Local Politics Ch. 02

Val had told me that Melanie Butcher, the leader of the Green Party and deputy leader of the council was having an affair with Ridley, the leader of the council. Their political relationship was an expedient because the Greens provided Ridley with an overall majority. Now it was a well established fact that Butcher was a lesbian, and known as a bull dyke to boot. So, I asked myself, how do we explain their personal relationship? There were rumours that two impending bye-elections could, if they went the right way for him, obviate the need for the coalition and Butcher was alleged to have said she'd castrate him if her tried to replace her as deputy.

I had always been extremely careful that nobody should know about my relationship with Val or that she sometimes helped me to understand the inner workings of the council.

Val, who worked in the Leader's office, was married (to Jake) and whilst her marriage was not entirely satisfactory, she had no intention of leaving him, mainly because of the kids, and I totally respected that.

~

We'd just had sex in my bed. It had been gentle, slow and sensual. We'd had supper together and then made our way to my flat and straight to my bedroom. There had been no artificial aids, just fingers, tongues, thighs, lips. She wouldn't let me at her though, at least not to begin with. She'd kissed me, bitten my neck, sucked my nipples, licked my navel (until I told her that if she didn't stop I'd wet the bed) and then gone down on me, a finger inside me, her tongue woking my clit. I went right over the edge when another finger penetrated my arse and that was me! That was also when she allowed me to reciprocate and I worked hard at it, despite my post-orgasmic languor. Her orgasm was quieter than mine, but also messier as it often was. Delicious.

I was lying with my chin on her belly, enjoying the scents of her, and toying with her chestnut pubic hair.

"How come," I asked, "that your tummy is so flat after having two kids?"

"They're not my kids, they're Jakes by his first wife."

"Right."

~

If I am brutally honest, I liked our covert liaison. Somehow the illicit nature of our meetings added to the excitement. And there was already a lot of excitement. She was a vigorous and inventive lover, with a pretty kinky side, a little dominant too and all of that appealed to me. So, I was not going to be rocking the boat. She also gave me good insight and that was why I had succeeded in getting an interview with La Butcher.

Melanie Butcher did nothing to hide her sexuality. She wore men's style suits, oxford shoes and her silver/grey hair was cut like a man's as well. I wouldn't call her attractive, but she was tall and slender and carried herself well. She seemed pleasant enough, but I'd seen her riled and, to be honest, it wasn't a pretty sight. So there was some trepidation in me as I waited outside her office for an interview. I was of course kept waiting. People in positions like hers think it adds to their gravitas. It's bullshit of course. I once interviewed a very, very senior Naval Officer and she was very powerful and the epitome of good grace and made me feel, for a few minutes, that I was the most important person in her orbit. Now, that's power.

Butcher's suit that day was clerical grey.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting." First lie of the interview. "Please, take a seat. Can I get you coffee? Is your hair naturally that colour?"

I decided to ignore the last bit. If we're going to be combative, we'll do it on my terms. "If Ridley wins both of the by-elections, he won't need a coalition so is there a chance he'd replace you with someone from his own party?"

I watched her closely and was impressed. She pretended to consider this as if she'd never thought of it, assessed the risks and then replied. "My relationship with the leader is not just based on political expedient. He shares many of my party's deeply held views and believes the council is stronger for our involvement."

I do love well-delivered bullshit. "If you were not his deputy, do you think he'd continue to fly in the face of all the opinion polls and create the incredibly unpopular Lw Traffic Networks?" I gave her some stats that suggested about sixty-five per cent of those polled were against the LTNs.

"The numbers are based on far too small a poll-base. And we both know that opinion polls can be structured to get the answer you want."

"The numbers are not only greater than your majority, they are greater than the number of people who voted in your constituency. Does that not give them legitimacy?"


Silent snarl. "We were elected on our manifesto and we intend to deliver."

"But you have only five seats in the chamber. If Mr Ridley had been able to form a coalition with the Lib Dems for example, or the independents, her wouldn't be constrained by your policies. His own manifesto made no commitment to LTNs."

I was a bit surprised when the door opened after a light knock and an aide walked across to whisper something in Butcher's ear. Aside from a slight frown, she said nothing and the aide withdrew.

The interview continued. Back and forth, evasion, a few small concessions, a lot of lies and an hour later we were done. As she courteously walked me to the door, she lightly held my upper arm. "Women like us should stick together."

"Like us?"

She did one of those 'you know exactly what I mean' looks and ushered me out into the care of her secretary to be led out to reception. My press pass allowed me into the building and into the chamber but all other areas I had to be escorted. I sat and thought about the interview when my phone buzzed and a message from Val appeared. 'Gina's in five?' I sent back a thumbs up and pulled my coat on and went to the coffee shop.

Val arrived and sat opposite me. We chatted while we waited for our coffee and then she broke her news.

"Ridley has announced a reshuffle of his cabinet."

"You thought he might."

"I did, but definitely not ahead of the by-elections." They were due the following week. "His Chief of Staff has told us that Butcher's definitely on her way out. She hasn't been told."

"But she'll know?" I told her I'd been with her when the aide whispered to her.

"Of course she'll know. Everyone has ears everywhere so someone in the Leader's office will have got the news to her. There are no secrets in the House of Fun."

"She told me that women 'like us' should stick together and it felt more like a threat than flirt."

"Christ!"

~

Later that day I was in the office of the deputy Press Officer. The Press Officer himself avoided contact with the press unless, of course, they were very senior or representatives of the nationals. Mere mortals like me got to see one of his deputies or, as they were known among the press corps, one of his playgroup.

Trisha Bellamy was prim. I'd never seen her in anything but grey. Her hair was drawn tightly back, her glasses had thick black frames and she sat rather erect behind a desk with absolutely nothing on it. Most of her colleagues would have met me in he council's (appalling) cafe, but not Trisha.

"There are rumours..." I said before she interrupted me.

"There always are. We don't comment on rumours."

"Yes you do, when you want to. Come on Trish, help me out a bit."

"It's Trisha," she emphasised the a, "and my job is not to help you out, it's to provide information."

"Right, so provide me with information regarding the sacking of the Deputy Leader, Melanie Butcher."

"What are you talking about?" She didn't look remotely like she had no idea what I was talking about. That said, she was good. She managed to last half an hour without telling me anything except that to write about it would be 'unwise.' 'Unwise' being press office speak for you'll be ostracised if you print.

"Unwise," I said, "unless of course, it happens to be true."

~

My story read as follows:

Rumours abound in politics. This is true of Westminster, or Washington just as it is true in our own august council. The rumour I am about to share is a cracker of its kind. James Ridley, council Leader, is planning a reshuffle. That comes as no surprise to anyone. The surprise is that he has decided to do it before the two crucial by-elections which suggests that he expects to win them. The rumour goes further. It says that Mr Ridley also intends to replace his deputy, Melanie Butcher.

The reason I am sharing this with you is to question our system. I have no idea if any of the rumour is true. But what I do know is that someone has spread it. And there is always a reason for spreading rumours. To speculate on that reason in this case is, well, entertaining.

I then went on to talk about who might have an interest in starting the rumour. My boss was quite pleased with me, especially when it all happened, well, almost. Butcher was out. That bit was true. But Ridley's party lost the bi-elections and that was the big news.

~

Val had called me to say she and her family were going away for a few days to see Jake's parents. I hadn't been out with my friends much so I decided, when I got home, to have a shower, get some glad rags on and get to a bar.

The Bell Tower was a favourite. It had a couple of large bars and what we called a 'snug' which was a smaller, quieter and more intimate space. I'd worn red, because it suits me. A gauzy top that buttoned down the front and barely concealed my girls, and a long, full skirt, with a generous side split that revealed, tantalisingly I hoped, my bare legs and heels.

I was waiting at the bar and looking around to see who was about when I felt warm hand on my bare shoulder. A soft voice said in my ear, "You look edible." I turned and there was Rosie.

Rosie Pelham, then a Queen's Counsel (which means a senior lawyer) looked fabulous. She had black hair cut close, was about three inches taller than me and was wearing leather. Her top was a black, thin leather shirt which would have looked crap on a girl with bigger tits but suited her very well. Her trousers were black too, skin tight and with the familiar little bump which was her going out accessory to give girls like me a clue.

"Rosie! You look fabulous."


"I know. Haven't seen you for a while. Are you still slumming it in the cess pit of council politics?"

"You mean you don't read my stories? I'm deeply offended. Are you still defending the indefensible?"

"Of course."

I ordered drinks for both of us and we moved away from the bar to a table.

I ought to explain that Rosie was, like me, a promiscuous woman but also a great friend. A great bed-mate too. She was, in her own words, a leader of women and always told me I was her go to woman when she wanted a bit of liveliness in her bed. Good-oh, I say.

After a while, Rosie seemed distracted by someone behind me so I turned to see who. "That," said Rosie, "is Columbine Russel."

"Columbine? Is she really called that?"

"Really."

"Poor bitch."


The said aquilegia was pretty much the tallest woman I'd ever seen. Dressed in a long white dress and wearing a white trilby she was like a statue carved from marble. And a beautiful statue at that.

"She looks like she should be an exhibit at the Taj Mahal."

"She not only has the highest hat, she has the highest opinion of herself. Women, and she is exclusively one for the women, throw themselves at her. She's an egotist of the first water, smug, self-satisfied and patronising."

"And what are her faults?"

Rosie laughed.

"Her favourite occupation is taking a woman from her lover."


"I've never seen her before."

"I'm not surprised. This isn't her usual metier. She dwells among higher mortals."

"Did she steal someone from you?"

"No, but she tried. Come on, I'll introduce you."


With that she stood and took my hand and led me to the presence. Columbine saw us coming and gave a gracious nod to Rosie and a sort of predatory glare at me. The throng around her parted to allow Rosie to propel me through.

"Columbine, how are you?"

"I'm well, thanks. Who is your pretty companion."

'Pretty' always strikes me as patronising, so does asking the person with me who I am.

"I'm Catherine Burrell."

Still talking to Rosie, she said, "You look very sinister, all in black."

I said, "I think she looks gorgeous," and 'inadvertently' but obviously placed my hand on the bump in Rosie's trousers.

She addressed for the first time. "You should join us. We were just discussing going on to Benedict's." Benedicts was the sort of night club football players and pop stars go to so they can ostentatiously go into the VIP area and wave two fingers at their poor fans.

"Sorry," said Rosie, "but we cant stay, Catherine and I have a bit of catching up to do."

"So it seems." My hand was still there.

We laughed all the way to the cab Rosie had called. Settled in the back together Rosie whispered in my ear, "So, time for Cath to show me her puss." The slit in my skirt allowed Rosie to pull it away from my leg and expose the fact that I was commando. "You are such a slut!"

"Thank you."

Safely indoors Rosie pinned me to the wall and kissed me, hard. Her leather-clad thigh between my thighs, she lifted my hands over my head and devoured my mouth. She pressed herself against me and undid my top so she could get at my breasts, to which she paid close attention for a bit before stepping back and looking at me.

Watching me, she undid her leather blouse and revealed her small, neat, firm breasts and then, her hand behind my head, pulled me to them so I could return the compliment. My hands now free to roam, roam they did and I enjoyed the feel of her back through the fine leather as I sucked her nipples. Her hand was under my skirt now and her nails were raking my thigh. I was a getting a bit breathless.

Rosie had a great ability to work out how a dress or skirt was fastened and, with that knowledge, how to get it off with the minimum of fumbling. I barely noticed my skirt falling to my feet. She grabbed me fairly gently by my hair and led me through to her bedroom, unbuttoning her trousers as we walked.

"Take them off for me."

I knelt because I knew that was what she wanted. She wanted me at what she called, 'pack-height.' They were not the easiest of trousers to get down but I managed to get them off and then I was staring at her 'boi-shorts' made of some gossamer-like material that revealed her little accessory delightfully. Personally, I've never seen the point of packing but, hey, it's a free country and it made a sort of statement. I often wondered if Rosie sported it under her lawyer's robes. I should ask her one day.

"Now the shorts." They came down more easily and with her packer still inside them to reveal her bare mound, and her tight labia. "Kiss the prize." There was a slight growl in her voice. I kissed her, which is exactly what I had intended to do but Rosie loved being in command. She wasn't a 'tie 'em and 'beat 'em' kind of dominant. She liked simply having an obedient lover. So I was a bit surprised when she took a silk scarf that had been hanging over the head of her bed and tied it around my eyes and then guided me to sit on the edge of her bed.

"What's with the blindfold?"

"It's my new thing. Trust me."


I couldn't make out the rustling movements and noises I heard, but a few seconds later I was being arranged on my back, legs wide, knees up, and I felt her licking down from between my tits to my navel and on down to my mound. There, with a hand reached up to nail-grip my nipple she licked me. She licked me gently, then more firmly and I started to feel that familiar swelling and moistening. Sure, I'd already been moist, but this was a lot more obvious. Then nothing. She left me there, wet, exposed and definitely wanting for a few beats util I felt her knees either side of my head and as her cunt made glorious contact with my face, so did her face once more touch me.

I am no slouch when a beautiful woman's puss is in tongue-reach and I got to work as, did Rosie. It was slow at first but the pace and arousal increased and I thought it wouldn't be long before my dam broke.

Rosie had other ideas.

Bereft, I found myself alone again for a short, frustrating while and then I was rolled over onto my front, my hips were lifted and almost in one fluid movement, I felt her strappy slide slowly into me. Fuck! I was getting the idea of her 'new thing.' Not knowing what was happening was proving to be a huge turn on. I felt the leather of her shirt on my back, then her hard nipples as she fucked me.her hands had moved to my shoulders but not to ride me, rather to steady herself. I could feel her breath on my neck and I started to moan, my orgasm approaching.

"Don't rush."

That, I thought, is easy for you to say, but my blindness meant all I had was the sensation of that women's dildo deep inside me and skilfully working me to an inevitable frenzy.

I cannot adequately describe that frenzy. She later said she'd had to 'fight to stay aboard.' Not the most romantic of expressions. She also said I was a noisy bitch and messy too. All I can really express is that at some point her plundering pushed me right over the edge and I heard myself wailing like a banshee as a torrent of molten lava surged from my cunt to my mouth.

While I lay recovering, she untied the scarf and I could see her unstrapping and removing the harness before dying beside me.

Strength restored, I crawled down her body and pushed her legs apart and did what a good lover always does and made sure she, with the encouragement of my fingers on and in her, reached a satisfyingly lubricious climax of her own. Rosie is an occasional squirter, so I felt a tiny bit disappointed that she didn't on this occasion. Oh well, there's always time to put that right.

~

The shit-storm that Val had predicted was huge fun to watch Butcher was a mistress of malevolence. Not for her ill-considered revenge. She intended to make the poor bastard suffer and to prolong that suffering. She gave a series of press-conferences. At the first, she told us that Ridley was, in so many words, an arsehole, a useless, stupid, dishonest and disloyal bastard.

"Why then," someone asked, "did you go into coalition with him?"

"Because it was our duty to the electorate to prevent him working with another party that would not have protected the public's demands for ecologically sound government."

Another asked, "Will you continue to support him?"

That drew a look that said, 'are you fucking simple,' and no response.

"Should Ridley resign and call an election?" I asked.

She beamed. "At last an almost sensible question." Patronising bitch. Her voice assumed a Nuremberg rally volume. "Of course he should. Of course he absolutely must go."

The next was described as a press briefing. This followed a scurrilous rumour circulating that she and Ridley had been involved together in what might be termed 'kinky sex.'

"I am," she said, "unashamedly gay. I have heard the rumours but I suspect nobody in their right mind would believe them." I suspect she was conscious that Ridley had no intention of buggering his chances as she, it had been said, had buggered him by admitting it.

At the next briefing she revealed that a female member of her party who was a cabinet member under Ridley had complained to her that Ridley had made inappropriate sexual advances towards her and made disparaging remarks about a trans member of her party.

Double whammy there. Groper with non-woke tendencies. None of it supported because, apparently, the female concerned was traumatised and didn't want to face a 'trial by media.' Right, I thought. So it's a fabrication but he'll have to deny it which is what he'd have to do if it was real.

Meanwhile Ridley was carrying on as if nothing had happened and had persuaded the Lib Dems to form a voting pact until the next general election and had promptly dropped the LTN plans. A popular move wth the electorate who decided he might be a pervert but at least he listens to the voters.