A Senator's Campaign Gets Derailed

This story has elements of incest, voyeurism, interracial and non-consent.

***

"Your future's so bright, I gotta wear shades," Jack Dalton's campaign manager had told him earlier that day when the latest poll numbers came out and found him beginning to pull away from his opponent in the race for Senate.

"Let's not get overconfident," the candidate advised his confidants. "We have to keep running hard right to the wire. Those bastards on the other side are ruthless."

Jack Dalton was a seasoned politician but was well aware of the wealth of experience he was running against, not to mention the unlimited resources behind the other side's candidate Mark Masters.

So when Jack Dalton got a call from a most unlikely person, it piqued his interest because multi-millionaire Clyde Howe was providing a considerable amount of the money behind his opponent's campaign.

"I'd like to offer you something - well let's just say that what I have to give you could very well change the election," the aging industrialist told him.

"Well let me say that we would be most interested in hearing what it is you're talking about," Jack Dalton replied but Clyde Howe made it clear that this was to be a private conversation.

"No lackeys, no hangers-on," Howe told him. Just you and me, man to man at my home in Delmar. You know where that is?"

Of course Jack Dalton knew where the massive mansion was because the place dominated the shore of the river, so when Jack agreed to a meeting late that night his mind raced with the possibilities.

Having Clyde Howe behind him instead of his opponent, or even have the old geezer sit out the rest of the race would make all the difference in the world. His 7 percentage point lead would widen even further, and if he had to flip on some issue that Howe was keen about like the minimum wage, it was a price he was willing to pay.

So Jack drove alone to the mansion on the hill, and when he knocked at the door he was surprised when the tycoon answered the door himself and admitted it after shaking hands.

"I sent the help home," Howe explained as he ushered Dalton into a room with a bar and an elaborate home theater system, and after making them a drink had the opposition's candidate sit in one of the plush leather chairs.

"When I got your call - frankly I was stunned," Jack Dalton admitted. "And as for your proposal - or whatever it was - obviously I'm all ears Mr. Howe."

"You're a very confidant fellow, and after those latest poll numbers came in today you have every right to be," Clyde Howe said as he dimmed the lights and the giant television screen lit up the room. "So I called you here to give you the chance of a lifetime. A chance to drop out of the campaign now."

"Drop out?" Jack blurted out as he started to lift himself out of the chair. "I was expecting you to admitting having read the writing on the wall and were preparing to throw your support behind me."

"Support you? Pretty much the answer I expected," Howe said as he pushed a button on the remote and a picture that graced much of his campaign literature filled the screen in front of them. "I'll ask the question again when we're done here. Charming family. Devoted wife and lovely little girl. How old is she?"

"18. Almost 19."

"Obvious to see where she got her beauty from, not to mention that flaming red hair," Clyde Howe continued. "Chelsea's her name, isn't it?'

"Yes, but this campaign isn't about families. It's about the people. About fairness and equality. About Black Lives Matter and about the way our planet is dying and..."

"The dog. That Golden Retriever in the picture? Is he a rental or is it yours?"

"Ours of course," Jack sputtered. "This is ridiculous. You didn't call me out here to look at my campaign materials did you? If you did I think you might really be losing it like some have said."

"Losing it? Hardly. For 72 I'm still as sharp as a tack and while I don't want to brag I masturbated twice today and no, I don't use Viagra."

"Bully for you. Why is this any of my concern?" Jack Dalton wanted to know. "Your masturbating?"

"It's what I was watching as I gratified myself," Clyde Howe chuckled. "It's a campaign ad of sorts. One that will sink the Jack Dalton ship I'm afraid, and I wanted to give you the opportunity to watch it first before it gets released."

"I'm sure if it got you all hot and bothered that it must be good. Chock full of lies," Jack sneered but the old curmudgeon disagreed.

"Quite the contrary," the millionaire told Jack, and before he continued he threw in, "You ready for this?"

Jack mumbled something as the old man clicked off the picture of the Dalton family and a video started. It wasn't a professionally done commercial so much as a home movie.

"Technology is marvelous these days," Clyde opined as he explained. "The camera is mounted in the cap of a gentlemen. See how good the picture is? I remember my father trying to take home movies of us and..."

"What is this?" Jack barked as the camera shot through a black iron spiked fence at the courtyard of a school, the prep school that his daughter attended, and as the camera zoomed in on four girls huddled in the back behind some bushes he said, "Stalking my daughter?"

"Just observing from public property," Clyde Howe said. "And look at that! What are those girls passing around? Is that a joint?"

"No, it's a cigarette," Jack said uncertainly. "You can see it has a filter."

"Filter? Lipstick? Who can tell?" Howe chuckled. "You seem irritated now though."

"I'm not pleased Chelsea is smoking if that's what you mean, but if you think that voters will care about an 18 year girl smoking a cigarette you're crazy! They care about jobs and fairness and guns and Black Lives Mattering!"

"Spare me the stump speech Dalton," Howe wheezed. "One thing I have found out is that you do indeed have a temper, and the rumor about you being a hard-ass husband and father are true. You going to take the belt to your little girl when you get home?"

"None of your bloody business."

"And now here she is out on the snickered. "Such a sweet and wholesome looking lass, like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Curly red hair, a pug nose and all those freckles."

"What's going on now?"

"I think Chelsea's getting some presents," Howe said as the man with the hat cam stepped back to show Chelsea and another person on a park bench.

"What's that guy giving her?" Jack Dalton asked.

"Guy? I don't think Roberta would appreciate being called a guy," Clyde replied. "Roberta is a woman. A bit rough around the edges and not exactly feminine, but a woman nonetheless, and look! Roberta is like Santa Claus giving out presents."

"Chelsea doesn't need that junk," Jack said as looked at the things coming out of the bag. "We can afford anything she wants."

"But you don't let her have them. There's an I-Pod, a Samsung Galaxy, and there's a Kindle Fire too," Howe commented. "Christmas came early. She got everything a teenage girl needs."

"And that's why children are like they are - most of them anyway," Jack Dalton snarled. "All this crap. Talking to machines and playing games. Wastes of time."

"Chelsea seems happy. Look at that smile too. You can see her braces," Clyde mused.

"When I get home..." Dalton seethed as he knew what he would do when he got there.

"Ah yes. When you get your hands on her," Clyde mimicked before going back to the screen. "And the merry trio is off again. I wonder what's next? Maybe they will buy her an ice cream cone?"

"Chelsea is lactose intolerant," Jack Dalton mumbled as the camera brought them first into an elevator and then down a hall and into an apartment.

"Chelsea sure doesn't want to let go of her presents, does she Dad?" Clyde Howe asked.

"What is this all leading to? What's the point of all this"

"Patience Grasshopper," Clyde chuckled. "It's worth waiting for, and if it means anything to you, when they get into the bedroom the man will take the hat off."

"Bedroom?"

"Yes. Won't need a hat cam in there because the room already has cameras installed in it. It's like a movie set in there, only the cameras are well hidden," Clyde told Chelsea's father as he watched his daughter and the unknown couple go down a hall.

"Don't go in there baby," Jack whispered softly, and while the tycoon heard it he said nothing.

"Look at the size of that bed," Clyde marveled as Chelsea went over to it and pushed on it. "Sorry that the audio isn't better, but you can hear a little of it. What Roberta is doing is telling her to - well - you get the idea."

Chelsea peeled off the school blazer and after casting it aside unbuttoned her baggy white blouse, much to her father's horror.

"The suspense is something, isn't it?" Clyde told his guest. "This is the third time I've see it and I still get goose bumps. That's it Chelsea, unbutton and disrobe for your new friends.

"Friends? They're as sick as you are," Jack Dalton raged as his hands dug into the rich leather arms of the chair he was frozen in.

"And there goes the blouse," Howe said in ignoring his company. "Did you catch that when Chelsea tossed the blouse aside? When she raised her hand you see that faint red peach fuzz under her arm there? Poor thing didn't know she was going to star in a movie today because it appears she hasn't shaved in a few days. Don't worry though because her new friends don't mind."

"This is sick."

"Very helpful gal that Roberta is, don't you think?" the millionaire asked the politician who stared open mouthed as the butch woman came behind Chelsea and was helping his daughter take her bra off, and after she eased the straps of the padded foundation off the girl's bony freckled shoulders her beefy hands replaced the cups of the bra and squeezed the tiny cones that sprouted from her scrawny chest.

"It appears your daughter didn't inherit your wife's impressive bosom," Clyde chuckled as the teen's titties disappeared in the woman's palms. "Or perhaps the rumors are true that you bought your lovely wife implants along the way? Was she once as flat chested as Chelsea is?"

"Fuck you, you old coot," Jack Dalton snapped as the horror show continued on the screen before him with Chelsea's skirt coming off along with her socks.

"Nothing wrong with small breasts you know, and your daughter certainly does have perky ones, even if they are really tiny," Clyde Howe noted as the lesbian knelt in front of the waif-ish teen and grabbed the top of her rather matronly panties, but just before they came down the old man stopped the show.

"Last chance Dalton," Howe announced. "Dropping out?"

"Fuck you."

"Thought you'd say that," the elderly man replied as he started the recording once again, and as Chelsea's panties came down her pale legs he declared, "Look at that pussy - how hairy that little lady is! And that bush of hers is so bright red it's dazzling, isn't it?"

"Something tells me you've seen all this before though," the wealthy industrialist mused. "In person. I bet you knew already how hairy Chelsea's pussy was and how little her titties are."

"Asshole," Jack Dalton mumbled.

"Bet you're fucking that little lady of yours, aren't you?" Mr. Howe wondered aloud and got no response as the prospective senator's now naked daughter got eased down onto the bed, and as the masculine looking female stripped off her clothes he added, "Thought so."

"Roberta said she thought she had a hairy cunt until she got a look at your daughter's snatch," Clyde chortled as his hired hand stripped and revealed a rather muscular body that didn't seem to have ever felt the sting of a razor anywhere. "She also said she felt guilty taking money for this because her pussy tasted so good."

'No," Jack Dalton sobbed as the woman dove between Chelsea's legs and began devouring her.

"Yes," Clyde Howe responded. "And now look who's coming in to watch."

"Please..." the usually unflappable political hack whispered as he watched someone enter the room while the two females were busy on the bed.

"Come on Dalton," the old man scolded cruelly while reveling in the ordinarily smug candidate's agony. "You should be happy that I'm a equal opportunity employer who proudly hires African-Americans who can do the job needed. That's the fellow who was wearing the hat cam."

"Looks like he's enjoying watching Roberta devour your daughter's pussy," the elderly man noted as the spectator leered at the scene on the bed, and after he pulled his shirt off he added, "And it seems like Mr. Black here wants to get comfortable too."

"Let her go," Jack Dalton pleaded as if he was watching a story unfold in real time instead of looking at a film, trying and failing to stop looking as the tall skinny black guy stepped out of his slacks and boxers and pulled on himself.

"I don't think Chelsea wants to leave, although she seems to be rather shocked at the size of Mr. Black's penis," Clyde Howe observed when the redhead looked over at her audience standing by the bed. "I always thought that those stories about the endowments of African-American men might have been urban legends, but looking at this..."

The crusty millionaire chuckled as the black guy pulled and stretched on a flaccid penis which was already absurdly long, and as the hired hand knelt onto the bed the cock grazed the bedding as he knee-walked over to the teen who was writhing on her back with her thighs around the butch's head.

"Actually Mr. Black isn't a real African- American since he just arrived here from Haiti," Clyde Howe explained as the black man wiggled his manhood in Chelsea's face. "Open wide child. That's the way girl."

Chelsea parted her lips and accepted the tip of the long uncut cock, and the Haitian leaned forward and kept feeding the rubbery hose into her apparently eager mouth.

"What a natural born cocksucker your daughter is!" Clyde Howe told the girl's father. "Of course, maybe this isn't her first rodeo either. Look at her deep throat that damn anaconda."

"You wouldn't release this to the public. No reputable outfit would allow it," Jack Dalton said in a wavering voice.

"We're talking the Internet here Dalton, you tool," Clyde Howe scoffed. "It might get taken down fast wherever it starts out at but once it's out there it will never die. It will get passed around forever especially because you're a bit of a celebrity but when Chelsea here is in an old folks home guys will still be jerking off to - of wait - I think your daughter's cumming!"

Under the constant oral onslaught of Roberta's tongue Chelsea's skinny body arched upward as her legs kicked in the air. The black guy took his member out of her mouth so she could howl, but after the redhead stopped orgasming he moved up over her face.

"Looks like our Mr. Black is in the mood for something else before he fucks your daughter," Mr. Howe observed as the lanky guy straddled Chelsea's face, and while with him facing the camera the politician was spared a graphic view from the reaction of the Haitian as he ground his ass down onto her face there was little doubt what the teen was doing.

Jack Dalton didn't even try to hide his sobbing as the millionaires two hired hands teamed up on the prone teen with Roberta plucking on the nipples of the flat chested girl with one hand while using the other to jerk the Haitian off as he rode the redhead's tongue.

"He's ready," Clyde noted as the ebony spear stood upright without the help of the woman's fist, and as if on cue the Haitian climbed off the girl's flushed face and jumped off the bed to come around and climb between the redhead's parted thighs. "Damn, he's huge isn't he Dalton? Too bad there's no clear sound because that would have made it even better hearing Chelsea yelping..."

The elderly millionaire's voice trailed off as the screen was filled with the sight of the veins in the neck of the freckled teen bulging, her eyes bugging out and her mouth contorting as Chelsea was being impaled.

"The girl's face reminds me of that painting by Edvard Munch. The Scream. Are you familiar with that?" Clyde Howe asked his guest who was scrunched down in the chair with his hands covering his face.

"Cut the drama queen shit Dalton," the old man scolded. "I can see that you're looking through your fingers. I used to do that too as a kid when I watched scary movies, although this isn't really scary is it? Chelsea sure doesn't look scared does she?"

The lanky Haitian's back arched up and down faster and faster as the bed bounced, the long tool slamming in and out as the man's smooth black skin glistened with sweat. Meanwhile Roberta moved up and straddled the teen face while grabbing the headboard, lowering her hairy pussy onto Chelsea's face while the lesbian's tattooed ass blocked the view of the teen's tongue.

"Looks like Mr. Black is done," Clyde noted, giving the girl's father false hope as he climbed off of Chelsea, the flaming bush having been parted to expose the teen's swollen red labia through the furry cover.

"No, I guess not," Clyde cackled, well aware that the movie had barely begun because his two hired hands were in motion, rolling the wild-eyed girl over onto her stomach and then lifting Chelsea up onto all fours. "Will you look at that Dalton. Your little girl's bush goes all the way up her crotch. She's even got a little red fur around her anus. See that?"

"No."

"Doesn't seem to bother Chelsea's new friends though," the old man mused as the Haitian knelt at her hip, spreading the teen's plump little buttocks while Roberta started probing the little orifice with first one greased finger and then another.

"You're sick Howe," Dalton said without conviction but the businessman paid him no mind.

"You know afterward Roberta told me that while Chelsea's anus was really tight at first, by the time she had her ready for Mr. Black she thought that it wouldn't have been impossible to fist her the way your little lady had loosened up," Clyde advised before taking a deep breath while the Haitian climbed up behind the teen.

"Too bad we can't see Chelsea's face," Mr. Howe said as they watched the shiny back man lean forward very slowly, all the time Roberta kneeling beside them cheering him on.

"He doesn't last long I'm afraid," Clyde Howe told Jack Dalton as the humping got downright feral looking when Chelsea's arms gave out and she fell onto her face with her hands clutching the bedding. "Through an interpreter Mr. Black said later that her ass was like a steamy vise - and there he goes - he's cumming into her bowels now. Ah - how sweet that must be for him - or both of them for that matter - especially without a condom getting in the way."

The Haitian collapsed onto Chelsea with their sweaty bodies - one a deep black and the other a pinkish-white - pressed together as they caught their breath, and after a couple of minutes Mr. Black climbed off of the girl who remained on her face spreadeagled and still breathing heavily.

"Quite amazing, isn't the human body?" Clyde mused as she looked at what he was sure that the girl's father was staring at too, the sight of the teen's still gaping anus and the semen that was gurgling out onto the furry ring. "See how her anus slowly retracts?"

"Are you happy Howe?" the politician asked in a defeated voice.

"I'm always happy, but wait Dalton," Mr. Howe cautioned as another person came up to the bed also as naked as the day he was born. "That's Mr. Black's interpreter - who also happens to be his brother. Maybe they immigrated together in search of the American dream. Imagine that! This is truly a family event."

"Enough. I'll drop out," Jack Dalton said softly. "As long as you promise to destroy this garbage."

"I will. After all, I'm a father too," Clyde told his guest. "I have nothing against your daughter. It's your smug, self-righteous ass I wanted."