Mistress Scarletts Politicians

"Well, the debate seems to be over." Creighton Zell said with some satisfaction.

"I think Senator Antonovich fielded that question on space policy well, right Ms. Sharp?"

Scarlett looked with faint distaste at Creighton Zell, an obese sycophant whose bald pate was sweating under the television klieg lights.

It always seemed as if Presidential candidates had some homely subordinate— James Carville, George Stephanopoulos, Karl Rove, and of course Cheney...

Yes, brains, but no looks, no charm... just grotesque cunning.

Scarlett beamed at Dunstan Antonovich as he shook hands with Katie Couric, and walked off the stage. Scarlett's bob had grown into a curly tangled dark mass that made her resemble Kirstie Alley when she was on "Cheers" before Kirstie resurfaced as a beached whale.

The past year had been certainly instructive—-Dunstan Antonovich was an exciting guy to hang out with!

"You did so well, Senator" Scarlett said, smiling and taking his arm. Dun was supposedly happily married, and in public Scarlett was only his aide-de-camp. Creighton Zell came up on the other side, babbling his feedback, and Scarlett wrinkled her nose.

Someone, Senator Everett Dirksen possibly had said that politics was Hollywood for ugly people, and Zell was certainly evidence of this.

As Scarlett looked Pernilla Noble, one of the other Republican candidates, she noticed that Pernilla was being accompanied by Wenceslas Monczowki, an old acquaintance of hers.

"Jesus, what's Monks doing here?" Scarlett thought.

Could Pernilla Noble be vulnerable to the charms of West Chicago's most notorious Male Master?

Dun was looking anxiously at Scarlett, and she could tell he needed something.

Dun was very much like a child—

When Dunstan was tired and whiny, he often needed a spanking, and Scarlett had had no compunctions when he was visiting a voter's house during the New Hampshire Primaries.

"May we use your lavatory?" she'd asked the host.

"The Senator seems to have a chin hair I want to pluck."

They'd fortunately had a rather large bathroom, and she'd had plenty of room to plunk down, and order the Senator to take down his pants.

"No arguments, Dunstan." Scarlett had said firmly.

"I heard you making some rude comment about a journalist's ass, and we'll be lucky if she doesn't report that.

You're getting thirty with my hardwood paddle."

Gagged with a washcloth, the Senator had taken his thirty, and then Scarlett had checked her makeup in the mirror while he knelt and wept silently.

But, by the time they'd returned to the limelight, he was charming and pleasant as always! Fanchon had been right, this was a plum job.

Now she clicked her high heels beside Dun, and she smiled casually at the attentive male photographers.

There was quite a bit of speculation in the news about Scarlett and the Presidential candidate, but she did as

little as she could to feed it.

After a few more words, Dun took Scarlett back to the office in the Senate Hart Building, and adjourned to their "lounge".

As Dun stripped and knelt before her, Scarlett wondered about Monks.

This was too interesting.

Pernilla Noble was one of Dun's toughest rivals—pro-life, gorgeous, a fiscal conservative.

Women LOVED her, and men didn't mind her either, for Pernilla was a looker!

But that might be interesting information to use in the campaign.

Dunstan looked up expectantly at Scarlett from his kneeling position on the floor.

Scarlett took a long walking stick with a gold knob on the end that Dun carried when he was being especially pompous, and stepped up to him.

Scarlett let the walking stick slide into her hand, and pointed the knob end at Dun's cock.

His cock was free, as it generally was when she was within ten feet of him...otherwise of course it was secured.

TAP!

The knob bounced painfully against the head of his cock, and Dun bit his lip.

"Senator, you need to tell me something—did you notice the young man accompanying Governor Noble?"

To ensure that Dun was listening to her, Scarlett whacked his cock again with the walking stick knob.

"N-no ma'am, I don't think so."

Dun's face crunched in pain as the knob hit his cock again. "She's a dangerous challenger though.

She really has her eye set on the nomination. She told Tom Brokaw about some promises I didn't keep in my last Senatorial term."

Scarlett shook her head, and her long dark hair flew around her shoulders, and Dun's eyes widened.

She was glad she'd grown it out. It seemed to have a bewitching effect on men!

Scarlett lifted the cane and landed it on Dun's shoulder.

"You don't keep promises? That's unfortunate. It would take a woman like Pernilla Noble to point something like that out."

Scarlett snapped her fingers, and Dun bent over, burying his face in the carpet, and she took a position at his rear.

Scarlett lifted the cane, and smiled with pleasure.

Politics was fun, really.

Scarlett swung the long walking stick down, and it landed with a smack on Dun's exposed buttock, and he gasped.

She swung it again, hard, and watched as a black and blue mark seemingly appeared on his left bottom cheek.

"It's all about ego with you men." Scarlett mused.

"You actually don't care about the voters, or whoever you're making promises to.

It's campaigning, and then you're bored until you have your next tantrum to get whatever it is you want."

Scarlett lifted the cane and swung it hard five times against Dun's buttocks, and he howled.

Fortunately the lounge was soundproofed, and Dun's staff could just work undisturbed.

"Lies, deceit...

I always wanted to thrash Teddy Kennedy's big, flabby buttocks, before he died.

And Howell Hefflin.

Fortunately, I have you to do a number on..."

WHACK! THWACK! SMACK!

Finally Scarlett let up.

She didn't want to hospitalize Dunstan before the next speech he was to make.

Scarlett helped Dunstan up, and locked his hands behind his back with a set of handcuffs, instructing him to kneel on a chair.

Scarlett unbuttoned her blouse, showing a milky white cleavage.

She watched Dun's eyes...men were so predictable! Dun's breath came in short gasps as Scarlett began stroking his dick with unbridled energy.

"You know Mistress doesn't like to punish you" she said, the lie coming easily.

She put her chin into Dun's neck and blew air in his ear, as she toyed more with his fevered cock.

"I know you're horny...wouldn't you like to fuck Mistress? No, Dunny, that's not going to happen.

Only big boys get to fuck Mistress.

But Mistress is going to help you win this election, and won't it be nice when a sad little sack of a submissive becomes President of the United States."

As Scarlett said this, she slipped her fingers along to Dun's scrotum and twisted it, lightly, and he buckled over, but then regained his composure as she returned to her endless masturbation of his throbbing rod.

"I liked using that walking stick on you, Dunstan" Scarlett whispered, her fingers pretending to play the piano on the sensitive underside of his shaft. "I thought very seriously about running the stick up your ass, just to see what you might do. That would be funny, wouldn't it?"

Dun gasped, and his mind boggled at the idea of having a walking cane up his ass.

But as he stared into Miss Scarlett's heaving mounds, under her silk shirt, he began gasping more, and his legs began trembling.

"Yes," Scarlett mused,

"I'd just love to shove the cane up your ass, knob first.

That would really spread your cheeks, babe.

I could slam it again and again, you'd be like the ultimate faggot, getting your punishment from the cruel rod...you'd be an anal slave."

Scarlett pumped and toyed with Dun's cock and he began to breathe hard through his nose.

His eyes rolled back in his head.

Scarlett realized that he was getting close to cumming, so once again she reached to the back and this time crushed his balls HARD.

And Dunstan's eyes filled with tears as his testicles turned tiny. Scarlett stood up and buttoned up her silk blouse, and became quite businesslike.

"Senator we have a lot of work to do now, going over your speech to the Association of Realtors.

I'm going to unlock you, and you can get dressed now, no time to waste."

Dunstan gritted his teeth, but he obeyed Mistress Scarlett!

AND THEN

Wenceslas Monczowki had been raised in a traveling carnival, owned by his father, Stash.

Strange as all the fortune tellers, fire eaters and other strange stuff Monks saw was, what was weirdest, was when Stash went off on his own to Miss Mina's trailer.

"Leave it alone, kid," Monks's older brother Stanislaus, who operated the Ferris Wheel, said was. "Pa's a strange fella." But Stan didn't have a proper sense of curiosity, Monks felt. And Monks ignored Stan to follow Pa, and had a good perch just outside the trailer window.

Mina was a small, buxom dark haired woman, and she didn't seem to have a definite job here at the carnival. She did some of the bookkeeping, and when she was younger, she'd been an exotic dancer for the carnival's older attendees...the fathers who bought their kids a string of tickets and then snuck off to watch the bounce and jiggle.

Monks got an eyeful. Stash began talking to Mina, and then she said something, and Stash's lower lip trembled.

Monks had never seen his father look anything but angry or satisfied, and all of a sudden it looked like Stash was crying.

Mina took a round, big hairbrush from her drawer, and tapped it on her hand, and Stash unbuckled his pants and pulled them down, and lay across her small lap.

Fortunately, Mina was sitting on a bed, because Stash weighed about 245 and she was about 110 soaking wet.

Monks watched Mina whip Stash's big, hairy ass, and was amused by how his father banged his fists and cried, but didn't try to get up off Mina's lap or overpower her in any way.

Monks had seen much in his nineteen years—his mother had died of sheer exhaustion, and his father had kicked the shit out of all of them so many times...he'd watched adulteries, and seen the Bearded Lady blowing one of the barkers, and just a LOT. But this one had been the biggest of the strangest things.

Stash finally rose from Mina's lap and then she'd ordered him to stand in the corner of her trailer, as she polished her nails.

And then he'd come back finally and she'd taken a long thin wire and whacked his hard dick while tears had coursed down Stash's cheeks.

Finally, Stash had gotten on hands and knees and kissed Mina's feet, and Monks had had enough. He'd gone back to his trailer, packed a small bag, and put his thumb out on the highway.

Monks had not thought of BDSM for another decade, as he'd traveled around the U.S., stealing, doing odd jobs, and passing the odd bad paper.

But then he'd been bussing tables at a small leather bar in Sheboygan, and one of the patrons had offered Monks money to hit him with a belt!

It had all come back to him.

For fifteen years Monks had been a Master to men and women, and it had been quite lucrative.

He'd met Pernilla when she was just a Skokie councilwoman, and she'd visited him twice a month for hairbrush paddlings and a bit of nipple torture.

But as she'd moved up in Illinois politics, her visits had become more frequent—

Pernilla was making more money, and Monks wasn't cheap, but also the pressures of the jobs were getting to her.

When she became Governor, Monks was summoned twice a week to the Mansion for "therapy".

Now, as they left the debates and climbed into Pernilla's limousine, Monks realized that at forty, he was

"Iphigenia, take the short route to the hotel, and take us into the underground garage, so the Governor won't have a lot of hassle from reporters."

Monks ordered. Ippie would understand.

She herself had felt (and craved) the lash of his whip on her buttocks; the two had worked together on and off for twelve years; she knew everything.

"Monks" Ippie said, just before closing the little transom window separating chauffer from passengers,

"Did you see who was accompanying Senator Antonovich? It was Scarlett Sharp, I think."

"You don't say," Monks looked up, smiling.

How interesting. Wonder if our Dunstan's a perv." Governor Pernilla Noble sat in silence in the back seat.

She'd gone through a lot and was a bit exhausted. But also, she didn't speak in Monks's presence until he gave her permission.

Monks was not up for a lot of natter from females.

As the Governor looked at Monks, awaiting his cue, Monks unzipped his cock, and whipped it out, and Pernilla Noble smiled in relief.

Brilliant economist and lawmaker that she was; expert in all issues, really what she wanted to do was suck cock. And she leaned down and began slurping Monks's tumescent penis as he sat back and listened to the Talking Heads.

By the time they'd reached the hotel, Monks had cum twice in the Governor's full lips.

Yes, and before they left the garage, he'd forced Pernilla to service Ippie on her knees as well as the chauffer leaned against the car and moaned, Pernilla's head bobbing under her skirt.

When they got upstairs to the suite, Pernilla stripped to her panties, and knelt on the carpet.

Ippie went to her room to have a drink, and Monks looked outside, wondering. Scarlett Sharp. Son of a bitch.

What could that mean?

"M-Master?" Pernilla looked at him fearfully.

"P-permission to speak, Master?"

The Governor certainly sounded different when addressing Monks than when shrieking from the podium about the "waste" of health care reform.

Monks spun away from the window and took a long fiberglass cane from the mantelpiece and walked up, cracking Pernilla Noble on her right breast, and then snapping it again for good measure.

"What could you possibly say that needs to be heard?

Unlike the rest of the worshipful Red State morons, I think you're a waste of space, Pernilla...hot air exclusively."

WHACK! Monks brought the fiberglass cane down again, this time on Pernilla's left shoulder, and she sobbed slightly.

"Make it quick, I've got things on your mind concerning your rotten campaign."

"Muh-Master, you said that if I did well in the debates with the other Republican candidates, you might let me masturbate using the vib-vibrator, Sir."

Now the Governor was trying to look appealing, very much as she did with Ma and Pa Kettle when she talked about her caring for the newborn, or her "concern" that gays shouldn't be allowed to teach school.

This look of hers made Monks nauseous.

WHACK!

The cane hit Pernilla right in the stomach. CRACK! Again on the back. TAP! Hard on the right cheek, almost bruising her mouth.

"Is that what you interrupted my important thoughts for? You want to roll around on the floor and diddle yourself?"

Monks's eyes rolled heavenward.

You see what I must deal with, Lord?

What Pernilla was missing, what was making her whine was her steel Locker.

The Locker was about the size of a small freezer, and had about thirty air holes.

Pernilla's husband, Archimedes Noble, a quiet man who graded driveways for a living, and refused all government contracts, was a quiet man.

Ark explained to Monks when Pernilla went on the road with her Presidential campaign, that she would be a little weirded out, spending so much time out of the Locker's confined space.

Ark generally kept the Governor naked and confined in the Locker at least six hours a day.

Their children were being raised by his mother, so it didn't get in the way, and yet, Ark and Pernilla got credit for family values.

"You could try makin' her crawl under the bathroom sink in the cupboard" Ark had suggested to Monks .

"Some hotels have big ones, others she couldn't fit in.

Hey, but you cain't jes' have her out and about, 'cause she gets nervous, like a show dog left in a field or somep'n."

But unfortunately, the hotel they were staying in had no big enough cabinets, and of course they couldn't travel with the Locker, as it would bring up too many media questions.

It was strange enough that the Governor shared a hotel room with her "special assistant" and her chauffer.

When they'd been closer to home, Ark had come with a barrel in the back of his truck, and the two men had bound the Governor up, tying her arms and legs close to her body with duct tape and locking her in the barrel .

Yes, and then rolling her up and down the parking garage, batting it occasionally with Louisville Sluggers.

This had been a regular occurrence when they were still in the state, Ark's brother Agamemnon, who worked with him in the paving business joining.

Sometimes Ark, Ag, Monks, and Ippie would have a "barrel hockey" tournament, and then when it was over, the Governor would emerge from the barrel, perhaps with a bloody nose, and go down on everybody...

Ah, but she'd have her "itch scratched".

But then they had to leave the state as her quest for the nomination gained popularity.

When they'd been in Iowa during Super Tuesday, Ark had enclosed the makings of a packing case,

There had been faint hope when Ippie and Monks had shoved Pernilla in for a night of cramped pain, but the thing fell apart...

Yes, and of course carrying a dog kennel around with no dog would also attract strange questions..

And they were in Washington now...staying at the Mayflower Hotel. There was no place for barrels or Lockers.

The Governor was whining to masturbate, and it was going to be a real drag, Monks realized.

ELSEWHERE

"Pull your cheeks apart, darling" Scarlett whispered.

"That's right. It's not going to be that bad."

Scarlett lifted the three foot long bologna sausage and began gently forcing it into Dunstan's rectum.

The Senator was gritting his teeth.

As Scarlett pushed, she thought about Monks.

She had never thought much of him, though they'd brushed each other, traveling in the same circles. Scarlett was certainly a mercenary girl, but Monks was positively avaricious.

Once, she'd criticized Monks for financially wiping out a slave's trust fund.

At the time, Scarlett had been living in Chicago, managing The Nutcracker Lodge, a BDSM watering hole, and she'd actually had to give a busboy job to Enfield Bostick, an ugly little midget and former shipping heir.

This because Enfield was penniless, signed his entire fortune over to Monks, who had then tossed poor Enfield into the street!

"I thought for sure that he'd keep me as his slave boy once he had the money" Enfield had sobbed. "But he said that $850,000 only goes so far, and I'd been charged by the hour." Enfield's parents had disinherited him from any future remittances, seeing the boy as a lunatic, and it had just been really sad.

"It's a dog eat dog world, Scarlett" Monks had told her.

"And working will be good for Enfield.

Watch and see, he'll be your assistant manager, or even be running the Nutcracker Lodge before the year's out."

Although this prediction had turned out to be accurate, Scarlett still knew that Monks was evil.

Scarlett suspected that if Monks was evil, Governor Noble must be a bit evil as well.

Now, finally, Scarlett had gotten the entire three foot bologna sausage up the Senator's ass.

"Now you're all ready for the banquet.

I know you hate these rubber chicken dinners, but with a half smoke up your tushie, you won't be that upset, right babe?"

But Scarlett had known how to do her research, and she'd learned interesting things about Governor Noble and her camp—

Right, and then learned even more interesting things about Enfield, who had recently quit the Nutcracker Lodge to parlay his amateur photography skills to be a reporter for the "National Exploiter" one of the supermarket rags.