Politics Ch. 05

"I wondered about your proposition," he smugly told her. "I mean, to be an aerobics instructor, you need to be fit. Have an athletic body. To make a real success, I imagine you need a superb body." He waved a hand at the file on his desk. "That's the one thing your business plan doesn't demonstrate. And you'll appreciate, I'm sure, that if I'm going to invest such a substantial sum, I need to see that for myself, Rebecca."

So there it was. Openly. She understood what the overweight bastard wanted. Her large, brown eyes flashed at him. She'd come prepared to give head to the Dutchman, to be humiliated by him. Yet... somehow... the thought increased her arousal. Why not make the bastard's mouth drool?

Keeping her deep brown eyes firmly fixed on the smug millionaire, she pulled off her brown leather jacket and dropped it by her feet. One by one, she slowly released each large white button on the front of her blouse.

Only the increasing sound of his heavy panting broke the silence.

Her movements were slow and deliberate, extracting maximum effect. The way his pinprick eyes narrowed, a bead of sweat formed on his forehead, his tongue flicked out, encouraged her further—aroused her further.

Completely unbuttoned, she slowly pulled the white garment from her black skirt and allowed it to float down to the floor to join her jacket. The right strap of her sheer cream bra demurely fell from her shoulder. She left it there, shifting from hip to hip, thrusting her perfect tits in Guus's direction.

Her hands went to the side button on her skirt, flicking it open and dragging down the zip. It fell to her feet and she stepped out of it, hands on hips.

She stood proudly on one leg, and then the other, the glint of her dangling belly piercing shooting across the room. The way his lustful gaze fell to her upthrusting cleavage, provocatively spilling over the top of the white bra, was gratifying. So was the fact his eyes couldn't seem to choose between her tits and the delicious skimpiness of her matching thong. The lacy cream material scooped so low it was quite clear she was cleanly shaven.

That's right, stare at the goods, you bastard,her defiant gaze told him.Have you ever seen anything as sexy?

The Dutchman nodded, as if hearing the unspoken question. His tongue flicked across his thick lips again. His grey eyes devoured the deliciously dark skinned body. "Perfect," he grunted, taking another sip of water from his glass. His hands were shaking "Even better than I'd expected," he added as he leant forward and carefully placed his drink back on his desk.

The Brazilian beauty threw her head back, allowing her dark, wavy hair to bounce on her naked shoulders. Despite the ludicrous situation, her nervousness had disappeared. How many times had she seduced a married man back in Brazil? Was this really that different?

Her whole body tingled in anticipation.

"You'll be pleased to know I'm willing to invest," he gasped, his Dutch accent little more than a croak as his eyes feasted on her body. Reaching down to the right hand drawer, he pulled out a thick, buff coloured envelope and casually tossed it onto the top of his desk. "Thirty thousand pounds," he simply said.

The Brazilian woman's eyes shifted to the envelope and then back to the Dutchman. He'd already brought his hands to his trousers and was slowly unbuckling the belt. Only the clink of its clasp interfered with the sound of their breathing. The Dutchman drew the zipper of his expensive pants down and pulled out his cock, semi-erect and already impressive.

"Well, my little lekker stuk?" he throatily asked.

***

"You've got to be joking," Alistair Brinkley-Jones repeated for the third time as he paced up and down the long, narrow conference room floor. Erika had sunk onto her favourite position overseeing the outside floor, while Thomas and Sally stood together in the far corner of the room.

It had taken a few minutes for Thomas to explain the problem and answer the politician's questions. Alistair's eyes continually flicked to meet Erika's throughout. It seemed they were both thinking the same thing.

"Thomas, they're going to kill me with this pack of lies," he repeated, rubbing his hands together as he paced. "How are we going to stop it?"

That was a hell of a question, the Campaign Manager thought, wishing he had the answer. Alistair was looking at him was as if he'd just dished out the next task, just like asking him to fix up a radio or television interview.

"Sally's already started her research," he told the pacing man. "We'll have that fully completed tonight..."

"Fucking tonight?" Alistair interrupted. "Why so long?"

"Because we need a day by day assessment of your whereabouts over a two month period," Thomas replied, the voice of reason in a fraught situation. His boss's reaction had been out of character. If the story was fabricated, why was he responding in such a panicky way?

Brinkley-Jones sent another stare in his direction.

Thomas responded with more clarity. "I've spoken again to Jack Murphy. He won't give us a specific date. So we cover a wider period, make sure we've got every angle covered. Erika wants to run through it once it's compiled, and make sure it matches her diaries. That way we're watertight."

"Okay," the irritated man conceded, sending another glance in Erika's direction. He picked up a doughnut from the table and devoured it as if it might be his last supper. "That fucking debate went so well," he rasped. "A brainwave of yours, by the way. You were right and I was wrong. But we need to get this albatross from around our necks so we can start to capitalise on it, okay?"

"I'm trying," Thomas told him, leaning against the wall as he spoke. "One other thing occurs to me."

"Which is..."

"Murphy has given us a deadline of first thing tomorrow to respond. Otherwise he's printing, or so he says."

Erika cut in. "Can we buy more time?"

"No point," Thomas firmly replied. "We'll have our research completed by then, so we'll have our defence. I suggest we tell him that we'll sue if he prints. Try and kill it there and then."

"Do you think that'll work?"

"Could do," Thomas told him. "But if I get a feel that he's going ahead, my recommendation is that Sally and I contact the media we trust. We meet the story head on byusbreaking it to the key players, not allowing the Belfast Telegraph to do that. Steal their thunder. Reduce the impact."

Alistair and Erika exchanged glances. "Are you mad?"

"Just think," he enthused, pushing himself away from the wall and sitting on the table. "If it's going to be in the media,weneed to control the story, not anyone else. Neither of you should be involved... leave it to Sally and me.Wetake the initiative. We'll tell them we repudiate everything. That there's no truth in anything this woman is saying and we won't dignify the rubbish by saying anything more. We'll talk politics going forward and nothing else."

"Think it'll work?" Alistair asked Sally, raising a dubious eyebrow.

"Not entirely," she admitted, "but it's a great idea. It'll putuson the front foot andthemon the back."

"Hmmm! And what happens when it's the first question anyone asks me?"

"That'll happen anyway," Thomas told him. We want a statesmanlike approach from you. One that says that you're running an Election campaign. You expected this sort of crap to happen in America, but not here. But you're not worried about it. You're just getting on with business as usual. If the media want to talk about lies and minutia, that's out of your control, though you have to say you're disappointed. You have a serious campaign to get on with. That's what we're all trying to do."

The politician swept a hand through his long black hair. "Take the moral high ground."

"Exactly!"

Alistair glanced at Erika again. She nodded. For the first time in a while, it seemed the two of them were agreeing on something.

"Okay," the Conservative Party leader agreed. "So, what's next?"

"As far as this is concerned, let's get our facts together and we'll brief the two of you tonight," Thomas decisively said, nodding across at Sally. "In the meantime, I have a number of group press discussions lined up for you today, Alistair, as well as a couple of television stations."

"I thought you said..." Erika began, shifting in her chair.

Thomas anticipated the question. "Nothing to do with Mary O'Leary, except it makes this more urgent. Wemustcapitalise on yesterday's performance. You were terrific, Alistair, and we need to get maximum value while I can. Today's polls have already moved in our favour based on the debate. Let's capitalise on that. We need to get this snowball rolling..."

"Okay," the politician smiled. This kid was good. "Shouldn't Sally be doing this? She is my PR Manager after all."

"I'll chip in where I can," the redhead interrupted. "And Thomas and I have been working together on this. But I need to gather this information on your movements. I've already liaised with Erika and we've rearranged your diary to accommodate everything."

"Yes," Thomas added. "We need you from lunchtime through 'til seven."

The Conservative Leader hesitated, glancing across at Erika and then back to Thomas. "I have a couple of things to clear right now, but then I'm yours. When will you be ready to brief me?"

"Sally and I have a briefing paper already drawn up," Thomas smiled. "I'll walk you through it as soon as you're ready."

"Okay," Brinkley-Jones confirmed, standing still for the first time since entering the conference room. "But can't we finish earlier? I have a personal meeting early evening."

"Doubt it," Thomas told him with a frustrated sigh. He'd spent a lot of time and effort setting these meetings up. "We have a pretty full agenda, Alistair, and these are essential to the Election push."

The black politician nodded. "Yes... yes, I understand... I'll move things back..."

***

Rebecca realised she wanted this almost as much as the drooling millionaire did. She was in front of him in three steps, quickly dropping to her knees. Kessen set his hands on the chair either side of him, allowing her a clearer view of his thick cock as it rose like a tower from its hairy base.

With a grunt, her long fingers wrapped themselves fully around the root of Kessen's girth even as her eager mouth engulfed his hardness.

It amazed her how earnest she was to satisfy him. This wasn't just about the money any longer. It was also a need to satisfy her inner whore, take herself back to her days in Brazil, and enjoy the illicit act. And she could do it without blame. After all, she was being coerced, right?

Her aroused senses drove her on. The twenty-two year old beauty went through her full repertoire. Her lips sucked around his bulbous crown. Her licking tongue urgently worked itself back and forth against the underside of his shaft. Her hands dragged his trousers open more widely, pulling his legs forward so that one hand could cup his balls.

He moaned, his hands sliding down her back to unhook the catch of her bra. Without stopping her work, she raised one shoulder then the other, allowing him to drag the garment from her. When his hands slid under her, she sat up a little, allowing him to mash her tits while she sucked him.

Her moans joined his. Her nipples were erect, burning into his palms. She eagerly sucked up his precum before taking him as far as she could go. She'd never deep throated a cock so big, but she became determined to do so.

"Oh, yes," the Dutchman grunted as his Brazilian wet dream swallowed more and more of his veiny flesh with each dip of her beautiful head. His fingers found her wavy hair, gripping her tightly enough to cause pain.

Rebecca slurped off his cock, raising her large brown eyes to stare into his. His fingers tightened in her hair, attempting to pull her head back. She resisted, just for a moment, trying to wrestle control away from him. The Dutchman was too astute to allow that. Even as he dragged her mouth back onto his cock, he raised his fat hips and grunted. "More..."

Rebecca responded by taking his stiff member deep into her throat. Her reward was another throaty gasp from the millionaire. Her head bobbed machine like as she fucked him with her mouth, like a whore, a high-class prostitute. The wetness between her thighs increased at the thought, and with each dip of her head, every feel of his cock bottoming out.

"Oh, yes, you bitch," he encouraged. "Just like that!" He pulled her harder and harder against his now upthrusting crotch.

Rebecca moaned at his reaction, renewing her efforts. Should she swallow or pull away? Surprisingly, she realised she wanted his creamy juice. She wanted to feel it explode against the back of her throat.

She choked a little as the Dutchman pushed up, shoving himself deeper into her throat. He grunted, clenching his teeth and pulling her down until her lips touched his wiry pubic hair. Her hands went to his hips to steady herself as he prepared to fire... but then... then... he was dragging her head upwards.

"You don't think you earn your money that easily?" he panted, his face red and sweaty. "We haven't finished yet."

***

"We need to speak, don't you think?" Erika suggested as she and Alistair left the conference room.

The politician ruefully nodded, heading for his office and holding the door open for her. He closed it firmly behind them when she was inside. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation and it was essential they weren't overheard.

"What going on, Alistair?" she instantly asked, hands on her hips as she strode to the couch on which he'd fucked her so many times. She flopped down, crossing her hands across her firm breasts as she waited his response.

"You know as much as I do," he non-committaly said, heading for his chair. "I've never even met this fucking Mary O'Leary before. Unless one ofyourwomen had used a false name and is trying to cash in."

"One ofmywomen?" she fumed, her intense blue eyes shooting daggers at him. She wasn't going to accept criticism from him just because he was losing his nerve. "You mean, one of the womenyou'veenjoyed fucking?"

The look on his face confirmed her words had struck home. "Yes, Erika, I guess that's what I do mean," he agreed, softening his voice. "I know, I know—I've been an equal player in all of this."

"But not lately," she shot back, crossing her shapely legs and revealing a wonderful expanse of thigh. His eyes homed in on her flesh and then looked away again. She lost her temper. "What's wrong with you? You're growing tired of fucking me, Alistair? Of the assignations I arrange, just for you?"

Her tone stopped him in his tracks.

"Perhaps," he weakly responded, shrugging his shoulders.

Was that it? A shrug of his shoulders? That's what their relationship was currently worth? He wasn't fooling her. Yes, his concernwasgenuine. Hewasworried of the consequences. But there was more to it than that.

Time for another point to be made.

"Really," she snapped, rummaging in her bag. Removing the buff covered envelope, she pulled out the latest photographs that her contact, Benni, had prepared for her. The CD was safely in a locked drawer at her safe. "The way you were with Carolyn didn't look like you'd grown tired," she said, holding up one photo after another of his bedroom action and then tossing them onto the floor. "You enjoyed fucking your little schoolgirl?"

His eyes narrowed, like he'd been slapped in the face. Worse than that, his cock reacted at the recollection of his session with the not so innocent young teenager. How the hell was he going to break this addiction? Did he want to?

Erika saw the half defeated look on his face. She wasn't going to let up, but there was more than one way to skin a cat.

"Alistair, what is it?" she asked, softening her voice. "Tell me, help me understand. Something's changed. What?"

He nodded, resting his head in his hands for a moment. "Erika," he quietly explained, looking at her again. "Don't you see? The thing I feared more than anything is about to happen. When details of my wild lifestyle, our lifestyle, ekes out, my political career is over. I'm finished!"

She quickly stood up, standing on the scattered photographs as she crossed towards him. She perched beside him on the edge of his desk. When his eyes glanced down at the expanse of naked thigh, she took his hand and rested it on her smooth flesh.

"Alistair," she gently said, removing any hint of irritation from her tone. Keep it soft and comforting. "Think about this. Neither of us knows this woman! She's nothing to do with what we've enjoyed in our private lives. None of that will ever come out. Didn't I promise you that?"

"But it might, Erika," he contradicted her, pulling his hand away from her thigh and jumping to his feet. He walked towards the window, yanking the blind up and peering out before allowing it to fall again. "Don't you see?" he asked, swinging back to face her. "This one might be a publicity seeker, but that's not the point, is it? What if she encourages others to speak to the papers?"

"Others?" It was the same thought that had occurred to her.

"The women who reallydohave something to tell," he snapped. "Carolyn. Lady Olivia. Any of them."

"They won't," she told him, her calm blue eyes looking into his and seeing a sea of trouble. "I always have something over them. You never need worry."

"But I do fucking worry," he rasped, stomping back to the desk and resting his palms on the top as he leant towards her. "Erika, I've lived on this knife-edge for too long. That's why..."

The blonde raised her eyebrows. She understood he was worried about his career. And his inheritance, too, no doubt! It was just as well she was cultivating Guus Kessen. "Go on," she quietly told him, smiling calmly in the face of his anger. "Finish what you were saying. That's why...?"

He suddenly pulled away, unable to meet her piercing gaze. He couldn't confess to meeting Katie, or the reason why he was seeing her. "Nothing," he lamely ended, pulling away and returning to the window.

"Nothing?" Erika's voice softly murmured. "I thought that after our time together, we could at least be honest with one another, Alistair."

His alarmed face as he spun around confirmed her suspicions. "What—"

She cut him off. "I know you're seeing a shrink." Did he think he could sneak off without her making enquiries? Did he think she wouldn't question why it took two personal visits to Brian Sterling to secure a donation? She'd done her homework. She always did. She knew all about the West End practice. About the Senior Partner. And about the slut Brian Sterling had taken to the dinner.

"How did you know?" he asked, his question confirming her suspicions.

Her laugh filled the office. "Oh, Alistair! Do you think I'm that stupid? Give mesomecredit! But what I can't understand is why someone as intelligent as you needs to visit a psychiatrist? They're all mumbo jumbo fakes anyway."

"She's not a fake! She's..."

Bingo! She hadn't been sure about the woman, but now she was. "She?" she calmly asked, standing up and then flopping down in his chair. "So that's it! There I was, putting two and two together about your visits to Brian Sterling and it turns out you're not seeing him at all. It's that woman from the dinner."

"Look," he angrily snapped, looking anywhere other than her eyes. "Katie is helping..."

"Oh, Katie?" she smiled, though she knew only too well it was Katie Nichols. Junior Partner. Still, keep up the pretence. "That's her name? What exactly is Katie helping you with, Alistair?"