I don’t know if you heard of this guy who was nearly elected president, but he almost fucked things up for me and my girlfriend.

“Do all guys talk like that in locker rooms?” she asked, referring to the boasts made by a vaguely-upright orangutan who said that women would let you get away with all kinds of things as long as you were famous. “Do all men want to just kiss women without them letting you?”

The worst time to get into an argument with Amanda is when she’s sitting on the kitchen counter, legs spread, naked and wet from the shower. It’s the place where we first had sex, back when I was just her roommate and she didn’t think I was home. Yeah, she was naked and I walked into the kitchen and immediately popped a boner through my pajama bottoms. There was nothing we could really do about it at that point but fuck the embarrassment away.

“For Christ’s sake, Amanda, no,” I said, and was just about to add, “#NotAllMen,” but I’d forgotten why I wasn’t supposed to do that. Plus, I don’t like to say the word “hashtag” out loud. This nursing-home diaper fart of a candidate was painting every non-sexually-assaulting guy with the same brush.

Now, granted, I’m a pretty well-known local DJ in a midsize city, and I’ve had my share of women throw themselves at my junk when they’re eye-level to my crotch on the dance floor (and I know for a goddamn fact they wouldn’t give me a second glance if I rolled up on them at the bus stop on my skateboard). But I wasn’t about to tell sweet Amanda with the best candy-apple ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of despoiling that the reviled candidate was actually right.

I mean, who doesn’t get preferential sexual treatment when they’re rich and famous? That’s why people get rich and famous. Everybody fucking knows that.

So anyway, Amanda is on the counter and she’s naked. She picks fights when she’s naked because she knows I’m nearly powerless to argue. She’s got this pussy that talks to you because she keeps lazily squeezing and spreading her thighs. Every time she opens them, her bare lips glisten. She’s a fucking pro. And all she has to do is edge herself out a little and I can slip right in...and Amanda knows this.

“Baby,” I say, leading with the head of my cock, just inches from her glistening pussy on the marble countertop (and you can bet I’m eating off that tomorrow), “the guys who talk like that are the same as the women who have or withhold sex from their partners for jewelry. It’s not love, it’s a transaction. That’s not what we have.”

This time Amanda opens her legs and doesn’t close them.

I continue: “And the great thing about being alive in America right now is that we have a chance to stay on our toes” — here I edge up slightly on my toes to place the very head of my cock against her lips — “and get consent for the things we do. Do you like this?”

“Give me a little slap,” she says, and I do, across each cheek.

“Yesss,” Amanda says, and I push the tip into her warm, wet, viselike pussy.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” I say, pushing in deeper, holding her hips. We fuck for five minutes this way, all talk unnecessary, until I feel something building, and I clutch her gently by the throat.

“Give me a little slap,” she says, and I do, across each cheek. I can feel the immediate reaction in her cunt.

“Slap my ass,” she says. Her hemispheres are spread on the cold countertop. I smack them like I’m lobbing back a serve. Each slap spurs a galvanic response the length of each upper thigh.

My cock is throbbing but I pull out, grab her body–phasing in and out of orgasm, both taut and limp–and bring her into the bedroom, and toss her on the bed, my thing to play with, a thing that she has given to me. She’s sprawled on the bed. I can see her labia pulsing and I know what she’s going to say.

“Grab me by the pussy,” she says, and I do. I squeeze, my thumb on her clit, two fingers inside her, and she comes in waves. I use the moisture to jerk my cock three times — tops — and send hot consensual ropes across her face. She wipes them off, licks her fingertips, shoves them in her cunt. She props herself up on her elbows, takes my cock in her mouth with no hands, and plays my dick like the world’s smallest, wettest clothes dryer. Like a machine, I reflexively spurt three more times down her throat.

Dirty girl, that Amanda. And a Democrat!

Check out the Full Gallery