Sex for America: Politically Inspired Erotica by Stephen Elliott Page B

wouldn’t stop taunting me.
“So, in your little fantasy, the wife says, ‘Vote for Measure A and I’ll let you fuck me’?”
“That sounds silly when you say it.”
“It’s beyond silly,” James insisted. He continued to drive inside of me, working a little faster now. “They’re not having a conversa- tion like this at all. If anything, they’re having some huge four-star fight because she’s voting one way and he’s insisting on voting the other. In fact, I’ll bet he’s saying, ‘If you vote for Measure A, I’m going to have to give you a spanking.’ ”
That caught me off-guard, and for a moment I actually con- sidered switching over to the dark side. But I still didn’t want to give in. “Well, what if she says, ‘You can do that thing you want to do’?”
“ What thing?”
“You know what thing,” I said coyly. “The thing you always want to, and the thing I hardly ever say yes to.”
James was silent, but I knew he understood what I meant. “You’ll let me do that if I vote for Measure A?”
“She’s thinking about it.”
“She?” he asked softly, “Or you?” “I’m already voting for Measure A.” “You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s thinking about it, and I’m thinking about it—”
That was all James needed to hear. There was a tub of mar- garine still out on the table, and he leaned over and scooped out a fingerful. In seconds, he had lubed me up between my rear cheeks, his firm hands spreading me wide open. I shut my eyes and gripped even tighter onto the edge of the table, breathless.
James went slow at first, sliding his cock forward inch by inch, pressing hard, but not forcing. “Relax,” he said.
“How can I relax when you won’t vote for Measure A?” “It’s that important to you?”
James slipped in a little more, and I groaned. The sensation of being filled was almost overwhelming. Still, I somehow managed to reply. “Yes,” I muttered. “Yes, it is.”
Now he was fucking me even harder, gripping onto my slim hips and really driving his cock inside of me. My pussy was pressed firmly to the edge of the table, and through the filmy barrier of my nightgown, my clit received the most perfect pressure. I gasped as the rhythm of his thrusts increased in tempo, finding pleasure each time he slammed forward. I could come like this if he kept up the speed.
“You know,” he said, “Measure A needs two yeses to counter every one no.”
“Yes,” I panted. “Yes, Yes . . .”
“That’s three yeses,” James said. “You can’t vote three times.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.
“Oh, god,” I whimpered, unsure of what we were talking about or who I was. Was I Catherine trying to convince her bas-
tard of a husband to vote yes on the school measure and help the children? Or was I Lisa, whose husband was already an activist, such an activist that he’d forgotten to take care of me for the past two months.
I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter as James slid one hand under my body and began to tap his fingertips against my clit. He knew exactly how to work me, thrusting forward with his cock, then giving me a little tap before slowly withdrawing. When he pinched my clit hard, I found myself teetering on the brink, hardly able to breathe until the climax finally flared through me. James let those powerful shudders transfer from my body to his, and then he groaned and began to work me even more seriously, before coming ferociously into my ass and sealing his body to mine.
It took me a moment to recover. The morning sunlight played over our sparkly blue Formica breakfast table. The tub of yellow margarine seemed to be mocking me.
James pulled out and tucked himself back into his pajamas. “I’ve still got twenty more calls to make,” he said.

So he knew what was on his morning agenda, but I couldn’t figure out what to do next. Dear Abby held no interest. Nor did finishing the rest of the paper. I wondered what Catherine and Leonard were