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Climbing the Greasy Pole

By: Pussrider



Hannah felt a thrill of excitement the evening when her pager displayed a message asking her to drop into the Prime Minister's office. In her time in Parliament she'd worked diligently for the Party, always voting and speaking on-message, asking incisive questions as a committee member, making occasional appearances on serious TV shows, but not enough to be branded a media whore. Bust as well as being loyal, she was also deeply ambitious. Now, at the age of 31, she felt it was time that her loyalty, and her unquestionable ability, were appropriately rewarded. The PM's Parliamentary Private Secretary -- basically his bag-carrier -- had recently been promoted to a ministerial post, and there had been feverish speculation among her colleagues as to who would be appointed to the prestigious vacancy, a good first step on the road towards real power.

As she sat in the Commons chamber, half-listening to the debate on European fishing regulations, she reflected with a self-satisfied smile that the tabloids would enjoy the prospect of her promotion as well. With her shoulder-length honey blonde hair, her Vogue looks, her impressive bust and her long, shapely legs, Hannah secretly revelled in their interest in her, even as she publicly dismissed it as "typical sexist media flim-flam". Even the ones who didn't like her referred to her in terms like 'the comely Ms Armstrong'; the gutter red tops preferred references to "hot Hannah", while the readers of a lads' mag had voted her the politician they'd most like to be whipped in by, and dubbed her "the Shaggable Member for Surrey South-East".

Despite her fifteen months as an MP she didn't know the PM that well; Martin enjoyed the company of his public school-class chums, but he wasn't known for hob-nobbing with backbenchers, especially female ones with grammar school backgrounds. On reflection though, Hannah realised that he had thrown her a couple of smiles in the Division Lobby recently, and now there was this invitation to meet with him in half an hour. Clearly the Whips Office had recognised her worth and put her name forward for the vacant position.

Five minutes before her appointment Hannah slipped out of the Chamber and into the ladies loo. She checked her make-up, re-touched her lipstick and fluffed up her hair. She half-turned away from the mirror then paused; somewhat self-consciously she undid the top button of her blouse. With her sharp intelligence she had never had to rely on her looks to achieve things; but after all, Martin was a man, and a little bit of additional allure couldn't do any harm! Thirty seconds before her appointment time Hannah entered the PM's Commons suite. Jane, Martin's secretary gave her a warm smile and, nodding at a connecting door, said, "Hello Hannah, he's expecting you."

On entering the main office, Hannah was slightly surprised to see the PM was alone, and her confidence faltered. Surely, if this was a meeting to confirm her promotion it was usual for the Chief Whip to be present? Perhaps her appointment to the PPS job wasn't a done deal after all. Martin was sitting at a nest of low leather chairs around a coffee table. He half rose and, flashing his trademark grin, waved her to a chair -- not across the table but right next to his, that had to be a good sign. Smoothing her knee length skirt Hannah obediently sat, with a nervous smile. Sitting back in his chair, sipping from a cut glass tumbler of whisky, totally at ease, Martin said "So Hannah, how are you? Would you like a drink?" 

She politely declined and Martin placed his glass on the table and sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. "Well Hannah, I'm sure you have an idea what this is about: the PPS job." Inwardly, Hannah preened; outwardly she turned up her smile several notches and resisted the urge to pump her fist into the air and whoop in triumph. Then the PM stuck a pin in her balloon. "You're on a shortlist of three."

Hannah tried desperately to control her reaction, but clearly failed. Martin sat back with a chuckle. "Oh don't look like that! You're the front-runner, the most talented, and certainly my preferred choice. I was going to ask if you were up for the job, but there's clearly no doubt about that. No, before we confirm anything I just wanted this little chat, to make sure you fully understood the role." As her heart rate returned almost to normal Hannah tried to compose her face back into something resembling a smile. Martin continued, "I won't patronise you by telling you the practical duties, I'm sure you know most of those. I'm looking for someone who's discreet, and entirely loyal in public -- which I know you are -- but who's not afraid in private to tell me if they think I'm making a tit of myself, or about to say something stupid. With your PR background, and from what I've heard, I think you fit the bill. The Chief Whip likes Bradley, but he's too much of an arse-licker for my taste. And Tom, the other candidate, in my view lacks the, erm, intellectual rigour for the role." Still smiling, he leant forward, gazed intently at Hannah, and added, "Plus, I don't want either of them to suck my cock."

Hannah wasn't aware of Martin having a taste for smutty humour, and couldn't prevent herself from whinnying with laughter. It took a few seconds before she realised she was on her own. For the first time in the interview, the PM looked entirely serious. Recovering herself, Hannah nervously asked, "Sorry Martin, you, um...that was a joke wasn't it?"

He simply stared at her for some time, eyes slightly narrowed s if appraising her. Then, sitting back, he replied, "No, it wasn't. I'm sorry, I know it's not a particularly professional approach on my part but...look Hannah, I've fancied you ever since your first speech at conference five years ago. You're a highly talented member of the Party, with a bright future in front of you; I have no doubt that you'll be sitting in the Cabinet a few years from now, with or without a head start. But, well, I've got this opportunity to give you an early leg-up, and I have every intention of turning it to my best advantage."

Hannah stared at him in disbelief, mouth open, her face burning. A whole raft of emotions mixed in her brain: anger at the man's bloody cheek, outrage at his blatant attempt at sexual blackmail, humiliation at the position in which he'd placed her...and embarrassment that she was still sitting there listening to him, instead of leaping to her feet, slapping the bastard's face and storming out of there. Struggling to find her voice, she mumbled, "But you can't possibly ask me to...you can't make that a condition."

Totally unabashed, Martin shrugged. "I can if you want the job. It's a bit of a deal breaker I'm afraid. If you're not happy with the proposal just go, we'll say no more about it, and I'll get Bradley in first thing tomorrow to appoint him."

For several seconds Hannah sat, goggle-eyed, her jaw flapping uselessly, like a fish ripped out of its watery environment. Finally she managed to squeak. "But I'm married. I love Gareth."

Martin smiled, and she suppressed a shudder as his hand rested lightly on her exposed knee. Glancing at the portrait of his wife on his desk, he responded, "And I love Jenny. But I'm not asking you to commit adultery. I'm not insisting on you sleeping with me, or even taking your clothes off. Just do the job well, which I know you will, suck me off on a regular basis, and I can see you getting your first junior ministerial seat within a couple of years. You've got a gorgeous mouth Hannah; I'll bet you give Gareth some great blow jobs. "

Hannah felt suddenly light-headed, as if she was tipsy, or in a dream she would wake up from at any moment. She simply couldn't believe she was having this conversation with the Prime Minister, in the Palace of Westminster. It was true she loved going down on her husband, the feel of his big, meaty cock between her lips, but...She didn't consciously make a decision; still in her dreamlike state, as she slipped of the jacket of her business suit she mumbled, "But Jane's just the other side of that door."

Martin, a new huskiness entering his voice, half-whispered, "It's okay, she won't disturb us. Very loyal is Jane." He placed a hand on Hannah's shoulder; the heat of his palm burned her skin through her blouse. He stroked his fingers through her hair for a moment, then slipped his hand behind her head and, gently but firmly, eased it down towards his groin. Hannah slipped to her knees on the floor before him. 

She waited for him to unzip his trousers but he showed no sign of doing so, slouching back, his arms resting on the back of the chair, so, hesitantly, she applied herself to the task. At first her fingers were as clumsy as pork sausages, but she managed to lower the zip and eased the material aside. Her trembling fingers gripped the elasticated waistband of his briefs and eased it down, exposing a patch of dark pubic hair and a semi-erect uncircumcised prick. It wasn't as thick as Gareth's, but it was at least two inches longer. Martin gave a slight gasp as her finger tips closed around it. Then, taking a deep breath, working some saliva into her dry mouth, the young MP slipped her lips over the Prime Minister's knob.

As she started to suck him Martin shuffled his bum further forward on the seat, and murmured, "Oh fuck yes, welcome to my team Hannah." One of his hands dropped onto her head, the thumb softly stroking her hair. Despite her reluctance, and her feeling of guilt at betraying both her husband and her principles, Hannah felt her body beginning to heat up as she set to work. She ran her tongue in circles down the length of Martin's shaft, then ran her tongue-tip back up the underside, causing him to groan with pleasure. She felt a small surge of triumph: she had always enjoyed exerting that sort of sexual power over men. Her conscious mind detached, acting purely on instinct, she reached a hand beneath Martin's cock, cupping his hairy balls, grazing her fingernails across his scrotum. He twitched with arousal at that, and groaned, "Oh Jesus, you're good at this."

As she sucked, licked and stroked him, Hannah's body began to crave its own satisfaction. Barely realising she was even doing it, she slid her other hand up her skirt, and into her Sloggi pants. For a moment she twirled her fingers lightly in her neatly trimmed pubes; then extended her middle finger and found her clit, already slick with her juices. As she pressed it her tongue jumped on Martin's dick and he moaned, "Fuck, yesss." She shuffled her knees forward, until her boobs were resting lightly on his knees. With his free hand he began to massage one of her tits, the nipple straining against her bra. Moving her own hand backwards, she slipped all four fingers into her burning, sopping pussy and began to work them around inside herself, her thumb rhythmically pressing her love button. At the same time she began to gently squeeze Martin's balls in the same rhythm.

After a few minutes, the only sounds in the room the squishing of Hannah's mouth and fingers and Martin's lustful groans, he gasped, "I'm cumming". Even if Hannah had wanted to lift her mouth away -- which she most certainly didn't -- he didn't give her the opportunity, gripping her hair in his fingers, pushing her fiercely onto his twitching prick. She eased her hand from Martin's balls and curled her fingers around the base of his shaft, wanking him as she mouth-fucked the upper part. When he came it was an absolute explosion, his hips thrusting vigorously at her, his warm sweet-sour jizz slapping into the roof of her mouth, and slipping sensuously down her throat. She continued to lick and suck him as she frigged herself furiously until, moments later, screaming into his groin, her own orgasm hit her like a tornado, thunder and lightning crashing in her head. Spent, she slumped back, her head resting on the seat of the chair in which she had previously sat.

By the time the fireworks stopped popping behind her eyelids, and her vision began to clear, Martin was standing by his desk, wiping his cock with a tissue. He handed her a wad, then helped her to her feet. Suddenly he was all business-like. "Okay, thanks Hannah, if you come to Number Ten for 9.30 tomorrow morning I'll introduce you to the team, show you your office and so on. Cheerio." Dazedly she stumbled to the door. Just before she opened it he added, "Oh, and Hannah -- I'm sure we're going to really enjoy working together." With a final grin he sat at his desk and began to read a policy paper.

In almost a trance-like state Hannah made her way out of the building and over to the small office she occupied with two other MPs across the road to the Commons. She knew that sooner or later they would fuck -- probably sooner -- it was obvious. But in the meantime she would simply enjoy her new responsibilities, her increased salary, her improved facilities...and performing oral sex on the most desirable, most powerful man in Parliament.

Climbing the Greasy Pole Ch. 02



Hannah Armstrong's political career had progressed splendidly over the past 18 months. That was the length of time for which she'd been sleeping with the Prime Minister. Well, for the first few weeks of their relationship, after he'd appointed her as his Parliamentary assistant, she'd just sucked his dick on a regular basis. The first time they'd actually fucked had been on a trip to Gstaad in Switzerland for an international economic summit. 

Hannah felt no guilt about her deceit of her husband, Gareth. She still very much loved him, and he knew nothing of her affair. She rationalised that in their long, languid, affectionate sessions in bed they made love to each other. What happened with the PM had nothing to do with love; she considered that she was simply helping Martin manage the pressures and frustrations of his post – almost, in fact, screwing him in the best interests of the country, she thought with a giggle. Though they frequently spent whole nights together, Martin's preference was for rough, dirty sex, pushing her fully dressed up against a chest of drawers, dragging her panties to her knees and fucking her from behind, that sort of thing. Hannah told herself she didn't like that sort of short, sharp, aggressive approach; but in truth she got a fierce secretive thrill from it, shagging the most powerful man in the country with his secretary or his police bodyguards just the other side of the door. He liked to take her up the arse too, something she tolerated rather reluctantly – fortunately, although his prick was long it was quite slim. She revelled in the sense of power she felt when she forced him to beg her to let him cum as she teased his shaft and balls with her fingers, lips and tongue. Despite that, he had refused ever to go down on her. When she had asked him he dismissed the idea with a weak laugh and the words, "I have to suck up to enough cunts on a weekly basis as it is."

Hannah was widely regarded as one of the rising stars of the House of Commons. With her intelligence and ability – not to mention her striking good looks and curvy figure – she certainly didn't need to be humping the PM to ensure career success, it had just, well, speeded up the process. She'd spent only eight months as his Parliamentary Private Secretary before being given her first ministerial post, a junior one in the Department of Health. She'd made a success of that and now, after barely three years as an MP, at the tender age of 34, she was being tipped for a seat in the Cabinet in the re-shuffle that was to follow the annual Party conference. 

That was where she was now – lying in bed in her suite at the five-star Marlborough Hotel in Leeds, gazing through the window at the full moon, recalling for the umpteenth time the warm applause the nearly 2,000 delegates, Party Workers and Parliamentarians had given for her speech earlier in the day. Even the media had said she'd done well. After such a triumphant day she would have liked nothing more than to end it with a lovely fuck, but there was no chance of that. Gareth was away at a sales conference somewhere overseas; and with the huge glare of media attention on the Prime Minister during the conference there was no possibility of even a quickie with Martin. Besides, his frigid wife was constantly on his arm.

Martin's wife – Saint Jenny, as Hannah tended to rather bitchily think of her – was considered to be a major asset for him, a consultant biologist much beloved of women's magazines, political seminars and shows like Woman's Hour and Question Time. She was Swiss by birth and had met Martin when they were both at Oxford. Apart from being the same height, five-nine, had virtually nothing in common with her husband's mistress. Hannah was considered beautiful, with a naturally rosy complexion, honey-blonde hair, full breasts, wide hips and lovely legs. Jenny wore her black hair short, making no effort to hide the grey hairs which had started to appear, and was pale and slim, with little sign of a bust. With her dark eyes and pointed nose she lacked Hannah's prettiness, and never showed off her legs, always wearing calf-length skirts or, more usually, trousers. Terrifyingly intelligent, in private she had a reserved, slightly icy personality; the first time Hannah had been introduced to her, Jenny had managed a cold smile which didn't reach her eyes, and had looked at the younger woman as if she were a mildly interesting sample of bacteria under a lab microscope. Martin had told Hannah that he and his wife hadn't had sex in years, and not regularly since the birth of their younger son, now in his mid-teens. Poor sod, with the pressures he faced in his job, and with that iceberg waiting at home for him, screwing Hannah was probably helping him retain his sanity!

Just as she was about to fall asleep, Hannah heard the door of her suite rattle. Sitting up and switching on the light, she saw that a piece of paper had been pushed under the door. Intrigued, she padded across the deep pile of the carpet and sat on the end of the bed, opening the envelope she had picked up. It was printed with the hotel's crest, and inside was another piece of hotel stationery, bearing a message written in fountain pen:

Room 406, 6.30pm tomorrow,

M xx'

She knew who was in room 406. Everyone in the hotel knew. It was the Prime Minister's suite. Hannah stared at the door in disbelief. Surely Martin hadn't risked bringing this not himself? If not, had he revealed their secret to someone? Of course not, she decided, it was hardly unreasonable for the PM to want a private meeting with one of his ministers, especially one he was expected to promote in the near future. She returned to her bed thoughtfully. Martin had obviously managed to get rid of the Ice Queen for a while – probably off to patronise some conference fringe meeting – but even so, shagging at conference, surrounded by hundreds of colleagues, delegates, journalists, would be awfully reckless. Hannah felt her pussy twitch with excitement at the outrageous naughtiness of the prospect, and as she closed her eyes, smiling like the Cheshire Cat, her hand slipped under the covers, her finger settling on her slick, inflamed clit...

The next day Hannah was seated in the second row of the audience. She tried to catch Martin's eye a few times but although he beamed down from the platform at his ministerial team several times he avoided focussing on her, clearly playing it safe. Her heart thumped as she eagerly awaited their evening liaison. Finally, back in her room, she began to prepare herself. After a relaxing bubble bath she chose her outfit with care. She needed to look professional, as she would for a business meeting with the PM, but at the same time she wanted stuff that undid easily, to avoid fumbling and time-wasting. She settled on a blue business suit, the skirt secured by just a zip and a single button. Beneath it she wore a white blouse with only three buttons, and beneath that a lacy half-cup bra which fastened at the front. After thinking for several seconds about her panties, Hannah giggled naughtily to herself and decided she didn't need any at all. Then, enjoying the feel of the cool air on her uncovered pussy, she strolled along the corridor and down two flights of stairs to the fourth floor.

At suite 406 Hannah nodded to the duty bodyguard, who she knew by sight, knocked and slipped inside the room without awaiting an answer. The room was subtly lit and at first glance appeared empty. Then, hearing a slight rattle behind her, she turned back towards the door, her sexiest smile on her face. Hannah's expression slipped, though, to one of shock and confusion as she saw it was not her lover Martin slipping the security chain across the door but his wife, Jenny. She was dressed in a black sweatshirt, jogging pants and Scholl sandals. Smiling at the look on her visitor's face, she said, in a soft, almost accentless voice, "Thank you for coming Ms Armstrong. Please, have a seat."

Hannah's first thought was to tear the door open and leave; but it was locked, Jenny was blocking it, and she didn't want to compromise her dignity in the face of her rival. So, her pulse racing, feeling slightly dazed, she walked towards the plush armchair the other woman had indicated, sensing Jenny's eyes burning into her back. Her stomach felt leaden; clearly there was only one thing this could be about.

As she sat a thought occurred to Hannah. Unable to stop herself, she mumbled, "But the note, it was in Martin's handwriting."

Walking past her, Jenny chuckled. "After more than 20 years it's not that difficult to imitate – after all, it's not exactly a sophisticated style, is it? No, my darling husband is currently at a reception being held by the Association of Small Businessmen, and won't be back for at least three hours." She stood by a mantelpiece, built around a long-sealed off fireplace. She picked up a large white envelope and a long, sharp, silver letter-opener. Not even glancing at Hannah, in a strangely casual tone she asked, "So, exactly when did you start fucking Martin?"

Hannah's mouth felt dry. Nervously eyeing the letter-opener in Jenny's hand she tried to find her voice, and failed. Still sounding dangerously calm, Jenny continued with a shrug. "Oh well, I don't suppose it matters how long. My guess is that it started around the time her first gave you a job. It wouldn't be the first time." Now turning to face Hannah, Jenny smiled at the look of shock on the younger woman's face. "Oh my dear, you surely didn't think you were the first? Oh you poor, naive little girl." In fact, it hadn't occurred to Hannah to wonder if she was Martin's first extra-marital partner. She wasn't surprised to learn that she wasn't, but the suggestion that he'd used his power before to influence women to have sex with him – as he had with her – made her feel used and dirty.

Sitting on the edge of a chair across a low table from Hannah's, Jenny clasped her hands and gazed at the carpet. "It's not that he's found another bimbo to screw him, and be impressed by what a great man he is, that bothers me. That's never bothered me." She looked up sharply at Hannah. "No, it's that he's started to care about you that hurts. That's never really happened before."

Despite her cringing embarrassment at the situation she found herself in, Hannah felt a hint of smug pride at these words. To be honest, although the sex was fantastic, she didn't particularly like Martin as a person. She wondered how Jenny knew her cared about her. Jenny continued, in a softer voice, "Still, I must admire his taste in your case. You really are a very beautiful woman Hannah. Lovely breasts..."

Hannah finally found a response. "Well, it's hardly surprising that he turns to other women since you've refused to let him touch you for the last 15 years."

For a moment Jenny looked astonished, then she laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Is that what he's told you? I can't remember a week since we first met when we haven't had sex. At least once. It's strict missionary these days, and I certainly don't let him fuck bum anymore, that's vile...although I can see from your face that you have no such qualms."

Hannah felt her face burn with humiliation. Desperate to get out of there, she asked, "So what is the point of this. Am I here so you can warn me off him?"

Jenny treated her to a superior smile. "I'll come to that. Tell me, my dear, does your husband own a large share portfolio?" Thrown by the apparent change of subject, Hannah shrugged. Jenny continued, "He was very lucky last year with those IDC shares wasn't he."

It was a statement, not a question, and Hannah saw where it was leading. Hotly she said "Yes, it was just that, luck. He did nothing wrong. And neither did I."

Jenny chuckled. "What luck indeed. One of your fellow ministers announces a three hundred million pound government contract being awarded to the International Defence Corporation, and just twenty-four hours earlier your husband happens to buy several hundred shares in the company, making, what, half a million pounds clear profit? Oh, I'm sure you did nothing wrong. And I'm equally sure that the press and public will believe you when the facts emerge, and won't wonder why such a deal wasn't properly investigated at the time."

Hannah was horrified. A leak like that could kill her career stone dead, and possibly see her and/or Gareth behind bars. But Jenny had more. "I also have an Italian waiter who is prepared to swear an oath that in his restaurant one night, when you were drunk, you fellated him to avoid paying a particularly large bill." At that Hannah stared at the other woman open-mouthed: it simply wasn't true. 

But Jenny picked up the large envelope she'd been toying with earlier, and threw it onto the table between them. A number of colour photos spilled out, and Hannah lifted the envelope and stared at the contents with growing incomprehension. A series of glossy colour prints clearly showed her – it clearly was her - and a tall, swarthy man in a white shirt and black bow tie entering a storeroom, and her kneeling before him, pulling out his dick and taking it into her mouth. Shaking her head in disbelief, she breathed, "But this never happened."

Glancing up with eyes blurred with tears she saw a smile of triumph on Jenny's face. "I know. It's amazing what you can do with digital photo software these days. And then, there are all those queries over your Parliamentary expenses since you were elected..."

Hurling the hateful photos onto the table Hannah snapped, "All right you fucking bitch, you've made your point. What do you want – and end to my relationship with Martin? My resignation from government?" Silently, Hannah prayed "Please, not my resignation as an MP, I don't think I could live with that."

Still smiling, Jenny stood and stepped behind Hannah's chair. In a honeyed voice she half-whispered, "No Hannah, nothing as unpleasant as that. Quite the opposite in fact." Jenny's hands closed around the collar of Hannah's jacket and began to ease it off. Almost as a reflex Hannah, still occupied with the threat to her future, allowed her to do so. She shuddered, though, as the other woman's hands rested lightly on her shoulders. Leaning close to her ear, Jenny whispered, "To be completely honest, I'm just a little bit jealous of Martin. I want to enjoy a taste of what he's been enjoying." Her hands softly massaged Hannah's shoulders, then slipped down to cup the younger woman's breasts.

With a yelp Hannah leapt to her feet and spun to face Jenny. "Forget it, I'm not a...I'm not gay, okay? Look, if you want me to finish with Martin, fine, it's over, but I am not going to let you...do what you want to do to me."

Jenny's smile didn't waiver, but she sighed and murmured, "That's all right, Mario will make such a good witness." 

Hannah's eyes slipped to the obscene fake photos of her and the waiter, and she felt herself blush. "In desperation she gasped, "You've got a lot more to lose than I have. If I go public about the way Martin forced me to have sex with him, and how we've been screwing for the past 18 months..."

She tailed off, perplexed by Jenny's soft laughter. Shaking her head, the woman responded, "Oh it wouldn't be good for Martin. But with my loyal support it's possible he wouldn't even have to stand down as Prime Minister. And even if he did, well, his memoirs, TV chat shows, the lecture circuit, some nice directorships – I would guess we'll bank several million a year. And you? You'll lose your seat, any possibility of a decent future career, probably your husband, plus you'll risk bringing down the government, damaging the economy and letting that little toad who leads to Opposition into Downing Street. Are you really that vindictive? And does your future career as a minister matter that little to you? No, I don't think so."

Suddenly feeling hopeless, Hannah slumped back into the chair, her head falling to her chest. She sat unresisting as Jenny's hands resumed fondling her breasts. Nuzzling Hannah's ear, her seducer whispered, "Anyway, if you've never done this you don't know, you might actually enjoy it. It really is very nice."

One hand still attached to Hannah's chest, Jenny moved round to the front of the chair and squatted, her eyes fixed on Hannah's. As Jenny's hands began to unbutton the other woman's blouse, Hannah made a last desperate appeal to her. Big tears rolling down her cheeks, she mumbled, "Please Jenny, please don't make me do this." The other woman shushed her and, pulling the blouse hem from the skirt, eased it down Hannah's compliant arms and off.

With a new huskiness in her voice, Jenny stroked her palms across Hannah's scanty blouse and muttered, "Oh yes, I like this". She unclipped the catch and peeled the cups back off the substantial globes they barely contained. Then Hannah shuddered as the older woman's lips closed over one of her nipples.

Despite herself, despite her reluctance to be in this position and her revulsion at the thought of sex with another woman, Hannah began to feel a blush of warmth spreading outwards from her breasts. Her big pink nipples had always been sensitive, and as Jenny sucked at one, flicking it with her tongue, and rolled the other between her fingers, Hannah's pussy began to twitch with interest. Even as she forced herself to think, "I don't like this, I don't want this to happen", her eyes fluttered close, her head fell back, she failed to suppress a moan of pleasure, and one of her hands cradled Jenny's head, pushing it more firmly onto her boob. Jenny chuckled appreciatively, and Hannah's other hand slipped onto her own boob, caressing the meaty white flesh behind her lover's tweaking fingers.

When Jenny shuffled her body between Hannah's knees she offered no resistance, and a moment later gasped as she felt Jenny's hand stroke the soft skin of her upper thigh. Jenny's arm eased forward, then she giggled, "Oh, you're ready for this darling – in every way." Several of Jenny's fingers slipped into Hannah's panty-less pussy and squished around in the juices which had pooled there. Within moments she felt her cunt muscles tense as orgasm came on her and her hips gyrated wildly on Jenny's squirming fingers. Hannah pressed her forearm into her mouth and clamped her teeth down to try and muffle her scream of release.

She flopped back into the chair, feeling like a rag doll, her belly still trembling from her orgasm. She felt in a dreamlike state as Jenny eased her to her feet and efficiently undid the skirt and removed her shoes. Then Jenny led Hannah on rubber legs to the king-sized double bed across the room and laid her on it. Hannah, astonished at the turn of events, watched through half-closed eyes as the other woman quickly stripped. Beneath her sweatshirt and jogging pants she was naked. For a woman of nearly 50 she had a fair body, deathly pale but uncreased, her tiny breasts capped by small brown hazelnuts of nipples. Whereas Hannah's pubes were blonde and closely trimmed, Jenny's were an untamed black rainforest. She slipped onto the bed beside Hannah, pulled the woman into her arms and kissed her deeply. 

Hannah's mind still felt a trace of disgust at sex with another woman but her body responded, craving more gratification, and after a moment she hugged Hannah tightly to her, and allowed the woman's tongue to enter her mouth, her own tongue flirting with it. Their nipples rubbed together, causing Hannah to gasp into Jenny's mouth, and opened her legs as Jenny's thigh pressed between them, rubbing against Hannah's raw pussy.

After a few minutes Jenny trailed her lips down Hannah's neck, then across her chest. As she continued downwards Hannah gasped, "Oh God, no"; fortunately for both of them Jenny ignored her and, moments later, a bolt of pure lightning shot through Hannah's body as Jenny's tongue lapped the length of her wet pussy. In a mixture of arousal and fascination Hannah leaned up on her elbows, seeing Jenny's skinny bum pointing towards the ceiling, twitching from side to side as she licked at Hannah's burning cunt. Then Jenny introduced her fingers as well, and as another jolt of electricity hit Hannah she fell onto her back again. The things Jenny was doing to her were creating the most incredible sensations in her, causing her to squirm her hips around, her chest rising and falling with her frantic panting. The feelings were so intensely arousing that they were almost painful. The orgasm which hit Hannah felt the most amazing of her entire life, making her bum rise from the bed, taking Jenny's eager mouth with her, as she stuffed a pillow into her mouth to try and control her scream.




Climbing the Greasy Pole Ch. 02



Hannah flopped back, feeling faint, but realised that Jenny was going right on pleasuring her. It felt as if the woman's entire hand was inside her, and Jenny's tongue on her clit was absolutely divine. Hannah thought she probably came twice more before she finally had to groan, "Jenny, please, no more, I can't take it."

Jenny crawled back up the bed, her mouth wet with Hannah's nectar, a smile of joy on her face. Stroking her fingers teasingly through Hannah's pubes, she asked, "So, was it better than you thought?"

Hannah's throat was so sore with screaming that she could hardly speak, but she croaked, "It was...I mean I never...I couldn't have..."

Jenny giggled and whispered, "I know", then fed her fingers one by one into Hannah's mouth to lick off her own juices.

They lay for a while kissing and stroking, and finished off Hannah sucking Jenny's little boobs and stroking her fingers inside Jenny's cunt. She loved the burning warmth of another woman's pussy around her fingers, and the tightness as Jenny clamped around her as she came. At the door to the suite they shared a tender kiss, and Hannah asked if Jenny wanted her to stop seeing Martin. Jenny shook her head. "No, I think it's good for him, and for you. Just so long as you promise to see me again." Tears in her eyes, Hannah assured her that she couldn't wait. As she walked back to her own room, her legs feeling like jelly, Hannah felt simultaneously amazed and confused. Was there anyone else in history, she wondered, who at the same time had been screwing the Prime Minister and in love with the Prime Minister's wife?