A Slave To Politics Part 1

Chapter 1

I just have to cum. Two days of intense teasing is driving me insane. My legs are weak from the constant sexual stimulation, causing a river of goo to continuously flow down my thighs. The clip, attached to my painfully excited clit, has just stopped buzzing, leaving me teetering on the edge of an earth shattering orgasm. The tiny little elastic bands that were wrapped around the base of my nipples are keeping them super engorged, making them long and hypersensitive. The prolonged stimulation and denial is wearing me down. I can no longer think of anything but my need to cum.

I try to breath in some sort of normal fashion, but I have lost sense of what normal is recently. I want to scream in pure frustration. Without the use of my hands, I can't reach my pussy. If I could get up and somehow pound my crotch against something, maybe a railing or chair arm, anything to help me achieve some sort of release, I would be able to think straight. But I could never cope with the pain from the exact same device that was torching my quivering clit.

We are sitting in one of the most reputable, posh restaurants in the city, a haven for the rich and powerful to huddle for power lunches and intimate dinners. I am known here, at least by those whose job it is to know the powerful. In fact, I am known in most places in this city. This is humiliating being so horny in such a public place, with no way of stopping this sexual torture. How have I sunk so low so quickly? And how was I going to get rescue from this evil woman

My name is Alicia, the Deputy Mayor of this fine city. I know you are asking how someone in my position of power, living a clean life, could get in this predicament. Blame it on Brittany.

Brittany was my new intern at city hall. Each year I make it a point to seek out the best and the brightest to intern at my office for twelve months. I pay well, and I hand select each student myself.

My husband, a wealthy and powerful businessman, passed away two years ago, leaving me financially secure. Although he was almost 10 years older than me, we fell head over heels the moment we set eyes on each other. We shared an intense 8-year marriage, filled with the aggressive pursuit of our careers and equally aggressive love life. Now the void is sometimes too painful to manage.

I use my role as a mentor to these interns as a way of coping with my sense of loss.

Brittany may be the most promising to date. She scored through the roof on her SAT scores, had achieved a 4.0 average at her university while double majoring in political science and computer science. And believe me, she needed these intellectual muscles with the way she looked. It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty. It is just that you would never know by the way she dressed and walked and talked and acted. Her oversized, completely forgettable collection of frumpy blouses and floor length skirts, combined with her complete lack of make-up and slouching posture made her seem mousy and very forgettable.

Add to this her quiet nature and aloof presence, and you had the makings of someone who in my opinion would never achieve greatness in her life. Although I am only 33 years old, I felt an almost motherly instinct toward this precious girl. She would be my project, yet another woman who will conquer the world with my guidance. This is exactly what I set out to do.

We had made arrangements in advance for her to rent the apartment over the detached garage in the rear of my property. It was actually a two-story apartment with several bedrooms that were already furnished. She settled in quickly and quietly.

With her computer acumen, I had her working on creating a set of databases that tracked the complex array of city permits and business assessments for all companies conducting business in the city limits. She had quickly mastered our system and reconfigured the entire operation. Always courteous, she tended to stay to herself. I need to open her up and find her inner social animal.

Knowing she was single and alone, I would invite her out to dinner to talk work, as well as asking her to join me in my evening sessions at the gym. I am a firm believer in an even balance between the mind and body. If you want to push yourself and explore your true potential you need to keep both mind and body in top shape. At 5’9", I am a lean, muscled 128 pounds. My C cup breasts have stayed high and firm, and look even larger because of my slim torso. My hips are slim, and my ass and leg are strong from all of my running and weight workouts. I do 400 sit-ups each day, making my abs the favorite part of my body. I love how my strong washboard stomach looks in my mid-drift outfits. From my running and weight lifting, I look much better now than when I was Brittany’s age. I keep myself dressed in only the finest professional outfits, presenting a no-nonsense woman of power.

She, on the other hand, needed the E channel's Fashion Emergency. For our workouts, I did not like the dumpy boxers and oversized tee shirts she wore, so we bought her new exercise outfits. Surprisingly, she was in much better shape than I would have guessed. She had large, high breasts, small hips, and a wispy, sleek frame. With the right clothes, the right attitude adjustment, and most importantly, the right mentor, she will be a dynamo in politics.

She became enthusiastic about our workouts, and we became fast friends. You could see the difference in just a few weeks. She stopped slouching and starting dressing better (with the help of my credit card). Though still quiet and aloof to strangers, she became very open and energetic around me.

About a month into her work at city hall, she stepped into my office to ask me a series of questions about a business deal my husband had been involved with. She ran into some discrepancies in the funding process and zoning approval for a large commercial/retail complex he helped develop. I did not keep tabs on his business dealings, so I could not answer any of her questions clearly. She seemed satisfied and wandered back to her desk.

That Friday evening, Brittany invited me over for dinner. With all the ceremonies and fundraising dinners I attend as part of my job, a simple home cooked meal was welcomed change of pace.

Brittany greeted me at the door in one of her new outfits. The cream-colored silk blouse looked stunning in contrast with her dark slacks and mid-heels. She was the picture of refined elegance. She was especially cheerful this evening. We drank wine and enjoyed a superb dinner.

As we finished the main course, I said, "Thank you for such a wonderful meal. You should be proud of your culinary talents."

With a twinkle in her eyes she responded, "You will truly appreciate my talents with dessert."

She returned from the kitchen with a covered dish and set it down between us on the table. "Are you ready?’ she asked with a smile.

When I nodded, she lifted the cover to reveal a set of documents. I was dumbfounded.

" I guess you are wondering what this is. Let me explain," she said as she lifted the small stack of documents and handed me the first page. "It seems that your husband was quite the shady businessman. The databases which I created uncovered a trail of crooked financing and bribes," she said, handing page after page documenting each allegation. I was floored.

"Look on these two pages, how your name was included on the credit documents and financing applications. And look at this one. While you where sitting on the city council, you gave the green light to fund the Franklin House Project. That was a cover for a construction scam cooked up by your husband and several of his silent "friends". You see the names that are these ledgers?"

At this point, I was shaking my head in disbelief. I tried to say something, anything, but I was speechless. I don't remember signing these papers. Yet this was definitely my handwriting.

Brittany continued, " Let me spell out what this means. You are going to jail. You and your crony dead husband where defrauding the public and you are going to pay. I will make sure of it." She stared at me with cold, icy eyes that dared me to cross her.

I could not believe what I was hearing. "No this must be a mistake. I never…he never…this can’t be. There must be some error somewhere."

She had risen from her seat and was already approaching the phone when she responded; "I just wanted to see the look on your face before I called the police. I should have never trusted you. I let you into my life, just to find out that you are a ruthless, lying thief. You will learn how to behave when they have their way with you in prison, raping your ass everyday and every night. Fair and just punishment, in my eyes."

As she dialed the phone, I started shaking in panic. A helpless denial swept over me. I needed time to figure this out. How could my beloved husband, a pillar to the community, be part of this? Before I realized it, I screamed out, "Please don’t call the police. I am innocent. I can’t go to jail. I will do anything you ask. Just don’t do this to me."

She responded, "Please stop your denials. It is all there in front of you. And don't worry; I have another file with the originals stashed away. That set is for the police."

My survival instincts were now at full alert. I knew exactly what all of this would do to me. My career and my family would be ruined. The proof was iron clad. I would go to prison. This was a frightening prospect, due especially to my vigorous campaign to toughen laws against street crimes and prostitution as a way of cleaning up the streets. The women I helped put away would vow vengeance, I am sure.

"Please stop this. You will ruin my life. Please listen to me. I had no idea this was happening. Just don't call the police yet. I'll do anything if you would just believe me. Please?" I cried.

A devious looking smile crossed her face. She put down the phone and moved close to me.” Anything?" she asked.

"Yes, anything," I gulped.

"I don't believe you. I will give you one chance to prove to me that you don't want to go to jail. Now what can you do? Hmmm" she rubbed her chin in a mock gesture of deep contemplation. "How about I ask you to do stuff, and you do them. If you fail to do anything I ask, or offer any hesitation, then I call the police and become the star witness for the prosecution. I need to use the powder room. When I return, I want an answer, one way or another." With that, she clicked out of the room.

It was like someone drained all the blood out of my body. I could not believe this was happening to me. As she left the room, I tried to slow my thoughts down to some reasonable speed. I felt betrayed. I felt scared. I felt like taking off out of the apartment and running away forever. This ice queen had a hold of me with such cold, calculated grasp that I was truly frightened. If she is capable of this, how far would she be willing to go?

Yet, what choice did I have? At that moment, an image of a prison gangbang passed through my head. I could not go to jail. I was left with only one answer.

"Well, shall I call the police?" she asked as she returned.

"No"

"Then you agree to my terms?" she stated more than she asked.

"For how long?"

"As long as I want. It is yes or no, right now!"

"Y...y...yes," I mumbled.

"I did not hear you"

"Yes, I said," I mumbled a little louder.

"Stop whining. This is going to be fun," she said as she grabbed the incriminating stack of documents and put it into her briefcase, locking it shut. She turned around to face me with a look that froze me.

"Stand up." I looked at her for a moment, then stood up and faced her.

She approached me quickly and said in an almost whispered tone. "You are never to delay when I ask you to do something. Do you understand? Any more delays and I will call the police."

"Yes," I responded meekly, stunned by my feelings of total helplessness.

"You are to address me as Miss Brittany. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Brittany" I said as I felt a tingle of sexual excitement course through my body. No, I can't be enjoying this; it must be because I was frightened.

"You are learning quickly. Now strip out of your clothes. But leave the heels on!"

Stunned, I stood there staring at her in disbelief. When she moved towards the phone I moved quickly to remove my clothes. I was shaking as I fumbled with the buttons of my blouse. It slipped off my shoulders and onto the floor, quickly followed by my slacks. My skin felt very sensitive, and the cool air brought goose bumps and a sense of hyper awareness.

I could see the hungry look in her eyes as I removed my bra, exposing my breasts and already hard nipples to her piercing stare. This just fueled my embarrassment. Stepping out of my panties I could feel the heat of her gaze as she assessed my charms. Instinctively I covered my breasts and crotch with arms.

With a controlled, powerful voice she ordered, "Keep your hands down. And only speak when you are spoken to. Now turn around slowly."

Standing naked in my two inch heels made me feel more exposed and vulnerable than at any point of my life. I was stopped with my back turned towards her. In a very deliberate action, she attached handcuffs to my wrist, locking my arms behind me. I suddenly realized that she had planned this all along. I heard the snap of a camera. Panic started to rise up within me as my feelings of helplessness multiplied.

Yet I could feel a strong shudder of sexual excitement. I could not believe that I was getting wet from this kind of treatment. Between the morning of the passing of my husband, and the deliberately hectic schedule I kept, I had not made love to anyone in some time. I did masturbated with my trusted dildo, with my most intense orgasms fantasizing about being bound naked and forced to perform sex in degrading ways for men. But always men. And it was just fantasy, wasn't it? Just a way to relieve the pressures of a high-pressure job.

Yet Brittany did not give me much time to lull over my feelings. She wrapped some kind of strap just above my elbows. I groaned as she pulled my elbows together, causing my arms and shoulders to pull back behind me. My chest was forced forward, pushing my breasts up and out.

From underneath the couch, should pulled out a shoebox. She showed me the 5-inch heels. She bent down and took off my right shoe, then put on the new one. I watched as she buckled the strap, which attached just above my ankle. From her pocket she produced a small luggage lock, which she snapped into place, locking the straps into place. She repeated this action with my other foot. My balance was shaky, yet I knew that I would not be removing these shoes for some time.

Another click of the camera.

The room was eerily quiet, outside of Brittany's movements and my breathing. Still kneeling, she ran her fingers up my legs in a series of feather like strokes, shooting sensations straight through my body. As she approached my upper thighs and the bottom of my ass, my breathing became irregular and I could not help but let out a yelp and a deep moan. I could not believe that, in spite of my humiliated condition, my body was responding to her touch with an intensity I had not felt in years.

Her fingers continued their journey north, skipping my crotch but circling my flat stomach and sides. By the time her fingers drew a light trail around my breasts, she had gained complete control of my body's sexual responses. She tickled my hard nipples into long, hard nubs that ached for more demanding attention.

Yet her fingers rose ever higher, over my shoulders and up the sensitive sides of my neck. Her fingers trailed down my back and reached my ass, causing an involuntary tensing of my butt. She lingered on my ass, drawing the lightest little circles over both cheeks. As she reached the back of my thighs and knees, I thought I would faint from the erotic sensations coursing through my body.

She repeated the process again. By the start of round three I was a quivering, moaning mess. My slit was aching for some contact. I could feel my clit throb with my pounding heart. I had never felt so excited in my life. What was happening with me? Is there something wrong with me?

This time, she paid attention to my crotch. She drew her feathery touch around the outside of my labia sending shivers of pleasure through my oversensitive skin. My pussy was leaking wetness. She ran her fingers over and between my labia. Never in the world had I allowed another woman to touch me, yet I could not believe how excited I was becoming.

"Look how wet you are. You are just a horny slut. You must love being so helpless. Now, open you mouth and suck my fingers, slut," she said as she lifted her sex-coated fingers up to my mouth. Her use of the word slut pushed my embarrassment even further. I thought about keeping my mouth shut, but I was in no condition for any more surprises. I opened up wide and she ran her fingers all around my mouth. For some reason, the odd taste of my own excitement, combined with her fingers being sucked in my mouth and my helpless condition caused me to well up with tears yet again.

"Don't worry, honey, by the end of this weekend, you will have more pussy juice than you will ever believe possible. Your desires and excitement will be controlled by me and only by me." She brings her fingers down to my nipples again, using a stronger touch, pulling and pinching and twisting until they feel like they will explode. Out of a large gym bag, which I had not seen before, she grabs two clamp devices with a chain connecting the two. She pulls on the left nipple and attaches the clamp on its base.

The pain is overwhelming and I scream.

"Shut up, slut. You can moan, but nothing louder,” she whispered into my ear. She attached the other clamp, causing searing pain to criss-cross my breasts. My grunting and moaning filled the room. I see her pick up the digital camera and take another picture. I am mortified. She grabbed the hanging chain and using it like a leash, she led me into her bedroom. The shoes were uncomfortable and difficult to walk in. I managed to make it down the hall without having my poor nipples torn off my chest.

Her bedroom is rather large, with a king-sized four-poster bed and a number of dressers and chests. She walked me over to the full-length mirror in the corner. Next to the mirror was a small video recorder standing on a tripod. She turned on the camera as we reach the mirror.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I stared at my reflection. I looked like an excited, oversexed bimbo. My arms and shoulders strained as my boobs stuck out from my chest, as if inviting anyone to play with the long, clamped nipples. My excited breathing highlighted my strong stomach muscles. My crotch was glistening with wetness, and you could see some of this wetness had spread to the tops of my inner thighs. The high heels made my legs look long and strong. Overall, I staring epitome of sex. And I could not believe it was me.

"Like what you see in the mirror?" she asked as she ran her hands over my breasts again, stoking the fire between my legs yet again. As she rubbed me, I could see how I involuntarily moved my hips and twisted my mouth in small, slow, gyrating motions that looked sexy as hell.

"That person you see is a slut, a slave to her own sexual needs. I bet that you would masturbate right in front of me if you had a free hand and bring yourself to that climax which is building in you like a volcano. Isn't that right, slut?"

And she was right. I would have jammed my hand into my pussy without hesitation. I would have pounded myself without mercy until I achieved this Herculean orgasm that was building up inside me. "Yes, Miss Brittany" I stammered.