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"This is not news. This is something my colleagues in the DSA and others before us have been sounding the alarm about before some of us were even alive." Alexandria rested her hand on the table, and snuck a thumb onto her phone to tap it awake. 6:37, it read. What felt like eight hours hadn't even been three. If she didn't have the Senate floor, she thought, she'd scream. Even in a chamber that had seen fistfights, shootings, and a near-fatal caning once upon a time, she knew the eyes of history rested powerfully upon her as on no other senator before. All the more galling, then, that she was standing there in a pink blouse and black stockings, her heels doffed and resting upon her neatly folded pantsuit. More than one senator - old enough to be her father, some of them - was craning their necks to trace her curves with greedy eyes. Lucky statesmen unimpeded by the table were snapping pictures. Senator Ocasio-Cortez adjusted her glasses and bore the lechery with her head held high. There were no rules forbidding her from stripping on the Senate floor - not even antiquated ones about morality. The Founding Fathers hadn't felt it necessary to regulate women's behavior in this august body because they simply hadn't figured any would be elected to it. But any chance at killing the bill in question depended on her continuing to talk. That was the rule. Dean Van Horn, the rakish blond junior senator from Rhode Island, made eye contact and tapped his chest, reminding his fellow politician of another rule they’d agreed upon. The Republicans had enough allies across the aisle to invoke cloture at any time. But end this spectacle? Perish the thought. C-SPAN2 had never before aired with a content warning, and the filibuster of the Freedom of Excavation Act was quickly becoming their most-watched programming since the impeachments. Wins all around… depending on the filibuster. AOC cracked an icy smile against a wave of scandalized murmurs as she unbuttoned her shirt, not missing a beat. "In this latest assault on our environment, the Republicans of this Congress have had all too willing allies in President Cotton, in Trump during both terms, and yes, in the late Joe Biden." Two buttons down. Her cleavage was tight in her lacy black bra, breasts jiggling slightly with the motion of her arms. "Years - decades - of uninterrupted fracking, drilling, and extraction have left our land and seas poisoned and rapidly warming..." Halfway down. At least they could see the work she'd put in on her core, she thought, though it was doubtful that her abs would be the focus of those present. SLUT blared from her abdomen in blocky black marker; YOUR BABY HERE just below her garter belt; FUCK ME, LIBERAL WHORE, DICK SUCKER OF AMERICA, and the like up and down her sides. Behind her, Vice President Kristi Noem was treated to CUM HERE written like a tramp stamp on the small of the New York senator’s back, an arrow pointing up. The last button was undone, the blouse shrugged off, and there stood AOC, DSA darling, in almost all her glory. The bra was a hair too small, her breasts muffining slightly over the cups just as her hips bulged from the top of her stockings. She bit her lip as she paused for breath, scanning the room, shivering against the sudden chill of near nudity. Nearly sixty men gave her a bipartisan ogle; most of the women assiduously avoided looking at her; Bernie Sanders, aghast, was writing furiously at his desk. It was hot in the Senate chamber that August evening and AOC gratefully sipped from a glass of water, deliberately letting some run out of the corners of her mouth and drip down her undressed body, already glistening with sweat. The smoke-colored nylons were too small, and the garters too tight. Everything was. All by design, of course. All a test of her endurance. The sheer fabric squeezed her thighs like toothpaste tubes, her panties climbing directly up her ass and perfectly outlining her folds. There was nothing for it but to steel herself. As she continued speaking out against the encroachment of the fossil fuel industry and the critical danger the environment was in, she felt the nylon dig deeper into her thighs. It was a wonder the fabric didn't run. The slightest movement seemed to pull them tighter, like a Chinese finger trap hugging her lower body, the pressure almost intolerable in the moment. Almost. Her panties were digging just as eagerly into her crotch, making her squirm with the slow slide through her bush, against her lower lips. It was happening just behind the table, just out of sight, the thin fabric wedging itself into every contour. She barely suppressed a gasp as the lacework found her engorged clit, her every squirm stimulating the little nub of nerves that crowned her pussy. Making her writhe as professionally as she could manage. Pulling her into a cycle of heat between her hips and tingling in her thighs and oh god the throbbing, make it stop. As she spoke on the evils of unrestricted fossil fuel exploitation, making her case once more for a Green New Deal, the crotch of her panties grew damper. Hotter. The horny senator, emblazoned with words inviting onlookers to use her, fuck her senseless, knock her up even, felt a blush rise to her cheeks as her cunt soaked through the lace, shiny with her juices, if only they could see– AOC paused to catch her breath. It was growing shallower, quicker, near punctuating her speech with barely restrained moans. Fuck, she was enjoying this. Screw the environment. She wanted to get on her knees and service whichever public servant lined up to fuck the words back down her throat. She dug her fingernails deep into her palms, near bleeding as she tamped down the arousal. The silence was growing restive, a few whispers flickering up as some wondered if she would continue. A hundred pairs of eyes were roving over her body, judging her, appalled that she would stoop to such indignity. And she couldn’t get enough of it. Her tits ached to be pawed and sucked, and her pussy hummed with need, a current of want coursing through her and matching the late summer heat. She could do whatever she wanted up there with this captive audience of political dinosaurs… just as long as she kept talking. Well. Ted Cruz had read fucking Green Eggs and Ham on the Senate floor. She could get away with this. Notes in hand, she stepped out from behind the table. She could project just fine without the microphone - and they’d be hanging on her every word. A few seconds to catch her breath was nothing compared to the hours of bliss that awaited her. She resumed her speech, choosing her words carefully, timing her breathing with slow strokes over her damp cunt, trailing her fingers through the trail of hair that climbed to just below her abs. It was clear to everyone just how wet she was, how translucent her panties were. She kept her bush untamed, matted, and hungry for cock, and now the whole country could see just how much she needed release. The thought of it made her cunt quiver. She answered it with her fingers, soft presses up and down her slit that kept her desire at bay just enough to get her bearings. She fought to moderate the pulsing heat deep in her belly, and kept her voice loud and level as she powered through her speech. Minutes passed… an hour… she could tease herself for entire evenings if she found herself with time, edge and edge, and cum when she wanted, again and again until sunrise if she wanted to. All the sweeter when she could finally let herself crest into the final dizzying fall into fuck-hungry pleasure. She dared to look ahead and commit words, sentences, and paragraphs to memory, letting her eyes flutter closed now and then as she delivered her environmental message and traced the contours of her pussy, slipping the occasional finger beneath the fabric from the side, pressing her thighs together to stave off the loss of her prized self-control. Her wetness had spread to her inner thighs, the nylon squishing just below her core. It occurred to her to unclip her garters then and start taking off the stockings too. It wouldn’t do to rub off the words she’d marked her inner thighs with. CUM HERE and VOTE PINK pointed to her pussy as she rolled the stockings down her thighs, over her knees, let her smooth legs breathe in the Senate air as she slid them over her ankles and kicked them off entirely. Sometime in the middle of some dull emissions statistics, her bra followed, letting her tits fall free, still perky even into her mid-thirties. She was streaked all over her lower body with her cum, and now she brought her wet fingers up to squeeze her breasts, relieve the aching of her hard, dusky nipples. How much bigger they’d be if she just gave into her desires right now and let one of these congressmen fuck her pregnant, fills her tits with milk, and her belly with some senatorial bastard. The thought bore her hand down again, lower and lower, shamelessly into her panties as she buried her fingers in her hairy folds. She looked at a nearby clock and suppressed a gasp as she finally slid one into her cunt, her reward for making it to midnight. Calls for climate justice. Gasps and moans. Testimony from terrified citizens. The wet thrusts of her fingers into her pussy, again and again, and again. Words alternated with mere sounds into the morning as AOC lay back against the table, pulled the mic down to her level, and spread her legs for all to see her fuck herself through her speech. Black lace dripped where her thighs met, staining the Congress floor, bulging from her swollen, unshaven core. At long last she paused in her self-fucking, panting between paragraphs, sliding a sticky hand around her hip to paw at the back of her panties and pull. Slow, tight, higher, and higher, digging the flimsy string into her ass. The fabric chafed, scratched, and dug into her hips and her crack, tighter and tighter until– RIP A damp slip of tattered cloth was all that remained of AOC’s modesty. She cast it aside and spread her nether lips with two fingers, parting the matted hair hiding her cunt - puffy from hours of edging, slick, and pulsing warmth through her hips, her tits, her thighs. Her clit throbbed as one finger brushed it and she gasped, grabbing a tit and grinding the heel of her hand into her stiff nipple, meeting the growing waves of pleasure from below like a full-body stretch spreading to every corner of her sweating, marked body. Her hips jerked, her pussy tightened, all of her bucked and seized as an orgasm finally gripped her, her cum spraying all over the carpet as numb pleasure spread from her abdomen up into her chest, down to the end of every limb and slammed her eyes shut, casting her adrift in a sea of wet and hot and need. It still wasn’t enough. She unplugged the mic and guided it clumsily into her cunt, the hard shape of it like an elbow directly to a knot in her back, filling her empty pussy again and again, quenching the thirst she’d been building up since she began her now-forgotten speech. The table leg bit between her shoulders, the carpet scraped at her ample ass, and none of it mattered. Time had ceased to mean anything to AOC now that she had the microphone to roll her hips into, fucking herself again and again on the Senate floor, environmental ruin at bay for as long as she could continue to make herself cum for a captive audience. Her legacy would be a permanent stain in the middle of the chamber - and all of it recorded for her to reminisce on long after her term concluded.