POLITICS AS USUAL
by Downing Street (dowstreet@yahoo.com)
PART III
On Monday, the Mayor was going over his schedule with his executive assistant when Fielding Wentworth knocked at the door. “Sorry to barge in, Sir,” he said, “but Genevieve isn’t at her desk so I—Oh.” He stopped talking in mid-sentence. He stopped walking in mid-stride. He stared.
Genevieve Belleflueur wasn’t sitting in her usual chair. Instead, she was perched on the edge of the Mayor’s big desk. She had her knees crossed, with her ever-present tablet resting on one of them. Her usual long suit had been replaced by a short, tight skirt and a sleeveless top, both blue and white, along with white platform pumps. Her long hair was carefully combed around her shoulders.
“Morning Fielding,” she sang, smiling. She waggled her fingers at him. “Come on in, we’re just finishing.”
Wentworth stood still for several heartbeats, trying to make himself believe what he was seeing. “Uhm,” he said at last, “Uh, good morning Ms Belleflueur—"
“Oh please, call me Ginny,” the blonde vision interrupted, still smiling. “That’s what Mr. Downs calls me.” She graced her boss with an adoring smile. “So now everybody should call me Ginny!” She giggled.
It took Fielding another few seconds to process this additional information. Especially the giggle. A giggle from Genevieve Belleflueur was as unexpected as a love song from an elephant.
“Ginny, don’t just sit there, welcome Mr. Wentworth properly,” the Mayor said.
“Oh, yes, of course, Sir.” The lovely assistant closed her eyes for a second as the pleasure wave from Downs’ order washed over her. Then she hopped off the desk onto her high heels. She made a show of brushing an imaginary speck of dust off one leg. Her hose was sheer and smooth. Her low-cut pullover bulged as she bent over.
Wentworth was still staring. He couldn’t seem to stop. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” Ginny teased, as she strolled toward him. “Yes, I’ve gained a bit of weight.” She might have been referring to the swelling of her breasts by two cup sizes. She didn’t seem concerned that this expansion happened over a weekend.
“But it’s all fine,” she whispered, as she drew in close, “I feel like a real woman now.” So saying she slipped her hands around his neck and leaned in to kiss him on the lips. The kiss was no quick peck either, but a long, warm, wet conjoining of lips and tongue that drew on and on like a fine summer morning. The mini-skirted sensation made little murmurs as her lips slid across those of her astonished co-worker.
Wentworth, for his part, flailed about in surprise, unsure how to respond to such an amorous greeting, especially coming from a woman previously as emotional as a traffic light. “Good morning, Fielding,” the blonde babe husked, when she finally let him go. “I love your tie.”
“Uhm, uh, th-thank you,” Wentworth managed. He had no idea what his tie looked like. Up close, Ginny’s eyes were huge and intensely blue. Her lips, that he distinctly remembered being long and thin, were now collagen-plump and movie-star pouty, made for kissing. And other things.
“Would you like some coffee, honey?” Ginny wondered. She still had her arms around his neck. “Maybe a couple of doughnuts? Hmmmm?”
Wentworth was still wondering when he was going to wake up. “I’m f-fine,” he said blankly. “Thank you.” What he really wanted was to kiss her again while getting lost in those deep blue eyes. For about an hour.
“If you change your mind, let me know,” the transformed assistant cooed. She tugged playfully on his tie as she strutted back to the desk.
Wentworth watched her go. More than her boobs and her lips had filled out. Her figure, once so elegantly slender was now full and lush. She seemed to be curved everywhere. Athleticism had been displaced by voluptuousness. Whereas before she had drawn men’s aesthetic admiration, now her body ignited thoughts of wanton, carnal sex. By the time Ginny had arrived back at the Mayor’s desk, Wentworth was hard.
He held a folder he was carrying in front of his crotch to hide the distension there. He turned his attention to the Mayor, who was sitting behind his desk, looking smug. “Sir, what . . . what’s going on?” He gestured vaguely toward the astonishing assistant.
“My inheritance!” the Mayor crowed. “A gift from my grandfather, finally set to good use. I discovered—wait, Ginny you explain it.”
The blonde bombshell said: “I found my purpose! I’m here to do whatever Mr. Downs tells me to do! That’s why it feels so good. Every time he orders me”—she paused as a shiver passed through her—“to do something, I feel it all the way down to my pussy. Mmmmmm, I am a horny, obedient little fuck-toy.”
The Mayor said, “You certainly are, doll. How about a demonstration. Turn around, grab your ankles and show Fielding your ass.”
“Ohhhh!” An involuntary groan rolled past her lips. Her eyelids fluttered. She turned around, spread her feet a little, then slowly bent over until she could rest a hand on each calf. She turned her head to look back at Wentworth. “What do you think?” she asked, as if his opinion was vitally important.
“It’s—it’s fabulous,” Wentworth replied. She did indeed have an exquisite derriere. It was full and round but still firm, distended against the fabric of her blue-patterned miniskirt. Bent over in her high-high heels, she displayed her legs to the edge of her rump.
Ginny straightened slowly. “I’m so glad you like it!” she exclaimed. She seemed pleased with herself. She hopped back up onto the Mayor’s desk, crossed her knees, and picked up her tablet.
Mayor Downs said, “I’ve only a few minutes before . . . something or other.”
“Meeting with downtown business association,” Ginny supplied.
“Right, right. Business group. They’re going to complain about transit. And parking. They always complain about parking. Anyway, what’s on your mind?”
Wentworth had drifted back to staring at Ginny’s legs again. Her inch-thick platforms had little sparkles embedded in them. Her slender heels were about five inches high.
“Hmmm?” he said. “Oh, right. It’s about the budget, Sir. All these cuts have raised a lot of resistance on Council. I’m not sure you’ll have the votes you need to pass the revisions.” It was the longest speech he had managed since he walked into the room.
“Bah!” said the Mayor. “All the city councillors cares about is the particular needs of their particular wards. None of them see the big picture. Or that we have a bridge about to fall down. Acres of downtown parking won’t help business if nobody can get there without swimming. This parochial nonsense is exactly the reason I’ve decided not to run for Mayor again.” “Sir, with respect, you said that before the last election.”
“And I mean it. The last election was my last election.”
“Sir, with respect, you said that before the last election too.”
“Never mind! Look, is Trevor on our side?”
“I expect so, Sir. Belmont Bridge does go through his ward.”
“Good, good. Let’s get together this afternoon and work on strategy. I can meet you . . .”
“After four,” Ginny said. “You have a meeting with Emilie Watson at two.”
“Oh do I. And exactly who is Emilie Watson?”
She giggled. It was a pretty sound. “Mayoral candidate from whom you want to steal an idea about green space.”
“Right, right. Green space. Never enough green space. Never enough parking either. Maybe we can make green space on top of parking. Or parking on top of green space? No, that wouldn’t work.” He paused. “Wait a minute, this might be a good test . . . .” He drifted off.
Wentworth said, “Sir?”
The Mayor stirred. “Fielding, go away. Do some background research on magnetic levitation monorails. Use the number nine bus route as a test case. I’ll meet you and Trevor here at four.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Wentworth said. He headed for the door, keeping the folder strategically placed. He paused to study Ginny’s legs again.
“See you later, Fielding honey,” she cooed. She giggled again.
The Mayor was noticing Ginny’s legs too. And other parts. “Tell me,” he said, deliberately phrasing it as an order, “how much time do I have before the meeting with the business people?”
“A-about fifteen minutes, Sir.”
“Excellent. Hop off that desk, come over here, and use those lovely lips for something other than talking.” He rolled his chair back. His own erection tented his suit trousers.
“Oh god yes! Thank you, Sir!” Eagerly, she did as instructed. She slid to her knees on the deep carpet, between his legs. She was already breathing hard. “I absolutely love this job,” she murmured, as she unzipped his flies.
The Mayor was late for his four o’clock meeting. At four-thirty, Trevor and Wentworth were sitting at the conference table, going over the Mayor’s latest budget cuts. Wentworth’s computer displayed a spreadsheet dense with figures and calculations.
But it was someone else’s figure that captured the men’s attention. Trevor had been every bit as floored by Ginny’s new presentation and persona as Fielding had been. The EA somehow seemed even more sex-happy in the afternoon than she had been in the morning. Every trace of her previously aloof persona had evaporated, along with about three feet of skirt length. She giggled; she teased; she flirted. The men speculated about whether she was on drugs.
“No drug I know can create a knock-out like her,” Trevor remarked. “She was always a fine looking woman, but . . . this is different. She looks so . . . ripe.”
“Nubile,” Fielding supplied.
“Blood-stirring. And you say Streeter is behind this somehow?”
“He said something about an inheritance, without explanation. Genevieve—Ginny—said she gets a turn on from obeying his orders. That appears to be an understatement.”
“But why now? Surely he’s been giving her orders since she became his EA.”
“Maybe he was being too diffident, too respectful, to spark a response. I don’t know.”
“Perhaps she has a secret submissive side? I’ve heard of such things.”
“A submissive side does not give a girl a chest like that.”
The pair were alone in the room. Ginny had left the office at half past four to go shopping for more hot clothes. “I think I’ll probably need bigger bras, again,” she said, rather proudly.
The men were relieved. Getting anything done had proved a serious challenge with Ginny in the room. And she was constantly in the room: refreshing their coffee, offering more doughnuts, showing off her body. She found excuses to touch them as often as possible. Both men were convinced she would be entirely happy to satisfy both of them right there on the conference table.
The conversation was interrupted by commotion in the outer office. The door opened. Mayor Downs arrived. He was looking even more rumpled than usual. He was holding up a curly-haired woman, perhaps in her late thirties, who was laughing and weaving and leaning on Downs as a drunkard embraces a lamp post.
“Is everything all right, Sir?” Fielding asked, getting to his feet.
“Everything is entirely fine,” Downs replied, grinning. “Stand up now, honey,” he said to his loopy companion, “it’s time to meet your new friends.”
He got the woman standing by herself, though she was still swaying. She was tall and slender, but attractively shaped. She was wearing a white pantsuit with the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a lilac camisole underneath. Her pretty face was dominated by a wide grin.
The Mayor turned to the others. “Allow me to present Ms. Emilie Watson. Emilie, shake hands with my colleagues. Be sure to flash your left boob for them.”
“Of course, Mr. Downs!” the newcomer agreed. She advanced on Fielding, hand outstretched. “Hi!” she proclaimed, smiling. “I’m Emilie. Friends call me Em. Delighted to meet you.” While shaking with her right hand, she used her left to casually pull down one side of her camisole and bra until a full, round breast popped into view.
Wentworth shook hands. “Delighted,” he said. “C-Call me Fielding. You have a lovely breast.” What else could he say?
“Thank you!” Watson exclaimed. “And you must be Councillor Snowden,” she said to the other man. “So glad to meet you too.”
“Call me Trevor,” the councillor replied. He shook hands. He looked at Emilie’s cheerfully exposed breast, then up to her face, then down at her boob again. “The pleasure is all mine.”
He seemed to mean it. Yet he was clearly having trouble reconciling the carefree, boob-baring giggle-girl with the serious, intellectual woman who had mounted a credible run for Mayor a few years earlier. “Streeter—I mean, Phil—can you tell me what this is all about?”
Mayor Downs was jubilant. “Yes I can! Gentlemen, I have decided to offer my name for re-election to the office of Mayor.”
Wentworth said, “You’ve decided to run again? Now?”
“Yes I have! And this time I’m going to win, soundly and decisively. But this isn’t about winning. This is about green spaces and monorails. It’s about making the city a better place for everyone. And balanced budgets! Fielding, who is the Minister of Municipal Affairs?”
Fielding said, “It’s Lister, Sir. Angela Lister.”
“Perfect! Parks and Rec can have their twenty per cent back! Maintenance can have all their new equipment! We may even extend the number nine bus route. The government is going to cover the entire cost of repairing Belmont Bridge.”
“The minister has agreed to this?”
“No, but she’s going to. She just doesn’t know it yet!”
“But, but, Sir, you never do this. You always insist that you’re not running again until the last possible moment, then throw your name in when you see Ritterson is offering.”
“Last time, it was an hour before the nominations closed,” Trevor reminded him. “This election doesn’t even start for another two months.”
“Ah, but this time I have grandfather’s mojo on my side. This time I’m going to corner the women’s vote.”
He paused to throw an arm around Emilie’s waist. He fondled her bare boob like a squeeze toy. Emilie giggled. She didn’t move away. “Look,” said the Mayor, “I’ll explain everything. Fielding, go grab a couple of campaign signs from last time. I think they’re in storage. Em baby, mix us some drinks.”
“Why of course!” Emilie cheered. She gave the Mayor a deep, energetic kiss, then hurried over to the bar. She tucked her boob back in absent-mindedly.
“You need new clothes,” the Mayor commented. “Trousers are drab. Not at all an election wardrobe. Skirts, hose and heels from here on in. Stick with feminine styles and happy colours. Show lots of skin.”
“I’ll g-go shopping tomorrow,” Emilie agreed. A tremor passed through her, as if someone had kissed her most intimate place. She spilled something.
Fielding returned, bearing a couple of lawn signs. One said “Downs for Mayor” with “re-elect” across one corner. The other said “Phillip Downs, Mayor” with a big check-mark beside it.
Downs said, “Ah, there’s the problem. We’ll definitely need new signs.”
Wentworth said, “Sir, I don’t understand.”
The Mayor said, “My grandfather had a way with women. Many women, in fact. There was something chemical about him, something in his, well, body fluids, that made him irresistible. Whatever Grandpa Upsen had, it’s hereditary. My cousin Eric’s son, Hugo, inherited it, with interest. His ejaculate is the reason that little diner, Busters, is doing so well—and why all the female patrons are overbuilt, oversexed, and addicted to the food. My cousin Churchill Downs suggested to me that I might have it too. It turns out he was right.”
“How do you know?” Trevor wondered.
Downs accepted a drink from Emilie, along with another kiss. He said, “Emilie here is Exhibit A. And you must have seen Ginny Belleflueur.”
“That was you? My god you really have got something.”
“Sir,” said Fielding. “You’re not suggesting that you . . . . ”
The Mayor shook his head. “Don’t be vulgar. With me it’s something else. Perspiration? Something in the air? I have no idea. But women need exposure, to be close to me for a while. And it doesn’t affect them unless I give them orders.”
Wentworth was already looking ahead. “You’re thinking you can get women to vote for you—”
“Because I’ll order them to!” the Mayor cried. “They’ll vote for me and enjoy it. It’ll feel so good, they’ll want to vote twice. Watch this: Emilie, I’m tired of waiting. Take off your trousers, right now.”
“Yes!” Without a moment’s hesitation, Watson unfastened her belt, slid down a zipper and slipped her trousers off her legs. She draped them over a chair. Underneath she was wearing pink knickers and trousers socks that matched her camisole. Her shoes were white slip-ons.
“The jacket too.” In moments her jacket was on top of her pants.
“How did that feel?”
“Ohmygod it felt glorious!” the half-naked administrator said. “Wow, I think I could cum at any moment.” She was trembling.
“You’re semi-nude in front of near strangers.”
“Yes! I’m shameless! I feel yummy!”
Downs turned back to his companions. They were both staring at Emilie, slack-jawed. “Fielding, I want you to book a series of public appearances. Nothing outdoors. Small halls or theatres. Something we can fill.”
“Sir, you’ve never drawn big crowds. Or any crowds, actually.”
“Now I will! Start with small rooms, under-sized. Let the air get a little close. Keep the windows closed, even if it’s warm, and turn off the AC. I’ll tell the crowd to bring their friends next time. We’ll move up to bigger rooms as the crowds grow. And they will grow. Em, would you tell your friends at the hospital to go to my rallies if I told you to?”
“Honey, I’ll tell everyone, from the board chair to the janitors! I’ll drive them there myself! I’ll promise them time off, or better pay, or hand-jobs. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you a big crowd.” She was jubilant.
The Mayor was all grins. “When the crowds get big enough, I’ll start ordering them to vote for me. And to persuade their friends to vote for me. And to promise their husbands wild sex if they vote for me. And to go door-to-door in short skirts and high heels to sweet-talk all the other men into voting for me.
“Fielding, those lawns signs. They need an overhaul. My picture, and this text: Vote for Mayor Downs. Large font. Nothing else. Women will be reminded every time they see one that it’s and order. They’ll like that.”
Trevor looked at half-dressed Emilie, who was herself regarding the Mayor with a look of adoration and lust. “My god,” he breathed, “that could work.”
“And you’re welcome to come along for the ride, my old friend,” Downs replied. “All I have to do is instruct the ladies how to vote whenever I’m in Ward 4 and you’ll get a jump at the polls.
“And the best part is, Emilie has agreed to run for council too. Isn’t that right, babe.” He playfully slapped her ass.
She jumped. “Yes! What a wonderful idea. I’ve always wanted to be in city government. And on council, I’ll be close to Philip! Mmmm, he can order me around all day.” She threw both arms around Downs and kissed him again. He held her with both hands on her ass.
“Look out Ward Two, here I come!” Emilie proclaimed, when their lips finally separated. She pulled her camisole over her head and threw it away.
The other men were taken aback, and not just by Watson’s strip-tease. “Ward Two?” said Wentworth. “Are you serious? Ward Two is Ritterson’s ward.”
Trevor said, “Philip, Ritterson owns Ward Two. Some patsy holds it for him while he runs for mayor, and when you beat him his underling resigns and Ritterson comes back in a by-election. Unopposed. He’s impregnable.”
Wentworth added, “A newcomer would stand no chance, especially someone inexperienced with —really, really nice tits!” His outburst was a response to the view of Emilie’s pert breasts, now fully exposed as she tossed off her bra.
“These feel heavier,” she commented. She bobbed her boobs in both hands. “I must be retaining water or something.” Snowden and Wentworth both suppressed a groan.
“He’s not impregnable any more!” the Mayor crowed. “I have found the keys to the castle. Now we can finally be rid of that walking pocket calculator. Em has some great ideas: better parks; more bicycle lanes; maybe even a monorail in place of bus route nine.”
“Sir, you may want to reconsider that last one,” Wentworth said. He was still gaping at Watson. “I did some awesome tits—I mean, some bits, some bits of research, as you asked. Maglev’s are terribly expensive.”
“Oh but that’s just the upfront cost!” Emilie interjected. Her own front bobbed up and down. “If you calculate it properly, over the life of the project, the construction cost is more than recouped by more fares, lower operating costs and less energy use. Not to mention they’re faster, quieter, reduce road traffic and great for the environment!” She bounced on her toes and clapped like a cheerleader after a touchdown.
“Oh,” said Wentworth. Her rebuttal was not what he expected from a naked, sex-drunk giggle-doll.
“Oh, but Philip, darling,” the bare-chested, bare-legged candidate went on, “I’m getting all steamed up again. You told me that talking about politics would make me horny. Can’t we stop talking and like, fuck for a while?” She wrapped herself around the Mayor. She began kissing his cheek and neck, indifferent to the other men in the room. “Em needs more Streeter-cock,” she murmured.
“In a minute, baby,” Downs assured her. He had a hand on her ass again. “You see, gentlemen, Ms. Watson has credentials. We’ll run a joint campaign. Once my magic mojo has done it’s work, I’ll start ordering the women in Ward 2 to vote for Em, and to support her however they can. I’ll order them to campaign for her. Hell, I’ll order them to dress like her. And I don’t need to remind you that Ms Watson will soon develop a very crowd-pleasing appearance. By election day she’ll be more popular than a movie star.“
Downs gave her a playful swat on her pantied derriere. Watson didn’t stop kissing. “Hornyyyyy,” she whispered.
Downs said, “Ritterson won’t stand a chance. All his female supporters will desert him once they’ve been dumbed Downs a little. Meanwhile, young men will be jerking off to Em’s television spots. Women will drag their boyfriends to her rallies and give them secret hand jobs while she speaks. She’ll sweep the election. Ritterson will lose by so much he’ll contract into a ball of spare parts and disappear into a recycling bin. And then I can finally retire and go work in a bank.”
He raised his glass. “Gentlemen, a toast. To my grandfather, Upsen Downs. And to the best election campaign this city has ever seen!”