You ask her to tell you about it

"Shhh, Honey." You stroke the sobbing young woman in your arms. Once again, you wish that you had taken the time to put on your shirt; Sally's slender frame is molded tightly against your torso, and the thin layer of damp cotton you are wearing does next to nothing separate your two bodies. Her tank-top covers even less than your t-shirt and as you try to comfort her, your hand spans almost the entire breadth of her slender back. Not that there was much doubt before, but you now confirm that there is no bra under Sally's shirt and the heat you feel against your chest is from her small and very firm teen-aged breasts.

Even more troubling is the way she has wrapped her long lean legs around your thigh. It is impossible to hide the natural reaction you are experiencing as this innocent young student grinds her sex slowly against your thigh. You try again to put some space between you and the distraught redhead, but she clings even tighter to your frame as she sobs.

"Sally," You whisper quietly in her hair, "Sally, what happened in there? Is this paint on your shirt?"

"Yes." You can just barely hear the response muttered into your armpit. "He caught us. He was so mad." This time when you stroke her hair you use it to pull her face far enough from your chest to see her eyes. Yet another orgasmic scream of pleasure reminds you what is happening on the other side of the bedroom door, but you look her in the eye and ask her to continue.

"What did he do, Sweetheart?" An experimental twist of your leg only results in her bare thighs rubbing even more against the hard muscles of your upper leg. She might not be aware of the effect this contact is having on both of you, but you certainly are.

"He made us, (sniff) he made us take our shirts off and clean the mess." That explains the red paint on Sally's shirt and for a brief moment you envy Mr. Carter who got to see both these redheads topless at the same time. This time you use more **** and pull the crying girl off of you and cup the freckled tear-stained cheek with your hand. You had hoped to keep her from burying back against you, but your attempt to ease the tension backfires as your thumb falls on Sally's trembling lips. In an instinctive feminine invitation as old as time itself, she opens her mouth at your touch and moans softly. After a moment of hesitation she tries to continue.

"Then Grace-" she pauses as your thumb traces over her lower lip "- Grace offered to please him if he let me go." There is something eroticly compelling about the softness of her lip, and you wonder what it would feel like to kiss her. Before you get a chance to follow through with that dangerous thought Sally returns to her tale.

"He made her suck him." Suddenly Sally's lips close around the tip of your thumb, sucking on it like Grace must have sucked on Carter's cock. You pull your hand back like it is on fire, but the effect of this tiny act sets off explosions all through your body. "He fucked her. He fucked her so hard while I watched." The next sentence came as rush of words "And all I could think about was how much I wished he was fucking me." Sally is humping against your thigh wildly (thankfully on your good leg, the reconstructed knee might have buckled under this pressure) as she confesses her reaction to what she saw.

The Senator hadn't warned you about this part of the job!