The Senator by Wilma wherein David and I humiliate his wife "David, I don't believe what I'm hearing. Why me?" "Judi likes you. I like you. We've been fantasizing you since you started working at the lounge." I was flattered, of course, and completely flabbergasted by it all. I was a 22-year-old cocktail waitress. David and Judi were regular customers who always sat in my section and left big tips. David was an executive in an aircraft manufacturing company, and Judi was state attorney general, for crying out loud, often in the news for her activist approach and the governor's pick to fill the seat left vacant by the death of one of our senators. Waitresses get to know the rich and the famous, it's true, but the relationship generally stops at the door. Not always, but generally. Alright, I had been to bed with David a couple of times, okay? But that was nothing serious, and it was just straight sex with no kink at all. (Uh, sucking cock and getting your pussy licked isn't considered kinky is it?) But this. This was a real shocker. We were parked on a hill overlooking the city. I had unzipped him because I had that need in my throat I sometimes get. There's a certain matchless moment I love in a blow job, that magic moment when my throat opens miraculously and there's this sloppy little popping sound as a man's erect organ clears my throat for me and slides down like an organic roto-rooter. I suppose I could get it from a length of kielbasa sausage, which is how I learned to deep throat in the first place with the help of a girlfriend. But a disembodied organ leaves the rest to fantasy and an empty, incomplete feeling that keeps me disturbed and needy afterwards. I like to feel a man -- or a woman, for that matter -- his legs, his chest, his hands on me, guiding me, participating with me in his pleasure. When I want a man, nothing else will do. And sausages don't cum, a feature of real sex no fantasy can replace. I love the taste of it and its consistency, the way it feels in my mouth, whether it's girlfuck or manstuff. I literally salivate at the very idea of sucking genital goo into my mouth and swallowing it right out of the pit of my partner's sex organ. But the idea without the reality makes me psychotic eventually and susceptible to risky ventures. Besides, the erect male organ is a phenomenal sight duplicated nowhere and for which there is no adequate substitute. There are times when I could worship a naked man with a hard-on, veritably pray to his phallus, sing arias to it, but there has to be a man connected to it or it just isn't the same. And a man spurts, you know, and that's nothing short of amazing. It is an uplifting and fulfilling thought that I can actually activate a man's nervous system without even touching him. Just because I'm a sexy woman, I can stimulate a man's autonomic nervous system and change the chemistry of his body. Amazing. Trouble is, I've never been able to do that for very long without altering my own chemistry just as radically and turning myself into a drooling animal whose pussy needs can reach a point of swamping out all cortical supervision. I had tried the erotic dancer line of work at a local establishment, for example, but when I sold a couch dance to a man, the man often had to be thrown out for losing control. The manager caught on after a week or so that the hapless customers were not at fault. Where was I? Oh yes: I had unzipped David, and he had stopped me. He wanted to talk, for crissakes. Seems his attractive wife, the attorney general, the Senator-Elect, had a nasty little secret. heh-heh. The Honorable Judith Anne Bradbury languished for want of having her dignity stripped from her by a commoner, a sexy girl of lower class, a demimondaine who would demean her without conscience and reduce her to the odious fool she needed to be for sexual release. "If she doesn't get it once or twice a year, she can't function," David told me. "We've tried everything we know: the best psychiatrists, fantasy, my raping her, bringing her soiled panties or shoes I buy from prostitutes--you name it and we've tried it. Now she's got this fixation on you. I even brought her a whore a couple of weeks ago, and that did seem to help. But once she fixates on a particular woman, she could be worthless for a year unless she gets that particular woman. She needs you at this critical juncture, or her career is over." "How'd she get fixated on me? I've never teased her or anything. I didn't even know she liked girls. Must be my waitress outfit. It shows off my legs and my cleavage." "Your eyes, Wilma." "My eyes? She wants my eyes instead of my legs?" "She wants all of you. It's just that your eyes look like Karen Black's eyes. You know, the actress? Judi goes mushy gooey every time a Karen Black movie comes on." First time I ever turned anybody on because of my lazy eye. Sheesh, go figure obsessives, huh? "Your wife's a national figure. Why doesn't she go for Karen Black herself?" "Miss Black is an equal." I hadda ask. Oh, well. It was my patriotic duty to do what I could for a soon-to-be member of the United States Senate, so I zipped David's pants back up and patted him on the bulge and agreed to go home with him, there to apply my healing art to his poor wife. David called his wife on the car phone. "She'll do it. We're on our way. What? She's wearing a plain white dress, no- quarter heels that show lots of foot, paints her toenails blood red, bare legs, has her pretty blond hair down--and she's sitting here listening with a big happy smile on her face." The Senator-Elect was in her library when we arrived. All lawyers have libraries in their homes. It's an ABA requirement I think. She was working at her desk when we entered. She peered over her glasses at us. She looked like she had just come from chairing an important committee meeting. David moved off to one side, leaving me standing in the middle of the room wondering if the most powerful woman in the state was really in on this scene. She removed her glasses and retrieved something from a bottom drawer while her eyes surveyed me. I held my ground and just looked at her. She stood up and came around the big desk, maintaining eye contact all the way. I readied myself to punch her goddamn lights out if it turned out David had tricked me into being a victim for a sadistic lamia. While that was more my element than playing Dom, I didn't like being tricked. You never know about rich and powerful people. Strange and sinister longings lurk within the breast of the like. Unable to risk exposure and inveterately sociopathic, they chop up their victims in little pieces and feed them to their Rottweilers. My mind began entertaining scenarios of being tortured to death. Every horror movie I ever saw floated through my brain as I watched the woman approach me in her million dollar lawyer skirt with the matching lawyer suit coat and expensive white blouse with the elegant lace trim. These were my thoughts when she started raising her hands and I saw the chain coming toward my dove-soft throat. These were my thoughts when I screamed like a demented banshee and brought my fist up from the basement and knocked the attractive, dignified Senator-Elect Judi Bradbury out of her Guccis and sprawling unceremoniously across the floor. "Holy Shit, Wilma!" David exclaimed. "You're not supposed to kill her!" He dashed over to revive his wife. "I ain't letting nobody strangle me with a chain and feed me to their Rottweilers," I yelled at him. "What in the name of sense are you talking about? She was offering you a collar and leash to put on her!" Oh . . . okay, so maybe I had led myself afield slightly. "I'm alright," Judi mumbled. "I think I love this one, David. Please, may we continue?" David looked at me, shifting seamlessly back into gear. "I like naked, ok?" Men can be so task-oriented and succinct. * * * * * "Now crawl to David so he can see my shoe print on your face, Stupid." She was completely naked now, and I had shed everything but my heels. David was naked on the couch watching what I was doing to his wife. I had made sure her forehead showed the smudge of dirt from my shoe and her cheek the imprint of my heel. I straddled her back and used her hair for reins. "Look, David. Look what I did to your wife." David feigned complete disdain for her. "Look at you," he told her. "You inferior slut, crawling around naked with a waitress riding you. We're going to fuck in front of you, Judi, and you're going to lie there beside us in bed and watch. I'm going to make you watch me fuck a pretty woman." Sounded okay to me, but I intended to have the beautiful Staff of David down my throat somewhere during this scene, too. Anything we did would be humiliating for his wife, so I might as well get my throat cleared and maybe white washed while we cured Judi of her debilitating obsession. "Kick her some more," David said. It was in her best interest, after all. We were doing this for her. Having started with a wicked punch that would leave her with one hellava shiner, any rough stuff thereafter was mild compared to what she wanted me to do to her. She had begged me to use my fists on her face, but I couldn't do it. I got off her back and positioned myself at her side. She braced herself and gave the nod we had chosen to signal consent, and I began kicking her. Deliberate, measured kicks to her side and her stomach. She could hum a tune or say "no more, stop," and it would be over. But she hummed not, neither did she speak. So I kept kicking her. She crawled as though to get away, and I stayed with her, delivering kicks at will and hitting her on the back with my fist. A glance at David revealed a man enthralled with what he was watching, mesmerized by it. His breathing was labored, his eyes were aglaze, his mouth hung open, and his prick was engorged and mighty, its pulsing reminiscent of an alien probe straining to see the action with one eye. I slipped my shoes off so I could stomp on her and kick her in the face with the bottom of my foot. I let her grovel at my feet and lick them. "Crawl," I ordered, but just as she rose to her hands, I delivered a perfect kick to the side of her face with the bottom of my foot and sent her reeling. "Your husband's watching you, Slut. Watching me degrade you, watching his wife submit to another woman. Look at your husband. Let him see the face of his stupid wife. Feel the shame, feel the shame of what you're doing -- Senator." I stomped on her between her shoulders and kept on stomping. My pussy was in on the act and taking over. She crawled. I stomped on her. She crawled. I kicked her until she rolled over on her back. I raised my foot high above her face. It was a close call for a few seconds as my loins sought to wrest authority from my brain. Fortunately, my brain won and I lowered my bare foot slowly down and planted it on her face. "Bring her to bed," David said. His impatient male organ led the way like a battle staff as he went toward the bedroom. I dragged the Senator-Elect by her hair most of the way, but my muscles were starting to fatigue. David came back to help, his turgid pole waving back and forth comedically as he walked toward us. It was no time to giggle, so I covered it up by trying to look cruel. Ever see Bela Lugosi with a gas pain? David and I dragged his wife by her arms into the bedroom and lifted her to her feet. David held her up, and I hit her until her knees buckled, then he dumped her onto the bed. David and I looked at each other, reading each other's minds, knowing it was cum time and could not be forestalled. "I'll take her face," I said. "Face me," David said. "I'm going to rape her." We worked on his wife like she wasn't even human. Nor hum nor safeword, we fucked her face and cunt hard and greedily, grunting and moaning and hunching like the sex crazed animals we were. I thought she hummed a tune and stopped to check, but she was moaning in the throes of orgasm from her husband's pounding, prodding, poking, peter-piston powerfully penetrating her private pudding pan. She pulled me back down on her face, and I fucked it with uninhibited abandon. David emptied himself into her. I flooded her mouth and face and slid around sensuously in my own sweaty fuckslop and her saliva. Judi's orgasm knocked her unconscious. David and I fell into each other's arms and collapsed off her like snails melting in salt. * * * * * David was on top of me, slow-fucking me, sensually moving his manly nakedness on my body, our sweat commingling, his arrogant maleness filling my vagina, sliding in and out, in and out, in and out with a rhythm Nature intended for man and woman. We were fucking in front of his wife. I made eye contact with her and gave her a cruel-slut smirk as my body responded in synchrony with her husband's. I made her watch my face grow dopey with lust, my mouth enticingly wet and my attitude lewd. David and I were as one, locked in our copulatory embrace. David whispered in my ear, "Hit her." I backhanded her. "Again," he grunted. I backhanded her again. I began hitting her hard in time with our fuck beat, watching her try to keep her eyes from defocusing. It was a discovery worthy of note, for David and I orgasmed simultaneously and splendidly as Judi cried. It would not be the last time Senator Judi Bradbury would need me in the years to come. I did make one rule, though, after that first time: I either get cock down my throat or *nobody* gets any nooky! -- end of The Senator, by Wilma -- @@@@@@@ @@ O O @@ @@@ x @@@ ^\_/^ w i l m a