Bipartisanship and Romance Pt. 06

"Oh, fuck," I moaned. Slapping sounds filled the room. I could see her small breasts shake with each thrust. I looked over and kissed the side of her foot. Her hand was a blur between her legs. All too soon, I felt my balls begin to tingle.

"Shit, Jane, I'm gonna cum," I panted.

"Oh fuck, cum. Give it to me. I'm almost there," she squealed, and I felt her pussy clench on my cock. I immediately lost control and began to pump my cum into her. I let her legs fall to my sides and leaned over her. She kissed me.

"Fuck, I knew you'd be good at that," she said.

The following day, I woke up alone in bed and filled with guilt. Fuck, what had I done? Had I cheated on Maddie? Was this something with Jane? I looked at the clock and saw it was a little after six. I couldn't find my boxers, so I wrapped a towel around myself and went to see if Jane was still in the apartment. She was in the kitchen wearing my boxer and shirt from the day before. It looked like she was scrambling eggs.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" she called over.

"Jesus, it is five after six. Why are you so peppy?" I called over.

"I rarely sleep past 5:30. The internal clock goes off, and I am up," Jane said. There was a pause.

"So," I started, "about last." She cut me off.

"Nope. Uh uh. Last night was fun, but no, you are not going to go to mush on me. I am New York-based and stay out of D.C. as much as I can," she said casually, stirring the eggs. My shoulders slumped a little. She saw it.

"Look, you are super sweet, and that was fun. It may even happen again. But if I'm in town the next time and you have a girlfriend, awesome. I hope you let me meet her and drink beer with you two. Or hell, maybe I'll show up and have a date. But we are leading separate lives," she walked over and gave me a peck on the cheek.

"And last night was fun," I said.

"Exactly. Seeing you in front of those teachers. You killed it. It is so clear that you care about them, and you care about this. Also, and not to be mean, but the whole world knows what you've been through. The shooting. The photos. You are amazing, and it seems like the world is trying to beat it out of you. I wanted to make sure you remembered good things happening to you," she said, rubbing the side of my face.

"Thanks, I appreciate that," I said.

"Good," she said, getting two plates out and filling them with eggs, "we're are going to eat up and get our strength up. You have a 10 AM campaign meeting, and I have to be in Columbus this afternoon. Before then, I figure you can fuck me at least, hmmm, two more times." I did as I was told.

That night when I got back to the apartment, I found the envelope from Las Vegas. When I opened it, an old-fashioned clamshell cell phone, a charger, and a typed note fell out. The message had one line of text: ONLY FOR TEXT, DON'T CALL ME. I opened the phone and turned it on. It contained one number in it that a Google search would tell me was a Maine phone number. I texted it.

Ted: Who the hell is this?

Stranger: Don't worry about it. I'm trying to help you.

T: I don't do this spy shit.

S: Neither do I, usually. Call this number on this phone, not your personal. 555-9035. Tell them you are passcode 1119

T: What the fuck is this? That's my birthday.

S: I know. Just do it.

Jesus! Now I was in some damn James Bond movie. I told myself that I wasn't going to call the number. I kept telling myself that as I dialed and listened to the other end ring.

"Global Security Services. What is your passcode?" a voice said. I gave the voice the number. A few seconds later, I heard a click.

"Baker Sterns here. Is this Ted Bates?" a deep voice asked.

"Yes, yes, sir, it is," I replied. He made me answer some biographic information to confirm. I asked him what this was all about.

"We were hired by a client that wishes to remain anonymous. Essentially the person revealed a multi-party security concern. They asked first that we investigate recent events to try and discern what happened. Second, that we provide passive security to several parties to ensure that there is not a repeat occurrence; this is a fairly common practice of ours," he said as though he was reading the morning paper.

"What the hell is passive security?" I asked.

"Passive means, at least in your case, that there is occasional monitoring. You were followed for a while to determine if there were continuing plans against you. It does not appear that there are. We also continue to monitor some, though not all, of your online presence and physical drop-ins to ensure you are continued well-being. This is opposed to operational security, where we would try to maintain both a strong digital and physical presence up to and including round-the-clock monitoring. This could include a 24/7 security detail," Sterns said.

"I don't understand what any of this means. What the hell is going on?" I demanded.

"As I said, the client hired our firm to investigate the recent events that had happened to you and others and then provide insurance that it wouldn't happen again. We determined the method of surveillance was a highly sophisticated one. Our investigation led us to a private investigator and former Polish Military Intelligence member named Antoni Olinski. Mr. Olinski is the person who took the pictures," he said casually.

"I've never heard of him," I replied.

"Not surprising. He is a highly sophisticated private investigator in Chicago. This firm has attempted to hire him in the past. We can, however, assume that you have heard of Congressman Mark Grast?" Sterns asked. My breath caught in my chest, and I thought I could see stars. I replied yes.

"It would appear the Mr. Grast made the initial contact, in person, with Mr. Olinski on the 27^th of December of last year. Mr. Olinski's bills are substantial. Therefore Mr. Grast could not have paid them on his own. We are sure of at least one financial backer, Texas oil magnate Patrick Painter. His motives at this time are unclear. There may be others, but we are not sure. Mr. Olinski then began an investigation of you that was not particularly fruitful. All that he could determine was that you were in a consensual relationship with Congresswoman Maddison Crawford. The relationship was physical. It was not entirely public. As it was the only pressure point he found, Mr. Olinski did his best to exploit it." The tone by which Baker Sterns described the downfall of the most important relationship in my life was utterly dreadful.

"How did you find this out?"

Sterns kept up his clinical description, "Thanks to physical evidence, we were able to determine the location that Mr. Olinski monitored you and Ms. Crawford. This led us to a holding company that Olinski uses to rent properties for similar purposes. I cannot disclose the means that we used to get from this point to Mr. Olinski as they are proprietary. From that point, however, we caught a break. Mr. Olinski's clients, headed by Mr. Grast, took the initial evidence he had gathered and then not paid him the remainder of his fees. Olinski reached out to them several times, and when they didn't respond, the remainder of the evidence he collected became his property. When we tracked him down, he informed us that he would surrender the remainder of the information if we paid the bill. The client agreed."

"Holy shit, there is more of this shit out there," I said, panicking. "I have to call Maddie!"

"Mr. Bates, I can assure you that we destroyed all of the evidence at the request of the client," Sterns replied.

"I'm supposed to believe a voice on the phone about this? This has already ruined my fucking life!" I shouted.

"Mr. Bates. We would not have become one of the most respected names in global security if we were indiscrete or did not follow the letter of the client's wishes. All digital information has been wiped, and all physical information has been burned," Sterns responded almost sarcastically.

"Wait," my mind was reeling, but I finally grasped something he had said, "you said Grast made contact with Olinski on the 27^th. I saw Grast in the Cincinnati airport on the 26^th. He was dragging a blonde behind him." I trailed off.

Sterns took a moment to process then said, "Mr. Bates, I will confirm that information and inform you about the intentions of the client. Mr. Grast's likely had a connecting flight through Cincinnati. The date lines up. Suppose you saw him with a blonde that also confirms some of our information. Mr. Grast is, to the best of our considerable knowledge, seeing at least two women besides his wife. One is a red-headed secretary and, therefore, unlikely the one you saw. Therefore, it was either his wife or Tabitha Jones, a local car dealer from his district. This would line up with our information."

"What do you mean by intentions of the client?" I asked.

"The client is authorizing you to do whatever you wish with this information. You may release it to the public. You may release part of it. You may retain it and not use it. The client wants to inform you that there is more information than what we provided here that they wish to remain with them. If you do use it, this firm will provide affidavits and other evidence to affirm your accusations. The client wishes to inform you that they will not coordinate strategy and reserves the right to use any or all the information as they see fit," Sterns finished. I squawked out a half answer, and he told me to call again after I had considered my options. He also informed me that the passive surveillance would continue and that I would receive updates if there were threats. I told him that perhaps I didn't want that.

"You aren't the client," he said curtly and hung up. I stared at my phone and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into.

* * * * **

Over a month had passed, and I hadn't made up my mind on what to do with the information I had on Grast. In mid-August, Jane and I were the only two in the office after campaigning and strategy meetings. We were drinking beer and talking about the meeting. My numbers were ok. Not as high as they were before the scandal, but still higher than Schadt's.

"I think you need to sit on the Grast info. You can prove it, but it's a tough sell on why you can. The 'Aw Shucks' Congressman hiring a multinational security firm looks like shit," she said, taking a sip of beer.

"I tend to agree. Plus, the asshole has kids," I said.

"On the other hand, Mike and Vanessa are right. You are going to have to say the word Maddison at some point in the campaign. You can't let it look like Schadt has found a dirty word. You were the one that got screwed, metaphorically. By not responding, you are making it look like Schadt is right," she said, looking me in the eye. "I know it sucks, but I think you should." I sighed.

Just then, both of our phones exploded. Several union heads, Raj, Eddie, and some reporters all tried to get through at once. I saw Raj's message. WATCH NOW. I turned on the tv. MSNBC was showing a clip from Arnold Play's speech in Youngstown, OH.

"No, you know. I don't think it's right to attack unions. They aren't the problem. We all know it's the immigrants, people. It's the waves of immigrants coming in and taking your jobs," he was babbling. Standing right behind him, looking like he was trying not to swallow his tongue, was Larry Free. Play went on, "No, let's tell the governor. He's right here. Let's tell him how we feel, huh. Tell him!" The crowd booed wildly. Free, a tall man, seemed to literally shrink as he tried to maintain his smile and wave. "Yeah, come on, Larry," Play said back to him, "let's take care of our great union workers." Jane spit out some beer. I wasn't sure I was breathing. Arnold Play had just killed SB-12 on national television. Jane and I were on the phone instantly. Everyone was ecstatic. Then I heard the moderator come back on.

"This shocker from Arnold Play, of course, isn't the only news he made tonight. He couldn't help himself from going to the crude side of politics. Here he brings up the relationship between Maddison Crawford and Ted Bates," it cut back to Play.

"You know, and I think we all knew this already about him. But you know why Congresswoman Crawford left him, right? We all know. Look at those tiny hands of his." The crowd roared with laughter. "Am I right? I mean," Play held up his hand. "I mean, he doesn't have one of these guys, right ladies?" More laughter. It cut back to the moderator, who was shaking her head.

"Fuck!" I screamed at the tv.

"Hold on," Jane said, thinking I was going to break the tv. She stole the remote and turned it off.

"Fuck. He just claimed I had a small dick on fucking national news," I so upset I was panting.

"Calm down, calm down. It's Arnold Play. He needs to take four Viagra to remember he has a dick. Just take a deep breath," she soothed, her hand on my chest.

"No. Fuck him. I'll fucking show him," I shouted.

"Really, Ted, the plan is to show Arnold Play your cock?" Jane giggled.

"Well," I raised my arms in a shrug, sounding defeated. "I mean, I have to do something."

"Tell you what," she said, still giggling a little, "why don't you show me your cock?" She began undoing my belt and kneeling. "Does that sound like a better idea than showing it to Arnold Play?" I nodded. She pulled down my pants.

I was starting to harden. Instead of pulling down my boxers, Jane undid the button in front. She reached in and pulled out my cock. Then her tongue ran around the sensitive rim. She then took it in her mouth and went all the way to my shorts and back up in one swift motion.

"Mmmmm. A much better idea," she cooed, then spat on my cock. She worked it back into her mouth. I ran my hand through her short blond hair. Her hands were on my calves, and she wasn't moving. I realized that she wanted me to thrust. I moved my hips.

Both of my hands were on the sides of her head. Jane moaned around my dick. She made obscene wet sounds. A long line of spit began to run down her chin and onto her blouse.

Eventually, she moved her mouth off and looked up at me. Stoking me, she said, "Come on, Congressman, give it to me. Show Arnold Play what a beautiful cock you have." Then she spit on it again. I was galvanized into action. I began thrusting into her mouth again.

"Oh, fuck," I moaned. Jane hummed around my cock again. Spit formed at the corners of her mouth along with her chin. I pushed her head into my groin and held it there. I heard her gag and let her up.

"That's it, Congressman. Fucking make me take it," she said with watery eyes. I shoved her down again. When I let her up, she coughed but went right back onto my dick. This time she grabbed my cock and started stroking it. With each upstroke, her mouth made a popping sound. I knew I was done for.

"Shit Jane, I'm going to cum!" I cried. She didn't stop her sucking. I held out for as long as I could. My knees began to bend.

"FFFFUCKKKK," I bellowed as I emptied myself into her mouth. She didn't slow down. I almost fell over. Again she pulled her mouth off with another pop.

"Please tell me that was better than Arnold Play?" she said. Her lips were wet, and there was a line of drool hanging from her chin to her blouse.

"I don't know. I mean, Play never sucked my cock before. AHHH," I cried as Jane took me back into her mouth and sucked hard. "Yes, oh Jesus, yes, stop."

"Good answer," she said, standing. "Now get me another beer. After that nice break, we have a ton of more phone calls to make. Then you are taking me back to your place and repaying the favor." With drool still on her shirt, she grabbed her cell and called someone. I went to the fridge and grabbed two beers. When I got back, I could hear that she had the Governor of New York on the phone. Her blouse was a mess. I handed her a beer and picked up my cell.