It was already seven and Sam Smith wasn't there yet. Maybe he was tied up for the night! Elaine took a gulp from her drink, then walked over to the set of windows on the other side of the room. The booze was giving her a warm, buzzy sensation that was centring itself around her snatch. Elaine leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the cold glass window, watching the city lights grow brighter below the room. The booze made her realise just how lonely and frustrated she'd been in this town. Typing, filing, fighting off all those old, fat hands – and no decent cock to go into her pussy!

"Mmmmmmmmmmm," Elaine moaned, closing her eyes and letting her crotch screw up tighter and tighter as the alcohol took effect. There was a fire going on now between her legs. She could feel all those sexual juices bubbling up between her snatch-lips now. If the senator didn't hurry up, she'd finish her drink and join Wanda and the old man in the bedroom. Elaine was so hot new that ever Senator Peter Kuhns looked like a prize cock.

"God, no! God! Godddd!" Elaine heard her friend scream out suddenly in the bedroom.

"Shut up, you little fucker!" Peter Kuhns' voice thundered drunkenly out.

Elaine winced as she heard the sounds of flesh hitting and slapping flesh.

"Pl-Pl-Please!" Wanda wailed.

Elaine wondered if she should go into the bedroom, then remembered what her friend had told her about the old senator. He liked to beat up on women – not seriously. He'd slap them gently around, and they pretended to be hurt. It was his "thing". Well, Elaine wasn't going pass judgment on anyone now. She felt her half-inch-long reddening nipples scratching teasingly against the stiff material of her D-cup bra. Her twat was on fire. Her skin crawled with frustrated sexual excitement while her mind spun with visions of twelve-inch-long dicks dripping quarts of white, sticky jizz. Elaine was in no position to point a moral finger at anyone.