Only in America

When she was twenty-six, America Ortega, Boss of the Third Street Saints, finally started to get the attention she deserved.

"I'm here today with a woman who has quickly become one of the most important names in Stilwater, even if few people know exactly what that name is. To the people of Stilwater, she need be known only...as the Boss of the Third Street Saints, the surprisingly popular homegrown street gang that has not only gained a stranglehold on organized crime in our fair city, but now appears poised to make its first inroads into the world of legitimate business as well.

"Hot on the heels of this morning's announcement of the unprecedented merger between the Saints and the Ultor Corporation, the newly-elected Chairwoman of the Saints-Ultor Media Group is here to give us an intimate look at the woman who is, for all intents and purposes, the most powerful individual in Stilwater. Welcome."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

"Now, I have to start with the question everyone is asking: with all the bad blood between the Saints and Ultor, this merger has come as a shock to Stilwater. Where did it come from?"

"Well, I mean, what...they started it, and Eric Gryphon's less of a cocksucker than Dane Vogel was? Oh fuck, can I say cocksucker?"

Jane Valderamma smiled. "We're on a ten-second delay."

America let out a breath. "Fuck. Okay."

As the three or four people from whom she'd half-assedly tried to get an honest job could attest, America Ortega didn't interview well. At all. Jane Valderamma, on the other hand, interviewed very well. And seeing as she was in certain respects an honorary Saint and hated that elitist bitch Anna as much as America did, the leader of the Saints came out of the interview smelling reasonably clean.

As the questions wore down, America shifted uncomfortably against the scratchy couch. Pierce and Shaundi had insisted she wear something 'intimidating but presentable' since she was going to be on TV, and her pushup bra was digging into her back.

"Now, before we go, we have some additional questions from our audience. Incidentally, these were collected from Saintsbook, the new social networking site created by the Saints-Ultor Meida Group and also announced this morning. In the five hours since it went online, Saintsbook has attracted over six million members, and every one of them seems to have something to ask you."

America fidgeted again. "Okay, go for it."

Jane looked down at the transcript. "Skullfuckr69 asks 'What do you bench?'"

"Three-forty."

Jane's eyes widened, and she swallowed. The muscles weren't obvious under her purple silk shirt, but they were definitely there. "This is from Brenda Tate: 'You're the most famous lesbian I know. How did you come out? P.S. Don't use my real name, my parents don't know I'm gay.'" Jane blinked, then blanched. "Oh."

America snorted and leaned in toward the camera. "Brenda? Fuck 'em. Whatever you do, you be a badass at it and recognize that no one has the right to say shit about who you fuck. And if you're hot, you know, give me a call."

Jane cleared her throat. "This question is from AdmiralTallywacker: 'Who the fuck do you think you are? My daughter went out and joined a gang because of you, you braindead cunt. People like you are raping and murdering our society by telling our children it's cool to grow up into gun-toting, crack-smoking, sex-trading sociopaths instead of going to college and doing something with their lives. How do you sleep at night?"

America gave the camera a predatory grin. "Naked. On silk sheets. Under a pile of writhing strippers. And your daughter. And Brenda? Guys like that? Tell them to go fuck themselves."

"All right then. Our final question is from TheOneTrueDesdemona: 'Looking back, did you ever think the Saints would become what they are today? What do you think the Saints mean to the world?'"

America blinked. Then she dropped back into her seat. "Fuck. I don't know. I mean you gotta understand, we didn't plan this shit. We started out just tryin' to keep the Vice Kings off the Row and things just...got bigger and bigger. We weren't thinkin' about our...our fuckin' mark on the world or anything." She let out a breath.

"You know what, no, I got an answer. The Saints mean that if nothing else, there's one way for a dyke from the barrio to make good, even if she's gotta fight for it."

Jane just sat there, blinking. Then she nodded. "A very powerful, very intimate look at the Boss of the Third Street Saints. This is Jane Valderamma wishing our guest, and all our viewers, the best of luck."

When the cameras cut, America dropped back against the couch with a groan. "Fuck."

Jane smiled. "I thought you handled yourself very well." As the crew cleared out of the interview room, the reporter shot her a confidential glance. "And you know...there is more than one way for a dyke from the barrio to make it."

America met her eyes knowingly. "Yeah. She can learn to talk like a white girl and do all her hooking up in lesbian dive bars so no one finds out who she really is. Juanita."

Jane's smiled faltered just a little. "Well, as you've proven, the world's not really so simple, is it? Elena."

A grin slowly spread across America's pursed lips. "I still remember when I was sixteen, being in your dad's store and all of a sudden I saw you behind the counter, staring at some girl's ass. And I just went 'no fucking way, Juanita Valderamma, it can't be, that girl's got a stick up her ass the size of Mount Claflin...'"

America leaned in, her hands landing on Jane's thighs. "And when I got you alone right before you closed the shop, you remember what I said?"

Jane was blushing, but a fond smile was on her lips. "You said...'You like what you see, Juanita?'"

America hummed as her hands slid farther up Jane's legs, pushing her skirt up with them. "And remind me, what did you say?"

Jane swallowed. "Elena, anyone could walk through that door."

America grinned. "It locks."

Jane bit her lip. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet, walked to the door, and flipped the lock.

When she turned around, it was to feel the taller woman's buxom, muscular body pressing her against the door, hands already slipping under her blazer. "Now let's see...we got a perfectly nice couch, but as I recall...you like to do it standing up..."

Jane swallowed. "And as I recall...you're not big on foreplay."

"Why would I need foreplay when I know your panties are already soaked through?"

Jane moaned as America proved her point, rubbing her fingers through the slick, warm, wet patch quickly spreading across the white cotton panties no longer concealed by her hiked-up skirt.

"Jesus, I forgot how wet you get..."

America's lips were on Jane's throat, and the reporter moaned, her own hands pulling open her blouse and unhooking her bra just in time for America to kiss her way down to heaving, conical breasts with puffy brown nipples. When the gang leader sucked an entire breast into her mouth, Jane gasped, lacing her fingers through America's short, spiky hair.

"What'd you beg me that first time?" America growled.

Jane sucked in a shuddering breath. "I...I need your tongue inside me..."

America grinned a feral grin as she licker her way down Jane's flat stomach, taking a deep, appreciative sniff of her soaked panties before yanking them down around her knees.

"You know you were the first older woman I ever made come?"

She pressed her mouth closer. And that signalled the end of conversation.

Jane had to bite down on her hand to keep from screaming as America licked and sucked and moaned, pussy juice streaming down her chin. Her hands were kneading Jane's ass, pulling apart the cheeks to stretch the tender pucker between them. Jane's first orgasm made her rigid, America eagerly sucking down the bittersweet splash that filled her mouth. Then she moved up to suck hard on the reporter's clit.

Her second orgasm came in a matter of seconds. When it was over and America's tongue wriggled deep inside her to lap up every drop of cream, her legs collapsed under her.

As America leaned in, Jane's hand slipped inside her shirt, under the cup of her bra to knead a firm, heavy breast.

"I forgot how good you were at that..."

America grinned. "No you didn't."

Jane bit her lip. "No. I didn't."

America claimed her lips roughly, and Jane moaned as the taste of her own cum hit her mouth.

"Next time I do an interview," America growled, "I'm bringing a strap-on."