Anal Voter

Anal Voter

Chapter 1

Sharon Smyth cried out in pain and pleasure. Her asshole throbbed as it was stretched, the thick cock pumping into her. It ground hard. Grunting and heaving, she held her butt propped up at the best angle. She took every deep, pounding thrust as the man butt-fucked her.

She had been standing in line for hours but it had been worth the wait. Other women were standing behind her, waiting for their chance to meet the candidate. Many of them were starved for affection, being ignored by their husbands. Even so, some were smothered by too much affection from their spouses.

It's not every day a candidate tells you the truth about what's in store for you if you vote for him. This hotshot, whose name was Randy Waters, was not a racist, and made no bones about his loving women's asses -- whether white, brown, or black.

* * *

Not surprisingly, Willy hailed from Georgia. He grew up on a farm where his family were poultry farmers. By watching how chickens ate corn kernels and seed, he developed strength of character. It was not easy to become a chicken, and a chicken would have to be extra special to get any kind of employment. Since there were no laws about chicken abuse, he saw a mystical meaning to poultry. In reality, a chicken's future looked dim.

Since he graduated from Middle School at the age of eighteen, Willy was determined to become a success in life. He felt, if he put his mind to it, he could achieve anything. At the moment he was working part time at the 7-11 store.

It was one sunny afternoon, when he was sitting on his front porch, munching some fried chicken he just bought at the Chicken Hut, that he heard a voice in his head.

The Voice was telling him something, but it was in French, and he didn't speak French. He knew it was French because most of his porn videos were in French. So he shrugged it off.

The next day the voice was back, initially whispering in his head, this time in German. The voice was very authoritarian, and now actually shouted at him. In his head! He got a buzzing sound in his ears and after having swigged gin straight up, the buzzing was replaced by a headache. He knew his body well enough; the headache would be gone tomorrow.

The third day there was a quiet voice. It didn't shout at him. He had to tell his wife to shut up and stop yelling at the kids. He was listening real hard. It was in English!

Well, it sounded like good English, not the kind they spoke at home, with the drawl and twanging and honking. It was the kind of English you hear on the radio. On the news!

He told himself, someday he'd buy a big TV, at least 21 inches. But for now, there was nothing special on TV he should be watching. Until his next door neighbor, Bubba, who lived two miles down stream, near the water moccasin pond, talked about the election and how people were running for elected office. Child molesters didn't have much of a following, but there were women running, usually with a bitch about this, that, or the other. And there were religious types who would be yelling 'praise the Lord' for just about any crazy thing somebody said. But there was no one running on the sex ticket. He was smart enough to know everyone liked sex -- especially if it wasn't with your wife. Anything but that! But there was no sex ticket, only the two parties who were buggering each other all the time. That was part of the political process, and it was Constitutional!

If the buggering got ready bad, they called it the rule of law. Something the average voter could understand, and what they were screaming about. They had hearings, because it gave those in office something to do. Otherwise they could stay home, and be lawyers, or own a gas station.

And if Willy promised housewives anal deliverance, he could garner himself good polling numbers. Woman were into asses. They admired each others' asses and the first thing a woman says -- if she doesn't like someone -- her ass is too big! Usually the ass you saw was the real thing. There's nothing phony about a woman's ass! Women typically did not get implants in their asses. Why would they want a bigger ass?

He knew about polls. There were polls about everything, whether you were for running water, or against it; whether you liked flush toilets or preferred an outhouse. Whether illiterates should be voting or not. Who gives a fuck?

Chapter 2

Holding the woman tightly, the candidate ass-fucked her hard and fast. Her shit hole was good, man, it was good! The candidate was wearing a red baseball cap with some bullshit slogan.

The puckering hole sucked and grabbed at his cock, squeezing and massaging its whole length. The brown hole was hot, wet, and deep, and he loved the way it opened up to take his cock all the way to the balls. Hunching down, he reached for her tits. Feeling them swinging as they hung down, he squeezed them energetically, pinching and pulling the nipples. It pleased him to hear her moan.

"Yes, sir! Ohhhh, fuck ... fuck me ... in the ass! Pinch my tits! Oh, yes! Ooooohhh ... aaaahhhh ... aaaahhh, pinch my nipples!" grunted Sharon, her eyes tightly closed.

She had taken time off from choir practice to meet with the candidate. It was a long line, and women seemed to be loving it. After this, she wouldn't be able to play the piano sitting down. She'd have to play standing up, like they did at the honky tonk club.

* * *

Willy wanted to talk to his wife about his chances of going to Congress. He wasn't a lawyer but he had a law library. He owned the Legal Advisor, and a couple of Nolo self help books. He'd almost passed the bar with those books! He was waiting for the Voice to tell him what to do next.

He knew his wife would skin him alive if he didn't check with her first. When he approached her, she was nursing her fifth child. They'd been married four years.

"Honey, I gotta ask you a question." He approached her carefully.

"What do you want, Willy?"

She was eighteen years old when he met her, and she'd just graduated from beautician school. She hung her diploma in the kitchen.

"Well, I was thinking about running for Congress ..."

"Where'd you get that crazy idea?" she huffed.

"I've been hearing a voice ..."

"I don't wonder!" she scoffed. "You're always hearing voices."

"Yeah, but this time it was serious!"

"Sure, sure." She wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. "Remember the last time?"

He hesitated, knowing full well what she was going to tell him.

"Didn't the Voice tell you to raise rabbits, instead of chickens?"

He had to keep quiet because he knew she was right. He was still raising chickens.

"OK, OK." He gave in and went back to the porch. He swatted at the flies that were re-grouping on his crispy fried chicken thighs.

Maybe the Voice would give him more guidance. That night, he waiting until his wife was asleep and the kids had stopped crying. It was quiet. He tried to still his mind. A thought of the busty widow at the thrift shop was nagging at him. Shit!

When it came, it was so quiet he could barely hear it. The Voice was back! And it was speaking in a language he could understand.

"You dumb fuck!" the Voice said to him. "Your dick isn't big enough to run for Congress!"

Well, the Voice was right. His penis was only 6 inches long. "You need a big dick to run for Congress!" It was practically yelling now. The Voice wanted to make sure Willy understood the odds. He heard the Voice muttering to Itself.

The first thing in the morning, he got a call from Sharon. He knew she played the piano at church.

"Willy, I need some ointment real bad!" she was practically crying. "I went to the rally yesterday ..."

It was the same old story. Every time that Congress fella had a rally, the women went crazy. They were lined around the block and he knew enough to stock up on ointment.

He knew what she was going to say, so she should stop crying. "Sharon, it'll be OK. I'll come by with the ointment, and if you want, maybe I can kiss it and make the hurt go 'way."