Political Affairs

The following takes place in an alternative UK where corrupt politicians and a cynical media use their power to further their own desires for power and gratification. Such a thing would, of course, never happen in our world...

*

The senior ministers were arriving for the party conference. At the entrance to the luxury hotel, a gaggle of television reporters was milling about waiting to commentate on each arrival. Hotshot breakfast TV presenter and journalist Penelope Forster was on the scene, her usual glamorous self despite the early hour. Her hair which had varied from dark blonde to chestnut red in the past was currently a striking dyed blue-black. Her lithe, voluptuous body was showcased in a bright red power-dressing skirt and jacket.

The press pack went wild when the Prime Minister appeared, his usual ebullient self. They went even wilder at the arrival of the Minister for Justice, the glamorous and buxom blonde Fiona Fenchurch. She beamed for the cameras, knowing how good she looked in her striking black power suit, its short, tight skirt revealing her fantastic legs in high-heeled black boots. Not for nothing was she known to both political enemies and allies as The Wicked Witch.

Next to arrive was one of the government's rising stars.

"Minister! Minister!" The press pack yelled. Penelope yelled with them. And the Minister in question turned in surprise and said: "Penny? What an unexpected pleasure!"

Sir Malcolm Pike, Minister For Government Affairs, the man she had not seen for five years, was suddenly once more back in Penelope's life.

Penelope fell silent. The Minister stepped forward, took her hand, and gently led her away from the press pack. There was a collective sigh at this touching, unexpected reunion between politician and journalist who had known each other years before.

A few minutes later, the two were sharing a coffee in the hotel bar.

Half an hour after that, they were in bed.

*

Penelope was on her knees, naked but for her black tights, her wrists lashed together and to the bedhead with the Minister's leather belt. Malcolm had ripped the gusset of the hose open with his bare hands, and was tonguing his way upwards from behind, teasing his lover's wet pussy then exploring the tight bud of her delicate arsehole, tickling and exciting her.

"Yes, Daddy! Yes! My arse! Please!" She cried.

Sir Malcolm gripped her shapely hips, and slowly thrust his long, thick, powerful cock deep inside her. It had been three years waiting for this reunion and it performed magnificently, impaling the lithe young woman fully, and starting to pound her absolutely mercilessly.

Penelope writhed in her bonds, urging her lover: "Faster! Harder! Make it hurt!"

He needed no such urging. Pent up desire mixed with the thrill of the power he held over this wicked wanton beauty drove him on. He drew back his hand and spanked one of her pert, nylon-covered buttocks hard, then repeated the action with the other, alternating spanks with thrusts of his cock. The young woman cried out in pain and pleasure -- for her, the two were closely intertwined.

"Yes! Screw me, Daddy! Smash my fucking backdoors in!" She cried. Malcolm reached between her legs, teased her spasming pussy and fingering her engorged clitoris as he thrust relentlessly up her arse.

She came, excited to her limit by the bondage, the anal sex and the fingering, her older lover's eager plaything, screaming out: "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Sir Malcolm allowed himself to come too, his spunk gushing into her.

After their coupling, he unfastened her wrists, peeled her pantyhose off, and nestled her in his strong, loving arms as their heart rates slowed and the sweat cooled on their bodies.

"You never used to wear tights" Commented the older man.

"I have to, for work. A glimpse of stocking top and the creeps and weirdos watching every day would have a field day. I get enough of their leering tweets and social media posts as it is. I mean, I do rather like being a sex symbol for half of the country -- it's flattering -- but they aren't subtle with their "I'd give her one! I'd smash her backdoors in!"

"That's what you asked me to do just."

"That's different. I wanted you. I wanted you to fucking destroy me, and you did. But then you've always been the one for me."

"Ever since the island?"

"Yes, Daddy. The island was amazing!"

Where you seduced me, you shameless minx!"

"I think you seduced me, you wicked man!"

"We seduced each other, didn't we? With the bikini?"

And Penelope nodded, reliving her memories..

*

It had been five years ago. Sir Malcolm was then an up-and-coming newcomer to the Cabinet, Penelope a thrusting young TV reporter. She interviewed him, and afterwards they had gone for a drink. Soon she had found his hand fondling her knee, and had allowed him to continue. He had arranged a long break at a villa with a private beach on a Greek island, all paid for by expenses, he told her, and he could take a secretary with him as it was nominally a working trip. Penelope, he suggested, could pretend to be his secretary. To his delight, the twenty-one year old woman agreed.

This pleased Sir Malcolm. He had designs on her, which he was sure he could bring to fruition. He had begun looking at her as he looked at his string of pretty young interns, or young women parliamentary constituents, or indeed every teenage waitress who ever served him. Looking up and down, appraising their sexual potential, judging how pliant and receptive they would be to seduction. And the doe-eyed looks Penelope had been giving him told him that she would succumb to his advances if he took things carefully.

What he had not realised was that Penelope had seen how he looked at her and had been at first shocked then turned on. He did not know that she had been looking at him the same way. So when he suggested the holiday, she was eager for the opportunity to enact his seduction.

At the airport, browsing in a designer swimwear shop, Sir Malcolm had caught his companion looking at a skimpy bright red string bikini.

"You will look good in that!" He said.

"But it's very small -- the bottom's just a thong!"

"I didn't ask you to describe it. I told you that you will look good in it."

And with that, he took one from the rack and paid for it. It was ruinously expensive, but as he had said this was an all-expenses-paid holiday, paid for by the taxpayer. Both thought they had taken a step further in their seduction of the other Both were right.

On the next morning, Malcolm dressed for the beach in a tiny, tight pair of trunks which showed off his considerable package and also left his strong, muscular body, still in great shape years after he left the forces, on display.

"Malcolm?" A familiar voice cooed.

"I thought you should see what you bought! Do I look good in it?"

He turned, and there was his delicious companion, beautiful and nearly naked in the tiny string bikini which barely covered her nipples and pussy. She posed, one leg slightly bent, hands above her head, knowing that she had a near-perfect body with slender waist, long long legs with firm thighs and shapely calves, rolling hips and a pert firm arse, and lusciously inviting full, heavy, well-rounded breasts.

Malcolm gazed at her, ogling her as he looked her up and down. His huge cock stirred, became erect, pushing the tiny trunks away from his body. Penelope gasped in awe.

Then all pretence of going to the beach was lost. They threw themselves at each other, kissing deeply, intimately, open-mouthed, as they caressed and fondled each other's bodies hungrily. Soon their swimwear was discarded and they were naked on Malcolm's bed, lips and tongues discovering each other's intimate places, united in unlawful desire.

Penelope lay back and Malcolm raised her hands above her head, gripping her wrists hard, then entered her wet, hungry pussy for the first time, making her groan in excitement! "Oh, Daddy!"

She had never called a man that before. "Daddy" had at once become a sexual thing for them both. As he fucked her that first time, she called it him a lot, screaming it at the top of her voice as she came on his huge cock for the first time.

"Yes! DADDY! DADDY!"

Sir Malcolm had released her hands by then, and she scratched her long nails deeply into his back while he feasted on her flesh, kissing and nibbling and leaving love bites and bruises, marking her as his. He noted with pleasure how the rough sex excited her.

They spent the rest of the day and night in bed, making love nonstop. Then after that first frenzied session they began to explore each other's desires, learn how to excite and tease and satisfy one another. Malcolm was treated to the sight of his lover, in an array of outfits she had brought with the hope of seducing him had he proved more reluctant than had been the case. A series of stocking and suspender belts, flimsy see-through nightwear, lacy lingerie, and even her old school uniform into which she barely fitted, worn with hold-ups and heels.

Over the next month, the politician and the journalist explored their relationship. In that first intense coupling, they had found a shared taste for rough sex. Penelope liked her lovers to bring the gift of pain as well as the gift of pleasure. And Sir Malcolm was a master of both. His new lover was naturally submissive and found herself discovering the delights of BDSM under the stern but loving parental tutelage of her daddy. Sir Malcolm's experience with many women had made him a masterly lover. He would bring her to climax after climax until she passed out from ecstasy and exhaustion. Or he would indulge his cruel side and tease her, keep her on the brink of orgasm, torturing her until she begged to be allowed to come. Sometimes he forbade his sex slave to come no matter what he did to her, enjoying her desperate attempts to resist her own pleasure until he finally allowed her to orgasm, releasing her volcanic passions. Penelope herself learned eagerly, and although submissive was never passive. She was an aggressive lover, not afraid to let her daddy feel her teeth, fingernails and the spiky heels of her stiletto shoes and boots.

The couple fucked each other's brains out for the whole month, reaching dizzying heights of mutual pleasure. They parted amicably, promising to keep in touch, but somehow never reconnected. Until now, finding themselves again and resuming their affair.

*

"God, we were great together. We should never have stopped screwing. Still, we're back together now -- and how! Hey! I've just had an idea! You know what would be fun? You should let me interview you!"

"What? Make an appearance on your breakfast programme? I've done that before."

"Yes, but not for an interview. I mean, a proper grilling! I'll really go for it, give it all I've got, put you on the spot -- and you can see if you can beat my questions. If you can get the better of me, then you win! Great optics for you and your government -- and that night, I'll do fucking anything you want in bed. I mean, anything! Whips, chains, I'll call you "Master", the whole bit! Like that night when we'd both been drinking absinthe and you got a bit carried away? OK? But if I can catch you out, make you squirm, trap you in a lie....well, then, it's Mistress Penelope's House of Pain for you, you naughty boy! What do you say? It'll be a fun little game -- and we'll be playing it out in front of an audience of millions!"

"Intriguing...anything, you say?"

"Anything", the gorgeous young woman purred. "Whichever of us wins, the other is their slave - all night!"

"Very well, you perverse little minx! I'll play! We have a deal. Now, let's seal the deal!"

He reached for the lithe young hellcat. But she repulsed him, writhed out from his embrace.

"No no no, Daddy! Let's not touch each other till after the interview. It will make it better -- we'll both be gasping for it!"

And so they made arrangements. Both anticipated having their lover at their sexual mercy, both secretly also imagined the pleasure of submission. Meanwhile, their people arranged the interview, for the morning of the last day of the party conference...

*

The atmosphere in the studio the next morning was electric. A rare interview with one of the government's most senior ministers, speaking to one of the nation's most popular broadcasters. A consummate politician about to be grilled by one of the most aggressive interviewers in the country. It was to become one of the most famous political interviews in history.

Penelope Forster was wearing a blue-grey jersey dress with long sleeves covering her wrists and which clung like a second skin to her "enviable curves" as the tabloids liked to describe her body. She had on black nylons, and vivid red high heels to match her bold lipstick. She was dressed for combat. In contrast Sir Malcolm Grant seemed relaxed, and effortlessly stylish. He was impeccably dressed in a Savile Row suit and silk tie.

After the preliminaries, a hush settled, then Penelope started her attack:

"So, Minister, what do you say to the accusation that in courting the investment of large corporations you are part of a government literally selling the country to the highest bidder?"

"Penelope, I think we all know that the left have forever been trying to present their extreme socialist agenda as somehow palatable. The British people know that what is good for business is what is best for the economy, and thus for the people of this country!"

"You are about to sign a deal which will effectively privatise health care in this country, and destroy the NHS for ever. Is this not a betrayal of public trust and sounding the death knell for one of the nation's most beloved institutions and consigning millions to misery for decades to come? How can you justify that?"

Penelope's dark blue eyes flashed in genuine hostility at her interviewee.

"My dear, let me make myself absolutely crystal clear on this matter" he replied, rising to the challenge. "We are not, nor will we ever, do anything to harm the great institutions of our nation. But modernisation is essential, and these new reforms will enable us to start to deliver what will be the beginning of a new opportunity for future changes to level up the foundations for what will be a world-beating package that will be the jewel in the crown of our..."

"Let me ask you another question. Why, when you yourself have spent..." Here, Penelope pretended to look at notes she had already memorised, purely for theatrical effect; "five hundred and forty seven thousand, eight hundred and ninety three pounds on 'expenses' on average every year you have been in government, including among other things a private car, a Rolex watch, and a month-long holiday on a private island villa..." At this point, Penelope looked meaningfully at Sir Malcolm, as if hoping to fluster him. He merely smirked almost imperceptibly, as if at a fond memory. "When you have taken all this money from the taxpayer for your own gain, your own pleasure, how can you claim to be the champion of austerity? Are you not simply a greedy, corrupt, shameless hypocrite?"

"I think the public has heard enough muck-raking from the elitist press and their agenda to undermine parliamentary democracy, when the very leader of the opposition himself has been filmed eating crisps at a taxpayer-funded event and has still never apologised over the matter! Don't you?"

Penelope pouted as she cocked her head to one side, exposing a little more of her elegant neck, a move which she knew melted her admirers' hearts, then straightened her posture and bored her steely gaze into her adversary.

"Sir Malcolm, we are talking over two million pounds of taxpayers' money here. Why don't you tell us exactly what you were doing with that money, where you spent it, and on whom?"

"Penelope, our parliamentary system is the most democratic and accountable in the world. Our standards are the envy of every national government across the globe. Since my election and promotion to the front bench, I have performed tirelessly, without sleep, inexhaustibly, relentlessly, in the pursuit of what really matters. What matters to me. What. I. Love! I could not do otherwise! Does that answer..." He paused; "...Satisfy you?"

Penelope nodded, taken aback by her lover's passion. Then she composed herself, looked daggers at him, and unsheathed the most deadly weapon in her body language arsenal. Playing to the millions watching, she slowly uncrossed and re-crossed her stupendous legs. All around the country, lecherous viewers gasped as her moves revealed a lacy band around each thigh - stocking tops! This must surely be disconcerting for her ministerial prey. And even more so with her next choice of question...

"Minister, I want to turn now to the matter of your, er, personal relationship with one of your colleagues. Namely, the Minister for Justice. What do you say to the rumours that she and you have been having an affair, and that this has contributed to the break up of her marriage? Is it true? Surely for two such strong advocates of traditional morality and family values, such an allegation must be damning? Career-ending even?"

If Penelope's looks could have killed before, they could positively disintegrate now as she asked again;

"Are you and Fiona Fenchurch *BLEEP*ing?"

The censorship programs in the broadcast system bleeped out the word, but the world saw the ladylike and demure Penelope Forster mouth the F word. This was serious business.

"I think that out of respect for Mrs Fenchurch and her family's privacy, we should not be talking about the ending of her marriage at this difficult time for her. I have, and will continue to support my respected colleague and be there for her, as, I know, you have during your own co-presenter's recent marital difficulties!"

Sir Malcolm's soft words were like a slap. Only recently, Penelope had been blazoned over the tabloids when her affair with her on-air colleague Timothy had been discovered, paparazzi-photographed entwined in his arms or emerging bedraggled from his house after a "night of illicit passion", under headlines saying "HOMEWRECKER!" And "BAD PENNY!"

Timothy blushed crimson, while Penelope reeled white-faced, not expecting her accusations to be rebuffed so brutally.

Rescuing her from her stunned silence while further winning the point, Sir Malcolm continued, looking her in the eyes as he spoke:

"Yes, you may rest assured that Fiona and I will continue to work most strenuously together, and will enjoy engaging each other closely, combining our powers and urging each other on to ever greater heights, past the very limits of our endurance, for the good of this nation!"

It was a robust rebuttal, but also a brag. To anyone who took his words at face value it was a denial, but to those who suspected there was truth in his daughter's accusations it was also a proud assertion that he and the glamorous Wicked Witch were indeed lovers and would continue to be.

Breathing heavily from this bruising exchange, Penelope knew she was on the back foot. She prepared her final assault on this implacable master politician.

"That is very interesting information, Minister. I'm sure our viewers will draw their own conclusions from it. But enough about your questionable ethics, and your choices of partners, political or otherwise. The simple fact is that the economic policies of the government you represent will see the rich increase their wealth while the poorest literally starve. While even many of us in good jobs see our standard of living slide further into poverty. While people suffer, you and your cronies are becoming richer and richer. How can you do this and live with yourself? How. Can. You?"

In that moment, she spoke for a suffering nation, or so her viewers felt. But it was to no avail. Sir Malcolm smiled patronisingly and began to speak: