"I'll drop my panties for you," a voice whispers to me as large breasts push into my back.
Without turning, I ask, "Do I know you?"
"No, but we can change that." She molds her body to my backside.
"Do you know who I am?" I ask remaining calm and finishing my glass of Dewar's.
"You're a tall, handsome man whose presence has stirred my juices all evening. Would you like to stir them horizontally?"
"I'm working right now."
"I think you need some R and R." She slides her breasts back and forth across my back. "Nice that makes my nipples hard."
Turning around slowly, I'm face to face with a thirtyish red head with green eyes. She's beautiful, half a foot shorter than me, and wearing a purple dress with a high collar that accents her physical assets.
"Are you actually wearing panties?"
"There are several ways you can find out?" She asks giggling.
"My room number is 1713. When I leave you're invited to join me, but I have several more contacts to make." I ogle her.
"You'll never leave my sight."
I watch her fiddle-back shape walk sensuously away.
* * *
I'm Tom McFerson, a field operator for the Democratic Party. It's my job to talk with contributors, but especially the wives of possible donors to the party's coffers. Cases; I'm also asking for support for Larson Parson's re-election campaign. Its nine o'clock and I've been charming a large number of little old ladies and a few younger ones. I'm in this position because I'm a life-long member of the party, and because women salivate at my good looks and open friendly personality.
I usually leave fundraisers tired, a little drunk, and wondering if I'm doing the party any good. It'll be days, weeks or even months before I find out if any of the husbands or the women themselves contributes to the party.
Tonight isn't the first time I've been propositioned by a possible donor or her daughter, but it's the only time I've been approached in such a bizarre way. I wonder if the gorgeous lady in the purple dress is related to a politician or a date, or a friend. It doesn't matter because I'm not going to turn down an offer from a female of her quality. Especially one with a great pick-up line.
Three more females are my prey this evening. The technique I use is to get their attention is by giving them a compliment. I ask about their families and make a connection between there's and mine. If they need a drink or an appetizer, I get it for them. As couples and individuals pass by, I make introductions. I do whatever is necessary to make them feel important to me and to the party. When the preliminaries are covered, I indirectly ask them to consider making a contribution to the party and, in this case, a candidate.
Mrs. Rico and Manse are obviously submissive to their husbands and have no influence with them. I spend as little time with them as possible because they won't add to the party's financial needs. Mrs. Cabot, on the other hand, is probably the most important non-official in the crowd, because she married to the wealthiest man in the room, Lance Cabot. She's about fifteen years younger than her husband at forty-five. She's had a bit too much to drink, and she clings to my arm and every word. I flatter her by complimenting her ensemble; I get her a double vodka martini and ask about her children.
Excitedly she tells me about her grandchildren and asks if I have children.
I tell her I'm the only single one of four siblings.
"Mr. McFerson, do you mind if I call you Tom. It's such a pleasure to speak to someone who is intelligent, and who's not either an old woman or man. What do you do in your free time?" She asks smiling at me with perfect teeth.
"Tom is fine Mrs. Cabot."
"Please call me Margaret."
"All right Margaret, I don't have much free time because it's late July, and all the candidates are gearing up for the election. That means I spend most of my time on the phone or at fundraisers such as this trying to raise money. A donation from your husband would make my job easier."
"Are you asking me to influence my husband's decision?" She asks with a brazen look.
I laugh. "That's a little blunt, but yes I would appreciate it if you would."
"How grateful would you be if I did so? If I did so-for you? Would it help advance your career?" She asks holding me tighter and rubbing her leg up and down mine.
I'm thunderstruck by her question and her leg on mine. I look deep into drunken blue eyes. Eyes filled with lust. "I would be incredibly thankful, and yes a large contribution would probably get me a promotion."
"Would it help if I made a personal donation?" Her leg slips between mine.
I stare at her and try to move away, but she holds me close. "It certainly would. Two contributions from the same family would make my superiors happy-very happy."
"Okay, I'll donate five hundred thousand dollars," she says as though it was a number a hundred times less than that."
I gulp, my heart races, and I perspire. "Thank you Mrs. Cab...er Margaret that's incredibly generous of you."
"You can show me your gratitude by calling the number on this card sometime next week." She hands me an engraved business card from her clutch purse with her name and phone number. "I only give these cards to special people. You will call me?" She asks in a commanding voice.
I look into her blue eyes again, "You're the first item on my agenda."
"I'll let you go because I noticed Mrs. Speakman talking to you earlier. I believe she's waiting for you," she said knowingly. "I'll await your call." She releases my arm after giving me air kisses on both cheeks.
I walk away trembling. A half a million dollars is a large contribution. I'll get credit for the money and a sexual proposition from a charming and beautiful MILF. How is it possible that lightning can strike twice in the same evening?
* * *
Mrs. Julia Speakman leaves Tom McFerson standing in the darkened corner of the conference room thinking about the breathtaking slightly younger man. I love my husband, but Tom is too gorgeous to pass up. Not only is he good looking, but he has the body of Atlas. I hope he doesn't spend too much more time with the other ladies because my panties are wet. I need a man who can satisfy the itch between my big toes.
Being a politician's wife has it benefits. I get to go to fancy parties like this one and to host a number of others. My name gets mentioned in the paper once in a while. At fundraisers like this, people young and old, come flocking to us and to me. It gives me a wonderful feeling.
The downside of being married to a politician and having three small children is that I don't get much quality time with him. It's either the kids or politics that keeps us apart and don't get the opportunity to speak with anyone who isn't either a child or an elderly person. Having time for me is a good thing, but it doesn't do anything for my sex life. Neal is either coming from or going to a meeting or a fund raiser, or he comes home tired and not interested in giving me what I want and need.
Looking around the room watching Tom entertain potential contributors with his presence makes me a little jealous. His looks and personality have captivated me, and seeing him with and speaking with other women disappoints me. I'd like to have him all to myself. I haven't cheated on my husband, but my hormones are screaming-fuck him!
I join a group of friends and engage in the chit-chat common to women tied to politicians. As we talk, I keep a close eye on Tom. Right now, he's being held in a vice grip by Margaret Cabot. Is she too soused to stand up by herself? They talk on and on, and I lose track of the conversation going on around me.
