Prologue

Senator Wilson knocked twice on the door of the motel room. It was answered by a tall man with a bushy moustache. It wasn't whom he was expecting.

"Come in, Senator, come in!" said the stranger. "I know you wouldn't want to be seen with me, even though anyone would be hard pressed to prove that it was me."

"Dr. Cosgrave?" asked the senator, incredulous. Cosgrave had been a short, fat, balding man in all of the photos during the scandal four years ago.

"Yes, Senator, it's me. And as you can see, my scientific genius continues to produce wonders, despite my current unemployment. But please, come in. We have much to discuss."

The senator followed the notorious scientist into the motel room. There on the bed, in a green negligee that barely contained her, was a red-headed woman with the largest breasts he had ever seen. She was squeezing a protruding nipple with one hand and stroking her crotch with another, a vacuous, contented smile on her face. Senator Wilson stared at her, astounded, aroused, and suspicious.

"Don't mind Dean Dawson" said the self-avowed genius, "I just brought her along as a visual aid."

"Dean Dawson?" asked the senator. Patricia Dawson had retired suddenly from her position as Dean of Research at MIT about a year after she had been in the news so much when she exposed Dr. Cosgrave's human experimentation and the web of corruption at the Institute that had allowed it to go unchecked. Now that Senator Wilson thought about it, the woman on the bed did resemble Dawson somewhat, except for the monstrous tits, the wild red hair, the whorish make-up, and the look of vapid arousal.

"Yes, DeeDee here was once quite a thorn in my side," explained the scientist. "But now she's just another slut in my harem, aren't you DeeDee."

The red head giggled. "I'm a slut!" she declared happily.

The senator was dumbfounded. If his story was true, what had the madman done to this poor woman? And of much greater concern, what did he want with him? He had come here secretly because he had received a note promising that Cosgrave had something to tell him that could guarantee his reelection. He had expected the notorious scientist to reveal some role which his opponent had played in the MIT scandal when her late husband was mayor of Boston, but could Donna Travers really be mixed up in something like this? It seemed unlikely.

"I believe," continued Cosgrave, "That a certain woman is making your life rather difficult, Senator. Latest pole that I saw had you trailing by 18 percentage points. And the election is only three weeks away."

"We've had some snags in the campaign," defended the Senator "but I still think we can rally the support of the people of Massachusetts."

"Oh come now, Senator," chided Cosgrave. "Face reality. I saw the last debate. She made you look like a buffoon. And your little incident with the young campaign workers six years ago still hasn't faded from the public memory. Even if you were able to tamper with the paternity tests--yes, I know about that--there are still a lot of doubt left in people's minds. Some of the bolder newspapers have gone so far as to compare your moral fiber to mine! I don't think there are two women in this entire state that would admit to supporting you. The only reason you're doing as well as you are is that some people out there still can't imagine having a female Senator. This final debate next week will be the final nail in your coffin. Unless..."

The Senator was angry and embarrassed, but he knew what Cosgrave had said to be true. What did he have to loose?

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