'I saw enough of “White Rod” last night,' I said gaily.
'Ha, ha, yes indeed, and I trust you enjoyed the view. But as I am sure you know, the Black Rod to which I allude refers not to the colour of the King of Cameroon's cock but to the officer of the House of Lords and Order of the Garter whose job it is to summon the Commons at the Opening of Parliament.'
We didn't see Black Rod as a matter of fact but Jeffrey escorted me into the Distinguished Strangers Gallery of the Commons chamber where a debate on agricultural matters was taking place. The speaker, Mr. Derek Tong, MP for West Kent, was droning on about the high incidence of poaching. He was railing about the pathetic pictures which are frequently painted of the game laws and the constant and pitiless persecution of the poor poacher.
'It is really quite laughable,' added Mr. Tong, 'to all who know that during the last thirty years, poaching has been steadily followed as a “trade” by men who will not work even when work is plentiful and easily found. We can all sympathise with the occasional starving labourer whom some overzealous keeper has found with a couple of rabbits in his pocket which he had knocked over for his wife's pot; but to bestow words of sympathy on the lazy scoundrels who shoot hares and net the partridge preserves must be left to the friends of humanity who become sentimental at the expense of sound old-fashioned common-sense.'
The debate continued and Jeffrey whispered to me how interesting it was to compare the colours of dress favoured by the honourable members. 'My friend Professor Trower says that to look our best, we should wear colours suited to our personalities.
'Strong, solid types like Arbuthnut Powell, the Under Secretary for Home Affairs, should dress conservatively in medium tones such as brown. Bright sparks like the Financial Secretary, Harry Price, look best in navy and in summer should forget any muted colours and go for striking shades.'
'An interesting theory,' I murmured over the drone of Mr. Tong's voice. 'But not so interesting as that bulge between your legs, Jeffrey Longbottom.'
He grinned and sidled round behind me, looking around to check that there were no other visitors in the Gallery. When he was satisfied that the coast was clear he cheekily slid his hands under my dress and proceeded to pull down my drawers! I looked behind to see him unbutton his trousers and take out his swelling shaft, slipping the skin down to bare his purple-domed helmet. I licked my lips as I took his erect prick in my two hands and dropped down on my knees.
My hair tumbled over my face as I moistened my lips and let his knob slide into my mouth. I could feel his cock gliding in till it was at the back of my throat-I gulped and it slid down and down. He withdrew slowly and began to slide my lips slowly over his fat crown and then I was sliding my mouth faster and faster up and down that hot shaft. He bucked his cock in and out of my mouth and I could feel his balls slapping my chin. My climax was building quickly inside me as I felt Jeffrey's fingers in my hair and suddenly he grunted as his body went rigid and then his prick was bursting in my mouth and jet after jet of his thick salty spunk was hitting the back of my throat. I swallowed and swallowed, gulping down the tangy juice as I milked his cock of every drop of his jism.
Slowly his cock slid from my mouth and now it was my turn to gasp for air. But silently, the honourable member for Cockermouth laid me down on the padded bench and, throwing Up my skirt, began to kiss and lick at my dampening pussey. He wiggled his tongue all around my crack. My senses reeled and I started moaning and panting as his tongue flicked against my clitty. I pulled his face tightly against my cunt as his lips slipped inside, his warm tongue prodding through my wet cleft to lead me to a little series of tingling peaks.
This was nice but I fancied a proper fuck, so I whispered to Jeffrey to lie on his back on the bench which he did with his noble cock waving like a flagpole, and then I sat astride him, pressing the lips of my aching slit down upon the glistening knob.
I spread my cunney lips apart and directed the tip of this glowing cock to the entrance as I slowly eased myself on top of him, spitting myself beautifully on his rigid rod. His hands slid round to clasp my bum as I wriggled around to work the hard staff as far up inside me as possible.
I bounced merrily away as I leaned down to Jeffrey and chuckled: 'Keep your cock up! Oooh! That's marvellous, you're giving my clitty a good rub as well! Somehow we stayed silent as I worked my bum from side to side as Jeffrey jerked his hips up and down in rhythm to my own movements. But whilst I enjoy the so-called female superior position as a variant in one's pattern of fucking, it can be quite exhausting when your legs are in a cramped position as mine were on that bench. So I let the rhythm slow down as Jeffrey continued to thrust upwards to meet my own downward pushes.
Meanwhile, on the floor of the House, Mr. Tong was still on his feet. 'From what is called “game",' he said sternly, 'the national commissariat derives an annual contribution of twenty-seven million pounds weight of wholesome and palatable food. Abundant evidence exists to show that sport wrongs no-one and benefits many. Those who rail against all forms of sport should bear in mind that the pastimes of country gentlemen help thousands of the lower classes earn their daily bread.'
'Do you want to come now, Jeffrey?' I asked just as Mr. Tong was building up to a rhetorical point, is there anyone here who dares disagree?' he thundered.
'Yes! Yes! Yes!' growled Jeffrey, oblivious to everything except the boiling sperm that was building up in his balls.
Mr. Tong looked up angrily at the Gallery where fortunately only my face could be seen over the rail. Luckily he could not see his fellow member's hands running freely across my breasts, tweaking the stiffly standing little nipples under the thin silk of my blouse. I smiled sweetly at Mr. Tong who looked angrily at me but who, after a brief interlude, decided to return to his speech.
As he continued, with a fierce little groan Jeffrey worked his cock up inside me and commenced pumping his spunk in a copious emission until all was done and I lifted myself off the sodden shaft, still quite thick and long, as it dribbled its tribute in a snail's trail of white froth along his thigh. I had come several times and had also splashed Jeffrey's trousers with my spendings. 'Goodness me, I hope you are not needed to vote in a division,' I giggled softly.
'It's just as well that I'm not needed,' he murmured, it would take a far cleverer politician than me to explain away these spunky stains. Not even my friend Professor Trower could help me here!'
Coincidentally, the Speaker then called on the members to vote. 'All those in favour say “Aye"' he shouted. I joined in the chorus for though I am not and probably never will be a Parliamentarian, I think my conjoining with an honourable member entitles me to at least a footnote in Hansard!
A final word to feminine connoisseurs: Mr. Longbottom's spunk is tangy enough but though plentiful, cannot compare in smoothness of flavour to that of the Duke of Hampstead or of the Laird of Midlothian.
I am concerned, though, Mr. Editor, that my making love in a chamber other than that of the bed will not upset the sensibilities of your many readers.
I am, Sir, Your humble servant,
Deborah Davenport
Castle Abroch
Loch Hayim
Scotland
October 1890
The Editor replies: It is to be hoped that Miss Davenport feels no worry about her enjoyment of this erotic encounter in the Mother of Parliaments. Again, let me use Lawrence Judd-Hughes' verse to illustrate my feelings upon the matter:
'Let maidens of a tim'rous mind
Refuse what most they're wanting;
Since we for fucking were designed,
We surely should be granting.