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Rupert squinted at the bill sitting on the table in front of him, shifting the warm bundle in his lap as he leaned forward to read it better. He picked the paper up off the table, so light for something causing him so much grief, hoping that when he read it again he’d come to a different conclusion. After a long moment, he leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, turning to the man beside him, an old friend from University as well as a fellow MP in Her Majesty’s Parliament with a heavy heart.
“We have to let the bill pass,” he says grimly.
His friend, Wesley Burton, the current Lord Hartley, groaned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
“I’m serious Wes,” Rupert huffs, deeply annoyed at being forced to do his job. “Our popularity has already been waning recently, if we block this bill Thatcher can kiss re-election goodbye.” He reaches up with his free hand to card his fingers through soft auburn tresses, his precious cargo nosing further into the crook of his neck before stilling with a soft puff of breath against his skin. She senses his irritation, and begins stroking his jaw in a soothing motion before kneading the breadth of his shoulders.
“Yeah well, tell that to the bloody woman herself,” Wesley gritted out. “It’s like trying to reason with a wall and I haven’t had any luck.”
“Quite frankly it’s up to her whether proving a point is more important than actually winning the damn election,” Rupert growls, reaching for a cigar before aborting the movement when he remembers who he’s with. He instead reaches down and grips the width of one of his Angel’s thighs, squeezing tightly. She squeaks softly, shifting to accommodate his tight grip before falling still once again. “I really couldn’t give less of a fuck.” It’s not like him to be so out of sorts but he can’t help himself, but their darling PM has been hounding him for weeks for a solution. His grip tightens on his darling's thigh, reflecting his foul mood.
“Rupert, old chap, I don’t think you understand,” Wesley falls back into his own chair, expression pinched into a grimace. “She’s not budging. I think she’s willing to risk it all to make sure this bill doesn’t get passed and she’s going to drag the whole party down with her. She’s also got those stuck-up ponces in the House of Lords backing her in this idiotic farce.”
“Oh bloody perfect,” Rupert sighs. He raises his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, he can already feel a headache coming on. There’s a pulsing pain behind his eyes as well, from staying up too late far too many days in a row. These past few weeks have been difficult to say the least, with the general election coming up everyone in the party has been scrambling for ways to raise their rapidly dropping popularity. To put it simply, he’s fucking exhausted. Taggie makes a noise of discomfort in his arms, and Rupert looks down and notices her tight expression, brows furrowed as she bites her bottom lip. He looks down further and notices the vice grip he has on her thigh, flesh turning red around his grasp.
“Sorry darling,” he murmurs, at once releasing her leg to press his lips against his angel’s temple, peppering kisses across her face in apology; her cute little nose, her fetchingly flushed cheeks, across the length of her forehead and the top of each eyelid.
“S’okay,” Taggie whispers, turning her face to the right so he can love on that side too, his greedy Angel. Rupert presses one last bruising kiss to the curve of her jaw, nibbling and sucking the skin there, leaving a mark to the wonderful music of Taggie’s whimpers, before turning back to the task at hand.
He releases a heavy breath, sinking down in his seat and absent-mindedly stroking his free hand down one of the milky white arms hooked around his shoulder while he holds up the bill for scrutiny with the other. The problem is, there are too many egos in the Tory party who single-mindedly focus on winning the battle in front of them rather than the actual war. If any of them had any foresight, they’d be able to see that it’s sometimes better to bow out gracefully in front of the public to save your image than messily dragging things out. But how to convince the rest of the party and their treasured Prime Minister?
Almost unconsciously, his hand once again meanders down the body in his lap, palming a breast before pinching its nipple through the fabric of her dress. His Angel moans softly, stirring in his arms but doing nothing to stop his roving grip. The biggest hurdle they're going to have to jump is that pompous twit, Edward Harrison. He’d been a thorn in Rupert’s side for far too long now, delighting in challenging his decisions and doing his best to undermine Rupert’s standing in parliament despite them both being in the same party. Something about how he’d fucked the mans wife back in the day, which was awfully petty and childish of him seeing how that particular criteria would mean over half of Parliament should be out for his blood. Honestly, some men really knew how to hold grudges.
He frowns and doesn't look up as he asks, “Can we count on Archie?”
“I fucking wish. But dear old Archibald’s been busy taking up the mantle of biggest manwhore this side of the English Channel since you allowed yourself to be caught by the pastors noose,” Wesley snipes good-naturedly. “We’d have better luck calling upon Kinsley.”
“Happily caught,” Rupert snaps, not wanting his Angel to get any wrong ideas. He gets a kiss pressed to his collarbone as reassurance. “That’s fine, Kinsley has an in with some of the more hard-headed members of our party. Something about his angelic appearance makes them forget about the devilish deeds he gets up to.”
“But there still won’t be enough people to get the bill passed,” Wesley sighs.
“There won’t,” Rupert agrees. He squints at the bill again, as if some previously overlooked insight will jump out at him, but the words instead start to lift off the page before swimming in front of his eyes. He lets the paper flutter back down to the table as he holds a hand to his head, the ache in his temples growing to more of a pounding. He releases the nipple he was still molesting, hand stroking down his darling’s soft stomach before resting on the smooth skirt of her dress. Rupert plays with the hem there for a moment, before he starts to pull it up the shapely thighs thrown across his lap. She jumps in his arms, before settling after he presses a quick kiss to the crown of her head.
“We’re fucked,” he groans, fingers finally reaching the crease of Taggie’s hip, resting at the border of her sensible cotton panties.
Wesley snorts, “I could’ve told you that.”
“Think Wes, is there anyone who owes us a favor or two? Someone loose moraled enough to sway their vote for a couple hundred pounds but also with enough sway to convince others to follow?”
Wesley leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table in front of them and steepling his fingers, “I can think of a couple men, but not any I would trust to see something like this through.”
Rupert furrows his brows, pushing past the border of Taggie’s panties to trace his fingers over the plump, wet folds of her cunt. His Angel lets out a soft, surprised cry, before quickly widening her thighs to better accommodate the width of his palm, fingers tightening in the fabric of his silk shirt. She's making a big point of not acknowledging the man sitting next to them, almost amusing the way her gaze skitters over Wes, as if by ignoring him he'll cease existing. His darling Angel, still so coy, despite all the filthy things Rupert's taught her.
“Didn’t you have something on Edwards,” Rupert asks irritably, glancing over at his friend. The wanker was starting to get on his nerves, almost childish really how long he was holding that little grudge of his. He parts the folds of Taggie’s cunt to roll a finger over the pearl of her clit, absently wishing he could put his mouth on her honeyed folds. Taggie mewls against the crook of his neck, the soft puffs of her breath causing his cock to stir in vague interest.
“I did but I don’t think it’s going to matter much considering you fucked his wife,” Wesley snipes back. “Honestly Rupert, has no one ever told you you shouldn’t mix business with pleasure?”
“Oh please,” Rupert dismisses, sliding his finger down to gather some of his angel’s wetness, she makes so much of it for him, before going back to his slow circling of her clit, soft thighs twitching under the weight of his arm. “He wasn’t the only one, the others managed to get over it.”
“They were childhood sweethearts!” Wesley groans, swiping a hand across his face.
“And so was every oth-,” he pauses when teeth sink into his collarbone, looking down at the fetchingly flushed face of his wife, auburn brows furrowed over teary eyes that glare up at him, her body pressed tight against his from where she’s settled sideways on his lap.
“I’m sorry darling,” Rupert allows, contrite. He looks back at his friend, who barely spared a glance for the interruption before continuing. “The point is, if we don’t have anything big enough we need to dig something up. Because otherwise we’re royally fucked.”
“I know who we need,” Wesley says slowly, glaring at the cursed bill. “We need James-”
Rupert groans, interrupting his friend. “Not righteous Radburn.”
“Rupert I don’t know you have against the man,” Wesley snaps. “But he’s our only chance.”
“He’s just so bloody virtuous, going on about Noblesse Oblige and how we need to set an example for the common people by upholding religious and moral values. Meanwhile he’s off buggering nuns and other men's daughters while his own wife waits for him at home. Makes me sick.”
“How are you any different?” Wesleys asks dryly, giving a pointed look at the bundle in his arms.
Rupert raises a brow, finger moving down to trace the fluttering circle of his Angel’s opening as it clenches desperately around nothing, practically begging to be filled. His poor darling has been whining constantly against him, desperate to crest a peak Rupert usually gives her so easily. “I may be a cad but at least I’m an honest one.”
Wesley sighs long-sufferingly, “We need him.”
Rupert growls, sinking two fingers knuckle deep into the soft heat of Taggie’s silken pussy with a lewd squelch, as she jerks against him with a yelp.
“Hush angel,” Rupert shushes her absently. “Daddy’s working.” She whimpers, huffing open-mouthed against his chest as she tries to quiet her voice. Such a good girl for him.
“If I have to put up with two-faced prick longer than 5 minutes, I’ll probably rip my hair out,” Rupert grimaces, stroking the snug walls clenching around his fingers, gushing liquid around their length as the woman herself mewls into his neck.
“You won’t have to, I’ll do the talking,” Wesley dismisses his concerns.
Rupert nods, squeezing a third finger into Taggie’s tight cunt before scissoring them open, stretching her out as her tears dampen the collar of his shirt. He curls his fingers, pressing against the soft spot near the front of her channel that drives her wild and she shudders in his hold, moaning lowly, a forlorn sound that goes straight to his cock where it’s nestled under her plush bottom.
“P-please,” she cries softly, desperate enough at this point to speak despite their audience. “R-rupert, please.”
Rupert sighs, he’s not cruel enough to ignore his wife when she’s so needy, especially when he’s the one who’s worked her up so. He turns to Wesley, “Do you mind? I need a moment to take care of my angel.”
“Hmm?” Wesley murmurs, writing something down on a spare paper. “Oh, no go ahead.”
Rupert turns his attention back to his wife, who’s now staring up at him pleadingly, lower lip wobbling as if she’s on the verge of sobbing.
“I-I’m sorry Ru-Rupert,” she whimpers, heartbroken at the thought of having disappointed him.
“I know darling,” he hushes her, reaching his spare hand into the loose bodice of her gown to scoop out a breast before he begins to pluck at the nipple, rolling it between two fingers and squeezing it into an even tighter peak. “You can’t help yourself, you get so desperate sometimes.” He strokes the fingers still inside her in a come hither motion, using his thumb to grind down on the nub of her clit. Taggie jerks as if struck by lightning, a long keen escaping her tightly pressed lips as she burrows her nose into the crook of his jaw breathing in sharply.
“It’s ok,” he soothes. “It’s not your fault darling, it’s mine for not being able to give this greedy cunt of yours the attention it needs, keeping her satisfied is a full time job after all. Does that feel good love?”
Taggie nods against his neck, but Rupert wants to hear his Angel's voice. He digs a nail cruelly into the nipple he’s still toying with, jerking his fingers harshly where they’re nestled inside her wet heat. Taggie cries out sharply, arching her back in a futile attempt to free her breast from his merciless grasp.
“Use your words darling,” Rupert growls.
Taggie licks her lips, voice hitching as she speaks. “I-It feels g-good.” She tries to push her hips forward, tries to follow the motions of his hand to crest a peak that’s just out of reach, but Rupert simply pulls away and his Angel wails so mournfully, he’s almost tempted to give her what she's begging for. Almost.
“Where does it feel good?” he presses, hungrily taking in the red heat that’s making its way down her chest. He’s an evil man, which is why he can’t help the desire to watch his wife stumble and blush her way through saying the filthiest things. Her gaze frantically darts to Wes, sitting next to them inconspicuously, clearly broadcasting to all that he could not give less of a fuck. Rupert is once again impressed at the man's ability to ignore things that don't pertain to his job. But he's also never denied his possessive streak, and a dark beast stirs within him at being overlooked by Taggie.
Rupert reaches up and grabs his Angel by the cheeks, squeezing so that her lips pucker out as he jerks her back to lock eyes with him, greedily bringing her attention back to him, "Don't look at him, look at me. Focus darling, where does it feel good?"
Taggie blinks her eyes rapidly up at him, trying and failing to hold back tears. “Feels g-good. I-In my- my c-cunt,” his angel stutters.
“There’s my good girl,” Rupert murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her slack lips, and licking a line of drool from where it’s trailing down her chin. His Angel’s body is strung tight like a bow string, trembling minutely with every touch he allows her. “Good girls get rewards, don’t they?”
Taggie nods rapidly, hands wrinkling the chest of his shirt, practically vibrating with need. “Ye-yes please.”
Rupert leans down, nosing along the area behind her ear before breathing in, whispering filth while he ups his stroking from light petting against her walls to a focused hammering of the front of her cunt where she’s most sensitive, simultaneously rapidly flicking the bud of her clit with his thumb.
god you’re beautiful love, soaking wet, is this all for me darling? all for me? i’m the luckiest man in the world, later i’m going to lay you down and eat you out until you’re crying, squirting all over my sheets and my face. sweet little piece all for me, so lucky i managed to steal you when i did, broke you in so beautifully didn't I? taught you how to take my cock, are you close angel? i can feel you clenching around me, cum for me, i wanna feel you cum around my fingers, wish you were cumming on my face instead, i wanna taste you so bad darling, gods you’re tight, so bloody tight, wanna feel you around my cock later, squeezing me in this snug heat of yours before I cream your tight little pussy, fill you up till you’re leaking for days Tag, fuck you till you can barely walk, voice hoarse from screaming my name until everyone can hear you, till everyone knows who you belong to, till everyone knows who owns this bloody beautiful cunt
With a final jerk of his fingers and a rough grind of her clit, Taggie shudders over the precipice of her orgasm, a low keen escaping her lips as she shakes through the aftershocks. There's a wet patch growing on the leg of his trousers, but Rupert's more focused on making sure he gives her everything she needs. He's leaving wet, open mouthed kisses down the pale column of her throat while he continues to pinch and massage her clit. Her soft noises begin to take a painful note as she tips over into overstimulation, pushing weakly at the arm between her legs. Rupert relents, pulling his hand out from under her skirt and bringing it up to pop the fingers into his mouth, licking them clean of her juices. He groans at the taste, looking back down to lock eyes with his Angel, the blue of her irises eclipsed by the dilating of her pupils, open-mouthed as she pants.
“What do we say darling?” He murmurs.
“Th-thank you, Daddy,” Taggie mumbles, nodding off against his shoulder, exhausted after her ordeal but still so polite, his Angel.
Rupert grins, smoothing the sweaty hair across her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to it. “That’s my good girl.”
Wesley glances up from the paper he was furiously scribbling on, barely giving the two of them a cursory glance. “Alright, so here’s what I was thinking. We start with Radburn and promise him . . . ”
Rupert sighs, pulling Taggie more securely against him as she goes slack with sleep, before turning his attention back to less pleasurable matters, namely making sure the Iron Lady wins her next election.