7 comments/ 83172 views/ 20 favorites Abuse Me By: Lisa_1978 WARNING!!!!!!! DO NOT READ THIS STORY IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED. THIS STORY CONTAINS BRUTAL BEHAVIOR AND IN NO WAY IS CONSENTING TO THIS BEHAVIOR. THE AUTHOR DOES NOT APPROVE OF ACTING OUT THIS FANTASY. GIRLS DO NOT WANT THIS TO REALLY HAPPEN TO THEM. THIS STORY IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. DO NOT BEAT GIRLS AFTER READING THIS STORY. THANK YOU AND ENJOY. The warm yellow liquid dripped off her pretty face and she looked up at her master shaking the last drips of urine off his cock and onto her pouty lips. Most women wouldn’t stand for this treatment but Dena begged for it. She knew Paul would stop if she asked him to. But he loved this game as much as she did. He had pulled her by her hair and threw her into the empty tub. Her body hit the cold tile hard and her neck popped back eagerly awaiting his degradation yet never revealing her secret yearning for the humiliation. Paul called her a stupid fucking cunt as he unloaded his full bladder in her long brown hair and all over her beautiful young face. Her slender body reveled in delight and her gorgeous hand sized breasts swelled with desire causing her pink nipples to harden. “You’re my fucking toilet you dumb ass bitch.” He laughed as he hurled insults at her naked form huddled in the pee soaked bath. Paul never thought he would say these words to the woman he loved and planned to marry but she instigated it. She asked him to abuse her whenever she felt the urge to be abused. At first he didn’t want to do it. It felt wrong, and he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her, but she’d turn away in disappointment when he would refuse. He should have sensed her desire to be dominated when she told him how much she loved role-playing the rape fantasy. He had heard from many of his friends that their girlfriends liked that fantasy as well, but Dena would have multiple orgasms whenever he was rough and she loved it if he’d call her bad names. She asked him to call her “cunt” or “whore” and before long she was asking him to hit her and call her all sorts of horrid things. Paul could only refuse for so long. Most men at one point in their lives have had rape fantasies or thought of hitting their girlfriend during a fight, even if they could never do it because they were not that type of guy. The thought might occur but that didn’t mean you would ever act on it. But what if she wanted you to do it? What if when you were arguing over which turn to take to get to the movie theater, she told you, you were stupid for taking the wrong turn and then asked you to slap her hard once she saw the angry look on your face. That’s how it started for Paul and Dena. She asked to play the game. She taught it to him, and he came to love it as much as she did. If she wanted to be punished, she’d egg him on. She’d call him names to make him feel inadequate and violent and then beg him to take it out on her, and damn it, it felt good to slap her hard in the face and piss in her bitchy mouth. The release was so powerful; he couldn’t get the same high unless they were having make-up sex. After Paul finished pissing in Dena’s face he made her suck his cock clean. “Lick it up you worthless whore,” he said as he shoved his cock in her urine soaked mouth. “You are such a dumb dirty slut.” Paul smiled down at his submissive young woman and felt a surge of power. She would take whatever abuse he could dish out and ask for more. Damn, he was so lucky. So many men in this world would get put in prison for doing the things he did to Dena, but all he did was get off and make his girlfriend cum like a nympho. Dena was the perfect woman. Paul hocked up a big load of spit and spat it all over Dena’s forehead. It made its slimy path down her small nose to her full lips. Paul pushed her into a laying position in the shower and placed his giant foot over her face rubbing his spit into her skin. “You stupid fucking cock hole. You’re a filthy dumb fuck. You know that?” He pushed his foot down on her face pressing her head hard into the ceramic tub. He was slightly crushing her face beneath his huge male foot. “I asked you a question. You’re not only fucking dumb, but your deaf too. Stay! Do you understand that stupid whore?” He shut the curtain to the tub that would serve as a “cage” to his submissive girl. Dena lay with Paul’s piss and spit drying on her face and in her hair. She loved this part of the game. Paul would leave her sitting in his piss. Most women would find this torturous but Dena loved the way it made her feel to be so degraded and punished. Her clit was swollen and her hairless pussy was wet and tight as she fingered herself. She twirled her clit as she lay in her Master’s piss and came over and over again. Paul would check on her every 5 minutes and call her horrible things as he spit on her and rubbed it in with his foot. He told her she wasn’t clean enough to touch with his hands. This made her cum harder and more frequently. Half an hour had passed before Paul allowed Dena to shower. First he pissed on her again. This time he not only pissed on her face but all over her body and in her little mouth. Her small body was sore and smelled like a toilet. She let the hot water beat down on her petite frame to loosen up her stiffness, and then began to scrub her body clean with the strong soap until she felt fresh. Once she turned the shower off, she must wait for her master to open the curtain and permit her to exit her “cage.” Sometimes she would wait a few minutes and sometimes ten minutes would pass before Paul would free her from her small confined space. This time he waited 15 minutes. He loved the idea of her obediently standing waiting for him to let her out. She never complained and he knew she respected him more each time he was ruthless with her. When he showed regret or guilt for treating her this way, she looked disappointed. When he was weak, it ruined the game for her. Guilt was a trait of weakness in Dena’s eyes. Paul was hardened to the game by now and enjoyed every minute of it. He was hoping to take it to further extremes himself. He had always had fantasies of branding a woman’s ass with his name and got hard imagining tying Dena up and burning her ass with his mark. Paul told Dena to lie across his lap as he brought out a thick leather belt and a thin hard tree branch. “You are only good for one thing you miserable cunt. Now lay across my lap so I can see the ass I’m going to fuck.” Dena obliged her master. She loved to feel his hard cock press against her as he spanked her ass with the thick leather strap. The burn of the leather on her skin was almost too much to take but she got pleasure by focusing on Paul’s enjoyment. She knew he was getting off on her cries of pain. His cock was swollen and throbbing causing her pussy to drip with excitement. Next, Paul picked up the thin branch. He knew this was a more brutal spanking. The sting of the thin branch left red lashes and he covered her ass with them. Tears were dripping down her cheeks as she took his brutal beating but even though he felt some guilt trying to creep in, he knew if Dena saw it, she would be disappointed with him because she wanted him to be brutal with her. It showed her his strength of character. She had told him this repeatedly for months when they first began the game. She wanted a man to treat her like shit for a few hours once in a while and not act like a “wimp.” The memory of Dena telling Paul he was a wimp if he gave into the guilt only made him beat her harder. She was screaming too loud now and he was going to need to shut her up or someone might call the cops. Unexpectedly, Paul threw Dena off his lap and she landed on her ass with a thud on the floor. “Ahhh!!” She couldn’t control the painful scream. “You loud bitch! Shut the fuck up!” Paul searched the “toy” chest where they kept all their accessories for when they played the game. He found the duct tape and headed back to Dena. “Get up you dumb fuck.” He wrapped a big piece of tape around her mouth to shut her up. Then he tied a long scarf around her neck so one end dangled like a leash. He pulled her to him by the leash leading her around by her neck. She looked so helpless and sweet. He would have to bury his cock in her soon he thought. Fist he laid her back over his lap and got out a piece of sand paper. She was going to remember his callousness this time and cum to it all week as she felt her crusty butt cheeks. He scraped the rough paper along her soft red ass and she bounced around in pain. The tape muffled her screams but Paul could hear the pain in her throat. His cock was poking the hell out of Dena’s belly as he rubbed her ass raw taking off some of the first layer of skin. She always healed in about a week but she said she loved the constant reminder of his brutal power. He spit on her tender ass and rubbed it in with his big rough hands. “It’s time bitch. He threw her on the bed with her stomach down and pressed her face hard into the pillow. He stuck his dry fingers up her ass. Two at a time trying to get his entire fist up her. She was bouncing and screaming. The tears were falling fast. He was giving her what she wanted and getting the supremacy he desired. He dug his fingers deep in her ass and started banging it hard, punching her tight hole and almost ripping it open. He couldn’t wait to stretch that hole open with his thick cock. Dena was in pain and her body was throbbing with desire. Paul was the most powerful man in the world and she wanted him. She was crying with her need for him and with the agony he was putting her body through. The game was cathartic for her. She loved it and hated it at the same time yet she needed it every few weeks. It was a release so great, she knew she would be submissive to Paul all her life. Paul couldn’t stand waiting any longer. He needed her wrapped around him. He didn’t bother with lube. Hell, she liked it rough, he thought. He might as well just give her more pain by entering her ass dry as a bone. “I need your cum hole you dumb fuck. Lift your ass up to me and spread your cheeks now!” Dena obeyed as Paul jerked back on her makeshift collar causing her neck to angle in a funny direction. Paul laughed at her predicament. He was in complete control and she was so helpless to him. He felt so powerful, it was exhilarating. His giddiness made him more careless and he pulled even harder. Hearing her chocking and gasping for air through her nose, he thought about squeezing her nose shut and did for a few seconds. “I can kill you easily if I want to cunt. If you don’t stick your ass up high enough, I just might.” Paul was heady with the control he had over Dena and with lust for her sweet tight body. He stuck the crown of his cock into her tiny pink ass hole, and shoved hard. He could hear her trying to scream and each time she would he would yank back on the collar choking her. He laughed as she made funny gurgling noises through the duct tape. Damn, this was fun! He was having the time of his life. He forced his cock into Dena’s tight ass. It was rough going in with out any wetness to ease the entrance, but once he made it inside, it started to slide in and out with ease. Dena was lightheaded. Paul was truly enjoying himself and that made her all the more excited. He was jerking her around like a little doll and choking the breath out of her but that only made her cream more. The less air she received the harder she came. She used to tie her father’s ties around her neck when she was in high school and pull with one hand as she twirled with the other. She loved the intensity of her orgasm when there was a slight pressure on her throat and less air filling her lungs. Paul knew this, and he was doing his best to get them both off hard. God, she loved him! Paul pounded Dena’s ass. Her cheeks were red and stinging and now her asshole was stretched and ripping to accommodate him. He thought of how he had degraded her and put her in her place but the idea of branding her with his name in the future took him over the edge. He started to cum deep in her ass with each of his thrusts. She came with him. He was pulling her collar back hard, and she was twirling furiously as he pounded and filled her ass with his seed. Their release was simultaneous. Paul spooned Dena to him and removed the tape from her mouth. “How did you like that bitch?” “I loved it Master,” Dena said her eyes hazy with desire. “Clean my cock with your mouth you dumb cunt.” Dena licked and sucked her ass juices off her man’s cock until he dismissed her to wash her mouth out with soap and to gargle. She came back to him with clean breath. The game wasn’t over yet. Dena was a multiple orgasm girl. She would cum several times when they played their game and now she wanted another release. Paul sensed her need and began to smack her around. He slapped he cheeks red and pulled her hair rough. He choked her with his big hands and with the cloth collar. She twirled as he beat her lightly and called her a fucking worthless cum rag cunt. She came over and over again as she looked into his eyes glowing with pleasure as he abused his property. She was his. Dena belonged to Paul. She wanted nothing more at that moment but to be his fuck toy, his punching bag and his toilet, and he did it all. He satiated her every desire. Abuse of Power There wasn't a cloud in the early spring sky and the groundskeepers had the grass long, thick and green in anticipation of the day's expected onslaught of 30,000 people. "What a perfect day for the Easter Egg Roll," Jake thought, as he and Catherine carefully made their way across the White House lawn. Jake had been apprehensive about Catherine's safety among the throngs of children and their parents swarming the grounds. But Catherine had insisted that she felt fine and that her pregnancy would not be a problem. Nevertheless, he kept his arm firmly wrapped around his wife's expanding waist and a sharp lookout for any overly excited youngster who might threaten to collide with her while searching for the gaily decorated eggs. "We've got our own egg incubating," Jake thought proudly. Suddenly there were shouts up ahead and the crowd began moving toward the source. Then the air was filled with cheers and laughter, and the mass of people parted to reveal Calvin Arthur "Call me Cap" Pressman, the President of the United States. The man Time Magazine had dubbed "America's Top Salesman" in its Man-of-the-Year edition was decked out in a bunny costume, complete with a tail and long floppy ears. As Secret Service agents struggled unsuccessfully to keep the crowd back, the President waved at Jake and Catherine and yelled, "How's my favorite aide feeling today?" Catherine smiled broadly and gave him a thumbs-up. He grinned back at her and then proceeded to hop around in a circle to the delight of the children. Jake had to shake his head in admiration. "Only Cap Pressman could pull off something like that," he thought to himself. The President moved on through the crowd, and Jake noted with amusement that there were almost as many photographers as children in his wake. Jake smiled grudgingly: the man did indeed know how to create a photo-op for himself. Catherine spotted some other White House staffers she knew in the crowd, and she and Jake began to make their way in their direction. Suddenly she gave a sharp gasp and bent nearly double. Then she moaned and crumpled to the ground before Jake's terrified eyes. He quickly knelt at her side, trying to support her head. "What is it, honey? What's wrong?" he asked urgently, but Catherine seemed to be in so much pain that she couldn't even speak. To Jake's horror he spotted a dark red stain on the skirt of her Easter dress. In fear and anguish, Jake looked up and began to shout frantically, "We need help! We need a doctor!" The crowd that had formed around them suddenly seemed to part like the Red Sea before Moses, and the President himself was standing over them. The big man turned to a black-suited Secret Service agent and barked, "Get her to the helipad! Get Marine One and tell them I want her taken to Johns Hopkins. Do it now!" he commanded. As if by magic, three more agents seemed to materialize around Catherine. Brushing Jake aside they lifted her and began carrying her through the crowd at a trot, with Jake struggling to keep up. The dash across the South Lawn seemed to Jake to take forever, but in fact they made the distance in under three minutes, even with the throngs of people filling the lawn. The big Sikorsky Sea King's rotors were already spinning up, and the agents quickly bundled Catherine inside. As Jake ran to catch up, a strong hand reached out and yanked him bodily into the aircraft just as its wheels began to lift off the ground. He saw Catherine laid out across several seats, and he scrambled over to kneel beside her, holding her hand. The roar of the engine subsided once the door was closed, but there was still a roaring in Jake's ears. As he held Catherine's hand, he glanced out the window once and saw rooftops and buildings he didn't recognize streaming underneath him in a dizzying fashion. Once again the trip seemed to Jake to take forever, but suddenly Marine One was hovering over the helipad on the roof of the Brady Building of Johns Hopkins Hospital. A team with a gurney was waiting, and as soon as the big helicopter touched down they quickly whisked Catherine off the helipad and across the ramp to the other building where an elevator was waiting. Jake tried to go after her, but the EMTs moved so quickly that he was left behind. After agonizing minutes on the rooftop, the elevator returned and a staffer from the hospital emerged to guide Jake to the correct floor and through a maze of corridors to a waiting room. For the next two hours, Jake alternately sat and paced around the waiting room. Finally, a white-jacketed figure came to the reception desk and said in a loud voice, "Phillips, Mr. Jacob Phillips?" Jake stood up and hurried over to the woman's side. "How is she?" he asked frantically. The doctor calmly led him down the corridor away from the waiting room so they could have a little more privacy. "Mr. Phillips, I'm Doctor Nancy Liu, Catherine's OB/GYN. Your wife is out of danger," she said gently. "We're going to keep her overnight for observation, but unless something unexpected happens, you should be able to take her home in the morning." Jake expelled the lungful of air he'd been holding, and tears of gratitude came to his eyes. But his relief was short-lived. "The baby, doctor, what about the baby?" The doctor looked at him without expression. "I'm sorry, Mr. Phillips, but your wife suffered a miscarriage. She lost the baby." Jake felt as though he'd been stabbed in the chest. "Oh, God, why? Why did this happen?" The doctor looked at him sympathetically. "Mr. Phillips, it's important for you to understand that neither you nor your wife did anything wrong. Actually, between 15% and 20% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, and that's if the woman knows she is pregnant. An even larger percentage of mothers have spontaneous miscarriages without ever realizing they're pregnant." She patted Jake's arm. "The most important thing to focus on is that there's nothing to prevent you and your wife from trying to conceive again. Lots of women who have miscarriages go on to become pregnant again and deliver healthy, normal babies. This isn't the end of the world." Jake nodded, still distraught at the loss of their baby but somewhat consoled by the doctor's words. "What about Catherine? Can I see her?" "We gave her something to make her sleep, but you can go look in on her if you'd like." Jake followed the doctor to Catherine's room and cautiously poked his head around the door. When he spotted his wife sleeping, he tiptoed to her side. Her face looked drawn, but to Jake she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He kissed her forehead. "I love you, honey. We'll get through this," he whispered. Then he turned and left. When he got finally back to their home in Falls Church, it was dark. Even though he'd had nothing to eat since breakfast, Jake couldn't face the thought of food. Instead, he went out on their deck and slumped into an armchair to stare out into the gloom. Now that he knew Catherine was safe and in good hands, his own pain came back, along with a flood of memories. Jake had wanted a child for a long time, actually even longer than Catherine had. She felt strongly that they should both establish their careers before starting a family. When she had finally agreed that the time was right, she had not gotten pregnant right away. Doctors had proclaimed them both healthy and fully capable of having children. Patience and lots of practice were the only prescriptions they gave the young couple. Now, after lightning had finally struck and Catherine had gotten pregnant, this had to happen! As the night air grew colder, Jake began to think back to when he and Catherine had met. He'd just gotten his law degree from the University of Nebraska, but rather than tie himself down at a law firm Jake had decided to try out the political process. He had no interest in running for office himself but he wanted to work for a candidate and try to make a difference. The candidate he chose was an exciting up-and-comer from Oklahoma named Cap Pressman. What impressed Jake about Pressman was the way the candidate mixed a populist agenda with political pragmatism. Cap seemed to have a knack for bringing political opponents together to fashion compromises that were acceptable to both sides. The fact that Cap was also young and from another prairie state was enough to seal the deal for Jake. Pressman had just launched his bid for his party's nomination when Jake showed up at the Oklahoma City campaign headquarters to volunteer. When he asked a college student who was in charge, the young man jerked a thumb toward a glass-walled office in the middle of a confused jumble of workers, wall posters, telephone banks and other campaign paraphernalia. Standing in the middle of the office was a blonde-haired young woman talking emphatically on a telephone. Jake stared at her in wonder: she was no fashion model, but he thought she was the most attractive woman he'd ever seen. He'd made his way over to the office and waited at the door until she got off the phone and spotted him standing there. "Well, who are you and what do you want?" she demanded. "I'm Jake Phillips," he stammered, "and I'm here to volunteer." "Good," she said, and snatched up a sheet of paper off her desk to hand to him. "Here's a list of 50 potential donors. Call them and ask them for the amount shown beside each name. And don't take no for an answer." As he stood there staring at her in awe, she impatiently waved the sheet in his face. "Well, get going!" He blushed, took the sheet from her and went over to the bank of telephones to begin making calls. Later that night when things had calmed down, he returned to the office. The young woman had kicked off her shoes and was sitting with her feet propped up on the desk, obviously exhausted. Jake thought she looked even more attractive than his first glimpse of her. She felt his presence and gazed up at him in annoyance. "Well, did you call all those donors?" she demanded. "Yes," Jake confirmed, "and I got some good commitments out of them too." The woman's face relaxed. "Good job," she said as though to a child. "If you can come back tomorrow we've got plenty more calls that need to be made." Jake cleared his throat nervously. "Actually, I was hoping to do something a little more substantial for the campaign." She looked at him suspiciously. "Well, what do you think you're qualified to do?" "Well, I'm an attorney-at-law," he said. The woman jumped to her feet and looked at Jake in embarrassment. "Omigod, why didn't you say so? We need legal counsel desperately. Come sit down and tell me about yourself." And that was the start of their relationship. Catherine, who had started working with Pressman back when he'd been a U.S. representative from Oklahoma, began to take on a greater role in the campaign, and so did Jake. At first Catherine had insisted on keeping her relationship with Jake strictly professional. That had been a painful period for Jake. But things had gotten better after Pressman came home to Oklahoma on a campaign swing and made a point of meeting "the attorney that Catherine's been talking about so much." With his folksy style and forceful personality, Pressman solidified Jake's support and increased his loyalty. Jake, in turn, must have made a favorable impression, because afterwards Catherine let Jake know how impressed Pressman had been with their meeting. After that, Catherine seemed to warm to Jake, and they began seeing each other outside of work almost immediately. They had wound up getting married shortly after the national election. After the fact, the Pressman primary campaign had become a case study for political scientists. Coming from a state with meager clout in Congress, Pressman had little national recognition when he launched his candidacy. His showing in the Iowa and New Hampshire primaries was poor, and the pundits all expected him to withdraw from the race. But he did much better in the Colorado and Minnesota caucuses, and then began to pick up real momentum in the Southern states. It was nip and tuck for a while, but impressive wins in the New England states put him in the driver's seat. When he won the California primary handily, the nomination was his. Pressman's strength in New England was no accident. At Yale Law School he had met and successfully wooed Savannah Hamilton, who was not only a descendent of Alexander Hamilton but also the daughter of Horatio Hamilton, the senior senator from Massachusetts. One observer called their marriage "less a love connection than a union of political dynasties." In any case, there was no doubt that the Senator's influence had played a major role in winning Pressman the nomination. By contrast, the national election had been a walk-over. The opposition candidate had been Vice President in the last administration. A long-time politician, the Veep had lots of connections but only limited skills on the campaign trail. The photogenic Cap Pressman had won the electorate over with his humor, personal charm and indefatigable energy. The final electoral vote was the second most lopsided in history. There was no question that Jake and Catherine would go to Washington to be part of the administration. Jake had even wondered if his wife might possibly be tapped for a cabinet position, but she wanted no part of that scene. Instead, she became one of Pressman's closest aides, someone he relied upon to work loyally behind the scenes so Pressman's star could shine ever brighter. It was a role she loved. Jake chose not to enter the administration, opting instead for a job with a major D.C.-area law firm. "One of us has to make some money and live a normal life," he told Catherine with a smile. And though he didn't say it to her, by that time Jake had become a little leery of the absolute loyalty that Pressman expected of his people. Cap might believe in the art of compromise but he was not kindly disposed to dissenting opinions within his administration. Jake voted for Pressman's reelection to a second term, but he no longer idolized the man the way he once did. Suddenly Jake shivered, which woke from his reverie. A glance at the thermometer on the back deck showed the temperature had fallen into the 40's while he'd been sitting there reminiscing. "Spring nights in Washington can still get pretty cold," he reminded himself as he went back inside. Soon after he climbed into bed, setting the alarm so he'd awaken early enough to get to Baltimore and Hopkins in plenty of time the next day. When he got to Catherine's room the next morning, he found her awake and sitting up in bed, her face highlighted by the bright April sunlight. But her expression was downcast and her eyes revealed the emotional pain of the loss of the baby. Jake rushed to her and clasped her tightly to him, but she returned his embrace weakly. Her lack of warmth was painful, but Jake reminded himself that whatever pain he was feeling must be that much greater for Catherine. Trying to engage her, he pointed to the enormous arrangement of flowers that dominated one whole corner of the room. "Those are beautiful. Where did they come from?" he asked. "The White House," was all Catherine replied, so Jake went over to look at the card. The flowers were indeed from the President and First Lady, both of whom had personally signed their best wishes for Catherine's speedy recovery. When Jake had called the hospital to be sure he could bring Catherine home, the nurse had advised him to bring a change of clothing for his wife. Now, when Jake handed the bag to her, she asked him to step out of the room while she changed. Her request stung Jake, but he complied without complaint. Stepping outside the room, he again encountered Catherine's OB/GYN making her rounds. "Your wife is recovering well," Doctor Liu reassured him, "but there are several things you need to understand. Losing a baby is not only emotionally but also physically traumatic for a woman. When she became pregnant, Catherine's body initiated a complex series of hormonal changes to prepare for gestation, delivery and breast-feeding. Those changes were halted precipitously by the miscarriage and must now begin to reverse themselves. That process, combined with all the emotions she is undergoing, will make this a challenging period for her. I would caution you to be as patient and supportive as possible over the next couple of weeks, because your wife will need it. "The good news is that most women readjust physically pretty quickly. The emotional side, however, may take longer. In these cases, time is the best healer, and I'd expected her mood and general outlook to improve noticeably before too long. If they don't, there are medications I can prescribe that can facilitate her return to a more normal state of mind." The doctor tiredly pushed her graying bangs back from her forehead and looked carefully at Jake. "Your wife really needs you. You're going to need to be patient and caring, now more than ever." As he drove Catherine home, the doctor's words kept coming to him, and he vowed to do everything in his power to help his wife heal. The days that followed were some of the most difficult Jake had ever experienced. He still had to deal with his own sorrow over the loss of their unborn child, but his natural optimism helped buoy him. He seized on the hope that he and Catherine might try again and, with any luck, be more fortunate the next time. Catherine, however, was a different matter. She spent most of the next few days at home in her room, venturing out only when absolutely necessary, and when she did, she hardly spoke to Jake. After a week she claimed to have fully regained her health and insisted on returning to work. But emotionally it was a different story. She performed all her personal and occupational functions normally, but she showed virtually no emotion while doing so. She continued to spend long periods in solitary contemplation, and she shrank from his touch any time Jake tried to hold or caress her. As his own sadness healed, Jake's concern for his wife continued to mount. It was as if the woman he loved had been replaced by a stranger: impenetrable, unemotional and without affection. He grew increasingly anxious and reached out to their friends, asking for their suggestions and recommendations. All of them agreed that Catherine was showing symptoms of depression; all reassured him that patience and loving care were his best courses of action. The continued loss of closeness and emotional connection took an increasing toll on Jake, and after two months had passed the lack of sexual relations also began to weigh heavily. One night he gingerly broached the subject of resuming their sex life - to disastrous results. Catherine stared at him in shock and burst out, "If I never have sex with you again as long as I live, I'll die a happy woman!" Then she burst into tears and rushed off to their room, slamming the door and locking it. On an intellectual level, Jake knew that she hadn't meant what she'd said, but her words still hurt him. As he lay on the couch that night unable to sleep, he couldn't help thinking about their sex life together. Catherine had never been a very passionate woman; Jake's libido had always been stronger than hers. He had found her lower level of desire disappointing, but he loved her so much that he had been willing to accept her as she was. If nothing else, when they did make love the experience for Jake was almost mind-blowing. The other thing he'd discovered about Catherine was that, unlike the women he'd known before her, she wasn't very interested in foreplay. She didn't mind having her breasts kissed and caressed, but she didn't like him to kiss between her thighs or to finger her. Whenever he tried to slip his fingers into her, she'd gently push them away, saying "You've got something much better that was designed for that purpose." He certainly hadn't minded accommodating her, even though he found her response odd. Abuse of Power All this thinking about sex only served to make Jake more frustrated than ever, and he decided that he had to take action. After a lot of thought he made up his mind to try to get an appointment with Catherine's doctor and ask her for help. The next morning he called Dr. Liu's office and asked for an appointment. He was pleasantly surprised when the nurse came back on the line and told him the doctor could see him late that afternoon. When he saw Doctor Liu, Jake wasted no time in laying out the situation with his wife as he saw it, describing a litany of issues and symptoms he'd witnessed. The doctor nodded as she listened, and when Jake had finished, she told him that Catherine's symptoms, while not unprecedented, were on the more extreme end of typical post-miscarriage reactions. "It sounds to me like Catherine may be suffering from post-partum depression," she told Jake. When he looked confused, she explained, "You're used to hearing that term in conjunction with mothers who carry their baby to full term and then suffer depression after delivery. But it can also occur with women who miscarry, and the symptoms they experience can be just as severe. Under the circumstances, I'm going to prescribe Prozac for her. I like it because it seems to work more quickly for patients suffering from PPD than some of the newer antidepressants." As she was writing out the prescription, Jake's long-suppressed sense of loss seemed to well up within him and he burst out, "I still don't understand how we could have lost the baby! We're both healthy, we ate the right foods, Catherine was careful to avoid alcohol and medications. What went wrong?" Doctor Liu looked up at him compassionately. "It's so difficult to know in cases like these, Mr. Phillips. It could have been a chromosomal abnormality or an inappropriate immunological response, your wife's abortion could have been a factor, or some undetected . . ." "Wait a minute!" Jake interrupted. "My wife's abortion? Catherine never had an abortion." "Of course she did. Here it is," the doctor said, flipping through the file on her desk, "she had a suction aspiration in February two years ago." "I never knew anything about an abortion! Let me see that!" Jake demanded, reaching across the doctor's desk. Doctor Liu snatched the file out of his grasp and quickly closed it. "I'm sorry, Mr. Phillips, but the privacy regulations of the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act absolutely prevent me from sharing Catherine's medical record with you or anyone else without her express written permission." "But I'm her husband!" Jake roared. "It was my baby that was aborted!" "I'm sorry, Mr. Phillips, but my hands are tied." As Jake drove home from Baltimore, he was upset and disturbed. Every thought led to more and more questions. "How could Catherine have had an abortion without my knowing? Why would she do that when we were trying so hard to have a child? Why did she keep it from me? If she hadn't had one, would I be a father already?" When he arrived at their bungalow, he found that he had beaten Catherine home. Always something of a workaholic, Catherine had been keeping longer and longer hours ever since her miscarriage, and now Jake wondered if she was purposely trying to avoid him. By the time he heard her car pull in the driveway, it was almost 8:00 p.m. He'd been stewing all afternoon about what he'd learned at Dr. Liu's office, and by now he was quite upset. When Catherine came through the door, he confronted her immediately. "Why did you have an abortion two years ago?" he demanded. Catherine's eyes widened and her face grew red. "What? I never had an abortion! Who told you that?" she yelled. Jake was surprised but he refused to back down. "I went to see Dr. Liu today - she told me!" "She's lying!" Catherine shouted. "It's not true!" Then she ran back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it. When he followed her, Jake could hear her sobs through the door. He returned to the den and slumped to the couch, holding his head in his hand. "What in the world is going on?" he asked himself in dismay. Catherine did not come out their room for the rest of the evening, and the door remained locked the next morning as well, so Jake had to go to work in the same clothes. Fortunately he kept a toothbrush and razor at his office so he managed to make himself look presentable. But his outward appearance belied his emotional state, and he got very little work accomplished. At day's end he headed home warily, uncertain what he might find waiting for him in his once happy home. But to his surprise, Catherine was already there, and she greeted him civilly as though nothing had happened. They ate a light supper together, but Jake could feel the acid building up in his stomach. Finally, when he felt he could stand it no longer, he cautiously ventured, "Honey, we have to talk . . ." "There's nothing to talk about," Catherine interrupted him calmly. "I did not have an abortion, and that's all there is to it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work I need to catch up on." With that she got up from the table, leaving Jake sitting there in stunned silence. Over the next two days, Jake tried twice more to bring up the subject only to hear the exact same response: there was no abortion. Finally, he decided to try a different approach with his wife. "Honey," he ventured over dinner, "I know you've been terribly depressed about the miscarriage. When I saw Dr. Liu, she gave me a prescription that she said might help." When he handed it to her, she took the slip and then looked at him blandly. "Thank you, Jacob, but it won't be necessary. I've completely recovered from my depression." With that she tore up the prescription, threw the pieces in the trash and then went off to the den to do some reading. While Catherine slept beside him later that night, Jake lay there in a quandary. "What do I do now?" he kept asking himself, but he couldn't come up with any answers. He realized that he felt lower now than the day they'd lost the baby. When Jake checked the mirror the next morning, dark circles under his eyes clearly testified to how little sleep he'd managed. Nevertheless he forced himself to get dressed and go into work, if for no other reason than there was nothing else he could think of to do with himself. He ate a sandwich at his desk at noon, but afterwards couldn't remember what kind it was. Later, his self-pitying reverie was interrupted by his secretary, who informed him he had a visitor from the White House. Surprised, he bade her show the guest in, and then he arose and stood waiting behind his desk, wondering who had come to see him and why. When his secretary returned, she was accompanied by an attractive woman who appeared to be Jake's age. She was of medium height with dark, close-cropped hair. She wore a stylish pants suit, and Jake couldn't help noting that she looked extremely fit. The woman stepped forward and introduced herself. "My name is Helen Simmons," she said, extending her hand to Jake. "I'm with the U.S. Secret Service." Jake motioned her to be seated and then asked politely but curiously, "What can I do for you, Ms. Simmons?" "Mr. Phillips, I am assigned to the First Lady and I am here on her behalf. Mrs. Pressman would like to meet with you today, if possible." Jake was so startled that he rudely blurted out, "Why would the First Lady want to see me?" The agent smiled and replied, "That would be for the First Lady to say, Sir, not me." Jake looked at her cautiously. "When would she like this meeting to take place?" The agent smiled again and said, "Now, if at all possible, Sir, or as soon as you can make yourself available. I've been asked to wait for you and to drive you to the White House." Jake was taken aback by this strange development, but he decided that he had nothing to gain by not cooperating so he indicated his willingness to accompany the Secret Service agent. After telling his secretary where he was going - and watching her eyes widen at the mention of the White House - Jake was escorted down to the sidewalk, where a black Escalade was parked. Agent Simmons climbed behind the wheel and beckoned Jake to take the shotgun seat. As they made their way slowly through the D.C. traffic, the agent glanced over at Jake and said, "Please let me express my condolences on the loss of your child." Surprised, Jake thanked her and then asked, "So you know about that?" "Yes sir, I was on duty on Easter Monday. I was one of the agents who carried your wife to the helicopter." "Oh, I didn't know," Jake said awkwardly. "I mean, I wasn't really paying attention to anything else. In any case, thank you for all you did to help us." "That's alright, Sir," she said, "that's my job," she said in a professional voice. Then she glanced over at Jake and added, "Besides, I hope to be a mother someday too," "Got a husband?" Jake asked, then wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. But the agent smiled at him and shook her head. "No, still looking. I thought I'd found a good one once, but he turned out to be a player. But that's okay, I'll get lucky one day." Just then they turned onto East Executive Avenue and, after Agent Simmons showed her credentials at the gate, were permitted to drive up to the entrance at the East Wing. Simmons led Jake upstairs to the second floor, where the First Lady had her suite of offices. When they reached the anteroom, Agent Simmons knocked lightly on the door and then ushered Jake in. There he found the First Lady writing at her desk. She arose and stepped around it to shake his hand. "Mrs. Pressman," he said, giving the slightest of bows. She smiled graciously and led him over to the sofa and chairs on one side of the office area. "We can talk more comfortably over here," she told him. When they were seated, her expression became more solemn. "How is your wife, Mr. Phillips?" she asked gently. "Has she recovered from her loss?" Jake hesitated, unsure of how to respond given everything that had transpired. Finally he took the easy way out and said, "She's doing as well as can be expected, Ma'am. Thank you for asking." The First Lady nodded, then looked at Jake carefully. "And how about you, Jake, how are you doing?" To his surprise, Jake felt his throat tightening, and he tried to disguise it with a little cough. "It hasn't been easy, Ma'am. I really wanted to be a daddy." She reached over to pat his hand. "Men are always supposed to be strong and silent; it's easy to forget that they have feelings too." Jake nodded gratefully, unsure of what to say. She gestured at the coffee set on the table before them and asked Jake if he would join her in having a cup. He accepted, grateful to have something to do with his hands. After pouring for the two of them, Mrs. Pressman took a sip and then, looking over the rim of her cup, asked Jake, "So, what do you think of my husband?" Jake froze with his cup half-way between the saucer and his mouth, desperately trying to think of how to answer. Finally he chose a cautious reply. "Well, you know that I was a volunteer in his initial run for the presidency," he said. The First Lady stared at him fixedly. "Yes, and I you were not a volunteer in his re-election campaign. In any case, you haven't really answered my question." Jake took a sip from his cup to give him more time to try to formulate an answer, but he still felt uncertain of what to say. Finally he decided on candor. "The worst she could do," he figured, "is to ask me to leave." "The President has made some remarkable accomplishments, Mrs. Pressman," he said. "He broke through the budget deadlock in Congress when no one thought it was possible, and I thought he handled the crisis in Southeast Asia very well." Mrs. Pressman listened attentively. "But?" she prompted. Jake sighed to himself. "But, I'm concerned that everything these days seems to be about Cap Pressman, not the nation. It seems to me he's acting more like a king than a president, like he's promoting a cult of personality. There's even a move to repeal the 22nd Amendment so that he could serve another term, and the word is that the President is pushing it behind the scenes. All that makes me uneasy." He put his cup down and sat back to await his fate. "Very interesting," his hostess replied. She took another sip of her coffee and then regarded him again. "What are your thoughts on marriage, Jake? Do you agree with the growing number of young people who seem to want to live together forever without benefit of matrimony? And for those who do marry, what about this trend of seeking relationships outside the marriage?" Jake was startled by the abrupt change in topics, but this time he had no hesitation in responding. "Mrs. Pressman, I guess I'm old-fashioned in that regard. I think people who live together for years without getting married are afraid of making a commitment, and I think commitment is essential for a successful relationship, especially if a couple plans to have children. And as for all those "have-an-affair" services out there, I think they're pretty sleazy." She sat her cup down and stared at him intently. "Have you ever been unfaithful to Catherine, Jake?" He was clearly offended. "No, Ma'am, I have not and will not - ever." "So you've never even been tempted?" "I can't say that, Ma'am, but there's a big difference between being tempted and acting on temptation." She looked at him for a long moment, then stood up suddenly. As he hastened to follow her lead, she extended her hand to him. "You're a good man, Jake Phillips. I've enjoyed getting to know you a little better. Unfortunately, I have another appointment, but I hope we'll have the chance to chat again." As he shook her hand, Helen Simmons reappeared as if by magic. As she began escorting Jake to the door, Mrs. Pressman stopped them. "Jake, take care of yourself, will you?" He smiled. "Yes Ma'am, I will. And thank you." With that, Agent Simmons escorted Jake out of the White House to the waiting car. Jake kept silent until they were out on the street. Then he turned to the woman and asked, "Were you listening to that whole conversation?" She smiled. "Yes, Mrs. Pressman likes me to keep an ear as well as an eye on her. She feels safer that way." "Well, all I can say is that was the damndest conversation I've ever had. I don't have any idea why she wanted to see me," Jake said in frustration. Helen glanced over at him. "In my experience, Mrs. Pressman is a pretty sharp judge of character, but she likes to form her opinions from her own observations. I have no idea why she wants to know more about you, but I'd say you passed the test, whatever it is." Jake just shook his head in confusion. First the miscarriage, then Catherine's depression, the startling revelation from her doctor, and now a summons from the First Lady: he felt as though his life had suddenly jumped the tracks from the careful course he'd set, and now he seemed to have no control over where he was headed or what might happen next. That evening he told Catherine about his visit to the White House, and he was gratified to see her take an interest in what had happened. She wanted to know what the First Lady had said and why she had wanted to see Jake, but he could provide no answers on the latter topic, and Catherine was just as bemused as he. Seeing Catherine more animated than in recent times, Jake gently tried to broach the subject of what had happened two years ago. But the minute he raised the topic, she fell back into adamant denial that such a thing had ever happened, and her mood reverted to barely repressed hostility. Seeing that nothing further was to be gained, Jake went off to the den and tried to review some work that he'd brought home with him. But with all the questions swirling through his head, concentration was impossible. Finally he decided that he had to go back and confront Dr. Liu again. Even if she wouldn't show him Catherine's file, at least he thought he might get her professional opinion on Catherine's denials. The next morning Jake headed off to the office at the usual hour, but after checking in with his secretary he got back in his car and headed over to Baltimore and Johns Hopkins. Traffic was especially heavy, and he decided that there must be a traffic accident up ahead when he spotted a police helicopter flying above the line of cars. Accordingly, he turned off the highway and took an alternate route using side streets. When he got to Johns Hopkins, he went directly to Dr. Liu's office, but when he asked to see her, the receptionist looked at him in confusion. "Did you have an appointment with her, sir?" she asked. "No, my wife is a patient of hers. I was hoping she could spare a little time to see me." "But she's not here," the young woman protested. "Well, when will she be back? If it's not too long, maybe I can just wait for her," Jake replied. "Actually, we don't know when she'll be back," the receptionist said apologetically. "Dr. Liu has taken a sabbatical. I think she's gone to China, but I don't really know for sure. We've just been told to cancel any existing appointments and not to make any new ones until we hear further from her." Jake thanked the young woman and reluctantly turned to leave. "What do I do now?" he asked himself in despair. He felt as though every possible avenue had been closed to him, and he was trapped in a limbo of ignorance and misery. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he gave no thought to his route and jumped on 295 as he would normally to get back to Washington. When he spotted another police helicopter overhead, he remembered the reason he'd made his earlier detour. But this time, even though the helicopter seemed to keep pace with him he encountered no signs of an accident. "He must be looking for someone," Jake thought as he pulled back into the garage at his office. Later that afternoon, Jake was interrupted when his smartphone signaled him that he had an incoming text message. To his surprise, it was from the First Lady: Abuse of Power Every few minutes a car would pass through the intersection, but none of them stopped or even slowed down. Otherwise, the streets seemed deserted. There was no sound except the distant hum from a propeller-driven airplane. Checking his watch he asked himself, "How long do I have to wait?" But he knew that he wasn't going to bail out on the First Lady, even though it was past the appointed time. As he sat there, Jake became increasingly aware of just how much coffee he had consumed, and soon he was squirming uncomfortably on the seat. Glancing around he saw no place that might have a public restroom, so he determined to tough it out. But only a minute later he realized that waiting was no longer an option; unless he wanted to meet the President's wife with soaked trousers, he had to go now. Cursing, he jumped out of the car and walked half bent over to an alley between two rundown buildings. He found a spot in the dark shadows behind a mound of garbage bags, unzipped and began to relieve himself. "I'm as bad as some damned wino!" he cursed himself, looking around to make sure no one was watching. Just as he was finishing, a shadowy figure darted across the street and opened the door to Jake's car. In an instant the man had jumped behind the wheel and started up the engine. "Hey!" Jake yelled, hastily zipping his pants up, "Get out of my car!" As his BMW started to pull away from the curb, Jake turned to run after it, but he got no more than a step or two before a body hurtled into him, knocking him back into the stack of garbage bags. Jake struggled to shove the body off of him only to recoil in surprise when his hands encountered a woman's breast. Before he could say a word, a hand covered his mouth and a feminine voice whispered in his ear, "Keep down and be quiet." When the woman relaxed her hand, Jake hissed, "My car, he's stealing my car!" "Forget your car," he heard. "Unless I miss my guess . . ." Whatever she was about to say was cut off by a whooshing roar accompanied by a streak of light that arrowed straight into the driver's side of Jake's car. There was a tremendous explosion and the woman threw her body on top of Jake. Even with her form in the way he felt the blast pass through him, followed immediately by a wave of intense heat. A large chunk of metal flew over his head and bounced off the brick wall just above them. When the noise had subsided, Jake fought to raise his head, and when he did he could see there was little left of his car but burning wreckage. As he stared in amazement, he saw a flaming tire rolling away down Good Hope Road. Jake was in shock but the woman who had tackled him moved with a purpose. She grabbed the large metal fragment and tucked it under her arm. Then she turned and began tugging on Jake. "Come on," she said urgently, "follow me. Keep in the shadows as much as possible. I don't think they can use infrared after that explosion, so we should be OK." "Wait, where are we going? What's happening?" "There's no time to explain now - that damned thing is still up there. Besides, they'll probably have a team on site shortly to confirm the kill." In a daze, Jake followed the woman down the alley past several buildings until they came to U Street. The woman pulled him into a car parked there, and once he was belted in, sped off without turning on her headlamps. By the light from street lights rushing by, Jake was able to recognize the woman as Helen Simmons. As his shock slowly subsided it was replaced by anger. "What the fuck was that?" Jake demanded. Helen kept her eyes on the road, occasionally peering up through the windshield to try to catch a glimpse of the sky. "I'd say that was a Hellfire missile fired from a Predator drone: laser-guided, probably a 20-pound HEAT round. You ought to feel complimented: they brought out the big stuff for you!" As he replayed everything that had just taken place, Jake eyes suddenly widened. "What about that poor bastard who was making off with my car?" he asked. Helen gave a shrug of her shoulders. "One less D.C. car thief," she quipped. Then, glancing over and seeing the look on Jake's face, she apologized. "Sorry to sound so flippant. This is some pretty heavy shit, and I'm just as shook up as you are." Jake was not to be appeased. "That's easy for you to say. It was your boss who set me up to be killed tonight!" Helen slammed on the brakes and yanked the car over to the curb. Angrily she turned to face Jake. "Mrs. Pressman had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. That text you got did not come from her." Seeing the disbelief on his face, she continued, "Come on, Jake, whoever heard of the First Lady setting up a meeting like that? She never sends text messages. Hell, I don't think she even knows how." When Jake dropped his eyes, she started the car up again and continued on. Suddenly, Jake's head shot up again and he turned to look at the agent. "Wait a minute, what were you doing in that alley in the first place? Were you following me?" Helen nodded. "Actually, I've been following you for several days now. Mrs. Pressman asked me to keep an eye on you." "Really? I never saw you," he said in surprise. She grinned. "I didn't want you to see me." Jake wasn't satisfied. "What about that helicopter I saw the other day? Was that you?" The smile disappeared from the agent's lips. "I wasn't the only one following you, Jake." The adrenaline rush began to wear off, and Jake slumped back in his seat, shivering slightly. "I don't know what's going on any more, Helen," he said softly. "My life has gone crazy and I don't know why any of it's happening." She looked over at him and stretched out her hand to squeeze his arm. "I don't know either, Jake, but I think I can take you somewhere safe where we can try to figure things out." After a few more minutes, Helen pulled the car onto Foxhall Road just north of Georgetown. When she came to a three-story white brick mansion, she pulled up to the gate. After she'd identified herself, the gate silently rolled back to admit them. "Where are we?" Jake asked in wonder. "This is Senator Hamilton's home. He's Mrs. Pressman's father. I think you'll be safe here; they probably think you were the one driving your car. Even if they don't, I don't think anybody would dare call down a drone strike on a U.S. senator." Helen led Jake to the door, where they were met by a butler who was obviously expecting them. He led them to what appeared to be a breakfast room, although it was larger than Jake's den. At a table there were sandwiches and mugs of beer waiting for them. Although Jake hadn't thought about food, he realized he was ravenous, and he and Helen eagerly sat down to eat. Over their meal Helen deliberately tried to steer the conversation away from the events of the evening. When it was clear she wouldn't talk about the attack, Jake asked Helen to tell him her story. She smiled. "It's a pretty short one, actually. I'm from the prairie like you. My daddy was a rancher in Montana, and I got an ROTC scholarship at State in Bozeman. When I graduated I enlisted and got sent to Afghanistan, where I was assigned to the Military Police. After I discharged my obligation, I took a shot at the Secret Service. They were giving preference to veterans and women, so I wound up in the Service here in D.C." Just then, Mrs. Pressman walked around the corner, and both Jake and Helen stood. The First Lady walked quickly to Jake's side and grasped both his hands. "I'm so glad you're safe, Jake. I am distraught that my name was used to lure you to that trap, even though I knew nothing about it at the time." She sat down at the table with them. Looking at Jake she said, "I still don't understand what is going on, but it appears that you are drawing an unusual amount of attention from several branches of the federal government. I can only imagine that your visit to Dr. Liu somehow set things in motion." "But why would anyone care about a couple who lost their baby to a miscarriage?" Jake asked plaintively. "I don't know," the First Lady reiterated, "but I somehow think the answer must lie at Johns Hopkins. If I'm right, there are two things I know about that place that may help you. First, in addition to being perhaps the best hospital in the nation, Johns Hopkins is also a leading biomedical research facility, especially in the field of DNA research. What isn't so widely known is that, in conjunction with their research they have DNA records on every patient they've treated in the last ten years. That includes the DNA of every baby and every fetus they've ever treated." As he thought about the implications of what Mrs. Pressman was saying, Jake's eyes grew large. But before he could say anything, the First Lady continued. "The second thing you may not know is that I am a trustee of Johns Hopkins. I believe that I can get you access to information that would otherwise not be available, at least without a subpoena." Jake couldn't help glancing over at Helen, who was just as wide-eyed as he. "Please be my guest tonight," Mrs. Pressman went on, "I think you'll be safe here. Besides, from what I've managed to gather, the authorities believe that you were the driver in the car." She gave a wry smile. "It's going to take some time for them to get enough remains to realize their mistake." Jake shuddered involuntarily. "Helen," Mrs. Pressman went on, "tomorrow I want you to take Jake to the Genetic Resources Core Facility at Johns Hopkins. I've already made a couple of calls that ought to pave the way. Maybe you can learn enough to put a stop to the little war game that seems to be playing out on the streets of the District." She gave the two of them a smile. "In the meantime, I recommend that you get a good night's sleep. My father has plenty of bedrooms, so you shouldn't be disturbed." The two of them bade the First Lady good night and then made their way upstairs to the sleeping quarters. As he started to turn the doorknob to his room, Jake stopped suddenly. "Oh my goodness, Helen, I'm sorry," he burst out. "What are you sorry for?" she asked in bewilderment. "In all the madness and confusion, I never thanked you for saving my life," Jake said. With that he reached out and hugged her. Helen pulled back to look at his face. "I was just doing my job, Jake," she said solemnly. Then her face broke into a little grin. "But I did enjoy it when you were groping me in that alley," she added, and suddenly leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she turned and went off to her bedroom as Jake stood there in surprise. Mrs. Pressman joined the two of them again over breakfast the next morning, and as they ate she had news for them. "I've been doing a little checking this morning. You'll be interested to know that the Washington Post is reporting last night's incident as a gas tank explosion," she told them with a mirthless grin. "There's been no public identification of the driver yet, but it's telling that the surveillance on you has apparently been lifted." Helen and Jake looked at each other grimly. The First Lady had more to tell them. "Since they don't seem to be looking for you any longer, let's not give them any reason to reconsider. I still think you need to go over to Hopkins, but let's switch roles for your visit. Helen, I need you to be my aide this morning. I've made a few calls, and they're expecting you at the Genetic Resources Facility. Jake, you be Helen's chauffeur. You can use one of my father's cars. Hopefully, that won't generate any unwanted attention." After breakfast, Jake donned a dark jacket and chauffeur's cap and, tipping his hat, hurried to hold the door for Helen, who acknowledged his chivalry with a big grin. As the two of them set out, Jake glanced over at Helen and his face took on a serious expression. "I still don't understand why we're going back to Hopkins or what exactly we're looking for. Do you know?" Helen held up a large envelope she'd been holding in her lap. "Mrs. Pressman gave me a list of information we're supposed to request at the GRCF. Hopefully, the answers will help us understand what's been going on. For now, let's just focus on getting the hospital's help; then we'll see what we can figure out." When Jake finally found the GRCF in the maze of buildings that constitute Johns Hopkins, the worn brick exterior belied the cutting-edge work being done inside. At the front desk a researcher was waiting for them. As he led them down a long corridor, he told them, "I've been asked to assist you with whatever you need." When they reached a small waiting room outside a much larger laboratory, Helen explained that they needed a DNA test run on Jake, who looked surprised at the development. Nevertheless he submitted to having his hair snipped. But before the researcher could leave, Helen handed him a second packet containing a different hair sample. "We'll also need this tested as well, please. Then, we'll need to have both of them compared with the DNA from these two samples that I believe you have on file. We'll need the likelihood of parentage for all." With that she handed the man a sheet of paper with two long alphanumeric codes. The researcher glanced at the numbers and, recognizing the Facilty's standard sample DNA identification numbers, nodded his understanding and swiftly left the room. Jake turned to Helen in confusion. "Isn't it going to take days if not weeks to get those samples tested and compared?" he asked. "That might be true under normal circumstances," Helen responded, "but we're in a state-of-the-art research center with capabilities most DNA labs don't have. And don't forget that the request for assistance came from a trustee of the hospital. My boss thinks they can give us results within a half an hour." Jake whistled in admiration. But he had other questions now. "So what were those numbers you gave him and where did that other hair sample come from?" Instead of answering, Helen glanced up at the corner of the room, and when Jake followed her eyes he spotted the closed circuit television camera. Helen then shook her head to signal him not to ask any more questions. Time moved as slowly for the two of them as it does for any patient stuck in a doctor's office, but finally the researcher returned and handed an envelope to Helen. "I think you'll find everything you need in here. Please give our regards to Mrs. Pressman, and let her know if you were satisfied with our response." "Oh, we were definitely satisfied," Helen said with a grateful smile, "and we'll most assuredly let Mrs. Pressman know of your helpfulness." With that, Helen and Jake left the facility and started the return trip to the District. As Jake drove, Helen kept the envelope of information on her lap, and though Jake was dying to learn about the contents, she admonished him to wait until they had returned to the Hamilton enclave. When they finally passed through the gates, Jake and Helen hurried to the house. They were met at the door by the butler, who showed them into the sitting room. There they found Mrs. Pressman waiting for them. Helen handed the envelope to the First Lady, who opened it gingerly. She pulled out two sheets of paper and looked at them thoughtfully. Then she handed them to Jake, who scanned them uncomprehendingly before handing them back to Savannah Pressman. "I don't understand any of this. What does it mean?" he asked apprehensively. The First Lady held up one of the sheets so he could see it. "'Subject A' is you," she said gently. "This is your DNA. The alphanumeric code you see below it is the reference number for the DNA of the fetus that your wife aborted some two years ago. The analysis shows that you were the father of that fetus." At her words, Jake involuntarily gave a huge sigh. "I was afraid. . . I thought it might have been someone else's baby," he said. Then, as the two women looked on, he suddenly realized the implications and his relief transformed into anger. "But that means she aborted my baby! Why would she do that? I wanted a child so much - we both did." Tears began to form in his eyes and he angrily wiped them away. He glanced up at Helen and Mrs. Pressman, who were sitting quietly. Noting the solemn expressions on their faces, he pointed to the second sheet. "What does that one say?" he demanded. "This code is for the DNA of the fetus that Catherine miscarried at the Easter Egg roll. The analysis rules out Subject A as the father, but confirms the paternity of Subject B." "How can that be?" Jake asked in anger and confusion. Then a dark look came over his face. "Who is 'Subject B'? Where did that hair sample come from?" he asked angrily. Mrs. Pressman looked at him with troubled eyes. "I'm afraid I'm responsible, Jake" she said softly. "I took that sample from my husband's hair brush." Jake stared at her in disbelief. "My wife is the President's mistress? She was carrying his baby?" He fell back on the sofa, his shoulders slumped as though burdened by a great weight. Now the tears began to flow freely as the shock of the revelations mixed with the tension he'd been under for weeks. Helen came over to sit beside him and hold his hand, and Mrs. Pressman slid over to bring him some tissues. After a while he regained control of himself and looked up at them with determination in his eyes. Helen sensed it and quickly asked in a worried voice, "What are you planning to do now, Jake?" "I'm going to go home and confront my soon-to-be ex-wife!" Helen looked over with concern to the First Lady, who quickly spoke up. "Jake, I'd feel a lot better if you'd stay here. I'm not convinced it's safe for you to be out and about just yet. I wouldn't want to hear about another 'accident,' if you get my meaning." He looked at her, then over at Helen, who nodded vigorously. "Alright," he conceded, "but I'm going to call her. This is killing me - I can't keep it in any longer." The two women exchanged glances; then Helen reached into her bag and pulled out a cellphone. "Use this," she told Jake. "It's a throwaway that's never been used, so the number shouldn't trigger any alarms at the NSA." As she handed it to him, she added, "But don't talk for very long, just in case." Jake took the phone and walked out onto the patio behind the house. When he dialed Catherine's cell, it rang for a while before a tentative female voice answered, "Yes, who is it?" "It's me, Jake, the husband that you thought was dead." "Jake!" she squealed. "I've been so worried about you. Where have you been? I tried calling you but all I got was a recording. I'm so . . ." "Stop!" Jake roared. "I don't want to do the 'loving couple' routine with you anymore. I know all about you and your lover, and I know whose baby it was that you miscarried. I also know that it was my baby you aborted two years ago." "But, Jake," Catherine objected; again Jake interrupted her. "I don't want to listen to any more of your lies, and for damned sure I don't want to hear any excuses or apologies. I just want you to know that as soon as I can get the paperwork started I'll be suing you for divorce. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I won't be filing on the grounds of irreconcilable differences," he added, "it'll be adultery all the way." "Jake, wait," Catherine implored him. "Don't do anything hasty. We've got to talk, please." "Why, so you can have another drone take a crack at me? Is that what you want?" he asked angrily. "What are you talking about? I don't know anything about any drones," she said fervently. "Fine, have it your way," he said angrily. "But any way it goes, I want you out of my life as fast as I can make that happen." "Just wait until tomorrow," she begged. "Don't do anything until . . ." Abuse of Power "As far as I'm concerned, you're no longer my wife - if you ever were," he said bitterly, "and you don't get to ask me to do anything, now or ever again!" With that he rang off, wishing for a way he could slam down a cellphone. When he walked back inside, Helen was waiting. "How did it go?" she asked sympathetically. "About like you'd expect," Jake said. "It was all denial and delay: 'I didn't know anything; we need to talk; don't be hasty.'" Seeing the play of emotions on his face, she took him by the arm and led him inside to the den. "Just for a little while, you need to try to get your mind off all this mess. There's a ballgame on TV - come watch it with me. We can see how bad the Nationals are going to be this season. I'll fix us some sandwiches, and I thought I saw some imported beer in the refrigerator. Come on." Reluctantly Jake allowed her to take charge. But to his surprise, after a while he found himself relaxing as they watched the game. He even exchanged caustic comments with her about how instant replay was ruining the game. For the most part he found he was able to compartmentalize his emotions; the only time the pain threatened to break out was when he had to watch commercials featuring happy families at play. Helen wisely didn't try to intervene, but she did steer him gently back to more innocuous topics when the opportunity arose. At the end of the evening, Helen walked Jake back to his room. At the door, she gave him a hug. "It will get better, Jake, I promise. You've taken the first step by discovering the truth; now at least you know what you're dealing with." "I hope you're right, Helen, but this has all been so overwhelming," he said. She stood there watching sympathetically as he closed the door. She knew that sleep would be a long time coming for him. The next morning the two of them were eating breakfast when the butler made a sudden appearance. "There's a gentleman at the door from the Federal Bureau of Investigation," he said solemnly. "He says he'd like to speak to Mr. Phillips. What shall I tell him?" Jake and Helen looked at each other; then Jake got a determined expression on his face. "I'll be right there," he said. "Wait a second," Helen said, and slipped on her shoulder holster with the black Sig Sauer. Then she followed Jake to the door and stood where her weapon was visible. The man at the front door was waiting patiently with his hands clasped in front of him. When Jake pulled the door open, the man held up his credentials for Jake to see and inquired politely, "Mr. Jacob Phillips?" When Jake acknowledged him, the agent continued, "Sir, the President of the United States would like to see you at the White House immediately. I've been instructed to drive you there." Jake looked back at Helen, and she mouthed something to him. "I'm willing to go to the White House now," Jake told the man, "but I prefer my own transportation." The agent shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself, sir," he said, and turned and left. Jake and Helen quickly got ready and sped off toward Pennsylvania Avenue. "I don't think they'd try anything now," she said to Jake, "but I'm going to take the most public route possible. It doesn't hurt to play it safe." "I wonder how they found out where I was?" Jake asked. "I think we underestimated how badly they want to locate you," Helen said. "They must have put a full-court press on immediately after your call to Catherine last night." When they reached the White House, the agent they'd met earlier was waiting for him. Helen reached over and squeezed Jake's hand. "Good luck," she said, and then he was walking up the steps to the entrance. The agent led Jake through the ornately decorated hallways until they turned off into a small office with nothing but a table and what appeared to be an airport metal detector inside. "Your cellphone, please," the agent asked. Jake handed it over reluctantly because he'd been hoping to record his encounter with the President. Next the agent asked, "Are you wearing a wire?" Jake shook his head in the negative. "Any kind of electronic devices?" Again, no. "Do you have a pacemaker?" "No," Jake said. "What's this all about?" The agent pointed at the device next to the table with a sly grin. "If you've got any kind of electronic device on you, this baby will fry it and probably you as well!" When he motioned toward the device, Jake walked through it nervously but without incident. The agent then led him down the hall and held the door open for him to enter what was unmistakably the Oval Office. "Go on in and have a seat. The President will be with you momentarily." Jake walked over to one of the chairs in front of the President's desk and sat down. After a moment he began to stare around him. Even though Catherine had worked as a presidential aide for half-a-dozen years, Jake had never seen the Oval Office before, and he couldn't help but marvel at being in this seat of world power. "It's easy to see how you could get swept up by all this," he thought. Just then a door opened behind him, and when Jake swiveled around to look he saw the unmistakable figure of Calvin Pressman striding toward him. Even though he now loathed the man who stood before him, Jake automatically rose out of an instinctive respect for the office Pressman held. The President made no offer to shake Jake's hand nor did he speak. Instead he beckoned Jake to follow him. They passed through a door that Jake hadn't even noticed, went through a vestibule, out a second door and suddenly emerged into the bright sunlight of a late spring day on the back lawn of the White House. "This is a better place for us to talk," the President said, but when Jake started to respond the big man held up his hand for silence. Then he spoke, seemingly into the open air. "Do not record. This conversation is privileged, personal and confidential." Jake glanced around but could see nothing that might record their conversation. The President then began walking, and Jake hastened to follow. "I like it on this side," Pressman said. "Everybody talks about the Rose Garden, but this time of year I think the Kennedy Garden is prettier." Jake looked up at the taller man and said bluntly, "I don't imagine you called me down here to discuss spring flowers, Mr. President." Pressman gave a little grin. "No beating about the bushes with you, is there Jake? Well, you're right, of course. I brought you here to talk about Catherine." Jake felt the anger bubbling up inside him. "I know all about you and Catherine," he said hotly. "You don't know jack-shit!" the President spat, but Jake was not to be put off. "I know you tried to have me killed in a drone strike to get her for yourself," Jake fired back. The President's anger faded and a look almost like embarrassment came over his face. "I'm sorry about that, Jake. That was a mistake. I got upset and said a few harsh things about you in the company of the wrong people. I guess they kind of took me a little too seriously." Jake stared at him and then said sarcastically, "Oh, sure, I understand - just like Henry II and Thomas à Becket." When he saw Pressman staring at him in confusion, Jake went on, "You know, when the King asked his henchmen, 'Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?'" "Whatever," Pressman said dismissively. "Anyway, I brought you here to talk about my legacy. I've done just about everything I set out to accomplish, and I think history will treat me very well indeed. But the one thing I'm lacking is an heir, and unfortunately my wife is sterile. That's why I need Catherine." "Wait a minute," Jake objected, "if you weren't happy with your wife, why didn't you just divorce her?" Pressman looked at Jake as though he were the village idiot. "Divorce her? Do you know how many votes her father controls in the Senate? Without Horatio Hamilton's support I could never get my agenda through Congress. Hell, I would never have gotten the nomination in the first place!" Jake's initial reaction was contempt, but then something the President had said suddenly sank in, and Jake was appalled. "The nomination?" he asked. "Way back during the primaries? Just how long has this thing between you and Catherine been going on?" The President's face took on a look of satisfaction. "We fell in love during my first run for the party nomination - before she even met you. You have to admit we've done a good job of keeping it secret," he said proudly. Jake was stunned. "But why would Catherine marry me if the two of you were in love?" Now Pressman smirked openly. "Don't you see? You were the perfect cover. She could work close to me all this time, and with the two of you married no one would suspect anything." "But your wife, the Secret Service, the media" Jake protested, "how could you possibly, you know, get together without people finding out?" Pressman winked at him. "There are ways - places away from the Secret Service, rooms that aren't wired, trips overseas, even on Air Force One. It wasn't that often, but we managed." His expression suddenly sobered. "But you kept pushing Catherine to start a family, and she finally agreed to go off birth control pills to keep you happy. What you didn't know was she started using a diaphragm whenever you wanted to have sex. They say those things are 94% effective; I guess two years ago you and Catherine fell into the 6%. Anyway, when she got pregnant we knew the baby wasn't mine because of the timing, so we arranged for her to have an abortion, the one you found out about at Hopkins." Jake felt like his head was swimming as he tried to comprehend everything Pressman was telling him. "She's been using birth control all this time? But that can't be true - she got pregnant last winter." Pressman could hardly contain himself. "I said she used a diaphragm with you; I didn't say she used it with me. After her abortion, we decided we couldn't take a chance on another accident so we moved up the timetable to give me my heir. That way, when I got her pregnant you'd think the baby was yours. Our plan would have worked perfectly if she hadn't had that miscarriage." Jake stood there with his mouth open. He simply couldn't comprehend that his whole marriage had been a sham and that the woman he'd thought had loved him had deceived him so cruelly for so long. Pressman began to walk again and Jake had to scramble to catch up. "Anyway, that's all in the past - I want to talk about the future. I don't want to hear any more talk from you about a divorce now. Everything is going to stay the same: you and Catherine are going to stay married. Soon she's going to get pregnant again and you're going to act the proud father." He gave a sudden laugh. "I will get her pregnant again. I'm very virile - my doctors tell me I have the testicles of a man half my age! "Anyway, Catherine's going to get pregnant and the two of you will raise the child as your own for the next two years. Then, after I finish my second term of office, I'll quietly divorce Savannah and you and Catherine will split up. She'll get sole custody of the baby. After a respectable period of time, Catherine and I will marry, and I'll adopt the baby and change its name to Pressman. I've got it all planned out." Jake stared at the big man, wondering if he had gone insane. "What makes you think I would ever collude with you in this crazy scheme? Why shouldn't I leave here today and go straight to the Washington Post to tell them the whole story?" he demanded angrily. The President gave Jake a shrewd look. "Over the years I've learned that if you want to get something done, it's better to use both the carrot and the stick. So tell me, Jake, would you go along with me if I could give you your wildest dream? Better than that, what if I gave you the dream of practically every attorney in the country, along with a guarantee of financial security for the rest of your life?" Now Jake was completely lost, and he looked at Pressman in incomprehension. The big man was on a roll now. He took Jake by the shoulder and pointed off across the South Lawn. "Look over there through the trees, down Constitution Avenue. That's the Department of Justice. How'd you like to have your portrait in oil hanging there, Jake? The current AG wants to retire anyway; how'd you like to be my Attorney General? For the next two years you'd be the most senior legal counsel in the nation. And when the new president is sworn in, any law firm in the country would love to hire you at an astronomical salary. Or if that's not the life you want, you could probably become the dean of almost any law school you fancy. The world would be your oyster. All you'd have to do is keep things exactly the way they have been for two more years and it could all be yours. What do you say?" Before Jake could respond, a figure emerged from the White House and gave a frantic wave to the President. Pressman nodded and turned back to Jake. "I have to go now - I've kept the ambassador from France waiting over 30 minutes." He gave a little chuckle. "All this would be a lot simpler if I were president of France. They have a much different attitude toward affairs of the heart than we do in this country. Anyway, think about what I'm offering. You'd be a fool to pass this up." With that, the big man strode off to his meeting, leaving Jake standing there amid the flowers in the Kennedy Garden. Then the FBI agent emerged and, after returning Jake's cellphone, led him back through the White House and out to where Helen was waiting impatiently in the car. After he'd gotten in, she pulled away from the curb and was soon caught up in the noon-day traffic. "Well, what did he want, what did he say?" she asked eagerly. Jake stared out the windshield with a thoughtful expression on his face. "I have a lot to think about," he said. Three Months Later The reporter stood on the steps of the Senate building, listening attentively to the tiny speaker in her ear. When she heard the producer's cue, she began to speak to the camera in front of her. "This is CNN News reporting live from Capitol Hill, where the confirmation hearings for Jacob Phillips will begin momentarily in the Judiciary Committee. As is widely known, if confirmed, Phillips would be the youngest Attorney General in U.S. history. That might give some people pause, but with the backing of President Pressman, these hearings have taken on the semblance of a mere formality." She pressed her fingers to her ear and then said, "I'm told that the hearings are getting under way, so now we'll go live to the Senate Caucus Room where the hearing is being held." The hearing room was filled with the sounds of people taking their seats and exchanging muted comments. Jake, who was sitting at a table facing the panel of senators, glanced around and saw Catherine sitting behind him, her belly already starting to show. She smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. Just then, Senator Horatio Hamilton, the chairman of the Judiciary Committee, called the session to order and announced that the nominee had requested the opportunity to make brief initial remarks. When he gestured, Jake cleared his throat and leaned toward the microphone in front of him. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Judiciary Committee, it is a great honor for me to come before you as nominee for the office of Attorney General for the United States of America. Every attorney in the nation has dreams of one day filling this critical post, and I can assure you that I am no exception. "The purpose of this hearing, of course, is for you to learn more about me, my legal philosophy, and my influences. It is on that latter topic that I'd like to speak now. But rather than legal scholars or political scientists, the influence I'd like to cite is the poet T. S. Eliot, and especially his masterpiece Murder in the Cathedral." Jake heard a stir in the room, but he pressed on. "As you of course know, the play concerns the slaying of Archbishop Thomas à Becket by agents of Henry the Second, because Thomas would not yield to the King's will. But it was not the crime that was the play's main focus; instead, Eliot wanted us to confront the subject of temptation. You see, Becket had options before his murder, some of which could have brought him fame, power, riches or safety. But Becket rejected them all, saying that the greatest treason is to do the right thing for the wrong reason. "I believe that Becket - and Eliot - were right: it is a sin to do the right thing for the wrong reason. And for that reason I hereby renounce my nomination to the post of Attorney General. I do so because my nomination was not a recognition of service or capability but a cold, calculated bribe, one I cannot and do not accept." Shouts erupted in the room, and photographers jostled one another to get shots. But Senator Hamilton gaveled the room to order and motioned Jake to continue. "You are probably asking yourselves why I have waited so long to turn down this nomination, and why I chose such a public forum in which to do so. The answer is that this was the only way I could be certain that what I have to say cannot be suppressed, covered up or explained away. "It is vital that I have this opportunity, because I hereby charge Calvin Arthur Pressman, the President of the United States, with high crimes and misdemeanors." A collective gasp filled the Senate Caucus Room, followed by shouts from the news media and outbursts from many of the senators on the panel. But once again the chairman called for order, and at a signal from him the microphones of the other senators went dead. Then he calmly called for Jake to proceed. "Ladies and gentlemen, here are my charges. The President authorized the use of a military drone to attack a U.S. citizen - myself - inside the United States. Had it not been for the intercession of others, he would have been successful. "The President acted illegally because he has been conducting a long-running intimate relationship with my wife in an attempt to father an heir. When I came too close to the truth about that relationship, he attempted to have me murdered. When that attempt failed, he attempted to buy my silence by offering me the post of Attorney General. Regardless of whatever investigations this Congress conducts or decisions it makes in these matters, I will be filing for a divorce from my wife Catherine on the grounds of infidelity, and I will be naming the President as co-respondent. "These are extremely serious charges, and you have every reason to question their veracity. Accordingly, I am now going to have evidence that has been gathered over the last three months distributed to the Committee members as well as to the ladies and gentlemen of the news media. In the first section you will find incontrovertible DNA proof of the sexual relationship between the President and my wife. In the second section you'll find evidence we've developed concerning the drone attack in the District of Columbia, including a photograph of the tailfin of the Hellfire missile that was fired at me in the Anacostia neighborhood. As you'll see, the serial number and other markings survived, enabling us to pinpoint its source and the details of its use. Helen, would you see that the packets are distributed?" Helen Simmons nodded and gave Jake a tight smile before starting to pass out the envelopes. Immediately there was a near riot as Senators and reporters scrambled to acquire one of the packages. Jake looked around at his wife, who was desperately trying to escape the questions of the reporters who had surrounded her. Then he looked up at Senator Hamilton. "Mr. Chairman," he said, "that concludes my opening remarks." Abuse of Power The senator looked at Jake and nodded. Then the old man peered up into the gallery. Jake followed his glance and spotted the First Lady standing with her arms crossed beside the entrance to the highest tier in the room. When she saw the two men look up at her, she gave them a nod of grim satisfaction and then retreated through the doorway behind her. One Year Later When Jake had finished topping off the tank, he strolled into the gas station to pay the attendant. He was mostly using cash these days rather than credit cards, trying to try to stay off the grid as much as possible. He knew they could still find him if they wished, but he didn't want to make it easy. He was driving, not flying, for the same reason. He hadn't checked the news in days, but when he spotted a copy of USA Today on the counter he picked up a copy on impulse. The front page was filled by a large photo of a wooden-faced Cap Pressman being escorted by Federal Marshalls. The headline read, "Pressman Heads to the Pen." The subhead added "First president ever convicted of a felony in office." Jake gave a derisive laugh. "He always wanted to make the history books. Looks like he got his wish." As he walked out he glanced up at the blue cloudless western sky. It had become a habit, but today he spotted nothing but an airliner some eight miles overhead. Nevertheless, he quickly stepped under the roof over the pumps. He walked back to the car and passed a can of ice cold soda through the open window. "Thanks," Helen said. "How long before we reach Nebraska?" He looked at the flat expanse of prairie stretched out before them. "I'd say we've got another hour before we hit the Missouri River," he told her. As he got in the car and started the engine, she reached over and squeezed his arm with a look of concern on her face. "Any second thoughts about coming back here, Jake? After all, Pressman still has friends in Oklahoma." He smiled at her. "I'm not worried: Cornhuskers and Sooners have been rivals forever." Then he grew serious. "Besides, do you know what the state motto of Nebraska is?" When she shook her head, he told her, "It's 'Equality Before the Law.' Nebraskans don't like officials who think they're above the law, out here or in Washington." "Okay, but I still worry about you," she said. He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'll be fine as long as I've got you watching my back." Abuse of Words All characters are 18 and up. Names are intentionally withheld to allow the reader to imagine their own characters. * Abuse. The dictionary definition is: To ill treat with unjust censure. But there are degrees of abuse. There is mental abuse and there is physical abuse. There is the abuse of a substance and abuse of power. Then there is what I like to call generational abuse. This is the abuse that is passed down from parent to child and so on and so forth. In the case of my family, it may have started with my great grand father or even earlier however I can't be sure of exactly how far back it goes. I do know that my grand father, my mom's dad, was a real prick. The things he did to my mother bordered on torture. Why she didn't up and kill herself long ago I will never know although there are rumors that she tried but I can't confirm them with any facts or proof. And why she didn't take out my grand father while he slept is a mystery to me as well. My grandfather was a military man, just as his father before him. Both were veterans of major wars. My grandfather survived WWII and was a decorated officer. He did not produce a son however and I often wonder if he took out his anger on my mom for not being born a boy. I'm sure that the war had a great deal to do with his attitude and his alcoholism. Yes, he liked to get his drink on. But as my mother grew older, then the real fun began. His drinking got worse and my mother was soon the target of his perverted sexual advances. Now before you go thinking anything further, I've met my dad, and he is not my grandfather. My mom divorced my dad when I was just a boy, but that's another story for another time. Long story short, my grand father warped my mother into the mental abusive psychopath of a woman that she is today. Thanks to generational abuse, now it's my turn. It's pretty much all I've known for my entire life. The spankings, the beatings, the constant verbal degradation and now as a young teenage man, I've recently become her sex toy just like she was to her father. To most people, hearing this is a total shock to them but for me it's all I've ever known. I was born into it so it doesn't even faze me. I'm like this numb zombie. I have no friends, no girlfriends, and no prospects for any kind of social life. My sole purpose in life is to be my mothers whipping post and personal satisfier. Sex with my mother is like being in the army. She acts like a female drill sergeant but the weird thing is, I have grown to like it. I'm sure it's because my own mind is so warped and fucked up that the dimension between normal and abnormal has been deleted from my mind. I mean, I have a vague idea that most families don't function this way but like I said, it's all I've ever known. Normal is something I've never been exposed to. If someone were to ask me if having sexual feelings for my mother felt wrong to me, my answer would be yes and no. Yes, I know that having sex with my mother is not normal but at the same time I think that if you've been exposed to a certain way of life long enough, you first get used to it and then learn to love it. And at 18, I still have never been with another girl other than my mother so I had no basis of comparison. There are some who might say that I am brainwashed but I would have to disagree. My understanding of the term brainwash is to change the way a person is thinking and convert it to their way of thinking. In my case, I was never converted into this lifestyle, I was born into it. So having said that, it really should come as no surprise to hear that I love being my mom's personal sex toy. I get off on how my mom treats me when we're having sex. Her military style of sex is pure ecstasy for me. I suppose to get the big picture I would have to describe a night of sex with my mother. Like my grandfather, my mother likes to drink as well. It is when my mother drinks that I know I am going to become her sex slave. My mom is actually a very good looking woman in her early 40's. She has one of those voluptuous bodies with a great round ghetto booty which she loved to show off with her skimpy slutty clothes that she likes to wear. Her tits are a full C cup bordering on a D and are still nice and perky for her age. One night as my mother was getting her drink on, she came up behind me and started kissing on my neck. Before and after sex is the only time my mom is actually affectionate towards me, which is partially why I like the sex. With her drink in her hand she said, "Mommy's feeling very nasty tonight. Would you like mommy to make Mr. Willy feel real good?" I never know why she phrases things in the form of a question, like I have any choice. I simply nod my head and let the games begin. And when my mother says she is feeling nasty, she means it. Her warped perverted sexual acts are a culmination of years of perverse sexual abuse from her father. Sex with her is nasty, foul, and twisted but man can she fuck. She is like a wild animal. The things she can do with her body are out of this world and never fail to give me earth shattering orgasms. She took my hand and led me to the family room, which for me gave new meaning to the words "family room". She shoved me on the shoulders and I fell back into the lazy boy chair. She modeled herself back and forth across the room asking, "Do you like how mommy looks tonight?" She was dressed in one of her favorite prostitute outfits with high heel fuck me pump shoes and fishnet stockings. She had an extremely low cut skin tight spandex mini skirt and a hot thong that she made sure to show me by striking a fuck me pose and bending forward. Her tits were pushed together with a lacy push up bra that was covered by a trashy see through shoulder less top. Her face was painted in full prostitute war paint and her hair was crimped with a crimping iron. As she pranced and paraded herself in front of me she said in her husky sultry whisky voice, "Tonight mommy's going to be your slutty whore. I'm going to be your personal dirty prostitute and I want you to treat me like one of those porn stars." My cock always springs to attention at the sound of her voice. She can say anything and it will sound sexy. It isn't only what she says but how she says it. My mother is a master of vocal skill and vocabulary especially when it comes to talking dirty. She knows when to lower her voice to a whisper with a psychotic creepy tone to it and when to raise her voice to a commanding, don't fuck with me or suffer the consequences edge to it. She can shout, command, and bark orders like an army drill sergeant, then on a dime change into a chilling mommy dearest Faye Dunaway. My mom makes sure I'm an active participant in our sexual experiences, which I have no problem with because she is a damn good looking woman. She loves to involve me in undressing her. She put one foot between my crotch and said, "I want you to slowly inch my stockings down mommy's leg. Oh yes sweetheart, that's just fine. Okay now this leg, mmmm you're so bad to mommy. Such a nasty dirty boy. Now I want you to unstrap mommy's shoes and take them off. That's good honey now slip mommy's stockings off my feet and start kissing my toes. Oh that looks so dirty. Mommy's son is kissing his own mother's feet and toes. But we're just getting started my dirty little boy. We're going to get much, MUCH nastier, aren't we?" "Yes mother" My mom always likes to put heavy emphasis on who she is and our relationship as mother and son. I am never allowed to refer to her as anything but mom or mother. For her, the affirmation that we are committing incest makes for more intense sexual fulfillment. And the more taboo and nasty and sick she can make the experience, the more intense of an orgasm she can have. "Yes mother yes, I want to do every nasty thing I can do with you. I love it when you talk nasty to me. Please mother, tell your nasty dirty son what you want him to do." "Oh you are a nasty dirty little fucker aren't you? You know what mommy wants you to do right now? I want you to pull my mini skirt up while I bend over and I want you to pull my thong to one side and start licking mommy's ass hole. Ohhh yeah, that's it you nasty fuck... Lick that ass you little shit... Make your tongue nice and stiff for mommy... Like a little cock... Is your tongue nice and stiff for me baby?... Okay then son, pull my ass cheeks apart so you can get at my shit hole real good... Okay then baby, start out slowly at first then pick up some speed and plunge your stiff cock tongue into my open ass ring.... After a few minutes of steadily plunging my ass with your tongue I want you to go even faster and pound your face into my excrement exit... Finally, when I command you to hall ass, that is code for sodomizing my ass with your tongue at full throttle speed... Do you understand what mommy wants from you, you perverted nasty bastard?... I want to shift you like gears in a car... 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th... Think you can handle that shit for brains?... Huh, you dumb ass mother fucker?... You'll probably screw it up... You're such a stupid piece of shit some times." I knew I would be punished severely if I didn't do this right. I emptied out my brain and set my mind to the task at hand, concentrating on my mother's voice. I have trained before on my mother's stick shifting lessons. I am getting good at it. Basically, it is an exercise in obedience and focus. I am to obey my mother's verbal commands explicitly and with out question or hesitation. In the shifting exercise, my mother will call out shifting numbers in random order and I am to adjust my speed as close as possible to her commands and remain on that gear until she shifts me or commandes me to stop. "Okay son let's have it, 1st gear... Plunge your tongue deep into my ass hole nice and slow... Concentrate on making it go in as deep as possible... Ohhh that's nice baby... Just like that... Slow fuck your tongue into mommy's ass hole... Go ahead and grab a fist full of my fleshy ass cheeks with each hand and use them like handle bars on a motorcycle... Pull those cheeks apart nice and wide and shift into 2nd gear... That's it baby... Tongue fuck my ass a little faster... Spread those ass cheeks and tongue fuck my ass son... Fuck it... Tongue fuck my ass you little bastard... 3rd gear... Bang my ass baby... Deep and hard... Ream my ass hole with that dirty cock tongue... Fuck my ass hole bitch... Hard and fast you piece of shit... Yes baby yes... Just like that... Keep fucking mommy's ass hole like that with your tongue... Okay baby hall ass... 4th... 4th gear... Slam my ass hole with your face... Dart my ass hole like a bulls eye... Go all out mother fucker... Sprint son sprint... Give me all you've got." And I did, I pulled my mother's cheeks apart, rev'd my engine, and put the hammer down. I went berserk on my mom's ass hole with my tongue, each time nailing my target with precision accuracy. Sharp crisp slapping noises could almost be heard over the shouting commands of my military mother. Barking orders and shouting insults are delivered at a volume befitting the gear. 1st gear is a gentle soft voice, 2nd gear has a bit of steal in it, 3rd gear has a generous amount of anger and rage in it, and 4th gear is the voice of the loudest, meanest, toughest lady army drill sergeant that walks the earth. Just then my mom started shifting gears at random. 3rd... 2nd... 3rd... 1st... 4th... Keep it at 4th you piece of shit... All out sprint you mother fucking god damn good for nothing ass licker... Hall ass... Fuck my ass hole with your tongue... Fuck it... Fuck it fast and hard... That's it you perverted little fuck... You vile ass eating dog... Lick my ass like a dog... Fuck it... Tongue fuck my ass you piece of shit... Fuck the shit out of it with your tongue... Okay son 1st gear... Slow down baby... Now keep your tongue in me... Push it deep into my ass hole and hold it there... Yes baby yes... Just like that... Now swirl it around in there... mmmmmm that's nice... Oh god baby that feels so fucking good... Now reach around and play with mommy's pussy son... While you swirl your tongue around in my ass hole... Oh shit baby... you're going to make me cum... Pinch my clit... Ahhhhhhh... Oh my god, oh my god... I'm going to fucking cum." My mom always loves to make me drive her to orgasm with my mouth and then make sure I drink from her splattering cunt. "When I tell you, I want you to pull your tongue from my ass and drink my cum... Keep doing what your doing... That's it... I'm so close... Oh shit, Oh shit get ready... NOW!... Drink my cum son... Drink your mother's sweet cum... AHHHHHHHHHH... Drink from the well in which you were born... Drink from the fountain that brought you forth... Drink deeply son... Ohhhh god this is so nasty... Seeing my son's mouth on his mommy's cunt... Oh shit... Your making mommy cum twice baby... I'm having multiple orgasms... I'm cumming again... AHHHHHHHHH... Drink it baby... Quench your thirst on mommy's cum spicket you sick fuck... AHHHHHHHHH." My mother dropped to the floor and began to writhe in orgasmic ecstasy. I have been trained to mimic the movements of my mom during one of her orgasms. I am never under any circumstances to break contact with her pussy during orgasm so I invented a technique to help. What I do to hold on while she twists around in orgasmic seizure, is to make a suction on her pussy with my mouth and hold on for dear life. Kind of like riding a bull and trying not to get bucked off. When her convulsions subside I hold my mouth in place till given the command to release. "Okay son, you may take your mouth from my pussy. WOW son, that was wonderful. You have made mommy so happy. Just for that you will get a reward. Sit back in the chair baby while mommy sucks your cock till you cum in my mouth." I sat back in the lazy boy as my mom slowly unzipped my pants. She looked me straight in the eyes as she methodically freed my bulging cock from its prison. "Watch son... Watch your cock disappear into mommy's mouth... mmmmmm... Do you like what you see son?.. Huh?.. Do you like watching mommy suck your cock?.. Look son look... It's me... Mom... And I'm sucking your cock... How does that feel son?.. How does that look?.. I'm going to suck it faster... Yes son yes... I'm sucking your cock... I'm sucking it hard and fast... Now I'm scraping my teeth across your dick head... Can you feel that son?.. Can you feel your momma's teeth raking your cock head... Are you getting ready to cum for mommy?.. Huh?.. Cum for me son... Cum in mommy's mouth... I'm going to jerk you off as fast as I can till you cum... Tell me when you're going to do it son... That's it son... I'm stroking it... Watch your mommy stroke your cock nice and fast... Listen to the sound of my voice... Let mommy's dirty talk make you cum... Come on you little fuck... Cum... Cum son... Cum... Look at me stroke your cock so fast my hand is like a blur... Yes son yes... Cum now... Cum in my mouth." "That's it mother... I'm about to cum... NOW MOM NOW... I'm cuuuuuuuuming... AHHHHHHHHHHHHH SHIT!" On my release, my mother took my cock in her mouth and drank my exploding orgasm from the very dick she helped to create. A bit of her own DNA was swallowed as she guzzled down my goo. Shockwave's of pleasure coursed through my body as my skillful cock sucking mother concentrated her efforts on the tip of my cock, applying extreme suction to the head with her mouth. She always likes to look into my eyes and reinforce the fact that she is my mother as she sucks my dick head purple. When my orgasm ran it's course and my body stopped trembling my mother spoke saying, "That was very good son. Mother is so proud of you. But don't get all limp on me yet son. I have much more in store for you and that big cock of yours. I still need to get fucked and tonight I'm going to need a good hard pounding. I want you to treat me like a whore. I want you to fuck me like a nasty piece of white trash. Are you ready for my cunt baby? You just sit down on the chair with that beautiful prick of yours in the air and watch mommy slither my way down on that thing." "I'm going to face so you can look into my eyes... I want you to see mommy's face while I fuck you... Are you watching?.. Watch that cock of yours disappear into mommy's dripping wet cunt... There it goes... First your head, now your shaft, and there it is... It's all the way in... Your cock is completely inside me... Now slowly run your eyes up my body and stop when you meet my eyes... That's a boy... Now tell me baby, whose cunt are you in?.. Whose cunt is wrapped around your thick teen cock? Is that mommy's cunt? Look at me baby. Your very own mother is riding your stiff cock... Does that feel good?.. Huh?.. Are you ready for mommy to fuck you faster?.. Would you like me to slam myself down hard and fast on your hard cock?.. Okay baby, here goes... I'm fucking you hard and fast baby... I'm going to fuck the shit out of you." And like a thoroughbred horse, my mom rode my cock at a full gallop. Her feet were planted on both arm rests of the recliner chair and stout brawny legs did all the work. Soon I honed in on my mothers pace and timed an opposing upward thrust to double the impact of her downward driving collisions. I lost track of all time as we sprinted like this for who knows how long? Having been freshly milked of my DNA, my desensitized cock was prepared to slam away till her cunt fell off. We are both sexually in the prime of our lives and have devoted our lives to the taboo rituals of the forbidden acts of incest. I could feel the muscles in my mother start to tense up as another one of her volcanic orgasms prepared to rock her body like a 9.0 earthquake. I felt the moment of orgasmic impact as my mom's cunt muscles closed around my cock like a vice and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. As the orgasm took full possession of my mother's body I decided to twist the knife, so to speak, swivel my hips and swirl my cock deep inside my mother's cunt canals. This sent her into multiple heart pounding orgasms. I waited quietly until the last of my mother's quiverings subsided. She spoke with a voice thick with extacy panting, "My god son, ........... That was by far the hardest orgasm I've ever had. FUUUUCK! I want another. Oh my fucking god I've got to have another one of those. Okay son, play time's over. I know what you really want. So far I've just teased you but now your patience has paid off you twisted little fuck. Don't worry baby, mommy hasn't forgotten what you live for. You're going to get the worst ass chewing of your life. Do you hear me you disgusting little maggot?" To emphasize her point she slapped me across my face to jolt me into to full attention. My cock was now impossibly hard for the anticipation of my mother's verbal foul mouthery. "Momma's going to make your ears bleed by the time I get through with you... Get over here you stupid piece of shit... Bend me over this couch and pork my ass hole you miserable fuck... Hock a big nasty ball of spit right on my ass ring first... That a boy... Now shove that cock right up my ass hole baby... mmmm fuck yes, way to shove it in all at once... Now fuck me you piece of shit... That's right, fuck the shit out of me... Fuck my ass hole hard you mother fucking piece of crap... Fuck mommy's ass... Fuck mommy's big fat doughy ghetto butt... Do you like fucking your mother's large round ass?.. Do you like watching the shock waves role across my fat ass?.. Huh mother fucker?.. Go on fuck it... Fuck my ass... Fuck it hard... Fuck mommy's ass hole son... Fuck your mother... Do as your told and fuck me son... Fuck my ass hole... Go on son... Give it a good hard fuck... Give my ass hole a hard painful fuck... Give mommy a hard painful fuck in the ass... Fuck me painfully... Tear me a new ass hole you miserable hot steamy pile of pig shit... Come on pig shit, fuck me... Fuck my ass... Yeah that's it you rotten moldy puddle of runny diarrhea... Fuck me... I want you to really send it home son... Drive that cock in with all your might... Put your entire body into each thrust... That's it you mother fucking piece of shit... Hammer me... That's it you sick fuck, sledge hammer your cock into my ass hole... Fuck through me... I can take it son... Reconstruct my ass hole... Plow it beyond repair... Put mommy in the hospital... Keep fucking me son... I'm going to clinch my ass hole on your cock... Can you feel that son?.. Can you feel mommy's tight grip on your cock?.. Now go son, go... I'm going to hold my ass closed while you fuck the day lights out of me... Do it son... Fuck me... Fuck my closed ass hole... Fuck it... Fuck that tight ass hole son... Fuck mommy's clinched ass... Fuck the shit out of it... Fuck me you miserable mother fucking piece of shit... FUCK MY ASS HOLE MOTHER FUCKER!!!" Abuse of Words Fucking my mom's clinched ass hole is some what like moving in a pool of molasses or trying to run in a pool of water. She uses all her might to virtually close her ass around my cock. Her face was strained like the look of a weight trainer trying to get one final rep of the dumb bell. Her entire lower body was rigidly flexed as she squeezed my cock purple. Through clinched teeth she growled, "That's it son... Push and pull your cock in and put of my closed ass hole... Can you feel that baby?.. Is that the tightest hole in the world?.. Fuck it son... Fuck my pinched ass hole... AHHHHH shit that's good... God son... I can't hold this up for much longer... I'm going to relax my ass now son... It's your turn now baby... Just go for it... My ass is all yours... My ass is fully relaxed... Have at it son... Do what you will to it baby... Fuck the shit out of me... I don't care any more... I surrender... My ass hole is wide open for you... Go ahead and pound my ass hole son... Fuck mommy's ass... Fuck it as fast as you can... Fuck me like a bunny rabbit... Rapid fire son... Yes son yes... Faster... Faster... bang the crap out of me... Chop wood son... Chop that wood... That's it, chop down that tree... Bang the shit out of your mother... Fuck your mother son... Do as you're told and fuck your mother's ass hole... Look at me son... Look at your mother while you fuck me... That's right son, it's me... It's mom... Your fucking your very own mother right in the ass... I gave birth to you and now I'm forcing you to fuck me in the ass... Look son look... Look at who you're fucking... You're having sodomized incest with your mother... You know what?.. Get the fuck off me you miserable piece of crap... I'll show you how to fuck an ass... Let mommy get on top and ride that stiff cock of yours." "Now sit back in that chair and put it in the full recline position... There, that's perfect... Now I'm going to fuck you in the cow girl position facing you and put my feet on the arm rests... Now I want you to watch my ass hole slowly swallow your cock... Oh yes, there goes the tip of your head... I'm going to stop right there before I go any further down the full length of your cock... Mommy's going to squeeze and release her ass ring on the tip of your sensitive cock head... mmmmm can you feel that?.. I'm clinching and releasing my ass hole muscles on your cock head...Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze ,squeeze... Okay, now I'm going to take all of your cock... Watch it son... Watch my ass hole slither down your cock... Oh my fucking god that feels good... Your cock is all the fucking way in... Okay baby, now I'm going to fuck you... Mom's going to ride your big fat cock... How's that son?.. How's mommy's big fat ass feel slamming down on your stiff cock?.. Should I go a little faster?.. Should I fuck you faster with my ass hole?.. Okay son here I go... I'm fucking you faster... I'm slamming right down on your cock... If you want me to fuck you faster, then you got it... I'll fuck the shit out of you... AHHHHH... Fuck yes... I'm fucking the shit out of you son... I'm slamming my ass hole up and down on your cock as fast as I can... Think of my ass hole like a fist jerking your cock off... Let me masturbate your cock with my ass hole... That's it son... Take my ass hole... Take that ass hole down on that cock mother fucker... Are you ready to cum son?.. Would you like to cum baby?.. Okay son... I'm going to squeeze my ass hole closed and I want you to thrust up into my ass." "Yes mother yes... squeeze my cock with your ass hole and go military on me... I've already cum once and to do it again I'm going to need a good verbal thrashing... The sound of you yelling obscenities in my face get's me off like nothing else... Kick my ass with your words mom... Yell and scream at me at the top of your lungs... I hope it's so loud I go deaf... Do it mom... Make your son fuck your closed ass hole while you spew the dirtiest nastiest words you can think of." "Okay son mommy's going to make you cum... By the time I'm done you may have permanent hearing loss... You ready son?" "Yes mom, yes... make my ears bleed." "Then go on you miserable mother fucking piece of dog shit... Fuck me... Fuck my closed ass hole you son of a bitch... Do it mother fucker... Fuck my ass... Fuck it... Fuck the shit out of my ass hole you mother fucker... Come on ass hole... Ram that fucking cock up my ass... Harder you little fuck... Fuck me harder... Fuck my ass you mother fucker... Fuck it... Fuck it... Yes fuck my ass hole you piece of shit... Fuck mommy's ass... Fuck mommy right in her tightly closed ass hole... Come on you miserable god damn good for nothing mother fucking piece of pig shit... Fuck my ass... Go on, fuck it son... Listen to me yelling at you son... Come on son, get pissed... Get mad at mommy... Take out your anger on my ass hole... That's it mother fucker... Fuck me... Fuck mommy's ass hole till you cum... Use my ass to make you cum... Listen to your mother's filthy dirty words to make you explode... Bust a nut up my ass mother fucker... Come on you piece of shit... Explode your cock deep inside my asshole... I'll tell you what I'm going to do... I'm going to piss all over you right when you cum... Tell me when you're going to cum baby... I'm squeezing son... Let it go... cum baby cum... Cum in mommy's tight ass hole." "Okay mom... I'm almost there... Squeeze with all your might... Oh god yes... Four... Three... Two... One... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Yes son yes... I'm pissing all over you... Fill my ass hole up while I urinate all over you... Oh god son... That's so fucking nasty... Take a bath in mommy's piss... Spurt your spunk up my butt... Oh shit oh shit... I'm cumming... Ahhhhhhhhhh... I'm fucking cumming... Ahhhhhhhh... Holy shit son that was so fucking dirty... But I'm not done yet... I'm going to shit your cum onto your face... Here I go son... Watch your load being shit onto your face... I'm pushing son... I'm pushing it out... Oh yes, take that cum all over your fucking face... That's it now let me just rub it all over with my big fat ass... Oh god yes let me smother your cum soaked face with my ass... Okay son that was hot... You made mommy cum so hard tonight... I love you son... Let's go take a shower together and get cleaned up... Kiss me son... mmmmm that's nice." "Thanks mom... I love you too."