Climbing the Greasy Pole

Hannah felt a thrill of excitement the evening when her pager displayed a message asking her to drop into the Prime Minister's office. In her time in Parliament she'd worked diligently for the Party, always voting and speaking on-message, asking incisive questions as a committee member, making occasional appearances on serious TV shows, but not enough to be branded a media whore. Bust as well as being loyal, she was also deeply ambitious. Now, at the age of 31, she felt it was time that her loyalty, and her unquestionable ability, were appropriately rewarded. The PM's Parliamentary Private Secretary -- basically his bag-carrier -- had recently been promoted to a ministerial post, and there had been feverish speculation among her colleagues as to who would be appointed to the prestigious vacancy, a good first step on the road towards real power.

As she sat in the Commons chamber, half-listening to the debate on European fishing regulations, she reflected with a self-satisfied smile that the tabloids would enjoy the prospect of her promotion as well. With her shoulder-length honey blonde hair, her Vogue looks, her impressive bust and her long, shapely legs, Hannah secretly revelled in their interest in her, even as she publicly dismissed it as "typical sexist media flim-flam". Even the ones who didn't like her referred to her in terms like 'the comely Ms Armstrong'; the gutter red tops preferred references to "hot Hannah", while the readers of a lads' mag had voted her the politician they'd most like to be whipped in by, and dubbed her "the Shaggable Member for Surrey South-East".

Despite her fifteen months as an MP she didn't know the PM that well; Martin enjoyed the company of his public school-class chums, but he wasn't known for hob-nobbing with backbenchers, especially female ones with grammar school backgrounds. On reflection though, Hannah realised that he had thrown her a couple of smiles in the Division Lobby recently, and now there was this invitation to meet with him in half an hour. Clearly the Whips Office had recognised her worth and put her name forward for the vacant position.

Five minutes before her appointment Hannah slipped out of the Chamber and into the ladies loo. She checked her make-up, re-touched her lipstick and fluffed up her hair. She half-turned away from the mirror then paused; somewhat self-consciously she undid the top button of her blouse. With her sharp intelligence she had never had to rely on her looks to achieve things; but after all, Martin was a man, and a little bit of additional allure couldn't do any harm! Thirty seconds before her appointment time Hannah entered the PM's Commons suite. Jane, Martin's secretary gave her a warm smile and, nodding at a connecting door, said, "Hello Hannah, he's expecting you."

On entering the main office, Hannah was slightly surprised to see the PM was alone, and her confidence faltered. Surely, if this was a meeting to confirm her promotion it was usual for the Chief Whip to be present? Perhaps her appointment to the PPS job wasn't a done deal after all. Martin was sitting at a nest of low leather chairs around a coffee table. He half rose and, flashing his trademark grin, waved her to a chair -- not across the table but right next to his, that had to be a good sign. Smoothing her knee length skirt Hannah obediently sat, with a nervous smile. Sitting back in his chair, sipping from a cut glass tumbler of whisky, totally at ease, Martin said "So Hannah, how are you? Would you like a drink?"

She politely declined and Martin placed his glass on the table and sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. "Well Hannah, I'm sure you have an idea what this is about: the PPS job." Inwardly, Hannah preened; outwardly she turned up her smile several notches and resisted the urge to pump her fist into the air and whoop in triumph. Then the PM stuck a pin in her balloon. "You're on a shortlist of three."

Hannah tried desperately to control her reaction, but clearly failed. Martin sat back with a chuckle. "Oh don't look like that! You're the front-runner, the most talented, and certainly my preferred choice. I was going to ask if you were up for the job, but there's clearly no doubt about that. No, before we confirm anything I just wanted this little chat, to make sure you fully understood the role." As her heart rate returned almost to normal Hannah tried to compose her face back into something resembling a smile. Martin continued, "I won't patronise you by telling you the practical duties, I'm sure you know most of those. I'm looking for someone who's discreet, and entirely loyal in public -- which I know you are -- but who's not afraid in private to tell me if they think I'm making a tit of myself, or about to say something stupid. With your PR background, and from what I've heard, I think you fit the bill. The Chief Whip likes Bradley, but he's too much of an arse-licker for my taste. And Tom, the other candidate, in my view lacks the, erm, intellectual rigour for the role." Still smiling, he leant forward, gazed intently at Hannah, and added, "Plus, I don't want either of them to suck my cock."

Hannah wasn't aware of Martin having a taste for smutty humour, and couldn't prevent herself from whinnying with laughter. It took a few seconds before she realised she was on her own. For the first time in the interview, the PM looked entirely serious. Recovering herself, Hannah nervously asked, "Sorry Martin, you, um...that was a joke wasn't it?"

He simply stared at her for some time, eyes slightly narrowed s if appraising her. Then, sitting back, he replied, "No, it wasn't. I'm sorry, I know it's not a particularly professional approach on my part but...look Hannah, I've fancied you ever since your first speech at conference five years ago. You're a highly talented member of the Party, with a bright future in front of you; I have no doubt that you'll be sitting in the Cabinet a few years from now, with or without a head start. But, well, I've got this opportunity to give you an early leg-up, and I have every intention of turning it to my best advantage."

Hannah stared at him in disbelief, mouth open, her face burning. A whole raft of emotions mixed in her brain: anger at the man's bloody cheek, outrage at his blatant attempt at sexual blackmail, humiliation at the position in which he'd placed her...and embarrassment that she was still sitting there listening to him, instead of leaping to her feet, slapping the bastard's face and storming out of there. Struggling to find her voice, she mumbled, "But you can't possibly ask me to...you can't make that a condition."

Totally unabashed, Martin shrugged. "I can if you want the job. It's a bit of a deal breaker I'm afraid. If you're not happy with the proposal just go, we'll say no more about it, and I'll get Bradley in first thing tomorrow to appoint him."

For several seconds Hannah sat, goggle-eyed, her jaw flapping uselessly, like a fish ripped out of its watery environment. Finally she managed to squeak. "But I'm married. I love Gareth."

Martin smiled, and she suppressed a shudder as his hand rested lightly on her exposed knee. Glancing at the portrait of his wife on his desk, he responded, "And I love Jenny. But I'm not asking you to commit adultery. I'm not insisting on you sleeping with me, or even taking your clothes off. Just do the job well, which I know you will, suck me off on a regular basis, and I can see you getting your first junior ministerial seat within a couple of years. You've got a gorgeous mouth Hannah; I'll bet you give Gareth some great blow jobs. "

Hannah felt suddenly light-headed, as if she was tipsy, or in a dream she would wake up from at any moment. She simply couldn't believe she was having this conversation with the Prime Minister, in the Palace of Westminster. It was true she loved going down on her husband, the feel of his big, meaty cock between her lips, but...She didn't consciously make a decision; still in her dreamlike state, as she slipped of the jacket of her business suit she mumbled, "But Jane's just the other side of that door."

Martin, a new huskiness entering his voice, half-whispered, "It's okay, she won't disturb us. Very loyal is Jane." He placed a hand on Hannah's shoulder; the heat of his palm burned her skin through her blouse. He stroked his fingers through her hair for a moment, then slipped his hand behind her head and, gently but firmly, eased it down towards his groin. Hannah slipped to her knees on the floor before him.

She waited for him to unzip his trousers but he showed no sign of doing so, slouching back, his arms resting on the back of the chair, so, hesitantly, she applied herself to the task. At first her fingers were as clumsy as pork sausages, but she managed to lower the zip and eased the material aside. Her trembling fingers gripped the elasticated waistband of his briefs and eased it down, exposing a patch of dark pubic hair and a semi-erect uncircumcised prick. It wasn't as thick as Gareth's, but it was at least two inches longer. Martin gave a slight gasp as her finger tips closed around it. Then, taking a deep breath, working some saliva into her dry mouth, the young MP slipped her lips over the Prime Minister's knob.

As she started to suck him Martin shuffled his bum further forward on the seat, and murmured, "Oh fuck yes, welcome to my team Hannah." One of his hands dropped onto her head, the thumb softly stroking her hair. Despite her reluctance, and her feeling of guilt at betraying both her husband and her principles, Hannah felt her body beginning to heat up as she set to work. She ran her tongue in circles down the length of Martin's shaft, then ran her tongue-tip back up the underside, causing him to groan with pleasure. She felt a small surge of triumph: she had always enjoyed exerting that sort of sexual power over men. Her conscious mind detached, acting purely on instinct, she reached a hand beneath Martin's cock, cupping his hairy balls, grazing her fingernails across his scrotum. He twitched with arousal at that, and groaned, "Oh Jesus, you're good at this."

As she sucked, licked and stroked him, Hannah's body began to crave its own satisfaction. Barely realising she was even doing it, she slid her other hand up her skirt, and into her Sloggi pants. For a moment she twirled her fingers lightly in her neatly trimmed pubes; then extended her middle finger and found her clit, already slick with her juices. As she pressed it her tongue jumped on Martin's dick and he moaned, "Fuck, yesss." She shuffled her knees forward, until her boobs were resting lightly on his knees. With his free hand he began to massage one of her tits, the nipple straining against her bra. Moving her own hand backwards, she slipped all four fingers into her burning, sopping pussy and began to work them around inside herself, her thumb rhythmically pressing her love button. At the same time she began to gently squeeze Martin's balls in the same rhythm.

After a few minutes, the only sounds in the room the squishing of Hannah's mouth and fingers and Martin's lustful groans, he gasped, "I'm cumming". Even if Hannah had wanted to lift her mouth away -- which she most certainly didn't -- he didn't give her the opportunity, gripping her hair in his fingers, pushing her fiercely onto his twitching prick. She eased her hand from Martin's balls and curled her fingers around the base of his shaft, wanking him as she mouth-fucked the upper part. When he came it was an absolute explosion, his hips thrusting vigorously at her, his warm sweet-sour jizz slapping into the roof of her mouth, and slipping sensuously down her throat. She continued to lick and suck him as she frigged herself furiously until, moments later, screaming into his groin, her own orgasm hit her like a tornado, thunder and lightning crashing in her head. Spent, she slumped back, her head resting on the seat of the chair in which she had previously sat.

By the time the fireworks stopped popping behind her eyelids, and her vision began to clear, Martin was standing by his desk, wiping his cock with a tissue. He handed her a wad, then helped her to her feet. Suddenly he was all business-like. "Okay, thanks Hannah, if you come to Number Ten for 9.30 tomorrow morning I'll introduce you to the team, show you your office and so on. Cheerio." Dazedly she stumbled to the door. Just before she opened it he added, "Oh, and Hannah -- I'm sure we're going to really enjoy working together." With a final grin he sat at his desk and began to read a policy paper.

In almost a trance-like state Hannah made her way out of the building and over to the small office she occupied with two other MPs across the road to the Commons. She knew that sooner or later they would fuck -- probably sooner -- it was obvious. But in the meantime she would simply enjoy her new responsibilities, her increased salary, her improved facilities...and performing oral sex on the most desirable, most powerful man in Parliament.