Warm and Sweet, Vol. 1

by Jolene Avonn

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  He locked his eyes on mine and dropped his right hand, the one with the figurine, until he found the hem of my dress and tugged it up. I knew what was coming, and I was ready.

  The cool quartz met my cunt and I gasped in pleasure. I didn’t shift my gaze, and neither did Dr. Langley. He pushed harder and the carving’s head slipped inside, easing deeper and deeper until the figurine was fully buried in my pussy.

  Dr. Langley drummed his fingers over my wet lips and the base of the carving, and then removed his hand.

  “You rode the bus, right?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Don’t let that fall out.”

  I nodded again.

  He pulled me forward and our lips met for one solid, long, probing kiss. I opened to him and our tongues slid together like serpents twining into a writhing mass of power.

  Far, far too soon, Dr. Langley pushed me back and returned to his desk.

  I was staggered. My heart raced and my ears buzzed.

  Would there be more?

  “Get out of my exam room, Miss Clancy,” Dr. Langley said. “And if I ever see you again, I’m not going to be so gentle.”

  Ducking my head submissively, I left the room. The figurine slipped a little so I stopped in the hallway, looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and reached under my dress to adjust it. It was agony waiting for the receptionist to find my paperwork. I almost pulled the carving out to show her how desperate I was to get home. I felt myself dripping on the carpet.

  A few minutes later, the quartz slid a full two inches free as I stood nonchalantly in the aisle of the bus on the way home.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a seat, miss?” an elderly woman said. “There are plenty open.”

  “No ma’am,” I said quickly. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

  When I finally made it home, after ducking behind a bush to work the figurine back into my pussy, I rushed upstairs and collapsed on to my bed.

  I didn’t remove the snake-bound woman from my depths until my last climax of the day left me panting and calling for Dr. Langley once more.

  END

  THE POWER COUPLE

  Ellie Saxx

  I’m sure you’ve heard of Calvin Rutledge by now. If not, this is all you need to know: he’s a senator from Colorado, and you’ll see him on your TV or in newspapers sooner or later. I’m positive he’s destined for something bigger than the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Not because of his considerable talents; no, it’s more about the woman behind him.

  See, I met Calvin and Irina Rutledge when they were unknowns, not the New York Times “Power Couple of the Year” like they are today. I know them. I’ve been changed by them.

  I volunteered for Calvin’s first campaign a few years ago. I was living in Denver just after college and I was predictably idealistic. What better place to work than an upstart candidate’s grassroots campaign? I was willing to do anything to bust into the world of politics – lick envelopes, cold call for donations, work late nights, and deal with dominant personalities. Little did I know where my desire to please would lead.

  I’m not ashamed of what I did. Sure, looking back, I’d change a few things. But sometimes when you’re caught up in the moment you become a different person. This is my story. I don’t run from it. Irina, for all her faults, taught me that.

  Let’s start at the beginning.

  ~~~

  Calvin Rutledge is attractive like your typical male politician is attractive; that’s to say, he’s confident, always well-dressed, and he has the ability to convince you that you’re the most important person in the room. Even if you’re number seventy-three out of a hundred people waiting to shake his hand. He’s a little over six feet tall and lean; his hair is always cut close on the sides and neat on top; his jaw is strong and flexes like a pensive movie star’s, and his lips are surprisingly soft and full if you stare at them long enough. And believe me, women stare. I did. I still do.

  On my first day at the tiny office in a Denver strip mall, Calvin walked through the door and all the nervous morning chatter stopped. I glanced up from my box of envelopes and there he was in a light gray suit and a conservative red and blue striped tie. Right behind him was the stunning blonde who’d interviewed me for the intern position. She floated across the room like an empress, never acknowledging anyone, her eyes locked on Calvin’s face. They both disappeared into a small office and shut the door.

  “Was that him?” I asked a lady next to me. I knew the answer, I’d just been struck dumb by the pair’s regal entrance.

  “You got it,” the lady said. “Calvin Quincy Rutledge, your next United States Senator.”

  “And that lady?” The blonde had never formally introduced herself during my interview, other than to say she was in charge of “all personal staffing concerns.”

  “Irina Petrovna Rutledge. His wife. A grade-A bitch, if you ask me.”

  “She seemed fine in the interview,” I said. “If a little stern.”

  “Hell, if you’ve talked to her you’re one of the lucky ones. She’s never even spoken to me. I’ll be surprised if I last a month. Irina’s favorites, they never leave.” She looked me up and down and smirked. “Stay on her good side and you’ll go places, looking like that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

  “Look,” the lady said. “You’re young, you’re eager, you fit the Irina profile: young, slim, great rack, and you’ve got long brown hair. I’m just saying, I’ve seen it before. There’s a type. The ones Irina picks, they end up...in similar places, if you know what I mean.”

  I shrugged and pulled my sweater over my chest. Sure, I’d had ideas about cleavage-enhancing outfits that morning, but I didn’t want this lady to know that. “I have no idea what you mean. She barely said a word to me.” Then I resumed stuffing envelopes.

  Two days later, that lady was gone. She’d been right – I was brought in to upgrade her position. I soon realized I’d been chosen to participate in a few tasks that went beyond the normal campaign intern job description.

  ~~~

  The story of the candidate and the intern is an old one, I admit. You know the drill: the candidate takes the intern’s hand when they first meet, and they both hold on a little too long. He smiles too broadly, and her cheeks flush and she stammers even though she’s been preparing her introductory speech for weeks.

  “Hi, I’m Rachel, I’m new and I just graduated from Stanford with a degree in political science. It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Rutledge!” transforms into, “Umm, I’m Rachel? I political scienced at Stanford for you, you’re really great, that tie makes your eyes...well, okay, nice to smile you. Nice to meet you, I mean!”

  Then, a few weeks later, there’s a late night at work and the intern is alone in the office and the candidate stops in to pick up his briefcase. He’s smiling, loose, and carefree. He’s just had cocktails with campaign donors and the poll numbers look good. He’s happy with all the work the intern’s been doing. He stands behind her and puts his large, warm hands on her shoulders and she melts. She just plain melts. She’s been turning down dates with guys closer to her age. Her cravings have been building for weeks, and she’s instantly turned on by his touch. She’s had this fleeting hope – a crazy, immature, naive fantasy – that she can be the one to catch the candidate’s eye and become his object of affection, and maybe visit his hotel room one night on the road and run her hands under his starched cotton dress shirt and feel that delightful mix of chest hair and firm muscles and raw heat.

  So when he massages her shoulders and rubs his thumbs at the base of her neck, she melts, like I said, and she feels an instant wetness and her breasts surge with waves of that tingling dose of passion we all know...and when his hands ease over her shoulders and brush against her chest, she turns in her chair and their eyes meet and that’s when you know: these two human beings are on a crash course. There’s a firm
ness, a thickness, rising in the candidate’s expensive wool pants. There’s an apartment nearby. It’s fate. It’s how these stories have to go.

  It’s how my story did go, after Calvin took my hand.

  ~~~

  We crashed through the door to his apartment. The place was immaculate. I could tell in a quick glance: a tasteful balance of leather and wood furniture, expensive carpets, real paintings on the walls, and a killer view. How could a guy running such a barebones campaign afford it? I’ll give you one guess.

  Calvin led me straight to the bedroom and I didn’t mind one bit. We’d kissed through the entire elevator ride, all twenty-two floors, so by the time I dropped on to the bed I could hardly see straight. He unzipped the back of my blouse expertly, and my bra’s clasp lasted only a second longer. Calvin’s mouth met my nipples with the same tenderness of our kisses. He was eager, but patient, like he was savoring every instant. He seemed to lose himself caressing my full breasts – they fit in his hands perfectly and he squeezed them as he covered me with his lips.

  I leaned back on the bed and sighed. It was just how I’d imagined it would be: Calvin, experienced, slow, patient-but-horny, guiding me through this illicit and thrilling experience. He hadn’t even undressed, he was so consumed with appreciating my body. I ran my fingers through his hair as he moved down my stomach and slid his hands under my skirt. I gasped as his fingers brushed my damp panties and tugged them down. He smiled when he looked up at me, pausing, and then he slid my skirt off with one smooth pull. I was bare before him and completely enthralled. I let my legs fall open slightly and begged with my most blatant puppy dog eyes for him to continue his slow, erotic teasing.

  Calvin made another slow, delicate pass over my entire trembling body. He kissed all along his way from lips to my neck to my breasts to my pussy and then all the way to my toes. His lips were warm and firm. Insistent. Each time he stopped and pressed them into me I let out a small sigh. When he moved, a cool spot lingered behind and made me shiver. I was so very wet. I wanted him inside me. Anything, his tongue, his fingers, his cock – I needed him to penetrate me. I still had my eyes closed. I longed for his hands to reach back up to my breasts. I teased a nipple between two fingers when his hands were occupied elsewhere.

  Finally, he forced my legs further apart. I opened my eyes. Calvin smiled down at me from his spot kneeling at the foot of the bed.

  “Have you ever been tied up?” he asked quietly.

  “No,” I replied. A new buzz of excitement filled me.

  Calvin reached down and pulled a set of dark purple ropes from a box at the end of the bed. They looked soft, like velvet, and barely thicker than the handles of my purse.

  “I think you’ll like it,” he said. “I want to give you pleasure like you’ve never known.”

  “How could a girl argue with that?” I said mischievously, positioning myself in the center of the bed. He didn’t have to spread my legs any more – I opened them wide to him, suddenly losing any sense of apprehension. Looking back, it was his confidence, the thrill of his power and what I was supposedly getting away with. I wanted to give myself to him, and give him whatever he wanted.

  Calvin quickly tied the ropes around my ankles and secured me to the bedposts at the end of the bed. Then he slowly dragged one of the ropes along my legs, over my pussy, and across my breasts as I gasped and squirmed in delight. He bound my wrists and secured them to the other two bedposts, pulling the ropes tight. And then, there I was: naked and open and wet and practically panting as I waited for Calvin to continue his slow seduction.

  And continue he did. He massaged me lightly, all over. All. Over. His hands were strong and tender at the same time, and each muscle he touched relaxed instantly in a surge of warmth. His soft exploration of my now-drenched pussy was delightful torture, his fingers slow and sure as they followed the lines of my lips and delicately pushed in for an instant before moving on. He found my clit and drew circles around it with his index finger until I cried out for him.

  But he never undressed. He simply walked around the bed admiring me, touching me, kissing me, and licking me until I was literally crying from frustration and anticipation.

  “Please, please, please,” I begged.

  “What?” he asked, innocently, as if he hadn’t just been slowly pressing his first two fingers in and out of my depths.

  “Please fuck me!” I said, desperate. I began to twist and turn, determined to free myself and throw my legs around Calvin’s torso and writhe and squirm my way to relief.

  The knots only tightened. Calvin laughed and slipped carefully off the bed and that’s when I was sure it was time. He picked up my blouse and draped it over my face so I couldn’t see anything. I heard more clothes shuffling. He was disrobing. Finally! He’d leap back between my legs and guide that glorious thick cock into me and toss aside all the gentle pleasantries.

  I was so ready to be fucked. My inner voice had turned into a complete whore. COCK. I WANT HIS COCK. FUCK ME WITH YOUR COCK. COCK. FUCK. FUCK MY GODDAMNED PUSSY. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, THICK THICK THICK COCK.

  I wanted him in my mouth. My pussy. My ass. Anywhere. Everywhere. I wanted him to rub his dick all over me until I came. I’d been transformed into a sex-crazed animal, that’s how skillfully he turned me on between the elevator ride makeout session and the insane erotic torture on the bed.

  One problem: he’d stopped moving.

  “There she is,” he whispered. “Just as instructed.”

  It took me a second to figure out what he said. “What?” I murmured.

  Then I heard her voice, low and firm. “Allow me,” it said. “I’ve watched enough.”

  I tossed my head back and forth frantically until my blouse dropped away. There, at the foot of the bed, was Irina Rutledge. She wore nothing but simple black lace lingerie. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her lips were painted a deep red. Her brown eyes were cold and hard, yet somehow I couldn’t resist staring into them for a few extra seconds. Then every alarm bell in my head went off.

  “What the hell? Calvin, your wife! Jesus Christ!”

  I struggled to free myself from the velvet ropes. When Calvin had tied me to the bedposts I’d let him without hesitation, partly because I figured I could always yank my hands loose. They couldn’t be that tight, right? Bedroom toys never seemed that substantial when I glanced at them in those funny adult gift shops.

  But that was not the case. I was bound tight and there was no getting free. Panic set in and I started to yell.

  “Get these fucking things off of me! I mean it!”

  “There, there,” Irina said. “Calm down, Rachel. Nothing is going to happen to you.” She set a hand softly on the top of my foot and I flinched.

  “I don’t know what Calvin told you but I’m never coming back here again. This was a big mistake,” I said, still thrashing.

  “Listen to her, Rachel,” Calvin said from the corner of the room, where he sat in a small armchair. He was unfastening his cufflinks. “It will all make sense.”

  “You wanted to be here, didn’t you?” Irina cooed. “Don’t lie to me. You wanted to fuck my husband. It’s not a problem. Many women do. They are not all sluts. I don’t think that about you. I think you understand the idea of, say, an opportunity.”

  I stared at Irina, not quite believing how calm she sounded as she sat next to me and began stroking my leg. As her hand moved toward the wetness on my inner thighs, I was filled with an odd mix of extreme discomfort and the remnants of intense sensations from Calvin’s touch. Irina was icy, but she was beautiful. Slender with well-defined muscles in her back and arms. Small, firm breasts. Mesmerizing eyes.

  I couldn’t stop struggling. My head was swimming. I wanted out, but my body was still busy processing physical pleasure. This cold Russian woman stroking my leg – it was too much.

  “Just. Let. Me. Go,” I said. “This is humiliating enough. I get it. We got caught.”

  “You didn’t get caught at
all,” Irina said. “I wanted you here. So did Calvin.” Her hand reached my inner thigh and stopped. Her fingers were an inch, at most, from my pussy. She must have felt the wetness that had spread when Calvin coated his fingers. I trembled, afraid to pull against the ropes for fear of sliding against her, of feeling her slide into me. I was breaking out in goosebumps. I felt like I had to pee. It was one hundred percent panic mode. I started to buck up and down on the bed, ignoring Irina’s firm hand.

  “No!” I shouted. “I don’t want to be here. You don’t understand! I don’t know what you two are in to, but I’m not going along with this!”

  “You are a very beautiful girl, Rachel,” Irina said, smiling slightly. “I thought that the moment I saw you weeks ago.” Her fingers moved forward, the tips resting lightly against my outer lips. Her other hand pressed hard on my other leg, holding me still.

  I closed my eyes. I tried to slow my breathing. I needed to concentrate but I couldn’t. Irina wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t believe she was touching me like she was. My mind was screaming: RUN! and I couldn’t move another inch.

  Irina traced her fingers up and down the wetness of my pussy and I started to whimper. It felt so good, and so wrong.

  “Please, please stop. I’m sorry. I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again, I swear.”

  “You could do that, if you wanted,” Irina said softly. Her fingers were slick now, and she was touching me just like I touched myself, with the perfect amount of pressure. She slowly increased the speed of her caresses.

  “I want it! I want to leave now!” I half-moaned. “You...you bitch!

  “Or you could listen to me. Certainly you don’t mean that.” She pressed one fingertip a little harder, pushing just inside. I groaned. The shock, the fear, the pleasure, everything crashed down on me at once. I couldn’t put words together. I was too petrified to move. All I could do was turn my head away from Irina and moan softly as she slid further into me. She was tender, her explorations tentative yet thorough as she pushed all the way in and held herself deep. I admit: part of me, way in the back of my mind, gave in to the glorious waves of pleasure. My pussy spasmed against her finger, firing off at random even though I tried so hard to stay completely still.