by Alexis Angel
He thrusts at me like that for God knows how long, his body pressing on mine; I lace my legs behind his back, not locking him into place but allowing him the freedom to move in and out at will, which he does. His thrusts are so strong and violently delicious that I feel the car start to sway from side to side, almost like a plane going through light turbulence.
He continues until all strength leaves my body, my legs sliding down from his back to the floor as all muscles in my body become taut. He pounds me even strongly then, feeling my weakness, and I have to bite hard on my forearm so that I don’t scream as I climax again. The car keeps on swaying harder with each passing second, but Lance either doesn’t notice it or doesn’t care.
I want to scream. I want to do it loud and mindlessly. Only God knows how I’m still capable of controlling myself right now.
Any other man would have stopped by now, succumbing to exhaustion. But not Lance—young as he is, there are no brakes on him. He won’t stop until his hunger is sated, and I bet that even then he’ll still be aching for more. How do you even satisfy someone like him?
My limbs flailing and my mind burning, he keeps on ramming it inside me; with the last ripples of ecstasy still receding from my mind, a new and bigger wave crashes on me, numbing not only my body and mind, but my soul as well. Everything in me is on its knees and praying for rapture.
I don’t know how many orgasms he wants to inflict upon me, but I want to turn the game around. I escape from under him, and before he can even realize what I’m doing, I’m on all fours on the seat.
He doesn’t need to be told what to do. I don’t even have the time to breath out; he’s already behind me, slapping my ass and rubbing his thick fat glans over my pussy as I wiggle my backside. He rams it in me in an instant, and before I can even control myself, I let out a violent scream. He’s ramming me so hard I lose all notion of where I am. I don’t care about anything anymore. My universe is pleasure, and pleasure is Lance.
His body moving in a frenzy; I have to place my hands on the door’s handle so that I don’t fall forward. He keeps ravaging me, his thrusts turning the sway of the limo into hard rocking. I feel the car’s body going from side to side, the metal screeching subdued as it moves. It feels as if we are not in a limousine, but on a boat during a storm.
I let myself go and, as my pussy tightens like a vice around his cock, I cum my brains out all over again. I have to grit my teeth as hard as I can, my lungs begging for me to scream out.
“Sir? Is everything okay?” I hear the driver say through the intercom. I look back at Lance over my shoulder, my eyes widening as I realize that the driver noticed the ruckus we were causing. How could he not? We almost turned the limo into the Titanic! “The car… Well, something was happening to it right now.”
Lance doesn’t seem fazed by it, though. He simply shrugs and reaches for the intercom, pressing down on the main button.
“We noticed it as well,” he manages to say, a fake calm on his voice. “That’s not normal at all… You should take this limo for a check-up once you drop us off. This car is in no condition to be driving anyone around.”
“Yes, sir. Will do,” the driver tells Lance. He looks at me with a carefree smirk and whatever fear I had of being caught vanishes away immediately.
I jut my ass back at Lance and start thrusting back in his direction. He grabs my hips and starts pounding me again, this time not even bothering to start slowly; he just goes all in right from the start, his whole length sliding in and out of me so fast I’m seeing white lights behind my eyelids. The car starts to rock from side to side again, but this time the driver doesn’t say a thing. Maybe he suspects what’s happening in the back, maybe he doesn’t. By now, I couldn’t care less.
I want to scream, and this time, I almost do it. I moan, my voice quivering as Lance fucks me senselessly. The screams trapped inside my body travel all the way to my brain, almost making me explode.
“You’re going to come…” he says, slapping my ass with the back of his hand. “And you’re going to come hard.”
“Make me…” I reply, rocking my backside against him with the same brashness he’s pounding into me; no more than thirty seconds and I go from my hands to my elbows, hair falling down on my shoulders as I feel the thunder of climax drawing close.
Sweet pleasure courses through my veins, but I don’t stop. Somehow, I think that Lance’s insatiable hunger is rubbing on me; he just makes me feel younger. I push past all my limits and continue thrusting back at him until I can feel an ungodly pressure mounting inside of me; if I don’t come soon, I’m going to really explode. But before I can come, he laces my waist and pulls me back.
Still with his cock in me, he lies down on the seat as I roll into a sitting position over his cock, my back turned to him. I let the orgasm come then, grabbing Lance’s ankles while I sway my hips back and forth, left and right, all over his cock. Electricity and flames devour me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Only when my body becomes completely spent will I do it, and only because I won’t be physically capable of carrying on.
“So good…” I moan, not even knowing if my heart's still beating. “I want more.” Instead of swaying my hips, I stop doing that and prepare to use what little energy still remains inside of me. I start jumping on his cock, and I do it hard. He’s cupping my ass as I go, and I lean just a bit forward, slightly bending his cock down and imagining the pressure he’s feeling right now.
“Fuck,” he exhales sharply, slapping my ass again.
His whole body becomes rock solid and I can’t help but jump on him with all the strength that I have in me. Suddenly, he hooks his fingers on my waist and pulls me down onto him. I sit on his crotch as his cock goes as deep as it has ever been inside of me.
Oh my God!
OH FUCK!
Suddenly, I become nothing.
Pleasure rages through me in a way I’ve never felt before, utterly consuming my mind. I’m high on sex; I’m high on Lance. And as his cock spasms again, his load shooting deep into me, I moan so hard that my voice starts quivering. He keeps cumming for a long while, the seconds ticking away as a torrent of semen takes hold of me.
Only when he becomes still, do I roll to the side and lay back against the seat, my limbs sprawled. I didn’t even notice it, but I’m covered in sweat, locks of hair plastered to my face. I want to speak, I want to move, but there’s not a single reserve of energy inside of me. I gave it my all, and in return, I’ve been sacrificed at the altar of pleasure.
Lance turns to me and kisses me on the cheek.
“Just lay back… I’ll take care of you.”
“Yes...” I nod, Lance’s lips travelling down my neck. His mouth hikes down between my breasts and over my stomach, only stopping when he has his head right between my legs. Tenderly, he starts licking my folds, taking care of the cum that’s dripping down my thighs. Pushing his mouth into me, he sucks my folds in, wrapping his lips around them and taking in every single drop of cum I have on my pussy.
Satisfied, he goes up, lying back with his body pressed against mine. “There… Much better now,” he whispers, smiling at me. I run one lazy finger over his lips, an errant drop of cum still hanging there.
“Yes… Much better.” With him, everything’s better.
I close my eyes and smile, taking a wicked sense of pleasure in knowing that Michael is riding the limo in front of us, completely oblivious to what just happened between his son and I.
Serves him right, I think with an exhausted grin.
84
New York Daily Journal
From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.
Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:
If you think this election is getting nasty, you’re not the first to think that and you’re not the only one. Cheer up though; every day that passes is one day closer to the election. But, one thing everyone is thinking and asking me is this:
If we’re already so low less than a month into the election, how much lower and dirtier is it going to get before we get to the voting booths?
Let’s do a rundown of what we’ve seen so far.
The campaign of Mayor Anders has accused Jim Jenkins of being a Socialist, scaring voters into thinking that should Jenkins get elected, police will no longer be able to use guns as they patrol the streets. Mayor Anders' campaign surrogates said in speeches all last week that Jim Jenkins is so opposed to gun control that he would ensure that police start doing their beats with TASERS, night sticks, and stun guns.
Not to be outdone, at a major campaign speech, Jim Jenkins suggested that should the Mayor get another term, his policies would include shutting down public schools that run on taxpayer money in support of private schools, raising the price of educating our little New Yorkers in training.
“Do you want to have to choose between a broken, burned, and underfunded public school, or a private school? Because that’s the choice under Michael Anders!” Jonathan Franks, the campaign manager for Jim Jenkins was quoted as telling this paper afterward.
The Mayor's campaign shot back that Jim Jenkins' policies would include not prosecuting most crimes and opening up the prisons and letting out hardened felons.
“You want that man locked up for being a child sex offender to start looking at apartments next to public schools? Because with Jim Jenkins as mayor, they’re going to be able to do just that,” the Anders campaign manager retorted when asked for a follow up.
With Jim Jenkins being portrayed as a soft-on-crime bleeding heart liberal and Michael Anders being portrayed as a corporate fascist, voters aren’t left with much of a choice of picking the better man. Instead, they’re left with finding the least of two evils. That’s right, fellow Gothamites, it’s not about who we love anymore. It’s about who we hate the least.
But one thing is becoming pretty abundantly clear. With the policies being twisted so badly, both campaigns are relying more and more on their families to burnish their credentials and raise their favorability ratings. Jim Jenkins showed up at Coney Island on Saturday with his wife Martha and their daughter Jennifer to eat at Nathan’s Hot Dogs and ride the Cyclone before taking some pictures.
And Mayor Anders has brought out his family plenty of times, bringing his son and newly married wife to every single one of his campaign rallies and making a big show of taking them out to dinner at Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Factory in Times Square.
So, it looks like this campaign is going to be won or lost based on who is hated the least. And a lot of that can be based on who has the most lovable family.
That’s all for today, but we’re digging up as much as we can about both families. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.
85
Lance
I knock on the door to dad’s office with a fucking weight in my stomach. It’s been three days since the limo. Since I was balls deep into Jocelyn. Just thoughts of my hands holding her supple, curvy, lithe body inspire my cock into a frenzy of twitches. Fuck. I can’t be thinking like this because while my cock doesn't seem to care, I’m dying of fucking guilt here.
That’s right. I’m feeling guilty. I hope that doesn’t surprise you.
I’ve never in my life done anything like this. This goes way beyond just fucking a married woman. First, she’s older than me. I’m 15 years younger than her. I would have never considered anything like this before coming back to the city. Second, she’s married to my dad. That makes her technically my stepmom.
Now hold on there. I know based on everything you’ve seen so far, you’re going to tell me to calm the fuck down. That 15 years is nothing. You probably know a couple where the woman is 15 years older than the man and they have a happy marriage. And then you’re going to move on to tell me that Michael Anders married my mother after I was already born. That when she died a year later, he assumed the role of guardian, but he’s not technically my biological father.
Fine. From a technical standpoint, no one is related, okay. You fucking got me.
But we’re not talking about technicalities here.
This is the man who fucking paid others to raise me. The man I resented my whole life for always being busy and never having time for me. The man who was always wrapped up in his life and viewed me as an accessory to trot out to make him look good by talking about how he was raising the son of his dead wife.
In short, he’s the only father I’ve ever fucking known.
And so what do I do? I fuck the one woman who maybe he thought he would find happiness with? Really? Is that what I’ve come down to?
Have I fucked so many women in my life that now I need to do things that shock the senses? Has normal fucking just gotten too boring for me?
“You going to stand there or are you going to come in, Lance?” dad asks from his desk. He's staring at me, an annoyed look on his face. He’s got two tablets and a computer open in front of him and it’s obvious he’s busy. The television is on in the far corner of the room and he puts it on mute.
I step into the office and walk to the desk. What am I even going to say here? Hey dad, how’s the mayoral race coming? By the way, I’m fucking Jocelyn. Just thinking you should know because it's the right thing to do.
How do you even go about telling another man you’re sleeping with his wife?
“What do you need?” dad asks, cutting through all the clutter in my head and going straight to the point. “I’m busy so I can’t give you that much time. So be quick.”
I sigh. He looks at me with sharp eyes.
“I wanted to talk to you about Jocelyn,” I say after a moment.
He looks at me and sighs as well. Does he know?
Dad leans back in his chair. “Sorry I didn't invite you to the wedding, Lance,” he says and takes off his glasses. “But there really was no wedding.”
“Yeah, but you know, there wasn’t even any advance notice,” I reply back to him.
Dad looks at me for a moment. “Lance, you’ve been here for quite a few days now and you’re just coming to me with this question?” he asks. “What’s prompting you to ask now? If you were really this upset about not knowing, this would have been the first thing you asked me.”
What the fuck? Leave it to this guy to search for the ulterior motive.
Although, to be honest, don’t I have the ulterior motive here? I mean, I’m making this conversation because I feel guilty about Jocelyn. He’s right to an extent.
“I’m just asking you because it seemed like a good way to get into the conversation,” I tell him, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s not like we’ve gotten much time to talk since I got back.”
He appears to consider this.
“But I mean, that’s the usual, though, isn’t it?” I ask, adding that one last bit in.
It seems to convince him that I’m legitimate. He sits back upright and places his elbows on the desk.
“I knew her father. You were away at school and you’re old enough now that you’re not really much of an asset to someone who’s looking to portray being a family man. Plus, your…antics aren’t really going to endear any of the demographics I need help with. And the only grandkids I’d have would all be illegitimate. So I needed a wife.”
I’m silent, processing everything he’s just said. It sounds so cold. So fucking calculating.
“So just like that, you what? Introduced yourself and got her to say yes?” I ask him.
Dad sighs again, as if stalling for time.
“Let’s just say,” he says and pauses, considering his words. “Let’s just say it was in the best interests of Governor Carter to give me Jocelyn’s hand in marriage.”
Whoa. What the fuck is dad just telling me right here. Best interests?
“Wait one second,” I say, forgetting the guilt for a moment. “Best interests of the Governor? Are you telling me this is some sort of payment?”
“I’m telling y
ou that this is none of your business, Lance,” dad says, a hard edge of steel hiding behind his voice. “And it’s in your best interests to drop this.”
“I’m not fucking dropping something when you basically tell me that you may have coerced someone to spend their fucking life with you, dad!” I say heatedly. “Especially when there’s unanswered questions about…”
But I can’t finish because dad whips his head in my direction.
“Unanswered questions?” he snaps at me. “Unanswered questions about things we shouldn’t be talking about?”
I’m quiet as I watch him bring himself under control. Then, with an almost deathly chill in his voice, he says to me. “Be careful how far beneath the surface you want to dig, son. I’m used to this world. I have no problem burying anyone. Especially someone who’s past his useful life as my son.”
Was that a fucking threat? Are we fucking going to war?
“Work on the campaign and help the family and I promise you, you’ll be rewarded,” he continues. “But start bringing up the past or stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and don't be surprised if you start getting burned.”
This man did not sit here in his ornate fucking office and threaten me. I’m the closest thing to a son that he’s fucking got. This would just be a dark wood-paneled room with an old man if all the shit that I’ve suspected comes out. The late night visits with Kenneth. Seeing the two of them kissing on the balcony.
No, I can’t let this man bully me here and now and not respond back to him.
“If you want to sit there and threaten me, Dad,” I say to him as I stand up. “Then I’m ready to take this to the next level. But I’m not leaving till I get some answers as to why Jocelyn felt forced to marry you.”
“Oh, give it a rest, okay? Your dad seduced the Governor, kept the evidence, and then when he was ready, went to Governor Carter and has been holding it over his head since then,” a voice says behind me. I turn around and see Kenneth Loomis standing there with a grin on his face. “Don’t tell me you never suspected, Lance?” he asks me as he steps closer.
