If you’ve never been to the House of Commons in Westminster, especially in the evening, you’d never imagine it’s such a cocktail of booze and cock. Pretty, young researchers – boys and girls just out of university – abound, and you can nearly always find someone up for some fun if you look hard enough.
I used to work in the House, for a Tory MP but now I’m a lobbyist, which means I have to go to tedious receptions on behalf of clients. While normally the Parliamentary Group on waste treatment wouldn’t get much interest, I was keen to go when I spotted the name of the MP hosting: Dan Jones, Labour MP for Doncaster East. I’d not met him, but I’d spotted him on the TV a few times and thought he was gorgeous – mid thirties, really short blond hair, piercing blue eyes and what looked like a nice body too.
As I got to the event he didn’t disappoint – in fact he was hotter in person than on TV. He was amazingly handsome, with eyes that seemed to shoot across the room towards me. His shirt was tight across his firm, muscular chest and I could see the outline of a gold chain under his tie, while his bespoke suit was well cut to emphasise his sexy body.
After the inevitably dull speeches, I made a beeline for him, and introduced myself. “Hello Mr Jones, I’m Tom, here with Cleenup Industrial – I don’t know if you’ve heard of them? They specialise in…”
He interrupted me and his response meant I knew he didn’t give a shit about waste treatment. Up close he was really sexy. I could feel the confidence oozing from him as he shook my hand and looked me up and down. His Yorkshire accent was very sexy in a rough-and-muscular way, which was just as well given what happened next.
“Hi Tom, glad to meet you. I’ve got to go to another do in a minute or two but if want to walk with me you can tell me all about it.”
So we grabbed another glass of wine each and walked to the exit of the room. He put his hand firmly to my lower back and guided me out before turning to me in the corridor and giving me two choices, with a directness that only truly great flirts can get away with.
“You can tell me about your client now and I’ll listen politely, or you can come back to my office and discuss it over a drink. What do you fancy?”
Of course he knew what I fancied. And I was hoping I could give him what he wanted. We walked up a couple of flights of Parliament’s very grand stone staircases until we reached one of the upper corridors, leather-bound copies of Parliamentary debates going back decades and not a soul about. We got to his office and went in.
It was an office much like any other in the Palace – small, cramped, nice furniture but nowhere near enough room. He poured a whiskey, then turned to look directly at me, stood nervously by the door. “I don’t actually care about your client, but I’m interested in you. Tell me, are all Tory lobbyists sluts or do I just keep meeting those that are?” As he bluntly asked me if I was a slut (answer: yes!) he was casually taking off his jacket and tie, then his cufflinks and loosened his shirt. I was right about his body – it looked powerful and like he really worked on it.
“I’m not sure I understand” I started, even though I certainly hoped I would be getting fucked shortly. “Do you think I’m a slut? You don’t even know if I’m gay.”
“The hard-on as I’m taking my jacket off, the way you looked at my body the whole time, the way you came up to me like a bottom boy on a mission told me you wanted to get fucked. Am I wrong?”
“No!” By now he was standing close to me and my hard-on was struggling to escape my trousers. I put my hand on his shirt and started to undo the buttons. His muscles were really hard and I couldn’t keep my hands off. He had a lovely erect nipple so I gave it a little lick, which he enjoyed. He took off his shirt, tossed it to the floor then walked over to his desk, sat down, and whipped out his semi-hard cock.
“Suck it” he instructed, and I eagerly walked over, took off my jacket and tie and got down on my knees. It was a good size and I hoped a blowjob wasn’t going to be all I did for him tonight. I started by licking the fat tip, then running my tongue up and down the shaft, before going back to the tip again. My right hand went up to his nipple on his beautifully sculpted chest, while with my left I clumsily undid the buttons on my shirt.
“That’s nice,” he said as I went to deepthroat him as best I could. I was getting really into it, and his cock was getting hard as it prodded the back of my mouth. I was playing with his balls which he seemed to like too. “Get up,” he commanded after a few minutes of oral, as he pulled me up, took off my shirt and stood back to look. His hard-on was glorious now – wet, hard and big. I couldn’t wait to get it back in my mouth – or up my ass.
“You’ve still not answered my question. Why are all the Tory boys such sluts? I’ve fucked a few of them” – my dick was getting even harder at this as I imagined him pounding my ass – “and they never ask for a condom.”
At this I realised what I was in for – he wanted to fuck me bare. In truth I’d fucked around bare a couple of times, but never so brazenly – or with so hot a man. My hard-on was getting uncomfortable now in my trousers, so by way of response I loosened my belt, undid the button and sipped them off to my ankles. My underwear could barely contain my cock and the damp pre-cum was giving him all the answer he needed.
“Is that your answer? You’re a slut and you want me to fuck you? Is that right?” He was almost interrogating me, as I fought the urge to give in, lean down on the desk and beg him for his cock. All I could do was nod, as he turned me around, pushed me down onto the desk and told me “get ready, Tory boy. You’re getting fucked.”
He pulled down my underwear and felt my asscheeks before going for my hole with his fingers. He pulled open his drawer and got out some lube – almost as if he did this regularly, you might imagine – and played with my hole. I could feel his fingers in me, and running around the edge, playing with me and making me looser every second. I wanted him inside me, I wanted his bare cock inside me now!
“You ready , slut?” Was all he said. With an equally direct “yes, fuck me, fuck me bare” I gave him what he wanted – and what he had been guaranteed since we shook hands just twenty minutes before. With my face down on the desk all I could feel were his powerful hands gripping my slender hips as his cock rubbed at my hole. I ran my hand back just to give him a final stroke and feel how sloppy and bare his cock was as it entered me.
“Oh yes, put it in me” I demanded as he paused. “I want your cock in me.” He needed no further encouragement as he slowly slid it in, forwards an inch, back half, forwards another, until I could feel him, hot, hard and insistent, inside me.
“I want to feel your balls slapping mine – go deep” I urged him, and he responded with an almighty thrust into me. I nearly squeaked in pleasure as I felt his balls swing into mine. I was in heaven – a sexy, muscular older man balls-deep and bare in my hole – as he started to thrust in and out, slamming my hips against the desk.
I was really enjoying being fucked when he grabbed my shoulders and started to bang me so hard the desk started moving. It felt like he was pulling out the whole way before slamming the whole way back in each thrust. I grabbed onto the far side of the desk as he hammered my hole – I was loving it but not sure how long I could go. He then wrapped his arms around my shoulders and crushed me under his muscly body against the desk, jackhammering my ass as I could feel the sweat pouring off his body and his gold chain swinging round and slapping into the back of my neck.
“Fucking hell!” he shouted in my ear as he came – his body stiffened, I was almost suffocated under his much bigger body as he held me tightly. I could feel his cock throbbing in my ass and a warm glow filling me as his cum shot out of him. As he pulled out I felt like I’d never felt before, my legs so weak I was still hanging onto the desk and catching my breath. As I recovered I turned round to see him standing, sweat glistening on his muscles and cock still erect.
“Thanks Tom,” he said. “If you’d like to call my office to arrange a meeting to discuss your client’s business, I’d be delighted. Some evening next week would be good. My business cards are on the desk.”
