In the car, all was quiet. No one spoke. The chauffeur watched the road., both his hands on the wheel.
Hedda Branchbaum, wife of Right wing broadcaster Swift Branchbaum for five months now, sat in the back seat of Branchbaum's Bentley Mulsanne. She was quiet, her back stiff, her stance upright, her eyes focused on the shaved neck of Moses Williams, the chauffeur. Her skirt was pulled down a conservative one inch below her carefully pressed together knees. Her hands, folded, lay on her lap. One had to keep up appearances. You never knew who was watching.
Sitting next to her was Swift Branchbaum's trusted personal assistant/bodyguard, Orenthal Jackson. Jackson, too, was silent, staring straight ahead.
That was the way they remained in the automobile as it sped down the highway in the heavy traffic. The quiet, staid scene remained that way until the moment the car passed through the gated entrance of Branchbaum's Hollywood Hills mansion and started to negotiate the curved private road which led to the residence. Suddenly, a burst of activity erupted in the back set.
Orenthal pulled down his pant's zipper. His massive cock slithered out from its confinement. Hedda Branchbaum's right hand immediately jumped to grip the shaft of the tumid cock. She began to slowly move her hand up and down on the hard shaft, savoring its ribbed, slick feel. Quickly, she lowered her head. Her lips touched the crown of his prick. She sucked the cock head deeply into her wide open mouth. Madly, she swirled her tongue around the head, allowing her saliva to bathe it and then the shaft until the whole of the cock and Orenthal's balls were soaking wet.
"Good girl," said O, and he put his large hand on the back of her head, encouraging her mouth deeper onto the cock, "Baby, you is the best.Go!!!"
Hedda did her best to comply with O's demand. She bobbed her head up and down at a frantic pace, all the while holding the shaft at its join with O's body. Drool dripped from her mouth.
"Hey, hey, am I gonna get me some of that too?" came the cry from the chauffeur, Williams, behind the wheel.
Gretta stopped her head bobbing to nod her head yes and then went back to her hard sucking of O's cock.
"How much time we got until I got to go to get the boss to get him home?" Moses Williams asked as he maneuvered the sedan into the mansion's garage. His question was addressed to Orenthal Jackson.
"You mean our boss? You mean Mr. Swift Branchbaum, our esteemed leader and the smartest person ever to speak into a mike? Do you mean Ace Broadcaster and speaker of truth, Swift Branchbaum?"
"That's who I'm asking 'bout," said Williams.
The boss's wife, meanwhile, oblivious to the conversation going on above her head, continued her work sucking Orenthal Jackon's large cock. She sucked her cheeks in and swirled her tongue around his shaft, intent on its sweet flavor, intent in keeping it hard..
"I expect we got three hours, maybe two hours to be sure there aren't any problems," was O's reply. "Swift will be with Scott Lansford for their visit that they're doing right now and then for lunch. Three hours the least until he got to get back here in time for his beauty sleep."
Hedda continued her attention to Williams' cock.. She was comfortable leaving the details of these trysts, their place, their time, the activities involved to Williams. He was very efficient. And his cock tasted delicious. She sucked harder.
###########
Two men are waiting for the gold plated elevator reserved for Club owner Scott Landsford and guests. In this case, the guest is Swift Branchbaum. The men might almost be clones of each other, except they don't look anything like the other. Their haircuts were similar, thinning hair slicked tight against their skulls. Their suits came from the same expensive tailor. They used the same designer brand body powder. Their clone-like similarity ended with their smell, though. Scott was lean, his face predatory with sharp angles and hard edges. Swift's face was soft, jowly, his faced rounded by its excess fat.
"You and your wife, Gretta, seem to be doing well," said Scott. Scott Landsford was the owner of the Stars. He and Branchbaum had met on the golf course. It was an exclusive course, extremely expensive, and select in extending membership. That Swift was a member was good enough for Landsford. Swift had contributed a hundred thous to Landsford's charity, and of course political clout when it was needed. Inviting the broadcaster to watch a Stars' game from the owner's box was paltry recompense. But one hand rubs the other.
"Hedda," Swift corrected his host.
"Yes, that's what I meant," said Scott. "Your wife seemed to enjoy the ballgame." This new wife of Swift's seemed to be a great asset. She listened when the men spoke, smiled with approval when they lit up their ninety-dollar cigars, and followed a slight half step back when they walked into a room. And she dressed great. Not like a slut, but not like a dowager either. In fashion, with just the slightest hint, the aura of hotness. Nice and classy. Good for Swift's image. Swift loved to remind his millions of fans of his masculinity. And a wife that looked just a little bit hot was perfect for that.
"Oh, yes," said Branchbaum. She's a great fan of football. Thanks for inviting us to the game."
"Sorry she couldn't be with us now."
Swift Branchbaum chuckled, "Well, you know, she's a little shy, wasn't sure that the locker room was a proper place for her to be." I had been looking forward to meeting the team, and she had a slight headache. So I asked my factotum, Orenthal Johnson to make sure she gets back home safely.
The two men were heading from the Box to honor the team with their presence. Landsford's Los Angeles Stars football team had just trounced Baltimore by a score of 41-10. Branchbaum mentioned that the team would probably, because of his stature in the world---everyone knew who Swift Branchbaum was, appreciate a nice word from him. Landsford agreed; he thought the team deserved no less.
"You do know I am appreciative of your invitation to visit the locker room," said Swift. Swift, in addition to his renown as the scourge of all things liberal in America, was also known to be a great fan of N. F. L. football, his expertise about football exceeded in scope and intelligence only by his finesse at unmasking the ways that liberals were trying to destroy the American way of life.
"I won't tell the players that you picked Baltimore to win the game," said Landsford with a chuckle..
"I didn't really mean it when I said the Stars would get beat," Branchbaum said. It was a long-standing tradition that a visitor make a slight wager on the ballgame, but that the money from the wager (on both sides) somehow ending up as a contribution to a Landsford charity. Swift did not appreciate being wrong. He appreciated less being reminded of his mistake. If Landsford had been a caller on Swift's radio call-in show, Swift Branchbaum would have cut him off. But Swift was Landsford's guest right now, and Landsford was richer even than Swift was, so Branchbaum smiled.
"The cheerleaders are still around," said Landsford. He winked. "A few of them will be available in a little while. I usually keep a couple of the more willing around after each game, you know, for relaxation. Do you think you might enjoy some relaxing time with a few of them?"
"Thank you, but I will have to decline your kind offer," Swift replied. "You know, new wife. Have to conserve the energy."
"Yes, of course," said Landsford. "Mrs. Branchbaum is a lovely young lady. I am sure she is keeping you quite busy." He added to the statement an unsaid, wink-wink, nudge-nudge.
