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Five.
That’s how many points separate Michael’s lead from Jim Jenkins. Everyone is confident it should be enough to carry the day. I don’t really pay much attention to it. Lance and I are usually having sex. But we both know we need to keep this relationship a secret till after the election. The public can’t find out. I don’t think Michael would really care at all if he found out I was sleeping with someone. But he would kill me if he lost the election because of me. Then he’d kill my father. Then Lance would most likely kill him. I can see the fire in both men’s eyes. They may not be related to each other, but it burns brightly the same.
Two hundred.
That’s where I lost count when I try to think of all the times that Lance and I have…been together. Ah, we’re all grown up here, right? That’s the number of times he’s fucked me. And trust me, multiply at least three orgasms for each time and that’s how many times I’ve cum. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced or felt before. There are simply no words. I’ve quite literally become addicted to Lance Anders. I know there’s an opioid addiction problem in the country now, but to me, Lance is my drug of choice.
At least once a day, sometimes two or three. If Michael is travelling, then even more. The benefit of youth I’ve discovered is that Lance is ready to go at a moment’s notice. And once he’s done, he’s only needing maybe another 15 minutes before he’s ready again. And each successive time the sex is longer and stronger.
You name it, we’ve done it. One afternoon, not long ago, he found me lounging next to our pool in the basement. I was wearing a cute new two piece bikini. Lance had just come back from the gym.
“It’s new,” I said to him, looking at his reaction.
He didn’t hide it, but adjusted himself to show me his huge erection that was tenting his sweat pants. “Looks like you like it,” I said to him, feeling lascivious. I don’t know how I get like that but he completely brings it out in me.
He didn’t say anything that time. Just got on his knees and began to lick my tits, moving my bikini top to the side. Then he proceeded to take his clothes off and fuck me so hard while I ran my fingers and my tongue over those chiseled abs. Those pecs. Those 8-pack abs. I must have cum at least half a dozen times by the time he finally told me he was getting close. I still remember that afternoon because he must have cum in quarts, because he spurted for what felt like forever onto my tits. Imagine your tits covered in warm, hot, gooey, cum. Then imagine yourself using your finger to scoop it up into your while he watches and gets hard.
You can guess what we did after.
Thirty.
That’s how many days ago Lance and I
basically went from having sex before we realized that there’s something a lot more real to this relationship. It’s not just him fucking me. I mean, that night when I snuck into his room to keep him from going to Europe—we both sort of knew then. But aside from that one time, we never really talked about it. Until a month ago.
“How many women have you been in love with?” I asked him one day. We had just showered together. He had surprised me while I was in there. But I didn’t mind. I lifted my leg onto the wall and he took me while soaping up my tits. It was a good thing he held me, because when I came, my knees gave way. He ended up holding me as he fucked me, completely in control—treating me like a total sex object. I loved it.
But afterwards, as we lay in bed together and watched the sun rise to high noon, I wanted to know more about this young man. I already knew a lot. How his mother died when he was ten. How with no surviving relatives, his stepfather became his primary guardian. The courts allowed it and expedited the process—anything for an up and coming Congressman it seemed. But Lance quickly realized he got a guardian—not a father. His life was a series of boarding schools and visits to New York when photo-ops were needed.
I know about the wild period that Lance had, from high school through college. How he did anything at all to get attention, having been neglected his entire childhood.
“None,” Lance answers my question and pulls me closer to him. “I’m not the falling in love type of guy.”
“Everyone is at some point or another,” I told him. I can’t believe I’m asking him, a man 15 years younger than me. I sound like a teenager! I don’t know why I was so determined to hear him say that. I should be over such things.
“I agree,” Lance said, and looked into my eyes. “I’ve never been in love with any woman.”
I looked back at him, nodding. I could live with the fact that he just viewed this as sex, if it came to that.
“But I’m in love now,” he continued, apparently not noticing my near complete emotional collapse a second earlier. “With this amazing girl I know.”
And, yes, hun. He really did just call me a girl. Not a lady. Not a woman. A ‘fucking hot girl’.
I should have stopped him there, but he wrapped his arms around me and turned to his side. “She’s cute, and funny. She makes my fucking dick so hard I think it’s going to break,” he said to me.
“So romantic, geez,” I said back, rolling my eyes. But I was blushing.
“She’s sweet, kind, and makes me want to protect her,” he kept going, not bothering to care what I said or did in response. “And I want to be with her for the rest of my fucking life.”
“Do you kiss your mom with that mouth?” I asked him, smiling.
“No,” he replied to me and then grinned. “But I lick my stepmom’s pussy with it all the fucking time.”
I gasped. It still puts shivers down my spine as I imagine him telling me that. It’s sinful. But so delicious. It was noon. The sun was streaming in onto our naked bodies. And he was telling me he loved me.
But he was also smirking. And without another word, he pivoted his face lower, showing me with kisses as he traveled down my body.
He kissed down my breasts. And my stomach. Until he reached the folds of my pussy. I sighed. Then gasped.
