This is a sample chapter from Filling Congresswoman Barbara Nashton!
The more voters Barbara Nashton met, the more she disliked them. Every event was the same, even the ones that were different — if she went to a debate and spoke to liberal voters who hated her, she had a terrible time; if she went to a Republican rally and spoke to conservative voters who loved her, she had a terrible time. It was all just interacting with The Public, a nameless, thoughtless beast that reacted wildly. Whether glad-handing them or brushing them off, she still ended up sweaty and tired, and another day older.
Her fourth reelection campaign began at a community center in Lexington, Virginia. She had voted for a bill that cut funding to community centers — but nevermind, she didn’t want to think about any of that. She just memorized the talking points her handlers gave her, and maintained her appearance; that took pretty much all of her time and attention, so she had little awareness of what she had voted for or why. She knew less about governance than she had before being elected to Congress.
Someone’s hand was warm and rough, like heated sandpaper. She shook it and was pulled from her dim robotic-politician mode. He was among The Public but he wasn’t like them; he wasn’t a blur. He was there, and when they shook hands, time stopped. Her eyes met his.
He was a tall, rugged black man with a work-toned body and day-old stubble on his neck and shoulders. He wore only a sleeveless t-shirt, and his biceps flexed as he shook Barbara’s hand. His face was unshaven, his eyes slitted (stoned? She thought maybe). She shuddered a little as images of his naked body flitted through her mind. She managed to cover it up so nobody noticed.
She dismissed it, and continued the line. Her hand felt cold when she dropped his hand, but she moved on to the rest of The Public just the same. As always, she shuffled her real feelings to the back and smiled. She hugged a baby. She made sure the photographer got a shot of her hugging an Asian woman.
Soon enough the photo op was over, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had managed to get through another event without doing something embarrassing that would end up on YouTube. That was really the best she could hope for. That was the main criterion for political jobs nowadays: have you ever said something that would make for a damning YouTube video? If not, you have a career in politics waiting.
Before leaving, she told her staff to wait and hurried to the ladies’ bathroom. She specifically told her staff not to come so she could be alone for a moment — her female employees were liable to come with her otherwise, so they could continue talking about campaign tactics — she needed a little time to herself, even if it was only a few moments.
Moments after she entered, the door swung open again. She looked away from the mirror and saw him there, locking the door behind himself. For a moment sunlight filled the bathroom and Barbara was blinded, but she knew it was him by his presence and his tall shadow and the smell of cocoa butter emanating from him.
He grinned. His dark charcoal skin gleamed in the brilliantly lit bathroom. His powerful chest strained beneath the sleeveless t-shirt he wore, and his muscles all rippled at once as he approached her.
“Hello, Congresswoman,” he said. “Whatchoo up to? Saw the way you was lookin’ at me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“I always like to make my constituents happy,” she said. She reached one hand into his jeans and fondled his thick cock. She had never felt a dick so big and so hot, throbbing between her fingers and getting harder by the moment. She needed two hands to stroke the whole thing. Sexual urges flooded her mind, and Barbara pictured herself being gangbanged by dozens of men crammed into this tiny bathroom.
It was throbbing and leaking precum from the moment her hands touched it. A part of her wanted to fuck the man right there, but she managed to quiet that section of her mind down. This was risky enough, she thought. His own fingers crept into her panties and her clit came alive with the touch of his callused, blue-collar finger.
“Oh baby, you got wonderful hands,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her, and she smelled his aftershave. He nuzzled her neck with his grizzled chin.
Her hands worked in sync, stroking every inch of his cock. His pants finally dropped to his ankles so she could see it now, its dark brown color and the veiny shaft spasming beneath her fingers.
She was so focused on the hot shaft in her hands that Barbara could almost forget about his hand on her clit. He knew exactly where to touch, it seemed, and she wondered if he was some sort of expert fingerer.
He sure seemed have the hang of it, she thought as she shuddered. It was like her whole body went weak while his finger turned her insides into jelly. She inhaled deeply of his rustic scent and the smell of his unwashed clothes.
He bucked his hips wildly and closed his eyes. His whole body tensed, then relaxed, and for a moment it was as though Barbara was supporting him entirely through his cock. He groaned so loud she wondered if her aides outside could hear — she hoped not because it would be awkward, but on the other hand, she hoped so because then they’d know she had got this hot guy. Barbara giggled with excitement as she felt semen coursing through his powerful shaft. It shot into his pants and all over her hands.
Hot and creamy jism covered her fingers, and Barbara leaned back against the wall of the ladies’ bathroom. She was startled from her dreaminess by someone trying to open the door and finding it locked. She realized how this would look if she were caught, and humiliation flooded her even as her orgasm was still roiling her body. She gasped then clasped her hands over her mouth and had to suppress a giggle.
He just stood there with his massive slab of limp meat dangling moistly between his legs, while Barbara hurried to wash her hands off.
“Thanks, ma’am,” he said. “We need more folks like you in Congress.”