Excerpt for Hardcore Brexit: Part One by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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Part One:

The first installment of the ‘Hardcore Brexit’ series.

Published by Coral White on Smashwords

Copyright 2019 Coral White


I – Haycomb Crease-Bogg

II – With Brevity

III – To Come A Cropper


“How about I put this member in the Honourable Member?”

Dimple Mistry MP woke from a vivid dream in which a dashing and rather well-proportioned constituent had been putting his case to her over a proposed roundabout. He’d just swept off her desk and she’d hitched her skirt when the doorbell had pealed it’s way through the wall of sleep. Just as it was getting to the good bit as well.

Dimple made an effort of getting out of the warm bed and pulling on her dressing gown. She wrapped it tight to cover her nakedness and headed downstairs. The doorbell rang again as she shuffled in to her fluffy slippers. If this is a Jehovah’s Witness again then I’m going to lose my shit. It wasn’t.

Behind the door was a tall, thin man in a dark grey suit with round glasses and a side parting in his black hair that was lightly peppered with greys and whites on the sides. He was carrying an equally black folder and an impatient expression and clearly did not approve of a dressing gown.

‘Dimple Mistry, you are required.’ Dimple nodded. She knew who he was. Haycomb Crease-Bogg was a somewhat controversial Tory and in to some downright kinky stuff, if the rumours were as true as they were persistent.

'I’ve been sent to collect you, no doubt intended as a slight from our dear leader.'

'Collect me for what?'

'Quoth the raven; get in the damn car, woman. After you’ve dressed suitably, of course.' Crease-Bogg turned on his heel and strode to the waiting black Bentley. If this had been their first meeting then Dimple would have been put out at his rudeness and condescension, but everyone in Westminster knew how he was. For some reason the public loved it.

Dimple got dressed as quickly as she could, though no doubt it would not be considered quick enough. Navy blue was the first skirt and jacket she had plucked from the wardrobe, along with a white blouse. She skipped the underwear; this was Parliament, after all. She headed out to the waiting car and half-expected the door to be opened for her but then remembered who she was being picked up by. Dimple opened the door herself and got in to the rear of the car. She was still brushing her thick brown hair as they moved off and Crease-Bogg was staring straight ahead and tutting loudly at every stroke of the brush. His breaking point was when Dimple picked a loose hair from her jacket and dropped it in to the footwell,



'Outside. By jove, you really are one of the commoners aren’t you? Drop it out the window please. The hair.'



Dimple decided to test the rumours. She leant slowly forwards to retrieve the hair and looked Crease-Bogg in the eye,

'Yes, Master.' He shivered and put his folder over his lap,

'Don’t do that.'

'Yes, Master.' Dimple made a show of putting down the window and dropping the hair out, 'Does that please you, Master?' Looks like the rumours are no exaggeration. Crease-Bogg was having trouble keeping his focus and he kept glancing at Dimple’s breasts. She started unbuttoning her jacket and then her blouse,

'Is my performance satisfactory, Master?' Having such an easily attained hold over someone who thought himself above her was amusing Dimple, so she continued. Her jacket and blouse were open, revealing her bare breasts underneath,

'Oh, Master. I’m improperly dressed for government business. I didn’t have time for underwear. Its just so... fiddly.' Dimple thought her words were clumsily coquettish at best, but Haycomb Crease-Bogg was having great difficulty in composing himself. His eyes were closed and Dimple moved to take his folder from his lap. He weakly resisted with a barely muttered protest and beneath it she found his firm erection pressing against his trousers. Dimple took his hand and moved to one of her breasts. Haycomb began tweaking her nipple,

'You naughty bitch.' he said softly with his eyes still closed. Dimple slowly reached out a hand and lightly ran a finger along his hard shaft. Crease-Bogg shivered and spasmed, then tensed and released. He sighed and opened his eyes after a few moments. Dimple rebuttoned her clothes,

'You haven’t said why I’m here yet.'


'Of course, I’d do anything for Master.'

'Stop it. I’ve got to conduct governmental business with fresh ejaculate in my under-garments now. This is most improper. You’re being recruited.'

'You haven’t got the facial hair to be a convincing Kitchener, you know.'

'How very droll. Yes, your country needs you. Unfortunately I have been forbidden from speaking of the why until we reach Westminster. Our dearest leader wishes to tell you herself. Safe to say, if the last five minutes is anything to go by then she’s made the right choice. '

'Yes, but you’ve never really given me the time of day. It’s a week until we vote on the deal in the House and I haven’t heard from you at all.'

'Its a good thing you haven’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been picked for this post.'

'You mean you didn’t fancy trying to change my mind, Crease?'

'Don’t call me that.'

'Well it’s either Crease or Master and you didn’t want-'

'-Fine. You are insufferable.'

A phone rang and Haycomb answered.

The rest of the car journey to Westminster was Dimple listening to a one-sided conversation that was entirely Crease-Bogg saying yes or no at various intervals, while she tried in vain to conjure up what was left of her constituent dream. It hadn’t been her favourite variation on the theme, but it was still enjoyable. In Dimple’s experience a man’s idea of sexual prowess was to thrust as fast and hard as he could until he came. It was like a sprinter thinking he’d shown a marathon runner how to race, failing to realise they were completely different disciplines.

She span the metaphor out in a daydream so she wouldn’t have to listen to Crease’s monotonous phone call and ended up fantasising about running the five thousand metres with a slim Kenyan woman. They were the only two people in the stadium and they were eyeing each other the whole time. As soon as they’d crossed the finish line they collapsed in to each others arms and made breathless passion right there on the track before chasing each other to the showers where it happened all over again; the warm water enveloping them as they explored each other with the physical language they both shared. Crease inadvertently pulled the curtain on this mental sojourn as he finally hung up his phone and threw it in to the footwell with a thud.

'Bloody hell. She’s impossible at times.'


The car rolled into one if the car parks at Westminster and Crease-Bogg unfurled his mantis limbs from the rear door. He grudgingly opened the door for Dimple and offered a hand. She knew better than to tease him further from the expression on his face. He did not see entirely eye to eye with the Prime Minister and Dimple had assumed that was the caller in the car.

Crease-Bogg led the way in to the Houses of Parliament through one of the side entrances, seemingly keen to avoid people either on behalf of his apparently covert assignment or just on general principle. He led Dimple to a room she hadn’t seen before and rapped on the door quietly. A minister opened the door,

'I’ve told you there’s no need to knock, Crease.'

'Manners, my dear Cropper.'

'Just get in, will you.'

Dimple followed him in and the minister closed the door behind them hastily. Emily Cropper was Chief Whip of the Party and had visited Dimple a few times. She was on the short and heavy side and took absolutely no nonsense from anyone. Dimple had often found herself fantasising about Cropper after her visits on Whip duty, those large breasts and thick thighs pressing on top of her, the blonde hair sticking to her sweaty face as they fucked.

Stood by a bookcase at the far end of the room was the mature figure of Brevity May. Hers was a mature figure taken to wearing dark suits that were intended to suggest seriousness and command respect, paired with flamboyant heels that told of a filthy streak.

The Prime Minister was browsing the shelves and seemed to be attempting a power move by not turning round to greet them for a few seconds. Crease-Bogg, Dimple and Cropper stood on one side of a desk that stood by the bookcase and dominated that end of the room. Cropper coughed and Brevity May turned to face them,

'You’re wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?'

'Being collected in the early morning without an explanation does lead one to that conclusion, yes.'

'Well, I’ll cut right to it. Brexit is a clusterfuck. It needs fixing, and fast. We’ve tried the official methods and they’re not budging. We need to try something else. That’s where you come in. I want you to be part of a small team of MP’s who are going to pay visits to the higher-ups in the EU and try... alternative persuasion. They’re a debauched lot, so you shouldn’t have any trouble. Crease here will be your handler; he despises most of them but knows an awful lot about them. Any questions?'

'Just to be clear, you’re asking me to-'

'-Yes, Dimple. This rotten lot want their pound of flesh from us, so I’m giving it to them. Or, more accurately, you and Cropper are.' Cropper looked quite surprised,

'Me, Ma’am?'

'Yes. I thought I told you already. Is that a problem?'

'Well, no.'

'You’ll still be Chief Whip. Get to whoever you can before next week’s vote. It may not go our way and, if it doesn’t, people will need yet more convincing. Haycomb, you’re now a Minister Without Portfolio.' Haycomb drew himself up straighter than he had already been standing,

'Better that than a Minister Without Portefeuille.' Nobody laughed. 'I mean, thank you very much, Ma’am.'

'That will be all.'

Crease-Bogg opened the door and ushered the two MP’s out in to the hall,

'Right. Follow me, ladies.'


The day had been largely taken up by Haycomb going over the various representatives they would be visiting, and which of them aligned with a particular sexual interest. He had been surprisingly detailed in his work and, by the end of it, Dimple had a reasonable handle with which to grasp the situation. She was not particularly surprised that this assignment was being undertaken; when she had become an MP it had become clear that the House of Commons was a lewd and sordid den, for the most part. Tales and whispers of after-hours orgies were never far from one’s ears in Westminster. Party divides were often dropped as quickly as clothes were, and the EU were allegedly worse. This should turn out to be quite a fun task.

Emily Cropper opened the front door of her house and led Dimple inside,

‘Sorry if it’s a bit of a mess, I don’t really get home much.’ Dimple watched the plump bottom in front of her and paid little attention to the tidy surroundings. Spending all day with Cropper had kindled the attraction to her that was now becoming quite difficult to control in a private setting.

‘Is red ok?’


‘Wine.’ Dimple nodded in approval and Emily disappeared in to the kitchen. She came back without shoes, bearing two rather full glasses of red wine and set them on the coffee table, ‘The bottle needed putting out of its misery.’ Emily shrugged off her jacket and pulled her hair out of its ponytail, framing her soft face. She fell back in to the sofa feeling tired but relaxed,

‘Haycomb can talk for England, can’t he?’

‘Yes, he’s quite an odd one. I thought he was quite anti-deal.’

‘He is, but he’s always said if we’re going to have a deal then it should be the best that we can get. He’s quite honourable, really. Does anyone get called honourable anymore?’ She laughed at herself and reached for the wine. Dimple took a healthy sip,

‘Sorry to talk work.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, dear. The job does rather consume you.’ Emily took half the glass in one go, ‘Actually, there is one more task the PM has set me before we get this whole thing underway.’

‘You mean shagging our way around Europe’s elite?’

‘Mmm.’ Emily and Dimple locked eyes,

‘And what would this task be, Chief Whip?’ They both drained their glasses,

‘The government would like me to assess your suitability for the task.’ Emily had reached forward and unbuttoned Dimple’s blouse as she spoke. Dimple played teasingly dumb,

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Miss Cropper.’ Emily leant forward and kissed Dimple deeply, pressing her back against the sofa. She caressed Dimple’s breast with one hand and ran the other through her hair. Dimple shrugged off her jacket and blouse as Emily ran a warm tongue down her neck and playfully nibbled at her ear. Emily seemed to enjoy leading the encounter and Dimple was happy to let her, able to play either dominant or submissive and thoroughly enjoying both roles. Emily got to her feet and pulled her blouse off over her head. Dimple slipped her skirt off and, now naked, knelt in front of Emily and started unzipping hers. Emily took two big handfuls of Dimple’s hair in her fists as she kissed her way across the soft belly, along the top of Emily's knickers and down to the warm, thick lips below.

‘Get in the fucking bedroom, Mistry.’ She slapped and pinched at the cheeks of Dimple’s ass as she followed her.

Emily, still in her underwear, grabbed Dimple by the hair from behind and bent her over the wide bed. She kissed down Dimple’s slender back and pushed a hand between her legs. Dimple knelt on the bed and hollowed her back as Emily slowly teased her clit. To her surprise, Emily backed off and retrieved something from beneath the bed. Dimple could not see what it was but felt the sharp sting of a whip across her ass. She trembled and tensed and the unexpected pain and pleasure and could feel herself wet and waiting for Emily.

Cropper ran the short riding crop lightly up and down Dimple’s back and whipped her across the ass again, relishing the sharp gasp it drew. She knelt down and ran her fingertips from Dimple’s curled toes slowly up to her thighs and then took her by the hips and pressed her tongue in to the waiting wetness. Her tongue flicked quickly and hungrily across Dimple’s clit and it wasn’t long before her thighs started to quiver with pleasure as Emily pushed her face against Dimple's pussy, her nose pressing against the wet opening as her tongue ran all over.

‘Oh my god.’ moaned Dimple and balled the covers in her fists as she let herself go. Emily fetched the crop, stood up and thwacked it hard across the cheeks of her ass. Dimple’s eyes rolled back as she came and squirted just a little bit. Emily tapped the crop playfully but firmly against the soles of Dimple's feet and then up to her clit,

‘Did I tell you to speak, Mistry?’ Emily threw Dimple forward on to the bed and rolled her on to her back. She slid her own knickers off and unhooked her bra. She mounted Dimple and sat astride her midriff with the crop in hand, feinting with it a couple of times to tease her submissive. Dimple had thought of herself as being moderately busty but Emily’s heavy breasts and large pink nipples were something else as they hung above her. Emily pushed Dimple’s hands above her head and then moved up to sit on her face, pinning Dimple’s arms beneath her thick legs. Dimple’s tongue performed with vigour and Emily was soon riding waves of pleasure as it danced hard and fast across her throbbing clit. She pinched her own nipples hard and played with her fat, round tits as she rode her slender partner. She couldn’t help her big thighs tensing and pressing together as she orgasmed and stayed planted on Dimple’s face until she couldn’t take any more of her exquisite tongue. She heard Dimple take a breath as she unclenched her thighs,

'Too much pussy for you, Mistry?' before Dimple could answer, Emily grabbed her by her slender wrists and pressed her wet folds down on Dimple's face. She slowly rubbed back and forth over Dimple's face, her large labia covering her nose and mouth and cutting off her air until Emily decided otherwise. She was pleased that Dimple's tongue never stopped going.

Emily deftly turned and lay on the firm bed so Dimple could come on top of her and they went hungrily down on each other, either woman trying to make the other orgasm first. It did not take long.

Emily drew her knees up to open herself so Dimple could finger her to another orgasm. She took all four as Dimple eased them in and began working them vigorously. Within a minute she was struggling to keep her end of the sixty-nine going as Dimple picked up the pace and gave Emily a shuddering orgasm that made her squirt as Dimple strummed her engorged clit through the wave of orgasm, prolonging the pleasure and the trembling of what seemed like her entire body.

Dimple sat up on Emily’s face and rubbed herself from clit to ass and back again on the tongue that so eagerly probed her. She pinched the big pink nipples on the two huge tits in front of her and rode Emily’s face, feeling another pleasure explosion building. She slapped Emily’s clit and felt her jerk in ecstatic response,

‘I’m going to fucking squirt all over you.’ Dimple moaned, and felt the tongue beneath her speed up in delight. She slapped the moist labia in front of her again and felt Emily dig her nails in to her thighs, signalling ‘harder’.

Dimple grabbed a big handful of soft breast in one hand and had to force herself to slap Emily’s clit one last time as they both came together. Dimple leant into the shaking orgasm and felt herself squirting over Emily’s face, her tongue still going firmly over her delicate folds.

Dimple slowly climbed off Emily and lay next to her, both women sweating and catching their breath. They looked at each other and shared a passionate kiss, Emily pulling Dimple’s slim frame against her soft body. They fondled and caressed each other slowly and deeply, sharing the afterglow of an encounter whose intensity had surprised them both.

The day had faded and the sun retreated its faint winter rays behind the dark horizon. The two women snuggled together under the covers.

‘You’re a good big spoon, Em.’

‘I think we’ll make a great team.’

About The Author

Coral White is an author of erotic fiction that ranges from Lovecraftian to realism in an effort to stave off the void.

She divides her time between Innsmouth, Massachusetts and Derry, Maine.

Thank you for reading my work. If you have enjoyed it then I have done my job.

Sleep is just a cousin of Death.

Twitter: @alexcoralwhite


Also by Coral White:

Agnes Lynn

Thrall Of Cthulhu

The Roses

French Haze

Available on Smashwords

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