The Politician’s tale.

This was originally intended for the Transgender & Cross dresser category but would I think be appropriate for BDSM, Non-Consent and Fetish categories as well. So I’ve plumped for BDSM. If nothing else, it might give an opportunity to new readers who discover it enjoyable to try my other 3 stories which are in the Transgender section and which contain many of the scenarios that are in this. It’s one long story, there’s no part 2.

“Sir David was a much respected parliamentarian, trusted and admired by all who came in to contact with him, no matter on which side of the house they sat…”

I paused, fighting to hold in the emotions I had so far managed to contain in my eulogy to the recently deceased Sir David Markham. Most in the congregation would have assumed my pause was because of sadness at the late man’s death but his widow, Antonia (Lady Markham) seated in the front pew just a few yards from the lectern from which I was speaking, new full well why I struggled to get my speech done. She looked up at me from beneath her black, gauzy veil and fingered the chain necklace she was wearing, making it clear to me that the small key that hung on it would not be handed over unless I completed the eulogy just as she’d written.

I composed myself and continued with my speech, praising her late husband and expressing sadness for the loss of the “great man” to his devoted, kind and charming widow. As I spoke, I thought how many in the congregation were, like me, blackmailed by the evil couple and secretly pleased at the death of the horrible, devious, corrupt and manipulative monster we were burying that day. His widow was at least as bad as her departed husband. She had the power over me, she still had the pictures and just as importantly the key to the chastity device I was wearing, I just had to hope that the promise she’d made to hand over the key and the incriminating pictures once the funeral was over would be honoured and that she’d no longer demand my “services” now Sir David was gone. Her fingering the key as I read the eulogy was meant to remind me I was still under her control and not to say anything disrespectful about her husband if I wanted my release from being her sex slave.

After my speech, I returned to my pew, glancing briefly at the widow. I could see her scarlet lips give ever such a sly smile, a smile no one else would have noticed beneath her veil. Dressed all in funereal black, she still managed to look threatening to me which would come as no surprise if you knew what her and her husband had forced me to endure.

Antonia was, despite her mature years, still to most, an attractive woman. Jet black shoulder-length hair, all the time immaculately dressed and for a woman her age — about 56 I’d guess — someone who could still turn heads and would have no trouble making younger men fantasise about her. She was a snob and considered herself above hoi-polloi she would sometimes have to mix with, yet I guess her smile, and feminine guile ensured most would do her bidding. Certainly the men she came in to contact with never argued with her or took umbrage at her sometimes curt, dismissive manner. Maybe I’d have fancied her in different circumstances; men can be quite forgiving of any woman with long-legs all the time clad in black stockings and with prominent breasts that dared a fellow not to stare, but I simply despised her, for reasons which will become clear as my story unfurls. She’d put on a few pounds in recent years but was still a good-looking woman even when wearing foundation garments, as I’d seen at close quarters too often.

After the service, I skipped the burial in the churchyard and headed straight to the grand country hotel where the “wake” was to be held. Plenty of others from the large congregation did the same and, after getting a drink from the bar, I made small talk with a number of acquaintances as we awaited the arrival of Lady Markham and her close family.

Among the throng milling about there was another woman with whom I had issues with –my sister-in-law — Karen. A nasty, spiteful, jealous, foul-tempered vixen if ever there was one. We’d never got on; she all the time seemed jealous and resentful of her late sister’s happy marriage to me, partly because her marriage had ended in divorce. Eric, (her ex), ran off with another woman — and who could blame him? How he stood being wed to Karen for so long I don’t know: he deserved a medal.

Karen sauntered over to me with a friendly smile — something that all the time gave me cause for concern. A tall woman (taller than me), she was not one of nature’s great lookers it’s fair to say but even so did have a body that had everything in an appealing proportion. With short, light- brown hair and rather angular features rather suggesting she shared some DNA with Mr Ed, I all the time felt she was jealous of her younger sister’s good looks. And, although the two of them were devoted to one another, it seemed that any happiness or success Holly (my late wife) and I had caused resentment and spite to boil up inside her. Furthermore, I’d put her in her place a few times, showing her up in the process in front of family and friends, something for which I reckoned she’d never forgiven me.

“A fitting speech Des,” the words slithered out of her grinning lips as though she knew of the contempt I felt for the Markhams.

I just nodded and said “thanks”.

“As you know, I’ve always got on very well with Antonia. You did too didn’t you?”

I nodded. I didn’t dare let Karen know why I despised the evil bitch. There was something odd — well, odder than usual — about Karen here. She lightly touched my hand and retained her smile, looking me in the eye in an almost friendly, understanding manner. It put me on my guard, she wasn’t usually so friendly. Was she up to something?

Fortunately our conversation was cut short as the funeral cortege arrived at the hotel and Antonia and her family entered the room. I excused myself from Karen and waited for Antonia to do her rounds of accepting the sympathy from assembled guests — nodding, kissing cheeks and shaking hands and giving doleful smiles with those vivid brown eyes of hers – before broaching her about giving me the key. It had now been nearly six weeks since my chastity device had been unlocked and I was desperate for release and equally desperate to free myself of the damn device for once and for all now that Lady Markham had decided I was no longer to be her sex toy; Antonia wanting no more sex-games now that Sir David would not be participating.

I suppose the story as to how I came to be blackmailed started many years ago when I was an undergraduate at Cambridge. It was there that I met Holly Carmichael, a pretty in an elfin, pixie-like sort of way and fun girl. After just a few dates I became captivated by her charm, energy, sense-of-humour and sexual appetite.

She — to my surprise — fell in love with me and, although she satisfied all my sexual needs at the time- she said she’d not fall out with me if I had the odd fling with other women: it was natural for a man she reasoned. She admitted to the odd lesbian desires and we both fancied – a stunning 30+ year old lecturer in history from her school — Ms Charlotte Parsons.

I was stunned and thrilled to learn a short while after admitting my lust for Ms Parsons that Holly had been on a date with Charlotte and that the lecturer was happy to have a three-in-a-bed session with me! I of course agreed.

I felt so lucky to have found Holly. We married after graduating and I was offered a job with Holly’s family firm, “Carmichael Medical Supplies Ltd.” An old-fashioned firm established by my now father-in-law some years ago. I had to spend some time on the shop floor, learning all the factors of the company before taking my place on the board of directors, which were really just the family and their spouses. It was there that my first clashes with Karen occurred; she seemed to resent the fact that her father seemed to agree with me on nearly all company decisions. Her father tended to have more confidence in my plans for the company than he did with Karen or her then husband Eric; something Karen made clear she resented. Eric didn’t seem too bothered, something else which annoyed the bitch. Holly tried to make allowances for her sister’s attitude but she never convinced me Karen was anything but a self-important, nasty piece-of-work.

The firm was in need of modernisation in my comment and needed to bring new products to market; niche products, not just the everyday bandages and plasters that the company had focussed on for so many years. At numerous board meetings I implored my father-in-law and his wife (the main shareholders) to invest in a large research project into specialist field dressings for military battlefield use; dressings that would provide immediate pain relief and deliver prompt and effective staunching of bleeding wounds. Karen opposed it at every step of the way but her father eventually supported me and got the family’s banker to provide the loans necessary for the R&D and then the tooling-up of the factory to make the new products.

When I went on to propose we took out further loans for marketing the new products and a whole new team of marketing staff, Karen was apoplectic.

“We haven’t sold a single item yet,” she moaned, “and already he’s got us borrowing millions and now needs even more. He’ll ruin the business and we’ll all be losers.”

But her father backed my plan and Karen could barely contain her anger, made worse when I announced some months later that I’d assembled a marketing team and paid for a stand at a trade fair in Helsinki some months ahead.

Another thing that fired Karen’s resentment of me was her father’s encouraging me to stand as a local councillor.

“We need a representative at that level to smooth planning applications and find out what’s going on locally that might affect our business,” he reasoned. Maybe Karen objected to my being proposed to run for councillor instead of her Eric. Whatever the reason, I successfully gained a seat as councillor in the next local elections.

Holly, who by now was pregnant with our first child, continued to try and defend her sister but we never fell out about it. We still had a great sex life and Holly rather encouraged me to have affairs — as long as they were fleeting — telling me that a sexually satisfied husband was a satisfied husband. In fact, she seemed to get a kick from me telling her about the flings I’d had, not that there were too many. How blessed I was to have such a doting, open-minded, wonderful wife.

It was during this time that I first met David and Antonia Markham (he’d not been knighted then). He was the Member of Parliament for a nearby constituency to where I lived and the couple had known the Carmichaels for many years. We’d been invited to a garden party at their large country pile.

David Markham had held the position of “chief whip” for some years; the whips being the people responsible for keeping the MPs from his party in-line. This was often done by the “dark arts” of persuasion. Any MP thinking of voting against the party or publicly criticising it would discover the whips having a quiet word in their ear along the lines of “there’s to be a cabinet reshuffle soon, vote against this and you might find you’ll be overlooked for a position” or “I’ve spoken to someone you knew at a rather risqué party recently, you wouldn’t want the public getting to find out about who you exchanged bodily fluids with now would you?” In such methods potential rebellions from within the party were quelled. It was the whip’s job to get the low-down on all the party’s MP’s, to know about their peccadilloes and private misconducts.

On being introduced to them for the first time I found them both charming and willing to learn all about my company and council activities. David was about eight year older than his wife and a good 25 years older than me. Tall, with receding grey hair, he cut an imposing figure and it was no surprise to learn he’d once been an officer in the army. He came across as a worldly-wise, avuncular figure, one who could be relied upon for good advice.

Antonia seemed to spend a lot of her time chatting to her good friend Karen and I did wonder if my sister-in-law was criticising me to her, but when we did talk she was most polite. It was hard not to notice how well-groomed she was, shortish (but not too short) floral cotton dress that narrowed at the waist emphasising her womanly figure, long legs clad in what I assumed to be tan silk stockings. Discreet jewellery, long, well-painted fingernails and with a lovely fragrant perfume, her deep brown eyes with long, black eyelashes made it hard not to imagine screwing her, even though she was somewhat older than me.

Throughout the evening a small team of conservatively dressed maids and waiters flitted between the guests offering trays of food and drink and collecting glasses; it was a most convivial atmosphere.

Also present was our MP, Finlay “Bonzo” McCain, another who was a long-standing friend of the Carmichaels. I’d been introduced to him before so it was no surprise when he came over to talk to me.

“How you getting on with David? He could be very useful if you ever decided to go for a career in politics, as my replacement perhaps,” Bonzo proffered.

“Yes, he’s a very knowledgeable guy. He seems to know a lot of influential people I’d say. But I think I’ll just stick to being a councillor Bonzo, which takes up enough of my time as it is.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind just let me know. I don’t intend standing at the next election and the party could do with some new blood. A friendly word of advice though Des, just don’t cross David if you can help it.”

I thanked Bonzo for his advice but assured him I’d no desires to be an MP.

As the time for the trade fare in Helsinki approached, I was conscious that the order book for our new medical products was looking rather sparse; something Karen took great delight in pointing out whenever we had our board meetings.

“I’d have sold more bandages at a W.I. cake sale than all the expensive tat he’s had us pay for! And how much interest are we paying on our borrowings to fund his madcap scheme? No, don’t tell me. He’s a loser daddy and what’s more, he’s making us all losers too.”

I could sense that her father’s confidence in me was beginning to waver – just a little – and that Karen’s constant attempts to undermine me were beginning to hit home. It was against this background that, together with four members of our marketing team, we headed to Helsinki, a venture that — as Karen pointed out — was costing the firm a pretty penny in hotel fees, staff fees etc. I’d really no experience of such events as the Helsinki jaunt but I was growing more and more anxious that I had to be able to face Karen at the next board meeting with something to show for the outlay.

Before I left for Helsinki, Holly gave me a loving kiss and wished me the best of luck. She understood the strain I was under and told me to take any opportunity that came my way to get sexual relief — as long as I practised safe sex and that I told her every last lascivious detail on my return!

The trade fair lasted six days and, if I’m being honest, wasn’t the great success I’d prayed for. Sure, lots of visitors came to our stand, many asking pertinent questions that suggested they could see the merit in our products but we’d received no large orders, just a few minor sales and promises to follow things up in the coming weeks.

I rang Holly from the hotel when the trade fair ended and confirmed I was staying on an extra two days — days the hotel had given me for free when I’d made the original booking — and Holly reminded me again that extra-marital sex was not a “sending-off” offence, far from it!

That evening, I sat alone in the hotel bar, looking at the sales figures and expenses from the trade fair and checking up on the businesses that had expressed interest in our product. In reality, I was mentally composing my next speech at the board meeting and how I could try and spin my lack of sales into something other than a costly failure. As the bar filled up, I noticed quite a few attractive women, not all accompanied by men, and I remembered Holly giving me licence to “play away” but, even though I’d not had sexual relief for some time, I wasn’t in the mood for trying to seduce anyone. I returned to my laptop and spreadsheet.

“Hello there, it’s Des Kirk isn’t it, of Carmichaels?”

I looked up at the figure holding out the outstretched hand. So deep in wondered was I that I’d not noticed the approach of the smiling man before me. He was a smallish, slight man of about 50 I’d guess. Expensively dressed (well-cut suit, luxury wristwatch) and with an east European accent.

I stood up and shook his hand.

“Yes, I’m Des Kirk of Carmichaels. How can I help you?”

He nodded towards the empty seats at my table and I signalled for him to take one.

Once seated, he called a waiter over and ordered himself a whisky and soda and to get me the same again. I nodded my appreciation and ordered another lager.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” as he said this, he extracted a company card from an inside jacket pocket and handed it to me.

“Yevgeny Kobakhidze – but everyone calls me Yev. You must call me Yev. Can I call you Des?”

I nodded, Yev continued.

“One of my staff visited your stand this week and recommended your firm’s products to me. I’ve done a bit of research and liked what I saw. I think we might be able to do a bit of business Des, or are your order books all full?”

I turned off and closed my laptop, determined to try and persuade Yev that yes, we could indeed do some company. Over drinks we chatted not just about company but life in general. He owned a trading business YKIT and, it transpired, was prepared to make an extremely large purchase of a couple of our new products and at a price that was a little higher than I’d have been prepared to accept if he’d wanted to haggle. It seemed too good to be true. He sensed my surprise.

“Des, let me give you some advice. You’ve no experience of doing deals with governments, defence ministries, civil servants and the like. Let me tell you, they’re nearly all incompetent or corrupt; often both. I bet you’d have to bang on the UK’s Ministry of Defence door for years to get a contract from them, yet I’ll be able to sell them your product at a higher price than they’d buy off you and have the contract signed in half the time. That’s the truth. Go figure my friend!”

We laughed as we drank as we mocked civil servants and pen-pushers. Yev seemed, in comparison to me, so much more worldly-wise and experienced in international trade, whereas I was a relative greenhorn. Eventually, our conversation turned to the opposite sex and Yev saw me ogling two very attractive young women drinking together nearby. Both in their early twenties, one was maybe 6 feet tall, with long red hair and legs to die for. In a short, silver dress that just about kept her well-sized, firm breasts in, she had the looks of a glamorous model. The other, shorter young woman was pretty too. With short, blonde hair and a pleasant face, she too had breasts one imagined were firm and suckable and her bottom looked lovely and firm and well-rounded. I imagined her panties stretched tightly across that wonderful derriere.

“Who do you prefer?” Yev asked.

“Well they’re both pretty fit,” I answered.

“Let’s have some fun then, some excitement to cement our new business agreement. I’ll let you into a secret. I know both those ladies and I can get either one to come to your room and pleasure you if you want. I’ll have the one you don’t have. We’ll toss a coin — heads you have the tall redhead, tails you have the blonde. But here’s the fun. One of them is a shemale; I won’t tell you which one. You’ll have to wait until she takes her panties off. Deal? Want to play?”