Politics - Sex Stories

Politics

... perfect princess had bent her uptight moral ass code for him and was now surely smelling the musty aroma of herself. “Dirty whore,” he whispered, stroking his thick, throbbing length. Pre-cum licked the side of his fingers, spread down his cock with each pump. “Want to taste my cock again? Taste us together? How far do you want to go to be my nasty bitch?” She blinked, cleared the drunk lust from her blue eyes. Her eyes narrowed as the corners of her smudged lips turned up. She curled her hands curled around his, pulling him off his dick only to cover this length with her mouth. His balls spasmed as her cheeks caved with a suck. Everything went blurry, his body drugged by orgasm, and he felt her hand slip around his ass. A little nudge at his virgin back door and her finger thrust inside. “ Fuck !” Brad grabbed her head, heat blazing his skin. Cum burst through his cock, erupting into her hot, ready throat. She gagged and kept coming. Licked, sucked, fucked his cock with her mouth, finger working his prostate, like she needed everything he had just to breathe. His knees weakened. Thrusting a hand to the side, his sweaty palm slipped against the porcelain sink. Fumbled at the edge of the counter before he could grab hold and steady himself. Moments passed. The beauty queen slid her finger from his ass, slipping the wet digit over his perineum until she gripped the front of his thighs. Slid off his dick with a pop and licked her lips. She opened her mouth. Stuck out her tongue ...

... to show him she’d swallowed, then sucked her dainty fingers inside. His hazy gaze sharpened in seconds. “Dirty... bitch.” Giggling, she stood. Looked over his face with an amused smile before leaning toward him. She swiped her tongue over his lips. The musty smell of ass pitched through his nostrils. “Right back at you, choir boy.” Tamara swept past him. Leaning against the doorway, he watched her pluck up her clutch from the corner of her desk as he caught his breath. She opened it. Rummaged through it as she glided back, brushing past him again. Tamara ignored him. Dropped her little bag on the countertop. Squinting, she surveyed her face in the mirror. Wiped a manicured finger around the frame of her lips, sweeping away the smudges. Then went back to her clutch, pulling out a tube of lipstick. Bradley turned away. Pulled up his pants, zipped and buckled. Tucked in his shirt. He stared around the room, re-familiarizing himself with everything his life. When he turned back around, she batted the cold water handle on and washed her hands, dabbing at the wayward strands of hair to push them down. As if she could button up the memory of their time together, the sins they’d committed. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I am now. By the way, my husband already knows I’m a whore. He loves it.” She twisted off the water with a peep of the handle, then faced him. Her lusty, sexual appeal was gone in favor of the cold and collected version of Tamara Coben, winner of the Congressional seat. ...