Revenge Served Hot - The Driver

As Legislative Director for an esteemed State Senator, I spend much time with the principal shuttling from one meeting to another hearing, and another 4 or 5 hours after work hours drafting documents and brainstorming between the esteemed official’s various after-work activities. Including his personal activities.

I spend a good deal of time with Senator Craven Weasel’s driver, Jamie. And Jamie is a talker, so it’s mainly listening to him riff while we wait in the town car outside some cold, high-priced midtown lounge.  And what Jamie talks about is his sex life.

He told me all about this girl he was seeing, who was so hit for him, and ready for new things, and willing to keep it strictly physical. He bragged that he’d dp’d her with a dildo on their second hookup, and she was down for looking into the real thing. 

Which threw Jamie a little. From what he’s said Jamie’s MO is to pledge eternal love and devotion to usually naive women who allowed their loving new paramour to defile them in whatever way he’d seen on porno TikTok lately or whatever.

This girl was willing to forgo love talk and keep it carnal, which disarmed Jamie from his main weapon of manipulation. The pattern I heard was, he’d talk and promise these girls romantically, but also sexually. It never seemed to happen, though. He hadn’t even engineered a threesome with two girls yet, let alone some kind of dark, dungeon pillory gangbang. If he had I’d have heard about it.

So I was unsurprised when she was out of the picture a week later, though he did keep a couple of flirty texts she’d sent before giving up. Jamie had moved on to one of the interns working in Central Staff, whom he was already planning to “turn out” or something.

This got on my nerves a little because I was a couple of years out from a passionate relationship that I’d blown, and in the midst of a severe drought. Now, Jamie is a young, good-looking guy with a good job and a parking placard in New York City. 

But the thing about being in a good relationship that’s adventurous and crosses some societal taboos in an exciting way is that you realize how authentic and honest it has to be to work. And of it is it can work really well. Passionate moments with a tuned-in partner are some of life’s best.

So it does not sit well to see someone manipulating the powerful sex power of women irresponsibly. This is not to be trifled with. The guy was actually breaking some girl’s hearts, or at least wasting a lot of their time. 

But he took an interest in his conquests afterwards sometimes, and a couple weeks later her excitedly showed me a picture on his phone, from Instagram.

Hey, remember that girl was just wanted sex? Check out her insta. I saw a voluptuous woman in a Venetian mask, a black lace lingerie arrangement buttressing outstanding breasts spilling from a smoky brassiere. ‘Out on the Town’ it said.

Well, looks like she’s moved on, dude. J: Yeah, isn’t that amazing? She’s such a ho.

I don’t know, looks like she’s all into it. J: Well, yeh, I coulda done all that with her.

A week after that Jamie’s back with another update. He’d texted her hot and heavy late one night, ‘you up’ or something. She’d texted back a picture but then Jamie found he’d been blocked when he replied.

The photo was of a black g-string being held up by a woman’s hand in front of a luxury bathroom mirror, chipped dark nail polish and a small heart outline tattooed below her thumb. The g-string was damp, wet even. Jamie zoomed in and you could see the distinct presence of semen along the g-string, about to drip off.

Holy shit dude. What are you showing me. J: Seriously bro that chick is crazy!

I don’t know, you messaged her. Maybe she didn’t appreciate it.

He continued to follow her instagram, and I will say it got progressively racier. She started with some thirst traps, worthy of a pro if you ask me. Back arched, ass in the air, high-quality fuck attire always, black heels that stayed on. It made even this old man consider the boiling ocean of social media for a second.

About three months into the new year, Jamie approached while we waited for the principal outside a hookah bar in Queens that just happened to be next to a notorious, mid-market gentleman’s club.

J: Look at this shit, bro.

Jamie’s former protege announced on instagram the opening of her new OnlyFans channel, for generous gentlemen only. 

The woman knew how to make content. Naturally, Jamie had immediately signed up (all content pay-per-view, minimum payment $250). 

She had only a few videos, but they were very popular. Some lesbian content where she entwined her body with another fabulously endowed woman, two fleshy anacondas curling around each other. Shots of glistening flesh, thrusting in time. Her face only be seen partially and briefly; I couldn’t get a picture of what she looked like. Dark hair, maybe tinted a shade of red a little. The heart tattoo revealed itself when her hand brushed a nipple or curled its fingers to thrust into her partner’s well-lubricated pussy, over and again, ending in a gush of fluid that soaked the bed’s high-count sheets. Her partner tilted her up like a wheelbarrow and gobbled her undercarriage until Jamie’s protege did the same.

Jamie lost it a little after that, and when she posted another video he shared, with two juicy yoga students bursting with Shakti he needed some time alone. The three of them rolling around again had me considering an OF subscription of my own. Jamie took a couple of days off and our much less talkative constituent liaison took over driving the town car. 

When he came back Jamie was not his smooth, self-regarding self. He seemed tired, a little underfed. He gave me a doleful look as she showed me his phone silently outside a local Democratic club meeting. The protege was wearing her Venetian mask, on a steel work table, on all fours. Great gear as usual, leather chaps or something, her ass red from spanking, spit-roasted by two generously equipped gentlemen. Her female accomplice lay below her, nibbling on the mound above her, collecting whatever dripped down. The two gentlemen ejaculated enthusiastically all over the Venetian mask.

The next day I couldn’t find where Jamie’d parked near the district office, so the Senator sent a few of his college interns out looking. Unfortunately for Jamie one of the young girls from CUNY found him parked next to some inactive food carts, jerking off furiously to OnlyFans on the town car screen.

It didn’t end well for Jamie at that job. He had to turn in his ID and they impounded his work phone (lord knows what they found), but he did get two weeks’ pay.

What sucks is the Senator called me in after lunch and told me Jamie said he’d shown me the videos. I said sure, I didn’t ask him to. Anyway, I somehow got shitcanned after three years working for this guy, but he’d forgotten before I got out the door, as these guys do.

So I just got on the train back to my apartment in an undiscovered part of Brooklyn, and headed to the local bar for a few stiff bourbons before I went home and started sending out resumes. I was two Old Forresters in and the bar was almost empty on a Wednesday afternoon. A couple of young women stopped in and occupied a corner table, a small Asian ordered two glasses of Orvieto white, which I noticed. Someone has good taste, I thought.

In a dry spell you can bury yourself in work and responsibility. Now I thought I might spend a few afternoons inside a bottle before taking on the world. I ordered another Old Forrester and looked up at the Mets game. Even the Mets were losing.

I felt a presence behind me, and then someone settled into the stool next to me with a perspiring Orvieto in front of her. She smelled good, steaming a little after escaping the hot city streets. Her neck was a little moist. She had great lips.

Let’s Go Mets, she said.

I tried to smile in her direction.

Brian, top off this Ruffino for our friend here. Brian the bartender knew his wines.

We kept watching, and she really was a Mets fan. Soto homered and she slapped the bar emphatically. I saw a small, heart-shaped outline below her thumb. Then I looked up and met her eye.