“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted as he fucked me, letting his dick slide in and out, almost pulling out sometimes just to fuck back in full force. “Fuck you feel good little girl,” he groaned, his big shoulders and arms straining as he held himself up above me.
The slap of our flesh was obscene, loud, wet, and utterly disgusting, and I loved every second of it. Without realizing it, I was bucking against him, meeting every thrust with a backwards push of my rear end, making sure he got in deeper, the better with which to capture his man juice.
And I wasn’t disappointed. His thrusts grew more urgent, his growls louder and with a sudden roar, he came inside me, his dick pulsing with energy, the vitality coating my walls with slick streams of white.
And reader, there’s nothing I love more than a man coming in my pussy. Some girls like it in their mouths, some like it on their breasts, but I love it when a man drenches my ovaries with sperm, those hot trails like lava inside.
I followed him over the edge, my vag doing its second dance of the night, clenching and spasming around that hot rod, milking him dry for all he was worth. And when it was over, Matt collapsed on me, his heavy weight pushing me deep into the bedspread, crushing me so that I could barely breathe.
“Mmmf!” I squealed, my balled-up panties still in my mouth.
“Hmm, I kinda like seeing you like this,” he said silkily, tracing his fingers around my lips, massaging them. “All stuffed up with no place to go. Why don’t we shower, and then maybe, only maybe, I’ll fish that g-string out,” he rumbled against my cheek, lightly tracing a shoulder blade with a finger before lifting me up in his arms.
And reader, those panties didn’t come out of my mouth … for hours.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Matt
Teresa and I have been living the dream. I fuck her two or three times a day, losing myself in that delicious body, savoring her generous curves, coming in her puss, her mouth, her ass again and again. And she loves it too. I can tell by the way she bucks against my hand, begging for my cock, letting me touch her and use her any which way I please.
And she seems to have lost that sensitivity towards oral sex. Like I said, I’m a pussy guy and there ain’t nothing that can keep me from my target. So I’m proud to say that the girl has lost all hesitation in that department, squirting in my mouth daily, letting me drink her fluids, savoring that tangy she-flavor. I even videotaped it once, that beautiful spray from her twat literally spurting ten inches into the air as I tried to drink from it like a geyser.
But to be honest, she still holds back sometimes. When I’m fucking her, all is well, she loses it, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy, her body open to me, allowing me to plunder, to take, to punish. And I’ve never felt so connected to anyone, such a deep, forceful bond, the intensity making me heady, dizzy sometimes, like I’m going to spiral into some unknown dimension. But inevitably, Teresa’s eyes cloud afterwards, her private thoughts a Pandora’s box.
Shaking myself, I chalked it up to the sex. Yeah, that was it. I’d never had such satisfaction before, the physicality overwhelming. It was so mind-blowing that even I needed some time to regroup, to re-assess where we were going in this charade.
But truth be told, it goes beyond that. Because she’s been amazing as my girlfriend, my public partner on the campaign trail.
“Mr. Sterling, do you foresee anything holding you back as you campaign for mayor?” a reporter had asked.
“No, nothing,” I said with utter confidence. “I have deep knowledge and understanding of the issues that trouble our city and you have my absolute assurance that Teresa and I will do whatever it takes to address them.”
I caught myself. Teresa and I? I’d only hired her for three months, which time was almost up. But no worries, I’d pay her more, or even better, extend the contract by re-negotiating a better deal … for me and for her.
So I was relatively upbeat as we got ready to go to campaign headquarters. Voting had taken place today and the early results showed me in the lead. I already had an acceptance speech in my breast pocket, one that I’d make upon being crowned king. Mayor Sterling. Sounds fucking awesome, doesn’t it?
But I was momentarily distracted by the sight of Teresa changing in our bedroom. She was so sexy even going about the most ordinary activities, although I guess fancy lingerie is never mundane on her bod. I watched in awe as she slipped off her day outfit to reveal a pink thong, her haunches gleaming and smooth, the tip of her breast just visible in silhouette.
Almost as if reading my mind, she spun and smiled at me wickedly. Ah, the girl I adore. The one with the mind as dirty as mine, rutting in the gutter, the slut who I rode to heaven multiple times daily, whose juices were constantly on my dick now, coating me, covering me in her smells, her taste, her touch.
And I fucking loved it. I love when a girl is a porn star, baring her twat, letting me pound her, pounding me back for all she was worth. Like I said … I’m going to re-negotiate this deal asap, this wasn’t the last she’d seen of me.
So I watched with silent reverence as she turned to slip on a blue sheath dress, something totally appropriate for my acceptance speech. She’d been perfect on the campaign trail and I knew tonight would be no exception. She’d project the perfect persona as the hot, and yet smart and down-to-earth girlfriend, the voice of reason to my billionaire image. I knew voters liked me … but they loved Teresa.
With a jubilant step I made my way to the car, my arm around her waist.
“Mr. Sterling, Mr. Sterling,” a photographer called. “Just one photo!”
And to oblige, I pulled Teresa into my embrace, the perfect couple as the cameraman took a couple snapshots. I nuzzled her hair fondly.
“You look beautiful darlin’,” I complimented, inhaling that faintly spicy scent that was one hundred percent her.
And damn if she didn’t melt a little, shooting me that special smile, her ruby red lips parting to reveal those tiny, perfect teeth. How I loved to see those teeth scraping against my cock, making each vein bulge with arousal, pulsing, eager to spill in her mouth.
But we were headed to headquarters with people waiting, not a second to lose. I gallantly showed her into the backseat and then settled in beside her.
“Darlin’,” I rumbled, putting a hand on her knee. “I hope you’re having a good time.”
Her eyes met mine, and they were troubled for an instant before the clouds cleared.
“Of course,” she murmured. “The best.”
And I congratulated myself again … because there was a ring in my pocket at that very moment with Teresa’s name on it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Teresa
The time had come. The hands of the clock were almost at midnight and I could tell my time as Cinderella was up. We were headed to campaign headquarters and although I was happy and bright on the surface, that image was brittle. Inside, I was a mess, a teary-eyed, poor immigrant girl, knowing that the pumpkin chariot was just that … a pumpkin.
But Matt didn’t have to know. I’d secretly packed my bags earlier that day, taking only the things that I’d brought. The dresses, the heels, the things that he’d bought for me, I’d stashed in a closet downstairs. And almost broken down when I saw what else was in the closet … multitudes of evening gowns, furs, even jewelry, in all sizes, leftovers from his previous relationships.
Because that was what I was, right? Just a figment of the past. I was someone he’d hired, someone he’d paid to soften his image as he campaigned, and it had worked, I could feel it in the energy of his staff, the buzz at headquarters, even the elation that permeated the City today. But that didn’t mean I could stay. The clock was striking midnight, and I’d let myself cry that morning, indulging this one time before straightening my shoulders, focusing on the job ahead.
Because Matt was going to be Mayor, and my part of the contract wasn’t done until he sealed the deal. He’d achieved another stunning victory, another jewel to add to his alread
y glowing resume as billionaire, philanthropist, entrepreneur, and executive. And I would be there to make sure it happened, melting into the background when the time was right.
Matt was on a high though. His big hand was possessive on my knee even as he chatted jovially with Jones, our driver.
“It’s a good day, Jones, a great day,” he rumbled, giving my thigh a squeeze. I felt myself grow wet, his proximity always my downfall, and he seemed to know it, skimming his fingers up my thigh to caress my puss lightly, grinning wickedly when he heard my sharp intake of breath.
But this wasn’t the place or time. We’d arrived at headquarters and the car door was opened from the outside, bright lights flashing as they caught Matt stepping out of the limo.
“Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,” voices called. “Is it okay to call you that? Or is it too early?”
“It always sounds good to me,” Matt joked, exuding that down home country charm. And I watched adoringly as he was swept away by the pack, in his element, the scrum surging around this man I loved.
Because yes, I’ve fallen in love. It wasn’t in the contract, wasn’t what I planned to happen, in fact it was the opposite of what I wanted to happen, but sometimes you just can’t help it. I knew this man inside out, had spent 24/7 with him going to countless events, and knew his foibles, his twists, his idiosyncrasies, and what a good man he was, kind, caring, open to diverse viewpoints.
There’d been a few times when I’d almost told him about my own sordid past, I felt so comfortable with him now. We’d been lying in bed post-sex, sated, glowing with pleasure, and I’d lazily moved my leg to cover his, lightly brushing his still-hard member with my thigh.
“Mmm,” he groaned, rubbing my puss in retaliation. “You want to start up again?”
And I’d giggled because we’d been going at it for hours now, orgasming over and over. If we didn’t get some sleep, he was going to be a mess at his five a.m. morning call.
But instead, I’d rolled onto my stomach and shaken my hair back, the dark strands covering his chest.
“Matt,” I said, my tone light. “Aren’t we going to the women’s shelter today? You know the one that houses women and girls who were victims of sex abuse?”
“Mmm,” was his grunting reply, eyes closed.
But I was insistent. “Matt,” I continued. “Sex abuse is rampant where I come from, in fact girls as young as thirteen often flee on their own, with no money, no connections, no nothing except the idea that the United States represents safety. You know that right?”
“Mmm,” was the sleepy grunt I got in return. “Honduras is bad, huh?” he said, his eyes still closed.
I was so tempted to spill the beans, to tell him about Uncle Gordo and how I’d been molested for years, the nightly tongue-lashings. But the moment had been so perfect, our skin glowing in the dim light, his breathing even, soft and sated, that I couldn’t bear to mar the reverie with something so horrific.
So instead I let the moment pass. But I was gratified the next day when Matt demonstrated caring and empathy at the women’s shelter, taking the hand of one particularly downtrodden twelve year-old and listening to her story for an hour when we should have moved on to the next stop.
“That was utter shit, what happened to that girl,” he commented to me once we were in the car again.
And yes, it had been bad. I’d acted as translator, my voice breaking sometimes as I conveyed the story of her gang-rape by neighborhood thugs in Guatemala. But I’d maintained my composure and Matt had sworn afterwards to do something about it, even if he didn’t become mayor. With his resources, the options were limitless and I knew he’d stand by his word.
So I watched with mixed pride and sadness as my man disappeared into the crowd. The clock was ticking … and it was almost time for me to disappear.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Teresa
He was amazing during his acceptance speech. Charismatic, persuasive, filled with promise for the people of San Francisco. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the gorgeous man on stage and I smiled happily, proudly, as Matt expounded on themes of inequality, fair housing, and access to justice for all.
The lights were bright so I couldn’t see the crowd very well, but who would be in the front row but that bitch Vanessa from the party. The one with the slut attitude, who’d stuck her fingers into Matt’s mouth, rubbing her bare snatch against him. He’d assured me it was nothing and I believed him. After all, he’d picked me at his running mate and not her.
So I watched disinterestedly as the brunette whipped her cell phone out and began typing away. How rude! How disrespectful not to listen to my man in his moment of triumph, especially sitting in the first row. But it was only a few seconds before she hit send, and then the phone disappeared back into her bag with a smug smile.
Unmistakably, I saw something vibrate in Matt’s breast pocket. The movement was subtle, no one would have noticed except I was standing only a few feet from him, playing the role of loyal and supportive girlfriend. Was it a coincidence? Or was Matt getting a text from Vanessa during his shining hour?
Couldn’t be, I shook my head. There’s no way that she just texted him while he was on stage giving a speech to hundreds of people. Even Vanessa wasn’t that shameless.
And afterwards, the party was a whirlwind. The mood was celebratory, more than a little drunk, and I was congratulated as if I’d been the candidate.
“Teresa, awesome job, we’re looking forward to seeing you at City Hall more.”
“Ms. Ramos, you know the diocese needs more backing, make sure to keep in touch alright?”
I wish I could have told these supporters the truth. That I was never going to see them again, that there was nothing I could do for them going forward because my contract was up. But I nodded and smiled graciously, unwilling to spoil the night.
Amidst the revelry, Matt’s personal assistant ran up. Jeremiah was a brilliant nerd, a bright young fellow with horn-rimmed glasses, gangly and skinny, the perfect staffer.
“Hey Teresa,” he said breathlessly. “Great party huh?”
“Yeah Jeremiah,” I said kindly. “It’s been an amazing run and we got what we wanted. Where are you headed next?”
“Don’t tell Matt,” he said in a hushed voice. “But I want to get out of politics, maybe land a real job. You think he could put in a good word for me at Sterling Pharmaceutical?”
I almost laughed. Although Matt had taken leave from his job to campaign, he could certainly do more than put in a good word … he could get Jeremiah a VP position in a snap.
“Sure, I’m sure our mayor would be happy to help out,” I smiled again. “I’ll tell him so myself.”
“Oh thanks Teresa, I really appreciate it. Listen, can you hold onto this stuff for a sec?” he asked breathlessly. “I see the Senator over there and I don’t want to look like a clown juggling a million things as I speak with him about the latest land-use ordinance.”
Laughingly, I took the items from his arms. Clearly, Matt’s PA hadn’t lost his interest in politics given the way he was hotfooting it to the Senator’s side. And dang, but Jeremiah had a heavy load -- a headset, walkie talkie, two notebooks, a PDA handheld, plus a couple pens and highlighters. Being a personal assistant to a powerful man certainly came with a lot of baggage!
The handheld was interesting. If I wasn’t mistaken, the chrome blue steel was the same as Matt’s. Why did Jeremiah have it? I turned it over in my hands. And at that very moment, it buzzed with a push notification, the screen flickering to life. I didn’t recognize the number but the message was explicit:
Hey hot stuff, you got what you wanted.
Time to ditch the maid. Poor people behind you one hundred percent. Spanish voter turn-out high.
When are you home tonight? Meet me there at one?
Kisses, xoxo
And then there was the photo. There was no face, no identifying characteristics to the pussy shot, the woman with her legs spread holding herself open
, baring her pink insides to the camera. She was shameless, one finger partially embedded, her cunt wide and engorged, moist and damp as she fingered herself.
My cheeks flamed and I hurriedly slapped the screen against my chest. Oh my god, oh my god. Who was the sender? I felt physically ill, my skin flushing, the bile rising in my throat. Oh god. I bent over, breathing deep, trying to get some oxygen.
As I struggled for air, my mind raced at a million miles an hour. So someone knew, someone knew that I’d been Matt’s cleaning lady, that he’d just hired me for a three month period as a fake girlfriend, there to mobilize the working class vote.
And I forced myself to look at the handheld again. Yep, there was the word “maid” and the photo seemed even more repugnant than before, the woman’s lacy panties down around her ankles, her red stilettos visible, matching that fire engine lace.
Wait a minute. Hadn’t Vanessa been wearing red stilettos today? I couldn’t recall but remembered she’d been wearing a scarlet dress. My eyes began scanning the crowd, my mind running in circles like a lunatic. Maybe Vanessa was in the bathroom at this very second fingering herself while sending dirty texts to Matt. In fact, maybe he was with her in the restroom, enjoying a celebratory fuck.
With a choked sob, I realized that Matt had outed me, that his warmth, his caring attitude, had all been a front for my benefit. He’d probably been fucking Vanessa the whole time, ready to toss me out on the street the minute votes were counted.
I heaved a few more breaths, then made myself straighten, my eyes bright. Thankfully, this had all happened in a matter of seconds and no one had noticed, the partygoers too wrapped up in their revelry. I quietly set down Jeremiah’s things and turned to go. The night breeze bit through my thin dress, making me shiver, but I forced myself to walk to the nearest bus stop. There were no golden gooses, no happy endings, for girls like me. I was just a poor immigrant girl.
The Wicked Virgin: An Office Romance Page 25