A Parliamentary Private Secretary

Warning: Those of you who don't care for my other stories certainly won't like this.

Note on names

: In this story I have always referred to the Government minister only as 'John' but even that was not his real name. Also my wife's given name is Deborah but she likes Debbie, Debs and Deb. The only version of her name that she used to dislike is Debra.

*

I always considered myself to be one of those individuals especially favoured by life. Most people have some attribute in which they excel with this compensating for deficiencies elsewhere but I am fortunate in having almost the full set. I have a pleasing face and for a long time believed I was six foot tall but now admit to being some fractions of an inch short of that magic number. My physique is sound without any real effort by me, although the odd game of squash can't do any harm. Most importantly I have an acute intelligence which gained me a first class honours degree at Oxford and has enabled me to start building a rewarding career.

Over the years I have never had any trouble finding willing women and none had reason to complain about my above average seven plus inches cock. And almost without exception they have been eye catching females. Very early on I noticed that exceptionally attractive girls seem to intimidate the majority of males so that at dances, when the floor was soon filled with their lesser favoured sisters; the real beauties were left playing the wallflower role. I had no such qualms and stepped in to be often well rewarded for my efforts. With no need to lower my standards, I convinced myself that only the best were good enough for me.

I met Debbie through work and to begin with even I was tongue-tied by her beauty. She is one of the worlds few truly beautiful women, with a slim well rounded body and fabulous legs completing the package. Her intelligence has the edge on my own. She took a double degree, majoring in politics with research as the minor and getting top class passes in both. We met when she had just started working for a research firm that specialised in work for the houses of parliament.

Our first meal out was on expenses but at the end of the evening I suggested a further date and it was accepted. Debbie was a passionate kisser but I made no attempt to take things further and even after two weeks and four further dates I still had only managed a few gratuitous feels of her body during embraces. She looked so untouched that I was frightened of seeming pushy and ruining everything. Late that evening, back at her exclusive riverside development flat, she took control by saying, "You can have me if you want." It was like tapping into a volcano.

After six months we were spending four or five nights together every week, either in my small flat or her more luxurious place. Besotted I suggested that we should move in together but Debbie was resistant to the idea. "Why not?" I blurted, "I love you and I don't want to lose you. I want us to be together all the time."

"I love you too and I'm not going anywhere but you can't get too serious about me," she replied.

I had not considered myself the marrying kind but now it seemed the only way to hold her. As prelude to a proposal, putting my cards on the table, I told her, "I've never been married or engaged but I haven't been a shrinking violet either and there are quite a lot of girls in my past. There were two longish relationships and I did live with one girl for a few months."

"There is no need to tell me that, I'm willing to let the past stay in the past," she said, rather too quickly.

I had assumed that she would have very little past to divulge but now I began to wonder. "What about you?"

"How many girls were there?"

"More than twenty," I admitted reluctantly. Debbie nodded but said nothing.

"And you?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I want to marry you."

Debbie shook her head and I thought I saw a tear in her eye. "I can't marry you and my past is the reason why not. I have never had a real relationship before you but I have had sex with well over a hundred men."

The news took the wind out of my sails and a good proportion of air from my lungs. I just sat and stared at her until after a long pause she explained gently, "The whole four years at university I worked as an escort in the evening one day a week. My conscience is clear and I thought I could forget it but I know how devastated you would have been if you found out after we were married."

"Why did you do it?"

"It seemed the logical thing to do. I'll try to explain." Debbie paused to pour us both a large glass of wine. "My parents are not well off but they made a lot of sacrifices for me and I knew they were prepared to use the rest of their savings getting me through university. I couldn't let them do that."

I started to say something but she held up a hand to stop me. "The other girls with me were all sex crazy and went out with the intent to get pissed and then get laid with the result that their lives were a continuous round of binge drinking and promiscuity, often waking up in bed with some male they didn't even recognise. I wanted sex too but in a more controlled way and this led me to think why not get paid to do it and use the money to finance myself."

"How much did you charge and how did it make you feel?" I asked.

"I often got over £1000 for the night but because I spent the evening dining with a client didn't mean that sex was a done deal. They still had to woo me and even then I had to feel attracted to let them fuck me. As to feelings, I enjoyed doing it, there was nothing not to enjoy. Most of the men were a lot older than me but in many ways this was an advantage. They were usually successful and intelligent and knew how to treat a woman. I never came across the kind of brashness that so many younger men tend to display."

"It must have been a lonely life in a way."

"Not at all. Many of the men became regulars and I built up a rapport with them. Sometimes with favourites I spent a whole weekend with them off the books and I was treated to at least one luxury holiday abroad every year."

"Then why did you stop?"

"It was a pleasant interlude but it was always a means to an end. It paid for my education and left me able to put a large cash sum down on my flat but I knew I could do so much more with my life. Now I'm paying the penalty because I've fallen in love with you and I know you won't want anything more to do with me after this. Oh you'll end it nicely but I know it is bound to be over between us."

"You know nothing," I said fiercely. "I still want to marry you and I'm asking you to do the honour of becoming my wife. The past remains in the past where you wanted it. I know that I can't live without you."

Debbie gave a long sigh and I saw happiness flood her face. "I will marry you but on condition that you don't start asking for details on the things I've done."

I dutifully promised that I would never mention anything she had just told me and the next moment she was in my arms. We were married six weeks later and started on an idyllic lifestyle with every spare moment devoted to pleasuring each other. The sex was wonderful. I sometimes did wonder how my love making skills compared to that of her many previous paramours and partly as a result of this my efforts were concentrated more on giving her sexual pleasure rather than seeking my own. Life continued like this for three fantastic years.

Then one evening I found my wife in a highly excited state and listened to her say that she had been approached to be the Labour candidate at a forthcoming bye-election. "I won't win because it's a safe Conservative seat but if I put up a good show I could be offered somewhere with better prospects at the next general election," she reported realistically.

As a loyal husband I accompanied Debbie on the door knocking and stood to the side observing at all the election meetings. I did not understand the procedure but I could see how men responded to her and, win or lose, I was confident she would get far more votes than the polls were indicating. Then there was a surprising but significant development. The first reports said that her opponent had been mugged but then it transpired that the assault had occurred on a common in a notorious area where gay men were known to congregate in search of random sex. The newspapers were full of it.

Debbie was continuously asked her opinion by interviewers but her answer was always, 'I refuse to capitalise on an error of judgement.' It became a catch phrase applied to her and she eventually won the seat. Very soon the event that had helped was forgotten and she was treated as the golden girl who had managed to overturn a huge majority. As a back bencher her salary more than doubled but with the peculiar Commons hours the routine of our lives were changed. However we soon adjusted and sex was given a fresh impetuous by the new purpose she now had in life.

Three months later it was to change again, signalled by a very excited wife telling me she had been asked to be the parliamentary private secretary for a government minister. "How much more salary will that mean," I asked, having become greedy from the extra cash we already had to spend.

"There will be extra allowances but it is essentially an unpaid post. It will mean a lot more work and responsibility but it puts me on the fast track to advancement. I might have waited for several years before getting this kind of opportunity. If I do well I could be a junior minister in a few years and after that I might possibly end up in the cabinet." My wife's eyes were shining as she spoke and I suddenly realised quite how ambitious she was.

Debbie's new job impinged on our lives to a far greater extent. Her new boss made many visits to Northern Ireland and Scotland and also various capitals within the common market. Usually these were two day affairs but Debbie was generally expected to accompany him. I tried to be patient but on three occasions a telephone call from her boss took her out again when we were nicely settled down for the evening. Twice she did not return until the following day but on the most recent occasion she was back within half an hour. "He wanted me to do something for him urgently and I won't be seeing him for the next two days," she explained. I rather resented being deprived of her company by the responsibilities of the new job but this was mitigated by the very obvious pleasure it gave her.

I have always had an intuitive ability to read body language and the nuances of facial expression. Soon after joining my present firm, observing the familiarity between a guy called Alan and a girl called Edwina I felt sure that they had had sex, even though he was married and she had a long term live in boyfriend. When I knew Alan better I asked if they had had an affair. He told me, "It wasn't an affair but just under two years ago we were on a three week course together and were at it like knives every night. When the course ended, we both agreed that was it and there hasn't been anything since."

Later on that year, I intercepted significant glances exchanged between another colleague and the boss's personal assistant, which led me to the conclusion that they were probably engaged in a secret relationship. Six months later I think I was the only one in the firm not amazed when they both left their respective spouses and set up home together. I was rather pleased with my insight but never suspected that it would eventually tell me something that I did not want to know.

After she has been a PPS for about six months there was an official banquet to celebrate the visit by a foreign head of state and Debbie was to be there accompanying her boss. Part of the event was to be televised so I settled down in front of the TV hoping to catch a glimpse of my wife if she happened to pass in front of a camera. There was a montage of outside shots but then the camera switched to a celebrity presenter in a room where guests were standing about waiting. Amongst these, my wife was at the opposite side of the room talking to a stocky older male who I guessed to be the minister, her boss.

For a period of about twenty minutes various willing guests were brought in front of the camera for a few words with the interviewer and Debbie remained in camera shot all the time. Her male companion was presenting a three quarter rear view showing only the part profile of a rather jowly face and my wife was facing him, looking divine. Almost all of the other females present were grossly overdressed with most wearing floor length gowns and many also adorned with hats. In contrast, my wife had a simple knee length black dress that subtly showed all her curves but at the same time it was pure classic.

I sat enthralled, overflowing with admiration for my lovely wife. But then something jarred in my brain. I don't know if it was her posture or the expression on her face but suddenly I knew with absolute conviction that she was sleeping with him. I stared shocked, desperately trying to convince myself that I was wrong but just before they left the room it was confirmed in my mind when Debbie leaned forward, seeming to slightly adjust his tie and then brush something from his lapel. Finally, as they turned to move away, his hand slipped quite naturally round her waist, (and rather low on her waist at that), to shepherd her ahead of him towards the exit.

I had known all along that she would not be home until the next day but my new knowledge turned my wait into a torment because she was almost certainly sharing a bed with him. Carnal images flooded my mind and I seesawed between deep despair and intense arousal. I struggled to control my escalating emotions but in the end gave up and resorted to alcohol, finishing up spending the night lying pitifully drunk on the living room floor.

Debbie has never lied to me. When faced with a question that she does not want to answer she will procrastinate or try to change the subject, most times successfully managing to avoid divulging what she wishes to keep secret. At other times she will resort to anger and has a great knack of managing to put me on the defensive. When she got home I knew she would not tell a direct lie but in the absence of any solid proof, I did not know if she would confirm my suspicions.

She walked in the door at just past ten thirty the next morning. Her face had an unmistakeable glow but that could be due to the excitement of the event. "Had a good time?" I asked.

"It was wonderful. I'll probably end up attending a lot of similar occasions but as a first time experience it was truly fabulous," she said with a big smile.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Reasonably well, The bed...."

I think Debbie was about to describe the hotel room but I rudely interrupted to say, "I can imagine that you didn't get very much sleep at all. Did you?"

My wife suddenly looked uneasy. "Has someone said something to you?"

"What could anybody say, I don't know. Perhaps you do?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to answer truthfully with a Yes or No answer. Are you having an affair with John?" Even at that point I desperately hoped I would receive a negative answer but already it was obvious that guilty knowledge had got her rattled.

Debbie looked unblinkingly into my eyes for a full minute and then said, "No, I'm not having an affair with him but I am giving him sex."

"Why?"

"He regards it as part of my job and now I think of it that way myself."

"You mean you do it reluctantly?

"The very first time I was reluctant at the start but now I do it willingly. I enjoy it," my wife told me honestly.

"How long has it been going on?"

"The first week I worked for John he slapped my bottom a few times and told me how much he wanted to fuck me but I wrote that off as just male behaviour. The next week he came in from having been at the dispatch box and just dropped his trousers. His cock was sticking out all rigid and angry looking and he said come over here and suck this for me. I told him I wasn't going to suck anything so he said, 'Then use your hand woman, I can't even fucking walk until this thing goes soft.' So I did what he ordered and soon decided that he has a very nice cock indeed."

Debbie paused to choose her words before continuing, "After I had cleaned up he said that when he got that kind of erection he needed to stick it in me and if I wasn't willing to accommodate him he'd throw me back in the pool and I could say goodbye to my fast-track career. John told me I had been employed to help him and as far as he was concerned looking after his needs was an essential part of my duties. I thought about it and what I stood to lose so next time he wanted sucking off I did what he asked and found that I really enjoyed doing it. A few days after that he bent me over the desk and fucked me."

"Once a whore always a whore," I said bitterly.

"My wife nodded. "That's fair," she said. "I do service John with the same attitude I used as an escort. I told you that I only opened my legs for the punters I felt attracted to but I've got to admit that the thought of the money made a few of them seem a lot more attractive than they really were."

"So how many times have you been with him over the last six months?"

"Every night but one that I spent away from home John fucked me at least once and each week in the office I gave him two or three blowjobs but sometimes he wanted a quickie instead."

"What about the three times that he rang you at home and you went out again?"

"One of those was a genuine government crisis but another time he booked us into a grotty hotel. The last occasion he just needed a blowjob and had his driver take us round the streets until I had my mouthful of cum. I wasn't away very long."

I had to admire how closely she had skirted round the truth when explaining her absence at the time, 'He wanted me to do something for him urgently'. There was a vivid picture in my mind of what she described and this prompted a question, "Where did you spit it, the cum I mean?"

Debbie did not hesitate. "I swallowed it, the way I always do with him."

That really hurt because ever since very early in our relationship she had always spit out. We kept tissues in the bedroom just for that use. "Why do you swallow his cum and always spit mine out?"

"There's no special significance. Your semen has a very strong bitter taste and I always had an upset stomach the next day where his has an almost sweet taste with no after affects. Anyway, I think he'd get angry if I spat his out."

With no more questions there was a silence as I consulted my feelings. I had absorbed the fact that she had sold herself for money and had managed to put it in the past so there was no reason I couldn't do the same with this. The dominating fact was that I knew I could not bear to lose her. Speaking spontaneously I told my errant wife, "I will forgive you but on one condition. I can forget all about this as long as you promise that it will never happen again."

I had expected a flood of gratitude but instead Debbie looked at me sadly, slowly shaking her head. "I don't think I can do that. For a start I don't think John would let me and even if he did it would mean the end of my career. Anyway I don't see why I should. I do enjoy doing it with him but that makes absolutely no difference to my love for you. It doesn't mean anything and I don't understand why you are so bothered by it. Can you name one way that me going with him affects our life together and before you say anything I'm going to tell John that he can't ring me at home again unless it is a genuine reason."

There was one way I could name straight away, "Over the last six months you have knocked me back for sex several times which is something you never used to do. I now know that these must have been occasions when you had already been fucked by him earlier in the day. Can you deny that?"