Chapter 8
Mac delegated Linda to keep Derek busy, just in case he felt like dropping by. The gruff-mannered manager was hidden behind the wooden lattice-work that rose from the top of the wardrobe provided especially by the hotel for the candidate's wife, to the ceiling. There was enough room for him to sit up and watch through the ornate wooden screen, so he could switch from one hidden microphone to another as the two "Lovers" moved around the room.
After he was ensconced, Becky arranged things, then decided to undress and get into her robe, just so Simmons wouldn't be suspicious. She mechanically removed her blouse and skirt, folding them and putting them away in the wardrobe, moving easily around the room in her bra and panties, her long, rich arms and legs trembling slightly from nervousness, the full thighs spreading as she walked in inviting casualness, sensually tightening and loosening their firm, smooth muscles. She had reached behind her to unhook her bra when she suddenly remembered Mac hidden and watching her.
With the barest of hesitation, she faced him squarely with a smirk on her lovely face, and slowly loosened her bra and let it slip down off of her large, luscious breasts, riding high and firm on her chest. She even shook her shoulders so that they jiggled back and forth, their brown nipples bobbing on the front of the exciting, soft globes like pointed corks. Then she turned her back and lowered her panties over her hips, her full, round cheeks coming into view below her long, sensuous back. She bent over to pick up the dropped underwear, exposing the soft brown pubic hair nestled cozily in her crotch. She walked toward the wardrobe, knowing he was watching every more of her naked, seductive body, and knowing he probably liked it. She got her robe out of the wardrobe and put it on slowly, just inches below where the crusty old-timer was sitting with his recorder and his wet cock. She couldn't help smiling. They had agreed not to speak once he was up there, in case Simmons was listening.
The lewd, ugly reporter showed up about midnight, and strutted into the room like a rooster with his very own henhouse. He took an envelope out of his pocket and set it on the table.
"What's that?" the young wife asked.
"You know what it is," he grinned maliciously. "But you can look and see if you want. Just be careful with them. They ain't yours yet, baby."
Becky opened the envelope and squinted at them against the lamp. They were the pictures she'd seen that morning, plus a couple more, bad shots. "I want you to tell me exactly what you're offering, and exactly what you expect for them." She said it just as Mac had told her.
That's when things stopped going according to plan. Instead of answering, the vile reporter knocked the pretty, slender wife to the floor with the back of his hand against her long, smooth cheek.
She was too startled to cry out, but just looked up at him through blurred eyes, red welts from his fingers burned across her pale cheek.
"Enough talking!" he said with derision. "Let's get to business." He reached down and with a swift jerk, untied the belt of her robe, then grabbed the fronts and pulled them apart, tearing off the two buttons and exposing her soft, vulnerable body all the way down.
He fell down on top of her with a grunt of pleasure, and began digging his fingernails into her fine, firm breasts, placing his other arm across her neck to keep her from rising.
The startled woman sobbed in pain at the cruel treatment, but the bony arm across her throat kept her from crying out. She drew her legs up against his back, but couldn't budge him.
"I've waited a long time for this, bitch, and now I'm going to get even." He pinched her nipple until it felt as though it would come off in his fingers. She reached up, untangling one arm from her robe, to grab his wrist and try to move it away, but she didn't have the leverage, and besides, he was stronger than his puny body looked.
Mac was pissed, watching from his hideout. She shouldn't have let herself get into that. But he had forgotten that she didn't grow up on the streets, and didn't know how to handle situations like that.
Simmons giggled gleefully as he fondled and cruelly tortured his prize, like a little boy with a butterfly. He ran his bony, dirty hand down her long, flat stomach, heaving now with pain and terror, and started pulling the soft brown hair over her delicate lower belly, laughing at her pitiful sobs and squirming anguish.
Then he rammed his cruel finger into the moist folds of her vagina, cutting the tender lips with his fingernail. "That's a nice pussy ya' got there. Spread your big, luscious legs, honey. Open up your highfalutin' cunt to Joe Simmons."
When she didn't respond as fast as he thought she should, he pressed his arm harder against her throat, cutting off her air, and sending dull throbs of pain up into her temples. She threw her legs apart, cringing at the painful jabbing of his merciless fingers. He was making no attempt to arouse her, had no concern at all with her comfort, to say nothing of her pleasure. His only purpose was to hurt her, to get back at all the famous people, all the successful people who deservedly scorned him.
But the endangered, helpless woman wasn't thinking about the reporter who was violating her. She was thinking, as well as she could through the waves of pain, about Mac. Was he just going to sit up there and watch her get raped by this fiendish lunatic? She would have called for help if she could.
Simmons shifted his cruel attentions from her red, stinging vagina around to her tiny, brown anus, clasping with pain between the round, tight globes of her ass, the muscles rippling desperately under the smooth, white skin. "Here it is," he chortled with perverse glee. "This is what you use to shit on me with. Well, we'll just see how well you can shit when I'm finished with you."
He jammed his finger into the center of the tiny brown pucker, causing her hips to buck with agony and her white haunches to tighten against the intruding hand. Once inside, his probing digit dug its nail into the soft wall of her intestine, scraping and tearing the tender tissue. She could do nothing but writhe helplessly and mentally scream for Mac to forget his fucking schemes and rescue her from this madman.
There was nothing sexual in his attack, nothing but revenge and demented rage. The burning in her loins was not passion, but knotted pain, and her breasts ached with abuse rather than with the swelling of aroused blood toward the satisfaction of physical desire. Rape was no more erotic than a car accident.
But if she could change it into a sexual encounter, she thought through the opaque redness of her pain, maybe she could get his mind off his anger. Seduce her rapist: the thought would have made her laugh any other time. But nothing would make her laugh now. She lifted her trembling, long pure arm and forced herself to start caressing his upper arm.
Tears were flowing down her quivering cheeks, and her body was vibrating with her hard sobs. All her nerves felt as though they were burning, burning hot and dry like tar, like old tires. The lacerations of the cruel reporter's fingernail inside her tender, tight rectum sent waves of opaque, torturing agony through the whole lower part of her body, like cramps in her stomach, her thighs, her buttocks and back. How could she possibly think of seducing this loathsome animal? What other choice did she have? She kept up her gentle massaging of his arm, which was about the only part of him she could reach.
Linda enticed Derek to her room without much trouble. The pretty, sensuous redhead knew exactly what moves to make, how to bend to draw her skirt tightly over her ass, or shift her hips to draw his attention, or give her shoulders the slightest flick to make her large, firm breasts shiver and jiggle provocatively. All of that she knew how to do even before she had to let the hem of her skirt rise up on her delectable, smooth pale thigh, knowing his eye would follow it up as far as she let it rise, and then his eye would keep traveling up to the curve of her hips, to the turn where her belly flattened into her lap. She knew he would be looking through the material at her soft cushion of pubic hair right there, and then he would be remembering how it felt when his fingers were buried in the dark cloud, and then the yielding mound underneath. In his instant of reflection, he would already be remembering how her aroused cunt would come alive under his probing, stroking finger, how the outer lips would swell pleasurably at his gentle manipulation, and then the warm furnace of her depths, hugging his finger snugly in their wet, hot embrace as he glided his skin against hers, trading warmth, trading sensations.
By then his cock would be knocking on the door, asking with lusty throbs if it could come out and play. Yes, she knew how to get him to her room. With her hair let down, then she would sway casually to the music of the local radio and unbutton her blouse with deliberate slowness, until it hung open, the fronts of filmy material flapping with the sensuous movements of her gyrating hips and rocking shoulders. She would cock her head at him, letting her hair flow down in long, smooth red waves over her shoulder and splash on the tight swell of her luscious, inviting breast, as she slipped her blouse over her pale, fine-hewn shoulders and down the length of her graceful arms.
She would watch him then, her bright green eyes flashing her passion at him, sending him silent messages in case he didn't know what she had in mind. She would be reaching behind her back, pushing her large, seductive breasts out toward him, tight in their white or black cups, and continue her swaying, her undulations while the cups loosened and slowly, maddeningly slid down the smooth, pale slopes of her breasts, revealing more and more until finally the lovely pink haloes would come into view, and then the pink nipples rising on the high, proud mounds, just begging to be stroked, to be rubbed until they were hard and pointed, begging to be licked, to be caught between wet, eager lips and sucked, to be nipped gently between his teeth, sending sharp points of sensation into the soft, throbbing glow igniting in her flushed, delicious breasts.
She knew how to do all that. She'd done it many times over the years she had known the virile, handsome politician. So she didn't quite understand when he sat morosely in her chair, drinking whiskey, an agitated expression on his face, and talked about his wife.
"She doesn't like me very much," he said again. "That's all there is to it. She just married me for my position, because everybody said I'd be President someday." He took another swallow. "That's all she cares about."
"I don't think that's true," his redheaded secretary replied, cradling her bare breast invitingly in her hand. He didn't look up.
"She doesn't like to make love with me," he protested, waving his hand in the air. "She hasn't ever shown any sign of wanting to fuck, not once since we were married. She'll submit to it, but she doesn't like it."
Linda squeezed her breast mechanically, brushing her finger over the stimulated nipple, feeling the sensations plunge into the soft immensity of her breast. "Maybe she's just shy. Think of how she grew up, Derek."
"I think she just doesn't like sex," the disgruntled husband said. "She doesn't care anything about me. I could be anybody, as long as I was going to be President someday," he said sourly.
That was all Linda could stand. Mac had told the trustworthy secretary the whole story about her boss' sexy, innocent wife, the meeting with Fischer and the meeting tonight with Simmons. "Come on, big boy, I want you to see something." She threw her blouse over her shoulders and headed for the door, wriggling her arms into the sleeves and vaguely buttoning it up as they walked down the corridor and she filled him in on what had been happening.
She stopped at the door next to Becky's, rapped twice and pushed the door open. "Teri? OK if we come through?" She didn't wait for an answer, but walked into the room.
Two young women, one naked to the waist, the other completely nude, sat on the bed, facing each other a few inches apart. The half-clothed woman with her eyes closed, her head back and her short blonde hair falling away from her ears. She had a look of ecstasy on her face and her hands on the other woman's smooth tanned thighs. Her own breast was being caressed by her companion, the small, bronze fingers pressing into the white softness, making indentations in the voluptuous flesh.
The naked woman glanced up briefly at the interruption, then turned her attention back to her beautiful, aroused lover.
"We just need to cross over from your balcony," the redhead secretary said, striding across the room. "Sorry to disturb you." Teri nodded consent without looking up again.
The candidate for United States Senator and his secretary clamored across the ineffectual barrier between balconies and looked in the window through a crack where the curtains weren't completely closed.
The dirty, little reporter from the scandal sheet was standing in the middle of the room, his shirt off to reveal his thin, pale chest, almost hairless. His pants were around his knees, his wretched, scrawny buttocks clenching and relaxing lewdly, and the cream-white, naked body of Derek's retiring, shy wife kneeling in front of him, his bony hands on her head, and her face against his crotch, with his penis completely buried in her mouth.
The rasp of her tongue playing over the sensitive head of his aching cock sent shivers up his spine, and made his thin, stick-like legs bend convulsively. The shapeless limb inside her accepting mouth curled around the shaft, flicking on the tip, caressing the little mouth at the end, out of which he could feel pre-orgasmic drops of sperm seep into the saliva surging around it.
Becky sucked on the erected cock, taking it in her mouth like a fleshy lollipop, her lips tightened around the base of its shaft, and her teeth pressing against its hardness, feeling the rubbery tip push sensuously against the soft back of her mouth, and the hot, blood-filled shaft resist her teeth. She was reveling in this new experience, this lewd invasion of her mouth by a man's sexual organ, his testicles knocking softly against her chin as he thrust his hips forward and then back to slide the vein-ribbed thickness through her sphincter lips. She could smell the lusty obscenity of his masculine desire filling her gasping nostrils.
Secretly, she had always wondered what a man's cock would taste like, but she never dared to think she would ever find out. The excitement of his hot, thrusting cock against her tongue and the roof of her mouth was transferred to her smooth, slick skin, and from there it spread throughout her luscious body, now flushed with passion and sweating from exertion and pure animal lust.
Her hips too were rocking with the rhythm of driving, fevered human sex. Her loins had recovered from their abuse, and now the warm glow of sensuality growing between her hips had overcome the last traces of soreness with the fiery, healthy, inferno of physical desire. Her eyes were closed, her head lolling around the axis of the vulgar reporter's thrusting cock sunk into her boiling, sucking mouth.
Simmons' panting gradually turned into short guttural sounds as he felt his lust rising to a white-hot pitch in his rocking loins. His skin was flush, he could feel the heat of his racing blood bathing him with hot, excited sensation radiating from the center of his passion, his glowing, burning cock inserted into the mouth of this aristocratic wife of a national politician.
As he thrust violently into her, relishing the shudders of delight he could feel in her slender, beautifully full and smooth body, his cock reacted to the slurping, rushing flow of fluids around it by growing hotter, and bigger than it had ever expanded before. He pushed her yielding head toward him, penetrating as deep as he could into the petite little mouth that uttered those insulting, demeaning phrases in that grating upper-class southern accent.
Then he felt his plunging cock swell, and the hot sperm in his body burst its dam and start down toward the thick, blood-stiff shaft of his instrument of revenge. His legs wouldn't hold still, and just at the moment of orgasm, when his passion had reached its highest pitch, he jerked his penis out of Becky's sucking, wet mouth. It bucked, erected into a slight arch, and spewed hot, white sperm all over her lust-entranced face. The gobs of lewd mucus dripped down her face, slowly crawling down the long, smooth planes of her cheeks, curving down the side of her straight, smooth nose, and even one gob landed on her closed eyelid, and oozed down to hang on her eyelash.
Two, three, four times the white juice shot out of his wild, flinging cock, leaving his obscene, viscous trail on her face, on her delicate, lovely brown hair, and on the delicious round softness of her shaking boobs, one of the stiff, hard nipples covered with the glistening slime. It stopped, and he nearly fell over with exhaustion, tottering on his spindly, hairless legs, eyes closed and arms waving in the air to try to keep his balance. His cock, which was somewhat less than enormous at full erection, quickly shrank to a wilted nub resting obscenely above his wrinkled testicles.
The soiled, kneeling honey-haired wife groaned with the passion still swirling around her aroused, rapturous body, rocking slightly in alluring motions of unsatisfied desire. She was still sweating, and her warm skin was still flushed pink with the racing blood just under it. Her lust was kindled, and was not fulfilled by the vile reporter's lackluster performance.
"Can you?" she whined, spreading her bent legs and leaning back to expose her wet cunt, the lips swollen and red with lust-risen blood. "Can you, please?" she begged, making by her thrusting and undulations her request clear. She wanted him to eat her.
"No, you bitch, I'm not going to put my face in your fucking cunt." He was somewhat recovered now, and was swaggering around the room again, trailing his limp pants behind him on the floor. "The deal was that I'd fuck you however I pleased in return for the pictures of you and Anthony Fischer fucking, not that I'd lick your smelly crotch." He sneered at the quivering, lust-wracked woman on the floor in front of him, feeling powerful for the first time in his wretched life. "And just to teach you a lesson you won't forget ... "he lifted his bony hand to hit her in the face again.
But just then there was a crash, and the compact, rugged campaign manager flew down from his perch above the wardrobe, catching the vile, puny reporter in the middle of his chest with one powerful blow that sent him staggering across the room and into the far wall with enough force to make him crumple in a heap on the floor.
"It took a while, but we've finally got what we need from you, mother-fucker," Mac's eyes were like fire as he lifted the limp, broken reporter by one thin arm and let him dangle. "I've got the evidence to get you fired, run your paper out of business, and get you thrown in jail for the rest of your vile existence for attempted rape." He shook him like a dirty rag. "I don't want to see you around here any more. If your rag wants to cover this campaign, have 'em send somebody else. Do you understand?"
Before he could answer, Derek had gotten the balcony door open, and strode into the room with all the air of authority of an elected official, or an avenging god.
"That won't be necessary, Mac," he said, the rage showing through his golden voice. "Simmons will be in jail within a week anyway." The limp reporter managed to lift his dazed head to ask a silent question of the confident politician. "That little 'story' in Oakfield, Simmons, the police would like to ask you about a fire set to destroy evidence, but also burned two children to death in their beds."
Mac dropped the reporter, as though loath to touch him, even with the tough manager's back-alley hands.
"Your employer will join you there soon," the outraged candidate went on, his square jaws biting out the words as though they were sticks of green wood. "Though I don't think he'll be able to share a cell with you. In fact, I doubt that he'll be able to share a cell with anyone, at least not until he loses some weight."
Simmons lowered his ugly head, and this time it was Mac who queried Derek with a frown on his wrinkled face. "Anthony Fischer," the Congressman said firmly. Mac's eyes widened. "I expect that Fischer set up this whole thing in order to have those pictures for later, to put pressure on me to get him off, to hold up the investigation of government contracts."
"Well, he won't be able to do that now, not with the evidence we have against his hireling," Mac said proudly.
The good-looking, tanned candidate turned to his campaign manager. "Get out, Mac. You can come back tomorrow and pick up your personal effects, as long as I don't have to see you again."
The tough political fighter looked surprised, then his face turned angry.
"Nobody who raises money this way," he swept his hand about the room, "is going to run my campaign. And nobody who puts my wife through what you've done is going to be within the range of my fist." His eyes had grown cold and hard, hate flickering from them, and his powerful jaw clenched.
"Oh yeah?" the fired politico challenged, crouching into a belligerent stance and raising his arms as though to attack the younger, bigger man.
Derek turned away from the challenge, crouching beside his sobbing wife, who lurched from Linda's arms into her husband's strong, reassuring embrace. She nuzzled her tear-stained face into his chest, and curled up with his arms around her shaking, naked body, lifting up her head to meet his lips with hers in a long, passionate kiss, neither of them aware of anyone else in the room or in the world.
Not quite. Derek turned and said over his shoulder to the campaign manager still crouched, undecided what to do. "I'll pay you through tomorrow if you take that wreck of a human being with you when you leave. Just drop him somewhere where the police will find him."