Riders on the Storm

June 2023 - Nellskitchen, all rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced without the writer's written permission. All characters appearing in "RIDERS ON THE STORM," are over eighteen. NK

RIDERS ON THE STORM

by Nellskitchen

♯..♯..♯..♯...................Riders on the storm.............♪♪♪

♫..♫..♫ˑ........................Riders on the storm...♪♪

♪.♪.♪.♪.♪..................Into this house, we're born.............♫

♫..♫..♫ˑ.......................Into this world, we're thrown...♪♪

..............Part 1 - Election Night --

The storm has ended; the race is finished, and calm replaces the relentless war of words.

Everyone said she would carry the day. But the returns show otherwise. She wonders what happened.

Through a tumultuous election season, the campaign's excitement, a furious wind at her back, breathed new life into her. Winning was everything. It meant leaving past failures and seizing future challenges.

The past hour, however, has borne witness to the calming of her gale force candidacy. Gloom cuts like a knife through Madison Square Garden, the candidate's election-night headquarters.

The smart money said a woman would finally grace Gracie Mansion, and she intended the storied arena to act as a backdrop. In this setting, Calpurnia Van Court would rally her troops after an epic election win.

In mid-afternoon, Kendra Dillard, the candidate's slender, blonde, stiffly appropriate, and ever-efficient campaign chair, reported a blip in the exit polls. An ill-omened stillness, it was as if the city hiccupped.

Only yesterday, the press had declared her opponent, ne'er-do-well Patrik Wolff, dead in the water. He did the unexpected in response, and going before the cameras, he counterclaimed victory. The ruse worked; it paralyzed the electorate. A pall settled over the Garden, the voter turnout tanked; her admirers prayed for a miracle.

Now at nine o'clock, the polls are closed. The most politically astute woman in New York lapses into despondency. She refuses to address her withering supporters. Instead, nursing her third glass of chardonnay, she paces her inner sanctum, the hotel suite she shares with her husband, former mayor, and soon-to-be governor, Kody Van Court.

After slow-walking into the candidate's presence, Chairperson Dillard just confirmed the bad news. Except for the Bronx, the other boroughs picked Wolff. Not known for her bedside manner, the political operative spoke deliberately and articulated the new reality. "It's over, Mrs. Van Court; Wolff beat us."

"Beat us?" Calpurnia repeated. Her distant, teary eyes drifted to the window and up to the twinkling stars embedded in the blackness of Manhattan's chilly November sky. "How is that possible, Kendra?"

Hesitant, Dillard shook her head. "I don't know, Mrs. Van Court. I guess the people want him; I don't understand why. He's a fucking creep."

The candidate blanched. "I can't talk about this now, Kendra, I...I have to be with my husband. Please leave."

"But what about your supporters," the vexed strategist asked. "You should say something. They're dazed; some threaten violence."

Gulping her wine, Calpurnia turned accusatory. "You failed, Kendra. It was your job to make it happen. Now, look! THAT MAN beat you!"

Calpurnia moved toward the door of her husband's private apartment. "I need Kody. He will know what to do."

Dillard, waving a sheaf of papers, persisted. "Your concession speech; I have it right here. It's all written. And what about calling Wolff? Traditionally the loser calls..."

"...fuck tradition, Kendra!" Calpurnia angrily shrieked. "And don't you dare call me a loser! Fuck Wolff! This election was about obliterating tradition! Your job was to shape the message! Now what? Now fucking, what? The city elected a MAN!" Kendra, stunned over her boss's rebuke, backed away.

"I'm too...it's very late. I'm tired. I need Kody. I won't give the speech. Tell people I have a headache."

"All right, Mrs. Van Court, Kendra half-heartedly accepted. "I'll tell them. I won't explain why."

Riders on the Storm..............Part 2

The unlikely pair was New York's premier power couple. Riding the storm of politics, the uptown A-listers dictated fashion; they personified high society's lust for power. Each fed the other's strengths. Today's setback notwithstanding, it was assumed they were unbeatable.

Calpurnia vanished into her husband's room. There, the former mayor watched the news of the wave of explosive energy engulfing the opposition's headquarters. Upon seeing his distraught wife, he quickly hit the remote, shutting out the maddening drama.

"Looks bad, baby doll," he remarked, his Brooklyn accent more pronounced than usual. He took her into his arms and said, "Wolff won't last. You'll see."

Calpurnia looked up questioningly. "Listen, Hun," he continued, "You won peoples' hearts. We just need more of them to vote, that's all. Next time you'll..."

"...STOP IT," she snarled. "Just stop it, Kody; despite our scheming, it's over. Kendra fucked it up. She got overconfident. There's no getting around it. That buffoon, Patrik Wolff, ruined everything!"

Coldly turning her back on him, she crossed her arms and said, "You fucked up, Kody, you and your filthy floozies. Why can't you be like other husbands? It's all Wolff talked about for a freaking year! Floozies, floozies, floozies! I could kill those women. It's their fault! They trailed after me all over town, looking like Cheshire Cats! I hate them!" She raised her hand, balled it into a fist, and, waving it at him, added, "I could murder you, you bastard!"

"But baby cakes," he protested, "I...I'm sorry about all that. It's just that, well, you see..."

It was rare that the smooth operator reached for words but ensnared by her scathing outburst, he quickly added, "It's those fucking law and order people. They made a stink about all that safety bullshit, you know, on the subways."

Shutting him out, Calpurnia slid the bottoms of her pantsuit to her ankles. Lifting her foot, she tried kicking the defiant garment off to one side, but it clung to her toes.

Impatient, she just as quickly slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her tight pantyhose, slid them down her legs, vainly tried kicking them away, and, leaning, rested her upper-body weight on the back of a bar stool. "Kody," she continued, "I need you to fuck me in the ass. I want it. Only...shut up when you do it!"

Kody, shaking his head and knowing there was no reasoning with her when she got this way, half-heartedly unbuckled his belt and removed his pants and briefs. Looking down at himself, he sheepishly asked, "Can you maybe give it a little mouth action, darlin?"

Calpurnia, her mind in a hundred other places, snapped at him. "You see to your dick," she demanded. "It's not my job to get him hard, not tonight, not like this. Just...you take care of it. I'm waiting." With her eyes shut tight, she thrust her bottom at him.

With his thumb, Kody worked his glans and wafted a welcome drop of precum over the tip; he closed his eyes, hoping things would straighten out. Listening but still not looking around at him, Calpurnia let go of the stool, and, despite a sudden feeling of self-consciousness, she reached back, parted her cheeks, and bared her tight, long-uncultivated opening.

Calpurnia had grown womanly with age. He liked her this way, but she was, nonetheless, self-conscious. The rigors of the campaign had cut into her time at the gym, meaning calories accumulated from endless chicken dinners at interminable political events. Added weight protruded from her tummy, thighs, and, most horrifyingly, her butt.

Just as suddenly, she changed her mind and decided it was not the time for thoughts of being overweight! No, she thought, not now! "Fuck me, Kody," she repeated, spreading her cheeks wider.

Kody, reluctant, and despite having had a myriad of sexual partners in the time since serving as mayor, vividly remembered their last time. Eighteen years had passed since the conception of Embeth, their only daughter. They were happy then, content with their stunning achievements. Later, it all changed as word of Kody's dalliances spread through the media. The sordid saga attached itself to him and, by extension, to her, even as her dreams of a mayoral run crystallized. That notwithstanding, it had been too long, and Kody was not sure it could still work between them.

Younger then and more than a little naïve, the competitive Van Courts were at the panicle of their prowess. Then, intimacy served its purpose, revitalizing their determination to win and to win more after that. Sex shaped everything they stood for, power, magnetism, and the thought of an even loftier goal for her, that one day, she might match her husband's preeminence.

Now, with her dramatic loss to Patrik Wolff, her dream is shattered, and years since their last passion, the (riders on the storm) Van Courts are about to do what they always do when they're down; seek solace inside the place they trust, the relationship.

Riders on the Storm..............Part 3

Calpurnia loved Kody; he was the most remarkable man she had ever known. She felt safe with him. Had he not compromised her trust through his never-ending attention to women who did not matter, their possibilities would have proven endless. Eventually, however, his flirtations merged into an other-worldly "Me-too" crusade, his cast-offs evolving into a regiment of amazons, biting bitches bent on burning down her budding candidacy for the sin of standing by him.

Kody's perfectly pressed slacks bunched at his ankles, and Calpurnia had not managed to kick her clothing away. Despite their tangled condition, she offered herself just as she had on that long-ago election night when he won his first race. Then, she rested against another barstool in another hotel room. Then, she pridefully offered her rectum to their newly acquired supremacy. That night, she decided that Calpurnia Van Court would match him to become the city's first female mayor.

Her current circumstances are infuriating, and staring down at the floor, she loosed her feelings. "Screw that son of a bitch, Wolff; I won't concede!"

"Don't think about that now, precious," Kody nervously rejoined, still working the tip of his semi-flaccid penis. "We'll get that Wolff guy. But that's for tomorrow...or pretty soon, anyway. For now, tell Daddy what you need."

Calpurnia exhaled, drew a deep breath, and said, "I told you! Don't you listen?" Pressuring her buttocks, she ground herself against his crotch.

Her failure to get him hard, especially on a day dominated by lofty press predictions that she would smash Wolff to smithereens, amounted to the mother of all disappointments. Calpurnia had to make this work.

Kody, using the tip of his cock as a pointer, felt for her opening, and reaching behind herself again, she grabbed her butt cheeks, pulled them wider, and showed him the way.

Initially, she felt what she did not want to feel, that he was too soft to force her inviting anus. It was aggravating that her bottomless presentation barely prompted a stir in this maddeningly sexual man.

Determined, Calpurnia felt for his beefy testicles. Loose in their sack, she grabbed hold and listened for a familiar, almost imperceptible moan. Annoyingly, he stayed quiet.

Due to the many women who had interfered in their marriage, Calpurnia felt insecure in Kody's presence. She did not want him to look directly at her, even when only partially naked. It explained why she retained her top.

She thrust at him again, her backside searching. Still finding him soft, she pressed harder. Rubbing against him, he leaned his manly weight onto her. It proved futile. Kody stayed limp, her eyes shot open as she thought about tomorrow and facing a loser's world. Could she bear this additional humiliation? Could she face the press with conviction after failing with Kody? It would further compromise their already shaken relationship. She had to make him hard, or he would turn away from her as the city had, dismissing her as a silly woman whose reach exceeded her grasp.

Riders on the Storm.............Part 4

Calpurnia turned to him, looked up, and grasped his testicles again. She knew what he liked; urging them apart, she held them individually. Still nothing. "I think you're gonna need to suck it a little, sweetheart," Kody crooned.

Though his eyes twinkled with measured eagerness, fellating him was the last thing on her mind. His plea was not unexpected; she was hardly naïve. Flaccid and philandering go together, and she had to find a remedy.

She had first blown Kody forever ago. She liked doing it. Like all men, he loved it, but upon discovering his other women, she held back. 'Sluts do that,' the exasperated wife reasoned. Her feelings persisted, sullying the couple's intimacy.

"Kody," she whispered, her voice cracking with lamentation. "If only slutty women kept their hands off married men, all would be right with the world." Kody blushed. She was right, but he stayed quiet, unwilling to complicate things further. He also knew what all men do, that cock sucking is subservience, that doing it may be a woman's statement of determination to consume her man, but the debasing act happens as he looks down on her.

She tugged his scrotum. Alternately, she lifted and caressed his impressive testicles. Calpurnia eyed him. His eyes said everything, and she accepted that Kody's needs had not changed from their days at Perdue. Back then, she knelt. She routinely sucked him to full erection. He expected it now. Making a touchy situation touchier, it had gotten out that Katya Stroud, the most notorious of his extramarital lovers, did just that. Not only had Katya knelt, but most horrifically, she swallowed; it was an erotic faux pas which, ever after, situated the fawning internet influencer squarely in the couple's marriage bed, craftily separating husband and wife from full spousal intimacy.

After Kody's scandals, their lovemaking devolved to little more than a litany of him on her oral sex, Calpurnia on her back, legs hoisted high and spread wide apart, he with his tongue, obediently bringing her to empty climax after empty climax. Ultimately, she endured nothingness, a sensation of vacancy wives suffer when compromised.

Kody checked his watch. "It's getting late, Cal. That crowd downstairs will chant your name unless Kendra Dillard conjures enough bullshit to send them on their way. Honey, if you need a good ass fucking, it's time to get things charged up and moving with a head of steam."

Disgusted by his Flatbushian mention, she frowned. However, seeing the inevitable, she summoned an image of herself assuming the same position as his mistress, on her knees, impatiently nursing precum into a reluctant throat.

She detested the thought of looking up, of seeking her man's approval as wives had done for eons. All of that was supposed to change with her election. She, Calpurnia Milani Van Court, was meant to be the end of women on their knees!

Riders on the Storm..................Part 5

Her face went blank. Words escaped her, but her needs overcame the moment, and she grudgingly accepted his insinuation. Clutching his arms, she lowered herself to the hard floor, where she stared at it. Kody's exquisite cock, was as she remembered. Knowing there was no other way, she opened her mouth, sucked him, and let out a long low grown as his body's essence flooded her wakening senses.

"That's the good wife, that's the way, darling," he mumbled from on high. "Take daddy's cock. Wash the taste of those bad girls away with your spirited tongue."

Her body responded; she felt wetness between her legs. She took him deeper, his flavor reassuring, comforting. She missed his sperm, and; it belonged to her. She sucked more intensely, his hardness easing comfortably into the recesses of her throat.

Other than Kody, only Kendra knew about Calpurnia's unique capability to deep throat, that her gag reflex, virtually negligible, permitted her to do what the others could not; to take him entirely where he felt in control, dominant over feminine frailty.

Calpurnia sucked and relished him. Reaching up, she grabbed his hands and moved them to the back of her head. He remembered and proceeded to push, gently at first, then hard.

He sensed her neediness. He knew long months of campaigning sapped her strength, yet now her energy intensified. She needed him. Kody moaned. Calpurnia raked his thighs with her polished nails. Imagining the others, she sucked ravenously, punishingly.

Despite her concentration, questions crowded her. Why do men need limitless variety? Why had she failed to satisfy him? Thoughts of Pence came to mind. The former V.P. avoided other women unless his wife was present. Why couldn't Kody be like him, devoted, part of a relationship, half of a relationship? Calpurnia hated Pence; she hated Karen Pence!

His sperm was pungent; its fragrance and thick consistency engulfed her. Calpurnia refused to admit how addicted to the succulent fluid she had become since the first time a man came in her mouth. More importantly, she never told Kody he had not been first and that her body count stood at six.

During the campaign, Calpurnia, safely ensconced at her podium, took stock of the swooning women cheering her on. How did this liberated generation perceive the act she performed on her knees? What would they think if they knew? Did they view it as submission? Was it an affront to women?

She assigned Kendra to find out, to scrutinize the ocean of research, and to snoop on social media.

In an exasperatingly revealing moment, Kendra delivered the shocking news that getting dates meant swallowing. She insisted to the startled candidate that most of her supporters blew dozens of men before reaching the advanced age of thirty-five. Calpurnia was appalled, not that women lacked choice in the matter, but rather that Kendra Dillard maddeningly referred to thirty-five as advanced age!

Calpurnia lamented that her generation blindly opened the door to the new sexuality. It placed the women of then and the women of now in a frustrating cycle, propelling them to empty relationship after empty relationship, destining women to kiss frogs posing as princes.

Calpurnia heard their frustrations; most did not find love. It struck her that the very act of fellatio was her connection to modern girls and that her current place on her knees amounted to shared injustice. Like them, she probed the darkness in search of a worthy man.

Embarrassingly, she had first blown Kody in the front seat of his car. They parked not twenty feet from the revolving door of a popular student hangout.

Before that world-altering episode, they kissed, held hands, and clawed at each other in residence hall stairwells. However, the event in his front seat was different; she had gone for broke, and sensing a girl makes her most compelling move when she swallows, she hungrily attacked him. Extracting what she wanted, she left him drained and intrigued. Then as now, he pushed her head down, his strong hands demanding more, always more.

Afterward, she reached for his handkerchief and longingly looked into his eyes. She carefully wiped away the whitish wisps from her swollen lips. Later, they kissed deeply, probingly.

Calpurnia knew from experience how men withhold affection after getting what they want. How dare they? Kody was different. He kissed her hard afterward. She loved him for it. There was equality and inclusion in his reaction. From that moment, they never looked back. Two bodies became one soul in the quest for power.

Kody's cock stirred and straightened. Calpurnia immediately stopped but held onto his sack. Through a quiet moment, and with her mouth stretched to bursting, she stilled in what amounted to a triumph of self-discipline.