“Thank you for voting for me, sweetheart,” Pariston smiles, that creepy, slightly sinister smile that you’re not sure if you trust. “It’s hunters like you we need around here.”
The Chairman has you backed up against a wall outside of the voting hall, looking down at you with dark eyes, and you’re unsure of what to say. “Sure, yeah, only for my favorite Chairman…!” You try to grin but it comes out as more of a grimace. You don’t think he notices. Your attempt to try and squeeze around him is thwarted by his arm against the wall, blocking you.
“You seem to be very knowledgeable about your political choices, hmm? Why don’t we go back to my office and… discuss them a little more in depth?” Heat fills your face, knowing that you’ve got no way out of this now. His hand cups your cheek and his palms are lukewarm. You’ve got no choice but to obey.
“Um, yeah, alright,” you nod, moving to push his hand away. He’s not so easily budged though, and he changes his grip to your wrist instead.
“It’s not to far down the hall. Here, just follow me.” You’re not really following him as much as he’s dragging you, honestly. The silence between you now is worse than the usual sickly sweet words that pour from his lips. He looks back at you, now and then, cold eyes devouring you like a lamb before a lion. When you reach the dark oak door leading to his study, it feels like the entrance to Hell.
He releases your wrist. “After you,” He makes a smooth gesture towards the door handle. Looking at him first, you gather resolve, then push into the room.
It’s nice. Rich. Saturated. Bookshelves sit against the wall and long silk curtains drape over the only window, blocking out most light that would try to get through. In the center of the room is an oak desk, neatly organized with minimal paperwork gathered to the side. Pariston enters behind you. “Like it? This is my personal space. Consider yourself lucky to be seeing it.” He smiles.
You hear the door close. You’re at his desk, running your hands across the wood grain, admiring his neatly arranged material, and you hear him moving behind you. Hands ghost over your hips and suddenly his body is pressed neatly against yours. His crotch presses against your ass and the feeling is startling.
“I think I like you, you know.” He’s bending slightly to speak softly into your ear. “And I have a terrible urge to hurt the things I like. That’s not weird, is it?” He kisses the back of your neck before shoving you violently against the top of the desk. You’re dazed, and in your stupor he pulls your arms behind your back.
“Dear, no, don’t struggle. I only want to tear you apart; is that so strange?”
With one hand, he loosens the belt around his waist and slips his pants slightly down his hips. Your bottoms don’t last long either as he rips them, along with your underwear, down to your ankles. You whine.
“I’ll try not to inflict unnecessary pain, okay?” His cock rubs against your entrance impatiently. Fingers tease and stretch you inside to prepare you for him. He fiddles in a drawer to the right and pulls out what you can only assume is lube or lotion (thank god). You hear him sigh gently, and it’s not long before you can feel him prod at you again, blissfully slicker this time. He starts to push in, and at first it stings a bit.
“…Tight…” he moans, needy. You both hiss when he reaches the hilt. You’re not given a whole lot of time before he’s pounding into you viciously, his thrusts rocking the desk underneath you. It’s not what you expected when you visited his office today but now he’s fucking you senseless and you don’t want him to stop.
“It feels good, don’t you think?” He shoves into you hard enough to make you cry out, and you scream his name.
“Ah- “ he smiles, shivering with pleasure, “It sounds so good to hear it in your voice.”
His nails dig deep into your skin, hard enough to draw blood, more-so when they rake across your back. It hurts and you clench around him, hearing him giggle at your pain. He grinds against you, hitting spots in you that make you writhe underneath him. You push back against him, desperate for him to fill you up, to make you cum. You tense when there’s a sudden knock at the door.
“Hey, Pariston, what’s all the noise in here? I can here it all the way out in the hallwa-"
Ging is halfway through the door, frozen in place. You both make eye contact, neither knowing the first word to say. The Chairman rocks into you and you try hard not to make a noise.
“Hello, Ging. Nice of you to come by,” he smiles, pulling out and slamming into you hard enough to break your silence. The dark-haired man steps in and closes the door behind him, flipping the lock.
He shakes his head, “Seriously. I can’t believe this, Pariston.” The room is silent. Everyone shifts nervously, until Ging speaks again: “I can’t believe… that you wouldn’t invite me!”
It takes you a minute to fully process everything going on around you, and even then you’re not sure what the fuck is going on. That is, until harsh reality smacks you in the ass (in this case, Pariston’s hand). You yelp. Ging approaches you, hands on his hips.
“Well, what do we have here? You’re awfully cute,” he smirks, holding your chin up so that your eyes meet. His thumb plays at the corner of your mouth. His scarf and tunic are off quick, leaving only his sweat clothes underneath. His thumb prods at your lips and pries them open, and it’s clear what he wants you to do. Your tongue probes at the digit, finding a comfortable position before you close your mouth around it and start to suck. You look up to see him biting his bottom lip and it’s honestly kind of hot. A second finger in and you’re enthusiastic, moaning against his skin. The man behind you spurs you on, and his steadily increasing pace is driving you crazy. Ging pulls his hand away from you and (a bit frantically) yanks down his sweatpants. He’s big, maybe bigger than Pariston, and he pumps his length a few times right in front of you. His thumb is at your mouth again, and it’s when he says the words “open wide” that you learn to accept your fate.
It teases at your mouth at first, salty precum lingering on your tongue, and you lap at it eagerly. He snickers. “Little slut, aren’t you? Make sure you get it all.” He pushes farther, past your tongue, almost hitting your gag reflex. When you whimper from the sensation, it just turns him on.
Pariston sighs, “Ging, please, I understand you need attention, but save some for me, yes?”
The dark haired man scoffs. You’re not sure how to handle both ends of you being attacked like this, but the feeling of Ging’s fist gripping a handful of your hair really grabs your attention. He nearly forces himself down your throat, panting and grunting at 'how good you feel inside’ and ‘how warm you are around him’. His free hand lifts your face just enough to watch him leer and whisper perverted praises to you.
“You take all of me so well, don’t you?” He’s trying to look smug but it’s obvious he’s trying to keep himself from edging. The man behind you however, is not as successful. He’s terribly close, whether from his actions alone or by watching you suck Ging off, it doesn’t matter. You can hear his breath hitch when he thrusts into you and it feels like he’s slowing down. When he hits that spot that sends you right over the edge, the feeling of you tightening around him is enough to make him finish. With a loud moan, Pariston cums inside you, and you can feel it, warm and wet.
He hasn’t even pulled out before Ging loses composure, holding on to your hair and fucking your face with a stream of curses.
“Ahh, fuck… shit… shit SHIT!!”
The taste of him fills your mouth and it’s thick and bitter. You move to gag but he holds you in place.
You do so begrudgingly, and not without retching and coughing a little. Pariston is still draped over you, breathing heavily.
Ging laughs, “Shit, Pari, I’ve never seen you look quite like that before. It’s a good look for you.”
The look the blonde man gives him is enough to murder him on the spot. Ging takes the hint.
He runs a hand though your hair in a vaguely tender gesture, “This was nice. Come find me sometime, I’ll show you who you should really be voting for.”
He winks as he leaves, picking up his scarf. It’s gross. Behind you Pariston stands, adjusting himself back into his clothing.
“Well, my dear, as much as I’d love to keep thanking you for your continued support, I believe it’s time I got back to work.”
“Excuse me?” you ask under your breath. He smiles, that sickening grin, and helps you off of his desk.
“It’s only business, dear, right? I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
You have no time to think about what he said while putting your pants back on when he’s already shooing you out the door. When you look back from he hallway, he waves, dark eyes glinting with laughter, and shuts the door in your face. You walk, awkwardly, back to the main hall, avoiding looks from the other visitors and politicians crowding the hallway. You can still feel Pariston’s warmth in-between your legs and it makes you shudder. You rub your arm in embarrassment and think to yourself, if this was a sign of the days to come, this year’s election was going to be very, very odd.