Page 34 of Master Class

Jansing shifted himself in his seat. He had an erection. “Show me the footage of you and Edge. I want to see it.”

Without moving, Clarissa reached into her bulky handbag and held up the burner phone. On the small screen was a still image of her bent over a desk, her face a mask of erotic rapture. In the background was Nick Edge. He was behind her, his hands on her hips. The man had his eyes closed, but the Congressman knew who it was instantly. Clarissa thumbed a button on the phone and the image became video footage, complete with the sounds of people having sex. The moans and groans through the speaker seemed amplified in the oppressive still silence of the alley.

Jansing watched, smiling cruelly. He reached for the phone to see more clearly. Clarissa snatched it away. She shook her head. Her face was pale and bloodless. Her lips were pressed into a thin defiant line.

“No,” she said. “I’m not giving you this footage until you make some phone calls. I want my money released from your bank. And I want you to call whoever you’re blackmailing at my grandfather’s bank. Call them off. End the conspiracy to force him off his farm, Congressman. Then I’ll keep my side of our bargain.”

Jansing’s smile corrupted into something savage and sneering. The video was still playing on the small screen of the phone, and he found his eyes being drawn back to the image as if he were hypnotized. There was no doubt about it. He had Edge right where he wanted him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the first number.

Clarissa shut the video down and dropped the burner phone back into her handbag.

“Grayson? It’s Wilton Jansing. That sixty thousand you’re holding? Release it immediately to the nominated account, please.”

After a moment of pause, Jansing nodded. “Thank you.”

He hung up and looked at Clarissa as if the menial tasks she demanded of him were below his station. “Your money is in your account,” he said.

Clarissa grunted. “Good. Now call my grandfather’s bank.”

Jansing sighed theatrically. “I’ll do that tomorrow.”

“No,” Clarissa shook her head. “Do it right now, or I’ll walk out of this alley and take the evidence with me.”

Jansing’s face turned brutal and vile. The sneer on his lips sent a chilled tremor of fear down Clarissa’s spine. She felt her breath catch in her throat, but she didn’t waver. The Congressman stabbed at the buttons of the phone.

Clarissa took her own personal phone from her bag and quickly checked her online banking details. A deposit of sixty-thousand-dollars had just landed in her account. She shut the phone down again and re-focused her attention on the Congressman.

Jansing was staring straight ahead, looking past the front seats of the vehicle into the dark mouth of the alley. Clarissa could tell by his body language that the man was resentful. He had his phone to his ear. Finally the call connected.

“Bill? It’s Wilton Jansing.”

A pause.

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling tonight. It’s about the Oldham family farm down in Georgia.”

Another short pause.

“That’s right,” Jansing’s voice on the phone was oily smooth and charmingly urbane. “Well my friends have decided they don’t want the land after all. They’re looking at a place in Alabama instead.”

There came one final short delay. Clarissa listened, holding her breath. She could only hear Jansing’s side of the conversation.

“No. Tear up all the legals on it, Bill. Let the Oldham’s keep it, okay?” The Congressman nodded and put a fake smile into his voice. “Have a good night, and thanks again for your help. Maybe next time we can do business…”

He crushed a button on his phone with his thumb to cut the call, and then thrust the phone into his jacket pocket. Clarissa’s eyes narrowed for a fleeting instant of understanding, then filled with relief as she slipped back into character.

“Thank you,” she said softly, feeling a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders.

“And fuck you,” the Congressman seethed. “Now give me the fucking phone.”

Clarissa reached back into the bulky handbag and her fingers brushed over the burner phone, then wrapped around the identical replacement phone that Edge had bought on their shopping trip. She held it up in her hand and smiled coyly.

“Congressman, I misjudged you,” Clarissa smiled suddenly, but the look was not one of pleasure. It was sensual; sexual. “I did what you asked and it’s all recorded right here on this phone. You did what I asked, graciously,” she lied. “So I figure the least I can do is repay you in a special way to conclude our business transaction.”

Like a conjurer performing a trick that required audience participation, Clarissa slowly lifted the hem of her short skirt and then stuffed the duplicate phone down the front of her lace panties. She was smiling lustily. The Congressman watched with mute incredulity.

Clarissa’s voice became thick and husky. “Now,” she crawled onto the back seat of the car like a prowling jungle cat, swaying her ass provocatively and with her eyes fixed on the Congressman’s crotch. “Why don’t you come and get your reward.”

Clarissa’s hands went for the belt of Jansing’s pants and unfastened it. The Congressman was slouched in the corner of the seat. Clarissa pulled his legs wide open and then tugged his zipper down. She felt the man’s hands on her back, gliding down over her ass towards her pussy. She undulated her body and rocked her hips, teasing him. The Congressman groaned and sucked in a sharp breath of unexpected pleasure.

Clarissa reached into the man’s pants and withdrew his cock. Jansing was hard and hot. Clarissa wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and slowly stroked him. Jansing let out the breath he had been holding. His fingers were rubbing across Clarissa’s shaved pussy. She moved just an inch to take herself out of reach, and then engulfed the top of the Congressman’s cock with her mouth. She moaned. The Congressman tensed and flexed. Then his body seemed to go limp as pleasure overwhelmed him.

Suddenly bright lights popped and flashed behind the Congressman’s closed eyes. He marveled at the sensation. Then he heard strident demanding voices. His eyes flew wide open and the horror of the moment drained the color from his face as if he had been bled from the jugular.

There were photographers and journalists crowding around the car, hammering the palms of their hands against the tinted windows and pressing their cameras against the glass. One of the photographers was at the open door. The Congressman’s vision flashed into blindness.

“Who is the hooker, Congressman?”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Do you think this sex scandal will end your career?”

Congressman Jansing thrust out his hand at the cameras to shield his face and at the same time, he tried to shrug Clarissa from his lap. Her hands were all over him, clinging to him. He roared his outrage into her face, his features twisted and demonic.

“Do you fear for your career in Washington?”

“How many hookers are you seeing, sir?”

“Do you have anything to say to your constituents?”

Jansing scrambled to straighten his clothes and clambered over the center console of the car, crawling awkwardly to get himself behind the steering wheel. The cl

amor of the journalists shouting voices turned the moment into a surreal mayhem. Jansing was wide-eyed and panicking. His mouth hung slack. He looked like an escaping criminal. He was shouting back at the journalists and trying to hide his face from the cameras.

Clarissa slipped quietly off the back seat and went into the dark shadows by the wall of the alley. Her heart was racing. She could feel the drumming rush of her blood in her ears. She was trembling like a survivor of an accident when the aftershock sets in.

Edge came limping quickly down the dark alley and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s over,” he said with grim certainty. “It’s all over now.”

Clarissa buried herself within the circle of Edge’s arms, and they stayed embracing until the black SUV’s engine suddenly roared to life and the car sped recklessly away, knocking journalists aside as Jansing fled. One of the reporters fell to the ground, but the mud and grime on the man’s clothes had come from lurking patiently amongst the piles of trash for the past two hours with the others of his trade – not from the tumble.

Edge helped the man to his feet and thanked the journalists for responding to his phone calls. They were smiling like jackals with the scent of blood in their nostrils. When their newspapers published the next morning, Congressman Wilton Jansing would be politically crucified.

Clarissa reached into the front of her blouse and retrieved the Congressman’s phone that she had pickpocketed from his jacket. She handed the device to Edge.

“Any troubles?”

Clarissa shook his head. “In the confusion, Jansing was too panicked to even notice. I could have taken his wallet and watch as well if I had wanted to.”

Edge weighed the Congressman’s private phone in his hand and smiled in bleak triumph.

“The newspapers have photos of a dark haired anonymous hooker giving the Congressman a blowjob, your money has been deposited into your account, and the banks have called off their challenge for your grandfather’s home. All that remains is to delete your photos off this phone, and it’s over, Clarissa. You’ll be free. You’ll have your life back.”

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