Page 19 of Master Class

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” Clarissa cried out. Her eyes were screwed shut, her back arched as the intensity of the release seemed to burst like a great glowing light from the very core of her. It tore her apart and left her shattered into broken pieces, slumped in Edge’s strong arms.

Edge held her through the raging storm until the crescendo of Clarissa’s orgasm subsided into broken silence, and she could finally breath again. She felt woozy. She swayed like a drunkard on her feet.

Edge smiled knowingly. “A woman’s body has many erogenous zones,” he said. “Which means that there is more than one way to entice an orgasm… if a man knows what he’s doing.”

Chapter 9:

The phone rang. Clarissa was in bed, exhausted from the long night at Edge’s house, and the shattering intensity of her own orgasm. The insistent demand of the ringtone drew her groggily from a dreamless sleep.

“Hello?” she ran her fingers through her hair and pried her eyes open. It was after midnight.

“Did he fuck you?”

Clarissa came awake in an instant, suddenly cold. “No,” she said regretfully.

There was a long silence. Clarissa sat up in the bed. She was naked. The sheets fell around her waist.

“I’m beginning to lose my confidence in you,” Congressman Jansing’s voice was an impatient simmering snarl down the line. “Either you’re incompetent, or you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying,” Clarissa said. “If we’d had sex and I had the proof, I would gladly give it to you. I want to save my grandfather’s farm.”

Jansing was fuming. Clarissa could hear his pacing footsteps over the rasp of his breath. She imagined him prowling back and forth like a restless lion behind the bars of a cage. “Then maybe you’re incompetent,” he declared. “You seem to be the only woman in Washington who can’t get herself laid.”

“I’m trying,” Clarissa’s tone became a plea for understanding. “I’m doing everything you told me to do.”

“Well you’re not doing enough,” Jansing barked. “When are you seeing him again?”

“Tomorrow night… I mean, tonight,” she corrected herself. It was already the start of a new day.

There was another long and tense silence. Clarissa gnawed fretfully on her lips. At last Jansing spoke again, his voice turned abrupt and final.

“I want to meet you. Now.”

Clarissa’s eyes filled with alarm and trepidation. “But it’s after midnight…”

“I don’t give a damn!” Jansing exploded down the phone line. “Meet me in the alley behind Eighth Street. You’ve got thirty minutes.”

Clarissa dressed in a flurry of panic and dread. She knew there was little chance she could hail a cab at that hour. She drove her car to Eighth Street and parked under the puddled glow of a streetlamp, then walked anxiously to the dark mouth of an alley. She hesitated, standing on the sidewalk. She was shaking with fear and apprehension. The alley was pitch black. She swallowed hard and looked left, then right. She was alone on the sidewalk. The city around her seemed restless but asleep.

Clarissa took three steps into the alley.

Out of the darkness a set of car’s bright headlights flashed from the far end of the alley. It gave Clarissa a little reassurance… and a deepening sense of ominous foreboding. The alley was wide; there were industrial trash bins lined against one wall overflowing with refuse and black plastic bags of trash. The stench took Clarissa’s breath away.

She walked slowly towards the blazing headlights. There was no sound. The car was hunched silently. A rat scurried beneath her feet, jinking from within a bag of trash and darting away into the deeper shadows. Clarissa stifled a scream of loathsome fright.

She walked on in the beam of the headlights until she reached the front of the car. It was a black luxury SUV with dark tinted windows. Clarissa trapped her bottom lip between her teeth. A rear window glided down and a man’s pale hand beckoned her. Clarissa walked to the rear door and opened it. Sitting in the dark shadows was Congressman Wilton Jansing. She knew it was him by the waft of his expensive cologne and the pale features of his face, blurred and made indistinct by the shadows.

“Get in.”

Clarissa stepped into the car, feeling frail and fearful for her own safety. The man’s voice was edged with his temper.

She sat in the corner, as far away from Jansing as she could. She rested her handbag across her lap. The Congressman snatched the bag away from her and dug his hand inside. Clarissa sat in mute fear.

The Congressman rummaged through the bag’s contents until he had the burner phone in his hand. He turned it on and scrolled through the phone’s menu, grunting. There were no photos on the phone, and nothing on the call log apart from the times that Clarissa had dialed his number to report in. He dropped the burner back into the bag and felt around until he found Clarissa’s own phone. Once again he searched the device.

Nothing.

Jansing let out a long sigh of frustration. Clarissa could feel his temper. It was like a force field; some tangible presence he projected that turned the interior of the luxury vehicle cold as ice.

“Mitchem,” Jansing spoke abruptly to his secret service driver, sitting patiently behind the steering wheel. “Take a walk.”

“Yes, sir.” The man got out of the SUV, and Jansing waited until he was sure the bodyguard was well away from the car. Then he turned sideways on the upholstered leather seat and stared at Clarissa’s pale frightened face with the full force of his temper.

“If Edge isn’t fucking you, what is he doing?”

Clarissa shrugged. Her eyes were huge and frightened and the words jammed in her throat. Jansing was intimidating. “He’s… he’s training me…” she sai

d softly.

“What the fuck does that mean?” the Congressman snapped.

“He’s teaching me to submit.”

Jansing bunched his fist and punched it against the padded leather seat in fierce frustration. The violence startled Clarissa, and her fear took on a new face. Until that moment, she had dreaded Jansing’s controlling power over her grandfather’s farm and her own career. Now her fear became a fright for her very wellbeing.

“How is he teaching you to submit? By sucking his cock?”

“Yes… and the cocks of other men as well…” Clarissa added delicately. “Tonight I had to pleasure four men and a woman.”

“What?” Jansing’s head snapped round.

Clarissa nodded. “It’s true. He brought four of his team into a room. There was a woman with them. Edge ordered me to have sex with them all.”

Jansing looked wide-eyed in rising outrage. He thrust his hand under Clarissa’s skirt and pushed her back hard against the seat with his other forearm to pin her. She squealed – first in shock and then in instinctive offense. Jansing had his hand all the way up her thigh, forcing her legs apart. Clarissa wasn’t wearing panties – there hadn’t been time to do anything more than pull on the same dress she had worn to Edge’s house before she had scampered to this meeting. She felt the Congressman’s probing touch, callous and possessive.

“Did any of them fuck you? Did they?” he was shouting into her face, his features corrupted into a swollen mottled mask of outrage.

“No!” Clarissa shook her head. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Jansing’s temper broke like a terrible storm and filled her with real fear.

His fingers were all over her pussy, pulling the tender lips of her sex apart as if to reassure himself that her virginity was still intact. Clarissa was sobbing; violated and helpless.

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