Becca had deliberately chosen one of her more conservative business suits that morning. The navy blue skirt and blazer toned down her red hair so that fewer men stole glances at her as she made her morning commute on the train. On most mornings she didn't mind the attention, but after the previous night’s encounter with John, she felt strangely dirty.
That wasn't a feeling to which Rebecca Weiss was accustomed. She was well enough in tune with herself to analyze why she would have such a reaction. Admittedly, taking on the role of a Fem-Dom, a Mistress of discipline wasn't the kind of sex she preferred, but it honestly could have been fun under different circumstances. She had no issue with it. Human sexual desire being so broad and varied, there was nothing about this particular kink that made her feel uncomfortable.
It wasn't that she had humiliated a man for his pleasure, nor the fact that she had been paid to do it that bothered her. No, it was the hypocrisy, the raging disregard for others that John displayed at the Georgetown house that had her feeling used. She never cared who or how anyone was sexually aroused, but to enjoy sex of this kind while doing his damnedest to legislate away the rights of others do the same had her furious.
She organized her notes with a machine-like efficiency that morning, her red nails flashing like fire as they flew over the keyboard. She was so focused in fact that anyone who didn't know Becca might think she was too lost in her work to notice them slipping through her office door. But Becca was never that unaware of her surroundings. Sensing movement, she guessed without looking who had moved up behind her.
"Good morning, Greg. I was hoping you'd come by."
As her editor at the Times, Greg Hamilton had worked closely enough with her to know something was amiss. He pulled up a chair and waited a moment while she finished recording her thoughts. "Okay, here I am. What has you feeling so wound up today?"
"It was the date I had last night."
Greg sighed. "With Dream Girls? How did I know that was going to be a problem? I told you, you didn't actually need to have sex with anyone."
"No, it’s not the sex. I told you, I'm okay with that. What has me upset was who I was with."
That got Greg’s attention and his instincts as a journalist overcame his ingrained protective male nature. "Well, that sounds intriguing. What have you got?"
"You won’t believe it. I was with John Gordon."
Greg’s dark eyes grew wide and his surprise was evident on his face. "Congressman John Gordon? Mister outdoors and paragon of home and hearth? He is a client of Dream Girls?"
Becca smiled with satisfaction, crossing her legs as she leaned back in her chair. "Yes. And you wouldn't believe the things he wanted me to do. The man can't get it up unless he's being humiliated. Imagine, the man his constituents consider the next coming of John Wayne, and he's unable to function in a normal sexual relationship."
"Holy shit. That won’t go well for him in his district. I am surprised it bothers you so much. You've never judged people by their sexual proclivities."
Becca nodded. "I still don't, Greg, But I do object to him going out of his way to oppose every LGBTQ issue that comes across his desk. He uses the law as a weapon to control the desires of others while at the same time breaking it to revel in his own excess. He touts himself as being pro-life and family issues, which means he votes against abortion any chance he gets. His support of women is for them to be pregnant and at home. He will not support any legislation for equal pay or family leave. If the man lived the lifestyle he so publicly supports, I'd have some respect even if I disagreed, but I despise that kind of hypocrisy."
"Okay, good. I agree, so we have our first real scoop. What kind of proof do you have? Accusations of this kind aren't going to carry enough weight to convince his constituents that he isn't the man he's made himself out to be."
"You are right. Unfortunately, although recording him in the room was possible, the dirty details won’t be in our report. I did it to document what happened, as proof. This paper is too classy to give complete descriptions of his kinks. Those will be spread by the tabloids once the girls start talking. That alone should give the congressman all the humiliation he ever wanted."
"There was also a video camera set up that recorded him entering and leaving the location. Once we blow the ring open, his presence there will be impossible to explain. Add to that his credit card information on file with Dream Girls and the statements of other girls who have serviced him and I don't believe we will have any problems providing corroboration."
Greg's grin flashed. "That will be a hell of a story, Rebecca. once the sacrifices you've made to bust this ring become known, you'll be a shoe-in for a Pulitzer."
Becca shrugged. "Perhaps, but I'm hardly the first reporter, male or female, whoever slept with someone for a story. That detail may never even get out, but I agree, ending a human trafficking ring and bringing down the politicians and others who enabled it will be one for the books."
It had been a long day by the time five o'clock rolled around. This story was emotionally draining and she was looking forward to dinner with Matthew. Afterward, she planned on relieving her own pent up desire with a quiet evening in bed with him. Just the thought had her nipples hardening under her blouse. This whole experience, having sex with men for pay and playing the role of a prostitute had been far more profound than she ever expected. The more men she slept with, the more she realized that only one truly mattered. She also found that because of this sex with Matthew was far more satisfying to her than anything was with her clients.
Matthew knew her body. He knew how she needed to be touched, and how she wanted to touch him. It was more than that. With him, she was being made love to. It was amazing. The thought made her laugh. For all the men she had been with since high school, she couldn't remember any with whom she could have made that claim. She had it bad for Matthew, and her heartfelt warm as she realized how easily she made that admission.
"We may have to skip dinner tonight. What I want isn't served at Marcel’s." Becca was about to call Matthew when Anna's burner phone destroyed her mood. Checking the text, she frowned at the brief message appearing on the screen.
Capitol Hilton, 7 o'clock. room 1431. Don't be late.
"Shit." A client meeting her in even such a semi-public venue wouldn't be the kind of man she was there to expose. John, for instance, met her in one of the agency's private clubs, but refusing the appointment would surely damage her reputation just when she was rising to the top. At least she would have time to shower before meeting her client at the hotel.
Stowing the burner back in her handbag, she retrieved her iPhone. "Hey, Matthew. I'm sorry, but I am going to have to cancel our dinner plans for tonight..."
oo0oo
It was late by the time Becca slipped out of her dress and into bed. She thought Matthew wouldn't have come by after she broke their dinner date, but she was happily surprised to find him asleep on his side of her bed.
“Damn, it’s almost 3,” she silently cursed, knowing that he had to be up for court in just a few hours. She was tempted to wake him anyway. Her client had been long on promise but short on delivery and despite keeping her there for hours, succeeded only in getting himself off while leaving her frustrated.
Now, with only the cool sheets and Matthew’s warm skin against hers, that frustration was beginning to boil. “Oh, Matt. Couldn’t you wake up just this once?”
She was tempted to pull the covers down and take him into her mouth. Sucking him until he woke was pure joy to her, but she knew he needed his sleep. Still, her own juices were flowing and the tingling sensitivity of her nipples weren’t going to let her sleep.
She did have toys, just as any sexually awakened woman would. Reaching into her drawer, she retrieved her powerful but tiny, bullet vibe and gave Matthew one last, hopeful gaze before flicking it on.
The buzzing seemed louder in the silence of the night, but Matthew never stirred as she slid its cool metallic end through the valley of her breasts.
“Ohh, yes,” she whispered as the intense tingle began awakening the nerves under her skin. Her nipples were already hard, and they began to throb as she drew the bullet upward, toward her bud. Following the curve of her breast, she circled her nipple over and over until she wanted to writhe under its spell.
Idly fondling her other breast, she is hissed as the electric heat of the vibrator found the tip of her nipple. The effect was overpowering and her back arched toward the toy as if she were feeding her breast to an unseen lover. Her belly clenched and her thighs grew taut.
She remembered the sensation of Matthew’s cock filling her and the strength behind his thrusts. Her pussy was yearning for that intrusion and her hand slipped down her belly, caressing herself as the anticipation grew.
The buzzing of the toy was lost to her by then, merging with a deeper buzz in her head. Simply touching the wetness between her thighs made her gasp, and when she plunged her fingers into her sex, they were eagerly accepted in place of her lover’s thrust.
Becca stifled a moan, desperately trying to be silent as the orgasmic tide began rising in her. She had no memory of doing it, but the vibrator was slipping into her sex, sliding along her lips and was brushing against her clit. Her thighs flexed and her ass clenched as her moment grew imminent.
Images of Matthew taking off his shirt or his boyish smile flashing on his face flashed in her mind. Pressure built inside her and her body was wound like the strings on a violin. She felt that she would burst and a seismic quaking came over her sending a cascade of tremors through her body.
As hard as she tried, Becca could not remain silent. Her orgasm crested. She whimpered and sighed as her body trembled with the pulse of her climax.
Somehow, Matthew remained oblivious, sleeping peacefully as the orgasm rocked her. Then her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to normal. Sleep was coming for her and she spooned behind her man as dreams claimed them.
oo0oo
Becca slept late that morning and Matthew was gone when she woke. For a long moment, she gazed at the empty half of the bed, wishing he were there before her own responsibilities drove her from the bed.
She had planned a late morning meeting with Natasha, but as her taxi arrived at the train station, her agency burner phone sounded, letting her know her plans for the day had changed.
Report to the Georgetown Club in an hour. Vlad will meet you there.
“Oh, shit. That’s not good.”
While Vlad wasn’t particularly high ranking in the organization, his position as muscle for Dimitri made him especially dangerous. Worse, he had already made it obvious that he wanted her, and Becca had heard about some horrible things he had done to girls who refused him. With the reputation of the Russian mob being what it was, she had no doubt those rumors were true.
She was dressed for the office and for a brief moment considered changing into one of the more provocative dresses the agency expected her to wear. Had she been going to any other appointment she would have changed. She sensed doing so this time would only bait Vlad and that was something she wanted to avoid.
Again she made her way to Georgetown by a circuitous route, concerned about anyone following her, just as she made her way everywhere since she started this story. When she got to the townhouse, she was told that Vlad was waiting for her in his office.
“Rebecca, I’ve been hearing good things about you. Our Congressman was a happy boy when he left you. Alas, I am not a happy boy. I am tired of the games you play with me. It’s about time that you gave me some TLC. After all, you owe me from last time.”
Vlad grabbed her by the wrist roughly and brought her behind his desk. Rebecca steeled herself to show no crack in her confidence, but she was unnerved and worried she would have to fellate him and perhaps more. The idea repulsed her. This was an odious man who trafficked in women and controlled them completely. And she had likely not ingratiated herself with him when she laughed at him the last time he had moved on her.
Becca tried to calm him. “Vlad, I told you that it would happen one day, just not today. All good things come to he who waits. Come being the operative word.”
He wasn’t buying the stall any more. “On your knees, bitch. Let’s see how good you are at blow jobs.”
Becca tried not to shudder. She had to play the part if she was going to get the story. It was necessary to placate Vlad and allay any suspicions. Just as he was forcing her head into his crotch Dimitri entered the office.
“What do you think you’re doing, Vlad?” He then uttered a Russian curse word. “Rebecca has nothing to prove to you and her blow jobs are for people who pay dearly, not the likes of you. That is not one of your perks here. Besides, I have not sampled her yet myself.”
“Dasvidaniya, Vlad, “ she said as Dimitri led her out of the office. “I am needed by the real boss here.”
“I apologize for Vlad. He is a pig, but unfortunately necessary to my business. I’ll deal with him later. My apartment is not far from here, Rebecca. I have a car and driver outside for us. There is vodka in the freezer and some Beluga caviar that a friend brought me from Russia. We can share them with some blini as we get to know each other better. Much better.”
There was no doubt as to what he had in mind, but Becca felt relief wash over her. At least Dimitri had a semblance of being civilized. She knew that he was capable of violence and more, but as long as she was convincing and could please him, she told herself that she would be fine.
The apartment building was one of the most prestigious ones in the city, designed by a famous architect. It was a sleek combination of glass and steel, the windows reflecting the sun with a pink gold sheen. They entered a lobby opulent with marble and genuine Le Corbusier black leather couches. The concierge buzzed them in with a nod of his head upon seeing Dimitri and tried not to notice the gorgeous redhead who accompanied him.
The express elevator took them to the penthouse floor and Dimitri let them into the apartment. Rebecca was quite surprised when she looked around. Unlike the gauche and overdone taste of new money oligarchs that she expected, this was simple and elegant, unexpectedly modern with white walls and white soft furniture. The colour came from the art she noticed on the walls and she thought she saw an original work by de Kooning, no doubt worth millions. The reporter in her surmised it was a great way to launder money. Just be one of those anonymous telephone bidders at one of the great art auctions. Becca then stopped herself from musing, thinking “Get a hold of yourself. Play your part. He seems to be cultivating a certain image, perhaps what he perceives as class to differentiate himself from the average mobster. Maybe you can play on that to survive this encounter.”
“Sit, Rebecca, sit and make yourself comfortable,” Dimitri bade her. “I will get us something to eat and drink as I promised you.”
“Comfortable!” Becca thought, “Not bloody likely. But I had better fake it really well.”
Becca stood before the plate-glass wall for a time, looking out upon the city. Dimitri’s apartment had every luxury imaginable, but nothing about it was making her comfortable.
“That view is why I had to have this apartment, Rebecca. It is in worthy of a tsar, don’t you think?”
As Becca turned, Dimitri handed her a tumbler of vodka. “Is that how you see yourself, Dimitri? As a king?”
“Not what you expected? When I was young, many of the old, Soviet ideals were still respected in Moscow. In those days, anyone who made such a claim risked finding themselves floating in the Moskva river. Today, with your Western capitalism having taken root, a man with steel in his gut and a brain in his head is not afraid to acquire wealth and power.”