Samira al-Mazkum was behind the sangria bowl, busy looking pretty and exotic in her gold and silk Arabian finery. She was an impressive woman, statuesque, with a large figure gained from many years fine food and idleness in a villa in a country where Filipinos and Pakistanis were imported to do all the labor the rich Arabs would not stoop to. Her breasts were well buttressed in a corset, standing out like the Continental Shelf, and her whole bearing was one of imperious condescension as she looked over their tops. She was, however, a pleasant and friendly woman, and unlike most of the other females, knew something of the world. DesirЋe's husband had once said of her: "She must have been one lovely little virgin one day long ago."
She was most pleased to see the ravishing young wife of Buchanan's candidate-designate for the State Senate; her own husband being quite aware of Mark's prospects and coming ability and having mentioned the young man to her. DesirЋe felt warmly toward the woman, and after getting a refill of sangria, they started chatting amiably. Samira al-Mazkum was discussing with DesirЋe the recipe for sangria. DesirЋe had thought that Arabs did not drink, but she supposed everyone had their own mode of living.
"It's a red wine base, a good and hearty wine like Burgundy. Seven parts of it to two parts brandy and one part Cointreau, add a little Vodka if you want – I did – then a bottle of some carbonated lemon drink, slices of orange and lemon and some cherries, stir like hell and serve. Voila!" The older woman chuckled and winked, though never losing her decorum. "Be careful with it. It's very potent!"
DesirЋe let some more of the fine punch swirl around her taste-buds.
She nodded. "It's delicious Samira. Did you make it?"
"Well, I thought it might be fun to have something different than the usual bourbon and scotch and gin. My recipe, the servants' labor. So now they know how to do it."
"Hello, DesirЋe," came a familiar, mellow voice, and the young girl turned, startled slightly. Sid Buchanan stood, smiling at the two women, though his attention was mainly focused on DesirЋe. "A very pretty dress you're wearing tonight."
DesirЋe was flattered that her husband's boss noticed her enough to pick out a new dress – most men wouldn't have bothered. "Why, thank you, Sid. Yes, I bought it on the way tonight. Sort of a pick-me-up."
"After you've been married as long as I have," Samira al-Mazkum interjected wryly, "you'll be buying the pick-me-ups when your husband's home, not away."
The three of them laughed at that. Samira was quite devoted to her husband, and everybody knew that. They talked a little more, and then Sid said to DesirЋe: "My wife is dancing with Higgins. How about you and me taking a little whirl around the floor?"
"Well… I… I don't know." DesirЋe looked around for her Mark. Where was he?
She saw him in an animated conversation with another distinguished-looking man over in one corner, oblivious to everything else. Then she saw Sid's raven-haired wife Helen in the arms of one of the men she had met at the last get-together. He was not much of a dancer. The music being played by the excellent 12-piece band was a fast tango, something DesirЋe was very good at, but she was not in the mood for such a beat.
"No, I think not, Sid. It's a little fast for me."
Just as she spoke, the number ended, and was followed almost immediately by Jackie Gleason's arrangement of "Moonglow".
"This better, eh?" Sid asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took the glass from DesirЋe's hand and placed it on the table and swept her in his arms. "But…" DesirЋe protested weakly.
"Go ahead," urged Samira al-Mazkum. "Sid is such a good dancer."
"Relax and enjoy the party…" Her last words were drowned out as DesirЋe found herself whisked to the middle of the wide polished wood floor. She gave him one more moment of unreasoned resistance, and then she let the strong muscular arms of her husband's mentor lead her briskly to the beat of the music. The muted horns and gentle percussion soothed her tormented soul slightly.
The three glasses of sangria, taken as they had been on an empty stomach – for DesirЋe had lost her appetite that evening – began to slowly seep through her blood. She began to smile and, as suggested by Mrs. al-Mazkum, relax and enjoy herself. The sharp edge of panic melted and she found herself humming, her eyes half closed, as the music soothed her. She dropped her head and pressed against Sid Buchanan's rising chest.
Hot damn, the scheming man thought, trying to control his trembling passions, things are better than I thought. After Helen told him about how DesirЋe had responded today with three men on a date rape, he had been tingling to get into her pants again. Last time, he had taken advantage of her in bed with her drugged husband lying next to them on the king-size bed, and he wondered that she seemed to have forgotten the whole incident, not knowing that hypnotic induction had wiped the unpleasant memory from her mind.
He held the tipsy young wife tighter, his total willpower being taxed to stop his penis from becoming hard and pressing against her undulating belly. The thin and revealing dress she had on certainly didn't help his control any. When she had walked in without her husband, Sid had almost ejaculated in his pants on the spot, ogling the tight buttocks and ripe, jutting breasts, and smooth expanse of thigh and leg… never had so little covered so little. It made him quiver with the desire to really possess this proud little beauty again, and again, to bore his cock deep in her vagina as he had done last time she had come to this house.
Sid Buchanan had immediately set to work trying to find a way of getting his desires answered that night, to seduce the wife of his star political protegee. His prick and testicles ached with a burning fire for the beautiful little twenty-year-old wife, goading his mind to come up with some plan of attack.
And he had. He waited until she had consumed enough of the sangria to become slightly wobbly, and then he started to work on her. First this dance… then a short break for another glass of that wine punch. Sid chuckled secretly to himself. Sangria didn't taste strong, it went down like soda-pop, and women who would normally never indulge heavily soon found themselves drunk out of their minds. Sangria was sneaky, just like him.
The music stopped, and Sid led the pretty wife back to the punch bowl. She drank thirstily, finishing another glass, and Helen filled it again. They talked, the three of them, of general items: the local gossip, opinions on the fools in Washington, D.C., the Middle East and the problems in Israel. Sid sat out two more numbers and then, when another slow dance was played, he took DesirЋe in his arms again and away they went. Then there was more sangria…
After the third dance, DesirЋe was beginning to stumble a bit, and her tongue was getting tied around words of more than one syllable. It was, Buchanan thought, about time to drop the bombshell. The band was playing "Laura" and as he again danced with her, he leaned down and whispered in her shell-like ear: "DesirЋe, Helen told me about what happened today."
The reaction of the little housewife was sudden and cataclysmic. She stopped dead in her tracks, a quivering, shaking statue of agony, her mouth open and her eyes wide as saucers. "No!" she feebly choked. "No, she couldn't have!"
The sangria dulled the worst of the terrible pain that coursed through her brain. She had already realized that she had had too much to drink, but as happens when such a point is reached, she really didn't care. At this moment, she was desperately glad, for the dual shock of hearing that Helen had prematurely divulged her confidential confession to her husband, not even waiting until the party ended, and of being reminded of those raping men and Clete's blackmail, would have been too much for her tortured mind to absorb sober.
"H-Helen… shouldn't have!" she moaned, shuddering.
"Now take it easy, DesirЋe," Sid soothed, wrapping his arms around her. "Listen to me. Helen was very concerned about you, and naturally she turned to her husband for advice. We, you and I, both have an interest in Mark's political career, don't we?"