Service to the Nation

by A. S Peavey

  Service to the Nation

  A Story of the Wolf

  A.S. Peavey

  Copyright 2016 A.S. Peavey

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted by applicable copyright laws, no portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Published by Peavey Publishing

  ASPeavey.com

  CONTENTS

  Title

  Copyright Page

  Table of Contents

  Service to the Nation

  Other Works by A.S. Peavey

  About the Author

  You want another story? Already? I can’t tempt you with anything else? You do seem to enjoy my body?

  Oh, fine…you need time to recover, and my stories interest you? Is that your head, or your libido, talking.

  Well, let me open in the middle:

  “Fuck, Diane. Oh, fuck. Fucking, God…”

  I inspire that kind of thing in men and women of all stripes. Though I hold a particular pride in the way that I made Representative Thomas Stride moan.

  Unlike most of the older men I sleep with, I had to work to impress him. He lures plenty of younger women into his bed—and, usually, he doesn’t have to pay for the privilege. I certainly wasn’t earning anything for the act.

  Well, he didn’t mean to pay me.

  He wasn’t that much to look at. He isn’t obese, but being a congressman, he doesn’t have much time to keep in shape, and any inclination he ever had to exercise was lost by the time he hit thirty. Really, he looks like most any average man in his mid-forties. He has a funny face—not unattractive, but not attractive either. He wears a beard to hide how he looks, but he doesn’t wear the beard any better.

  So, no, his looks don’t draw women to him.

  It’s his power that draws women close. To a degree his wealth, but he’s not that rich. His tax bracket certainly puts him in the upper class, but only in its lower ranks. His power is much more attractive. He’s a member of Congress on the rise—or he was at the time I met him. I had a bit of a hand in his downfall.

  Anyway, I was cheerily fucking him, or letting him fuck me. He liked to impress. He got off, in part, after getting one of his hot young ladies to moan and spasm from his cock.

  I’ll say this, then: even if Stride wasn’t much to look at, he certainly knew how to fuck a woman.

  He knew how to move his cock inside me. Before that, he knew how to finger me, to lick my cunt until he had me begging him to put his cock inside me. I was damned horny.

  Oh, you’re thinking that you know how easily I get excited and get off. But, be honest, you’ve got experience, you know how to please a woman, don’t you? So, maybe that’s why you get me going round after round. And—what—you’re not ready yet? Talking over this certainly gets me horny.

  Fine.

  So, he was ramming himself home, and I moaned back to him: “Come on Tommy, give it to me, Tommy.”

  Okay. My moans weren’t a perfectly honest representation of how he made me feel. I was exaggerating a little bit, but he still made me want to moan.

  I exaggerated because I was working hard to impress him. Even when my tongue wasn’t on his cock, I was using it to get him more excited, to make him feel like a teenager who could barely control his orgasm, and might come before he meant to. I wanted him to remember that night more than he remembered most nights with most other women.

  Yeah, that’s not sexually satisfying for me necessarily. Except that if he came prematurely, I knew it wouldn’t be the end of the evening—he’d take his time dealing with his refractory period, but he’d find a way to finish me off. Nor would it be the end of our relationship…

  Do you have to interrupt?

  Why do all my stories involve copious amounts of sex? Can you imagine me having any lesser amount of sex?

  And you want to know why Representative Stride was calling me Diane.

  I thought we were telling tall tales? But you still want a little consistency?

  Well, the consistency is that I never use the same name twice, all right? You’re not calling me Charlotte are you? Any more than you’re moaning Diane.

  Is that all?

  You want to know just how I met a U.S. Congressman, much less how I got into his bed?

  Didn’t your libido liked my starting point? You liked hearing me talk about fucking him, I can tell. You were licking your lips.

  I started there in hopes I wouldn’t have to finish the story, you know. I wanted you to fuck me, instead.

  Fine. Fine.

  Fine. I’ll step back.

  It was in the hotel ballroom. Representative Stride was announcing plans to become Senator Stride over an expensive dinner, before close friends, political allies, and people rich enough to buy his influence.

  How did I get an invitation then?

  Let’s say I slept with the right person. That’s not enough? Look, I could tell you the full and complete story, going back a year. You still might not be satisfied, not unless I started the story at my birth. So suffice it to say, I arrived on someone else’s arm, as a plus-one. Okay?

  That’s not enough. Look, I need to tell you how I got close to Stride. He had plenty of people paying attention to him. A simple wink wasn’t enough, was it? Will that story be enough to satisfy your curiosity?

  Thank you.

  The night began with everyone arriving in the most ridiculous frippery. They wore amazing gowns—yes, even I put on one, though I tried not to be so beautiful as to be noticed by everyone at the gathering.

  When everyone arrived, Stride gave his speech.

  All perfectly boring, and perfectly pretentious.

  Oh, that’s not entirely true. Pretentious, yes, boring, never.

  You probably haven’t heard of Stride. That’s my fault—I’ll explain how, later. But I provided a service to the nation by keeping him from moving on up. Suffice it to say that Stride is the kind of politician without any morals. His only guiding compass is the one that tells him how to get elected to a higher office. If the people want him to support one bill, he’ll do it. If his donors want him a year later to kill the logical follow up to that bill, he’ll do that too.

  But he’s very good at it. Lots of politicians will look like assholes because their voting record sways back and forth. Political opponents kill their reelection bids by pointing out their inconsistencies.

  Not Stride. Stride somehow made his political flip-flopping sound carefully planned, completely consistent. So he could have easily become a Senator, and then the President. And he would have been horrible for the country.

  There are even stories that Stride committed some major crime as a young man, but his silver tongue quashed the investigation as well as the rumors that would have followed most any other politician around.

  So Stride’s speech was not boring. Instead, it was disgusting, though only if you knew enough to be disgusted.

  When it was done, we had dinner. The kind of thing that costs a thousand dollars a plate and then doesn’t even provide enough food to satisfy a fasting monk. I assure you, everyone in attendance had another meal when the function finished.

  In my case it was room service, after the first time Stride fucked me, before the second time.

  But how did I get into his room?

  After dinner, there was plenty of time for schmoozing. The congressman was sticking around for hours, making sure to say at least a few words to all his supporters.

  That did not include me, nor the other plus-ones.
Unless we were independently wealthy or independently powerful. Beauty, seductiveness, those weren’t enough. I’m pretty sure Stride already had a woman lined up for the night. If he didn’t, he wasn’t going to be too obvious about picking one up when the cameras were on and his wife was in the room.

  Eventually the congressman and I flirted a bit, but when he decided to have me up to his hotel room, he told an aide to set it up. One of the aide’s friends took me aside, told me I needed to leave, escorted me out.

  For a moment, I thought I’d fucked up and lost my chance, even though I’d done my research well enough to know that wasn’t the case.

  When we were out of the ballroom, this friend of an aide to Stride told me the score, and took me up to Stride’s hotel room, and told me to make myself comfortable while I waited for the congressman.

  But I’m skipping ahead again.

  I started by flirting with another man. I meet a state legislator first, or some such potentate.

  “Look, darling, I need to speak with the congressman. I’ll be right back.”

  “But…can’t I meet him?” I batted my eyes, puckered my lips, thrust my chest forward. Suddenly the man I’d just met couldn’t dare stay away from me. He had visions of taking me upstairs just as soon as he’d paid his respects to the future Senator, so of course he wasn’t going to dare let me leave his side so some other man could steal me away from him.

  The cruel joke was on that politician, wasn’t it?

  He talked with Stride, and then turned to me. “Representative, my friend wanted to meet you. Diane, this is Representative Stride. Tom, this is Diane…uh…Tejos.” To my temporary friend’s credit, it was barely noticeable when he almost forgot my name, given that he barely knew me, and had only heard it once. I was impressed.

  Except politicians practice their memories.

  “Congressman,” I said. If I’d put on a show for the man who introduced me to Stride, I stepped it up a notch, being extremely clear what I was willing to do with Stride. I couldn’t be lewd, of course. Not with cameras, politicians, and supporters watching. But I could be extraordinarily suggestive. I could touch him, if only on his back or his arm, but I picked my moments to set his libido on fire.

  The clincher, I think, was that I was doing that in front of the man who’d just introduced me. Who could only watch in horror as the bigger politician scooped away his prize. Stride liked winning women when he had to struggle for their hand; if it’s too easy, it’s not tempting enough.

  I had to wait another hour alone in the hotel room before Stride came up. But that’s okay, I wanted his anticipation to be ramped up as high as possible—my own libido could wait. And Stride’s hotel room offered plenty of diversions; I even had someone standing outside making sure I didn’t want. The only reason I didn’t order up any room service while I waited, was because I wanted to eat with Stride.

  I showered, though. Not because I needed to shower. I’d showered two hours before the event. I showered a second time so I could be in the shower when Stride arrived. When my research informed me he might be arriving soon, I turned on the water. I stepped in, cleaned myself a little, but the Congressman didn’t arrive quickly, so I stepped out before I became a prune. However, I kept the water running. As soon as I heard the hotel room door open, I stepped back inside.

  “Hello?” Stride called out.

  “In here,” I said, as if it wasn’t obvious. It was hard for the sound of the shower to be lost in the hotel room, even if Stride had a large suite.

  The bathroom door opened.

  “You in there…Diane?” For a moment Stride had to remember my name; however, I only noticed because I am the skilled woman that I am. It would have sounded like a natural pause. He is, as I’ve said, an excellent politician.

  “I’m in here.” I held the curtain close to the wall so Stride couldn’t see too much of me, yet, while I poked my head out.

  Stride was already removing his tie, throwing it toward the door. He unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt. But he didn’t finish. Instead he reached for the other side of the shower curtain and pulled it open.

  I could have beaten him to the other edge of the curtain. But I was deliberately slow. I let Stride open it enough to get a glimpse of my wet, naked, ass. I grabbed the curtain back, and closed it again, so he only got a glimpse.

  “Hey, hey. No peaking,” I said

  “Aren’t we going to fuck?” He had no hesitation, no shame. He wasn’t ready to force me, but he wasn’t nervous about raising the subject.

  “Maybe. But you can’t burst in when I’m naked. When I’m showering.”

  “But…” he nodded towards me, towards the shower. My naked body was obscured by the translucent curtain, but the color of my flesh was a tempting sight, even if my curves weren’t visible.

  “Okay. But if you want to see, you have to earn it. And make it good. Make me want you.”

  All my sly, ‘I must fuck the politician’ vibe, had disappeared now, replaced by a coyness that would only lead Stride to chase after me, to want me all the more. Everything I gave Stride, had to be earned. Everything Stride saw or did, he had to know that there was more hiding behind it.

  As long as I was a mystery, then I could have my way with Stride.

  “Okay. How?”

  “Strip for me. Don’t just take off your clothes. Strip.”

  I had him dancing for a minute like a Chippendales dancer.

  It took an effort not to laugh, but I’m an accomplished actress. My smile encouraged him, and behind the curtain, I danced in time with him.

  In a minute and a half, he’d shucked off his last bit of clothes. His cock was pointing up at me.

  “That,” I giggled, “is your passport to anywhere. Hop in.”

  We kissed under the stream of water, our hands roaming, slipping over each other’s bodies. I pressed my ass up against Stride’s cock and moaned. Genuinely moaned.

  I might have been putting on an act, but I was looking forward to sex, too. Call me an actress if you want, but I’m a method actress when it comes to sex. I wouldn’t be convincing if I didn’t want sex, even if I didn’t want it as much as I was making Stride think.

  We didn’t stay in the shower for too long. We had our foreplay, but we’d both been waiting for an hour in anticipation, so once we were done kissing and caressing, Stride turned off the water, got out, and handed me a towel.

  Stride practically dragged me out of the bathroom, certainly before I’d had the chance to properly dry off, and led me to the bed.

  I believe, when you so viciously interrupted me, I was talking about how Stride had me moaning his name. How I wanted to make him tense up, blow his load inside my cunt, before he had his chance to control the circumstances, maybe paint my breasts or my face.

  Yeah, don’t worry, it’s the rare man who I allow to fuck me bareback, and I do my research to make sure I’m not infected with anything. You won’t get sick from me.

  But I had to do it, to encourage Stride, to win what I really wanted. Fucking him in a hotel room wasn’t enough for me.

  You see, I wanted an invitation back to his home. I wanted to be one of Stride’s long-term mistresses. Most of the women he fucks are so uninspiring that there’s no repeat performance. At least they are uninspiring to a man powerful enough to fuck nearly any woman he wants; when you can lure a different woman every night (at least) to your bed, then something special is required to get a return invitation. A well-kept body is not sufficient. The novelty of a new pussy is enough to make a man like that tempted, far more than the same uninspiring women.

  Only his wife can get away with uninspiring sex, and still see Stride regularly.

  Not that Stride’s wife, Nancy White, is bad in bed—at least not unless she wants to be.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Stride was a tough nut to crack, with his readily fulfilled sexual appetite. If he’d had a few kinks it would have been simple to manipulate those, to gi
ve him what he wanted.

  But Stride liked straight up sex, a new pussy every night. So I had to give him a screaming hot orgasm that at once left him immensely satisfied, and yet immediately craving more.

  That’s a hard thing even for me, and I’m good enough to tempt my lovers, as I’m sure you’d agree.

  But I made it happen.

  We ordered room service, talked, and flirted in bathrobes. I didn’t have time to finish my food, though; Stride had scarfed his down so he could have more of me as soon as possible.

  I could only delay him from ripping the bathrobe off me. I could only make him take his time, to warm me up. Once Stride got it in his mind to have a little foreplay, dinner time was most definitely over.

  And when I was slow to let Stride take the bathrobe off me, he parted the cloth and licked my pussy while I was still wearing it. When I moaned—and it was a genuine moan—he used that as his chance to get the robe off me. I was ready to beg him to slip his cock inside me.

  But I delayed. I made him beg for my pussy.

  I made him chase me around the room. Eventually, I gave in, of course, and he fucked me against the glass window of his hotel room. We were far enough up to avoid spectators. But, just in case, he had me close the blinds so only my head and upper body peaked through.

  The second time Stride again came far earlier than he expected. Not because his orgasm arrived before mine, but because my orgasm drove his. Having just fucked me, he would have expected to last twice as long—at least.

  Stride knew he wouldn’t have a chance to fuck me a third time that night. So he arranged for me to visit his home.

  Exactly what I wanted.

  Though I created more delays before our next tryst. I made it hard for Stride to find a time to meet me. He had meetings, he had his congressional work, he had a campaign to launch. And he couldn’t guarantee that his wife and family would be gone from the home.