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or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 or
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Heidi The Blackmailer
"Hey Jack, you see we
got the fiery dyke back again for another week," I heard the
voice behind me and knew without looking it was the sweaty guy from
the local paper with the big gut and the comb over. I could just
sense the way he was sprawled out in the press room, his sweaty arms
hung over the chairs on either side of him, looking smug and fat.
Since I could already see the walrus, I chose not to look at
him. I kept my eyes to the front of the room where the dais was
located, waiting for the Mayor's Communication Director, or maybe
even the Mayor herself, to arrive and begin the press conference.
Nonetheless, I felt my fingers grasp my pen a little tighter and
noticed my heart beating a little faster. A whole week in town and I
was still the object of derision, it would seem.
lucky us," Jack, a reporter from the state capital said and the
clucked his tongue, "Now I hate to correct you there Pete, but
while our new colleague is certainly fiery, I mean right down to her
hair, I don't know if dyke is the correct word. I think they call the
manly ones dykes. This one, I am guessing she is a lipstick lesbian,
better known as 'a true shame.' She's about worth trying to convert.
Though, if she had a girlfriend around, I wouldn't mind watchin'.
With that said, I hope she grills the mayor's people again on the gay
marriage ordinance. I feel like that dead horse could use a couple
more whacks." Pete and Jack, the good ol' boys just covering
local politics, laughed together, knowing that I could hear them. I
knew that there wasn't anything I could do that would be
constructive; they were just trying to be trolls. But a week of this
had been enough. I turned quickly while they were laughing.
term for what I am is not 'Lipstick Lesbian' you stupid fuck. I think
the crude, shame-inducing slur you're looking for is 'Shemale.' So
why don't you shut up so I can prepare my questions on the gay
marriage ordinance for the mayor." I said and I turned around
quickly, not waiting to see the looks on their faces.
already knew what the face looked like. As an attractive
non-operative transwoman who was extremely open about my identity, I
had seen the complex mix of confusion, disgust, and arousal before.
Oh, just so we are clear here, when I write that I am attractive, I
am not (just) tooting my own horn, I am trying to explain why my
identity is so troubling to queer-bashing men.
relatively short at 5'5 and I only weigh about 110lbs. I have very
long dark red hair (I was 28 at the time and I had been growing it
continuously since I was 18) that I wear in a long ponytail down my
back. I have wide green eyes, very thick lips (the lower one pierced
on the left side), small ears, an upturned nose (with a stud), and a
light complexion. I wear a 32-B bra, have a tight, compact body (with
a belly button piercing), lithe legs, and very small feet. I have
thin arms, the right one has a sleeve of vaguely floral tattoos (I
also have a tattoo on my left thigh of a butterfly and a honey bee on
my left foot). I guess I look like the slightly skanky bad girl that
the straight-laced type of guys fantasize about when they are alone.
I guess when then realize that I also have a 5-inch cock (also with a
stud) it sort of messes with their minds. Although that day (and
every day for the past week) I was dressed conservatively with a gray
pencil skirt a red blouse, and a gray jacket that covered up most of
my arm tattoo.
"Well I guess you hope the ordinance
passes now," I heard Pete say, "then you can go about
converting the shemale." He started laughing
off," Jack said, a little discomfort in his voice now, which I
was happy to have implanted. I wasn't here to make people
comfortable. In fact, the two local rubes were right about one thing,
I was here to talk about the "gay marriage ordinance."
Although, that characterization was, at best, misleading. I had left
L.A. a week and a half earlier to cover a local ordinance that would
require employers to provide the same benefits they provided to
married employees to employees who had completed same-sex commitment
ceremonies (verified by notarized certificate). (I won't tell you the
city, let's just say it isn't big enough to have professional sports
teams but it is big enough that everyone in America has at least
heard of it).
At the time I was working for a website that
covered news stories important to the LGBTQ community. When I'd heard
that the city in question was considering this ordinance I was
intrigued. Then I heard that four of the ten members of City Council
were solid yeses, three others were on the fence leaning yes
(including a Republican) and that the Republican mayor was
threatening to veto the measure. I knew I had to be there and cover
I'd flown in the week before and been desperately trying
to get answers to my questions ever since I got there. The first
week, things had not gone well. Initially, they'd refused to give me
a press credential, claiming that the site I worked for was not a
legitimate news outfit. After threatening a lawsuit, I was finally
allowed into the press conference where various local elected
officials pretended that I wasn't raising my hand when it came time
for questions. On top of that indignity, there were the Jack's and
Pete's of the world. I'd taken the weekend to relax in my hotel room
(a suite no less, if in a part of town that rolled up the streets at
5:05) and now it was the start of a new week and I felt my hurt pride
adding to the righteous indignation I'd already felt as soon as I'd
heard about this story.
"Alright, the Mayor will be
arriving shortly. She will be taking questions for no more than
15-minutes, Thank you," My head shot up as I heard the voice. It
was the communication's director. This was good, I'd only been
allowed into one press conference last week when the Mayor had
actually taken questions. She hadn't called on me, but I figured:
another day, another chance. I folded my lip ring into my mouth,
hoping to prevent her from seeing it, maybe making her more amenable
to hearing what I had to say. I grabbed my notebook with my handful
of scrawled notes and felt my adrenaline start to rush.
few moments, the door behind the podium opened up. The first person
through the door was someone I recognized. It was the Mayor's
personal assistant or aide or whatever, her name was Hena something.
Hena Dutta I believe. I was always surprised when I saw her walking
near the Mayor. One does not often associate the Republican Party
with beautiful, young, Indian college girls, but that was what Hena
was. She was a tall girl, maybe 5'9 and very slim. I write girl, but
she was probably 21 or so. She had long dark hair and the most
beautiful, even, dusky-colored skin I'd ever seen. She had enormous
almond colored and shaped eyes and perfect teeth. She looked like a
Bollywood star, complete with medium-sized perky breasts, a tight
butt, and long legs (though those were particularly obscured by the
unimaginative pants suits she wore every day).
entered the room she sort of shuffled off to the side behind the
podium and looked out at crowd. After a moment, the Mayor appeared in
the doorway. Mayor Sara Barker was every bit the youngish Republican,
female pol. I mean, if you looked at her on the street, the first
thing you would think would be "that chick voted for George W.
Bush twice and is still proud of it." She was blonde (of course)
with incredible blue eyes, perfect teeth, and flawless white skin.
She was a college cheerleader and it was clear that she put a lot of
time and effort in maintaining her youthful looks even if she was now
42 years old. Her breasts were exceptionally large, but the rest of
her body was very slim. She was short in person at around 5'4 but she
looked taller on camera. She always wore snappy red or blue dresses
that accentuate her still youthful curves and her round ass. I
wondered if the fact that she had her husband (a real estate
developer) had never had any kids explained how she kept it so tight.
Hey, she might've been the enemy, but credit where credit was
"Okay everyone," she said in her breathy, sunny
voice, "Thanks for making it to the Monday morning press
conference. I have meetings today about development on the Johnson
Street corridor and another with some local girl scouts, so I only
have about 15 minutes. I don't have anything in particular I want to
talk about, but I am ready for questions." My hand shot into the
"Yeah Pete," she said pointing to my old
friend. I knew she always called on a local guy first, but I had to
raise my hand anyway.
"Do you think that the permitting
situation for the Johnson Street development can be handled by the
Mayor's office or will you be coordinating with Public Works?"
Pete asked and I rolled my eyes. Heavy-hitting, investigative stuff
wasn't really Pete's deal. He'd asked once last week why the mayor
had such a good rapport with voters. Seriously: what a tool.
as you know, I abhor government red tape, I think we can solve this
in a way that involves government as little as possible, with that
said, the issue does not so much involve the Public Works department
as it does..." by now I could barely stand to hear what she was
saying anymore. I just listened to her drone, waiting for a break in
the mundane details of city management to raise my hand
"Thanks that helps," Pete said, making some
notes. My hand shot into the air again. This time she called on
someone from a national news network and I prayed that he would ask
about the ordinance, something I could piggyback on. I was
disappointed when he asked about something related to a local
university's football team. I looked down at my watch, seeing the
second tick away. She said 15 minutes, and we were already 10 minutes
into the conference and she'd answered two questions. I began to
strategize about what I'd do if I couldn't ask her questions today.
But none of my options seemed right. I realized I was too busy being
worried about time and started listening to the mayor again
I think that Coach Cruz made an excellent point in his press
conference yesterday. If that woman did not want to have group sex
with the offensive line, why was she in the locker room to begin
with?" she asked with a hint of disgust. Ah sports! Wholesome
fun it seemed. Wonder why I never got into it?
she was just an 18 year old and an athletic trainer. Her doctors
said..." The reporter pressed. The mayor clearly didn't want
anything to do with this toxic line of questioning and I saw her look
"Any other questions?" I knew it
was now or never. She was off balance and would respond to anything
that wasn't related to the football team. I didn't raise my hand this
time; I just stood up and started asking questions.
Barker, Heidi Drake from QueerWire," I said and I saw her
actually wince, "In light of the wide support for Resolution B
in the public at large, how do you justify your continued insistence
to veto the measure if passed by the city council." Mayor Barker
gave me a look that indicated she knew she'd jumped out of the frying
pan and into the fire.
"Well, beyond the obvious moral
issue," she said, making my teeth grate, "I think this is a
financial issue. Our city is not exactly swimming in tax revenue and
"We are not talking about
increased benefits. We are talking about extending the same benefits
to everyone," I interrupted. I wasn't going to let her create
these sort of false-rational arguments.
"Please let me
finish my answers," the mayor said coldly. She gave me an
injured looked and I could feel some of the local reporters
reflexively sympathize. Our pretty lady mayor is being bullied by the
big city outsider. I didn't care, "The point I was trying to
make is that it really is a moral issue. I strongly believe that God
designed men to be the head of a household and that a wife should be
his helper. Now, that can take different forms in a modern marriage,
but those are the essential pieces. But, even if that weren't the
case, I would still oppose this measure because doing so saves the
taxpayers money." She said and acted as though that were an
actual policy argument. She turned to ask someone else for a
question. But that wasn't nearly enough, I spoke again.
several polls show that the taxpayers in this city believe that their
dollars should go to benefits for same-sex couples. So really, it
isn't about protecting the taxpayers. It is about enforcing your
moral code on everyone else," I said.
the interruptions," the Mayor said, shaking her head, "Listen,
I explained my position very calmly and politely. It seems that you
don't like to play by the rules. Which I suppose is typical. You work
for a 'publication' called QueerWire, so you apparently believe that
rules, whether set by man or by God, do not apply to you. And that is
fine; you don't have to believe that, it is a free country. But the
citizens of this city elected me for two reasons. One, because they
wanted the city's fiscal house put in order after 8 years of Mayor
Carter and two, because they believe in my strong moral convictions.
On this particular issue I feel that I get to prove to the voters
that they made the right choice on both counts. Thank you for your
"Stop trying to be cagey and answer the
goddamn questions I ask," I said, feeling the adrenaline running
in my veins and my heart pounding like a hammer. I knew even as the
words came out of my mouth that they were a mistake. There was a
little bit of a murmur in the room and the Mayor shot me a look like
I'd fucked her dog or something.
"I will not dignify such
behavior with a response," the Mayor said after a moment. She
sounded almost like her feelings were actually hurt. I could feel
sympathy waving out to her in the room. I had been so gung-ho to
start asking questions that I hadn't even really been prepared for
her obvious head fakes. Now I looked like an asshole. I had to
"But..." I started. But I felt
someone tapping on my shoulder. I looked over and saw the Mayor aide,
Hena, standing next to me. She quickly hissed into my ear.
failed to follow the proper protocol. The Mayor will no longer be
answering your questions today. If you interrupt again, a police
officer will escort you from the press room and you will not be
permitted to attend any more press conferences," Hena said. She
gave me a stern look that seemed to indicate that while she was young
and foolish, someone with real power was putting words into her
mouth. I shot her an evil glare, but I closed my mouth and sat down.
They weren't going to get rid of me that easily.
But at that
moment, the mayor finished her answer to another softball question
and then turned and left. And just like that they were rid of me,
Chapter 2: An Applied Tutorial on Power
I am not trying to tell you that you're bad at your job or
something," said a reporter, Kent, from a prestigious national
newspaper (if there is such a thing anymore), "I am saying that
you are going about it the wrong way. You can hit them hard on the
page, but if you go into their arena, the place where they are in
control, and try to take the fight to them on their terms, especially
with a tiny outfit like QueerWire behind you, you are going to get
I was in a bar about three blocks from the
city hall. After the fiasco at the press conference, two other
out-of-town reporters had invited me out for drinks. Kent was a
middle-aged male reporter from D.C. who seemed full of conventional
wisdom. The other was an almost-elderly woman from New York named
Carol. It was apparent that they knew each other from way back and
seemed comfortable together. They both seemed nice enough and were
trying to help. But I was on my third drink and no longer in the mood
"Well, with all due respect, I think you both
have forgotten what this is all about," I said, noticing that I
was slurring a bit. I wasn't much of a drinker, especially for a
"And what is that?" Kent asked, downing
another shot. His face was red and it was clear he was not unused to
drinks on a Monday night.
"It's about, you know, tipping
things over. It's about making the comfortable uncomfortable and all
of that. I mean, at least today, I tried to do that," I said. Oh
yeah, when I drink I get self-righteous.
certainly did that," Carol said dryly.
"What do you
mean?" I asked defensively. Carol spoke less than Kent, but when
she did, it went right to the heart of things.
that you stomped in there like an elephant and made sure that
everyone knew that you were there to do it. I mean you left your
damned punk lip ring in for God's sake." I tongued my lip ring
and wondered if she was right. Had I made tactical mistakes? But I
had to bluster now, couldn't let her see that I knew she was
"Well someone has to. All of you other reporters,
you were just happy to be stenographers, to write down whatever
anyone said and just take it. I don't regret not doing that."
kid, I like you, but go to Hell," Kent said and then laughed. He
clearly wasn't overly offended, but it was obvious he thought I was
an idealistic kid, off base, not correct about the situation.
just think that because your right and you know it that if you spray
it all out there people will just agree with you. That the power of
your logic is like the gravity of the sun," Carol said, "But
you're full of shit." She looked over at the bartender and
ordered another glass of wine.
"If people get all the
facts, they make the right decision," I said, "People who
love one another deserve to be together. When people see injustice,
"False," Kent said.
react to power. That's what you don't understand. What did you do
today? You played into the mayor's hands. She got to show all of the
people who already support her that she is a victim, she got to show
those on the fence that the other side is rude and demanding, and she
got to make you the sneering face of the opposition, and she can now
use you against your allies. And you made her a bunch of money,
because she is going to use your little exchange to raise money from
the religious right. You might've spoke truth to power, but power
doesn't care. You don't win by getting to the truth. You win by
having more raw power and using it better. That is what you don't
get," Carol said. I was starting to get annoyed and my
well-lubricated sense of righteousness led me to squawk back.
"What the Hell do you know about it?" I
asked, "I've read some of your stuff. You write well, but you
don't seem to be interested in winning or losing anything, you just
write what you think will get eyeballs."
Edward R. Murrow, that happens to be the job," Kent said,
reveling in my anger. It was clear he was just stirring the shit at
"You are an activist-journalist," Carol
said, not coming back at me with the same anger I did, "I don't
think that ever works. Kent is right. Writing is the job, that's what
I do. I am not telling you how to do my job. I don't give a damn
about any policy in particular. I am too damn old to care about gay
rights or anything else. I mean, I don't dislike gays in particular
either. Based on who you work for, I assume you are gay," she
"I..." I started to let her know I was
transgendered pansexual (as I always did, got to fly the flag) but
she put up her hand.
"And I don't care. That's not what I
am in this for. For these sorts of issues and talking about 'people'
and all that nonsense. But you clearly are. And I am telling you, I
have seen activist-journalists before. If you keep running out there
full-flame you are going to burn yourself out. And you won't
accomplish anything. I am just trying to provide a word to the wise
from someone who has seen it all."
"Why, if you don't
care?" I asked, it seemed like a killer question.
give me something to write about and someone who really knows how to
shake things up, not just shake her fist at power, she is going to
provide a lot of interesting stories," she explained, "But
you've got to learn how to play the game." And with that she
took a deep drink of her new glass of wine.
Kent said, smiling a little in awe of Carol. I guess I was too. She
was pushing all of my buttons, hitting all of my professional
insecurities all at once. Was I doing anything good? Was it my role
to try to do good? Could I sustain this kind of career if I didn't
ever get a win? I had been working so hard all week to get any
traction and it wasn't working. And it went beyond this week; it felt
like Carol and sort of summed everything up. I slumped down at my
stool at the bar. Well, if nothing else, Carol had given me a lot to
think about. Kent said something to Carol and they spoke briefly, but
I wasn't paying attention. I thought back again to my humiliation at
the press conference. Maybe Carol wasn't as full of shit as I wanted
to believe. I sat for a while, not listening to them, just
"What do I do?" I asked suddenly,
interrupting their conversation, "It's all fine and well to tell
me to get power and use it, but what does that mean?" They
looked at me, confused, for a moment.
"Come honey, don't
be naïve, you know that. You have a youthful pair of tits, you know
how power works" Carol said with a knowing look.
does that mean?" I said, confused.
"It means that
you find something that gives you leverage. Then you apply it,"
Carol said and downed the last of her wine.
* * * * *
two hours later it was well past dark and I was stumbling a little
down the street towards my hotel. Kent and Carol had called it a
night and I had decided I had better leave as well. I hadn't had as
much to drink as Kent, but certainly more than I usually did on a
work night. Or a Friday for that matter. I thought back on my day, my
thinking seemed to become clearer in my drunken state.
hadn't really engaged with Carol and Kent that much after Carol had
explained to me her concept of power. I had just sort of sat in the
bar and considered it. I knew, to a certain extent, that she was
right. Posting little bits of anger and outrage on the internet
wouldn't get things changed. But I also didn't really know how one
went about collecting leverage. It sounds easy in the abstract, but
where did I start? As I walked back to my hotel, I continued to
consider all I'd learned that day.
In order to get to my
hotel, I had to walk past the city hall. As I moved in front of it, I
stopped for a moment and looked up. It was a simple municipal
building with a charming brick façade and a small dome at the top.
It looked like the seat of local power that it was and I shook my
"Fuck you," I slurred a bit to myself. I don't
know if I was talking to the mayor or to myself or what, but it felt
nice to say. Then I was suddenly struck by another idea.
can't keep me out. You think you hold all the goddamn cards because
you do, but I have just as much a right to be here as you," I
said. It made sense at the time. But I decided I was going to go back
into the press room, when I wasn't supposed to, and I was going to
ask my questions again and I would stand there in the empty room and
wait and see if I got a better answer than the one I got from the
mayor. It might have been a totally empty gesture and it might not
have made any difference, but at least it would make me feel good.
Carol wouldn't have liked it.
I climbed up the stairs to the
front door. Actually it was a bank of doors. I started with the
farthest on the left but it was locked. Slowly, I worked my way down,
checking each one. The farther I went, the less and less certain I
was that I was going to find a door that would open. But finally, on
the second to last door, as I gave an exceptionally hard pull, the
door swung wide open.
I walked into the abandoned city hall,
waiting for security guards or police officers to rush in at any
moment and arrest me. But the building was still and silent. Several
lights were on, but not many. I didn't even hear the sound of a
janitor. It felt a little ominous now, and I stood for a moment in
the reception area and just sort of soaked it in. Then I remembered
why I was there.
The mayor's press room was on the third
floor, the same floor as her office. I quickly walked over to the
stairwell (wincing as my heels clicked on the marble floor) and
started to make my way up. In a few minutes I was on the darkened
third floor. I made my way over to the press room, the scene of my
earlier misfortune. It felt suddenly drained of all power, like I was
seeing it with its clothes off. It was dark and small and didn't feel
at all like an intimidating arena that someone was trying to shut me
I walked up to my seat from earlier in the day and
stood in front of it. I looked up to the dais in front of the room. I
took a deep breath and got all of my thoughts together. This was
going to go exactly the way it was supposed to go this time. I opened
my mouth to speak and...stopped.
I heard something, I
couldn't quite make out what it was. But I felt a prickle in my skin
and a sense of nervousness I hadn't felt a moment before. I stopped
moving and listened intently. For a moment there was absolute
silence. I was about to start to move anyway, when I heard it again.
Now that I was focusing I could tell it was laughter. Just a small
amount of laughter. It was coming from the opposite side of the third
At first I thought that the smartest plan would be to
get out of the building. If someone were there who had the right to
be there saw me, I could get into serious trouble. But, being a
reporter, and a drunk one at that, my curiosity got the better of me.
Who was in the building? Why? All thoughts about consequences for my
actions flitted out of my head. I moved out into the hallway.
that I looked, I could see a light on at the end of the hallway,
underneath a door. It was the mayor's office. The mayor was in and
she was laughing about something. I wondered what it could possibly
be. I started to slowly make my way across the floor, past offices
and copy machines and the like. I walked past the little reception
desk that sat directly in front of the mayor's office. I crept as
quietly as humanly possible, but quickly as well. I felt my heart
pounding. I don't know if I knew intuitively that something
interesting was occurring or that I was just getting off on creeping
around, but it was fun.
Finally, I made it up to the door. It
was open the slightest crack, but at first I was afraid to look in,
afraid that I would somehow block something and get notice. But I
heard a strange sound. Not a laugh like before, but I muffled noise
that was hard to place. I had to see what was causing it. I slowly
slid around to the side of the door. I titled my head slightly and
looked into the Mayor's heavily illuminated office and I saw...the
Mayor and her aide Hena. Kissing passionately!
For a moment my
head reeled. None of this made any sense! I could not be seeing this!
But there it was, in front of me. I didn't know what I was supposed
to do. But as I watched them, I began to feel... strange. Their
kisses weren't just passionate, they were electrifying. The last
conscious thing I remember doing was grabbing out my phone, clicking
the video button and pointing it towards the action. After that all I
could do was watch.
Mayor Barker...maybe I will just call her
Sara for this, it will be a little awkward to refer to her by
title...Sara and Hena were sitting on a couch in the mayoral office.
It was directly in front of me, about fifteen feet away, from the
opening of the door. There was a table in front of the couch with a
bunch of papers scattered about it. There were two big bottles of
diet cola sitting on top of the papers. It was clear that Sara and
Hena had been working late into the night and were now doing a
different sort of work.
Sara was still wearing the tight red
dress and white blouse she'd worn earlier in the day, but her suit
jacket was removed, showing how large her breasts were when not
confined in fabric. Her knees were together and her feet spread apart
on the floor and she was leaning over towards Hena. Her long blonde
hair cascaded over her shoulders giving her a sexy, disheveled look.
Her left arm was resting across the back of the couch and her right
hand was resting on Hena's left thigh.
Hena was sitting right
next to Sara. Unlike Sara, it looked like she had changed after work.
The unflattering pants suit was nowhere to be found. Instead, Hena
was wearing a pair of skin tight yoga pants (a particular favorite of
mine) and an equally tight white t-shirt that fell just four inches
or so below her breasts, exposing her slim mid-rift. Even from the
distance I could see Hena's black bra showing through her t-shirt.
Hena was barefoot and her legs were curled up underneath of her on
the couch. Her left hand gently rested on Sara's waist and her right
hand was placed lovingly on Sara's cheek.
And the women were
kissing. Both of their eyes were closed and their lips were pressed
together. I saw Hena's mouth open and Sara's did as well. Their
tongues poured out of their own mouths and then into the space
between them. I could hear the wet, enticing sounds of their tongues
pressing together. I could hear a groan escape from Sara's mouth and
saw Hena smile around their kiss as she heard it as well. Hena made
her tongue rigid and I watched as Sara slowly started to bob her head
back and forth on the tongue, sucking it gently.
were kissing, Hena's left hand began to move. First it started to
press harder into Sara's waist. Then her fingers started to crawl up
Sara's body. I saw her fingernails gently tickled the bottom of
Sara's right breast. Sara opened her eyes and gently grabbed Hena's
hand and moved it away from her breast. She let Hena's tongue fall
from her mouth, but gave it one last quick lick.
No," she said coyly, "You know what I need first."
Hena bit her lower lip and nodded. Then the young aide jumped up from
the couch and walked slinkily around the coffee table. She stopped
facing right towards the door, her back to Sara. (At this point I
absolutely froze, even holding my breath, as Hena was only about
eight feet away and facing me, but I kept the camera
"Something like this?" Hena asked. She
turned and looked over her shoulder for a moment. Sara leaned forward
on the couch, putting her elbows on her knees. Her breasts squeezed
together, pushing out her cleavage. Sara nodded and spoke in a
"Do what I like baby," Sara said.
(Any thought that it was in any way a first time, or a sort of
one-off thing disappeared at this moment). Still facing away from
Sara, Hena grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and tossed it across the
room. She was still facing me and I saw her smooth stomach, gently
curved hips and black bra exposed. Her work clothes had not done her
justice! She was stunning. The body of a bikini model.
wasn't done yet. Now she reached behind her back, finding the hooks
to her bra. She unhooked it and quickly worked the bra down her arms
and tossed it as well. She was still facing me and I saw her
beautiful breasts. They were incredibly perky, bouncing out of her
bra like they were still being held there. Her nipples were about the
size of quarters and short, and a dense chocolate color.
she turned, but not completely. She stood to the side so that her
left arm was facing Sara and her right arm was facing me, giving me a
gorgeous profile shot of her body. The way her flat stomach rose up
to the softly angled bottom of her breast and then to the delicious
points of her nipple, only to recede back in a slightly convex shape
up to her throat was stunning. And I was also enticed by the way her
long, black hair cascaded down her back. Her head was turned slightly
so that she was looking at Sara.
"How do I look?"
Hena asked, and rather than use the sort of faux-sultry porn voice
she'd affected before, it seemed like she was actually asking this
time. I could sense a little vulnerability in her voice. Sara paused
a moment before speaking.
she said and Hena smiled widely. Then Hena reached up with her hands
and cupped the underside of both of her breasts.
she said, more playfully now. She shook her reddish brown breasts
slightly, and watched as her nipples hardened in the cool office
"Incredible," Sara said. Hena giggled in a
youthful way (that reminded me that she was probably only 20 or so).
Hena started to squeeze her breasts tighter and she fingered her
nipples gently. Doing so clearly had an effect on her and I watched
as she arched her back a bit, closed her eyes and moaned. Sara
shifted on the couch. I could now see her nipples poking out ever
slightly from blouse. Hena rolled her nipples between her thumbs and
forefingers and let out a little squeal.
she moaned. Sara shifted again.
"Okay," she said,
seeming very hot and bothered, "Stop torturing me and do what I
like!" she begged.
"Take you shirt off," Hena
said and Sara's eyes got big.
"That isn't how we play
this game," Sara said, sounding like she was actually a little
put out by the request. Hena seemed to know she was pushing
something. She slowly bent over at the waist, pushing her ass far out
into the air. She still cupped her breasts in her hand.
she said. For a moment Sara just looked at her. But the older woman's
eyes moved all over Hena's body and it was clear her will was
"Fine," she said with a sigh, "but you
didn't say anything about the bra!" Then Sara quickly unbuttoned
her blouse and tossed it onto the floor. Her large, and surprisingly
perky, breasts were encased in a thrilling red bra that would've
looked scandalous on a porn star, let alone a conservative mayor. But
once she was out of the shirt, she crossed her arms in front of her
tits and leaned back into the couch. (I was surprised, for a woman
approaching middle age, her stomach looked flawless, I don't know
what she did to keep it that way. But seriously: kudos.)
seemed to accept that she'd gotten all of the concessions she was
going to get out of her boss. She released her breasts and then
reached back to her hips. While she did this, she turned so that her
back was to the mayor. She slipped her fingers into the waistband of
her yoga pants. Slowly, she worked the pants back around her round
ass; exposing more and more of her brown skin (it was readily
apparent she wasn't wearing panties).
As the pants slipped
over the bulge of her ass, Hena once again stood up. The pants
slipped down her legs and pooled on the floor at her feet. She
quickly stepped out of them and stood naked in the mayor's office.
Her legs were long and perfectly proportioned. And, from my angle, I
got an unobstructed view of her pussy. She had a small patch of
well-kempt black hair above tight looking brown lips. I could see the
little nub of her hard clit from that distance and could almost smell
the thin film of clear liquid that was erupting from inside of
Now she turned and faced Sara. Her ass looked tight and
her long hair fell all the way down and touch just above her hips. I
thought she was going to walk over to Sara now. But I was mistaken.
Instead, she slowly dropped down onto the floor, sitting her bare ass
down on the dirty office carpet. Then she leaned back. She tucked her
left arm under the neck so that as she put her head down, she was
propped up slightly, looking towards Sara on the couch (And luckily
keeping her eyes where they wouldn't be looking at my narrow crack in
the door). I got a thrill seeing the way her pert breasts splayed out
across her chest as she laid down, her nipples looking even more
prominent in that position.
Then, Hena lifted her legs in the
air and then spread them wide apart. She gently lowered them so that
her heels landed on the coffee table, in a slightly inclined
position. Her ass was just slightly off the ground now and her
dripping pussy was facing Sara. I could see the mound of her pussy
thrust slightly into the air. Sara's eyes were firmly planted on
Hena's body, and the mayor did not move.
looking at me make you want to do?" Sara asked, her voice
sounding thick now. Her face was flushed and I could see her chest
rising and falling rapidly. I felt like I could see her heart beating
in her chest.
"I want to play with myself!" Hena
gasped. Her free hand, the right, was gently kneading one of her
breasts, playing with the nipple. Her hips rocked in the air and she
twisted slightly. I could hear her panting. The little strip show had
clearly gotten her motor running. (And mine too, I could feel my cock
pressing hard against my panties, but I couldn't even think to touch
"Then do it baby," Sara said, just above a
whisper. Hena's hand snaked down off of her breast, giving her nipple
one last little flip before gliding across her ribs, over her flat
stomach, and nestling into her little patch of pubic hair. Hena
gasped loudly as her finger grazed her clitoris. A tremble moved
through her entire body. Her fingers slipped lower, rubbing against
the juices that were dripping from her pussy. When her fingers were
sopping wet she moved them back to her clitoris.
Now that her
fingers were lubricated, Hena's hand moved quickly around her pussy.
It looked like she was putting her middle and fore-finger together
and quickly circling them over her clit. Occasionally, she would dip
back down to her open pussy, get her fingers wetter, and then move
back up to her clit. She was moaning slightly as she played with
herself and her legs trembled on the coffee table. Sometimes, her
hips would thrust up into the air, the bottoms of her feet flattening
onto the coffee table and her tits moving up towards her face. The
whole time, her eyes stayed intently on Sara.
At first, Sara
stayed in the position she'd taken since she had taken off her shirt,
leaning back with her arms crossed. But as Hena got more and more
involved in her actions, Sara seemed that she was feeling it more.
Her arms dropped and her nipples were now like little beads in her
bra and her breathing was even lighter than before. Around the time
that Hena lifted her fingers once to her mouth and licked off her own
juices, Sara seemed like she could barely take stand to look
professional and detached anymore.
She nestled back into her
couch, her large breasts jiggling as she did so. For a moment, she
just watched from that position. But then I saw her breath in deeply.
From where I was sitting I could smell Hena's sex in the room, it was
intoxicating. I was sure that where Sara was located, the scent was
overwhelming. Sara carefully reached down unzipped her skirt (it
helpfully zipped on the side). When it was all the way unzipped, she
flung it off of her lap, exposing her beautiful legs and her cute red
panties. As soon as the skirt was unzipped her legs splayed open,
giving me an amazing view of her inner thighs. Her body looked
incredible. Not just for a woman her age, but for a woman half her
age. I could see that her panties were wet (as though there had been
any doubt that she was enjoying the show).
Sara lifted her ass
off the couch and slipped her fingers into the waist band of her
panties. Her legs briefly went back together. I watched as her
panties slid down her hips, over her knees, and then down onto the
floor. She even kicked them off her small foot in a particularly sexy
way. Once she was disrobed (with the exception of her bra) her legs
split open again. Sara had soft, smooth pink pussy lips and an
inflamed, red clit that seemed to be begging to be played with. She
also had a small, well-kempt patch of hair, but hers was a
particularly cute little bit of blonde shaved into a landing strip.