To this day, I don't know what she got off on. Maybe she thought herself to be the Marilyn Monroe to my Kennedy, me the glory-draped nobility, and her the itchingly seductive mistress. I suppose the idea of sleeping around with someone as influential as I am could be thrilling to a small-town girl. Power is an aphrodisiac.
Or maybe it was the ritual of the thing. How she'd beg me with her eyes, and her quivering voice would pleadingly whisper my name, and how, like a kind master, I'd relent. How a tiny cut from my letter opener was enough to make her mad, and how she'd lap at my blood like a starving cat at a saucer of milk. And then how, so generously and courteously, she'd give me what I wanted.
Or maybe there was more lust behind that innocent expression than I had once thought. Maybe she truly wanted me, a virginal girl simply thirsting for someone's touch.
But a small part of me wanted to believe she did it simply to please her master. For she was so eager, so willing, despite her inexperience; she would tremble with nervousness, but in her eyes was a fierce determination. I'd caught glimpses of it when she did target practice, but when we were so close, and I could hear her tremulous breath in my ear, I knew, every atom of her was fixated on me. Serving me. Pleasuring me.
But when it came down to it, I didn't care why she did it. No, it was so trivial. All that mattered was her, her uniform unbuttoned, stretched out on my desk, waiting for me with my evening cigar clutched softly between her fingers. The way she'd slide my blazer from my shoulders and lock the office door behind me, with the hungry, coy smile of a woman who knew she was wanted. The perfectly sculpted curves of her breasts, the beautiful way she'd gasp and mewl, and the subtle, aching quivering of her hips. The way her pale tresses would tangle into a lovely mess, and the way she'd run her hands up her stockings afterwards, as if wondering if it were real.
She'd tasted my blood, so it was risky. Hell, it was risky long before that. And I've denied myself so much over the years. I can't allow myself the vices and excesses that come with political renown.
But God forgive me, I couldn't deny myself her. That incredible specimen, my secret, Seras, the creature I endlessly craved. Some nights I'd wonder which of us was truly the master, and which the slave.
