Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

  This could be fun. Alison told Janie plenty of my childhood secrets. Now I get to uncover some of hers.

  Terrell is unofficially running the country in my absence. I’m always on the other end of the phone if he needs me, but he can keep the ship afloat for a week while I shake hands and smile for photos on the other side of the pond.

  When I wake up in Janie’s childhood bedroom the next morning, there’s only one message from Terrell, and that’s nothing to do with work.

  Found him. He works in a bar called Hard Times. Say hello from me!

  Shit, Terrell tracked him down. Even with all the resources of the British government, I didn’t expect it to be that easy. I figured he would have changed his name or gone underground after the case with the dodgy senator blew up, but apparently not.

  “Lionel,” I call out, and then remember we’re not in Downing Street anymore. I get dressed and go downstairs where Janie and Lionel are both having breakfast with Janie’s mum. Actually, I suppose it’s lunch. The jet lag has messed with my head. My stomach’s working just fine, so I sit down and join in.

  “Lionel, we’re going to a bar called Hard Times later today. Let’s try to keep it as low-key as possible, so no police escort.”

  “The Yanks… sorry, I mean the Americans, won’t like that.”

  “Then let’s not tell them.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Am I coming?” Janie asks.

  “Hell yes. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Janie phoned ahead to make sure Alec Costa is working tonight. He is, so we both head there, accompanied by three security guards plus Lionel, and a driver. My insistence on keeping it low-key doesn’t quite go to plan when my guards insist on going into the bar and doing a sweep of the place before I even get out of the car. Not the best way to introduce yourself to the locals.

  “It’s fine,” Lionel says about the bar. “Better than it looks by all accounts.”

  The bar looks a little rough from the outside, and I’m always suspicious of bars that are below ground level. They tend to be full of aggressive men and slutty women. I would know; I used to be one of the aggressive men, and I used to fuck the slutty women.

  Feels like a lifetime ago. Scratch that—two lifetimes ago.

  Lionel’s right. Hard Times is a lot better than it looks. It has more of a sophisticated wine bar vibe than a dive bar. Alec’s done okay for himself.

  The second we walk in, all heads turn to look at us. Hardly surprising considering that my security just came in here and touched them all up to make sure they’re unarmed. This is America, after all.

  A large man, about my size, comes out of a back office and heads straight over. “Can I help you?” he asks, before stopping and looking at me thoughtfully. “You’re Wade Chambers.”

  “I am.” I turn to face the rest of the bar and talk to the crowd. “Sorry about my security, ladies and gents. They can be a little overprotective. The next round is on me.”

  That gets a rumble of appreciation from everyone except the bar staff who now have to prepare a shitload of drinks. Alec doesn’t appear to be among them.

  I turn back to the guy who I assume is the manager. “I know this seems odd, but I’m here to see—”

  “Alec Costa,” he says, finishing the sentence.

  “Yes. How the hell did you know that?”

  The manager smiles and we shake hands. “I’m Tanner Rockwell.” He says it as if that’s supposed to answer my question. “Used to go by the name Felton Hirsch.”

  Now that name does sound familiar. Felton Hirsch. It’s an unusual name and one I’ve heard before. I don’t recognize him, though.

  “Have we met?” I ask.

  “No, but I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ll go get Alec. Man, he is going to be fucking surprised to see you.”

  Tanner disappears into a back room and comes back a few minutes later, closely followed by the man himself: Alec Costa.

  “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” Alec remarks to Tanner. “I didn’t expect to see you again, Wade. I mean, Mr. Prime Minister.”

  “Don’t be polite, Alec. It doesn’t suit you.”

  Alec laughs and approaches me for a handshake that quickly turns into a hug.

  “You’re looking good, man,” I remark, as I size him up.

  “Last time you saw me, I’d just spent five years in an Iraqi prison. It’s not hard to look better than that.”

  “Uh, guys,” Tanner says quietly, “maybe we should go somewhere private.”

  Tanner leads us into his office. Janie comes in as well, but Lionel stays outside.

  “This is Janie. My girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, we know who Janie is,” Alec replies before shaking her hand. “You’re famous, remember.”

  I want to figure out who Tanner is before talking, but don’t want to ask outright. Janie has no such qualms.

  “Who are you?” she asks Tanner.

  “I was in Alec’s squad back when he was a SEAL. I, uh, kind of left him for dead.”

  “That’s because I was dead,” Alec replies. “Anyway, he made it up to me by naming his kid after me.”

  “You’re never going to let me live that down are you?”

  “Nope. Anyway, Wade, I want to know what it’s like to be the leader of a country.”

  “Trust me, you don’t,” I say. “The much more interesting story is how the hell you took down Senator Robertson. I assume you had something to do with that?”

  “Not as much as you’d think,” Alec replies. “We mainly have my wife to thank for that. She put it all together. I’d be in prison right now if not for her.”

  I turn to Janie and smile. “I know what you mean. I’d be dead if it weren’t for Janie.”

  I’d be nothing without her, and I’m determined to make sure she knows that.

  Chapter Thirty

  Janie

  The door opens and closes quietly.

  I don’t look around. I can tell it’s him from the heavy, deliberate footsteps. He told me to lay here quietly, so that’s what I do. There’s only one important word I need to use—if I want—but I’ve never used it before and can’t imagine starting tonight.

  He undresses next to the bed, kicking off his shoes and throwing his shirt down on the floor. I want to look around at his naked chest to admire the skin stretched tight over his firm pecs and abs. That’s not allowed. Not tonight. Tonight I’m here as his plaything, and not as one of his many admirers.

  I don’t look at him until he stands at the foot of the bed and climbs on, kneeling between my legs and admiring my sex, slick with the excitement that has been coursing through me for nearly an hour.

  He lifts his gaze and our eyes finally meet.

  “Have you behaved?” he asks firmly.

  I nod my head. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you. Are you sure you’ve been a good girl?”

  “I promise, sir. I have behaved. I’ve been a good girl.”

  “And I suppose now you want your reward?”

  “Yes please.”

  His hands stroke my thighs, parting my legs wide at the same time. His thumbs slide towards my wetness, but stop agonizingly close. I try to push my pussy towards his hands, but he holds firm.

  “No,” he commands. “You’re not behaving. If you don’t behave, you don’t get your reward.”

  “I’ll behave,” I reply quickly.

  He leans down and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m finally going to get my reward. I wrap my legs around his and hold him close against me, feeling his hard cock press against my slit.

  “What are you doing?” he whispers in my ear.

  “I thought—”

  “Did I tell you to move?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Now you don’t get your reward. I’m going to have to punish you instead.”

  My moan is a contortion of pleasure and despair. I’m not going to get his cock inside me just yet, but what’s co
ming next is possibly even better.

  He opens my leather restraints, but only long enough to flip me over onto my front before doing them back up again.

  His hands run down my back until they reach my supple, tender ass cheeks. Red lines are still visible from my last punishment, soon to be joined by his large handprints unless I say the safe word.

  Not a chance.

  I spread my legs so he can see just how eager and wet I am for him.

  “Are you ready for your punishment?”

  “Yes,” I moan in reply.

  “Yes, what?”

  I groan deeply as his finger trails down my pussy lips but refuses to slide inside.

  “Yes, Mr. Prime Minister.”

  I close my eyes as his fingertips graze against my clit, my pent up frustration from the last half an hour threatening to release in one huge explosion before he’s even entered me.

  “Don’t come until I tell you,” he commands, even while his fingers bring me closer and closer to the edge. “I control when you come. If you dare disobey, then you don’t get my cock.”

  He plunges two thick fingers inside me and his thumb rubs my clit. I furrow my brow and tense up as I try to fight the pleasure that’s quickly spreading through my body. His fingers curl inside me, pushing gently against my g-spot and making me arch my body up into the air as much as my restraints will allow me. It takes all my energy to stop myself from coming, to keep the pleasure at bay for long enough to get the cock I crave.

  I’ve almost given in when he pulls his fingers out and leans over me. He sucks one finger slowly and then holds the other out in front of me. I suck it greedily like a good little girl should, but it’s not enough to avoid my punishment.

  Wade gets off the bed and opens a drawer, but I can’t see what he takes out. I won’t know until it hits my skin. I don’t need to know. I trust Wade completely and know that he will never cross the line with me. He knows where to stop. He never draws blood, instead leaving red marks all over my ass that I feel for days as a pleasant reminder that I’m his.

  His hands roughly caress my ass. He’s warming it up so that my punishment doesn’t sting too much.

  Complete and total trust.

  Smack.

  I gasp and spasm against my leather restraints. The pain in my ass only makes the pleasure in my pussy even more intense. My sex pulses, desperate to feel Wade’s cock inside it again. I don’t say anything. I have to take my punishment and then I get the reward. That’s how this works.

  It’s a leather paddle. The red one, if I’ve judged the size correctly.

  Smack.

  I brace myself for the second spanking, but it still hurts like hell. My eyes are closed tight, watering from the stinging sensation in my ass.

  Wade slides a finger between my folds and rubs my excitement into my ass. The reminder of how wet I am instantly dulls the pain. Until the next one.

  Smack.

  This time I scream out in pain. The stinging fades after a few seconds, and what’s left is an ecstasy that I’d never known until I met Wade.

  “Good girl,” Wade whispers, leaning over me. “You misbehaved, but you took your punishment. Now you get your reward.”

  The tip of his shaft works its way between my folds but stops just short of entering me. We don’t use condoms anymore, and the thrill of feeling his naked skin against my wetness still hasn’t faded. I’m already looking forward to covering his cock in my cum and feeling him empty himself inside me.

  “You need this big cock inside you, don’t you?” Wade whispers.

  “Yes, Mr. Prime Minister. I need it so much.”

  I hold my breath in anticipation, and don’t let go until he’s all the way inside me. He’s barely moving, but I can already feel my juices trickling out down my legs and know I won’t last much longer. I almost let the orgasm take me until I remember his command.

  Wade rocks his hips slowly, teasing me, knowing how close I am to the edge.

  “Do you want to come?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I reply with a deep moan.

  Wade grabs my hair and lifts my head up to his. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Mr. Prime Minister. Please let me come all over your big fat cock.”

  Wade moves quickly and has me on the edge in seconds. I fight the restraints as I try to keep the orgasm inside until he says the magic words.

  “Come for me,” he commands.

  I obey instantly. My pussy grabs hold of his cock as the orgasm tears through me. I scream deeply as he keeps plowing into me until his cock erupts inside me, ejecting streams of hot thick cum deep into my pussy.

  I collapse face first into the bed, speechless and incoherent. My pussy throbs even after Wade’s pulled out, and it’s another minute before I regain any feeling in my muscles.

  “Good girl,” Wade says as he removes the restraints. I flex my wrists once they’re free, but I don’t have the energy to move my arms. He rubs lotion on my ass and then lies next to me. When he kisses me, I close my eyes and try to understand how I got so lucky. Everything’s perfect in a way I didn’t even know I wanted. I had no idea my idea of heaven included being spanked by the Prime Minister. My master. My love.

  Epilogue

  Janie - Three Years Later

  Wade leans over in bed, his fingers dancing lightly over my thighs.

  “I want to ask you a question,” he says ominously.

  “I can’t go again,” I reply. “Give me another twenty minutes.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.”

  He looks serious and my attempt at a joke did little to lighten the mood. I have a fair idea what he’s going to ask. Wade’s been talking about the future a lot lately. In just the last few weeks, he’s asked me where I’d like to live when he’s done being PM, whether I still want children and when, and what I want to do with my business.

  I don’t know.

  I don’t know.

  I don’t know.

  I’ve not been all that helpful, but it’s true. I honestly have no idea. In Britain, I’ve only ever lived in London, but we’ve traveled all over the country for political trips and I’ve loved nearly every city I’ve visited. I can easily imagine living in Manchester and Liverpool, plus I have a huge soft spot for Edinburgh.

  But I miss America. Well, mainly I miss Chicago. I never thought I’d miss it this much. When I left, it was very much ‘good riddance,’ but I’ve been back a few times since and it holds more appeal than ever. Wade seems to like it too, but living there might be a big ask. Maybe when we’re married.

  Speaking of which….

  “You should probably be sitting down,” Wade says. He searches for something in his pockets but comes up empty handed. He eventually finds what he’s looking for in a suit jacket hanging over a chair. He keeps his hand behind his back, but it doesn’t look like he’s holding a box.

  I quickly check the time on my phone. We don’t have long. Wade needs to be outside making a speech on his new immigration policy in five minutes. It seems a shame to rush such a big moment, but I don’t care how it happens. However we get engaged, I’ll be happy.

  “I’m holding something really important in my hand,” Wade says seriously. “I’ve made a huge decision, but I can’t do it without you. The final choice is yours.”

  “Okay,” I say uncertainly. This sounds like the strangest marriage proposal ever.

  Wade reveals what he’s holding behind his back. It’s not a box. He hands me an envelope which I shake to see if there’s a ring inside. There’s not.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “It’s a draft of a speech.”

  “What speech? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m going outside to talk to the press and, if you agree, I will add this speech on at the end.”

  I feel tears coming, but I stop myself and focus on the writing in front of me. He doesn’t have to propose right now. There’s no reason he won’t do it in a week�
��or a month. Anyway, our relationship is incredible whether we’re engaged or not.

  The writing starts with lots of pleasantries about how proud he is to be the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, et cetera, et cetera. Then I get to the important bit.

  “Read it out loud,” Wade instructs. “I haven’t rehearsed this and I wrote it myself so I want to hear what it sounds like.”

  “Okay, here goes. ‘While I have enjoyed my time in office, I am today announcing that I will not stand for re-election in six months, neither as Prime Minister nor as a Member of Parliament.’ You’re quitting?”

  “I’m seeing out my term, but not standing for a new one. Keep reading.”

  “‘The British public elected me to reform the UK’s approach to equal rights for all, and I believe I have accomplished that goal.’ You’ve definitely done that. ‘Prime Ministers are supposed to be strong, but I can’t deny that running the country is exhausting. All the yoga in the world won’t help with that.’”

  Wade’s yoga habit is now public knowledge and he credits it with managing to retain his youthful vigor even though he doesn’t lift weights as much as he used to.

  “‘When you elected me, I was a single man, but I’m not anymore.’ You should pause at this point for the boos to subside.”

  “No one’s going to boo,” Wade insists. “Everyone loves you.”

  Not everyone. Certain members of the public—usually women—absolutely hate me and never miss an opportunity to criticize what I’m wearing or what I say in public. It hurt at first, but I just ignore it now.

  “‘I have a family now, albeit a small one, and I want to devote more time to that family. That’s why I’m officially announcing that I will not be standing for re-election.’”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” I need to stop saying that. “Are you sure you want to quit? You’re doing great work.”

  “I want to spend more time with you. I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “So are you okay with this? I won’t do it if you’re not happy.”