Pussy In Boots 3

"Pesky moggy," grumbled the caretaker taking a swing at the cat with his mop, "Go on, get out of 'ere."

The cat, completely unflustered by the cleaner's attention, nonchalantly slinked out of the leather backed chair reserved for the chairman of Rutshire County Council and stretched her slender frame before shooting a glance of disdain at the caretaker and padding out of the council chamber into the corridors of County Hall as if she owned them. The cat, with her sleek coat of black fur, slithered down the empty corridors with effortless feline grace.

She halted at a door left ajar overnight and cast her eyes up to a scribbled name on a piece of card stuck to it with

blu-tak.

It read,

Richard Whittington,

Portfolio Holder for Sustainability and Community Engagement

. She squeezed her slender frame through the narrow gap, leapt lithely onto the desk, padded over a computer keyboard and jumped into a shabby office chair and curled herself up. She settled down for a well-earned snooze...tomorrow would be a busy day.

***

Richard Whittington picked up the mail from his pigeon hole. There was a memo from the

Director of Environment and Neighbourhood Services

requesting an urgent meeting on the compost recycling bag issue; the contractor had supplied shoddy bags that split and were leaving trails of rotting food waste on kitchen floors across the whole county. Later he had a meeting with some angry residents about the switch from weekly to bi-weekly bin collections and then he had been hauled before the

Overview and Scrutiny Office

about some disputed expenses claim for a bacon sandwich he'd made. Finally, he knew there would be an inbox with hundreds of e-mails to deal with.

He'd been promised a personal assistant. As a portfolio holder he should have one, after all, Nigel in

Economic Regeneration

had one, why shouldn't he? But the wheels of County Hall turned slowly and now, with the austerity measures and spending cuts, he suspected he'd never get one. There were days when Richard doubted himself and this was one of them. Had he entered local politics for this? He'd expected a modicum of power and respect.

He swung open the door of his office and gasped, "What the ...!"

Stretched out across his desk was the longest, blackest, shiniest...and sexiest pair of boots he had ever set his eyes on. They had stiletto heels with sharp silver tips to them. There was a slither of white flesh and above that a figure hugging black dress, business like, but barely. It clung to the shapely body of its wearer like fur on a sleek black cat and showed far too much cleavage than was acceptable for County Hall. A female face, with a startling feline aspect to it, stared out through a frame of luxuriant black hair.

"Who are you?" he stuttered, taken aback.

"I'm your new PA, Pussy Perrault."

"Nobody told me about getting a new PA."

"Ah well, that's the problem Dick. You don't mind if I call you Dick?" She continued regardless before Richard could raise any objection, "You see, they keep you in the dark about what goes on here."

Richard muttered to himself; unfortunately, she was right.

"Yes, I know it's a shame, Dick. I can see you're cut out for greater things. You should do something more ambitious. You need to be thinking big, Dick. Think, mayor of London."

"As if..." he laughed.

"No, I'm serious. You just need to escape from this dingy place and find your fortune somewhere else. I mean...

Portfolio Holder for Sustainability and Community Engagement,

tell me Dick, what does it mean?"

Richard bristled with indignation, "It's very important. It's all about delivering sustainable outcomes for the community and..." Richard started to struggle, "and bin collection...well bin collection mainly. But it's very important for our residents."

"No, Dick, you need to get away from here and seek your fortune. Stand as an independent candidate in next year's mayoral elections for London."

Richard laughed, "Come on, you've got to be kidding."

"No Dick, I'm not. I've just crossed your path now and I'm your lucky icon. Stand for mayor and I guarantee, with Pussy behind you, you'll be mayor of London in a year."

"That's impossible. You need a party machine, a campaign team, financial backing, connections and support in high places...it'd cost a fortune."

"Ah, but Dick, the streets of London are lined with gilt edged stocks, high interest bonds and lucrative construction contracts. Just leave it to me...Pussy will fix everything for you," she purred.

***

One resignation letter and a train journey later and Pussy and Dick stood in the arrivals hall of Paddington Station.

Dick stood despondently in the hustle of the crowded railway station. Already the pace and bustle of the city were overwhelming him. He had been brought up in a small rural community. He'd barely travelled outside of Rutshire and had no experience of the city. He was just an impoverished local politician of mediocre talent and average intelligence. What was he doing here?

"This is ridiculous, Pussy. I've no money and no influence. I've no idea where to begin."

"Leave it with me. I have a long list of potential vict...I mean, sponsors. The first thing we need is money and some backing from big business."

"But they're all ruthless people, Pussy. Why are they going to give me donations for a political campaign?"

"Yes, I know, they're all rats," smiled Pussy, "but I'm an expert at trapping rats. It's my forte."

***

"I'm sorry Mr Spencer, but she just barged past me," apologised his flustered personal assistant.

Stuart Spencer was on the point of calling security until he set eyes on the figure before him. Pussy was dressed in a black fur coat and leather boots, long and black, as you'd expect. The cut of the coat was low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage and the potential delights of the body underneath the fur.

She strode across the office brushing past him and took up a place by the window. Pussy was on the twenty-eighth floor of the Shard on London's South Bank and this was the office of the chief executive of the private equity company Affinity Capital Partners. The office was all gleaming chrome, leather and glass and exuded wealth and class. Pussy gazed out across the stunning vista facing her. It was early evening and London was ablaze with light. Tower Bridge and St Paul's were floodlit and the lights of the City of London were spread out before her.

"It's alright, Jennifer, I'll deal with this," he mumbled to his PA.

She smiled. He was captivated already. This was going to be easy work.

"What a magnificent view you have here?" Pussy called out, her back to him.

"What do you want? Are you a high-class call girl or something?" he asked.

Pussy turned to face him. She took some coils of rope out of the pockets before letting the fur coat slide off her back onto the floor to reveal her majestically slender body in matching leather bra and thong set. She glided back towards him, the stiletto heels of her boots sinking into the thick pile of the carpet. She pushed him back into his leather chair and leaned over him, her breasts, practically bursting out of the black bra, thrust into his face. She would let him play with her for a little while, like a mature cat toying with her kitten. He couldn't resist reaching out to fondle the beautiful orbs of flesh dangling temptingly before him and then running his hands over her hips.

Pushing the swivel chair back as far as it would go so Spencer was practically laying down she leant over him and pressed her lips against his. The taste of her was rather fishy, but still strangely arousing. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and it was an experience like no other. He'd kissed plenty of women but Pussy's tongue possessed an indescribable animal-like quality. Their lips parted leaving him gasping for more and desperate to know what it would feel like to have her tongue wrapped around his cock.

"Let's get these clothes off shall we?" hissed Pussy.

She loosened his silk tie and unbuttoned his crisp white shirt, running her painted fingernails like claws down his chest. Then Pussy pounced. Within seconds tie and shirt were whipped off and thrown aimlessly onto the office floor. Shoes and socks were removed and discarded. Then she turned attention to his fly. This she took more time over, pushing him back against the chair with one hand whilst she unzipped him and pulled trousers and pants over his hips, letting them drop to the floor. His released cock jumped up erect.

Pussy could see how desperate he was. He was ready to burst. She bent over his crotch, her lips hovering over Spencer's cock as it stood up proud. She planted a kiss on its tip making his prick quiver with desperate need and leaving a mark of bright red lipstick. Then she put her tongue out and ran it right along the length of his cock. He was catapulted into a sensual nirvana. Pussy's tongue was like nothing else he'd felt before. It had a rough quality to it which, combined with the licking motion, sent a shock wave of pleasure pulsing through him. He moaned. Wheat a tool of erotic delight her tongue was.

He's had enough pleasure, thought Pussy, now down to business. She pulled her lips away from his cock.

"Shall we make this a bit more interesting," she purred.

Reduced to a gibbering wreck, Spencer could only groan in acquiescence.

Pussy picked up the coils of rope she'd left on the desk and quickly got to work. Before he could even take stock of what was happening his wrists were tied to the arms of the chair and his ankles to its base. He was at her mercy.

"Please, lick my cock again," he begged.

"No, I don't think so," she spat.

She retrieved her mobile phone from the pocket of her coat.

"Now, this is an interesting predicament you've got yourself in, isn't it?" she smiled as she took photos of the hedge fund executive tied to his office chair.

"What do you mean? What are you doing?" he asked, the realisation he might have been tricked finally dawning on him.

"So, tell me, what were the pre-tax profits of Affinity Capital Partners last financial year? And what was your bonus; two million pounds, three maybe?"

"What's it to you," he called angrily.

"Ah, you see it's of great interest to me because I need some money; lots of money. You see I'm running a little political campaign and I need loads of dosh and lots of powerful supporters who'll do whatever I want. For a good cause, I'm sure you understand."

"You're blackmailing me! There's no way I'm going to give in to this."

Pussy picked up a photograph from the desk.

"Ah, how sweet. This must be your wife. And are these your kiddies? What lovely little kittens. How old are they? Oh, let's see, they must be about 3, 7 and 10."

Pussy thrust her breasts into his face and took a photograph with her mobile. She wrapped her lips around his cock and, stretching her arm out to capture the whole scene, took another photograph.

"It would be a shame if they found out what daddy gets up to in his office when he's at work, wouldn't it?" she hissed.

"You bastard!" Spencer spluttered.

"Just, say, £500,000 to get my campaign off the ground, that's all. Come on, after all it's a mere fraction of your annual bonus. Now your fingers are still free, so I'm going to get your mobile and then you're going to go onto your online banking and transfer some money into an account, ok."

Spencer did what he was told. He was embarrassed and it was worth paying up to avoid admitting he'd been so easily trapped as well as to hide this encounter from his wife. And it was true, he could afford it.

"When I leave, I'll just let your PA know you're a bit tied up at the moment, ok," said Pussy as she slipped the fur coat back over her shoulders and padded imperiously towards the office door.

Pussy purred with satisfaction. Stage one complete; now it was time to go catch some more rats.

***

Dick was astonished at the success Pussy had in getting donations and contacts in high places. Money and support for him were pouring in from all manner of places. He had received numerous substantial donations from big businesses and financial institutions, he had the support of a couple of large construction companies and the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police had spoken in public favourably about policing policies he didn't even have yet!

He was intrigued about what kind of influence Pussy had over these powerful people but daren't ask too much and, when he did, Pussy merely brushed him aside saying she had everything under control. He was almost starting to believe he could be a viable candidate for mayor.

"There's just a few more pieces need slotting in before we have an unstoppable campaign, Dick."

"What are they?" he asked.

"We need the newspapers on our side - in particular we need the London Evening News to support you. It's the free paper with the widest distribution and the biggest influence."

"But how are we going to do that, Pussy? I've heard stories about Rebekkah Crooks, the editor. She's an ogre -- completely ruthless. She won't hold any truck with a simple local politician."

"Oh, I don't know," mewed Pussy, "I have a certain strategy for dealing with her. Leave it to me and I'll have her licking out of my hand!"

Pussy had done her homework. She knew exactly which posh bars in the Docklands area of London all the newspaper editors frequented. She'd also done enough digging to find Rebekkah Crooks's weak spot and was rather looking forward to this encounter. Dressed in her tightest black cocktail dress, she strode brazenly into Smollensky's, the swanky cocktail bar in Canary Wharf, and straight up to her target. She sat down next to her, put her red lips to her ear and whispered.

"Listen to me. I'm the sexiest woman on the planet. I can do things with my tongue you would not believe! This is what's going to happen. We're going to have a drink and then we're going to go to a hotel and I'm going to give you the time of your life."

Rebekkah was a bit taken aback by this bold up-front assault but how could she resist Pussy's brazen seductive beauty? And, yes, she possessed a weak spot. She loved powerful women. Men, she could, and frequently did, treat like dirt. She would shout at them, rip them to pieces with her waspish tongue and treat like an inferior species...but a confident and powerful woman got a whole different response; that made her wet with desire.

"Ok," she said hesitantly, "your proposition kind of sounds interesting. So, what is it you're drinking?"

"Oh, mine's a glass of milk."

"Milk?! Wouldn't you like something stronger? We can share a bottle of Pinot Grigio or something."

"No, milk is fine. I find it gives my hair a glossy sheen."

She looked admiringly at her, "God, you're right; your hair is so sleek and shiny!"

After some pleasantries were exchanged, the conversation soon degenerated into a series of disgusting innuendos about what Pussy was going to do to her.

Rebekkah suddenly interrupted Pussy, "Jesus, what scent are you wearing, it's so very..."

"...animalistic?"

"Hmm, yeah. What's it called?"

"Essence of Felinity."

"Really, I've never heard of it."

"No, I made it up. It's just my natural body odour."

"My god, but it's so...sexy!"

"I think it's time we went off for some sex now," purred Pussy

They retired to a room in a nearby hotel which Pussy had already booked, confident in her ability to make her catch. After some passionate kissing and fondling, Rebekkah already laid naked on the bed. Pussy went into the bathroom to freshen up and strip off. When she emerged she was completely naked except for her high-heeled black boots. Rebekkah gasped. She looked sensational. Her body was slim and sleek with a disarmingly feline quality to it.

"Don't you take your boots off when you have sex?"

"No, it's this thing I have."

"Ooh, kinky!"

"It's my nick-name, you see..Pussy in Boots."

"Ooh, yes, I love it."

Pussy crouched at the end of the bed and then, with one elegant leap, pounced on top of Rebekkah. Her mouth and tongue were everywhere; kissing her passionately, licking her nipples and exploring her aching and expectant cunt. Rebekkah lay there passively and allowed Pussy to paw at her, nip her, bite her and lick her in every intimate place. And her tongue! Rebekkah couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it had a rough quality to it as if she was being set upon by an amazingly sensuous kind of sandpaper, though the comparison hardly did justice to the erotic delights it delivered.

Pussy's tongue licked her breasts and wrapped itself around her nipple. It was a sensational feeling, both rough and sensuous at the same time. And her tongue so long, longer than any woman's she'd seen before, so when it was licking her throbbing clit or probing inside her dripping cunt, the sensation was glorious. She purred with pleasure, mewed in delight and hissed with satisfaction as she reached orgasm after mind-blowing orgasm.

As Rebekkah laid there spent, Pussy put her hand down to her own cunt and ran it along her crack scooping up the slippery wetness from its folds. Then she offered her juices up to Rebekkah to lick off, which she did enthusiastically. Pussy smiled. She'd promised she would have her licking out of her hand.

After an evening of fabulous sex, Pussy finally got round to the business end of her encounter with the editor of the London Evening News.

"You mean you're Richard Whittington's political adviser," exclaimed Rebakkah, "but he's a dick. What do you see in him?"

"Yes, I know he is, but he's my Dick, and he'll do anything I say."

"So, you pull the strings do you? So, what's your agenda?"

"I represent a special interest group."

"And what special interest is that?"

"Ah, but that would be telling, wouldn't it?!"

"What is it you want?"

"I need support for the campaign. The backing of your newspaper would be a fantastic asset. And I'm lining up a rather sensational piece of gossip about one of the other candidates I need publicity for. I promise you, it'll be a scoop and there'll be some great photos to go with it. And you know, if you support me you just have to give me a call and I'll come round and put my tongue up your cunt and make you come and come until you screech like a banshee," she laughed.

"Oh, god, I'm on board. Richard Whittington is a dick, but if he's got you on board as his political adviser he just might go somewhere and the sex, shit, I've got to have more."

***

"You're kidding me," exclaimed Dick, "you've actually got the editor of the London Evening News on our side. It's incredible; how do you do it, Pussy? Her reputation is formidable. She's renowned for being an ogre, you know."

"Well, you know how wily I am, Dick. And, if you treat her properly, she's a pussy really. We hit it off just fine," Pussy purred enigmatically.

"I can see you made an impression on her. There's already a complimentary article about me in today's paper. Well, it's mainly about you actually. Have you read it?" Dick read out from the newspaper, "Independent candidate Richard Whittington's campaign for London mayor is really taking off. And with campaign manager Pussy Perrault behind him, he could go all the way. Phwoar, what a stunner she is. We at the London Evening News say, vote for Richard Whittington, so we can see more Pussy!" What's all that about, Pussy?"

"Don't ask me, Dick. I don't write this stuff. I'm just laying the ground work for you. There is one more piece of the jigsaw to put in place though and then I think we could have a winning campaign," said Pussy.