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  STUFFING THE BALLOT BOX

  by

  Andrea Dale

  includes bonus story

  “Guarding Her Body”

  Successful politician Tabitha is in control in every area of her life—except the bedroom. That’s the only place she can allow herself to let go…and the only way she can let go is with the help of her exceedingly kinky husband. Paddles, clamps, butt plugs, and more give her the painful, orgasmic escape she needs in this short story by legendary erotica heavy-hitter Andrea Dale.

  STUFFING THE BALLOT BOX and GUARDING HER BODY

  Andrea Dale

  Electronic edition published 2012 by Soul’s Road Press

  Copyright © Andrea Dale. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  “Stuffing the Ballot Box” originally appeared in Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories (Cleis Press, 2009).

  “Guarding Her Body” (as “Fanning the Flames”) originally appeared in Playing With Fire: Taboo Erotica (Cleis Press, 2009)

  Inquiries should be addressed to

  Soul’s Road Press

  [email protected]

  http://www.soulsroadpress.com

  Cover art © Lyndajayne / Dreamstime.com. Logo by Design by Trapdoor.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Stuffing the Ballot Box

  Bonus Story: Guarding Her Body

  A Note About Story Titles

  About the Author and Links

  Copyright Information

  Start Reading

  STUFFING THE BALLOT BOX

  It was one of the biggest moments of her life.

  It ranked up there with falling in love with Will, completing her first marathon, graduating law school at the top of her class, saying “I do.”

  It superceded them all except falling in love.

  And it had to be perfect.

  “Champagne, ma’am?”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha said, smiling at the tuxedoed waiter. She’d indulged in only half a glass in the last two hours, and she’d just carry this one for show. She couldn’t allow herself to get the least bit off her form.

  Not one misstep.

  Which of course is when she noticed that not only was the tray of lobster empanada on the buffet table empty, but someone had knocked over a crystal bowl of cocktail sauce, and a crimson stain soaked into the crisp white linen tablecloth.

  They said politics were murder, but that didn’t mean it had to look like it.

  She turned to find the waiter, but he’d moved into the crowd.

  Before she could do anything else, a hand touched her arm, claiming her attention.

  “Congressman Fahringer,” she said. Dammit. “I can’t believe we haven’t had a chance to talk yet.”

  She couldn’t be rude and walk away; she needed his support. She resisted the urge to bite her lip, sip champagne, anything that would telegraph her minor panic at the mess on the table which, while it wouldn’t make or break her career, would nonetheless attract negative feedback.

  Then Will stepped into view. In one casual movement, he slid a plate of proscuitto-wrapped asparagus over the soiled linen and picked up the empty tray. With his free hand he rearranged a few more dishes so the table didn’t look as though anything were missing. He slipped the tray to a passing waiter, caught Tabitha’s eye, and winked.

  Bless him. There was no way she could do this without him, no possible way she could schmooze and campaign and solicit donations without him in the background, somehow seeing to every tiny detail, leaving her free to do what she needed to do.

  She chatted with the congressman, and then it was time. She took a deep breath.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Tabitha McAndrews.”

  She found Will in the crowd, mouthed “thank you” at him, and stepped up to the podium.

  *

  “So, how does it feel to be an official candidate for the U.S. Senate?” Will asked.

  “Terrifying,” Tabitha said. “Exhilarating. Exhausting.”

  “You don’t look exhausted,” he commented, leaning back against the pillows. His tie was gone, his shirt open. He had a swimmer’s build, long and lean with sleek muscles. He looked gorgeous.

  She was, but she wasn’t. Allowing herself a full glass of wine, she paced the bedroom, pausing only to munch on the extra hors d’oeuvres Will had somehow managed to smuggle into the limo without anyone else noticing. Part of her wanted to collapse from the strain of the past weeks; the other part was so wired that sleep was an alien concept.

  “Do you need to relax?” Will asked.

  The question seemed innocent. The tone of his voice never changed. But Tabitha stopped in her tracks, and a shiver coursed through her body. Her nipples tingled.

  As innocent as it sounded, she knew exactly what he meant.

  Outside of the bedroom, they were equals, partners. Each stepped up to the plate to support the other whenever needed.

  Inside the bedroom, it was a different story altogether.

  Oh, she always had the right of first refusal, could always say “not tonight” and he’d trust her judgment that she needed a full night’s sleep or even another review of an upcoming speech before she turned off the light.

  All it took from her was a simple agreement, and the rules changed. The balance shifted.

  Tonight, it was definitely what she needed.

  “Yes,” she said, and felt a wave of relief with that single word.

  He was on his feet in an instant. Behind her, he gently kneaded her tight shoulders. His lips pressed against the side of her neck and she smelled his shampoo. She put down the wine.

  “Go get undressed,” he said.

  In their walk-in closet, she stripped out of her jacket and skirt, blouse and underwear and stockings. As she did, she felt some of the tension slip away. Removing the armor, so to speak. It left her vulnerable, yes, but it also took away some of the burden—a reminder that she didn’t have to be in charge, didn’t have to be “on” anymore.

  She could let go and give herself to Will.

  Her movements were somewhere between methodical and delaying as she folded and hung and added items to the laundry basket. She craved what was about to happen in equal measures with wanting to run from it.

  Knowing what was good for you didn’t necessarily make it any easier, be it foul-tasting medicine, a muscle-draining workout, or a blissfully painful scene.

  The longer she delayed, though, the worse it would be for her. Her body betrayed her with a fresh wave of arousal at the thought.

  He bound her to the foot of the bed, the sturdy mahogany posts a perfect substitute for an X-frame. They’d never seen the need for dungeon-like trappings; that just struck them as silly and overwrought. By the same token, Will was now barefoot, wearing only light cotton drawstring pants. Leather had its benefits, but he preferred to be comfortable. Unrestricted.

  Almost ironic, considered her spread-eagled predicament.

  Will rubbed her shoulders again, her arms and legs, making sure she wasn’t so tense that she’d get hurt. Every caress made her shiver, made her skin more sensitized and yearning…largely because she knew the gentleness wouldn’t last.

  The best—and worst—was yet to come.

  “Are you ready, Tabby?”

  He called her that only in the bedroom. Another trigger, another cue. She was aware, strangely, of her mind starting the
process of letting go of everything else—lists of people to call, donors to thank, appearances to book. The question of whether her platform was solid, whether the voters would come.

  Leaving her in the moment. Here, with Will, and whatever he’d devised for her this night.

  She had no doubt he’d been thinking about it for weeks, planning and plotting while she’d been focused on the campaign. Guessing she’d need this to come down from the high.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stood close behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body, feel the brush of cotton against her ass. She wanted to push back, wriggle against the aroused hardness she knew grew she’d find. But Will was in charge, and she knew better.

  The waiting was hard. She trembled, aroused, her nipples beading, her lips growing slick even though her legs were spread. Her clit began to ache.

  Finally he moved, but not to touch her anywhere she craved it. Instead, he slipped a velvet blindfold over her head, adjusting the elastic so she was swathed in darkness.

  Harder, in some ways, to let go when she couldn’t see. Left alone with her thoughts. But he didn’t leave her there for long.

  Now he did press against her, snuggling his erection in the crack of her ass as he reached around her to pluck at her hard nipples.

  “Stay still, Tabby,” he warned when she flinched. His breath fluttered against her ear before he bit her lightly where her neck curved into her shoulder. Not hard; just enough to remind her. She didn’t need the prompt, although it was so difficult to resist pressing forward into his hands.

  He rolled the hard buds between his fingers, the pressure just over the line into pain, but in a way she craved. In sympathy, her clit throbbed in time with his kneading and pinching.

  She was so lost in the sensation that she never noticed when one of his hands moved away. Just for a moment—just long enough to pick something up, something that made her let out her breath in a long keen when the edges fastened around her pouting nipple, when the metal caught her flesh and held it.

  Which ones was he using? she wondered as he fastened on the second one, his soft chuckles almost lost beneath the sound of her whimpering cries.

  No, don’t wonder. Don’t think. Already the reflection was fading. It didn’t matter which ones they were. What mattered was the sensation, how it made her grit her teeth, not with pain but with knife-edge arousal, especially when Will flicked his fingers across the tips that she knew bulged, reddened, out of the clamps.

  She wasn’t in control. Had no hope of being in control. That had been hard to handle at first. if she wasn’t in control, what was she supposed to do? How could she not make decisions?

  Then she’d learned that her body would make decisions for her, no matter what her conscious mind thought about things.

  He kept toying with her nipples, but dipped between her legs with one hand, barely touching her, gently outlining her lips. He brought his fingers up. Her nostrils flared at the scent. He traced her mouth with his wet fingers, and she barely remember to wait to lick until he said, “Taste yourself.”

  Awash in sensation, she drifted in the darkness, surrounded by the hot smell of sex and the pulsing pain of her breasts and the answering ache between her legs. When he slipped a bullet vibe into her, she mewled, knowing the vibrations would only bring her higher, not over the edge.

  She heard the whisper of the paddle through the air and then the sharp smack against her ass before she even felt the sting. Her hips jerked forward at the impact, and she could only imagine how she looked, spread out and clamped and buzzing and thrusting.

  Forgetting everything but the moment, the here and now, the feel of Will touching her, the feel of her body responding. Achingly, drippingly so.

  He unfastened her wrists, only to bind them together over her head. A moment of fleeting disorientation, the thrill of falling before she remembered the bed before her. She winced as her breasts rubbed against the spread, the silk not nearly cool enough to douse the burning.

  With gentle fingers, Will stroked her ass, lubing her up. Her inner walls clenched around the humming bullet vibe in anticipation and trepidation. If she’d been able to think about how her constituents would react, she might have been embarrassed, but her body begged for this, and she’d forgotten about the rest of the evening, distant as a dream.

  “Touch yourself, Tabby,” Will said, and she squirmed her arms beneath her until her fingers could reach her clit.

  He slid into her, inch by excruciating inch, as she stroked herself, and the bullet inside of her shivered up a few notches to full speed.

  She heard herself say “Please,” and then “Yes,” and Will answered, “Yes, Tabby,” and then all she knew was that she’d won.

  *

  GUARDING HER BODY

  Oh, now he’d done it.

  Catriona had never been one for pitching fits, but so help her, right now she just wanted to stamp her foot and let out a nice cathartic scream of pure frustration.

  But the last thing she wanted to see was the glittering amusement in Jake McGovern’s dark eyes at her tantrum.

  The last thing she wanted to see was, in fact, Jake McGovern.

  “Good evening, Ms. Sullivan,” he said, all suave and solid in his tuxedo, the bump of his gun not even visible. Unless that was a gun in his custom trousers, and she was reasonably sure he was storing something else entirely there.

  She’d spent some quality time alone with her vibrator fantasizing about just what the bodyguard’s cock might look like. And feel like…

  “Take the night off, Jake,” she said, indicating the front door of her soon-to-be-ex fiancé Timothy’s Atlanta penthouse. “It’s not that big a party.”

  “He asked me to look after you tonight,” Jake said. He leaned against the wall, but his body was anything but relaxed.

  Dammit. She was screwed.

  Timothy, her fiancé, was cheating on her. In fact, she knew damn well his current “business trip” wasn’t about business. Apparently he thought he was being discreet, or he thought she was stupid (or probably, both), but the upshoot was simple: she was outta here.

  She had no interest in confronting him or creating a scene. He was disgustingly wealthy and extremely powerful, and he’d make her life hell if she did. Nope, she was just going to gather up the expensive jewelry and designer clothes and a few electronic toys—all things he’d given her, nothing more—and take off.

  The plan was simple: She’d make an appearance at the Morellis’ charity ball, then slip out, and no one would be the wiser for several days. Her bags were packed and in the trunk of her Mercedes SUV.

  Now Timothy had screwed everything up, via Jake.

  There was no arguing with Jake, either. Hell, she’d figure something out. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “You look lovely tonight,” he commented as he held out her wrap. His dark blue eyes caressed her curves as assuredly as if he’d used his hands—she felt as if he had, at any rate.

  She knew she looked fabulous, in a flirty red chiffon dress with a plunging neckline and variegated hem. Timothy hated red. The outfit represented her bid for freedom.

  Jake’s visual assessment left her feeling almost naked. Naked except for her scarlet garter belt and matching thong and spike heels…

  She clenched her thighs, resisting the unbidden shiver of desire. Focus. She had to focus.

  She insisted they take the Mercedes, and he insisted he drive, and she let him. Better not to deviate too far from routine. On the way, she pondered how to ditch Jake. A former Navy SEAL—or was it Marine? she couldn’t remember—he had all the training and skills, and then some. Nothing escaped him.

  But she would have to.

  *

  The Morellis had a string quartet; catering by one of Atlanta’s most exclusive restaurants; and a guest list that included two movie stars, three top athletes, and numerous politicians. Champagne flowed from an ice fountain. Catriona allowed herself one glass,
for show.

  She mingled, exchanging platitudes and polite laughter, trying to lose herself in the crowd. But no matter where she went, Jake was always there, watching her. She didn’t even have to look around to know. She could feel his gaze on her, hot and unyielding.

  Kind of like how his cock would feel when…

  Stop. Just stop it. She had to keep her eyes on the prize.

  She licked lips suddenly gone dry, and out of the corner of her eye saw Jake stand a little straighter.

  Catriona glanced around. She didn’t see a threat, so Jake had to have been reacting to her. Oh ho, is that so? Just to check, she trailed her fingers down the low neckline of her dress, along the visible curve of her breast.

  Jake coughed, shifted his stance. If she’d been closer, she strongly suspected she’d see a nice swelling in his pants.

  Aha. A new plan. She’d distract him, she decided. She’d flirt and tease, and when the blood was no longer in his brain, she’d slip away.

  She walked towards him with a deliberate sway in her hips, stood just a little too close. “I hate that you don’t get to have any fun. Can I get you a drink?”

  “I don’t drink when I’m on duty,” he said.

  “Something nonalcoholic, then.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t sound fine. He sounded like he was gritting his teeth. She glanced down. Excellent. Time to ramp it up a notch.

  “Whoops.” She dropped her dropped her little beaded handbag.

  They both went down to retrieve it. Rather than an accidental bumping of heads, though, she timed it so that Jake’s face essentially ended up in her cleavage.

  They both froze for a moment, so close she could feel his warm breath on her flesh. The sensation sent a tingle through to her core.

  She shifted a little, giving him a clearer view down her dress, before slowly rising to her feet, deliberately and evocatively brushing against him as she did.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the purse from him. “Now, you really should get some water and cool down. I’m going to the ladies’ room, and you certainly can’t follow me there.”