by Katie Ford
All that mattered was going north … to safety.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Matt
Cocktails were boring but I was charming the crowd. I pressed the flesh of not a few high net worth individuals, laughing at their jokes, expounding on my views of the ongoing war in Syria, how to resolve our lovely city’s ongoing homelessness problem, yada yada yada. It was only when a hush came over the crowd that I broke off my glad-handing, turning to see what had happened.
Or more accurately, who had happened. Teresa stood at the front door, unsure of herself, looking around warily. She was gorgeous, hands down. A black velvet cocktail dress hugged her curves, a hint of cleavage apparent but not obscene. Her legs were sheathed in gossamer silk topped off with black stilettos, a perfect outfit for a curvy girl.
Our hostess though, was more than a little frosty. Usually the chicks at these events are model-types, tall, dressed to the nines, so painfully thin that you can almost see through them. Teresa was the opposite – curvy, ripe, with a body so bodacious that every guy here was salivating, wondering what it’d be like between those thighs.
“Can I help you?” asked Mandy Hurst in a clipped tone. She was our hostess for the night.
“Um,” murmured Teresa, “Is Matt Sterling here? I was hoping to catch him.”
Mandy was about to snipe some retort when I made my way over, smoothly leaning down to give Teresa a kiss on the cheek. She threw me a grateful glance, thankful for saving her from this social piranha.
“Mandy,” I rumbled, “I see you’ve gotten a chance to meet my girlfriend, Teresa,” I continued. “Mandy, Teresa, Teresa, Mandy. I think you ladies have a lot in common,” I winked.
“Oh?” asked Mandy with an eyebrow arched. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around. Are you a part of MOMA’s Young Patrons club? Or maybe the Firehouse Brigade out at the Aquarium?”
Teresa flushed but handled the questions evenly. “Yes, I’m in Young Patrons,” she said in a calm voice. “I haven’t been to many events recently, but I plan on stepping it up.”
That’s my girl. I was proud of Teresa for fending off these veiled attacks, and of course I’d be buying a membership to the Young Patrons club as soon as I could get my accountant on the line.
“And where are you from?” asked Mandy pointedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around San Francisco,” she said.
Most folks in our crowd hail from some tony suburb, maybe Hillsborough or St. Francis Wood, going to country clubs on the weekends or hitting up their chalets in Tahoe for some skiing. Teresa, however, didn’t miss a beat.
“I live in the Mission,” she said. “It was pretty rough when we settled in but there’s been a lot of gentrification,” she continued. “I was hoping to help Matt on the campaign trail by emphasizing his commitment to the working class,” she added, looking up at me with adoring eyes. “My Mission roots and City cred are strong, and we know Matt has such a commitment to helping the working man.”
I had to applaud Teresa for that one as well. Of course, it was exactly what I’d hired her to do, but I hadn’t realized she’d slip into the role so quickly and so well. Her speech was elegant, refined and articulate, the perfect example of a woman who’d risen past her humble origins to be here today.
“Isn’t my girl savvy?” I said to our hostess as I slipped an arm around my girl’s waist. It felt so good there, so right, and I was more than happy to trumpet our relationship to the world. “Sweet and smart, my favorite,” I said, nuzzling her neck.
“Okay love birds, what’s going on?” came a deep masculine voice. It was my younger brother Caleb, here to support me at the fundraiser. Although not a political guy himself, Caleb had seen fit to tear himself away from his computers for one night, to do his part in promoting my candidacy.
“Caleb, you haven’t met my girlfriend yet,” I said smoothly. “Little bro, this is Teresa, Teresa, Caleb, the CTO of Sterling Phara,” I said by way of introduction.
Caleb threw a swift glance my way. Given that he’d never met Teresa, it was surprising that suddenly I had a girlfriend but he knew better than to embarrass me at a public function.
“Charmed,” he rumbled, giving Teresa a peck on the cheek. “Don’t believe a word my brother says, he’s a politician, it’s all lies,” he said with a smile.
And the rest of the night went along swimmingly. I squired Teresa about, introducing her to folks, making sure that people knew she was my significant other. And the girl was wonderful, making real conversation, with a nice smile and even nicer ass. I could tell some of these old dudes, they were into it.
“Where’d you find her, my boy?” asked George Terkel. Terkel was an early investor in our company, someone who’d believed in Sterling when we were just four brothers trying to get an idea off the ground.
“Right under my nose,” I replied with a sly wink. “The Mission is filled with undiscovered treasure.” And I was being truthful in a way because Teresa was from the Mission, but instead George inferred something totally different given the neighborhood’s sleazy vibe.
“The Mission District?” he asked dumbfounded. And then leaning in, “And does she still dance? She got an older sister for me?”
I snorted. Just because a girl has a bodacious bod doesn’t mean she’s taking it off for dollars, pulling her g-string aside for men to ogle and touch. In fact, the thought was fucking infuriating. No way my Teresa was showing her puss to any man but me.
“Nah, never danced,” I said with as much country charm as I could summon, the rage simmering underneath. “But I’ll find a dancer for you if that’s what you want. Just a sec, I gotta unload the fire hose,” I said, making my way off into the crowd.
I went upstairs in search of a restroom when I was suddenly halted by a silky voice, a manicured hand on my arm.
“Well well well,” purred a familiar voice. “What have we here?”
I turned to find a ravishing brunette sheathed in a clinging red dress, dripping with jewels. The predatory glint in her eyes was going strong, her voice high-pitched and insistent. Oh fuck, I knew this girl from somewhere.
“I’m Vanessa,” she reminded me seductively. “We met at Delinda’s party a couple weeks back? You promised we’d hit up L’Osseria’s wine-tasting event later this month,” she pouted. “I haven’t heard from you.”
“Um yeah,” I replied vaguely, “about that.” I’d completely forgotten about the so-called date, but it’d just been a brush-off. Women today were so pushy and aggressive it was insane.
“I work as a sommelier, I’d love to teach you about mouth feel,” the brunette continued seductively. “In fact, we can start right now.” And damned if she didn’t hike up her skirt to reveal a peachy pink pussy. It was pretty, I have to admit, ripe and juicy for someone so thin. Seductively, she ran a hand through her wet folds, coating her fingers in cream and pushed them into my mouth, forcing me to suck.
“Tastes good, right?” she asked huskily, eyeing me from under her lashes.
And reader, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I closed my mouth over her fingers and tasted. It was instinctive, pure reflex, all base reaction, and fuck, I’m into pussy no less. If it’s in my mouth already, I’m going to sample the cream.
But Vanessa’s particular brand of juice wasn’t my type. It was bland and mealy, probably because she was underfed. I wanted to spit her fingers out of my mouth, but it was too late. A gasp on the stairs let us know we’d been caught.
Who would it be but Teresa, ascending to the second floor, watching as I sucked another woman’s cunt juices. Her red lips were pursed in a silent “O,” her eyes wide with shock. And I have to admit, I was in a compromising position. Vanessa’s fingers dripping with juice were in my mouth, her dress was pulled up to her waist, and her snatch was obviously bare, gyrating against my crotch.
With a quick gasp, Teresa turned on her heel and fled downstairs immediately, my heart sinking as she left. Oh shit, oh shit.
“Who w
as that?” asked Vanessa silkily. “Oh well, doesn’t matter, probably just another ho who wants the hottest up-and-coming politician in San Francisco,” she purred, humping my crotch even harder with her bare twat.
But I’d had enough. I pushed the bitch away and snarled something, I have no idea what, my thoughts completely focused on hunting down Teresa and explaining what had just happened. But the crowd below was still mingling, still clinking their champagne glasses, and fuck, I couldn’t make a scene with so many potential donors. So I ambled downstairs and forced myself to mix with guests, to smile jovially and shake more hands until the event ended. Never had I been at a party so fucking tedious, so fucking unbelievably long, when all I wanted to do was to talk to my girl.
And I found her at the end of the night, when I got into the car’s backseat. She was waiting for me, her eyes dry but oddly bright, as if she’d been crying.
“Teresa,” I began. “Let me explain. Seriously, it’s not what it looked like.”
“No Matt,” she said slowly. “Don’t start. I’m just a hired gun and what you do on the side is your business. We never talked about getting nookie elsewhere, it’s an undefined part of the contract,” she said frozenly. “I just need twenty five thousand more,” she concluded swiftly.
“Teresa, seriously, please,” I pleaded. “It’s not like that. I only met that bitch once before in my life, she came onto me, I had nothing to do with it, I swear!” Even to me, it sounded like the lamest bullshit.
“Twenty five thousand,” she said again woodenly, looking out the window, not meeting my eyes. And what else could I do but agree?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Teresa
I’d been so clueless, it was pathetic. What had I been thinking? I berated myself again and again as the black car sped to the townhouse. Matt was SF’s most eligible bachelor, the toast of the town as a newly-minted billionaire, celebrated for his success and charisma. I, on the other hand, was a lowly cleaning lady, an illegal immigrant trying to scrape by in this beautiful city. I’d been stupid to think I could be someone special to someone like him.
Then why did it hurt so bad? I shouldn’t have been so emotional, so distraught at catching him with that woman. He’d never promised to be monogamous, he’d never promised that he wouldn’t flirt with other women. Heck, Matt probably had to sleep with old crones just to get them to open their checkbooks, isn’t that how politics worked?
I shook my head, mentally steeling myself, preparing for the job ahead. Because this just was a job, I reminded myself viciously, nothing more than payment for services rendered. I wouldn’t get attached, no matter what happened, no matter how emotional and uncomfortable I felt. Eyes on the prize, I screamed at myself -- a payout of one hundred thousand dollars for three months of work. Tax-free, no less.
So when the car pulled up to the curb, I exited gracefully, the chauffeur following with my suitcase.
“In the guest room please,” I chimed.
But Matt had other ideas. “Jones, master suite,” he pointed before handing the chauffeur a tip.
“Of course, sir,” Jones bowed, making his way upstairs.
As soon as the driver was out of earshot, I spun on my heels and hissed at the big man.
“You can’t possibly think that we’re sleeping together after what I just saw tonight,” I snarled like a cat in pain.
Matt was prepared, his blue eyes glinting. “Honey, nothing happened,” he drawled. “Women in this city are predators, especially if there’s money flying around,” he said. “Besides, you were the most beautiful girl at the fundraiser hands down.”
I was about to utter a sharp retort but caught myself. What had happened to not being emotional? I needed to check myself.
“Yes of course,” I purred. “I’m sorry I overreacted, I see what you mean. If I could just get that twenty-five thousand now?” I asked sweetly.
With a quirk of his eyebrow, Matt led me upstairs and dashed off another check for twenty five, this time made payable to cash.
“Thank you so much,” I said silkily. “After you,” I gestured towards the bedroom.
If it was odd that I’d morphed so quickly into willing fuckdoll, he made no comment, instead putting his big hands on my waist and guiding me into the cavernous space. Before I could flick on the light, he nuzzled my neck from behind, lightly tracing the rim of my ear with the tip of his tongue, inhaling the scent of my hair.
“You were the most beautiful girl there tonight, you know,” he murmured in a low voice. “I wasn’t making that up.”
And my heart started to beat faster, my insides heating. It was just so hard to be an ice princess around this man, but again, I steeled myself, reminding myself that this was just a job.
“Thank you baby,” I purred, sinuously writhing against him, making sure to brush that burgeoning hardness with my ass. “And you were the star of the show, a real politician in the making,” I cooed.
Matt’s hands paused for a moment as they roamed my body. Maybe I’d gone overboard because my normal self was sweeter, more genuine, less saccharine. But he made no comment and after a moment, the big hands continued questing over my body, cupping my breasts, exploring the swell of my hips, before pulling up the hem of my skirt.
“I want you,” he growled low in my ear, hitching up my dress so that it was bunched around my waist. I circled my ass against his groin again, this time grinding harder, making sure that hot rod nestled between my ass cheeks.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, his hips reflexively pushing into mine. “You’re so fucking wet,” he moaned as his hands slipped over my g-string, dipping between my legs to stroke my engorged cunt.
“Mmm,” I sighed, leaning my head back against his shoulder. “Let me make it exciting for you.”
And with that, I pushed him onto the bed and began dancing in the cavernous space. There was a giant bulge at his crotch and I stared at it hungrily, almost starving, before calling up the slut within.
Because that’s what happened as a result of my molestation by Uncle Gordo. I unleashed my inner hooker at an early age, and the fact is that I love that side of myself, that sensuous, disgusting, nasty girl that wallows in hot sex, showing men her dripping pussy, letting men touch, smell, feel and fuck. And Matt was going to be no exception.
Slowly, I gyrated, pulling the zip of my dress down inch by inch. I stood with my back to him, moving my hips in slow suggestive circles as I slid the velvet sleeves off my shoulders, baring gleaming skin, my boobs held in check by the tiniest, tiniest bralet. Or maybe I should say that my boobs weren’t held in check at all, they bounced out almost immediately, the bra woefully small for my Double D jugs.
Stepping out my dress, I was clad only in heels, stockings, and a wisp of lingerie. Putting a finger in my mouth, I sucked lasciviously, never breaking eye contact, and circled a nipple through my bra, the coffee tip hard and aroused, jutting like a missile in the warm air. I pulled the cups down all the way, exposing my juicy flesh and slowly, oh so slowly, lifted a boob to my mouth to lick at my own nipple, savoring it like a lollipop.
Matt moaned again, mesmerized, never taking his eyes off my gyrating body. By now he’d unzipped and that ruthless, commanding cock was in his hand, the squeeze slow and rhythmic as he pleasured himself. As I watched, a bead of white formed at the tip, growing larger until it slid down his pole, the pre-cum lubing his shaft as he worked it up and down. Oh god, it looked delicious.
And fuck, the sound of him palming himself was so arousing, it made my cunny juice run even harder. By now, there was a visible wet spot on my panties and I took the opportunity to run my finger in my mouth again before tracing the line of my g-string, lifting it up and away from my puss before pulling the material to the side entirely, letting him see my beautiful snatch.
It was fucking wet, shiny and pink, and I could smell myself as I danced. I was flushed deep red inside, moist and glistening with my arousal, a bead of white glowing at the opening of my hole. Matt was pra
ctically salivating now, his hand job growing more urgent, that big purple head mottling, semen dripping to the ground, there was so much pre-cum.
But I wasn’t done yet. Slowly, I undid the strings at my hips, pulling the triangles of lace off my little pussy. I rubbed the material through my snatch, wetting it, before bending over so that he could see my cunny from the back. Slowly, oh so slowly, I worked that material into my vag, pushing it in bit by bit, until all that remained were the long, lace strings dangling from my hole.
Matt had gone crazy by now, his hand a blur on his prick, his face a mask of agony, his breathing coming out in harsh gasps and pants. But I didn’t want him to come yet. I wanted him to suffer, to prolong the agony of this moment as punishment for hurting me tonight.
I backed into him, dancing between his legs, my ass gyrating just inches from his face. Then I bent over again and looking over my shoulder, asked in the sweetest voice, “Pull it out of me, mister?”
He was only too kind to oblige. With a free hand, he reached for a silky string and started tugging, watching with rapt eyes as the material exited oh so slowly from my twat. Inch by inch, the gleaming champagne silk emerged, this time totally transparent with my juices, me twisting and moaning beneath him as I felt the luscious silk slip from my cunny.