In The Thick of It

Stephen Johnson slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes as his head pounded, a steady, rhythmic pain spreading through his forehead. He had spent all day in meetings, first with the US President, then Prime Minister's Questions in the Commons, followed by a call with the Foreign Secretary. He opened a drawer in his polished oak desk and pulled out some painkillers, swigging them down with the remnants of his tea, long since cold as it sat beside his PC. He picked up his phone.

"Rosie, am I done for the day?" he asked wearily.

His pretty, young, blonde assistant responded in her thick Yorkshire accent. "I'm afraid not Sir, Terrence is here to see you."

"Fuck," Stephen murmured under his breath. "Have you made him a drink?"

"No Sir," Rosie responded.

"Well make him a brew and give me two minutes before you let him in, ok?"

"Yes Sir! Straight away!" Rosie responded enthusiastically before ending the call.

When he had been elected Prime Minister, many had told him that he should get rid of Rosie, that her northern accent wasn't "fitting" for her role, that it would make him look bad. Stephen had ignored this advice repeatedly, Rosie had been with him during his days as a local MP, during his first campaign even, and he was a man who rewarded loyalty. He had also thought it could affect his "man of the people" public image, but that wasn't the main reason. At least, that's what he told himself.

He heard a knock at his door. Terrence was here. Time to put on his poker face.

"Come in!" Stephen shouted cheerily.

The door swung open and there he was, Terrence Goldsmith, as always, dressed impeccably from head to toe. His tailored suit probably cost a month of the average working man's salary, if not more. He was carrying his signature dark blue leather suitcase, something of a gimmick within the political world, but it had certainly helped him stand out from the pack when it came to public opinion. He made Stephen sick, but he could never let him know. If Terrence realized that he was bothered by him, that he was under his skin, it would be a major display of weakness, one that he couldn't afford. Terrence took a seat, lounging in the chair like a smug cat that had got the cream.

"So what brings the leader of the opposition to my humble abode?" Stephen asked, smiling disingenuously.

Terrence smiled back, a smile no more genuine than the one he had been given. "Business I'm afraid, old chum," he replied, "So you can keep the bottle of scotch in your drawer." He laughed warmly.

Stephen joined him in laughter, while hatred seethed behind his eyes. "So did you come to gloat about the latest opinion polls, or to grill me with more hardball topics like at PMQ's this morning?"

"Neither actually," Terrence responded, "although it's good to finally see that the Great British public is recognising us as the party to back!" He leaned forwards, a smug smile on his face. "If only the election was sooner, eh?"

"Yes, if only," Stephen responded, taking another swig of his cold tea, draining the cup, hoping it might help with his pounding head.

"Anyway, enough pleasantries, let's get down to business!" Terrence said cheerily, putting his briefcase on the desk and popping the clasps open. He reached in and pulled out a nondescript brown folder, sliding it across the table to Stephen.

Stephen reached inside, pulling out the contents of the folder. As they came into view, he realized they were a collection of printed photographs, with a paperclip in the corner holding them together. There must have been easily fifty to a hundred of them and as he looked at the first image, his heart sank. It was him and Rosie, outside a cheap, dingy London hotel, tucked away in the backstreets, away from prying eyes. Anyone looking at this image would know this wasn't for work purposes, as he had his arms around her skinny waist, their bodies locked in a tight embrace as they kissed.

The shock was obvious on his face as Terrence snickered to himself, snapping Stephen out of his trance-like state. "Keep looking," he said, "They get even juicier the further in you go," he smiled smugly, "much like dear Rosie herself I guess?" He laughed heartily at his own joke as disgust was written all over Stephen's face.

He flicked through the pictures. Both of them naked on a grotty bed, Stephen pawing at Rosie's breasts. Rosie on her knees, sucking the Prime Minister's member. The two of them intertwined in carnal lust as he stretched her out. Stephen couldn't bear to keep looking. It felt like he was going to be sick. He shoved the photos back into the folder, burying his face in his hands, still able to feel the stare of his rival, imagining the smug look on his face.

"What do you want?" Stephen said in a defeated, broken voice.

"Have you ever heard of cuckolding?" Terrence responded, a steely resilience evident in his voice.

Stephens dropped his hands onto his desk, a look of absolute disbelief on his face.

"Pardon?"

"Cuckolding, my dear Stephen." Terrence smiled, folding his arms. "The act of a man allowing another person to have sex with his wife, in this instance, while he watches."

Stephen took a few seconds to process what he had heard. His fists balled up, knuckles turning white as anger seethed through him. "What the fuck are you talking about, you pompous prick?"

Terrence only laughed in response, enjoying seeing his long-time political enemy so worked up. Stephen rose from his chair as pure rage surged through his body.

"You could use these pictures to ruin my political career, my marriage, weaken my party and most likely open the door to an election victory, AND YOU'RE HERE TALKING ABOUT FUCKING CUCKOLDING?"

Terrence gave Stephen a withering look. "Calm down, old chap, you don't want Rosie to overhear do you?" He stroked his chin calmly. "And that language is hardly becoming of the leader of the country. Take a seat and we can discuss this like gentlemen."

Despite every fiber of his being telling Stephen to leap over the desk and throttle the posh arsehole before him with every ounce of strength in his body, logic took over. He slumped down into his chair. Terrence had him over a barrel, violence would only make things even worse for him and there may still be a way out.

"You were saying?" Stephen said weakly.

"No point beating around the bush old friend. your lovely, elegant, curvaceous wife Diane? I want to fuck her." He picked up the folder casually, placing it back in the briefcase before slamming it shut victoriously. "And...I want you to watch me do it."

Stephen's head swam as he reeled from what he had just heard. He had so many questions running around his head, but in the end, he could only muster up one, solitary word.

"Why?"

Terrence grinned. "It doesn't really matter, old friend. Maybe I get off on humiliating you. Maybe I hate that you managed to bag yourself such a wonderful woman when you're an absolute dullard. Maybe I'm just horny?" He chuckled. "Regardless, either you and Diane meet me at that same hotel you went to Rosie with at 10pm tonight, or those pictures get sent directly to every newspaper in the land." He rose from his chair. "You have a few hours to think about it, but as we both know, you don't really have any choice, do you?"

And with that grim ultimatum, he headed out of the door and was gone, leaving Stephen alone, in more ways than one. He held his head in his hands as his brain went at a million miles an hour. He thought about every possible option, every outcome, but it all came down to one, horrible truth. He would have to do exactly what Terrence wanted. He was going to have to watch him fuck his wife.

He looked over at the beautiful golden clock sitting on his desk, a gift from the Indian Ambassador to congratulate him on his election victory. 5:47. He didn't have long to make this happen. He shut down his computer, got out of his seat and headed out of the office. He dismissed Rosie and wished her a pleasant evening, barely even able to look at her as she gathered her things and headed home.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs, dreading what was to come. One of the many perks of being Prime Minister was that his commute home was literally a walk up the stairs. Oh how he now wished he had to catch a bus or a train home, at least to give him some time to think, but he didn't have that luxury. This situation, and his wife - his beautiful, intelligent, talented wife - must be faced.

As he walked into their shared living quarters, Diane was closing her laptop, seemingly finished for the day herself. She had numerous projects in the works, including an autobiography and being a local MP as well as a "special advisor" for a private hedge fund. She worked even harder than him at times, but she still looked immaculate. She was wearing an elegant red dress, perfect make-up and her short blonde locks did not have a hair out of place. Even when on video calls, she always made sure to look her best. She flashed her husband a warm, loving smile, although it was quickly replaced by a look of concern. He had known he wouldn't be able to hide his feelings from her, she knew him far too well for that.

"What's wrong, darling?" she crooned gently in her posh, almost regal sounding accent, patting the spot on the sofa next to her.

The two had met at university, an unlikely, whirlwind romance between two people from entirely different backgrounds. Their differences had seemingly only brought them closer together and they had been inseparable ever since, despite all the naysayers and doubters who had questioned them in the past. Stephen wouldn't even be Prime Minister if it wasn't for Diane, it was her ideas, drive, and motivation that had pushed him forwards and he had often wondered how he had gotten so lucky. He had to push this all from his mind, however, it was time to face this head-on.

He sat down heavily, letting out a deep sigh before speaking, Diane gently rubbing his back reassuringly. "Terrence came to see me...."

"Oh, what did he want?"

"He's blackmailing me. Well, blackmailing us, I guess."

"With what?" Diane asked, shock written all over her face as her mouth hung agape.

"I can't tell you, it's too dangerous, top secret stuff," he lied, "but if he leaks it to the press, it'll ruin me, my career, everything."

Diane took a moment to process this information. "You said he's...he's blackmailing us?" she asked inquisitively.

Stephen sighed deeply. "Yes." He didn't know how to say the words that needed to pass his lips, so he decided to just be direct. "He wants to have sex with you." He couldn't even look his wife in the eyes. "And...he wants me to watch."

Diane's face was a portrait of conflicting emotions and feelings. Shock, fear, anxiety, anger, and maybe even a little bit of arousal as she took in her husband's words.

Stephen doubled over, head in his hands as tears threatened to spill from his heavy, weary eyes. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered over and over. Surely Diane would never agree to this. She would be disgusted and outraged. She would abandon him, and he would be all alone. As the moments passed, he spiraled deeper into despair.

Suddenly, like a beam of light smashing through the darkness, the soft, gentle, loving voice of his wife broke through.

"Hey, look at me baby, look at me."

Stephen pulled his hands away from his face, eyes bloodshot, face red with embarrassment and shame. He finally looked at his wife of the past fourteen years. Her eyes were filled with love and the relief washed over him like a tidal wave. She gently stroked his hair, reassuring him.

"You remember our wedding vows right? For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. For as long as we both shall live."

Stephen nodded, wiping a tear from his eye as he smiled at the love of his life.

"I meant those words." She took Stephen's hands in hers. "So if this is what needs to be done to keep you safe, to keep us safe..." she gave his hands a squeeze."...I'll do it, without hesitation."

"Thank you," Stephen whispered, the two sharing a brief, but highly emotionally-charged kiss, clinging to each other for strength and comfort.

They each made their own preparations for what lay ahead. Neither of them could be truly ready, but they did their best to try and focus on their goal, safety for them both. Diane called a cab, the two of them meeting it a few streets away from Downing Street to try and avoid being seen. After a few minutes they pulled up at the seedy hotel, the scene of Stephen's infidelity.

As they pulled up, Diane looked out of the window, scowling slightly at the run-down accommodations. "Why in god's name did he choose here?" she mused to herself.

"Probably because it's the last place anyone would look for us, I imagine?" Stephen replied, praying that she would never find out the real reason.

They headed inside to the tatty and worn reception area. They were greeted by a man in a black suit with an earpiece. Part of Terrence's security, it would seem. There weren't any hotel staff to be seen; presumably he had taken care of that, ensuring their privacy for the evening. Without speaking, the man handed them a key and pointed down a corridor. The couple took the few steps towards door 23, each feeling heavy and final, like they were each marching towards their execution.

Finally Stephen slid the key into the door and swung it open. They were really doing this.

Terrence greeted them with a warm smile, walking over to Diane and kissing her on both cheeks before offering Stephen his hand. The look on the Prime Minister's face made it clear he had no intention of accepting and so Terrence's hand was swiftly withdrawn.

"Fair enough, old chap, can't say I blame you," he said warmly, "I hope your journey was ok?" Neither responded. He was dressed casually in a black polo shirt and loose pair of jeans. A side of him the public rarely saw, always having to keep up appearances when under scrutiny.

"You look lovely, Diane. I assume Stephen has filled you in on the agreement?"

Diane only nodded in response. She had already decided it would be best to go along with Terrence's desires, in the hopes this would all be over quickly. The prospect was grim enough, no need to make it any worse.

"Well, shall we get started?" Terrence asked, indicating to a chair angled deliberately towards the bed, to ensure Stephen would be able to watch every single moment. "Get comfortable, Stephen. And remember, you have to watch, no looking away, or our deal is off, understood?"

Stephen balled up his fists but complied, taking a seat and doing his best to get comfortable, an extremely difficult task given the circumstances.

Terrence turned his focus to Diane. She looked beautiful in her form-fitting red dress and matching pair of heels, the fabric hugging every delicate curve of her body. She had done her hair and make-up, the perfect amount to show off her natural beauty without going over the top. While she detested the idea of what was about to happen, she was still a woman of standards and intended to look her best.

"You look ravishing, Diane," Terrence said huskily, clearly already getting aroused by the situation he had managed to blackmail himself into. He stepped closer, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close. While every fiber of her being told her to resist, she remembered why she was here and the job she must do. She looked over at Stephen, giving him a reassuring smile, before allowing her body to be pulled closer.

Diane cleared her throat before speaking, "Thank you Terrence, a girl tries her best. I take it you've had your eye on me for some time?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him, doing her best to play her part.

"Oh I really have! Such a beautiful, elegant woman like yourself, how did you end up with a common loser like Stephen?" He leant in and started kissing Diane's neck, not even waiting for a response, letting the question hang in the air as Stephen seethed. His hands slid down to her ass, squeezing and caressing it as his lips danced across her smooth, elegant neck. His hardness was already digging into her thigh and while it made her feel disgusting, Diane couldn't deny a sense of arousal washing over her, despite how much she tried to push it down.

Terrence's lithe digits slid up her back to find the zip on her dress, slowly pulling it down as he moved his lips to meet hers, kissing her slowly and sensually. Diane returned the kiss, glancing over at Stephen, who was watching intensely, almost as if he couldn't look away. When the zip finally completed its downwards journey, Terrence took a step back, admiring the woman stood before him. He glanced over at his enemy, giving him a smug smile before returning his lustful gaze to Diane.

"When did another man last see you naked?" Terrence asked confidently, smiling at his conquest.

"It's been a long time," Diane admitted, hooking her fingers under the shoulder straps of her dress, pulling it down teasingly.

Terrence was enraptured, mouth hanging open as he realized he was mere moments away from the sight he had fantasized about for so long. "Take it off," he whispered breathlessly.

Diane obliged, letting her dress fall, revealing her pale skin, pert breasts and cute stomach. Her nipples were pink and undeniably hard and her belly was a little chubby, but in a sexy curvaceous, kind of way. Terrence licked his lips hungrily, stepping forwards to take Diane's soft orbs in his hands. He growled lustily as he massaged them, feeling her little nubs pressing against his flesh. She moaned softly at the attention. She couldn't deny it, this did feel good. Her face flushed red as she looked at her husband who was clutching onto the arms of the chair, a mixture of anguish and anger adorning his visage. She blew him a little kiss, mouthing an "I love you," to him, hoping it would help him get through this ordeal.

She let the dress fall to the floor, now standing entirely naked in the middle of the seedy hotel room as Terrence continued to explore her body with his fingers. She had elected not to wear underwear, just another way of speeding things along. That had been her initial reasoning, but she couldn't deny there was a hunger growing between her legs.

As if reading her mind, Terrence's hand slid down her stomach and to her crotch, spreading her folds like the petals of a flower as his middle finger explored her. He turned to Stephen, a victorious smile covering his face. "Oh Stephen, she's so wet for me!" he chuckled wickedly. "Maybe she's been wanting this for a while?"

Stephen had to use every ounce of his strength to stay in his chair. How fucking dare he? While he may be trapped in a corner right now, eventually the tables would turn and Stephen promised himself that it would be his life's mission to destroy the man standing before him, completely and utterly.

"When was the last time you had sex?" Terrence asked Diane as his fingers continued to rub her wet slit.

"Last week," she responded weakly between moans.

"I think you're lying," said Terrence, sliding his spare hand up to her chest and pinching her nipple roughly. "You're far too wet for that."

"Oh fuuuuuck," Diane moaned. "I'm sorry for lying Terrence," she blushed deeply, eyes looking at Stephen briefly before flicking down to the ground, unable to look at her husband. "It's been a couple of months...fuck...since we had sex."

Terrence laughed, "Poor show, old chap! You have such a beautiful woman at home and yet you haven't been fucking her? What's wrong, can't get it up anymore?" He continued laughing as Stephen visibly withered in his seat, unable to process the humiliation he was experiencing.

Terrence guided Diane to step out of her dress and laid her down onto the bed, pulling off heels, leaving her totally naked. "Your husband's pathetic, isn't he Diane?"