Vote Tom Courtney!

PART ONE

It's only five days to the election and Tom Courtney wants us back on the streets for one more push. The televised debate last night was a tough one to call and the opinion polls this morning are a little too close for comfort. Two of the three morning papers call it a draw while the other gives it to Tom but only by a point.

I am assigned as part of the door-to-door canvass team and sent to a marginal precinct with Tom's pep talk ringing in my ears. Don't let any one get away with "Don't know"! Leave the doorstep with a firm commitment! Sell, sell, sell!

So there I am, going from door to door on a typical suburban street, appealing to the uncertain, the uninterested and, sometimes, the plain unfriendly to vote Tom on Election Day. "Vote Tom Courtney for better healthcare, better transport, better environment and better schools!" Why was I doing this? I was losing interest and might as well be selling life insurance to the dead.

After having doors slammed in my face, a shot gun pointed at my nose, and three people tell me they would vote for the devil first, I come to Number 356 with a certain weary expectation of more of the same. This time, I barely glimpse at the elector details on my clipboard. Name, age and sex of householder. Number of other people in household.

I push the door buzzer, wait, shuffle my feet, look up the sky, eye a jet plane with its long vapour trail and wish I was on it right now, flying to somewhere tropical. I look down at my shoes and curse myself for forgetting to polish them this morning. The toes are all scuffed. Maybe that's why I'm getting such a hard time? Listen to yourself, will you? Don't be daft!

"Yes?"

I look up to see the door half open and a young woman standing there in a short white bathrobe, her hair towelled and her feet bare. I disturbed her bath but she took the trouble to get out and answer. As Tom would say to us, always be positive, always assume the best.

"Hi there!" I open with the practiced sincerity of a salesman. "Do you intend to vote next Thursday?"

She eyes me up and down. Don't look at the shoes! Please don't look at the shoes!!

"I haven't decided yet," she says, peering at my shoes. "It's the same old, same old after all."

I notice her bathrobe open up a slight bit to reveal some cleavage and try my best to maintain eye contact. It isn't easy. She's very attractive and quite pleasant despite her apparent lack of interest in the election. Something to build on here, I think, remembering my training. Keep smiling. Keep positive. Close the deal.

"It's a common sentiment among voters but I want to set you a challenge, today, Miss!"

"Oh you do?" she says, arching a brow as she files her long, sharp fingernails, her curiosity perked now.

She opens the door wider and steps forward, her robe peeking open some more to give a flash of nipple before she unconsciously pulls it closed again. Was it the morning chill? Or did she realise I was looking? She folds her arms, waiting to hear my challenge. Yes, a protective reflex. She caught me peeping. I recover quickly enough to hide any embarrassment and press on.

"Yes. I challenge you to give Tom Courtney your vote next week and discover someone new, someone with new ideas and new commitment to the people."

She looks at me for a few seconds before her deadpan expression breaks into laughter. "You guys! If you could only hear yourselves! You might as well be selling washing powder for all I care. Like I said, it's the same old, same old."

Quick as a flash, and from where I don't know, I hit right back. "Yes but isn't that the whole problem right there?"

She's momentarily knocked back but then unfolds her arms to place her hands on her hips, adopting a more offensive posture. "Oh? And what would that be?"

Her robe pushes up and opens again, giving me another glimpse of her soft, alabaster breasts. This time, she makes no move to cover up. It's as if she's deploying them as weapons, targeting my male weakness. In fact, I'm sure she knows what I am thinking right now, that I know she knows and that my attempt to pretend otherwise will put me at further disadvantage. She is evidently confident that her sexuality has prevailed but I steady myself and look her directly in the eye.

"Well if the politics become cynical, then so do the voters and if the voters get cynical they don't believe a word they're told even if someone like Tom Courtney comes along with a promise to change things."

She smiles at me and shakes her head.

"I'm not cynical. Pragmatic, sure, but cynical? No. And I'm not definitely not stupid!"

I try to interject but she raises her voice over mine and turns my challenge right back at me. "So who is this Courtney guy? What are his values?"

"Well he's for better healthcare, better schooling..."

"No!" she cuts in sharply. "His values, not his policies! What does he believe in? What does he stand for?"

I'm floundering now. I could just about take the rudeness, the indifference and the ignorance of previous householders but somehow my training deserts me in the face of this direct challenge to my credibility. I mumble and stutter some sort of tortured response but I know I've lost it and, like a defeated general handing over his surrender, I offer her a leaflet.

"Will you at least consider it?"

Beaming triumphantly, she takes it from me and scans it back and front.

"I'll do you one better," she says. "Come in and fuck me and I'll vote for your man."

PART TWO

I struggle to respond. It was the last thing I expected her to say in the circumstances. But there are rules and ethics to guide me through this awkward situation. It's all in the training manual. Section 3 (Door to Door Canvassing), Paragraph 5, explicitly forbids offering bribes, giving favours or making private agreements in exchange for votes. The penalty, if caught, is a hefty fine or even imprisonment.

A torrent of conflicting and competing thoughts saturates my mind in a matter of seconds. I think of the risk and the consequences, the media coverage, the public and private shame of it. Yet there she stands before me so irresistible, like a siren luring me to self-destruction. She loosens her robe and opens it wide to display her fit, shapely body, her perky b cup breasts that I've only had glimpses of until now, and her freshly shaven crotch. I think of her in the bath, knees up, thighs apart, stroking the razor over the delicate pink lips, while at the very same moment I contemplate the premature end of my political career. I imagine my girlfriend, Julie, canvassing just three streets down the block, arriving upon the scene, shocked and distraught before turning her back on me for good.

No, to give into my male weakness would exact too high a personal price. If I was caught, that is. After doing the maths, the percentages, the risk analysis, my brain spits out the result I knew anyway: "Warning! High Risk!" But the siren voice is too strong and I take the first few fateful steps.

She steps aside to let me in and then closes the door shut. Before I can change my mind, she pushes me firmly against the wall, kissing me hard and passionately, and sliding a hand between my legs. As she rubs me to erection, I groan into her wet, open-mouthed kiss and push her robe off her shoulders. She drops her arms by her sides and lets it slide down and off completely. Then, ever so deftly, ever so quickly, she's undoes my belt and zipper and yanks my pants down with some aggression. My cock is fully erect, tenting my shorts. She looks at it and then at me, mugging comic amazement.

"Oooh look at the size of that!"

Dropping to her knees, she pulls down my shorts to release my cock and wraps a hand around it, caging it with her bright red nails. She looks up at me with a coy grin and starts to lick the rigid, veiny shaft up and down, her warm, breathy moans of pleasure making it stiffen and ache. I tense up and rest a hand on her head, closing my eyes to focus on the intense pleasure she's giving me as her warm, wet, succulent lips slide down over the shaft and then slowly, tenderly, move back and forth on it.

Now I feel her other hand on my full, heavy balls, massaging them, rolling them, scraping them, making me groan so deep and so loud, animal-like groans that seem to excite her all the more for she starts sucking harder, deeper, not letting up for one second until I'm close, so close that I can feel the sperm churn and rise in my balls. But suddenly she lets up, pops me out of her mouth with a satisfied smack of her lips and gets to her feet, her eyes ablaze with lust and need.

Turning away from me, she goes to the stairway and kneels up on the third step. She leans forward to rest her head on the fifth step, reaches her hands back to rest them on her perfect round ass and spreads her cheeks open to me, the red nails digging into the firm flesh. I am still thinking, this is wrong, all wrong but that just makes the moment all the more exciting and dangerous. I gaze at her shaven, moist pussy, her little anus bud, then down at my raging hard cock, and decide to cast a vote of my own.

The moment is so intensely loaded with primal lust that there is little or no room for words or niceties. I know what she wants and how she wants it so I just mount her on the stairs and drive my cock down deep and hard from above, sinking it into her slick slit. She shudders and yowls, reaching to grip a spindle of the banister for support. She's so tight she makes me groan like Julie never could. She makes me feel like a real man, fucking a woman the way she should be fucked. She yelps and whimpers and moans with each hot urgent thrust, her cheek pressed on the step above, face contorted with pleasure and some pain such is the sheer force and violence of my assault.

My balls dangle heavily like an animal's and slap together and against her; wet, heavy slaps, over and over. I reach forward and grab her by the hair, yanking her head up off the step and back to me so I can lean over her and lick her face and neck like a dog with his bitch. She yelps in protest but soon she's loving it and she's grunting like I've never heard a woman grunt before, turning me on all the more intensely, urging me on to fuck her harder and faster, reaching back to scrape my legs and draw trickles of blood. It is fierce, raw, violent sex - the best I've ever had.

PART THREE

It's only ten minutes but it feels like we've been fucking for hours. We're calling each other filthy names now, provoking each other, adding to the heat and intensity between us. I stop thrusting and draw back my cock until I have just my knob inside her tight, clenching slit, and then administer to her a sharp spank on each ass cheek.

"Work that pussy, slut!" I order.

With a jolt and a shudder, she lets out a high-pitched, plaintive whimper and slowly pushes back on my cock, using her perfect round buttocks to pump faster and faster until they are trembling and jiggling in a way that drives me crazy. She looks back at me, cajoling and taunting me through clenched teeth, her voice deeper and huskier than normal, her lithe body burning up like a furnace from the sheer force of her effort. I still have her hair clenched in my fist like a rein and the harder and faster she pumps me, the tighter I tug.

Then something snaps and I wrap my other arm around her throat, making her cry out and plead with me to hurt her. As if to reinforce her demand, she closes her thighs and makes her pussy clamp like a vice around my cock, provoking me in turn to tighten my grip around her throat and pound her with an aggression that is new to me.

Sex with Julie is always so toned down, so careful, yet this stranger I've only just met, whose name I don't even know, has unlocked in me some dark desire, unleashing nature against nurture in a violent duel. It seems that nature is winning out for I am squeezing her throat just that little bit tighter now, panting obscene names into her ear and grunting with each hot thrust.

So intimate is my grip and command of her that I can feel and sense she is getting close. I draw right back, hold for two seconds, and shove my red-hot weapon back inside her, right to the hilt. She grunts with the force of this assault but she tells me to do it again and again and again until at last her body tenses, back arched high, face flushed deep red, eyes wide with fiery lust. With a loud groan and a violent shudder, she cums long and hard on me, her orgasm surging through her body in wave after wave of sheer, primal surrender. Like a fountain, her pussy gushes and squirts on me, creaming my cock, my balls, my thighs.

I sit back on my knees on the step below, my cock still lodged securely inside her, and stroke her up and down with my hands, bringing her down with soft coos and hushes. But she reaches a hand back to pinch me.

"No!" she growls. "You fucked me like an animal so finish me like one! Now!"

I pop out of her and with a few vigorous jerks, then a vulgar snort that makes her yelp and shudder, I shoot a hot, abundant load all over her ass and her back. She moans and sighs, loving the feeling of that warm liquid splatter her flushed hot skin, and murmurs to me to rub it all in as if to soothe that ache, that sweet feeling of violation.

"Fuck, that was good!" she sighs, looking back at me with a weak but contented smile. And then she adds so casually: "I wanted you to shove it in my ass but perhaps another time."

I grin and give her playful little spank, pleased to have satisfied her. "So you'll vote Tom Courtney, madam?"

She sits up on the stairs, looking down at me with a strange mixture of pity and appreciation. "Oh yeah, I'll vote for him for sure. You may have to come round and drag me out, mind you, but I'll keep my side of the bargain!"

Just then, a text alert from my cell phone breaks the spell between us. I shrug apologetically and retrieve it to check the incoming message. It's from Julie and it says simply: "Where are you?" I swear aloud and rush to get dressed but this woman just sits there in mild amusement, with her legs open, flaunting her fucked pussy, all swollen and soaked with her own juices and trickles of my sperm.

"One of your colleagues?" she asks, scooping some cum from her pussy to lick off her fingers.

"Yeah," I nod, deciding not to elaborate. "She's wondering where I got to!"

"Just tell her someone gave you a hard time and you couldn't get away!"

I grin at her pun, zipping up my pants and slipping my sweater over my head. "Actually, I'm not supposed to give more than five minutes per household."

She throws her head back and scoffs. "And I'm sure you're not supposed to fuck the voters either!"

I look at her with a frown, wondering if she's just joking or if that was some sort of threat. She smiles and steps down to get her robe, pulling it on and tying it closed. Then she turns to caress my face with her hands and kiss me lightly on the lips. "It's okay. I promise I won't tell dad on you!"

My whole body goes weak. "Your dad?"

She nods solemnly and picks up my clipboard from the hall table. "Now let's see here," she muses aloud, running an index finger down each page she turns, the long, red nail lightly scraping the paper. "Number 3-5-6, 3-5-6, 3-5-6. Oh yes here it is! Number 356: C.Courtney."