Lawyer, Lawyer Pt. 02

I shook my head.

"Nope," I said. "Sounds pretty clear to me."

Senator Porter is seated at an elegantly set table, looking at his watch as his coffee grows cold. There are various dishes on the table, containing food that is also growing cold. Finally, a door opens to his left and Hillary Clinton enters. She is dressed in a powder blue suit with a muted pink shirt and a single strand of pearls around her neck. The senator looks down, noting the skirt that ends several inches above her knees. She extends her hand as he looks back up.

"Senator Porter. Thank you for joining me for breakfast. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

"Madame President." Senator Porter slowly stands and grudgingly shakes hands. "It's nice to see you again."

"Please, have a seat. Senator, I think we both know why I asked you here: the nutrition labeling bill."

"Or the M&M bill, as we refer to it on my side of the aisle."

"Senator," the President says as she pours herself a cup of coffee and refills his, "nutrition information is so important to all Americans, but particularly to the youngest and most vulnerable among us."

"So that they can make an informed decision between Snickers and Baby Ruth bars based on their nutritional value."

"Senator, I understand that your colleagues in the Republican caucus are united against this bill, and I can't for the life of me understand why. Perhaps it's because --"

"Perhaps it's because they're tired of Hillary Poppins telling them what to do every minute of their lives," the Senator interrupts her.

"Or perhaps it's because the multinational candy corporations have been paying them under the table for a number of years now," Hillary angrily retorts.

"Are you accusing me of accepting bribes?" Senator Porter sits back in his seat.

Hillary realizes she's gone too far.

"No, Senator, I simply meant that --"

"If you were a man, I'd challenge you to a duel," he says, angrily throwing his napkin onto the table. "Since you're not, I'll simply take my leave and tell you that you can suck my cock, Madame President."

"Okay," Hillary says.

Senator Porter has already gotten halfway out of his chair and stops.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, if I suck your cock will you support my bill?" Hillary bluntly asks him.

He sits back down.

"I doubt you're good enough for that kind of deal, Hillary," the Senator says with equal bluntness. "If you were, I don't think Monica Lewinsky would have ever become a household name."

Hillary flushes a deep red and bows her head. When she lifts it again, she is a much more subdued woman.

"Senator, this bill is extremely important to me."

"I can tell." The Senator's laugh is cruel. "Tell you what, why don't you get under this table and get to work, and we'll see how the negotiation goes."

The Senator pushes himself back from the table a bit as Hillary slides out of her suit jacket and slides off her chair. He looks down under the table and sees her delicate hands unzip him and pull out his already hard cock. He continues to watch as his cock is lost beneath her blonde hair as she leans forward into his lap.

He watches her bobbing up and down for a minute or two.

"I'm surprised, Hillary," he says, "you actually are pretty good at this."

A sound of a door opening to the right surprises both of them, and Hillary squeaks, "Oh, shit!" and scoots back a little further under the table. The Senator scoots his chair forward as well, and grabs her hair to put her back to work. Only then does he look over at the source of the sound. The doorway is hidden in partial shadow, and a tall man sticks his head in.

"Mister President!" Senator Porter is clearly smiling. "You must be looking for your wife."

"That's right, Ralph." The First Husband's voice is quite distinctive. "She's not here, huh?"

"She said she had some Presidential duties that needed her immediate attention," Senator Porter says. "I'm sure you know how it is. Shall I tell her that you were looking for her?"

"Don't bother," Bill says, giving Senator Porter a barely visible wink. "I just wanted to make sure I knew where she was. I've got some duties of my own to tend to, if you know what I mean."

He closes the door, and Senator Porter looks back down at Hillary.

"Time for you to do some other duties, too, honey," he says. "Does that door lock?"

Hillary scoots backward and jumps to her feet. It becomes apparent that she unzipped her skirt as she sucked. As the skirt falls to the floor, the Senator can also see that she has used her hands to produce the wet stain that is visible on her surprisingly skimpy white panties. She steps out of the skirt and runs to the door, locking it and running back to stand in front of the senator, slowly turning in place until he presses a hand into her back and bends her forward, over the table, forcing her ass back against his hard cock.

The rest, as Andy Richardson once explained to me, was just pure pornography. At the end, after I'd pulled my cock out of Carrie's/Hillary's ass and sprayed her face -- and boy, Brother Tomás wasn't kidding about that extender -- I heard a whoop in my earpiece from the control room. I turned to look, and Brother Michael was standing there shaking his head. Finally he turned to look at me, and gave me a big grin and a thumbs up. A minute or two later he was in the control room shaking my hand.

"I've been doing this for a year and a half," he said, "and that's the first single-take video I've ever seen. Look, it's only eight-fifteen. You can still make breakfast, Brother."

My accomplishment was toasted at dinner that evening as well -- the second dinner, of course, with the Chicken Marsala and the Pinot Noir, not the one with the soup and the black bread. Then we watched the highlights: me with Hillary; Nathan with former Wimbledon champion Maria Sharapova; Francis doing an unusually nasty, but completely consensual scene with former Secretary of State Condi Rice; and Dominic with Gillian Anderson.

Brother Tomás had pulled up his chair next to mine again, and during the last video he leaned over confidentially.

"We had some asshole request a Gillian Anderson video a few years ago," he said, "and he cut it into pieces and started selling it on the internet. He met with an unfortunate heart attack a few months ago."

I turned to stare at him, but he simply kept going.

"Although," he added with a chuckle, "it has made Ms. Anderson our most popular performer. Maybe we should do one of these ourselves, and make it available free of charge, to whet the appetite of the market a little. Who knows? We could even up the price after that. You interested in doing some ad work?"

He smiled at me and I smiled back.

"Sure." I grinned. Better that than "meeting with an unfortunate heart attack."

The next day I was paired with Lindsay Lohan, the two-time Pulitzer Prize winner. Bitch. I was careful not to do this one in a single take, and while Brother Michael was adjusting his audio levels in the control booth, I took advantage of the break to tell Carrie to disavow my previous instructions. Instead, I suggested, unless I told her different, she should plan on being here for at least another two weeks. This was the fourth day since we'd exchanged her for Julie, and I was afraid she'd suicide today unless I countermanded my earlier order. In fact, I had a different plan in mind now that I'd made it inside.

The following day, a Friday, I had a horrible experience. We had two consensual orders, and Nathan was given first choice. He took Jenna Bush, the very hot daughter of our former president George Bush II, from just before she joined the Mormon Church in 2010 and was lost doing missionary work in Kuala Lumpur. Actually, both of his daughters were hot; Barbara was the cute hot brunette and Jenna was the slutty hot blonde. Pre-Mormon, anyway. I think she stopped dyeing her hair after she -- anyway, I got Katherine Harris, the former Congresswoman from Florida, circa 2005. She'd lost a disastrous race for the Senate in 2006, but apparently there were still people out there who revered her, or at least wanted to fuck her. Not me. It took two and a half hours to finish, and I still tremble thinking about it.

The day after that, a Saturday, I had an even worse experience.

It had been on Thursday, when Brother Cary came to get me for the Lohan piece after lunch, that I realized that I was on some sort of probation. I already knew where the fucking door was, but nobody was going to give me the combination just yet. Brother Cary, in fact, carefully hid his hand from me when he entered it, as if he were at an ATM machine. I knew, though, that if I was going to break Carrie out of there -- my new plan -- it was going to have to be over the weekend, before the real Brother Peter showed up at the beginning of the following week.

My lucky break had come on Friday, when Brother Samuel was a little careless at the beginning, and I saw him hit a "3" and a "6" before he shifted his body to hide the keypad. No, I thought, they wouldn't be that stupid, would they? But apparently they were. On Friday night, after I figured everyone was asleep, I tiptoed down the corridor and entered 36-24-36, and the door swung open. Could we be any more juvenile? Still, it might not have occurred to any of the "real" monks.

I quickly located the room that Carrie had been given, more of a cell than a room, of course, although she did have a much nicer shower than I did. The bathroom, in fact, was the only room I'd seen with a window, albeit a very small one. She was in the shower when I pushed open the door to her room and began whispering her name. Unable to locate her at first, I finally heard the water running, and sat on the toilet while she finished.

She pushed back the shower curtain, and I saw Jenna's bush. I mean Jenna Bush. Eyes up, Jase. She saw me, her eyes widened, and she drew in breath for a scream. But she just as quickly recognized me, and with a shriek of delight jumped out of the shower and into my arms as I stood up.

"Master, the room is bugged," she whispered into my ear. "The shower will cover it."

I nodded. She hopped back in the tub, drew the curtain, and turned the shower back on. After a few seconds, her head appeared around the shower curtain.

"Are you coming or not?" she whispered with a sexy little smile.

Oh.

I stripped off my robe and underwear, and jumped in with her. It was a snug little shower, but we were old friends.

"That's better," she said in a more normal tone, pressing her breasts against me.

"Decided you like this body?" I asked her as the water cascaded over us.

"Uh-huh," she said. "Most of the times I get treated like a fucking piece of meat. But I like this one; she's a firecracker. I haven't cum like this since, well, since you were fucking that cheerleader slut, Sue."

"Hey," I protested, "that's my friend."

"So am I, master," she said, "and since she's not here . . ."

Further conversation was cut off by her kissing me on the lips and climbing up to impale herself on my erect cock. While we fucked, I explained to her my plan.

"I don't think they work on Sunday," I said. "Oh, God, you're tight. Anyway, Sunday. Lord's day. Day of rest. Oh, fuck, sweetie. But the front door's locked from sundown to sunrise. So I'll be here right after lunch, when we'll have the longest time without anybody missing us. Oh, God, where did you learn that? So just be prepared, okay? Sunday afternoon. Oh, fuck yes!"

She climbed off of me and let my "extended" semen pour out of her and run down her legs. Soaping herself again, she rinsed off one more time and reached behind her to shut off the shower.

"Damn, you're still the best, aren't you?" she said as she began to dry herself with a towel.

"Carrie," I shushed her. "The bugs."

"What bugs?" she asked.

"The place is bugged," I reminded her.

"Who told you that?" she said with a girlish giggle.

"You little minx," I said, making a grab for her ass. She nimbly skipped out of my way and headed into her bedroom. I somewhat less nimbly followed her, but I made it to the bed all the same. Later than night, probably around four in the morning, I unlocked the door again -- the lock worked both ways -- and snuck back into my room.

The following day we were scheduled to film my "ad" first, and then three other videos. The ad was the first time the brothers had specifically decided to target a right-wing audience, and I shot five-minute clips with Ann Coulter; Jenna; Jenna's sister Barbara, who was treated a bit more roughly, probably a result of her post-First Family membership in PETA and Greenpeace; Senator Spears (who was actually more of a libertarian); Condi; and Jenna Jameson, who was married to the current Secretary of Defense. And then we threw in a little Barbara Eden, from I Dream of Jeannie, to make the fantasy part even that much more obvious. (That Jeannie part was my idea, so if you see it on the Internet, keep that in mind. I think it's the best part.) Brothers Cary and Samuel were practically drooling at the thought of splicing all of the video together into a 10-minute preview tape. Brother Tomás pronounced himself very satisfied with the work, and escorted me personally back to "the door." As he was about to close it behind me, we heard someone knocking at the front door just down the hall.

"Brother Peter," he asked, "will you please answer that? If you have any questions at all, I'm sure that Brother Terrence, who's manning the desk in the library today, will be happy to help you out."

He smiled and closed the door, and I turned and headed for the front door. I found another monk awaiting admission.

"Hello," I extended my hand in courteous monkly fashion. "I'm Brother Peter."

"Hello." He laughed as he took my hand. "I'm Brother Peter as well. I'm a bit early, I'm afraid, but I believe Brother Tomás is expecting me."

CHAPTER SEVEN

I recovered quickly from the sense of impending doom that had engulfed me when I first heard the name.

"Yes, he certainly is expecting you, Brother Peter. Come on in. You must be tired, huh?"

"Not really," he said jovially. "It's only a two-hour drive from Minnesota."

"Of course," I agreed, hustling him in. "Still, you should probably visit your room first. You know, get settled, unpack your things?"

He had a gym bag with him, probably full of underwear and socks. Probably not a lot of unpacking was going to be needed. But he good-naturedly let me push him along to my room.

"Here you go." I ushered him inside.

"Are you sure?" he asked, eyeing the rumpled bedding as I shut the door behind us. "This looks like it's already occupied."

"Oh, no, we kicked him out this morning," I said as I stepped into the bathroom. "Housekeeping will be along shortly. But no sense waiting for them. Just let me fix the toilet here; Brother Tomás said it's been running at night. I'm gonna just take the lid off and -- yeah, I think I see the problem here. All right, pal, take off the rope."

He was a little surprised to see me pointing a pistol at him. I was a little surprised to be doing it.

"My belt?" he asked.

"Whatever," I said. "Take it off. Come on; chop, chop."

He took off the belt-rope thing that cinched his robe around his waist and then, at my command, took off the robe as well, leaving him in his boxer shorts. I had him lay down on his stomach and carefully tied his hands behind his back, and then secured him to the bed.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Brother Peter," he began self-righteously.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," I said. "I'm so goddamn tired of you monks. I guess I'm gonna have to gag you, though, aren't I?"

The walls in that place were paper-thin -- I could hear my next-door neighbor, Brother James, moaning every night as he jerked off -- so I tore off a strip of his robe and fashioned a crude gag.

"Have a nice stay here!" I said cheerily him as I stuffed the gun and my cell phone in the pocket of my robe and hurried back to "the door." Slipping through, I turned around and changed the combination -- a relatively simple task once I'd located the "Change Combination" key after my visit with Carrie. With gun back in hand, I slipped into the control room, where Brother Kevin was directing Brother Dominic in the next video. Stealing up behind him, I reached down and flipped off his microphone.

"What the -- " Brother Kevin stopped when he saw the gun.

"Come on. Get up." I gestured him out of his seat and pushed him through the door onto the soundstage. Brother Dominic had just pulled out of his co-star, a tall woman with long, dark hair and a nice ass who was bent over a desk in a classroom setting. Brother Tomás was standing just offstage, enjoying the performance. I pushed Brother Kevin onto the stage.

"All right, assholes, freeze," I ordered.

They froze.

"Brother Peter." Tomás's eyes narrowed into small little slits.

"Actually, Brother Peter's tied up at the moment," I said. "And if you refer to me as your brother again, I'll shoot you for that alone."

"Master!" Carrie looked up from her position on the desk and gave me a big smile.

"Go to the other stage," I told her, "and tell Cary and Samuel that if they're not here in 30 seconds, I'm gonna start shooting. Tell them Brother Tomás is first. If they do anything other than follow you, give a scream."

I pointed the gun at him to emphasize my order, and she hopped up and ran next door. Cary and Samuel were used to taking orders, even from naked brunettes, and followed her back into the room.

"Who are you supposed to be?" I asked Carrie as I took in her naked form.

"A teacher?" she said. "Ms. Dodge?"

Now it was my eyes that were narrowing.

"And who are you supposed to be?" I asked Dominic.

"Um, Stewart Simmons?" he offered tentatively. "Quarterback of the Hardwood High School football team?"

"Asshole," I muttered, letting loose a shot in his direction. He screamed and dropped to the ground. Huh. I guess the gun didn't kick back as much as Andy thought it would. Well, they could fix that kind of injury; besides, it was big enough that he wouldn't notice if they had to cut part of it out and splice the remaining bits together.

"The rest of you," I ordered. "Take off your robes."

They complied with remarkable speed, no doubt influenced by the sight of Brother Dominic writhing on the floor. Hell, if he was still writhing, I couldn't have hit him that bad.

"Carrie, change into somebody different," I told her. I couldn't work with Gail Dodge wandering around naked. Carrie picked Sue Waggoner. Big help.

"Get their robes and check the pockets," I ordered her. "Now I want you to go back into the other control room and find a pair of scissors and cut the phone line."

She was back three minutes later.

"All right boys," I said, "back to the door."

We marched back through the control room, where I had Carrie cut that phone line as well, and down the corridor to "the door." Even Dominic was able to make the trip; it was obviously just a flesh wound.

"You're letting them out?" Carrie asked in alarm as we reached the end of the corridor.

"Hell, no. But in case I missed any cell phones, I want a little bit of a head start. Gentleman, against the left wall."

They obediently pressed themselves against the wall, and Carrie and I slid by them to get to the door. I whispered the new combination to her, and she entered it into the keypad.

"Living doll," I reached out for her as the door opened. I stepped out with my doll into a fortunately deserted hallway, and waved goodbye as the soundproof door closed and silenced the shouts from the monks. Brother James came walking down the hallway just then, and as I reached the front door, I told him he had a new neighbor and he needed to be a little quieter at night. I left him blushing there in the hallway as I slipped through the door and made a beeline for the parking lot.