Chapter 6 – Part 8, The Pol for President

This is chapter 6, part 8 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 8, The Pol for President

A special documentary on the Pol’s political career aired, with footage of the Pol in many events. The video emphasized the diversity of his constituency, and he appeared with four escorts from his stable. María was the most videogenic of the group, and she appeared several times, followed in appearances by the black escort. I could see why he wanted to marry María. She possessed the perfect non-white skin color for his race-based political message. All his escorts were beautiful and gracious. I presumed he rode all of them, all night, several times per week. Watching the video turned my stomach with envy – this man was intimately immersed in a world of multiple beautiful women, a world that would never be for me. And his immersion and intimacy into each woman was total. My envy enhanced my admiration for his personal charisma, progressive politics, and sexual prowess. Loaning him my wife was an insignificant contribution to his success.

María even appeared taller and thinner in the news videos and photos. The 4-inch heels helped but there must have been some deliberate optical effects. She was radiant, glittering, but her beautiful body symmetry was diminished. The Pol also looked taller in the videos compared to the photos. A politically inspired trick?

I wondered if she would be seduced by the glamour and lifestyle? She appeared perfectly at home at those events. However, in the house, she told me she was terrified the whole time. She felt out of place, a sow’s ear among the silk purses. She thought her accent in English was horrible, so she smiled, kept moving, and prayed for the ride to begin.

The video showcased the Pol’s charisma and charm with women. He handled them so smoothly and naturally – his hands on their shoulders, waists and hips. With María, he guided her around the room touching her body suggestively throughout. Twice, he cupped her lower derriere to nudge her along. She didn’t seem to notice and it looked so natural. To see María take his arm and go up the red carpet into an event made me proud and hurt me deeply. They looked so natural together. He was dapper, flamboyant and confident, and she radiated grace and happiness. Maybe she thought about the upcoming ride. She leaned-in to whisper something to him, and they nuzzled and exchanged small kisses, the kisses that reveal profound intimacy. I thought either they were really in love, or were both compelling actors. A dark volcano rumbled in my groin, knowing for that moment, she belonged to him. I wondered if she had already wet her panty, the panty only one man should touch.

As I watched the video, I wondered which of his escorts were married. They all had great poise and the mature elegance of … of course, they were all married! Did he ride their anuses also, pumping them up with semen and cocaine? How did they resist losing themselves into him? How could they return to their husbands after being ridden like that? What did their husbands think? Maybe they were all perverts like me. Or, like me, maybe they thought their wives’ presence with the Pol would help his career, that they could advance the progressive cause through their wives’ vaginae.

But how did the Pol find women whose husbands would allow him to fuck their wives?

Duh! He didn’t even think about the husbands – he chose women that wouldn’t let their husbands get in their way. I watched the escorts in the video with new respect. Probably they were as powerful as María. Did I say powerful? Was she powerful? It had never occurred to me she might be powerful – maybe, maybe not, maybe I was weak. No, she’s not just powerful, she’s downright dangerous.

María and I had often discussed why the Pol preferred married women, when they were certain to cause problems in his political career? Why did men lust after married women when so many single women were available. María acknowledged men hit on her harder after she married. She thought it was the simple presumption married women were sexually experienced, and unlikely to make other demands on a lover – for marriage, kids, financial support, etc.

I thought it something deeper and sinister – cheating with another man’s wife was warfare against the other man, even when secret. The testosterone syndrome: defeat another man and take his property, the most valuable being his woman. The base emotion was among the worst, if not the worst of all emotions: envy.

I got out María’s bilingual bible and found the Ten Commandments. Half of the commandments dealt directly with envy of property, two specifically with spouses: ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’ and, ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife’. Maybe the Pol envied these beautiful women in the hands of another man. Thou shalt not covet … pure envy.

In jest, I told María she should pay attention to the commandment about adultery, and she retorted, “Don´t you dare throw that at me, you’re as deep into that as me, even if it’s my body you’re using to cheat with.” And then she told me not the least in jest, “Here’s a commandment for you:

Thou shalt not covet thy politician’s mistress.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The video got a lot of TV air time, and I taped it. I watched it over and over, examining each of the Pol’s escorts. The image quality was bad, so I called the Pol’s headquarters in Oakland to ask about it. Yes, they had it on DVD, and had mailed it out nationwide. I drove over and got a copy. It was well done, and beautifully clear on the DVD. Now the Pol’s body language and treatment of the escorts was easy to see. Clearly, María was his favorite escort. He touched her in a more sexual manner and with more cariño than the others. On my computer, I was able to list the timestamps of each interesting movement, and enlarge the video frames.

I wondered how many people were watching this special report video. Thousands? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Everyone watching would know the Pol was fucking the Latina. The knife in my groin turned into a chain-saw. Many watchers might undress her mentally, or imagine the Pol nude between her legs, especially the black men and women. The chain-saw cut off my genitals and they fell to the floor. The saw began to section-up my body, my legs buckled beneath me and I fell back on the couch. Fortunately, only a few dozen watchers would know Isabel Velázquez was my wife María.

The video speculated about the Pol’s future presidential potential – it would be viewed by millions of people nationwide, all of them smirking that he is fucking my María. I gasped for breath and toppled over with vertigo as my lower body was sawed off, and … whack! Like a blow to my head, a panic struck me and I became crystal clear. The report would be seen by my relatives, my parents even, in the Midwest. They adored María, they were very religious, and I couldn’t imagine their reactions if they recognized her in the video.

I calmed down quickly – her stage name was Isabel Velázquez, and she looked remarkably like María, but it wasn’t her. They would believe me, because they could never accept my wife was a paid-for political whore. I’d be OK. The chain-saw in my groin subsided, but something still nagged at me. Of course – the other party of tin-foil-hat reprobates would investigate the Pol as soon as he became a political threat. They would publish our names – the whole country would know my wife was a common prostitute, fucking that bastard.

I had to stop their relationship immediately. The Pol rode her at that exact moment and I didn’t know where she was. I called her cell phone but it was turned off. I could do nothing until she returned in the morning. I watched him touching her on the TV, and imagined how he rode her, souped-up on cocaine. It was too early for the Ride – was he jiggling her on his penis in the shower? On the bed stroking into her vagina? Or maybe her tongue wrapped around his penis head or traced up and down between his butt cheeks? The nausea crept back into me; the chain-saw cut me up again.

The next morning, a Saturday, I left the flat at 10:00 AM with our son so the Pol and María could do their goodbye penis suck without interruption. She slept until about 5:30 and came out groggy but happy. While our son played at our feet, I pulled her onto my lap to talk. Her anus was sore, so she gingerly wriggled around until she got comfortable. How could such a small body contain such a large woman?

I talked to María, to convince her she must stop escorting the Pol. I told her about the special report, and we began to look at selected scenes in the video. I started with the white escort – we watched how the Pol touched her body, took her arm, and otherwise escorted her through the events. María commented on her quite cattily, and I told her to watch her as Jane Public, to see this video on the TV for the first time with no previous knowledge of the Pol. At the end, María pronounced that the white escort was a whore, perhaps even a prostitute, and certainly fucked him.

We repeated the process with the black escort: María enjoyed this, laughed and cut her up – definitely a prostitute and dying to fuck the Pol. María was a little more gentle with the Asian escort, mainly because the woman was more reserved, maybe not too quick or dull. A simple whore, she fucked the Pol every chance she could.

The Hispanic escort, María, was next. María watched in total silence. There were two scenes where he cupped the bottom of her derriere to move her around. After watching all the scenes, I asked,

“Imagine you’re a TV viewer in Peoria, Illinois and you saw this video. What would you say about the Hispanic escort?”

“Certainly a slut, a paid-for slut, probably fucking the Pol.”

“Probably?”

“Definitely. Definitely fucking him. A total whore.”

“So now the hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of people who’ll watch this will know you’re fucking that bastard.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you think you should stop this?”

María walked out of the room, and I didn’t pursue her. I had to let her work-it-out for herself. If she didn’t choose to stop now, I’d raise the point about my relatives seeing it. And if that didn’t work, about the opposition party investigating her and revealing our true names. And how they would call her every foul name in the dictionary. Then I thought even years from now, it might affect us. How would our son react to taunts his mother was a prostitute to sleazy politicians?

That night in the bed, María answered. She would continue with the Pol regardless of the consequences. She couldn’t stop now, she was addicted. She was in until he threw her out. He had already doped her, fucked her in every possible position, and ridden her anus. And she’d do anything else he wanted. She said her body now belong to him, for his pleasure.

She must have realized the enormity and consequences of what she had said, she began to cry. She would let the Pol drag her into hell for the ride. I didn’t have the heart to mention the other negatives, why torment her more? Stuttering through sobs, she added, “for his exclusive pleasure.”

I was cut-off from my wife, for the first time since we married. But I determined to keep her at all cost, and would stay as close to her as she allowed.

* * * * * * * * * *

The weeks passed. Even though she wouldn’t let me touch her sexually, we still slept in the same bed and she still gave me all the details of their trysts. They were getting more serious, more intimate. The rides went longer, extending into the afternoon of the next day, really until not even cocaine could keep them going. But they increasingly used less coke, and more cariños.

I could see where this was headed. She wasn’t sauntering away from me, it was a full gallop. The Pol was getting lost in her, now giving her expensive presents from his heart, even if paid by the taxpayer. He would ask her at any time to leave me. And she would say yes. I know this because she told me. She thought he was ready to ask her.

She told me to prepare to separate, to start thinking about how we would handle our son. She didn’t care about money, the Pol would take care of her. She had told him she had a child, and I would have sole custody.

I was heart-sick. I couldn’t fathom she would abandon our son. I had anxiety attacks at work, at home; I hid them but the stress of knowing I would lose this woman that defined my existence ate me from inside. I took uppers to focus at work. I barely slept at night, unable to stop watching her as she slept. I caressed her body, marveling how her body moved so sensually under my hands. Sometimes her hands moved to her nipples and vulva, stimulating herself and driving me crazy with lust. I pumped my penis so hard I abraded the skin. I couldn’t understand – why the Pol? Why not me?

End of book content.


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