Vetting The Senator

by Alex Elliott

  Slowly, she sinks to the carpet. I lock the door and can’t believe I’m two clicks beyond controlled.

  “Please, sir,” she pleads loudly, but her tone is pure impertinence.

  “Again. Hands clasped in front of your tits. Beg. Me.” I cup her face, forcing her to look up at me. She inhales slowly as though grappling with the situation. “You know what to do. Now do it.”

  With her gaze focused on my face, I swipe my thumb gently along her cheek, and her shoulders relax.

  “Sir, teach me to control myself. Please, let me suck your cock!”

  “Better begging than before.” I smirk, holding out my cock to her. “Lick it.” The touch of her tongue across my crown has me throbbing. Harsh. Fierce in how much I want her—and I grunt barbarically, “More. Lick my cock like I’ve taught you!”

  She runs her piercing over my tip, swiping my pooling pre cum. She sucks her tongue back into her mouth, tasting my arousal, and our eyes connect. Shit, I’ve got to fuck her. Own her. I spear my fingers into her hair, near her scalp and yank. “Suck my dick. All the way.”

  Her soft wet mouth glides over my crown and encircles my shaft. She sucks me across her marshmallow lips and has me near the edge...but not enough. She’s teasing me and I tighten my hold on her head. “Open. Wider. Relax your jaw.” I force her to take me to the back of her throat. Pumping my hips, I pound my cock down her throat, unrelenting in how I fuck her beautiful mouth. “That’s it. See how I own that dirty mouth of yours.”

  She nods and flicks her piercing along my cock, curling her fingers around my thighs. I’m ravenous for her—to be fully buried inside her. I’m so close. I can’t stop and before I can conceptualize my actions, I pull her up. I’ve got to mount her. Possess her.

  “I’m not done,” she whispers with her puffy lips.

  “That’s right. I’m going to shove my cock so deep inside you, you’ll think twice about challenging me, little girl.” I’m about to take her up against a wall. Again. She makes me want to be savage as if that will lessen this claim she has on me. I can’t hold back and lift her leg, swipe my cock against her cunt, and then pummel inside her tight body. “Fuck! X!”

  Primitively, I curse not from the mere mind-blowing intense pleasure that races a circuit through every cell in my body, but from the extreme freedom in which I can fuck this girl. Any moment of any day, I hunger to have her.

  “Please...Ben.” I feel her pussy tremor around me and I hoist her upward.

  Lifting her other leg, I impale my dick inside her as she moans, calling my name over and over. She whimpers, the sound is erotically eviscerating and I’m ready to jet hard and fast. My mouth covers her, I crave her sounds...her scent. If time were on my side, I’d devour her until she’s mine. All. Fucking. Mine.

  Her lips are soft, smooth, and open. She’s giving me her tongue and I suck it greedily as I fuck her. Repeatedly, I slam into her pussy as she yanks handfuls of my hair. Together we fuck brutally. But it’s not enough—not after today. I walk with her wrapped around me and lower us to the sofa.

  “Please. Don’t stop,” she begs. Her words expand until there’s nothing I can do but give her what she desires.

  “Sshhh,” I growl, lowering my mouth to hers and thrusting my tongue between her lips as I take hold of her wrists in one of my hands.

  Using the armrest, I leverage my body, and pound into her. I pin her under me, and deliver fluid power-strokes, bordering on violent. This primal raw fuck, this is how we are together.

  I arch upward, sheathing my cock inside her slick pussy that’s ridiculously tight. Again, and again I slam into her spurred on by her cries. Each thrust we come together is deeper, fiercer than the last. She tenses, her back bows off the sofa cushions—the muscles over her body grow taut and her cunt squeezes my swollen shaft. Bracing my arms, I lift upward and then in ramming drive, I slam my entire length into her. Fuck, there’s the rush I crave! Pleasure explodes across my synapses.

  “Sir!” she cries out, milking the breath from my lungs and the cum from my cock. Her name spills from my mouth as I pour myself into her.

  Chapter 4

  THE DOORWAY

  “ARE YOU sure you don’t want to come out with me?” Brooke asks, entering the living room, wearing a pair of killer stilettos and an equally traffic-stopping cocktail dress.

  “Third wheel on one of your dates? Nope. I’m good. Besides, I’ve got a ton of work to get done.” I pat the file on my lap.

  “This one’s a director. He surrounds himself with people. GORGEOUS. INTERESTING. PEOPLE!”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Those fly-by-night types are your fantasy. Not mine.”

  My roommate shrugs. “Don’t knock ‘em until you try a few.” She laughs and waves from the foyer, adjusting her purse. As soon as the door shuts, I jet off the sofa and down the hall into my bedroom. It’s less than two hours before I have to be at the hotel lobby where the car Ben’s sending for me will arrive. With Brooke finally gone, I can try and figure out what to do with my hair.

  An hour later, I’m finally dressed with my hair pinned in place under a dark wig, and I’m sitting inside a cab that’s pulling up to the Franklin hotel. I exit the cab and head for the entrance. “May I help you?” the doorman asks.

  “Yes...I’m here.” Oh shit. He has a computer tablet and waits patiently for me to explain. “I’m meeting someone in the lobby.”

  “Your name?”

  I hesitate. Bennett said to give the fake name we agreed I’d use if anyone asked. “Ms. Excess,” I reply, meeting his eyes.

  “Ah yes. Your room is ready.” He flicks his glance to a porter standing nearby. “Show, Ms. Excess to check-in.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, confused why I have a room at this exclusive hotel. I can’t call Ben and ask so I follow along. The car isn’t due to be here to pick me up for another twenty minutes and I have time.

  *

  Up in the room—no, that’s wrong. It’s a suite. And it’s beyond luxurious even for an exclusive hotel. Numerous works of art adorn the walls. I’m talking museum quality along with modern sculptured statuettes that are scattered here and there. A bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of ice on the side table bracketed by a solitary crystal flute and a single red rose in a vase. I sniff the rose, inhaling the sweet cloying scent.

  I set my bag down and pour a glass of champagne. Alone, I sip the wine and walk out onto the terrace, overlooking Georgetown. As I lean against the railing, my cell rings, and I flinch. Digging my phone from my jacket pocket, I glimpse Jon’s number displayed.

  “Well hey,” I say after downing the rest of my drink.

  “The speaker is so fucking hot, I need to get laid. You up for a night of drinking and dancing?” he belts out.

  “You were at work today?” I feel a pang of guilt.

  “Hell yeah. Carter called everyone in and fuck, I’m down for pretending to be a quasi-intern to get the scoop on him. And after today, I made a few solid connections. Jesus H. Christ, I deserve to celebrate.”

  I clutch the railing and survey the street below. “Jon, be careful. Gossip flows nonstop. You told me that one.”

  “Well sweetheart, I vetted these sources. Enough that I’m flush with a load of scandalous details that I shared with my editor.”

  “And?” I freeze, waiting to hear what dirty details he’s unearthed. Jon is the journalistic equivalent to a Redbone Coonhound in sniffing out clues...secrets.

  “Got the greenlight to go ahead on writing a Capitol expose. Even an expense account this time. Carter is quite the stud on the Hill and my editor is psyched, but now I’m off. And horny. Are you at home?”

  “Um no... I’m out.” Yeah out on a balcony that feels more like a limb. If Jon had found out anything remotely linked to Bennett, he would have said. Whatever Jackson Carter’s got going on is probably a case of cheating on his lover. I twirl the stem of the flute between my fingers and notice my red lipstick imprint on the crystal.

  “Out
doing what?” he scoffs.

  “Girl stuff.” Retreating inside, I open my purse, pulling out my makeup bag. “Looking for work clothes. Makeup. Shopping with Brooke. Now, we’re onto see the new Jennifer Lawrence film,” I say as my gaze alights to the open newspaper on the table next to me.

  With my lipstick in hand, I pace next to the terrace door, praying he doesn’t run into my roommate tonight, and bust my ass for out-and-out lying.

  “Gah. Sounds like a romcom.”

  Jon for all his let’s do things the gay way isn’t into chick flicks. He sucks dick but isn’t touchy-feely. More like rough and tumble with tattooed arms, and usually sporting enough beard stubble to look a little dark himself except I know he’s into preppy guys. Button-down-shirt-tweed-coat-bowtie wearing studs.

  “Oh it is,” I reply. “You know how Brooke loves those kinds of flicks.” Excuses. Lies. I spin left and right. Effectively, I’m becoming the queen of smoke and mirrors. There’s no way he wants in on a chick flick.

  “Well, love bug, then I’ll leave you to it. Tell the Brookemeister, we need to do another dinner. Soon. And this time, on my side of town.”

  We say so long and I promise to connect with him tomorrow. How? I have no idea.

  I reapply my lipstick, adjust my wig, pushing aside stray almost blue-black hair from my eyes, and survey my jacket. Crap, I’d better remove it. I fold and stow my jacket in my carryon, then pick up my bag, grab the key, and head for the elevator. I’m gripping the magnetic key card like a lifeline as I descend, and slip it into my bag. Exiting the elevator, I take a seat in the lobby, people watch for a few minutes.

  Everyone within the lobby fades from the periphery of my field of worry as a sleek black car pulls up outside, and I wonder if that’s my ride. Bennett fucked me in his office yesterday, and then afterward, we snuggled on his sofa. With his cock imbedded inside me, he explained the steps to my indoctrination plan.

  First and foremost, I’m to be picked up by a driver and another man. A keeper.

  He made me repeat the direction that I’d sit in this lobby until the driver came and found me. The keeper...the person in charge of watching over me—would be picked up afterward. Once we connect, I’m to do exactly what my keeper says. If I have questions, they won’t be answered.

  He gave strict instructions. I’m to keep my gaze lowered. At all times...unless according to Bennett, I’d like to get a lesson of submissive training without him.

  I’m shaking as I rise from the chair. I can’t help but flick my gaze toward the door, anxious to see the face of the man who’s coming for me. I hear a sound...a snap...and I gasp, forcing my eyes downward. Shit, I’m not about to make this easy for some ‘keeper’ to get his rocks off by spanking me...or worse.

  The lobby door opens, and I strain to keep my focus on my shoes rather than the clip-clopping footsteps of the person who just entered. He’s headed in my direction—a sharp left to the entrance. Beads of sweat erupt along my hairline. I remember...focus on my shoes! Crisscrossing ribbons of red leather press over my feet. My toenails are a matching shade of candy apple red. These strappy laces rise up my legs, encircling my calves.

  The footsteps are near, and I teeter on my six-inch heels. It’d taken me more than an hour to decide what to wear. I went with if I was going to do this, then Christ I’d better do it with some panache. Go big or don’t go at all kinda attitude. My dress is less of a neon sign that says ‘do me.’ It’s a clingy black number with a red glittery gem button that secures the halter straps at the back of my neck.

  I press my calves to the seat as the man’s shoes slap the lobby floor. The sounds pelt against my awareness with ping-ping-prickle. His shoes appear in my field of vision. Black leather. Polished. Expensive oxfords. The cuffs of his trousers are pressed and without glancing upward, I imagine he’s wearing a tailored suit. Ben said the ‘driver’ would find and fetch me from the lobby—yet this man has the presence of being more than a driver.

  “Miss Excess?” he asks in a buffered, firm tone. I nod and he lifts my case. “Right this way.”

  Stiffly, I follow him outside to the sidewalk. Summers in D.C. are warm, and tonight the skies are cloudless. The evening breeze caresses the moisture on my skin. When the driver opens the door to the backseat, I lower myself inside, closing my eyes, unwilling to give into temptation to seek out his identity.

  The security screen is up, separating us. The car pulls away from the hotel and I peer out the window, expecting to see the street, the traffic, and the people walking on the sidewalk. But I don’t see anything except my reflection. Wide eyes...wired eyes. The windows are blacked out—opaque.

  “Miss Kennedy, you’ll find a mask on the seat next to you. Please put it on.” The driver’s voice fills the backseat by way of the intercom.

  Just as he’s described, there’s a mask next to me. I pick up the plain piece of black satin, rubbing my fingers over the slick material. I slip the mask over my face, adjusting the cords over my wig, and discover there aren’t any eyeholes—or rather there are, but they’re sealed with a piece of satin. As I contemplate this blindfold, and if I should remove it, the driver pipes up again.

  “Miss Excess we’re about to enter an underground garage. Don’t be alarmed when we come to a stop.”

  Easy for him to say. It’s disconcerting not being able to see and soon I’ll meet my keeper in this state.

  “Thank you,” I murmur and haphazardly brush away strands of hair, tickling my face. I lower my arms, running my fingers over the edge of the leather seat, then decide to fold my hands in my lap. But just as fast, I unclasp my hands when the car swerves. Instinctively, my hands shoot out, seeking something to steady myself. I end up holding onto the door panel as the car comes to a stop.

  The backseat door opposite to me opens, and someone slips onto the seat. I look away, even more unsure what to do in the presence of this stranger....my keeper. The door shuts and I flinch.

  “Good evening, Ms. Excess.” A distinctive man’s voice accented with a twang confronts me and mechanically I nod. His touch is warm as he enfolds my arm within his hand. A beep sounds. “We’re ready,” he replies.

  The car is in motion again. We leave the garage I presume...on the way to the House. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I’m hyper-focused, so much the hairs all over my body stand at attention. Inside of the car is cool. The air flows over my scorched skin as a chill works up my spine, unleashing goose bumps along my shoulders and arms.

  Flashing open my eyes, I see a sliver from the corner of the mask. Across the backseat, the man’s hand is casually placed on his thigh. Tan and roped muscles compose his forearm. He’s wearing a Rolex and dark jeans. That’s all I know.

  “Darlin’, I’m going to touch your head,” he says. “To adjust the blindfold. Turn toward your left.”

  I turn and he laughs. “Your other left,” he tells me.

  Gasping, I rapidly swing my chin toward my other shoulder. My mouth is dry. Easier to remain silent and I tell myself relax. Breathe. I’m on my way to Bennett.

  He proceeds to untie the ribbons, and rearranges my pageboy wig. This part of my keeper dealing with the minor details, I guess is the norm. All my blond hair hidden, neatly pinned in place. I hold still as he touches my head.

  He stops, then he exhales. His breath spreads along my skin. “Your master wants your hair down. I’m required to tie the bands tight, to keep your mask in place. Let me know if they’re uncomfortable.” His fingers brush back my hair in that way a man does, not knowing what to do with hair, and I remain frozen as he re-ties the mask.

  “Sit back,” he directs me. “Would you like something to drink? We’ve got a full bar...or water.”

  I shake my head, but then remember Bennett’s instruction on how to answer this man. “No thank you, Keeper.”

  He chuckles quietly. “You’re master will be pleasantly surprised that you remembered how to address me without requiring a reminder except...” He feathers his fingers a
long my jaw. “Your face, although a beautiful work of art, must engender submission. You’re not here to prove a point. Egotistical pride has no place in the world you’re entering. Hold your head...like this.”

  He guides my face until my chin almost touches my chest. “Thank you,” I say woodenly, and add. “Keeper.”

  “You’re spirited. Trust me. Loosen up. You’ll enjoy tonight a whole lot more, if you relax. And trust those in charge.”

  Doesn’t feel that way as I sit here blindfolded and next to a man with a Texas drawl that seems to enjoy this part of introducing players. He leans over. “Did I speak too hastily, sugar?”

  “No, Keeper. I...” What the hell am I supposed to say? “I’ll try and relax. Thank you.”

  “Unless of course, you enjoy being disciplined. Do you?”

  “I don’t, Keeper,” I assure him, instinctively lifting my chin. My stomach knots. Is he playing with me or testing me?

  “Well, that remains to be seen.” He laughs darkly, cupping my chin firmly, tugging my face downward. “Until then, I suggest you remember my directions, Ms. Excess.”

  He releases my face and seems to move on the seat. I exhale, my face prickling where he touched. There’s the clinking of crystal. A tap, and a buzz. His cell? “Right on schedule. You’re joking.” He sighs...loudly. “That’s not part of the given rules. A bylaw. Well out of everyone, you ought to know. Will do.”

  My keeper isn’t pleased from the extended exhalation he lets go. The leather seat dips and he’s pouring. Stops and pours again. “Darlin’, drink this.”

  I don’t want to drink anything—or do I? I extend my hands and he curls my fingers around a tumbler. Lifting it, I stop and pause. The crystal is cool against my lips and I inhale the scent of aged scotch. I think of Bennett and think what the hell. I tip and swallow, not stopping until I’ve downed what feels like a gallon of smooth gasoline. From behind the mask my eyes sting. I close my lids, staunching the tears that collect. This keeper isn’t going to report that I cried during the car ride.