Electing For her Curves

Small town tradition that’s harmless.

Wholesome.

Fun even.

But once I saw her, his only daughter on his arm when the last gala dinner was covered by the town’s nowheresville public broadcaster covering the upcoming local election, I knew what I wanted as soon as I saw her.

She will be mine.

But I also know her dad is in my way.

It’s nothing for me to arrange the printed fliers to be sent to the current mayor’s office, knowing he’ll send his dutiful daughter who’s also his campaign assistant to return them to me in person.

But once I see her, once I feel her.

I know she’s not going to be as easy to pluck from the tree as I might like.

Not if her old man has anything to do with it.

Before I meet my opponent for the title of Mayor though, I get a front row seat of everything I came here for.

I feel my heart rate quicken once I see her coming up the path to the office. My mouth’s suddenly dry and I feel like reaching for some water.

But there’s something else I’d rather have coating the inside of my mouth once I pretend not to notice her ascending the steps to my door.

I see her shape moving behind a stack of boxes she’s carrying.

Curves that snake and tease my eyes with each step.

Perfect hips that move rhythmically in time with her feet.

Hips I already know I want to grip as I fill her with my seed.

Childbearing hips.

The hips of the perfect woman, a mother. Lover.

Forever hips that I just know will have an ass to match.

The very thought sees me making an involuntary sound, groaning with a pleasure I’ve reserved for us both in a near future. As soon as possible.

She’s struggling with the boxes I know the printer sent to her instead of me, and once I notice how much she’s troubled by them, how much trouble she’s really having I rush to the door and open it.

My instinct is to take the boxes, toss them aside and pick her up instead.

To feel those hips with my own hands, to feel her equally heavy chest pressing against mine as I tell her just what I have planned for her…

But I have to keep up the pretense. I have to be James Silverthorn, Mayoral candidate for Woods End for just a little longer.

I help her with the boxes and ease her inside, settling her down onto the huge leather couch in my office, still covered with a white sheet from storage.

I pretend not to know who she is, listening to her stumble over her words as she mirrors every feeling I have in my body with her own.

By god, but she’s perfect.

Her blond bangs tease her brow which arches cover an oval face.

Brilliant, clear blue eyes almost flutter as she looks up at me before I have to squat then finally kneel down in front of her if only to try and disguise the instant effect she’s having on me.

I’ve never known such a feeling, such an instant and overwhelming current in anyone else’s presence.

It’s like her entire body is the matching end of a current that powers a giant switch between us, lighting up everything.

Everything looks brighter, clearer, and more colorful now that she’s here.

I can feel a tightness in my chest but I’ve never breathed easier, nor had such a pleasant ache in my groin ever.

It’s like everything I felt the first time I saw her on TV amplified by a thousand.

A million.

A trillion.

She introduces herself after I insist we start over, her own babbling tells me the effect I have on her, but I can’t presume to know who she is without being properly introduced.

That would blow my cover.

By sheer instinct, I feel my hand on her knee, gripping it gently and even sliding some of the sheer cotton fabric upwards.

Yearning to go further.

Dying to grip both her knees and pry them open, bury my face between them to quench my thirst for her.

But I can’t.

Not yet.

Standing and turning suddenly, I don’t even mind she sees the effect she’s having on me.

The sooner she sees how fucking hard she makes me the better, but I only let her catch a glimpse, my heightened senses telling me we won’t be completely alone for very much longer.

Settling myself behind my desk, I sit stunned as I notice her own hand absently stray between her legs as she sits across from me.

Trying to tell myself she’s just shy or nervous, I can’t believe it for a moment but once I see the flushed look on her face.

The wide, dark look in her clear eyes that tell me she’s just as turned on as I am, just from the two of us sitting here in my office.

I can see her thick chest stiffening under her pure white blouse, the thin cotton hiding nothing now.