How I Became Emperor Ch. 08: Weekend

Saturday

Keisha did indeed remain chained to my bedpost until the next morning. Still leashed, she dutifully woke me up with a pleasant blowjob, then assisted as I woke up Cindy with some gentle teasing and penetration.

I did not let the whole thing devolve into another orgy though. I had things to do, places to be, as I was unkindly reminded by Abby.

"Out! You lecherous, wanna-be-politician. I need you!" She shouted at me through the door, then stomped away. I hastily threw on some clothes, and followed, while Keisha and Cindy giggled uncontrollably. Women.

Still buttoning up my shirt I headed downstairs and found my living room now completely usurped. Where before it had only been a staging and meeting place, it was now a barracks and central organizing office. All the couches and chairs had been moved against the walls, the TV, Xbox and various other electronics removed, the tables placed strategically to allow pathways through the floor, and Matt was helping Alex remove the low set of drawers to another room.

Erica bustled in through the front door behind me, a small item of luggage in tow, and two large sleeping bags under her arms. Further suitcases were already neatly stationed beside strategic couches - as though claiming them. Amidst the relative chaos Irina sat beside Abby, staring into a computer screen at some charts.

"What the hell is going on here?!" I asked.

"We're setting up for the weekend." Abby declared imperiously.

"Dude, it's all hands on deck apparently." Mat whispered to me so that Abby couldn't hear. "Something's up with that woman..."

Alex returned with a projector, and began fiddling with the wires on the back of the laptop Abby and Irina were using. This caused some disruption - and a heavy berating of Alex by both of the ladies, while Alex sheepishly tried to explain that they had asked him to do this. I stepped in, distracted Irina by asking her to go collect Cindy (and Keisha, though I left that unsaid), and got Abby to finally explain what was going on.

I wasn't exactly happy about it at the time, but looking back I do think this was a good idea - and something that cemented my team together through the thick and thin of all my political career to come. But what had originally sent my campaign manager into overdrive was her ire at the school paper. She'd managed to convince the editor to do some informal polling. The results weren't good.

Oh they said I won by a landslide. I had the momentum, the high-level supporters, and the grassroots word-of-mouth going for me. I was much more than a shoe-in at somewhere above 57% of the electorate saying they'd vote for me, and short of me deciding to take a dump on the university crest in the campus square, while insulting the chancellor's mother, I was going to be the president-elect of the undergraduate student body. I had half a mind to tell Abby to pack everything up, congratulate her on her masterful running of my campaign, and retire to my bedroom with my bed-slave and girlfriend for the rest of the weekend. I didn't, because I knew Abby would be made happier seeing this through to the end, and I couldn't take that away from her.

Furthermore - as we would find out after the elections, the editor of the paper Abby had approached to undertake the informal survey happened to be roommates with Roger's right-hand man. He very specifically pulled bias into the statistics in one of the most impressive sleight of hands ever undertaken. For example, he had his surveyors picket primarily near hot-spots of Roger support (a local pub, Roger's dorm, around the fitness gym and near any class Roger might have. Then he also skewed the results by asking priming questions before asking whom the person intended to vote for.

In any case, the fact that despite the efforts of the poll-takers I still came out with a healthy 57% meant the final result was never in question. Of course at the time neither Abby nor I (nor anyone else on the staff) had any clue at all that the results were skewed - and they had Abby in a right mood. Our fearless leader and Irina presented the results to the assembled group on the big projector, and concluded with the instruction that all the stops were being pulled. Keisha and Erica were given the task of making me presentable at all costs, Irina and Alex sent online to create as much activity and word-of-mouth for my cause as possible, Matt and Cindy sent out to work their impressive social networks face-to-face for my benefit. What exactly Abby was going to do - apart from fume and command - was not entirely made clear to me, but whatever she did very obviously worked.

And so we fanned out into the city. I spent the day walking around the Library, the quad, the student union, the local pubs, and generally any place I might find anyone with an eligible vote. Talking to strangers is something extremely uncomfortable to me. I can do it when they're in a large group - such as at the speech I had given or to the press. But one-on-one I have a problem. I always feel like I'm intruding on their space and time, and that this is a supremely rude thing to do. My experience glad handing people around the campus that day was surprisingly different. I started in the Library, walking up to people studiously concentrated on their reading or note taking, and in a hushed voice would ask if I could have a moment of their time. Pretty soon I had a small gaggle of people around me asking questions and generally getting to know me personally.

The group grew to such an extent that a Librarian kicked me out. So I started wandering the quad, walking up to random people using their day off to laze in the sun, or study outside, or throw a frisbee. Again, I was a point of interest for many people, and so my circuit of the quad slowed further and further as more and more people started tagging along behind me. My speed was only further impeded by the 'Spot the Candidate' drive that Alex and Irina started running, where reported sightings of me were being posted on facebook, and allowing others to find me. Still, I maintained a relatively steady pace - my instructions were to allow as many people as possible to shake my hand and ask me a question or two - and I intended to make Abby happy, if for no other reason than that she scared me.

I crossed paths with the others of my staff out doing their own rounds, with lesser success than me of course. They had to be more subtle about their approach than me who could go out and badger people about whether they were intending to vote or not. Instead they were arranging meetings with friends, and then talking about what they'd been doing the past week, or striking up a conversation with someone about another subject, then trying to twist it to their own intentions.

We all worked in this fashion until near midnight, when Abby sent out the call for us to return. We gathered in my overfilled living room, tired and generally all just looking for a place to sleep. Abby insisted on a full report on their activities from everyone, then sent us all to bed.

Matt just collapsed on the couch he had, fully clothed, sighed and with a last "Thanks, dude", proceeded to close his eyes and drift off to sleep. Alex took care to cover him with a loaned blanket, then yawned and retreated to his room with Irina. Erica grabbed Keisha, by the arm, and explained that she'd brought a second sleeping bag for her, which Keisha graciously accepted, shooting Cindy an apologetic, and me a lascivious, grin. The two stylists curled up on the same broad couch. Abby herself changed into her pyjamas in the kitchen, then took a large armchair and shielded herself against the world and her worries with a light woolen wrap. Cindy and I retired to my bedroom, but after so much time on our feet we did little more than undress and collapse onto our bed together. Wordlessly we fell asleep.

Sunday

Sunday was almost identical to Saturday. Three items stand out for me:

First, while doing my rounds on campus I happened to walk past Professor Lex's office. I wouldn't normally have, it was on the top floor near a back corner of the building which was relatively empty on weekends anyway, but I had borrowed one of the lower floor seminar rooms for an impromptu meeting with the university conservative union. They were probably one of the largest organized groups who would have preferred Roger to me, not least given that Roger was one of their prominent members - the treasurer of their small organization if memory serves - but a couple of the others, including the secretary and the former president were not enamored with Roger, and desperate for an alternative had managed to kidnap me from the quad for a secretive meeting to sound me out on some of my policies.

Of course, tending to prefer the liberal free-spirited and laissez-faire attitude of the left (as well as preferring elitist meritocratic ideas to those of the populistic right wing) we alas did not have much in common. I did do my best to show my most conservative side, without making any specific promises on any policy proposals they tried to lock me down on. I still don't know how effective I was in that, but we talked longer than Abby would probably have wanted me to. What can I say, I love debate.

Still, when I finally managed to escape their clutches I wanted some privacy to relax and collect my thoughts. So instead of heading back into the early summer sunshine outside, I decided to prowl around the empty corridors of the politics faculty on a weekend and find an out of the way corner to sit and think. I reached the highest halls and with my brain on autopilot wandered towards the furthest corner from the stairs. Which took me past Prof. Lex's office.

I was immediately reminded of Cindy's make-believe sex session of me walking in on the Professor. To my surprise I actually heard a voice from inside. It wasn't loud enough to make out more than that someone was talking on the other side of the door, but the voice was intermittent. I considered only shortly before deciding to knock, and open the door. I still owed the Professor an answer on the weekend day. And I wouldn't mind a less... political discussion.

The Professor was on the phone. Behind her desk, head thrown back and eyes closed as if concentrating. She held one hand to her ear with the phone, the other vanishing behind the desk.

"... was so long and ha-." She stopped up short very suddenly when she realized I had entered her room. She didn't seem flustered at all, and it is only with hindsight that I think I know where the Professor's other hand had been. There was little more than a sharp gaze, hardly unusual from the strict prof. just not usually directed at me, and a raised eyebrow. Smoothly she said, "Jack, I'm going to have to call you back in a bit." And hung up.

"Hey Professor Lex," I attempted to excuse my interruption. "I really didn't mean to disturb you. I just heard a voice and..." I trailed off.

"And you thought you'd barge in."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were on the phone."

"So it would seem." She sighed. "Well, now you're here, what can I do for you?"

I cast about for a good answer. Didn't come up with anything, so I decided to go with the truth. I gave a brief outline of my day so far (it was hardly midday), and the past day.

The Professor stared at me throughout, hardly blinking, just letting me release the energy by speaking it to someone else. When I finished she got up and rounded her desk to lean against it from the other side. I saw she was wearing an unusually short skirt, the kind she wouldn't wear on a day she had to lecture. It swayed prettily with tassels at the end in a mesmerizing way.

She folded her arms underneath her breasts, enfolded (despite the coming summer) in a light woolen pullover. It was as if she realized how appealing the tight-stretched woolen chemise looked, especially to hormonally crazed tweens.

"So, you've been run ragged by a one week campaign? You'd better get with the program, young man. If you're going to go into politics in the future, you'll need much more stamina!"

I scoffed. "Me? Politics? Never. I love the academic and theoretical too much."

My teacher smiled to betray wisdom she knew she had and I didn't. "Delude yourself all you want. You've got the makings of a Prime Minister, President or Chancellor in you. You won't be able to stay away."

I just shook my head in disbelief. "I could never..."

She interrupted me by laying a hand on my arm. "No. Stop. Tell me why you're here."

"Saturday," I replied. She understood immediately.

"Very well. Are you staying for the summer holidays?" I nodded the affirmative. I really didn't want to go home this summer, and be berated by my father about joining his company again. "Good. Then we'll start the first weekend after finals. You're going to get the finest education I can give you, despite your misfortune." She said that last bit lightly, but I could see there was some bite behind it. That thick wall between theory and practice of politics colouring her perspective - and mine at the time.

She returned behind her desk, and picked up her phone. "Now get out of my office and back to work young man." I followed her instructions.

The second event of note was my interview with the curly haired reporter who had attempted to rush me at the speech, and who'd had the best question (in my opinion) at the press event. We sat down in the late afternoon in my living room. It had been cleared of any evidence people were sleeping over rough, and re-arranged (again) to make it seem more home-like. Abby hovered nearby, trying vainly to disguise her attention by peering avidly into a computer and occasionally typing. Cindy arranged tea and coffee for my guest.

I finally learned the name of the reporter: Lamar. He is easily one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, always thinking, and a couple of steps ahead of his interviewees (or victims as we came to call them). His writing, even at this early stage, was sharp, and had I been able to do so I would have pulled him across from the fourth estate. Alas, he was too committed to the reporting rather than the doing. That's not to say we didn't use him regularly in the future for exclusives and as a person to leak information to. He became almost as integral to our organization as any of the inner-circle.

Of course, at this first interview there was none of that. Lamar began by asking me some basic questions, my background, my aspirations, why I chose to study at this university and why political theory? Who was my favorite Professor (a question I dodged without needing the warning glance from Abby) and what policies I was hoping to implement. When Cindy brought the tea he thanked her and asked "so this is the girlfriend who got you to run?"

I smiled warmly. "Yep, she's the one to blame."

Cindy gave a slight laugh. "Don't lie dear, I just gave you the first push. The rest of the journey has been all you." That was giving me too much credit in my opinion, but apparently that's what it looked like to others.

Lamar seemed interested, and invited Cindy to sit. Without giving her time to dissent he continued, "so how long have you been dating?"

Cindy smiled warmly at me. "Feels like forever already. But really only about two weeks." She kissed me on the cheek. "It's been a short short time, I know, but somehow I also just know that he's the guy for me you know?" She affected a southern accent "He's now mah fella, mah man, mah big hunk - or lunk dahpendin' on whetha he's being good or not."

Lamar was scribbling notes furiously. "So how did you meet?"

I told this story in brief tones, with my brief admiration from afar, trying to muster the courage necessary and then being surprised when I got approached by her.

The interview continued and ranged far. Cindy refilled our cups thrice, and we were down to the dregs again before Abby cut in.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but we have to leave in order to prepare for the townhall. Lamar, would you like to ride with us? I presume you'll also be covering the event. No questions though, we need him," she pointed at me, "to focus."

Lamar leapt at the opportunity of course. A backseat exclusive invite was not one to pass up as a reporter.

And that brings me to the final act of note on the Sunday before my very first election. I was handed off to Keisha and Erica (out of sight of Lamar for the time being) who ordered me into the shower, did my makeup, styled my hair and dressed me, and spent a moment to arrange my hat more rakishly on my head.

I left them in my room, starting to clean up the various clothes they'd considered, putting away the make-up, combs and hair spray, and restoring my room to its former glory.

I jumped into the waiting taxi-van, and rode with Lamar, Abby, Cindy and Matt who had joined us up to the campus again. My three staff members fired questions at me in preparation while Lamar, true to his word, remained quiet, but scribbling in his notepad as though taking dictation.

We were delivered to the back of the larger cafeteria on campus, staying open late specially, as organized by Abby (and making a roaring trade in beverages and small snacks to the crowd). We entered through the Kitchen. Through the round windows in the doors I could see a mass of students thick enough that there were people standing against all the walls. Cindy and Matt went ahead, leaving me behind with Abby and Lamar. Alex and Irina had apparently already been here for hours setting up. A small platform off to the side of the kitchen entrance had a chair and a microphone for me to hold.

"We're almost ready." Abby said. "Lamar, I'm sorry, but this is the end of the line. Go on through to the hall. I want a private moment to prepare him." She indicated me with a thumb over her shoulder.

Lamar shrugged, thanked me for the interview, and wished me good luck with the crowd, then vanished through the doors. Abby immediately dragged me away from them and into a kitchen storage locker. Without preamble she dropped to her knees, undid my carefully selected pants, and took my cock in her mouth. At least this time I knew what to expect, but her expert mouth had me stiff and at full attention in next to no time. Strange that a lesbian was so good at giving head, I thought, but didn't think much farther than that.

With me fully at attention, Abby stood, gave me a hard look, and instructed: "Give me 2 minutes. Think of tit-fucking me while you do. Then come out on stage."

And she left. I did as she asked, stroking myself just a little longer.

On stage I was greeted by a sea of faces. There was no announcement, no warm-up of the crowd. I just walked out, and headed up to take a seat on the stage on one of those rickety cafeteria chairs. Someone had thought to add a cushion that made it a throne in this rome. The hush of the crowd soared outward from that forward position as people noticed me.

Throughout the crowd my staff was sprinkled, microphones in hand. Alex, on a darkened dais of his own, controlled them remotely, ready to point out who would next be getting the chance to ask a question.

Once I had the attention of everyone I sighed comically into the microphone and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "E'vning all. Y'all here for the food?" I know the joke was bad, and Abby glared at me, but a polite wave of titters went around. "Well, I'm hoping to get you all to vote for me tomorrow. Anything I can say to make that happen? Any burning questions?" Hands shot into the air. At first just some of the brave ones. I picked one at random to start. Alex would take over from there. The person began to shout their question, but I interrupted. "Give it a moment. A microphone is coming your way." Indeed a moment later Irina handed the man a microphone.