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There was a knock at the door before the man had come and he went over to open it and to talk with someone through the crack in the door. He raised his mask to talk and Raul, who had turned his head in that direction when the knock was heard, sucked in air.
He had, in fact, seen some news. He had no idea who this political guy was who was being touted as a running mate in the presidential race, but this clearly was the same guy they'd shown in the photos. He turned his head back in the other direction so the senator—he couldn't think of him with another name, although he didn't know his actual name—wouldn't know he'd been IDed.
When Senator Etheridge returned, he released Raul from the wrist restraints, but only to force him onto his belly on the bed and to restrain him from the four bedpost corners again.
Whatever had transpired at the door had dampened the senator's ardor. He had to resort to the whip again, lashing Raul's back, arms, buttocks, and thighs repeatedly until he'd worked his cock up. Then, mounting Raul's ass, and thrusting his cock deep, the senator started pounding the rent-boy's ass again as Raul cried out in pain mixed with a passion he couldn't deny and writhed as best he could within the limits of his bondage.
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