The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Capitol Hill Slut

Part 2

By: Quill

Melanie’s chest rose and fell in short gasps, drawing air in time with her feet pounding on the treadmill. Sweat poured from her brow and chin to drip into her exercise shirt, dampening the sports bra that hung loose beneath. She wore black yoga pants, which hid the varicose veins and cellulite that came to all women after almost fifty years of living. She didn’t feel fifty. The intense arousal that followed her like a fugue provided her with a seemingly endless supply of energy. She threw it into the treadmill, letting the gentle hum of its belt carry her into a state of exhaustion. Three hours on the treadmill and she could sleep. Finally sleep. Melanie just needed to make sure she was too tired to stay up half the night masturbating.

“Miss. Brachenright repeatedly painted herself as the sensible choice, but this video undercuts her message,” a reporter on the screen in front of Melanie said. “If she can’t control herself around a professional wrestler how can we be certain she can control herself in our state’s highest office?”

“I think it’s rather refreshing, actually,” another pundit said. “This is the first time Miss. Brachenright has shown even a hint of human emotions.”

“And that emotion was clearly lust,” the other said. “And it couldn’t have happened at a worse time: Miss. Brachenright has long railed against Mrs. Bangable’s flagrant indiscretions, and her breakdown occurred right in the middle of a speech denouncing sex as a concept. Doesn’t Miss. Brachenright’s show of desire—towards a wrestler of all things—strike you as hypocritical?”

“Not at all,” the second pundit answered. “Even the strongest of us can buckle under pressure. I think this video will end up being a boon for Miss. Brachenright, and the voters obviously agree.”

“You’re talking about her poll numbers? Voters are fickle, and even a significant bump like—”

The treadmill stopped its hum and slowed. Melanie stepped off and went to the towel rack, wiping the thick layer of sweat from her forehead. Her calves twitched. She felt exhausted and raw, but it was a good feeling; one that said she would sleep well.

“Can you pass me a towel?” a deep voice asked.

Melanie spun around to come face to face with a tank top stretched thin over a thick set of pectorals. Coal black eyes bore into Melanie with an intensity that sent a shiver up her spine. Fabric molded itself to his chiseled body, and the scent of testosterone poured from him like a fog. Without realizing what she was doing, Melanie let out a small whine from the back of her throat and twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

“Uh, sure,” she said with a flutter to eyelashes. “I was just… just—what’s your name?”

“Adonis,” the man said, giving her a wide smile. His teeth flashed white around his black beard. He grabbed the towel and wiped his face, tossing it back into Melanie’s hands. It smelled like him. “Better get back to it.”

Melanie watched him walk to the far end of the gym where the free weights were kept, unaware that her nipples tented through her shirt and bra. She bit her lip and whined again as Adonis picked up two dumbbells bigger than her torso and pumped them like they were nothing. Lust pounded between her thighs in time to the beat of her heart.

With a sigh of resignation, she tore her eyes away and got back on the treadmill.

* * *

The bra strap cut into Melanie’s back. She pulled at it and shifted it around to find the perfect position for its cups. It didn’t work. She was too big. She unhooked it and squeezed the offending garment tight in her fist until her knuckles cracked. “You!” she screamed, pointing at a terrified intern. “Quit squirming. What size did I order you to grab?”

“A cup with a thirty-two inch band, Ma’am!” the intern stammered.

Melanie thrust the bra under the intern’s nose. “And does this look like an A cup with a thirty-two inch band?”

The intern’s eyes flicked to the tag poking between Melanie’s knuckles. Her lips moved while she read. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Well it’s not. I have been the same god damned size since before your mother pissed you out of her womb—now get the fuck out of here and find me some properly sized underwear!”

The intern scurried for the door. Melanie sped her on her way with a kick to the rump.

“And here I was thinking the shot was supposed to calm you down,” Stephen said as he poked his head through the door. “Or is this considered calm for you?”

Melanie covered her breasts quickly and pulled on a robe. “Can you knock?”

Stephen ignored her. He threw himself onto the dressing room couch and picked at some dirt beneath his nails. “You need to calm down. You can’t go out and debate Lili half cocked. We need the old Melanie: the calm and professional one. Whatever this distracted, unfocused Melanie is needs to go away and it needs to go away now.”

“I’ve never been calm.”

“No, nor have you ever been particularly smart, but you need to start learning how right now.”

Melanie grabbed a bottle of lipstick off her desk and threw it at him. “You’re insubordination is starting to piss me off, Stephen!”

Stephen caught the lipstick casually and put it on the couch beside himself. He stood, straightening his suit and stepping uncomfortably close to Melanie. His forehead pressed into hers as he stared her down. “Melanie, I don’t really give a shit what pisses you off. I have been pulling sixteen hour days to keep your escapades in the bathroom off the nightly news.”

That caught Melanie by surprise. “Escapades?”

“Did you really think you could jill off in a building filled with tabloid reporters and not be discovered? What kind of stupid, slutty thought went through your mind that said that kind of thing was ok?”

“I-I don’t know,” Melanie said. She broke her stare down with Stephen and stared at the floor. Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I can’t sleep, I can’t—”

“Still don’t give a shit,” Stephen said. “Are you calm?”

Melanie inhaled and exhaled. Rage and lust warred inside her breast, rising like a dragon into her throat. She shoved it down. She shoved it all down. Deep inside herself into a little pit—a dark pit. There it sat like a coal, inert yet burning.

“I’m calm,” she said finally.

“Good,” Stephen said with a nod. “We’ve lost the expectation war. Lili Bangable just needs to show up and keep her clothes on and the pundits will rave about her performance. You, though, need to rise above. Don’t get angry. Show that you are a personable and approachable candidate the public deserves.”

“You want me to be kind to her?”

“No,” Stephen said with a shake of his head. “I want you to be happy, bubbly, and a little flirty—all the things the people want from a woman.”

“I am a professional!”

“No, you are a candidate, and if you want people to listen to your ideas then you need to sell it to them. Nothing sells better than sex. I’ve taken the liberty of picking out your clothes for today.” He reached into a bag and pulled out a plastic dry clean bag.

Melanie opened it. It was just three pieces: a tight grey miniskirt that went to her mid thigh, a white button up that looked to miss the top three buttons, and a set of three inch pumps. “This is going to show my cleavage.”

“It’ll give the men something to look at while you talk,” Stephen answered simply. “Oh, and before I forget.” He pulled a bra from his pocket and handed it to her. “I borrowed it from one of the interns.”

“This is a ‘B’ cup—I’m an ‘A’.

“Breast growth is a side effect of the injection,” he said. “And I’m going to apologize to that poor girl on your behalf. You’ll be nice?”

“Yes sir,” Melanie said.

“What?”

“I mean, yeah. I will. Now get the hell out. I need to change.”

After he left, Melanie tried on the bra. The fabric was lacy with little red hearts sewn into the cups. It was the kind of bra a woman wore when she wanted to show it off, which Melanie supposed was a good thing considering how low cut her shirt was going to be. The public might see it. All of them. On national television.

She bit her lip and suppressed a moan. The bra might not be to Melanie’s taste, but it fit her chest perfectly.

* * *

“Ladies and gentleman, your candidates for the next governor of Colorado,” the moderator said.

The audience erupted into a round of applause. Melanie pasted the best fake smile across her face she could and stepped onto the stage. Bright light struck her eyes, blinding her for a moment. She kept walking, though, letting muscle memory guide her steps. She waved at the unseen audience, not really certain as to who or what she was waving at. Just waving. Melanie felt like a damn fool.

As Melanie’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, the world drew back into focus. She found herself at her podium, hands clasped tightly around the wood side panels. Her heart pounded in her ears. She looked to her left, and, for the first time, saw her opponent in person.

Lili Bangable waved to the audience with genuine jubilation. A wide, white smile spread across her too symmetrical face, making her seem like an artist’s rendition of a perfect human. Even as the girl moved, she did it with a supernatural grace. Each step was a promise, a faint whisper of something more, and her clothes only heightened her magnetism. A skin tight miniskirt with a bright yellow top clung to her curves, tracing a body built for bedrooms.

Melanie swallowed.

“Miss. Brachenright, the first question goes to you,” the moderator said. “If you were elected governor, how would you solve the divide between Israel and Palestine?”

Be bubbly and personable, Melanie reminded herself, pasting a smile across her face. “Maybe I’m mistaken, but if I recall correctly a governor doesn’t have control over the nation’s foreign policy.”

“Are you refusing to answer the question?” the moderator asked coldly.

Melanie shook her head. “Of course not. International diplomacy isn’t my area of expertise, but if I have to answer I would say the two state solution won’t work. Both the Israelites and the Palestinians possess equal claim to the land in question, with long historical ties going back generations. As long as the people remain separate there will be conflict. A single, unifying government that represents both ethnic groups equally is the only long term solution.” Melanie gave the moderator a sheepish grin. “Getting to that unifying government seems an exercise in futility, however.”

“So you don’t have a solution?”

“Does anyone?”

“Let’s ask your opponent,” the moderator answered. “Mrs. Bangable, how would you bring peace to the Middle East?”

“They should all just love each other!” Lili said, wrapping her arms around her chest and closing her eyes. “If everyone just hugged it out everything would be ok!”

The audience clapped. “Such deep wisdom from the foremost thinker of our time,” the moderator said.

“That wasn’t an answer!” Melanie shouted. “That was just some Miss. America nonsense!”

A loud buzzing cut her off. “The candidate will remember to keep their response contained until it is their turn to speak. And Miss. Brachenright?” the moderator said. “A little self-control please. This is a debate, not a wrestling match.”

The audience laughed, and Melanie felt her hackles rise. She tamped the rage down, trying to regain the calm she felt when she obeyed Stephen.

The moderator turned back to Lili. “Mrs. Bangable, puppies or kittens?”

“Kittens!”

The moderator nodded as if Lili had departed sage wisdom. “Miss. Brachenright, your response?”

“This isn’t a proper question,” Melanie said. “I’d much rather use my time to discuss the problems our state faces and how we can solve them.”

“So you hate both puppies and kittens?”

Lili gasped. “You hate kittens?!”

“No, I—”

Another loud buzzing. “I’m sorry, the candidate’s time has run out. We need to move onto the final question,” the moderator said. “Miss. Brachenright, critics describe you as a mean, spiteful, baby eater with an all-around unpleasant personality. Your first grade teacher has gone on record calling you a colossal bitch.”

“Miss. Titri said that?”

“Let me finish, Miss. Brachenright.” The moderator turned to Lili. “Mrs. Bangable, as the far more attractive and interesting candidate, what is your response to these allegations?”

“She’s a stupid face!”

“Indeed,” the moderator said with a nod. “That’s all the time we have. I want to thank the viewers at home for sitting through Miss. Brachenright’s answers. Stay tuned after the commercial break as we discuss whether Miss. Brachenright is the literal or figurative reincarnation of Hitler. Priests of three religions will weigh in.”

“No!” Melanie screamed, knocking her podium over. It landed on the carpet with a soft umph. “These aren’t real questions! This isn’t a real debate! There is no way I’m going to sit here and take abuse from some stupid whore!”

A buzzing like a cloud of angry bees rose from the crowd. Someone threw a empty can of Cola. It bounced across the floor and splashed its sticky fluid across Melanie’s clothes. “Kill the slut shamer!” the audience screamed. “Kill her!”

Security dove into the stands and dragged a few of the worst offenders out of the building, but that only incited more outrage. A chair crashed into a pillar a half dozen feet away. Melanie ran off the stage and away from the angry screams.

* * *

Angry faces jeered at Melanie’s trailer between the gaps in the chain link fence. They’d covered the front half of the trailer in rotten fruit and vegetables. A pair of officers sipped coffee from styrofoam cups, keeping one eye on the screaming protesters.

Melanie let the curtain fall back. “Stephen, talk to me. Please.”

Stephen swung around, eyes burning with rage. “How can you be so stupid?! All you had to do was play nice and answer the damn questions. Kittens or puppies? How does a person fuck that up?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m a stupid candidate. A bad candidate,” Melanie mumbled, shrinking away from the big man. “Nobody likes me and everyone is angry, and I deserve to be punished—punished hard enough make me scream. I’m a bad girl!” Fat tears wormed down her cheeks, smudging her mascara. Mascara. A few weeks ago she’d never worn makeup, but now it was a daily part of her routine.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Stephen said. He sat next to her and rubbed the small of her back. His fingers trailed electricity up her spine. “It’s alright. You’re a shitty person and you make my life a living hell, but it’s alright.”

Relief flooded through Melanie. Relief and desire. Stephen forgave her. For some reason that knowledge filled her with joy. An apology isn’t enough, she thought to herself. I need to make this right. I’ve been a bad girl.

“You aren’t angry?” Melanie asked.

“Oh, I’m pissed,” Stephen answered. “I just want you to know that what I’m about to do is out of love.”

“What—”

Stephen grabbed Melanie by the waist and shoved her over his knee. He flipped her skirt over her backside and rubbed a hand across her skimpy underwear. It matched her new bra—lacy and soft. His fingers left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He pinned her in place by shoving his arm into the nape of her neck. It felt like iron, and try as she might Melanie couldn’t lift her head.

“You’ve been naughty, Melanie,” Stephen said. A hunger crept into his tone. “Jilling off in the bathroom and lashing out at reporters. What’s a campaign manager to do?”

“I’m sorry, Stephen!” Melanie said.

“See, I don’t think you are.” Stephen slipped his fingers into Melanie’s underwear. The fabric peeled from her groin with a sticky sound. “Would you look at that? You’re already wet. This is unforgivable, Melanie. A candidate should have better control over herself.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

A sharp crack echoed against the walls of the small trailer. Pain blossomed scarlet across Melanie’s backside. She let out a surprised yelp and gripped Stephen’s knee. “Stop it! I am your boss!”

Stephen silenced her with a spank. His hand rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the slaps finally muting the screams of the angry protesters outside. Tears streamed down Melanie’s cheeks. They left long streaks of black in her skin, and her eyes blurred until the world turned into a hazy mist. Pain, so much pain. It felt deeper than the surface sting of Stephen’s calloused hand crashing against her meaty ass; it was the humiliation—the knowledge that she lay bare before her subordinate—that tore at her pride. Stephen was right to punish her, Melanie knew that, but she also knew that each time he spanked another drop of lubricant streamed down her thigh.

“Control yourself! You’re weak!” Stephen screamed into Melanie’s ear. “Sluts drip! Whore’s moan! What does that make you?”

Melanie came then. It was a powerful, crashing orgasm that tore through her body, beginning in her tingly buttocks and spreading until her entire body convulsed against Stephen’s tight grip. He held her in place. Even as she writhed and moaned, he held her firm—the taut muscles in his arm straining like cords against her furious convulsions.

She fell off his knee and landed on the floor. Drool dripped from the side of her mouth to pool beneath her cheek. Her thoughts seemed to move through a thick, pink fog, and she had trouble putting together anything of coherence. Had Stephen just spanked her, or had she asked to be spanked? Was there really any difference considering how naughty she’d been?

“Pick your dripping self off the floor and pull some clothes on,” Stephen said. His tone dripped with disdain. “Have you no shame?”

Melanie’s muscles were slow to react. She lifted her body off the ground. It took all of her will to force her arms to move, for her legs to carry her. Pain pulsed in time with the beat of her heart. Finally, though, she managed to stand, pulling her ruined painties up and over her wet slit. Despite her orgasm, she still felt lust tingle within her loins.

“Your stupidity at the debate pissed off our highest donor,” Stephen said. “Without Steel’s money we cannot keep up with the Bangable’s warchest. This campaign will be over. You will be over. I’ve set up a fundraiser at one of his nightclubs, which you will attend. Convince him to stay on board. I don’t give a flying fuck how you do it—beg, cajole, fuck, I don’t care—but get Mr. Steel’s money. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Melanie said with a squeak.

“Good girl.”

Melanie gushed.

* * *

Melanie barely fit into her dress. It’d been her favorite once. Made of silver silk it flowed in a shimmering wave down to her ankles. The gown saw her through three weddings, eighteen gallas, and a prom.

Now, though, its fabric stretched tight against her chest and thighs. It ripped at the seams as Melanie pulled it on, its once single tube of silver now split up its side in a sensual display of thigh and leg. She took a pair of scissors and thread to the dress, cutting out enough of the chest so that the fabric would let her breathe and slicing off its bottom half. It now stopped at her upper thigh, and a large gap in the top showed off her rapidly growing cleavage. Melanie liked it more this way.

A brass pole rose from a stage in the center of the club. Neon lights shone across it in a pulsing parade of flashing colors. Red, then blue, then green—they cast the stage in a collage of shifting shadows. A single woman gyrated against the pole. She wore a two piece set of lingerie so small Melanie wondered why she bothered. One long red string dove between the woman’s toned ass, disappearing into the crack. Cash sprouted like seeds from across the girl’s body—the garter belt itself holding what looked like a couple grand.

I’m in the wrong business, Melanie thought. That looks fun. She shook the idea away, disturbed by how loud and insistent the thought was. She wanted to climb on that stage. Melanie bet she could make more money—much more money. Thousands of men tossing dollar bills across her sweaty form, showering her in wealth and adulation. Maybe afterwards she’d take a lucky few into the back and—

A hand landed on Melanie’s shoulder, snapping her out of her revelry. She let out a small yelp and turned.

Silver streaked through Max Steel’s temples, casting his hair in a salt and pepper mixture so typical for men of his age. Despite the years, though, his body had lost none of its definition. A broad chest sloped down to a tight stomach, and his arms were carved in a carpet of black and silver hair. They wrapped themselves around Melanie’s shoulder and drew her close.

“Melanie! How the hell are you?” Mr. Steel said with a boisterous laugh. Everything he said was with a laugh. Even when he was angry, Mr. Steel was always laughing. “Are you enjoying my baby’s performance?”

Melanie’s jaw went slack. “That’s your daughter? But she’s—uh—she’s a—”

“Slut, yes,” Stephen said with a wide grin. “I encourage my family to pursue their passions. My wife likes baking, my son likes his video games, and my daughter enjoys a good dick. I try not to judge.”

“But you let her strip!”

“Let her?” Max Steel said with a guffaw. “Miss. Brachenright, I encourage it! Dancing builds coordination, muscle tone, and is excellent cardio! Hell, if I were thirty years younger I might give stripping a try myself.” He patted one muscular thigh. “I bought her this club for her eighteenth birthday, though if I’m being honest that one was more for me.”

Mr. Steel leaned close to Melanie and whispered,” This way I know who she goes home with and where she’s at.” He pointed with a thumb at a group of thuggish looking men in black turtlenecks. The word ‘Security’ lay emblazoned across their chests in a yellow letters. “Got my boys there to keep her safe.”

“That’s rather responsible of you.”

“I’m a father, Melanie!” he said, throwing his arms out wide. “And as a father I don’t appreciate it when one of my employees insults my children.”

A lump rose in the back of Melanie’s throat. “I’m not one of your employees, Mr. Steel. I’m a candidate running for political office, and I deserve your respect.”

“I don’t got to respect shit. I pay you, don’t I? That means you work for me,” Mr. Steel said. “But let’s not talk about it here. I’ve got a private booth in the back. All you can drink champagne.”

Mr. Steel led her by the arm up a pair of stairs and into a lounge. Long leather couches stretched around the walls. A marble mermaid spat twin streams of champagne from her breasts into a pool at her base. Tall crystal glasses lay stacked next to the mermaid. Mr. Steel took one and dipped it in the fountain, handing it to Melanie. A pleasant warmth radiated from her belly as the alcohol touched her lips.

“This is rather good,” Melanie said, refilling her glass from the pool.

“Only the best for my girl and her ‘friends’,” Mr. Steel said, sitting on the large leather couch. He patted the seat beside himself. “Sit down, girl. You’re making me nervous bobbing around up there. You obviously have something to ask, and I’ve got a strong inkling as to what it might be.”

“The money,” Melanie said, sitting next to him.

“The money. It always come down to money. Sometimes I wonder if that’s all people see when they look at me—a walking, talking wallet.”

“I’m hosting a fundraiser at your strip club,” Melanie answered simply. “Do you think I’d set foot in this sleaze bin if you weren’t loaded?”

Mr. Steel shook his head and tsked. “Stephen is losing his touch if you can still say stupid shit like that,” he said to himself. He swallowed his champagne and shot her a warm smile. “I’m firing you, Melanie. I can’t support a candidate that hates my children, nor their chosen lifestyle.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“Not yet,” Mr. Steel said, standing and straightening his suit. “But in a few months you will, or you’ll work for my daughter, actually. I’ve got to hand it to you, Mel. You’re a tough nut to crack, but you’ll break eventually. Stephen’s the best in the business.”

Seeing the confused look on Melanie’s face Mr. Steel added, “I am no longer going to give you money.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each syllable as if she were a small child. “Your bigotry is ignorant and hypocritical.”

“This will kill my campaign,” Melanie said. Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision. She wiped them away angrily. Why was it so hard to keep herself from crying lately? “I can’t fight the Bangables without your support!”

“Not my problem,” Mr. Steel answered simply. He flashed her another warm smile. “Anyway, take all the time you need in here, and help yourself to the champagne. I buy it in bulk.” He turned to go.

Melanie grabbed his sleeve. She stared at the plush carpet and willed the tears to go away. They didn’t. Fat drops of water dripped down her cheeks, smearing her makeup. She felt small and fragile. Mr. Steel towered above her, a colossus of aged masculinity. She craned her neck to stare into those warm, friendly eyes. Surely those eyes wouldn’t hurt her.

“Please, Mr. Steel. I’ll do anything,” Melanie said. “I’ve made a mess of this whole campaign and I was just so angry and I… why is everything so hard?!” Melanie broke into a fresh set of sobs.

Mr. Steel wrapped his hand around Melanie’s chin and turned her face to his. “Don’t cry, Melanie. Of course you can make things right. There’s always a way for a girl like you to make things right.”

“Anything!” Melanie gasped, relief flooding through her.

“You need to apologize in front of a camera.”

“I’ll do it! Oh thank you, Mr. Steel. Thank you so much!”

“And I need you to wrap those pretty lips around my cock,” Mr. Steel continued. “You called your opponent a whore, so I’m going to turn you into one. Suck my dick, whore. Suck it for money. If you can make me cum before I finish my champagne, I’ll donate to your campaign again.” He filled his glass and took a small sip. “Better hurry. This stuff is good.”

Melanie’s heart pounded. She bit her lip and shifted her eyes to Mr. Steel’s waistline. A surprising amount of saliva flooded her mouth. It tasted hot and wet, and she swallowed it with a loud gulp. She clenched her hands into fists to still their shaking. “That’s not something I can do. It’d be wrong.”

Mr. Steel sipped from the glass of champagne and stared at her with dark eyes.

“Don’t ignore me!” Melanie said. Her voice sounded high and weak in her ears. “I will not be disrespected by some smut peddler.”

He took another drink. The glass was half empty now.

“Just give me the money! Why do you need me to suck your dick? I already said I was sorry. I’m not a piece of meat, you know. I deserve respect.”

Do you really? a voice within her whispered.

Mr. Steel tipped the glass of champagne down his throat. The last few golden drops dripped from the glass’ crystal rim, catching the lights and sparkling. “Looks like you’ve run out of time. Maybe Mrs. Bangable would appreciate my contri—”

Melanie snatched the glass out of his hand and thrust it into the well of champagne. The alcohol bubbled and fizzed to the brim of the glass. She shoved it into Mr. Steel’s hand, spilling some of it.

“Good heavens, how foolish of me,” Mr. Steel said with a dry chuckle. “I missed a few drops. Are you going to be a good whore and use that mouth of yours for something useful?”

The floor rose up to meet her. Melanie wasn’t aware of falling to her knees, but somehow she did. The plush carpet felt soft and warm against her bare legs. It was comfortable. She licked her dry lips and lifted her eyes off the ground to stare at Mr. Steel’s bulge. It pressed against his slacks, seeming to grow and pulse.

I’ve been a naughty girl, and there’s only one way a girl like me can make things right.

Metal clinked against metal as Melanie pulled the long leather belt out of its loops. She dropped it to the side. Darkness pressed against the edge of her vision. It shrank the world, the cosmos, down into a black tunnel pointed towards the tent in Mr. Steel’s trousers. A rushing sound filled her ears, and her breath came quick.

“That’s a good whore,” Mr. Steel said from somewhere far away.

At the word ‘whore’, a rush of arousal flooded through Melanie. It’s what I am, she thought. Whether it’s my vote or my mouth, I’m selling a piece of myself.

The cock felt hot in Melanie’s palm. Blood pulsed through its length, and a thick vein running along its top rose and fell with a life of its own. She opened her mouth into a wide ‘o’ and leaned forward. The gentle musk of his cologne mixed with the undeniable stench of hormones, testosterone, and the scent of dried cum. Flavor exploded across her tongue as her lips met his skin. His shaft felt smooth. Precum dribbled down her throat, lubricating the cock’s passage, and she moaned a little, savoring the feel of his organ on her tongue.

Sucking dick was wrong. It was unbecoming of a professional politician. But the flavor, the soul thrumming pleasure found in submission, sent Melanie into a frenzy. She thrust the cock down her throat and choked. Suffocation warred with joy, and when the pain became too much to bear, she pulled back and inhaled a gasp of air then threw herself back onto Mr. Steel’s cock like a woman possessed. Her entire world, her everything, orbited around the shaft. Back and forth she moved, lubricating every inch of his manhood with her saliva.

It was then that Mr. Steel grabbed Melanie by the hair, seizing control of her pace. He turned her throat into a fuck toy with a furious thrust of his hips. He drove himself in and out. Then with a groan and roar, he pulled free from her lips with a pop.

Cum splattered Melanie’s chin and eyes. It dripped from her forehead, soaking into her hair and smearing her already ruined makeup. Melanie stared up at Mr. Steel with a dull expression on her face. Heat pounded in her loins. She wanted something, something long and hard to slide between her legs. She wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything. But the cock an inch from her nose shrank down into flaccidity.

“You earned this,” Mr. Steel said, reaching into his pants pocket and grabbing a checkbook. He wrote on it and pulled it from its book with a loud rip. Then he slapped it onto Melanie’s forehead. The paper stuck, a thick layer of cum holding it in place.