Mattress Toys of the Guitar Man

Mattress Toys of the Guitar Man

Book 4 of the Guitar Man Series

By

Kenneth Rooks

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Published by

Kenneth Rooks at Smashwords

Mattress Toys of the Guitar Man

Copyright © 2017 Kenneth Rooks

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

INFORMATION ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you should remove it from your computer.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Each of the books in the Guitar Man series was designed to stand alone and this means that some duplication is necessary so that the reader can understand what is happening without having to read the previous books in the series.

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This Novel Rated PG

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CHAPTER 1

RUSSIAN PRESIDENT PUKOFF AND THE GIRL BAND

It was a nice spring day in Moscow relatively speaking. People from warmer climates would have condemned it as downright chilly, but locals would vigorously disagree, and considered these individuals as total wimps.

Located in the heart of the downtown Moscow area was a sinister yellow brick building with a vile and dark history. The seven story Neo-Baroque building had served as the headquarters for the notorious KGB for several decades. It was at this location where countless acts of torture and executions had tarnished Russian history.

The frightful Lubyanka Prison housed its horror show in the lowest two levels of this fearsome structure. The dingy, dark cells were ten foot square, which was very roomy when compared to many other prisons. There was a large courtyard where firing squads had sent their deadly projectiles tearing through the bodies of many innocent victims. The prison usually ran noisy automobile engines to help cover up the horrible screams of the inmates that came during all hours of the day and night. A man very familiar with the atrocities that took place here, was sitting comfortably in a control room, and observing the pain of some of its most recent guests.

Russian President Aleksei Pukoff looked at the security camera monitors and felt a great sense of satisfaction. It had taken his security force almost three months to track down the all-girl band that called themselves ‘Feminine Chaos,’ but, now they resided firmly within his stone prison. The four girls were stripped and had their hands bound, and pulled above their heads by a combination of ropes and pulleys.

Feminine Chaos had caused the Russian President a lot of embarrassment with songs that belittled him and insulted his political party. The band had boldly posted several songs on the Internet and performed concerts at secret locations in Moscow and other cities. Their latest song was called ‘Puking on Pukoff,’ and it was now starting to draw worldwide, Internet attention.

Pukoff had been a young KGB officer back in the early days before the Soviet Union had imploded and dissolved into nothingness. After this, he started his own political party, and had managed to get elected when the country wanted a strong leader to replace the weak and ineffectual leader, that had preceded him. It also didn’t hurt--that he had the immensely important political and financial backing of the world’s richest man--Paz Remy.

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Myka Mashov hung like a little mouse from a rope and looked around desperately at the other members of her outlaw band--who were likewise strung up in their birthday suits. The 18 year old had blonde silky hair, steel blue eyes, and a supple body with a nice perky bosom. However, close look gave indisputable proof that she wasn’t really a natural blonde.

Myka had experimented with several hair colors before finally deciding on blonde for her show biz career. After creating just the right appearance, she did the nightclub circuits, and went through the grueling ordeal of auditioning for singing jobs. With her musical talent and natural good looks, it didn’t take long before she got a job as the lead singer for an unknown group called Feminine Chaos.

The band struggled for over a year and couldn’t seem to separate themselves from all of the other Moscow musical groups. They then looked around for ideas to differentiate themselves, and finally decided to tap into the popular anti-government sentiment. It worked and they soon became a very popular underground act. But, they hadn’t realized just how dangerous their actions were, and now they found themselves strung up like fish on the end of fishing poles--with their little naked bodies bobbing in the wind.

The members of Feminine Chaos had been hanging for over an hour, when finally they heard a steel door opening and saw five men come inside. Four of the men wore Russian military uniforms and the fifth was dressed in a dark, business suit with white shirt and red tie. When the man in the suit stepped into the light they immediately recognize him as the President of Russia.

Pukoff smiled and enjoyed the spectacle of the four, buff young women swaying and twisting on the end of their ropes. The sight of the helpless sexy women excited him and caused a stirring in his body. The President walked over to the girl that he recognized as the lead singer of the group and stared at her. A moment later, one of the soldiers quickly brought over a chair, and the Russian President sat down without taking his eyes off the singer.

Aleksei studied Myka’s body, and then motioned a guard to release the rope holding her hands in the air. The little, 18 year old then slumped to her knees on the floor in front of him.

You and your friends have caused me a great deal of trouble, and now I’m going to return the favor with interest, threatened Pukoff.

Go stuff yourself, sneered Myka, just before she spit at him.

The President looked at the saliva on his left pant leg and restrained himself from breaking the young girl’s nose. She was going to provide some amusement for a business associate of his, and he didn’t want to spoil her looks--at least not just yet.

You think you’re a tough little cookie, don’t you, darling? smiled Pukoff, "Well, let me tell you a little bit about myself. Let me start with my grandfather. He was part of the Soviet Army that went into Germany to get revenge for the murder and ravishment of our women during World War 2.

He told me about how our soldiers would capture a town and march all the German women out into the streets. There they would make them lie down, and the soldiers would stick the ends of their rifles barrels in their mouths. Then each one of the women would be ravaged up to 30 or 40 times.

Sometimes they would run into a tough little cookie like you, and when they did, there was a little game they liked to play. They would hold the girl down and stick the barrel of a gun between her thighs. Then they would then see who could be the first one to shoot straight up through her body, and blow off the top of her skull. As you might suspect, after the first shot, it was generally not necessary to hold the girl down any longer. Sometimes it took one shot, sometimes more, but the result was always the same--the little cookie would crumble.

After my grandfather told me this story, I adapted this technique for my own use when I went to work for the KGB. It’s something I got to be very good at. In fact, I have no doubt that I could shot out the top of your skull in one, or maybe two shots at the most. There’s a room down the hall with a metal table that I had designed especially for this game. The stainless steel surface makes it easier to clean up the bloody, splattered brain material, after I finish my game with difficult little girls like you."

Pukoff paused briefly to give the girl a moment to digest what he said, and then he grabbed a handful of Myka’s dyed blonde hair. He pulled her close, took out a pistol from the inside of his suit jacket, and rubbed it on her face.

So, do you want to play the little shooting game with me little cookie? he asked.

The young virgin nervously shook her head, No, please let me go. I promise we won’t sing anymore songs about you.

I’m afraid I can’t do that, cookie. Your fate has been decided and your previous life is lost to you forever.

What do you mean? she gasped, What are you going to do with us?

"When I was in the KGB, I learned to never let the enemy recover and have a second chance to attack again. Therefore, I’m going to have to kill you, or find another way that will insure you are out of my hair permanently.

I have a business associate coming in later. If he doesn’t have a good idea of how to handle the problem, then when we get tired of you, I’ll have to send you to the slaughterhouse where you’ll be cut up, and made into dog food," threatened Pukoff.

The President’s slaughterhouse threat wasn’t serious; he wouldn’t dispose of his female victims in such a manner because they were much too valuable as slaves. But, the threat generally frightened the hell out of his prisoners and made them much more cooperative.

So, what’s it going to be little cookie, dog food or cooperation?

Myka knew she didn’t have a choice. She reluctantly nodded, and the President of Russia smiled as he looked down at her.

Excellent choice little cookie, if you are sincere, then perhaps I won’t have to take you over to my steel table and blow you brains out, sneered Pukoff.

After a couple of minutes, President Aleksei Pukoff ordered his soldiers to release the ropes holding the other three girls. He was very satisfied with his new female toys, but refrained from touching them. They would be saved and offered to his special guest. Pukoff decided that now would be a good time to let the girls know what was going to happen to them, and give them a warning.

He stood in front of the girls who sat on the floor in front of him, "I like the name of your band. Feminine Chaos has a nice sounding ring to it. It’s also very appropriate for tonight events, because your little bodies are going to be in chaos, after me and my friends get through with you.

There are two ways we can do this. The first way is participate willingly and the second way is we force you. If you agree to the first method and then later change your mind at the party, I will have to resort to the Old Russian technique developed in Germany during World War 2--which I have already told you about.

I hope you don’t embarrass me in front of my special guest, if you do, I can assure you that you will be extremely sorry. Now, I want each of you tell me which option you prefer," demanded Pukoff.

Myka and the other members of the girl band looked at each other before making up their minds. Finally, Myka spoke up and said that she choose option one. Two of the other band members quickly agreed that they also wanted option one. The forth female was leaning towards the second option, but then changed her mind and decided to join with the other members of the band.

CHAPTER 2

SENATOR JILL WENTWORTH’S DOWNFALL

Congresswoman Jill Wentworth was an exquisite little package of brains and beauty. She was from oil—no not the cooking kind, but the black gold found down in the dusty oil fields of Texas. The sweet, young blonde’s family wealth and social contacts had allowed her earn a law degree and follow her father into politics.

When the veteran five term Senator from her district died of a heart attack, she saw her chance and jumped into the race to replace him. Jill put herself further out on the conservative limb by talking family values, anti-abortion, and gun rights than any of the other candidates. On Election Day, she squeaked out a narrow victory and became the youngest Senator in the state’s history.

During her first year in Washington, she meet and married a wealthy Wall Street tycoon. The man was almost twenty years older than Jill, but the marriage gave her much greater social status, and cemented her position among the Washington elite. Power and wealth were more important to the green eyed politician than romance. That’s not to say her husband wasn’t handsome and sexy.

John Wentworth had been at the top of the most eligible bachelor’s lists since his wife had died in an automobile accident. In fact, there were few women that wouldn’t have considered him a prize catch irregardless of his wealth. The only thing that detracted from the handsome man’s appeal was his 18 year old spoiled, bratty daughter--Lisa.

The wedding had been the social event of the year, even the President of the United States had attended. John had shelled out over a million dollars to ensure that it was a spectacular event worthy of a man of his social status. For his money, he not only got a fabulous wedding, but he also got a girl almost young enough to be his daughter.

Two years into her Senatorial term and one year into her marriage, the stress started to get to Jill, and she began to turn more and more to alcohol. Some of her stress came from her new stepdaughter, and some from the never ending struggle to collect money for her re-election campaign. It was considered uncouth for the rich to pay for their own campaigns when there were so many poor people willing to do it for them. It just required a lot of patience and effort to separate them from their paltry sums.

Jill struggled for a full year before coming to terms with her alcohol problem and seeking help. She knew that if she didn’t do something quickly, she was going to ruin her career and marriage. A friend told her about an alcohol abuse clinic that specialized in celebrity guests and she made an appointment. The young Senator came in disguise and left several weeks later without the news ever leaking out to the press. Each day after that was a struggle, but so far she had been able to keep her vow to never touch alcohol again.

Jill was caught by surprise one day, when the leader of the Senate informed her, that he was appointing her to a special committee on race relations. She was to work on a new law that was designed to address gun violence against African Americans. This was a plume assignment that usually only offered to those with decades of seniority. The young blonde quickly accepted the new assignment without asking any questions.

Jill was scheduled to meet with the leader of the National Association for the Advancement of African Americans to get his input on the proposed new law. She went to his hotel and looked at the card in her hand as she pushed the elevator button for the thirty-fifth floor. After a relatively quick ride, she got off and went looking for room 3526. When she knocked on the door, a middle aged black man opened the door.

Good afternoon Senator Wentworth. Won’t you please come in?’ he said, We’ve been expecting you."

When Jill arrived inside, she saw half a dozen other black men there. At first, she felt very uncomfortable until she remembered that she was a United States Senator. She took comfort in knowing that no one in their right mind would molest a member of Congress. Shortly, thereafter, a man came out of the bathroom and she recognized him immediately--it was Reverend Amos Washington the leader of the NAAAA.

The Reverend came over and took her outstretched hand in both of his large hands, Senator, I want to thank you for meeting me here today. We have some important work to do and not a lot of time, so I guess we better get to it. Won’t you please have a seat?

Most certainly, acknowledged Jill, as she looked around for a place to sit. The only open place she saw was a couch. She sat down and the Reverend picked up a Manila folder and sat down beside her. The green eyed blonde felt a pleasurable shiver in her tummy as she glanced at the handsome, black man sitting beside her.

Would you care for an alcoholic beverage? he smiled.

No thank you, Reverend. I don’t drink the stuff, Jill responded, maybe a bit too strongly.

Then perhaps you would do me the honor of joining me in a glass of orange juice? he offered.

Of course, she smiled.

The Reverend opened the folder, and as they discussing his proposal for the new law, a man brought in two large glasses of orange juice, and sat them in down on the table in front of them. Jill took a drink and was surprised at how delicious the juice tasted. She finished half the glass before she realized it. The man then quickly reappeared to set another full glass of juice down near her half-empty one.

In the hotel room next door, Jake ‘the Snake’ Siva sat sipping his beer and snacking on potato chips, as he closely watched the surveillance monitors. He knew it shouldn’t be much longer before