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The Senator by Wilma 2/2
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Senator
Part 2 of 2, by Wilma
You never know about rich and powerful people. Strange and
sinister longings lurk within the breast of the like. Unable to
risk exposure and inveterately sociopathic, they chop up their
victims in little pieces and feed them to their Rottweilers.
My mind began entertaining scenarios of being tortured to
death. Every horror movie I ever saw floated through my brain as
I watched the woman approach me in her million dollar lawyer
skirt with the matching lawyer suit coat and expensive white
blouse with the elegant lace trim. These were my thoughts when
she started raising her hands and I saw the chain coming toward
my dove-soft throat. These were my thoughts when I screamed like
a demented banshee and brought my fist up from the basement and
knocked the attractive, dignified Senator-Elect Judi Bradbury out
of her Guccis and sprawling unceremoniously across the floor.
"Holy Shit, Wilma!" David exclaimed. "You're not supposed
to kill her!" He dashed over to revive his wife.
"I ain't letting nobody strangle me with a chain and feed me
to their Rottweilers," I yelled at him.
"What in the name of sense are you talking about? She was
offering you a collar and leash to put on her!"
Oh . . . okay, so maybe I had led myself afield slightly.
"I'm alright," Judi mumbled. "I think I love this one,
David. Please, may we continue?"
David looked at me, shifting seamlessly back into gear. "I
like naked, ok?" Men can be so task-oriented and succinct.
* * * * *
"Now crawl to David so he can see my shoe print on your
face, Stupid." She was completely naked now, and I had shed
everything but my heels. David was naked on the couch watching
what I was doing to his wife. I had made sure her forehead
showed the smudge of dirt from my shoe and her cheek the imprint
of my heel. I straddled her back and used her hair for reins.
"Look, David. Look what I did to your wife."
David feigned complete disdain for her. "Look at you," he
told her. "You inferior slut, crawling around naked with a
waitress riding you. We're going to fuck in front of you, Judi,
and you're going to lie there beside us in bed and watch. I'm
going to make you watch me fuck a sexy woman."
Sounded okay to me, but I intended to have the beautiful
Staff of David down my throat somewhere during this scene, too.
Anything we did would be humiliating for his wife, so I might as
well get my throat cleared and maybe white washed while we cured
Judi of her debilitating obsession.
"Kick her some more," David said.
It was in her best interest, after all. We were doing this
for her. Having started with a wicked punch that would leave her
with one hellava shiner, any rough stuff thereafter was mild
compared to what she wanted me to do to her. She had begged me
to use my fists on her face, but I couldn't do it.
I got off her back and positioned myself at her side. She
braced herself and gave the nod we had chosen to signal consent,
and I began kicking her. Deliberate, measured kicks to her side
and her stomach. She could hum a tune or say "no more, stop,"
and it would be over. But she hummed not, neither did she speak.
So I kept kicking her. She crawled as though to get away,
and I stayed with her, delivering kicks at will and hitting her
on the back with my fist. A glance at David revealed a man
enthralled with what he was watching, mesmerized by it. His
breathing was labored, his eyes were aglaze, his mouth hung open,
and his prick was engorged and mighty, its pulsing reminiscent of
an alien probe straining to see the action with one eye.
I slipped my shoes off so I could stomp on her and kick her
in the face with the bottom of my foot. I let her grovel at my
feet and lick them. "Crawl," I ordered, but just as she rose to
her hands, I delivered a perfect kick to the side of her face
with the bottom of my foot and sent her reeling.
"Your husband's watching you, Slut. Watching me degrade
you, watching his wife submit to another woman. Look at your
husband. Let him see the face of his stupid wife. Feel the
shame, feel the shame of what you're doing -- Senator."
I stomped on her between her shoulders and kept on stomping.
My pussy was in on the act and taking over. She crawled. I
stomped on her. She crawled. I kicked her until she rolled over
on her back. I raised my foot high above her face. It was a
close call for a few seconds as my loins sought to wrest
authority from my brain. Fortunately, my brain won and I lowered
my bare foot slowly down and planted it on her face.
"Bring her to bed," David said. <do-dah, do-dah> His
impatient male organ led the way like a battle staff as he went
toward the bedroom. I dragged the Senator-Elect by her hair most of
the way, but my muscles were starting to fatigue. David came back
to help, his turgid pole waving back and forth comedically as he
walked toward us. It was no time to giggle, so I covered it up by
trying to look cruel. I probably looked like Bela Lugosi with a gas
pain. <sorry>
David and I dragged his wife by her arms into the bedroom
and lifted her to her feet. David held her up, and I hit her
until her knees buckled, then he dumped her onto the bed. David
and I looked at each other, reading each other's minds, knowing
it was come time and could not be forestalled.
"I'll take her face," I said.
"Face me," David said. "I'm going to rape her."
We worked on his wife like she wasn't even human. Nor hum
nor safeword, we fucked her face and cunt hard and greedily,
grunting and moaning and hunching like the sex crazed animals we
were. I thought she hummed a tune and stopped to check, but she
was moaning in the throes of orgasm from her husband's pounding,
prodding, poking, peter-piston powerfully penetrating her private
pudding pan. She pulled me back down on her face, and I fucked
it with uninhibited abandon. David emptied himself into her. I
greased her mouth and face and slid around sensuously in my own
sweaty fuckslop and her saliva. Judi's orgasm knocked her
unconscious. David and I fell into each other's arms and
collapsed off her like snails melting in salt.
* * * * *
David was on top of me, slow-fucking me, sensually moving his
manly nakedness on my body, our sweat commingling, his arrogant
maleness filling my vagina, sliding in and out, in and out, in and
out with a rhythm Nature intended for man and woman. We were
fucking in front of his wife, in her bed with her lying next to us.
I made eye contact with her and gave her a cruel-slut smirk as my
body responded in synchrony with her husband's. I made her watch my
face grow dopey with lust, my mouth enticingly wet and my attitude
lewd. David and I were as one, locked in our copulatory embrace,
making love, kissing sensuously, moving together, feeling, fucking.
David whispered in my ear, "Hit her." I backhanded her.
"Again," he grunted. I backhanded her again. I began hitting her
hard in time with our fuck beat, watching her try to keep her eyes
from defocusing. It was a discovery worthy of note, for David and I
orgasmed simultaneously and splendidly as Judi cried, and we hugged
each other tight and forgot Judi as we completed ourselves sexually.
It would not be the last time Senator Judi Bradbury would need
me in the years to come. Perhaps I'll describe a few of those
experiences in future pieces. Wilma goes to Washington. heh. I
did make one rule, though, after that first time: I either get cock
down my throat when I want it or nobody gets any nooky!
end of The Senator
+++ by Wilma +++
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
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@@@ x @@@ Being a woman is what I like most about me.
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wilma@stage.com
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