Chapter 6

The dinner only lasted until eight o'clock, because God forbid we should miss evening prayer. But in those two hours, we ate our steak, drank some exquisite wine (a '76 Chambertin, I think), and smoked cigars. Then Tomás pulled his seat over next to mine, bringing with him a bottle of eighty-year-old scotch. He poured us both glasses.

"All right, boys, roll the tape," he yelled back over his shoulder.

"These are highlights of the day's performances," he told me sotto voce. "Our techs, Brothers Cary and Samuel, always splice together a highlight reel at the end of each day. Maybe five minutes of each show. This first one is Brother Dominic over there." He nodded at a tall monk sitting by himself with a big glass of wine. "He always like to overindulge a little when he has the late show the next day. He, as you'll see, specializes in requests that require, shall we say, unusually large equipment."

I watched as a man began berating someone — his wife? — for her poor housekeeping.

"Most of our orders involve celebrities," Tomás continued. "This one's a special request for a guy's wife."

We watched as Dominic, who was obviously "Gerald Warren" of the Gillian video, began forcing his cock down the protesting wife's throat, and then threw her on the bed for a doggstyle fucking.

"Now this is Brother Francis," he pointed at a monk sitting up front as a new clip began. "He doesn't really like the non-cons stuff."

"I'm sorry, the what?" I asked.

"Non-consensual," Tomás said, taking the cigar out of his mouth to take another sip of scotch. "The rapes, the bondage, the humiliation. Sometimes we can't avoid it. But when we can, Brother Francis has first call."

"I know her," I said as we watched his highlights. "Ann something."

"Ann Coulter," he said. "I have no idea what she's doing now, probably selling Mary Kay cosmetics or something. I think she might have been the one who tried to pull Katie Couric's blouse off to prove she had the word "Liberal" tattooed on her breast, but maybe that was someone else. Anyway, she was a popular conservative back in the '90s and the '00s. Most of our clients, of course, grew up then. So the majority of the requests we get are from celebrities from that era. Here, the guy just wanted a chance to seduce her. Nothing non-con about it. Of course, she'll have to tell him he's the greatest lover she ever had, of course."

Tomás had a good chuckle over that one.

"It's a very delicious irony, you know," he continued, "that most of our clients are incredibly conservative. That just goes with being rich enough to become our clients, I suppose. And that's why we charge ten thousand dollars a video. If they only knew where their money was going... Ah, now, this is Brother Nathan. You met him at dinner, I believe, yes?"

"Er, yes," I answered. He'd been sitting across the table from me.

Brother Nathan had apparently done the Britney Spears video. In this one, he was abusing NBC Evening News anchorwoman Natalie Morales, who had apparently angered a certain "Randy Reevis" by not giving enough attention to the 100^th anniversary of the inauguration of Warren Harding last March. I guess I could see how you could get pissed off at that. Although maybe not enough to do that to her. Yeessh!

"Well, you probably need your rest," Tomás said to me after the videos had ended. "I know your director, Brother Michael, is eager to get back to work. And of course, our revenues have been off twenty-five percent for the last three weeks, ever since Brother Donald left us."

"Yes," I put down the glass I'd been sipping at and the cigar I'd been pretending to smoke. "You said he had an accident? With the equipment?"

Brother Tomás smiled.

"Don't worry," he said. "We've taken steps to ensure that it doesn't happen again."

"So is he still here?" I asked. "Or did he get transferred somewhere else?"

"Let's just say he's no longer with us," Tomás crushed his cigar in an ashtray.
Something about the way he said it sent a chill up the back of my spine. It had been about three weeks since somebody uploaded the unencrypted video that the FBI had intercepted. I wondered if that was the malfunction that had led to Brother Donald's accident.

"Any questions?" he asked. "Very well. I will see you tomorrow. Someone will meet you after our morning vigils to escort you to the studio. Sleep well, Brother Peter."

Senator Ralph Porter, a Republican who'd represented my own state of Delaware since 2013, apparently had not gotten along very well with President Hillary Clinton, who was just then beginning her second term in office. Apparently the tailor had been measuring me for costumes, and my first was a gorgeous navy blue suit with a red power tie and a white button down shirt. Changing into that suit was the first thing I did once I passed "the door," which apparently involved knowing some combination of numbers to unlock. Well, the second thing, really. The first thing I did was pass inspection. Brother Tomás was waiting for me when I emerged, although he assured me that he was only there to help me get through my first day. He introduced me one more time again to Brother Michael in the control booth and then asked me to strip so he could assure himself that I'd been properly represented. Fortunately, I seemed to be of a similar size to the real Brother Peter. I wouldn't want to have met Brother Donald's fate because my cock was too small. At least women only made fun of you for that.

Finally, after I was properly costumed, I came face to face with Carrie, albeit Carrie channeling Hillary. I could see her eyes light up as she recognized me, and I stepped forward to squeeze her cheeks painfully together.

"So this is the President, huh?" I asked, giving her a quick look up and down. "Pretty miserable excuse for a fuck, isn't she?"

I pushed her away, watching her eyes dim. She still knew that I was her master, but she was smart enough not to insist on it while we were here.

"This is obviously not President Clinton," Tomás said.

No fooling, I thought.

"This is Hillary Clinton from 1994," he continued, "when she was actually attractive, and had a much softer hairstyle. We looked at pictures of her a little later, when she was a senator, and she was just too old and frankly too heavy by then. Once she got to be president... anyway, this version, when she was first lady and her only stress was riding herd on her husband's cock, is much more fuckable, don't you think? But we've dressed her up in the kind of thing she tended to wear as President, so I think she'll be perfect for our friend the Senator."

He walked me down to a room that looked like it could easily have come straight out of the White House.

"This stage is Stage A," he explained. "As you see, it's set up for your performance. Stage B is next door, through there; while you're performing, Brothers Cary and Samuel will be setting up the next scene, for Brother Nathan. Well, if you don't have any questions, I'll leave you in the capable hands of Brother Michael. Oh, one other thing. I should have told you last night. Your wine contained a semen extender, whose purpose is to dilute your semen, simply to make more of it available for the video. It is absolutely harmless, and I think you'll enjoy seeing what happens when you finally start spraying. Just don't be surprised, or you'll ruin the take. Good luck, Peter."

"Thank you, Brother Tomás," I waved.

My hands-on education in pornography started out with Brother Michael fitting me with what he called a "pov camera," shorthand for P-O-V, or point of view, camera. It attached to my head, as I'd expected, and it was fairly uncomfortable. But I already knew that it did its job. Looking at the monitor off stage, I could see it monitoring what I was looking at.

"A few rules, Brother," he said as he made the final adjustments. "Try not to use your peripheral vision. The camera won't track that. If you want to look at something to your right or left, turn your head. Second, you probably noticed that the script doesn't spell out much of the sex, right?"

I had noticed that. The script I'd been given let me know that I would be Senator Porter, and that President Clinton would be trying to get my vote on some crucial piece of legislation. Crucial to her, at any rate; Senator Porter apparently couldn't care less whether there were detailed nutrition labels on bags of candy. Once we got past the initial dialogue, though, it was up to me and my director.

"Yeah, so I just do what I want?" I asked.

"In character," he said. "If you're going to do missionary, though, keep it really short. The pov camera doesn't get good perspective on that because you're too close. Our clients tend to like doggystyle and cowgirl — with the girl riding you while you're lying down — and blowjobs of course. The senator wants to see Hillary's face covered in spunk, so when you're ready for the money shot, back off and we'll set that up. Now put this earpiece in your ear, so you can hear me. If I see anything, I'll stop you or steer you in a different direction. Hillary's been given her own instructions, so mostly she'll just be playing off of you. Any questions?"

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.

"Senator Porter," she extends her hand as he looks back up. "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," she gestures. "Senator, I think we both know why I asked you here: the nutrition labeling bill."

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

"Senator," 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," he smiles.

"Senator, I understand that your colleagues in the Republican caucus are united against this bill," she says, "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," she holds a hand out. "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?" he asks.

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