(Al)ice In Wonderland Part 1 free porn video

Al(ice) in Wonderland Down the Rabbit hole or: Our hero finds out what's really happening Al pulled his Daihatsu Mirage up against the curb, then cut the engine. He was a man of medium height, rail thin, but wiry. His greasy black hair hung down and he flicked it up out of his eyes. His fingers played over the pistol in his pocket. The boss had given specific directions for this job. Follow the delivery truck; find where he delivered the cargo. If possible find out who this 'Queenie' was. He snorted at that. What kind of idiot set up a smuggling operation in this city without giving the local boss his cut? There was a flash of headlights in his rear view mirror, and he dropped lower in the seat. It was a big step van with a white rabbit emblazoned on the side. WHITE RABBIT DELIVERY; WE HOP RIGHT TO IT! Al started the engine and followed with his lights off. The truck seemed to be weaving aimlessly through the street, but suddenly sped up, pulling to a stop in the middle of a deserted street. A husky man in brown shorts with a vest over his shirt stepped down, pulling out his watch. "Boy am I late. Queenie will be pissed!" He muttered. There was a steel hook with a handle on it, and he hooked a notch in the manhole cover, pulling it up and to the side. The sliding back door slammed up, and he began to take packages from the back, dropping them down the manhole. Al sat in the shadows watching. A drop off in the middle of the street? He drew the revolver, and began stalking forward. The driver was muttering to himself as Al got closer. "Not like they can't just come out and pick up their own things. Cat food playing cards, maid's uniforms tea fixings KY jelly, wine dildos butt plugs golf and croquet balls. No, I have to bring it in." He dropped another package down, and turned to meet the pistol coming the other way. He froze, staring past the gun into Al's eyes. "Is this the storehouse for Queenie's operation?" he asked. "Storehouse?" The guy was staring at the gun as if expecting it to grow fangs and bite him. "There isn't a storehouse. Everything I bring in is for use right away. You think I like making these trips every night?" "Shut up," Al snapped. "Tell me where it is or-" The deliveryman moved. His hand caught the pistol shoving it aside. Then his foot kicked slamming into Al's stomach. As the man fell forward, the deliveryman flipped him over his shoulder. With a scream, Al dropped down the manhole. For a long moment the Deliveryman just stared at the manhole. "Shit, now Queenie will really be pissed at me." 2 Drink me or: Our hero has to escape, but how? Al screamed as he fell, the cry dying as he hit something...soft. He stared upward, but he had fallen so far he couldn't even see the streetlights down the manhole. He was lucky to be alive and laying in this... Bed. He sat up, looking around, confused. It looked like a teenaged girl's room; one that seemed to have a terminal affection for pink. He looked upward but now there was a canopy overhead and what looked like a normal ceiling above it. But he was alive, and now all he had to do was get out of here. He looked at the pistol, hand tightening on it. Only six bullets, it should be enough. He threw open the door expecting someone, resistance, anything. What he got was a hall right out of an upscale hotel. Slowly he walked down the hall. The carpet was a cream and turquoise that ate his footfalls so he moved in silence. He reached the end, but it was a blank wall. He turned around and this time he tried every door. None but the one room he had seen opened. He growled, looking around the room. There was a set of curtains, but pulling them back only showed him a blank wall. Who built this place? There was a dollhouse but what good would that do? He looked in the dollhouse, hoping for something, then noticed something odd. There was light through the windows against the wall. He tried to lean forward, but he couldn't get his head close enough to them. There was also a door with a keyhole. But it was tiny; the key itself would have been maybe less than a quarter inch long. He pulled the small structure away from the wall, but behind it was just another blank wall. Yet from the inside he could see what looked like a field through the windows still. He could see the wind blowing the flowers, Somehow he knew it was real. He stood, looking around again. There had to be- There on the nightstand was a tiny antique key. He brushed it into his hand, and knelt. He couldn't hold the key. His fingers were too big to hold and use it. Disgusted, he dropped the key by the tiny door, and leaned back. This was getting him nowhere. He was angry and thirsty... Wasn't that a nightstand before? Now it looked like one of those tiny refrigerators they had in hotels. The kind where everything was charged the instant you picked it up. Inside were only a few cans of cherry soda marked DRINK ME SODA company. But so what? He was thirsty. He popped the top, chugging it. Strange, not too fizzy- The room was growing away from him as if he was shrinking a foot a minute. Al stared then noticed his clothes were getting larger too. A few moments later, he crawled out of the massive pile his clothes had become. He stared around him then at the dollhouse. It was the right size for him now. He ran across, the key now the size of an antique house key. He slipped it in the lock; turned it, it opened! He flung open the door, looking across a beautiful lawn. He almost ran through then remembered how he was dressed, as in not a god damned thing. Wait, doll house, maybe there were some clothes! ran up the stairs, looking frantically. The house was a really well built structure, real closet, and real chests of drawers. Fat lot of good it did him. They were filled with women's clothes. He dug through frantically, but there was nothing a man might wear. Bad enough, it was all short skirts, tight tops, Daisy Dukes and high heels. What was this, Slut Barbie's house? Finally he settled for a pair of shorts and a top that might have started life as a turtleneck sweater before they had sliced off both sleeves and all of the back except for that high collar. He finally found an Ike jacket of leather to go over that. He ran downstairs, then into the lawn. Less than a minute later he was back inside, rooting through the shoes. He was used to pavement, not rocks and grass that dug at his feet Damn it! He finally settled on a pair with heels that were only three inches tall, better than the others at least! They were sling-backs, better than most. He tottered on them, almost falling down the stairs, but that lawn led somewhere and he wasn't staying in here. 3 The Caterpillar, 0r; you should be careful what you say... He felt so much better outside. Sure he was staggering around trying to stand in the fucking heels, and dressed to troll the streets looking for tricks, but hell, he was out of that madhouse! It felt like summer, warm, actually with the jacket too warm. But he wasn't going to walk around looking like a hooker in daylight. He found a path and followed it down toward a river below him. The trees confused him until he realized they were really flowers twenty feet tall. Man he didn't know what was happening but this was too fucking weird! An hour later he found himself staggering along, feet sore from those fucking shoes, wishing he had some men's clothes, or he was on the street running back to the boss even if he had to report a failure. There was something ahead of him, sweet smoke, and... a toadstool? Lying across it like a Playboy centerfold on the bed displaying herself was... a caterpillar. It sipped smoke from a hookah pipe, blowing a fragrant ring into the air, lips rolling as if tasting a fine wine. "And what might you be?" it asked, looking toward him. Golden lambent eyes regarded him, clothes, face and all. "How confusing. A man, it would seem, but dressed like a girl. This is worthy of a story I would think." It sipped more smoke. "One you will provide." "Shit." Al wiped his face. "Where do I begin?" "That is simplicity itself," the Caterpillar replied, blowing yet another smoke ring. "Start at the beginning, go through to the end, and when you get to the end, stop. I thought everyone knew that." Yeah, yeah," Al sighed. "Got another mouthpiece to that Ganja pipe?" "You want to share some of my smoking mixture? Now that is odd." The Caterpillar handed him a mouthpiece, and Al sucked some of the smoke. He was surprised that it wasn't marijuana, but whatever it was, it made him feel mellow. He told the Caterpillar about the boss, about how the organization wanted to know who dared to work on their turf. How he'd been sent to track the White Rabbit truck, then... "So by definition, you are a spy," the Caterpillar commented. "How plebeian. And why are you dressed that way?" "Like I had a choice," Al snarled. "Everything else would have made me look like a street walker! Nothing to wear but this shit and this is the best of a bad lot. I feel like an idiot or a drag queen." Al's head was spinning. Boy this was good shit! "Well I can make the clothes fit better if you like," the Caterpillar commented with a slight smile. "But I can't guarantee your peace of mind." "Fuck that. Anything is better than this shit," Al said. He leaned his head back. Boy, he felt sleepy. "This is really good. I want to sleep for a week." "Then by all means lay down," the Caterpillar said. "Anything I could do to help would work better if you were asleep." "Really?" Al felt himself leaning back into the sod. "Man it's like so weird..." He fell asleep. 4 Al, or is it Alice? Al suddenly woke up, and the first thing he saw was light filtered through what might have been a curtain. But it was pressed against his face. He struggled, feeling the stuff give, then rip as he rammed his hands through it. The stuff was like a hard plastic shell, and he pulled himself frantically out of it. He fell to the ground, gasping. For some reason the clothes felt... comfortable now. He sat up, looking down. The first thing he noticed was tits. Not on some girl, but on his own chest. He pulled the top off, looking at his chest. They were there all right, nice firm C cup at least. They'd be great. On some girl's chest. He started running his hands frantically over his body, or at least the body he had now. teats, ass legs, arms... He screamed when his hands dug into the shorts and found something he didn't expect even if he feared it. He looked around, seeing the toadstool and that fucking Caterpillar still toking his pipe. "What happened!" he screamed. He suddenly noticed he even sounded like a girl! "Well I see that you finally woke up," the Caterpillar commented. "What did you do to me?" Al shrieked. "You said you felt like an idiot or drag queen, and I said I could make the clothes fit better, but I couldn't guarantee your peace of mind. You said anything was better than the current situation." He puffed, blowing another fragrant ring. "I just... corrected the problem." "You couldn't correct the clothes maybe?" "You weren't specific about what to correct, so I corrected the obvious problem. Now you fit the clothes perfectly." "You couldn't have left me my dick at least?" The Caterpillar paused. "Since by definition a drag queen has such an appendage, no." "Can you change me back then?" "Oh my no. The process I used only works once." "Process, what process?" "You do know I am a caterpillar, I assume," the Caterpillar said. "I myself for example am a quite attractive specimen called Danaus plexippus or the Monarch butterfly. We spin a cocoon around ourselves, and when we come out, we are butterflies or moths. All I did was use some of my cocoon webbing on you with some extra instructions. After all, you didn't want wings too, did you?" There was that at least. Al rubbed his temples. The longer black hair didn't help. "So how do I change back?" "If you can find Queenie, she might be able to return you to normal." "Might?" Al glared at him. "No fucking way I'm going to keep going with only 'might' as an option!" "Well that will be a problem," the Caterpillar commented. "The way you came in leads to a dead end. The only way back is to go forward." "That makes no sense at all," Al rasped. "A lot of things in life make no sense. They just are." Of course Al refused to accept it. There were seven paths out of the clearing and he tried them all, but every one he took led him right back again. After a couple of hours he finally gave up. "All right, how do I get out of here?" he demanded. The Caterpillar tapped the toadstool he was using as a couch. "You must eat some of this toadstool." "What?" "This end," the Caterpillar touched the end where his head was, "will make you smaller. The other," his tail slapped down, "will make you larger." Since he'd already been shrunk to doll size, Al chose the side that would make him larger. He hesitated, then took off his jacket. "Whatever are you doing?" the Caterpillar asked. Then he slapped his forehead. "Of course, the clothes. These clothes you wear belong here. That is why they will not stay this size. They will grow with you." "Are you telling me the truth?" "Have I ever lied to you before?" That didn't make sense either, but Al ripped off a handful of the toadstool, and stuffed it in his mouth. For a moment, nothing happened, then suddenly as if the camera had zoomed out he found himself standing in a grassy meadow, with normal sized flowers around him. Or perhaps we should call the character her, and change the name to Alice? And so Alice began walking toward the woods. 5: Brothers not so Grimm or: Sometimes, you just have to take it. Alice found the woods rather strange. She had spent her life in the city and pavement felt more natural to her. There was too much open space, too much fresh air, not enough noise or pollution. Christ, this was a bad as a Disney flick! She paused, looking around. There was someone coming, and she looked for a place to hide. Bad enough she didn't have a gun, she had these effing shorts to deal with. There was a hollow log, and she bent, it looked large enough. As the people approaching came closer she started shoving herself into the hollow center. As she felt it dragging on her teats, someone began spouting poetry; "The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright-- And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night." What the fuck was that supposed to mean? She shoved frantically, then suddenly realized she was panting in terror. But that meant every time she slid forward the log caught tighter and tighter over her chest. Her legs flailed like a swimmer caught in a rip tide with about as much effect though she inched forward until suddenly she couldn't slide any farther. "The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done-- "It's very rude of him," she said, "To come and spoil the fun!" Now she was stuck, too far in to slide any further, but at the same time she could feel the log catching right behind her thighs. Her legs were outside like a kitten hiding his head, but having his ass and tail out where they could see him. Her hands clawed at the opening in front of her, but only skittered over the still solid wood. "The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead--There were no birds to fly. "Tweedledum and Tweedledee were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: "If this were only blown away," they said, "it would be grand!" Alice suddenly realized her knees were scraping on sand! She let her legs fall, hoping they would not notice her, breath gasping from her throat. First being turned into a bitch, now lunatic poets walking through? How could this get worse? She was about to find out. "If seven maids with open mouths did suck for half a year. Do you suppose," Tweedledum said, "that they could get our tubes all clean and clear?" "I doubt it," said Tweedldee, And shed a bitter tear. Suddenly she felt a hand slide along the shorts, running over her still exposed ass. It paused, then slid between her legs, and she gasped as a finger ran along her cleft. "O hidden maiden, come and walk with us!" Tweedledum did beseech. "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach: We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each." She shook her head, gasping in terror. If she spoke she'd scream! The hand ran up, then fingers ran inside the panties. "The hiding maiden looked at him, But never a word she said: The hiding maiden winked her eye, And shook her wooden head--Meaning to say she did not choose to leave her log-ey-bed." The hand continued probing, and Alice moaned as her traitorous body began to ooze clear liquid. It was exciting her down there! "But a soft red cooze did hurry up, All eager for the treat: Her fur so soft, her tunnel damp, her shoes were clean and neat-- And this was odd, because, you know, They both had yet to meet." A finger slid into her, and she moaned deeply. Damn it, why did this have to happen? As she tried to slide farther forward, she felt a second then a third finger plumb her depths. "Three fingers now did plow her depths, yet there is room for more; And thick and fast they post at last, And more, and more, and more-- All hopping through the frothy depths, And scrambling now for more." Her head sank, her thighs lifting, her body begging for more. She wanted to scream her rage, her fury at her defilement. Then she heard the two voices, one at each end of the log. "Tweedledum and Tweedledee looked on the log for a time or so, And then they pondered on wood impediment with cooze conveniently low: And all the depths that awaited their attention down below." Wood impediment? The log! She blessed it, then her thankfulness turned to terror as she heard the sound of some big ass knife being drawn. "The time has come," Tweedledum said, "To talk of many things: Of cunt--and cock--and sliding depth-- Of coming--and of squeeze-- And why that cunt is boiling hot-- And whether pads have wings." There was a thunk, and the front part of the log even with her teats suddenly fell away. She looked up and screamed in terror as a sword rose then chopped down, and a section about six inches wide suddenly hit her lower legs. They were an odd pair, roly-poly, more round than tall, with odd hats with propellers on their heads. The one with the sword smiled apologetically. Alice opened her mouth, but was horrified as instead of protest, poetry spouted from her mouth. "But wait a bit," the woman cried, "before we have our chat; For I am not interested in being fucked, And all of me is caught!" "No hurry!" said Tweedledee. She thanked him much for that." The two, as alike as peas in a pod grinned, and as one they dropped their pants. "A condom with ribs, I would think," Tweedledum said, "is what I chiefly need: And none for you since suck she must is very good indeed-- Now if you're ready, brother dear, We can begin our girl to feed." Alice stared in horror as one of the twins knelt, a knobby shaft before her face. Then she felt something shoving into her from behind. Her mouth opened but before she could protest, her mouth was filled by the twin of what rammed into her from behind. "Oh fiery cooze!" Tweedledee cried, turning a little blue. "After such kindness from this lass, that would be A dismal thing to do!" "The night is fine," Tweedledum said, ramming forward. "Do you admire the view?" Alice wanted to scream, but the cock in her mouth turned it into a wail. The pair began moving, Alice found herself being shoved back and forth, first the one in her mouth hitting her throat, then the other slamming balls deep. "It was so kind of you to come! And you're cunt is really nice!" Tweedledee said nothing but "So let me cut a slice: I wish you were not quite so deaf-- I've had to ask you twice!" Asked? Alice felt the cock in her mouth withdraw, and she coughed, spitting desperately. She recognized the feeling of the one behind her withdrawing, but before she could feel relieved both members had been rammed back to the hilt, only in opposite holes. The assault began again. "It seems a shame," Tweedledum said, "to play her such a trick, After we've brought her out so far, And made her heart beat so quick!" Tweedledee said nothing but, "The juice's spread too thick!" Now they sped up, one slamming in from behind, the other withdrawing, then slamming in as the other withdrew. It was a frantic melange of deep strokes, deeper sucks, and moans from three throats. "I weep for you," Tweedledum said. "I deeply sympathize." With sobs and tears he slammed so deep, and held her meaty thighs, Holding his pocket-handkerchief before his streaming eyes. She felt them pause, then suddenly a salty ammonia laced liquid shot into her mouth. To keep from drowning she felt her throat spasm, shot after shot sliding down her throat. Even as it did, she felt a ballooning in her lower body as the condom began to swell from the spray in the other end, then a warm flood as the latex burst. Both stopped, then slowly withdrew, leaving Alice with come dripping from her mouth, and from where the condom had burst below. She collapsed onto her stomach gasping as they fastened up their pants. "O sexy maid," said the Tweedledee, "you've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again? But answer came there none-- And this was scarcely odd, because her mouth was filled with come." Alice felt herself being rolled, easy with a log wrapped from the swell of your ass to just below your teats. When that monster sword rose, she merely closed her eyes as it came down. The wooden corset parted, and she lay there, unmarked except for the sperm running down her thighs and chin. "Why wasn't I cut?" she asked, staring up at them. "Story continuity," Tweedledum said, sheathing it again. "We're allowed sex scenes but no blood in this story. The writer's rules," Tweedledee added. "So our sword will cut wood but not skin." The pair straightened their shirts, tilting their hats to a jaunty angle in opposite directions, then strolled away beginning another poem. Alice felt herself fall into blackness as she murmured, "Curiouser and curiouser." The argument for organized labor and the thrust of politics or: Politics is all about who gets fucked The sun was setting as Alice sat up from her nap. The first thing she noticed was the twinges of strained muscles from her crotch, then the musky smell of male seed on her breath. She sat there, crying. Hours ago she had been a man, a macho type man, damn it! Now she was a short sweet Chiquita with come breath and the feeling of having been thoroughly fucked. She pushed herself to her feet, staggering a bit in the heels. What bothered her most was that the heels were becoming comfortable. She looked around, trying to find the right direction to go. Unfortunately to a street guy every direction in the woods looked a lot alike. Finally she chose a direction, because that one had an obvious path. The path soon became a small stone walkway, then a wider one. "If it become yellow brick I'm going to be pissed!" she growled. She came around the corner and screamed in rage. A walkway sixteen feet wide... Paved in yellow bricks. She screamed in fury, then stalked down the path, ready for anything. What she didn't expect was singing. Especially that bad. She went further, and found a courtyard with a tea party setting. The table was fifty feet long, and at every place was a serving set. But most of them were already dirty from use At the far end of the table were two men. One was large with a throwaway straw hat marked VOTE FOR THURMOND on it. The other... Alice's breath caught. It wasn't the younger man she had seen above, but he was in the brown shorts, shirt and rabbit ear baseball cap of White Rabbit couriers! "What you must understand," the man in the boater was saying, "is that with so many jobs going off shore, demanding higher wages is counterproductive with increased tax revenues." "But the Union wants more money!" the courier demanded. As she approached the argument continued. "Be that as it may," the Politician demurred, "we cannot expect the businesses to accept higher taxes and wages with so much of the world willing, nay eager to accept less in wages." He sipped his tea. "Americans are willing to pay only so much after all." "But-" The man looked around, and saw Alice approaching. "Who is this? The entertainment or your secretary?" "My secretary of course," the politician replied. He looked up at the woman. "Please Miss Prission, you should be dressed properly." "What?" Alice had been whipsawed, fucked within an inch of her life, and generally confused since she'd fallen down that manhole. But this was the first time someone had commented that she was dressing down! "In the cloakroom, woman. Proper business attire at all times as you well know." The politician pointed at a door standing all by itself to one side. More confused that before (If that were at all possible) Alice went to the door. First she walked around it. Yes, the door and frame stood all by itself. She opened it from the opposite side, but all she saw was the massive table. "Circumnavigation is not the answer," the politician told her sharply. "Close the door and open it from this side as is proper." Alice closed the door, went around then opened it again. A dark room lay before her. She looked around the door on both sides, but there was nothing there. "Come my pet. Enter and dress appropriately or I shall get strict with you," the politician said. With nothing better to do, Alice walked in. The room was a large walk in closet, and there were several racks of women's clothing. She wandered down the rows until she found one marked SECRETARY. She found herself glad, because others had been marked TROLLOP, PAGE, HIGH CLASS CALL GIRL and WHORE. There was a gray suit that hung on the rack and she picked it up. There was a sudden flash and she shook her head. A bra cupped her breasts, panties were molded to her sex. A pair of stockings were already connected to a garter belt she wore, and a matching gray set of heels lifted her almost five inches into the air. She looked down and the suit was on her and not on the hanger, where the sad remnants of the clothes she'd chosen from Slut Barbie's house now hung. She tried to hang them on the SECRETARY rack, but the rack moved away from her when she tried. She dropped the hanger and it's clothing which promptly vanished, and she heard a clatter. She looked down toward the TROLLOP rack where her discarded clothes now hung cleaned and ready for use. "What do I look like now?" As if the words were a command, a full length mirror obediently appeared in front of her. The suit made her look like a professional woman. The hair had been drawn back into a rolled bun and a pair of glasses hung on a lanyard brushing the upper slope of her breasts. Her blouse was an off white and the upper portion was open exposing the slopes of her breasts. A briefcase hung from one hand, and a pen sat behind her ear. The make up was understated, what you would expect of a professional woman who didn't lay on her back for her job. With a great deal of trepidation, Alice walked back to the door. It opened at her approach, and she strode through confidently. "Clean cup!" the Politician cried. "Clean cup!" the Union rep echoed. They moved down a pair of settings, and the Politician began to pour. "Now that you are back with us Miss Demeanor, please, take a seat." He motioned up table from him, where another clean cup rested. "Isn't my name Miss Prission?" Alice asked. "Come now Miss Anthrope." The Politician growled. "As long as you are obedient and nubile, your name does not matter." "Sir-" "You do know what obedient is, my dear girl." Beneath his bonhomie, she could hear the snarl of a hungry jungle cat. "Sit. Here. Now!" She walked meekly around the table, taking the indicated seat. A teapot leaped into the air, and her cup filled with pungent Oolong. A dish slid over, and a small stack of cookies (Biscuits her mind corrected) slid onto it from a larger tray. Hesitantly she sipped the liquid. It was actually quite good. She noticed that her left had had automatically brought out a Gregg tablet, and as she drank with the right hand the left was transcribing in the loops and whorls of shorthand. Part of her was glad: after all, what she knew of shorthand could be written on a matchbook with a laundry marker. Part of her was appalled because what they said didn't make a lot of sense. "The electorate expects osculation in return for their exercise of their franchise," the Politician was saying, "but what they get is fornication by that choice because party orientation aside, all we care about is the election process." "Wait," the Union Rep cried. "It doesn't matter who wins?" "Elementary, my dear Rep," the Politician replied. "You know as well as I that every company and interest group puts money into our coffers, regardless of our orientation. By doing so they purchase the reins of control, some with more power than others, to be sure. But do you think a Democrat is more honest than a Republican merely because of his party?" "I had wondered," the Union Rep replied. "After all Labor has supported the Democrats since Roosevelt was in office." "Be clear, sir!" the Politician said. "Theodore was a Republican in everything but party affiliations." The Politician pushed a sugar bowl toward Alice (Or Miss whatever at this point) "Sweeten your disposition, my dear," he said as an aside. "Remember the Great White Fleet incident, sir! A good Democratic house trying to limit interventionism yet their own President sends that fleet halfway around the world, forcing those good and pure men to pay to get it back! Why if he were a Republican we would call him a thug!" Alice sweetened her tea. As she sipped, she noticed that the world was not as hard edged as it had been mere minutes before. The two men still talked, but she couldn't concentrate on what they were saying... In fact the last half page of shorthand had become chicken scratches. She leaned back in her chair. The talk was like the wind blowing through the trees, a gentle humming that did not affect her mind or hand at all. She felt herself being moved up onto the table, curled up, her folded legs a platform, her body laid along those underpinnings, her arms outstretched before her. The short skirt she was wearing had somehow been slid up so she could feel it like a wide gray belt between her waist and her bolero jacket. Something caught at her waist, and cool air caressed her buttocks. A hand caught her chin, and she looked up at the Union Rep. She looked at him blearily as his other hand fumbled. A hardened cock appeared, and she wanted to protest, but it shoved into her mouth. Then she felt hands on her hips and another stiffened member slid into her down there. She lay there, unable to protest as she was used by them. At one point they changed places, and she tasted her own juices as the Politician slid into her mouth instead. "But some of them might be honest!" a male voice protested. Who ever it was seemed to be having trouble breathing. "My dear man whomever arrives in the Oval Office we get our cut," the Politician demurred. "When it comes to screwing the electorate, neither of us is Simon pure." She felt herself being pummeled back and forth, two cocks using her with as much efficiency as the two brothers had shown. The world was a soft haze in the distance, even the sperm that filled her mouth was a taste she might have merely remembered from before. Her mind swirled around a psychological drain, then slid down into oblivion.