Dutch and Gina: The Power of Love (29 page)

Gina pulled out her makeup compact and lip gloss.
 
“Do you really think Governor Feingold is open to being convinced?” she asked as she freshened up her lips.

“Oh, yes,” Robert said, pouring himself a drink.
 
Gina’s drink, Chianti, was already poured and waiting, and spiked.
 

Robert smiled when he picked it up.
 
It wasn’t the traditional date rape drug.
 
Robert found that most date rape drugs, like GHB, like Rohypnol, could last for hours.
 
That would not do.
 
And it could take several minutes before it take full effect.
 
That wouldn’t do, either.
 
Ketamine was faster, but even that drug wasn’t fast enough for Robert.
 
He needed one made to order, with instant debilitation, quick recovery, and total memory loss.
 
And he found it.
 
In Hong Kong.
 
Tested it on some of his unsuspecting, but substantially lesser known subjects, and it worked.
 
He was, in fact, confident in it.
 

He had fifteen minutes.
 
That was all.
 
Fifteen minutes to take the pictures before she regained consciousness.
 
And he was already beginning to sweat.

“If you knew Feingold you’d agree with me,” he said.
 
“He’d do anything for money.”

Gina sighed.
 
That was the problem.
 
That was why Dutch was against this whole thing, the fact that the governor would eventually get paid.
 
Gina didn’t like that particular part, either, but she couldn’t concentrate on that.
 

Robert handed her the spiked drink.
 
“Here you are, princess,” he said as she accepted it.

And the clock was ticking.
 
He wanted to get her ready, take the pictures, and get her back dressed and normal within that fifteen minute window.
 
According to the good doctor, the potency was super-potent, but the wear-off was as sudden as the onset.
 
And the onset, Robert quickly noticed, was almost immediate.

After replacing her compact and lip gloss back into her clutch bag, Gina took one sip of her drink.
 
In less than a minute of Robert’s non-stop talking, her head lobbed to the side, and she was out cold.
 

And Robert got busy.
 
He had to get in, get out.
 
Precision all the way.

He lifted her into his arms and hurried to the bedroom.
 
He laid her on the bed and undressed her quickly, leaving on only her high heeled shoes.
 
He needed an assistant, but the Secret Service had conducted a sweep of the room and he didn’t want anybody else for them to have to screen.
 
And besides, the last thing he needed was to have another person in on this.
 
He was leaving nothing to chance.
 

When he had undressed her, and she was lying naked on his bed, he began undressing too.
 
But his eyes couldn’t leave the sight of her.
 
So this was it, he thought as he undressed.
 
This was that precious piece of black meat Dutch was screwing every night when they were at his home in the Caribbean.
 
And as he looked at her, at her brown breasts and her flat brown stomach, at her brown womanhood and her toned brown legs, his hard-on was so engorged that he almost ejaculated prematurely.
  
He caught himself and removed the last of his clothing.
 

He pressed the buttons on the cameras that were strategically placed around the room; cameras that looked like your garden variety, expensive wrist watches.
 
The Secret Service did a cursory search of his bedroom, glanced at his jewelry, but was so convinced the First Lady would come nowhere near the bedroom area that they focused more on ensuring no one else was in the room, rather than what was in the room itself.
 
They were too familiar with billionaire industrialist Robert Rand, anyway, especially after spending that entire week on his island in the Caribbean with the First Family, to ever suspect him of any wrongdoing.
 

They’d never admit it, however.
 
The Secret Service, after all, was trained to view everybody as suspicious.
 
But Robert knew that was baloney.
 
Because if they took that training as seriously as they should have, they would have bothered to check the nice little watches that sat so innocently around the room.
 
Watches that so easily converted into cameras.

Robert sat the cameras to automatic snapshots, and now, three minutes into this journey, everything was ready.
 

He got on top of Gina’s body.
 
She smelled so sweet and fresh, a smell he wondered if Dutch knew by hard.
 
He posed in various risqué poses all along Gina’s body.
 
There were snapshots taken of his naked body on top of hers.
 
His tongue licking her clit.
 
His mouth on her breasts.
 
Her hand on his penis.
 
His penis poised to enter her vagina raw.
 
But the more he posed, and the more the four cameras took snapshots from all angles, the more his hard-on became unbearable.
 

He reached across her body, grabbed a condom from inside the nightstand, and slipped it on quickly.
 
And in the guise of getting one penetration shot, just one, he slipped his engorged penis inside of Gina Harber.

Gina was still out cold, and there remained only seven minutes before she was expected to regain consciousness.
 
Seven short minutes.
 
Yet Robert couldn’t resist.
 
He had to know what it felt like.
 
He had to know what was it about this black bitch that would cause the great Dutch Harber to give up his legendary bachelor existence.

So he found out.

He fucked the president’s wife.

It felt ordinary at first.
 
Just another fuck.
 
Until he moved in further and further, the snapshots still clicking and clicking, and his control broke.
 
There was something magical about her the further he moved in.
 
Something so intense.
 
And he started screwing her now, careful not to harm her, careful not to bruise her.
 
And he came, in less than two minutes from his initial penetration, he poured into his condom.
 
Within two measly minutes.
 
A problem he’d had all of his adult life.

A part of him was ecstatic.
 
He had just fucked Dutch Harber’s wife!
 
How do you like that? But another part of him, perhaps the bigger part, was terrified.
 
What would Dutch Harber do, he wondered, if he were to walk into this bedroom at this very moment, and saw his penis inside of his wife?

But regardless, Robert knew his need to fuck her was a big-time blunder.
 
Because now he had only five minutes left.
 
Five short minutes.
 
He hurried out of bed, ran to the bathroom, grabbed the wash cloth and liquid solution, and poured it around the lip and folds of her vagina.
 
He wiped her clean with the precision he had practiced with his previous, preliminary dates.
 
The smell was eliminated, any juices were eliminated, any feeling of tightness or penetration were supposed to be eliminated.
 
But it required very careful and precise wiping, time-consuming wiping, that ate up an additional two minutes.

Then he had to dress her.
 
And quickly.
 
He threw on her panties and pants first.
 
Then her blouse without buttoning it.
 
And then he had to dress himself, which he did within seconds.
 
And afterwards, without skipping a beat, he lifted her, hurrying with her to the livingroom, buttoning her blouse as he carried her.
 
He sat her back on the sofa, in the same position he had picked her up from, pulled out his cell phone, and pretended to be talking to Governor Feingold.
 
There were only forty-eight seconds left before she was slated to come to again.

But Robert’s cursory looked turned up a problem.
 
The glass of wine that was spiked with tailor-made date rape drug was still in front of her.
 
With less than forty seconds remaining, he panicked but moved quickly, grabbing the glass, running for the bar, grabbing the non-spiked glass of Chianti and sitting it in front of her just as she was beginning to regain consciousness.
 

“Okay,” he was saying into his phone, attempting to regulate his breathing, as Gina opened her eyes.
 
And as that doctor in Hong Kong had assured him, that date rape pill with the extra potency, began to wear off, leaving Gina with nothing more than the memory of her last, conscious moment.

“Well I’m very sorry to hear that,” Robert was saying as she came to.
 
“It’s very disappointing to tell you the truth.
 
But it can’t be helped.
 
Okay.
 
All right, buddy, see you soon.
 
Okay.
 
Bye.”

And Robert killed a call that was already dead.

“Bad news,” he said as Gina, now fully alert, frowned.
 
The doctor had warned Robert that she would initially be a little woozy, but also warned for him to ignore it.
 
Don’t give her anything to be suspicious about, the doctor had said, and she won’t be suspicious.

“What’s the bad news?”
 
Gina asked.

“That was Governor Feingold,” Robert lied.
 
Feingold had phoned him hours earlier.
 

“What did he want?”

“He said he received a phone call from your husband.”

Gina looked at him.
 
“From Dutch?”

“Yes.
 
And Dutch told the good governor that he could attend the dinner, and meet with everybody in attendance there, if he so chooses.
 
Except his wife.”

Gina immediately placed her head in her hands.
 
She felt a little odd, and suddenly kind of sleepy, and now this.
 
Dutch’s intervention.

“How do you feel about that?” Robert asked her.

“How am I supposed to feel about it?
 
I don’t like it.
 
Not at all.
 
But . . .”

Robert considered her.
 
What a good fuck she was, he was thinking.
 
“But what?” he asked.

“But he calls himself looking out for my best interest.”

“Or his,” Robert said, prompting her to stare at him.

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you want to help your brother.
 
Not clear who he wants to help.”

“He wants to help me.”

“Okay.
 
If you say so.”

“Yes, I say so, and you’d better be careful to say so too.
 
I thought you were his friend?”

“I am his friend!
 
I was just joking, Gina, gee whiz!”

Gina looked at him.
 
Maybe she was a little uptight.
 
“I was just hoping to get the ball rolling.”

“Understood,” Robert said.
 
He’d accomplished his mission anyway.
 
That meeting that wasn’t going to produce any results anyway was of no importance to him.
 

“Did he say if we could meet again at another time?” Gina asked.

“I don’t know about that.
 
Dutch may have spooked him.
 
But I’ll certainly look into it.”