“What?”
“You heard me. I want to know what happened. What really happened. Who was behind it.” She glared at the television screen, even though it was dark. “All these people keep babbling about terrorists, but the truth is, we have no idea who orchestrated this crime. I want you to find out.”
“Me?” He looked at her as if she had asked him to find the Lost Ark of the Covenant. “Isn’t more or less the entire U.S. government tryin’ to find out who was behind the attack? And comin’ up with nothin’?”
“Yes,” Christina said, staring directly into his eyes. “But I know something the entire U.S. government does not.”
“You’ve got a killer clue? A smokin’ gun?”
“Something even better,” she said, motioning him toward her office. “Good gossip.”
17
“Have you been a bad girl?”
“I’ve been a bad girl. I’ve been a very, very bad girl.”
“Have you been naughty?”
“Very naughty.”
“What happens to naughty girls?”
“They should be…punished.”
“I agree. Pull down your knickers.”
Underneath her clothing, Belinda DeMouy was wearing a pink bustier with a garter strap linking it to matching pink fishnet hose. Her pumps were pink and silver with little fluff balls over the toe.
She slithered over the side of the bed, rubbing up against the covers like a kitten. “You won’t hurt me very bad, will you?”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve been naughty, and naughty girls must be seriously punished.”
“Are you going to take your great big hand and spank me?”
“No. I think this calls for something that will make more of an impression.” Jason Simic reached under the bed and withdrew a long mahogany paddle with a small hole drilled through the center.
Belinda shuddered when she saw the menacing implement. “Oh, God,” she murmured. “Oh, Goddddddd…”
“Pull down your panties, dear.”
Belinda complied.
He pulled her across his lap. “I just hope you remember this the next time you think about being bad.” He swung the paddle five times in rapid succession.
She screamed with an ecstasy born of some potent combination of pain and pleasure. He spanked her again and again and she gasped and screamed. Soon he established a rhythm, pounding at her with an increasingly accelerated pace, as if Ravel’s Bolero were playing somewhere in his mind.
“Oh,” she screamed out. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” But she did not ask him to stop.
When her bottom was properly pinked, Jason pulled her upright. “Now go stand in the corner. With your panties dangling around your ankles.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you’re going to be a naughty girl, then I’ll have to punish you like a naughty girl.”
Her breasts heaved. Her lips parted.
“Now get in that corner before I start paddling you again!”
She obeyed.
He left her there for a good ten minutes, her panties around her ankles, her flaming buttocks lit like a Christmas ornament. Finally, he led her back to the bed, laid her down, and snapped the cuffs around her wrists.
“Oh my God, they’re so tight,” she said breathlessly. “So tight.”
“It’s going to hurt,” he informed her. “But a naughty girl has no right to complain.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to spank you some more, then I’m going to take you, very fast and very hard.”
“Oh, Goddddd…”
“I’m going to use you for my own personal pleasure.”
“Oh, use me. Use me!”
“You won’t get any pleasure out of this, and frankly I don’t care. A naughty girl doesn’t get to choose what she wants.”
“Yes…yes…”
“You’re a naughty girl, and I’m going to punish you with my brush hog.”
“Oh, Goddddd…”
“But first I want that ass of yours nice and hot.”
“Oh, yes. God, yes.”
He spanked her until he could see bruised blood vessels appear on her buttocks; then he flipped her around and went about his business. He pounded away at her, judging his rhythm by the frequency of her cries of tortured delight.
“I’ve been bad,” she cried out, rocking her hips back and forth, gasping with passion. “Punish me, master. Punish me!”
Despite what he said about her not getting any pleasure out it, she climaxed before he did.
Half an hour later, Jason and Belinda lay in a heap on the brass bed, their feet intertwined, her face glowing. He was reading some work materials; she was gazing at him with watery eyes.
“God, you really get into the subjugation/domination stuff, don’t you?” she asked.
Jason did not look up from the papers he was reading. “Uhh, I’m pretty sure that was you.”
She shoved his shoulder. “Don’t give me that. You loved it.”
“I love making use of your body.”
“You sweet-talker.”
“But the corporal punishment fetish is all yours.”
She curled up closer and purred. “You’re indulging your naughty girl?”
“I’m doing what needs to be done so I can screw her brains out. Several times a night.”
“You’re so romantic.”
What would her mother think about this? Belinda wondered. Her mother had always taught her to be proper. To behave with decorum. This was about as far from proper as it was possible to get. Bad enough to be having an affair. But she was having an extremely kinky affair, and with her husband’s chief of staff, no less.
And loving every minute of it.
Could she help herself? It’s not as if she had ever been in love with the great and distinguished Senator Jeffrey DeMouy. She married him because everyone thought she should. Seemed like a good idea at the time. But it wasn’t. It was an empty marriage. Not that it was loveless, exactly. She knew he loved her, in his own dry perfunctory missionary-position way. But where was the passion? He was so much older than she; he was well into his forties when they married. He didn’t have the stamina for much. If it weren’t for those magic little blue pills, they might not have had a sex life at all.
It would be better if he were around more. If he were one of those doting spouses who was always buying her flowers or giving her presents or other tokens of his affection. She could live with knowing he’d lost interest in sex, but she couldn’t live with knowing he’d lost interest in her. She was a tool to him and she always had been, the hostess with the mostest, never anything more. She increased his electability, increased his visibility, made him
