by Alexis Angel
Sure, I grew up wealthy, in a well-connected New England family. We summered in Cape Cod and lived on Beacon Hill when I was growing up. But like any New England family, I was always told that everything I would ever get in life I had to earn. If I didn’t work, I wouldn’t receive any benefits.
No one owns me. Not even a political party. I watch all these supposedly powerful men, out there peacocking and posturing for the camera. They’re all crippled because the parties have them by the balls. I told the Democrats to fuck off a while ago. Then I did the same to the Republicans. I’m an American. That’s my fucking party, babe.
But I’m also a woman. And I’ve just woken up. And I don’t have to pee, so that makes me horny. I don’t waste any time but slowly nudge the lobbyist whose name I can’t remember awake.
He slowly opens his eyes. He looks at me and smiles sweetly.
“Good morning,” he says slowly.
“Babe,” I tell him, “I need you between my legs.”
He blinks a few times, and I give him a lascivious smile. That should get the blood pumping to the right areas. I could go down on him and get him hard, but I’m not really in the mood. Plus, with four and a half inches, how would I go about finding his cock?
Apparently, my smile is enough for him. Men are so easy to fucking manipulate, and within seconds, he’s moved his head down and begun kissing around my folds.
I close my eyes. It’s not super good, but it’ll get the job done. Kind of like buying the generic cereal at the store and not the brand name. Sometimes you just need to budget so you can spend your money on other things.
I pull up my phone and start looking through my emails as Mr. Big Bad Lobbyist starts to lick my clit. My eyes close and I shudder. It does feel good. I let myself go for a bit, enjoying the sensation.
That’s when the phone rings. I sigh. I look at the iPhone as it continues to vibrate and I wonder for a second if I should pick up. It’s an unlisted number. Or maybe just put the vibrating appliance down below too, help out this poor man whose lapping at me now, teasing me and stimulating me, sending small shudders up my body….
Oh look, I got lost in my train of thought and forgot to pick up. Oh well. I keep my eyes closed and bring a hand to my tits, teasing my nipples. It’s too much to ask this guy to take charge. Once you take the reins from the man, they’re loathe to give it back.
And then the phone rings again.
It was an unlisted number before, but this time there’s no mistaking the Caller ID.
It reads: The White House.
Right, so I should probably pick that up.
“This is Vivian Hawthorne,” I say into the phone. Mr. Lobbyist tries to lift his head to see what I’m doing, but I have enough dexterity that I’m able to use his other hand and push him back down between my legs. His tongue rubs and presses hard against my clit. I shudder in pleasure.
“Senator Hawthorne, please hold for the President of the United States,” the White House operator says into the line.
I hold. This isn’t my first call with the Big Man. Rather, I spread my legs out a little bit more. I need to make this quick.
“Viv?” comes the voice of a the boisterous Texan on the other end of the line. “How you doin’, doll?”
I sigh. The President has a way about him that makes you roll your eyes but melts your heart at the same time.
“I’m good, Mr. President, what seems to be on your mind this morning?” I ask into the phone.
Mr. Lobbyist keeps at it, and I can feel the first of the muscles in my body begin to tighten. Is it me, or is the fact that I’m on the phone while I’m getting head turning me on even more than normal. I may not have cum as easily, but something about this is doing it for me.
His tongue continues to lap at me, pressing, flicking, and squeezing my clit. I shudder. It’s good now.
“Say, Viv, I need your help, and because your technically Independent…” the President begins but I interrupt him, trying to talk through the sex haze.
“I am an Independent, sir,” I say into the phone. I switched political affiliation from Republican to Independent a while ago. Before that I used to be a registered Democrat.
“Right,” the President says. “Well, your unique nature in the Senate can be of help in a sensitive situation.”
“Ooooohhh?” I ask, my voice catching as I feel a finger and a tongue now rubbing at my clit. I’m going to cum soon. I can’t stop it. The fires are spreading. I’m starting to go numb in my toes. It’s like this man’s tongue is operated by batteries or something. Oh God, it feels so fucking good. Fuck.
“I have a small problem happening in New York, and since it's your state, I was hoping you could take a look. It looks like Governor Carter, with his environmental legislation that he just passed is running into some trouble,” the President says and I have to say I’m barely able to comprehend. My mind is burning with pleasure at the sensations I’m feeling.
“Apparently the mayor of New Kingston, I think his name is Liam Jeffries—and if he sounds familiar it’s because all the papers call him America’s Mayor and he’s the youngest or something at being mayor ever—just got a foreign company to open several factories in the town. Bring back 10,000 or so jobs,” the President continues as I thrash my legs in sweet pleasurable agony. “This flies smack in the face of the Governor’s environmental bill and I don’t have to tell you it sets us up for a pretty ugly fight between red states and blue states, Viv.”
I’ve slipped past the point of no return and I can feel my body begin to have that delightful seizure as my muscles clench all along my body.
“So if you can go down there and help them negotiate this out, it keeps the Federal government from making a bad situation worse, you know?” he asks me. “Have you ever dealt with either the Governor or the Mayor?”
“Oh yes!” I scream out in pleasure. I feel a fire of pleasure travel across my body and I tighten my legs around Mr. Lobbyist. Momentarily, I forget myself. When I come to, the President is still talking and I’m breathing hard.
Wait, what did I just say yes to?
I’ve never met either man. I’ve been in Washington most of the time. My staff has most likely dealt with and pretended to know and like both men, but personally, I can’t even remember what either looks like.
“Good, so maybe you have a shared place to pick up with them,” the President is saying.
“Yes,” I say again, a bit more subdued as the post-orgasm endorphins start to sluice through my body.
“Great, I knew I could count on you, Viv. I definitely owe you one, and I’m willing to pay up for whatever you need me to do,” the President says. “Thanks and goodbye.”
I don’t have a chance to say goodbye, I’m just laying there, enjoying the last of my orgasm before the day starts.
“Is it my turn?” Mr. Lobbyist raises his head, asking me. What a wimp. I can’t believe this man runs his own business. That before he met me, he was supposedly considered a badass by the Washington women who swoon after powerful males.
I swing my legs out over him, and get off the bed. I need to take a shower. And it sounds like I’m going to New York.
“What about me?” the Lobbyist asks, getting out of bed too. I look over his body. His cock may be tiny, but his body was alright. Standard 6-pack abs, maybe could stand to work out a little more—get some more definition.
I head to the shower. Anyone who has to beg me for sex isn’t getting any.
“I need to shower, feel free to show yourself out…babe,” I tell him as I turn on the water and then turn to face him. He looks crestfallen. I feel so bad all of a sudden.
“Oh, don’t be sad, babe, it’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s not your fault. I just don’t fuck losers in the morning is all.”
He nods, and leaves, tail tucked between his legs. Hopefully he rescues some girl from someone or something to get his ego up soon.
As for me, I have a plane to catch.
69
Vivian
Get in. Tell the Governor that he can’t openly cut down on jobs if he wants to keep his seat next time around. Twist his arm if I have to. Smile nicely and let him know I have a knife behind my back. And then get the hell out. I should be able to make time to catch the midnight shuttle from La Guardia back to Reagan if I stick to this plan.
That’s what I’m telling myself as my limo drives down along Park Avenue past 59th Street as it heads toward the Waldorf.
I hate coming to the city. I don’t mind it so much when I’m here, but every time I fly into either JFK or La Guardia, it seems just a bit more fake. A bit more gentrified. Common people pushed out in favor of the wealthy. International billionaires who come in and buy $2 million dollar apartments just to park their money. But everyone forgets the people who had to get evicted so the old walk-up apartment buildings could get bulldozed for these new gleaming towers.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to go back to the days of high crime and a broke, dysfunctional New York City. And I’m not socialist. I’ve made enough money from the system, and my investment portfolio would leave many people green with envy. I’m definitely in the 1%.
But despite all that, sometimes it makes me sad, seeing Manhattan go from the place that brought out the best in America and slowly turn into an upscale shopping mall for the well-to-do. Not everywhere. And not always. And there’s still a long way to go.
But it just seems like more, every time.
I sigh. I need to get my head out of the clouds. Maybe this is what women worry about when they don’t have kids. Although, I’m only 29. And honestly, getting to be Senator was hard work. I’ve never had a chance to think about kids, and why am I even thinking about kids right now? I mean, look at me, hun. I’m wearing Vera Wang—dressed to kill in a black cocktail dress—heading to a fundraiser with the most powerful people in the country. And I’m wondering about kids? And a gentrifying city?
The car comes to a stop and the chauffeur opens my door and I tell myself I need to just follow the script and I’ll be out of here in an hour to be able to get back onto my plane and back home. Maybe I’ll even invite Mr. Lobbyist with the small dick back to my place. He gives great head.
I walk into the Waldorf and make my way to Peacock Alley where the fundraiser is being emceed. Security checks my credentials and all of a sudden I’m in a sea of bowties and cocktail dresses. People sipping martinis and laughing politely as they talk about the problems associated with ruling the world.
“Senator Hawthorne?” an usher says to me, coming up to me. He must have recognized me, although I don’t do many of these things. I nod. “If you’ll follow me, please,” he asks.
But wait, I’m sticking to my plan, remember. I can’t get caught up in anything else.
“Actually, can you take me to Governor Andrews?” I say to the usher. He looks at me for a moment and then nods and begins to make his way through the clumps of people surrounding the buffet table and bar.
We make our way for a minute until we reach a massive fireplace and that’s when I see the usher go up next to a tall man in a tuxedo with his back turned to me. He interrupts a conversation and the man turns to me and all of a sudden I catch my breath.
You remember when I told you earlier I didn’t want to have kids because I needed to focus on work?
Well, hun, if this man told me to have his babies, I’d hike up my dress and spread my legs right here on the floor.
I don’t even speak as I watch him walk over to me.
“Senator Hawthorne?” he asks and holds out his hand. “I’m Governor Andrews. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
I just had sex this morning. But then, why am I salivating over his Greek god body that fills out his Armani tailored suit?
I take a moment to look him up and down. He's got a handsome, to die for face. Blonde hair that's perfectly coiffed. His jaw is chiseled and his face is lean. Hungry. His eyes are a piercing blue and deep. They hold something dark. That face sits on top of an elegant neck and one of the most fantastic specimens of human male I have ever seen. Shoulders so broad that they could stop a truck. A chest that you can tell has pecs the size of wooden boards. Washboard abs. A tall, 6 foot 4 inch sculpture of perfection with a bulge in his trousers that hints at a package that I might want to explore.
“I’m surprised we have never met before,” I manage to speak through a dry mouth that’s panting with desire. “Considering you’ve been in office for two years and I’ve been a Senator for those two years as well.”
He nods to me. “I’ve been busy,” he simply says.
My eyes travel quickly over his body again and I look at his crotch. Whatever is down there is long. It’s thick. It’s pulsing. And I want it.
That’s right. I may want to fuck him. Or not. But it’s my decision. And right now, I am definitely leaning for fucking his brains out.
Control yourself, Viv! I tell myself as I get my eyes back up to his face.
“You’re causing quite the stir in Washington,” I tell him, looking at him. “It brought me down here to see what we could do to resolve this.”
“Well, I’m sorry Senator, but I don’t usually take it well when a small town Mayor tells me to go fuck myself because his initiatives are going against laws that apply to the entire state,” Carter says, his steely eyes drilling into me.
“Those factories don’t belong in the state anyways,” another voice interrupts me and I turn around.
A slim, elegant looking Chinese woman is standing there with a martini in her hand. She’s got a smirk that I immediately dislike and I can tell she’s not a big fan of mine either. And it’s clear to me that she sees herself as the person whose going to be fucking Carter Andrews. “This state is past manufacturing jobs, if you ask me.”
“I wouldn’t know who you are to ask you that, Miss…” I say with a smile and as much polite condescension as I can afford.
She extends a hand. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Tina Ling, special representative from the People’s Republic of China on behalf of China First Bank,” she says to me. “I also head the Communist Party in Shanghai and planned this fundraiser.”
“So, you’re the equivalent of the Mayor of Shanghai?” I ask, filing away the fact that China First Bank is holding a fundraiser for American political leaders for later.
“I am,” Tina Ling says, with a puff of pride.
“Well, Mayor,” I say, smiling sweetly. “This is a conversation for just Senators and Governors. Would you mind giving us a moment, please?”
I know, hun. I know. I’m being a bitch.
But just looking at her tits hanging out from that black dress, with those slits showing her thigh. How elegant she is. How silky. And how entitled. It just has me feeling very bloated and angry. Like who the hell is she to come in here, have her fancy fundraiser, and walk away with this man?
Tina must realize this because she smiles at me in a superior fashion. “I’ll be at the bar, waiting, Carter,” she says, and turns to walk away.
“That could have gone better,” Carter says, a slight smile on his severe face as he looks at me.
“Be the bigger person and all, you mean?” I ask, taking his arm in mine and moving him toward a corner of the room.
Oh, my. Taking his arm? In mine? Drawing closer?
It’s a good thing at least that I wore panties tonight. Because I’d be dripping down my legs right now if I didn’t.
“Being gracious is something that’s usually smiled upon,” Carter says.
“So when a Mayor makes some news by saying the Governor can go fuck himself, maybe the best thing to do is ignore it and not make a mountain out of a mole hill, hm?” I ask him with a smile.
Carter’s face stiffens. “That’s different."
“How?” I ask, smiling. I know I’m not listening to my own advice I gave myself in the car. I was supposed to come in here and steamroll over him. But I’m having fun instead.
“Liam Jeffries is an undisciplined, arrogant, sonofabitch, and he’s never cared about authority or rules in his entire goddamn life,” Carter says matter-of-factly. “And I can’t sacrifice the future of this state just so he can be seen as the hero by his drinking buddies up in New Kingston.”
“You don’t mess with jobs,” I tell Carter.
“Jobs won’t be worth a damn when everyone has asthma and their drinking water is poisoned,” Carter shoots back at me.
“But you need to consider that maybe you just let him burn out then,” I reply back. “You’ll still be here, but let him vent. And move on. Kill the factories with red tape.”
Carter pauses for a moment. “Have you ever met Liam Jeffries?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I’ve never even bothered. He’s a mayor of a small town that’s a suburb of New York City. The population of New Kingston is around 45,000. Fifty minutes from a city of 8 million. My office didn’t even have a file for him.
“I’ve never met him nor dealt with him,” I tell Carter.
“Well, then,” Carter says pointing behind me toward the wall. “This is who you’re dealing with.”
I turn around toward the television.
And for the second time that night, I gasp.
Tall, rugged, handsome, with a smirk that tells me he’s gotten his hands dirty too many times to count is a man that the headline says is Liam Jeffries.
I can see the vague trace of a tattoo on his right and left shoulder and one peeking up from his chest.
He’s speaking. The volume is lowered since there’s a party, but I can still hear.
