There’s a week to go before the country goes to the polls. The result is on a knife edge and the Prime Minister is aboard the battle bus, visiting Paddle with Whipping, a key marginal in the home counties. As he relaxes in his seat, his aide hands him the ‘special telephone.’

“It’s Martin, Prime Minister, he says it’s urgent.”

The premier takes the phone, his face grim with trepidation.

“Hello?”

“Sorry to bother you, Sir. We’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“Go on.”

“It’s Jenny. The press are rumbling about a movie. It’s not good.”

“A movie?”

“Yeah, you know. Early 90s before she entered politics.”

“Oh shit. How bad is it?”

“I’m not sure. Rumours are it’s pretty full on.”

“Oh no!”

“I know. We’ve filed a section 31, but it might be too late. Tony’s rushing it through now.”

“Right. What’s she saying?”

“Nothing yet. There will be an official denial, obviously.”

The Prime Minister rubs his face in frustration. With the polls neck and neck this was like handing No. 10 to the opposition, on a plate.

“So, it’s about damage limitation?”

“Yes. We are where we are. Do you want me to get her on the phone?”

“No... Let’s see if it runs or blows over, first.”

***

Meanwhile the news is spreading like wild fire. The BBC are rearranging their schedules.

“We’re interrupting your programme to bring you a news flash,” says the announcer, during an early afternoon gardening programme.

The camera cuts to a throng of photographers and journos, all busily taking notes and vying for position as the Home Secretary prepares to make a statement.

“We’re handing over to Sally Kirton, our on the spot news hound, who has a breaking story.”

Sally fumbles with her microphone oblivious to the camera. As she arranges her audio, a button pops open, causing her to flash a rather nice portion of cleavage.

“What?”

She looks to one side and presses her finger to an ear.

“Fuck.”

Somewhat flustered, the embarrassed correspondent clips her microphone in place and buttons her top.

“Yes, I’m here in the Home Secretary’s constituency of North Rogering and Rimming, where she’s about to make a statement on allegations that she made an adult movie as a student.”

The voice of the news anchor cuts in.

“So, what do we actually know, Sally?”

“Well at the moment it’s just a rumour, but of course coming at a crucial time in the general election and her party behind in the polls, it couldn’t come at a worse time.”

“Of course, and with her slim majority, this could be a crucial blow to her political adversaries?”

“Exactly. Oh, I gather she’s about to speak.”

A well-dressed, attractive business like woman in her thirties addresses the hubbub.

“I would like to make a statement regarding the allegations made about me in the morning’s edition of the London Chronicle. I would like to put it on record these stories have no basis in fact, whatsoever. I have and never would, partake in ‘edging’ whatever that is.”

There are sniggers from the journalists.

“Anyway, I have passed this on to my legal team. I have nothing further to say.”

“Home Secretary, are you going to resign?” ask a flood of Fleet street hacks.

The Home Secretary, about to walk away returns to the mic.

“As I said, I have nothing further to add.”

She is pursued by the hoard of journalists but police are on hand to keep them at arm’s length and the beleaguered politician is bundled into a black limousine.

“So quite a short sweet statement there.”

“Yes, just how damaging is this, Sally?”

“I think it’s potentially very damaging. It’s not every day the Home Secretary is caught with her panties down… allegedly.”

“Okay, thank you. So that’s Sally Kirton. Now back to your schedule.”

In the ministerial car her phone rings. It’s the Prime Minister.

“Jenny. I just saw the interview. Well handled.”

“Yes, sorry, Prime Minister. I don’t know where this came from.”

“Can you bury it?!”

“I’ll try. Is it going to blow up?”

“It’s a shit storm, Jenny. You’re trending on Twitter; Facebook is all over it. I can’t imagine what the red tops are going to make of this in the morning.”

“I know. I so don’t need this just now.”

“That’s an understatement. I’m not going to ask about the veracity of all this, Jenny. Just sort it.”

“Consider it sorted, Prime Minister.

***

Two days later…

North Rogering and Rimming constituency office.

Jenny Humpworthy is assessing the damage of the recent revelations of her personal life and looks at the latest polls. She leafs through a couple of newspapers and tosses them aside in disgust. She knows she needs to pour water on the fire and has called a meeting with Gerry Felcher, editor of the London Chronicle. Jenny is dressed in a short black skirt, hold ups and a shiny scarlet blouse, whose pearl buttons catch the sunshine as it pours through her office window. There is a knock on her door and she sits back in her chair.

“Gerry, good morning.”

“Hello Jenny. How’s things?”

“Been better. Worse things happen at sea and all that.”

She pushes her chair back, crossing her legs, giving a teasing flash of flesh. Gerry starts, his eyes flicking between be-nyloned leg and the headline on his paper. He is torn somewhere between lust and guilt.

“Unfortunate headline, Gerry.”

“Yes, well… the public like puns.”

“Panty politics?”

“So we’ve done better. We wanted to make the early print. Best we could come up with.”

“I thought I might be worth a little more effort, that’s all.”

“This isn’t personal. You put yourself on the parapet, you have to expect to be shot at.”

“It’s a low blow.”

“It’s journalism.”

“Really? Tell me, will the full retraction have an equally bold typeface?”

“What retraction?”

“The one you’re going to write tomorrow.”

Jenny scratches her leg with one hand and twiddles her top button with the other. She slides a finger under the top of her hold up and releases it with a distinct twang making Gerry jump.

“I think I can persuade you that it’s not in the national interest to let this story develop.”

“Oh. And how do you intend to do that?”

Gerry runs a hand through his short, grizzled brown hair. His eyes are diverted again, as Jenny adjusts her hosiery, giving him a mind-blowing 'up skirt.' Gerry is caught off guard and knows that she must know what she just did. He didn’t imagine those smooth legs and skimpy black panties. In spite of his increasing arousal and bemusement, he feels the need to defend his corner.

“A u-turn after such a damning story, is easier said than done.”

“I’m sure you’ll live. And like I said, I’m sure I can make you see things from my perspective, Gerry.”

“But we have the stills.”

“Could have been anyone.”

“Those gorgeous brown eyes.”

“Oh flattery will get you everywhere, Gerry. Lots of girls have brown hair and brown eyes.”

“The heart-shaped birthmark?”

“Faked.”

“If you say so.”

“Come round here, Gerry. Let me show you what I mean.”

"You can't win me over that easily, Jenny."

The newspaper editor walks round to Jenny’s side of the desk. Her eyes burn into him. They are like mirrors into her soul and Gerry gulps as he sees the mischievous sexy twinkle in them.

“What’s going on, Jenny?”

“Take off your jacket, get comfortable, Gerry.”

He follows her request and shivers as she stretches out a leg, making a circle with her toe. She looks at him as he places his jacket on the chair, and she licks her lips.

"Have you ever watched me, when I'm in parliament and wondered what goes on down here?" As she speaks, she slides a hand inside her skirt and touches herself.

"I... that is, I..."

Jenny picks up a pencil and licks the end, as she gives Gerry a once over. She leans back, licking the pencil and undoes the top button of her blouse. Gerry didn't know what to say. He had only seen her close up, on television. His ‘real’ interactions had been at press conferences and the like. This was the first time he had been up close and personal with the femme fatale of the green leather benches.

Jenny's political career had been one of a ladder of success.

A junior minister after two years in politics, a senior position in the treasury and then the youngest Home Secretary for a hundred years.

“Do I make you nervous, Gerry? You’ve written all these salacious allegations. Am I so scary in the flesh?”

Jenny swivels her chair, nonchalantly hitching her skirt higher.

“I ummm… didn’t expect you to be quite so ‘arresting.’

“I’ll take that as a compliment!”

She leans back in her chair and opens her legs a little, her thighs stretching her skirt, revealing a lovely two tone of hold up and creamy white thigh. Her fingers dance along her blouse, each button almost but not quite popped open.

“What if I did get myself involved in some silly porn film? Hmmm? Just because I was young and care-free. Straight out of university - finding myself. I was always so horny, Gerry. I still am. Are you horny, all the time?”

Gerry is trapped, he can feel his blood pressure rise and his dick is growing. He can’t stop it. He came for a meeting, to broach a deal with the hot thirty something MP and is now being reeled in, like a hapless fish.

Jenny lifts one leg and strokes the inside of Gerry’s leg. She goes higher and higher, until the tip of her shoe rests against his balls. She can feel the weight of his sack, resisting her shiny stiletto.

“Oh fuck!”

“Hmmm…? Can’t you handle me, Gerry? I wonder what the Herald would make of my little story, eh?”

“You wouldn’t?”

“I can read it all now. Top Fleet Street editor seduced by ‘the porn MP.’"

“There’s no evidence!”

“Unless you count the hidden camera and microphone on my desk.”

“What?!”

“I’m sure your bulging erection has been captured very nicely.”

“Oh shit!”

“Now, what would the headline be, I wonder? ‘A general erection, maybe?”

“What do you want, Jenny?”

“A deal. That is all. I’ll send you away with a smile, if you’ll print a full and I mean a full retraction on Monday. And of course, ‘the tape’ has to go missing.”

“Okay.”

“Now, where were we…”

Jenny rolls her chair towards Gerry and begins to unbuckle his belt, unzipping his trousers with her other hand. She slides her palm over the outline of his inflated penis, and licks her lips.

“Hmmm... there's plenty for a girl to work with here.”

Gerry nods and smiles nervously.

The naughty election candidate stands and unbuttons her blouse with one hand as she massages Gerry’s cock with the other. Her cleavage is like two half-moons, squished together between the cups of her brassiere. She unzips her skirt, the catch making an audible ‘snick’ and then a delightful ‘swoosh’ as it slides against her nylons. Gerry’s cock is now at its full hardness as Jenny resumes her seat and takes hold of his trunks.

“I’m feeling more upbeat about this election, Gerry. I think we might form a majority after all.”

“Jenny, I think… we all know it’s going to be… ooh...a hung parliament.”

She pulls his pants down and reveals as fine a specimen as she could hope to see.

“Hmmm… You should enter politics, Gerry. It would be a very well hung parliament!”

Gerry takes a sharp intake of breath and Jenny wraps her lips around his cock.

“Oh fuck! Jenny! This isn’t happening.”

“Hmmm…”

Jenny licks him with perfect pressure and strokes the bulbous end between long, gentle sucks of his beautiful phallus. His cock pounds against her tongue, as she works his shaft.

“Jenny! Oh fuck, that’s good!”

Jenny gazes up at him with her sultry brown eyes as she fellates his cock, lovingly. If there was one thing Jenny learned at uni, apart from history, it was how to give good head. She had perfected the art. Holding his dick between two fingers, her tongue flicks his banjo string and then rolls around the tip. She knows the most sensitive parts. The little groans and whimpers tells a girl just what hit the spot. Nice and slow and plenty of eye contact was the key, as well as a liberal amount of saliva drizzled over the cock.

She laps her tongue along the length of his shaft, lingering around the head. A long strand of spit stretches from his bell end to her tongue. She gathers it up with her tongue and drools over his shiny wet head. She loved to give a wet and messy blow-job.

Gerry gives a gasp of delight as she increases the pressure from her lips. The first droplet of pre-cum was the sign she wanted, an indication that it was time to bring things to a hot, erotic conclusion.

Jenny stands up and turns her back to her man. She looks over her shoulder and grips his cock as she backs up to him, until his cock slides between her legs. His cock is now rubbing against her gusset, the combination of lacy panties and swollen pussy lips blowing his mind and causing another emission of pre-ejaculate, which mingles with the dampness of her pussy-soaked panties. Gerry places his hands over her breasts and feels them through the lacy pattern of her bra.

“Why don’t you take it off. I like to have my nipples pinched. It turns me on.”

He takes a lungful of her lovely cologne, as his fingers un-clip her bra and her boobs are released from their confines. At the same time, Jenny eases her panties down, drawing them down across the tip of his cock. She presses her bum against his cock and wanks him against her ass cheeks as he fondles her breasts. Gerry is gulping for air as his cock skin is distended to its maximum.

“I’m going to let you fuck me now, Gerry.”

“Hnnnghh!”

“I might watch that tape back, for my own pleasure later, so make it good, okay!”

Gerry gives a gurgled reply as his cock throbs between her legs. She bends over and grips the edge of her desk. Her pussy lips are inflamed, their hue a deep pink and glistening with her arousal. Her body is tingling, tense and hungry for the eight inches of manhood that Gerry the Editor is about to deliver. The first stroke draws a whimper of pleasure, as he parts her sopping wet cunt. As he drives his cock home, he groans manfully and causes Jenny to squeal. Grunting with every stroke of his dick, he slides his fingers inside the elasticated band of her hold ups. Jenny yields to his thrusts, her eyes closed as she takes a pounding.

Jenny's political career had been a gift to the middle shelf magazines. She was voted in the top 10 MPs that most men wanted to bed, in a controversial survey in Steam magazine. She was the female member of parliament most likely to be the source of male fantasies according to Men and Cars. Now Gerry was living the dream. The scoop of the century suddenly slipping away, at a price. But what a price!

His hands are gripping her hips now, as he fucks her hard. He loved the way her bum cheeks quivered as he thrust his cock home. Her pussy was so hot. They were both breathing hard, both giving way to their feelings in her private office. Jenny had cleared her calendar. The situation had called for drastic action. If she was to return to parliament with a ministerial position, she knew it had to be with a clean slate. The Prime Minister couldn’t afford to have a weak link in the chain, with the ghosts of her past, giving fodder to the opposition. Another coalition was in the offing. There would be back room deals. Maybe a little oiling of the Westminster cogs and a few private liaisons would ease ‘irreconcilable’ differences. For now, Jenny was doing her bit for party and country, giving up her pussy for the sake of her political career.

She braces herself against the desk as the editor bangs her tight, wet pussy for all he is worth. His paper had always been a mouthpiece of the left. Doing deals with the 'enemy' was against his principles, but he was also a man and Jenny was too hot a proposition to pass up. He can feel his orgasm approaching as her wonderfully tight, hot pussy is drawing him ever closer to a fantastic climax!

He slaps her ass with one hand, and weighs her tits with the other, her breasts swaying for his fondling pleasure. Jenny moans as she feels his cock grow harder. She loved to have her breasts squeezed and Gerry was squeezing them in both hands, pinching her nipples as his cock goes deeper and harder and his groans become louder.

Their cries of ecstasy are uttered in unison, Jenny’s body trembling. It begins in her pussy and ripples through her tummy. It sends little sparks and tingles everywhere. Her nipples are erect. All she can do is squeal through her fingers as her orgasm begins to grow in intensity, like a hurricane, sending shock waves to her toes, taking her to a dream-like haze of pleasure and sexual frenzy!

“Yes! Yes!!! Gerry… I’m coming! Don’t stop! Yes! Ooohhh!”

Gerry grits his teeth as he teeters on the final moments of torment and he lets go with a growl of pleasure. His orgasm is strong as torrents of spunk explode from his cock, filling Jenny’s pussy. He continues to pump his ejaculation as her pussy juices flow, mingling with his spunk. He pulls out as his cock is still hard and a drizzle of semen oozes on to her ass.

For Jenny it is mission accomplished. For Gerry, it is a once in a life time experience, even if in journalistic terms, he is left with a red face. In every sense.