Ass

Part III

Karen

Chapter 11

After spending nearly a week at the family mansion in Westchester, north of New York City, most nights with Cheryl, her belly demonstratively rounded by our child and, to me, looking all the more beautiful because of it, with a certain subtle maternal glow, Pat joining us for the last couple nights, visiting us from much farther upstate, Buffalo to be precise and her work on the corrupting corporation there, a needy Molly getting me one night for a relentless ride and my sister Sarah’s girlfriend Brenda, the Irish lass becoming remarkably intimate for another, along with some pleasant time being around my mom, I headed to DC.

A taxi from Ronald Reagan Airport (sorry all you Reagan lovers out there, but I can’t help finding the name ironic since he busted the attempted strike of the air traffic controllers and other sympathetic airport unions, and maybe even for the best considering possible economic ramifications, but putting scabs in the tower instead of negotiating in good faith seems a bit extreme and illustrates the anti-unionist, pro-corporate bias of the Grand Ole Party) brought me to a posh apartment in the Watergate complex. Karen, light brunette hair, thick and loose, very pretty girl-next-door visage, her soft average curves covered in a short colorful robe which revealed strong and somewhat thick thighs, cleavage revealing the probability of her being naked beneath the robe, greeted me with a smile.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, returning her smile.

“Leave the rest of the bags and I’ll show you,” she replied, grabbing my garment bag with my suit and hanging it in the coat closet before turning and walking away. I briefly admired the subtle shifting of her ass, neither big nor small but a pleasing medium, before letting go of my rolling luggage and the day bag attached to the handles and the shoulder bag from my shoulder and followed her to her bedroom.

A sizable room with a queen sized bed, a homespun patchwork quilt covering it, frilly pink drapes covered the window, the southern exposure bringing late sunlight into the room, not quite sunset but nearing it, giving the room, otherwise unlit, a pinkish cast. The femininity of the room surprised me considering the defiant, mostly lesbian, anti-male dominant, strong willed women who made up Mistresses Incorporated. Any questions I had would have to wait since Karen beckoned me to her having pulled aside the quilt and the sheet beneath it, opening her robe to reveal her moderate, perky breasts with brown areolas and nipples, also moderate sized, a soft but not fat belly slightly darker than her breasts, setting them off along with the slim tan line at her hips and the area above her pudendum, the slightly darker and curlier hair there naturally shaped yet trimmed at the edges and shaved around her slit, all there for me to see with her sitting at the edge of the bed.

Standing between her thighs, I let her unbutton my shirt, which I removed, and undo my pants, pulling them away from my growing cock. “As nice as reported,” she smiled at it, not touching it, but it felt like I could feel her gaze. “Let’s find out about the rest of your rave reviews.” She slid back onto the bed while I sat to remove my shoes and socks, my pants and underwear soon followed. Her thighs remained open, and I took the invitation to bring my head between them, tasting her musky sweetness without any other flavoring and figured she’d bathed for me. My tongue and lips encouraged more of that flavor, succeeded with more and more abundance until I teased out a mouthful after several minutes.

“Gods!” she trembled, barely heard what with her thighs squeezing my head, imprisoning my mouth there, preventing any breathing. Not one to panic, in fact feeling the restriction as proof of success, I waited for her to relax her thighs. When she did I moved up over her, bringing her flavor to her mouth. She actually licked my cheeks and chin and giggled. “I taste good, don’t I?”

“Delicious,” I agreed with a grin.

She pulled me into a soft kiss while my cock pressed against her slit.

She broke the kiss with a sigh. “There’s condoms in the bedside drawer,” she explained. “I’m on the pill, but the jackasses I deal with sometimes don’t listen to me when I demand they wear them. When it happens, I get checked out of course, fortunately with anything I find out about curable. Even if nothing turns up I let them know they gave me something,” she giggled. “If they get it checked out, I figure they’ll just think of me as a whore when it comes out negative. Men like virgins and whores, and I give them both.”

By the time she finished her explanation, I’d gloved up and brought the tip of my cock to accumulate the abundance of juices at her pussy before pushing in. Again I found the moderate in her tightness, further proving her being medium everything which I found surprisingly sexy, a kind of female perfection, woman qua woman. And her cunt being medium tight was plenty tight enough.

I kept my strokes long and slow which she illegal bahis seemed to prefer, bringing my mouth to hers and her moaning within our kiss. When she broke it she pressed on my shoulders and I understood what she wanted, bringing my mouth to her breasts, sucking each one and worrying the nipples, my fingers working the other breast. It soon became clear something not moderate about her, her intense sensitivity, whether from her breasts or my strong stroking inside her, probably both. Within seconds she climbed to the heights of ecstasy. Arched, with her head back, a loud guttural moan filled the room almost viscerally, containing one elongated word: “Fuck!” Within the tension of the arch she shivered subtly, and inside, surrounding my cock, interior shivers soon followed by a flow of fluid wetting my balls. The quickness and intensity of her orgasm surprised me and I became indecisive. Should I keep fucking her, extending her bliss or push deep and press against her clit in another form of extension? After a couple strokes, I chose the latter, better to feel the complicated pulses that surrounded my cock, pulses that seemed to cohere, to change from chaos to purpose which was to attempt to squeeze out my cum via my long column of flesh inside her like some sort of biological milking machine. And it succeeded, and feeling every moment of succumbing ended up bringing me as intense an orgasm as I’d ever felt, even if it probably wasn’t nearly as intense as hers.

“Fuck,” she murmured once we relaxed from our mutual bliss, a much shorter version of the word. “That was…fuck.”

“Yeah,” I agreed with a soft chuckle.

We both sighed when my penis slipped out and I hurriedly caught the edge of the condom. She managed, however weakly, to coax me to turn over, our genitals remaining pressed together as she straddled me. Her arms crossed at my chest and her chin rested at the center. Her face expressed a deep satisfaction along with curiosity.

“I heard you last longer,” she said.

“Sorry. After a first cum and especially a second I usually can.”

“No, Joe, that was…astonishingly perfect. To tell you the truth, I either get bored or it gets to be too much if it goes on too long. Probably the latter with you from what I’ve heard.”

“Good to know,” I chuckled, thinking, “How do I adjust my modus operandi for this woman whom I like already and find wonderfully sexy?”

“Hungry?” she asked, ending my thoughts.

“Starved,” I told her.

“Good,” she smiled, slipping off my body and off the bed. “Shower if you want, and you can put on some comfortable clothes.”

“Where should I put my bags?” I asked.

“Here of course,” she replied, putting on her robe and tying it. “Unless it’s too girly for you.”

“It’s not what I expected,” I admitted. “But I like it.”

“Good.”

She started to leave.

“Uhm,” I stopped her. “Are we eating out?”

“Home cooking,” she grinned. “I’ll bring the bags in. Go ahead and shower,” she gestured to a door.

Showered and dressed in my “comfies,” my label for t shirt and sweat pants, what I wore to bed, I found Karen in the kitchen bent down in front of an opened oven and pulling out a lasagna. She’d already plated a simple salad on the kitchen table at two places across from each other.

“I kept it warm,” she explained, scooping out slices onto a couple plates. Pour us some wine?”

A bottle of red sat open and I poured some into the wine glasses up to the widest point. “Water?” she asked.

“Thanks,” I replied and she used the contraption on her fridge to fill two glasses with ice and water.

“Bon appetit,” she smiled, and after pouring Italian dressing on her salad, dug in. I chose the bleu cheese.

“Wow,” I said after my first taste of lasagna.

“Thanks,” she grinned.

Between bites and swallows, she told me her story.

“I was born into an Amish community, but was far too rebellious and intelligent to stay.”

“The quilt?” I asked.

“My mom gave it to me when I left, or more kicked out, at sixteen.”

“Sixteen?”

“I’d already run away a couple times. But finding me getting inappropriately familiar with an older boy’s penis was the last straw. Probably intentionally found. By the way what I was found doing I’ve gotten quite good at, probably what I’m known best for. It’s what I’ll do for you so you won’t be too much, if you don’t mind,” she smirked.

“You know I won’t,” I chuckled, “but…”

“I like what I do to a man with my mouth.”

“Okay.”

After a pause for eating, she continued. “Anyway, I made my way to Poughkeepsie, to Vassar, where I thought I might entice some lesbians.”

“You knew it was your tendency?”

“Of course. I actually almost tempted a girlfriend, but she ended up freaking out. Anyway I snuck out a copy of The Group by Mary McCarthy from a library a town over and didn’t even know Vassar was no longer a woman’s college. But I ended up finding a professor. She basically adopted me, if not officially, and though she illegal bahis siteleri was attracted to me, held off until I was eighteen, and only for the summer before I began matriculating there and she became one of my teachers. I had to live in the dorms to prevent any suspicions, but she really was very moral and very careful. I didn’t have to be,” she smirked.

I waited for her to eat some more before she returned to her autobiographical tale. “Politics and government brought me to George Washington U for graduate school. Then internships with predators and assholes brought Cheryl into my life to finally take control of things, of men, and then Lizzy finally gave me a long term relationship with someone I love, someone as rebellious and adventurous as me. I finally could use my reputation as the best blow job in town to my advantage.”

She demonstrated after dinner, deep throat and teasing a lot like I liked to do teasing women until she straddled my face to get her ready and riding my cock for an all too brief fuck, but with my sucking and tugging at her amazingly sensitive nipples somehow she managed to join me in climaxing, not as powerfully as she had before or as powerfully as I came, feeling as if my entire interior was spurting through that tiny hole, almost painfully pleasurable. I couldn’t help passing out after.

When she woke me up it was morning and she was dressed. “Sorry about sleeping,” I apologized belatedly.

She laughed. “Like I said, I like it short and sweet. It was perfect. Let’s get you fed before I need to go.”

“You don’t have to feed me,” I said.

“It’s the other thing I’m known for and I enjoy it more than the first,” she grinned beautifully.

After an amazing breakfast of omelets with spinach and other delicious things and pan fried potatoes, she pulled me to my feet for a hug and lingering kiss. “Why I awaited putting on lipstick,” she grinned afterwards. “Which I’ll do in the car since I need to get going. Molly should be here in a couple hours and get you working on things,” she added.

“Okay,” I said and watched her leave. I found her study and pulled my laptop from my day bag and began to work on things already assigned.

It didn’t surprise me that Molly arrived without needing to be buzzed in. “Bedroom,” she ordered. No surprise either.

She stripped quickly and hopped onto the bed, disappointed I wasn’t hard. When I crawled between her thighs, head first, she muttered, “I don’t need that.”

“But I do,” I said and proceeded in teasing her into an orgasm, two fingers fucking her since I knew it’s what she preferred, before toppling onto my back and she straddled my cock. Being ridden always helps delay my orgasm more than most positions, so I was able to hold off for a couple of her ferocious orgasms before reaching mine. Even so, she muttered, “Already?”

I chuckled. “My first cum of the day,” I reminded her.

“Whatever. Put it away. We’ve got work to do.”

After she uploaded my work onto a thumb drive, she put another thumb drive into my laptop and opened it.

“Russian?” I sighed, seeing a program by the same company in which I learned Mandarin.

“Your target speaks enough English to get by,” Molly explained while opening a file and in it an image of a broad faced Slavic looking woman with light brunette hair bordering between beautiful and handsome, a serious expression somehow seemed to be her permanent expression. I estimated her age to be a little younger than mine, probably late twenties. “You won’t need to learn Cyrillic and just like any language, conversational Russian is a lot easier to learn than reading it.”

“What’s her story?” I asked.

“An oligarch in training despite being the wrong gender, she’s been doing a lot of the successful work behind the scenes for her father, perhaps including the whole mess we’ll be exposing.”

“Perhaps?” I asked.

“We’re leaning towards not since this has a whole old boys’ club sort of vibe, but there’s pieces missing which she might have. Her problem isn’t just being the wrong gender but…”

“Preferring her own gender too.”

“Yep, and how homophobic the Russians can be…”

“She’d be into Lizzy more than me.”

“She already is. Lizzy is seen on the arm of one of the oligarch’s lieutenants, supposedly his mistress, precocious like his daughter and in fact they actually went to school together.”

“Supposedly?” I asked.

“He’s gay and the pretense is both for him and for the oligarch, because Lizzy’s actually fucking the old guy whose wife is a horrid little shrew. Lizzy thinks she’s a repressed lesbian and doesn’t think the two have fucked in years.”

“A lot of that in Russia I imagine,” I said.

“Yeah, especially amongst the elite.”

“What’s the plan?” I asked.

“A double date and a sort of blind date. More the latter because Lizzy’s supposed lover will be there too. You’ll be an old friend and ex-lover of Lizzy visiting her. Lizzy will invite Natalia and bring a date for her.”

“Gay?” canlı bahis siteleri I asked.

“Exactly. It won’t exactly be blind for her supposed boyfriend because she’s looking into someone who had been a clandestine lover of his when all three of them were at University.”

“So it’s about getting her supposed lover hooked up?”

“That and you and Lizzy hooking up with Natalia.”

“Natalia isn’t exclusively gay?”

“Lizzy has seen her with some muscle bound muscle head hunks, rarely the same one, so she seems to enjoy the occasional hard fuck.”

“Like you,” I thought and verbalized, “A transsexual would be ideal.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sort of dreamy sadness.

“Have you tried that?” I couldn’t help asking.

“A couple times. Reality didn’t match the idea of it, partly having to do with size and partly them being mercenary situations.”

“I can’t even imagine how hard it would be for a transsexual there,” I speculated.

“Probably even more suicidal,” Molly agreed.

“This is for Lizzy to get into Natalia’s home,” I asked. “But it has more long term possibilities?”

“Beards as long as Lizzy’s there,” Molly nodded. “When things fall apart, and we’re not even sure the oligarch will suffer anything, even if it comes out he’s working with the enemy, Putin will probably figure it to be some brilliant manipulation, which it is actually, but if heads get toppled we’re hoping the lieutenant takes over with Natalia as his beard wife and heiress, and Lizzy will find a nice substitute for her for Natalia, someone smart enough to be her secretary or something.”

“How long do I have to learn Russian?” I asked.

“Three to four weeks. Meanwhile Karen has someone she wants you to meet.”

“A villain like the Dragon Lady?”

“No. She’s a congresswoman known for her distaste for cynical elitist manipulations on a committee who can do something about it. Efforts to expose corrupt practices between fellow legislators and certain well paid for corporate interests have been thwarted so far by others in the committee, especially its head.”

“He’s in on this?” I asked.

“Yes. We’ll be alleviating her frustrations along with feeding her ambitions.”

“Along with other frustrations,” I surmised.

“Having a dickwad of a husband treating her like shit and cheating on her,” Molly confirmed. “And she can’t afford to divorce the asshole mostly for political reasons, the whole image of a healthy happy family on the dais.”

“Family?”

“A son and a daughter, both preteen. The son looks to have been born a month or so earlier than he should have if he were to be conceived at their honeymoon.”

“I’d say who cares in these times but I understand all the lies and deceits required to put on a moral front.”

“There’s other skeletons too against Bridgette, your target.”

“Let me guess. She plays for both sides.”

“Yes.”

“I understand what she can lose, but what does the asshole gain by staying married?”

“He’s the scion of a rich and powerful family.”

“Are they part of this mess?” I asked.

“Not directly, but they would benefit from Karen’s senator’s efforts to affect legislative changes regarding foreign trade as well as taxation, and his having the ear of the administration.”

“So more a hopeful audience than a participant. But they still won’t be happy if she works against them.”

“They won’t move against her,” Molly grinned smugly.

“Who?” I asked.

“Lizzy early on,” Molly reported. “One of Bridgette’s husband’s chippies and his father’s as well.”

“The long game,” I nodded.

“Yep. We knew she’d be important, but needed to get our ducks in a row.”

“And have you?”

“Yes.”

“The Russians?”

“We have proof of their involvement, just not the details of who actually planned it all.”

“When do I meet this Bridgette? I assume it will be discreet.”

“Washington is all about discretion.”

“I imagine,” I chuckled.

“Karen will let you know. Meanwhile start learning Russian. I’ll put a file together for Bridgette. Most of the documents are done, but I may need you to fix up others.”

“Sure.”

Which is what we did, working side by side in Karen’s home office on our laptops. Molly would occasionally interrupt my memorization for some rewriting.

Karen came home hours later obviously in a hurry. She gave me a kiss and a slap on the ass. “Get dressed. Suit and tie.”

“Yes ma’am,” I smiled, moving to the door.

“Bridgette’s file done?” she asked Molly.

“Yes Ma’am,” Molly replied smugly.

“Fuck you bitch,” said Karen with a laugh.

I showered quickly and used Karen’s blow-dryer to dry my hair before entering the bedroom, my suit laid out on the bed. Karen looked beautiful in a deep blue designer dress obviously tailored to her form. She turned her back to me. “Zip me up?”

“You look beautiful,” I said and kissed her neck and tweaked a bare nipple before zipping the back zipper closed.

“Don’t do that,” she giggled, nudging her well defined butt against my groin, my penis responding, getting a little larger. Noticing it when she turned around, it grew even more resting in her hand. “You want me to do something about that?” she asked.

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