by Alexis Angel
I look out at streets of Washington DC as my motorcade drives by.
Let me just warn you before you start, babe, that this book is designed with one specific purpose in mind.
To get you to forget your problems and make your panties wet.
More than make them wet. To make you cum.
After you finish with me, you better have that significant other or B.O.B. waiting for you. Because I can tell you that you’re gonna fucking need it.
Or…if you’re a bad girl, go ahead and flip the page and read this in public. But by the time you’re done, the person next to you will be able to smell you.
I guarantee it.
So find someplace quiet. Preferably where you can take those panties off.
And follow me for the fucking ride of your life.
Ashley
Give a man a gun, and he might win a battle. Give a woman a dress tight enough, and she will win a war.
And tonight … tonight I’m here to win a war.
“You look so fucking sexy, baby,” Walter Billingham says, and I can tell that he’s mentally undressing me right now, his wide eyes taking in every curve of my body. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his paunch stretching his white shirt.
“Do you think I look sexy?” I ask shyly while, at the same time, I let a devious grin light up my face. I close the distance between him and I, and throwing one arm around Walter’s neck, I sit on his lap.
“You do… You really do,” he whispers, resting one hand on my naked knee, his fingertips brushing against the hemline of my Saint Laurent dress. I know I could’ve seduced Walter even if I decided to wear a simple off the rack dress, something equally cheap and trashy, but I don’t like to underestimate men. In my line of business, that’s a fatal mistake.
“I like how you say it,” I tell him, leaning forward and brushing my lips against his ear. I feel something hardening between his legs, and I choke down a chuckle as I realize that Walter’s cock is as small as he is old. And he’s old enough to be my father—no, make that my grandfather.
CEO of a pharmaceutical conglomerate, Walter has been its leader for more than 25 years. He’s 60-something years old now, and one of the most successful businessmen in the US. Thing is, dear old Walter is as successful as he is greedy and immoral. He built his fortune by raising the prices of a few specific drugs, and he has never shown any remorse about it. What happened to the feel-good American Dream, right? But that’s the world we live in now; the sociopaths are running the show.
“You know what I find sexy?” I continue, turning around on his lap and opening my legs so that I’m straddling him. Without taking my eyes off his, I hike up the hem of my skirt, offering him a sight of my black La Perla thong. “There’s nothing sexier than a powerful man… I just can’t resist it,” I whisper, running my fingers through what’s left of his hair.
“Well, it’s your lucky night.” His hands trail down the side of my body and, cupping both my ass cheeks, he gives them a soft squeeze. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and looks at me with an expression of anticipation.
“And why is that?” I ask him with a purr, biting down on my lower lip.
“Because I’m here … and I’m all yours, baby,” he continues, and I offer him one mischievous smile. He spent the whole night nibbling at the hook, and now he's swallowed it whole.
Not that I wasn’t expecting it to happen. Men are predictable creatures, you know? You just have to figure out which notes to play and they always end up dancing to your tune. With Walter, that was even easier than I thought.
I knew he was staying at the Sofitel, and I also knew that Walter is a man that enjoys his liquor. So all I needed to do to grab his attention was be at the bar after dinner, having a drink by myself. Between showing up and trying to strike a conversation with me, not more than fifteen minutes passed. Usually I’m the one making a first approach, but I guess that, despite his age and looks, Walter is a self-confident man that simply can’t resist a woman like me.
Now, don’t think that I’m bragging, but men are always attracted to my looks. Pair that with a refined fashion sense and I can cut through a man’s soul like a hot knife through butter. Which is a good thing, considering what I do for a living.
Anyway, after having two drinks with Walter, he inevitably invited me to accompany him to his room, and that despite the fact that he has been married for more than 30 years. You’d think that married men would be the hardest to seduce, but the opposite is true. There’s no creature easier to seduce than a man with a wedding ring on his finger.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” I purr, softly bucking my hips at him so that my crotch is pressed against his. Loosening the knot on his tie, I then pull it out over his head; my fingers move down to his shirt and I open his collar, popping button after button and revealing his hairy chest.
“Now you’re talking,” he groans, reaching for my breasts and giving them a hard squeeze.
“Oh, that’s good,” I moan, swaying my hips softly and rubbing my pussy against the small hard shape under his pants. Well, even though he has a small cock, at least he has no problems getting it up.
“Undress… I—I want you to strip for me,” he groans again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to claim the leading role in this relationship of ours.
“Anything for you,” I whisper, slowly going to my feet as my fingertips slide down his overgrown belly. I take one hand to his crotch and, before standing up fully, I brush my fingertips over his hard cock.
He remains in silence as I turn my back to him; moving slowly, allowing the tension in the room to rise, I rest my fingers on my shoulders and hook them on the straps of my dress. I tug them down and let the fabric droop over my breasts, my dress sliding down to my waist. Swaying my hips gently, I then let the dress fall down my legs, and only then do I turn around to meet Walter’s gaze.
“Oh, fuck,” he mutters under his breath, looking at me with wide and anxious eyes. His eyes wanders up and down my body, and the intensity of his gaze is almost enough to scorch the black lace lingerie I’m wearing.
“Want to see more?” I tease him, pulling at the straps of my bra.
“Yeah,” he replies in a heavy tone, and I run my tongue between my lips.
“Then show me that cock of yours, Walter… I want to see you getting hard for me,” I continue, taking one step toward him. Reacting fast at my words, he fumbles with his belt and unbuckles it; faster now, he unzips his fly and pulls both his boxers and pants down to his knees.
“Is this hard enough for you?” he asks me, grabbing his cock with two fingers and giving it two hard strokes.
“Oh, yeah … that’s hard enough for me,” I whisper, taking another step toward him and leaning forward, taking my mouth to his ear. “And I also believe that’s hard enough for the camera,” I continue as I look him in the eyes and point toward the closet. The door is slight ajar, and it’s from that gap between the door and the wall that a concealed spy cam has been set up.
“What are you talking about?” The lust in his eyes has now been replaced by dread and confusion; as his gaze follows my fingers, he starts to realize that he has fucked up immensely. But now it’s too late. “You fuckin’ bitch!” he growls, going up to his feet. I take one step back as he raises his hand to strike me and, instead of showing him fear, I offer him one big grin.
“Yeah, hit me,” I dare him. “You’re already knee-deep in a world of shit, Walter. Hit me and we’ll see that shit rise up to your neck. My operatives are watching and recording all of this … and if you try to fuck with me, you can bet your ass that my colleagues will start streaming this through the whole Internet. You’ll be done in a matter of seconds.”
Still with his fist up in the air, he grits his teeth and hisses desperately. He lowers his trembling hand then, a vein in his forehead throbbing so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if his head exploded.
“You fuckin’ played me!” he cries out,
pulling his pants up awkwardly and trying to hide his now shriveled cock.
“I did,” I shrug, picking my dress up from the floor and squeezing myself inside of it.
“Who put you up to this?” he asks me through his gritted teeth, and I look at him with a satisfied smile. He probably thinks that a rival company hired me, or that this is an internal coup—maybe someone wants to take his position as a CEO. Thing is, the answer is not that complicated.
“Your wife,” I tell him. “She got tired of your cheating ass and wanted some proof so that she could ditch you.” Turning my back to him, I open the door to the closet and retrieve my small camera. I pick up my purse from a chair in the corner and throw the camera inside.
“Please, don’t do this,” Walter cries out once more, his voice now quivering. I look at him with one raised eyebrow and sigh; realizing that he has my attention, he goes down to his knees and claps his hands together in a praying position. “I beg you, don’t do this. You’ll ruin my life.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to cheat on your wife. At least there’s still hope for her; maybe she’ll find a decent man now.” With that, I sling my purse over my shoulder, straighten out the front of my dress and, without bothering to look at Walter, I get out of the hotel room and close the door behind me. From inside the room comes a sound eerily similar to that of a grown man crying.
Oh, well.
Don’t think that I take pleasure from ruining men’s lives. This might be what I do for a living—luring men into traps—but I don’t do it on a whim. Before I take a job, I always do my research in order to be sure that the guy deserves it. And Walter Billingham deserves it.
Greedy businessman and unfaithful husband, he had it coming. Not that I’m surprised. I’ve met my share of businessmen, politicians and what have you … and I can’t say I’m very impressed by the one percent of the America. The way I see it, they’re all highly paid con artists, ready to sell their souls to the highest bidder. I’m the Universe’s reply to all that decadence—in a way I'd like to think of myself as karma made flesh.
A virgin avenger. That’s me.
I’m heading toward the main exit when I stop dead in my tracks, realizing that there’s a crowd outside the hotel. Judging from all of the cameras and cable news vans parked there, I’d say something big is happening. I heard that Jia Park, the South Korean ambassador, was staying here, so maybe it’s something to do with her.
Taking a deep breath, I take one of the side doors that lead to the street, and try to be as discrete as possible as I push my way through the sea of reporters.
“Yeah, he’s a disappointment,” I hear one of the female reporters say in an upset tone. “I thought President Bain would be different and I don’t--” I stop hearing what she’s saying when I distance myself from the crowd, but it’s not like I need to. Of course our new Commander-in-Chief, President Bain, is a disappointment.
If you’re dumb enough to believe anybody in this hellhole people like to call DC, you’re bound to be disappointed.
Washington Beat
President Player Caught Playing With His Python!
From the desk of Margie Preston – our quirky and irreverent political reporter.
It looks like President Austin Bain is using his time in office to come up to speed. Did you see how I took yet another sex scandal and did a double entendre?
But in all seriousness, critics of the President were quick to charge that he was cheapening the role of the office and no other voice was as loud as the ever-present critic of the administration, Speaker of the House Bob Walker.
“The President has a job to do that the American people elected him for, and I suggest he spend more time doing it, and less time learning the ins and outs of all the pretty Washington ladies,” the Speaker commented to me when I asked him what he felt about the current situation.
Allies are resolute however that the President really hasn't done anything wrong. In fact, they sort of have a point. Was there anything really wrong with a man finding comfort, or whatever you want to call it, in the arms of a woman? The President isn’t married. He’s not got a girlfriend as far as we can tell. No one exclusive.
Additionally, he hasn’t given up any state secrets. He hasn’t done anything criminal. He hasn’t lied about it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite according to those closest to him. An almost TMI like culture has developed around the President when he recounts his past experiences with women he has been known to associate with. Stories that are best “left in the locker room and not bandied about with men who no longer have the drive, stamina, or ability to match them,” according to one source.
So if anything, this has been just an embarrassment once again for a White House that has become used to having to excuse a single President’s extra-curricular activities. And while there may be nothing criminal about it, in the court of public opinion, the real loser here is Austin Bain.
And America.
America needs a decider. What we have instead is President Player.
That’s right. That’s my new name for Austin Bain apparently given to him by the media. President Player. And it’s this man’s job to somehow keep his finger ready on the nuclear launch codes all while he’s fixing schools and bringing back jobs.
I don’t know if we’re supposed to be excited. Or scared.
Because President Player has so much promise and potential. But it seems to get lost every time an attractive woman comes into the room. Will we be on the road to making America Tremendous Again? Or will it all end with the flushing of a condom down a toilet?
Only one man knows the answer to this question, and his answer will impact 320 million Americans.
And that man we call President Player.
It’s going to be a long, long four years. That’s for sure.
Austin
"'President Player' is breaking news sir," Tracy, my Chief of Staff says, slapping the front page of today's New York Daily Journal down on my desk.
"What the fuck? You think I live under a rock? I know; I've read the headlines on my phone about a hundred times today," I reply, shaking my head. The truth is, the headlines make me sick. I look across the oval office, beyond the serious and somber faces of my trusted staff, across the curved walls, and I realize that I'm furious.
I can feel my heart kick in my chest with tension, and I shove one balled fist into the pocket of my suit pants.
Why is the press focusing on my personal life, instead of what I'm accomplishing?
Can't they see what I'm doing? Is everything about scandal and click-bait?
Where the fuck is the interest in the common everyday American? Who’s struggling? No one cares about that. More about what kind of pussy my cock is going into.
I look back at Tracy. She's a petite woman, but don't let her size fool you. She has the tenacity of a bulldog.
"My personal life isn't the issue," I say, shaking my head. "I've been through great fucking pains to keep my personal life totally private during the campaign."
Tracy nods her head and says, "That's true, but there were still rumors."
"Sure, there were rumors," I reply. "Rumors, rumors, rumors. It doesn't stop. There are always fucking rumors, but nothing was ever provable during my campaign. Nothing is ever provable—campaign or not. Don't you agree?"
"Sir, that's exactly the problem," Tracy says, trying to drive her point home.
"I'm not following," I reply, raising my eyebrows and pressing a finger to my temple. I can feel my pulse throbbing just beneath my fingertip.
"I just mean that you've guarded your personal life so closely that it has just made people more curious," Tracy continues. "You're young, attractive, rich, and single. You're also the youngest President in the history of the United States and that's left the public curious about you."
"So you think I should be completely transparent with my personal life?" I ask, tapping my pen on the office's Resolute desk in increasing agita
tion. "Don't you think I deserve as much fucking privacy as anyone else?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Tracy replies. "Not exactly to that extreme anyways. I think the public thinks that you're hiding something."
"Hiding something?" I ask. "Like what?"
"I can't help you there," Tracy shrugs, her blouse bunching at the shoulders. "It's just a hunch."
I lean back in my leather chair, and put my feet up on the desk. None of my other advisors have dared to speak.
Then I hear Tracy clear her throat. "Another thing," she says, and I can't help squinting my eyes shut. This can't be good.
She continues, "Living up to your promise to 'clean the cave' has also earned you some powerful enemies."
I immediately put my feet down on the floor and sit up straight in my chair.
"Like who?" I ask.
"Well, Bob Walker for starters," she says.
"That fucking bastard," I mumble to myself. He resembles more of a marshmallow than he does a man. I campaigned against him for the presidency. Walker thought for sure he'd be president, and so did everyone else. But in a surprise twist of events, he lost.
He's now Speaker of the House, but I know he's looking for any chance he can get to snatch the presidency.
"I agree," Reese Dawson, my VP, says, speaking up and breaking the silence. "He's been spitting venom ever since you beat him."
Then Tracy continues, "The press isn't going to let up, especially not with Bob Walker pushing them, but I have an idea."
"You do?" I ask, raising my eyebrows in disbelief. "Go on."
"Well, the way I see it," Tracy says, "is that the press is going to dig until they get something. It's like a dog digging up a bone in a yard—they won't stop until they have what they are looking for. So, I think we should give them something."
"Such as?" I ask, trying not to sound too skeptical.
"A wife," Tracy replies matter-of-fact. "Well … a fiancée. "
The entire Oval Office is silent. It's so quiet, I swear you could fucking hear a cotton ball bounce across the carpet. Everyone is staring at Tracy now in disbelief, including me.
