This is chapter 6, part 7 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.
Chapter 6 – Part 7, Politician in my Bed
After her next event, María awoke late afternoon and dragged into the kitchen, kissed Brett on the forehead and ignored me. As I made her brunch, I drew her out with small talk until, after three cups of strong coffee, she began to talk. The Pol had pimped her. Twice. Her vagina in exchange for votes.
The first time, a couple of weeks ago, the Pol introduced her to two other junior senators and told her to treat them nicely. They led her into an empty bar in the hotel, and playfully ensured that she imbibed a couple of stiff drinks. In full prick-teasing mode, she sat on a table, pulled her dress up to her waist, opened her legs wide, and the youngest of the two caressed the valley of her vulva. She heated to arousal, but said she had no intention of fucking these politicians – thank god for skintight panties! But she was certainly willing to be hand stimulated to orgasm and maybe she’d suck their penises if they did a good job. The other guy pulled her dress off over her head, laid her back, lowered her brassiere and sucked her nipples. It felt great, and she quickly entered the first convulsions of orgasm.
The pounding against her bottom brought her back to reality – the young guy held her legs straight up and grunted as he bottomed his penis inside her vagina. He ejaculated as she reached to check her panty – still tightly on. The young guy passed her legs to the other who mounted her and ejaculated within seconds. They zipped-up and left.
She felt her crotch, the panty was completely open at the bottom. She panicked – what would the Pol do? The Pol forbade her to fuck another man on ride days. She grabbed napkins to sop up the semen oozing from her vagina, and made her way to the powder room, ignoring the snickers and slights of the other women – they all seemed to know what she had done. She cleaned-up as best as possible, and went back out to the reception. She debated telling the Pol she had been raped, when he sidled up to her and said, “You did great, fantastic, you saved my butt on the vote tomorrow, thanks.” They were tense at the following dinner, and he washed her with deliberate tenderness before they started the ride. Nothing else was said. Of course, María said nothing to me afterward, she was ashamed.
As she explained, I kept thinking it sounded like old-fashioned political horse-trading.
And María had discovered the second secret of the Italian panties.
The second horse-trade happened last night. At the end of the cocktail, the Pol swapped her with an older politician for a pretty girl who could hardly be of legal age. The older guy was courteous, treated her to a expensive dinner, clumsily fucked her for twenty minutes, then slept and snored while she lay there feeling dirty and disgusted. She called the Pol from the limo on the way back – he thanked her profusely while the teenage girl cursed the anus fuck in the background, no doubt her first time. He called her back just as María arrived at our house, and she stuttered out what he said,
“You’ve passed the test. I’m want to marry you, you should separate from your husband immediately.”
I dropped my coffee cup throwing coffee all over the floor. I was grateful for the distraction of the mopping, but when I finished, she still stood there, regarding me as I-don’t-know-what. Trembling, terrified, I asked,
“What did you tell him? Are you leaving me?”
“Not now. I know what my life will be like with him. I’m not sure I want that life. He pimped me for votes. I don’t know, I can’t decide. I’m not a prostitute – please, please be nice to me, please love me!”
She cried. Brett cried because she cried, but I couldn’t cry – I held her and shook. That black void opened up inside me again, that infinite void without María. Nice to her? She had no idea how nice I would be. I would redefine the meaning of nice. Maybe love is just being nice. If so, by my niceness, she would know love.
* * * * * * * * * *
I met the politician months later. For some unimportant reason, I was home when the limousine arrived, and María and the Pol came into the flat together. I was on the back landing and we didn’t see each other. When I walked back through the flat, I heard low moans as I passed the bedroom door and looked in. The Pol sat on my side of our bed. María, on her knees, had his pants open, and worked her mouth over his penis. He wrapped both hands in her hair as he caressed her head – I hated him. They hadn’t heard me or didn’t care. Perhaps he sensed my presence, he opened his eyes for a moment, looked blankly at me, perhaps decided I didn’t matter, and closed them again. I sat silently in a chair and watched. I couldn’t see María’s face for her hair, but his face mirrored the explosion building in his groin.
She brought him to a shaking ejaculation. When he settled, he removed his hands from her hair and she pulled back. The light-skinned Pol wielded a coal black penis. He started to wilt, but I saw his penis was larger than mine. María glanced indifferently at me. As his penis drooped, María sucked it deeply into her mouth, then pulled back hard, stretching his penis. She did that again and again, milking the last drops of semen from him. She softly kissed his penis head, then sat on the bed next to him. His mistress.
The Pol was polite and personable, commendable qualities for a man who had just handled my slut-wife’s hair and ejaculated into her mouth. He gushed on about what an incredible, sexy, beautiful wife I had until I interrupted,
“Why do you want to take María from me, what’s the point if you can have her anytime you want?”
“Obviously you don’t really want her or you wouldn’t let her do what you just watched. And she clearly doesn’t want you or she wouldn’t be fucking me like a mad woman.”
“You have it all wrong, it isn’t what I allow – she goes with whom she wants and I have to accept it.”
“Well, it seems she wants me more …”
María settled the argument for us. She leaned into him, he put his arm around her, and she snuggled into him. His mistress.
My hands hurt, clenched into fists and my fingernails cut into my palms. I left the room and sat in the living room waiting for the Pol to leave. He didn’t. Minutes later I heard the moans and soft cries of María’s orgasms. I couldn’t resist the impulse to go watch.
They hadn’t bothered to undress. María lay across the bed sideways, her head hanging halfway over the side. The Pol held her legs behind the knees, straight up, stroking into her. María wasn’t mentally there – she floated in a zone of pure animalism, outside of human consciousness. I had seen her like that before, with the black salsa dancer and with DeepThroat in Guatemala. I immediately regretted watching and wheeled away to the kitchen in the back, out of earshot of their passions.
I returned to the bedroom when I heard the front door close. I stared at María, saying nothing. She said,
“We always say goodbye here.”
“Every time? Here in our bed?”
“I hate it when he touches your hair, I wanted to hit him.”
“You can caress my hair now.”
She undressed, got in the bed, and I stroked her hair until she slept. For the moment, she was his mistress and I had no right to make any demands. When she awoke, she’d be my María again. I went back to work, but I never went home early again after an event.
End of book content.
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