Tuesday, June 30, 2015

DANI'S FINAL SERVE PART 1 OF 4 by BPAP

“The board have made their decision Mr Bailey”.
Tony looked at the man in the black suit dejectedly. He looked like an FBI agent with his black shades and stone faced expression. Their matter of business was also solemn.
Tony could never have imagined that his actions twenty years ago would still be coming back to bite him in his forties. In his early days as a tennis coach he had been accused of sexual harassment against some of the younger teen players that he mentored. All of the accounts had been blown out of proportion but in a lot of cases he didn’t have a leg to stand on. In instances where he had been on a tennis court alone with his students the law was always likely to side with the girl’s version of events.
At the time Tony watched as his personal and professional life began to collapse around him. But it was then, during his greatest time of need, that he received the help he so desperately desired. Although they seemed like a shady organisation the men of BM-BO promised to make the harassment cases disappear and pay off the girls. On top of that they assured him that they would make the girls publicly testify that their accusations had been false to silence the doubters and ensure his career didn’t suffer. All they asked for were certain unspecified favours further down the line. Despite the anxiety of what these requests would involve Tony was desperate and BM-BO seemed like the type of global company that got their way in such matters. He had agreed.
Now in his office he listened to the faint squeaking of trainers on polished floor and the buzzing of tennis balls hitting the net cord sensor from the adjacent sports hall. He now had his own successful coaching business which he assumed was the reason for BM-BO’s sudden visit. The man delved into his inside pocket. He produced a photo and slid it across the table. Tony’s heart sank when he saw who it was.
“Danielle de Costa” He sighed. “But she’s one of my key talents. What do you want with her?”
“That’s not your concern”, the man replied in his dull monotone voice. His face gave nothing away. “You owe us”.
Tony knew there was nothing he could do. Even though the harassment cases occurred a long time ago he knew it would still hit his career hard if they were to resurface.
“She has a month to get her affairs in order”, the man in the shades continued. “We will send over the travel documents in due course. The flight from London to Florida will take her to the tennis training academy”.
“And if she refuses to attend?”
“Make sure she doesn’t. We wouldn’t want to forcibly transfer her as much as we wouldn’t want to forcibly remove you from the business you have worked so hard to build up.”
Tony knew that the BM-BO official was deadly serious. When the transfer papers were put in front of him his pen only poised over the paper for a few seconds before he signed.
* * *
Danielle’s stomach was doing somersaults and she knew the reason was more than just the bumpy landing into Miami International. The best way to describe how she was feeling was nervously excited.
At first Danielle had been confused when Tony the head coach had called her into his office and told her the news. She wasn’t an arrogant girl but she knew she was perhaps the best young player at his academy at eighteen and she was curious to know why he was so quick to get rid of her. But when he went into more detail about the Florida Institute of Regional Tennis Academy in America she quickly realised that he had her best interests in mind. Although she knew she would miss her friends and family and that it was a scary prospect to be so far away from home she knew this was not an opportunity to be missed. Some of her favourite players in the game were either from or had trained in America and to be a part of that meant that people were starting to take her career seriously. As a result she had eagerly accepted the offer at the tennis academy in Florida. Danielle didn’t know Tony that well but she got the feeling his smile was a little forced. She assumed he was just sad to see her go.
When Danielle came out of departures she saw a man holding a sign with her name on. He introduced himself as Troy Delaney.
“I’m one of the assistant coaches at the academy”, he explained. “And we’ve heard a lot of positive feedback about your talents on court”.
“Yeah I’ve won a couple of tournaments and I think my form has really improved over the last six months”, Danielle explained politely. “I think there’s definitely room for improvement though and I believe this is the perfect place for me to perfect my skills. I won’t let you down”.
Troy seemed impressed as he led her out of the airport. Danielle was surprised when they approached a stretch limo and he opened the back door, beckoning her inside. She didn’t expect to be travelling in such style. The academy clearly didn’t have any funding problems.
“We’ll send all your luggage ahead of us”, Troy said as he sat beside her. “The academy director is keen to meet you immediately. The team will send your luggage straight to your room.”
Danielle felt her heart sink slightly as she watched her luggage being taken away but she quickly shook off the feeling of loss. These were professionals. She was sure they could handle the simple matter of transferring her cases.
Whilst they sped across the highway Troy gave Danielle a briefing on the academy and all of its facilities. As she listened she looked out of the window in fascination. Everything was so much like England yet tweaked somehow. The roads were the same yet they were travelling on the opposite side, the cars were similar but there were certain makes she didn’t recognise and the radio was on at a faint volume though the DJ had an American accent.
Despite the briefing Danielle was amazed when they reached the facility. It was much bigger than where she had trained in England. There was a large administrative building beside the long rectangular accommodation suite. Then of course were the courts. They had both indoor and outdoor grounds and they seemed huge. Danielle couldn’t have been happier.
The limo stopped outside the large sports hall and they took the lift to the top floor. Danielle cursed the fact that she hadn’t had chance to change. She still felt icky from the long flight but she didn’t even have the opportunity for a quick glance in a mirror before Troy ushered her into the director’s office.
The director was standing in front of a wide floor to ceiling window which had a view of some of the indoor courts.
“Ah Dani come and watch with me”, he exclaimed ushering her forwards.
Danielle bit her tongue sharply. She hated being called Dani but she wasn’t about to correct the man who had selected her for the academy.
The director didn’t introduce himself but he didn’t have to. Danielle had read the documents she had been provided with a hundred times about the Florida Institute of Regional Tennis and had also looked over them on the flight for good measure. His name was Ray Beckford and he oversaw the whole academy.
When she approached and looked out she realised he was watching some of the male players in training. They both stood there in silence for a while. Danielle was impressed. They had clearly been trained well but she was snapped out of her reverie when he spoke again.
“You’ll do well here”, he muttered.
With a sidewards glance Danielle could clearly see him looking her over. His eyes darted up and down as he checked out her body. She knew he was probably trying to gage her physical fitness to see how well she would manage on the court but it made her feel uncomfortable. It was like he was leering at her.
Eventually the director turned away and led her across to the admin building to meet the board of executive’s. She was polite and respectful as were they but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were gawping at her too. So it came as a huge relief when Troy came back and told her he would take her to her room. She was beginning to feel self-conscious.
Danielle was delighted with her room in the accommodation suite of the academy. It was like the suite of a lavish hotel yet Troy announced some bad news. The car with her luggage had been involved in a terrible car accident and he was unsure as to when she would get her cases. Though she was concerned with the safety of the driver her heart plummeted that her luggage was missing. Fortunately her wardrobe had been stocked with clothes emblazoned with the Florida Institute of Regional Tennis lettering. It was only when Troy left that she looked them over and discovered that this had been shortened to the acronym F.L.I.R.T. Danielle instantly decided she would sleep in her bra and panties that evening.
When Troy had left her to get settled in her new room she finally had a chance to look herself over in the mirror in the bedroom. She pulled the bobble out of her brunette hair and let it cascade across her shoulders as she observed her lithe athletic figure. There were visible creases underneath her bright emerald green eyes and for good reason. Not only had she had a busy day of meet and greet but jetlag was beginning to catch up with her.
Danielle decided to have a quick power nap to recover and spread across the bed. As she fumbled to the alarm clock she noticed the small LED screen panel above the beside cabinet. Leaning forwards she noticed another beside the door. The screens were blank and she was too tired to play around with them.
Snuggling into the bed she fell into a light restless sleep with feelings of doubt and unease washing through her mind.
* * *
“Good Morning and welcome to another fine day at the Florida Institute of Regional Tennis”
Danielle almost leapt off the bed in fright. The women’s speech was followed by thumping dance music and it seemed to flood the room intrusively. It was coming from the LED panels. She watched with blurry eyes as images of the academy played on the screen and looked at the clock. It was 6am.
Danielle cursed loudly. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t woken from the power nap and had slept straight through to the morning. Although the screens were annoying at least they had woken her so she could get ready for her first training session. It would have been embarrassing to miss it.
The power shower worked wonders at waking her up and washing off the grime of the previous day. She felt refreshed as she padded back into the bedroom but then suddenly remembered about her cases. Reluctantly she opened the wardrobe and took another look at the outfits inside.
Danielle knew she didn’t have a choice but to wear them. She could hardly wear the tight jeans and T-shirt that she wore the previous day though she kept her bra and panties on. After long deliberation she eventually went for black leggings with F.L.I.R.T stamped in white across her butt and a dark grey sports bra that also had the logo stamped across in white. She found some white sweat bands for her wrists and after tying her hair back into a ponytail she put on a black baseball cap. Fortunately the logo was smaller and etched across the back of it. Danielle had to keep assuring herself that the clothes were only temporary.
It wasn’t long before Troy came to fetch her. He led her out of the accommodation building and round to one of the outdoor courts. Once there he whistled to one of the girls who stopped mid session in the adjacent court and came over to them.
“This is Tori. She’ll be your partner for today. I’m sure she’ll look after you and show you how things work around here”.
“Of course”, she squeaked.
Tori was a small skinny Asian who looked about eighteen too and was quite clearly a girly girl. Danielle thought her choice of clothing was a little risqué. Surprisingly she was wearing F.L.I.R.T emblem clothing by choice. Her short white skirt didn’t have the logo on put it was evident that she was wearing a F.L.I.R.T. embossed pink thong based on the quick glances of it as she moved and the skirt lifted. Pink seemed to be her favourite colour. She was wearing a pink sports bra, pink sweatbands and pink and white trainers. Even her tennis racquet was pink which reminded Danielle that her personalised racquet was amongst her lost luggage.
Troy watched from the sidelines as Danielle and Tori started a game. Danielle used Tori’s spare racquet which was also pink. She felt a little embarrassed but was determined not to let it affect her game. All in all Danielle was impressed with her performance but she felt that this had been heavily dependent on her less able opponent. It didn’t seem to take Danielle long to read Tori’s tactics and she was quickly bounding around the court and catching Tori out. Although Tori’s serve had started strong it very quickly weakened and double faults were more frequent. In the end Danielle won comfortably in straight sets and she had barely broken into a sweat. Tori didn’t seem too disappointed in her performance. She bounded over to Danielle and hugged her tightly gushing at her well she had played. Troy seemed equally impressed.
“Good work Dani”, he exclaimed.
Danielle stiffened. She was willing to take the name from the director but not from the coach. Plus she didn’t want to give Tori the impression that shortening her name was something she was ok with.
“Thanks. It’s Danielle”, she said simply.
“Of course. Danielle”.
Danielle couldn’t help notice him pause at the correction but she didn’t care. She was adrenalin fuelled and confident and figured it was better to nip it in the bud early. Troy handed her a large blue water bottle. She unhooked the plastic nub and knocked it back gratefully. She was surprised at the sweet taste of an energy drink and Troy seemed to notice her expression.
“It’s a special kind of energy drink concoction”, he explained. “A lot of the top players have started drinking it. It provides a high amount of hydration and a sufficient burst of energy.”
Danielle licked her lips.
“It’s tasty”, she commented as she downed the bottle.
* * *
The longer the week progressed the more and more dissatisfied Danielle felt.
All week she was partnered with Tori who seemed to play worse and worse with each passing day. Danielle liked to win but it took the triumph of victory away with an opponent who was so easy to beat. It got to the point where Danielle was beginning to question how she had been accepted to the prestigious academy. She was sure half of her fellow players back in England could have easily beaten the girl.
Tori didn’t seem to be taking her training very seriously either. It’s not that she wasn’t professional. Tori seemed passionate with the game and she was happy and helpful enough with Danielle. It just became a little irritating how girly she was at times though. Danielle wouldn’t have described herself as a tom boy per se but she seemed very manly when compared with Tori who seemed obsessed with pink and bouncing around like a cheerleader overenthusiastically. Danielle observed her as they played. She seemed easily distracted, frequently taking her eye off the ball. She often hopped around the court, swinging wildly and using the wrong types of shots at the wrong times. She came across as a novice on a number of occasions.
The coaching was not great either. Most of the time Troy observed the game but he didn’t seem to be offering much advice to Tori who was clearly struggling at times. Danielle was expecting a critique on her performance as well but all she got was a lot of ‘well done’s and ‘good work’. She had made the journey across the Atlantic to hear more than that. She knew there were holes in her game but the issues didn’t seem to be raised along with any advice on improvement.
Then there was the issue with her cases. Although she knew the crash was an accident and couldn’t be helped she got the feeling that none of the staff were trying very hard to recover her luggage. She asked Troy every day for updates. At first he had sounded encouraging explaining that work was underway to get hold of the cases from the police yet after three or four days of asking his excuses seemed to get weaker and weaker. She was beginning to come to the conclusion that her luggage was unrecoverable for whatever reason but she wished someone could just be honest and tell her that.
In fact the only comfort Danielle did seem to find at the academy was the energy drink. It was the only thing she drank both on and off the court. The fridge in her room was regularly stocked with it in matching blue water bottles and it was the only drink available on the courts and in the gym. It was full of flavour but never seemed to really quench her thirst until she had had a bottle or two.
The final straw for Danielle came after ten days at the academy. She was woken as she was every morning by the blaring of the LED screens. She never understood why the screens kept wishing her a good morning and evening and telling her how lucky she was to be at the academy. She was already here and her funding paid for so she didn’t understand why they were almost trying to sell the place to her. She had eventually resigned herself to the clothing in the wardrobe but even she was surprised to find herself wearing the skimpy night dress. She had even started wearing thongs, something she had never worn back home. They weren’t as uncomfortable as she had expected though.
Danielle got ready quickly and since the gym and tennis courts were all locked off at that time there was nothing for her to do other than lie on the bed listening to the screens and sucking on the energy drink. She had gone with a long straight black skirt and white thong along with knee high white socks and a tight white vest top with black stripes down the sides. All had the predictable F.L.I.R.T log across them.
When Troy eventually came to fetch her he offered her another water bottle. The drink in this one had a much sharper taste. It was nicer than the other drinks she had had which seemed watered down in comparison. Danielle had been meaning to ask Troy if she could train with a different girl on the way to the courts but the question slipped from her mind. By the time it resurfaced they were inside and Tori was already skipping over to her.
It was the pink nail varnish on Tori’s nails that made Danielle snap. That and the puffiness of her lips. Tori clearly cared more about how she looked than on the serious problems in her training.
“I want to speak with Director Beckford”, she snarled rounding on Troy.
The awkward silence that followed was only broken by a high pitched helium giggle from Tori.
“I’ll make some calls”, Troy eventually said after looking carefully into her eyes. “I’ll see that you get an appointment to speak to him tomorrow”.
Danielle watched him as he left the court, rapidly dialling a number on his mobile phone as he went. She was glad that he had taken her request seriously even if she had been a little rude about it.
* * *
When Danielle woke the next morning she had expected to feel sharp and energized knowing that the talk with the director was important. She wanted to have a serious discussion with him about her training regime, the coaching she was receiving and the need for a new training partner. If she did not receive any suitable answers or immediate changes she planned to go straight home. The academy was beginning to feel like a waste of her time and she felt going back home to train was preferable. The academy may have looked stunning and professional on the outside but the reality was that she felt neglected and if Tori was anything to go by both the training and standard of players was poor.
Instead she felt dazed and light headed which she hadn’t expected at all. If anything the stronger energy drinks should have perked her up. She tottered over to the fridge and downed a whole bottle but it didn’t seem to wake her up very much. Even the screens didn’t annoy her as much as usual. A strange feeling of guilt washed over Danielle as it gave its usual spiel of academy propaganda.
By the time Troy arrived she was feeling very confused. When he entered the room he looked her up and down with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t think it would be very wise to meet with the director in a pink babydoll”.
Danielle gave a yelp when she looked down. She wasn’t sure what shocked her the most, the fact that she had chosen to wear the Barbie pink garment the night before or the fact that she had completely forgotten to change into her training clothes. She darted back into her bedroom and hurriedly changed. In her haste she had forgotten to put on a bra or thong.
The walk across the grounds felt like a blur. She barely realised that they were heading away from the sports hall and across to the front of the admin building. The director was standing outside a limo, a similar one to the vehicle which had brought her to the academy from the airport.
“Come, come Dani”, he tutted. “You’re already late for your appointment”.
“My appointment?” She whispered dreamily as she climbed into the limo.
On the journey across Miami the director handed her another sports drink to occupy her. The nozzle on this drink seemed slightly longer which meant she had to suck harder and knock her head back more before she could drink the contents. She focused all her energy on the drink, barely noticing where they were heading.
Danielle was surprised when the limo stopped outside a beauty salon. She was feeling more dazed than ever which she put down to car sickness. The director was kind enough to lend her a hand as she staggered out of the limo.
She had been booked in for what the bubbly receptionist described as a ‘full session makeover’. She was unsure what it had to do with tennis but followed the pretty girl who met her at the desk and took her to a chair.
At first Danielle had expected to spend the pampering time drifting back to her thoughts the previous day. Her mind felt scattered but she had hoped she could collect them together and discuss her issues with the director in the limo back to the academy. However, that wasn’t the case. Everything seemed to distract her. The stifling heat, the bright lights and the modern decor seemed to suck her train of thought away.
She watched in the mirror as the girl began her makeover. Danielle wasn’t sure what her opinion was of the transformation. She wasn’t the type of girl to obsessively stare at herself in the mirror and was generally content with how she looked. Still she was confused at her lack of resistance when her hair was dyed bleach blonde. In the back of her mind she knew she should have had a say in the matter but somehow she couldn’t translate that into words. Instead she snuggled back into the chair and watched the stylist at work.
Danielle lost track of time. She was taken to a tanning booth where she was given a bronze tan then taken back to the chair where her face was caked in make-up. By the time the stylist had finished she had long lashes, rosy cheeks and cherry red lipstick. Every spot and blemish had been masked. When she was given a manicure, pedicure and her nails painted in glossy white vanish Danielle had been desperate to stop them, thinking back to her anger with Tori and how the changes could interfere with her training. But instead all she could do was lean back and sigh in comfort.
Danielle found herself back in the limo and it was dark outside. She wasn’t sure if she had fallen asleep or if leaving the beauty salon had drifted from her mind like her talk with the director had. The first thing Danielle noticed was her tight chest and constricted breathing. When she looked down she gasped at what she was wearing. The one piece dress ended in a short frilly skirt and the whole thing was a pastel orange colour. She wiggled her bare butt on the seat to feel that she was wearing a thong. Pressing her fingers against the thin material of the dress allowed Danielle to discover that underneath the dress she had been fitted into a rib crushing corset.
For a moment Danielle felt angry. She rounded on the director sitting beside her fit to burst but suddenly he pushed the nozzle of another energy drink against her lips and the contents dribbled down her throat. Instead she took it from his grasp and sucked on it contently like a baby with a bottle of milk. Then everything seemed to feel right again and all her demands and questions fizzled away.
Danielle had expected the limo to take them back to the academy but instead they passed it and drove a short way down the road to a large stadium. They passed through a series of checkpoints, the driver brandishing a pass to security, and the limo stopped at the back of the building just as Danielle finished the drink.
This time the director didn’t just offer her a hand. He had to take her by the waist and hoist her onto her feet. She allowed him to, grateful for the boost but was confused when she wobbled shakily on her feet. Looking down she found that her feet had been encased in five inch heels. The top of the shoes looked like an orange and white trainer but the soles had been fitted to tall white heels. Though stylish they weren’t practical.
The director walked ahead of Danielle who struggled to keep up with him, tottering stupidly on the heels and pressing her hands to her waist after every few steps, rasping for breath against the tight corset. They entered through a green door and Danielle could hear the faint sounds of an audience cheering. They walked down a long corridor, the director still taking the lead with Danielle desperately trying to keep up. Just when she thought she would have to stop to catch her breath and take the weight off her aching feet he stopped beside two large doors. Here the sounds of the crowd was deafening. All of a sudden a guy was beside her and thrush a tennis racquet into her manicured hands. The director opened out the doors and beckoned for Danielle to step forward as the cheering and floodlights hit her blindingly.
“Good luck in your first major game”, he whispered in her ear. “Blow them away”.
And with that the director flapped up her dress with the back of one hand and gave her ass a rough smack with the other. She yelped in surprise and horror, stepping forwards and allowing the director to shut the door behind her. There was no way back.
Danielle’s heart thumped loudly in her chest but not as loud as the crowd reacted when they saw her. Amongst the yells and whooping she could make out wolf whistles as she walked shakily onto the court.
Danielle felt even worse when she faced her opponent. She looked like she meant business. The girl sneered at Danielle patronisingly as she looked her up and down, shaking her head in disbelief at what she saw. Danielle looked at the clay ground, and her skimpy dress, and her heels and her glowing brown skin and the ends of her blonde hair ashamed. How had she allowed this ridiculous makeover to happen on such an important day and at such an important event?
Danielle was facing a much tougher and skilled opponent than Tori. At first her opponent hit her hard with everything she had. Despite her nails she was able to return a lot of the serves with ease but the heels ensured that she couldn’t run around as easily as she could in trainers. She tottered in vain around the court and soon became breathless from the corset. The crowd whooped and whistled at every shot she wiggled towards and missed by a mile. Danielle quickly discovered that the corset made it extremely difficult to serve the ball. She built up a host of double faults. Every time she threw the ball up into the air the corset would squeeze her tightly as she arched her arm to hit it. Her usually sharp technique crumbled and as the game went on she started to miss the ball completely, inviting the crowd to collectively laugh and clap at her apparent clumsiness and the glimmer of her thong as her skirt flapped up.
It didn’t take long for the shoes and corset to drain away all her strength and her opponent knew it. After thrashing Danielle in the first set, winning every game she began to relax. By the time she coasted through to victory in the second set she began to toy with Danielle. She deliberately hit the ball to the furthest ends of the court knowing that Danielle would find it impossible to reach them and return the ball. The game was over in less than thirty minutes and by the end Danielle’s eyes were welling with tears. When her opponent won the last game and claimed the final third set Danielle slammed the racquet into the ground in frustration and stormed off the court as much as her heels would allow.
The jeering sound of the crowd followed her.

Kagney Linn Karter


Sunday, June 28, 2015

TALKED THEMSELVES INTO IT PART 6 OF 6 by Downing Street

After the meeting was done, Martin and his three leggy associates returned to the office for a few drinks to celebrate. Anticipating victory, Joan had ordered a generous supply of champagne. Fellow councillors and supporters dropped by to congratulate Martin and his team. Even the Mayor came in for a moment. She promised to put Martin’s motion into effect at once.
Later, when the well-wishers had finally gone, Martin and his staff retreated to his inner office for a private celebration. Some might have called it an orgy. Everyone had consumed quite a bit of champagne. Everyone insisted on kissing Martin. Once they started kissing, no one wanted to stop.
Priscilla determined that she had seniority, and therefore should be fucked first. Martin had her on top of the desk, long legs spread high and wide, while he stood in front of her with his pants around his ankles. She was wet and receptive. It felt so good that Martin barely listened when she started complaining.
“What—what are you—stop that!” she cried, when Summer impishly bent over her chest. “Martin! M-make her stop that! She’s—she’s licking my—oh! and she’s kissing my titties. Martin, wait, stop, ohhhh, please, stop for a moment so I can—oh god, what—Angela! Noooo, not you too, ohhhh, god, stop that, I, I don’t do girls! Martinnnn! Tell them to stop. You, you can’t (pant, pant), you can’t make me do—I don’t (huff, groan), you can’t make mmmmmppphhh . . .
Joan leaned over and stuck a red nipple in her mouth like a soother. The helpless office manager could only writhe and twist on the desktop. Assaulted on all sides, her first peak hit her before Martin was even finished. Summer quickly took her place.
Some time later, Martin was screwing Angela from behind while she leaned over the desk to eat out Priscilla, who was helping Joan entertain Summer in Martin’s big chair. Later still, Martin found himself sprawled on the carpet, licking champagne off Joan’s bountiful breasts, while a pair of tongues licked and sucked his cock with relish. Martin was using one hand to finger Priscilla, who was sort of flopped over top of him with her face buried in Joan’s crotch.
When the telephone rang, Joan dutifully extracted herself from the pile of undulating bodies and stumbled over to the desk. She was still wearing her cherry-red corset and five-inch heels. Her panties were long gone.
“Hello?” she said into the telephone. “Oh, hi darling. Goodness me, you’re right. I forgot about the time.” She tightened a garter strap absently. “No, we were having a bit of a celebration. Come again? Oh, no, uhm, we have the television on.”
The bodies on the floor re-arranged themselves and Martin missed the rest of the conversation. He wasn’t even sure whose mouth he came in.
Eventually, the party wound down. Joan staggered off to catch a taxi home to her family. Martin was unsure whether she put her dress back on. Summer and Angela, unseasoned at consuming large quantities of alcohol, fell asleep on the sofa, still in the sixty-nine position. Angela’s right hand clutched an empty champagne bottle.
Martin dozed on the thick carpet, listening to Priscilla’s even breathing. He looked around for his trousers. Lying on the floor, he found himself face to face with the stuffed boar that Higgins had insisted on keeping in one corner of the office. Jeez that’s ugly, Martin thought. It was high time he got rid of all that stuff.
He frowned for a moment. There was something about a black boar. He got to his feet, found his trousers and pulled them on.
“Prissy, come here a moment.”
His semi-nude office manager looked up blearily. Her hair hung over her face. “Wanna do it again?” she asked, a hint of eagerness in her voice.
“Not right now. It would fall off. But come take a look at this.”
Priscilla got to her feet. Though she was wearing nothing but a few scraps of underwear, she found her acrylic platform sandals with the towering heels and slipped them on. She managed two steps before she fell heavily to the carpet, laughing drunkenly. Rather than take her sandals off, she crawled on her hands and knees to where Martin was sitting.
“What? Whutz so important?”
“I was thinking. Have you ever wondered why Higgins kept this big stuffed pig in his office?”
“Cuz he was an egotishtical boor with no taste?”
“OK, but this is the only stuffed animal. Everything else he mounted the head, or took a picture.”
She leaned against him. “Darling, do we hafta discush this when I’m drunk?”
“You remember that cop, Ridley, that was here a few times?”
“Mmmmm, yeah, the babe with the great ash.”
“Uh, yeah, her. She said they tapped Higgins’s phone. He used the word “blackberry” several times. I assumed it was a password of some kind. Maybe for a bank account or a computer file.”
“Thaz nice.” She nuzzled against his neck. “I wanna fuck.”
“But what if they heard it wrong—hey come on, stop that. What if it wasn’t blackberry. What if the word was “black boar.”
She stopped what she was doing. “You mean . . . .” She paused for a long moment. “You know, I ‘member Higgins used t’ come back from meetings sometimes ‘n’ lock himself in the office. Told us not to dishturb him.”
Martin was running his hands along the flanks of the animal. “Yes. And you remember that one time he came back with two briefcases? I’m sure he left with only one.”
His fingers stopped. “Well I’ll be damned.”
“What?”
“Some sort of hidden fastener.”
There was a sound like a zipper being opened. Wads of paper began tumbling out of the boar’s belly. They kept coming and coming. They accumulated in a big pile on the floor.
Priscilla picked up a packet of bills. They were large denominations, neatly packaged. She looked at Martin, dumbstruck.
He grinned. “I think we’ve found the missing half million,”
There was a long silence, broken only by a soft thud and a sleepy groan. Angela had dropped her champagne bottle and then slid bonelessly off the sofa. She passed out again on the floor.
“So, what do we do now?” Priscilla wondered.
“Wellll, we could keep it.”
“I s’pose. The police have closed the case.”
“The City has written it off.”
“Nobody even knowsh it ‘xists.”
“Wouldn’t be right though, would it.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Another long pause.
“On the other hand, what if we made a donation to some worthwhile cause?”
“Such as . . .”
“. . . rehabilitation of McGrath Park?”
“Anonymushly, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You can plant lotta trees for half a million.”
“A lot of trees.”
“Maybe paint the bandstand.”
“New equipment for the playground.”
They were both grinning hugely. Martin picked up a packet of bills and tossed them in Priscilla’s lap.
“Wha’s zat for?”
“Call it a bonus. We don’t have to give it all to McGrath Park.”
“I’ll jus’ blow it all on trampy clothes.”
“I know.”
“You are so vile. I can’t believe I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“Neither can I.”
She reached up and pushed the unstuffed boar to one side. “You know what I’ve alwaysh wanted t’ do?”
“What?”
“Make love on a big pile of money.”
They were still grinning like fools. Priscilla spread out the pile of cash to make a more comfortable bed. She left her high heels on.
Martin pulled off his pants again. For a moment, he reached into his pocket and rubbed his worry stone.
But he wasn’t really worried.

Saturday, June 27, 2015

TALKED THEMSELVES INTO IT PART 5 OF 6 by Downing Street

Martin clicked his folded umbrella against the floor as he walked slowly back to his office on Tuesday morning. He was lost in thought. He fingered the worry stone in his pocket.
He was returning from a working lunch. He had made another attempt to convince the councillor from ward 10 that a buffer zone around McGrath Park did not set a precedent for arrested urban renewal. He doubted he was successful.
He made better headway with the pretty waitress, whom he knew a little. Martin ate lunch there regularly. When she brought him the cheque, Martin found her phone number—and measurements—written on the back. He watched the girl serve another customer, looking good in her white uniform blouse and short black skirt. He assessed that her self-description was accurate. He insisted on paying the bill.
Martin had a lot on his mind. The regular council meeting was tomorrow, and he was still unsure of support for his motion. The Mayor was impatient for a report from the transportation committee. Monday’s meeting of that group was fractious and long.
Detective McClintock had been back to his office twice, bullying and accusing and demanding to see records. Martin saw no reason not to co-operate, but tried to protect his staff. He had no more idea where the embezzled money was than McClintock did.
The detective kept threatening an obstruction charge. Martin was afraid he might do it. Officer Ridley took notes and inspected files. She didn’t say much.
Berculosi remained an aggravation, even if he was having little success organizing public sentiment against Martin. Rachel made sure of that. Martin felt a little guilty about the time Berculosi had called him on the telephone while Martin was fucking his beautiful young wife on the desk.
It was Rachel’s idea to take the call. Martin had his cock hard and deep in Rachel’s pussy. He was standing before his big desk, Rachel’s legs wrapped around his waist. Her breasts bounced with each grunting thrust. He didn’t feel he was in good shape to make conversation. But Rachel reached over and pressed the speaker button on the telephone.
“M-Mr. Berculosi,” Martin said, still thrusting. “W-what can I... do for . . . yooooo.”
The shouting started instantly. “Dammit Miller, what the hell are you trying to pull!” Berculosi’s voice roared through the speaker. Martin had a stocking-wrapped leg in each hand. Rachel’s ankles were locked behind his back. “P-pull?” he gasped, “Wha-whatever do . . . you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean! I warned you about going ahead with that damnable moratorium around McGrath Park. Towne Parke Phase II will go through whether you like it or not. I’ve invested too much time and too much good money to be fucked over by some half-grown beginner.”
“Oh! Oh, more than half-grown,” Rachel blurted.
“What was that?” Berculosi demanded. “Is there someone in there with you?”
“No! No, ah, of course not.” He shot Rachel a look of panic. She responded with a little mou of her thick lips. She brushed damp hair off her face.
“L-look, Mr. Berculosi, I . . . oh man that’s good . . . I mean, it is good th-that you’re uhm, sharing your . . . uhm, your concerns, but I . . . uhm, I think, aaah! I think this is a ma-matter for the . . . uhm, council.”
“Don’t hand me that, Miller,” Berculosi shot back. “We both know this moratorium is your baby from the beginning. Everyone else on council was prepared to let it go. If you withdraw your support the motion would die.”
“But . . . but I can’t . . . withdraw now. I’m so . . . oh god, I’m so close . . . almost coming . . . that is, uhm, the c-council meeting is coming. T-tomorrow.”
Berculosi said: “If you take this motion to council it will be defeated. You will make a cosmic fool of yourself and lose whatever credibility you have. Do you really want that, Miller? I’m telling you, I have the votes I need lined up.”
Martin looked at Rachel. She was biting one knuckle. She shook her head back and forth. Martin hoped that meant “no”.
“I . . . I don’t think you d-do, uh, uh, h-have the votes. I, think, oh man I, I think you’re just unhappy . . . uhm, because you . . . uh, can’t have things . . . your wife . . . no! I mean, your way.”
“I want exactly what I’m entitled to!” Berculosi roared, frustration showing in his voice. “Look Miller, I know how you’re playing this game. You’ve got someone inside my organization, tipping you off. What, are you slipping them a little something to make it worth their while?”
“I, I don’t know what y-you’re talking about.”
“I’m no fool, Miller. I’ll flush out the leak soon. When I do, both of you are going to be fucked but good!”
Martin was barely listening. Rachel started to make cute, high-pitched little squeaks that meant her climax was coming. Martin bent over and kissed her, afraid that her husband might hear. He pressed his pelvis against hers, spreading her silk-encased legs and lifting her heels toward the ceiling. He managed only two more strokes before he stiffened, shuddered, and ejaculated. He grunted gutturally with each spurt of jism into Rachel’s pussy. His last thrusts were all the extra stimulation she needed. Martin watched her big brown eyes roll back in her head as she shook and shuddered through her own orgasm.
They ended up in a heaving, sighing mass. Rachel sprawled limply across the desk with Martin lying on top of her. He heard a voice. Berculosi was still talking. Martin reached over to the speaker-phone.
“Thank you for your call,” he said lazily, and rang off.
Martin fingered his worry stone as he reflected. Rachel had assured him there was no chance that her husband would fathom her complicity. The woman was adept at playing dumb and beautiful.
Martin stepped through the frosted glass door that said “Martin Miller” on the nameplate. Inside the office was bustling. As usual, the short trip through the outer office to his own desk took fifteen minutes and left him with a hard-on. Angela and Summer dropped what they were doing to rush over and take his umbrella and carry his briefcase. They showered him with hugs and kisses, though he had only been gone for a couple of hours.
When he got to her desk, Joan asked him to sign the papers that would officially hire her daughter as a summer intern. She wore no blouse under her suit jacket. Martin could see her swelling globes spilling out of her bustier.
Martin had not had sex with Joan since that first encounter in his office. He didn’t count the two enthusiastic tit-fucks she had given him while they discussed the terms of her daughter’s employment. Joan rationalized those on the grounds that her boobies were distracting him and she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t a team player.
She had taken to calling him on her cell phone in the evening to get his permission to have sex with her husband. Joan’s husband wanted sex a lot. Martin wasn’t the only one to appreciate her new look.
Finally, Priscilla insisted he sit in her chair while she perched on the padded arm with her legs across his lap, briefing him on calls while he was out. His dye-blonde office manager was wearing a pearly grey slip-dress and glittery sandals with narrow straps that cris-crossed around her legs up to the knee. While she talked and stroked his hair, Martin watched the two pretty clerks, who were now busily transferring files to the filing cabinets. Both girls were wearing very brief skirts and platform heels. They bent over repeatedly to dig files out of several boxes on the floor.
“What’s all this?” Martin asked. He watched Angela flash her pantyhosed behind. Her thong was thin and silver.
“Oh, financial records,” Priscilla replied, crossing her ankles. “The police confiscated them last week on a warrant. Still looking for evidence against Higgins. And you.” She touched his nose with one finger.
“Did they find anything?” Summer’s panties were blue, to match her stretch boots. It occurred to Martin that the clerks could have set the boxes of files on a table.
Priscilla giggled. “Course not. They went through those same records last year. I think McClintock was hoping they had missed something.”
“He wasn’t here again, was he?”
Another giggle. Her big earrings flashed. “Nope. The junior officer brought them back. What’s her name, Ridley?”
“Oh, well, she’s not so bad.” He tried not to stare at his micro-skirted clerks. Priscilla’s legs offered a closer alternative.
She bent close to whisper in his ear. “Matter of fact, she’s still here. In your office. Says she has a few more questions.”
“Nuts.”
Martin would have preferred not to have a visit from the police just then. Reluctantly, he lifted Priscilla’s legs off his lap and got to his feet. He hoped his erection would go down before the cop noticed.
He stepped into his private office. He closed the door.
“Hello Councillor,” said a soft voice.
Officer Ridley was sitting on Martin’s desk. She was wearing a thigh-revealing, turquoise dress of some soft, stretchy fabric. She was leaning back on her hands, legs bent, high heels flat on the desktop, blonde hair hanging long and loose.
“You—you’re out of uniform,” Martin said stupidly.
“Do you like it, Councillor?” the blonde beauty cooed. She swung her feet down gracefully and got to her feet. “Inspector McClintock asked me to drop in, you know, to return your files. I decided to stop by home on the way here.”
She was walking toward him as she spoke. Dark nylons shimmered on her long legs. “I got the impression, from your staff, that you prefer women who aren’t afraid to be feminine.” She slipped her arms around his neck.
Martin was dumbstruck. “O-officer Ridley, I, I, you can’t—”
She leaned in and kissed him. She was soft and slow and very thorough. When she was finished Martin discovered that his hands were on her back. He felt his erection tenting his suit pants.
Embarrassingly, Officer Ridley did too. “Oh my“ she whispered, grinding her hips against him. “I’m getting another impression from your staff.” She kissed him again to celebrate.
When she finished they were both breathing hard. Martin said, “But, but, Officer Ridley—”
“Monica.”
“Oh, uhm, well, uh, Monica what about, uhm Inspector McClintock? Won’t he be—Ah!”
A gentle hand caressed his crotch. “Inspector McClintock has been re-assigned. He let his frustration about this case turn into an obsession. He was sooooo upset that Higgins died before he got a chance to lay a charge. He tried to take it out on you.”
She paused to kiss him a few times. “McClintock wanted to keep searching for the missing money. He was convinced you had it packed away somewhere.” There was a gentle hiss as Martin’s zipper came down.
Monica made a little mewling sound. “He, he kept h-hoping we’d turn up something . . . big.”
Events were moving too fast for Martin to keep up. “What are you—uh! I mean, w-why . . .”
Monica had one hand in his pants. She looked around the office, searching for a good spot. “We, we found nothing on you, of course. Nothing at all. Come on, over here!”
Her hand had found a convenient handle by which to lead Martin to one of the visitors’s chairs in front of his desk. “You absolutely amaze me” she whispered, snuggling into his arms again. “I can still remember the way you stood up to McClintock, that first time. He was trying to scare you into confessing. He does that to suspects all the time. You didn’t seem to care. I, I’ve never seen a man stay so calm, so indifferent to his threats. You just laughed at him.”
She was still stroking his prick with one hand. Her body and her breath were warm against his skin. She whispered confessions in his ear.
“I saw the look on your face. You were enjoying it. It was almost as if you were getting off on toying with him.”
Technically, it had been Summer’s mouth beneath the desk that was getting him off, but Martin didn’t see the need to explain that. Anyway, he never got the chance. The lovestruck cop was all over him, kissing, stroking, panting. “I’ve never met a man with such self-confidence,” she gasped. “and it gets meso fucking turned on!”
She let go of him suddenly. “I want you—oh god I want you—I want you to, to, assist me in f-finishing this investigation.” She pulled up her soft minidress with both hands and yanked down her pantyhose. It bunched up around her hips. She wore no panties. “Since we have spent so much time interrogating you,” she explained, “it’s only fair that you get to ask the questions for once. And don’t be afraid . . . to be rough on me . . . mmmmmm, until I tell you what you want to know.”
She turned around. She bent over the back of the low-backed chair, one hand on each arm-rest. Her bare ass thrust high in the air. She craned her neck to look up at him. “Come on, Martin,” she urged. “Interrogate me! Make me squeal!”
For a moment Martin stood there, too astounded to move. Officer Ridley’s shoes barely touched the floor. Her legs were spread wide, straining the dark hose around her hips. With her tight, heart-shaped fanny leading the eye downward to the pink lips of her pussy, she was an unabashed invitation to fuck.
While his mind hesitated, Martin’s cock decided to accept the invitation. He shucked off his trousers and stretched his shorts off around his erection. He took a step forward. He placed a hand on each plump asscheek. He pushed her upward a bit, as if he were adjusting a pillow. Officer Ridley moaned in need. Martin aimed his hardness at her cleft. It was slick with moisture. He pushed into her gently, wiggling his way in until he was buried to the hilt. For a moment he hung there, enjoying the feeling of girlflesh around his cock. Then he pulled back a little, and began to stroke in and out.
It was delightful. Soon they were both groaning and panting as Martin thrust into her again and again. Monica’s high-heels skittered on the carpet, trying to find purchase. She gripped the arms of the chair desperately. “Interrogate me,” she cried. “Ask me anything.”
“Wh-why was McClintock taken off the case?”
“Oh! Oh, yes, uh, someone com-complained to the captain. Said McClintock was, of god keep it up, you’re killing me, said McClintock was b-bothering a very influential politician. Kept pursuing the case with no evidence. Capt’n decided to close the case. Inspector is pissed. Mmmmmm, I love the way you do that.”
“Someone complained? Who?”
“ ‘s a secret. I’ll never tell.”
Martin slapped one inviting asscheek. “Who!” he demanded.
“It was anonym- oh! I mean I don’t oh! I can’t ohhh, all right, all right, I did it. I sent an e-mail to the Captain. McClintock is such a prick. Mmmmmm, fuck me with your big prick, honey.”
“What about the missing money?” He was thrusting faster now.
“M-money? Oh, uhm, oh god so good, so good. Yes, money. All written off. Here somewhere. Nobody knows where. No leads. Something about, about ‘blackberry’”
“Blackberry? What’s that?” The chair began to rock.
“I don’t know. Ow! No, really, don’t know. Got it ooof, oh my god, got it off ah! wiretaps. M-maybe, maybe a, a, password. Bank account. Don’t know. Fuck me honey I’m going to—aaah, aaaaah Aaaaah!”
Martin struggled to hold on as Monica bucked and twitched through her climax. The chair threatened to topple over. She buried her mouth in the fabric to stifle her cries.
Martin felt her pussy clench and spurt around him. He gripped her hips with both hands. He thrust his pelvis forward and leaned his head back, mouth open. He came suddenly.
Monica was already relaxing as Martin’s cum subsided. She was so slick he slipped out. Monica’s feet lost their grip on the floor. She slid headfirst over the chair, to land ungracefully in a heap on the carpet.
She lay there for a long moment. Her chest heaved. Her turquoise minidress was rucked up around her waist and her ruined nylons were still binding her hips. She had lost one shoe. She looked up at Martin with sleepy eyes.
“I love the way you interrogate,” she said.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this meeting will come to order,” the Mayor said, early the following afternoon. The buzz of conversation in the council chambers settled slowly. Martin was sitting at his designated place, going over the agenda with Priscilla, when the Mayor spoke. She squeezed his shoulder to wish him luck, then sat discreetly in the chair behind him.
McGrath Park was at the top of the agenda. Martin still wasn’t sure he had the firm votes to carry his motion. He was beginning to get a feeling though, for what was happening in his life lately. It was enough to form the base for a plan. He rubbed the worry stone in his pocket.
Martin was nervous. Everyone kept looking his way. He wished he had let Prissy give him that stress-release blowjob she had offered before the meeting.
Priscilla may have been one reason for all the attention. In her tiny dress and sexy heels she was a classic blonde bombshell. This time out, his head-turning assistant was accompanied by Angela and Summer. The young clerks were so excited they could hardly keep still. Priscilla suggested it would raise Martin’s stature if he was attended by three assistants. It certainly raised something.
To further the team spirit, all three women were dressed identically. Their uniform was a silvery white, sleeveless minidress of rump-skimming length, with shiny nylons to further advertise the curves of their legs. Angela wore pearly white high-heels; Priscilla wore acrylic platform sandals of smoky red; and Summer wore her favourite black, platform boots. There wasn’t a man in the room who wasn’t distracted. That was part of the plan.
Martin looked around. The visitor’s gallery was fuller than usual. He located Calpurnia Scott, decked out in her now standard leather micro-skirt and spike-heeled boots. She pressed two fingers to her lips and blew Martin a kiss.
Calpurnia was very dependable about sending him her articles for approval. She let him see everything, even articles about other councillors that were really none of his business. He didn’t like to edit her, but sometimes he had to tone down the boosterism to something reasonable. “Oh, that passage, I remember now,” she said once, “I was lying on my bed with my laptop, and . . . uh, I think I was uhm, typing with one hand, if you know what I mean. Sorry. Writing about you . . . uh, always gets me excited.”
The Mayor started proceedings briskly. When the formalities were done, she let Martin formally introduce his motion. “You all have the summary report of the proposed buffer zone around the Park,” Martin said. “To explain it further, I have prepared a brief presentation.”
At his signal, Angela dimmed the lights. Priscilla pulled down a screen at the front of the room. Summer flipped a switch to turn on a projector. An image of McGrath Park appeared on the screen, with the words “Protecting our Heritage” written over it.
Martin began speaking as he flipped through the set of images. The presentation was carefully written. There were many pretty pictures of the park, most of which coincidentally contained a pretty girl, or two, or three. It gave the mostly male council a reason to keep watching.
Priscilla, Angela and Summer had not sat down when the presentation began. Instead, they stood at the front of the room, smiling and primping and leaning over to point things out on the screen. They looked delicious in their super-short, clingy dresses. The white fabric shimmered in the subdued light.
As the presentation continued, sexy images gradually became more and more prominent. A young mother bending over her baby’s stroller accidentally exposed rather a lot of her heavy breasts. An innocent shot of young people frolicking in the pool happened to feature nothing but models in bikinis. Another shot of a summer day showed a fetching young thing in a tube top and shorts, seductively licking an ice-cream cone while she glanced toward the camera.
Martin narrated the presentation in a slow, sonorous voice. While Summer reached high to indicate something at the top of the screen, Martin looked around the room. The council was rapt. The men were watching the screen, or the leggy vixens in front of it, with keen attention. Earl from Ward 11 crossed his knees, looking a little uncomfortable. Martin watched Reginald Farcapp lick his lips whenever Summer bent over.
Martin hoped his hunch was right. Carlton Carlside had been an antiquities dealer and small-time collector. In the last ten years of his life he suddenly amassed a substantial fortune and married a stunning young woman who had appeared in a major men’s magazine four times. She was twenty-four when she abandoned her acting career to marry a man three times her age. Martin kept one hand in his pocket, slowly rubbing his worry stone.
The highlight of the show was Martin’s new scheme for compensating the loss of tax revenue to the City. Among all his reading for the Transportation Committee, he had discovered an old report that suggested revising the downtown bus routes. A more rational layout would increase the number of riders, leading to a major revenue boost.
To illustrate the point, he showed a picture of Priscilla, smiling back at the camera as she stepped onto a gleaming city bus. She was wearing one of her office outfits, a lacy bra-top and matching mini, spike-heeled black pumps with ruffled white ankle socks. She had to step high to board the bus. Several more councillors crossed their knees.
The presentation ended on that delightful image. Angela raised the lights. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think this motion deserves your support,” said Martin.
The debate began. Martin had already negotiated votes from several of the councillors in the weeks leading up to the meeting. There remained a core of resistance, however, mostly from the long-serving councillors, and many others were undecided. The arguments rang back and forth.
Martin’s shapely assistants kept the sexually charged atmosphere alive. They found excuses to walk about the chamber, each woman a showcase of feminine beauty in their tight, short dresses and extra-high heels. They delivered notes, whispered questions in councillors’ ears and generally distracting everyone.
Martin did not say much himself. He let his supporters do the talking. He watched the proceedings carefully. He sent notes to councillors in his camp suggesting points to argue. Delivering them gave his girls opportunities to soften the opposition with a smoky look, a flash of panties, or an “accidentally” exposed tit. The tactic was more successful than it had any right to be. Normally unflappable men began stuttering and losing their train of thought. Several were more interested in watching the girls than in listening to the conversation. Seven of the councillors were women. So was the Mayor. Martin remembered Carlton Carlside and rubbed the worry stone in his pocket.
The change in tone of the debate was so subtle that Martin almost missed it. Somehow the discussion shifted from the wisdom of the motion to the inevitability of it. Supporters started saying “will” instead of “would”. They spoke of a groundswell of public support that could not be denied. The tone of the opponents’ arguments gradually drifted from opposition to a bad idea to laments for changes they couldn’t stop.
Martin paid close attention to the women. He noticed several of them watching him, including the Mayor. They looked like they had other things on their mind than municipal planning.
One of the women, a thrice-elected veteran in her late thirties, was visibly upset. “I, I don’t think this motion is a good idea,” she complained, “but I don’t know what else we can do. The public has made up its mind. When people get their hearts set on something, there is nothing you can do to change them. You can try to resist, try to fight back, but it’s no good. In the end they always get their way. There’s no point trying to resist. No good. The more you resist, the more you realize that you can’t win and it’s so much easier to go along with it and not have to fight any more but you feel bad about . . . surrendering . . . but its a relief in a way, not to have to push against the tide you can’t stop and it’s better to give in and . . . and . . . submit to . . . submit . . . Excuse me, I must step out a minute!”
She got up from the table, overturning her chair. She looked flushed. She rushed from the room. She didn’t come back for fifteen minutes.
Another councillor, a well-coiffed, fortyish woman in a dark dress, was squirming in her seat. She was watching Martin, hardly listening to the discussion around the table. She was giving him a pleading kind of look, like an innocent schoolgirl begging her cocky boyfriend not to talk her out of her panties again.
Across the table, the well-dressed matron representing Ward 9, the wealthiest part of town, was biting her lip while she toyed with her pearls. She interrupted another councillor’s argument against the motion with a declaration that they had to follow the public mood.
“We are public servants!” she blurted. “We serve the public. We have to do what the public wants whether we agree or not. We have been elected as servants of the public. We serve them. We’re servants. Servants.” She kept repeating the word, shuddering a little every time. Someone in the visitors’ gallery moaned.
The man beside the panting public servant, old Reginald Farcapp, couldn’t seem to take his eyes of Summer long enough to make a speech. Martin sent her over to him with a note. His eyes were on her boot-wrapped legs every step. She leaned far over to set the note in front of him. Her long hair brushed his face.
The note said “Need a temp? She’s available if you’re short-staffed.” Martin could feel the man’s temperature rise from across the room.
Around the table, more and more voices were convincing themselves that they had to vote for Martin’s proposal, for one reason or another. Martin felt a great flush of power. He felt like a general, sitting in the background, directing his troops while they overwhelmed the enemy with pressure, persuasion and sex appeal.
Stubborn resistance remained from a few councillors. Their leader, Huxley Smyth-Byrne, was a wiry old-timer. He was the same man who had attempted to have the temporary ban on development around the park lifted months ago. Smith-Byrne was unpersuaded by anything but economics. He dismissed the arguments for the park with logic, sarcasm and disdain.
Martin decided it was time to step in. “Huxley,” he said, when the other man paused, “I’m not sure you’re taking the long view here.” All eyes in the room turned toward him. He kept one hand in his pocket, stroking his worry stone.
“I agree with you that there would be some displacement of legitimate builders by the proposal. And I think you’re right that we cannot depend on increased transit revenues to compensate that loss. Still, don’t you think we have a unique opportunity here? This Council can at once protect an important public amenity, and improve the city infrastructure, all with minimal cost to the taxpayers.”
He paused reflectively. “Now think for a moment. Do you want to be remembered as the man who prevented that from happening?”
Martin watched the man’s face. He knew Smyth-Byrne was sharp enough to catch the innuendo. Calpurnia Scott was watching from the gallery. A word from Martin, and the other councillor would be villainized in the press forever, or worse yet, ignored. And maybe not just in the News. Martin had seen Callie’s counterpart from the Tribune deep in conversation with the miniskirted reporter, listening intently as Callie explained something to her.
Martin was quite sure now that he could influence the council enough to have Smyth-Byrne marginalized. He could probably compromise his staff, or seduce them into sabotaging his work. He could convince donors to cut off funding.
The Mayor was watching the exchange with a far-off look on her face. She had one hand beneath the table. Martin felt confident he could influence her too. Pure, unadulterated power hummed in his veins like strong drink.
Huxley Smyth-Byrne said nothing for a long moment. He looked down. “No, I don’t want to be remembered that way,” he said at last.
A door opened on the side of the room. The councilwoman who had departed so abruptly came back in. She looked much more relaxed. Her blouse was buttoned crooked. She smiled at Martin as she took her seat.
Martin turned to the Mayor. “M’lady, I believe we are ready for a vote.”
The Mayor stirred. “Hmmm? What?” she asked, looking around. “Oh, yes, the vote. It’s time to vote on the motion. All those in favour raise your hands.”
The motion passed.