Chapter 1

There was a sense of jubilation in the air in Washington, D.C.

The voters across the country had just elected a new government that would take them into the end of the decade with change of pace supposed new policy direction. Most of the residents of the District were not happy with the results because it was not a direction that would lead to more perks for the contented non-employed masses of the pampered majority. It was one of those strange elections where most of the males voted one way and most of the females voted in the opposite direction.

None of the media highlighted that unusual circumstance and they tended to blame it on the ordinary causes like lack of voter interest, a poorly organized campaign and the ever popular, just "bad luck".

Heather Goodbar was going to a celebration ball this evening at a famous downtown hotel to meet and greet new clients and touch base with old friends from other election cycles. She had been worked to a frazzle by the demands of the campaign all the way from the pre-primary stages right up to election night.

In the end, it wasn't even close and she chided herself for worrying that her candidate might lose the election even though the media easily forecast the result long before the voting was concluded.

Heather was a statuesque news anchor from the Deep South and was a veteran of several different "intern" programs that placed demands on her moral character as well as the quality of her professional knowledge. Her last assignment in the Atlanta headquarters was an eye-opener with the way she was served up as a tasty "reward" for high ratings on some important special programs that propelled their channel into the limelight. That orgy of a party left her feeling a bit dirty both literally and figuratively.

Now she was in the "Inside the Beltline" crowd with a chance at having a timeslot of her own and a byline with her name featured on every segment. She felt she deserved it for the many times she had swallowed her pride and other sticky residue just to get ahead. It didn't matter that some of the people on the fifteenth floor knew how many times she had to bend over to rise in the ranks because she was in that special inner circle that gave her access to the confidential data needed to produce a highly rated program.

At the age of twenty-seven, Heather was still close to virginal quality with a gleam of newness to her skin and her pointed chin face. Her breasts were, of course, not original, but they were of the highest quality and difficult to pinpoint as not real. She had a perfectly toned rear end that had been subjected to the tortures of many different personal trainers and other gurus of routines that are much too indelicate to mention in this account.

Heather's family back in Wilmington, North Carolina didn't set much store in television news programs or in any newspaper that was not run by qualified people of their church or closed society. They didn't follow her rise to stardom but were happy to tell anyone who would listen that their "Heather" was a star on the television and now had a show of her own if they were interested in such things.

Her mother was more concerned about her baking skills being maintained and her attention to using contraceptive measures whenever a male organ came within spurting distance of her pretty female parts.

Her father stressed that she should keep her riding skills and her swimming expertise at peak levels of performance because she might one day be selected to be Miss North Carolina right out of the blue.

She didn't regret her carnal activities required in achieving her important position but she had hoped to meet someone of the opposite gender to support her in her work with constant adoration and adequate sessions of love-making under her complete control. For some strange reason, she never discovered a man suitable to that position and had to make do with the occasional female fan willing to serve her every desire with kinky enthusiasm. There were many such available same gender devotees that were all too happy to get down on their knees and worship at her shrine of womanhood and even make sordid excursions into her far aft portal of passion for sensitive tickling.

The special party was being held on a "closed to the public" floor of the hotel and she was chomping at the bit to be the center of attention from the upper floor brass with their flagging shafts that needed Viagra in huge quantities to maintain adequate firmness.

The limo that was designated for her transfer to the scene of the party was commandeered by a huge black man of impressive muscular stature achieved after long periods of weight training in a correctional facility that catered to such time-consuming hobbies. His name was Midnight and it was more for his middle of the night pussy-chasing habits than for the shade of his skin. Of course, the hedonistic and somewhat stoned Heather had not the slightest inkling of the switch of drivers and had no idea at all about the new plans for her evening's entertainment. She had no knowledge of the fact that she would be the highlight performance at a review thrown strictly in her honor to celebrate her winning the "cunt of the year" trophy awarded by released felons in the nation's capital.

She had a bit of a problem focusing correctly due to the setting sun and the fact she had done a line of coke on the elevator unaware of the all-seeing eye in the ceiling watching her every move. The two security guards in the basement were laughing so hard that the janitor thought they had become unhinged from working in the tiny alcove behind the garage. This fact is mentioned because the film did come into play at the hearing after this night of torture and emotional stress visited on the naïve and insensitive Heather in a manner completely against her will and certainly with no degree of complicity on her part at all.