Voices In The Night 3

Note: This story contains references to BDSM and not-completely-consensual sexual submission. All characters are at least 18 years of age. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

***

Opening the door, I thought I was going to be ill. Vanilla wallpaper. Casino carpet. Worn 1990s-era bathroom that even my parents would hate.

Thankfully, the four things I needed most were encompassed in this vile room of bland: a big bed, functional desk, tiny fridge, and air conditioning.

After my delayed flight into Raleigh, two were good enough for me: the air conditioner turned up to max, and sleep.

REST

The spiteful red glare of the plastic clock said 11:30 pm. At first, I thought it was an earthquake since my rental car keys along with everything else on the nightstand was rattling. There was even the sick feeling of the floor slowly undulating below me. But what gave it away was the noise of the wall thumping into my bed's headboard.

Then I realized where I was.

My hotel neighbors were fucking.

After half an hour, all I could do was pray that it ended soon. It didn't.

HEAT

My wine-colored Allison Ribbed Dress wasn't helping me much to stay cool in the sweltering heat. In the sea of reporters, we waited for the news conference to start. It was one of the endless stories about a public official doing something inappropriate with an intern. Honestly, I didn't know why my news organization even cared enough about the story to fly me here.

More troubling was my complete lack of finding an angle that might make it interesting to our audience.

Thirty minutes later, we were still waiting in front of the 1960s Disneyland-era façade of the state capital. Plenty of time to go over my notes again to find a question, any question, which could lead to something interesting. With my eyes set on eventually getting one of the few jobs available at a major news company, I couldn't afford to write too many stories that faded into obscurity 30 seconds after the headline was Tweeted.

With a squeal of feedback, the public address system came to life. Blah, blah, blah, "and that's why I categorically deny that any such thing took place."

Stepping forward, "Senator, what's been your wife's reaction to the accusation?"

He abruptly left and motioned for his Legislative Assistant to take over.

"Young lady, we don't discuss a man's family life around here," was her response. I was shocked. The Research Triangle area is known for being progressive, but here I was being treated as if it were the 1990s. I had found my angle!

SCHOOL

Like my hotel, the suburban high school could have been located anywhere: generic brick, trees, and the requisite lawn. Classes had been over for half an hour when I finally saw her. The few photos I had found of the Senator's wife made it easy to identify her because of her dark auburn hair. That and the fact that she was taller than the sea of students all trying to ask her seemingly random questions. I couldn't blame the teacher's mostly male fan club for trying to vie for her attention.

"Mrs. Banks, I'm from the Associated."

"No thank you," flashing her beautiful smile as she cut me off. But as she took me in with her sharp green eyes, I felt a sense of unease.

"Mrs. Banks, it will only take a few minutes."

"Boys, you have a lot of homework to do, it's time for you to go home." With surprising speed, her audience dispersed.

"May I ask your name?"

"I'm Sarah Taylor with the Associated."

With another smile, she cut me off again. "Just your name, please. If we're going to have any chance at a conversation, let's be friends."

"So, you're willing to answer questions about your husband?"

"Oh, I didn't say that. But like my daddy always says: you have to dance before you get married. Good day, Sarah."

DISMISSED

Back at the hotel, I set up my computer and connected it to my phone's hotspot and then tapped on my editor's phone photo.

"Hi, Joanie."

"How was the news conference?"

"Nothing of interest, but I did have a brief meeting with his wife."

"And?"

"She doesn't want to talk with me."

"Good move, Sarah. Call me when you've talked with her."

Another dismissal.

NIGHT

Peace & Saint was just what I needed. Their Mint Chocolate Chip hookah was as divine as the atmosphere created by their DJ, dim lighting, and monochromatic décor.

"Guess must be your thing."

I shrank a little in my seat as Mrs. Banks appraised my teal Margot Ribbed Dress.

"I'm on a reporter's budget."

"You're not fooling anyone here in that dress, Ms. Blue Eyes." With the slightest wink, "May I join you?"

"Sure." It was my turn to glance at her as she slid into the bench seat across from me. Her dark grey latex bodycon dress was obviously custom-made as if to match the ambiance and décor of this place.

"Sarah, here's some advice. As a reporter, you have to ask yourself the same thing I ask myself before I teach a lesson to my students: what's in it for them? Or in this case, what's in it for me?"

"Mrs. Banks, what do you want to say to the public about?"

"Oh no, I'm not doing your homework for you. Here. Text me if you think of something interesting. Good night."

"Going so soon?"

"I have an appointment to keep. Good night."

HOMEWORK

Ramming the thick black dildo in and out of my pussy, I forgot the day's troubles as I climaxed for the second time. That's when the noise started again next door.

"11:30 pm," I mumbled. "Same as last night."

After 45 minutes, there was a sudden pause. Stilling my breath, I pressed my ear to the wall and heard the muffled sound of someone talking.

A Champaign glass makes for a surprisingly good microphone, something that I had learned while on a previous assignment.

"Hi, it's Sarah Taylor. Room 214. Do you have room service? You do?!

Champaign for one, please. Thank you."

After pulling on a t-shirt and yoga pants, I hid the dildo under my pillow and grabbed my computer as I waited for room service.

"What would the beautiful wife of a Senator want? Correction. What would the beautiful, young, wife of a Senator accused of sexual harassment want?"

I noticed the age disparity immediately when I met Mrs. Crystal Banks at her school. Her husband was in his 50s but she was in her 30s. "Dirty 30s? Why would she want to talk to a reporter at all?"

"Room service."

I jumped, having forgotten about my order. Glancing at the receipt, "Thank you, umm, Christina."

"Thank you for your generous tip, Ms. Taylor!"

She was maybe five years younger than me. "Please, call me Sarah. Do you work full-time here?"

"Oh no, I'm in school, Ms. Taylor. Sarah."

"College?"

"I wish! Last year of high school."

"Westover?"

"How did you know?"

"I didn't. Do you work here every night?"

"Thursdays through Sundays," she answered nervously. "Will there be anything else?"

"No thank you. Have a good night, Christina."

What was I doing? There's no way I would get my editor to agree to interview a high school student about a teacher. Still.

NO REST

The noise started again next door.

Placing the glass carefully against the wall wasn't easy since it was literally moving. But I could make out a voice.

"No. Not again."

Frozen, I listened again. For long minutes nothing but the sound of serious fucking.

Then it happened again.

"No! Please! Not again!"

The voice of a male.

FRIDAY

"Joanie, it's as if she just appeared five years ago. She's 33 now."

"How do you know that?"

"Marriage license."

"What was her name before she got married?"

"Hartmann. Crystal Hartmann. Two: Ns."

"I'll have two of our researchers look into it. They can find anything."

"Ok, Joanie."

"Keep working on it, Sarah. You may be onto something."

Since the two researchers had just graduated from college, I doubted that their web research skills were any better than mine.

My thoughts turned back to Christina. "What would be in it for her to talk to a reporter?"

IN THE EVENING

On a hunch, I went back to Peace & Saint. Sure enough, Mrs. Banks was holding court with several boys pretending to be men.

"Hi, Mrs. Hartmann."

"Boys, please excuse me," her gorgeous smile didn't leave her face.

"Hello, Sarah. Congratulations on discovering the obvious. What did you do with the rest of your day?"

"It's just this one thing, really. There's no record of you before five years ago. Why do you think that is?"

"Sarah, you must have been a terrible student. How did you get that job of yours? Good evening."

"Another appointment?"

Winding through the friendly but drunken crowd, I waited just outside the front door to gauge which direction she would walk. My hunch was north on St. Mary's. Instead, she crossed the street and walked behind the building across from us. It would have been too difficult to follow her without attracting her attention, so I stuck to my hunch and walked north to the gas station, across Peace Street, and waited at the corner under the shade of a well-situated tree.

With the busy street's endless headlights glancing off her ultra-white Louis Vuittons, I knew it was her crossing Peace Street to the school parking lot.

In a sea of Bimmers, the brutal matte black Urus suited her--everyone had to like it, but nobody actually did.

I took a few photos of her departing SUV for reference and then walked over to my rental car. "The Senator must be making a little on the side. Or was it her money?" Great. Now I was talking out loud to no one.

There it was again. The unmistakable sound of clicking heels on the pavement behind me. It had happened twice, but each time I looked around, I saw no one else in the school parking lot.

"Must be other people leaving Peace & Saint." The parking in the area was terrible, so everyone used the school parking lot.

Clicking the door open button, I slid into the seat of my boring white Honda and drove back to my hotel.

PERSPECTIVE

My playmate had lost count. I think he just wanted to forget that it was Friday night--one of our special nights. For the sixth time, I slowly pulled his cock skin back until it wouldn't go any further. Pouring more oil, I rubbed the underside of his cock until it was a nice deep purple and hard beyond measure.

"Boys are so horny."

Sometimes I liked to hear him whimper and beg. This wasn't one of them.

"Open. Open. A little more. There you go." With my panties jammed in his mouth, I was able to get back to Fun time.

I'll admit that this particular urethral sound was pretty big. And long.

"Baby, I'm going to start," I cooed to him, hoping to calm him. Well, not really.

After slowly inserting the sound all the way into his cock, I started vigorously fucking him with the metal boy dildo.

"Gosh, it almost slipped all the way into you."

Truth is, there was so much oil on my fingers, the sound, and his cock that it was inevitable.

"Oh. There it goes. What? No, I'll just leave it in."

The sound had slipped out of my fingers and its gleaming stainless-steel tip barely showed. Tugging his cock skin slowly up and down for a few minutes ensured that it was firmly down into his cock.

"I know, but there's a hole in it. You'll be able to climax through it." I don't think he was listening, because he looked so beautifully frightened.

It only made sense that I mount him. Moving my pussy slowly up and down his cock made me climax in just a few minutes. With the sound deep inside of him, I knew it would take him a long time to climax. That was the whole point.

"Baby, I'm going to ride you really hard now. I love you."

The last part wasn't really true. But I enjoyed how he'd try to snuggle up to me after our fuck sessions in a wonderfully emasculating way. Just as he got comfortable, I got up and left him to ponder what he had done wrong.

SATURDAY'S CHILD

"There's a girl. A daughter."

"Good morning to you, Joanie."

"Good morning? You're not on California time, Sarah."

"It's Saturday," I began to protest.

"Do you want to know or not?"

"Tell me."

"Crystal Banks has a daughter."

"So?" Slamming my coffee cup onto my little desk a bit too loudly.

"She's not the Senator's daughter."

"How do you know?"

"Because she's in high school."

"That's not a crime. Or, much of a story."

"True. I guess I shouldn't mention that her name is Angela Hartmann."

"Hartmann? Not Banks?"

"No. The Senator didn't adopt her after he married Crystal."

"Still not much of a story, Joanie."

"Which one of us is the editor, Sarah?"

"Oh."

"You're beginning to see it, aren't you?"

"Isn't that a little, you know? Objectionable?"

"Do you want a good story or not?"

"I'll call you later. Goodbye Joanie."

While texting Mrs. Banks, I thought about Christina again. If Joanie was ok with this angle, then maybe she'd be ok with me interviewing Christina. Maybe.

"Motivation: Angela," read my text.

"Sweet tea at 2pm," read her response along with the address to her home.

TEA FOR TWO

"Doesn't this make you feel a little filthy, Sarah? Or is this part of your whole dirty blonde ensemble?"

"Eventually, everyone will find out if they haven't already, Mrs. Banks."

"I see. So, you're helping me. Us. Our family?"

"I'm offering you the opportunity to make a statement and protect your daughter."

"While possibly throwing my husband under the bus? Is that it?"

I couldn't close my mouth. Running down the stairs came a nearly identical copy of her mother.

"I'm going over to, ummm."

"Sarah, this is our daughter Angela."

"Hi."

Same smile as her mother. But it was her hair that caught my attention the most. Same length and style, but a slightly lighter auburn bordering on red. Same piercing green eyes, though. And the same legs that went on for days. Who was the father, because his genes obviously had no influence on this child?

"Nice to meet you." After which I managed to finally close my mouth.

"Will you be late, Angela?"

"Yes."

"Have a good time."

Angela raced out of the house.

"Do you have kids, Sarah?"

"No, I'm only 25."

Mrs. Banks gave me the strangest smile.

"About that statement?"

"My husband is innocent until proven guilty. Isn't that the law? Sarah?"

"That's it? You could have texted me that statement."

"Indeed."

"What is it that you wanted me to see, Mrs. Banks? Oh!"

"Exactly."

A girl like Angela wasn't going to get any grief at high school. Just like her mother, she was too beautiful.

"Good day, Sarah."

FLETCHER PARK

I had nothing. Again. No angle. Nothing.

Well, not nothing. It was a beautiful day and the amphitheater reminded me of something that the Romans might have built, just on a smaller scale.

"Christina?" It had to be her. "Christina! Hi!"

"Oh, hi Ms. Taylor. Sarah."

"Do you have a minute?"

"Ummm, sure. I do have to be at work soon."

"I was wondering if I could ask you a question."

"Ummm, ok?"

"Is Mrs. Banks one of your teachers?"

"Ummm, yes. Why do you want to know?"

"Does Mr. Banks ever visit her? At school?"

"I've never seen Mr. Banks. Besides, there's strict security, so I don't see how he could see her."

A long response to an easy question. Was she hiding something?

"What about Crystal Hartmann?"

"I have to go to work, Sarah. Have a nice day."

More non-answers. What was going on in this town?

BECAUSE THE NIGHT

This time I was determined to find out where Mrs. Banks went after what was apparently her nightly ritual at Peace & Saint.

"Well, I'll be damned." From the seat of my rental, I watched Mrs. Banks have an intense conversation with someone in her Urus. I hadn't seen anyone get into the SUV in the school parking lot, so the person must have been in there waiting for her the whole time.

After about 15 minutes, a man, or in this case, a young man, exited the SUV and went into my hotel.

"Did she come here every night? Right under my nose? Who is this person?" All thoughts that ran through my mind as I unlocked the door of my rental. "Damn it." With one click, the cheap fob unlocked everything. Doors. Trunk. Who knows what else.

The passenger door was yanked open and in popped a bizarre-looking person. "Hi! Time for some fun!" She slapped a bandage-like thing onto my wrist. The last thing I remembered was the caricature of a happy smile.

FUN TIME

"Wake up sleepyhead!"

"What? Where am I?" The world was spinning.

"You're in Funland!"

Funland didn't look so fun. The space was so large and poorly lit, that I couldn't see the walls. But I could hear the reverberations. Much more concerning was the smell of antiseptic. Oh, and that I was strapped to a medical examination table.

"Hi, Sarah! I'm E and this is H!"

The two looked identical in their pink latex catsuits with matching hoods. The only visible human parts were their bright red lipstick, matching red eyes, and platinum blonde ponytails protruding from their hoods. Normally I'd say they had amazing figures, which the thin material of the catsuits did nothing to hide. But these weren't normal times.

"Don't you just look beautiful! See, our hair matches! Do you want even bigger breasts like ours?! I love your blue eyes!" E's non-stop happiness wasn't making me feel better.

"Tonight, we're playing Jeopardy! We'll give you an answer and you respond with a question!

Fun!"

"What if I get it wrong?"

"See, you're already doing so well! But we have to ask you a question first! H, light up our board!"

I quickly scanned the categories on the screen to my left.

"Historical facts. My job. The truth. Chop Chop. Will I last? I'm right."

"What do the numbers mean?" The range was from 10 to 50.

"Those are minutes! Isn't this fun?!"

"H, let's get her ready to play!"

While E elevated my upper body to a semi-reclined position, H was rolling some huge machine out of the darkness toward us.

"Comfy?!"

I was dressed in some bizarre latex outfit. The black high-neck bodice was integrated into the backrest and didn't allow me to move at all. Same with the arm and leg sleeves.

H positioned the machine at the foot of the examination table.

"Do you do a lot of stretching, Sarah?!"

I shook my head in the affirmative. "Is this part of the game?"

"Not yet!" E cranked on an unseen handle and my legs slowly parted until they formed a wide V.

"H, roll in her lover!"

"Lover?!" I was starting to panic.

The giant machine rolled in and over my legs. As it did, it was bathed in the spotlight that was also illuminating me. Now I could see that it resembled a giant industrial robot with a horrifyingly large arm.

"What size should we use, H?!" H handed E what looked like a twelve-inch dildo.

"Stop! That's never going to fit!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised! Besides, this is the smallest we have!" E screwed the dildo into the end of the robot's arm and then maneuvered the arm so that the tip of the fake cock just penetrated my pussy lips. "Ok H, power everything up and let's make this great!"

"Stop!" I yelled again.

"We're just getting started on the first question! Which category and time do you select?!

"I'm not playing."

"Silly goose! That's not a question! Do you want me to choose for you?! The Truth for 50?! Maybe it's our daily double?!"

"What does that mean?"

"Time is doubled?! Doesn't that sound divine?!"

"I'm not playing."

"We'll help you! The Truth for 10! The AP!"

"My employer."

"Answer as a question, please!" The dildo started vibrating.

"Who is my employer?" squeaked out of my mouth.

"H, are we going to accept that answer?!" H nodded her head up and down."