Bertie and the Kinky Politician Read Online Free Page A

much for the tiny breathing holes to accommodate and the helmet inflated like an air bag, lifting from his face before slowly contracting back into its original shape. A long, drawn out flatulent rattle of escaping sneeze issued from somewhere beneath his collar.
    Celeste giggled behind one hand. Such a comical thing could only happen to James. He was so endearingly sweet. However, it was still vitally important to maintain The Ambience. She recovered her composure and held herself still, allowing him to press gagged kisses all over her boots. He worked his way slowly upwards to her shins, finally reaching the supple hem of her dress, then lovingly buried his blank face into the aromatic leather.
    James sighed in joy. He continued to pay homage, lost in a timeless moment of supremely erotic delight. He absolutely worshipped Celeste. She was the perfect woman for him, the ideal sexual partner, which appeared odd considering much of her body remained firmly off-limits. Even after two years he had never kissed her on the lips nor seen her in any state of undress, let alone naked,
    Two years! Two years – and in all that time he’d just about made it up to her knees! Theirs was a unique relationship thriving on an amalgam of domination in all its forms, psychological role-playing, unusual clothing and very little physical contact – and both found it divinely satisfying.
    Eventually, after a long silence broken only by his snuffling respiration, Celeste decided he’d enjoyed himself enough and released the web of chains. ‘Stand! Do not move!’ He rose unsteadily, rubbing his knees, but she wrenched his unresisting arms behind his back and shackled his wrists with her favourite pair of handcuffs, the chrome plating worn thin from much use over the years.
    â€˜Enough play.’ Her voice assumed a steely edge. She knew he liked that. Celeste was a consummate Mistress, and all Mistresses were inventive and skilled actresses. ‘It’s time for you to retire. Downstairs, I think.’
    James grunted alarmingly into the gag and wrestled against his bonds.
    â€˜No protests, James Timbrill,’ she said in a businesslike tone. ‘You knew this was going to happen.’ He continued his futile, albeit pleasurable, resistance. ‘You’ll be hooded, gagged and strapped in the bondage wardrobe.’ She clipped a dog leash to his collar and jerked hard. James staggered blindly, breath hissing, and knew they were heading for the cellar. Mmmm, total enclosure! He felt another tug at his neck and stumbled toward an ecstatic night of warm and cosy restraint.
    With a firm grip on his leash, Celeste led the Right Honourable James Alan George Timbrill, BA, FCA, and Member of Parliament for Gloucester North, through the salon door and away for an appointment with his own personal padded wardrobe, where he would be spending the night indisposed.
    Very indisposed indeed.
    The salon fell silent, but it was certainly not empty. Their departure had been noted by a creature of surprising intelligence. He sat on a perch behind the sofa and watched the conclusion of this entertaining ritual with great interest. The Kneeling Man was by far the most frequent of the few friends who visited his mummy’s home and the only one who always brought him some small tidbit to eat. He enjoyed these visits very much, even if only to see Celeste at her happiest and most relaxed. His mum exercised domination over her guest in the same way he did over Sebastian, the household Persian and source of the fluff that had caused James’s earlier respiratory problems. She always wore her most spectacular and colourful plumage when The Kneeling Man visited. Of course, despite her best efforts, she really could not hope to match him. He preened complacently for a few minutes, adjusting immaculately clean azure feathers, then stared at the closed door with a strange intensity, his large brown eyes