⣴♬ you taste like the fourth of july
summary: ted garcia fucks the political ideologies out of you.
warnings: +18 (mdni), smut, p. in v., creampie, dirty talking, humiliation kink, praise kink, exhibitionism kink, public sex, brat taming in a way, i love the world atta girl more than my life
wc: 1,8k
the problem with running for mayor in eddington is that, if you're from the other team, it's already a lost battle: unless you're ted garcia, town will never take your side.
(you tried to tell your boss, but he's a stubborn old coot)
he, the one who keeps them under his spell: with his theatricals, face on every corner, poster smile and perfect southern image, all leather and hair. with his honey-ed grave voice and speeches, the ones that come out of the same mouth whispering filth in your ear.
"what would good 'ol joe think about this, hmm?" he taunts, slowly, every word thick and intended. "tell me, baby, what face would he make if he found out his sweet trusted assistant sprawled out like a slut on ted garcia's desk?"
you whimper, half humiliation, half arousal.
"joe would kick you out. he's inflexible like that" he mocks, wicked smile across his handsome face. with a free finger, he caresses your trembling parted lips, a shaky exhale drawn from his touch. you feel the shape of his aching cock brush your inner thigh, "but don't worry, my office is always open for you, sweetheart"
a sound that barely counts as a squeak falls past your lips. it's hard to find your voice if his thick calloused fingers from age and not hard work are deep inside you, pumping in and out; circling in a slow tortuous pace that feels deliberate.
"you're an egocentrical maniac if you think this is all about you" you pant, teeth gritted. "this is about me"
right. it's better lying; you're used to it: anything better than admiting you've stared before, on campaigns and walks on town, when just a glimpse meters away from his bar, the shape of his back hidden behind the glass, brown hair curled at the ends, was enough to make your hands violently twitch with repressed desires of touching him, of pulling it and hearing that voice that enchanted crowds whisper to you only things that you'd never wish for outloud.
why give him a free ego boost? like your moans weren't enough, like having the whole town dickriding him still leaves him wanting more. ted's greed sickens you: winning the election doesn't suffice, he too wants to win whatever this is.
it's a war and you started it, the very first moment you walked into his office determined to make joe win, only to fall into the very thing you said you'd never.
(because one thing was touching yourself to your rival, and another thing is lying to your boss about your whereabouts, saying you're doing this for him when it's about you)
(it's always been about you)
so, technically, it's half a lie: you're the impulse and he's the catalyst for your downfall.
"oh sweetheart" he tuts, fingers curling, dripping in your slick, "tell me why are you in my office, then. for secrets? we both know that's not the truth. but if it's so, you must know it all has a price" you whimper, "are you willing to pay?"
your mother who raised you strong, that diploma hanging above your bed and office even though it's more of a humilliation given your degree and your current job, are dissapointed in you.
may God forgive you: you're so ready to pay the price.
"no, baby. give me more" he curls his fingers again, inside you, hitting that spot that has you seeing stars. "i know you can"
you nod, twice. vigorously.
"you're smart, baby. degree an' all" his voice turns rougher; raspier. there's some pride there if you're delusional enough. "speak, doll. words, i need words"
your throat feels dry. your pussy clenches around his fingers. a groan falls past his lips.
you choke on your own spit, "p-please, ted. fuck me"
it's like receiving the goddamn keys to the city. his fingers leave your milking pussy, a smirk across his face. "there she is: smart girl"
the sound of the metal of his belt is akin to bells on the collar of a dog. his cock twitches painfully under those pristine pants he's quick to drop to his knees, as if he's done it many times. you don't want to think about it: you'd rather think about how your slick is still on his fingers.
"lick" he orders, voice impossibly low. his fingers extend your way, and you have to prop up in your elbows to reach them. once your mouth is close, lips on his nails, he pushes them forward, making you gag. "show me you're grateful, little slut, 'cuz i made you cum. if you want me to do it again, clean it off. i better not see you waste a drop"
your tongue moves, expert, cheeks hollowing as you suck. you feel the salt of his sweat and the taste of you mixed up in your tongue. you're done, leaving his fingers with a 'pop!' sound. his eyes are dark like burnt caramel as he looks down on you.
"atta girl" he smirks. "can see why joe likes to keep you 'round his office"
you feel his cock tease your entrance, and then, without missing a beat, slam all the way in.
"but how about an offer in mine?"
you gasp, the sound broken, yet ted's quick to swallow it inside his mouth, kissing you. it feels so foreign, so inviting: how he's deep inside, still and heavy, warm as his lips that remain where they shouldn't or as the hands that search yours, intertwined to keep him steady; like every part of him wants to touch every part of you.
"you're so tight" he grumbles more to himself as you let your pussy accomodate him. he might not be lengthy but God, he's thick. it burns, deliciously so.
he breaks the kiss and you hate how you miss it. there's no time to dwell on the implications of that small sting on your chest because he slowly pulls out before pushing all the way in. how could his wife leave a man that could fuck like this?
"look at you, all quiet now. cat got your tongue?" he taunts as your walls suck him, making him grunt.
you gasp again, but this time, it's because his forehead leans against your warm flushed skin, sweat mixing with yours. the closeness has confussing feelings all over you.
"fuck" ted speaks over the silence, "you feel so good, made for me" a beat passes by before his big lousy political-empty-promises foul mouth speaks again, "i'm serious about the position. i'll hire you"
you find your voice again: "to piss joe off or to fuck me whenever you want?"
he laughs, but it's not mocking anymore.
"baby, can't it be both?"
ted picks up his pace, the rhythm steady unlike your heart. you can feel it like his dick: dragging along your wet folds, making them clench as he keeps moving, your soft moans the only sound filling the room.
"not much of a talker, huh?" he speaks. his hand, that hand too big and warm, slaps your pussy. you mewl, tears prickling partly from the sting and partly from embarrasment. "and here i thought you'd try to convince me why poor ol' joe should win instead of me"
"or maybe, you knew he'd already lost" he continues as so his moves, never once faltering, "knew this town's fuckin' obssesed with me" he pants, "ain't you?"
"what? obssesed with you?" you laugh, dry.
he smirks, "i was gonna say right about this whole stupid race, but thank you"
"for letting me fuck you"
your skirt rides up even more than it had by now as ted pounds into you, deep enough to hit the sweetest spot inside of you.
"i still work for joe" you bite back a moan coming from the rawest part of your throat. you pull him even closer by his tie, daringly so. he groans at the sudden tightness on his neck. "i still think he's gonna win"
that's a lie: a clean, political lie. but with ted, especially after this, you're not going down without a fight.
"look at you, little brat, arguin' with me like you aren't a thrust away from cryin' on my cock, you ungrateful slut" he clicks his tongue, sounding rather dissapointed. "well, i might need to change your mind" his teeth dig in his lower plush lip as he fucks you, wet curls falling over the beads of sweat on his temple. that and the white rolled up button skirt, sweat patches all over the fabric, especially on his armpits. "you're in denial, baby. joe's got you brainwashed"
the familiar knot ties in your stomach. you wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close. a hand grabs his hair while the other doesn't let go of the tie.
"i think that's you" he sneers. "don't worry, there's always a first"
the wood of his desk creaks under your combined weight.
"i might have to change your mind" ted switches the rhythm, aiming for harder yet slower, "and if you still refuse, well, i'll have to fuck it out of you"
he keeps slamming into you, determined, and it sort of makes your chest tight at the thought the mayor's fucking you on his office intent on making you change sides. what started as a supposed power move on your side has you now pinned under his weight, the curve of his belly pressing into your stomach as his dick rams into you.
"let go, baby. be a good girl and let go"
ted could probably mean the tie, but it's the command, rough and low, sinfuly spoken, and maybe your moans, or the each time more gentler push of his juice-coated length between your creamy folds, what makes you come. or maybe it's when you look up and meet his gaze.
it's probably the sight of him, lips parted under that neatly trimmed mustache, sweat-dripping face and hair, wicked smirk and dark honey eyes.
you wish you could tell what he's thinking. you wish you didn't cry his name out like a prayer, holding onto a misguided faith, as your eyes roll back, orgasm hitting hard.
you also wish he didn't speak before reaching his own: "i might get addicted to you"
in the landscape of politics, it could mean anything. it could mean nothing at all.
his dick twitches inside of you as you ride your orgams out, walls spasming around his cock.
it takes you so long to come down from your high that you believe you never will.
you might never get over this.
over his hot breath panting over you. of the closeness and warmth of his body keeping you in place. of how his heartbeat falls behind yours, sound louder than it should as it echoes in the four walls of the office he's just fucked you in.
"and when joe smells me all over you, i hope you come back crawlin' here like the good girl you are" he smirks darkly, ragged breaths caressing your cheek as a kiss. you shiver as he delivers the final blow. "you should start gettin' used to calling me boss"
a.n: shot out to oomf who gave me the idea i never wrote until now taglist: @klmr0 @zmbi3gr1 ╱ join dilftown residency here !
