Chapter 2
Vicky Martin could not shake the ghost of depression and trepidation which consistently haunted her from the night before. She sat at her desk toward the rear of Senator Alexander Blum's luxurious anteroom, and as she'd done so many times during the day, she paused to glance around tremulously as if her brooding oppression had an actual physical presence there. But the office was silent and empty save for herself, and all she saw were the four wood-paneled walls; the large window overlooking the mall of the Senate Office Building; the portraits of Washington, Lincoln, and the current President; the flag standing listlessly in one corner, and a number of expensively carved cabinets, chairs, desks, and tables. Then she gazed down at herself, knowing she was primly dressed from choke collar to mid-thigh in an emerald green wool dress and that she displayed no signs of her experience last night. Yet, despondently, she felt the marks were there, burned in her heart and soul like the brands of an iron.
The young blonde secretary sighed pensively and looked back at the almost completed letter in her typewriter, wanting to shake the lewd memories from her mind but finding it hopeless. Her head dwelled perversely on how she'd allowed her boyfriend Lou to undress her and slide his lust-hardened penis in between her entrapping thighs . . . and how she'd actually taken hold of his warm, rigid cock with her hands and squeezed it until it had ejaculated all over her pubic mound. And then how she'd wantonly wallowed in the obscene fantasy of him making love to her while she masturbated with his cum still covering her naked flesh. Lord, by all rights her shame should be showing as clear as the summer sun! How she wished the day would end so she could go back to her dark apartment and hide her betraying body from the world!
But almost as if fate were heaping punishment on her, this day was one of the busiest she'd had since coming to work for the Senator. The pile of papers had grown enormous since Alexander Blum had become chairman of the Subcommittee on Pornography and Violence and more so recently after he'd lambasted the President for being "soft on smut" during a nation-wide television interview. The resulting letters had been a flood, coming not only from the Senator's own constituency but from across the entire country. Church leaders were demanding staffer laws to protect their flock; moralists were decrying the decay of America;. and the Christian Ladies' Action Party, an offshoot of the Midwestern Christian Right and Purity League, was on a door-to-door fund-raising campaign. In fact, on one of the other desks in the anteroom sat one of the now-famous red, white, and blue C.L.A.P. Cans for C.R.A.P. People stopping in were expected to contribute what they could.
Vicky couldn't refuse the overtime work, and groaning to herself now, she determined to finish as fast as she could the letters Senator Blum wanted mailed tonight. She turned her head one more time from the typewriter to stare at the slit of light coming from beneath his closed door, and inwardly she prayed the door would stay that way, and he wouldn't want anything more done on top of everything else. Then, almost angrily, she resumed her work, cursing herself for procrastinating. What was done, was done, 37 and there was no use wasting any more time moaning over it.
After all, it wasn't as if she'd really let Lou make love to her! There wasn't any use torturing herself over allowing things to get out of control; she couldn't go back and live the evening differently, and the important point was to learn from her mistakes. She'd be more disciplined in the future, careful of her relations with boys and watchful of her imagination so nothing worse happened. In time she would meet a man who could love her as God intended, and she would be able to love him decently in return....
Her contemplations were interrupted by the waspish buzz of the intercom. Senator Blum was always wanting something! Reluctantly, his morose young secretary depressed the switch.
"Yes, sir?' "Vicky, would you step in my private office a moment?"
"I still have the Gunderson letter to do, sir."
"Never mind that now," came the brisk answer.
"Yes, sir."
Vicky picked up a pen and her shorthand note pad and walked to the door, opening it without knocking. This was the aide's office where four young men-none of whom appealed to her-worked as assistants to the Senator. Beyond that was another door, leading to the Senator's private secretary, a hooknosed old battle axe named Elmira Thrush. Miss Thrush patted the tight bun of her hair with long, nasty fingernails, narrowing her eyes as Vicky passed her desk. As old as the Senator, she was an invaluable storehouse of information and a veritable whirlwind of activity, devoting her life to his career. Miss Thrush was the only truly permanent part of Alexander Blum's Washington operations, his aides and secondary secretaries like Vicky changing from year to year.
Vicky tapped on the inner office door, the sanctum sanctorum of the important and powerful Senator. Miss Thrush sniffed suspiciously as Blum called out for her to enter, and Vicky almost let out a sigh of relief as she closed the door on the silent but beadily staring older woman. Senator Blum smiled disarmingly as he came out from behind his desk. He was wearing a modish chalk-stripe gray suit and a blue-and-gold tie, his hair a thick white mane perfectly in place. Lord! He was an impressive man! Vicky thought. At fifty-five he still had the shape of a man half his age, almost magnetic in his stance and bearing, his voice so melodious and stirring that some of the less respectful people around the capital called him "Old Honey-Pot."
"What is it, sir?"
"Sit down, Vicky," he said with his warm, full voice. "I have some news for you. Good news, I believe you'll find."
Curiosity raised, Vicky seated herself in the chair next to his long, walnut desk, placing her notepad on the polished wood surface, and waited for her boss to explain. He didn't speak at once but walked from behind his desk to a small closet that was built into one walL Vicky wasn't surprised when he opened the closet and brought out a bottle of bourbon; the Senator, she knew, was fond of his liquid refreshment. There was one occasion when Blum's aides were to meet him at the airport, but instead of a returning Senator, they found several cases of bourbon bought by him cut-rate during one of his many "fact-finding" junkets. And during his windier spells on the Senate floor, he often requested a paper cup of something refreshing to sooth his parched throat; the pages made certain that the cup did not contain water. But Vicky had long ago concluded that everybody has his foibles, and if Senator Blum happened to drink a wee bit too much that certainly didn't detract from the great and noble statesman he was. She was somewhat startled, however, when the Senator brought out two glasses and asked her, "Would you care to join me for a small drink?' "Well, I don't think-" "I'm sorry all I have is bourbon. I can mix it with a little water. Or do you prefer ice?"
Vicky wasn't sure how to refuse. The way the Senator was asking it sounded almost like a command, and she certainly didn't want to offend him. "A ... a small one then, with water. Please make it very light."
"Naturally," he said, beaming. "Hate to ruin the good taste of bourbon, but I understand perfectly."
Inside the closet was a tiny refrigerator from which he took a pitcher of chilled water. As he mixed her drink, the Senator glanced covertly at his unsuspecting secretary sitting in the chair. Christ, is she stacked with eatable goodies! he thought lewdly to himself, licking his lips. Almost worth giving up a month's supply of bourbon for!
He admired Vicky's young lithe figure so tightly packaged in her green dress, his eyes roving over the round, full contours of her breasts and buttocks. Ever since he'd met her back in Rock Falls while he'd been stomping the back country for votes, he'd had the lewd desire to rampage her little cunt with his hard cock. As soon as she'd gushed her admiration for him and blurted out that she'd gone to secretarial school and was thinking of moving to a big city, he knew she was to be his next secretary. Hiring the pretty daughters of local constituents was a simple but effective method of wooing grass-roots support-as well as wooing appreciative, nubile girls still fresh and innocent, the way he loved them. And the local constituents showed their enthusiasm by reelecting him every term.
And naming an airport after him.
And a highway which passed a seven-foot granite column with a heroic bust of himself.
And paying for a military housing development which bore a portion of his name.
And even though against regulations, dedicating a post office to him.
Senator Alexander Blum was one of them, after all-a local boy making good in rascally Washington; a simple farmer who never lost his homespun virtues; an honorable believer in the American Way, forever battling "fat cat government spending" and "creeping socialism." Of course, his farm was a little larger than most of his neighboring sharecroppers' lands: six thousand acres, valued at over three and a half million dollars. When Senator Blum was on the Agriculture and Forestry Committee, he worked to raise the price supports on cotton, voting for a bill that offered supports only to farmers removing a portion of then-land from cultivation. This year Senator Blum estimated he'd make over one hundred thirty thousand dollars for cotton he hadn't raised. But as he was fond of saying: "If the people are for you, nothing else matters. Yaaasss...." What the peanut farmers down home didn't know or care enough to find out was that their distinguished solon believed in being for himself. As his seniority increased he found himself on important. committees, able to help himself by merely doing nothing. His probe of Hollywood made large headlines, then died to a trickle after a major movie association contributed to his campaign fund. While on the Subcommittee on Antitrust and Monopoly examining the abuses of the drug companies, he lost interest in the investigation after a thousand-dollar donation from the largest exporting drug company in America. Now, as chairman of the Subcommittee on Pornography and Violence, his public image as a fearless and honest battler was heightened still more ... but in the back of his mind he was shaping and molding the details of Vicky Martin's seduction by using that very committee against her! He realized that as much as he wished to corrupt this fair-haired nymph, the physical conquest must follow a stage of mental submission, a lessening of barriers when she'd be lulled and caught unawares. And if he were successful in fucking his tender, naive secretary, there'd come a few other surprises for her... but only if he were careful now.
"I wanted to say, my dear," Blum smiled as he handed Vicky her drink, "how pleased I am with your work."
"Why . . . why thank you, sir." His compliment made her blush slightly with pleasure, and she sipped her drink to hide her flustered consternation.
"No no, I mean it," Blum said, sitting back down behind his desk. "You've proven to be alert, competent, and reliable, and believe me, Vicky, here in Washington with all the pressures that are on me a secretary like you is worth her weight in gold. Yaass."
"I... I only do what I can, sir."
"Well, I believe you can do more-in the sense that we can use your talents to a greater advantage, that is," he added hastily. "A most interesting and challenging position has opened up, my dear, and I want you to fill it."
"You ... you dor' Vicky's mouth felt dry and parched, and her heart was hammering in her chest. Again she took a swallow of her bourbon and water, almost without realizing what she was doing. "If I can be of any service; I mean I want to stay in Washington and..."
Senator Blum waved his hand, and she closed her babbling mouth. He chuckled in a fatherly way then, running a corded hand through his long white hair, and said to her, "To be truthful, child, I opened up the position myself. You see, there is simply too much work attached to my new subcommittee, and I'm finding that as efficient as you and Miss Thrush are, we're falling behind. I can always get typists from the office pool, but that only raises other problems. They don't know my office routine or my personal habits, and they're only temporary at best. Also, it really isn't fair to use them other than as typists, and what is required is more of a 'girl Friday/ imaginative and dedicated. Moreover, there's the delicate problem of material...."
Vicky shook her head, still feeling dizzily excited by what the Senator was telling her. And yet he was being terrifically vague, and she didn't quite grasp the full meaning behind his pause after the word "material." She cleared her throat and said, "I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I still don't understand."
"Well, my dear, to put it bluntly, I want to promote you to being my special assistant. Assistant to the Chairman of the Subcommittee on Pornography and Violence. How does that sound?"
"Oh Senator Blum!" Vicky gasped in delight "There'll be a new civil service rating, of course, and a raise in pay," he continued. "I'll hire another girl for your job in the anteroom, and you can start your new duties immediately. Are you interested?"
"Am I! I'm... I'm overwhelmed!"
"It's a big step for you my child, a big step, yaaasss. But-" and here the Senator hesitated again, taking a long pull on his glass of straight bourbon-"but there's the matter of the material."
"You mean the ... the .. . ?"
"That's right, the pornography. As chairman, much of the smut and filth being peddled openly is brought to my personal attention by concerned lawmen and outraged parents throughout this great and glorious land of ours. Yaaasss. As my assistant, you may become ah . . . exposed to some of it and I don't want that to offend you. If you feel it might," he warned with a paternal frown, "if you have the slightest doubt as to your ability to handle such lewdness and immorality with the objectivity necessary to do your job then please tell me now."
Vicky sat in silence for a moment, not sure how to respond. She knew that the Senator had only her interests at heart and that he was warning her for her own good. And yet she felt slightly rankled, as if he were lecturing a little girl too young to see a "naughty" picture. The bourbon she'd consumed swirled through her bloodstream, giving her courage, and taking a deep breath, she replied, "Well, I'm old enough to see X-rated films if I want, sir, and I've taken sex education courses in school. I think you'll find me harder to shock than you might suppose."
Senator Blum smiled over the rim of his glass. "Yasss, I believe you'll work out just fine. Young ladies your age are far better equipped to face the ah . . . facts of life than people of my era. Then may I assume you'll accept the position?"
"Yes, oh yes!" the blonde girl said with fervency and then added saucily, "Whatever I may read, see or hear, sir, might disturb my sense of taste. But not my morals."
"Well, lefs hope so, my dear," came the good-natured rejoinder.
For a few minutes Vicky and the Senator continued drinking their bourbons, Blum filled with a lewd satisfaction he was hard pressed to disguise, and his new assistant determined to show she was brave enough for anything. She wasn't a baby any longer, and she felt goaded by the remembrance of Lou's words when he'd walked out on her. She was twenty years old and considered herself quite mature, and just because she was a virgin didn't mean she was angelically innocent! Last night's horrible mess was proof enough of that!
Nevertheless, she hadn't ever seen one of those X-rated films, and she couldn't help wondering if they were as bad as she'd heard. They showed nudity and two people making love, but surely they couldn't show everything-or did they? And what about all the pictures and photographs and books she'd have to sift through for Senator Blum? Well, nothing could possibly be as scandalous and prurient as her own imaginings when she was alone and masturbating! And yet . . . a shiver of hesitation ran up her spine in spite of the excitement over her promotion. She began to doubt that she should have been so eager to accept, considering that she didn't know the extent or nature of the obscenities she'd be forced to deal with. But it was too late now; she'd given Senator Blum her answer, and she wasn't about to back down. Then she would look childish! Lord, Mother would have a heart attack if she knew what I'll be doing in the future ...!
"Now, as I said, this begins immediately," Senator Blum told her seriously. "I was hoping . . . but no, perhaps you're too busy with your own private affairs."
"These days I'm quite free," Vicky replied, swallowing the thought that after last night she was free of Lou Sharpe whether she liked it or not. "Yes, quite free indeed, sir."
"Good, good. Then perhaps tonight... ?"
"Tonight? Oh, but-" "Since you have nothing planned," the wily old politician said suavely. He leaned forward still more, looking directly into her eyes, his words poisoned honey, "A quick dinner someplace, and then I can begin introducing you to what will be required in your new and I hope permanent position. We must get it straight between us as soon as possible, my child." About seven inches of straight, hard cock between us, that is!
Confusion reigned in Vicky's mind. She still felt distraught and morbid over what she'd done the previous night, and the desire to be alone tonight and calm her ragged nerves remained strong in her mind. But Senator Blum had just dropped a bombshell in her lap, and her thoughts were dazed with its explosive implications. He was offering her a chance for a real career, an advancement into importance and influence which would leave her routine job of typing far behind. Intuitively the young girl knew that right now was a crucial test, and that the Senator was weighing her reactions carefully to see if his trust and faith in her were well-founded.
Dinner with Senator Blum, "and then . . ." Well, that part didn't worry her too much. She knew it was perfectly proper nowadays for a girl of her age to be publically squired by a bachelor of his years, her mother and Rock Falls notwithstanding. Moreover, Senator Blum had always been the very soul of gentlemanly discretion, so she doubted anything immodest would happen when they were alone. And yet there was the matter of this material, this pornography, which was strange and unknown to her, adding a pervading aura of something wrong, something almost deliciously wrong ... as if she were skirting danger and secretly relishing her brush with fate.
Vicky sipped the last of her bourbon, balancing the pros and cons quickly in her mind. Then she set the empty glass down on his desk and told the Senator, "Yes, sir. I'd love to have dinner with you."
"Excellent!" Blum smiled. "I'm sure you'll discover this to be the start of a long and ah . . . meaningful relationship. Yaaass. We won't leave here for another couple of hours, though, and I'm sure you'll want to finish the work you have... ?"
"Yes, yes, indeed," Vicky replied, sensing the signal that her interview was over. She rose, scooped up her pad and pencil, and headed for the door. With her hand on the knob she paused, glancing over her shoulder to add, "And thank you, Senator. Thank you very much."
"Ah, don't thank me yet, child. Don't thank me until you find out exactly what your position will entail!" Spread-legged and whimpering to be fucked, thafs what it'll entail, Senator Blum thought salaciously as he watched his secretary's pert rear end undulate out of the office. Writhing and panting and naked beneath me-thaf s what her new position will be after tonight...!
Pleased to the point of humming tunelessly to himself, he keyed his intercom again and spoke into it "Miss Thrush?"
His private and most personal secretary responded immediately in her arched, almost imperious voice. "Sir?"
"Get me Congressman McHugh, will you? I believe hell be over at the Rayburn House Office Building now; if not, try his home number. I must reach him at once."
"Yes, sir."
The intercom went dead, and for a few minutes Senator Blum waited silently while Miss Thrush telephoned over to where the Representatives had their offices. Jerome K. McHugh, geriatric Representative from Oklahoma, had been owed a favor ever since he had supported Blum in a Joint House session. McHugh had hinted how he wished to be repaid after Blum had formed his Subcommittee on Pornography and Violence, and as enigmatic as he'd been, Blum had caught the message loud and clear. Long before McHugh had won his reputation as the guardian of the oil industry, he was notorious around Washington as a swinger, and whereas Blum was nicknamed "Old Honey-Pot," McHugh was termed "Hot-Pants."
Blum thought. Well, finally Tve got just the ticket to even the score, Blum thought with wicked relish. That oV fucker will jump at this like a blue-tick hound dog after a treed coon . . . and I won't blame him at all! Have to be careful what I say on the phone, though; never can tell these days about bugs* Terrible state of affairs when you don't know who to trust. Oughta be a law,. . .
The telephone beside his elbow jingled, and Senator Blum snatched up the receiver. "Hello, Jerome? Blum here."
"Afternoon, Alexander," came the cracked, aging voice of the sixty-nine-year-old Representative. "That buzzard of yours said it was important" "It is. Listen, you remember that ah . . . matter we were discussing in the cloakroom last Tuesday? After the joint meeting?"
"The . . . ? Oh, yes! Yes, now that you mention it, I do."
"I have what you want, Jerome, nicely packaged and ready for delivery. Interested?"
"Always. Tell me more, Alexander."
Blum smiled cynically, almost able to hear McHugh drooling with excitement on the mouthpiece. "Well, it looks as if I'll have to do the unwrapping just to check the contents, if you get what I mean. But after that if s all yours."
"Huh. I don't think there's anything you can do to harm the goods." McHugh cackled at his insulting dig, then added, "The important thing is if they're up to snuff. Quality merchandise only, Alexander, new and unused."
"Check for yourself, you old codger," Blum retorted good-naturedly. "That young blonde secretary of mine, the new one I brought up from home by the name of Vicky Martin? Well, she's the one delivering tonight at my apartment. Can you make it?"
"Can I-? Christ, does a bear shit in the woods? I'll be there. What time?"
"You arrive around eight-thirty. We won't be there yet, not until about nine. I suppose, but I'll give instructions to the doorman of the building to let you in. Now listen carefully. Tip the doorman heavily and instruct him not to tell me that you're waiting in my apartment; well want the package to be a surprise. Then go into my bedroom and through my right-hand closet door."
"You want me to wait in your closet? You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to hunch down among your clothes like some half-witted lover!"
"Hush up, Jerome! Jesus, these phones ., .! You'll see what I mean when you get there, and I do mean see."
McHugh paused for a moment, reflecting on the Senator's obscure meaning. He'd been up to that apartment before and recalled how the living room had looked, the only part he'd really seen. See . . . see . . . oh-ho! So that was it! There'd been a large mirror on one wall, the wall which backed the bedroom! "I understand crystal clear," he said at last, gleefully. "Yes, I'm mirroring your thoughts, Alexander."
"Good, good, I was sure you would. Yaass. Now, about this new bill to curb potato blight. I was wondering..."
Senator Blum and Representative McHugh conversed on general political topics for a few more minutes, the important reason for the call now completed. Finally Blum rang off and got up to pour himself another bourbon. The evilly erotic plan he'd formed stirred his blood and made his penis itch with longing. He felt it throb in his trousers with anticipation. By God, he'd really done one this time! He gloated to himself as he tipped the bottle. It calls for a celebration-and he added an extra couple of fingers of the bonded whiskey to his glass before returning to his desk.
Meanwhile, Representative McHugh settled back in his leather swivel chair, thinking over Senator Blum's phone call. His wrinkled old scrotum fairly ached from the proposition he'd just received, for he had seen Vicky Martin around the halls and had always admired her tight-assed, full-breasted nubility. Damnation! So Blum was going to offer his own secretary's soft young cunt in payment for that vote last week, was he? Tit for tat, so to speak . . . and wild horses couldn't keep him, McHugh, from collecting that luscious, gift-wrapped present!
Yet McHugh was too crafty a politician not to know the worth of favors and the strings attached to this one. Wrinkled-faced, bald, and slightly stooped, he pushed the upper plate of his false teeth tighter against his mouth with one liver-spotted hand-a habit of his whenever he contemplated angles-and pondered the situation. Blum was definitely overpaying that vote. How much did the Senator figure the extra bonus was worth and how much did he hope to extract in the future? That he eventually would was no question to McHugh; Blum was one man who always got his pound of flesh.
But McHugh was no slouch when it came to favors, either. No politician was and lasted long in Washington. McHugh had long ago learned that favors grease the wheels, and behind his facade as a relentless and impartial legislator lurked a lawyer who remembered his lessons well. His law firm back in Texas listed four of the largest oil corporations in America, according to the Martindale-Hubbard directory. Besides law fees, the oil interests "favored" him with campaign contributions, stock tips, and even cash under the counter. In return, McHugh did his damndest to legislate tax loopholes which saved oilmen billions a year and fought to widen the depletion allowances despite the fact that with the energy crisis such policy was unsound and rigorous conservation should be enacted.
He, like Senator Blum, was a great champion of special interest groups which feathered his nest. And he, even more than Blum, had un- challenged power which he wielded with great despotic efficiency, and because of the "Old Boy's" code of gentlemanly silence and the archiac seniority system, the chances were that his chicanery would never be uncovered. McHugh was not the oldest member of the House, but he was a dramatic example of how longevity alone can elevate a man of incompetence and corruption to a place of authority.
So McHugh sat back and fingered his false teeth and considered just how much this evening with Blum was going to cost him. Neither moral nor legal troubles entered his mind. Because he hadn't been born yesterday, most of his preoccupation centered around how to turn things around and make a gain, even at the expense of pretty Vicky Martin. Let's see, he figured. I have this problem with the Dry Hole group....
Dry Hole was the informal name given to a casual club of prominent oil lobbyists of which naturally McHugh was a charter member.
When Senator Blum had phoned, he'd been worrying what to do about the meeting which was scheduled tomorrow night at the Dan-forth Hotel banquet room, for he knew he was in for a roasting by the lobbyists after recently having lost the vote on a crucial oil import quota amendment. It wouldn't do any good to tell them facts; they weren't paying him for facts but for performance. He'd have to take their minds off it, and it would take something spectacular to do that.
What could he do at this short notice ... ?
Suddenly McHugh jerked upright in his chair, snapping his fingers, a half-cruel smirk crossing his weathered face. Of course! His wily mind immediately saw a perfect way of changing the debt he'd incur tonight into a fat profit! He groped for the intercom switch, buzzing his own private secretary, the counterpart of Blum's Miss Thrush.
"Leona! Leona, are you there? I want you to phone a photo supply store, Leona, and order some film for my 35 mm camera I have in here."
"The expensive one which came from Christian Oil?"
"That's the one. It has to be special film, color, good for shots when there isn't much light. Such as at night when I can't use the strobe attachment. And I want the film 3m- . mediately."
"How many rolls?"
"I don't know. One or two. No , . . make it three, just in case. But I must have it before eight-thirty, Leona. I must have it!"
"Yes, sir. I'll do what I can, sir!"
"I don't care what you do-just get the film!"
Representative McHugh leaned back in the chair, propping his feet on the desk with gloating satisfaction. Alexander Blum, bless his lecherous hide! He snickered quietly to himself. The Senator didn't know it-and wasn't going to find out, either-but he'd become an answer to a prayer. And the shape of the prayer's answer was that hot-cunted blonde angel, Vicky Martin....