"The young lady over there, Sir", gestured the Portcullis House receptionist.
Robert nodded his thanks, then looked across the sparsely occupied lobby.
"Christ," he thought to himself, "these interns get better looking every year."
The young lady in question was slender, with chestnut coloured hair firmly gathered in a low ponytail. She wore a crisp white blouse with no sleeves, and a short black pencil skirt that clung to a pert round bum. This was exaggerated by the tall black heels she wore. She had cat-like green eyes, cheekbones to die for, and a dark red slash of lipstick across her generous mouth.
Straightening his tie, Robert strode across the room with what he hoped was urbane self-confidence.
"Hello, I'm Robert, from Philippa Strafford's office. You must be the new girl?"
She smiled. And Robert fell in lust.
***
The girl in question, Lydia Evans, bit her lip nervously as she waited to be met and escorted from the lobby. Her father, a generous Conservative Party donor, had secured her the month long internship in the break between her A-Levels and university. Eighteen years old, she had a firm offer of a place at Edinburgh to study Politics, and hoped that this month in Parliament would be a nice addition to her C.V.
"...the new girl?" a slightly awkward young man with a floppy fringe was saying hopefully.
Lydia smiled in a friendly way. "I guess!"
She listened attentively as Robert escorted her up to the office where she would be working, he seemed a little over-keen to impress her with slightly tedious facts and figures about the history of the building.
He was reasonably good-looking she thought to herself, as he launched into an interminable anecdote about Thomas More, but Christ he was boring.
Arriving at the cramped office, Robert introduced Lydia to Philippa Strafford, the MP for East Worth, who waved an imperious hand in her new intern's direction before rushing off to vote.
As Lydia settled at her desk, Robert interspersed explanations of Parliamentary IT and office protocol with surreptitious glances at her lissom figure.
"And of course, the social side of working here is pretty good", he allowed. "Lots of young, poorly paid staffers with not much else to do than go for post-work drinks and make eyes at each other."
Lydia smiled awkwardly. "That sounds...interesting".
***
It was later.
Lydia tottered unsteadily out of the Sports and Social bar, arm in arm with Robert.
"You know, you're actually quite good fun!" she giggled drunkenly. "I thought you were boring at first but now maybe not!"
Robert grinned, a little quizzically. "You do have a way with people, Lydia, I'll say that for you".
"And you have a way with...oh fuck it!"
And with a slightly wobbly lunge she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.
Unable to believe his own luck, Robert kissed her back. His hands slid instinctively down her back to squeeze her bum through her skirt. As their tongue danced and clashed, he found himself being manoeuvred up against the wall of the ancient stone cloister.
Lydia's hand slid down across Robert's stomach, and over his belt. His cock was already painfully hard.
"Here, let me say thank you for showing the new girl around".
She dropped to her knees, and after a surreptitious glance in both directions, unzipped Robert's suit trousers and slid in a hand. Her hand gripped his hard shaft through his cotton boxers.
"Christ Lydia, not here!" he protested. In vain.
She took his cock out through the fly, and ran her tongue around its angry red head.
"Yes here," countered the bold teenager.
Robert shut his eyes and groaned as the beautiful young intern's head bobbed around his dick.
A combination of the sensation and the thrill of the risky situation meant Robert was never going to last more than a few seconds.
His cock exploded in Lydia's mouth, shooting jets of thick white come which she eagerly swallowed, sucking at him as if eager to get every drop. Robert let out a guttural moan.
The eighteen-year-old slut stood up as Robert sagged back against the wall, trying to catch his breath.
"Fucking hell Lydia, that was incredible!"
Lydia giggled, and wiped a stray dribble of semen from her lip. "It felt like you enjoyed it. See you in the office tomorrow?"
And with a light kiss to his cheek, she wiggled off towards the exit.
***
The next day, Lydia somewhat regretted her libidinous behaviour. She had no ethical qualms about fellating practical strangers, but she didn't feel particular inclined to repeat the trick with Robert. Whereas he might feel in some way emboldened by her slutty antics.
She sighed. This had the potential to be Jack on GCSE results day all over again. A celebratory bit of sexual indulgence followed by months of needy texts.
Anyway. To work.
"First rule of working in politics," Lydia thought ruefully to herself. "Keep work and your love life separate".
***
"Typical Tory", Allan offered in his flat Lancashire accent. "Wouldn't get away with that up my way."
"No?" Lydia smiled, sipping her champagne. "Well it was still very gentlemanly of you to buy a bottle."
It was, in truth, their second bottle. Lydia had met Allan on a popular dating app, and thrilled by the mild taboo of his work for an opposition party MP had quickly arranged to meet the confident young Lancastrian that same day.
Allan had black hair, the well-built figure of an amateur rugby league aficionado, and, less to Lydia's tastes, a burning desire to overturn the edifice of wealth and nepotism at the heart of the British establishment.
For his part, Allan was instantly attracted too the drawling daughter of privilege.
Lydia's heels clicked on the ancient Parliament flagstones as she dragged Allan towards the toilets.
A police officer rolled his eyes knowingly as they passed him hand in hand.
Allan awkwardly kicked the cubicle door shut behind them, then assertively pushed Lydia up against the wall.
Lydia's short black-and-white tartan skirt was rucked up around her waist, exposing her lacy black thong to Allan's eager hands. As he kissed and sucked at her neck, he enthusiastically fingered her sopping wet cunt.
"Do you like that?" he grunted.
She moaned and writhed in response.
Lydia slid her black knickers to one side, and scrabbled at Allan's cock to position it just right.
"Hold on Lydia, do I need a condom?" Allan asked solicitously.
"No, it's fine," gasped Lydia. "I'm on the pill", she lied.
And with one smooth movement, she sat down on his rock-hard cock, taking it right up to the hilt.
The seat of the toilet banged and clanked as Lydia rode Allan's cock like her life depended on it. He clawed at her boobs through her bra as the tightness of her cunt gripped him.
The eighteen-year-old tart gripped Allan's tie as she fucked him energetically, hips rolling and grinding. She shrieked and squealed as his hard length speared her, each bounce sending shockwaves of pleasure through her slick wet twat.
Allan was tensed and grunting, trying to hold back the inevitable.
Skinny Lydia buried her face into his neck and inhaled the scent of his sweat and aftershave. "Fuck me, fuck me," she spat.
And with a groan Allan released, filling Lydia's sopping cunt with his seed.
Lydia clambered off him, and pulled her knickers back over herself.
"Did you?" Allan began to ask querulously?
"No," she giggled lightly, "But I still had a nice time. As it feels like you did too!"
Allan did his best to clean himself up as Lydia rearranged her prim, girlish outfit.
After the couple had caught their breath, it seemed only right to return to the bar for another drink.
Allan's friends raised an ironic cheer as he returned, Lydia clinging a little unsteadily to his arm.
***
Lydia gagged as the thick cock jabbed insistently into her throat. Her hands instinctively gripped the head of the bed to steady herself. A large pair of hands, tangled in her hair, pulled her down again. The thick mossy scent of him filled her head as she administered a sloppy, slutty, blowjob.
A tipsy Lydia had encountered Marcus at the bus stop next to Parliament Square, just minutes after she had stormed out of the Palace of Westminster following a blazing row with Allan.
Allan had called her a spoilt, posh bitch. She had called him a chippy Northern wanker. It had been ugly- but she had found something undeniably hot about the intensity of his rage. So whilst her dramatic departure had made sense, she had found herself waiting for the 22:38 bus home still somewhat worked up.
Marcus, a lanky young South Londoner with a wicked smile had made eye contact with the frustrated young intern, and greeted her with a nod. Glances had turned to chat, and had turned to a fumbling sloppy make-out session on the top deck of the Number 3 bus. Followed by an invitation up to his flat for a 'drink'.
This goes to explain why Lydia was now on all fours in the bedroom of a council flat in Kennington, giving an eager yet clumsy blowjob to a complete stranger.
Her knickers hadn't made it past the rattling metal lift to the seventh floor. Her blouse and skirt had been abandoned in the hallway of Marcus's flat.
Looking out from the flat's living room, Marcus' flatmate saw a skinny teenage girl, naked but for her bra, stumbling along the hallway trying to remove Marcus' cock from his tracksuit bottoms while kissing him passionately.
Marcus, for his part, had made a beckoning gesture aimed at his friend.
And this is why, at the same time as sucking Marcus off, she was also being smoothly and deeply fucked from behind by Marcus's flatmate Raj, who was interposing thrusts of his hips with firm slaps of her eighteen-year-old arse.
"Fuck girl, you're so fucking hot," Raj grunted.
Lydia moaned around the mouthful of cock. "Harder, fuck me harder!" Raj pounded her harder, his face screwed up with effort. A bead of sweat rolled down the dark brown flesh of his chest.
