Chapter 11
By this time Greta knew most of the political bigwigs, and her contacts were quite impressive. So when Lisa, charmed by the beauty of Washington, decided it might be fun to work there, she talked to Greta about it, and she could have consulted no one better.
Greta thought long and hard, trying to come up with the politician who would most appreciate the superb loveliness of a doll like Lisa, who was such an obviously delectable dish that Greta felt she must have a top-drawer man.
After strenuous thought, she decided on "Bull" Harden, a fifty-year-old congressman who had ties to the big powers in Washington, and knew his way around the luxury life. She made a tryst with Bull, and she and Lisa met him one night at his elegant home in a lovely suburb just outside of Washington. Bull was lately divorced, and was quite hard-up. He was called Bull because of his vigorous and powerful build, and perhaps because of his bullish sex drive.
He was popular on the Washington party circuit and made all the key gatherings, where lots of political trading was done. Society hostesses appreciated having him around, but he was too crafty to fool with such women, aware that they could be political dynamite.
He preferred a hot-blooded secretary, a dynamite doll with a hot snatch who sometimes liked a bit of gently punitive sex.
Bull, like O'Toole, had a taste for discipline in sex. It gave him a more intense turn-on. Naturally, he couldn't find such tastes too easily among most women. He rather liked to train a young girl in the charms of disciplined sex, and he always kept his eye open for someone who could qualify.
He had a fine intimacy with Greta, and when she told him of a terrific young thing, just in from Alabama, splendidly equipped for all the charms of bedroom dalliance, it made him drool.
The sight of Lisa made him drool even harder. She had a soft, permissive quality about her, plus the super body of a girl in a Playboy gatefold. She was perfectly sculptured from the line of her tits to the line of her buttocks.
Bull, as a connoisseur of the female figure, lusted madly for that heavenly body, which was easily visible under the charming silk-fringed dress that clung exquisitely to Lisa's superb form.
He instantly brought out the martinis. They sat in his big living room, which was decorated with hunting trophies brought back from his safaris in Africa: a tiger skin and a lion's head, as well as African masks and spears.
Bull was a devotee of the hunt, in the jungle of Africa, and in the world of the female.
And Lisa looked like the trophy of a champion!
"Where are you from, honey?" he asked her.
"From a small town in Alabama," she said. "You may never have heard of it. Most people haven't. Perhaps because it's just three blocks long."
"Well, small towns have nurtured some of our best senators and presidents," Bull said, sipping his drink, his eyes glued to her gorgeous globes.
Then Greta, who liked poetry, quoted: "'Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air.' "
"It would be a pity for Lisa to spend her sweetness in a tiny place where they could not appreciate it," Bull said.
"She's quite interested in working here in Washington," Greta said.
"Is she? Then certainly she should. It's a fine training school for important work. And you'd be surprised how vitally necessary some good secretaries prove to be. They work very close to the men who make decisions that influence the way this country will go."
"That would be exciting," said Lisa. "But I have to confess that I am not trained for anything."
"What's her shorthand speed and her typing speed?" Bull asked Greta.
Greta shook her head. "She might need a course. They don't have secretarial schools in Bedelia."
"Can she type her name?" Bull asked desperately.
"Just about, if she looks at the keys," Greta said.
Bull stared at Lisa's tits again, and decided that her inability to type had nothing to do with it. She was too good to waste on a typewriter. He would pull a few strings so that she would bypass the screening process; and that would take care of it.
Meanwhile she could go to a school at night, if necessary, and learn how to pound a typewriter— not that he needed her for that activity. Anyone built like the goddess Venus really shouldn't have to slave over a hot typewriter. She could slave over his hot dick, he thought lustfully.
He was feeling the martinis, and lechery was stealing into his loins. They would eat, and he would ply them with more liquor, and before long he would have them both in his bedroom, wired for erotic love.
Even though Greta didn't know it, Bull had a secret camera behind a two-way mirror that could pick up his elegant bed-games in color. In the boring hours of his insomnia, he could replay such scenes for his amusement. Bull needed plenty of prurient sex to soothe his overactive mind. He did a lot of manipulating in the course of his political life, and he needed as much peace of mind as he could get. He got some when he quieted the savage urgings of his flesh.
And there could be no doubt that this new sex-pot could do a lot to quiet the brute that lurked in his body!
"Well, let's not worry about her typing. A good girl nowadays is hard to find," he said, and poured another drink. They were beginning to feel pretty loose from the booze.
While they had an elegant buffet dinner, helping themselves to lobster and shrimp and other goodies, they drank and laughed and made indelicate talk about some lurid scandals that only political insiders knew about.
Lisa was astonished to hear that some of the most famous people in town were involved in backstreet romances that would scandalize America if the word ever got out.
"But it's all hush-hush. And nobody dares drop a word about it," Bull told them, stuffing his mouth with lobster. He enjoyed eating almost as much as he enjoyed screwing, and he knew that the one depended on the other, in a way. Because you had to take in energy to do a great job in bed. That was why he was a devotee of gourmet eating.
He also kept staring at Lisa's legs and wondering about the good meal he might have between them sometime that night. He felt certain that with everyone so relaxed, there had to be some great carousing ahead.
Then Greta told of how she had once seen this famous senator walk into the room right next to hers at the Mayflower Hotel.
Then, just by accident, she saw a famous dancer, a stripper, in fact, who had done sizzling strip acts all up and down the coast, go into the same room.
It looked like a delicious piece of gossip, and Greta just had to find out if anything was really happening there. She knew the senator had a thing with the demon rum, and also a great talent for sexual dalliance.
So she went next door, intending to say that she had made a mistake and gone into the wrong room.
The door was unlocked, so she walked in.
The scene was one to knock you on your tail, she told Lisa and Bull. "There was the stripper, naked as a jay, on her hands and knees, with a pearl necklace dangling from her neck, and her tits were dangling, too. They were whoppers, giant-size," Greta said, laughing. "And where do you suppose the senator was? Right behind the stripper with his hands on her buttocks, drunk as a lord, and trying to get his tool into her."
Greta laughed. "Naturally, I played it as cool as I could. 'I wonder if I'm in the right room?' I said to them. They were boiled, drunk out of their minds, and they stared at me, trying to get the message clearly.
" 'I wonder if you are, too.' the stripper said in a funny Spanish accent.
" 'Sure,' the senator said. 'You're in the right room. Why don't you join us? Be glad to have you in the party.'"
"I just waved at them. 'Not this time,' I said."
Greta laughed. "I had plenty of political dynamite if I ever wanted to use it. That senator was one of the biggest men in the Capitol, too. But I would never tip my mitt about the bedroom games of the boys. After all, they do have the right to have fun, just like anyone else. Why should there be one rule for them and another for other men? They get horny, too. Right, Bull?"
"Right," said Bull; but he was scarcely paying attention to her, since he couldn't take his eyes off the delicious, enchanting Lisa, whose face looked as innocent as if she had never heard of sex before.