Disclaimer: "The West Wing", the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, John Wells Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "The West Wing", NBC, or any representatives of the actors. This site contains stories between two mature, consenting adult females.
Author’s Notes: OK, I went on a bit of a CJ/Abbey thing for like this entire weekend. This was the only story I was supposed to write and then I just started doing everything else. Well here is where it all began....I'm finally done. I will be back but I have some other couplings to write so people wont come after me with pitchforks.
Dedication: This is for indigo_inferno. Your wallpaper for my story, a very fair exchange indeed. Hope you enjoy. The title comes from the Bic Runga song, Sway.
I bought the dress. I bought it because as soon as I saw it I knew she had to wear it. I bought it because I always buy her things. When she wears them, I feel as if a piece of me is always with her. I bought it for the sheer improbability of undergarments. Just knowing she is naked under those sequins makes me quiver.
She is wearing the perfume that I love on her, CK One. Her skin is quite fragrant naturally. I love to hold her close and nuzzle my nose to her neck, up near her hairline. The woman smells amazing and when both of our scents combine…my God I want to bottle it and keep it all to myself. I might even sell it and make millions, and then I would be out of my husband’s shadow.
When I am with her, I am in no one’s shadow. She is 100% focused on me, maybe 150%. She is always attentive and has an unwavering eye for detail. The woman is nearly meticulous in the giving and receiving of pleasure. The first time she kissed me, I felt as if my feet would never again touch the ground. Sometimes I like to tell myself that I taught her everything she knows. It is the control freak in me. She already knew everything she needed to and more.
There is a joke going around. Well, its not really a joke, its more like a thing. CJ Cregg is great in bed. I remember the night Jed told me about what happened in the Oval Office, it was about a week later. I just rolled my eyes and smirked. Then I let out a full-blown guffaw. My husband looked at me as I let loose.
“Hmm?" I couldn’t suppress the laughter.
“I do not want to know."
“You don’t want to know what, Jethro? I'm just laughing. How would something of that nature even come up?"
“I don’t want to know that either."
I kept laughing, pulling him close. That was Jed and I love him dearly. My extra curricular activities, if one could even call them that have nothing to do with anything my husband lacks. I have always been a looker; I appreciate beautiful things. While I have been tempted in the past to touch, and once or twice gave into that temptation, generally I am a pretty good girl.
I felt the spark the first day I met CJ. No, it was more than that. It was a raging inferno that burns in me this very second and surely will until I leave this Earth. It doesn’t change things or make them less complicated…it is what it is. When we’re apart, I live my life and she lives hers.
Sometimes she shares her adventures. Other times I refuse to hear them. Is it bad that I don’t want to listen? How could I possibly want to hear about someone else loving her? We get precious little time already; there are better ways to spend it. Like touching, watching, tasting, smelling, and hearing her. I need all five senses to satisfy her, and the important sixth sense of instinct.
CJ is not a mundane lover…I have to stay on my game. I have to know with just a tilt of her head if she wants to make love, be held, or fucked until she cries. Oh yes, I can make her cry. Damn, that’s fantastic. Getting the signal wrong bothers the hell out of me. She enjoys whatever we do but I always know if it was just short of her desire. She knows that I know but God love her for never calling me on it.
I watch her hips sway now; she is coming down slowly from her intoxicated state. We drank a lot tonight but now she is dancing. She is dancing to George Michael, holding herself as the music entrances her. She entrances me. I love that dress, with all of her sexy back out to play. Her feet are bare and her toes dig into the carpet. The way her hands move across her body; the simple flex of her wrist…she is truly beautiful.
“Thank you." She whispers.
“Hmm?" I come out of the depths of my mind at the sound of her voice.
“You called me beautiful."
“I call them as I see them. C’mere."
“Mmm," she is swaying again and wearing that adorable drunk girl grin. I love that grin. “Don’t you want to dance with me, birthday girl?"
“I want you to come to me."
Now CJ is wearing another grin. It’s the ‘you want me, don’t you’ grin. She knows when she has me ensnared. I give a little nod, calling her to me with my finger. She slides across my lap; a beautiful but dangerous sequined serpent. I stroke her naked back and get my first sigh of the night.
“I thought you got me drunk so you could have your way with me, Dr. Bartlet."
She straddles me, having to hitch up the dress to do so. I would prefer she not do that but her breasts pressed on mine changes my mind immediately. My hands go right to her hips…instinct.
“I don’t need you drunk Claudia Jean, though you are so good that way."
“Abigail," she says in a pitch perfect British accent. “May I grasp your breasts?"
A sound comes from deep in my diaphragm before I grab the back of her head, pulling her into a kiss. For a fraction of a moment, she hesitates, and that makes me smile against her mouth. CJ is always on point; she is the lead actress in a long-running Broadway show. Next to nothing shakes her. Knowing I caught her off guard gives me a tingle.
I am intimately acquainted with the back of her head. I stroke, pull, or run my fingers through those reddish gold tresses every time her beautiful face is between my thighs. Tonight its my birthday though so I want to eat all of her cake until I'm full. As her hands come around, cup the sides of my breasts, and squeeze them together, I know playtime is over. I need to be naked. Pulling out of the kiss, I gently push CJ away.
She knows the signal. Climbing from my lap and the couch, she turns her back to me. Reaching behind her with those long, sinewy arms, the clasp holding her dress together finally comes undone. I am sure that I gasp when it slides to a sequined bundle at her feet. If I don’t then I really should have. She seems relieved finally to be naked. I let her take me to her bedroom.
Ah yes, this is definitely the way I like it. The windows are cracked open, bringing in a cool early March wind. The candles are lit, my favorite scent of thunderstorms filling the room. George Michael is still on repeat. He is singing to his teacher about still having things to learn. Claudia Jean is naked. Yes, she is naked and I'm reacquainting myself with every inch of her. She has 72 inches from the top of her head to the tips of her toes…it is a very exciting journey.
I love her long neck and that she is ticklish on the underside of her chin. I love her straight, strong shoulders…it drives me crazy when she slouches down from her full height so that people will not feel threatened by her power. Not the good crazy, but the bad one. Her full power is so fucking amazing. I love her chest; every single freckle knows me by name. I love her little rosebud breasts.
They fit fully into my eager mouth and I feast upon the delicacy with no shame. Her reddish brown nipples are sensitive to the slightest touch. She gets goose bumps all over when I kiss them. She sighs when I suck them and whimpers when I bite. Her long, lean torso and flat stomach where I love to rest my cheek and think about anything that happens to come to mind. Minutes move like hours when I am resting there and I am always at peace.
The hair between her thighs, and CJ is a hair woman, is nearly auburn. Trimmed exactly the way I like it, it tickles my face and lips. I love to just hold it to my nose and inhale. The scent of her perfume and natural scent is a tiny taste of heaven on Earth. She is thin but her thighs are strong; she has dancer’s thighs. I love to kiss them though I could probably never articulate why. Her knees, her shins, her lovely ankles, and those long lovely feet…I am biased but she is perfect.
She holds me close, kisses me so soft. I stroke her face before kissing her deeper.
“I want to make you happy tonight." She says.
“Already done. You're so beautiful."
“Are you going to make love to me?"
Her voice takes on that innocent, girly quality, as if this is our first encounter and she is dying of anticipation. Oh God, I love that voice. I love her naked, wanton, and willing to use her body simply to please me. But I am tired tonight. I am so tired that I have managed to get out of the dress but remain in knickers and a strapless bra.
I looked fabulous tonight but looks can be deceiving. I drank too much, smiled too much, and carried too much. I am about to fall over from the weight of my decisions and those made without my consent. I am only comforted by the fact that I am falling into her arms.
“Tonight I just…I just want the soft and quiet. I just want a few moments of peace."
CJ is out of bed and that surprises me. I watch as she blows out the candles and cuts the music. She pulls that ratty comforter from the top of her closet; it doesn’t exactly match with the purple silk sheets. She wraps it around her shoulders as she crawls back into bed. She wraps me in it too. I sigh as our bodies mold to each other. It always turns me on… anytime she is close I am on fire.
It also calms me, and I can only sigh as she draws me to her breast as a mother would a beloved child and takes away my torment. We both want to say things, good and bad, but silence is better. The sound of CJ’s soft breathing and the wind outside are all I need. She is not surprised when the tears come, though I am. Trying to hide them at first, forgetting that everything is alright with her, I stiffen in her arms and try to move away.
She is stronger than me tonight, maybe always; she holds on tight and doesn’t let go. I'm sobbing, I'm shaking, and a part of me feels as if I might die but she doesn’t let go. CJ whispers to me, words of comfort and love that I can barely hear through the wall of my own agony. I am not sure how much more I am supposed to take…God is not supposed to give me more than I can take.
“I love you Abbey Bartlet, and I will not let go."
Those are the last words I hear before sleep comes. They allow me, in the midst of hell, somehow to have sweet dreams. Another birthday gone, not exactly a happy one, but I still have the best gift anyone could ask for.