Sleeping with the Senator

I recognized him as soon as he got on the flight, of course. Everyone flying home would, especially with burly security guards following him close behind. Senator Rhett Wyatt, known for his fitted navy suits, cowboy hats, and charming accent. During the campaign and after he was elected, CNN described him as a modern cowboy, a political disruptor, a presidential hopeful someday, the most popular young democrat to seek office in my home state of Wyoming. I voted for him, even, and so did most of my friends back at college. It was exhilarating to see someone wanting to make real change, and it didn't hurt that he had a killer jawline, baby blue eyes, and curated masculine scruff.

Then he was involved in one of the biggest scandals in Wyoming history -- which, to be fair, wasn't saying much. It was a fairly buttoned-up state, all things considered. But he'd cheated on his wife while away on a vacation, and it managed to hit national headlines when all the texts -- and photos -- came out. Even blurred, you could tell he was packing heat underneath those navy slacks. The girl was way younger too, still in college, and definitely infatuated with him.

We were from the same hometown of Metwitch Springs, a few miles outside of Cheyenne. Right where the town became prairies and rivers far as the eye could see. All that to say the news hit hard. The gossip spread like wildfire; he'd been a high-school golden boy and favorite of everyone in the area. My mom mourned over his corruption at the breakfast table while my father said he loved seeing a man act like a man. Or whatever. That was dad for you.

So Senator Wyatt was still working on bouncing back, to say the least, and I imagined part of that image rehabilitation was returning to his hometown for some events or something. I didn't keep up with the local news much these days. I was more interested in international affairs.

I'd taken a job as a flight attendant during the summers between semesters at college. I had just finished my last year at Columbia -- yes, the good one -- graduating early with a degree in Political Science. Honors. Fast-track to their master's program. Who knows, maybe in a few years I'd be cleaning up Senator Wyatt's mess and taking his job out from under him.

I wasn't greeting at the front of the plane today but preparing carts at the back, so I was able to ogle him a moment while he reached up to stow his carry-on in the overhead compartment. He was casual today, or at least as casual as someone in politics got. White button-down with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows, blue jeans that tried to be all-American but were too well cut around the ass to pull it off, black baseball cap to hide his face a bit. He had gorgeous forearms and the shirt pulled around his shoulders, showing off the built frame underneath the sleek facade. I imagined the gym was a good place to get the stress out.

I pulled my eyes away from him and ducked into the plane's rear bathroom to freshen up a bit before the pre-flight instructions. I'd been on back-to-back flights for the past 18 hours with only enough time between to grab airport fast food. Every flight, I was wiping off and putting back on my makeup. I liked to do a series of flights to rack up hours before I took my mandatory rest days. This weekend, I was using my days to go to a high school friend's wedding and see my younger siblings.

In the bathroom, I straightened out my skirt and blouse. I'd applied to this airline specifically because they didn't demand the ascots and little hats; instead, I got to wear a stylish navy dress that wasn't too long or too frumpy for my 21 years. It buttoned all the way from bust to hem down the front. I kept the buttons low enough to be borderline inappropriate. Otherwise, I felt a little too covered up for my taste.

Admittedly, I didn't mind showing off. I had a nice figure and wasn't ashamed to admit it; in my first college years, I gained weight that filled me out in all the right places. Now I was in the low double digits size-wise, with breasts and hips and an ass like a grown woman. Much better than the rail-thin girl I'd been before moving to New York. And at least if they were looking at my tits, they weren't looking at my eyebags.

I liked to keep my makeup light; when I wasn't in school, my tan skin cleared up nicely and didn't need any foundation. This was one of the few airlines that didn't require makeup, even in the damn 21st century, so I took full advantage. Just a touch of tinted mascara to brighten up my golden-brown eyes and some blush and highlighter on my high cheekbones to keep me looking alive even when I was positively zombified from long nights in the air. I made sure to do a regular sugar scrub so my round lips stayed soft and rosy pink. "Kissable lips get tips" was a favorite refrain of one of my work friends; when we worked for first class, even though it wasn't expected by any means, we often ended up with a few bucks from stuffy businessmen who'd been chasing vodkas for hours.

When I unlocked the bathroom door and opened it, I was face-to-face with the senator himself, about to knock. A small gasp slipped out and I took a step back.

"I'm sorry, little lady," he said in that slow, sweet Wyoming drawl, "looks like the, ah, the light that says if it's occupied is out."

I averted my eyes and stammered, "I-I'll make sure to tell the airport next time we land in the hub. Thank you."

I tried to skirt around him in the tight quarters, my breasts brushing against him for a moment. He acted like a real gentleman, though, holding his hands back and leaning as far away as he could.

"Let me just say-" I found the words tripping out of my mouth without my control "-it's amazing to meet you, Senator. Your work on the Safety for Wyoming Women act was inspired, plus that address you gave about how to support local economic growth...gorgeous."

"You'll have to thank my speechwriter for that one; she's brilliant, as I'm sure you know already." A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "You're a law student, right? Not typical someone's actually read the bills we pass."

I glanced up briefly from my high heels. "Political science, heading to Columbia law in the fall."

He smiled earnestly. "Good school. Better than mine, for sure." For a moment, Senator Wyatt took in every millimeter of my face; I could see his eyes moving in tiny increments, mentally tracing the lines of my thick eyebrows, my long lashes, my strong nose and jaw. His gaze returned to meet mine. "You're from Wyoming, then? Whereabouts?"

I laughed a little. "Actually, I'm from Metwitch Springs, too. My brother was in your graduating class at MS East."

"Go Bulldogs," he chuckled as the engines on the plane started up, signaling for him to sit down and me to go up for the safety demonstration. He added, "Well, I'll look forward to drink service and getting in a few more words with you. And maybe I'll see you around town this weekend."

"Sure, yeah, that would be awesome."

Senator Wyatt ducked into the bathroom and I practically squealed at the closed door. Even if he was a bit of an asshole according to local papers, he was still a brilliant policy writer and someone it could be valuable for me to connect with. You never know what moments can be career-making. Plus, he was cute, and I didn't mind looking at him close up. He had a smattering of freckles right under his eyes and well-maintained eyebrows. With the baseball cap off, his hair was clean, neat, and shiny.

I shook out the image of him examining the details of my face and got to work. Once he was back in his seat, I went into the aisles with my fake seatbelt and oxygen mask. For the next few minutes, I performed the memorized hand motions while one of my coworkers spoke the emergency instructions over the speakers. After we finished, I drew the curtain between first class and the cockpit, strapped into my takeoff seat at the front of the cabin, and took a few deep breaths. I didn't love takeoff but had learned to breathe through it and relax until we were up in the air.

I reached over and nudged Marta, who was supposed to be working for first class today while I took care of the other passengers with our boss. I whispered, "Can I trade with you? You can have my tips."

She eyed me suspiciously. "Why would you want to do that?"

"There's this senator from my state in first class; I would love to try to talk with him even a little to-"

"Blah blah blah law career ambitions blah blah blah," she finished. "Yeah, I don't care. And keep half your tips."

I squeezed her arm and thanked her.

When it was time for drink and snack service, I admit that I rushed through most of the passengers. I kept on my customer service face and got their orders right, but I wanted to get to the senator before I had to sit back down.

Senator Wyatt had AirPods in, so I tapped him on the shoulder. His button-down was soft and smooth. Immediately, he smiled up at me. This time, instead of analyzing my face, his eyes roved over my curves until I squirmed at the intensity of his gaze.

I sucked in a deep breath and asked, "What can I get you?"

"Bring me whatever your favorite is." He leaned toward me and I bent down to listen. "And get one for yourself, too; let's head up to your flight attendant quarters and I can give you some of my office's information."

I ginned. "Absolutely."

A few minutes later, after finishing service for everyone else, I followed him to the front of the cabin where we kept the drink carts when they weren't in use. Marta caught my eye on my way up and ducked out of the space; I knew she wouldn't bother us until we left. You become close with the other flight attendants on your time, especially like us when we get shuffled around on the same flights all the time.

Senator Wyatt slipped out of the front bathroom and then sneaked behind the curtain in one fluid motion. I handed him a shot-sized bottle of whiskey, which I sometimes hid away in my roller bag when I had to visit my parents after a long week.

"A whiskey girl. You'll fit right in in Washington," he laughed, opening up the little bottle and taking a sip. "What's your name?"

Trying to say it confidently, without the embarrassment that usually followed, I replied, "Ridley. Like from 'Alien.' Ridley Whitehawk."

He tilted his head like a puppy. It was cute and personal. "Whitehawk -- are you Cheyenne?

"Yeah, but my mom is super white," I chuckled and took another sip from our shared shot of whiskey. "She used to love sci-fi movies. Dad moved off the res to raise us but we still visit my grandparents there when we can."

"That's great," he replied earnestly, "we need more Native Americans in politics, especially out west. Let me give you my personal number and we can get coffee sometime."

"That would be amazing." I fumbled for my phone in the bag stowed under my seat and handed it to him to put in his contact information.

Not realizing, he reached for it before I managed to unlock it -- and, lighting up the screen, my phone background. Me and a couple of my college girlfriends were on vacation in Tampa last spring break. Teeny, tiny triangle bikinis on each of us, mine lipstick red and hardly covering my nipples, which showed through in pointy perky peaks.

"Wow." He sucked in a deep breath that tried to disguise itself as a laugh. "Maybe we should get more than coffee."

I felt my chest fill up with heat and suddenly wished I wore my dress as buttoned-up as everyone else. Trying to keep my tone light, I said, "I wouldn't want to cause you another scandal. Plus, I've never really been one for adultery."

The senator let out a quiet but real laugh. We were both trying to keep the conversation private despite

"This can't get out, Ridley, but let me tell you a secret." He dropped his voice to a hush. "I didn't cheat on Sydney. We're non-monogamous. Figured the affair would play a lot better than that in Wyoming. But I wouldn't want you to think I'm some sleazeball trying to sleep with a girl trying to advance her political career. That's too cliche and gross for a guy like me."

I took a drink of our shared whisky shot and looked at him coyly. I pulled one of my little moves and reached out to straighten his shirt collar. My finger brushed his neck as I asked, "If you didn't know all of that, would you still try to sleep with me?"

"A scandalous tryst with a gorgeous flight attendant?" He shrugged while I traced my finger up to the base of his ear, now trying to avoid looking at my body despite staring at it earlier. Now that he'd seen what existed under the uniform, maybe it was different since he didn't have to imagine. "Well...there are some cliches that are there for a reason, I think."

I removed my hand from him and ran it through my hair instead. "Good to know."

Another deep breath from the senator. "Christ, your perfume smells amazing."

"It's Opium."

His eyes widened. "Opium?"

"Yeah-" I laughed "-by Yves Saint Laurent. That's what it's called."

"Right, right. I don't know much about that. I don't know much about women beyond-" He waved his hand to cut himself off.

"What?" I gave his chest a playful shove and he chuckled again. "What were you going to say?"

"Ah, nothing. Doesn't matter. You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Mr. Wyatt," I teased, "while you have every right to utilize your fifth amendment rights, it would be in your best interest to be forthcoming with the court."

"You'll do well in law school." He rolled his eyes and reached out, touching a button at the center of my dress. "I was going to say I don't know much about women beyond getting them off. Sort of my...hobby, if you will."

"Thus the polyamory, then."

"No, no, I could be satisfied with one woman, I think, as long as I could satisfy her, you know." He gave me a cute wink. "But my wife is bisexual and likes to have her freedom. She's usually got a few partners in rotation. Naturally, the one time I try to exercise my own freedom, it backfires, of course."

I gave him a serious look. "The one time?"

"Well, I'm awfully busy, Ms. Whitehawk. Not a ton of time for banging people who aren't secretaries or law students who, as stated, are generally off-limits for me."

I stifled a laugh. "Banging? You're only a few years older than me and yet already so out-of-touch."

"More than a few years." Tentatively, he put a hand on my waist and pulled me a tiny bit closer to him. He was debating kissing me; it was written all over his face. The way his eyebrows wrinkled and his lips tensed. "By my math, more like ten."

I swallowed as his eyes fell on my lips. "Eleven. I'm graduating early."

"And she's brilliant, too. Why am I not surprised?"

Enough small talk, I decided. He wasn't going to make a real move unless he was certain I wanted it, too. And, honestly, it had been a while for me and I certainly wasn't going to be getting any over the weekend in a hometown full of truck-driving rednecks and my brother's football buddies.

So I kissed him.

I leaned my body into his and pressed our lips together and wrapped my fingers in his caramel brown hair at the base of his neck. His hands found the small of my back and one fell down onto my ass. He turned me around, practically whisking me off my feet, and pressed me into the not-completely-solid partition between where we stood and the passengers' area. The thud made me jump and bit and I said, "We probably shouldn't be doing this here."

"Be quiet and we'll be fine," he muttered against my ear.

"Tough logic to argue with," I breathed as his kisses moved down my neck.

I expected him to bend me right over, honestly, but instead he painstakingly unbuttoned my dress, kissing the tops of my breasts as they appeared. One more button had them straining against the fabric. He sucked in a sharp breath. "You don't wear a bra to work?"

"The- the dress is very structured," I replied. "It, ah, holds everything together nicely."

"Already getting flustered, Ridley?"

"Not every day you get a senator admiring your tits during the work day."

"I suppose so," he snickered. "You definitely should have someone admiring your tits all the time, though. They're...magnificent."

Once my breasts were completely free, he took a moment to admire them. I got the sense he'd do a playful whistle if it weren't too loud. Our flirty conversation stayed practically ear-to-ear. Now that he was more than an inch from my face, he stayed hushed.

The senator bent down and sucked my left nipple. His tongue swirled around it a moment and then he caught it between his teeth. He started gently but, when my back arched at the bite, he upped the pressure, nibbling and sucking in harmony. With his thumb and forefinger, he applied the same force to my other nipple. On that one, he rolled and pulled. The sensations contrasted and played together, causing wetness to collect in my pussy and my mind to start to dissolve.

He switched his mouth to my other nipple and used his hands to continue unbuttoning, lowering the opening inch by inch until I was exposed all the way down, my dress turned into a cardigan. I wasn't wearing my most gorgeous panties -- a sporty thong vs. something pretty and lacy -- but he definitely didn't complain at the sight of them. In fact, he grabbed the edge with his teeth and drew his tongue along the line of elastic. I shivered at the contact.

He gave me a look and pointed at the pair of seats that the attendants used when there was turbulence. His eyes said exactly what I wanted to hear: "Sit back and let me taste you."

As soon as my ass hit the seat, he yanked my underwear down around my ankles and pulled me forward into his mouth.

I realized, fairly damn quickly, that he wasn't joking when he said getting women off was the only thing he knew about us. Right away, he listened to my body and figured out what I needed. His tongue went agonizingly slow in circles around my clit, flicking that place right below my hood that made me want to gasp. I heard a little moan escape around my cunt and I pushed myself forward on his face to quiet him. Usually, I was the loud one with my partners because it kept me in the moment, but, under the circumstances, we needed to keep things silent. The awareness that any of the other flight attendants, a lost passenger, or even one of the pilots could walk in on us from either side kept my mouth open in a silent, stifled oh.

Senator Wyatt switched from circling to sucking on my clit. With one hand, he pressed two fingers on my slit and looked up at me for permission. I nodded fervently, my cheeks on fire and my cunt begging for something inside of it. When his two fingers entered me, a whole new wave of pleasure washed over my entire body. He curled them inside of me.

Heat and pleasure and electricity rocketed from my cunt up to my chest and through my cheeks. His fingers were thick and strong, staying at a rhythm that matched the song he was teaching my pussy with his mouth. He matched the thrusts of his fingers with each draw of my clit into his mouth and the tempo was beyond delicious. After only a minute or so, I could feel myself getting closer and closer. I would've cum by now if it weren't for the little alarm alert in my brain reminding me that we were at my job, on a plane, in public. My eyes couldn't roll to the back of my head because they were busy checking for the ruffling of the curtain or turning of the cockpit doorknob.

The level of danger and nerves heightened the pleasure, though. From all of the stimulus, I was so wet from my own juices and his spit that he added a third finger. The extra fullness had me squirming on his fingers. It took everything in me to resist moaning, but, honestly, the forced silence only made me hornier and kept me close to the edge longer. With his other arm, he reached around and grabbed my ass, pulling me onto his fingers so they went as deep as possible. I felt like he could put his whole fist in me if he wanted to. His fingernails dug into my skin and the knowledge they would leave half-moon marks tickled my brain even further.