She felt the room close down to nothing, his hand under the hem of her burgundy dress, slow, steady slide up the inside of her thigh while her palms pressed into the bare concrete wall between grey metal fuse boxes. The one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling was still swinging slightly from when Nason pulled the chain to turn it on. Her shadow was shuffling side to side on the floor beneath her. A pair of voices and footsteps came down the stairwell outside the utility closet they’d ducked into while the hand pulled her panties down the inverted V of her separated legs. He got them to the middle of her thighs before they wouldn’t stretch any further.

Don’t let them rip. God no, not tonight.

He was breathing in a low rasp, lifting the skirt above her ass to drape across her lower back. There was soft rumble in his throat when his hands slid over the spheres. His fingers traced her skin, testing her shape and texture like something for sale.

I am not for sale, she announced in her mind.

“Eyes on the floor, Angela. Remember?”

“Yes.” It was as much air as voice.

Thick fingers slipped over the moistening folds of her pussy. Gentle strokes along her slit. Then not so gentle but careful. Searching out those tingling nerves that made her flush. Then came the sudden smack against her slit. She almost lost her footing in her spikes but she held the wall and stood her tiny square of concrete.

His hands returned to her ass, palms and fingertips gliding over the curves and down her thighs.

“Such a fine thing to ruin.”

“Yes,” she repeated. Softly. Waiting. Wondering about the ham-handed fistful of butter packets he clutched off the table when they left the dining room.

He smacked her pussy again. Harder this time. She felt her eyes water, a shuddering flush through her slit somewhere between warm and hot.

“Focus,” he said.

“Yessssss.”

There was a tiny ripping sound followed seconds later by the tick of an empty butter packet hitting the floor. Blunt fingertip sliding all viscous over her asshole. Butter. Then, another smack hit her pussy and his fingers dug into the meat of her ass, grabbing and spreading while his tongue lapped the butter off her asshole.

She pressed her cheek against the cool concrete and winced. When only saliva remained in place of the licked-up butter he let go of her ass. There was the soft snick of his belt yanking free of the loops. Doubled up in his hand, the leather slid up her thigh and scraped her pussy. He pulled the belt from both sides up hard against her slit, almost lifting her.

She purred against the gritty wall. A spot of her own saliva wet her cheek by the corner of her mouth. He pulled the belt tight and see-sawed it into her slit until the leather was slick with her juice. Then it pulled away and one of his hands went to the back of her head and gripped up a fistful of hair.

“Eyes on the floor.” This time his mouth was up against her ear. “Focus.”

Eyes on the floor. Okay, fuck. Eyes on the fucking floor.

She looked back down again. Her shadow wasn’t dancing now as he held her head in place by the hair and brought the belt across her ass.

“No marks,” she pleaded.

“These won’t last more than an hour or two. Just long enough to get you through.”

“Get me through.” Get…

The belt struck across her ass again. Harder than before. The spheres began turning hot.

…me…

Three, four, five ripe swats in quick succession. Her eyes welled but wouldn’t spill over. Blood shot through her like it had nowhere to go.

…through, fuck!

The belt hit the floor and he let go of her hair.

Eyes on that filthy fucking floor.

She heard the series of butter packets ripping open, then hitting the floor, and each time his finger slathered more butter over her asshole. She felt greasy. Unclean. All butter and fuck honey. The tip of one finger played against the soft resistance of her ass, pushing in a knuckle or two, lingering, then slipping out.

After that the tip of his cock nudged against her rim. He was swollen to the brink and his rich dome pressed and opened her. His shank was thick. Maybe it was too thick for this, but he ground into her inch by stone fucking inch while her throat felt plugged and her eyes went hollow. There was a moment of stillness. He held his cock deep inside her ass for long moments before beginning to move. The belt slid along her leg while he rocked in and out of her ring.

He kept going, kept fucking, teasing her skin with the rough leather edge of his belt. As the pace began to go faster he grabbed another fistful of hair. Strangled cries never made it past her throat. She shoved a hand between her legs, fingers scrabbling at her sodden pussy while his butter-slick cock made her rimhole burn.

“Focus,” he growled.

Then everything was a swirl of rippling nerves. She went blind and felt him pulsing into her.

He put his belt back on and she pulled her panties back up. He held a mirror for her while she fixed her hair and makeup.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Perfect.”

Minutes later, as they walked the corridor toward the conference hall where the press were waiting, Angela felt ten feet tall. Butter and cum were all over the cleft between her ass cheeks. Nason walked beside her while two state troopers followed a few paces behind.

“Just focus,” he told her softly before she went in.

Her husband was waiting for her behind the podium, and as she stepped up to the mikes to announce her candidacy for the senate, Angela Tremayne was on fire.