Chapter 26

Connie

 

The black limousine was parked at the sidewalk a few minutes before we were due to leave for the Russian diplomatic reception. I peeked out between the window drapes and saw Mitch’s new Secret Service man climb briskly from the driver’s seat and come striding towards the front door. He was a man in his thirties with thinning sandy hair and a stern set face, wearing a black suit.

“Mitch, Agent Waddingham has brought the car around.”

I heard footsteps come from behind me. Mitch was wearing a black dinner suit, looking as suave and elegant as an American James Bond. He smiled when he saw the white cocktail dress I was wearing and clutched at his heart in mock pain.

“You took my breath away,” he murmured.

I felt myself puff with pleasure and smiled back at him. “And you look like a lady-killer,” I returned the compliment. He leaned in close to kiss me and I could still faintly smell the musky scent of my pussy on his lips. We had spent the entire afternoon fucking.

We went outside into the cool night. Agent Waddingham held the limousine’s back door open.

“Waddingham, this is my… my girlfriend, Connie Wyatt,” Mitch hadn’t been sure how to introduce me and he floundered awkwardly for a moment. “She lives with me.”

“Evening, ma’am,” the Secret Service man said with a stone face. I smiled politely. “Nice to meet you.”

We drove in silence to the Constable – one of Washington’s most exclusive hotels, and the preferred accommodation choice of many visiting overseas delegations who flew into the capital. I was nervous and anxious. I knew this wasn’t a date – it wouldn’t be a romantic evening we could share, because most of Mitch’s time would be spent meeting with the Russians and the hordes of local politicians who flocked to these events.

I wasn’t quite sure what I would do with myself…

Local police had cordoned off the area surrounding the hotel. Limousines, media vans, and a couple of military vehicles added to the chaos. The front of the hotel was lit up in a glittering spectacle, and there were small troops of musicians walking amongst the arriving guests and playing music in the manicured gardens. Cars pulled up beneath the covered foyer, disgorged their passengers, and then sped away, only to be replaced immediately by another vehicle a moment or two later.

We went through the double glass doors into the lobby. The hotel was alive with the murmured buzz of a thousand hushed conversations. Security guards were spread amongst the patrons, and there were more security guards beside a metal detector. Mitch took my hand and we walked towards them.

“Invitation?” a security man asked.

Mitch handed over a printed card and the security man stiffened. “Welcome, sir. Ma’am.” The man nodded an acknowledgement and then ran his eye professionally over me as though I might have a concealed weapon. Apparently satisfied, the guard turned his attention back to Mitch. “The Secretary of State and the President’s Chief of Staff are already in the ballroom, sir. They’re expecting you.”

Mitch nodded. We went through the frame of the metal detector and into a vast room hung with crystal chandeliers and lined with vast bay windows set high into the vaulted walls. The floor area was sprinkled with tables and chairs and at the far end of the room was a stage in front of blue velvet curtains.

“Our table is somewhere near the stage,” Mitch smiled warmly. “Do you want to see if you can find it? In the meantime, I’ll whistle up a waiter and attend to some business.”

I found the table after a few minutes. I saw a place card with Mitch’s name, and beside it another card labeled Miss Connie Wyatt.

I took my seat. The table was large and elegantly set. There was a centerpiece of fresh flowers, and dinner settings for ten other people. Journalists drifted in and out of the milling clusters of guests, like ants feeding on crumbs of gossip.

On the far side of the room I saw Mitch. He was standing with two other serious-faced men, and in each hand he was holding a glass of wine. The conversation looked serious. Mitch had his eyes narrowed, listening. I recognized the man who was talking. It was the President’s Chief of Staff.

I watched with interest, studying the body language and the way the other men reacted when at last Mitch spoke. He was direct. The two other men exchanged glances and nodded agreement to something he had said.

Then another voice spoke from nearby in coarse accented English.

“I thought it impossible that you could become more beautiful, but here I see that it is indeed true.”

I looked up with a start. Sergey Volostok was standing on the far side of the table, his arms outstretched and a smile on his grizzled bear-like face.

“Mr. Volostok!”

“Miss Connie,” his grin radiated genuine pleasure.

I got out of my chair and he gave me an affectionate hug. He was wearing an ill-fitting black suit, but he had a barrel-like physique that would have been a tailor’s nightmare. Impulsively I pecked him demurely on the cheek and insisted he sit.

“You look well,” I said.

The man gave an eloquent shrug of his shoulders. “I am pleased that the work done in Moscow has come to fruition,” he diverted, then looked at me again more closely.

“And you, miss Connie. You look… radiant.”

I blushed. “Thank you. And thank you for what you did for me in Moscow.”

He nodded dismissively then arched his eyebrows. “I did not think that I would ever see you again. I certainly did not expect to see you at such a function.” He was fishing for information in the nicest possible way.

“Mitch invited me tonight,” I said and saw the flicker of something behind the Russian’s eyes.

“So you still work for him as his assistant?”

“No. It was a personal invitation.”

“Good,” he said firmly, and then his tone became more delicate. “And is your Mr. Stuyversant as honest as you, young miss Connie?”

“About our relationship?”

“Yes.”

I shrugged my shoulders and pointed. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Mitch was coming towards us, carrying the two glasses of wine. One was half-empty. He saw Sergey and smiled.

“Sergey!”

“Greetings, Mitch Stuyversant,” the Russian’s voice was a rumble. The two men shook hands and sat. Mitch set the full glass of wine down in front of me.

“Sergey wants to know about us,” I said to Mitch with a reckless little smile of daring. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the big Russian go pale and cringe at my directness.

“Oh?” Mitch sipped at his wine. He seemed a little distracted.

“Yes,” I was enjoying myself and enjoying the Russian’s awkward discomfort. “He wants to know the nature of our relationship.”

Mitch frowned. “Did you tell him that we fuck each other every night, and that we’ve been living together happily for the past month?”

“No.”

The Russian spluttered a cough and his eyes were huge.

“Oh,” Mitch too was having light-hearted fun at the Russian spy’s discomfort. He looked at last at Sergey. “Well that’s the truth,” he said. “And I’ve never been happier.”

 

 

 

Mitch

 

Sergey’s dark stern features changed to a look of embarrassed horror. It wasn’t the revelation about Connie and I that had caught him off guard; it was the frivolous manner in which I had admitted it. Sergey was such an experienced spymaster that in his secret world such confessions just didn’t happen. Information needed to be pried from a subject – not blathered willingly without care for the consequences.

I gave him a moment to compose himself. He was a decent man and he had proved his friendship to me. I knew I could trust him to be discreet.

I turned to Connie and made a pained face.

“I have to give a speech,” I said.

She looked surprised. “What?”

“A speech. Here. Tonight.”

“Why you?”

I sighed. “Because the President had to cancel. There’s some crisis in Korea and he has a call in to the Japanese Prime Minister. I’ve been elected to fill in for the man.”

“By who?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Sec State and his Chief of Staff,” I grunted. “They blindsided me.”

Connie seemed to think the idea amusing. She didn’t know how much I loathed public speaking. In a meeting I was fine – those conversations were one-on-one where you could stare down your adversary across a table. Talking to a gathered crowd was a whole different beast. I glanced at Sergey for sympathy.

“Any advice?”

The Russian looked bemused. “Make it short.”

Around us the room was filling quickly. People were gathering at their allotted tables. I glanced at my watch and sighed again, this time with heavy resignation. Then I had a thought.

“Connie, come with me,” I said.

She looked truly horrified. “On stage?”

I shook my head and laughed as the color drained away from her face. “No, just behind the curtain. For moral support.”

She shrugged. Sergey rose from where he was sitting. He had a space reserved at another table amongst the Russian delegates. He wished me luck and we shook hands again. I watched him walk away and then plucked at Connie’s elbow. “We need to move now,” I said. “The hotel staff are waiting on me to deliver my speech before they begin to serve the meals.”

There were two security guards at the edge of the stage standing with their hands clasped in front of them. I led Connie past them and up three darkened stairs. We were behind the main stage in a dark gloomy corridor. There were a few people idling in the walkway and I heard a journalist asking one of the hotel’s managers a couple of questions. I led Connie by the hand until we were standing behind the heavy curtain.

She straightened my tie and smiled up into my face. The whole backstage area had been painted black and the lights were turned down low. I was glad I didn’t have anything written and prepared. I could barely see a few feet in the dim light.

“Nervous?” Connie asked softly.

“Yes.”

She frowned. “Mitch, you don’t have to say anything special,” Connie assured me. “Just welcome the Russians and say how great it is to see the trade deal reach a conclusion that will benefit both countries.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you my press secretary now?”

“No,” Connie shook her head and her eyes turned mysterious. “I’m your lover and your baby girl.” As she spoke, the words breathed in a sultry whisper, she reached out boldly and ran the palm of her hands over my cock.

I flinched away but she persisted. Her touch was teasing, her hands knowing. I felt myself harden and had to clutch at her wrist. The last thing I needed was to go on stage with an obvious erection. I kissed her and then disappeared through the curtain before the wicked little vixen had an opportunity to work more of her sexual charms.

 

 

 

Connie

 

It was late when we at last left the Constable. The night was bitterly cold and I snuggled against the warmth of Mitch in the back of the limousine. The smoked glass partition that divided us from the Secret Service driver was elevated, and fogged like a bathroom mirror after a hot shower.

“I thought your speech was very statesman-like,” I murmured. I had my hand beneath his jacket, pressed against his shirt so I could feel the warmth of his body.

Mitch grunted. “I was grateful to get through it,” he said.

We lapsed into a brief silence, both of us recalling snippets and memories of the night.

Mitch chuckled. “Did you see poor Sergey’s face when I told him we fucked every night?”

I smiled, remembering… and then sat up in mock horror.

“You lied to him,” I accused.

Mitch frowned. “No I didn’t –”

“Well you haven’t fucked me tonight…” My hand drifted across his crotch until I felt the lump of his cock. I stroked it through the fabric of his pants and felt a clench of response.

Mitch looked appalled. “We’re in a government limousine,” he protested.

I unzipped his pants. His cock betrayed the truth. He was hard and getting harder as my fingers caressed his length.

He drew a breath, then picked up the internal phone that linked us to the driver’s seat.

“You better take the long way home, Waddingham.”

By the time he had set the phone back in its cradle, I already had the tip of his cock between my hungry lips, moaning with pleasure.

Mitch sighed and leaned back in the seat. I was curled up like a cat in his lap. I felt his hand rub down my back and realized a moment later that he wasn’t massaging my tight shoulders – he was unzipping my dress.

His balls were still in his pants, but his cock was in my mouth. I bobbed my head to a casual rhythm, not trying to bring him to orgasm, but merely inflaming his appetite. He came alive between my lips. His cock twitched then pressed against the roof of my mouth. I felt his hands tangle in my hair and then there was slight pressure on the back of my head. I went with it; let him guide me all the way down his cock until my nose was pressed against the fabric of his pants. With my mouth wide open, I worked the flat of my tongue to massage the underside of his cock. Mitch groaned with satisfaction and held me down until I felt myself running out of air.

When I came off his cock I was gasping and my eyes streamed with tears. My lipstick had left a pink ring around the base of his shaft. I kissed it away and gently stroked him. There was a wet patch down the front of his pants from where I’d drooled.

Mitch had his hand on my ass, rubbing me through the material of my dress but I didn’t have the room to reposition myself and give him better access. His touch served only to frustrate me, never quite reaching those sensitive parts of my pussy that craved attention.

Finally, in a fit of desperation, I straddled him and pulled my panties aside. My pussy was tingling. I rubbed myself while Mitch watched, mesmerized. Then I took his cock in my hand and guided it inside me.

I slid all the way down his cock in a long slow plunge, trying to make the moment last but aching so badly for the fullness of his cock that the last two inches disappeared with a sudden frantic rush. I groaned and fell forward, burying my face in Mitch’s neck. He had his hands on my ass, and he lifted himself bodily off the seat to fuck me.

I kissed hungrily at his neck. He smelled of aftershave and his jaw was raspy as sandpaper to my lips. The wet slapping sounds of our primal needs filled the small space. I squirmed harder on his cock and then slipped my hand between us to tease my clit. Mitch seemed to understand. He suddenly stilled and I began to bounce myself up and down on his erection until I felt my orgasm appear like a light in the distance. I used Mitch’s cock to edge closer, then pressed my finger deep inside myself so that it rubbed against both the wall of my pussy and Mitch’s pulsing shaft. The arousing effect of this new source of friction was incredible. I felt impossibly full, while at the same time the texture of my finger was a new experience for the sensitive underside of Mitch’s cock.

Suddenly we were both hurtling towards explosive orgasms.

I slowed the riding motion of my body and instead wiggled my finger. Mitch growled and tried to buck his hips, but he was clamped in place by the grinding press of my body. He tried one last desperate time and then wrenched his mouth into a tight-lined hiss of release.

I felt his cum splash inside me.

Mitch’s orgasm was the trigger I needed to release all my own pent-up desire. I came hard, thrashing on his cock and tossing my head from side to side.