Governored

The limo was where I expected it to be in the VIP parking lot of the airport serving the capital city of the forgettable southern state located between somewhere and somewhere else—for those of us from the West Coast, most of these states down in this region are forgettable.

The Limo wasn't parked up at the well-lit side near the terminal but back toward the end of the lot and close up to some bushes on the side away from the terminal. No one was near the vehicle, but the doors were unlocked. After looking around to be pretty sure I wasn't seen, I quietly opened a rear door almost pushed into the bushes and slipped into the back seat. There was a pile of luggage on the floor near the center and I crawled over that and pulled a blanket over my head. This would have all been easier to accomplish—and not so warm and stuffy—if I hadn't been wearing a three-piece suit. These were the instructions, though. Blend in. Do what you have to do and not be caught at it.

Some minutes later I heard the driver's door open and we were off. So far so good.

After an eternity of bone-rattling rapid speed, probably on an expressway from the sound of vehicles passing and being passed, and then slowing down to the stop-and-go movement of an urban area, the limo stopped. The driver exited the vehicle. Several long minutes of silence. Then I heard the rear door on the other side of the limo from where I was hidden open and the vehicle settle as at least one person got in the back seat. There was considerable noise coming from beyond the confines of the limo while the door was open. The sound of a crowd—boisterous. It sounded happy. I burrowed farther under the blanket. This was no time to be seen.

"Fuckin opera," a deep, gruff voice said as the door slammed shut and the sound of the crowd deadened. "Some year we're gonna have enough in the coffers sos I don't have to attend these fuckin operas and perform for the Devonshire set. Right, Steve?"

"Yes sir, right." Another, softer, a little higher-pitched, more refined voice.

I heard the driver's door open, more crowd noise, the seat I was wedged against puff back a bit, a breeze of air, and then the door shut and, with a honk, we were pulling away from a curb again.

"You bring the latest budget proposal folder?" The commanding voice.

"Yes, sir, right here, sir." The subservient voice.

"And the plans for the new nuclear plant they want to put downstate. I promised I'd look at those before Monday too. Fuckin' power company. They said they were lookin' at another state when they endorsed me. Now I'm stuck with their fuckin' fallout."

"Right, sir. They're right here. The plans, I have them here in my briefcase."

"Because you know we have to go straight to the airport from here. God, I hate these unexpected trips to Washington. I'd planned to have some foolin around time this weekend. Did cha cancel the hotel rooms at the Omni?"

"Yes Sir. And made reservations at the Mayflower in D.C., just as you asked. Two adjoining rooms."

I groaned to myself. This was supposed to be all over right here in this town. Well, I'd just have to adjust.

"Fuckin opera."

A foot had come around the stack of suitcases and was nudging me in the thigh.

"OK, son, you can come up now."

He was still talking as I came up from under the blanket and turned, and with "the dominant voice" pulling me and turning me, I plopped down on the limo back seat between two suits, one on a bulky middle-aged man of noticeable height, and one on a younger, Harvard Law School grad type. Tanned. Well groomed. Quite good-looking.

There was no question who was in charge. The larger guy was already pawing at me. Prodding and feeling, like I was the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

"Well, lookie what we have here. A real stud. Does his picture justice. Yes Siree, a real hunk."

It was pretty dark in the car; we were already moving out of the well-lit city center and onto an expressway. Back to the airport, if I'd heard right.

But I knew who he was. "Client 11" was all that Leon had said when he gave me the assignment back in L.A. But he'd said it in the hushed tones he reserved for the regular big spenders whose files were kept separate, more private than the others.

I'd seen him on TV. He'd had his hat in the ring for the presidency in early primaries last year but had been weeded out as too folksy, too reactionary conservative, and from a state no one could remember and didn't particularly care about. He was the governor of that state, though, so he wasn't necessarily a nobody. And if he could afford what he was paying for me, he most certainly wasn't a nobody.

"Excuse me? What was that?" I'd heard him say something, give some sort of command, but I'd been dreaming, catching up on the situation. I liked to try to keep up.

"I said whip it out, son. Let's see your dick. Umm, yes, very nice. A good buy. Now suck on this."

My face was in his lap for most of the rest of the trip to the airport. His cock had seemed sort of shriveled—but quite thick—when I first closed my lips over it, but it wasn't any time at all before it was a real gagger. And he was all business; not only was he able to maintain a running conversation with his hunky "go for" assistant on schedules and the state of legislative bills, but he was also able to get his hips moving, and he jacked off in pretty quick order. When I felt him about ready to come, I moved to pull my mouth off him, but he just took my head in his strong, beefy hands and held me down in his tool until he'd spouted and I'd swallowed it all and cleaned his cock for him with my tongue. Winner take all style. Sucking—and, certainly ingesting—wasn't my favorite sex act. But when the client pays what the client pays for my services, the client gets what the client wants.

After ejaculating, the governor took time out from his busy schedule to stroke on my cock and to hold my head back against the seat with a fist in my hair and do some lip exploration of my neck and cheeks and mouth—and tongue and tonsils.

As we were pulling into the airport, he left off and rapid-fired instructions at me.

"Back under the blanket, stud. After leaving Steve and me off at the jet ramp, the limo will pull around to the baggage stairs. You can go up there while helping the driver to load up the luggage into the plane. There's a seat back in that compartment where you can sit for takeoff. When I let you know it's time to come into the passenger compartment, be stripped down to your socks."

And, of course it went as the governor instructed. The limo driver wouldn't make eye contact with me while we were loading the plane, and he would jerk back whenever our hands made contact in moving the suitcases. It was like he wanted to be able to deny I ever was there, like he was already contemplating his congressional testimony. A good move on his part, actually, I thought. It didn't bother me much. I'd often gotten that from the hired help. On the other hand, I often liked the hired help better than the client, and I often wound up giving it to them for free. Sometimes I even did it in the spirit of rubbing it in the client's face—without him or her knowing it, of course—that they had to pay big bucks and their cook or bodyguard got it for free. If they were arousing enough.

The driver was old and bald and pretty dumpy, though, so no regrets that I was invisible to him. Now Steve, the Harvard grad flunky, on the other hand . . .

When I was summoned after we were airborne and presumably flying northeast, I was ready. And upon entering the passenger compartment from the baggage area, I did a pose in the doorway. The usual pose for the client early on to give them a thrill. The governor only grunted and raised his bushy eyebrows a bit, but I could see that he was impressed and happy because the front of his briefs tented right up. That's all he was wearing now, his briefs. And in his current state of near nakedness, he gave a first impression of being a big Russian bear. The man towered to well over six and a half feet and he had the bulk to match that. It probably helped him a lot in dominating his political opponents. It wouldn't take a genius to know what his likely sexual preferences were. He was a little on the hefty side, just slightly paunchy, but also heavily muscled. And black curly hair all over him.

"Nice bod," he said. "And damn well it should be. You can tell your pimping managers that the last price hike has almost ejected their sticky fingers from my pocketbook. So, you can start earning your pay right now. See that conference table up front?"

I did. Not a very wide table because of the narrow fuselage of this private Jetstream, but maybe four feet wide and seven feet long, running down the center aisle from which regular airplane seats had been taken out. There were a couple of pull-up chairs with upholstery matching the plane seats on either side of the table. The governor was up there pulling them to the sides.

Steve, meanwhile, was sitting closer to me, in a section of facing seats on my right. Still fully dressed in a smart, dark business suit, he was making like he was deeply involved in a stack of papers on his lap, and he had a laptop open on the pull-down tray of the seat next to him, by the window. But I could see that he was copping shots at me. He was blushing. I couldn't gauge whether he was interested or embarrassed by it all—but having seen it all several times before. All part of the job.

Well, this is all part of

my

job, too, buddy, was what I was thinking. But I was also think he looked interesting. A redhead, more auburn than carrot, though, and very well put together—at least in a business suit. Slim hips, wide shoulders, good depth to his chest. Maybe we'd just have to see about Steve. This governor was one client I wouldn't mind doing an upside-down social payment screwing job on. Much too self-centered and pleased with himself. He wasn't even from my party.

"We're gonna use this table for a massage," the governor was saying. "There are towels and oil over here. Set the table up, and then I want a massage. It's been a rough day topped by a fuckin opera. I want everything sucked after my muscles are unstressed. Fingers, toes, dick, the whole enchilada. Chop, chop. Earn your pay."

I pride myself on my full body massage, and I had the governor as loose and as close to cooing as he would ever get short of an electoral college win. He particularly liked the finger and toe sucking. He'd had the cock sucking before, but I was more inventive this time, and he had to grab my head by the hair and pull me off of him to keep from shooting off. This told me I was going to be topped and probably sooner than later.

A little later, it turned out, because he wanted to be fucked. I turned him on his stomach and licked into the cavernous gorge between his mountainous, hairy buns and tongued him around the rim and into the hole until he was writhing under me. Then, at his command, I started to go up on the table and then remembered and looked around in the nearby plane seats.

"Ummm. Where? Where are the . . .?"

"For what I'm paying, we don' need no rubbers," the governor muttered. "They guarantee clean and I expect skin. Get up here. Fuck me."

And so I did. I climbed up on the table and straddled his hips and ran my engorging cock up and down inside his crack, and across his hole, again and again, while he started melting and begging for it and I was getting hard enough to give him a proper fuck.

On the last downward pull of the cock, I pressed it down as I started up again, and the dickhead just plopped into the hole and I glided inside. He was loose and warm inside. He brought his rear up to my pelvis a bit off the table as dogs do when they present themselves, and I had him grunting and groaning nicely in a long stroke session of deep slides and some rotating work.

Not being sure what he wanted me to do when I shot off, I pulled out of him and ejaculated up the small of his back into a thatch of dark, curly hair. He didn't object, so I must have guessed right.

Right after that, though, he bounded right off the table and grabbed me and practically threw me into one of the facing seats across the aisle from where Steve was sitting and studiously pretending he wasn't seeing or hearing anything.

"Scoot your butt down. Legs over chair arms. Now."

He was pouring oil on his engorged, thick cock while he was saying this, and I thought I'd get at least some of the oil in my channel before he fucked me. But I was wrong.

He was crouched between my legs. The briefs had come off a long time ago. And he was squeezing and lifting my butt cheeks off of the chair seat, pulling me up toward his pelvis. When he had the bulb of his dickhead rubbing at my entrance, he just reared his hips back and thrust himself inside me and pumped me like an animal in full rut.

He had marvelous staying power and vigor for a man his age. And a thicker cock than most of my clients, the strength and working of his cock inside me all the more focusing because I hadn't been opened up well before he was porking me and because I didn't often get the sensation of skin sliding back and forth inside me between my ass walls and his steely shaft. He wasn't cut. I enjoyed being fucked by uncut cocks. And as brutal and direct as the governor's fucking was, I quite enjoyed it.

I wondered idly if Steve was enjoying it to. Not just being a limited voyeur to what the governor was doing to me, since I saw no evidence that Steve was watching with any sort of attention or stroking himself while we were doing it, but also turned on by the assault. I also sort of wondered if the governor fucked Steve too.

There was no wondering what he was going to do when he finally, after a good half hour of vigorous pumping, shot his load in one explosive victory celebration. He had brought his cock out to the rim of my hole for the event, ejaculated into my entrance, and then returned to pumping me for several more minutes. This wind-down session was actually the most pleasurable for me, because there was extra lubricant inside me now.

I was summarily banished to the baggage compartment for the descent into Washington, D.C.'s, Ronald Reagan airport, just across the Potomac from the federal city.

We had two adjoining rooms at the Mayflower Hotel, across town from the airport. I was booked in Steve's room under a name I barely had a chance to see on the register sheet in passing. The governor, of course, was alone in his room.

But, not really alone for long. Once we were settled and I'd taken a shower in Steve's bathroom, the governor made clear I was going to be in his bed—and that he was going to get as much of his money's worth out of me as he could. When I entered the room, I couldn't see him. He came in behind me and twisted my arms behind my back and propelled me toward the bed. He bent me over forward when we got there and pushed my chest down on the bedspread. He immediately started probing my canal with the fingers of his other hand, which thankfully were lubricated. They were digging deep inside me, and I was moving my hips for him and moaning and groaning, just as I knew rough dominators liked. I was groaning for real, though, as he started working his cock in between the fingers without extracting them. And then he was plowing and riding me hard. That loose foreskin of his cock moving back and forth between the rock hardness of his tool and my sensitive ass walls.

An amazing man. Who could have thought that he could jack off four times that night while he rode me hard and into the wee hours of the morning? But I was used to this; clients usually did do everything they could to stretch out every dollar they were paying for my services.

At dawn he threw me out of his room, and I took another shower in Steve's bathroom and curled up on a loveseat by the television set. Steve was sleeping blissfully on one of the double beds in the room, snoring slightly. He was sleeping in the nude and had thrown the sheets off. The cut of him in his suit didn't lie. He was in very nice shape and had a very presentable cock and two nice, pouty balls. If my ass hadn't been worn out by the governor, I would have put a move on Steve. But maybe I'd get a chance later.

Later came sooner. I felt a cramp from all the work underneath the governor and uncoiled myself from an uncomfortable position on the love seat and walked over to the open door between the two rooms. I had been thinking of what the governor had said the last time he was fucking me from behind on the bed, me on my knees and presenting to him with raised butt, his slight bulge of a paunch rubbing up and down the small of my back and his hairy chest slapping against my shoulder blades, and me hanging onto the headboard for dear life while he dug fingernails into my nipples and took me in long thrusts. He'd said he liked me so much we'd do some special fucking tomorrow night. I wondered what that meant, and I didn't like surprises. So, I'd been drawn to the door with half a notion of going through his luggage to see what kind of toys he might have. He'd do what he wanted, of course, but I liked to be prepared for the most taxing to come. I stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and taking in the room. Where to start looking first?

"He won't be back until after noon."

I turned. The Harvard grad was awake. He was sitting up, knees drawn to chin, watching me. He hadn't covered himself, and he was looking mighty fine. All reddish sheen and sculpted muscle. A half smile, promising more if I worked it right. A lock of curly hair tumbling down toward one hazel-green eye.

"He had some meeting this morning. He wouldn't tell me what it was. Rather strange. He doesn't keep much secret from me . . . naturally." The smile was broader now, a little wry. A very nice smile. "That's why we had to come to Washington unexpectedly today. But he did tell me that the meeting would take all morning. Said he wouldn't need me until after lunch."

Ah, a great opening then. "Than what could we possibly do while we wait?" I asked, giving him my best sheepish smile.

A slight pause.

"We could order room service for starters."

"Why, isn't there enough service available in the room already?" I moved into my best "I'm available" lounging pose against the frame of the door and opened my smile up more for him.

His tone turned to regret. "Nice idea, but way out of my league. I make the governor's arrangements. I know what you cost. There's no way I could afford you."

"You haven't asked what I'd charge," I responded quietly. Giving him my "I'm serious" look.

"Uhh."

"Two condoms. Two used condoms. For you, that's all I'd charge."

He moved gracefully to me, although I could see he was trembling with surprise and anticipation. And he moaned deeply as I knelt before him in the doorway and made love to his very nice cock.

He was on his back on the bed, me astride his hips and rising and falling on his throbbing tool, him gurgling softly, undulating languidly, and holding my hips in his hands, for the first half of the payment. We took our time in the second half, making love properly, using all of our bodies and all of our tactile sensations. He lay full length behind me, both of us on our sides, and he explored my body with one hand, as I turned my head to him in a long, lingering, exploring kiss and raised my leg to give his cock deeper access to my channel. I gave him the full treatment, wanting it as much as he did after a night of mostly being just a hole for the governor to work to his private, singular power trip.

The irony. The governor paying big bucks so that his harried assistant could get the better-quality fuck.

I was so pleased that I demanded a third used condom as my tip. I'd sent him to the showers and then surprised him by joining him there, turning him toward and facing me, my back against the slick tiled wall. Then I hiked my legs up on his hips and took his lips in mine, and groaned and moaned from him as he moved my back up and down on the tiles under the flowing water from the showerhead with the thrusts of his cock inside me.