Senator's Dirty Queen

Chapter 1

Six months earlier

Vignette checked her make-up one last time. She wanted it to be perfect. She was attractive enough that it didn't have to be perfect. It just had to be slutty. If it was slutty, the guys would be all over her like hounds on a b***h in heat, and she knew it. But maybe, if her make-up were perfect, their lust might have that little extra urgency that made her n*****s and clit as stiff as little sticks. Besides, she was a little nervous. So she wanted her make-up to be perfect.

She carefully inspected her image in the mirror. Her full lips were flawlessly painted with a glossy hot pink lipstick, so much sluttier than the usual red that she was making herself moist just looking at it. She knew the effect it would have. Any guy with live meat between his legs would be unable to resist fantasizing about her pretty mouth wrapped around it.

Her enormous green eyes were accentuated with thick black eyeliner above and below, long false eye lashes and glittery blue and green eye shadow. Her eyebrows were thin and flawlessly drawn. Her thick, long auburn hair was streaked with highlights of brighter red, teased and swept up, with several strands left dangling in a way calculated to appear random, but actually meticulously planned. And it was decorated with a gaudy bow trailing ribbon, two bright barrettes and several tiny pieces of jewelry. She wore large silver dangly earrings with small, bright purple stones and a choker with three tight strands of pearl and a large heart-shaped stone matching those in her earrings. She wore five or six bangle bracelets on her left wrist, a wide, pale pink and blue striped bracelet on her right and a silver snake coiled around her upper left arm.

While Vignette was not a classic, fine-featured beauty, her strong, straight nose, high cheek bones and wide mouth gave her a sensual, exotic appearance which men loved. But it was her body which turned male heads as if they were swivel-mounted. She was of average height, lean without being skinny, and well-curved without being bulgy. She had long, shapely legs. Her breasts were not huge, but they were perfectly shaped, firm hemispheres, just the right size. And, while they were plump and soft and jiggled just a little when she walked, they never sagged, not even a little. She was fit and toned from top to bottom without appearing muscular. And she knew how to move and stand in all the ways that the boys find most provocative. Though she could never have been a high-fashion model, she was drop-dead gorgeous and c*m-spurting seductive.

So there had to be close to 300 guys sitting at those tables out there, all expecting to be teased and titillated. Vignette, despite her surprise at the size of the crowd and a little bit of stage fright, knew she was going to enjoy satisfying that expectation. But there was only one man in the crowd who should be paying her attention. Alex Sr. had been very detailed about where he was gonna be and what she had to do in order to get his personal contact.

What she didn't know was how much she was going to enjoy it and how satisfied they would be.

Vignette had such a talent for dressing flirtatiously that she sometimes thought she must have been born wearing tiny, spike-heeled platform sandals. Her outfit that night was obviously intended to instantly stiffen the prick of every man in sight. She wore a tight, bright pink, scoop-neck, cropped tank top with the word "SLUT" in large, block-print lavender letters across the front. But Vignette had torn off so much of the lower portion that only the top half of the letters remained, and you could see the bottoms of her dark areolae and most of her plump breasts peeking out from under the slightly ragged edge of the fabric. Her large, hard n*****s made clearly-defined nubbins between what remained of the S and the L on one side and the U and the T on the other.

Her skirt was more than appropriate for the contest. It was pleated, with a lacy hem and featured pink hearts on a purple background in shades to match the top. At five inches, it was also, by far, the shortest skirt Vignette had ever worn. Even when she was standing still, you could see most of her ass cheeks in the back and the tip of her panty-clad love triangle in the front. But when she walked on her seemingly endless legs and the bright pink f**k-me pumps with five-inch stiletto heels, and the minuscule skirt began to swing and float, she put on a real show. It wasn't hard to see, through her sheer lavender panties, that her pubic hair had been shaven and that, just above her cunt, she had a large tattoo of a flaming heart. As a finishing tongue-in-cheek touch of "innocence", she wore little white, girlie-girl anklet socks with a wide, frilly ruffle.

The five girls who were competing that Sunday got to use the dancers' dressing room. After looking them over, the manager chose Vignette to go last, hoping that she could provide a big finish. The crowd, however, had been seriously disappointed by the false rumor and was not in a mood to accept anything less than gaudy, c**k-stiffening eroticism. The first four girls were not well received. They were all extremely pretty, even sexy in a clinical way, but lacked the genuine lustiness necessary to grab a roomful of guys by their reproductive equipment and bring them to attention.

When Vignette's turn came, she still had no real idea of what she'd do when she got on stage. But, she had been f*****g men in every kind of way since the past three years. She was a married girl with her husband absolutely unaware of her status in the family. She knew how to act and she knew how to turn on…and that was exactly what she was going to do tonight.

The raised stage was smack in the middle of the large room. Leading to it from the dressing room was a runway of equal height. Vignette stood in the darkened dressing room and looked out over the crowd through the open doorway. As the club manager announced her name and the music started, so did the first hint of pleasurable aching between her legs. She took a deep breath and, stepping calmly out onto the runway and into the spotlight, she began her slow strut toward the stage, chin up and breasts thrust out, lanky arms swinging in time with her long deliberate strides, doing the slight cross-over step that expensive fashion models use to stroll down their Paris and New York runways.

The men nearest the dressing room reacted first, beginning with a couple of low whistles, then an appreciative "Wow!" and a loud "WHOA!". As the response grew warmer, so did her smoldering passion. Before she'd taken a half dozen steps, she was making eye contact and flirting with every male on her long sashay to the stage. Never breaking stride, it was a wink for the bald guy, a kiss blown to the young jock, a come-hither expression for the tipsy executive. Something for every guy she saw. Hard-ons sprouted like spring flowers as she passed, which of course only further fanned her own s****l fire. By the time she reached the center of the room, it was her own little empire. Every man in it was under her spell. They were standing, hooting and clapping in time to the music. In fact, she barely made it to the stage. As she walked the last few feet of the runway, the excited men on either side were beginning to reach for her, to grab her arms and legs and try to pull off her clothes. As much as their desire thrilled her, she decided it would be safer to stay away from the edges of the stage.

At the center of the stage was the strippers' chrome-plated pole. She grabbed it with one hand and posed provocatively, weight on one leg, free hand on the other hip, in a stance that screamed Hooker! A few more poses: leaning forward with hands cupped under her breasts; reaching down straight-legged to grab her ankles, turn and repeat for he other side of the room; sitting with legs spread, leaning back on one elbow while lifting her skirt with the other hand. The men cheered and whooped and shouted all kinds of suggestions, all very obscene. She had always known she had a certain power over men, but she was surprised and intoxicated by how easy and how natural it had been for her to take control of over hundreds of cranky, horny males and dazzle and bewitch them. At the same time, while she remained calm and controlled on the surface, her own s*x-lust was building to a shimmering intensity.

Every member of the audience was standing, as were the members' members. She now crawled across the stage to the pole on all fours, grasped it with both hands and pulled herself up onto her feet, in a crouching stance, bent at the waist and the knees. She began to slowly raise and lower her ass, as if f*****g an invisible lover sitting under her. Simultaneously, she started to lick the pole and mouth it between her lips as if it were some thick, shiny steel p***s, while turning in a slow circle round it so that the whole room would get a good look at her. One-by-one, as she turned, she looked into the eyes of the men in the audience as if to say: "Give me a chance and I could do this for you, handsome." She imagined actually servicing a pair of heavily-hung studs on-stage and how the crowd would react to it and her clit stiffened to a throbbing, pulsing, almost painful rigidity.

As Vignette clung to the pole simulating various s*x acts, she began to see the men in the crowd putting their hands in their pockets and surreptitiously massaging their crotches. Within a minute, most of the crowd was doing so. Some of those who weren't already showed dark, wet stains on the front of their pants. Then, during a pause in the music, she heard it, the low buzz of men unzipping their flies. Most people wouldn't have heard it, but it was Vignette's favorite sound, and one to which her ears were especially sensitive. She could hear the quietest zipper from 50 feet away. A fair number of the men had now exposed their erections to masturbate openly.

Seeing what excitement she had brought to the audience took her own arousal to a new level and, suddenly, Vignette's feverish eroticism burst through her self-control like swollen flood waters demolishing an overwhelmed dam. She spread her legs wide, moved her feet up to plant them firmly on either side of the pole and slowly leaned back. Through her wet, gauzy panties, the guys at the dozen tables closest to the stage could clearly see her jutting, twitching clit and her gaping, hungry love mouth with its swollen, puckered lips. She swung her hips forward to delicately brush her aching lust stub against the hard pole, imagining it to be a goliath's ten-foot long, two-foot thick boner. Even that slight contact sent a series of shivers through her inflamed body. She drew back, paused and waited, teasing herself for as long as she could stand it before slowly repeating the motion, biting her lip and rolling her eyes in pleasure.

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