Legislator Dolly, A State Capitol Seduction

“I want to taste it,” I hissed at Rick.  I knew his cock would twitch when he heard my lips say those words.  The flirting had been innocent enough, in his mind anyway, when we were both freshman representatives in the state legislature.  I had a business background, he was a young go-getter lawyer, and when we ended up on a committee together, in addition to the alphabetical and tenure-based seating assignments next to each other in the Capitol chamber, well, Rick and Dolly saw a lot of each other.

I also had some notoriety, a high profile past marriage and divorce and my own athletic career, so between the public profile and pervy paparazzi hoping to catch a wardrobe malfunction exposing more of my body than even I wanted to show off, so Rick was often in the camera frame as well.

Good.  He was smart, a persuasive negotiator, clearly had a future in politics, and he dressed pretty well for a guy on a budget.  Rick was married, as most members of the legislature were.  Mrs. Rick was demanding and spoiled, her father was a big deal in their small home town.  Which is why Rick didn’t want to stay there and move to the bigger city, and was doing a nice job of building his own legacy.  And I wanted part of that legacy to be my Dollifying him. (Can I invent that verb here?  To Dollify:  The act of Dolly Jewel fucking a man to his highest aspirational point of pleasure and gratification and beyond, such that his life thereafter will feel somewhat empty and meaningless unless he can reasonably hope to once more be Dolly’s lover; secondary definition—being fucked senseless and then some.  Let’s go with the secondary one.  More to the point).  And now, I’d lured him to my home, snuck him into my bedroom while the rest of the party guests were on the deck, in the yard, around the pool, and I wanted to Dollify him to the point of my own gratification. 

“Dolly…” he began, having already backed himself against the wall at the foot of my bed.  I love when they try to pretend they don’t want to.  It makes the “oh my fucking God don’t stop” outbursts later that much more satisfying.  One thing to please a man, quite another to quench desires that he was denying himself.  Rick needed to get fucked big time.

It started with catching him checking me out.  And allowing myself to be caught smiling back.  The handshake that lingered longer than with any other member of the legislature.  Following the path of his eyes, which wasn’t all that different than the path taken by many other eyes, but when he looked up and realized he’d been busted counting the freckles on my tanned cleavage between my 34D girls, he smiled a “okay, you caught me, can you blame me” sort of a smile.

“Weren’t you married to….” was how one of the earlier personal intros began.  “Yes, I was, please don’t remind me” I told him, and Rick touched my hand as he apologized.  Felt nice.  I’d married young, another high profile athlete I’d met when I was still on the tennis tour, one of those global management company agent get-togethers to keep us all happy and from switching representation. The female athletes are sort of dual-purpose: Sure, they want to keep us happy just like the quarterbacks and basketball players with shoe contracts, but those of us who clean up nicely and end up in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue are dangled for the men to meet and set up celebrity eye candy athlete couples.  What, you didn’t think Rory McIlroy cold-called Caroline Wozniacki for a date, did you?  Nice kids both of them, shame it couldn’t have worked out.

Me?  I’d made it to the alter, then got cheated on and had to use my daddy’s influence to get some drunk & disorderly charges dismissed and get a back door of the police station out of sight release for him.  He never hit me, and didn’t deny the couple of other women he fucked while we were married (okay, that didn’t piss me off, if anything the disappointment was that he was doing it in such a way that proved he was too irresponsible to stay married to, which was a bummer because I’d have totally been game for a threesome with the type of hot-ass babe sluts he could hook up with.)  So a divorce per the pre-nup, dropped off the radar long enough to finish my MBA, some time in the family business, and the some contacts got me into local politics and here I was in the legislature.  Standing next to handsome Rick. 

“You don’t have to do a thing, Rick, let me,” I told him when he tried to stop me.  “Please” was all he got out before I silenced him by kissing him.  My body pressed to his.  The party downstairs, and he’d followed me upstairs when I told him I wanted to show him my souvenir autographed jersey from the 1972 Undefeated Super Bowl Champion Miami Dolphins.  I do have one.  It was in my bedroom.  I call it my “bait”. 

And Rick had taken the bait, was not trying to break off the kiss, and his hands found the small of my back, then my ass as my hands slid from his mid-thigh to his bulging cock.  I rubbed, slowly, broke the kiss and locked my blue eyes on his own set of blue eyes. “I want to taste it,” I repeated.

He didn’t try to raise a defense.

I unbuttoned his shirt with one hand (it’s harder than it looks) while continuing to silently stroke Rick’s dick. He pulled my blouse out from my skirt.  Our mouths found each other’s again as we finished stripping each other. He was already oozing pre-cum (knew he needed to get laid) when my fingers felt the heat of his man-flesh brought bare as our clothes were on the floor around us. He felt my globes, “squeeze them, harder, fuck me Rick” I told him, somewhat regretting the use of the F-word there.  Dirtier than I’d intended, but he was hot, and I was in victory mode already.  Another seduction.  What Dolly wants, Dolly gets.  Dolly wanted Rick.  Rick was going to give Dolly what she wanted, right there in Dolly’s bedroom. 

You know I’m feeling good about things when I talk about myself in the third person.  Why not?  We’d been in the legislature for half a term together, gotten two bills to the floor, he’d enlightened me on some water usage issues and I’d shown him a thing or two about education funding he hadn’t previously considered.

And now he was seated at the foot of my bed, and I knelt between his knees, using my left hand to stroke a very handsome married cock coated with my saliva while I bobbed my head up and down, my tongue bathing his length with lubrication.  I dug my nails of my right hand into his thigh as I mouth fucked his cock, and more pre-cum told me he was mine and increased my excitement.  Did I mention he needed it badly?  Cumming in my mouth inside of sixty seconds didn’t raise much of an argument to that assessment. “Oh God, oh fuck Dolly, shit, suck me, suck my cock, swallow it, oooooooh, shit, yeah, like that…..” Music to my ears.

I pushed him back up to the bed, and followed, crawling on all fours like a lioness taking her time with her prey.  His eyes were aglow, his cock was flaccid but still long and thick, and before I could even ask how long it would take him to get hard again, I felt a twitch against my leg when we kissed and his tongue was licking up the remnants of his own spunk from my lips and around my mouth from the pre-orgasmic smearing.

“I’ve got something for you that tastes even better, Ricky,” I told him.  He grinned when I called him Ricky.  Nobody called him Ricky.  But now he was mine.  I could call him what I liked.  Ricky didn’t need a roadmap, he knew where flavortown was located, and his lips and tongue were inside my smooth shaven and excitement flooded pussy in seconds.  Not bad, but later, after he fucked me good, when we enjoyed just a few minutes of afterglow before figuring out how to get back to the party, he did confess Mrs. Rick didn’t like receiving cunnilingus (I smirked as I heard him use the proper name for going down on a chick), so he was out of practice. “It felt good, and I’ll be your coach and have you back up to speed in no time,” I told him as I kissed him and rubbed his cock along my freshly fucked slit.  Which made me realize I still needed to remove his condom and dispose of it.

I know, I skipped over the part where Rick’s sloppy but eager oral efforts led me to spin around to sixty-nine with him, and then my dirty dangerous stripper slide for a second until his eyes grew so wide that I realized I was actually scaring the boy so I reached into my nightstand next to the bed, grabbed a condom and applied it over his beautiful and underutilized dick and then mounted him, working him into my core, then turned for some reverse cowgirl facing a mirror, followed by Rick impressing me by taking the lead without asking, pushing me over onto my stomach and then pulling my curvy but toned hips into the air to receive his fucking in doggy position firmly and forcefully enough to excite me without being a creepy non-consent kind of force.  He pulled my hair, and leaned his sweaty body against my own perspiration slicked skin to tell me that he’d wanted to fuck me since our first day in the Capitol, and I told him that I wanted his married cock to fuck the hell out of me.

Rick told me that he’d strayed from Mrs. Rick on a previous occasion, that he’d sworn he never would again, but then found out that Mrs. Rick had an on again, off again thing with a guy from back home whom she’d planned on marrying until he knocked up a University of South Florida co-ed and gotten married and moved to Tampa.  She had never gotten over that guy, and offered Rick a divorce with a handsome settlement that her father would fund.  Rick was a quick study with politics, and long-time wives are an asset.  They had an understanding, and each seemed okay with it.  I was very pleased to help Rick feel like he wasn’t getting the short end of the stick.  And when he was inside me, I definitely knew I was getting the long end of Rick’s stick.

I remember when I was having that home built, using some family money savings to supplement some tennis tour and endorsement dollars to ask the architect for some custom items.  He looked at me curiously when I asked for an elevator from the dressing area of my bedroom to the basement, with no stop in between, and a hidden staircase next to it with narrow landings and reversals so that the stairs didn’t take up much more room than the elevator shaft did.  Only when I inaugurated the home with an open house, praise for the architect, and then we christened the bedroom with a quickie did he understand.  I needed a way to smuggle my lovers out of my bedroom, I explained.  He’d camouflaged the basement elevator doors and the stairs with hinged wall portions of the wine cellar. The architect used that exit to then re-enter the party with a bottle of chardonnay.  Rick took the stairs, saying something about not wanting to risk getting stuck in an elevator that wasn’t used very often.

Ah, Rick.  As our time as lovers went on, and I came to trust him enough to share more of my life with him during our pillow talk, he came to realize how silly that fear had been.  My bedroom elevator gets plenty of use.



Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!

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