News Story Ch. 07


Welcome to Chapter 7 of News Story. This is the continuing saga of Jean Meredith as she evolves in the world of domination and bondage. If you haven’t yet read them, please check out Chapters One through Six to get up to date on how we got to where we are today. Enjoy and don’t forget to vote! As always, any comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!


We are finally on our way to Washington D.C. It is no small task getting a connecting flight from Hemmingsburg to Houston; but we did it. Now we are in the air and heading for the capital. Mark and his wife Jenny are seated directly in front of us. Brent is seated to my left on the aisle. I am Jean and I am on my way toward a big, big story.

Mark is my brother and runs the old family farm. His wife, Jenny, was a high school classmate of mine who I never cared for much but who has now become a close friend. Brent is my partner, my companion, my mentor, my manager, my friend and my Master — and those attributes are in no particular order. We are both reporters for the Hemmingsburg Report newspaper: a small town paper looking for the big stories.

Up to this point our most significant common connection is the ‘Man’s World’ fantasy compound. Focused on providing females with BDSM fantasies, it has served us as a recreational diversion as well as a business opportunity.

We are now flying to Washington for a potentially serious news story. Our subject will be Senator Melvin Johnson and his staff. The story has yet to be fully defined and is based only on some fuzzy rumors.


I am glad I had agreed to go on this trip with Brent. It did not seem that I had the opportunity to choose but Brent let me make the decision anyway! There were conditions.

It has already been a long day: flying out of Hemmingsburg to Houston and then laying over waiting for our flight out to Reagan International. I am leaning my head on Brent’s shoulder. He is reading the in-flight magazine. We are surrounded by the dull buzz of conversations going on throughout the cabin and the hum of the engines. Half of the people are dozing. The man to my right has drool oozing out of the side of his mouth. I scoot over as close to Brent as I can — so much for flying the friendly skies!

This plane is packed. I wonder what they are all doing; I wonder where they are all going. I am just a small town girl; it is hard for me to comprehend where all these people live and work. Even the airport at Houston was strange to me. Angry, pushy people everywhere are trying to get somewhere else in a hurry as if the world actually depended on it. I cannot feel that sense of self-importance; the world does not care about me nor does it depend on what I do. Why is everyone so frenetic?

Brent puts the magazine back into the seat pocket and holds my hand; we interlace our fingers. He loves me!

I ask Brent, “What is our itinerary once we get to D.C.?”

“Mark and I have a couple of business meetings with the government small business agencies early in the morning. You and Jenny should go sight-see and shop downtown — there won’t be anything specific for you to do until evening. You and I will be attending a private reception with the Senator and his staff and some select business people. Mark and Jenny will be meeting with Representative Coontze on the House side. They are a decoy team, of sorts, and will be talking with Coontze about the farm and some pertinent pending legislation. Beyond that, our schedules will depend on how these two dinner parties turn out. Our task is to try and steer the conversation toward the bankruptcies.”

“But how will we do that? What companies are going bankrupt?”

“There are several: first of all we have Dixon Enterprises out of Orlando. The company is a manufacturer of fuel cells for high-MPG vehicles. It was started up two years ago by a lobbyist for the Senator. I can’t remember his name off the top of my head, but that is not important to us at this time. He received a huge loan guarantee from the government on behalf of Dixon Enterprises. If we can identify the top of this heap, these other guys will get plucked up in no time.”

“What does that mean — he got a loan guarantee?”

“It means the taxpayers have co-signed for a loan to finance Dixon’s business plan. If Dixon’s plan fails and they cannot make loan repayments, then the taxpayers pick up the tab.”

“Why would the Senator sign up to that?”

“It’s called payback. The lobbyist has been a big contributor to the Senator’s two election bids. This is a commonly recurring theme throughout democratically elected governments around the world. Ours is no different; in some respects, it’s the benchmark.”

“So what about the taxpayers? How do they get their money back?”

“They probably won’t. That’s part of the magic of working within a government bureaucracy.”

“Where is the fishy stuff is going on?”

“Almost everywhere; Dixon has some reports and studies showing slow progress and deficit Betturkey cash flows. The primary investors cashed out four months ago with a modest profit; the company filed for bankruptcy two months ago. The casual investor lost his shirt. The taxpayer will never see the loan paid back. This reeks of an insider information network that is incredibly extensive.”

“But is that not just an unsuccessful company? Wouldn’t that be a possibility for anyone in business for their business plan to fail — especially in a slow economy? Companies fail all the time.”

“You’re right, but the catch here is that Dixon Enterprises never existed. It is a sham company. It’s merely a black hole where money goes in and no one knows where. Somewhere there is a thread that will lead us to a trail that nails someone. It might even be the Senator himself. Something this big has got to be managed by someone in high places.”

“I understand and I’m disgusted. Any other companies involved?”

“Actually, we think there are ten companies altogether. Two other companies have filed for bankruptcy this year: Edison Engineering out of Boonesborough, Kentucky, and Miller and Sons out of place called Jaysville, Texas. I don’t think Jaysville, Texas, even exists!”

“How can they get away with this? Don’t they have to pass audits or inspections? Their books can’t be that good.”

“The tax filings and business reports are all filed and in order. There are not enough inspectors to check all this kind of thing out on site. Given a good inspector and sufficient time, he would ferret the truth out. But that’s not likely to happen. It’s so unlikely to happen that the conspirators consider it a low percentage risk. Plus the money is not so great that it’s going to raise a significant red flag. That’s our angle — it should be easier for us to get close up because the conspirators believe it’s off the radar. The Jaysville mistake is what got Billings’ attention; he has sniffed this one out from that trivial detail. But his facts are not enough to raise the alarm. That’s our job. Breaking this story will be a big prize for the Hemmingsburg Report; it could mean the revival of the newspaper world.”

The last statement sounded somewhat sarcastic but I elected not to pursue that thought. “Are they that sloppy to make a mistake like using a town that doesn’t exist?”

“Sure, money flows in Washington faster than the speed of light. No one knows where it all goes. Someone got in a hurry, made a stupid mistake and let it go. Two of the key features of any bureaucracy: crassness and arrogance.”

“How do we get in?”

“Once we get into the dinner party we’ll have to improvise. The Senator is my prime suspect so we’ll start with him. You may have to soften him up!”

“How am I going to do that? I’m not a detective.”

“Your country charm will appeal to the Senator. He’s used to slick city girls. You will seem to be an easy target for the Senator’s carnal desires.”

“You think he’ll try to seduce me into the sack with him?”

Brent grins slightly, “No, I think he’ll tie you up in a sling and beat you mercilessly!”

I ponder on that response. Brent did mention that the Senator was a ‘Man’s World’ participant. “This is another ‘Surprise Me’ option opportunity, isn’t it?”

“You should look at it that way! And I can speak from first-hand experience: you are the best.” He kisses me on top of my head.

“I suppose. Do you have any other suspects? This sounds like a big operation.”

“I have two others, but I don’t have anything of enough significance in either case.”

I look up at him to ask more questions when I hear that familiar ‘ding’ sound; the ‘seatbelt’ light goes on. The pilot’s voice pipes up on the intercom, “Please notice that we have activated the seatbelt light. We request that there be no unnecessary movement in the cabin. We are beginning our approach into the Reagan International Airport airspace. We estimate that we will be on the ground in twenty minutes. The weather in Washington is cold and blustery; it is fifty-three degrees Fahrenheit with a fourteen mile per hour breeze out of the west. The skies are partially overcast. The time in Washington presently is four-thirty P.M. Eastern Standard Time.” The intercom goes silent. I hear people snapping their tray tables back into the locked and upright positions.

I cuddle up to Brent a little closer and close my eyes. I would like to snooze a bit before we land. In fact, I would like to snooze a bit while we land — I do not particularly care for flying, especially the landing part!

I close my eyes and imagine myself hoisted in the air in a rope swing. This might not be such bad way to conduct an investigation after all.


The air temperature has increased since yesterday; it must be in the high sixties or maybe even seventy today. Jenny and I are walking along the National Mall; it is really pleasant — maybe just a little cool but the sun is out and the wind has died Betturkey Giriş down. The Lincoln Memorial is off in the distance. Jenny and I have spent the morning walking and talking. The buildings along the mall look so impressive; they provide a relaxed backdrop for us to stroll along and chat. It is late in the season so there are not many flowers or pretty foliage to speak of. We never made it to shop.

Jenny says, “What time is it?”

“I don’t know, maybe two o’clock.”

“Shouldn’t we be getting back to the subway? I don’t want to rush about getting ready. Mark is really nervous about tonight’s dinner parties.”

“Okay, let’s see, the station is about four blocks that way.” I pointed to our left. “Brent is a little nervous too. He says the Senator has friends everywhere. He said he once pulled Hector out of some issues with some bureaucrat.” We turn and start walking back to the station.

“Yes, he did. Hector was charged with fraud over some land deal he was involved in. The property was partially owned by the Senator’s brother. And the brother was a part of the fraud — as a co-conspirator. The Senator made some calls and it all went away. That was all before Hector moved here last year. I don’t really know any details. Mark never likes to tell me too much. Sometimes, I think he thinks I’m a bit ditzy!”

“Why would he think that? Why, you were a blonde cheerleader who just managed to graduate from college cum laude.”

She smiles. I am glad she went on to bigger and better things than cheerleading! I am getting to like Jenny more and more as I have gotten to know her. “What’s Brent telling you about the parties?”

“Very little, he says for me to act normal, friendly, let the conversation flow and to listen for any information. Anything might be useful. Pay attention. Don’t forget the details.”

“It sounds like we’re in for quite an exciting evening.” She sarcastically adds, “It was so much easier when I was just a cheerleader.”

“From what I’ve heard, Congressman Coontze relishes the camaraderie of cheerleaders!”

Even more sarcasm, “Yeah, Mark told me I was fully qualified to be a member of the Congressman’s staff by the time I graduated from high school. At that time my resume read: young curvy blonde female with skimpy cheer outfit available for consultation. I met all of the requirements!”

We titter and walk on toward the subway station with our elbows interlocked.


I am standing in front of the mirror wearing only a towel wrapped around my waist loosely knotted, trying to get my hair dry with one of those premium hotel-supplied hair dryers. This hotel room is nice but not frilly. There are two large rooms: a living room and a bedroom. The bathroom is large with a walk-in shower (Brent and I took advantage of that last night — we were, of course, only trying to save on water use! Ha!) There is a large sink and mirror outside the bathroom door.

Brent strolls in and stands behind me leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He is only wearing his underwear. They are black. He tugs on my towel and it drops to the floor leaving me naked.

“You’d better not bother me. I’m a woman AND I am trying to get dressed! Now you know that that is not a good combination!”

“Oh, excuse me, you’re not dressed yet? I was hoping this was it! Will I get the sink sometime before the party starts? I would like to at least brush my teeth.”

“Be patient, just a few adjustments to the hair then I’m going back to get dressed.” I look back at him through the mirror; he is looking down and checking my backside! I innocently ask, “What are you looking at back there?”

In the mirror I see his face light up in amazement. He fakes the voice of shock and says, “I have never seen anything quite so big.”

I turn around and throw my wet washrag at him. He immediately evades my attack and the wet rag hits the wall, goes ‘shplort’ and rolls down to the floor.

“What was that for?” he innocently inquires.

“Don’t talk about my behind like that. Don’t you realize I’m the most perfect woman you could ever have?”

He quickly recoups his normal mien and snaps, “Oh, excuse me, I wasn’t referring to your ass as being big; it isn’t all THAT big! I was admiring my spectacular pecker!”

I drolly reply, “Hey, don’t flatter yourself; it’s not all that great.”

“That’s not what you were moaning last night. Anyway, where could you find this kind of quality?” He was waving his hands around like some kind of TV-sales guy.

I speak as sultry as I can, “Your incredible pecker only achieves its magnificence because of me. It’s nothing without me.” I turn to face him looking as seductively as I could. I slide my hands down into his underwear and fondle his balls.

He looks at me and unconvincingly says, “This could make us late. I’d hate to keep the Senator waiting.”

I alluringly purr, “I think we have the time.” I recede to my knees looking up at him in Betturkey Güncel Giriş obeisance. “I’ll be no time at all, my lord.”

I pull his shorts down and start sucking his already large cock. It does not take me long to get his member rock solid. I pull on it back and forth. I hear him groaning, “Dammit, you are the best.” Finally, he gushes his juice into my mouth. I swallow it all. I lick the head of his cock as the last few dribbles seep out. I look up at him as I pull his undershorts back up.

I stand and look at him haughtily, “Now, are you still worried about the Senator?”

“I doubt that he would notice if we were a few minutes late.”

I shuffle my ass as I walk back into the bedroom. I glance in the mirror; Brent has that satisfied grin on his face. He does not think my ass is too big; I can tell! I close the door behind me. I hear him brushing his teeth.

The dress Jenny and I picked out for tonight is hanging in the closet. She was a big help packing. The dress is black with a black belt that has gold highlights. The belt is wide and rides high. The dress is gathered under my breasts and folds over them. The neck is not open; an elastic band at the top holds it snugly on my skin. The gold highlights continue at half the intensity above the belt and all the way to the neckline. The hem runs just below my knees. The sleeves are quarter the length of my arm. The entire dress is form fitting and zips up the back. There are no decorations, buttons, ribbon or any other add-ons beside the belt and highlights. It is simple. I am sure I can distract the Senator in this dress.

I slip into my bra and pull on some black panties. I drop the dress over my head and slide my arms into the sleeves. I cannot quite get it zipped all the way up, but I am sure Brent will do the honors. I model the dress in the mirror; it fits great! I pick up my black coat and head for the door.

Brent is standing there by the mirror adjusting his cuff. He is dressed in a tailor-fit black suit with a white shirt and black bow tie. I make a mental note: we need a fantasy where we are dressed formally — he really looks delectable.

He turns around. When Brent sees me, he has that look on his face again: it is the face that every girl wants her man to have when he really takes a good look at her. I think he is drooling! He says, “Outstanding! You clean up very well!” He lowers his voice and tries to sound regal, “Twill be an honor to escort you to the ball, milady.”

I answer in the shrillest voice I can muster, “What do you mean by that — ‘the ball’?” I cannot keep up the façade anymore; I never could do that. I walk over to him dropping the coat on the desk, “Will you zip me please?” as I turn my back to him.

“No problem.” He uses both his hands to poke around on my ass while he asks himself, “Now where is that zipper?”

“It’s a bit higher than that, dear!” I reply in fake disgust. He reaches his hands upward and comes around cupping each of my breasts. I need to come to Washington more often. This is the kind of treatment I like. I lean my head back on his chest for a momentary indulgence then remind him, “We are really going to be late if you keep this up.”

He pushes me off him and says matter-of-factly, “Okay!” Then he zips me up, firmly pats me on the behind and says, “Let’s go! The taxi is probably waiting. What’s taking you so long, woman?” I punch his shoulder. He grabs hold of his arm and feigns injury; I ignore him.

Brent picks up my coat and helps me put it on. He lays his trench coat over his arm, opens the hotel room door and we step out into the hallway. The elevator is just around the corner from our room. Brent hits the ‘Down’ arrow button. I hold onto his other arm wondering just what we have gotten ourselves into.


We are standing in the swanky lobby of the country club. Black marble tiles cover the floor; there is a small cement fountain in the center of the room with a naked female sculpture holding a pitcher. Water pours out of the spout into about four inches of water. Pennies, nickels and dimes line the bottom of the pool. It is already dark outside, but the curtains are still open in the windows. The drapes are dark yellow. There is a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling providing a dim light for the room. The attendant at the door is talking to Brent while I admire the furnishings.

In a moment, the attendant opens the door and motions for us to follow. Once inside he speaks loudly, “Excuse me, everyone, excuse me please.” The conversations quiet down and everyone looks at us. I feel like every eye is ogling us as we stand there at the door.

The attendant waits until everyone is quiet, and then continues, “Please welcome Mr. Brent Adams with his companion, Jean.” There is some light applause, after which the conversations pick back up. The banquet room is dark. I hardly see the faces on the other guests; I guess there are twenty other people in the room. I do not recognize anyone.

A small string quartet in the far corner begins playing chamber music. They are very good.

Tables are set up with white tablecloths, white china and silver, large crystal glasses. The salads are already at each seat. Maybe we will eat soon; I am hungry!

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