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Investigative Reporting

123

Judy Merrick sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen. Around her was the familiar hustle and bustle of the newsroom of a major newspaper, with the ringing of phones, the tapping of keyboards and the conversations of nearly two dozen reporters, all working on their stories for that night's edition. It was only eleven o'clock in the morning, but 'early bird catches the worm' and all that.

Judy's glance shifted from the computer to the picture of her family she kept on her desk. There they were: her husband Jamie, tall and handsome still at 42; George and Harry, their two sons, 14 and 11, and herself, now age 39. She took a moment to scrutinise her appearance in the photograph. It was 3 years old, but she still looked the same: shoulder-length blonde hair, a pretty enough face, medium height and build, with a (still) firm body. True, she wasn't as tight and trim as she'd been at 25, but then again, no one ever was. A few more lines on her face as well, but she still looked good, especially with her makeup in place. Good B-cup breasts, sagging only slightly (pretty good for a mother of two, she thought with a touch of pride) and the sort of legs and arse you paid for with sweat on a Stairmaster. Today she wore her hair in a bun at the back of her head, and horn-rimmed glasses framing her large blue eyes. She was wearing black pinstripe pants and suit jacket, with a pale grey blouse underneath.

Letting her gaze wander back to her monitor, Judy sighed with frustration. An idiot complaining about unfair treatment from the parking wardens. As if that was something new. She'd been stuck with this sort of petty stories for the past month. And all because of that pompous prick Trenchard.

Judy had been sent out by Mitchell, her editor, to get an interview with a man named Trenchard, who had the inside story about a corruption scandal in the city council. They'd been at his home, the interview well underway, when he'd put his hand on her thigh. At first she'd brushed him off lightly, politely, afraid to antagonise him. However, he became more insistent, and eventually sat next to her on the sofa and stated fondling her tits. That had been it for Judy, and she'd slapped him so hard her hand still stung. He'd started huffing and puffing, but Judy was a professional reporter who'd been around the block a few times, not some easily intimidated trainee, and she'd told him exactly what she thought of him. He, being a little shit, had stormed off in a snit, and the interview never happened.

Needless to say, Mitchell wasn't happy about this, especially after a competing newspaper got hold of the story and ran with it. She'd tried explaining, but to no avail; Mitchell was old school, the type who'd bleed himself half to death without complaint to get a story, and ever since, she'd been out of his good graces. It was bloody unfair, and she knew it; she was a good reporter, who'd paid her dues, and shouldn't have to put up with that sort of thing just because she was a woman. But nevertheless, here she was, stuck covering dog exhibitions and people who were angry because they'd gotten parking tickets.

Judy was still fuming over the injustice of it all when her phone rang. Two short rings; that meant it was internal. She picked it up. "Judy Merrick," she said.

"Judy, I'd like to see you in my office," the voice of Brett Mitchell, her editor, said.

"Right away," Judy replied, and hung up. Then she got up, smoothed down her pants over her hips, and walked to the glass-walled office of the editor.

"Close the door behind you," Mitchell said when Judy entered. She did, and stood in front of his desk, waiting. Mitchell was on the phone, making notes with one hand on a notepad. "Yeah, mm-hm. Right. I'll do that. Right away," he said into the phone, before hanging up and focusing his attention on her.

Mitchell was a man in his late fifties, balding and developing a paunch from the inactivity of his desk job. His eyes, though, were those of a 30-years-in-the-business newspaperman: sharp, cynical and missing nothing.

"Judy, I have a job for you," he said without preamble.

"What, someone's exhibiting a particularly nice Pekingese?" Judy replied, unable to keep the bitter sarcasm out of her voice.

Mitchell ignored it. "You screwed up that time. Fine. I'm giving you a chance to make it right."

Judy was fuming at the remark, but deep down she knew he was right. She had screwed up. The thing that kept her from taking it out on Mitchell was that she knew he didn't treat her like this because she was a woman; if she'd been a man, and she'd been sent to interview a homosexual man who'd come on to her, she'd have gotten exactly the same reaction from Mitchell. He was the ultimate unprejudiced person; he didn't care about your gender, religion, race or politics. The only thing that mattered to him was that his reporters got the story. If not, they'd screwed up, and he wasn't shy about letting them know it.

"Here's the story," Mitchell went on. "Rumour has it that someone is aiming to buy their way into Dunne Technologies. Apparently, this someone has a couple of representatives in town. They're registered at the Marriott, under the names Hunt and Richardson." He looked at her over the top of his glasses. "I want you to get down there and see if you can get these people to talk to you."

"If they're representing a buyer, they won't want to..." Judy began. Mitchell raised a hand to stop her.

"I know it's not easy, but someone's got to try," he said. "And besides, you're motivated. If you can pull something out of this, you'll be officially back in my good graces." A lopsided grin. "Just don't mess up."

"And what if I do?" Judy asked, mostly just to say something.

"There's a dog show on the West Side this Saturday," Mitchell replied, his face and voice expressionless.

Judy nodded, mostly to herself. "I'll get right on it," she said with a confidence she didn't quite feel.

# # #

In their suite at the Marriott, John Hunt and Evan Richardson were getting fed up with waiting. They'd been sitting in the damned hotel for three days, waiting to be contacted. They'd been given strict orders to remain at the hotel at all times; this was a business trip, not sightseeing. For three days they'd waited, and they were now getting thoroughly sick with it.

Today they'd finally gotten the phone call they'd been waiting for, only to be told that nothing would happen until later that evening, and that they had to remain in the hotel and wait for further instruction.

John Hunt was the negotiator. He was tall and in good shape, with black hair, brown eyes, movie-star good looks and a presence that could charm or dominate a room full of execs. Evan Richardson was the numbers man, who would make sure no one tried to pull a fast one just before the papers were signed. He was a little shorter and skinnier than his partner, with brown hair and eyes, and a narrow, clean-shaven face and round glasses that made him look like a student. Although they looked different, the two men, both in their early thirties, had worked together for years, and made a formidable team.

"God, I'm so sick of this place," fumed John Hunt. He was pacing up and down the floor, burning off nervous energy.

Evan Richardson looked up from the sheaf of papers he'd been studying, and pushed his glasses further up on his nose. He was just as annoyed as his partner, but concealed it better. "I know what you mean." He shrugged. "Maybe there will be some good-looking ladies in the hotel bar later on," he said wistfully.

Hunt shrugged. "If nothing else, there should be a classy hooker or two," he said. "At least that means we're sure to be getting some."

Richardson dropped the papers. "On the other hand, why wait?" he asked rhetorically.

"What do you mean?" Hunt asked.

"There should be plenty of escort agencies in any men's magazine," Richardson said. "Why don't we call one?"

Hunt had stopped pacing. A grin spread slowly across his handsome face. "Now why didn't I think of that?" he grinned.

"Because you're slow," his partner quipped. "All you dealmakers are like that."

Hunt just flashed him a grin, already pulling out his suitcase from under the bed. "I picked this up at the airport," he said by way of explanation as he held up a magazine with a sexy young woman on the glossy cover. He flipped through the pages. "I'll just pick one at random," he said. He squinted at a number, then picked up the phone and dialled.

"Do we get one or two?" he asked as the phone rang at the other end.

Richardson thought about it. "Let's settle for one," he said after a brief pause. "We'll do her real good, like the stripper in Houston last spring. Remember?"

Hunt just had time to grin wickedly as the phone was picked up at the other end.

"Well, that was it," he said as he hung up a minute later. "They'd send someone over; she'll be here in an hour or so."

# # #

Judy was standing in the elevator, on her way up to Hunt and Richardson's suite. She was surprised at how easy it had been; the concierge had given her the room number without any discussion. It was almost too easy, she thought.

She looked herself over in the elevator's mirror wall. She tucked a few strands of blonde hair back behind an ear, and straightened her horn-rimmed glasses on her nose. She'd touched up her makeup before leaving the car, and now she took the opportunity to straighten her clothes. She smoothed down her pants over her round hips and thighs, feeling the smoothness of her stockings underneath. She undid the top button of her blouse, and tugged at her jacket. Her breasts bulged enticingly under her jacket, but not in an obvious manner.

The elevator stopped on the right floor, and she got out. A quick look at the sequence of the room numbers led her to the right one. She knocked on the door, and it was opened almost immediately. The man in the doorway was tall and very good-looking, with an easy, roguish grin. He was in his shirtsleeves, no tie, with the top button undone and his cuffs rolled up.

"Ah, come in, come in," he said affably and held the door for him. Judy, somewhat confused by this congeniality, didn't have to be asked twice. In her current situation, she needed as much luck as she possibly could get.

"I'm John," the handsome man introduced himself. That smile is really something else, Judy thought to herself. There was a quality to it that almost made her blush like a schoolgirl. She could feel the force of his personality like heat from a bonfire. "And this is Evan," the man continued, and indicated an equally informally dressed man who was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed and with an easy grin across his narrow face. "And you are...?"

"Judy," Judy replied. "My name is Judy."

"Very nice to meet you, Judy," John said. "Now, if you don't mind, why don't we get straight to the point?"

"Certainly," replied Judy. She felt extremely confused, but went with the flow. She figured she was due some good luck, after the past month. She slung her purse from her shoulder and put it on a small side table. She opened it to get her notepad. "I'll just get my..."

"No need for that," John interrupted.

"But I'll need..." she tried.

"Judy, I don't mean to be rude here, but this is our show," John said. His voice was friendly, but there was a note of firmness in it, a note that said this was a man who was used to getting things his way, and knew he had the upper hand this time. "Now, I can assure you that you'll get what you came here for; we're many things, but stingy isn't one of them. OK?"

Judy nodded, not sure what to say. She felt a touch of irritation, but choked it down immediately. She was in no position to get touchy about details. Mitchell had been very clear: this story was her way out of the doghouse.

John smiled when he saw her nod. "Excellent. You just do things the way we want them, and I promise you, we'll hold up our end."

"And then some, if you're professional about this," the other man, Evan, said from his place on the sofa.

Judy put on her most amiable smile. "Sure, guys, whatever you want. We'll do this your way."

"That's the spirit," John said and reached down to his fly. "Now, why don't you get down on your knees?" he said as he unzipped his trousers.

Judy's mind went blank. For a moment she could not believe she'd heard him correctly. She stared at him in stunned amazement. John looked calmly back, his hand busy inside his pants. He was smiling confidently at her, his eyes glittering.

"I beg your pardon?" was all she managed.

John's smile didn't waver in the slightest. "You heard me, Judy. I want you to kneel down and suck my cock." He stepped closer, close enough to touch her with his free hand. "Or, if you'd like, you can always leave. We can call someone else, no problem."

Those words cut through the fog in Judy's mind. That was exactly what had happened that other time with Trenchard. She'd gotten prissy, and someone else had landed her story. This was her way out, her one chance. Her career was important to Judy: not as important as her family, but a very close second. Thoughts spun through her head at incredible speed. Did she want this interview? Could she afford to lose it? Would she be able to live with it if she did what this man asked? And would she be able to keep it a secret?

Gritting her teeth, Judy made up her mind. This was simply too important to her to let it slide by because of her scruples. If the Trenchard-affair had taught her anything, it was that scruples would get you burned. Drawing a deep breath, she dropped to her knees in front of John.

For a moment after her knees touched the carpet, a large part of Judy's mind screamed at her to get up, to walk away and to hell with the story. In a flash she saw the faces of her husband and sons in front of her mind's eye. What would they think? What would Jamie think if he saw her now, on her knees in front of a total stranger in a hotel room, about to take his cock in her mouth in exchange for a story? A searing flash of guilt shot through her, and she almost got back up on her feet. Then she stopped herself, visions of a life spent covering cats being rescued down from trees by firemen flashing on that same inner screen, displacing the faces of her family. Jamie would never know, she decided; what happened in this room would be her secret forever. I'm sorry, love, she thought before the man in front of her pulled his cock from his pants.

Sitting on her knees in front of John, Judy stared at the massive cock mere centimetres from her face in awe. It was big, far bigger than Jamie's, with a large head and thick, veined shaft. It still wasn't fully hard, she saw, but once it was, it would probably be over 8 inches long, and almost as thick as her wrist.

"Touch it," John ordered her softly. "Go on, put your hand around it."

Judy obeyed wordlessly, reaching up to take the semi-erect cock in her hand. It was thick and heavy and warm in her hand; she could feel it swelling as she closed her hand around it and stroked gently up and down.

"Now suck on it," John commanded.

Opening her mouth, Judy leaned forward. For the briefest moment she hesitated, the massive cock poised just in front of her face. Then she pushed all thoughts of her husband out of her head. If this was what it took for her to get the story, then this was what she had to do. Taking a last deep breath, she steered the cock towards her mouth and let it slip inside.

The huge, swollen head filled her mouth. God, he's big, Judy thought to herself. She sucked gently on the head, swirling her tongue around the sensitive glands. Her mouth, dry up until now, was filling with saliva. Judy's hand was pumping slowly up and down along the shaft, and she felt it swell to full girth in her mouth and between her fingers.

"Oh yes, that's good," John said as she sucked hard on the head of his cock. He placed both hands on her head, moving his hips and pushing his cock a little deeper into her mouth. Judy felt the shaft slide in and out between her lips, the head plunging a little deeper each time. She stopped working the head with her tongue and kept it flat along the underside of the cock, making as much room as possible in her mouth. Soon she felt the head butt against the back of her throat, and she fought down the gag reflex. John, apparently noticing, made sure not to thrust quite so deep the next time.

As the massive shaft moved in and out of her mouth, Judy was surprised to find herself actually enjoying it. Aside from her husband's, she'd only ever sucked two cocks in her life, both of them at University before she met Jamie. None, though, had been as big as this one, and she found that it was a strangely erotic feeling, to have that sensitive part of her body stuffed full of rock hard cock. Besides, she thought, the man was attractive and pleasant, and his cock was nice and clean. If I'm going to have to do this, Judy reasoned, I might as well enjoy it. With that thought came that old familiar tingle in her nipples that signified the beginning of arousal, and Judy found herself sucking more enthusiastically on the massive organ in her mouth.

Evan, in the meantime, was sitting on the sofa enjoying the sight. The hooker had been something of a surprise; she'd been older and classier than he'd expected, dressed more like a businesswoman than an expensive prostitute. Somehow that look excited him more than the standard miniskirt-and-high-heels outfit a call girl would most likely have worn. And the sight of a mature, sophisticated woman on her knees with John's huge cock in her mouth was more of a turn-on than any Barbie-doll prostitute ever could be. Unzipping his pants, Evan pulled out his already hard cock and started stroking it slowly.

Out of the corner of her eye Judy caught the movement on the sofa. When she glanced over, she saw the other man sitting there with his cock in his hand, slowly wanking himself. His cock was a little shorter than John's, maybe seven inches, and thinner. With a start Judy realised that she would certainly be expected to service Evan as well. Oh well, she thought resignedly: whether I suck one cock or two doesn't really matter, does it. At least I'll get my story.

Still stroking John's shaft with one hand, Judy cupped his heavy balls with the other, gently massaging them as she sucked hard on the shaft in her mouth. She noticed how John's breath was becoming heavier, and the small twitches in his hips as the cock pumped in and out of her mouth. She wondered idly if he'd let her know before he came, or if he'd just shoot off in her mouth. As it turned out, John did both.

"Oh yeah, I'm coming," he groaned. He took firm hold of Judy's head with both hands. "Keep going, honey, I'm going to come in your mouth."

Judy felt a touch of panic, but it was already to late. With a heartfelt groan John came, filling her mouth with hot sperm.

"Swallow it, yeah, swallow it all," he moaned as his cock twitched and jerked, firing shot after shot down Judy's throat. With him holding her head, Judy didn't have much choice. She couldn't spit it out, with her mouth full of cock, so it was either swallow or choke. Needless to say, Judy swallowed. It was her first time; she never let Jamie come in her mouth. The thick, salty fluid slid slickly down her throat, but as soon as she'd swallowed one mouthful, she was full again. Even with her throat muscles working as fast as she could, a couple of big drops of come trickled out the corners of her mouth and ran down her chin.

At last John stopped groaning, and stood still, his cock still inside Judy's mouth. Then he slowly withdrew it, exhaling deeply with intense satisfaction. "That was absolutely great," he assured her sincerely. In spite of herself, Judy felt a flush of pride. Nobody had ever commented on her sexual prowess in such a blatant, naughty manner before. What the hell is wrong with me, she thought angrily. Like I need the validation of some stranger who just shot his load down my throat.

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