On the way home from work Jamieson Fletcher strode into Sylvia's juice bar and seated himself on a stool at the counter.
As Mayor of Little Falls, Jamieson - or Jim to his friends - worked hard at his job, which he often felt was a thankless task. He stopped at Sylvia's juice bar every day on the way in to work to collect a shot of wheatgrass juice, which his wife insisted he take for his health. Personally, he felt he would do better getting down on his hands and knees and mowing his front lawn with his teeth, but hey, if the old lady said it was good, who was he to argue?
Sylvia spotted Jim from the back of the bar. She never allowed any of the younger girls to serve him - he was a VIP and she always saw to it that she served him personally. It was unusual for him to stop by at that time of day. She wondered if the Mayor had something on his mind.
"What can I get you today, Mayor?" Sylvia asked Jim.
"Ah, Sylvia," Jim replied. "I'm not sure there's anything you can help me with today. Just wanted to stop by and see a friendly face," he said. And arse, he thought!
At forty-five years old, Sylvia was dynamite in cotton-lycra gym shorts. Her juice bar was right next door the to local gym, and thanks to her personal trainer son, Alexander, she had made more than an impressive effort at fighting off the effects of age. As she leaned across the bar, Jim allowed his eyes to linger on the round tops of her breasts, which seemed impossibly more pert than they should have been. He imagined gripping those tits in his hands, squeezing them, slapping them, pinching the nipples until they turned purple.
"You're always welcome here Mayor," Sylvia said soothingly. "In fact, I've got a couple of things I wanted to go over with you. I wonder if you wouldn't mind coming upstairs?"
Jim's eyebrows rose. Upstairs? He was unaware there was anything upstairs of Sylvia's juice bar.
"What seems to be the problem?" Jim asked, curiosity starting to creep in around the edge of his voice.
"I'll show you," Sylvia said. She walked to the end of the bar then stepped out into the walkway. "Up here," she said, pushing a door open to reveal a steep staircase leading up and away from the shop.
Jim rose from his seat. He adjusted his belt and felt his cock twitch. He'd known Sylvia for years. If she needed help, he thought, he would certainly give it. He walked over to where she stood and allowed her to lead the way forward. Sylvia was dressed in a little denim mini skirt coupled with a skimpy white singlet and four-inch high wedge heeled slip-ons. As she sashayed up the stairs, he let his eyes drift up the long smooth line of her legs and was astounded to note he could see the round globes of her arse-cheeks just barely covered by her skirt. Surely she wore underwear? A g-string, he decided.
At the top of the stairs Sylvia pushed a black door open and indicated that the Mayor should follow her inside. Jim was two steps behind her - when he reached the open door, he was stunned to see the interior of the studio upstairs. It was not a dusty, dowdy office as he'd expected. Instead he was greeted by a room with walls painted entirely in black. A red carpet trailed from the door over to a black leather sofa which Sylvia stood beside, her left hand on her hip, her right leg slightly bent, her head tilted forward, her lips moist and parted.
"Come in," Sylvia said. Jim swallowed the saliva that had collected in his watering mouth. He stepped over the threshold and allowed the door to swing shut behind him.
"Sylvia." Jim said, entirely lost for words.
"I'll tell you about my problem, Mayor Fletcher," Sylvia said, stepping backwards and seating herself on the arm of the leather sofa.
"What is it?" Jim said breathlessly, his heart beginning to race, his cock beginning to harden.
Sylvia twisted her body on the sofa arm, pivoting on her hip then turning onto her stomach to lean over the arm, her arse thrust in the air, her buttocks wantonly spread, the blonde hair between her legs just visible, confirming to Jim that she was, in fact, not wearing any underwear at all.
"I've been bad," Sylvia said from where she bent forward. She reached around with her right hand, clasped the hem of her short skirt and hitched it up to her waist, revealing a brilliantly coloured Chinese dragon tattoo positioned high on the right cheek. "I wonder if you'd like to punish me?" She turned her head to look at Jim, and he returned her gaze, incredulous that she was offering herself to him like this.
"Sylvia. I," Jim spluttered.
"Please, Mayor," Sylvia begged. "I need it!" Jim looked at Sylvia's arse-cheeks, so smooth, so round, just waiting for his hand to make a mark. There was nothing for it. Jim walked straight over to the sofa, took off his suit jacket, tossed it on the floor and unbuttoned the cuff of his white cotton shirt.
"Tell me how bad you've been Sylvia," he said matter of factly.