The Politician's Wife

Over the years Alison had accompanied her husband to many official functions and even represented him at some herself but none had made her feel as uneasy as the one she was due to attend tonight. John, her husband, had gradually climbed the ranks in his favoured political Party and now he was one of only two men who were being considered for the top job. The other was Peter Campbell, a brute of a man, the exact opposite of her kindly husband but someone who had a charisma and an attraction that even she couldn't deny. And it was to his house that she had been invited tonight.

John had unexpectedly been asked to attend a conference in Europe and had left that morning but had insisted that she still attend Peter's house. It was officially a fund raiser to help raise money for the upcoming election but everyone knew that it was really John and Peter's last chance to impress the party's grandees who would make the decision as to who would lead the party into the imminent battle. John was furious that he was going to miss out on this chance but there was nothing he could do so pleaded with Alison to represent him one more time. She wasn't interested in politics herself but she did enjoy the social life that came with her husband's position and she certainly enjoyed the trappings of his wealth and position so, reluctantly, she agreed to go.

By mid afternoon she was getting ready, She would often feel neglected by John at these events but she always made a big effort to look her best, and her sexiest, wherever she went, especially when she knew the other members of the Party, along with their wives or latest mistresses, would be there.

She took a long hot bath and, as her body soaked, wondered what to wear. Climbing out of the large bathtub, she wrapped herself in a soft, white towel and walked from the en-suite into their luxurious bedroom. Patting herself dry and searching through her extensive range of body lotions, she selected the new, scented body lotion that she had purchased earlier that day. Opening the cap and pouring some of the white lotion into her palms, she slowly rubbed them together before smoothing the silky lotion over her newly shaved legs. The lotion was cool, refreshing, and her skin warmed beneath her touch, soft and smooth.

Deciding to choose her underwear first, she picked out a black quarter cup bra, her favourite suspender belt and black seamed stockings. She toyed with the idea of not wearing any knickers but eventually decided to play safe and to wear the tiny black thong that matched the rest of her ensemble. Fitting her bra under her round breasts, she knew she didn't need the extra support it gave, pushing her tits forward. They were still firm with only the slightest sag, a testament to the many hours she had spent in the gym in her younger years, and now, at her yoga classes. And she loved the way this bra freed her nipples to rub against her dress. All night they would be stimulated every time she moved but only she would ever know. Rolling her stockings up her logs before attaching them to each of the straps hanging from her suspender belt, she knew that she was being naughty but no-one would ever know. She loved the fantasy of a man taking her by surprise and not having to worry about pulling down tights. With stockings her pussy felt much more accessible – and she felt much more sexy, even if it was all just for her..

Alison stood in front of her full length mirror and her eyes drifted down her body. She may have been a woman of nearly sixty but she knew her firm, sexy body convinced everyone she was at least a decade younger. She loved the feel of her silk stockings on her smooth skin and it wasn't just her legs she had shaved in the bath. Her pussy was equally bald and she ran her finger tips over her soft lips wishing that John hadn't had to go away. Not that he would have noticed the effort she was making. Politics and the party were the loves of his life and Alison couldn't help but be reminded of the fantasies she used to have when she was younger; fantasies of being taken roughly and used by a real man, one who would push her to the very limits of her tolerance and awake the desires in her that had for so long been neglected. Only once had that come close to happening to her recently and that had been a mistake.

With one hand she stroked her smooth stomach while her other slipped under the tiny thong, allowing her long finger to penetrate her smooth slit and brush against her clit. At once it stiffened as her whole body trembled, tempting her to bring herself to yet another self-induced orgasm. But she resisted, telling herself she had to stay fresh for the evening ahead. Maybe later, she promised herself.

Carefully, sparingly, applying her make-up, making sure her shoulder length blonde hair sat perfectly, she dabbed on a few spots of her favourite Chanel, before finally slipping into her dress. She had bought it specifically for this party, hoping to impress the old men of the Party for John's sake. It showed off plenty of her smooth skin but all the important parts were covered. The neckline plunged to the very strap between the cups of her bra while the hem was just touching her knees as befitted the current fashion and her years. But it was the wrap-over style which felt so daring to Alison as a brave hand could easily make it's way up to her stocking tops, and beyond.

Making her way down the elegant staircase, she was helped into her fur coat by their loyal butler who then opened the front door for her. Waiting at the bottom of the stair was the limousine and their chauffeur. For a moment Alison hesitated because it was with this driver that she had made the biggest mistake of her married life. She had tried to convince John to fire him but he said he was too busy to find a new one so the current one would have to do.

Alan, the chauffeur, opened the car door for her with a smug grin on his face. She tried to ignore him but couldn't ignore the tingle in her pussy as she remembered what they had done in the back seat of the car only last week. Settling into the leather seat for the short drive, she spent the time forcing an image of her sucking the chauffeur's cock out of her mind.

She really didn't need the limousine tonight as Peter was a neighbour but she liked to make an entrance to these events. In no time at all she was being driven up the long drive to his equally impressive house and then the car stopped. She waited until the door was opened for her and, once again, she was met by the smug grin of her driver. She refused his assistance out of the car and haughtily climbed the stairs to Peter's front door.

"Your time is coming, bitch," swore the chauffeur under his breath, secretly wishing he could stay to watch the fun.

The door was opened to her by Peter's wife and they kissed each other warmly on the cheek before her coat was taken from her and she joined the party. She didn't see Peter at first and it was a full thirty minutes and more before he appeared at her side as she discussed the recent fashion show with a few other women of the Party.

"Could I have a quick word, Alison," he said to her, excusing them both from the company of the other women. "I've had a message from John."

She didn't care for the way he forcibly took her by the elbow and led her away from the party but she was intrigued as to why John would send a message for her to Peter. He led her down a long corridor, the walls covered in expensive, original art, until the music was only a tiny sound in the distance.

"In here," Peter said, opening the last door to what was obviously his private office. It was dominated by a huge wooden desk and was exactly what she would have imagined his office to look like, big overstuffed sofas, the walls lined with bookshelves and everything giving the impression of a man of power.

"It's on my desk," Peter said, letting go of her arm. Alison was in too much of a hurry to see the message to notice her host flicking a switch, even though the room was already well lit, nor to notice him locking the door.

As she hurried across the room to the desk all she could see was a large envelope.

"Open it," commanded Peter in a tone she didn't care for as she began to turn to question him.

Alison snatched the envelope from the desk but hesitantly lifted the flat, filled with a sudden sense of foreboding that something was badly wrong and that something even worse was about to happen.

She reached in, withdrawing a large, very clear photograph that was about to change her life. Peter smiled wickedly when he heard her gasp because he knew that she was looking at concrete proof she had seduced her chauffeur in the back seat of her husband's ministerial car. He knew because he had paid both the photographer and the chauffeur to ensure the car had seemed to breakdown and they had been forced to pull into the very lay-by where the photographer was waiting, hiding only a few feet away in the bushes. They had both done an excellent job and he had rewarded them handsomely but it was well worth every penny. He was about to teach this bitch a lesson once and for all and, in a few weeks time, when he tired of this whore, he was going to ruin her husband's political career. The cameras he had switched on when they entered the room would be even better than the ones the photographer had produced. And this time he would have video and sound too. He could hardly wait.

Alison, however, hadn't reached her position in life without facing a crisis or two. After a moment or two she had composed herself and looked Peter in the eye.

"So how much do you want, Peter?"

He smiled in a way that disturbed her almost as much as the photograph had.

"Does it look like I need money, you stupid cunt? No. You are going to pay with something much more personal than your husband's money. I want what the chauffeur had."

No one had ever spoken to her like that in her whole life and she was taken aback.

"You're mad if you think I'm going to do that for you. This was a mistake and John will understand when I tell him the chauffeur forced me to do it."

"I don't doubt that you could probably convince your sap of a husband that none of this was your fault but what about the media, the voters, the Party? All I have to do is send an email to all the newspapers, TV stations and Party leaders and John's career is finished. Not to mention your spoiled little life. Now get on your knees."

Alison knew she was defeated and did as she was told, sinking to the floor in dismay. A moment of pleasure with a man she hardly knew and now she would have to submit to this brute. But she knew that John's career would never survive and, despite her brave words, she wasn't even sure her marriage would if that photograph became public. She was too lost in despair to wonder who had taken the photo or how it had come to be in Peter's possession but she knew she had no choice but to obey him. She felt so humiliated and so stupid, especially as it was her own fault for finding herself in this position. "Just get it over with," she told herself. "Give him what he wants and I will make sure John fires the chauffeur as soon as he comes home. But this is so horrible, so demeaning, having to suck this creep's cock just because I allowed myself a little moment of pleasure. Well, maybe if I do this quickly it won't be too bad."

Peter advanced on her, opening his belt and allowing is trousers to slide down his muscular legs to the floor. Alison could see the large bulge in front of his boxers already and she almost, instinctively, licked her lips in anticipation. She stopped herself just in time but she couldn't stop her pussy starting to juice. Nor could she stop the gasp that escaped her mouth when he pulled down his shorts and she was faced with the cock she had waited all her life to see. It was much bigger than John's, bigger even than the chauffeur's, but it was the width that shocked her and she wondered how she would ever get it in her mouth. The thought of taking it down her throat never even entered her head.

Peter reached out and placed his large hand behind her head, slowly, gently almost, guiding her face down, closer and closer to his throbbing cock. Teasingly, he rubbed it over her cheeks, slapping her face with his hard piece of meat, rubbing it along her lips, smearing them with the pre-cum already leaking from his tip. Her mouth had instinctively opened and Peter knew how it would look on the video. He decided to make that film even more damning.

"Beg for it."

"What?"

"Beg for my cock. Tell me you want to suck the cum out of my balls. And make it convincing or I send those emails and you and John are finished."

Alison knew she had no choice.

"Please, Peter, please feed me your big cock. Fuck my mouth and shoot your cum down my throat."

"Wow," thought Peter, "the whore is good at this. I hope she can suck cock as well as she can act."

Finally he slid into her waiting mouth.

Alison closed her eyes as she reached this point of no return. Maybe she could just pretend it was her husband as long as she didn't have to look at him. Maybe a quick blowjob would satisfy him and this whole nightmare would be over. Ashamed, but knowing she had no other choice, Alison began to do something that at least she knew she was good at. As soon as his hard cock touched her lips she was revolted by his taste, his smell, but yet her heart was beating rapidly and her pussy was becoming moist as she grabbed hold of his cock with one hand and, ever so slowly, her tongue touched the underside of his cock, and she began to lick this pig's hard meat. Immediately she saw his pre-cum begin to leak as his cock twitched under the touch of her wet tongue.

He looked down as the bitch began to suck his cock. The sight of the wife of his nearest rival going up and down on him was one he had waited a long time to see and it had all been so easy; he should have done it years ago. The touch of her soft lips sliding along his cock was amazing and, slowly but surely, she began to take more and more of him into her mouth. Soon he felt the back of her throat as her warm mouth tried to encase his whole cock but he was just too big for her. Occasionally she would pull off and use only her tongue displaying all the skills she had learned in college but which had been so neglected until recently.

He frowned for a moment as his cock sprang free of her lips but then smiled down at her as she began to run her tongue through his balls. He moaned out loud, certain that no-one would hear him at the distant party. As she continued to lash his balls with her wet tongue another drop of pre-cum begin to slide down his cock but Alison ignored it as she took his my entire sack into her mouth and sucked hungrily on it. Almost reluctantly she returned to sliding her tongue up and down his shaft and, almost reluctantly, he allowed her. Now she noticed the pre-cum and licked greedily at it.

"If I'd wanted a college girl's blowjob I would have gone to college," growled Peter. "Take it all, like the cock-sucking whore you are."

Alison knew he wanted her to open her throat to him but she knew she would never survive if she did. Peter, however, wasn't interested in what she thought. He put his hands on the back of her head and forced his cock to the back of her mouth. Alison gagged and tried to pull away but Peter took a firm grip of her hair and held her fast. She was going to have to do this, somehow.

As her gagging became noisier and her struggling more forceful, Peter seemed to be enjoying himself even more but eventually he took mercy on her and let her pull back just a fraction to catch some much needed breaths. Spit and drool poured from her mouth all over his hard cock and balls and he wasn't sure he liked that so he slammed her head back down again until his cock was finally lodged in her throat.

Alison thought she was going to pass out because she knew his cock was much too big to fit in her throat but, despite her struggling, it just kept going deeper. The shock of the last ten minutes was muddling her thinking but somewhere she knew she wanted this, wanted to be taken like this, wanted to feel this big cock sliding down her throat.

Peter let her breathe again for a minute before ramming his cock back down her throat, holding her head down, enjoying the feeling of her tight throat going into spasm around his meat. He grabbed her hair and fucked her face by bobbing her head up and down while, at the same time, he thrust into her mouth driving his cock deeper and deeper each time.

Very soon he felt his balls start to tighten and he relaxed his grip just a little, allowing her to slip back. This time Alison never stopped for a moment as her head continued to move up and down while her tongue slid up and down the underside of his shaft. He felt his balls begin to contract and he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold back any longer.

The first load of cum rushed up his shaft and he felt it splash into Alison's throat as she continued to slide her mouth up and down. The second spasm in his balls sent cum racing up his cock just as he pulled her mouth off him and his cum shot forth, landing across her face. There was a string of cum from the corner of her nose that ran all the way across her cheek and ended on her jaw. The next spurt almost covered her eyes and Peter felt that might be the last.

He took his cock in his hand and smeared it across her face, making sure her whole face was covered in her cum and her make-up was ruined. She looked up at him, afraid to open her eyes more than a little, afraid that his salty cum would sting them.

"You've got what you wanted. May I go now?"

"Go? No, you stupid cunt, you're not going anywhere. I've got quite a few more photographs to show you and you're going to be here for some time yet. Get used to being my whore, bitch, because that is what you are now and I am going to use you like you've never been used before."

Alison's head slumped in defeat but her pussy tingled in anticipation and she couldn't believe how wet her thong felt as she could feel that the tiny piece of material covering her pussy was absolutely saturated.

"Stand up, slut."

Alison did as she was told but was still a bit uncertain as to what would be expected of her next. She didn't have to wait too long to find out. Steeling herself to what might happen, she tried to raise her head, tried not to let Peter know that he had defeated her already but, she realised, it's difficult to hold your head high when your face is covered in cum.

Peter sat back in his leather easy chair, the glass of champagne he had brought with him still in his hand. Taking a satisfying drink, he looked up at her.

"I want to see your tits now, bitch."

No one had ever spoken to her like this. No one. Why then did the tone of his voice, the crude language, the authority, thrill her in a way she could never have imagined? Not having an answer, she stood there before him for a moment, hesitating, before she blushed and began to pull her dress off her shoulders.

It clung tightly to her body so that even when she released it, it settled around her waist and she could think of nothing to do with her hands but hold them by her side. But it wasn't her hands that Peter was looking at. He was mesmerised by her breasts, much fuller and perkier than he would have imagined. And he loved the way her small bra allowed her nipples to be free, nipples that were already engorged and, he imagined, longing to be sucked.

"Magnificent," he thought but he wasn't prepared to let her know what he was thinking.

"I suppose you better keep your cheap bra on or your old saggy tits will fall to the floor. Still, I suppose there's enough of them to wrap around my cock. Time to show me your arse now. Is it as droopy as your tits?"