Story Title: A Jolly Good Shag
Author’s Name: Gelding
Content Codes: MF, cons, oral, PWP
Celebs: Kirstie Allsopp, Boris Johnson
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Kirstie Allsopp or Boris Johnson. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. This story means no harm.
There was no doubt that, if the public school educated gents of Private Eye had cause to write about Kirstie Allsopp, they would describe her as ‘fruity’. In the pages of that notorious satirical publication the word referred not to the likes of Lord Mandy,
but to middle aged posh birds with a decent body shape and tremendous interest in discussions of Uganda. Like many other married woman and men of her social class and career position, Kirstie was not averse to enjoying a bit on the side.
Indeed, with her attachment to the Conservative Party of Great Britain, Kirstie’s occasional extramarital dalliances would make the kind of smoking hot reading disgraced aide Damian McBride could only sweatily fantasise about while blogging one handed in his luxuriously appointed rooms. Had Damien looked from his window on the occasion in which this short and scandalous work dwells, he would have seen our fruity heroine in his neighbour’s garden about to enjoy such a bit.
The dinner party had proceeded splendidly for Kirstie. Almost nobody had remarked to The Honourable Kirstie Allsopp about the death spiral the property market had entered into, nor the strong connection between the great number of unsmiling young urban professionals faced with negative equity after being enticed by Kirstie’s televisual delights into a property somewhere beyond their meagre means.
Kirstie stood alone for a moment in the warm spring air as the party spilled outside, and drew a ladylike sip from her delicately clasped glass of fine white wine. It was certainly a good year. Though she’d witnessed her husband follow a young lady from Radio One upstairs, she had no anger or resentment in her well-proportioned frame. Instead, Kirstie viewed this as an opportunity for some well-bred, thoughtful, passionate… fucking.
“I say! Boffo day, what?” the always cheerful tones of Boris Johnson, famed Mayor of London and tousle haired sex god Boris Johnson sounded close enough to make Kirstie jump. She turned towards Boris with a warm smile on her face, and enquired as to whether he was enjoying his job.
“Wouldn’t swap it for anything, old gel,” replied Boris, “I was made for this! That fearful oik Livingstone was running this great city into the dirt. Terrible business.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” replied Kirstie, deciding that Boris was just the man to give her a firm rogering in the ornamental gazebo.
“I wonder Boris, have you seen the rather nice Gazebo?”
“Many times!” came Boris’s not unexpected reply. If the rumours were accurate, there was hardly a woman connected to the Conservative party who hadn’t enjoyed robust discussions with Boris; the possible exception of course being Ann Widdicombe.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to show me the ornamental decoration upon the ceiling?” enquired Kirstie, before running her tongue about the rim of her glass in a none-to-subtle gesture. The noticeable bulge forming in Boris’ trousers told her that he would be entirely gentlemanly enough to fulfil Kirstie Allsopp’s request. They walked together through the large garden, enjoying the smells of flowers, sounds of birds and the occasional happy groan from a sheltering bush.
There was, as ever, a comfortable mattress on the floor of the gazebo. The host knew his guests all too well, and there were similar mattresses in the aforementioned bushes. A fulsome shag at a dinner party was no excuse for grass stains, after all. Kirstie paused on entering, to allow Boris to press his body against hers. She could feel his hardness through clothing, and sighed.
“Oh Boris, I really need it hot and hard tonight, like a cricket match in Calcutta.”
“Boris is happy to help a damsel in distress,” quipped the Mayor, wrapping his hands around Kirstie’s waist, and raising them to her substantial all natural bosoms. A push up bra would see Kirstie Allsopp with a cleavage to rival the best that the red top press had to offer. Kirstie reached back eagerly, and unzipped Boris’ fly.
“I’m not wearing any knickers,” she told him as her fingers slipped into his expensive trousers and found his hard manhood. Kirstie’s nipples stood out in stiff arousal as Boris freed her cleavage from the confines of a designer top. His fingers found them and made experienced squeezings as Kirstie’s hands continued to run up and down Boris’s shaft.
Kirstie groaned, and wondered how it had taken her so long to bag Boris at one of these parties. He was a busy man, she supposed, but his not-too-rough hands on her breasts told her he’d been busy learning his craft. Actually, it did irk her a little.
“I’m not some fragile little girl, darling,” Boris responded immediately, fondling Kirstie’s breasts harder, more passionately. That was very much the stuff! Kirstie enjoyed it for a few moments more, before turning and sinking to her knees upon the mattress. Boris pushed the professionally styled black hair back away from her face, as she loosened his trouser button, and dropped his trousers and y-fronts to his ankles.
“I say!” Kirstie’s appreciative cry came from Boris carrying around the king of trouser artillery more usually associated with the races. Standing fully to attention before Kirstie’s face, above a heavy and hirsute scrotum, was a very big part of the reason behind Boris Johnson’s easygoing confidence, to coin a phrase.
“Should I gift wrap it?” asked Boris, aware of the six-pack in his trouser packet.
Kirstie responded by sticking out her tongue and licking Boris from base to tip, before opening her mouth wide enough to fit the head in. Boris heard voices approaching and then heading away to another private bower. He turned his attention to the rather lovely woman on her knees before him as she worked her tongue around his glans.
“That’s damnably good fellatio, Kirstie, “Boris rang a tender finger down the side of her face as she enveloped more of him in her mouth. Then, to his surprise and delight, she sucked down and swallowed his entire thick length into her throat without spasm or gag. Kirstie Allsopp’s technique was obviously very finely honed, and Boris made a mental note to recommend her at his club. Almost immediately she bobbed her face on his shaft, eyes down on her task. The pleasurable sensations were amongst the best Boris had known. His knees were trembling before Kirstie came up for air, leaving his saliva slick shaft bouncing lightly at his groin,
“Gosh!” she managed, “I really didn’t think I could swallow one as thick as that, Boris. I’m awfully proud of myself.”
Boris could feel his scrotum tight against his shaft, and the famously fertile Johnson seed seemed almost ready to gush forth across Kirstie’s flushed face. He held back, feeling it would be impolite in the circumstances.
“I… would you like me to…”
“Not a bit of it, Boris. I like a good tongue as much as the next lady, but I already told you, I want it hot and hard tonight!”
“Right then! Hike your skirt up and lets get to it!”
There was a definite tremor to Boris’ voice as he got down upon his knees. Kirstie twisted around onto her knees, presenting herself eagerly. As she tugged her skirt up around her waist, Boris saw she certainly wasn’t wearing any knickers. That Kirstie Allsopp arse, he thought, a well formed expanse of smooth tanned flesh that could belong to a woman much younger. He ran his hands across Kirstie’s buttocks, and then slid one down to her bush.
“Gosh, Kirstie! You’re absolutely sopping wet!”
Kirstie Allsopp let out a sensual moan as Boris Johnson’s fingers rubbed through the tangles of her black pubic hair, against her engorged labia. Her breasts swung beneath her as she wiggled her arse back towards Boris. She was burning to feel him inside her, and felt the only thing the gazebo missed was a mirror before them, so they could watch their fucking. As Boris positioned himself at her entrance, Kirstie scooted back to impale herself upon him. She felt immediately stretched, but was aroused enough to take Boris without any pain.
“For god’s sake, Boris! Give it all to me! Hot and hard, I say!”
Boris slid the rest of the way into Kirstie, ensuring she could take his length without pain. As an older gentleman he could keep going for ages if need be, but there was a party to get back to and he could feel that Kirstie Allsopp was already close to the boil, so he resolved to drive her over the edge and then enjoy his own climax. Not that that was the only thing, Boris thought has he stroked Kirstie’s arse with his fingers, this was one activity where travelling was as worthwhile as getting to the destination.
Kirstie groaned loudly as Boris filled her repeatedly with thoroughly pleasurable thrusts. Her breasts rocked beneath her, hard nipples swaying towards the floor as she pushed back to meet him. He felt so hard and large inside her, and the sensation increased as she squeezed down upon him. There was a wonderful heat building inside her, and she knew she was making rather more noise than was polite for these events. Still, she was sure people would understand if they’d seen her head off with Boris Johnson.
“That’s it Boris, that’s bloody wonderful. You’re like a horse!”
“You’re a jolly good gel yourself.”
‘Boris Johnson is making me come!’ thought Kirstie, as the exquisite pleasures inside her built to a crashing tidal wave of sexual ecstasy. . Her hands gave out beneath her as she came, crashing face forwards onto a mattress that barely muffled her screeched screams. She wasn’t aware of her internal muscles gripping and squeezing Boris like a fist, nor his own gasp as she brought him off almost simultaneously to herself.
“Cripes!” Boris hadn’t had such a good shag for simply months. His hands on Kirstie’s ample rump kept her up as he ejaculated heavily into her womanhood from behind. His crotch was absolutely soaking from Kirstie’s arousal, and there had been a squirt more as she lost herself in the moment. He was panting heavily himself by the time he’d finished.
“That was just what I needed, ” sighed Kirstie Allsopp as Boris pulled out, and climbed unsteadily to his feet.