Gathering Intelligence

The talks began in earnest shortly thereafter. Marc found the Americans remarkably willing to a aquiesce to the Canadian demands for greater profits from their exchanges. The internal economic situation seemed like it must be even worse than Marc had suspected. He was sure that whatever tour the Americans had planned would likely be highly sanitized, but he would do his best to find out what he could.

When the conference broke for lunch, both men and women wandered out into the hallway The women all made a beeline for the restroom. Meanwhile, Jenkins told the men, “We’ve arranged for a meal in the hotel restaurant. It’s considered one of the best places in the city. I thought you boys deserved a real American meal.”

As the man led the group toward lunch, Marc took the opportunity to sidle up to speak with him one on one.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re wearing a wedding ring. Are you married?”

“Indeed I am, Mr. Girardeau!” Jenkins laughed. “For ten years. Barbi’s a beautiful and obedient woman.”

“Where is she, if I may ask?”

Jenkins shrugged. “You may, but I’m not sure why you would want to. She’s at home, likely cooking my dinner or cleaning the house. Or she could be resting, she’s very pregnant right now, as usual.”

“Congratulations,” Marc said, keeping his opinions to himself.

“Thank you. It’s our seventh. Our first is just about to go away to school, so we probably won’t see her again, but we’ve got plenty more!”

Marc wasn’t sure whether to say “I’m sorry,” and Jenkins didn’t seem overly concerned about the situation. Instead he asked, “I noticed you were… taking advantage of the amenities in there. How does she feel about it?”

Jenkins gave him almost a pitying look. “Bitches aren’t supposed to have opinions, my friend. You can’t worry about that stuff. If she did have an opinion, I’m sure it would be that every time I come down some other cunt’s throat, that’s less jizz for her to swallow, am I right?” He elbowed Marc in the side, laughing.

Unsure how to react, Marc gave the American a wan smile. “So that’s normal here, then?”

“Oh sure! We’ve actually got a couple extra bitches living with us right now. It’s a little pricey but it’s worth it when she’s knocked up. Which like any good little wifey is all the time. So she’s used to watching me fuck other women. I let her edge while she does, she seems pretty into it. Would you like to see her pic?”

“I…” was all Marc could get out before Jenkins quickly waved his hand to open his ringphone’s viewer and then made a few gestures to send a photo over to Marc’s. He quickly tapped his own ringphone with his thumb and the photo appeared above his hand.

It showed a beautiful blonde woman, beaming as she stood for the camera, giggling shyly as the image moved slightly. To Marc’s shock, she was completely nude, with a large pregnant belly and a completely shaved pubic area. Both her hands cradled her enormous stomach, leaving her globular and clearly heavily enhanced tits exposed.

Marc looked around furtively to see if anyone else noticed him checking a picture of a naked lady in the hallway, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Two bellhops strolled on past as if nothing was wrong.

“You should see her when she’s between babies,” Jenkins told him. “She’s such a beautiful little whore.” As Marc shut off the pic, he continued, “What about your wife? Got any good pics?”

“Oh look, we’re here,” Marc said as they approached the restaurant, and from his perspective it was a very good thing, too.

The “Capital Grille,” as a large sign over the door advertised, had of course been cleared out for their “private event.” The administration didn’t want the plebeians giving their guests the wrong impression, it seemed. The place was well appointed, with seemingly original wooden furnishings, brass railings, leather-upholstered booths, and row after row of glasses hanging above the bar.

The only occupied space in the place was one booth in the corner, where a couple of women in the same white, pressed uniforms as the rest of the staff were sitting, glasses of water in front of them.They had been speaking to each other and laughing until the group entered, and then nodded their heads in their direction in respect. But, perhaps thankfully, neither Jenkins nor any of the other Americans seemed to give the women any particular notice, and they soon went back to their discussion.

As there were too many of them to seat at a single table Marc took the opportunity to dine with Mr. Gray, the negotiator from the American opposition party, and let his colleagues take a turn dealing with Jenkins. In contrast to the broad-shouldered, loud head negotiator, Mr. Gray was slight and nebbishy, wearing actual glasses (a rare affectation these days) rather than the electronic variety.

“Thanks for the help in there,” Marc said.

Gray shrugged. “For whatever good it did. I’ll be outvoted by the others on anything that matters, I might as well stand up to them on things that don’t matter.”

“So do you recommend anything on the menu?”

Gray shot him a look. “We’ll all be getting the same thing, I’m sure. Knowing Jenkins, it’s probably ribs. Which, given the state of things, is frankly insane.”

Marc lowered his voice and leaned across the table. “We know Anderson wouldn’t have proposed these talks if not for supply shortages. How bad is it?”

Gray sighed. “We’re here talking about things like steel and lithium. Things that can be used to build weapons, I’d point out. Or, more destructively, data centers. We don’t need either of those, we need basic necessities. There are large parts of this country with environmental damage so severe they are no longer viable for mass agriculture. People are barely getting by. Beef isn’t just a luxury, it’s frankly obscene, given that land use for cattle is half of what got us here.”

“We could consider food imports,” Marc offered. “But there would need to be real assurances it would get where it needed to go.”

Gray removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “For the first time since the New Order was introduced, there are not enough jobs out there for men. And far too few for women, as usual. Not a lot of jobs at the data center, but tell that to this administration.”

“To be honest, my government doesn’t know much about your party,” Marc said. “If they did… well, it would open additional possibilities.”

Gray looked at him hard, clearly understanding the implication that there might be an avenue for foreign backing for his party. “My party is trying to get out the message that we can both have enough jobs for everyone, put enough food on every table, and still uphold American values.”

His gaze drifted over to the two women in the corner, and Marc realized what the man might mean by “American values.”

“But the regime controls the media,” Gray sighed, “so half the country doesn’t even know we exist. Meanwhile, Jenkins is here serving ribs and getting blowjobs under the table.

“You disapprove?” Marc ventured.

Gray shrugged. “It’s gauche, if you want my opinion. I still get my rocks off enough every day without making a display like that, and there are plenty of men in this country who can’t even support a wife. No man should have to pack his own lunch. That’s another slogan of ours.”

As if on cue, Jenkins stood up and announced, “Gentlemen, some real American barbecue!”

In fact, it was not ribs, but barbecued chicken, though it was still very good. Gray commented that things seemed to be at the point that even the administration could not get its hands on real beef.

“There’s plenty to go around!” shouted Jenkins. “Make sure the lovely bitches in the corner have some, too. And a round on me.”

The women in the booth happily called out “Thank you, sir!” Then they pulled open their shirts to show two impressive sets of braless, likely enhanced breasts. They both shook them playfully. Jenkins laughed loudly and clapped a very uncomfortable looking Jacques Thibodeaux hard on the back of the shoulder.

“What… is those women’s job?” Marc asked.

“Decoration, mostly,” Gray replied. “And maybe more occasionally, for those who don’t have perfectly good bitches available back at the conference room.”

A waiter quickly placed (much smaller) plates of chicken in front of the two women, along with a pair of tall beer glasses. Marc watched the women put their tits away and tuck in.

When Marc was nearly done with the chicken, he heard a ruckus near the door of the restaurant. He craned his neck to see a woman, perhaps about 40, in what looked like it had once been a nice dress. She wore a great deal of makeup to try to hide her sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks.

“I just want my job back!” she was loudly telling the manager. “I know I’ve gotten older but I’ve still got it. Some guys like a girl with more experience, right?”

“I told you not to come back here!” the Manager hissed.

“I have three sons!” the woman screeched, as a larger staff member pushed her out of the building.

Most of the Americans tried to ignore this whole scene. Gray shook his head ruefully. The manager groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He immediately walked over to Jenkins and apologized. The negotiator waved him off. “Couldn’t be helped, don’t worry…”

Little comforted, the manager stormed over to the booth in the corner and grabbed the nearest of the women by the arm, dragging to her feet and causing her fork to clatter to her plate. Once she found her feet she quickly followed him back through a pair of swinging doors into the kitchen.

As Marc finished his chicken, he heard a very different noise from the kitchen, the screams of a woman in apparent ecstasy.

“Oh fuck! Fuck me harder sir! Yeah, pull my hair, pull my hair and fuck me like a fucking whore!”

Marc was startled out of listening to this by Jenkins slapping him on the back. “They’ve got a great floor show here, huh? Whaddaya think, Gray?”

“She’s very well-trained,” Gray said tersely.

Jenkins laughed, once, then turned to Marc. “Back to the salt mines, huh?”

“I’m right behind you,” said Marc, wiping his lips on a napkin as he rose to his feet.

On his way out, while the girl’s aggressive dirty talk still rang through the restaurant, he swiped one of the restaurant’s usual menus from underneath the host station and took a quick look inside. Half the items on the menu had been crossed out with pen, he assumed because of a lack of the ingredients.

“Pound my slutty pussy, sir! Please sir, come inside my fucking cunt!”