Political party conferences in the UK serve four purposes: posing, plotting, partying and procreation (or at least the semblance of it). I hate them usually.

Here I was, the Prime Minister’s deputy chief of staff herding the cats who were her ‘colleagues.’ They were, in fact, a duplicitous bunch of self-seekers mostly, with a few rare exceptions such as Libby Manning. I’d grown even more fond of her since the election and we spent a fair bit of time together when circumstances allowed which wasn’t often. The conference made that possible.

My duties required that I spent most of my time with the PM or other members of her staff and Tenant did not spend much time at the various parties. She would drop in, glad hand a bit, then retire to her suite to deal with running the country. She cut me some slack though and I was able to get away from her office and spend a bit more time working the different parties, supporting her and straightening some of the useless bastards out.

“So, you’re Tenant’s woman.” This was Hilary Goose, an aspiring but so far lowly MP who had her eyes set on greater things.

“I’m the Prime Minister’s deputy chief of staff,” I said this rather prissily and she smiled.

“I stand corrected. I’ve heard a lot about you.” I thought that I hadn’t heard much about her and probably never would but I remained silent. “They say you’re good.”

“Well, ‘they’ are very kind. Was there something you wanted?”

The party held every year by the party chairman was a big bash. He hired the hotel’s largest ballroom and, being exceedingly wealthy, spared no expense to cement his own position and win a few friends. It was a dress-up affair, long frocks, dinner jackets and plenty of champagne along with great food if, that is, you enjoy eating standing up which I don’t. I tend not to drink much at these functions. It pays to keep my wits about me.

Hilary Goose was a relative youngster, about thirty-five. She was undeniably attractive and had made an effort with a striking printed dress that shimmered in cream and green that did something to her red hair, wavy and long, and her green eyes. Her naturally pale complexion meant that the dark makeup on her eyes made them even more dramatic. Her chin was too long, she had uneven teeth but her tits were firm and full and she’d made the best of them.

I confess I felt a little dowdy by comparison. My all-purpose LBD was neat and professional but by no means glamorous.

“Tell me, Sam, are you married?” She obviously hadn’t heard that much about me.

“No, why?”

“My husband is over there,” she pointed without looking. “He’s the one trying desperately to get that bitch Lorna MacDonald into bed.”

MacDonald was another backbencher who had something of a reputation. I guessed Goose had had a lot more champagne than I had.

“Oh, I don’t care, not remotely. I only married him to get selected. He ticks the boxes, you see. Good school, university and job; rich family. He’s a politician’s dream husband.” She touched my hand. “I’m not really the marrying kind. But then, nor are you, are you?”

I excused myself. Drunks can be so boring. I navigated my way through the throng, cursing a new pair of heels that hurt the balls of my feet and rubbed my ankles. I also cursed the fact that one suspender had come undone on my right thigh and I needed to get to a loo and fix it. A hand rested on my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Libby Manning. Her short hair shone in the light of the chandeliers.

“Libby! I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Nor did I but about an hour ago I thought, fuck it, why not? I haven’t been to a good party for ages, not since you got me the job.” Her hand ran discreetly up my thigh.

“You got it all by yourself.”

“I doubt that. I’ve got a fair bit of schmoozing to do. I also happen to have a particularly nice bottle of scotch in my room. Care to have a drop with me later?”

I smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Well you’d better go and fix that suspender, hadn’t you? You know I don’t want you less than properly dressed.” She leaned very close. “I saw you talking to the Goose. I fucked her last year. She was quite good so, if you don’t make an effort I might have to kick you out.” Her tongue licked my ear and she squeezed my hand affectionately. “I’m going to enjoy you, you know. 1207, about midnight.”

Before I could reply she was gone. I watched her trousered arse as she pushed her way through the crowd. Nice.

The MP for one of our fine old county constituencies, a former vicar and still a paragon of the church and staunch upholder of family values put his hand on my arse as we discussed something banal.

“I’ve heard you’re a lesbian. I’m sure I can lead you to the path of truth if you come to my room later.”

“If you don’t move your hand, Lionel,” I said smiling tightly, “I will kick you in your ecclesiastical testicles.”

I finally got to the toilet, went into a stall and as I sat and peed I tidied up my stockings. I stroked my cunt and found I was wet. No surprise there, I was hot for Libby, I was sober and she was going to ‘enjoy me.’ I wondered what that meant. I knew she liked rough sometimes and I knew she had been the boss in her relationship with Delphine just as Babs had been in ours. When I left the cubicle I met Layla Matthews, one of the more ‘enthusiastic’ members who was doing her face.

“Tommy Goldman has invited me to his party,” she told me without preamble. “I think it’s just the two of us. Why don’t you join us, Sam? Might as well enjoy the ‘fucking’ conference, no?” She laughed at her own joke and I could see she was as high as a kite, probably on the coke again.

I made a mental note, declined her invitation and slipped back out into the ballroom. About an hour later I went up to my room (also on the twelfth floor) and had a shower and changed into a clean pair of my best silk French knickers, black and transparent and incredibly expensive, black suspenders and stockings and a long, silk nightdress also black. I pulled a long, light coat on over it all and made my way along the corridor.

I tapped at the door of 1207. Libby opened it. She was wearing a pair of dark blue silk pyjamas and her dildo was poking out the front. She held a glass of scotch out to me as I entered. She closed the door and turned the deadlock with a firm click. I put the scotch down and slipped my coat off.

“Well done, you,” she said with a grin. “Are we playing widows tonight?”

“I like black.”

“So do I.”

Putting down her own glass, she came to me and kissed me, hard, her tongue pushing into my mouth. She tasted of smoky whisky but I could tell she was no less sober than I. Her hand went behind my neck and she held me tightly as her tongue explored me. Then she stepped back, indicated a chair and we sat facing each other, nursing our whiskies.

“I’m glad you’ve come.” She stroked her dildo as it poked out of the silk trousers. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“How’s the conference going for you and the boss?”

“Pretty well, so far. She’s done her big speech and all the usual creeps told her how good she is. She knows what they’re like so she takes no notice.”

“She’s doing well, really well. It’s a bit annoying really. Stand up.”

I stood. She remained sitting.

“Why annoying?”

She grinned. “Because there’s no way I could make a challenge while she’s doing so well.”

Sipping her scotch she indicated with her hand that I should turn around so I did. I wanted her to be in charge. Truth to tell, I wanted her to be rough with me, maybe very rough. Please don’t ask me why. It’s something I have never understood myself but it is a part of me and that’s that. Why agonise about what we are?

“Lift your nightdress.”

I lifted it and I hear the sound of her placing her glass down and standing. Then I felt her hand on my arse. She caressed my cheeks, her hand firm on the silk of my knickers. Through the material, she pressed a finger against my arsehole.

“Has anyone ever fucked you here?”

“Yes, Babs.”

“Anyone else?”

“No.”

“Often?”
 

“Once.”

“Turn around.” I turned, letting the dress fall back down. “I will too.”

She lifted a questioning eyebrow. I simply nodded. I was going to be her bitch. I knew that. Libby went to a drawer and pulled out a thin belt, bright red patent leather. She looped it around my neck and pulled the end through the buckle so it closed like a leash around me.

As if she had read my mind, she said, “My bitch, aren’t you?” I nodded. “Say it.”

“I’m your bitch.”

She nodded as if satisfied. Returning to the drawer she extracted a steel butt plug. It wasn’t huge but it looked heavy as she weighed it in the palm of her hand. She came very close to me and put it in my mouth.

“Pretty. That will stretch you for me soon. I don’t want to hurt you, well, not that way. But my bitch has to feel, she has to experience. You’ll find some lube in the bathroom, go and get it.”

I went to remove the plug from my mouth but she said to leave it there. I could see from her pupils and the burgeoning nipples under her pyjama top that she was aroused. I fetched the lubricant and handed it to her. She directed me to put my hands on the bed and bend forward so I did. I felt her lift my nightdress and pull my knickers down.

She spread lube all over my hole before gently working some into me, first with one then with two fingers. She took the plug from my mouth. Her fingers slithered out to be replaced by the tip of the plug. The pressure increased and slowly, so slowly I opened and stretched, feeling that burning sensation until suddenly I felt myself close around the plug’s stem.

I must have made a noise of some sort because she patted my arse and whispered, “Good girl.”

She pulled my knickers back up and told me to sit again. The plug felt big, filled me and as I sat I felt it move and shift in me. It was amazingly sexy. She talked to me as if nothing unusual was going on. She didn’t talk about work but about life after Babs and Delphine; how much she missed the great sex they had enjoyed, the shared attitudes, the complete understanding.

“Do you think we could have all that?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.”
 

“So do I. I think we should give it a chance.” If I looked ridiculous with a bright red belt around my neck I did not feel it. “Lift your dress and spread your legs.” I did so. “Better. When we are alone I want you to sit like that with your knees apart. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Libby.” She stroked her dildo.

“Show me your left breast.” I pulled the silk of my nightdress away from it and she smiled. “Lovely. Have you ever been caned?”

“No.”

“Pull your knickers aside. I want to see your cunt.” I did that too. “You may be caned. I like it, enjoy it.” Her eyebrow did that questioning lift again.

“I think so.”

“Stand up.” She watched as I stood. “Show me both your breasts.” I let the nightdress drop to my waist. “So small. I wish mine were small like yours.”

“Yours are gorgeous.” That was true. They were not huge but they were firm and pointed up. Her nipples were always large, even larger at that moment.

She stood then and came to me. Taking the end of the belt in her hand she led me not to the bed but to the wall. She pushed me so my back was against it and kissed first my mouth then my neck, then my breasts. I was a bit surprised when she pulled the top of my nightdress back up, covering my tits and easing the straps onto my shoulders.

“Sometimes I like to fuck you like this, clothed or partially, standing up, like you’re a whore who has taken me down a back alley.” She grinned then, “Like I may take you up your back alley.”

Her hands roamed over my breasts, down over my belly, around to cup my arse. She kissed my neck, bit it gently and her hand gripped my nightdress and slowly, ever so slowly, pulled it up and up until it was rucked up at my waist. Her other hand pulled my knickers aside and I felt the tip of her dildo between my legs, stroking between them, rubbing along the crease of my cunt. She slowly guided it into me and I was more than ready. Knees slightly bent, she lifted me as she entered me and the dildo, working with the plug in my arse, started to send amazing feelings coursing through me.

“Noisy bitch.” Her smile took the sting out of the words. I hadn’t been aware I was making any sound. She began to thrust rhythmically, deeper every time until her crotch was pressed against me. Now and then she’d stop, deep inside me, and kiss me, her tongue in me so I felt as if I’d been invaded everywhere.

Libby pulled out of me and turned me around, pulling my hips back and lifting my nightdress again and then she fucked me from behind. She held the belt like a rein and started to slam into me. I knew by this time that I was grunting with each thrust. She was getting rough, harsher and kept saying words like bitch and whore. Did I care? Not even slightly. I was approaching heaven and then she stopped. She stopped deep inside me and then eased slowly out of me.

Her voice a whisper, she said, “Get on the bed. Face on the pillow, arse in the air.”
 

The bed dipped as she got on it after me and I felt my nightdress drawn up again and she pulled my knickers down roughly. The plug was pulled from my arse and thrown to the floor with a thump and then she was pressing her dildo there. I was lubricated and stretched and she met no resistance.

It went in gently but swiftly and her voice was hoarse as she said, “My little arse bitch.”

The belt tightened around my throat as she began to fuck me, slowly and shallowly at first but increasingly deep and quick as she sensed I was coping.

Little words of encouragement like ‘good girl, good bitch,’ urged me on. I knew from her voice she was close and her arousal was even more apparent when she bent and her nipples were hard on my back. A hand went between my legs and began to stroke my clit and invade my cunt.

“So wet. If you cum before me I will punish you.”

It was obvious she wanted to punish me because her finger teased my clit so beautifully and in time with her thrusts that it would have been impossible not to cum. Cum I did and it was a wild ride. It started somewhere in my core and grew like a pressure inside me. I told her and she said only that I should hold it. She didn’t stop. I begged her but she ignored me and so finally the pressure overcame me and I screamed into the pillow, writhing, bucking and gripping the sheets. My orgasm precipitated hers and she was wild too, biting my neck and moaning obscenities in my ear. Finally, I slumped and she lay on me and in me.

The feeling as she withdrew from me was like a loss. I was hurting, she’d been rough and I think I gasped as it came out. She was solicitous, asking me if I was okay, which I was, blissfully. She held me as we lay there, recovering.

“You’ll have to be punished of course.” I turned my head to look at her. “Not now though. We don’t want to disturb our neighbours, do we?”

*

With the party conference over things settled into a more normal regime. Oh, there were incidents, events, catastrophes, successes but mostly they were of a routine nature. A routine catastrophe? Well you may ask. The pace of government is such that there is barely time to draw breath. Sylvia Tenant was a very successful Prime Minister. She was so successful that her position was unassailable and she wielded her power with great skill. It was a pleasure to watch and to be a part of it. The economy boomed, employment soared and the treasury had, for the first parliament in decades, money to spend without bankrupting the country.

Sally Kurven wasn’t good looking. Sure, she was tall, slender and had great legs and tits but her face was sharp-featured and her teeth were too big. Her cheekbones lacked definition. It was her eyes though that gave her that something; black and bright, like jet beads. She was sitting in one of the small meeting rooms in Number 10 when I entered. She was wearing a deep crimson dress that made the most of her body.

“Ms Kurven, I’m Sam Lovett, deputy chief of staff.”

“Yes, I know,” she didn’t stand. Her American accent was from the south somewhere but I couldn’t tell exactly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I’d heard a lot about her too. She was by all accounts a brilliant economist and with particularly well developed political instincts. Her beautifully manicured hand rested on a plastic folder.

“I’d like you to read this.” She tapped it. “I want you to read it through once and you’ll think it’s horse shit. Then you’ll read it through again and think the woman’s stark raving mad. Then you’ll read it again and realise I am both sane and right. It won’t take you long. See you in the Porter club at, say,” she looked at her watch, ‘6pm?”

“I’m afraid I have a meeting.”

“So cancel it. Your lady will want you to I promise you.” She stood up and left.

At 6, I went into the Porter club and found her nursing a large glass of red wine. She smiled as I approached and indicated to the steward to bring me a glass.

I looked at her before I sat. “I didn’t think it was horse shit. I thought you were sane but wrong. It would cost a fortune.”

“Sit down.” I did. “You see, darling, you have a fortune. In fact, you have a massive fortune and this would barely touch it.”

Her plan was to give all the essential services: fire, police, health, teachers, military, every year in addition to their standing budget a sum equal to the cost of their payroll and rising by 2% above inflation for the next three years. The objective was to improve all those services, make their leaders stop whingeing about cash shortages and hold them accountable for getting things right.

“You’ll win the hearts and minds of essential service workers and the people they serve. The Opposition could say nothing sensible to criticise it and if they try your lady can tell them to go fuck themselves. Libby Manning told me you were good.” She smiled a little lecherously. “Your boss will feel like you do but if she does you’re both wrong. Let me see her.”

The PM read the paper. She called me into her office and we went through it together.

“Get her in.”

I led Sally Kurven to the PM’s private office and, as we walked her hand suddenly took mine. She stopped and I had to, turning to look at her. “Let’s fuck sometime soon?”

I disengaged my hand and led on to the PM’s office. We went through it again and in the end, Tenant said, “Leave this with me. If I go down this road it will be my initiative. You, Ms Kurven, will come and work for me as a special economic adviser and you will remain silent, is that clear?”

“Perfectly, darling.”

“Prime Minister will do nicely, thank you.”

Kurven inclined her head in a rather fake acquiescence.

“Sam, please show Ms Kurven out and write me a speech.”

It was a few weeks later when I was in Kurven’s new office in Number 10, bigger than mine by a mile. We were going through the speech the PM was to give at a meeting of the great and good at a dinner at one of the grand hotels in the City. It was to be televised and she had chosen it as the springboard for the new initiative which had been dubbed ‘The Reward.' It was, after all, a reward to the nation for tightening belts, working hard and achieving something that hadn’t been achieved in centuries.

I made a few changes with Kurven’s agreement and then emailed it to the PM.

“Are you going to the dinner?”
 

“No, the Chief of Staff is.”

“Is Libby?”

“She’s in Australia.”

“Have dinner with me then.” I hesitated. “We’ll eat and then I’ll fuck your brains out. You have a better offer?”

And thus it was that I watched the PM’s speech whilst I was in bed with Kurven. She had not lied. I was, basically, recovering as we watched Tenant deliver her speech. Kurven had not bothered with dinner. As soon as I’d arrived she kissed me but it wasn’t an affectionate kiss it was more like a first bite at the cherry.

Her hand went to my tit as I took my coat off and the other went up my skirt. She was hungry, like a wolf. I have no idea what happened to my knickers but within a few minutes of arriving, I was naked on her bed. She was naked too and she was not, apparently, a strappy type, with her it was all fingers, tongues, thighs, and tribbing. I am not complaining here – she was fabulous; rapacious and relentless.

It had started with that hand under my skirt, fingers exploring my slit, my cunt, my arse while her tongue thrust into my mouth. I cant remember the order of things but I had a tongue in my cunt, in my arse and in my mouth. I do remember her thigh between my legs. It was bare and rubbed firmly against me as she pulled and twisted my nipples. Don’t think for a moment I was entirely passive in all this. I did my best, seizing every opportunity as her pussy hovered over my face or my hand was on her cunt but she kept moving. She was enjoying herself too much to stay still and to be brutally frank, so was I.

Gasping for breath I lay on my back and shifted so I could watch the tv.

“Watch it on your knees. I haven’t finished.”

Sylvia Tenant had started. “It’s time for the British people to reap the rewards of their forbearance. For the first time in decades, we have a surplus, a surplus that means we can repay the public’s commitment to the health of the economy.”

A tongue pressed deep into my arse and a finger stroked my g spot. 

“The essential services will not only be re-built from the parlous state the Opposition left them in, to a condition better than they have ever experienced and a major strand of that is to reward particularly those who perform the essential services.”

The tongue was replaced by two fingers and the finger in my cunt became two.

“Our military, our emergency services, our health workers will be paid as they should be and will continue to be for the next three years as a minimum and for as long as the economy remains strong. Their services will receive enough funding to give them the equipment they need to do their jobs.”

I lost the next few phrases as an orgasm destroyed my ability to concentrate on anything but bodily sensations. I screamed, I expect. After, Sally held me. She licked my face and still, there was really no tenderness, more a sort of clinging on to the last remaining passion.

“You write good speeches, honey.”

*

Sylvia Tenant asked me how I thought her speech had gone.

“I loved every minute of it.” Well, it was true.