Donna could not believe the things that had been done to her. She told herself it was not her fault she had been fucked by the men at the hotel – they had given her drugs, and forced themselves on her. She conveniently forgot the number of orgasms she had had.
But the nineteen year old high school student frightened her. She had not even had a single drink, and yet had been powerless to stop him. John Loftin had not even tried all that hard, and she had been on her knees sucking him off, and then masturbated in her cramped little office after he had left. At least, she had until the maintenance man had interrupted her. No, she could barely believe the events of the past few weeks.
She had an even harder time believing that she had allowed them, and after a brief protest, enjoyed them. That was not the type of woman that she pictured herself as.
So she came to the conclusion that she had to react to what had happened in some way, some positive way that said she had regained control of her life. With that in mind, she discounted King and Peters from the company. They could still make trouble for her, and she had only used about half the dances.
King had made it clear that he meant to collect on them. Just the thought of that stiffened her nipples and made her pussy tingle; it also sent a tingle of guilt rushing through her.
So she had to act against John Loftin.
She called his father Dean Loftin the next day. She had no doubt that he would admire the fact that she had come directly to him instead of involving the police first. Dean Loftin was one of the state Superior judges.
He had been dismissive on the phone, but had set up an appointment at his office the following day.
Donna Williamson rose early – the appointment was not until lunchtime. She wandered aimlessly, and then decided that she would need just a small drink to get through this.
She made a small pitcher of martinis, and drank three of them before eating a bowl of cereal. She went to shower, and then piled her hair in a careful bun. She put on just a little makeup, with a light pink shade of lipstick. It made her full, pouting lips shine.
She dressed in the underwear in a sleepy daze. It was not until she was straightening that she realized she had dressed in the slutty underwear King had given her. The small bra, at least a size to small, pushed her big breasts up and out, forming a deep cleavage, and the stockings set off her legs perfectly, as did the g-string her hips and ass.
She dressed in a careful knee length skirt and modest jacket, but the shirt she wore could not help but show off the proud mounds of her bosom. The small buttons strained where they stretched over her tits, but the jacket covered everything quite well.
She had two more martinis before she drove to the Court Annex.
The man showed her to the judge's chambers. She tried to walk steadily behind him, but felt she was not quite getting away with it. Something inside her whispered that this might not be such a good idea, but she had drunk too much to listen to the voice. Dean Loftin was a pillar of the community – he would not risk his position over such a thing, and he would draw his son in line.
Then the clerk was showing her into the room. There were two men in the room, both of them looking almost alike. The one sitting on the couch was dressed casually, in loose khakis and a knit pullover. The man behind the desk, Dean Loftin, was dressed in a white shirt and dark slacks.
"Ms. Williamson," he said, nodding to the couch. "This is my brother Randall. I thought it might be best if we had a confidential witness. I tried to get a woman, but . . . "
"No, that's fine," Donna said, a bit to quickly. She was glad there was another person there, even if it was a man.
Both the men were good-looking, with close shorn hair, and strong, hawk like faces with sensitive lips and dark, burning eyes. She realized with a start that judge Loftin was staring at her, waiting.
"Um, I . . . I don't really know how to start," she stammered. She felt tiny standing there in front of the huge desk.
"Yeah, Dean, jeez, you haven't even offered her a seat!" Randall said, standing. Donna had thought John was big, but this man made him seem small by comparison. Randall was huge! He stood at least six inches over six feet, and had broad shoulders. His upper arms were nearly as big around as her thighs.
He smiled down at her in a friendly way, and then led her over to the couch. "Here you go, Ms. Williamson. Don't worry about a thing. Why don't I fix a drink for you? A nice iced tea."
"Um, yes, that would be nice," Donna said, looking at him. Her eyes dropped downward, and she bit back a gasp when she saw his fat cock through his loose trousers. He stood there for another moment, and then turned and walked away. Donna peeked out of the side of her eyes at Judge Loftin, and was glad to see he was reading some type of document on his desk.
Randall Loftin grinned widely as he walked away from the woman. He could not smell liquor on her, but he was convinced she had drunk some already. He made the long island iced tea strong, and it was a strong drink anyway, and then surreptitiously poured a small vial of liquid into the drink. He doubted she would drink the whole thing, but the stuff was powerful. That was the advantage of having a judge as a brother – you got the best dope.
He met Dean's eyes, and they both grinned widely at one another. John had told them both what had happened as soon as he got home from his date that night. He had been amazed when the woman called and wanted a meeting, and could not pass the chance up. So he had called Randall, and arranged to have some of the drug. It did not knock a person out, did not even incapacitate them much, but it loosened inhibitions drastically. From what his son had told him, the woman's inhibitions would not have to be loosened much to allow Dean and his brother to double-team her.
Dean got up from behind his desk and walked to the couch. He stared down at Donna Williamson as Randall handed her the drink and sat down right beside her. The woman blushed, and looked around the room.
She was a looker. She had an aristocratic, fine boned face, with high cheekbones and a delicate jaw. Dean stared at her mouth, at the wide, pouting lips. She had put on not much makeup, but her lips were the exception. They were covered liberally in shiny pink lipstick that screamed SLUT to Dean. He could not tell much about her body. He liked the swell of her hips – her skirt could not hide that – but the jacket covered too much of her body.
He smiled when she finally looked up at him. She took a sip of the drink, and gasped sharply. "I didn't know it was going to be alcoholic," she said softly, holding a hand to her chest.
Dean sat down on the other side of her. "Do you want me to take it back?" he asked, trying to meet her eyes, but she kept glancing around the room.
