Wild Brits in Lingerie go all out for a XXX-traordinary Office Orgy!
It was a day like any other at the Conservative Party headquarters in London town – grey skies, drizzling rain, and endless cups of tea guzzled by the predominantly female staff. Little did these uppity gals know, their mundane routine was about to be shattered by an exceptionally debauched office party to remember.
As the clock struck five, the typically buttoned-up secretaries, interns and junior aides began slipping into the lavatory, emerging several minutes later as raven-haired sirens clad in black lace and sheer nylon. Push-up bras and garter belts replaced conservative blouses, pencil skirts, and cardigans. Nylons or fishnets and fuck-me heels traded tights and comfortable flats. Dainty makeup gave way to smokey eyes and crimson lips.
Grace Fully, the head of administration, took the stage in a barely-there crimson teddy, her huge fake tits threatening to burst free. Her softly curled ample auburn hair tumbled down her shoulders as she declare, “Ladies, as promised, I’m hosting the office’s first ever ‘Wild Brits in Lingerie’ xxx-travaganza! No more prudish bullshit, it’s time we secretaries show our party allegiance and get on our knees like the good little Tories we are!”
“Aye, aye Camer-on!” the room cheered as Grace raised her hands in the air triumphantly.
And so, as Big Ben chimed the hour, a select group of PM Cameron’s finest sheilas invaded 10 Downing Street to really put in the work, shagging their way through every corner and crevice of the famous address.
Two eager secretaries, all knees and elbows, impressively contorted their bods right there in PMQ’s (public masturbation questions). One babe gagged herself with her own bra while the other balanced her stilettos on either side of a live mic. Their moans reverberated through Westminster as the afternoon’s raunchy questioning got underway.
In Chancellor Os-burns, the legendary fuck room, Grace took her place as CEO cock sucker, swallowing member after throbbing member of Parliament, from Jeremy Hirstein to David Boner, showing no mercy. By the time she’d had her fill, there was a puddle of spunk and semen puddled around the floor.
As the PM took to the stage to revel in the day’s memorable festivities, a suave Quarterbacks at Work special adviser sidled up to her and whispered in her ear, “Perhaps I could get you to reconsider this annuity and derivatives alternative reform bill by thoroughly violating your ass?”
PM Cameron was noticeably eager. “Let’s do it, you rapscallion,” she said with a wink.
The two retired to the PM’s bedroom for an impromptu session of backroom politicking. Clad in nothing but her denture plate, the PM straddled her countries slickest backbench MP and took him for a ride, like she would her bicycle to the Houses of Parliament. The master of all trades had her titillating tactics and filthy fingers walking that cock. With a view of the Palace of Westminster taking in the suspense, she ensured the special relationship remained anything but special. lapsing into an intensity punctuated by lurid cries of “Oh God, save the Queen, save me!”
Meanwhile, in the Noodle Bar, Grace and her entourage partook in a saucy soup orgy, spooning each other into submission one drippy drop at a time. They finger banged and grapefruited their way through a cold buffet, even President Obama’s press secretary moved to a back booth to watch the ladies in action, his facial ticle almost too much to bear.
Past scandals were forgotten in the office shagfest as the buxom babes really earned their spunk – Lance Armstrong’s knob, a DD dildo and a can-opener. His MP muscles bulging through his shirt, David Milliband went down, literally, on one of the secretarial staff orchestrating the infamous trolley fisting prank. Calling it a momentary lapse of judgement, he got his intimate regions momentarily judged (1-2-3 lap…lapse…lapses!) until all his colleagues were god sufficiently at ease.
Even bumbling old Georgesлат, the joint opposition’s made suffocated in a bri-NORTH of tits and ass as the eternal enemies finally shag it out. It was that delicious charm de George-latte. He gave better blowjob than the entire Labour party – cum wrapped in a very sharp bandana, the rest…… equality and the stuff it’s made of.
As the sun began to set over the capital, the ladies bid farwells, submitting one last time to the rhythm nation, husband ejected and tied to a lamppost, power sexeacist no more. All left feeling triple strummed and politically correct, from theoros to assholes. Braided stockings and dish-mat bras were discreetly disposed in dustbins.
The PM stood on the portico of Number 10, waving off her staff as they staggered homewards. With a satisfied smile, she stepped back inside. Perhaps next time this whole tawdry shenanigans could be held on the lawn in front of Buckingham Palace, she thought. Or maybe not, at least the Queen’s dignity was safe, for now.
Damn fine wild ladies and merry lingerie, and Tories may well be savvy when it came to female flesh. But wouldn’t it all be further reason to keep your Tories at home and Labour in power? But hey, that’s just a political narrative for another day.
