This Must be an All Time Low for You

The satin dress pools around her thighs as she kneels, the hem riding higher and exposing long stretches of creamy skin. She keeps her gaze lowered, unable to meet my eyes.

Her hands tremble as she reaches for my belt.

Watching her like this sends heat surging through my body.

This has to be unimaginably humiliating for a woman like Margot Maroney—a congresswoman, a public figure, a woman used to commanding rooms full of powerful men.

And now she is kneeling before someone nearly half her age.

My erection strains instantly against my pants as her nervous fingers free it.

The moment my cock springs loose, her eyes widen again.

She tries to suppress the reaction, but I see it plainly.

She wraps her slender fingers around my shaft. Her touch is tentative, reverent. She leans in and presses a single, feather-light kiss to the tip, her soft lips grazing the sensitive slit. The contact sends a jolt through my groin, electric and sharp.

Then she opens her mouth and takes me inside her mouth.

Her tongue flattens against the underside of my shaft as she sinks lower, taking me deeper. The sensation is exquisite—hot, wet, tight, overwhelming.

"Look at me," I command, threading my fingers into the silken strands of her ponytail. "I want to look you in the eyes while you learn your place."

She obeys, tilting her head back. Those ice-blue eyes meet mine, shimmering with unshed tears, burning with resentment and **** arousal. I see everything in that gaze—the degradation, the surrender, the perverse thrill of being brought so low.

"This must be an all-time low for you," I taunt, cupping her cheek with my free hand. "The great Margot Maroney, on her knees with a mouthful of cock. Just like a lowly intern."

Her cheeks flush crimson at my words, and a single tear escapes, rolling down her face, but she doesn't pull away.

"Cup my balls," I instruct, my voice thick with pleasure. "Roll them between your fingers. You're going to get a mouthful of cream pie soon, Margot. It's been a while for me, so this won’t take long.”

Her hand drifts lower, delicate fingers finding my heavy sac. She cradles me, rolling the sensitive orbs with surprising gentleness. Her other hand reaches behind my sac, her long manicured index finger tickling my taint.

I gasp, “Fuck, Margot…”

Her tongue swirls around my crown, lapping at the precum that leaks steadily now. She moans around me, and begins to bob her head in earnest, taking me deeper with each downward stroke.

My climax builds at the base of my perineum, a tightening coil of heat. I gently grip her head with both hands, my hips beginning to thrust in shallow, urgent strokes.

"Get ready," I warn, my voice ragged. "I'm almost there."

She whimpers around my shaft, the sound vibrating through me, and that pushes me over the edge.

I erupt.

Pulse after pulse of thick, hot release floods her mouth, coating her tongue, splashing against the back of her throat. She gags, chokes, but swallows convulsively, her throat working to keep up with the deluge. Excess spills from the corners of her stretched lips, white ribbons dripping obscenely down her chin.

I buck into her mouth, my knees weak, pleasure surging through me in waves until I'm utterly spent.

She keeps swallowing, her eyes glazed now, her throat working frantically. Even as she struggles, she maintains that eye contact, letting me witness every moment of her debasement. Her expression is one of pure submission, her place beneath me now undeniable.

I slowly withdraw, my softening member slipping from her lips with a lewd, wet pop. She sits back on her heels, chest heaving, gasping for air.

I brush my thumb gently across her mouth, collecting the remnants of my release before pressing the finger back against her lips.

Without protest, she suckles obediently until it is clean.

Then I guide her face back toward my softening member, where a final strand still hangs from the tip.

"Finish the job," I say, "Clean me completely before I put this away."

She nods, meek now, all pretense of control shattered. Leaning forward, she extends her small pink tongue and delicately laps at my softening length, catching every stray droplet. She works methodically, thoroughly, leaving no trace of my spend behind. When she's finished, she presses one last, gentle kiss to the tip, her lips soft and reverent.

Then she rises unsteadily to her feet, smoothing her rumpled dress, trying in vain to reclaim some fragment of her former dignity.