Delicate Negotiations

It took Marc some time that night to convince Kitten that he didn’t want her to sleep in the bed with him (“Just to keep each other warm,” she insisted), and then more time to convince her that he didn’t need her to wake him up with a blow job before the Conference.

“I can just use the alarm on my phone,” he said. “It’s fine.”

She remained skeptical, and pointed out that things with phones would sometimes go wrong, but she had never missed a “wake up call.” He told her he would take his chances. She ended up sleeping on the couch. He felt bad, but he wasn’t sure he trusted himself if he’d let her into the bed with him. She really was extremely attractive, and he found himself with an intense desire to bury his face between her perfect tits. In any case, she insisted it was fine if that was really what he wanted.

The next morning he allowed Kitten to make him coffee and bring him a warm croissant (from whence he did not know). Then a male hotel employee appeared at the door to escort Marc to the Maxwell Room for the beginning of their conference. It occurred to Marc that, amidst all his concentration on the strange and… stimulating experience of having Kitten in his room for the night, he had completely forgotten to be nervous about the actual reason he was here, the trade talks.

He found his fellow Canadian negotiators, Roger MacMillan and Jacques Thibodeaux, in the hallway outside the Conference Room. They seemed to have trouble looking each other in the eyes.

“So did you guys also have…” Roger began after an awkward silence..

“Yeah, yeah,” they all agreed.

“And did you…?” Jacques ventured.

“Oh no, of course not,” Roger interrupted. Marc nodded emphatically in agreement.

“Oh good, me neither,” Jacques agreed with a sigh.

“She was…” Roger hesitated, but Marc nodded encouragingly. He lowered his voice. “It was like I was insulting her by not fucking her. Not just that, she was… on edge? What are these people doing to them?”

“Did either of yours ask to…” was all Marc got out before the door to the conference room opened.

“Gentlemen!” the gregarious American negotiator Jenkins boomed. “Please come in.”

The three of them followed him into a large room which, as Marc expected, contained a long oak conference table with the other American negotiators, all men, sitting on one side, along with a couple of younger men at the far end wearing eGlasses and expensive suits. These were the lawyers, there to make any changes requested to the language of the agreement. The opposite wall was one long window, again looking down on the huge Chad Maxwell statue, The Washington Monument, and beyond.

What Marc was not expecting, though he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at this point, was the women kneeling along one wall behind the head of the table, four in total, of varying descriptions, sizes, and shapes. They had been looking down at the floor, but they raised their eyes to observe the new arrivals. All wore the same simple, but very small, matching black bra and panty sets.

“We had planned to take you all on a tour today before we got down to business,” Jenkins was saying, “but President Anderson said he wants some results before we start with the pageantry. You gotta respect that.”

“Certainly,” Marc said flatly, but Jenklns clearly noticed that he was distracted by the four women.

“Oh yes, I requisitioned them from the Department of Commerce pool, but they’re available for anyone,” he said. “I find they can really take the tension out of negotiations.”

“I think I’m OK right now,” Roger said quietly.

“Of course.” Jenkins smiled amicably and gestured to the empty seats. “Please.”

The Canadians obliged him, if a bit uneasily.

“I think you know my colleagues, Mr. Parker and Mr. Gray,” Jenkins continued. Some awkward pleasantries ensued. Finally, he said, “Well, if there are no objections, I thought we might begin by discussing the outstanding issues with the steel duties…”

Suddenly, something snapped inside Marc and he interrupted the American. “Mr. Jenkins, excuse me, actually, I have a few questions, if it’s alright with you.”

The other man raised one eyebrow in slight surprise, but he sat back in his chair. “By all means.”

Marc paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then said, “I have until now refrained from making any inquiries of you or your government regarding, to put things politely, the cultural differences between our two nations. Certainly my own personal thoughts on the matter are not relevant to our discussions here today. But, though I understand the economic necessities driving these talks, from the perspective of my government there is another purpose, which is for each of our countries to learn more about each other in good faith. And I think that, on our end, those objectives are inextricably linked.”

He watched Jenkins take that in. The man kept his face as still as possible, but from years of experience Marc could tell his message had gotten through. He was tying the finalization of the trade agreement to the Americans being open about what was really going on in the country. His instructions from Ottawa left this out, but he had been personally told by the Prime Minister that it was his job to make sure there wasn’t some bombshell out there waiting to drop after an agreement was signed. They all knew the basics of the system President Maxwell had instituted decades earlier, but anything could have changed since then, and the Prime Minister was understandably worried that by entering into an agreement with the U.S. he might be tacitly endorsing bizarre crimes he didn’t even know about. So, Marc rationalized, he had to set the tone early on this point.

“If we could wait for the tour tomorrow,” Jenkins said, “I’m sure it will answer any questions you have.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be quick,” one of the other Americans, Mr. Gray, piped in. “We don’t have anything to hide, do we?”

Marc had been briefed on Gray. He had apparently been included as a token member of the largest opposition party. Marc didnt have a great feel for what that actually meant, or what issues the opposition actually differed from the Maxwell hardliners on. But he was at least willing to speak up and contradict his co-negotiators. That was a positive.

“That’s right, I only wanted to clarify a couple things,” Marc said. “For example, the women we found in our rooms last night, they seemed not just willing to serve us, but, well, very on edge. The woman in my suite seemed unable to make it through the night without, to use the technical term, stimulating herself. Are they usually like this, or is it possible we did something wrong?”

This was met, not with stonewalling as he expected, but with apparent confusion. The Americans looked at each other. Finally, Jenkins asked, “Did any of you… tell them they could orgasm?”

“Um, no,” Jacques replied.

Jenkins laughed, “I’m sorry, it seem there are differences between us I hadn’t even realized. A simple misunderstanding. American women are trained to be in a constant state of sexual readiness for men. As part of that training, they become used to frequent pleasure and orgasms. But they are also trained never to orgasm without a man’s permission. We allow them to come in exchange for being good girls.”

The Canadians exchanged glances. Seeing this, Jenkins said, “Especially for well-trained bitches like those who can get a job with the government, or with a nice hotel like this, they’ll be horny enough most of the time to come almost immediately when you give them permission. Allow me to demonstrate. You can take a break and come out from under there, Cunt.”

Marc was startled when a slight woman with Asian features and long dark hair appear from underneath the conference table next to Jenkins. She was topless, her B-cup breasts bare in the conference room, and was wearing only a small pair of panties. She must have been there the whole time. That she had been busy while under there was evidenced by the way her chin shined, slick with what looked like her own spit. Had Jenkins been getting a blowjob under the table while they were talking? Marc felt insane.

“You’ve been a good little slut,” Jenkins said. “What’s your name if I want to ask for you again?”

“Thank you, sir,” the girl said quietly with her head bowed submissively. “I’m Trixi. Trixi 6 at the Department, if you want to ask for me.”

“Well, Trixi 6,” Jenkins said, “you can come if you’d like.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” One of the girl’s hands immediately shot inside her panties, while the other grabbed one of her breasts, her small fingers playing over the nipple. She made a series of tiny, happy noises. Within ten seconds, the sounds stopped and her mouth fell open. She made a barely audible, choked moan from the back of her throat. Her free hand fell from her breast and was used to steady herself against the edge of the conference table. A few moments later she pulled her hand out of her underwear, her breathing slowly going back to normal. She clasped her hands in front of her, her head bowed again, waiting patiently for her next instruction.

Roger spoke up, though with a very raspy voice. “What… I’m… what is the purpose of this?”

Jenkins laughed. “I mean, it’s pretty fucking hot, isn’t it?” The Canadians stared at him. “I’m kidding. Mostly. It gives us an extra level of control over them. It makes the bitches dependent on us. We can’t allow them to get ideas in their pretty little heads, can we, Trixi 6?”

“No sir,” she agreed automatically.

“Good girl. Now, get back under there, my dick’s drying out.”

“Yes, sir.” And she did.

Ignoring this, Marc asked, “Why do you want women to be dependent on men?”

Jenkins looked back at him, studying his face. “We remember what things used to be like. How, if I understand right, things still are to some degree where you’re from. How men, despite their physical and intellectual superiority, were oppressed and demeaned in all aspects of public life. Women gave each other jobs, they hated us. No offense, but we can never allow that to happen again.” His ton, which had grown serious, went back to its usual joviality. “Anyway, I’m in a good mood. This is a great occasion. You can all come too,” he tossed off to the girls kneeling behind him.

As the conference room filled with the sounds of orgasmic moans, he turned back to Marc and asked, “Any more questions before we get started?”