Page 47 of The Toy Collector

There’s a knock on the door. What perfect timing.

I straighten, adjusting the fall of my suit jacket with slow precision. I pat her head once before removing my hand from her, and she stills completely, like a toy being set down.

Reaching for my cigar case, I pick one up, and light it. I only savor a little before resting it in the crystal ashtray on my desk, exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling. One last breath of indulgence before the real game begins.

I smile, cold and sharp, as I turn toward the door. “Let’s begin.”

Congressman Malcolm James and Senator Jane Slade enter my office, twin sharks scenting blood in the water. Their faces are tense, postures angled to strike, but I remain at ease, a lion watching two jackals fight for scraps.

Normally, I’d get up, shake their hands, and we’d sit at my glass table. But not today. So I simply nod at them, not bothering to get up. There will be no glad-handing, no pretense of friendship. Only the cold calculation of people who know the value of power, and the cost of losing it.

“We’re sitting at your desk?” Slade asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Iam,” I reply firmly. “However, you’re free to sit wherever you like.”

James’ chuckle as he sits down across from me sounds more like a wheeze. There’s a bead of sweat already forming at his temple. He likes to pretend he has a spine, but I see how his fingers twitch.

Slade, on the other hand, is calmer. She’s always reminded me of a cold-blooded snake; coiled and ready.

As they settle across from me, James already stammering about optics and blowback, I slide my right hand beneath the desk, fingers combing through her hair until I find the base of her skull. I twist, gently but with purpose—tightening my grip into a leash. Then I tug her forward, until I feel her breath, damp and shallow, against my zipper.

Relighting my cigar, I offer them one as well, but they both decline. “Help yourself to something to drink then.” I point at the decanters and glasses Maria’s neatly arranged on my desk.

I tap the edge of the ashtray with two fingers as I watch Slade reach for the vodka. James doesn’t touch the liquor—smart. He knows not to let his guard down.

While Slade pours herself a hefty amount of vodka, James babbles on, his words a meaningless hum. I catch snippets—crowds at the mall, an outraged social justice contingent. Empty noise, a cough into the wind.

With my hand still fisted in her hair, I reach down with my right and slowly draw down my zipper. The sound is obscenely loud, a drawn-out hiss that cuts through James’ prattling. Slade’s eyes flicker to mine, a question, but I meet her gaze without flinching.

Releasing myself from the confines of my suit pants, I stroke the head just once, enough to smear pre-cum across the tip, before guiding my toy’s mouth to where it belongs. I feed my cock into Piper’s waiting mouth, thrusting past the wet silk of her lips. She takes me beautifully, snaking her tongue around the crown.

Such. A. Good. Fucking. Toy.

The urge to groan rises fast—fierce and raw—but I force it back, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste iron. I don’t make sounds. Not in front of them. Not even for her.

Above the table, Slade drones on about containment, about controlling the narrative. I lean back in my chair, a lazy sprawl of dominance, and let Piper work me with her tongue. Each flick and swirl sends sparks of pleasure humming along my nerves. My thigh tenses beneath the desk.

“The story breaks tomorrow night,” Slade says, her voice a distant buzz. “Primetime across all networks. We’ve got our scapegoat lined up, some low-level intern who’ll eat the blame.”

Piper stills below the table.

I nod, slowly, making sure I’m not giving away that my hand below the table tightens in my toy’s hair, reminding her she has a job to do. She obediently hollows her cheeks, sucking harder, and I feel my balls tighten.

James pipes up, a mouse daring to squeak. “But if it gets traced back to us—”

“You better make sure that can’t happen,” I interrupt. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

He swallows audibly and lowers his eyes.

Slade smiles, a slash of cold amusement. “The press will spin it as youthful hijinks. An overzealous employee acting out of turn. The public has the attention span of a gnat. By next week, it’ll be forgotten.”

The tip brushes the back of my toy’s throat. A shudder rolls through me so fast I have to cough—sharp and low—masking the sound that almost escaped.Almost.

“And for the parts that are beyond any intern, it’s awfully convenient that we’ve just had someone resign. I’ve already planted the email trail at her feet…”

As Senator Slade continues speaking, I yank my toy closer, burying myself to the hilt in her convulsing throat. She gags around me, and my body riots. Every muscle coils, desperate to thrust, to take, to break through the façade. But I don’t move.

I hold my toy in place for two more seconds, then pull her off me with a wet pop only I can hear. She gasps, but I silence her with a vicious tug on her hair.

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