Page 2 of Master Class

The woman looked blank for a second of comprehension, and then her eyes turned manipulating. “Do you want one of these other girls to join you? I can discount the fee if you want another?”

The man shook his head. Instead he turned to the girl and stared blatantly into her eyes. She felt compelled to meet his gaze.

“Well?”

“Yes,” the girl said softly, speaking for the first time. Her eyes were swimming with some unfathomable emotion that swirled mysteriously in the depths of her gaze.

The man straightened, and his demeanor changed in an instant. Now he was abrupt and business like. He tugged on the lapels of his jacket and then adjusted one of the diamond cufflinks at his wrist. He smiled coldly to the madam.

“I’ll be staying at the Stratton tonight. Send her there immediately. I’ll have the money deposited into your private account within the hour.”

He turned and strode purposely from the dungeon, like a man who had important things to do.

He did.

Chapter 2:

The man came out of the elevator on the top floor of the Stratton hotel and paused at a window to admire the view of Washington like the city was his domain; his kingdom. His phone in his pocket rang. He ignored it.

After a moment of silent contemplation he turned and strode down the wide corridor. The carpet beneath his feet was plush and muffled his every step. Not that it mattered. The secret service man guarding the door to the penthouse was watching him approach. He’d had eyes on the man since he had left the elevator. The agent spoke quietly into a microphone attached to his shirtsleeve, then nodded to the man.

“Agent, Willis,” the man nodded back.

“Sir,” the agent acknowledged deferentially.

“Is she in there waiting?”

“Yes, sir.” The agent’s face was straight, devoid of any emotion. He stared at the man with dark blank eyes. “She arrived twenty minutes ago.”

The man nodded. “Has anyone else been in the room?”

“No, sir.”

“Is she alone?”

“Yes sir. She arrived with an escort, but he left her at the elevator doors and has since departed the building.”

“Good.” The man smiled thinly. He straightened his tie, and took a second to compose himself.

“I told her to wait in the bedroom for you, sir.” The agent stepped aside.

The man sauntered to the door, into the penthouse.

The penthouse was lavishly decorated; a vast open-planned living room from which connected doors to bedrooms and a kitchen. The walls were painted an interesting shade of grey, and from the ceiling hung a glittering chandelier. The furnishings were luxurious, and lamps lit the corners, resting on small antique tables. There were floor to ceiling windows across the opposite wall, giving a grand panoramic view of the Capitol at night. Paintings and mirrors hung from the wall.

The man crossed to a side table and selected a cigar from a humidor. He took his time, preparing the end carefully with a knife and moistening it between his lips. He lit the cigar with a gold-plated lighter in his pocket, and then drew deeply with his eyes closed, savoring the experience.

He went to one of the mirrors and smoothed his hands through his hair, gripping the cigar between his teeth while he studied his reflection with an elegant turn of his head. He smiled to himself, but it was a cold enigmatic twist of his lips; the leer of a predator stalking trapped and unsuspecting prey. He blew a thin feather of smoke at the ceiling and turned towards the bedroom.

When he pushed the wide double doors open, the girl he had bought was sitting on the edge of a grand bed, staring out at the night lighted view of Washington.

The man took a moment to catch his breath – struck yet again by the remarkable similarity. He shivered with delicious malevolence.

The girl turned her head towards the sound of his entrance, and her long blonde hair swished like a velvet cascade across her shoulders. She was wearing a short figure-hugging black dress. The man could see high up her long brown thighs. Her face was a pale oval of apprehension. Her eyes were wide with fright. Then they widened even further.

She recognized the man.

“You?” she whispered incredulously, making the question sound more like a scandalous accusation.

The man smiled enigmatically and drew himself to his full imposing height. “You recognize me?” he wasn’t entirely surprised.

The girl nodded her head. “You’re Congressman Wilton Jansing.”

The man chuckled. “I suppose I should be flattered,” he said. “But I suspect you recognize me from all the recent television coverage rather than my years of dedicated service to the American people.” He hadn’t moved. He was still standing in the open doorway. He waved the cigar like a baton, and it drew a thin cloud of smoke in the air about him. “And you are the sweet and delicious Nikita, right?”

He saw it in her eyes; the guilt of her deception behind a thin veil of bravado. She lifted her chin and met his glare.

“Yes,” she said softly. She licked her lips and swallowed down a lump of apprehension that rose dry in her throat.

The Congressman said nothing.

He went to the edge of the bed where Clarissa was sitting and stared down at her. “Get the dress off.”

She moved like an automaton, standing and reaching for the hem of her dress. Her hands were shaking.

Clarissa pulled the dress up over her head and let it drop to the floor. The Congressman nodded his approval. She was wearing fresh lingerie; a red bra and red lace panties. The color suited her. He peeled off his jacket and draped it carefully over the end of the bed.

“Lay down and spread your legs,” the Congressman spoke in the manner of a man accustomed to command. Clarissa slid into the middle of the vast bed, propped her head on one of the pillows, and then slowly parted her legs. The man was standing over her, his expression intense.

“Wider.”

She spread her legs wide. The Congressman’s cock was hard. Clarissa could see the bulge tenting the front of his pants. He reached into his pocket and held up his cell phone. He took a full-length photo of her and then another that was a close up of her face.

Clarissa felt a rise of sudden alarm. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“But why? There was nothing in the contract I signed that said you could photograph me.”

The Congressman smiled coldly. “There was nothing that said I couldn’t,” he countered. “And besides, this is my personal phone and these photos are for my personal collection.” He took two more quick photos of her, then moved to the opposite side of the bed.

“Take off the bra.”

Clarissa balked. She felt off-balance. She felt like she was losing careful control. She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth stubbornly, but she was helpless to resist. She knew her share of the sixty thousand dollar fee wouldn’t be released to her until this man was satisfied, and she had lost her virginity. She had sold herself.

Now she had to pay the price.

Clarissa reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. She tossed it aside with a petulant flourish.

“Good,” the Congressman said. “Now lay back again and put your hand down inside your panties.”

Clarissa closed her eyes and did as she was bid. She was starting to tremble. It was warm in the room but her forearms were bristling with a rash of gooseflesh.

The Congressman snapped three more photos, then one from the foot of the bed showing Clarissa’s spread legs and naked pussy in the foreground, with her face still distinct and identifiable in the background. He stood back for a moment, shuffling through the photos, then unzipped his trousers.

“Now, I want you to take my cock in your sweet little mouth and suck me.”

Clarissa crawled to the edge of the bed obediently and took the Congressman’s hard cock between her painted red lips. She felt a wave of apprehension wash over her. She was about to give herself to

this man for a night of sex, and although she had known this moment was always going to happen, now it was upon her, she felt unprepared. Her mouth was dry as a desert. She licked her lips.

“Look up at me.”

Clarissa opened her eyes and looked up.

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