Lust and Longing Read online

  ‘There’s usually at least one cabinet member in here on a Saturday night,’ confided the pink-haired barmaid as she poured Jenna another free Jack and coke. ‘You’ve just missed one, in fact.’ Jenna wanted to ask about the man from that day outside the Opera House, the one who clearly had dealings in parliament, but how could she, without a name and only a four-year-old description of his cock to go on?

  When the club closed, at 6 am, Jenna had a new playmate in Karl, and a clutch of new numbers in her phone. She thanked Karl for a great introduction to the London scene.

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ he said. ‘You know that we were amazing together.’ And with a giggle he knocked on her metal breastplate. ‘And Christ, I’m dying to see your tits.’

  Their kiss goodbye was as tender as their earlier power play had been uncompromising.

  And then she was blinking in the cold dawn light, chasing the sunrise through the streets on her bike, passing new lovers kissing in doorways, sending litter scattering in her wake. Jenna didn’t bother to wear her crash helmet or her coat and enjoyed the absolute sense of freedom she felt as she crossed the river at 50 mph, breaking the speed limit, with her hair flowing out behind her and her bare skin rinsed clean by the morning air. Jenna had been in London for just under a week but already she felt that the city – and its lovers and players – were hers for the taking. She was going to find her Opera House man and make him hers. When she was on form like this, how could he resist her?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE FIRST CALL Jenna took in her new job was from Simon. She had barely been at her desk ten minutes, her morning cappuccino still too hot to drink, when the telephone rang.

  ‘How are you getting on, Jenna?’ he said in a voice as rich and creamy as her coffee.

  ‘Give me a chance!’ snapped Jenna. Her stern tone had the undesired effect of flipping Simon into slave mode.

  ‘I’m sorry, please punish me,’ he said, and she heard him fumble for his belt buckle.

  ‘I haven’t got time for this,’ she said, and slammed the phone down. She knew that the meaner she was to Simon, the stingier with her punishments, the more influence she would ultimately have over him. She thought of him tugging his own prick in his office, fantasising about their next meeting and felt a warm flutter of arousal in her own body.

  Jenna threw herself into the new job with the same enthusiasm and ambition she applied to her parallel life on the fetish scene. She soon found that her role consisted largely of menial yet demanding tasks; she spent much of her time pacing the corridors of parliament, delivering messages, carrying files, making awkward phone calls and carrying out daunting pieces of research which would have defeated a less inquisitive and resourceful mind than Jenna’s. It was hard work, but she liked her colleagues, all young and ambitious and vibrant like her. Although, she often thought to herself with a smile, as they were enjoying drinks overlooking the river after work, she didn’t imagine that any of them had put in quite the same kind of performance at the interview as she had done.

  Jenna found that adrenaline was a funny thing; the harder she worked, the more she produced, and the only things that could bring her down and release the tension were orgasm and exercise. She was getting plenty of both, completing gruelling workouts with Barrington before work, jogging the five miles to work, barely pausing for a break all day, thriving on the busy pace, and then going clubbing once or twice a week, where she found she was making a circle of fascinating friends, Karl and Jacqueline her closest among them. Jenna had been wrong to imagine that London’s fetish party people would consist solely of starchy upper-crust men in suits. In fact, her new friends were an international mix, hedonists who travelled the world looking for the next party, the most extreme sensations, and who were open to anything.

  Sometimes, when it was the end of an 18-hour day, and she realised she hadn’t seen the sun in nearly a week, she wondered what an Aussie-born, Bondi-raised girl like her was doing spending her life in a rabbit warren of corridors in a fusty old building in a rainy little country on the other side of the world. But deep down she knew perfectly well why she was there. Anyone who dismissed the world of politics as not sexy was seriously missing a trick. Money, class, influence, power and ruthless ambition were aphrodisiac qualities to Jenna and the air in the House was saturated with them.

  And around every corner there lurked the possibility that she would see him again, feel the way only he could make her again. It could only be a matter of time. In her darker moments she wondered if she had imagined it. Not that first time in Sydney – there was no imagining that – but that second meeting, bumping into him in the corridor. Had she been mistaken? But then she thought of that chemical pull he had exerted over her and knew that she could not be mistaken. All Jenna’s efforts to identify him came to nothing.

  Chance, which had brought them together twice, revealed his identity to Jenna after three weeks in the job. His photograph on the front page of the internal newspaper revealed him to be Alexander Louth, MP for a run-down South London suburb but tipped for great things. Jenna let out a low whistle. His name was familiar to her: at 31, he was the youngest MP in the country and had a reputation for being devilishly clever, ruthlessly ambitious, a master of spin, independently wealthy. Jenna soon learned that his long-term ambition was to become Prime Minister, and that his reputation as a formidable politician was nothing compared to the name he’d made as a womaniser: his devastating charm and subsequent boredom and rejection had left broken hearts throughout the building.

  For some reason, knowing his name and where to find him made her situation a million times more unbearable. The sexual frustration in her was like a weight. Not a metaphorical weight on her mind, but a physical load, a pain – she felt that she was carrying round a knot in her abdomen. No amount of masturbation, or exercise, or pornography, or fantasy, could displace this massive knot of tension. She would be temporarily satisfied, but within the hour she would be swollen with desire and frustration again.

  There are a few ways to play this, Jenna thought. She could bide her time, continue her informal research among her colleagues and find out as much as possible about Alexander Louth before she confronted him directly. Or – and this was much more appealing – she could continue to engineer a series of chance encounters, continue to be where she knew he would, and try to press her body against his and wait for him to yield to her. Or she could be brave and simply wander up to his office and confront him. One lunchtime, she was astonished to find her legs carrying her to the office where she knew he worked. Her tortured, longing body, it seemed, had made the decision for her. As she paced the floor outside his office, she felt her nipples stiffen and her pussy moisten. Just the knowledge that he might be on the other side of the door was enough to bring her to the brink of climax.

  There was nobody in the antechamber outside the actual office. Excited as she was, the professional in Jenna couldn’t help but frown at this oversight. Where was the man’s staff? However, the absent desks and unmanned telephones gave her the opportunity she needed. The huge oak door which divided Alexander Louth’s inner sanctum from the outer office was slightly ajar and Jenna saw that, far from being hard at work, he was leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk, hands pressed over his eyes. His legs, encased in pinstripe-suit trousers, looked long, lean and muscular and Jenna could tell that his stomach was flat under the crisp white cotton of his shirt. A tie of eau-de-nil shot silk was loose around his neck. His hands were large, flat and masculine, the horny fingers of a manual labourer rather than the elegant, pianist’s fingers that the rest of his body, his class and his accent would suggest. Just the right size for a hand to cover each of Jenna’s tits, she thought, and felt the blood rush to her clit. That thought spurred her forwards, and she barged in without knocking.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  If he had been asleep, now he was definitely wide awake. Anger turned to puzzlement and then recognition and then something else –
desire? Fear? Jenna couldn’t tell. ‘You again,’ he said. ‘What do you want?

  ‘You,’ said Jenna simply. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t recognise me. Don’t pretend you don’t want it.’

  She could not tell if the puzzlement that creased his features was genuine or not.

  ‘I remember bumping into you in the corridor the other day,’ he said, ‘and that seems to have antagonised you. I apologise but it was absolutely an accident. As for what I want, I’m not sure I understand you.’ His words were politely neutral but his tone was arrogant, dismissive, and he did not bother to look Jenna in the eye as he spoke. ‘If you will excuse me, I’m very busy.’

  Jenna took one step closer to his desk, the block heels of her shoes percussive on the parquet wooden flooring. Now he looked up, met her eyes. She arched an eyebrow, dared him to recognise her. Slowly, deliberately, she tugged at the silk camisole underneath her suit jacket. The bra which she wore underneath was tiny, and flimsy, and easily she removed her breast, held her nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezed it and watched it darken and harden.

  ‘Perhaps you recognise this?’ she said, and leaned forward as she tugged at her clothes to reveal the other breast. ‘Or maybe this one?’ Her tits were looking Alexander Louth in the eye, symmetrical and bold. ‘They haven’t changed much in five years, although the rest of me has. My hair is longer, and I dress in suits these days, rather than hotpants and a bikini top. Oh, and I wear shoes instead of rollerskates.’ This physical description, combined with Jenna’s Australian accent, was the clue Alexander Louth needed for the penny to drop. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open and Jenna was intrigued to notice that his hand wandered south towards his lap, probably to cover the erection she knew he would be nursing as the memory flooded through him like an electric shock.

  ‘Yeah, you remember. I made you come so hard. You begged me to touch it, didn’t you? I can remember how turned on you got. And we’re going to play that game again, you and I.’

  But if Jenna had changed and hardened over the last five years, so had Alexander Louth. She had underestimated him. He did not rise to his feet to challenge her, but his voice was dripping with all the authority he needed.

  ‘This is extremely inappropriate. If you don’t leave my office this minute I will find out where you work and I will have you fired.’

  This was unexpected. Jenna thought fast.

  ‘No, you fucking won’t.’ Her voice was steady but her heart was hammering. ‘I know you. I’ve had you. Have you again. And if you try to get in my way I will break you; sexually, politically, I will be the master of you.’

  He stood up now, the smooth flat front of his trousers telling Jenna that he didn’t have an erection. And she’d been so sure … Christ, this guy was a master of mind over matter. Their eyes were locked in a silent duel for a few seconds, and Jenna allowed Alexander Louth to do what no other man had been able to do; he stared her down. After what seemed like an eternity, she tucked her breasts back into her bra, and pulled her silk camisole over her naked flesh. She had come in here to humiliate, and to tease, but now she was the one who was embarrassed. The emotion was new to Jenna and she did not like it. She backed out of the room, impressed by his self-control, and completely at a loss. She had not foreseen this. His noncompliance had not been an option. She had no plan B.

  Even when she was outside the door, leaving through that empty antechamber where telephones were still ringing unanswered, his composure did not break, but a hairline fracture exposed itself.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he said. Jenna didn’t tell him. His curiosity was a chink in his armour that gave her renewed hope.

  Jenna did not know how she got through the rest of that day. She was so frustrated that she knew that even masturbation would not put her at rest. She called Barrington and asked him for a training session.

  ‘I’ve had a shit day,’ she said. ‘I need to work out hard. I’ve got a lot of aggression to get rid of.’ Barrington vowed to push her to extremes. Jenna rode through the London rush-hour traffic so fiercely and aggressively that she completed the half-hour journey in ten minutes.

  Barrington was waiting in the foyer of the gym. One look at her face and he started laughing.

  ‘What the hell is the matter with you, girl?’ he asked. ‘Whatever they done to you in that office, it can’t be that bad. You work too hard. Good job you like to train hard, too. I’ll see you in studio three in five minutes.’

  Struggling into her Lycra workout gear, Jenna felt angry that Barrington had laughed at her, but knew that she needed his ex-army discipline to drive her to work out to make her feel better.

  Barrington stood in the middle of studio three, wearing pads on his hands and gesturing to Jenna to put on a pair of boxing gloves that lay at his feet. Double mirrors faced each other, creating endless reflections of Jenna and her trainer, making her feel dizzy.

  ‘At times like this,’ he said, ‘only kick boxing will do.’ He launched into the most aggressive and taxing workout Jenna had ever done in her life, challenging her to punch and kick the pads, his huge body dancing away from blows she had been sure would slam into their target, but Barrington’s muscular bulk betraying the fact that he was as agile as a dancer. Frequently she would miss and punch the air, lose her balance and fall. But with every roundhouse kick, with every uppercut or jab, Jenna felt a little of the tension melt away. At five-minute intervals, when the sweat was pouring down between her breasts and every muscle in her body was on fire and she thought she couldn’t take any more, Barrington would demand that she dropped to the floor and give him 20 push-ups. Then he would insist that she lay on her back and crunch her stomach muscles until her flesh was on fire with burning acid.

  Jenna kept glancing at the clock, to see if her allocated hour was up, but the second hand seemed to be crawling around the clock face. She felt as though Barrington were mocking her, going beyond the challenge and trying to humiliate her. Perhaps she was just projecting the frustration that she had felt earlier in Alexander’s office, but she realised that instead of dissipating her anger, this training session with Barrington was actually increasing it.

  Time for another bout of boxing. Jenna put the large gloves on again and kicked with all her might. She found it hard to keep up with Barrington’s constant movements, one moment requiring her to punch down at hip level, next thing telling her to kick higher than her own head. It was amazing that someone so large and laid-back could move so lightly. Swinging her foot too high, she knew she was going to fall. Jenna lost her balance and fell, sweaty and broken, on to crash mat on the floor. Barrington stood over her, with what Jenna felt was a mocking smile playing upon his lips. Something inside Jenna snapped and she got to her feet.

  ‘Are you taking the piss, you son of a bitch?’ she shouted, sweat from her hair flicking him in the face as she did. For once, her aggression was real and not part of some sex game. ‘Because I’m not in the mood to be mocked.’ The smile instantly left Barrington’s face.

  ‘And I’m not in the mood for you to talk to me like that,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, fuck you,’ she said, clumsily tugging at her boxing gloves before throwing them in Barrington’s face. Something in the way he calmly folded his arms flicked a switch in Jenna.

  She grabbed his wrists, wrestled the pads off his hands, and placed her hands on his forearms. She pulled the astonished man close to her, so that their hot sweaty bodies were separated only by two thin layers of high-tech sports clothing. Her breasts were pressed against his rock-hard pecs, and his soft warm prick and large balls rested just above her pubic bone. Excited now, Jenna pushed her body further in towards Barrington.

  The rod below his stomach began to firm up into a hot pulsing boner. He was so big and powerful, the slightest flicker of his wrist would have sent Jenna flying. But instead she took his fleshy lips between her teeth, started to kiss him gently and then all hell broke loose. They were wrestling, with their clothes as well as each
other, gasping for breath as tight Lycra was unpeeled like skin from a fruit. Jenna raised her hands over her head for Barrington to pull her body-hugging vest off her torso, to reveal breasts desperate for attention. Her Australian tan had begun to fade and her pale breasts shone like headlamps.

  Simultaneously, Jenna pulled down the snug red workout pants she wore, bringing her panties with them, and kicked off her shoes. She was naked, her body glistening with sweat, her lank hair plastered to her forehead. Barrington’s erection grew and strained under his Lycra shorts. He was massive.

  There was no need to utter commands to Barrington: he was too near her equal to be dominated. He peeled his own clothes off without being ordered to. His cock swung upwards, reaching further than his navel. Jenna swallowed, unsure if she could accommodate such girth and length. This was a wrestling session, a battle of equals, as they grappled with each other’s damp, hard bodies.

  Jenna gripped his wrists again, almost ran at Barrington’s body, forcing him to stagger back so that they were leaning against the mirrored wall of the studio. Their bodies were reflected all around them, an endlessly diminishing image of his strong black body wrestling with her formidable white one. Their kisses were combative, their tongues clashing and biting as Jenna climbed up Barrington’s body like a mountaineer scaling a steep slope. It took all her reserves of strength to wrap her limbs around his torso and then finally lower her sodden, hungry pussy down onto his thick, long hard-on. Barrington supported her weight as the tip of his prick parted her lips. Inch by inch, Jenna relaxed onto his remarkable organ, which she felt would split her in two if she didn’t take things slowly. Once he was in her all the way, she let her body go limp: Barrington made her come with several well-aimed thrusts, each one stretching the walls of her cunt to their maximum capacity. Her pussy convulsed with the strength of her orgasm, hugging and massaging his prick. It was more than he could stand, and he came then, his own legs trembling as he yielded to an intense climax.