The Circle Politics
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The Politics Of Dancing free porn video
"What the fuck are we doing here. Seriously?" I growled in his ear. I was still smiling, and I doubt anyone was going to be lip reading.
We were on the dance floor, my arms around his neck, slowly swaying to a crappy Lawrence Welk-wanna be band.
"You know what we're doing here, darling." His reply was sugar coated, sappy with his big grin. And why shouldn't he be smiling. He was dancing with the most beautiful woman in the place. The men were obviously jealous of his new trophy wife, and the women were too polite and too mannered to say anything directly, but their eyes said it all: rented eye candy. Hooker. Whore. Sure, they complimented my upswept blonde hairdo, and my flashy jewelry, but behind the smiles, I saw envy, hate, and in a couple of cases, lust?
You could make the case in their favor, but I don't like to look at it that way.
"You know these people make me sick, and if they knew anything about me, they'd feel the exact same way."
"Patience, my love. We don't have to stay all night."
That gave me an idea. But wait. Let me back up.
We were at the annual ************* County GOP Gala Dinner and Fundraiser. I was deep in conservative territory, and I was hardly a conservative.
I'm a left-leaning, pot-smoking, war-protesting atheistic transsexual. And the man I fell in love with, the man who made me the woman I am, was a rather influential person the local Republican party. Largely, because he gave them a lot of money, for candidates who voted against GLBT issues. Issues like same sex marriage. Like allowing transsexuals to change their birth certificates. Two things near and dear to my heart.
But, seeing my birth certificate was from several states away, and same sex marriage was still banned in this state, they weren't pressing issues.
The man I loved, the man I want to marry, loved a transsexual, and had anyone here known what was still between my legs, the praying and laying on of the hands would have commenced. Of course, they'd still welcome him and his checks. But me? I was a freak, a c***d of Satan in their eyes.
He knew all this, but he still fraternized with them. They were from his tribe: white, affluent Christians. He just knew how to separate his private life from his public image, I guess.
The little pervert loved me. And I loved him. Oh, I would have fallen in love with him even if he hadn't saved my life, although the autographed photo of him standing with Rush Limbaugh and Rand Paul may have given me pause.
We met online, and talked for about a year before we met. I was a crossdresser trying to make ends meet, and trying to decide if I should buy food or a tube of lipstick. I fell for him, I think, before he swooped into my life, and made all the bad stuff go away. And he did that without sex, or even the promise of sex.
He'd set me up so I could quit my menial job and concentrate on going full time before I even considered going to bed with him. (The sex was so good, I sometimes regretted waiting.) He paid for my electrolysis, and my hormone replacement therapy. He paid to fix my teeth and to surgically change my face into a more feminine shape. He bought me my boobs. These wonderfully bouncy C cups that were at this moment, always threatening to spill out of my low cut, bright red, backless, spaghetti-strapped evening gown, but never quite doing so, and thus, disappointing the dozens of high-powered conservative men at this party.
He was the one who suggested I move in with him, and be his trophy wife. His plan was for me to spend my days alternately shopping, working out, and lounging by the pool, while he slaved away at his enormous corporate law firm. But, I nixed that idea, and fired the maid. I had to have something to do with my days, and cleaning the mansion wasn't that bad of a task.
I still had enough energy to greet him at the door every evening with a pitcher of martinis and a bottle of lube. And if he didn't have enough energy, all he had to do was sit on the couch while I "comforted" him.
I didn't want to come to this party, but I kept my mouth shut until now. I wanted to be supportive of him, but I'd had enough. The 5-minute "Christian" prayer at the beginning got under my skin. The keynote speaker who delivered his message of "fuck the poor, fuck the different, fuck the masses" using code words and double talk nearly made me explode. And watching the women as they nodded in agreement to plans to rob them of their reproductive rights was just about enough to make me shit my panties.
Through it all, I kept smiling at these hypocrites. And I kept smiling as we danced.
But now, was payback time.
"Sweetie, darling. I just want you to know you're going to pay for this." When I moved in, we discovered the political gulf between us, and we simply opted not to debate or discuss public policy or candidates or ballot issues.
"I know, dear. I know."
"I don't think you do, honey bunny. Because when we get home, I'm going to rip that tuxedo off you, and fuck you in the ass. Without lube."
"I'm sure you will, sweetie pie." He was still all smiles, but I thought I felt him shudder.
"But, before that, I'm going to stick my middle finger up your tight little asshole, and follow it with three other fingers and a thumb." He definitely shuddered. I was onto something here. Time to step up the game.
"But, I don't think I can wait. So, I'll drive the Mercedes home, and you can suck on my cock the whole way home."
He held me tighter, and I could feel his growing boner. I pressed myself against him, and continued whispering in his ear.
"But, oh! I forgot to tell you! I took one of your little blue pills before we arrived, and I'm starting to feel my she-cock start to quiver. And I'm only wearing an itsy bitsy, flimsy little thong." I pulled back, but kept my arms around his neck, staring into his wide eyes. I switched to a little girl voice: "I'd hate to think what would happen if my big ole' 7 incher got loose. Here. Tonight. With all these people here? Why with this dress, there's no way I could hide my thick, raging, throbbing boner." He was starting to sweat.
"And you know how I am when I get horny. I have to be satisfied. You'd have to go down on me, right here in front of everyone, sucking on my cock until I came... all... over... your... face."
"Oh, god," he whispered.
"Well, then everyone would know what a filthy, filthy cocksucker you are. All the people taking pictures of you, cum in your hair, streaming down your chin. You trying to scoop it up, into your mouth. It'd be in the morning papers, for certain!"
"We need to go. Now," he whimpered.
"But, babykins," I ground against his crotch, feeling his hardness. He certainly wouldn't need a little blue pill tonight. "I didn't get to talk to the wife of Reverend Whats-His-Name. I'm sure she wanted me to volunteer for a letter writing committee to make electro-shock therapy mandatory for homosexuals. I wonder if I can call her while I'm tying you to the bed and fucking your ass."
"Please, sweetheart, we should go home."
"Homo? Is that what you said, my love? We should go homo?"
I swear, he was about ready to cream his jeans right then and there. Or have a massive coronary. I took pity on him, and not only agreed to go, but walked closely in front of him, so no-one would notice his tented tuxedo slacks.
This was our third GOP gala fundraiser. I can't wait for the next one.
We were on the dance floor, my arms around his neck, slowly swaying to a crappy Lawrence Welk-wanna be band.
"You know what we're doing here, darling." His reply was sugar coated, sappy with his big grin. And why shouldn't he be smiling. He was dancing with the most beautiful woman in the place. The men were obviously jealous of his new trophy wife, and the women were too polite and too mannered to say anything directly, but their eyes said it all: rented eye candy. Hooker. Whore. Sure, they complimented my upswept blonde hairdo, and my flashy jewelry, but behind the smiles, I saw envy, hate, and in a couple of cases, lust?
You could make the case in their favor, but I don't like to look at it that way.
"You know these people make me sick, and if they knew anything about me, they'd feel the exact same way."
"Patience, my love. We don't have to stay all night."
That gave me an idea. But wait. Let me back up.
We were at the annual ************* County GOP Gala Dinner and Fundraiser. I was deep in conservative territory, and I was hardly a conservative.
I'm a left-leaning, pot-smoking, war-protesting atheistic transsexual. And the man I fell in love with, the man who made me the woman I am, was a rather influential person the local Republican party. Largely, because he gave them a lot of money, for candidates who voted against GLBT issues. Issues like same sex marriage. Like allowing transsexuals to change their birth certificates. Two things near and dear to my heart.
But, seeing my birth certificate was from several states away, and same sex marriage was still banned in this state, they weren't pressing issues.
The man I loved, the man I want to marry, loved a transsexual, and had anyone here known what was still between my legs, the praying and laying on of the hands would have commenced. Of course, they'd still welcome him and his checks. But me? I was a freak, a c***d of Satan in their eyes.
He knew all this, but he still fraternized with them. They were from his tribe: white, affluent Christians. He just knew how to separate his private life from his public image, I guess.
The little pervert loved me. And I loved him. Oh, I would have fallen in love with him even if he hadn't saved my life, although the autographed photo of him standing with Rush Limbaugh and Rand Paul may have given me pause.
We met online, and talked for about a year before we met. I was a crossdresser trying to make ends meet, and trying to decide if I should buy food or a tube of lipstick. I fell for him, I think, before he swooped into my life, and made all the bad stuff go away. And he did that without sex, or even the promise of sex.
He'd set me up so I could quit my menial job and concentrate on going full time before I even considered going to bed with him. (The sex was so good, I sometimes regretted waiting.) He paid for my electrolysis, and my hormone replacement therapy. He paid to fix my teeth and to surgically change my face into a more feminine shape. He bought me my boobs. These wonderfully bouncy C cups that were at this moment, always threatening to spill out of my low cut, bright red, backless, spaghetti-strapped evening gown, but never quite doing so, and thus, disappointing the dozens of high-powered conservative men at this party.
He was the one who suggested I move in with him, and be his trophy wife. His plan was for me to spend my days alternately shopping, working out, and lounging by the pool, while he slaved away at his enormous corporate law firm. But, I nixed that idea, and fired the maid. I had to have something to do with my days, and cleaning the mansion wasn't that bad of a task.
I still had enough energy to greet him at the door every evening with a pitcher of martinis and a bottle of lube. And if he didn't have enough energy, all he had to do was sit on the couch while I "comforted" him.
I didn't want to come to this party, but I kept my mouth shut until now. I wanted to be supportive of him, but I'd had enough. The 5-minute "Christian" prayer at the beginning got under my skin. The keynote speaker who delivered his message of "fuck the poor, fuck the different, fuck the masses" using code words and double talk nearly made me explode. And watching the women as they nodded in agreement to plans to rob them of their reproductive rights was just about enough to make me shit my panties.
Through it all, I kept smiling at these hypocrites. And I kept smiling as we danced.
But now, was payback time.
"Sweetie, darling. I just want you to know you're going to pay for this." When I moved in, we discovered the political gulf between us, and we simply opted not to debate or discuss public policy or candidates or ballot issues.
"I know, dear. I know."
"I don't think you do, honey bunny. Because when we get home, I'm going to rip that tuxedo off you, and fuck you in the ass. Without lube."
"I'm sure you will, sweetie pie." He was still all smiles, but I thought I felt him shudder.
"But, before that, I'm going to stick my middle finger up your tight little asshole, and follow it with three other fingers and a thumb." He definitely shuddered. I was onto something here. Time to step up the game.
"But, I don't think I can wait. So, I'll drive the Mercedes home, and you can suck on my cock the whole way home."
He held me tighter, and I could feel his growing boner. I pressed myself against him, and continued whispering in his ear.
"But, oh! I forgot to tell you! I took one of your little blue pills before we arrived, and I'm starting to feel my she-cock start to quiver. And I'm only wearing an itsy bitsy, flimsy little thong." I pulled back, but kept my arms around his neck, staring into his wide eyes. I switched to a little girl voice: "I'd hate to think what would happen if my big ole' 7 incher got loose. Here. Tonight. With all these people here? Why with this dress, there's no way I could hide my thick, raging, throbbing boner." He was starting to sweat.
"And you know how I am when I get horny. I have to be satisfied. You'd have to go down on me, right here in front of everyone, sucking on my cock until I came... all... over... your... face."
"Oh, god," he whispered.
"Well, then everyone would know what a filthy, filthy cocksucker you are. All the people taking pictures of you, cum in your hair, streaming down your chin. You trying to scoop it up, into your mouth. It'd be in the morning papers, for certain!"
"We need to go. Now," he whimpered.
"But, babykins," I ground against his crotch, feeling his hardness. He certainly wouldn't need a little blue pill tonight. "I didn't get to talk to the wife of Reverend Whats-His-Name. I'm sure she wanted me to volunteer for a letter writing committee to make electro-shock therapy mandatory for homosexuals. I wonder if I can call her while I'm tying you to the bed and fucking your ass."
"Please, sweetheart, we should go home."
"Homo? Is that what you said, my love? We should go homo?"
I swear, he was about ready to cream his jeans right then and there. Or have a massive coronary. I took pity on him, and not only agreed to go, but walked closely in front of him, so no-one would notice his tented tuxedo slacks.
This was our third GOP gala fundraiser. I can't wait for the next one.
Pansy
- 06.11.2020
- 11
- 0
