“I’m not fucking you if you vote for Hillary,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned back on the couch with his glass of wine abandoned on the coffee table.
“Fine, I’m not letting you if you bro out for Bernie, anyway. We just won’t fuck anymore and that’s all there is to it.” She poured herself a whisky and sat in the windowsill looking out over the city. They had been arguing for weeks, but as the primary got closer it all just got worse. He said she was a liar and too close to Wall Street, and she thought Sanders would be about as effective as John Kerry after a lobotomy.
“I bet she doesn’t even think we should be allowed to tie each other up,” he finally said, breaking their tense silence.
“Yeah, well Bernie probably thinks Pony Play means someone’s doing a local production of Equus.”
“I bet Hillary thinks S&M stands for Stocks and Mutual Funds.”
“Bernie couldn’t choke a girl if he tried, and if he went to slap me he’d probably sprain something,” she said drinking half her glass out of sheer anger.
“Yeah? Well I bet Hillary would pass out if you so much as waved a ball gag in front of her!”
“At least she knows how to take it up the ass without being a little bitch about it!” she screamed back.
“Bernie’s probably fisted more people than she’s kissed!” he yelled standing up and pointing aggressively.
“Bernie’s never fisted his own ass, let alone anyone else’s! He’s more vanilla than a Starbucks latte. He’s whiter than a mayonnaise convention. Bernie’s about as sexy as Trump’s toupee on a bender. He can’t even get it up for his wife, let alone the country!”
She was in his face now, her whisky left on the ledge as they glared into each other’s eyes, circling like turkey vultures. He pressed his head against hers, his breathing tense and shallow as they pushed harder, their hands clasped together in a game of tug-of-war. Without warning, she swept his feet out from beneath him and together they toppled to the floor, her body astride him as she pinned him to the ground.
“She could eat my cunt better than you do, and I would fucking let her,” she hissed, spitting in his face as they fought.
“Just try me,” he growled, his hands pinned above his head as he gasped for breath. She slid up his body, her short summer dress around her waist in an instant as she held him in place with her knees. Before he could start to beg, she pushed down to his mouth, feeling his tongue push against the thin cotton that covered her.
“Prove it,” she moaned, as he reached up and pulled her down harder with strong hands on her hips. She grabbed his hair as he ate her cunt, soaking his beard and lips with her excitement as he still struggled.
“Who are you voting for?” she finally asked, sitting up just long enough for him to gasp.
“Bernie,” he said, before she cut him off once more, smothering him in her pussy. She held him there, not letting him breath before asking him once more.
“Bernie!” he cried, desperately trying to taste her again. Finally she put her weight into it, holding him there for long minutes as his tongue pushed deeply inside her. She pulled his hair harder as her other hand moved to his throat. Squeezing tighter with each second, she felt herself getting closer and closer to her inevitable release.
“Who. Are. You. Voting. For?” she asked once more, her fingers so strong and firm he could barely answer.
“You,” he finally mumbled, “I’m voting for you.”
“Good boy,” she said, pushing down hard as her body began to shake and tremble, her orgasm finally slipping through every nerve ending she had. “Such a good boy.”