hadruprider
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2015
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Francis Urquhart strode confidently into the Cabinet Room and sat down at the table, surrounded by his loyal ministers. He had been Prime Minister for six months now, and the Party - and hence the country - was, he thought, starting to get back into shape. Since Maggie had been so ruthlessly stabbed in the back, the Conservative Party had been led by a sequence of feeble wimps who would soon be forgotten. Meanwhile, FU, as he was often abbreviated to, had steadily worked his way up the ranks, from Junior Treasury Minister, then Northern Ireland Secretary, and then Foreign Secretary. In a final coup, masterfully engineered, he had destroyed the previous PM simply by encouraging and enhancing an existing split within the Party on the always controversial issue of Europe, while himself feigning a reasonable indifference on the matter, thereby establishing himself as the natural candidate to restore party unity.
He went through the issues of the day, reminding his colleagues of his official line that they were required to follow in each, in case any of them were ambushed by the devious political correspondents from the BBC or ITV. Each of them knew well what would occur if they deviated from FU's line, recalling the recent news story concerning the former Health Secretary and his family's private health care arrangement, that had somehow become public knowledge shortly after he had disagreed with FU, leading to his resignation.
As he wrapped up, he asked if anyone had any issues to raise.
The new Health Secretary said hesitantly, "Well Prime Minister, there are these demonstrations calling for more health care spending, I was wondering if perhaps we could - "
"Sarah," said FU, raising his hand, "Nobody, as you are aware, is a greater supporter of our NHS than I. However, at this present juncture there is, regrettably, no possibility of increasing its funding. The NHS is a potentially a bottomless pit into which we are pouring cash, and we need to maintain a tight control on all public spending."
Sarah fell silent, while the rest of the cabinet nodded or murmured their agreement.
"Um, James I have been talking with the President of the United States and his team," said Foreign Secretary Martin, indicating the Northern Ireland Secretary. " He is concerned... he wonders whether... perhaps we should adopt a more conciliary tone towards Sinn Fein..."
Urquhart slammed his fist down on the table. "We will not talk to terrorists," he said firmly. "Have you forgotten what those cowardly bastards tried to do to Maggie just a few years ago? We do not interfere in the internal politics of the United States. And we will not, under any circumstances, allow them to meddle in our affairs. We will take no advice from them, particularly not from the ignorant buffoon currently in office, despite the special relationship that we have with his country. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Prime Minister," said James and Martin meekly. There was a stony silence. Nobody else dared to speak.
The Prime Minister rose and left the room, and went up the stairs to his private apartment. His wife Elizabeth greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "How was cabinet, dear? Would you like a drink? The kettle's just boiled."
"Get me a scotch," he said, as he slumped into his favourite chair. Elizabeth poured him a generous glass of his favourite single malt, and brought it to him in silence, knowing that he wouldn't want any further conversation.
"I'll be working late this evening, in my private office, with Jennifer, and I'm not to be disturbed," he said.
Elizabeth knew very well what 'working with Jennifer' meant. She was the latest in his sequence of devoted young women, officially secretaries, or personal assistants, or special advisers, who provided their services for her husband. Some of them were attracted by his dominant personality and power, while others did it to further their political careers, thinking that they could climb the greasy pole of politics by climbing onto Francis's greasy pole. She didn't really mind, and had got used to it during the 30 years of their marriage. It meant less work for her in the bedroom.
The fine whisky had a calming effect, and after relaxing for half an hour he went into his office and phoned Jennifer. The young woman arrived just two minutes later. As he had previously instructed, she wore a tight fitting white blouse, a short black skirt, stockings and heels. FU removed his jacket, but kept his waistcoat and tie on, and sat at his large, oak desk, while the girl sat at her smaller desk at the other side of the room, with her notebook, diary and other papers. He barked out a series of instructions to her, which she wrote down, and they discussed various administrative issues and went through his diary entries for tomorrow.
"One other thing, Sir," she said hesitantly. "The First Lady of the United States is coming to the UK for a visit. And she would like to meet you and your wife, if that's possible?"
"What? Why should I waste my time talking to that stupid bitch? What does she want? Probably going to try to persuade me to sympathise with terrorists, like that idiot husband of hers." He paused and thought for a moment. "All right. Invite her for tea with me and Elizabeth."
"Blouse off." He sat and watched as Jennifer slowly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing her firm young breasts in a white lacy bra. "Skirt." She stood up, moved in front of the desk so that he could see her properly, unzipped the skirt and wiggled it off her hips onto the floor. He gazed for a while at her smooth white skin, suspender belt, stockings and knickers.
His final instruction was simply a gesture. Remaining seated in his chair, he pointed down to the space in front of him under his desk. The girl smiled, and walked slowly forward, tossing her hair and swinging her hips, then got down on her knees under the desk, her hands on his trousers.
He went through the issues of the day, reminding his colleagues of his official line that they were required to follow in each, in case any of them were ambushed by the devious political correspondents from the BBC or ITV. Each of them knew well what would occur if they deviated from FU's line, recalling the recent news story concerning the former Health Secretary and his family's private health care arrangement, that had somehow become public knowledge shortly after he had disagreed with FU, leading to his resignation.
As he wrapped up, he asked if anyone had any issues to raise.
The new Health Secretary said hesitantly, "Well Prime Minister, there are these demonstrations calling for more health care spending, I was wondering if perhaps we could - "
"Sarah," said FU, raising his hand, "Nobody, as you are aware, is a greater supporter of our NHS than I. However, at this present juncture there is, regrettably, no possibility of increasing its funding. The NHS is a potentially a bottomless pit into which we are pouring cash, and we need to maintain a tight control on all public spending."
Sarah fell silent, while the rest of the cabinet nodded or murmured their agreement.
"Um, James I have been talking with the President of the United States and his team," said Foreign Secretary Martin, indicating the Northern Ireland Secretary. " He is concerned... he wonders whether... perhaps we should adopt a more conciliary tone towards Sinn Fein..."
Urquhart slammed his fist down on the table. "We will not talk to terrorists," he said firmly. "Have you forgotten what those cowardly bastards tried to do to Maggie just a few years ago? We do not interfere in the internal politics of the United States. And we will not, under any circumstances, allow them to meddle in our affairs. We will take no advice from them, particularly not from the ignorant buffoon currently in office, despite the special relationship that we have with his country. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Prime Minister," said James and Martin meekly. There was a stony silence. Nobody else dared to speak.
The Prime Minister rose and left the room, and went up the stairs to his private apartment. His wife Elizabeth greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "How was cabinet, dear? Would you like a drink? The kettle's just boiled."
"Get me a scotch," he said, as he slumped into his favourite chair. Elizabeth poured him a generous glass of his favourite single malt, and brought it to him in silence, knowing that he wouldn't want any further conversation.
"I'll be working late this evening, in my private office, with Jennifer, and I'm not to be disturbed," he said.
Elizabeth knew very well what 'working with Jennifer' meant. She was the latest in his sequence of devoted young women, officially secretaries, or personal assistants, or special advisers, who provided their services for her husband. Some of them were attracted by his dominant personality and power, while others did it to further their political careers, thinking that they could climb the greasy pole of politics by climbing onto Francis's greasy pole. She didn't really mind, and had got used to it during the 30 years of their marriage. It meant less work for her in the bedroom.
The fine whisky had a calming effect, and after relaxing for half an hour he went into his office and phoned Jennifer. The young woman arrived just two minutes later. As he had previously instructed, she wore a tight fitting white blouse, a short black skirt, stockings and heels. FU removed his jacket, but kept his waistcoat and tie on, and sat at his large, oak desk, while the girl sat at her smaller desk at the other side of the room, with her notebook, diary and other papers. He barked out a series of instructions to her, which she wrote down, and they discussed various administrative issues and went through his diary entries for tomorrow.
"One other thing, Sir," she said hesitantly. "The First Lady of the United States is coming to the UK for a visit. And she would like to meet you and your wife, if that's possible?"
"What? Why should I waste my time talking to that stupid bitch? What does she want? Probably going to try to persuade me to sympathise with terrorists, like that idiot husband of hers." He paused and thought for a moment. "All right. Invite her for tea with me and Elizabeth."
"Blouse off." He sat and watched as Jennifer slowly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing her firm young breasts in a white lacy bra. "Skirt." She stood up, moved in front of the desk so that he could see her properly, unzipped the skirt and wiggled it off her hips onto the floor. He gazed for a while at her smooth white skin, suspender belt, stockings and knickers.
His final instruction was simply a gesture. Remaining seated in his chair, he pointed down to the space in front of him under his desk. The girl smiled, and walked slowly forward, tossing her hair and swinging her hips, then got down on her knees under the desk, her hands on his trousers.
