by A. S Peavey
Eventually, we found a date, after Stride had to reject a dozen options, when he was becoming frustrated enough to give up on the plan.
Even after I had earned an invitation to his home, I kept up the anticipation. I didn’t want the first time I arrived at his house to be the last. The first time, I would scout around.
I showed up at Stride’s Virginia Home two and a half weeks later. He keeps a residence in his home state of Nevada, but that’s mostly for show, so Stride can keep being elected.
I didn’t get to just show up, of course; I couldn’t drive myself up to his door.
Instead, I rode in with the gardener, a thirty-year old woman who had been instructed to treat me like an old friend. I had been instructed to dress up like a manual laborer, so anyone watching would think I was there to help the gardener with a difficult project. (I also brought much nicer clothes to change into, before I met Stride).
We were still an incongruous pair, at least to anyone who was watching closely. I could have acted perfectly the part, but I was better off acting like a bad actor—making it believable that I was a mistress and not someone infiltrating the congressman’s personal life.
And no one was looking that closely, anyway.
I’ll admit I flirted with the gardener—she had been staring at me in the rear-view mirror, even since I stepped inside wearing the slimmest pair of jeans and most revealing work shirt ever to set foot in a garden—and she flirted back.
But she also knew that she couldn’t touch me, even if I’d wanted to do more than flirt.
I might have appreciated a little warm up before returning to Stride. As much as I had him looking forward to another round with me, I would have liked a little variety.
However, I was more interested in buttering up the staff. If I had only been looking for sex, then sure. Any of the staff would be better, or at least more interesting, than Stride.
But I wanted to fuck Stride. I wanted to crawl into his bed and make him want me. I wanted him to beg for my pussy. I wanted to complain about what he was putting me through to carry on this affair. But only to a degree—I couldn’t be annoying about it either.
I wanted him to want to rip my dress off—though I wouldn’t let him go that far.
I could tell you about his thick cock. How many time I fucked him. How much I squealed for another round.
I could tell you how I managed to very nearly get him in trouble with his wife, convincing him to fuck me when he was supposed to be taking her to a romantic dinner, even convincing him to fuck me, at home, while his wife was in another wing of the house.
I’m pretty sure his wife knew about his philandering. But there was an unwritten contract between the two of them. If he fulfilled his familial duties, if he didn’t cancel time with her, or their kids, at the last minute, and she would overlook his affairs.
I could tell you just how I had my hooks in Stride, and how Stride constantly had his cock in me, my pussy, my mouth, how he painted me with his semen, trying to demonstrate that he owned me.
You like that prospect, clearly.
Or…or I could tell you about his paintings, his statues, his wife’s jewels, the bonds in his safe, and plenty other wealth. This house saw other politicians, it saw donors. It was meant to display Stride’s wealth and power.
There was plenty to steal.
Wait, you don’t like my story because I’m the Wolf again? I didn’t lie to you before. I am the world’s most famous thief. I am the woman who uses sex to worm her way into the homes of the rich (especially of the illegally or unethically rich) and steal their wealth.
Okay. I did say this was a story of me stopping a man who would have made a horrible politician. True. But that doesn’t mean that the Wolf couldn’t accomplish something a beneficial to her country.
Did you actually think I’d be so civic-minded that I would play my part, that I’d do everything I could, that I’d spend weeks with one, barely appealing, man, purely as a service to the nation?
The sex certainly wasn’t enough pay.
Hell, in my line of work, as a highly successful professional thief, I’m probably better off if the government is run by a bunch of politicians bent only on reelection, swaying whichever way the wind blows and not spending their time coming up with consistent laws or effectively enforcing those laws.
So, of course, I planned to get paid.
But stealing from Stride wasn’t easy, even once I had access to his home, I’ll tell you. I couldn’t just take art. There were plenty of objects that would be missed—and missed before the gardener returned me home—so I had to come up with fakes that would be convincing, at least at a glance. I had to learn where Stride hid his safe (he had one openly in his office, but another behind a worthless painting), then I had to find the combinations. I had to master the alarm system.
It’s not so much that Stride is paranoid about theft for money’s sake, it’s that he’s paranoid about someone stealing his secrets. And I stole those too—to sink the man who would be president.
Once I had everything ready, I had to actually steal everything, get everything out of Stride’s house, without ever being able to drive myself, or come and go with more than a small bag.
Now you understand why I wanted to have friends on staff at Stride’s home, don’t you?
And you might guess how hard I had to work to keep Stride entertained by our affair.
Our affair lasted a month and a half. Longer than I wanted to be with Stride, but before he knew it, I’d cleaned him out. Okay; I had to be selective in what I took. I could only get four paintings out. I had to leave the most expensive ones for last; I didn’t trust my forger to be convincing enough that Stride wouldn’t notice for weeks. And I had to skip the third most valuable painting—it was Stride’s favorite; he would notice.
The jewelry was a little easier. The only dicey question was the cash and bonds inside his safes. He rarely checked the safes while I was in the house, but he did from time to time, if he needed any of the secrets locked inside with that money. And left alone, left to work, he might pull out that cash.
So I needed Stride to leave almost right after out last tryst. I chose a day when he would fly home to Nevada to campaign. And then I pretended I was really horny, that I needed his cock in me, his mouth on my pussy, again and again and again.
Until I really had to get home, back to my boring life. Until he really needed to get to the airport.
When we parted, we made a plan to get together again in four days. He thought the affair was still on.
Here’s how Stride knew that our affair was over the next day.
The anchor for his hometown news station came on with that serious, breaking news music (though they held the story until the nightly news, instead of interrupting their regularly scheduled programming) to say:
“We have allegations—and I must stress, that they are currently only allegations—that Representative Thomas Stride has been carrying on an illicit, and at times coercive, affair behind his wife’s back.”
They had a few quotes from me. My favorite was: “The whips and chains…This man…this man is scary.”
I’m a good actress even outside of bed, okay? And yes, that one was a complete lie, but there were other things I said that were closer to the truth, though I always offered the impression that Stride had forced me into sex, that he even hit me.
“We are of course seeking comment from the Congressman’s staff, but haven’t been in contact with Representative Stride himself yet.” That meant that they hadn’t tried very hard. They wanted to run the accusations first, and any response could come later
Stride probably didn’t catch the original report. But some staffer was undoubtedly waiting when he got off stage, or interrupted his dinner, or—and I’m really hoping this is the case—that staffer had to interrupt Stride’s sex with some other woman.
He would have been pissed. He would have watched the segment again and again. Now, my voice was alte
red by the news company for my protection (though they didn’t realize they were helping me keep the Wolf’s identity secret), but Stride would have recognized it well enough by its cadence.
Now, I alone wasn’t enough to damn Stride’s political career. Even with his secrets documented in his own hand, he had the skill to fight the allegations.
But other women came forward, women who were willing to talk to the police, women who hadn’t been as ready to have an affair, or who had been too drunk at the time to understand what they were doing. When you fuck as many women as Stride does, sometimes you’re going to cross a line. Hell, the only reason he didn’t cross any lines with me was because my lines are extremely liberal, and if I was ever uncomfortable with the man, I had my eye on a bigger prize while he fucked me—fucking him over.
Still. There wasn’t much evidence. Stride would walk free if anyone tried to bring him to court. But the court of public opinion damned him. Even if I disappeared from the public view, even if none of the other women told stories or bondage, the public remembered my fearful talk of ‘whips and chains.’
Stride would end his ambitions for higher office, if not his career in the House of Representatives.
And then Stride returned home the next day to uncover the theft. He would have noticed the safes first, I think. Though maybe he realized that some of the art had been replaced with forgeries; maybe he sought solace in his collection and found no comfort there.
But whatever he found first would have set him searching the rest of his collection, all his other valuables, until he knew the full extent of the robbery.
And I made it damned clear to Stride that I was the thief.
That’s how I got away with it. Simple, huh? I left a little note inside his safe, behind each of the paintings, at the base of each fake statue, and wherever an item was missing. Not hand-written—that could be traced. A simple printed insignia, a smiling face with both eyes closed.
It was a smile I’d frequently flashed at Stride. A smile he’d enjoyed.
But each time I smiled that smile at Stride, I knew he’d come to hate it.
When Stride was done with the inventory, he called me.
“Hello?” I said.
“Diane…if that’s your real name, you better give me back all my property!”
I giggled, like I giggled when I first met him.
“You think this is funny? You’re in for a world of hurt Diane.”
“I love you too.”
“Diane!”
I hung up. I shut off the phone, took the battery out. I’d had my little pleasure.
I admit, I only left that phone in service because I wanted to enjoy his reaction when he realized that I’d robbed him as well as embroiling him in a sex scandal.
And it was delicious.
And no, that’s not actually that dangerous. Okay, I almost certainly could have been traced and picked up.
But, that wasn’t going to happen, really. Stride wasn’t going to turn me in. The entire reason for letting Stride know I was the robber was so he wouldn’t report the heist to the police.
Why, though, wouldn’t Stride just turn me on?
First, if he had done that he wouldn’t even have kept his current office. It would look like he was persecuting me. The scandal would grow ten fold. Yeah, I’d shut down his ascension, at least temporarily, but he still could cling to his position as a representative. If he didn’t try to pin a crime on his accuser as some bizarre attempt at retribution.
Okay, it wouldn’t be good for me, because my face would be recognizable—granted, I’m a fair hand with disguise, but still.
Second, if he had, he would have lost the rest of what he owned, when I sued him for abuse of power and false arrest and libel and whatever else a lawyer could dredge up. Because, yes, I left more than enough behind to make a great payday.
And third, because, well…Let me tell you where I was when I got the call.
It was a small house; the neighbors were all on the lower end of middle class. The one luxury was a pool, and emerging from that pool, as soon as I ended the call and exited the back door of the house, was Stride’s wife, Nancy White.
The water dripped off her skin, down her blue bikini. She wasn’t exactly young, even if she had five years on her husband, but she was young enough that she could mostly keep herself in shape, and Stride liked having a beautiful, fit woman accompanying him on stage when called for, so he paid for anything that she couldn’t maintain on her own.
I might have preferred natural, graceful aging in my women most of the time, but it suited the woman stepping out of a pool.
I held out the towel for Nancy, helped her wrap it around her body. My hand rolled over the skin of her back before Nancy had fully wrapped her upper torso in the towel.
Nancy kissed me.
She had practically engineered the whole thing. She was pissed about all her husband’s affairs. No, certainly not mine. Somehow the man had kept his affairs out of the media until I came around. More than that, he wasn’t even the man she thought she’d met. Stride was such an accomplished politician, that Nancy didn’t even understand him until after their wedding.
So she wanted to punish her husband, and that’s when I walked into her life.
I had heard about Stride’s collection, heard that there were a few things worth stealing, and I’d heard that he was the type of man that I might like to hit. While scouting around, I met Nancy.
She asked me to sleep with her husband, to ruin his career, to ruin him.
Okay. She didn’t engineer the theft, not knowingly. And I may have talked her into helping me create the scandal. She was drinking heavily at the time and I introduced a few ideas to her that later, in a sober moment, she turned back and suggested to me.
And yes, now I can answer your question. She’s the one who helped get me a seat at the function where Stride announced that he was seeking a Senator’s office.
Nancy took my hand, led me inside. Maybe her neighbors, mostly, don’t recognize her. Maybe her husband bought her this house so she could get away from him (and so he could have time away from her).
But we couldn’t very well fuck outside, could we?
Okay, okay. That’s the end of how I robbed Stride of his career and his valuables. But can I finish telling you about fucking this woman? I have fond memories.
You’re ready for another fuck? Now? But you’re the one who was so desperate to hear the whole story? Come on, let me finish.
Nancy closed the door and then she closed the blinds. Then, standing right there in the dining room, she reached back, untied the string of her bikini top. With a few quick motions, the bikini fell off her breasts.
Nancy had been practicing. She chose the bikini so she could make a show for me.
She wasn’t done, though. Each hand went to the strings on her bottoms and with a tug untied those. She really had been practicing. And she had chosen a stance so they too fell off, leaving her completely naked, while I stood opposite her in jeans and a cheap blouse. Definitely unsexy. Later, between rounds, I’d put on a bikini and we’d go swimming together.
But right now, Nancy didn’t even want me to get naked. She wanted to show off her body. She liked that I was a younger woman and yet could still be captivated by her naked form. She liked that she was the one being looked at, despite her age.
She also liked having a still clothed woman kneel down before her and lick her pussy, while she tried to lean against the nearest vertical surface, while she tried not to fall over.
I obliged, although I teased her first. My first kiss landed on her clit, but then I pulled back, kissing her legs, roaming my hands over her ass, up to her breasts.
Unlike with her husband, my teasing was aimed at enhancing her pleasure, not making her crave it.
I also helped keep her from hurting herself when I made her legs go weak. I hoisted her up onto the dining room table, pulled out a chair, and set to licking her cunt again.
&n
bsp; She tried to guide me, but each time she reached a hand down, I pushed it away. When she tried to sit up, I pushed her back down. I wanted her lying down,
I wanted her to arch her back.
She moaned, softly but long. Nancy stayed arched back for a minute. And then she collapsed. I crawled up on the table and spooned against her. She didn’t try to cuddle back immediately. Even when she came to her senses, she only briefly kissed me.
“You’re still wearing your clothes. Take them off.”
I kissed her, kissed her nipple, made her gasp, then I slid off the table and started to undress.
Nancy didn’t help me. She tried to distract me. She let her hands roam over freshly revealed bits of flesh, or kissed my skin if it was close enough. Her hand reached between my legs, fingering my clit, as soon as there was any room for her fingers.
It took a while to get my pants all the way off.
“You’re wet,” Nancy said. It wasn’t a stunning statement, considering how long her hand had been between my pussy lips.
“You’ve got me wet.”
“Let’s trib.”
I nodded, eager. But I made Nancy move. As much as I trusted the table to hold our weight while we lay still, I didn’t want to actively fuck on it. We went to the bedroom, didn’t bother to pull down the comforter. Nancy lay down and let me set up our bodies, positioning our hips so our pussies would grind against each other’s thighs.
And she let me control the motion. As much as she liked pretending that she was the younger of us, she knew her limitations, she knew she didn’t have my energy. She moved her hips, her legs, if she wanted to hit some spot I wasn’t getting at, but I stayed above her, pushing, grinding together. I decided when we would kiss, and chose when to just roam my hands over her body, or when to lick her skin.
And despite her earlier orgasm, I got her off first. I wasn’t close behind. When she started moaning, my own body just needed a little bit more of a push, and then I moaned with her.