It's Not Always What it Seems Pt. 02

This is Part 2 of 3. The events in this story are based on what happened in Part 1. Read Part 1 first: https://www.literotica.com/s/its-not-always-what-it-seems-pt-01

I stopped just outside the door and reached back to my ass and winced. I glanced at my watch as I walked to the elevator, confirming the time for myself, and documenting on camera the confirmation. I didn't need the key card to go back down, which was just as well as I'd left it in the suite. I didn't purposely look at, nor did I hide my face from, the security cameras. I knew they were there and where they were, but I tried to make it look like I wasn't paying attention to such things.

My phone room was ringing when I got there, it was my buddy Larry. "Back in your room?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. Just following up, making sure."

"No problem. I'm OK."

"See you tomorrow." He hung up and I headed to the shower.

It was nearly 3 am when I was awakened by a cool hand sliding across my naked stomach. "Are you OK baby?" Stephanie whispered in my ear, her mouth coming to mine as I opened my eyes and kissed her.

"You didn't tell me it was going to hurt that bad."

"I couldn't, you wouldn't have reacted right, and he would have suspected something."

"Fuck, my ass is sore. I may not walk right for a week."

"You'll be alright by tomorrow. I was surprised, he normally never uses lube. This time he used just enough to get in but he wants you to know you've been raped. That's his thing. If we'd lubed you up before hand, he'd have known you were expecting it."

"Hmm," I responded, considering what she'd previously admitted to me. "And you like anal?"

"Sometimes. If I'm lubed up well before hand, I won't even be sore the next day and an anal orgasm, especially when Casandra is eating my pussy at the same time..."

"Is that him?"

"No. He's never fucked me. He doesn't do women. He doesn't even have a regular lover. His thing is a virgin male."

"And you set them up for him."

"Not always. If it's for Cassie and me, I just tell him that they're not a virgin and he's not interested."

"You really are a kinky bitch, aren't you?" I whispered, her hand stroking my cock which had now, several hours later, firmed up quite nicely.

"Yeah, I am," she giggled, swinging her leg up and over and mounting me. Despite barely having any foreplay she was already wet. "Do you want to do my ass sometime?"

"Do a poop chute when the love chute is available?" I flexed my cock inside her, causing a slight shudder from her. "I don't think so."

"Do you think he suspected anything?" I asked a few minutes later, my cock having spit its contents in her pussy once again, her body having shuddered in yet another orgasm.

"Not a thing."

"Hmm. What took you so long?"

"He wanted to watch Cassie and me; watch her eat your cum from my pussy and then he didn't go to bed right away."

"And then you left?"

"Once he's asleep, we're free to do whatever we want until tomorrow."

6 months earlier

The coroner initially only pulled the covering sheet down enough to expose her face and neck to me. That she had been dead several days before they found her partially submerged in the Potomac hadn't done anything for preserving her features. I was pretty sure it was her, but said "she should have a mole on her left hip." The coroner pulled the sheet down further, exposing her breasts and belly until a mole appeared.

I'd never seen my baby sister naked before, not since she'd been a baby. 14 years younger than me, the ultimate example of an "oops" baby, I'd changed her diapers, I'd fed her in her high chair, and later I'd listened as she complained about boyfriends, girlfriends, dating, and growing up. I had little to no idea about her life since I'd left home.

Her pure white breasts, which accented the mild tan of her belly and chest that she'd had when she died, confirmed that she'd never (or at least, seldom) been topless in the sun, totally in concert with her slightly conservative outlook. The mole, which had always played peek-a-boo at the top edge of her bikini bottom, appeared right on the tan line. I didn't ask her to pull the sheet further down, I had no want or desire to examine my sister's pubic preferences. I knew she wasn't a virgin; I'd been surprised one morning when I was visiting and she'd come home from college, had already gone to bed before I got there, and had brought her boyfriend out with her for breakfast in the morning. There were actually a couple of boyfriends she brought home with her over the years before we both left for good.

"That's her," I confirmed, reaching up and touching my sister's cheek, her complexion completely ashen, her cheek cold and stiff to the touch. I hadn't seen a dead body since dad died three years before.

The call had been unexpected, but then again, sudden death of a 23-year-old is never expected. She'd been found drifting in an eddy of the Potomac, and the police had been unable to determine whether she'd been put in right there, or whether she'd drifted down from elsewhere. They hadn't yet performed the autopsy when I saw her; when they did it was inconclusive for cause, just that she'd been dead for almost 24 hours when found, and that she'd most likely been high on heroin. The death was ruled an overdose, even though when I asked about indications of previous drug use: needle marks, toxicity in her hair, anything -- everything came up negative. I knew it would.

Even in death she was one of the most beautiful girls I knew, her drug of choice had been athletics. At five feet seven inches, blond hair, she'd been a star on the high school girls track and cross-country teams. She'd won her regionals as a sophomore and junior, but a late developing bust, taking after our mother in that respect, but also aided by becoming sexually active and going on the pill, left her top-heavy and had her give up competitive running her senior year. She could have been a model; she'd actually done some modeling in high school. She could have been an actress; she'd also participated in plays in high school and college both. Instead, she'd pursued politics, she wanted to make a difference. When she graduated Magna Cum Laude with a Political Science degree she moved to Washington, eventually ending up on the staff of The Senator.

~

I had her cremated, there being no other close family to ever check on her or question where she was buried again. When the Senator found out I'd had her cremated, he bought a spot in a columbarium in the memorial park for her. It wasn't until I received a call from Stephanie, introducing herself as both my sisters' friend and co-worker that I even knew anything about Stephanie, my sisters work, or the Senators gift of the columbarium. Until then I hadn't even thought about what I would do with her ashes, in the back of my mind I'd sort of thought about taking a boat out to sea and spreading them. She always loved the sea. I didn't have any idea whether doing such was even legal, but I didn't care. I was just numb that my sister was dead. My entire family was dead. No aunts, no uncles, nobody that I knew of were left in my withered and dry family tree.

I didn't question why the Senator had come to the memorial service that I planned with the Mortuary, nor did I question the several reporters there taking his picture. To me I was burying my sister, but apparently to the reporters he was "showing his respects." Along with the Senator, there were two young women, Casandra -- and Stephanie. Both were extremely good looking, well above average, but I hadn't yet met either, until Stephanie approached me. "James -- I'm Stephanie. Your sister talked a lot about you. I can't tell you how sorry we all are to lose Kathy. The Senator has asked me to express his condolences also." It would not have meant anything in the normal context of things, except that The Senator was just a few feet away, with several media recording devices stuck in his face. Despite noticing the seeming incongruity, I was still too numb to care. "You need to call me," Stephanie said and handed me a business card, "when you're ready." I took the card, not really looking at it, and slipped it into my shirt pocket. As I looked away, I saw the Senator, still talking with the reporters, but looking our way. His eyes shifted away; I had the distinct feeling that he was avoiding looking at me.

One reporter actually stepped up and asked me how it felt to lose my only sibling. She actually expressed her condolences before asking such a tone-deaf question, more than the Senator ever did.

And in a sad note today, a memorial service for Kathy Longacre, the intern on Texas Senator Aaron Jacobson's staff whose body was found floating last week in the Potomac. Police have not released a cause of death although they stated that foul play is not suspected at this time. Senator Jacobson attended the service where he spoke briefly to our reporters about the tragic loss.

"Kathy was a bright and rising star on my staff, her death strikes home just as much as if she'd been my own daughter. Words just can't express the heartache that her loss is causing me and my staff. Being able to provide the family with a permanent resting place in this columbarium was the least that I could do for her family." The camera panned back from Senator Jacobson and showed me walking away without really identifying that it was me. Kathy is survived by her older brother James Longacre," the pretty voice of the pretty reporter standing in front of a pretty display by the columbarium intoned, and then switched back to a view of her holding the microphone. "Sylvia Maldonado reporting from the Forest Valley Mortuary."

The majority of the "news" report on my sister's funeral had actually concentrated on Senator Aaron Jacobson. Of course, I'm sure that the television station being owned by a company that was owned by a company that was owned by Senator Aaron Jacobson, and the great thing he was doing by providing a place to keep my sisters ashes forever, just coincidentally right when re-election campaigning had begun, had nothing to do with the unbiased and insightful newscast. I suppose the feed from that report being picked up by virtually every major news outlet in the nation was "just" coincidence also.

~

"I need to talk to you about Kathy in private."

The note was on the back of the business card that Stephanie had given me, along with a phone number that didn't match the cell number on the front. I'd almost missed it; when I took off my shirt in my hotel room, I'd gone to hang it up and noticed the card in the pocket. Taking it out I remembered sticking it into my pocket when I received it from Stephanie, but hadn't even glanced at it at that time. I dropped it onto the dresser. Whatever she wanted to say could wait until I was more in a talking mood.

The autopsy was completed two days later. That I knew my sister had never done drugs, had none of the signs of intravenous drug use that drug deaths normally exhibit, didn't seem to have any effect on the autopsy report. "Apparent accidental lethal dose of heroin" was listed as the cause of death. That she'd been murdered I had no doubt, what I didn't know was who, or why.

"This is Jim Longacre, you asked me..." I said into the answering machine, only to be interrupted by Stephanie's voice as she picked up, shutting off the answering machine.

"Jim!"

"Yeah," I answered, "That what I just said."

"We need to talk."

"I'm really not in the mood for talk," I answered, "I just lost my sister."

"I know, I know. Kathy was my friend, she talked about you all the time."

I stood there silently for a moment, debating whether to talk with her or just hang up. In my mind I remembered her stepping up to me and handing me her business card. Any other time, except my sister's funeral, I would have been eagerly examining the stunning beauty that she was. Even though she'd been in business professional attire at the funeral, there was no hiding the gorgeous ebony hair or the perfect complexion. The curve of her blouse and jacket had been formed by some substantial breasts. Her long legs were every bit as athletic as my sisters had been. I remembered seeing her step back over to the Senator, her skirt not hiding that she was exquisitely proportioned everywhere. "I want to meet you and talk in person; will you meet me?"

~

The restaurant that she asked me to meet her at was surprisingly low key, that she'd asked for a corner table, well away from anyone else, somewhat intriguing as the three o'clock meeting was after lunch, but before dinner, and the restaurant itself was virtually empty.

"How well did you know my sister?" I asked, just to start the conversation.

"Did she ever tell you anything about me?" She replied, not answering my own question directly.

I shook my head no. "I really hadn't talked to her in a couple of years, ever since she moved to Washington."

She nodded her head this time, glanced around the room, and then leaned forward to whisper, "Your sister was murdered."

Somehow this didn't startle me. I'd already made up my mind that her death was no "accidental overdose," but hearing someone that knew her make the same pronouncement was not surprising in the least. I nodded.

'I didn't think it was accidental. She's never used drugs in her life." I looked her in the face, finding her eyes locked onto mine. "Do you know this, or just think this."

Her head bobbed. "I can't prove it, but I know who, and why."

"Have you told the police?"

She shook her head no. "I can't. I can't prove anything, and anything I say will come back to haunt me. I'll end up like your sister."

"And?" I asked when she didn't continue. "How do you know this?"

"It's kind of a long story." I just sat, waiting for her.

"I've got nowhere else to go," I said after a few seconds of silence.

"Your sister and I had a lot in common," she began, playing with her icy glass of tea, condensation down the outside causing her to wipe her fingers on the napkin. "We both came to Washington to make a difference. We both got hired by the Senator, me a couple of years before her. I don't know if you've noticed, he only hires pretty girls. Very pretty girls."

"I kind of figured that," I answered, considering that Kathy and Stephanie were both gorgeous, stately, and quite sexy. Kathy had bigger boobs than Stephanie, thanks to our mom, but I would have said that Stephanie was slightly prettier. Her black hair accented her face perfectly, Kathy's blonde hair had "just" been pretty. There had been a gorgeous blond with Stephanie at the funeral, and from her remembered looks, I guessed she'd also been one of the Senators girls. "So, I guess this Senator is a womanizer? Can't say as I'm surprised there, Rank Has Its Privilege, and all that?"

"Actually, he's not."

"Not a womanizer?" She nodded her head at my statement.

"He surrounds himself with pretty women for perception and... entertainment."

"Entertainment?" I queried, not quite following what she'd just told me.

"Entertainment... of visitors."

"Oh," I said, realizing what she was implying. "As in, Escorts?"

"As in his whores," she said, lowering her voice. I could her the bile in her voice as she said this.

I wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand, it didn't surprise me at all, but on the other hand, I just couldn't imagine my sister making herself a prostitute. "My sister?" I asked.

She shook her head no. "She wouldn't."

"She wouldn't," I repeated. "Tell me."

"None of us start out as whores, but it's quite common in Washington. Have you ever heard of Jeffrey Epstein?" I shook my head no. "Everybody in Washington knows him, he supplies young girls to those in power. Names of people you wouldn't believe. Prince Andrew, from England? Do you know him? Bill Clinton... Donald Trump... Bill Gates... more Senators and Governors than you can shake a stick at. Businessmen, anyone that he can keep a skeleton on."

"Here in Washington?"

"Not necessarily. He's got a mansion and grounds in Palm Beach; he's got a private island in the Virgin Islands. It's well known, down there they call it "Pedophile Island." He takes politicians or people in power down there, and then provides them with girls. Young girls. Really young girls. He's even had Stephen Hawking there."

"You can prove this?"

"That Stephen Hawking was there?"

"No, that he supplies girls to those in power there."

"Of course not. I doubt that a Congressional investigation could prove that."

"Why not?"

"Because they are the ones who are doing this. Congressmen, Senators... the people in power have no desire to expose him, expose themselves, after all they're the ones getting young, even underage, nookie. Just go online and google Epstein, they don't even hide that they were there. There are pictures of them, Trump, Clinton, Prince Andrew. There are people, in power; a tremendous amount of people in power who..." She let her voice fade off.

"And Senator Jacobson does this too?"

"In a way." I just shrugged and questioned with a look as to what she meant. "Senator Jacobson... swings the other way."

"Gay?" I stated as a question.

"As far as I know, he's never had sex with a woman."

"Oh." I had to think about what she was telling me. She hadn't excluded herself in that "whore" statement, just my sister.

"So, you... entertain..." I didn't have to finish.

"Constituents, Clients, the wives of clients, businessmen that need to be persuaded to complete a deal."

"Wow. And you knew this when you went to work for him?"

"Oh, of course not. I went to work for him for a 25% raise. We're all idealistic, and then the reality of Washington tears us all down. It's one of the most expensive areas of the US to live, or one of the worst. Rent is exorbitant in the nice areas where it's hard to make ends meet, or you live in areas where it's not so nice. And then one day you get "invited" by the Senator to "attend" a business meeting. At first, it's just after working hours, we're in our usual business clothes. Usually, whoever is being entertained is seated next to you, and sometimes it's even business discussion. They'll share things and then comment that "of course, this is all confidential," so that we learn to keep our mouths shut. And then perhaps the next time, it's a later dinner meeting, and he'll send us off to this boutique to get new clothes, on his expense account, of course. They're almost always quite sexy clothes, risqué and revealing, definitely not business normal. Sexy underwear and outer wear, perhaps they're sheer, perhaps just low cut." She glanced down at herself, "Guys like my boobs so he always had me wear something braless."

"But you didn't have to."

"No, I didn't have to. And then, after a while, he lets it be known that... whoever it is that really needs to be convinced to complete the deal and that this person really likes me, or Maggie, or Kathy.... "At that she stopped and looked up at me. "And that we should do anything to convince him that the deal should be completed."

"Kathy wouldn't?"

"Yeah. She wouldn't. The first time, after work she went along. The first time he bought her sexy clothes, she really liked them, said she'd never had anything like them before and said she felt so sexy. And then, when we went out with the Senator from Missouri and he let Jacobson know that he wanted to have sex with Kathy, she refused. She said she wasn't interested in giving sex to someone as old as her father, that she wasn't a whore."

"She knew by that time, what was happening?"

"Well, she'd been pretty naïve when she started, but she figured it out. We'd talked several times. I told her; she knew."