Hilary was elected on a sympathy vote shortly after her late husband, the sitting MP, died in what newspapers reported as a heart attack, an explanation economical with the truth. In fact, he expired while lustily shafting an attractive escort girl, (financing herself through a Business Studies MA – there’s enterprise for you).
Less than half his age she wriggled free and discretely raised the alarm with his political party HQ, who swiftly ensured her silence with a cheque sufficiently generous to buy a flat outright. The young woman continued escorting on the basis that, since her clientele included several of the MP’s contemporaries, there was a good chance of this fortuitous event reoccurring.
Subsequently, Hilary rapidly became known as the member for the 1950s – a decade reflected both in her attitudes and apparel: usually a high-neck, below the knee dress accessorised with a pearl necklace (not that sort, stop sniggering). In every sense of the word conservative, Hilary could be relied upon to vote against most things that gave people pleasure. The press worshipped her, unlike many of the electorate, and following several threats, Hilary was assigned an official bodyguard. Unfortunately, as with most people in her life, she treated him with haughty disdain; until one fateful day, Hilary went too far…
Joe waits calmly until Hillary’s tirade of venom abates. A disproportionate reaction to a mandatory security check of her home. Not the first time, but as far as he’s concerned the last straw.
“Right, that’s it,” he moves purposefully towards her, “you’re about to get your just deserts.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she replies angrily.
“I really would.”
“Not worried about keeping your job then?”
“Worth losing it to bring you down a peg – besides, your word against mine, a powerful woman can hardly play the defenceless female card.” Thrown by this refusal to back down Hillary momentarily considers his words.
“I try to keep in good shape,” she retorts, perhaps deliberately misinterpreting them.
“Hunting, shooting, and fishing, I suppose,” says Joe.
“Spare me the stereotypes, I can’t abide field sports, or the people who take part – you can add golf to the list as well.”
“Your husband was a keen golfer…”
“I married him for convenience, and far too young. After the initial enthusiasm, we didn’t exactly live in each other’s pockets, indeed rarely in the same house.”
“Some say he kept you in line.”
“Fat chance, you think he spanked me or something?”
“I never mentioned spanking, you did; although now I come to consider the notion, what a good idea.”
“Don’t even think about it.” For the first time, Hilary sounds unsure. “You’re supposed to protect me.”
“I am, from yourself.”
“I admit to having a temper and may have let frustration get the better of me at times.” She’s now definitely on the back foot.
“Are we talking sexual, or just with idiots like me?”
Hilary has the good grace to look shamefaced. “Both probably.”
“Then we better see if something can be done about that too,” Joe concludes decisively.
She’s a statuesque woman but no match for someone professionally trained in restraint. Hilary is consequently propelled protesting over the back of a sofa. A high-heeled shoe narrowly mises Joe as she kicks out to no avail.
“Let me go you bastard.”
“Very unparliamentary language,” he observes mildly while raising her skirt, “and racy knickers for someone so straitlaced.”
Hilary shrieks as he tugs them down and off; correctly guessing his intention and squirming in a hopeless attempt to escape Joe’s grasp. Hands pinned into the small of her back, Hilary’s bare bottom is defenceless against the ensuing onslaught from his punishing palm. Initially, she swears and pleads as her generous rear curves are spanked scarlet. However, once the MP’s initial resistance has been quelled Joe becomes aware of a change in her demeanour. Bloody hell, thinks Joe, she’s enjoying this, perhaps it’s what was missing all along?
“So, your husband never…”
“Punished me,” Hilary anticipates the question, “quite the opposite. A former public-school boy, he liked to be beaten; talk about incompatible.”
Despite her glowing hindquarters, there’s no point in clemency. Hilary needs it amply demonstrated who’s in charge. Problem is, Joe’s hand hurts.
“Stay there,” he snaps, heading to the kitchen in search of an impromptu instrument of correction. Seizing a large wooden spoon, he returns to find she’s obeyed his instruction and remains bent over. Joe continues the chastisement, ignoring cries of woe: they both know she deserves it. At long last, he ceases, and Hilary ruefully rubs her roasted rear. She winces then looks down at the glistening wetness at the apex of her thighs,
“That seems to have had another more welcome effect,” Hilary observes, a rosy flush radiating from her face and the top of her chest further evidence of sexual arousal.
“I think it’s obvious what you need next.” Still firmly in charge, Joe guides Hilary onto the sofa from where the sitting MP looks at him, eyes blazing.
“Think you’re man enough?” Decisively Joe grasps her legs behind each knee and pushes them back towards her chest.
“You want it don’t you?” he enquires rhetorically as her fully exposed pussy gapes lewdly.
“You can’t make me,” Hilary goads him. Joe releases his erection and slides the end between slippery labia. “Don’t, your cock is too big, I can’t take it all,” moans Hilary, contradicting this assertion by spreading her thighs as Joe thrusts energetically.
“You will,” Joe growls, easing the full length of his manhood into her velvety slot, “whether you want to or not.”
“It’s stretching my pussy,” complains Hilary, pulling Joe deeper, bucking and writhing. A hypocrite maybe, but this woman is one hell of a lay and he can’t hold back any longer.
“I’m going to come,” Joe warns.
“Yes, fill me up”, unleashing months of pent-up desire Hilary moans ecstatically as he ejaculates, her own orgasm arriving only seconds later.
When the two regain their breath Joe speaks first.
“Rather unbecoming behaviour,” he comments. Hilary, unabashed at her exhibition of unbridled lust, raises her eyebrows.”
“I grew up on a council estate in Dagenham, darling. Joined the party for social mobility, not political conviction. Bagged a rich husband and became one of the ruling classes, I don’t intend to lose that privileged life, which is why this encounter never happened.”
“You loved every second.”
“You can’t mention it to anyone.”
“I hadn’t intended bringing it up in general conversation.”
“Good, then I’ll make an effort to reform.”
“You, or the party?” queries Joe.
Hilary is genuinely amused:
“Me of course, that’s a lost cause.”
The next MP to require Joe’s protection couldn’t be more different. Or is she? Mel’s a feminist with flaming red hair and a burning desire to change people’s lives for the better. One of the youngest members of the opposition, Mel has already made it to the shadow cabinet. Joe’s making a routine check of window locks in her flat when he trips over a pair of carelessly discarded shoes.
“Heels aren’t your usual style.”
She blushes guiltily. “Well…”
“Relax, you don’t have to justify yourself, I’m sure you look great in them.”
“I think so, but you know…”
“What?
“Stilettoes hardly suit my political image, ‘women shouldn’t be objectified as sex objects’ and all that.”
“How about being appreciated for looking good?”
“I wouldn’t mind looking sexy occasionally, wouldn’t object to some actual sex too.”
“Bit of a drought?”
“My high public profile means I can’t just log on to Tindr, plus what turns me on could prove problematic.”
“And what might that be?”
Mel avoids eye contact but seems glad to confess. “I think I might like to be spanked,” she whispers.
“Think?”
“Never tried.”
“Perhaps I can help?” suggests Joe. Mel considers this offer; she has known Joe a while and rather fancies him to be honest. She’s wearing skin-tight leggings, showcasing an absolute peach of posterior, and a T-shirt over obviously bra-less breasts. Joe nods towards the shoes. “Try them on again.” Mel does so, twirls in front of a long mirror and likes what she sees.
“Reckon I look pretty hot – what do you think?”
“You’re right.” Joe sits on the bed. “Come here,” he adds in a commanding tone.
“Not easy to walk in.” She teeters over.
“Then practice. Now get over my lap.” Hesitantly Mel obeys, draping her lithe body across his knees. Joe slaps each bottom cheek in turn, taut curves bouncing. Mel wriggles and gasps yet remains in position. After a while Joe pauses. “How does that feel?”
“Umm, sort of glowing and stingy, and…”
“Yes?”
“May I have some more please?”
“Of course, lift your hips.” She gives a questioning look. “Proper spankings are always in the bare bottom. I’m going to pull your leggings and panties down,” explains Joe. There’s a sharp intake of breath before Mel meekly complies, allowing him to unveil her derriere, blush pink from the warm-up. Joe continues spanking her pert posterior for several further minutes.
“How does it feel now?” As if he can’t guess.
“Brute, you’ve made my bottom very hot, plus I’m getting wet.” Mel inches her thighs apart to reveal a damply pouting pussy.
“Obviously ready for more intimate attention,” says Joe. “Open your legs wide for six spanks on your pussy, don’t worry I’ll be gentle.” This is the ultimate test of submission and a big ask of a novice. Wordlessly she lifts her bum higher so Joe can spank her shaven sex. The effect is electric.
“Oh my, so very rude and naughty. Fuck, I’m coming!” Mel’s ambushed by an intense orgasm. Eventually regaining her composure, she examines her smarting rear. “Hard to believe I behaved so completely out of character. It seems only fair I say thank you.” She undoes his trousers. “My, that is a big cock.”
Taking the initiative, Mel straddles him cowgirl style, impaling her pussy inch by delicious inch on his throbbing manhood, tentatively accommodating Joe’s substantial girth. Sensually rolls her hips, leaning in to kiss him while undulating back and forth along the length of his slippery shaft. Simultaneously, Joe delivers half a dozen sharp slaps to her tender rear, creating contrasting waves of pleasure and pain. In response Mel grinds her engorged clit against the base of his cock; the sensation is exquisite.
“Fuck yeah!” Mel yells as a final vigorous lunge from Joe sends both tumbling into a powerful climax.
“Oh wow,” says Mel eventually, “that was so intense, but you can’t mention this to anyone.”
“I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act,” Joe reminds her, “and you may be surprised to know you’re not the only elected member with such interests, not even the only female MP.”
‘And he still believes I’ve never been spanked before,’ thinks Mel. ‘Perhaps if politics doesn’t pan out, I could try my hand at acting?’
Two MPs meet in the Commons tearoom a few weeks later. Hilary gives her cross-party colleague a genuinely warm smile.
“It seems we’ve more in common than you’d think my dear.”
“Care to exchange notes?” replies Mel with a conspiratorial wink.
