Chapter 8
Vicky Martin dropped the clean gossamer robe from around her trim, naked body, climbing onto the big brass bed and lying open-thighed on her back. She tweaked the pink-hued nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, teasing them into tiny hard buds that captured the man's eyes immediately. She could see the gleam of desire in his handsome features as he took a hesitant step toward the bed.
"If you want to fuck me, Senator, you have to take off your trousers," she told him in a sultry voice. "Come on, take them off or leave."
"Jesus," Senator Blum groaned. "You have certainly changed, Vicky."
"Thanks to you," she retorted evenly. "You and that bald-headed wonder, Representative McHugh." Vicky slid lower on the coverlet, undulating her buttocks and scissoring her thighs apart in lewd invitation. "Now, if you want me, take off your pants. Oh yea . . . and place a hundred on the bureau. In small bills, please."
"But before-" "That was before, Senator. Now it's no money, no fuckee."
With her fingers, she spread the lips of her vagina open slowly, the moist, tantalizing flesh of her narrow pussy visible to him as she gently parted the soft blonde hair up between her legs. Another gasp came from the white-haired solon who'd once been her employer, as he quickly stripped off his pants and under-shorts and walked stiff-legged to the bed. He was still wearing his black socks, but Vicky couldn't have minded if he were deaf, dumb, and wearing armorplate. Senator Blum was just another customer to her now, contributing to her bank account.
She glanced up toward the wall of her luxurious bedroom of her new downtown apartment as the older politician hunched up between her waiting thighs. She idly inspected the thirty-six framed photographs which Representative McHugh had once taken of her, and which after that brutal night with the Dry Hole members, he'd given to her as a well-earned token of his esteem. She'd gained them thinking she'd keep them a secret; now she displayed them with pride, and as advertising for her trade.
Lord . . . her old life was almost a dim memory now, even though it had changed only a few short weeks ago. Once innocent and naive, she'd been battered and abused until she learned that there weren't any percentages in being good. Now it was her turn to make the fat-cat politicians of Washington grovel, just as she'd once had to do for Senator Blum and Congressmann McHugh. And with Blum here and paying through the nose for a little of her pussy, she planned to make him really squirm . . . he'd treated her like a whore until she'd become a whore.
And then she felt the Senator's hips jerk toward her, and the familiar tip of his thick cock begin to slide up between the open pink softness of her.