Chapter Three
As Dr. Bill Yallow merged onto the Los Angeles freeway, Tomi Lungren saw the massive billboard. It was an eye-catching image, a hammer covered in black velvet against a white backdrop with the message “Piper 2068.”
“What does that mean?” Tomi asked.
“Pam Piper is the U.S.A. President. She’s running for re-election next year. That’s the logo of her Fascist Party,” Dr. Yallow said.
“The velvet reminds me of a song I did a few weeks ago at the Whiskey a Go Go,” Tomi said, reciting the refrain.
“Black velvet/With that slow southern style/A new religion that’ll bring ya to your knees/Black velvet if you please.”
“I do, please,” said Dr. Yallow with a smile, asking if the audience liked the song.
“Oh, it’s hard to tell. Guys and gals just kept throwing their underwear at me.”
Dr. Yallow joined Tomi’s laughter. She had resumed her singing career with a string of gigs at clubs around L.A. Dr. Yallow was her manager. He had recruited a tight band to back her. Tomi was emerging as a star in the underground metal and hair-band revival. She possessed a strong voice and a potent stage presence.
“So when you say President Piper is a fascist, what does that mean exactly?” Tomi asked.
Dr. Yallow paused. He saw an opening to influence Tomi’s thoughts, but he didn’t want to overplay his hand.
“This is unlike the evil fascism of the past. It’s all about making money. There’s no Congress. There’s no Supreme Court. The President focuses on the economy – and that’s it. People either make money or they don’t. A lot get really rich.”
“I need to make more money, Bill. Lots of it,” Tomi said.
“That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. We’re almost at the restaurant. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
The ritzy restaurant was on the top floor of the former Capitol Records building. The maître d led Dr. Yallow and Tomi to the best table, which also was far from anyone else so they could talk privately. Dr. Yallow, who had arranged it, slipped him a big tip.
For a month, Tomi had split her time between learning how to become a television talk show host and singing at the clubs. Dr. Yallow’s childhood friend, Peter Peterson – known as Texas Pete -- had worked in commercial television before its demise.
At a studio built in Tomi’s basement at her home in Benedict Canyon, he had instructed her on how to research a guest, prepare questions, interview, and ways to hold the audience’s attention.
As Texas Pete worked his magic, Dr. Yallow got to know the person he had transformed from Tommy Tuber, the warden at the Louisiana State Reformatory, to Tomi Lungren, hot blonde. She didn’t have any memory after regaining consciousness following a year-long coma. Parts of her personality had begun to emerge.
Dr. Yallow had bought her a gold string bikini and a gold waist chain inscribed with her first name, written in script. She was wearing them by the pool in her back yard, chatting with Dr. Yallow shortly after Texas Pete had first broached the topic of her hosting a television talk show.
“You know, I’d love to have a clothing and jewelry line, to not just wear bikinis and body jewelry, but also to sell them,” she had told Dr. Yallow.
“How would you go about doing that?” he had asked.
“Well, I’d need a lot more money than I have now. My singing barely covers my mortgage.”
“I’d like to run something by you soon that could enable you to start your own clothing and jewelry line,” Dr. Yallow had said.
As Tomi commented on the stunning view from the restaurant, Dr. Yallow worried that he might be moving too fast. He reminded himself he had no other choice. Texas Pete had called him the day before, saying the Piper administration was getting close to choosing a host for the television talk show.
“I need to pitch the idea ASAP,” Texas Pete had told Dr. Yallow. “Like in two days. I’ve booked a flight to D.C. to talk to the guy who is in charge of this. You need to pop the question to her. I know it won’t be easy, buddy.”
Dr. Yallow ordered two glasses of champagne.
“What’s the occasion?” Tomi asked.
“Being with you.”
Tomi wore black leather pants and a black long-sleeve blouse that bared her midriff. The pants were skintight, showing off her curves and alluring ass. Her pierced navel featured a gold dragonfly ring. She wore black strappy platform heels. Heads had turned when she walked into the restaurant; something she was still getting used to.
“That gold belly ring must have set you back,” Dr. Yallow observed.
“It did. I’m quite the consumer. What’s new with the television show?”
Dr. Yallow watched Tomi sip her champagne. She left a smudge of red lipstick on the glass.
“Well, Texas…I mean, Peter Peterson says you’re a natural for television. He says you’re a quick study.”
“I’ve learned a lot from him. So what’s the next step?”
Dr. Yallow hadn’t anticipated Tomi peppering him with questions. He had planned to ease into the topic, but realized now that wasn’t possible. She wanted answers.
“You’ve passed the auditions. It’s time to shoot the pilot. And I need to give you some background before we discuss what the pilot entails.
“There used to be hundreds of cable and network television channels and streaming services. With people able to access the web in their brain, they all became redundant. Then, the three economic depressions from 2025 to 2060 finished commercial television off for good.
“President Piper wants to bring one channel back. Peter Peterson told me he had an idea for a television talk show.”
Before he could finish his sentence, Tomi added: “And he said it would feature a woman with a rare combination of intelligence and beauty, and that woman could be me.”
“So true,” Dr. Yallow said. “Peter Peterson has learned more about what the Piper administration wants. The talk show would touch on politics.”
“I’m not interested in politics,” Tomi said, putting her glass of champagne down.
“I said it would touch on politics. It won’t be a political show, but there will be some discussion about what fascism is under President Piper.”
Tomi frowned. A male waiter approached the table. Dr. Yallow gave him a look like, “do not fucking disturb.” He walked away.
“Tomi, Peter Peterson also has heard that the Piper administration wants the show to combine the interviews touching on politics with erotica.”
“Erotica?” The word caught Tomi by surprise.
Dr. Yallow nodded. “Your interviews would be followed by a sexy encounter with the guest, who would be an unmarried businessman. The viewers would have the option of watching – for a fee, and that could mean millions of dollars for you. And we’re talking about men I believe you would be interested in.”
“You want me to be a porn star?” she asked.
“No, this would be erotica.”
“What’s the difference? Don’t play word games with me.”
“I have a lengthy academic article by a guy named Harold Hemp who works for President Piper that explains the difference,” Dr. Yallow said.
“I’m not interested in reading it. I can’t believe you want to turn me into a porn star. I don’t care how much it pays. I’m not going to do it,” Tomi said angrily. She stood up and walked out of the restaurant. Dr. Yallow never had seen that tight ass move so fast. Head bowed, he sat at the table for a few minutes before leaving.
He drove to Tomi’s house, his mind racing. At the guard shack, Paul, the security guy, checked with Tomi to see if she wanted to speak with Dr. Yallow. She said no, then changed her mind a few minutes later.
Letting him in the front door, she asked if he wanted a glass of wine. When she went to get it, he accessed the sound system and headed for the living room. They sat on the couch. She was barefoot, but had not changed out of her black leather pants and black long-sleeve blouse.
“Do you realize you’ll be paid $10 million per show if you agree to do the television talk show?” he asked her.
Tomi shook her head no.
She heard an electric guitar, which gave way to a drum beat, and then the guitar lick resumed.
“Razzle ‘n’ a dazzle ‘n’ a flash a little light
Television lover, baby, go all night”
Dr. Yallow had played the old song by Def Leppard often for Tommy during the transformation to Tomi. For reasons Dr. Yallow didn’t understand, it put her in a trance and she agreed with everything he said. It was like a fugue state within her amnesia. He was confident it wouldn’t be different this time.
“Tomi, do you remember this song?”
“I have heard it before.”
“Do you want some sugar, Tomi?” Dr. Yallow asked.
“Yes, I do. Will you give it to me, Bill?”
“Will you do the television show that we talked about in the restaurant?”
“Yes, I will.”
Tomi listened to the lyrics.
“Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet
Little miss innocent sugar me, yeah, yeah
C’mon, take a bottle, shake it up
Break the bubble, break it up
Pour some sugar on me
Ooh, in the name of love
Pour some sugar on me
C’mon fire me up
Pour your sugar on me
Oh, I can’t get enough”
Tomi knelt in front of Dr. Yallow.
“Little miss innocent,” he said.
She unhooked his belt, removing his pants and underwear. She wrapped her full lips around his hard cock and began to suck it.
He repeated a lyric: “Television lover, baby, go all night.”
After Tomi sucked him so hard he saw stars, Dr. Yallow filled her mouth with his sugar -- sticky sweet.
“You’ll be my video vamp?” he asked.
“Always, baby,” Tomi said.
Harold Hemp’s office was across the street from the White House, in a building known as The Cube. His cubicle was on the fifth floor, in a former closet at the end of the hallway. He greeted Texas Pete – who he knew by his real name, Peter Peterson – with a warm smile and a fist bump. Harold had known Texas Pete for several years as a fixer, someone who lived by his wits and thrived by it.
Harold was a political genius. He had played a major role in getting Pam Piper elected President. His 216-page campaign memo – which outlined how fascism behind a pretty woman’s face could be marketed to an alienated electorate – was the stuff of legends.
But after President Piper’s victory, Harold’s profile had grown too large for the President’s liking. After piling up plaudits for the logo he designed for her campaign – a hammer covered in velvet in different colors – President Piper had purged him out of jealousy. She moved his office out of the White House to the former closet in The Cube. Unlike other offices, however, it offered privacy, which Harold knew he likely needed as Texas Pete arrived for his appointment.
“Cozy spot,” Texas Pete quipped as Harold invited him to take a seat. Harold had managed to shoehorn one chair into the space.
“So what brings you to D.C. from sunny California?” Harold got right to the point.
“I have a pitch for the Pornography Initiative,” Texas Pete said.
“I’ve renamed it the Erotica Project,” said Harold. “But the President seems to be lukewarm. It was her idea, but she hasn’t responded to my memos about it. I’m kind of on the outs right now, but hoping to worm my way back into her heart.”
Texas Pete asked if Harold was still working on his concept for a television talk show that would incorporate politics and erotica.
“I am. It’s been almost four years since the ban on porn. I know there’s a black market, but the quality is abysmal. My research shows there’s a big demand for erotica and my idea is to revive one commercial television channel – and start with one program.”
Texas Pete removed a picture from a folder and slid it across the desk.
“Who is she?” Harold asked.
“Her name is Tomi Lungren. She’s going to be the host of your new television talk show.”
“Never heard of her,” Harold said, taking a second look at the picture. “Famous in L.A.?”
“No, she’s a fresh commodity,” Texas Pete said with a smile. “She’s 24 years old.”
Harold was struck by Tomi’s beauty. The picture was taken in what looked like a city alleyway. Tomi stood with her right shoulder against a painted brick wall, the white paint chipping away from age. She wore a long-sleeve dress, in 14-gauge pearl blue latex. She looked down, her right hand on her waist and her left hand closer to the edge of the short hem.
“If I were casting a movie about a beautiful blonde from SoCal, she would be at the top of the list. But I’m not. It’s a talk show with porn. Why is she the one? Has she done porn?” Harold asked.
“No, I told her she’s fresh.” Texas Pete handed Harold a single sheet of paper, a confidentiality agreement covering Texas Pete’s pitch. When Harold signed it, Texas Pete handed him a cd-rom.
“You always had a love for antiques,” Harold chortled.
“On that disc is the pilot for the program. Tomi interviews a fictitious businessman who is played by her manager, Dr. Bill Yallow. This would be the format. She would interview a prominent single business person for one hour and lace it with questions and comments about President Piper’s brand of fascism. She wouldn’t be a shill, though.
“There is a twist at the end of the one-hour interview. I don’t want to reveal it. It would take all of the fun away for you. If you would please watch it now, call me if you want to discuss it further. I’m staying at the Carlisle.”
Harold said he would. As Texas Pete got up to leave, he added: “I’d lock your door when you watch the final hour.”
Harold had to find someone who had a cd-rom player. It took almost half an hour. Returning to his office, he clicked on the file. The talk-show set was basic – two chairs on a riser with a soothing cream backdrop. Tomi wore the same latex dress as in the picture, her blonde hair brushing the top of the skintight material covering her breasts. Looking into the camera with poise, she presented the biography of her guest. Dr. Bill Yallow walked onto the set, in character.
Dr. Yallow wore a purple short-sleeve T-shirt, old jeans with holes in the knees, and black cowboy boots. His brown hair was long, reaching his shoulders in a riot of uncombed tangles. His mustache was neatly trimmed, a stark contrast to his long, bushy beard which concealed his neck. The short sleeves offered a glimpse of his intricate color tattoos. Dr. Yallow played the part of a technologist, a Howard Roark for the mid-21st century, eager to espouse individualism over collectivism.
Although the set was spartan, the pilot had not scrimped on cameras. That didn’t surprise Harold. He was familiar with Texas Pete’s work back in the good old days of commercial television. Two dozen cameras captured the nuances of the interview, livening what otherwise could be a dry subject of little interest to the proletariat and lower middle class.
Tomi patiently took Dr. Yallow’s character through his origin story, drawing him out on his childhood, how he became interested in tech, and how he launched his business empire. The cameras documented the wide range of his emotions, from his sweet childhood memories as a science prodigy to the arrogance of his neo-Darwinian philosophy about capitalism.
The cameras were less focused on Tomi, but that changed as she began to question Dr. Yallow’s character about the role of government in his business success. The cameras communicated her calm demeanor, her questions impartial as Dr. Yallow’s character increasingly struggled to answer them.
What had been his reaction to the dissolution of Congress by President Piper, which led to more consistent funding for tech research? Hadn’t the Pentagon’s support, shifting to research and development instead of starting wars – benefited his company directly? Did he support how the Piper administration distributed the financial success of the tech sector with the underprivileged, tamping down any possibility of socialism emerging?
As Tomi asked those questions, the cameras shifted their attention to her – to her bright smile, her brown eyes, the large curls of her natural blonde hair, how the dress revealed the contours of her luscious body in an explicit but classy manner, and her habit of dangling her black high-heel pumps.
Harold could not help but notice how her body began to shift slightly, her long legs crossing and recrossing. He wondered if her pussy could feel that friction and whether Dr. Yallow’s character was the cause. He thought so. Her right hand moved to her hip, the long fingernails painted the same pearl blue as her dress. She leaned closer to him as Dr. Yallow’s character admitted that he owed a debt to the American-style fascism of President Pam Piper.
After a cordial wrap-up, Tomi shook the hand of Dr. Yallow’s character. The screen turned pink and a message appeared.
If you would like to watch your host, Tomi, and her guest share some intimate moments, you are invited to remit payment in the following amount -- $200. Your program will begin shortly. Thank you very much for your support.
Harold texted Texas Pete.
<Is this a joke?>
<No, the payment system is in beta. If you don’t mind, I’d like to test it. I’ll reimburse you. Oh, and don’t forget to lock your office door:.)>
Harold chuckled. After getting his credit card out of his wallet, he latched the door and returned to his chair.
The pink screen dissolved. Tomi and Dr. Yallow’s character stood in a kitchen.
“So what did you think?” Tomi asked him.
“I thought you asked some really interesting questions. They challenged me and I like to be challenged, especially by someone as intelligent as you,” he said.
Tomi thanked him for the kind words. He asked if she was interested in business and politics.
“Business, yes. I’m planning to start a line of clothing and jewelry. Politics, not so much. I’m more interested in the arts, music mainly. I’m a singer, but I also like to paint, usually landscapes.”
“You were very well-prepared for this interview,” said Dr. Yallow’s character. “You showed how collectivism can benefit the entire society. It opened my eyes.”
He touched her wrist. Tomi recognized the small flirtation, which he had done when she had met Texas Pete. He kissed her on the lips and she responded, her kiss deep and languid.
Harold felt his erection grow. He unbuckled his pants and began to stroke his cock as he watched Dr. Yallow nestle his head between Tomi’s breasts, kissing the tips of her nipples through the latex.
Tomi sighed as he kissed his way up to her neck. He paused there, planting small kisses across her collarbone which made her instantly wet. He kissed her lips again, soothing her with his light touch. He nibbled at her bottom lip, eliciting another sigh from her as Tomi felt her clitoris throb.
She felt him begin to unzip the back of her dress. Tomi matched his kiss. Their lips gave way to the slow dance of their tongues in a hot French kiss. She felt her pulse quicken as she took in his sharp cheekbones and brown eyes, his lashes dark and inviting. She wanted to take his shirt off, but with his eyes he signaled to her that it wasn’t time yet.
He lowered the zipper of her dress. She watched him carefully peel the latex off her arms and breasts. He grazed his lips over her erect nipples, flicking them as she ran her fingers through his thick, long brown hair.
“That feels so good,” she said in a near-whisper as she felt his tongue and beard against her nipples. He moved from one breast to another, kissing, licking, and lightly biting her points before rolling them between his thumb and index finger. The sensation went straight to her swollen clit.
When she began to make needy noises, he reached behind her and unzipped the rest of the dress, pulling it down. He told her to step out of her stiletto pumps so that she was nude. Sitting on a large chair by the kitchen table, she followed his next command – to spread her legs wide. His kisses followed a path from her breasts to her pierced navel, which sported a diamond belly ring. When he stopped there, instead of moving to the patch of her blonde pubic hair, she quietly pleaded with him to keep going.
“I need you, Bill, all of you.”
She felt his fingers spread her folds.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, Tomi,” he said, his voice rugged and sexy.
Tomi arched her back as she felt his tongue against her clit.
“Yeah, yeah, oh yeah,” she said while he alternated between his fingers probing her pussy and his tongue licking slow strokes up and down her clit. He then combined the two, using three fingers to penetrate her as the pace of the cunnilingus quickened. She placed a hand around his head, cradling it as she moaned and her first orgasm rocketed through her body.
Tomi reclined in the chair, basking in the pleasure that curled through her body. After a few minutes, she stood. This time, he let her take off his shirt. Color tattoos covered his arms, chest, and torso; a green snake, the wings and talons of an eagle, the roaring face of a tiger. She ran her fingers over his sculpted chest. Turned on by his ink, muscular chest and abs, she licked his nipples and kissed her way to his waist, also covered in tattoos.
Tomi wanted to go straight to his brown leather belt, to release it and free his cock. She wanted to taste and feel his dick’s weight against her tongue, to reach her hands around and caress his big ass; to feel his body hum with anticipation, his large hands gathering her hair as she watches his thighs flex.
But she held herself back – for now.
Tomi looked into his eyes and saw his fire burning. She kissed him passionately, her pussy wet again as she raked her long nails down his back. He responded by moving closer to her, his hips pressing into her, the outline of his cock hard through the stiff denim.
His eyes darkened and she lowered herself. She knelt in front of him, removing his leather belt, slipping off his scuffed cowboy boots, and unzipping his jeans. She pulled them off his powerful hips. He was nude except for a pair of black leather boxer briefs.
She kissed the profile of his cock through the leather, inhaling his musky scent. He growled as she teased him. She was excited that he was finally hers. He smelled like flannel, like fucking, like denim, like her hot pussy he had just licked, like nirvana, like a Greek god come to life.
She unlaced his leather underwear with her teeth, freeing his cock. She stroked his shaft, thick and long.
“I want to worship you,” she said, looking up into his hooded eyes.
She grasped his cock with her right hand, moving her head forward and back as she took him into her mouth. After repeating the motion several times, she took his cock out of her mouth and pumped it again, cupping his cockhead in her palm a few times. She suspected she wasn’t the first woman to take a moment to consider his size. She resumed sucking him, tasting his salty pre-cum and moving down to kiss and suck his balls, swollen with semen.
He was verbal, liked to talk dirty.
“Are you feeling it, honey?” he asked as she took his cock between her lips again.
“I love your fuck stick,” she hissed. “It’s so meaty. Fills my mouth.”
She watched him recline his head, his eyes clenched shut.
“Oh fuck.” His voice was thick with arousal.
She whimpered, using both of her hands on his cock as she felt the big cockhead at the top of her throat.
‘That’s it, yes,” he said. “Nasty.”
She took even more of him, relieved she didn’t have a gag reflex as his length reached her throat. Glorying in his size, she again looked up at him and their eyes met. His expression shifted. Suddenly, he lifted her so she stood up. He picked her up, carrying her to the adjacent bedroom where he gently placed her down on her back on the canopy bed.
He gripped her shoulders, caging her body as he entered her with a sudden and hard thrust. The force of his cock fanned the flames within Tomi. She felt a wave of heat rise up her spine as he shifted his knees and began to fuck her hard. He groaned her name as she came undone, mounting him in a reverse cowgirl position that drove both of them wild. His cock felt like a piston, mechanical flesh and unyielding.
Tomi shouted his name as she came, her second orgasm more intense than the first. He came seconds later. She turned to watch him release his cum deep into her womb, his expression wild with sated desire.
The screen slowly faded to black.
Harold shot his semen over his computer screen.
He texted Texas Pete.
<She’s it>
<We’ll need to negotiate the contract. You will get a cut> Texas Pete replied.
<I’ll be recommending that Tomi be hired to President Piper. But I know the President will want to meet her before a final decision is made>
<That can be arranged>