Chapter 6
It was late the following afternoon and shadows were already creeping across Vicky Martin's apartment when the young girl unlocked her front door and stumbled drunkenly inside. She clutched a large paper sack to her breasts, as if its contents of four large wine bottles were precious gold, and groped her way to the overstuffed armchair in one corner. She sank down in it, letting the bag of wine drop beside her feet, and despite the heavy woolen pants and sweater she wore beneath the sheepskin car-coat, her entire body felt made of ice. She shivered, drawing the coat tighter around her body with her hand as she reached for one of the bottles. There was a corkscrew on the small table beside the chair, and fumbling with it, she finally managed to open the bottle and pour some cheap sweet wine into the empty glass which was also resting beside her.
She took a deep swallow and then another, feeling the silky liquid warming all the way down to fill her empty stomach. She'd been drinking wine since she'd risen trembling from her bed that morning, desperate for something to calm her shattered nerves. She'd gone through everything in the house with almost a vengeance, and while she felt a little ashamed for the way she'd been drinking, she couldn't help feeling grateful for the faint lightheadedness which swirled through her blood and eased the torment of her mind.
And when her own three quarts of tokay had been emptied, she'd somehow steeled herself to brave the outside world, walking quickly down to the neighborhood grocery store for more. She'd tried to hold her head as high and proud as she could, attempting to at least look normal and presentable even if she didn't feel that way internally. But the strain had drained her, and now that she was back in the silent dimness of her apartment, she was once again tortured with nothing but her own morbid thoughts to keep her company.
Vicky lifted the glass and drank again, choking to hold down the wine as she recollected her obscene rutting with those two sadistic politicians . . . begging for more as they raped her vagina, mouth, and rectum . . . and her cumming, her greedy cumming as she wallowed in their orgiastic sperm until at last some sort of sanity finally returned, and she found herself naked on the carpet. God, her flesh had been so abused that after she'd stumbled home and taken a long cleansing shower and douche, she'd hardly been able to stand the pain of clothing on her betraying body! Even now, the fully covering pants and sweater sent dull throbs of hurt as their material pressed against her sore, aching flesh.
She finished the glass and poured it full again with unsteady fingers, determined to drink enough to blot out the lewd memories of her actions. Her consistent horrors were not so much of the vile and lecherous perversions that Senator Blum and Representative Mc-Hugh had done to her, but of the humiliating surrender of her own moral senses. She had not merely succumbed to the savage older men from helpless fear and their overpowering strength . . . but had lewdly reveled in shameless abandonment, giving herself to them with lusting eagerness. And this admission frightened her above all else.
But she vowed as she sat in the chair, her indefensible performance would remain locked in the confines of her heart forever. To go to the authorities and expose the Congressmen for the corrupters they were would only add to her disgrace, the publicity of the lurid details surely disclosing her own sexual immorality. No, it was obvious she couldn't fight back and must keep the entire seduction a secret, hoping that in time she'd be able to seal away the wicked episode in some dark recess of her mind. Eventually she might be able to feel nothing except a guilty scar to remind her of her unspeakable urges. She prayed she could . . . yet at the moment she felt emotionally ruined for life.
The one consoling fact was that she could run . . . run before something else happened and tempted her to still worse behavior. Before this day was over, she promised, she would find the inner strength to pack and leave, taking a train to Rock Falls and never, ever returning to Washington, D.C. She wouldn't even wait for her severance pay from Senator Blum, the sacrifice of the money owed her worth the anguish of another day in this hellish city. Then once back in the bosom of her family's decency, she might learn to conquer her prurient desires which had seemingly been released from nowhere....
A sudden harsh sound snapped Vicky from her thoughts, and she realized abruptly that somebody was knocking on her door.
"Wh-who's there?" she called out timidly, fearful it might be one of the congressmen, visiting for some God-awful reason.
"Miss Martin? Registered letter."
"Oh!" Vicky walked to the door with inebriated care, opening it on the small safety chain just to make sure it wasn't a trick. A bored man in a blue uniform handed her a plain manila envelope, a receipt form, and a stubby pencil.
"Sign on line four, please," he yawned.
Vicky scrawled her signature, then closed the door before the man had a chance to hold out his palm for a tip. She returned to the chair more curious than ever, inspecting the envelope and finding there was no return address on it. "Now who could this be from . . . ?" she asked herself, ripping the envelope open while sitting down again.
Three of the lewdest photographs she'd ever seen fell out of the envelope and into her lap. Horrified, she picked them up, finding that the girl in them was herself! The first one showed her lying naked on the carpet of Senator Blum's apartment with the Senator hunching over her and hungrily eyeing her pink cunt slit. With a helpless cry of revulsion, Vicky nipped to the second and saw her firmly molded breast being squeezed by the nude politician, his hot, wet mouth nipping at one turgid nipple. She gasped at this obscenity, but the last picture was by far the worst. It showed a full-color shot of thick fleshy penis wedged solidly into her wide-splayed pussy, her face contorted with passion while she arched her buttocks up to receive every inch of the pumping erection.
Vicky fell back, her arm over her eyes, unable to look at the obscene reminders of the previous night. For several minutes she sat that way, unable to believe that they could have been taken, her mind searching for an answer that never came. Finally, fearing she would vomit, she gathered her strength to study them again, blanching anew as she viewed the lust which was so plainly etched on her face in each of them. She glanced in the envelope, afraid there were more, and then saw that there was a small folded piece of paper, a message printed on it. The note read, "If you want the others, come to Room 101 of the Danforth Hotel at seven o'clock promptly. If you don't care what I do with them, then don't show up."
It was unsigned and it wasn't until she'd reread the lines four times that Vicky was able to deduce who'd sent it. It could be only one man, only one man so arrogant and venal that he'd dare to send dirty pictures of a Senator and his secretary through the mails-Representative Jerome K. McHugh! He was the only other one there at the time, the only one who had the opportunity to sneaMly take these filthy photos and use them later for his own despicable ends. But what did he have in mind? McHugh would want something, she didn't doubt that . . but what? She had no money....
And then her stomach knotted and convulsed as if it wished to heave the wines, She suddenly understood. The ghastly truth was that she was going to have to bargain her body to earn the rest of these loathsome, damning snapshots. She felt the blood drain from her face as vivid memories of the elderly politician crouched over her widespread buttocks, his blunt hard penis shoved in her rectum, flooded her mind. Oh my Lord . . . not that again.
She reached for the wine and drank the entire glass down, droplets running loosely from the edges of her mouth. The burning sensation dulled her reeling senses a little, and she poured herself another glass, trying to smother the horrible knowledge that if she wanted to avoid a far worse fate, she would have to go to the hotel. She would have to convince McHugh to return the films, negatives and all, without having to compromise herself too dearly. But she had the most dreadful apprehension that nothing she might say would be enough to satisfy that lecherous old man's degenerate soul....
The streets were dark by the time Vicky taxied up to the entrance of the Danf orth Hotel at seven p.m. The hotel itself, however, was brilliantly lit for it was one of Washington's most celebrated and would be one of the last to go dim from the current power shortage. It took up an entire block, the front having a stone archway and a pseudo-Byzantine courtyard of tile and multicolored plants leading from the sidewalk to the lobby. The lobby was expansive and warm, with a sculptured lady-with-jug standing nude in the middle of a small fountain. Past the fountain was the reception desk, and all around were the social lions of the capital garbed in well-tailored suits and fine evening gowns, the men smoking cigars while their women chattered amongst themselves.
Vicky felt embarrassed and out of place as she walked self-consciously through the ornate lobby. She refused to ask anybody for help, not even the porters who glided among the hotel patrons to empty ashtrays but steadfastly searched for Room 101. Everitually she found it off a side hallway next to a large banquet room whose double doors were closed. There was a great deal of male laughter and bantering which leaked through the doors, but Vicky took no notice of it, her mind centered on only one thing-to see McHugh.
At the door to Room 101 she knocked hesitantly, almost afraid that the representative would be in. But the overwhelming desire to gain those pictures took hold again, and she screwed up her courage to knock harder. After a moment the door opened and Representa* tive McHugh ushered her in.
He was dressed immaculately in a wide-lapeled electric-blue suit, a bow tie perched like a black butterfly against his scrawny neck. "Well, toots," he said as he shut the door behind them, "I see you accepted my invitation."
"I ... I want those pictures." she said, trembling, trying to stifle the quaver in her voice.
"Oh, you liked them?" he asked calmly, maliciously.
Vicky stared at the smoothly grinning congressman, having the most impulsive desire to hit him in the mouth and break those evilly smiling dentures of his. "No! No, of course I didn't! They're the most disgusting things I've ever seen!"
"Well, you might find one you care for yet," McHugh responded casually. "I took thirty-six photos in all."
"Thirty-six!" Vicky's head swirled from the shame and revulsion of knowing there were that many lewd pictures of her nakedly squirming with a man. Sick and desperate, she sucked in her breath and eyed the wicked politician coldly. "Now . . . now you look here. I haven't gone to see Mr. Blum about this yet, but if you don't give me the films, I'll-" "What? Tell him?" McHugh chuckled, shaking his head in a disparaging manner. "It would be unwise of you to do. If you think about the three snaps you have, you'll see that none of them show a full head shot of him. I mean you know who's messing around with you-but by the pictures alone nobody else would! And if it comes down to the nitty-gritty, Alexander is in the same boat with you, and I'm sure youll agree that he'd be quite apt to side with me instead of you."
Vicky was almost sick as she realized that what McHugh was telling her was the truth. Senator Blum had no more scruples than a hyena and would sell her out without batting an eyelash if it meant a gain for him. He had already, hadn't he-and for far less at stake? She attempted one last act of defiance, hoping to frighten McHugh into releasing the photos and leaving her alone. "Then I'll . . . Ill go to the police! To the newspapers! Ill expose you both for what you are: vultures!"
"Hah!" the Representative scoffed. "You call the police? Don't be silly, toots; you're the one in the pictures being fucked! It would be the word of two of America's leading congressmen against that of a flighty young girl who poses for pornography! Now face facts! I've got the pictures. I've got you, if you want to look at it that way, and the only way you'll get those films is to be nice to me, not threatening. Understand?"
Vicky understood, all right. There was little question what he had in mind, but still she sought to play naive. "And if I'm nice to you, what... what does that entail?"
"Why, nothing much," he answered with a wave of his hand. "And then afterward you get the photos back and we forget about the whole thing."
Representative McHugh went over to a marble-topped table and opened a thin, rectangular box, the sort that expensive clothes come in. He held up an open-knit lace baby-doll top, far more revealing than any nightgown she owned. He held it out to her, and she could see that it only had a drawstring at the neck and a hem which would barely come to the tops of her thighs. It was positively indecent!
"Bought this today, especially for you," he purred. "You must admit-it's nothing much!"
"You . . . you want me to wear that?" Vicky gasped.
"Fit you better than it would me, toots." Representative McHugh thrust it toward her impatiently. "Put it on, put it on and then we'll go into the next room for a little show!"
"The other-! You mean in the banquet room? I heard men in there, lots of men! And you want me to-? In front of-?"
"You're catching on. It's a meeting of the Dry Hole Club, and I promised them a special treat. Guess who's the treat, toots?"
Lord no! Even in her wine-distorted mind, Vicky was horrified at allowing herself to contemplate so sordid an idea! "I ... I can't!" she stammered. "I simply can't do it!"
"Oh, yes you can," he coaxed, brandishing the nightie.
"I won't!" she moaned in weak defiance. "One time with you, here . . . here alone in this room is terrible enough, but I won't-" McHugh took three steps toward her and slashed one hand across her face, knocking her back against the wall. Tears sprang to her eyes and a slight trickle of saliva appeared at one corner of her mouth. "You will!" he snarled at her. "You give me any more trouble, and by Jupiter, I'll not only have enough sets of your photos made to blanket the Eastern seaboard, but I'll have them entered as evidence in Blum's own Subcommittee on Pornography and Violence!"
Vicky staggered upright in a state of terrified shock. She dabbed lifelessly at her mouth with the fingers of one hand, wondering dizzily if there was any way to avoid his demands. My God, there was no other choice! If she didn't do what he demanded of her, she would lose the last chance to have a start on a new, wholesome life! Those photos would haunt her wherever she went in the grubby hands of young boys and dirty old men and officially entered in the Congressional Record as part of Senator Blum's investigation into immorality! Intuitively, she knew that Representative McHugh would follow through on his threats, if only to salve that same arrogant pride with which he'd corrupted her last night!
Last night . . . the lurid memory of her own eager submission to the two politicians returned like a ghost, haunting her thoughts as she stared at the elderly representative. She found that despite her revulsion for this depraved old man, she couldn't help wondering if her young body would betray her once again if given the opportunity. What would it be like to parade lewdly in that nightgown in front of a bunch of men? What would she feel like . . . ? Mortified at her obscene notion, she felt her curiosity rising;...
"Okay," she whimpered in defeat, pressing her thighs tightly together in a determined effort to cancel the momentary flash of shameful temptation. "Okay, you win. But I want the pictures first."
"No dice, toots," McHugh sneered. "They're my insurance that you'll perform as ordered."
"How . . . how do I know you'll give them to me if I do?"
"Why you can trust me," he said with oiliness. "After all, I'm an honest and upright congressman, elected by the people! Here- now put it on and stop wasting time!"
McHugh watched with growing lechery as the young blonde girl began to undress. Vicky averted her crimsoning face, feeling the man's eyes like a solid force lashing her body as she peeled off her coat, sweater, and pants. Reluctantly she unsnapped her brassiere and released her fjrm, quivering breasts and then sucked in her breath and rolled her clean pair of thin panties down over her trembling thighs and buttocks. She wished fervently for another drink . . . something far stronger than the wine, to deaden the unwanted sense of obscene anticipation which was slowly creeping through her cringing flesh.
Totally naked now, she snatched the baby-doll top from Representative McHugh's fingers and quickly draped its delicate fabric overher breasts and hips. A familiar tingle of yearning began to tease through her loins as she moaned under the shame of what she was being blackmailed into doing. She fought against the slight, insidious prurience, but the mere contemplation of indecently exposing herself in front of a group of voyeuristic men pursued her thoughts with inexorable force. She had never felt so humiliated and degraded, not even when she'd fled the Senator's apartment last night, and she couldn't understand how she could stand here and be even slightly stimulated with forbidden urges. Dear Lord, what had she let herself become? A tear rolled gently down one cheek as Representative McHugh guided her across Room 101 to the connecting door that led to the banquet hall . . . and the group of oilmen waiting impatiently.
Representative McHugh swung open the door between the two rooms, propelling Vicky through to the larger one with his hand gripping her right arm firmly. A ginger grin of triumph spread across his face as he looked at the assemblage of rich oil lobbyists.
"Well, boys, I promised you a little plum to make up for that slight setback in Congress."
"Slight!" came a derisive hoot from the back. "That setback cost me over fifty grand so far!"
"Now, now," McHugh said in a placating tone. "It wasn't for the lack of trying, Sam. But that's neither here nor there-what- is here, as you can all see, is a vivacious beauty for our very own-and I might add, very private-entertainment tonight."
"Looks young enough to be my daughter!" another snickered.
"Might just be, Ronson," a third man jibed. "It might just be a that!"
"Can't be!" laughed still a fourth. "She's too innocent, this one here! Any kid of Ron-son's been humping since she was old enough to bleed!"
Everybody roared and hooted and Vicky cringed with humiliation and dread, wishing all these terrible people would suddenly vanish.
It was more foul than she'd feared. The banquet room was square, painted a pastel yellow and decorated with prints of landscapes and flowers and dominated by a large wooden table set squarely in the middle of the parquet floor. The table was littered with glasses and liquor bottles, ice buckets and water pitchers and overflowing ashtrays and above it all hung a cloying blue smog of stale tobacco smoke.
Around the table were large red leather armchairs, and in the chairs lounged a half-dozen men. The six were more or less middle-aged, dressed expensively in suits of various bad tastes, some of them tall and some of them short, a few thin but most of them fat, all of them bleary-eyed and jowly with lewd expressions as they feasted their eyes on her barely covered breasts and pussy. And all of them uniformly repulsive as far as she was concerned.
"Come on, Jerome," the man called Sam called out. "Introduce us, will you?"
McHugh pushed Vicky forward toward the table of men. "Patience, my boys. As Frank was so observant as to point out, Miss Martin is new to this game and virtually innocent. Virgin territory, you might say. So let's not be too harsh on our star performer-at least not until she's properly warmed up!"
"Whatfll that take?" a hook-nosed man asked. "A blowtorch?"
"Enough excuses, you old coon!" Ronson shouted over the laughter. "Let's see more action than we've gotten in Congress!"
"Take if off! Boom! Boom!" another chanted raucously.
"Let's get to the screwing!" the fattest man prompted.
Vicky quivered, her eyes swelling with tears as she prayed for a miracle to save her. These obscene oilmen were all going to rape her in full view of one another! They were going to fill her belly with their despoiling cum until she screamed for surrender, showing her no more mercy than Senator Blum or Representative McHugh had done last night! She swallowed the wild urge to claw at the congressman's face as he tugged her closer to the men. She couldn't . . . she had to have those pictures! There wasn't any other choice, no matter what they did.
"All right, so the show will begin," McHugh announced proudly. "Up on the table, toots. Go on, climb up there and show us all what you've got... or else!"
Vicky wanted to die of mortification, using one of the empty chairs to climb up on the table as commanded. She cowered as she stood there, her arms vainly trying to cover as much of her as she could, feeling her nudity as a great humiliating blanket But in the back of her mind shuddered the threat of McHugh's or else, and so she submitted with out protest or hesitation. Just live through this hell and then be free.
"Now, toots, figure you're on stage. A burlesque stage like in Baltimore, right? It's stag night and your audience is crying for action, right? So act, toots, act! Do a little hoochie-koochie dance for us!"
Vicky bit into the flesh of her lower lip, trying to choke back her shame. Burlesque . . . stag night . . . Lord, she was to be treated no better than a tramp at a smoker! She groaned, beginning to undulate her lithe young body in a Frug-like dance step before the whole lusting group of men, knowing that the way the light was striking her baby-doll top, all of them could see her nakedly illuminated as she squirmed her body beneath it.
But as she rotated her thighs and thrust out her breasts, Vicky couldn't help feeling a slowly rising tendril of unwanted arousal beginning deep in her belly. The thought of her hopeless entrapement and her soon-to-come ravishment brought tiny ripples of strange excitement tingling through her nerves, and she realized she was experiencing the same prurient wantonness which had tempted her while changing into the baby-doll. Against her will, her proud, firm breasts perked into warm, taut roundness, their pink little nipples gradually erecting against the skimpy silken top.
She quickened her motions, wriggling her buttocks in a suggestive manner, feeling lewdly denied by her obscene exhibitionism. The mere thought of these heavy breathing men staring at her nearly bare flesh sent new churnings of erotic sensation teasing upwards from her loins, and Vicky could sense involuntary moisture forming in the soft, blonde-fringed lips of her cunt slit.
"Now take off the baby-dolls, toots! Take 'em off!"
Vicky's tongue darted out and softly licked her lips, moistening them as she gradually untied the drawstring around her neck. Ever so slowly she slipped each shoulder through the satiny top, and then let the translucent sheath gradually slip downward over her jutting breasts until it fell to a puddle around her bare feet. She heard the delighted gasps from the men and could sense their leering eyes moving up and down over her body from the swell of her breasts to the sensual rise of her hips and the golden-haired crevice of her pubic mound. She stood passively for a moment, feeling sinful and dirty at standing totally naked in front of everyone . . . but then the knowledge that she was sent more taunting excitement up through her fully exposed body. Unconscious of what she was doing at first, the nubile young girl lifted her arms above her head, pirouetting in a circle and feeling oddly delighted at being the focal point for their salacious gazes.
"On the table!" McHugh directed from his seat. "Lie down on the table on your back and spread your legs! Yeah . . . and then play with that tight little cunt of yours while we watch you do it!"
A whimper escaped from the embarrassed girl's mouth as she slowly lowered herself to the cold hard wooden surface. "Oh Lord . . . not that!" she mewled, the very helplessness of her situation excusing away the weird sensations that were gradually building in her belly and thighs. "Not masturbation!"
"Yes! Yes!" the venerable representative ordered harshly. "Stuff your middle finger in your twat and make yourself all nice and hot for us! And remember ... if you don't, you don't get what you want!"
The pictures! She must have those films at all cost! Gently the girl began to run her fingertips over her full, hardening breasts, playing softly with her nipples and feeling goosebumps prickling all long her naked skin. In spite of her loathing toward manipulating herself in front of all these feasting eyes, she felt unwanted shivers of indecent pleasure starting to travel through her flesh. She'd geared her mind for a more sudden savage attack by these sadistic men, but having to fondle her own pussy was different. It was unexpected and subtle and made her all the more conscious of her awakening passions.
Pressing the outside of her knees flat against the table top, Vicky drew her thighs as far up as she could, forcing her legs in an obscene crab-like position which exposed the moistening pink slit of her vagina to the group of lobbyists. She slipped her middle finger down between the soft blonde curls of pubic hair and parted the fleshy lips of her swelling cunt, sliding her hand along the plainly visible crevice of her tight, throbbing pussy.
"Lord, it isn't fair," she moaned through her gritting teeth. "It isn't fair ... it isn't right...."
"But it's fun to watch!" one of the oilmen nearby shouted.
"Right!" came another hoarse cry. "Fuck yourself, baby, fuck yourself wild!"
"More! More!"
Vicky teased her fingers along the tender parts of her widespread pussy, working her way up the full length of her narrow, wet slit to the tiny bud of her exposed clitoris. She flicked the sensitive nodule and felt it jerk, and with a gasp she found her gently undulating buttocks reaching upward to receive more of her sensual caresses. The split of her thighs involuntarily widened to the view of her gathered tormentors, and the men sighed lustily when she moved her hand downward and eased it into the flexing hollow of her vaginal mouth. She began to pump her finger in and out as if it were a tiny, thin penis, the tight cunt muscles delighting from her touch and screwing further against her hand to gain more of her indecent probe.
Her toes squirmed below her self-fucking finger, no more able to resist the exquisite torture than the rest of her fresh young body was. She shut her eyes as she fought against the prurient excitement she was generating through her loins, but her own quickening hand pursued and tantalized her tingling breasts and warmly clasping pussy. An excited moan escaped her mouth as, unwillingly, she couldn't contain her rising emotions, and she surrendered to the lewd self-debasement which flowed over her defenselessly performing body. She rolled dementedly in the pleasure her thrashing middle finger was causing the now moistly swollen cunt lips, pressing her knees back hard against her jiggling breasts and wildly jerked her uptilted buttocks in tempo to her public masturbation. It was all so obscene ... so totally depraved . . . and she moaned in abandoned wantonness.
The oil lobbyist named Frank groaned in concert, unable to contain his excitement any longer. "Christ, Jerome, ain't she ready to go yet? She looks hot enough to fry an egg on that box of hers!"
"Yeah," the man beside him grunted, "whaddya want her to do-boil away?"
Representative McHugh mopped his perspiring brow with a handkerchief, his own face flushed from the lust-stimulating performance in front of him. "Yeah, boys, I guess you're right. First one outa his clothes gets her! Now... everybody strip naked!"