State Visit

"Apart from offending important visitors."

"I'm sure that we can smooth that out, sir. The calls were all from quite low-level people in the Vatican delegation, sir. I'll bet the pope himself is sleeping like a baby. And I think that there are one or two of the delegation out here..."

"Good lord!"

"Oh, probably just journos from the Vat Pack, sir," Rosanna lied, not wanting to traumatise her boss too much, or to tell him who else had been in the summerhouse. "Still, we can say it was a private party -- HM making some of the delegation welcome."

"I suppose," Mortimer leant back, stretching pensively. Rosanna took the opportunity to step over to the door and look out. Noticing a waiterbot, she snagged a couple of glasses of champagne, then closed the door and returned to give one glass to her boss. He nodded thanks, and took a very small sip.

"I can't say that I like all this cynicism, though, you know," he went on I've heard everything before, about any sort of ... bad behaviour being traditional. But it's not my idea of tradition."

Rosanna smiled at him. "No, but it's not all new inventions -- and surely you don't mind all of those, sir? I mean, DeSleep is a new invention..." she ventured carefully, feeling dangerously curious about the subject in question.

"Hah!" Mortimer snapped, sipping more champagne. "I'm afraid that my wife has let her own enthusiasm for tradition run away with her. Not a hobby I share, I'm afraid. I probably see too much of the Queen. My wife envies me that, you know? She keeps suggesting I should get more invitations to parties here."

Rosanna laughed for a moment. "No, probably not a good idea," she said. "Nobody should see anything they worship too close up. Not if they want to keep their illusions."

"And one certainly sees plenty of the Queen close up at these dos," Mortimer muttered. "Did you see that dress?" He didn't seem to notice that he was repeating himself.

"The Queen puts a lot of effort into looking good," Rosanna said. "You can't blame her for wanting to show off a bit."

"To show off a lot. To show a lot off." Mortimer put his glass down, and Rosanna noticed that it was empty already. "Good thing she doesn't act like that in public."

"Oh, she wouldn't," Rosanna said. "She's no idiot. She's always in control, I think."

"She does look good, as you say," said Mortimer, gazing forward and apparently not listening to Rosanna any more.

She moved next to him. "You have to admire her," she ventured.

"Oh, yes, I suppose," Mortimer said, "just not the way my wife does."

"We just have to use traditions, don't we?" Rosanna suggested. She tentatively touched Mortimer's hand with her own. "The ones that work, I mean," she added.

"I suppose that we must," he replied, taking her hand between both of his and looking at her.

She leaned her head toward his. "No choice, really," she said, and very tentatively kissed him on the lips.

He didn't either respond or recoil. "What is this, Miss Macintyre?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Do you want me to tell you about ... what some Prime Ministers have done in the past?" she asked, and kissed him again.

"Don't quote history at me, Miss Macintyre. Apart from anything else, I know how much damage infidelity has done to politicians' careers."

"Ah, well, it's done some damage to some of the ones who were found out. But not all of them. And the ones who don't get found out -- at least, not until after they've retired -- seem to do fine."

Mortimer was looking unusually uncertain, Rosanna noticed. She put one hand on his thigh and kissed him again. "I'm not sure if office relationships are a good idea..." he murmured.

"Not for some people. But with us -- well, it means that both of us have reasons to keep this ... discreet." She kissed him harder.

"I suppose..." Mortimer replied, and kissed her back. "But I can't see why you'd be interested in someone my age."

"Oh, don't be silly," Rosanna said with a soft smile. "You've had the anti-ageing stuff, haven't you? And everyone knows how that works just fine. You may let yourself look your age -- well, half your age -- but you'll be fine at this." She moved her hand from his thigh to his crotch. "Mmm," she added, "more than fine."

She stood up, strolled over to the door, and wedged a chair against it. Then she turned around, kicked her shoes off, and drew her skirt up at the sides, just enough that she could grasp the waistbands of her tights and knickers together. Lowering them to the floor, she draped them over the chair.

She began walking back toward the couch. Half way there, she paused and touched her broach. "Release and discard," she said. Mortimer gasped slightly as her dress -- that had been her suit -- unfastened itself at multiple points, pulled itself to her back, and fell to the floor behind her.

Naked now, Rosanna walked the rest of the way to the couch. Lowering herself slowly to her knees, she leaned forward and began unfastening Mortimer's high-necked jacket, and then the lightweight shirt underneath. She smiled as she exposed his chest, which was as smooth and firm as she'd expected, given his anti-ageing treatments.

When she was only half-way down, though, she she lost patience, and reached for his trousers instead. Unfastening his antiquated belt, then the waistband, she reached the fly, and unzipped it, revealing that he was wearing dark blue silk shorts. He was still neither resisting nor helping, but when she reached up and grasped his trousers, he raised his hips slightly, making it easy for her to slide them down to his ankles.

Then, she did the same for the shorts. His erection sprang free, and she made a soft, appreciative noise, and paused for just a moment. Then she leaned forward, opening her mouth, and engulfed his cock. Breathing carefully, she took more and more of it into her mouth, moving carefully until she had most of it. Then, carefully -- she was out of practice at this trick -- she began moving her head up and down, keeping her lips in contact with the skin of the Prime Minister's cock and carefully moving her tongue from time to time to add to the effect.

"Ah..." said Mortimer, "Miss Macintyre..."

She removed her mouth from his cock and raised her head. "My name is Rosanna," she said reproachfully, looking him in the eye.

"Rosanna," he said tentatively, "I'm sorry, yes, Rosanna..."

"That's better," she said, "so I'll let you fuck me anyway."

She climbed onto the couch so that she was astride the Prime Minister, then reached down and grasped his cock, guiding it to the entrance of her cunt. Then she lowered herself smoothly, engulfing it completely and clamping her thighs round Mortimer's hips.

"Ohhh," he breathed.

"Yes," she said, louder than him, "fuck, yes!" She leaned forward to bring her breasts to his face , and he began greedily kissing her nipples while reaching forward to grasp her buttocks with both hands. She began gyrating her hips, giving off a series of staccato gasps, and within seconds, she'd gave a climactic wild cry, before slowing her pattern of movement. But even as Mortimer began to move faster beneath her, she accelerated to another climax, yelling "Fuck!" this time.

Then she paused, and noticed that Mortimer was pushing up into her in a series of long, hard thrusts, while looking fiercely intent. Then, with a sudden grunt, he came. A second later, she was sure that she could feel the fluid inside her, adding to the lubrication between them.

"You needed that," she observed, rising on her knees so that his softening cock came away from her.

"I did," he admitted.

"Good. Because I've not finished with you yet." She crawled back down the couch and then leaned forward to kiss his chest. "I'm sure that a powerful man like you should be good for more than just the once," she said, and he felt her breasts brushing his cock and balls. "So let's see how long it takes to get you back up..."

***

Elsewhere, the Queen sipped a glass of champagne and frowned slightly. Making an excuse to the cluster of friends to whom she'd be chatting, she slipped away to a small room in the Palace with a voice-controlled lock, and sat down in front of a bank of monitor screens.

"Okay, system," she said, "is Lenny Mortimer still on the premises?"

"Yes, ma'am," the computer replied.

"Damn. I should have chased him right off the site," she muttered. "What's he up to?"

"Locating," said the computer, taking that as an order. After a few seconds, it announced, "subject found."

The Queen frowned. She'd made a point of gaining full access to the Palace security systems, and the controlling computer was naturally smart enough to deduce where people would most likely be even if it couldn't track them everywhere, while the cameras were more numerous and better hidden than most people realised -- but the coverage in the garden was patchy at best. Was Mortimer hanging around the party, or skulking round the buildings?

"Show me where," she said, and the computer flashed up a plan of the main palace building, with one ground-floor room highlighted. She had taught it enough respect for privacy that it wouldn't show images from a specific location without a direct command, but with a snapped "Camera!" she gave that command.

She gasped. "Gosh," she said, then, "computer, zoom in on those two people... Mmm. Gosh, yes. Permanent recording please, computer; tag it 'Lenny and Roz' and encrypt it for my eyes only. And give me sound."

So she heard voices to go with the pictures then; voices saying things like Yeah, such my tits, sir! and May I fuck you again, Rosanna? and Deeper, deeper, Prime Minister! and Oh, god, yes, Rosanna, I never dreamed...

Twenty minutes later, she rejoined the party -- but her more perceptive friends noticed that she seemed slightly distracted from then on. A couple of hours later, as things finally wound down, she slipped away to a private room again. "Computer," she said, "get in touch with Roz Macintyre, and put me through to her as soon as her system guarantees that she's alone."

Just a few minutes later, her wearable computer bleeped to tell her that Rosanna Macintyre was taking private calls. The Queen made her excuses again, and returned to her secure room.

An image appeared on the wall; Rosanna, alone in a self-driving government car. She did a double-take when she saw who was calling.

"Hi Roz!" the Queen said brightly.

Rosanna gasped and blushed slightly. "Oh, Annie -- hi. Look, I'm terribly sorry about last night -- the PM found out because..."

"Oh, don't worry," said the Queen with a smile and a wave. "Not your fault, I'm sure. No, I just called because I'm wondering what you were doing with my Prime Minister in my palace last night."

"Oh, the PM insisted that I come along in person. I was on night duty, after all, and he knows that I knew you..."

"No no no, not that. What I meant, Roz, was... Well, for one thing, is he well hung? And for another, does he have any weird kinks?"

Rosanna blushed very deeply now. "I should have guessed that you'd find out somehow," she muttered.

"Course I did. No secrets from me in my house," the Queen said cheerfully.

"Well, to answer your questions, he's just fine and his tastes are pretty vanilla," Rosanna said in a rush, with a scowl.

"Shame. I was hoping for something really juicy, even if I didn't get it on disc. How long have you been at it, anyway?"

"Tonight was the first time," Rosanna replied.

"Ooh, score another one for Annie's scandalous parties!"

"Yeah, congratulations," Rosanna muttered.

"I'm sorry, Roz darling. Didn't mean to intrude. But you were in my house, y'know."

"I'll be more careful next time."

"Ooh, good -- there'll be a next time, then, you reckon. But hey, sorry, sorry -- I shouldn't wind you up about this.

"Your house," Rosanna muttered.

"No, really, Roz, I'm doing this wrong," said the Queen. "Actually, I'm terribly grateful -- this really was more than I'd ever have asked, god knows. Taking Lenny's mind off my bad behaviour, and maybe getting that stick out of his arse. I don't think that a couple of garden party invites will quite cover it."

"Oh, it was no trouble," said Rosanna, smoothing her clothes -- back to plain work configuration now -- and making sure that they looked tidy as the car slid through the London streets towards her home..

"No trouble? Seducing Lenny? You must've had to extract that stick first..."

"Actually, Annie, I think it was mostly you and your dress that seduced him. I just took advantage of the after-effects."

"What, really?"

"Yes, really." Rosanna sighed to herself. Annie sometimes forgot the effect she could have on people -- especially certain sorts of people. "Honestly, he could barely walk straight after you gave him that eyeful."

"Oh. Well, in that case, you still did more than you had to, for me. Actually, I'm sure that I could have brought myself to finish what I'd accidentally started. Might be useful, really, and it would certainly have been a laugh..."

"I don't know, actually, Annie. I'm not sure that he quite thinks of you as a person -- well, I'm sure that he fancies you as Queen, not as the bloody nuisance girl who got him out of bed tonight. He's really terribly traditionalist, you know. I think if you actually offered to shag him, his brain would melt. He might do anything."

"Oh. Oh, well. Thanks for stepping in, anyway. Greater love hath no woman..."

"No, no, don't worry. It wasn't a sacrifice, you know." Rosanna shook her head. "Actually, the fact is, you got me very slightly wrong the other day. But only a bit."

"What d'you mean?"

"You were right that I'm interested in power, I guess... But I didn't shag you just to get a leg up, and I didn't slave to get into the PM's office because I wanted to be powerful."

"Then why?"

"You're being slow, Annie dear." Rosanna smiled. "Power turns me on."

"Ahhhh..."

"Yeah. I don't shag important people to get on in my career; I slave to get on so I can shag important people. God, I loved going to bed with you so much. It was hot. I scored the Princess! And now..."

"You've scored the Prime Minister as well."

"Yeah! I didn't quite know myself that was what I was after, honest. I should have noticed how I felt every time he came through the office... But he was hardly accessible, you know?"

"Until..."

"I found out tonight that his wife isn't accessible to him these days. DeSleep, apparently."

"Ooh, Right. And you also found that you could do me a favour."

"Uh-huh. But I was barely thinking about that, frankly... When I realised that he had a hard-on... I do really owe you for that. After he'd seen you ... I mean, just that dress..."

"Oh, I'm sure that you could have had him anyway."

"I hope."

"Well, anyhow," said the Queen, "maybe you should come back in here, when we've all had a chance to catch up on our sleep. There's some people stopping over who I'd love you to meet."

"Who's that?"

"Well, there's the assistant EU commissioner -- and my second cousin Fran from Sweden..."

"You mean -- Prince Francis?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Stop it!" Rosanna squealed, hugging herself.

"Hmm," said the Queen, throwing a glance toward the north wing of the palace, "how d'you feel about religious power?"

"What? Oh, come on, Annie." Rosanna suddenly sounded quite shocked.

"Oh, don't worry. I don't think that I'm actually going to corrupt the Pope or any of his top dogs. Between you and me -- I checked, and His Holiness has been sleeping like a lamb for the last six hours."

"Annie!" Rosanna sounded shocked at that, too. "You didn't spy on him?"

"My house, darling -- but don't worry, I don't have a camera in his bathroom or anything. Oh, and he wears very fetching purple pyjamas."

Rosanna sighed, and shrugged.

"Anyway, you could tell Lenny that His Holiness and his inner circle have been completely undisturbed. Maybe a couple of his retinue dropped in on the do..."

"They did. I saw."

"Oh, right -- cool."

"Then what was the party all about, Annie?"

"Oh, I just wanted to sow a little confusion. Make a point to somebody about how I do things. Probably mostly just to myself, to be honest."

"Annie, you do everything for yourself."

"That's not what you said back at university. Not after the fourth time."

"Bitch," muttered Rosanna.

"I beg your pardon? I am your queen, y'know."

"Sorry. Bitch Your Majesty. But, well, you do get off on watching other people get off."

The Queen shrugged. "Care to help me get off some more?" she asked.

"When I've caught up on my sleep, maybe. Which reminds me -- I'm nearly home now. But I'll take you up on that invite soon."

The Queen broke the connection and smiled. Rosanna was right, damn it; she got off on seeing other people get off. Which reminded her; she really needed to unwind before she crashed out.

"Computer," she said, "play Lenny and Roz, main screen. And Ecky..."

The equerry robot, which had been standing immobile in the corner of the room, awoke. "Ma'am?" it responded.

"Come over here," the Queen ordered, "and kneel before your Queen."