She was sitting on the coffee table in nothing more than her panties when he came home.
“What are you doing?”
“Drinking wine. “
“Any particular reason?”
“Birthers,” she sneered. “I’m drinking this bottle in honor of civil discourse. Maybe I’ll found the first museum dedicated to remembering the days where we had intelligent national debate about issues of importance.”
“Oh?” He couldn’t help but laugh. She had slipped into the ridiculous, a place she was more than familiar with. Politics was always one of her triggers. He sunk into the leather couch behind her, loosening his tie as he leaned into the leather. “Tell me more about your museum. When were these days of civil discourse?”
“Good question. Maybe Revolutionary War era? Certainly not in the past 11 years. Not when the most important thing in the country is discussing whether or not the President was born here so a television schlep can get better ratings while the Speaker of the House mortgages the world financial markets for the sake of political games. Not when there’s a chance in hell that Sarah Palin could be the next President of the United States! All that’s left for us now is wine and fucking.”
“We could move to Canada.”
“Please. If the Royal Wedding is this bad here, what must it be like there?”
“Good point. So what do we do?”
He’d unbuckled his pants and freed his growing shaft. He pulled her towards him and sat her on his lap, letting his hardened cock nestle itself against her flesh. He placed his lips to her throat and let them lick their way up to her ear.
“We drink wine.”
“We could watch Rachel Maddow. Would that make you feel better?”
She turned around on his lap and straddled him. She rubbed her wet panties along his cock, grinding down on him while her fingers tangled themselves in his tie. He leaned into her ear, whispering.
“Reid is putting the Ryan plan to a vote in the Senate.” Her eyes lit up and she pushed her panties to the side, simultaneously pushing herself down on his exposed length. She moaned as she engulfed him.
“Harry Reid is a stone cold political pimp,” she managed to growl out as she began to slide herself up and down him.
He smacked her ass and dug his nails into her hips as he matched her rhythm, pushing her further and faster. She threw her head back. She held him only by his tie as her fingers found her clit, rubbing herself to the edge.
His eyes locked with hers and he let one more sentence string from his lips, hoping it’d push her to explode. He needed to feel her body clench around him. He wanted her to milk him dry.
“Vermont is moving to single payer healthcare.”
With a cry she shook and imploded, her nails digging into him and their bodies shuddering together in orgasm. When their breaths slowed and their heart beats ceased being the loudest sound in the room, she nestled against his chest, letting him stroke her hair.
“I guess the wine is as irrelevant as the discourse.”
I was looking through one of my tags and found this gem. It’s still fabulous.