Electing For her Curves: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  It’s clear her dad’s trying to keep me away, and I fight the thought away that maybe she just isn’t into older guys.

  Maybe she told her dad to change things so she doesn’t have to see me again?

  No.

  I know what I felt yesterday when her hand was on my cock.

  She wants it as much as I need to give it to her, and now there’s nothing else for it.

  With a welcoming flush of heat to my groin, I stand up and smile, I make my way out of the office again, determined to head over to Mayor Newland’s place myself and see just how much his daughter doesn’t want to see me.

  Like I said, this is one of those days and like clockwork, right before I can reach the exit I’m ambushed by some well-meaning townsfolk.

  “Mr. Silverthorn?” A familiar voice echoes behind me, the beaming smile of Bob Newland, Mayor of Woods End greeting me as I half turn.

  “Some friends from the local news would like a word, and there are a few voters here too who’d like to hear what you have to say about your candidacy…”

  The exits blocked and it’s obvious this is yet another little distraction courtesy of the man to keep me away from his daughter and stuck here just that little bit longer.

  I feel my face crack as I try to hold a smile, the flash of a camera, endless questions about things I have no idea or interest in being tossed at me as we’re all ushered into a lounge area set up specifically for ‘the media’ which looks like must have come from the neighboring counties and maybe even further away.

  There’s no way this little town has so many reporters.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Krystal

  “It’s just so big,” I coo, wrapping both hands around his thick, swollen manhood.

  James’ head falls back as he moans louder, sending shockwaves through my pussy, right up my spine.

  I can hardly breathe, but I can’t take my eyes off his magnificent cock either, inching it towards my quivering hole as I feel myself about to-

  I gasp loudly, bolting upright in my bed, shivering as I clutch my elbows.

  I jerk as I brush my stiff nipples with my arms, feeling myself so close to something I’ve sworn to only give to James Silverthorn in the flesh.

  Dreams don’t count.

  In true Krystal Newland style, I spent the morning in a state of excitement, planning my beauty session and making sure my outfit is on point. Then I must’ve laid down, exhausted, and fallen asleep.

  I curse under my breath wishing I’d stayed in that magnificent dream just a few seconds longer.

  It really does feel like if that man doesn’t have his way with me soon, I just don’t know what’s gonna happen.

  It feels like I’m about to pop all on my own just thinking about him, which feels constant now.

  I check my phone and even the home office phones for any messages from my dad, but mostly still expecting to hear from James too.

  Nothing though.

  On a day like today, the phone should be ringing off the hook, and I’m halfway to calling Town Hall to see how things are going when I suddenly stop myself.

  I remember what dad said, how he treated me. His whole attitude over James.

  I hang up the phone gently, trying not to give any of it another thought.

  I have my plan and if I’m gonna make it to the beauty salon for my appointment I’d better get moving.

  I put my outfit in my closet, hanging it at the back behind everything else, just in case my dad happens to come home snooping while I’m gone but I doubt he will.

  He’s never been this mad at me about anything before, and he’s certainly never ignored me for more than a few hours unless he’s tied up with work and can’t reach me.

  If it wasn’t for James I’d be more upset. I’d be frantic. But knowing he’s out there, somewhere waiting for me gives me enough courage to keep going.

  Going to him and giving myself to him. I’ve more than made up my mind about that.

  Checking the time, I have ages before the masked ball, but I’m not so sure about my beauty parlor appointment until I get there a short time later.

  I’ve never been, and the owner who I guess is the same person I spoke to isn’t familiar either.

  Despite what people say about small towns, not every single person knows everyone else.

  And this one? I’m sure I’d remember her if I had met her.

  She doesn’t mean to, but she screws up her face as soon as I walk in. I know that she knows who I am and I feel like I’ve shrunk about three feet as she balances on her six-inch heels, tottering out from behind the counter as she looks me up and down.

  “I’m Krystal Newland, I called earlier,” I announce, trying to sound confident but once she reaches for my hair and holds it out like wet noodles I know I’m lost.

  “I know, honey, I know,” she murmurs, inhaling deeply and puffing her huge chest out before sighing to herself.

  She has long, fake nails and more Malibu Barbie peroxide blond hair than I ever thought possible.

  She’s wearing a pink jumpsuit and enough makeup to make me wonder if there’s any left in the county let alone in her salon to fix my face.

  “I thought maybe if my hair could be-” I start to squeak, but she’s already marching me over toward a chair, which she almost pushes me into before examining my nails, making another face as she looks at the clock.

  “We’ll see what we can do, honey,” she says with a look of sympathy. Like I’ve dragged in a corpse and asked her to make it pretty because there’s an open casket in a couple of hours’ time.

  I should say something. I should maybe just tell her where to stick her salon, but I don’t exactly have a choice right now, and the women I saw walking out when I came in certainly looked like they’d had a positive experience.

  So, I let beautician Barbie do her thing, trying to relax after refusing a glass of wine, I’m a little shocked to see her throw it back like its water before she sets to work on my nails first.

  As much as I get the feeling she resents my existence, she’s actually really quite good at her job. One hand soaks while she works on the other. Just a little trim, buff, and then French polished tips which I wasn’t expecting.

  I would say no, but by the time I realize what she’s doing, plus seeing how nice they look, I guess that’s what I’m having after all.

  “Much better,” she coos, ordering me to keep my hands still while they dry.

  Tilting my seat back a little, she turns it around to face the wall of mirrors and I almost gasp at how puffy, red and generally un-pretty I look under the intense lights.

  I know I’m no oil painting, but its upsetting to see myself looking so terrible.

  Reading my mind, she sets my mind at ease. Sort of.

  “We’ll get your hair up and running, then we’ll finish with the face, bring it all together,” she drawls, grabbing a fistful of my hair thoughtfully before letting it fall again and setting to work.

  I’ve always had my hair cut out of town or by my own hand, I’ll admit. And I think it shows.

  Closing my eyes so I don’t have to look at myself, I try and imagine it’s James’ hands running through my hair, grabbing it and scrunching it while his huge, hard body presses against all my softness.

  Even though it’s her hands and not his, my imagination soon gets the better of me, and I’m almost right back in that dream again, half-dozing before I jerk myself awake with a soft moan.

  “Oh my god!” I exclaim, looking at the girl in the mirror in front of me.

  She has the same puffy, red blotchy face, but her hair… it’s perfect.

  Better than I could ever have imagined.

  “You should come in after the ball, honey. I’ll cut it properly for you,” she says again in that sympathetic tone.

  Checking the clock again she puffs out her cheeks.

  “I’m pushing it uphill y’know,” she adds. “I have to get ready myself. That Silver fox of a man who’s r
unning for Mayor is single by all accounts, and I want to make sure I get to meet him before anyone else does,” she says, her own eyes glazing over with a mix of lust and what I assume is several glasses of white wine.

  I notice myself in the mirror again, not angry or jealous. But trying not to smile or laugh.

  I don’t know everything about James Silverthorn, but I don’t think Beautician Barbie here is quite his type.

  Plus, I reason with myself I’m gonna have to get used to a man like him turning heads.

  As much as it amuses me now, I know it won’t be so funny in real life.

  That’s assuming he’ll have me… Oh god! Please let her be as good with makeup as she is with hair and nails.

  Like making my wish, I close my eyes again, feeling Barbie’s body close to mine and smelling a bit too much of chardonnay for my liking, but I put up with it, knowing there’s no way I could have done half of what she’s done so far myself.

  The brushes tickle my nose and the pencils and eyeliner make me squish my face and blink so much she tells me off a few times and starts over.

  But in what really feels like no time at all, I finally sense she’s finished.

  A little grunt of satisfaction from her is my cue to open my eyes again.

  It takes all I have not to cry. I don’t want to ruin the makeup.

  I’m speechless. I’ve never felt, ever looked so… so…

  “Not bad,” she murmurs with a smug expression, whipping off the plastic cape she covered me with and wasting no time in hurrying me up.

  She shows me the views from behind and from the side, making me terrified I’ll ruin something in the next few hours before the ball.

  “Just don’t cry or eat a bowl of spaghetti, and that should last all night,” she says confidently.

  I fumble for my purse, hoping she doesn’t notice my look of even greater shock when she tells me how much.

  I didn’t think it would be so expensive and find myself fidgeting for the emergency use only credit card my dad got for me when I went to college.

  I never used it, and only hope it’s still good. If there ever was an emergency, it’s today.

  “Now, I gotta close up. Got my own hair and face to do,” she announces, passing me the receipt which I bury in my jeans pocket, so deep I hope it and the whole transaction disappears by morning.

  “Thank you… uh?” I stammer.

  “Bernice,” she murmurs over her shoulder, lifting a nearly empty wine bottle from behind a curtain and squinting at its contents.

  “Bernice,” I repeat under my breath, feeling a silent thrill as I catch a final glimpse of myself on the way out.

  I’ve never felt or looked so good in my life.

  So good I think even James might not even recognize me.

  “Krystal and James,” I say to myself in the rearview mirror once I’m in my car again, almost too eager to get changed and seek out the man himself.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  James

  I’m no stranger to dealing with the media, and it isn’t long before I can tell Mayor Newland regrets whatever stunt he’s trying to pull.

  It’s backfired for him, big time.

  Once it’s clear the out of town media is in fact national news and they’re hot on the trails of the rumor that James Silverthorn actually is running for Mayor in some pokey little town, the current Mayor doesn’t stick around long to answer any questions himself.

  I humbly wish all my fellow candidates well and spend the rest of the next hour and a half fielding questions about my numerous business interests and how the rumors, now proven to be true have sent my stock prices soaring.

  Whenever James Silverthorn is seen to be doing something new, something different, everybody who’s anybody with money to invest wants to become involved.

  I can’t and won’t discuss the real reason why I’m here in Woods End.

  That’s between me and Krystal. It’s nobody else’s business. But the media attention is here now and it’s a firm reminder that I need to keep Krystal out of the spotlight, at least for now.

  I want her all to myself. There’ll be plenty of time later for very different kinds of announcements if I have anything to do with it.

  “Well, I gotta wrap things up,” I announce, holding up both palms when there are a few pleas for just one more question.

  I finally manage to make my way outside, only to find what looks like half the town there all wanting to meet me and shake my hand.

  Word’s spread like it does in any small town, and the truth behind the stranger running for Mayor is well and truly out.

  Most people have never heard of me unless they’re in the same business or investors. But some in this town seems fascinated in the knowledge that a big shot from the city has chosen little old Woods End for his new home, taking a step back from big business to live a simpler life and hopefully, I tell them, as their new Mayor.

  No sign of the current Mayor and after a lot of handshaking and backslapping, I manage to make my way to my car, promising to see everyone again in a few hours for the dinner and ball afterward.

  Trying not to spin my wheels as I leave, I can’t get away from the crowds and that damned Town Hall fast enough.

  I make my way straight to Krystal’s place, and punch the wheel when I see there are no cars in the driveway now.

  Dammit.

  She’s gone out someplace, but who knows where?

  It’s hopeless I know, but I park and get out, ringing the bell and knocking on the door for a good ten minutes before a neighbor pokes their head over the fence, telling me she left not long ago.

  “Do you know where she went?” I ask, trying not to sound like a man possessed.

  They shake their head and disappear over the fence again.

  It’s a bitter blow but not too surprising I guess. I wait in my car for as long as I can, hoping she’ll just turn up and crane my neck every time I hear a car come anywhere close by.

  It’s not a big town, there can’t be many places she could’ve gone.

  I doubt she’s gone to see her dad. Sounds like he’s made his own set of problems with her there and not all to do with me I’m sure.

  I cruise around for what must be another hour, maybe more before I start to wonder whether I’ve been duped after all. Maybe Mayor Newland sent her away altogether.

  I do laps of the whole town, seeing the same people twice or more after a while, which is enough to convince me she’s either out of town or I just keep missing her.

  I drive once more past her place with no success before I head back to my own office, deciding I’ll get ready for the dinner and head back to the Town Hall, despite having no appetite or mood for anything but Krystal anymore.

  I can hardly focus on showering and changing, every second my attention isn’t on the driveway I’m sure I can hear her car pull up. A couple of times I swear I can even hear her calling out for me.

  The door’s unlocked, she knows I’m here. If she turns up she can join me in the shower.

  It’s all I can tell myself to stand still for five minutes until I remember what I wrote on the card with her outfit.

  I know she got it, I just know she has.

  I told her to come to me wearing that dress tonight, and if my instincts are right then I don’t have a thing to worry about.

  I know she’ll come to me. It’s just that James Silverthorn isn’t quite used to waiting when he knows something’s already his.

  A simple phone call or just taking it with me on the spot, that’s what I’m used to.

  But Krystal’s not an object, she’s not a business or a thing.

  She’s the missing part of me, my equal, and I want everything to be perfect between us from now on.

  Forever.

  Stepping out of the shower I can feel the effect of her again, the heaviness of my arousal bobbing in front of me as I dry off, being careful of how quickly I do that too.

  “Soon,” I tell myself, looking
down at my twitching member, fully erect now and with a thick line of precome that makes me shudder as I picture using it as lube to press her sweet hole open with before I pleasure her, feeling her coming on my-

  “Argh, it’s no use,” I growl, wrapping the towel around myself and clutching both hands to my head in frustration.

  It’s official. I can’t think about anything.

  I’m done. Fully cooked.

  I’m in love with Krystal Newland and I won’t rest until I’ve claimed her as my own.

  “I will claim her as my own,” I repeat aloud, looking at myself in the mirror, “Tonight,” I promise myself, feeling at least some relief I can say it aloud, willing it to happen sooner.

  Walking out to the car I get my tux from the back seat and realize I don’t have a costume for the ball afterward except for a plain looking eye mask.

  I’m not sure what the rules for candidates are, but a man of my size is pretty hard to disguise.

  I dress and checking myself in the full length mirror I tell myself I’ve still got it.

  I don’t see the younger man anymore, the one I was maybe at Krystal’s age, but a wiser and wealthier man today.

  The few grays at my temple catch the light and I find myself thinking about dying them before I laugh out loud.

  “I’ll see what Krystal says,” I tell the man I the mirror, “There’s no time to go dying your hair now anyway.”

  It feels strange getting ready without her here, knowing she probably won’t even be at the dinner either. But I know she’ll get into the ball somehow.

  I told her to, and I’m already counting the minutes, the seconds until I see her again.

  Until I can wrap my arms around her curves and pull her close, whispering in her ear everything I plan to do to her once that dress comes off.

  The drive back to the Town Hall is a blur, so is being shown to my seat.

  A shitty seat, I must admit. I’ve been moved from the main table with the Mayor and other candidates, slightly to the left and in a dark corner near the restrooms.

  When the Mayor changes seating arrangements to send a message, he does a fine job of being quietly upfront about it.

  It’s fine by me though. I don’t feel like being anywhere near the man, nor do I feel like talking to anyone or even eating what they’re serving up which is supposed to pass as ‘five star cuisine’.