Fine Dining With Mr. Senator (2 page)

I spend what remains of the week
pining after David and trying to keep from touching myself at the
thought of him, or looking him up on the internet, or watching
interviews on YouTube. I can hardly eat, my nerves are so frazzled.
On Wednesday night, Stephanie lets me borrow a short black dress
with a plunging neckline along with her matching pumps.

David phones me Thursday evening,
which tickles me to no end being that I am used to guys texting me.
Then again, David seems like the type to prefer talking on the
phone to messaging. Maybe that is how all older men are. After all,
David is not some guy. He is not some boy. He is a man. He informs
me that the dinner party starts at 7:00PM tomorrow night. He asks
if he can pick me up. I tell him his offer is sweet. However, given
the fact that I do not get off of work until 5:00PM and it takes me
roughly half an hour to get home on the subway, I tell him I will
take a cab there.

I need all the time I can to get ready
for this man… and I would hate to make him late to his own dinner
party.

As I predicted, I spend every spare
second the next evening getting ready. I plan, or at least hope, to
get some tonight. If anything, I would be happy just to give some.
David is well worth it. After a shower, a shave, and a manicure, I
style my hair and apply my makeup. Finally, I slip into Stephanie’s
sleek black dress. All smiles, I try a twirl as I admire myself in
my bathroom mirror. I teeter and wobble precariously. I glance
around to make sure no one saw me, which is absurd considering I am
in my own bathroom in my own apartment and I live alone.

No more twirling.

Dinner is sensational. I arrive at
David’s brownstone home mere moments before the festivities are
scheduled to begin. His home is breathtaking, walled in by a spiked
wrought iron gate and an elegant brick wall. David introduces me to
all of his guests. He never leaves my side or makes me feel out of
place. I try to contain my excitement when I notice that most of
the gentlemen, no matter their age, are staring at me. It gives me
the sense that I might be beautiful enough to be David’s date, like
I look the part – like I made the cut. More importantly, I receive
frequent jealous glares or spiteful smirks from their women, who
are usually young.

The older women, ripe with
self-confidence and poise, are far easier to talk to. When I
mention my job
Cutting Edge
to Mrs. Flynn, a judge’s wife, is overjoyed. She
raves about the store for a moment, which broadens the grin on my
face. Soon enough, she has more of her lady friends promising to
check it out. Cheryl would be proud.

We carry on until the meal is served
in the dining room. David even pulls my chair out for me before we
sit down to eat. He is so unlike any of the other guys I have
dated. David seems like a real gentlemen – a dying breed in the
contemporary age.

A three course dinner is served,
beginning with a light soup and salad. Some of the guests use
dipping bread and butter. The entree consists of cuts of tenderloin
wrapped in bacon with baked potatoes. It all melts in my mouth. New
York Cheesecake and lemon squares are offered for dessert. But
there is nothing served that is as tempting and tantalizing as he
is.

“Why don’t you tell us more about your
platform, David,” Mrs. Flynn prompts.

David uses his napkin and puts it back
in his lap. “Well, to begin with, I hope to raise awareness on
injustices taking place in our very own city. We need to
–”

“What an admirable cause,” Mrs. Flynn
interrupting him with her warm, motherly smile.

Judge Flynn, an army veteran, sets his
wine glass down. “What do you think about tax rates?”

Mrs. Flynn purses her lips. “Must you
always bring that up, you grumpy old coot?”

“What?” he justifies. He gestures to
David. “I want to hear what the boy has to say.”

David smiles at me,
maintaining an air of decorum befitting a prince. “Firstly,” he
tells Flynn with the upmost respect. “I believe all people living
who live in this country are obligated to
pay
taxes, be they rich, poor, or
immigrant. As such, I would push for tighter tax regulations and
more frequent audits, but less taxes as a whole. There should
always be a balance. Too many get away with cheating the system. At
the moment, the majority of the tax burden is falling on the middle
class, which is certainly as ridiculous as it sounds.”

Eric Fairdale, who is David’s
childhood friend, chuckles. Fairdale is a tax lawyer. He is tall
and thin with piercing green eyes, jet black hair, chalk pale skin,
and sharp features. And the two of them are just as starkly
opposite with their looks as they are about politics. “Pretty big
talk coming from someone like you, Davey.”

David grins and raises his wine glass
in a toast across the table. “Yes, I acknowledge that I came from a
privileged background. Old money, trust funds…” Playfully, “But,
keep in mind I was not allowed access to any of that until after I
graduated college, during which I held an array of jobs from
loading UPS trucks to busing tables. I remember well what it is
like to have a job and how much was pulled from my paycheck.” To
Fairdale, “Vultures.” We all laugh.

After dinner, we all chat over drinks.
The guests trickle out roughly an hour later. David bids them all
goodbye and thanks them for coming. I start wringing my hands when
I realize that we are alone. It is what I want, but is it what he
wants? He offers to take me on a tour of the property. I eagerly
oblige. Perhaps he will show me to the bedroom.

I walk arm in arm with David through
his indoor garden to his indoor pool. Pools are rare in homes in
New York City. David certainly is full of surprises. The pool,
framed by polished slate stone, is crystal clear. So are my
intentions, though his are dubious. I would give everything to this
man – let him do to me whatever he so desires. I would gladly let
him ruin me, if it meant but a night with him. And as the moments
pass, I cannot help but think that he knows it. My lust for him is
overwhelming.

We pause together. “Do you like what
you’ve seen so far, Taylor?” he inquires.

“Definitively,
Mr. Senator
.” I smile
slyly. “In fact,” I try to hint without sounding too desperate, “I
would love to see more.”

His hand slides down my dress, coming
to rest over my ass. Before I know what is happening, he spins me
around, draws me close, and kisses me. I am powerless in his arms,
quickly melting into a puddle of lascivious goo. His kisses are
slow and purposeful – a commanding presence in and of themselves.
His large hands trail a little lower before they ascend, dragging
up my dress in the process. He pulls me so close that I can feel
him through his trousers. He feels amazing.

My fingers work to open the buttons of
his jacket. I slide my hands inside, over the meat of his chest and
his sculpted abdominals. I want to be naked and writhing beneath
him. He slips his tongue into my mouth.

My hands move to his belt buckle. He
seizes my wrist and drags my hand away. Fearing I have done
something wrong, I open my eyes. His lips never leave mine as his
hand snakes around the front of my body. He caresses the bare skin
of my inner thigh. His fingers venture farther up to ghost along
the outline of my underwear. I’m already wet.

His tongue delves deeper, leaving no
room for me to protest. I am slow to realize my general lack of
control at first, but when I understand that he means to dictate my
every action – manipulate my every limb, I succumb to him
completely. His finger continues to trace and tease between my
thighs, venturing close but never touching what I so desperately
want him to. Soon, he has me moaning unreservedly against his lips,
begging for more. I want him to spread me wide open and fuck me
until I can’t remember my own name.

He removes my dress. The indoor air is
warm against my skin. His fingertips trail down my spine, leaving
tingling sensations in their wake. I shiver in pleasure. He
unclasps my bra. He has my panties around my ankles in a matter of
seconds. I am naked in his arms, at the mercy of his wandering
hands that grope and pull in ravenous tugs. I want to wrap my legs
around him and let him take me right here.

“David,” I moan. “David, please.” With
that, the man finally lets me undress him. I drink in his smooth
chest and chiseled torso, thirsty for more. His thick, juicy cock
waits for me between his muscular thighs, aroused and wanting. My
first impulse is to taste it. That is not his plan. He hooks his
hands under my thighs and picks me up so I straddle his hips. I
start kissing his chest and throat, in desperate need of something
to do with my mouth. He takes me down the steps and into the
pool.

The water is warm, serving only to
heighten the heat between us. The only thing on my mind at the
moment is the driving need for friction. I can hardly stand it. He
wades into the water and sits down on the stairs. I sit astride
him. I can feel his aching tool between my ass cheeks. I blush with
desire. He takes me but the chin in a firm, but gentle grasp. I
feel his fingers ghost over the flesh of my inner thigh in the
water. I try to push against his finger, but his other hand holds
my hip fast. Only once does the broad pad of his finger stroke me
and I practically come undone.

David sits back, bracing his wide
shoulder blades against the ledge of the pool. At last, he gives me
the opportunity I crave. I slide off his lap, moaning when my clit
slides across his shaft under the water. I resist the urge to will
my hips into a back and forth motion. I find myself on my knees
between his thighs. The water is up to my breasts – nipples pert
with arousal. It does not faze me that the water will destroy my
makeup as I stoop down and envelope his aching cock between my
lips.

I hold my breath as I sink deeper. I
hear him sigh before my ears are submerged. He slides both hands
into my hair and holds me under, guiding me along his solid,
delicious shaft. I suck eagerly. It hits the back of my throat. He
wants me to take him deeper. His cock is so large that I nearly
choke. He brings me up abruptly, his hand finding purchase in the
crook of my arm and then the flesh of my ass as he drags me up his
body and into a fierce kiss.

I stroke and work him, praising his
cock with my hands as he leaves fingerprints in my ass and my
breasts.

David takes me out of the pool. He
kisses me into a wooden room. The sudden deluge of heat, like the
breath of a living thing, tells me it is a sauna. David shuts the
door. The inexorable heat drives me wild with cravings for him. The
coals and hot stones steam and hiss under the grate. I want him to
push me into a corner and fuck me on one of the wooden benches. I
want him to claim me on the ground.

David backs me against the wall. While
my hands continue to milk his cock, he ties my wrists together.
Before I know it, David raises my arms and puts the rope over a
hook dangling from the ceiling. My toes barely touch the ground. It
is maddening that I can no longer touch him.

David slowly circles me, not unlike an
apex predator. I can feel his wintry blues burning holes on my
flesh, as though he means to devour me. The dim light paints him an
especially sinister shade of blue, but I am not frightened. I groan
flirtatiously, pulling on the ropes.

“Do not struggle, pet. I would hate
for the ropes to blemish your skin.” He caresses my arm.

“I want you inside of me. Now.
Please,” I beg, my eyebrows knitting together in
desperation.

David tangles his fingers into my
hair. He pulls, inclining my chin. “So impatient. All in good
time,” David tells me. “I intend to play with you first.” I shiver,
feeling new liquid heat blooming between my legs. Suddenly I know
this is going to be a very long night – a night I will never
forget. I can only moan as David binds more ropes around my ankles,
spreading my legs for him. Now, I am suspended entirely from the
hook. He brackets my hips with his hands and starts tonguing and
sucking on my nipples, feeling me up.

“David,” I whisper.

David walks around behind me. I
whimper when his palm collides with my ass, leaving a biting sting
in its place. I hear him fumbling with something. I can feel his
erection pressing against my backside. Water drips down my skin,
left over from the pool and condensing with the humidity. My wet
hair clings to my shoulders.

I find myself in darkness when he
secures a blindfold around my eyes. He then ties a ball-gag in
place behind my head. My loss of control is absolute. I can say and
do nothing. I can only moan. It is immensely arousing. This man may
be a gentlemen in public, but he is the best kind of sinner behind
closed doors. He is kinky and superbly dominant. I want him all to
myself – always.

He runs his hands over my legs, like
one inspecting a horse. His hands swim around to the front and
under me. He starts whispering something close to my ear – French,
I believe. He starts stroking me, petting with his middle finger,
coaxing and caressing. I bite my lip, half incoherent with the mere
pleasure his finger provides. He explores, moving left and right. I
moan aloud.