbbed and spurted as he thrust with his muscular hips, still forcing his hot sperm into her, even though it was spurting back out all around his immense diameter with every jerk and jab he made.
At last the force of the raging flood subsided, and the two of them slowed their wild gyrations, and finally lay together without moving. But every time Mac's heart beat, his shrinking cock would rub its head on Linda's collapsing, tightening vagina walls, and would sent sparks of excruciating pleasure up his spine.
Linda lay completely limp and exhausted, her fine white body glistening from the forehead to the toes with various forms of secreted liquid. Even as her rapture-exploded mind was orienting itself again, she silently vowed that it wouldn't be as long until her next fuck as it had been since her last.
"So, how much do I know?" she asked playfully as Mac's cock, now a soft bud again, slipped out of her silky cavity, and he levered himself back onto his feet.
"More than enough to get you in a lot of trouble," he grudgingly admitted.
"Well, I've learned something new tonight, too."
"Yeah?" he perked up. "What's that?"
She smiled appreciatively at him. "I've learned where to come when I need a fast fill-up."
Even while he was getting his clothes in order, Mac's mind had returned to problems of the campaign. "Lot of people asking about the candidate's wife," he muttered. "They miss the old Derek Kohn, with a woman beside him." He chuckled humorlessly. "Some people are even saying he's turned queer, and there ain't nearly enough of them voting for make up for all the hot ladies we'll lose if people start believing it."
Linda shook her head doubtfully. "Derek's said he won't force her to come with him if she doesn't want to."
He slammed his hard, tanned fist on the corner of the desk. "That damn kid's got a blind spot when it comes to her. He can't force people to vote for him either, unless they want to, and he makes them want to. He could do the same with her."
"You can ask him," the secretary said, in a tone that showed she knew it would be useless.
"No, if he won't do it himself, I'll have to." A grimace, or perhaps a mischievous grin, spread over his face. "I got no choice. We can't afford to be without her."
CHAPTER 3
Becky Kohn joined her husband's campaign party in Eureka, in the northern timber and fishing country. Mac had called her in Sacramento from Los Angeles the day after he and the secretary had used the property of the Holiday Inn, that is, the desk, "in a manner for which it was not intended," as the maid complained. The gruff, forceful manager had talked to the young, sheltered Virginian wife for over two hours. Ten minutes later, she called Derek, insisted in her most withering upper class drawl that he be called out of the meeting he was in, and asked if she could join him. He agreed in such a warm, enthusiastic, but somehow formal way, that she had the feeling she was listening to a campaign promise.
Linda met her at the airport. Derek was rehearsing a speech he was to deliver in half an hour. His sweet, beautiful wife would meet him there on the platform.
"Mac said Derek missed me," she said to Linda as they drove into town.
"I'm sure he does," the secretary agreed, trying to sound more convinced than she was.
"I wonder why he never phones me then."
"Well," Linda mentally cursed Mac for making her have to answer all the questions he had placed in Becky's mind. "A campaign is very strenuous, as I'm sure you know. A candidate for high office is almost never alone, you see, and I'm sure it wouldn't be much fun for either of you if he called with the room full of dirty old men smoking cigars and adding up poll figures."
"No, I suppose not," Becky considered. "But it would be better than never calling at all."
"I think you'll understand better when you've been with us a few days," the redhead said cheerfully. "And see what the schedule is like."
"When was the last time you were alone with Derek?"
Uh-oh, she'd have to be careful with that one. "Well, let me see," she swerved into the passing lane barely in time to miss a lumber truck, which gave her a moment to think. "I really don't know. When we're together, we're usually so busy that we don't notice if anyone else is there or not."
The fairgrounds were full of people milling around when they drove in and parked in the reserved section. Before they got out of the car, Linda turned to the young wife and said earnestly, "If you need help with anything, be sure to call me. I hope we'll become good friends."
"Thank you," Becky answered shyly. She had a feeling she might need a friend.
Derek was already on the wooden platform, surrounded by men in dark suits and young women in gaily-colored dresses carrying clipboards and sheaves of paper, coffee in styrofoam cups, or, as in one case, a pair of glasses for someone. The candidate himself was the center of attention, and Becky would have had to push through three or four layers of people to get to him, or else call out, neither of which she was prepared to do.
But Linda was an old hand at the business. She took the pretty wife's graceful, manicured hand, and broke a trail through the crowd, trailing Becky behind her. They came up behind Derek, who was engaged in intense conversation with three dark-suited men at once. Linda, without the slightest formality, grabbed hold of his shoulder and turned him around facing them. His eyes lit first on his former girlfriend, now secretary, and beamed a welcome that was not lost on the other woman.
"Here's who you've been waiting to see," she said with a warning scowl.
"Becky!" he cried out, but before he could even start toward her, she heard the click of shutters and the whir of movie cameras. He stepped to her and embraced her warmly, then, with his lips next to her ear whispered. "A big, slobbery kiss for the photographers, dearest. They'll lap it up."
She let him kiss her just as he wanted. She didn't resist, in order not to spoil the show. But she didn't help either, because it was his show. She wasn't too keen on making their marital relations a performance for the whole world.
She had been to the proper finishing schools, and knew how to smile and be gracious on cue, no matter how she felt. And that's what she did. Derek held her hand, and she stood right next to him while gradually everyone but half a dozen men and two or three women were cleared from the platform.
She sat next to him, still holding hands, during the preliminary speeches and his introduction. She smiled her best smile at the photographers, and nodded politely to the others on the stage. She thought they must be local officials, or perhaps candidates for local office.
When his turn came to speak, Derek gave her hand a last pat, and leaned over to kiss her. Again the cameras clicked and whirred. She appeared to be listening intently to every word he said. That was something else they had taught at finishing school. But she was also paying attention to the crowd, and especially the press section, where the reporters were scribbling on their pads, or checking their tape recorders. And the cameras' clicking sounded like crickets, like the crickets back home in Virginia, they were so frequent. They seemed to be liking whatever it was her husband was saying.
Then in the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a man taking pictures of her instead of the candidate for Senate. What's more, he was crouched down at the edge of the stage, looking for all the world as though he were trying to get a picture up her skirt. She blushed suddenly and hastily adjusted her skirt, which ended just above her knees, so that as little as possible of her shapely, cream-colored thighs was visible.
She didn't want to look over there, refusing to draw attention to the incident. But finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and she looked down to see that vulgar, slimy reporter who had insulted her at their home in Sacramento. Simmons, he'd said his name was, from ... she couldn't remember ... The Peeper"! The Voyeur! No, The Viewer, that was it. As she stared in disgust and disbelief, the vile man snapped a picture, then lifted his ugly face from behind his camera and smiled grotesquely at her, and even waved.
The attractive woman's clear blue eyes were riveted on the horrible, little man who had threatened to rape her, when all of a sudden she realized that everyone was looking at her. Even Derek was turned around at the podium and smiling broadly at her. She glanced around in terror, not knowing what she was supposed to do. She should have been listening to Derek's speech!
Behind the podium, out of the view of the audience, and without altering his smile, he motioned for her to stand up. She realized that he must simply have introduced her. She stood up and smiled at everyone while they clapped politely and several men whistled lewdly at her tall, slender curves and the light brown silkiness of her hair.
She tried to listen to Derek after that, but she didn't understand much of it. She wasn't dumb, or uneducated, but she just wasn't very informed about the political issues, especially here in California. He was talking about provisional subsidies to essential industries, and protecting investments and guaranteeing job security and dams and Russian trailers, it sounded like, and all tied in to the numbers of various bills in Congress. But at least she knew when to stand up and applaud.
"You did a good job, honey," he said when he came back to his seat, and gave her another exhibitional kiss and took her hand again when he sat down.
She knew she hadn't done a good job, and wished he'd tell her what to do instead of lying to her. Well, maybe it was just to encourage her while they were in public, and later, when they were alone, they could really talk. But they weren't alone for a long time.
When it was over, he said quietly, "Linda will take you to the hotel. I'll be back as soon as I can get away. Love you darling." And then, after another husbandly kiss on her smooth, lovely cheek, he was gone.
Immediately she was surrounded by reporters, some of them women. She smiled at them uncertainly, but they pressed against her, closing in on all sides of her light, vulnerable body. Someone ran into her breast with his shoulder, pushing the soft fullness against her chest for a moment. She flinched back, and jammed her tender contoured ass into the corner of a reporter's tape recorder hung waist-high from the shoulder.
"Why hasn't a sexy thing like you been with the campaign all along?" One reporter asked, and suddenly there was a swarm of blunt-ended microphones waving and bobbing in front of her mouth, like big, erect penises trying to push in between her lips the minute she opened them to answer.
Becky was a little taken aback at how the question was put, but she tried to answer. "I don't care much for public appearances, but I support Derek with..."
Another question cut her off. It was a woman reporter, who asked, "How is Derek in bed?"
"Why, that's none of your business," she answered, astonished that anyone would ask such a thing.
"Not so good, huh?" Some said, and all the reporters laughed and scribbled in their notebooks.
"No," she objected. "He's fine, but what does that have to do with him being a Senator?"
"Fine how?" Another question shot at her. "Is he big? Does he last a long time?"
People were still pushing against her, buffeting her with pokes and shoves. All of a sudden, she felt something moving up her leg. She gasped and tried to reach down, but there were too many people around her, so she just stamped and kicked until it went away. She looked around for Linda, but couldn't see her anywhere. She wanted to get out of this, quick!
"Are you the one he made a porno film with in
Washington."
"Certainly not!" she exclaimed. "Do you know the woman?"
"To my knowledge," she said in her upper-class drawl, trying to sound very calm. "Derek has never been involved in anything like that."
"Didn't tell you, huh?"
Someone was lifting up the edge of her skirt. She twisted and squirmed, but whatever it was, was still there, now rubbing against the back of her thigh, probing higher and higher toward her buttocks. She lunged forward, and felt hands feeling and squeezing her breasts, and hands rubbing all over her stomach and shoulders, and along her back, working down and patting the tight globes of her backside under her dress.
"Take off your clothes, so we can get some pictures," someone shouted.
She was off-balance now, and had to lean against the lewd probing, feeling hands to keep from falling. There were also hands all over her legs, so she couldn't move them under her. All the time the microphones were bobbing obscenely in front of her face, as though just waiting for the chance to penetrate her mouth. She wondered if she was going to be raped right here in front of all these people.
An image came to her of herself standing in a circle of people, reporters and photographers, with movie camera and television cameras going. And she would be taking off her clothes while they all looked and took pictures, until she was completely naked, right there in the fairgrounds, her tiny bare feet on the rough dirt and the sharp stickers.
Then she would spread her legs apart, and part her tuft of light, honey-brown pubic hair to expose her pink, private lips, and turn slowly to give everyone a good look. Then she would have to choose a man from the circle to come and have sex with her, so they could watch. And all the men were calling her, obscenely, promising to do the most wicked things to her while she was lying on the dirt and writhing on the sharp pebbled and getting stuck with thorns.
In all the noise and confusion, and being tossed around with people feeling her soft, delicious body, she nearly passed out. Then, in her delirium-induced vision, she saw Simmons, that filthy little creature, calling to her, motioning for her to pick him, and waving a big, flesh-colored microphone between his legs. It dipped and strained toward her, and the mouth on the end opened and closed, gaping like a blind worm searching for food.
Then her head cleared a little, and she saw that it was a person's mouth, talking to her from a few inches away, and the microphones still stuck out at her and people were running their hands up and down her long, cream-colored legs, all the way up to her soft, warm crotch, and all over her breasts, and she thought that someone had unzipped her dress and was running his hand over her bare back, pressing her spine and kneading the long muscles that stretched from her rump to the base of her nick, with rough, strong fingers.
And Simmons was there, right in front of her, grinning his vile grin. All she could see was his face. She didn't know what he was doing with his hands.
But for all the horror of her vision, it was also strangely stimulating, and she could feel herself half wanting to give in to it, to let these people look at her. She wanted to be all bare out in the sunshine, and she wanted everyone to see her cunt, and the brown nipples of her large, high, voluptuous breasts. She wanted everyone to see her jerk and quiver in orgasm, to see her abandon her delicate, pampered, satin-skinned body to the mindless ravages of naked, uncontrolled lust.
The sun was blinding her, and it was hot. She could feel the sweat popping out all over her skin, and the sticky moisture make her underclothes cling and rub, or maybe it was all those hands, still groping and chaffing her. She wanted to get out of her clothes.
Out of all that came another question. "How often does one of Derek's old girlfriends come join the two of you in bed?"
And she heard her own voice answer. "He doesn't see them anymore, any of them." Then she was drowned with laughter, through which she heard one voice say "There's at least one he sees every day. And who knows about the night?"
"Who?" the disturbed, young wife asked weakly, but nobody heard.
Then Linda's face appeared in front of her, saying forcefully "No more questions now. No more questions. You've found out all you're going to today."
Becky slowly came back to reality, and felt the efficient secretary push and lead her out of the crowd of milling reporters to the parking lot and into the car.
"They were terrible to me," she said to Linda as they drove to the hotel. She felt a little better now, with the wind blowing through the open window onto her face and neck. But under her clothes, she still felt hot and sticky, especially in her crotch, where her nylon panties were clinging to the chaste, sensitive flesh. She wondered how she could have gotten so wet down there.
"Everything is public," Linda was explaining. "You'll see that we lead completely public lives. Anything is fair game for the press."
"Am I supposed to answer them?"
"You're supposed to answer, but you don't have to tell them anything you don't want to. You'll learn how to do that."
The dismayed politician's wife looked over and examined the secretary's attractive, shapely body, her large, high breasts, and the curve of her ass on the seat, and her legs, with the skirt now slid most of the way up her thigh, with the muscles rippling and playing under the smooth white skin as she maneuvered her feet on the pedals. Quickly she looked away, and then asked tentatively. "Did you know Derek before we were married?"
"You asked for it, kid," the promiscuous redhead thought, and then out loud she said "Oh yes, I was his favorite lover for awhile. None of us could be his favorite for very long. There were too many."
"I know about all his girlfriends," Becky said. "I know he was very attractive to women. But how did you and he..." she suddenly decided to change her question. "How did you two meet?"
"I was at a beach one night when he came along and asked if I was wearing a bathing suit top under my shirt. When I said no, he slid his hand under and starting massaging my breasts. At first I was pissed-off-I mean, he was just a stranger off the beach and I was with some other people-but it felt so good..."
Becky was horrified. "Stop it!" she said sharply. "Don't talk about such things."
"Why not?"
The confused wife of the well-known lover had to think about that. The worst part of it was that she wanted to hear, wanted Linda to tell her all the details, how he kissed her, and caressed her breasts, and, and all the rest. "Well," she stammered. "It isn't proper."
Linda shrugged. Becky sneaked a look again at the confident, sexually-liberated woman next to her in the car. She looked at her breasts again, and saw their plumpness shift, rising and falling, as she turned the steering wheel, and bounce tightly and firmly when she reached down to jerk the gear shift level. She wondered what they looked like without the dress and bra, if they looked anything like her own. She imagined Derek reaching under Linda's shirt to fondle them, pressing his hand down into the fleshy cushions, cradling them in his palm, and rubbing his fingers up over the nipples until they rose into hard pebbles that he could catch and knead between his lips and teeth.
Suddenly, she felt her own nipples pressing into her bra, and realized that her breasts and face were flush with blood. Enough of that! she resolved.
But her eyes traced the curve of Linda's back down to where her skirt was pulled tightly against her ass. She wondered if her own ass looked like that, and thought she could feel eyes sliding down her back and boring into the private curves and crevasses of her ass. She shivered a tiny bit at the thrill of it, as though someone had run a feather down her bare back and was now tickling the tender skin between the globes of her ass. She stirred in her seat, and contracted her buttocks together a couple of times.
Becky's searching eyes could see the bottom edge of Linda's panties under the bunched up dress, running around the smooth column of her upper thigh, so high it was hardly her thigh anymore. But the space down between her legs was hidden in shadow-it gets dark quickly once the sun sets on the ocean-so the curious young wife had to imagine the slight bulge, and perhaps a bit of pubic hair escaping from under the band of elastic. She wondered what color her pubic hair was. She'd have to ask Derek next time she had the chance.
Ask Derek! She could never ask Derek such a thing! What was she thinking of? She firmly turned her eyes out the window, and tried to pay attention to the cars going by in the falling dusk. She tried to ignore an itching in her crotch, but when it wouldn't go away, she pulled her legs together and discovered she had gotten all swelled up, like a balloon partially filled, and pressing her thighs against the wet, warm fullness only made it worse, sending waves of tingling sensation radiating out through her thighs and hips and belly.
Linda noticed her naive companion's discomfort, and sympathized. Thinking about Derek had made her soft and juicy too. She could feel the moisture beading up inside her activated cunt and running down and out across the swelling, hot lips to be absorbed in her panties. But she knew exactly what it was, and what to do about it. If her companion had been a man, she would have pulled the car over immediately. She wasn't much into lesbianism, and even if she had been, she would never have suggested it to a prim, southern aristocrat like Becky. There was only one solution.
She calculated the distance to the hotel, which was a ways outside of town on the freeway, up among the giant redwoods that this area was noted for. Just time, she decided. They would be in fourth gear for a while, so with her right hand, she lifted the wad of skirt around her hips even higher, already feeling an increase in the wetness at her crotch, just from the anticipation.
She rubbed her palm along the smooth surface of her inner thighs, relishing the pangs of delight rushing up to her cunt, and the shivers of electric excitement gathering like water in a dripping faucet at the back of her neck, then suddenly shooting down her spine and piercing the crevice between the cheeks of her ass, then slowly seeping around her crotch to join the growing throb in her cunt. But she didn't have much time for preliminaries, she reminded herself.
She slipped her finger up and under the elastic waistband of her panties and pantihose, the long, pointed fingernails scraping a red mark on the soft skin of her belly. At once she thrust two fingers down through the tangle of pubic hair, feeling the moistness already there, to the mound of her sensual womanhood, and then down farther to the slick, hot lips guarding the entrance to her vagina.
Then she started her caresses, rapidly working her trembling fingers down between the swollen lengths of her labia, sending waves of pure sensuality down into the churning depths of her cunt. Carefully, she probed with her thumbnail until she made contact with the rising nub of her clitoris, then massaged it back and forth with the sharp edge, scraping it gently like a bow on a violin string, so that it vibrated with pleasure, with almost unendurable pleasure, while her fingers were delving ever deeper into the molten slit beneath. She began rocking her whole pelvis in time to her strokes, feeling the warm glow spread down her thighs to her knees and up into her belly like a mound of coals coming to life under the knowing breath of the fire-tender.
Next to her in the seat, Becky was first aware that something was going on when she smelt an odd, but somehow familiar smell, which for some reason reminded her of something wicked, something forbidden, and something very tempting. It came when she had almost been able to put the whole business of sex out of her mind at last. But now it all came back, and the itch in her crotch started all over, growing with more strength than last time, and she could feel a yearning she didn't know was lust pass through her body like a lonely mating call echoing through the hills. She thought there must be something wrong with her, and couldn't wait to see Derek.
Linda was sliding her fingers in and out of her boiling, seething cunt more quickly now, feeling the lubrication of thick syrup cling to her protruding fingers and flow down to soak her panties and dress. She knew it would soak all the way into the car seat by the time she was through. Bolts of sharp quivering delight radiated from the pulsing, burning tissue, and made their way up to her breasts, where blood rushing into the voluptuous globes made them swell and push against the constricting bra.
Her breath was coming faster now, as the clamoring in her convulsing cunt grew more intense, surging through her soft, aroused body. She kept her eyes on the road, and one hand on the steering wheel, and managed to make her trembling leg hold still enough to keep a steady pressure on the gas pedal.
The low rhythmic sounds of panting echoed through the car. The prim, honey-haired, Virginian politely ignored it at first, not even daring to think about what it might be. It was Linda's business, and she knew how to take care of herself. But as it grew louder and more rapid, and Becky could hear the intensity behind the lusty secretary's gasps and sighs, she thought she might be sick or something. If the possibility of her masturbating, right there in the car, on a public road, with someone else, and virtually a perfect stranger too, in the car, if that occurred to her at all, she dismissed it as unthinkable. Still she hesitated to look over at her world-wise companion, though she couldn't have said just why. Maybe she was too concerned with fighting down the rising sensations in her own genitals, the comforting warmth that kept trying to make her relax the tense vaginal muscles, the pressure against her underwear that called out for more pressure, the tingling, swirling pleasure that moved around, playing j ust under the twitching skin of her tight thighs and resisting hips and belly, and even down into the forbidden crack between the billows of her ass, seeming to tweak and irritate her rectum.
But at last she looked over, and was shocked too much even to avert her eyes. The beautiful, sensuous secretary had her dress pushed up over her hips and tucked into the seat belt, and her hand down under her panties! Becky couldn't take her wide eyes off the fascinating, grotesque sight of her hand moving up and down under her panties, quick, hard strokes just barely visible in the deep shadow at her crotch. And she was panting obscenely in time to the lewd thrust of her fingers into her obviously delighted cunt.
Becky looked up to see Linda's back arched, her shoulders pressed against the back of the seat, and her chin down so she could see out the front of the car. Her face was flushed with burning lust, and her eyes were glazed under the heavy, jittering eyelids, and her mouth hung open, only her tongue moved, and the amazed wife watched it curl and roll sensuously inside the open mouth, run the tip across her teeth and the roof of her mouth, and reach out to massage the swollen, tight, shiny lips with its writhing and twisting.
The tall, well-bred, young wife didn't know what to do. She had never, in her sheltered life, been in a situation like this before. She knew she should be disgusted with the obscene display, but somehow, the warm glow in her throbbing cunt, and the thrills of excitement running up and down her tense back wouldn't let her feel that way. For a few minutes, all she could so was watch in fascinated amazement.
Finally she decided that she had to do something. She started to go ahead and ask the question she had turned around to ask, "Do you need any help?" But at the last moment, realized what it would mean in that situation. Just for the tiniest instant, she wondered what the gasping, passion-charged redhead would say.
But then she saw Linda's eyes fluttering and jerking, and the arm that was holding the steering wheel shake uncontrollably, the cords of muscles tightening and loosening under the white skin in lust-induced spasms. Suddenly she was afraid they would crash, that the young hedonist would pass out from her own sensations and drive them off the road into the thick, massive redwoods, or into an oncoming car.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
Linda had nearly forgotten the other woman was in the car with her. When she heard Becky's question, she thought she was asking about her orgasm. "Yes, I'm doing fine, thanks," she gasped, and flashed a brief, ragged smile at the pretty woman concerned about her masturbation.
And she was doing fine. Her muscles all felt like water, though they were clasping and unclasping in convulsions of delight all over the rocking, sweating body. She just barely managed to keep her driving arm steady on the wheel, and keep her right foot from jerking off the gas pedal from the wild contractions of her thigh. She got a certain pleasure knowing that the innocent, young wife of her best lover was sitting just a few inches away and watching her masturbate. Maybe Becky would let her watch her someday in return.
Linda was an old hand, especially for a woman so young, and she could sense a climax coming a long time before it actually came. Ordinarily, she could watch it come, feel it growing bigger and more encompassing, with leisure. She could even slow it down, speed it up, make it diminish, and just hold it at a certain point, relishing her power to make it come whenever she wanted to. But now she was in a hurry, and so there was no dallying.
The searing, thick fluids were flowing freely out of the mouth of her vagina now, dripping down her crack to trickle over her anus and then on down to be absorbed in the silky cloth of her panties. The full, red labia were pulsing with the fiery lust her fingers had stoked up, slippery with moisture and giving out raging explosions of pleasure every time her jabbing hand touched their stretched, shiny surfaces. Her hard, sensitive clitoris was so aroused that it felt like glowing metal, and it seemed to be trying to grow bigger than its turgid shape would allow, so that it felt as though it were going to split apart, and a new, bigger hard point erupt from inside, like a katydid bursting its old, dry skin.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Becky's wide eyes and open mouth as she looked from her surging, rocking hips with her hand plunging into the white-hot cunt, to her face with the sweat running down the cheeks, though it wasn't a hot night, and the open mouth sucking in air and blowing it out in increasingly louder shivering, high-pitched moans. It excited her even more, and suddenly she knew she was going to come, in front of this gasping, beautiful, upper-class wife of a soon-to-be Senator. Her moans turned into rapid whimpers as the flow of juices in her churning, molten cunt increased, and her fingers flew in and out of the hidden, secret orifice, down into the depths of her private pocket, as though she could ignite her orgasm as an Indian starts a fire, with just friction and pressure. The boiling, passion-produced nectar poured out over her hand now with loud slurping sounds as her fingers delved into the juicy pocket to milk the smooth vagina walls of their hot liquor, and stroke them into even more intense fires of convulsive rapture.
Then suddenly, like gasoline flaring up all around her, she was engulfed by her climax. A low gurgle started in her throat and quickly rose to a piercing cry that wavered in the highest register her ecstatic, stretched vocal cords could produce. She could feel her body buck and quiver, and the skin all over her body spurt out passion-stirred sweat. Her arm stiffened on the steering wheel, and her foot jerked uncontrollably with a violent spasm of lust, so that she pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. The car seemed full of car lights on high beam, flashing at her from every angle. And out there somewhere, beyond the circle of her ecstatic explosion, she could hear a woman scream in terror.
Linda's sight came back before Becky's scream was all the way out, and with a calm deftness, she turned the steering wheel and swerved into the other lane in plenty of time, missing the lumber truck by at least two car lengths, and then swerved back into her own lane in time to let the passing truck whiz by them without having to slow down. She knew what she was doing, and had it timed perfectly.
The young wife, however, was totally unprepared for such things, and burst into uncontrollable tears, partly from the fear of the crash, and partly from her frustration at seeing someone relieve their sexual tensions so easily, so naturally, while hers were still corked up inside her, fighting to get out. She had been feeling the warmth building up in her vagina, and the blood rushing to her breasts and buttocks, and making her face and ears flush and hot while she was watching the self-induced pleasure of her husband's lusty secretary. But she didn't have the control over her body that the young Californian did, and so when Linda reached the height of passion and exploded with orgasm, all Becky could do was scream. Then her fright beat her natural lust back down again, as so many times before, and she was left more frustrated than ever, and crying until the hot tears rolled down her long, smooth cheeks and dripped off her chin.
She didn't say anything to Linda for the rest of the drive, nor even look at her. But it wasn't very long. Soon after the redhead had let the elastic of her panties snap back to her satiated lower belly, the lights of the hotel came into view.
"It wasn't a man," Linda mused to herself, "but it will hold me until I can get one." And she thought she knew where she could get one.
"Get yourself cleaned up, doll," she said to the whimpering honey-haired woman beside her. "We're about to go public again."
Becky groaned in despair. She had been looking forward to sneaking from the car to her room and crawling in bed to wait for her strong, comforting husband to come to her. But it wasn't to be.
It was fully dark by the time they pulled up to the door of the hotel, and when they walked into the blazing lobby, Becky was blinded. Her eyes, which were still aching from her crying, now ached from the light as well. Instantly they were surrounded by reporters.
"When was the last time you slept with your husband?" One yelled at her, making her ears ring.
"Do you have lovers while he's away?"
"Have you been crying, dear?" asked a woman reporter kindly. Becky looked up at her gratefully and smiled, nodding bashfully. The woman put a comforting hand on Becky's shoulder and asked in the same voice "Did she try to rape you in the car? Is that it?"
The young, tortured wife stared at her in outrage. "What a horrid thing to ask."
"Are you two dykes?" someone behind her shouted.
Becky looked around, once again bewildered by the crush of people and the din of shouts and questions being thrown at her.
But this time the experienced, seductive secretary took over at once. "Mrs. Kohn and I have a warm and close relationship, and we are committed to seeing Congressman Kohn elected to the Senate. As for homosexuality," she smiled flirtatiously at some of the male reporters, as though to hint that they knew better. "I refer you to the Congressman's position paper, available at his headquarters on Main Street."
As soon as she stopped talking, the questions flooded in again, but Linda was used to such situations. "Mrs. Kohn is exhausted from the emotional reunion she and her husband, the Congressman, had today, and will not be able to answer any more questions tonight."
The competent redhead ushered the helpless wife through the crowd, fending off reporters with sharp words and an occasional shove in the chest, to the grand staircase with two guards stationed at the bottom to make sure that only guests went up to the rooms. All the way up the stairs and along the balcony, the two sexy women were followed with bellowed questions, and then lewd, suggestive whistles and cat-calls.
At last in her room, Becky burst once more into tears while Linda impatiently tried to tell her what she had to know. "Next to you on this side is my room. If you need any help, just knock, and if I'm there, I'll see what I can do. On the other side is a sort of dormitory for some of the college boys working with us. If they start making too much noise, just tell them to shut up." the shy wife looked doubtful. "All right," Linda said tiredly. "Wake me up and I'll tell them to shut up if you don't want to." She showed her how to call room service, the manager, and so on, and then prepared to leave.
"When will Derek be here?" Becky asked tearfully.
The secretary shrugged. "As soon as his meetings are through. It depends. Some of these country folk are hard to convince, and he's got to keep at them until they come over."
"Do you..." the tormented wife faltered. "Do you and Derek still...?
The redhead gathered her belongings briskly, and just before she opened the door she gave a slight wriggle to her shapely hips and smiled the same smile she had turned on the reporters. "The Congressman and I continue to enjoy a warm and close relationship in the context of his being happily married to a loving and f athf ul wife." And with that, she was gone.
Becky felt completely humiliated, and worn out with emotion and distress. Slowly she took off her clothes, the fine, smooth texture of her dress sliding down the long, pure curves of her shapely leg. And then her nylons, peeling off, so that she was in nothing but her panties and bra. She stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked at herself. Did she look like such a wanton woman that everyone kept making obscene remarks to her?
She brushed her long, light-brown hair until it was as smooth as silk, and flowed down over her shoulders in gracious, appealing curves. There was nothing wrong with her long legs, finely hewed, pleasingly proportioned, and the color of rich cream. She reached down and stroked one thigh gently, to feel its smooth skin and the firm, tight muscles underneath. But immediately that feeling returned to her deep vaginal recesses, that feeling that had almost burst out of her once today. She stopped.
More business-like, she ran her palms down her ribs from her bra to her panties, to make sure she had no flab on her, to make sure she was pleasing to touch on the satin expanse of her flat belly, and the turn of her sides where they rounded deliciously into the sensual, rippling cords of her back. But once again, she could feel herself starting that whole process of wretched lust rising up out of her secret depths to betray her to indecency and disgusting thoughts.
So without touching herself, she unhooked her bra and slipped it over her slender, naked shoulders, exposing her large, high breasts, sumptuously riding firm and proud with their brown nipples contrasting with the rich whiteness of the rounded, full globes, which quivered slightly with every move she made. Even as she watched, she saw them swell a little, and the lovely, inviting skin stretch over their expansion. She saw the brown halos pucker and push the nipples up to standing nibs. She couldn't even look at herself without arousing her body to its loathsome desire. Quickly she stripped off her panties, and tried to suppress the thrill that shot up her spine as her hands whisked down the length of her legs, and the sudden impact of cool air on her crotch, which was still somewhat damp from the car episode. She refused to look at the soft brown tuft of hair covering her vaginal lips, that nearly transparent cloud under which the opening of her desire was kept shut away except for formal occasions, like a "proper child" who was to come and perform when called, but was never to bother the adults with any needs of their own.
She took a cold shower, standing in the freezing rain of water until her body felt hard and calloused as the bark of a tree. She was nearly numb, though underneath, her muscles ached from the cold. She hoped that would quiet the unclean desires that had wracked her body, so she could keep herself pure and unpolluted for her husband. Even her nipples, erected and hardened to pebble-like firmness were almost without feeling, so she could rub the towel over her sensuous curves, even pressing the soft billows of her breast, and rubbing the dangerous place between her spread legs, with no more than a slight, faraway itch of desire, which she had no trouble ignoring.
She put on her short, transparent night gown for when Derek arrived-quickly, she had to think of something else!-and slipped between the cold, smooth sheets and tried to get to sleep before her pleading, sensual body reawakened to its pulsating, unfulfilled desire. But it didn't work. As exhausted as she felt, the tension in her longing muscles would not let her relax. Every time she moved against the smooth sheets, twinges of lust would spring up like sparkles under her soft, smooth, delicious skin, and when she tried to lay still, her restless thighs and shoulders would start to burn and throb, itching until she couldn't stand it anymore. And she couldn't keep her eager, round, firm buttocks from clenching, and catching a fold of the sheet between the haunches and mauling it like a cow chewing cud, until the insides of her ass cheeks, the crack and her tiny, secret anus, were raw and afire with the chafing.
Her full, firm breasts ached, and the chocolate nipples reached out for contact no matter how she turned. Deep between her legs, in the fleshy chamber of her cunt, the skin itched, and cried out to be touched, like skin beneath a cast too long, deprived of its essential contact with other, living, warm and caressing skin. Instead of the numb oblivion she had hoped for, bed was a torture chamber for her delicate, ravaged and neglected body.
She heard a door opening, and immediately sat up in bed. "Derek, at last!" she cried. But it wasn't Derek, and it wasn't her door. It was the door of the room next to hers, and soon she heard the hubbub of young male voices, laughing with that peculiar edge of wildness when someone has worked beyond exhaustion, and entered another period, in which nothing is very serious, and the only reason to be awake and alive is to have fun.
"Set it up here!" She heard a voice call, then another one say "Here's the plug." She tried not to listen, but there was an air vent between the rooms, just covered by a wide grill-this hotel had once been a lumber baron's mansion, and it was rumored that he liked to check up on his young female guests and relatives, and had these see-through grills in many of the rooms. "Who's got some tacks to put the sheet up?" the sound drifted to the lonely, restless young wife.
She really should complain, she thought. The noise would be a good excuse to herself for why she couldn't sleep. Before long she heard the unmistakable whir of a small movie projector. Her curiosity roused, she turned over and saw the flicker of light coming from the vent, close to the floor. Maybe they were viewing campaign television spots, she reasoned, and since she had to learn more about the issues and positions anyway, it would be something to do while she was waiting for Derek to sit by the vent and listen to them.
The projector started making funny noises as she lifted the sheets from her hot, itching body and set her tiny, tender feet on the cool floor, trying not to make any noise.
"Start it over," an eager male voice called from the other room. "And thread it right this time."
She tiptoed to the vent, then squatted down to listen. Her tight little ass was bent double and sticking out from under the short, silky night gown. The air felt good curling invitingly under her crotch, touching the moist slit tucked away under the light brown tuft of her pubic hair. Her ample breasts were pressed against her doubled knees, the soft accommodating flesh oozing out around like two, giant, scrumptious doughnuts, the nipples jammed against her shapely knee, separated by the thin film of her night gown.
When the projector started again, she cocked her head to listen, but could hear nothing beyond the whir of the machine. Then all the avid young college men sighed a long "Ahhhh" of approval all at once. Becky looked down to where the light was playing on her bare feet, almost as though it were trying to tickle them.
She bent down and looked through, her head just a couple of inches above the soft carpet. The first thing she saw was a nude woman shining with a silvery brilliance like the full moon reflected on a quiet lake. The peeping, aristocratic wife gasped before she realized that she was seeing the movie.
What a beautiful woman she was! She had apparently just undressed, leaving on a pair of black hose, held up by a shiny garter made out of black leather, which snaked up her thigh-s, across her swerving, voluptuous hips, and around her thin, flexible waist. Maybe it was the film, or maybe it was Becky's eyes not being used to the light, but the woman seemed still to be shining, gleaming with whiteness. Her smooth, undulating skin was paler than any she had ever seen, in sharp, exciting contrast to the opaque black of the leather bands surrounding her hips. Her hair was long, and platinum blonde, that silvery, shimmering hue that no dye can match, the tiny whip-like ends brushed against her full, round ass, sometimes getting caught between the cheeks as she danced lasciviously on the screen.
From the darkened room, the crouching, silent sexually-starved woman heard the moans and sighs of the watching young, virile workers, enjoying themselves after a long day of campaigning. On the screen, the woman turned and stooped seductively, flirting with her whole body in a way that Becky had no idea bodies could be used. She ran her hands up her firm, flat stomach to her huge, pendulous breasts, cupping them in her palms as she danced, offering their ripe fullness to the audience, then working her fingers up through the firm, luscious tissue to the naked, wanton nipples, their deep pink clearly visible on the pale white globes of her breasts.
"The cameraman must be her husband," Becky thought. The very idea of a naked woman acting that way in front of anyone else, whether it was a stranger or someone who knew her, was abhorrent, yet at the same time strangely tempting to the naive Virginian. She could feel her own breasts getting warm, and her nipples pressing against the delicate bone of her knee. She was too absorbed in the sexy performance to notice.
In the shadows of the room, she could make out dark forms of men, sitting or lying propped up on cots, all their attention focused on the screen. Sometimes a form would shift in the darkness to change positions, perhaps to relieve the growing pressure of their genitals as they responded hotly to the undulating, enthralling woman motioning, spreading her legs to part the platinum hair between them and display with shocking relish the pink slit, glistening in the movie lights, as though inviting them up onto the screen with her.
Then there was someone on the screen with her. The camera had backed up to reveal that she was not dancing in an empty room with just her husband cameraman, but in a circle of leering, lecherous, drooling men leaning toward her on the edge of their chairs, their eyes following her every move.
The shocked young wife felt a shivering, electric thrill race down her spine to her protruding behind, and then another and another, until it felt as though her whole back, and the spread cheeks of her involuntarily clamping and unclamping ass, were dancing with flame, which spread into the crevice between the billowing globes, and around to lodge in the soft folds of her cunt. At once, all the heightened sensation she had fought against so hard for so long sprang into her loins, erupting with a violence born of long, cruel suppression into a churning activity that convulsed the lips of her vagina, and starting pumping them up with coursing blood. By the time the prim wife realized the significance of her quick breaths, and the rhythmic rolling of her yearning, tightening breasts on her knees, it was too late for her to stop the rising tide. Thankfully, it was also too late for her to care anymore about stopping it.
The movie was provocative enough, now that the dancing, naked woman was making her way around the circle, thrusting her hips, weaving her belly and spine into voluptuous curves, molding her quicksilver breasts, kneading them like pale, glistening dough, and running her long, pointed fingernails over the stiff, hard pips of her nipples, just out of reach of the grasping, slobbering, lust-crazed men who, she could see now, were chained to their chairs with large, dull-gray links around their waists. But to see this through a room full of panting, grunting studs was beyond any sensation she had ever imagined.
Becky began massaging the outsides of her thighs, doubled up against her front. She ran a teasing finger around her ballooning breasts wherever they were exposed, and tried to dig down under her knees to reach the hard, rough nipples, at the same time, pressing even tighter with her knees to keep her invading fingers out. Then down her side one of her hands crept, as through stalking across the shallow ridges her curving ribs made in the smooth, cream-colored slope of her skin as it descended to the swell of her hip. Without stopping, she slid her now trembling hand down under, to brush lightly the stretched, convulsing tightness of her posterior, then still farther until, without ceremony, she plunged her fingers through the damp, velvety fineness of her pubic hair and into the quick of her throbbing, slippery cunt.
She let out a moan as her long fingers slid into the waiting, hungry closeness of her warm, hungry pussy, with a slight slurping sound, as though her cunt had been voraciously salivating for hours in anticipation of a meal after a long fast. A low moan escaped her open, limp lips as her hand pressed farther up into her burning crotch, gliding against the slippery vagina walls, stimulating them to greater sensation wherever the merciful probing fingers touched.
The massive, provocative blonde on the screen was letting the chained men touch her now, their evil, clutching hands waving toward her as she passed, coming just close enough so that their fingers could barely brush her thigh, perhaps, or she would bend over and tease a wretched man with her breast, keeping it tantalizingly beyond where he could pinch or squeeze, and he had to stretch until it looked as though his arm would pull out of the squirming, tearing socket, just to be able to run one finger over that lovely, maddeningly close, pink nipple set like a pastel nub of coral at the top of the huge, quivering globe of her breast.
What would that be like, Becky wondered, watching the wanton woman go from man to man, offering herself in tiny bits to the flailing, bucking, kicking, helpless men, to show herself to whoever she wanted, spreading her legs with indecent carelessness, and opening up her red, swollen lips to show them the churning, furnace of her throbbing cunt? Her hoarse panting got louder as her long fingers plunged repeatedly into her scalding, clamoring pocket of released lust, the sundering hand now soaking with the hot, sticky juice flowing down out of her molten intimacy.
But she couldn't get deep enough this way. She plucked her hand out of its liquid paradise and lay down with her side against the furry carpet, her legs bent at the hip, and her back curled so that she could continue to watch the movie, unseen by the roomful of aroused, horny, men. One had caressed and fondled her breasts, while the other quickly returned to her raging, pulsing, blood-swollen cunt. Her whole body gyrated with the accelerating strokes of her eager fingers into her private, sucking depths, and shudders raced up and down her spine, and out her long naked legs to the cute feet, where they curled the toes with a pleasure she had long been seeking, and now finally was going to find.
She suddenly thought of that roomful of vigorous, stimulated young men, their cocks swollen and aching in their pants, wetting the fabric with sweat and pre-climax seeping of hot, thick, white sperm. Their legs must be jerking uncontrollably, just as the legs of the chained men in the movie, jittered and lunged in mindless lust toward the ravishing, savage, naked woman in their midst.
She was letting them feel her now, as Becky would like to let those young studs feel her, squeezing and pressing her breasts until the firm, abundant flesh stretched its pale, shining skin so tight it looked as though it would tear. "They'd love it," she thought, feeling the waves of whirling pleasure spin out of her fiery cunt as her fingers burrowed deeper and deeper with every strong, ecstatic thrust, forcing the living walls of tissue to part before the pointed, sharp nails. "I could just open the door and walk in, all naked and wanton, already hot with lust. I could just stand in front of them all and let them look at me, even let them feel me, let them insert their fingers into my searing, gushing cunt, and press their fingers into my breasts." She could feel her climax starting to coalesce deep in her belly, starting to gather forces for the explosion she knew would shake her to her bones.
The blonde, with her huge, firm breasts quivering and bobbing on her white chest, and swaying and lurching in the most obscene and inviting gyrations of her naked, black-strapped hips, had pulled a key out from under the leather strap around her waist, and was now outside the circle of savagely aroused men. Where a moment before they were striving for all their life to rise and jump into the center of the circle, now they squirmed and twisted to turn around and grab any luscious part of the lust-kindling woman as she came up behind each one and tried the key.
Nobody knew which lock it fit! the writhing, flushed young wife realized. She is going to let one of them loose on herself, and she doesn't know which one it is, and neither do they! She felt her passion flare and roar inside her cunt, coming ever closer to that temperature when she would burst from the strain and her whole universe would be engulfed in the blinding flare of unbound ecstasy.
They were so close, those horny, lonely boys; the closest one was less than a yard away, a deep shadow in the darkness. They were panting now too, and probably thought that her panting was from inside the room, as though she were already there among them, naked and willing, thrusting her burning, juice-spewing cunt at them, spreading the aching cheeks of her ass, to let them see, let them run their fingers over the tight, dark pucker. They wouldn't care. She wouldn't care. Derek-the twinge of conscience evaporated in the inferno of her passion, like a drop of water in a blast furnace-if he cared, he'd have come to her by now, even if he walked in and saw her like this, shiny with sweat and the nectar of her flowing cunt, her creamy skin flushed pink with lust, and her delicate, aristocratic fingers thrust obscenely between the scalding, red, swollen lips of her throbbing, wanton, finally liberated cunt.
The woman on the screen was bent over now, back in the middle of the circle, her legs spread wide and her hands resting on a short stool. The released man had shed his wrinkled, sopping clothes, and was fucking her from behind while all the others watched, still chained to their chairs. His long, thick cock was visible as it drove into the soft, clammy wetness of her cunt, and back out again, covered with slimy fluid that made the veined, purple shaft glisten and shine. His legs jittered as he thrust his strokes into her molten passage, which seemed to be sucking it, for the crimson folds clung to his hammering penis as though to keep it buried in its living, boiling sheath. Every savage lunge he made, the lust-filled big blonde jerked back against him, making her pendulous breasts vibrate and swing with the compelling tempo of their violent coupling. Her pure white skin was pink now with the flush of her red-hot blood, and the juice from her cunt was trickling down the inside of her thighs.
The young wife, now in the mindless throes of her long-awaited stimulation, began uttering sharp, high cries with every quick jab of her fingers into her surging, inflamed vagina. She could no longer keep her eyes focused on the movie screen, and her whole attention was now on her own mounting ecstasy, the screaming nerves at every point of her hot skin, and the convulsive heaving of her throbbing, buzzing cunt.
She thought she had put everyone else completely out of her mind, but she found out different abruptly when she heard a voice just inches from her call out in a whisper. "Who's there?"
That discovery put her over the edge. The glowing compression of her orgasm, concentrated at the deep, secret tip of her vagina, began to expand, more and more rapidly, like a star exploding and vaporizing everything in its path. Just before she lost all her senses in this fiery ball of rapture, she heard the voices.
"Hey, fella's, c'mere. There's someone in the next room. I think it's a woman, doing it to herself."
She came to herself a moment later, with the warm afterglow of her climax still in her satisfied body.
"D'ya wanna come over?" a youthful, eager, trembling voice was saying, as though right into her ear. "Yeh, come on over," several other voices echoed. "Maybe we can help you out, you know," the boy was pleading. "Or at least watch," another one called. "We've got some wine, and about half a joint of fine Columbian. You can have it all. Hello? Hello?"
The retiring wife of these boys' champion and hero lay completely still on the carpet, too terrified to move. Now that she had relieved her passion, all her social inhibitions had come swarming back like flies on a dead bird. What if they found out who it was? Without a sound, she made her way into the bed and fell down a long, dark, weightless tunnel into sweet, sweet, oblivion.
CHAPTER 4
It was well after midnight when the last meeting broke up. The locals couldn't guarantee victory for Derek Kohn-his opponent had always been popular with loggers-but they did agree to close cooperation between local and state-wide campaigns: joint promotion and fund-raising, mutual endorsement, and united-front positions on several issues important to both campaigns. It hadn't been easy, but it had been worth it; two efforts were better than one.
Derek looked around the emptying conference room, stretching and feeling his tired muscles rippling under his shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal thick, powerful, tanned forearms, and he had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button so long ago that he forgot he had them on.
Mac was gone, probably already setting the wheels in motion to bring about the proposals they had agreed on just minutes before. Linda was going over with one of the local party leaders some of the paperwork, her dark-rimmed glasses and tied up hair making her look frigid, all business, and hard and tight as the clams they think so much of here. But the man across from her seemed to be noticing more than her efficiency. His eyes kept flicking up from the table to her large breasts, modestly encased in bra and dress, but obvious, certainly, to anyone who cared about such things.
The candidate himself let his gaze linger there on the round fullness, remembering what was under them, then slid his sight down her slender, contoured back to where her shapely bottom was flattened against the hard metal seat of the folding chair. As though she knew he was looking at them, she tightened the delicious cheeks into firm, round globes. He could almost make out the dimples at the sides through the layers of cloth that were designed to hide them.
He felt a single throb in his loins that sent out reverberations like the dull, solid plunk of a stone dropped into deep water. That's what would make the day complete. Suddenly he remembered that Becky was there in the hotel. He said brief farewells to everyone, and quickly made his way up to her room. She seemed so out of place here, no wonder he had forgotten her.
The room was quiet and dark. "Becky?" he called, suddenly surrounded with the smell of a woman in bed, and grinning at the prospect of joining her there, grinned all the way down to his groin. She was asleep, sound asleep. She didn't hear when he called her, or respond when he rubbed her delicious, inviting back, with its spine nestled down between the two ribbons of muscle. He even patted her on the behind, patted harder than he usually did, but she was as still and quiet as a piece of meat, breathing gently, slowly, but completely beyond his reach. She had pleaded so hard to come, hinting strongly that she missed him in bed, and now this.
He considered actually hitting her, slapping her on her long, white cheek as it lay on the pillow, just a shade darker than the bleached satin pillow case. But instead, half disappointed and half angry, he got up and left the room.
"God dammit, after all that, she's fast asleep and I'm horny as an old bull put out to pasture," he stormed to his attractive secretary. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a slinky black slip that ended in lace just above her knees, the contrast between the shiny material and her pale legs caught his eye for a second before he took in the rest of her, her loose hair now falling in wild splashes across her shoulders, almost hiding the strap of her slip. Her graceful feet were bare, her tiny toes sunk in the carpet as though grasping the deep pile.
She beamed when she saw him and slid one hand down the round, slip-covered length of her thigh. "We were just talking about you."
The local party boss was sitting in the chair. He had his shoes and his shirt off, a clean white undershirt covering most of his thick barrel chest, but leaving enough showing to see the rough-hewn muscles and the wisps of coarse hair.
"Hi, Paul," the politician greeted the solid, square ex-logger, without surprise or concern. Then he turned back to the pert redhead on the bed. "I swear, I just can't figure that woman out sometimes."
Linda shrugged. "She seemed real anxious to see you," she said, lifting up her slip to remove her hose, the light, almost transparent web clinging to her skin as she pulled it off. Both the men watched with interest as she revealed the round, smooth whiteness of her thighs under the black slip. Then she stood. "Drinks?" she invited them both. Both agreed.
Paul seemed nervous, moving his thick, short fingers around the delicate crystal glass. He watched as the beautiful, alluring redhead and the handsome, successful politician exchanged glances during the conversation, and became increasingly dismayed at the interruption of what would have been a rare night for this simple rustic. He sized up Derek, and decided he could throw him out if he wanted to. Derek had strong arms and shoulders, and was a pretty big man, but the older logger had spent a good part of his life wrestling bulldozers up mountains, and wrestling logs eight feet in diameter down mountains, wrestling chains that could break a man in half, and of course wrestling other loggers who were as tough as he was. But if he roughed up the man, he saw that he'd have to rough up the woman too, and there was the campaign to think about, as well as the law.
When he saw that Derek was showing no signs of leaving, the defeated, square-framed man reached for his shirt and started to put it on.
"You're not leaving?" the seductive redhead exclaimed, rising from the bed and crossing to kneel on the floor next to his chair, her slip rising on her white, full thighs, and her pale hands resting invitingly on his thick, powerful leg just above the knee. As she leaned toward him, her slip bulged out at the neck, and he could see the white bra underneath, seeming ready to burst with the pressure of the heavy, alluring breasts inside.
"Well, it didn't look..." he began.
"Oh," she laid her head on his knees, her cheekbone pressed against his taut, nervous muscles. Immediately his loins began to tingle, and he was aware of his long, limp cock doubled up against his balls. "I haven't forgotten you. You came to fuck, didn't you?"
"That's putting it bluntly," Paul thought, enjoying the light pressure of her breast against his calf. "Yeah, I guess so," he admitted, and looked over at the younger man in the other chair. He was looking at the two of them over his raised glass, and didn't seem to be annoyed or laughing at him.
"You're worried about Derek?" she asked, noticing his glance. "I expect he came to fuck too, so there's no problem. All right?"
Derek smiled and nodded approval, and the big logger's balls started rumbling like a 'dozer in low gear. This sort of thing was common in the back woods, but the prospect of doing it with these high-faluting, folks, famous politicians and beautiful city women was exciting. He could feel the warmth growing inside him, starting to prickle against the inside of his skin. "Sure, all right with me," he said, and put his big, square hand on Linda's soft, delicate head, covering her cheek and ear with the palm, and digging his thick fingers into her fine, red hair.
The secretary thrilled at her good fortune, pressing her legs together over her warm crotch and feeling the sharp pangs of delight shooting through her body. She began massaging the bulging muscles of the logger's thigh, working higher and higher toward the growing bulge at the top. Her spine weaved and curved as she undulated her hips with the pleasure of feeling him, of knowing that he was enjoying her long, slow strokes, that it was making him want her, catching him on fire.
Paul ran his hands down her neck and out onto the swaying, smooth black expanse of her back, tracing the lines of the petite bundles of muscle and the twisting, weaving snake of her knobbed spine. She scooted her undulating, delicious body upward against his burning thighs, so that her inviting, palpitating lips grew tantalizingly closer to his crotch, where his cock was uncurling and stiffening under her sexy, maddening ministrations.
Her hands and her head crept upward at a slow, unbearable pace until she had her arms around his hips, and was burying her nose into the hardening, sensitive moistness at his crotch. With deliberate, provocative precision, she unfastened his pants, unzipped them, and pressed her warm, mauling lips against the thick, throbbing shaft of his cock, still under his shorts. One further operation, and it was out in the open, the thick, hard column rising up out of its nest of matted, black hair, the full veins standing up under the skin, purple with their rushing blood, and the bulbous, rubbery tip already smooth and glistening from the sperm that had seeped out.
She took the base of his throbbing, turgid limb in her hands, and the tip in her mouth, stroking from both ends at once, until he could feel the surge of fluids his lust was producing in his burning testicles. She was rotating her large, voluptuous breasts against his thighs now while she ran her flickering tongue over and around the scalding tissue of his penis. He felt his blood pumping faster through his whole body, and rising in temperature so that his deep-lined face, his massive shoulders and arms, and his great round chest and belly with its curls of hair felt hot and pink.
He lifted up the back of her slip so that he could see the bare, white skin underneath, her smooth back rippling and billowing as she sucked and mouthed his throbbing cock. He pulled up it until he could reach the catch and unhook her bra, then he thrust his quivering finger down around her sides to her soft, ripe breasts pressed against the fabric of his pants. His stubby fingers were nearly lost in the mass of firm, warm billows of her luscious breasts, kneading and squeezing in rapturous pleasure, then worming farther down until he hit the hard, firm nipples, risen to pebble-hard succulent tips on her yielding, pliant globes. The feel of the tiny, hard nipples made his burning cock even harder and longer as it slid in and out of the pert, young secretary's clasping, slavering lips, her saliva trickling down the hard, thick shaft to her hands still jerking the loose skin up and down, crashing against her mouth painfully with every savage stroke.
Derek could stand it no longer. He quickly tipped up his glass and drained the last of his drink, then stood up and started removing his clothes. He laid his coat over the back of the chair, and then dropped his pants to reveal the thick, muscular thighs with their tanned, smooth skin. Next his shirt slipped off over his wide, bulging shoulders and the flexing biceps, and then he carefully lifted the elastic waistband of his shorts over his partially-erect penis and peeled them off, standing in the room like a golden god in his perfect, attractive proportions.
He strode manfully over to his kneeling, sexy secretary, and pulled her thin, nylon panties down over her full, white ass, his fingers brushing against the clutching, trembling globes, then reached around her rocking hips and placed his smooth, tanned hands against the white, flat plane of her heaving belly, and began rubbing the smooth skin with his palm, rotating in tight circles and pressing the softness into her.
This new, pleasurable sensation caused her to increase the speed at which she was sucking Paul's thick, hot, surging cock, and to clasp it between her teeth so that he could feel the sharp, hard points scraping against the aroused skin, bringing it to new heights of alertness and sensitivity. At the same time, she spread her legs and arched her back to make her ass turn up and expose her dark tuft of hair between her legs, and the glistening, mysterious slit between her two red, swollen lips. With trembling, lust-quickened fingers, she pulled the pants down and off of the rough, knobby legs of the ex-logger, and slid her moist, warm hands up his round, hard, hairy belly, pushing up his undershirt and massaging with sensuous, erotic strokes the blood-flushed skin until he could feel it tingle, as though it were rising under her brisk massage, and radiating whirls of driving lust all through his massive body.
The feeling of two men at once excited Linda into unbound writhes of lust, her enticing body twisting and undulating with bewitching convulsions, as the fire of passion built into a raging inferno in her itching, yearning belly. She could feel the juice flowing in her excited cunt, and the boiling, surging activity in the tender, lust-awakened passage to her ecstasy. She rasped her writhing, passionate tongue against the gnarled skin of the thick, hot cock in her mouth, feeling it swell even larger and pulse, the large, rubbery tip blowing up like a balloon between her tongue and the roof of her mouth.
The handsome, god-like candidate for the Senate plunged his long index finger into her clamoring cunt and began stroking the thin, tender walls, gliding his fingers along in the slippery, thick juices it was producing. He lowered his lust-warmed lips to her heaving back, and began mouthing the soft, white skin that stretched and loosened over her delicious, sexual curves as she rocked her hips enchantingly and pushed herself wildly up and down on the seated, excited loggers throbbing, burning cock. He thrust his finger in her glowing, slobbery cunt as far as it would reach, and traced a circle with the tip deep in the molten pocket of her wanton passion, feeling it slide around and around, with the wet, hot walls lapping at it hungrily.
The lust-mad redhead threw her body back and forth, from one thrilling insertion to the other, first the logger's big throbbing cock would glide between her clamoring lips and crash its rubbery-tipped stiffness against the back of her mouth, and then when she let it slide back to her teeth, her married lover's fingers would ram against the burning, stretched walls of her cunt, giving out pangs of pleasure that made her rock her white, lovely, twitching body even faster from one impaling member to the other.
The fire in Derek's turgid penis made him quiver and flex his strong virile legs in torturous anticipation. His mouth slobbering its lust-induced saliva into wide, slick trails of wetness on his secretary's bucking, heaving back. He moved his sucking, hot lips down to her swelling, clenching cheeks, and slipped his eager tongue into the crack between the tight, convulsing globes, and felt them capture his wet, probing tongue in their clamoring, mindless clench.
With his hand that was not plunging repeatedly into Linda's swirling, churning cunt, he was stroking his hard, aching cock to its biggest, hardest erection, trying to relieve some of the pain his desire had lodged in the blood-filled limb. He stoked his excitement to a white-hot pitch, until finally he could feel the sperm start its way to the passageway, where it would spurt down in hot, searing shots. He whipped his wet, trembling finger out of the convulsing, wet interior of her pulsing cunt, and placed the throbbing, huge, red tip of his aching penis against the molten, red-hot lips at the mouth of her cunt, shiny and slippery with the passionate, uncontrollable flow of fluid from the churning furnace in the interior of her lust-fired cunt. He could feel her pulse beating against the throb of his blood in the hot, glowing tip ready to plunge into her soft passage.
The redhead was panting with pleasure and uncontrollable lust as she felt the turgid, hot point of her boss's eager cock positioned on the burning, irritated lips. She tried to screw back onto him, but she couldn't without depriving her hot, drooling mouth of the delectable taste and sensation of the crusty logger's bucking, hot cock against her tongue and the back of her mouth, its probing, blunt end pushing exotically into the soft tissue of her throat, and sending thrills of lust down her back and into her flushed breasts, which were being squeezed and fondled by the rough, thick fingers of the huge man's large, shaking hand.
Paul was bouncing in the chair, his fired blood surging through his aroused body until he couldn't hold still. He thrust his burning hips in the rhythm of the naked, squirming redhead sucking at his aching, searing cock, hammering it into her clamoring mouth until her cheeks slapped against his spread, tingling thighs, and he could feel the pressure of her pursed, slurping lips against the soaked matted tangle of his pubic hair. She had reached around under his ass, and was pulling the huge, soft haunches toward her face, spreading and letting the prickly velvet covering of the chair tickle his sensitive, clenching anus.
Linda's lust was coming to its high, exploding, fruition. She could feel it heating up inside her even before she felt the big, comforting cock press against her vaginal lips, forcing them aside and sliding past, stretching the opening around the huge thickness of hot, lurching manhood. Her head swirled at the overwhelming pleasure of his penetration, and got faster and faster, and more intense as he came farther and farther in until she thought he would burst out the end of her burning, stretched cunt and violate her belly too. She had forgotten how big he was. Finally the movement of the thrusting, fleshy shaft changed directions, but it still rubbed against the tender, flowing walls of her vagina, stoking the unendurable fire in her, shrieking a shrill rapture through her swirling nerves.
He started his rhythm, pulling the bloated, blood-swelled, length out until the tight, bulbous head was just inside her, and then plunge it back to the fiery depths of her blissful womanhood, opening the soft sheath before it, and pulling it closed behind as the wet walls clung to his driving, cleaving cock, as though to hang on to the instrument of their lust. He could feel the flow of the wet tissue against his sensitive skin, and it pricked his lust to hotter degrees, until he was panting in time to long thrusts into the furnace below.
The redheaded secretary's ravaged, pale body was being buffeted back and forth from one thrusting cock to the other as both men increased the tempo of their driving, savage hammering into her inviting, accommodating openings. Her burning breasts were rolling and rubbing against the logger's thick, rough hands as he pinched her hard, searing nipples between his fingers. Her breath came in sharp gasps pulled in through her nose, since her mouth was full of thick, driving, hot and throbbing cock.
She felt the seated, round logger increase his thrusts, faster and faster until he was wild with frenzy, flailing in his chair, jittering uncontrollably and driving his thick cock into her mouth faster than she could move her head to match his rapid vibrations. Then the massive, turgid tool swelled even more and filled her mouth so that she didn't believe she coul even move anymore. But still the giant hardness slid in and out against her clutched, sliding its hot fullness against her teeth, and against the slippery wetness of her cheeks and the rough wetness of her tongue.
The delirious rough logger felt his lust bubbling up through his loins, burning and unstoppable. He lost control of his arms and legs, and just watched them fling around him helplessly. The feel of his huge, hot cock inside Linda's sucking, wet mouth, and the sight of Derek fucking her, his naked, tanned chest visible above the naked white, heaving globes of her ass, was more stimulation than he could contain, even in his massive, barrel chest and thick limbs. He let out a short growl, and then a longer, higher sound that stretched up into a passionate, ecstatic bellow as he felt his white-hot sperm rush down the length of his thrusting, wet cock and spurt into the pretty redhead's warm, accepting throat. He felt her muscles open and close against the electrified head of his penis as she swallowed the spewing, thick liquid erupting from his bucking, scalding cock.
When his climax waned and his wild thrusts subsided, she kept his spent cock in her mouth, still rocking with the rhythm of Derek's violent thrusts into her cunt. She licked and mouthed and swallowed as the remains of his sperm seeped out, and rolled his shrinking cock around with her tongue, so that the sensitized skin still sent out shudders of almost unbearable pleasure that made him jerk his big, heavy frame and squeeze her bilious, hot breasts in his convulsing hands.
Derek watched the older man's orgasm with mounting pleasure, knowing that soon he too would be flailing and throwing his body about in uncontrollable rapture. He could feel the heat in Linda's writhing cunt increase until she jerked so wildly that he had to hold her flailing, convulsing hips to keep from throwing her off his impaling member.
She had felt her passion jump at the taste of the logger's spurting, fiery sperm in her throat, and the feel if the thick, virile fluid slithering down her convulsing throat. Now she turned her attention to Derek's driving, burning cock embedded in the intimate furnace of her hotly clutching vagina. She twisted and threw herself back against its throbbing, burning violation of her most private, deepest recesses, turning her into a creature possessed by nothing else but pure animal lust, driving out all other considerations.
She shuddered, her whole body shivering as though cold, though her white, smooth skin was drenched in sweat. Her breasts were fiery with desire, and the nipples ached and chaffed under the delicious ministrations of the satiated but still excited Paul. In her wild passion, she tried to close her legs, but the thick, plunging cock between her legs wouldn't let them close. She cried out, expeling at last the limp, shriveled cock she had been unconsciously licking and sucking since it exploded into her mouth.
The increased pressure of the secretary trying to close her thighs on his penis as it delved and plundered in her white-hot pulsing, slobbering cunt, made new sparks of wild desire jump up the long, thick, blood-filled shaft to his belly like an electric shock, and he thrust still harder, still deeper into his old lover's still familiar opening, until he could feel the flat, hardness of her unyielding cervix against the incandescent, stimulated tip of his driving manhood.
They were moaning together now, the secretary's high, sharp cries of unbound pleasure and her boss's lower grunts of exertion and frustration as he pounded his fiery cock into the clasping, churning tunnel to her ecstasy. His hands were pulling the cheeks of her gyrating ass apart, spreading the white, clenching billows of smooth muscle and pulling the globes into his belly loudly between their moans.
"Ohhhh," she called hoarsely, "I'm ... I'm going to come. I can feel it getting closer." She pressed her flailing face against Paul's bare, hairy lap and arched her back to press her large, delicious breasts into his clasping, rough hands. "Harder," she gasped.
Derek hammered into her as hard as he could, his thick, wet cock disappearing into the molten, heaving slit between the two crimson, swollen lips now shining with the overflowing juices the friction of his stiff, relentless plunges were bringing out of her lavering, lust-fired cunt.
The redhead's body felt as though it were flowing with molten rock running out of a volcano, streams of glowing, burning rapture cutting through her flesh and organs, igniting them all in a great, ultimate conflagration of mindless, totally sensual, breathless ecstasy. Then it was there, right under her skin, right at the deep, secret, searing tip of her distended, burning cunt. Her cries became longer and more desperate, merging into each other to become one long wail of pure fulfillment swallowing all her desire, all her tension in long gulps of sensation.
She pressed her bared teeth into Paul's rough, hairy leg, and arched her stiffened back into a smooth, white, glistening curve that lifted her ass and pressed her throbbing, scorching cunt deeper around Derek's thick, hot, driving penis, forcing the tender skin at the end to stretch to its very limit. Her cunt burst with juice, drowning the huge member in sweet, thick, boiling liquid, that bubbled out the sides and down her twitching, convulsing thighs.
Immediately, Derek felt his own orgasm flaring, exploding down the slimy, blood-thick length of his pumping, driving organ. He took a giant, gasping breath to voice his whirling, shattering climax, but then he couldn't exhale, as he felt the white-hot fluid sear down his cock and spew out into Linda's waiting, still clamoring cunt, his sperm flowing out of her engorged pocket and overtaking the still-hot, still turbulent juices of her climax, as load after load spilled out, surging against the back of her cunt with the force of his lust burst from its dam and smashing like the crest of a flood against anything in the way.
Slowly the pressure in his loins emptied itself into her dark, mysterious depths, and they both slumped on the floor in total exhaustion from the physical and mental intensity of their intercourse. The room was filled with the heavy, sickly-sweet aroma of sex.
"Here we are," said Paul. He had risen after their orgasm and poured three drinks, which he handed to his partners. "Here we are," he said again when the three of them were sitting, naked and satisfied on the lush carpet. They toasted each other and drank deeply of the sharp, sweet liquor.
CHAPTER 5
Early the next morning, they moved the campaign to the San Francisco area. All they took with them was paper and clothing. Unlike circuses, or gypsies, who fold up their tents and pack up their whole world into trunks to transport, or hitch up the wagon that contains everything they need, a political campaign empties the rooms, and the desks and closets, and the filing cabinets, and leaves them behind, knowing that there will be another room, another desk when they reach their next stop. Those more primitive nomads would have watched in astonishment as these new nomads loaded up their taxicabs and rented cars with stacks and stacks of paper, and two or three dozen changes of clothes for the trip to the airport.
On the plane, Becky sat next to her strong, loving husband for most of the way. She leaned against his firm shoulder while he talked to his advisors or listened to analyses of recent polls.
"I came to you last night, but you were so sound asleep I couldn't wake you up," he said when he had a break.
The shy, young wife glanced around. There were a dozen people within easy earshot, surely not the place to discuss such things. "I was very tired," she said.
"I thought you wanted to see me," he challenged.
She could only nod, wanting so much to tell him that she missed him, that she wanted to make love with him, but unwilling to do so in front of all these strangers. "Next time try harder?" she pleaded. "I'll be happy when we can spend some time together."
But it wasn't that night, or the next two. Somehow, it just never worked out that they could be alone together, though Becky had almost nothing to do but wait for him to be free. He thought it was because she was avoiding him. She thought he was staying away on purpose.
There were people everywhere. Every bedroom seemed to be an office too, and as she wandered around through the confusion, she would occasionally come across a meeting going on while someone slept a few feet away, or be sitting in a meeting-she was trying to get involved with the campaign-and have some half-dressed person wander through to the bathroom.
The pretty candidate's wife joined him on platforms, at the head table for dinners, hand-shaking lines at factory gates, and other unromantic places. And their only privacy was an occasional whisper, a squeeze of hands. Becky began to get used to it, the way you get used to a constant noise and after long enough, don't even hear it anymore.
She wondered which ones of the workers had been in the room that night and heard her masturbating. At first she was terrified, and wouldn't even look at anyone who might have been there. But after a while, she relished the idea that some of these people had heard her in the throes of passion, and didn't know it was her. It could be any of the young men swarming over the hotel they had practically taken over for their stay in town.
Mac called her to his office one afternoon, and somberly told her to sit down. The tough little campaign manager seemed to be able to find privacy when he wanted it.
"How do you think we're doing," he asked gruffly.
He was asking her? "Well, the polls say we're ahead. I think we'll win." She liked the sound of that "we" but she still thought of it as Derek who would win or lose, and he always won.
"I wish I could be as sure," the manager said uncertainly.
"Is there some problem I don't know about?" she asked, suddenly afraid.
"Well, our money situation is pretty bad. We need one or two big contributors or else our television spots are just going to have to go." He sighed heavily and plopped his hand on the desk.
"Derek and I have already turned everything we can into cash," the worried brown-haired woman said. "I've even borrowed as much from my family as they can afford. So has Derek."
"I know, I know. You've done everything you can reasonably be expected to do."
"Isn't there anybody else?"
Mac shook his big head, a frown on his ugly face. "There aren't many people with the kind of money we need, and those that have it aren't willing to give it to someone as honest as your husband. They would want to be assured of some favor in return, and Derek just doesn't work that way."
Becky was suddenly proud of her husband, even if he lost.
"There is one old guy," Mac shook his head and chuckled as though to dismiss it before he even started. "Anthony Fischer-very rich, and he isn't asking for any underhanded political favors."
"Well," the pretty wife brightened up. "Will he contribute?"
Mac chuckled again. "No political favors, I said. It seems he's seen you on television and has taken a imagine to you. He says he'll deliver the money we need to you, alone in a hotel room some night."
"I wouldn't mind picking up a package," Becky said. "In fact it would make me feel as though I were doing something useful."
"No, you don't understand, dear," Mac said. "You would go there some night, and he would give you the money in the morning."
The aristocratic Virginian gasped with horror. "Why, that's despicable! Did you tell Derek about it?"
"No, I didn't see any reason to. Under those conditions, the money is not available, so it wasn't worth discussing."
"I could never do anything like that," she said, staring into space. "Derek wouldn't want me to. He'd rather lose the election than have me to that."
"Of course he would," Mac agreed vehemently. "He'd do anything to keep you from being degraded like that, even lose the election, and perhaps ruin his entire career."
"Ruin his career?" Becky echoed. "Even if he loses, it won't ruin his career."
Mac looked doubtful. "I wish I could be as sure," he repeated. "But I've watched Derek, and I've talked to people who are supporting him. I'm afraid that if he loses, it will' undermine his confidence in himself, and that's his most valuable characteristic. I'm not sure he would ever bring himself to run again." He glanced up at the young woman from under his bushy eyebrows. "And the main question people have about Derek is whether or not he can win. Everybody-at least most people-agree that he'd make a good Senator, but they would rather support someone who isn't quite as good, than a good man who can't win. I've heard 'em talk in the famous 'smoke-filled rooms,' and I'm afraid that if he loses this one, they won't put their money on him again."
"It would be wrong," Becky affirmed. "It would be terribly wrong, and immoral." Her cultured southern accent fell quietly in the office. The very idea disgusted her, yet somehow attracted her too. Having sex with a stranger couldn't be very much worse than masturbating where someone can hear you.
"It probably wouldn't be much fun either," Mac said, eyeing her. "Though Fischer is supposed to be a famous lover, like Derek."
"What would Derek do if he ever found out," she mused.
"He'd be furious," the old campaigner admitted. "You see, Derek thinks he can do anything. That's why he can do more than most of us can. And the idea that you had to help him, had to do some unpleasant business that he couldn't do himself, that would rankle him. No, he couldn't be told, even after the election."
"How much would he give for it, for me," the tall, sophisticated woman grimaced at the vulgarity of what she was saying.
"One hundred thousand minimum. More if he's extremely pleased."
"OK, I'll do it," she heard somebody say. It was her! She couldn't believe she had agreed to do such a vile thing. A whore! A common slut. Well, a hundred thousand dollars a night wasn't common, but still.
"I was hoping you would," Mac said gravely. In fact he was almost certain she would. That was his business. "We leave for Los Angeles tomorrow. I should be able to set it up for tomorrow night. The less time you have to think about it the better." In fact all the arrangements were already made, but he knew better than to tell her that.
The chaste wife brushed the wrinkles from her skirt, feeling her hand on her thighs, wondering what it would be like-a stranger.
CHAPTER 6
Anthony Fischer III was the grossest man Becky had ever seen outside of a circus. He must have weighed four hundred pounds, and his tiny head bobbed over his gigantic body like a grape stuck to a cantaloupe. He smiled at the trembling, frightened wife, his fat jowls drooping down over the ends of his mouth, and handed her a glass of what he described as the most exquisite Bordeaux of the last fifty years.
It might have been cheap vinegar, for all she enjoyed it. His hands were baby-soft, white and clammy, the nails carefully manicured, and the fat fingers hardly long enough to have all their joints.
"I'm glad you've come to see me, Mrs. Kohn," he said in a slick, mocking voice. "I want to make clear-just in case you have misunderstood-that I am not paying for your company, and most certainly not offering a fine woman like you money for sexual favors." He frowned as though the very idea were distasteful to him.
Becky, sitting lethargically in front of him, her long honey-colored hair combed smooth and flowing down the front of her white dress and resting on the large, high mound of her breast, looked up at him curiously, hopefully.
He smiled his sick smile, his beady eyes laughing at her hope from beneath the folds of fat both over and under his tiny, shaded cavities of eye sockets. He seemed to have no eyebrows. "No, no," he repeated. "You have come here to discuss your husband's campaign with me. I assume that in that in the process, we'll become quite good friends, even," he tipped his round head with its spot of greased-down hair, at her. "Even intimate friends. Of course any decision I may make about contributing to the Kohn Campaign may possibly be influenced by our friendship. But by no means should you consider it a business transaction."
Now the innocent Virginian understood. Not only was she to be degraded and humiliated, but this rich, obscene blimp of a man wasn't even going to admit what he was doing. She took a sip of the wine, and couldn't bring herself to say anything.
"Would you like to see the rest of the apartment?" he said, rising to balance uneasily on his two short legs. Becky rose and followed him, still without a word.
The woman gasped when she saw the room, thinking that it stretched for several blocks, somehow, on this twelfth floor of a downtown luxury apartment building. All the walls were mirrors, set at angles so that she couldn't see the door, or them, across from her. Curiously, she looked around, but couldn't find her reflection. She did see, to her horror, other people, standing or sitting, watching her with wide eyes.
"You notice my companions," the fat tycoon said proudly. "They are expert photographs, using a process developed in one of my research departments, but alas," he shook his fiendishly ugly head sadly, "unprofitable for commercial use. They seem to be looking at you, wherever you are in the room," he perked up. "In fact, they seem to move when you do, to turn and follow you."
Becky was still staring at them. There were a dozen of them ranged around the room, some in smart clothes, some in rags, others wearing overalls. Some were wearing nothing at all. The smartly-dressed people gazed with pursed lips and upturned noses, obviously disapproving of what they saw. An old derelict, his clothes wrinkled, and holding a bottle of cheap liquor, leered obscenely. The maid looked startled, and a naked couple, the man's penis erect and seemingly sticking out of the mirror, it's long shaft hidden behind the thick, round, gaping head, purple with blood, looked on with delight, as though any minute they would step down from the wall to join in the fun. They did seem to move, shifting slightly as she turned, changing positions in the corner of her eye, though when she looked back, they were still the same.
"Try it," Fischer invited her with a comical sweep of his arm and an attempt to bow his immense balloon of a torso.
The retiring young candidate's wife shook her head and tried to back toward the door. It was too eerie as it was. She could almost feel the eyes on her body, probing into her softness, catching at the edges of her clothes, as though to peek under them, to lift them and stare at her naked body.
"I would like you to try it," the vile, fat man repeated, this time with a hardness to his voice and under his smile. "Walk over to the bed."
She had to look for the bed, and she was surprised to see it in the middle of the room, a round bed with white sheets-no covers-so that it was nearly invisible against the white floor. She walked slowly into the room, eyes on the floor. Her breath was short, and her legs felt weak under the gazes and stares of all these strangers torturing her, poking at her, waiting for what she didn't want to think about.
But she could still see them, see them point at her, see them turn to follow her. She even thought once or twice that she saw one of them step out of the mirror and start walking toward her. But each time she cried out and looked up, the figure was still there, just looking, just staring at her breasts, or her hips as she walked.
When she got to the bed, she felt exhausted. She was trembling all over, and wondering if she would be able to walk the distance back to the door when it was over. She turned. She couldn't find the door in all the mirrors, and the lewd, gross pumpkin of a man, Fischer, was nowhere to be seen.
"I'm right here, sweet lady," his mocking, slick voice came from somewhere. She whirled, and tried to pick him out, but none of the figures around her was him. "I wanted to show you another unique feature of these exquisite portraits."
Suddenly all the people started to move, rolling their hips, waving their arms, shaking their heads, moving their lips as though speaking. "They're real!" she shrieked, pulling her trembling shoulders together, as though to hide herself from their sight.
"No, no," the unseen torturer laughed cruelly. "Lights, I can make them move with lights." The terrified, trembling woman didn't believe him. She couldn't tell. "We'd like to see more of you," Fischer said, with scarcely hidden lust lacing his suave voice. "Why don't you take your clothes off for us."
She hesitated, her breath became short gasps, and she could feel shudders of modesty being violated shaking her body. But she remembered Derek, and the thought of him becoming a broken man. This much she could do for him. She could always change her mind later.
She took off her shoes, then sat on the bed and lifted her skirt up to take off her stockings. Somebody whistled, and she jerked it back down to her knees.
"Don't mind me and my admiring friends," the voice of the rich lecher intoned sarcastically. "Come on, my dear, show us those long thighs."
She shut her eyes tight and lifted her dress again. She slid the filmy nylons down the smooth, egg-rich columns of her legs, trying to ignore the whistles and cat-calls, the lewd remarks now coming from all directions. Next she stood up and unzipped her dress, struggling against her shaking to reach around.
"Here, let me help you," a man's voice came, panting passionately from right next to her. She screamed and opened her eyes. No one was there. They all laughed. "Gave you quite a start, eh baby," Fischer laughed uproariously.
She finished taking off her clothes with her eyes open, looking warily around her, trying not to meet the winking, staring eyes that may have been alive, may have been merely pictures. The dress slid over her cream-colored shoulders, baring the long, delicate arm, and then the pink slip-the naive young Virginian had thought he might like that-slithered down her tall, slender body to reveal her flat, white expanse of her stomach, the sensuous little lines crossing it when she bent over.
"Oh, honey," Fischer panted from his hidden post. "That's nice. Turn around so we can all see. That's right! Oh, yes. Now do a little dance for us as you take off the rest."
"I don't dance very well," she pleaded. There were tears rolling down her quivering cheeks. But now that most of her was exposed, it didn't seem so bad. She was getting used to it, even-she didn't want to think about it-even liking it a little bit.
The lewd tycoon sighed impatiently. "If I wanted to see good dancing, I would have brought in a dancer. I want to see you dance while you take off the last of your clothes and make yourself naked for us to look at."
Now the aristocratic streak in her came out, and she called back in her haughtiest southern accent. "Any of your 'friends' know how to play music? Or can they just stand and watch?"
Music flooded into the room, soft flowing music with strains of exotic chords trailing through it. She moved in time to the beat, circling the bed a couple of times before she reached behind her. Her long, smooth legs lifted and fell, spreading and closing in increasingly licentious movements, and her full hips loosening up until they rolled and jerked invitingly, sensually curving her long, weaving spine into curves and bows. Her long, light-brown hair drifted around her head, brushing against her bare back or flicking against the stiff white cups of her bra until it fell forward to reveal the firm, high voluptuous mounds rising up out of her white chest.
She twisted and let the dangling bra slip down her arms and onto the floor. Her breasts bounced in time to her dancing, shaking and quivering agreeably, the cute brown tits tracing circular patterns in the air above her undulating stomach and thrusting, twisting, maddeningly inviting hips. She stuck her thumbs under the elastic waistband of her pink panties-to match the slip-before she realized that she would have to stop dancing to lower them.
She stood still, panting from the exertion of her gyrations as much as from her fright, and slipped the nylon down over her finely-rounded, riveting hips. Her fine, light-brown tuft of pubic hair sprang up from the constriction and seemed to float in the space between and above her legs like a magic pyramid at once hiding and pointing to its mysterious secret. She let the useless garment drop to her ankles, then kicked it out of her way and once more started swaying her naked, sensuous body to the music, flexing and straightening her long, delicious legs and clenching and loosening the smooth, round globes of her ass like a gateway to a passageway calling, beckoning someone into it.
She could still hear the voices calling to her, applauding her dance, applauding her beautiful, sexy body undulating in provocative, lascivious curves and wanton wiggles. But she didn't mind them so much, becoming proud that her body, her dancing could make them excited, make them excited, make them want her.
Without her noticing exactly when it happened, the lights dimmed toward the walls, so that she was dancing in a smaller and smaller circle of light. The figures in the mirrors were still lit, and the intervening darkness made them seem closer, as though they were gathering around her. She writhed and swayed with wild pleasure to their obscene comments and leering eyes.
Suddenly she was aware of someone in the darkness, close to her. She thought at first it was just her imagination, her feeling that the mirror-figures were closing in on her. But then Anthony Fischer III stepped into the light with her in all his obscene, vile glory.
She had never seen so much skin at one time, not even when her whole college volleyball team showered at the same time. He was the most grotesque human being the young, sheltered Virginian had ever come in contact with. She stopped her dancing and cowered before the awful sight. A chill of horror seized her naked, exposed body, shaking it like a dog shakes a kitten it has separated from its protecting mother.
His narrow, livid shoulders perched over the great round blubber of his belly, sheets of white, limp skin hanging in thick, curves like layers of grins across his obscene width. Not a single strand of hair was on the sickening, diseased flesh, nor on his hanging, jiggling arms that ended in his petite, hands, now held out to the beautiful, graceful wife of a golden, god-like politician too honest to let himself fall into his monster's repellant grip.
He had just a wisp or two of thin, straggling black pubic hair above his gigantic penis. It hung down almost to his knees, or would have if it had still been hanging. But it was bobbing in front of his fat-hung thighs, with the gobs of pale flesh swinging back and forth when he walked as though his skin were not attached to his bone.
He smiled evilly at her, walking rapidly toward her cowering, crouched body. "You looked like you were having so much fun, I thought I would come and join you. I'm sure you don't mind, since we are such good friends now."
She couldn't speak, she just stared in utter horror as his massive cock increased its livid size with each heartbeat, pivoting on its base outward toward her.
"But I'm not as young and nimble as you, sweetie, so let's play our games here, shall we?" He twisted his ugly mouth into a cruel grin and motioned her onto the bed. She glanced around in terror, backing away from his threatening advance. "Oh, you couldn't find your way out, my dear, if that's what you're thinking. Besides there's no reason to run away from me. We're friends, remember?"
The horrified young wife shivered, her long back all hunched over, and her hands thrust between her trembling thighs, her large, firm breasts were hanging forward, swinging slightly with her shaking, the brown tips oscillating back and forth that made the softness of her round, luscious breasts apparent to the aroused, beady eyes of her grotesque captor.
"Now, now," he threatened. "You wouldn't want to disappoint my friends, would you?" He motioned with his short, fat arms to the figures in the mirrors. In the back of the terrified mind, she noticed that the music had stopped, and the voices, and all the life-like, watching people were staring at her again.
She whimpered helplessly, and moved as though in a dream onto the white, rough sheets of the round bed. It was a water bed. She set her quivering haunches onto it, her legs tightly clamped together over the brown triangle of pubic hair. The material felt cold to her sweating, tense cheeks as she sat on the sheet. She could feel the water underneath lapping at her ass and thighs, sending sparks of sensation shooting through her.
The huge, nauseating wealthy lecher stood in front of her, his gigantic, pale cock hanging in the air over her creamy thighs. She recoiled from it, leaning back farther and farther as he came closer to the frightened, innocent woman, until she fell back against the rippling surface of the bed behind her.
"That's right," he smiled his grossest, lewdest smile. Her legs were dangling off the edge of the bed. Her muscles felt like water, and she wished for a moment in her terrified delirium that she could seep through the sheet and be diluted in the water that rippled so cheerfully, so safe, under her trembling, fear-tense long, slim back. She couldn't make herself move as she felt her tormentor's hands gently touch her thighs.
She gasped breath after painful breath, and tried to focus all her attention to something else. She stared up to the ceiling, but saw there herself on the bed with the massive upright blimp of Fischer standing over her like some predator that has grounded its prey. It wasn't simply a reflection of the top of them, but somehow, it showed them from the side. She could see the flaps of loose skin hanging from the giant, grotesque figure, and the long white shaft of his penis bobbing and dipping over her like a divining rod. She could also see her tiny, vulnerable body, naked and trembling on the white sheets, her large, firm breasts rising from the flat expanse of her chest invitingly-she grimaced at how attractive they must look to the monster towering over her-and her brown hair fluffed into billows around her head. She could clearly see her terrified eyes staring up at the ceiling.
She was fascinated by the sight of Fischer's horrid hand on her poor, shivering thighs, watching it move up and down against the rich, smooth skin as she could feel it on her leg, the baby-smooth, clammy skin making the skin draw back from the touch in disgust.
She watched, she felt his fleshy fingers slowly push her legs apart. She whimpered once, watching herself exposing her vulnerable, tender genitals to his leering gaze. His now-tepid hands slid slowly up the insides of her thighs, pressing gently against the tender softness.
She jerked uncontrollably as he neared the sensitive private joining of her legs, and tried to pull her knees together reflexively. But he was standing between them, her knees sunk into the dripping, spongy softness of his massive, fat thighs. With a sharp, startled cry of horror, she threw her legs wide apart, parting the soft tuft of pubic hair and exposing the slit of her vagina. She could see him lean forward slightly over her prostrate, spread-eagle body, his eyes rivet-ted on her stretched crotch, now at the cruel tycoon's mercy.
The fat man was panting now as his finger made contact with the tiny strands of her hair, fingering it, tugging playfully at it silky smoothness. She could see her shaking hands flutter to her round, sensuous breasts, covering them as though that could keep them safe from the powerful, horny tyrant.
The humiliation, the degradation that she felt was worse than she could have imagined in her short, pleasant life. She could see, could feel his bleached snail of a human being playing with her most private parts, with parts of her body that even she wasn't supposed to touch, that belonged to Derek, the gorgious god among men who would rise to limitless heights.
She saw the streams of tears on her cheeks before she felt them, winding rivulets of shame across the long, smooth planes as she realized the vulnerable, helpless situation she had gotten herself into. She had to remember why she was here, had to keep her mind on Derek, on his career, and the glory and honor that would one day be his because of what she was going through now in this torture chamber. There was only one way through this, to submit to whatever the rich pervert demanded of her, whatever they might be. If only she could give up her body, turn it over to him to violate and humiliate, and she could wait somewhere for him to be through and give it back. She closed her eyes tight and tried to think of something else, to fill her mind with some pleasant memory. But she couldn't bear it, and had to open her eyes again and keep them fixed in morbid fascination on the scene above her.
His hand slid upward again, across her convulsing belly, up onto the rolling ridges of her rib cage, jerking with her gasping sobs, and to where her hands were locked over her breasts. She waited for him to lift them or push them away. But to her horror, he placed his mushy, sweating hands over hers and began forcing her to knead her own breasts.
She flung her head from side to side, stirring up a tempest of fine brown hair as she felt her own hands, with him guiding, caressing, rubbing, rolling her soft, delicious breasts against her chest, pushing them together, mashing, rotating. Worse, she could feel her tender nipples start to rise, start to harden under this perverse stimulation, until they were digging into her palms as he pushed them down into the rhythmic rising and falling of her terrified panting.
He had moved closer, and she could feel the slimy touch of his tangling scrotum against her spread crotch. She cringed, but could not break the contact with the greasy, softness. She wouldn't look at him directly, but watched his concentration in the mirror above her, watched his pale, round forehead break out in sweat as he looked down on her helpless hands stimulating her large, voluptuous breasts. To her indescribable horror, he looked up and met her eye where she was watching. He winked lewdly as he now, slowly but forcefully pried her hands from her breasts.
She tried to keep her arms limp at her side, but they wouldn't hold still. They kept jerking upward as the pudgy, slimy fingers of the fat, aroused man pinched and prodded the naked tissue, molding it, petting and fondling the yielding flesh. He took both brown nipples in his grips and squeezed until she yelped with pain, then rolled them, twisting the tender, brown puckers of halo back and forth while she writhed helplessly on the rocking surface of the water bed.
He began swaying his massive body in lewd glee at the beauty and helpless accessibility of her spread, naked form. He moved one hand back down across her cringing belly, through the softness of her pubic hair to her warm, tender labia. He squeezed them together, and rubbed his rubbery finger the length of the limp, sensitive glands, until slowly they began to fill with blood, being pumped up despite the wife's terror.
Becky watched his blimp-like, chalk-hued mass rock back and forth, one hand on her breast, the other reaching down to her open crotch, stimulating her private, vulnerable sexual organs against her will. Then she saw in the mirror the figure of a man dressed in formal evening clothes watching her humiliation closely. He seemed to be leaning forward, peering down between her spread legs to get a good look at the violation of her glands. She flushed with new shame, feeling the warm blood rise to her skin, and rush into her naked breasts and, under Fischer's relentless stimulation, into the swelling, reddening lips at the mouth to her vagina.
Tears continued to stream from her eyes as she realized that she had so far lost control of her body that it could be sexually aroused without her consent. She fought against the rising sensations of physical desire in her loins, rushing into her thighs and turning in the pit of her stomach like the larva of a giant parasite on her nerves, uncurling into a writhing, blind worm that would soon devour her, inflame her helpless body and destroy her will, turning her limps and organs into puppets of her externally incited lust.
Already she could feel the pulse of her quickened blood deep in the pure, dark passage of her vagina, and could feel herself becoming moist and warm. Her buttocks were tightening until they ached with the tension, but she couldn't make them relax. Her thighs too, jerked involuntarily, bouncing off the spongy fat of his thighs with sickening slaps.
She was getting a little dizzy now because of her panting, but she kept her eyes on the scene above her, the scene of her own degradation at the hands of this monster, this subhuman creature who had weaseled his perverted way to power over innocent and noble people with his inherited wealth and pitiless cruelty in business affairs. She saw his long, stiff penis hanging over her like a white, fleshy club threatening her, reaching half-way to her throbbing, swelling breasts.
Her moist cunt was getting soft inside, and the guarding lips were becoming firm and hot from the rubbing of his pudgy finger. Suddenly, he slid a finger down into the folds of her slit, probing like a harpooner probing with his lance for the heart of a wounded whale, until he touched the searing point of her clitoris. She shrieked with the painful intensity of the sensation, half-rising from the gushing water bed. But his hand on her breast forced her back down.
"So," he grinned maliciously at her in the mirror and laughed the evilest cackle she had ever heard. "I've touched you." He continued to manipulate the hard pyramid, rising under the stimulation to present itself more fully to his scraping, merciless strokes. He was panting too, and the pale, hanging skin of his immense belly was tinged with pink.
Continuing to scrape her erect, electrifying clitoris with his thumb, the cruel fat man wormed two of his fingers down between the full, red rolls of her vaginal lips into the hot, wet opening. She groaned with humiliation, but also now with relief that he was getting on with it. Maybe it wouldn't last forever after all. His fingers, like writhing slugs, delved into the intimate place, which was supposed to be hers to admit whoever she chose. She could see his arm move back and forth, and could hear the soft slurp of her vaginal juices stirred with his lewd, obscene fingers.
And try as she could, she could feel the rising temperature, the growing intensity of sensation, even of pleasure under his soft strokes, until she was rolling her hips in time to his thrusts, pushing up when he rammed in, so that his short fingers reached farther into her yearning cunt, and his flabby hand slapped against the tight, crimson lips on either side of his violating digits. The smooth, flat muscles of her belly responded too, bucking in sharp, quick contractions, so that her whole body was undulating to the hated, forced strokes of the pudgy, sickening fleshy fingers.
"Now," she heard somebody whisper, and echoes "Now."
"Now." bounced around the room. Was it him? Was it her own voice, asking for the final degradation, the ultimate violation of her chaste, pampered, aristocratic body? Was it them, the watching figures around the walls, leering, staring at the lewd pleasure of her captor and her surrender of even the most basic freedoms and dignities allowed to human being?
He let his hot, sweaty palm slide off of her firm, richly-colored breast, trailing a finger over the risen nipple for one last stimulating rub. He backed away, and she waited, knowing what would come. She felt as though she were under water, as though she couldn't breathe, and hot, thick fluid was all around her, buoying up her listless arms and bobbing her shoulders and head in the syrupy warmth of sensation.
She felt him poise between her legs, his nauseating, livid flesh lightly brushing against her warm, quivering thighs, tense with terrified anticipation. Then she felt it, the hot, pulsing tip of his long, thick cock touching her throbbing, blood-swelled nether lips, brushing against the tuft of pubic hair now soaking with the juices he had made flow out of her violated cunt. Now touching, now pressing, pushing them aside, squeezing the blood out of them as it forced its turgid thickness between them.
She wailed a long, desperate sob as she felt the instrument of her degradation slither down into her, setting her vagina walls on fire with the pressure, with the rubbing of the taut, hot skin of his cock against the hot skin of her cunt. She felt her juices flowing out of the awakened tissue to lubricate the stretched, tortured perimeter of her distended passageway.
And it didn't stop. On and on the insertion continued, stretching the hot, pulsing skin around the thrusting thickness, probing deeper, deeper, until she could feel its blunt end knock against the hard end of her cunt, battering against her tender, secret cervix. She tried to escape the stiff, invading obscene cock, scooting upwards on the bed away from the gross giant standing over her. But he came with her, and to her terror, saw his mountain of white globular fat start coming down on top of her. She could see in the mirror his massive body lean and toppled over her slender, spread-eagle female form now lying in the middle of the bed, his long, thick penis buried in her writhing cunt.
She started to scream, but the weight of his body pressed all the air out of her gasping lungs, and the sudden, hard plunge of his cock against the end of her vagina brought sparks of light dancing in her glazed eyes, and a ringing in her ears. She was impaled on this monster's horrid prick. She thought he had killed her that in her attempt to help her Derek, she had died.
But her humiliation was not over; she was not dead. The yielding surface of the water bed saved her from being crushed by her hippopotamus-sized torturer. His fat, ugly face was next to hers, and she could hear him breathing heavily, the vile-smelling sweat running down his face and covering up his sickly-sweet, expensive cologne. The waves reverberated in the oversized bed, and crashed under her, throwing her battered body helplessly up against the drooping, anemic flesh that held her down.
Fischer was used to his body, and used to the water bed. Apparently he did this sort of thing a lot. He caught the rhythm of the waves and used them to lift his massive hulk from the tiny, flattened body of his victim, withdrawing his long cock until it almost came out of her stretched, aching cunt. Then in again he thrust it, feeling it slide against the lubricated walls of her hot, unresisting passage. He could sense the tightness in her muscles, and the excitement that was growing in her, against her will. And it gave him a pleasure he could feel in his thrusting, pumping loins. It was easy to enslave people with money; that bored him now. Now he could use his body, that was so gross and ugly that people winced when they saw it, to make people slaves of their own lust.
The innocent wife, born and bred for elegant dining in the staterooms of the capitals of the world, felt as though she were drowning under tons of decaying, putrefying flesh, at the bottom of some garbage pit. She could see past her tormentor's tiny, black-haired head to the mirror above, where his gigantic form was bouncing up and down on the water bed and the well-dressed man was looking on with obscene delight from the edge of the room.
His powerful strokes, pneumatically increased by the crashing waves of the water bed, were long, longer than she had ever felt. It seemed to go on forever, thrusting up into her violated chamber of pure love until she felt her bones bend under the strain, then reverse directions and for another eternity scour the burning walls of her aroused cunt almost as fast as they could lay down new layers of lubricating, thick, fluid.
The sensations grew more intense as her bodily functions took over from her mental distress. She could feel her ravaged loins responding to his deep, long thrusts with the same pleasure they would to Derek's loving caresses. Her breathing matched the tempo of his lewd pounding into her, and her legs jittered in excitement, trapped by the flood of sweating fat pressing them down into the resilient surface of the water bed.
She abandoned herself to lust, her eyes locked onto the obscene, bouncing slug-like figure in the mirror, and her mind submerged in the whirling thrills of sexual feeling growing more intense in her pinned, convulsing body. Her cunt was like a boiling cauldron, the distended walls spewing out juices at the urging of the thick, driving cock passing through, faster and faster until the nerve ending seemed ready to burn out with the overload of sensation.
She inhaled at the crest of the wave, when the massive weight was lifted for an instant from her body. Then it crashed down again, flattening her firm, high breasts against her chest and poking the hard nipples painfully into the soft tissue, pressing her into the water, which rose under the sheet on all sides of her to meet the drooping flesh of the fat tycoon, surrounding her with sickening, marshmallow softness, and forcing all the air out of her in long, pitiful wails.
She was going to come! She could feel that ultimate degradation closing in on her, firing the tender walls of her cunt and knotting her belly into balls of growing passion. It would be her ultimate betrayal, condoning the perverse malignity of the cruel lecher who had taken complete control of her body, and now her mind as well. She couldn't breathe fast enough! Her vagina walls seemed to expand, to melt into liquid fire surrounding the thrusting, chaffing cock. And then the whole universe lit up with waves of sparks too bright to have color, and screaming beyond sound, beyond hearing. Her legs jerked uncontrollably in fits of fulfilled lust, sinking into their white, soft prison of flesh. Her arms reflexively pushed against the slimy bulk of human decadence on top of her, ineffectually bunching up the loose skin into deep folds at his side.
Then she was looking in the mirror again, and through her fog, though she could see a figure doubled over with laughter, pointing at her exhibition of humiliation, her public debasement. For an instant she thought it was the crude reporter again, who had insulted her before she joined the campaign, and had been hanging around ever since, never missing a chance to wink lewdly at her or make some obscene comment. Then it was another figure, the street ass, then the maid in her short skirted uniform carrying a tray, then the naked couple, feeling each other's bodies and watching with erotic appreciation at her degradation.
She hovered at the electric edge of orgasm, like a storm cloud ready to discharge its lightning again and again. The pounding, surging, thrust of Fischer's burning cock continued unabated, accelerating slowly, relentlessly, building up the savagery of the whipping water that was his ally, and she realized with horror that her climax would not stop him, would not slow him down. That whatever she did, whatever happened to her was just a minor incident in the huge, overwhelming desire of the bloated businessman. Twice more she felt her cunt explode inside her, the flowing juices of her released passion gushing out of her, running down her crotch and between the cheeks of her ass to her anus, settling there and itching torturously where there was no chance in the world to get to it.
By then his thrusts had grown so wild and fast, his plunging into her aching cunt so deep that she felt like a small piece of driftwood in the fury of the storm-frothed surf. When she thought she could stand no more, when her endurance was drawn tight and thin as a screeching bowstring, she felt a rumble begin in the depths of his flabby, shaking body. His hard rutting started to get erratic, and the water underneath her broke into wild surges without rhythm, so that she was buffeted mercilessly from both sides.
The rumble grew into a distinct growl, and she felt his driving, fiery cock swell again, until her skin was stretched taut around it and vibrated as it thrust its relentless passage through. Her scream was punctured by gasps caused by the blows of weight on her ravaged, flattened breasts as he bucked, rising and falling like a lust maddened sea lion, flailing and thrashing above her, his short arms and legs waving in the air like the legs of a dying beetle.
The growl grew into a bellow that vibrated the water under her sore back into ripples that threatened to tear the skin of the water bed into shreds. He stiffened, his thick slug body arched and his head thrown back on his fat-hung neck, his whole unthinkable weight focused on the fulcrum of his cock buried in her poor, violated cunt.
She felt as though the obscene tip of his burning cock was coming up her gagging throat, and she tried to swallow to keep it down, but her muscles were no longer under her control, and she was trying to scream at the same time, with as little success. Then, like the searing, devastating molten lava from an erupting volcano, his sperm shot into her sensitive cunt, quickly filling up its stretched, enlarged interior with its slimy, thick whiteness and spewing out the mouth of her vagina, forcing its way along between her smooth, rich skin and the folds of his bleached, limp blubber until she was covering with hot slime all over her crotch, her thighs, her ass, and her belly. She shuddered, and shuddered again, and again until she was trembling with horror, with nauseous disgust. And finally, at long last, the merciful soothing oblivion of cool, dark unconsciousness washed over her ravished senses, obliterating everything but the faraway sound of laughter.
CHAPTER 7
She would have nightmares about that night for the rest of her life. As she left the plush penthouse, Anthony Fischer handed her an envelope, which she took without speaking or looking at him. If she tried to talk, she might burst into psychotic laughing that she could never stop. She was certain that if she looked at his body ever again, she would throw up. She delivered the envelope to Mac without opening it. The tough, hardened campaign manager saw that he shouldn't ask how it went.
She saw people, even Derek, as though they were a long way away. She heard them speak, and heard herself answer.
But it was like the roar of the crowds when she was standing next to her smiling, waving husband on the speakers' platform, or at the airport. Nothing touched her, nothing got very close. Her privacy had shrunk to a tiny, hard ball inside her, where no one could see.
Within a couple of days, she had resumed her work in the campaign with renewed vigor. She accompanied the candidate like the perfect courtesan she was raised to be, smiling and chatting with the important people. Her ball of privacy, filled with the most horrible visions, shrank still smaller until she hardly noticed it, and plunged into the public world, her public life, convinced that there was an impenetrable barrier between the two, that there was no chance for the doors of that hell to open and the host of obscene demons charge out.
But she was wrong. One morning as she sat in an office looking over Derek's schedule of appearances, Simmons, the vulgar reporter from the Viewer slinked into a chair beside her and plopped down in front of her a stack of 8x10 photograph's. It took her a minute to recognize the white blob as Anthony Fischer, and still longer to see herself lying flat on the bed, naked, with her legs spread wide to accept his long, drilling penis.
She moaned, the memory of the torture of her body coming back so vividly she could feel the ache in her loins again. But she didn't snatch them up, as Simmons had expected, to keep the other people working and milling around the office from seeing them. Instead she looked at them one at a time. There were pictures of her undressing, dancing, a close-up of her grimacing with lustful pleasure with his unmistakable small, white hand on her breast, and one of him arched above her in orgasmic ecstasy, her small face clearly visible on the bed under him.
"I'm not interested in mementoes, thanks anyway," she said haughtily, shoving the stack of pictures back toward him.
The ugly, scrawny reporter was astonished at her calm reaction. He had no idea how much the experience he had so carefully photographed had changed the shy wife. "I thought I'd show these to your loving husband, Mr. Clean," he sneered.
Becky shrugged. "I don't think he goes in for that sort of thing. You might have more luck with some of these college boys; they're horny all the time." She meant it, she realized: she didn't care who saw those pictures now. Somehow she had the feeling that the whole world had been there anyway, that everyone had seen it happen, so it just didn't matter who knew about it afterwards, or even who saw photographs of her degradation. Only her personal memory, the memory of what it felt like was private. Everything else was public, and, as Linda had said "fair game."
She leaned over and looked at them again. "If he weren't so ugly, you know, they might be worth something, but ... " she shook her head.
The lewd reporter was furious. He'd been hounding her for weeks, determined to get back at her for her snobbish put-down of him. He thought he'd finally gotten hold of the key that would make her squirm. "The people of California might be interested to know what the pure, wholesome wife of their goody-goody Congressman has been up to," he half shouted, forgetting about the other people in the room.
"Keep it down, will ya', " someone shouted. "I'm on the phone." Nobody cared much about anybody else's business.
He leaned his grotesque face close to hers and said more quietly. "And the voters might be interested in how the incorruptible Derek Kohn raises campaign funds."
The candidate's wife pursed her lips and frowned. He had a point, and someone as unscrupulous as this pipsqueak reporter wouldn't have much trouble getting all the evidence his kind of paper needed, if he didn't have it already.
"There's just time for a big spread before the election," he leered, sensing victory in her disconcerted face. "But not time to refute the charges. Of course they couldn't be refuted anyway."
"All right," she said angrily. "What do you want?" She had a fairly good idea. He'd made himself pretty clear ever since that first time they met.
"I want to fuck you up your wiggly little ass," he said quietly, obviously taking pleasure in his obscenity, hoping to shock the tall, beautiful aristocratic politician's wife.
But the sheltered Virginian didn't take him literally, and didn't appear phased. "My room tonight at midnight," she said in a business-like voice. "I'm not taking any chances of more peeping-toms in the woodwork." The little' reporter snickered. "Bring the negatives," she warned him. He nodded with a sneer.
Becky reported the whole thing to Mac. This wasn't a personal matter, but something that involved the campaign. The stodgy manager fumed, puffing his cigar angrily until the room was full of smoke.
"Meet him," Mac said sharply. "I'll be there too, hidden, and recording everything that's said. Get him to spell out exactly what he's doing, exactly what he's offering and what he's asking." He took his red-tipped stogy out of his teeth and looked up into the smoke thoughtfully. "If this story ever gets to the Viewer's readers, they won't be able to fire him fast enough to keep their hands clean. That wormy bastard won't risk his job, even for your sweet ass." He looked embarrassed. "Excuse me, Mrs. Kohn, I didn't ... "
She waved it aside. "Go on."
"And the Viewer won't risk half its readership, even to break Derek Kohn. Once we have the tape, you shouldn't have to go through with ... uh ... the rest of it."
"If you're going to be there anyway," Becky said, "why don't you just get the negatives from him. You could break him in half."
Mac answered carefully, the bitter wisdom of long years in politics in his voice. "Anyone who would stoop to what Simmons is doing, is not going to keep a bargain like this. He'll bring negatives all right, but he'll have at least another set of prints for the future. No, before you can deal with someone like that, you've got to grab 'em by the..." The vulgarity of the subject kept making him forget who he was talking to. "You've got to have a good grip on them."
"What about what you've stooped to," Becky asked, her eyes, no longer so naive, narrowed on the tough back-room politician.
"And you," he countered, meeting her stare unblinking. "It's a hard world."
She shook her pretty head, her long smooth, honey-brown hair flowing behind her face. "Not as hard as you make it, Mac. I don't believe we have to stoop as low as Simmons, or Anthony Fischer."
"Or me?"
"Or you. And I don't think I had to stoop as low as I did."
"You just meet him tonight. This is dirty business we've got to finish up. After that you can believe what you want." She nodded, then turned her back on him and left.
CHAPTER 8
Mac delegated Linda to keep Derek busy, just in case he felt like dropping by. The gruff-mannered manager was hidden behind the wooden lattice-work that rose from the top of the wardrobe provided especially by the hotel for the candidate's wife, to the ceiling. There was enough room for him to sit up and watch through the ornate wooden screen, so he could switch from one hidden microphone to another as the two "Lovers" moved around the room.
After he was ensconced, Becky arranged things, then decided to undress and get into her robe, just so Simmons wouldn't be suspicious. She mechanically removed her blouse and skirt, folding them and putting them away in the wardrobe, moving easily around the room in her bra and panties, her long, rich arms and legs trembling slightly from nervousness, the full thighs spreading as she walked in inviting casualness, sensually tightening and loosening their firm, smooth muscles. She had reached behind her to unhook her bra when she suddenly remembered Mac hidden and watching her.
With the barest of hesitation, she faced him squarely with a smirk on her lovely face, and slowly loosened her bra and let it slip down off of her large, luscious breasts, riding high and firm on her chest. She even shook her shoulders so that they jiggled back and forth, their brown nipples bobbing on the front of the exciting, soft globes like pointed corks. Then she turned her back and lowered her panties over her hips, her full, round cheeks coming into view below her long, sensuous back. She bent over to pick up the dropped underwear, exposing the soft brown pubic hair nestled cozily in her crotch. She walked toward the wardrobe, knowing he was watching every more of her naked, seductive body, and knowing he probably liked it. She got her robe out of the wardrobe and put it on slowly, just inches below where the crusty old-timer was sitting with his recorder and his wet cock. She couldn't help smiling. They had agreed not to speak once he was up there, in case Simmons was listening.
The lewd, ugly reporter showed up about midnight, and strutted into the room like a rooster with his very own henhouse. He took an envelope out of his pocket and set it on the table.
"What's that?" the young wife asked.
"You know what it is," he grinned maliciously. "But you can look and see if you want. Just be careful with them. They ain't yours yet, baby."
Becky opened the envelope and squinted at them against the lamp. They were the pictures she'd seen that morning, plus a couple more, bad shots. "I want you to tell me exactly what you're offering, and exactly what you expect for them." She said it just as Mac had told her.
That's when things stopped going according to plan. Instead of answering, the vile reporter knocked the pretty, slender wife to the floor with the back of his hand against her long, smooth cheek.
She was too startled to cry out, but just looked up at him through blurred eyes, red welts from his fingers burned across her pale cheek.
"Enough talking!" he said with derision. "Let's get to business." He reached down and with a swift jerk, untied the belt of her robe, then grabbed the fronts and pulled them apart, tearing off the two buttons and exposing her soft, vulnerable body all the way down.
He fell down on top of her with a grunt of pleasure, and began digging his fingernails into her fine, firm breasts, placing his other arm across her neck to keep her from rising.
The startled woman sobbed in pain at the cruel treatment, but the bony arm across her throat kept her from crying out. She drew her legs up against his back, but couldn't budge him.
"I've waited a long time for this, bitch, and now I'm going to get even." He pinched her nipple until it felt as though it would come off in his fingers. She reached up, untangling one arm from her robe, to grab his wrist and try to move it away, but she didn't have the leverage, and besides, he was stronger than his puny body looked.
Mac was pissed, watching from his hideout. She shouldn't have let herself get into that. But he had forgotten that she didn't grow up on the streets, and didn't know how to handle situations like that.
Simmons giggled gleefully as he fondled and cruelly tortured his prize, like a little boy with a butterfly. He ran his bony, dirty hand down her long, flat stomach, heaving now with pain and terror, and started pulling the soft brown hair over her delicate lower belly, laughing at her pitiful sobs and squirming anguish.
Then he rammed his cruel finger into the moist folds of her vagina, cutting the tender lips with his fingernail. "That's a nice pussy ya' got there. Spread your big, luscious legs, honey. Open up your highfalutin' cunt to Joe Simmons."
When she didn't respond as fast as he thought she should, he pressed his arm harder against her throat, cutting off her air, and sending dull throbs of pain up into her temples. She threw her legs apart, cringing at the painful jabbing of his merciless fingers. He was making no attempt to arouse her, had no concern at all with her comfort, to say nothing of her pleasure. His only purpose was to hurt her, to get back at all the famous people, all the successful people who deservedly scorned him.
But the endangered, helpless woman wasn't thinking about the reporter who was violating her. She was thinking, as well as she could through the waves of pain, about Mac. Was he just going to sit up there and watch her get raped by this fiendish lunatic? She would have called for help if she could.
Simmons shifted his cruel attentions from her red, stinging vagina around to her tiny, brown anus, clasping with pain between the round, tight globes of her ass, the muscles rippling desperately under the smooth, white skin. "Here it is," he chortled with perverse glee. "This is what you use to shit on me with. Well, we'll just see how well you can shit when I'm finished with you."
He jammed his finger into the center of the tiny brown pucker, causing her hips to buck with agony and her white haunches to tighten against the intruding hand. Once inside, his probing digit dug its nail into the soft wall of her intestine, scraping and tearing the tender tissue. She could do nothing but writhe helplessly and mentally scream for Mac to forget his fucking schemes and rescue her from this madman.
There was nothing sexual in his attack, nothing but revenge and demented rage. The burning in her loins was not passion, but knotted pain, and her breasts ached with abuse rather than with the swelling of aroused blood toward the satisfaction of physical desire. Rape was no more erotic than a car accident.
But if she could change it into a sexual encounter, she thought through the opaque redness of her pain, maybe she could get his mind off his anger. Seduce her rapist: the thought would have made her laugh any other time. But nothing would make her laugh now. She lifted her trembling, long pure arm and forced herself to start caressing his upper arm.
Tears were flowing down her quivering cheeks, and her body was vibrating with her hard sobs. All her nerves felt as though they were burning, burning hot and dry like tar, like old tires. The lacerations of the cruel reporter's fingernail inside her tender, tight rectum sent waves of opaque, torturing agony through the whole lower part of her body, like cramps in her stomach, her thighs, her buttocks and back. How could she possibly think of seducing this loathsome animal? What other choice did she have? She kept up her gentle massaging of his arm, which was about the only part of him she could reach.
Linda enticed Derek to her room without much trouble. The pretty, sensuous redhead knew exactly what moves to make, how to bend to draw her skirt tightly over her ass, or shift her hips to draw his attention, or give her shoulders the slightest flick to make her large, firm breasts shiver and jiggle provocatively. All of that she knew how to do even before she had to let the hem of her skirt rise up on her delectable, smooth pale thigh, knowing his eye would follow it up as far as she let it rise, and then his eye would keep traveling up to the curve of her hips, to the turn where her belly flattened into her lap. She knew he would be looking through the material at her soft cushion of pubic hair right there, and then he would be remembering how it felt when his fingers were buried in the dark cloud, and then the yielding mound underneath. In his instant of reflection, he would already be remembering how her aroused cunt would come alive under his probing, stroking finger, how the outer lips would swell pleasurably at his gentle manipulation, and then the warm furnace of her depths, hugging his finger snugly in their wet, hot embrace as he glided his skin against hers, trading warmth, trading sensations.
By then his cock would be knocking on the door, asking with lusty throbs if it could come out and play. Yes, she knew how to get him to her room. With her hair let down, then she would sway casually to the music of the local radio and unbutton her blouse with deliberate slowness, until it hung open, the fronts of filmy material flapping with the sensuous movements of her gyrating hips and rocking shoulders. She would cock her head at him, letting her hair flow down in long, smooth red waves over her shoulder and splash on the tight swell of her luscious, inviting breast, as she slipped her blouse over her pale, fine-hewn shoulders and down the length of her graceful arms.
She would watch him then, her bright green eyes flashing her passion at him, sending him silent messages in case he didn't know what she had in mind. She would be reaching behind her back, pushing her large, seductive breasts out toward him, tight in their white or black cups, and continue her swaying, her undulations while the cups loosened and slowly, maddeningly slid down the smooth, pale slopes of her breasts, revealing more and more until finally the lovely pink haloes would come into view, and then the pink nipples rising on the high, proud mounds, just begging to be stroked, to be rubbed until they were hard and pointed, begging to be licked, to be caught between wet, eager lips and sucked, to be nipped gently between his teeth, sending sharp points of sensation into the soft, throbbing glow igniting in her flushed, delicious breasts.
She knew how to do all that. She'd done it many times over the years she had known the virile, handsome politician. So she didn't quite understand when he sat morosely in her chair, drinking whiskey, an agitated expression on his face, and talked about his wife.
"She doesn't like me very much," he said again. "That's all there is to it. She just married me for my position, because everybody said I'd be President someday." He took another swallow. "That's all she cares about."
"I don't think that's true," his redheaded secretary replied, cradling her bare breast invitingly in her hand. He didn't look up.
"She doesn't like to make love with me," he protested, waving his hand in the air. "She hasn't ever shown any sign of wanting to fuck, not once since we were married. She'll submit to it, but she doesn't like it."
Linda squeezed her breast mechanically, brushing her finger over the stimulated nipple, feeling the sensations plunge into the soft immensity of her breast. "Maybe she's just shy. Think of how she grew up, Derek."
"I think she just doesn't like sex," the disgruntled husband said. "She doesn't care anything about me. I could be anybody, as long as I was going to be President someday," he said sourly.
That was all Linda could stand. Mac had told the trustworthy secretary the whole story about her boss' sexy, innocent wife, the meeting with Fischer and the meeting tonight with Simmons. "Come on, big boy, I want you to see something." She threw her blouse over her shoulders and headed for the door, wriggling her arms into the sleeves and vaguely buttoning it up as they walked down the corridor and she filled him in on what had been happening.
She stopped at the door next to Becky's, rapped twice and pushed the door open. "Teri? OK if we come through?" She didn't wait for an answer, but walked into the room.
Two young women, one naked to the waist, the other completely nude, sat on the bed, facing each other a few inches apart. The half-clothed woman with her eyes closed, her head back and her short blonde hair falling away from her ears. She had a look of ecstasy on her face and her hands on the other woman's smooth tanned thighs. Her own breast was being caressed by her companion, the small, bronze fingers pressing into the white softness, making indentations in the voluptuous flesh.
The naked woman glanced up briefly at the interruption, then turned her attention back to her beautiful, aroused lover.
"We just need to cross over from your balcony," the redhead secretary said, striding across the room. "Sorry to disturb you." Teri nodded consent without looking up again.
The candidate for United States Senator and his secretary clamored across the ineffectual barrier between balconies and looked in the window through a crack where the curtains weren't completely closed.
The dirty, little reporter from the scandal sheet was standing in the middle of the room, his shirt off to reveal his thin, pale chest, almost hairless. His pants were around his knees, his wretched, scrawny buttocks clenching and relaxing lewdly, and the cream-white, naked body of Derek's retiring, shy wife kneeling in front of him, his bony hands on her head, and her face against his crotch, with his penis completely buried in her mouth.
The rasp of her tongue playing over the sensitive head of his aching cock sent shivers up his spine, and made his thin, stick-like legs bend convulsively. The shapeless limb inside her accepting mouth curled around the shaft, flicking on the tip, caressing the little mouth at the end, out of which he could feel pre-orgasmic drops of sperm seep into the saliva surging around it.
Becky sucked on the erected cock, taking it in her mouth like a fleshy lollipop, her lips tightened around the base of its shaft, and her teeth pressing against its hardness, feeling the rubbery tip push sensuously against the soft back of her mouth, and the hot, blood-filled shaft resist her teeth. She was reveling in this new experience, this lewd invasion of her mouth by a man's sexual organ, his testicles knocking softly against her chin as he thrust his hips forward and then back to slide the vein-ribbed thickness through her sphincter lips. She could smell the lusty obscenity of his masculine desire filling her gasping nostrils.
Secretly, she had always wondered what a man's cock would taste like, but she never dared to think she would ever find out. The excitement of his hot, thrusting cock against her tongue and the roof of her mouth was transferred to her smooth, slick skin, and from there it spread throughout her luscious body, now flushed with passion and sweating from exertion and pure animal lust.
Her hips too were rocking with the rhythm of driving, fevered human sex. Her loins had recovered from their abuse, and now the warm glow of sensuality growing between her hips had overcome the last traces of soreness with the fiery, healthy, inferno of physical desire. Her eyes were closed, her head lolling around the axis of the vulgar reporter's thrusting cock sunk into her boiling, sucking mouth.
Simmons' panting gradually turned into short guttural sounds as he felt his lust rising to a white-hot pitch in his rocking loins. His skin was flush, he could feel the heat of his racing blood bathing him with hot, excited sensation radiating from the center of his passion, his glowing, burning cock inserted into the mouth of this aristocratic wife of a national politician.
As he thrust violently into her, relishing the shudders of delight he could feel in her slender, beautifully full and smooth body, his cock reacted to the slurping, rushing flow of fluids around it by growing hotter, and bigger than it had ever expanded before. He pushed her yielding head toward him, penetrating as deep as he could into the petite little mouth that uttered those insulting, demeaning phrases in that grating upper-class southern accent.
Then he felt his plunging cock swell, and the hot sperm in his body burst its dam and start down toward the thick, blood-stiff shaft of his instrument of revenge. His legs wouldn't hold still, and just at the moment of orgasm, when his passion had reached its highest pitch, he jerked his penis out of Becky's sucking, wet mouth. It bucked, erected into a slight arch, and spewed hot, white sperm all over her lust-entranced face. The gobs of lewd mucus dripped down her face, slowly crawling down the long, smooth planes of her cheeks, curving down the side of her straight, smooth nose, and even one gob landed on her closed eyelid, and oozed down to hang on her eyelash.
Two, three, four times the white juice shot out of his wild, flinging cock, leaving his obscene, viscous trail on her face, on her delicate, lovely brown hair, and on the delicious round softness of her shaking boobs, one of the stiff, hard nipples covered with the glistening slime. It stopped, and he nearly fell over with exhaustion, tottering on his spindly, hairless legs, eyes closed and arms waving in the air to try to keep his balance. His cock, which was somewhat less than enormous at full erection, quickly shrank to a wilted nub resting obscenely above his wrinkled testicles.
The soiled, kneeling honey-haired wife groaned with the passion still swirling around her aroused, rapturous body, rocking slightly in alluring motions of unsatisfied desire. She was still sweating, and her warm skin was still flushed pink with the racing blood just under it. Her lust was kindled, and was not fulfilled by the vile reporter's lackluster performance.
"Can you?" she whined, spreading her bent legs and leaning back to expose her wet cunt, the lips swollen and red with lust-risen blood. "Can you, please?" she begged, making by her thrusting and undulations her request clear. She wanted him to eat her.
"No, you bitch, I'm not going to put my face in your fucking cunt." He was somewhat recovered now, and was swaggering around the room again, trailing his limp pants behind him on the floor. "The deal was that I'd fuck you however I pleased in return for the pictures of you and Anthony Fischer fucking, not that I'd lick your smelly crotch." He sneered at the quivering, lust-wracked woman on the floor in front of him, feeling powerful for the first time in his wretched life. "And just to teach you a lesson you won't forget ... "he lifted his bony hand to hit her in the face again.
But just then there was a crash, and the compact, rugged campaign manager flew down from his perch above the wardrobe, catching the vile, puny reporter in the middle of his chest with one powerful blow that sent him staggering across the room and into the far wall with enough force to make him crumple in a heap on the floor.
"It took a while, but we've finally got what we need from you, mother-fucker," Mac's eyes were like fire as he lifted the limp, broken reporter by one thin arm and let him dangle. "I've got the evidence to get you fired, run your paper out of business, and get you thrown in jail for the rest of your vile existence for attempted rape." He shook him like a dirty rag. "I don't want to see you around here any more. If your rag wants to cover this campaign, have 'em send somebody else. Do you understand?"
Before he could answer, Derek had gotten the balcony door open, and strode into the room with all the air of authority of an elected official, or an avenging god.
"That won't be necessary, Mac," he said, the rage showing through his golden voice. "Simmons will be in jail within a week anyway." The limp reporter managed to lift his dazed head to ask a silent question of the confident politician. "That little 'story' in Oakfield, Simmons, the police would like to ask you about a fire set to destroy evidence, but also burned two children to death in their beds."
Mac dropped the reporter, as though loath to touch him, even with the tough manager's back-alley hands.
"Your employer will join you there soon," the outraged candidate went on, his square jaws biting out the words as though they were sticks of green wood. "Though I don't think he'll be able to share a cell with you. In fact, I doubt that he'll be able to share a cell with anyone, at least not until he loses some weight."
Simmons lowered his ugly head, and this time it was Mac who queried Derek with a frown on his wrinkled face. "Anthony Fischer," the Congressman said firmly. Mac's eyes widened. "I expect that Fischer set up this whole thing in order to have those pictures for later, to put pressure on me to get him off, to hold up the investigation of government contracts."
"Well, he won't be able to do that now, not with the evidence we have against his hireling," Mac said proudly.
The good-looking, tanned candidate turned to his campaign manager. "Get out, Mac. You can come back tomorrow and pick up your personal effects, as long as I don't have to see you again."
The tough political fighter looked surprised, then his face turned angry.
"Nobody who raises money this way," he swept his hand about the room, "is going to run my campaign. And nobody who puts my wife through what you've done is going to be within the range of my fist." His eyes had grown cold and hard, hate flickering from them, and his powerful jaw clenched.
"Oh yeah?" the fired politico challenged, crouching into a belligerent stance and raising his arms as though to attack the younger, bigger man.
Derek turned away from the challenge, crouching beside his sobbing wife, who lurched from Linda's arms into her husband's strong, reassuring embrace. She nuzzled her tear-stained face into his chest, and curled up with his arms around her shaking, naked body, lifting up her head to meet his lips with hers in a long, passionate kiss, neither of them aware of anyone else in the room or in the world.
Not quite. Derek turned and said over his shoulder to the campaign manager still crouched, undecided what to do. "I'll pay you through tomorrow if you take that wreck of a human being with you when you leave. Just drop him somewhere where the police will find him."
CHAPTER 9
"Where's my husband?" Becky called out. They were in another hotel, in another city, and she was wandering through the rooms and offices, dressed in her robe. Her hair was loose and flowing behind her in long, smooth tresses, her face set in the grim aspect of a huntress on the prowl. Her hips swayed under the thick material, showing off their fine, satisfying curves, and the swells of her high, firm breasts jiggled as she walked past the workers at their desks or tables.
She knew they were looking at her body, as much of it as they could make out, thinking, wondering what, if anything she wore under her bath robe. She walked with an extra swing to her as, feeling eyes on her, and wriggled her shoulders to let them see her large, voluptuous breasts move against the underside of the cloth. She was an attractive woman, and it gave people pleasure to look at her. She understood that now, and it didn't bother her at all.
"He's that way," somebody pointed. She acknowledged the help with a gracious smile.
Derek was sitting with some of his advisors, remapping the last-minute strategy of the campaign. Changing managers a week before the election was not the easiest way to win. The weary candidate stared intently at a paper in front of him, listening to someone talk, his large, tanned arm sticking out of sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his hand on his forehead.
His brown-haired, seductive siren of a wife came up behind him and slid her long, alluring arms around his bent neck and down across his large, strong chest. He pulled them farther over, so her hands reached almost to his crotch, and her breasts pressed against his tired shoulders. She leaned her head down and nibbled at his ear.
"I'd wait for you until hell freezes over, darling," she said with a wink at the others across the table. "But by then I'd be frozen over too and you'd have to open me up with an ice breaker." She massaged her large, soft breasts into his shoulders invitingly.
Her handsome husband pushed the paper back away from him, sliding it across the table. "Well, that's it for tonight, boys."
One of the men objected. "You're supposed to be interviewed by the reporter from the Courier in ten minutes. You know their prestige, Derek, and they're almost ready to come out for us."
"Tell him I'm busy," the candidate said, rubbing his golden cheek in his beautiful wife's luxuriant hair.
"You really can't afford to put these people off," another man put in.
Derek had an amused, but firm look on his face. "Tell them I'm making love to my wife, and I'll meet with them tomorrow."
"Can't that wait?"
"No!" Becky answered from over his broad shoulder.
"If they want a eunuch or a monk for Senator," Derek said, rising from his chair. "They better know right now I'm not their man."
They walked together back through the offices, Becky's arm around his waist, and his arm over her shoulder, dangling against, sometimes squeezing, her large, luscious breast. Their hips seemed locked together, pressed against each other as the good-looking candidate and his beautiful, horny wife smiled sexily at each other.
The workers grinned at them as they passed, and they grinned back their unabashed lust.
"Going to get down to the real work now, Congressman?" someone called to them.
"Do you tell them it's work?" Becky cried out in mock anger.
"Let us know how it goes."
Derek looked at him without stopping. "If you don't know it goes, fellow, George over there has some movies you can watch."
The room exploded with laughter as the bed-bound couple walked through the door. Becky reveled in the feeling that everybody knew they were going to make love, that in a little while, they would be in the throes of their passion.
The tall, seductive wife slipped off her robe as they went into her room, letting the thick material slide down her long, smooth back to reveal the snaking muscles running alongside her sensuously winding backbone as she swayed her shoulders and hips. Next the pure, round globes of her buttocks came into view, wiggling and tightening into tight, dimpled balls and relaxing again back into their soft, firm mounds.
The well-built, virile politician felt his loins buzz at the sight of his alluring, lovely, naked wife. Now that her ordeal was over, and he understood that she really did like sex, and she admitted her own desires and stopped being embarrassed that anyone else knew about them too, they made love frequently. But the more they did it, the more they wanted it.
He started unbuttoning his shirt as she whirled around and posed her voluptuous body for him, looking like a goddess of love, with her large, high breasts rising firm and plump on her chest, the lovely brown nipples set into the round fullness like teak wood in a smooth sphere of ivory. But this ivory moved, lifted up when she inhaled, and vibrated enticingly with her alluring undulations.
He let his shirt slip off over his muscular, tanned chest and shoulders, and fall away from his thick, soft blanket of light fur from his neck to his belt, flowing like a river around his tight, hard pectoral muscles. He let his eyes drop to Becky's slim, flat stomach, the muscles there rippling slightly as she waited impatiently for her young, virile husband to come to her.
Just where her waist swelled into the sensuous curve of her hips, her smooth, richly white skin dived under the tuft of her pubic hair, light brown and soft as silk tassel, which cuddled the space between her slightly-spread legs, with their long, smooth white thighs forming guardian columns, like carved marble, on either side of the opening to her temple of passion, the thin slit just visible through the cloud of her light hair.
Derek let his pants fall to the floor, and kicked them away. Her thighs were covered with a layer of curls over the bulging, powerful muscles pushing up through his tan, smooth skin. His slender hips shifted slightly with his rising passion, his long penis starting to stiffen, levering up from its downward position, a pointing arrow aimed at the object of its desire.
His lusty, naked wife strutted over to him, rolling her hips lasciviously and rotating her shoulders so that her large, voluptuous breasts swung back and forth on her chest, their firm, smooth roundness tantalizing his hands with their apparent softness. She knelt down in front of him, taking his growing cock in her delicate hands and began massaging its long thickness.
He could feel her fingers pressing into the hardening shaft of his cock, and could feel his blood start to flow into it, throbbing, pumping it up. His hard, slender ass started to twitch with the stimulation, and his testicles churned in their little pouches, revving up for the job at hand. He began rolling his hips back and forth to her pleasurable caressing, his long, straight back muscles tightening, and the firm, hard stomach clenching and relaxing.
The lusty Congressman put his hands on his wife's head, digging his fingers into her soft, luxurious hair. He could see her large breasts swinging as she moved her hands on his warming cock, the deep brown nipples tracing thrilling arcs above her folded thighs, knees apart, and the soft tuft of hair occupying the compelling, inviting space where they met at her sweet, soft crotch. He could see her press her belly down into that softness, leaning forward in small rocks of pleasure and anticipation. His hands itched to touch her.
Becky massaged his penis until it had risen its blood-filled length to the level of her mouth. Already the veins on the surface of the smooth shaft were swollen and purple, carrying the pulsing, hot blood quickened by his lust. Deliberately, without hesitation, she opened her full, soft lips and placed them around the bulbous, pink head of his cock, kissing its rubbery softness before closing her mouth cozily around its thickness. Her wet tongue touched the tip of his erect cock, licking the smooth, inflamed skin, and playing with the loose slit at the end, wriggled the tip of her tongue against it, as though to thrust its softness up inside him.
He basked lusciously in the pleasurable sensation of his tight cock immersed in the hot, wet closeness of her mouth, feeling her juices swirling around it, and her rasping tongue travel around and along its burning, throbbing fullness. Her teeth pricked lightly at the thick staff, sending waves of sharp sensations shooting up his undulating spine. She was letting it slide farther and farther in now, and he could feel the hardness of the roof of her mouth when her active, stimulating tongue pressed his hardness against it and thrust her head back and forth, rubbing his tender, inflamed skin against it while she rubbed her wet, hot tongue against the bottom. All of a sudden, he felt as though he were a long way from the action.
He sank down onto the lush carpet beside her, forcing her head down if she wanted to keep his throbbing, expanding cock in her mouth. She hardly noticed the contact of her cheek with the soft carpet, so entranced with the feel of her husband's cock in her mouth, the pulsing hardness of it against her soft, flickering tongue, and the bulbous head pressing ever more firmly against the soft tissue at the back of her mouth.
The aroused, golden-skinned candidate plunged his eager hands into the warm softness of her large, voluptuous breasts, kneading the pliant flesh tenderly, feeling it yield before his pressing fingers. He brushed his fingers over the smooth, white skin until he found the pleasurable tissue of her aura, firm and wrinkled, and in the middle of it the nipple rising up stiff and hardening from the increasing enjoyment she was deriving from sucking on his hot, expanding cock.
He rubbed his trembling finger over the little bead of erect flesh, feeling it rise even higher and harder with his stimulation, until it was as hard as a pebble and high enough for him to roll gently, pleasurably between his finger and thumb. He let his hand, shaking with the tremendous lust the beautiful young woman was inciting in him by sucking his burning cock, trail down from the soft mound of her breast and across the heaving, smooth plane of her belly, curled slightly around his reclining upper body, and down to the tantalizing shock of silky hair clamped between her tightly-pressed thighs passionately clenching together in spasms of growing lust.
The feel of her husband's hot hand moving toward her genitals, which were hot and moist now, the juices flowing from the activated glands, sent waves of pleasure through her aroused, jerking body. She sucked even harder on his hard, erect cock, pulling her cheeks in against the throbbing, thrusting shaft and feeling the vein-ribbed, burning skin glide smoothly against the slippery lining of her mouth. She closed her teeth tightly on the unyielding firmness that filled her mouth in an unconscious spasm of delight at the sensation of his fingers in her pubic hair, brushing through it, and twisting little tufts of it.
Her cunt was boiling now, yearning for his touch on the hot, moist walls of her lust-enthralled passage. She felt the ache in her buttocks as the fine, smooth globes tightened in response to the passion wracking her tall, sensual body, and thrills of lust, like electric shocks racing up and down her curving spine. She grasped her husband's hard, smooth buttocks in her trembling hands, pulling his huge, thrusting cock even deeper into her sucking, accepting mouth, feeling the rubbery bulb of the enlarged head push against the tender, mushy tissue at the back of her mouth.
Derek began massaging the mound of Venus under her fluff of nether hair, then moved his fingers down to the fiery, swollen softness of her vaginal lips, those inviting red columns guarding the entrance to her secret, mysterious opening. He ran his whorled finger the length of the hot lips, sending waves of pleasure into his wife's already ignited cunt, and down the quivering softness of her long white thighs. They swelled even more under his caresses, until they looked like tiny red balloons, shiny with the moisture seeping out of her churning, yearning cunt.
He slowly, tantalizingly worked his fingers down into the scalding wetness between the stiff lips. She rolled her head in ecstasy, as well as she could without losing the delicious hard cock in her mouth, rolling his hips with her, her lips and teeth now traveling the length of the stiff, swollen shaft of the burning penis, feeling the smooth skin pulsing against her hot, wet lips.
The folds of pink skin, covered with slick, thick fluid were slippery between his fingers, and he delved deeper still, to where the convulsing, swirling walls of her vagina fell away into the hot, lust-ridden body of his young wife, sloping down into the secret depths of the center of her sensations. He teased the opening, running his finger around and around the soft, quivering tissue until he could feel her stomach shuddering with desire and her fine, smooth legs rubbed convulsively against the soft, thick carpet under them.
She spread her legs, inviting him, offering him herself, giving herself up to the manly lusts of her god-like husband. The slit of her cunt widened into an alluring, welcoming depression, closed off lower down with the clamming, soaking walls clinging together, waiting, yearning, to be pushed apart. Slowly, gently, with increasing pressure and electrifying caressed, he thrust his finger into the glowing, throbbing furnace of her cunt, feeling the slippery, tender walls giving way before the pressure of his inserting digit. He was breathing heavily now, his lust fired by the titillation of his wife's sucking of his burning cock.
He wormed his thumb up along the tiny belfry of her slit, under the tickling, sopping strands of her pubic hair, and felt for the hard point of her clitoris. She jerked with convulsions of intense pleasure when he found it and began stroking its sharp, rising tip with the face of his thumb. Suddenly her cunt became hotter, and the juices started flowing faster, trickling out of the opening across his thrusting, prodding fingers and down the crack of her crotch, and back between the clenching hemispheres of her smooth, voluptuous ass.
They were both quivering now, lying together on the carpet, the pretty young wife moving her hot, soft lips up and down the length of his blood-dark erection, her eyes glassed over with lust, and her hands squeezing and manipulating the tight swells of his hard, strong haunches. Her fine, cream-white body was writhing under the expert, loving repeated plunging of his fingers into her searing, throbbing cunt, her round, smooth thighs closing and opening against his thrusting hand. Derek gyrated his hips with increasing spirit as the fiery lust began to build in his loins, thrusting his burning cock into his beautiful, young wife's accepting, welcoming mouth, his powerful stomach muscles rippling under the tanned surface of his belly.
He rolled Becky onto her back and lowered his flushed face to her open, melting, churning cunt. His tongue made warm contact with the hot, pulsing tissue of her labia, stroking them with long, languid licks of his rasping, passionate tongue, relishing the feel on the smooth, stretched skin, and the throb of the lust-fired blood forcing the skin into the ballooning glands of pleasure.
His impassioned wife would have moaned with indescribable pleasure if her mouth hadn't been filled with the glowing, thrusting delicious cock of her husband. She felt him curl his loving tongue down into the furnace of her billowing cunt, forcing the yielding, sensitive walls apart, stroking them with his wet roughness until they seemed to burn with pleasure and the desire for pleasure, rotating his boneless muscle against her clamoring, surging tissue.
He closed his lips on hers, his tongue plunged far down into the depths of her dark, fiery pocket, feeling the molten, moist sides cling to his nerve-rich surface as though they were sucking at it, pulling it into the abyss of her unquenchable lust. Her soft pubic hair brushed and tickled his upper lip and chin, like a velvet moustache and beard on his clean-cut face. She closed her long, quivering thighs on his head, pressing her smooth, tender skin against his flushed, pink ears and moving up and down, forcing his buried tongue into ever more violent cleaving of her vagina.
Her lush, burning breasts rubbed against the quivering bronze skin of his lower belly, her hard erect nipples pressing into him like two pebbles. They rubbed their sweating bellies together sensuously as they thrust together at both ends of their passionate, aroused bodies. His penis was still embedded in her sucking, clamoring mouth, her tongue fluttering its liquid ministrations to the tight, hot skin stretched over the immense erection of his huge cock. And her hips writhed in unendurable excitement under the licking, probing tongue in her cunt, wet skin gliding against wet skin, and fermenting with their spirited friction a passion that swelled and spread to control their whole, beautiful bodies.
Both of them sucked in lung-stretching gasps through their widening nostrils, the rush of air expelled at the same time by both lovers as they vibrated their bodies in exquisite union of physical passion, becoming a single body, a single organism in their overwhelming lust. Derek's sucking mouth slid back and forth over the wetness of her throbbing vagina opening, his tongue swirling wildly against her soft, tender tunnel walls, his nose pressed against the tiny pink pucker of her anus. He could feel his churning testicles flop sensuously against Becky's face every time his excited, stiff cock thrust far back into her gaping mouth, pressing against the contracting throat muscles.
The young, lust-possessed wife felt her fiery passion concentrate at the deep, secret tip of her convulsing cunt, a gathering into a hot ball of pure desire, pure sensation, then swirling, slowly at first, with the weave of her spine, at the speed of the thrusting of Derek's sweet cock into her clamoring mouth. Then faster, spinning around itself, sending out arms of fire into a blazing spiral setting all her muscles, all her tissue, afire with its intensity. She was going to come! Her panting became erratic as the whirling inferno reached up through her body to touch her lungs with its fire. She thought she had reached the summit of physical ecstasy, but it just kept rising, soaring into unendurable rapture, beyond feeling, beyond her control, seizing her body and vibrating it into quivering, shaking that she could hardly perceive.
The door opened. "Excuse me, but we have to have these reports right away," someone said. In her state of extreme rapture, the young wife was aware of someone entering the room and crossing the floor to the table. Just then, her climax burst through its final barrier and exploded into her frail, lust-wracked body.
Somehow she managed to cry out around Derek's thrusting, huge cock filling her mouth, uttering a series of high, sharp cries of ultimate pleasure. Her arms and legs flailed uncontrollable, and her hips quaked and whipped in violent turmoil, nearly whipping out from around Derek's loving, lashing tongue. Then even her senses were swallowed up in the exploding release of her unbridled lust.
Her husband rode the fury of her orgasm, his face pressed against the writhing furnace of her cunt, feeling the flow of passion-fed juices burst into a gush that flooded his open mouth and ran down his cheek and chin, trickling into his ear as her wild gyrations threw them this way and that on the carpet. He paid no attention to whoever had come into the room, skirted the writhing, entwined bodies, then left again.
By the time his enraptured wife's climax had subsided to trembling and deep panting, his own sensations were rising to fulfillment, growling in his bowls, and vibrating his loins into an whirr of impending ecstasy. The glow coalesced into a searing incandescence at the base of his aching cock.
But just then, Becky wriggled from of his clutching, impassioned embrace. Her eyes were still glazed, her face flush with blood, and her fine brown hair plastered with sweat to the side of her head. He could feel her arms and legs quivering, and her belly heaving with physical desire.
"Here," she managed to get out between loud gasps, and turned around and guided his burning, blood-filled cock into her churning, scalding cunt. "More," she said, with a ragged smile before she clasped her surprised but willing husband to her hot, quivering nakedness once more, and pressed her wet, burning lips onto his mouth.
He only had time for two or three powerful thrusts of his lust-inflamed hips, plunging his thick, long cock deep into the dark, wet furnace of her cunt, stretching the thin, tingling walls and the far, secret end of her tunnel of lust with the enlarged, searing, bulbous head swollen nearly to bursting with the approaching orgasm.
But that was enough to set her off again. Her exhausted body regained it vigor, suddenly kindled into another flight of soaring rapture by the sundering of her cunt with his thrusting, hammering cock. This time her cries of ecstasy came loud and shrill, her rapid breaths expelled from her contracting lungs in audible echoes of her inexpressible peak of ecstasy.
Her husband, the candidate for Senate who was supposed to be facing the reporters at that moment, arched his clenched back, feeling the burning thrill of raging passion tear through his muscular body, setting him on blinding seething fire. His belly heaved convulsively under him, and his thick, hard thighs jerked with the flow of his agonizing rapture through his body as the stream of white-hot sperm rushed down its pulsing tube and shot into her writhing, mindless cunt, filling it with the first spurt, and with each following spurt overflowing her fleshy pocket, so the mixture of his juices and hers flowed out over her crimson, shiny labia and flooded across her crotch, inundating her soaked pubic hair and flowing in crooked rivulets across the upturned cheeks of her quivering ass, like burning, external veins of throbbing passion.
Again and again the frenzied sperm spurted into his wife's ecstatic cunt, until they were both smeared with the white, thick fluid. Slowly his body released all its pent-up lust, and he collapsed in exhaustion over her limp, exhausted body and they lay together for a long time sharing their fulfillment.
CHAPTER 10
The ballroom reverberated with the ear-splitting thunder of several thousand voices shouting in joy. Little white hats bobbed on the surface of the crowd like buoys scattered across a rough sea. The champagne had been opened, and was flowing freely while the band played until their lips and fingers were numb, and still played the victory tunes.
On the platform, between the podium and the gigantic "Kohn for Senate" banner at the back, Derek Kohn was just finishing his victory speech.
" ... will discover that the people of California will not be bribed, that the people of California cannot be bought off. . . "
His handsome bronze face glistened in the lights, sweating slightly from the heat and from the high pitch of emotion this election night. He gestured with his powerful arms, as though to gather the whole crowd into his embrace. Again he was interrupted with wild, cheering applause, and he waited with a broad grin to continue.
When he was finished, the band once more struck up the victory song, and the revelers sang along while they danced, while they fell into each other's ecstatic arms, while the foaming, spurting Champaign was passed from hand to hand until the bottle was empty, and another came along to replace it.
In the glare of the spotlights and the television light, and the flash of light bulbs, Derek stood with one hand raised high in a waving salute to his workers and supporters, the other hand around the waist of his beautiful wife, Becky. Her long, honey-colored hair shimmered in the brightness as it fell down across her shoulders to the fine, high slope of her breast. Her eyes shone, and the smile on her face matched her victor husband's as she looked out over the mass celebration that was just now getting into full swing.
Her dress glittered, brilliant sparkles of gold flashed from her with every shift in her tall, slender body, and she made no attempt to keep still. To those who could see behind the glittering, her tight dress revealed every detail of her ravishing, alluring anatomy. Her breasts stood out, two delicious mounds that jiggled and bobbed when she shifted her weight, and some people even thought they could make out tiny bumps where her nipples were.
The flashing material clung to her slim stomach and traced every curve of her swelling, tantalizing hips, and slid across the smooth skin when she moved them sensuously, the shadows from her hipbones playing across the flatness of her lower belly. And the full, smooth fullness of her thighs stretched the tight dress to wanton curves. She could feel a thousand eyes caressing her alluring, beautiful body, searching out her private parts and latching onto them as though to take them home. She didn't mind anymore, being a public figure. No one complained of the change.
"And now," the successful candidate was back at the microphone, a sly expression on his face. "Now I'm going to my room with the prettiest, nicest lady in the state." He indicated Becky with a wave of his hand, and she walked up to join him.
She leaned down to the microphone and added, "And we're going to celebrate."
The crowd exploded with uproarious cheering and applause, along with a fair number of hoots and whistles. The victorious couple turned to go, but before they got off the platform, Becky turned and dashed out from under his arm. She ran to the edge of the stage, her large breasts bouncing invitingly under her dress, slid down to the floor, causing the skirt of her dress to slide up her long, smooth thigh. Once on the floor, she dashed over and snatched an unopened bottle of champagne and dashed back to the platform, climbed up again, and, with a pause to wink at the crowd and raise her prize to show them, she rejoined her husband and they left the back of the stage.
The strain on the candidate began to show as soon as he was out of the lights, and by the time they reached the bedroom in their hotel suite, he was doing well to stay on his feet.
He slid his coat off his broad, exhausted shoulders, removed his shoes, and got his shirt half-way unbuttoned before he lay back on the bed "to catch his breath."
His luscious wife sat next to him, rubbing her hand over the thick fur on his chest while he closed his eyes, basking in the soothing massage, and in the relaxation.
"Congratulations, Senator," she said brightly.
He smiled. "Thank you," he replied dreamily.
Suddenly she remembered something she'd meant to ask him. "What color is Linda's pubic hair?"
"We'll invite her over some night and you can see," he said, drifting off.
"Tonight?" his excited wife asked. But he was already asleep. She sighed, her breasts heaving under her sparkling dress. She finished undressing him, and put him to bed, kissed him, and took just a moment for a long, loving gaze at his sleeping, tanned, handsome face against the white pillow before she headed for the door. If she was going to be going to those wild Washington parties as a Senator's wife, she'd better get some practice in. She wondered if the boys with the dirty movies would be interested in a live performance tonight.
