The Economist’s Daughter

The result of a whim and a photograph of an old scandal in UK politics.

Vicki looked at her daughter, hard at work as always, studying, and thought yes she is coming up in the right mould, now that Vicki’s husband Chris, the bastard, had left under some horrid disgrace by trying to shift the blame on a traffic incident on to her, telling the police Vicki was the driver. OK his political career was damaged but not irreparably – but hers … senior adviser to the government, her standing at the university, lecturer in economics – was shattered when she, like the once on a lifetime fool she had been, had taken the blame. The Shadow Opposition leader, Uni Chancellor and board, all staunch church people couldn’t see it was nothing to do with her work, but the lies … the lies … unforgivable!

Nick seemed to have been letting the girl run wild and mix with all the wrong people, encouraging sleep overs, parties, fun outings but with little thought about helping her with studies. Surely he could see that was more important than enjoying herself. After all a history and geology career was laudable. Gina was sat at the study desk, books everywhere, her identical to Vicki’s spectacles half way down her cute upturned nose, computer screen vivid with images of ruins and the like and Gruf her faithful dark brindle Boxer dog stretched out on the sofa. It seemed that when Gina was stuck for an answer or solution to a problem, she would reach over and stroke and pet the big rumbustious dog for a few seconds and bingo! a problem solved.

Gruf’s massive mostly black face rested on his cutely crossed white forepaws. They had nearly named the puppy Socks because of the remarkable contrasting colour, but Gina had decided on Gruf as that suited his gruff slightly antagonistic expression. It was to be her pet after all. Vicki being of Greek ancestry had bucked the trend in her race and Turkish relatives, becoming an animal lover … She had grown to love and cherish the animal’s friendly nature and the way he guarded the family home and also when out walking. It was her love and affection for Gruf that was forming the next stage of her unique home education policy.

Returning to her bedroom to prepare for another bout of TV interviews, Vicki was still revered as an independent economics expert, she tried to tidy her unruly thick mess of light auburn, going grey hair in the mirror, adjusting the severe library/school marm style black spectacles, then rubbing them clean? on the loose flowing sleeves of her ethnic patterned top, now hung over her chair. Vicki lifted her head to stretch the sagging lines and wrinkles of her cheeks and jowls, but to no great improvement once her head returned to it’s normal position. She checked her black opaque tights, slowly smoothing them all the way up shapely without being spectacular limbs and persuading them to fit tightly round her crotch, over plain white panties. Standing at the mirror, she lifted both of her small saggy tits, topped with large stubby nipples nestled in wide dark brown areolae into the plain white brassiere as if to hoist them higher – to no avail, grimaced, clipped the bra firm, forever puzzling as to how genes could go horribly wrong sometimes and buttoned on her white plain T shirt, then the off cream hip length two buttoned jacket.

“Mummy!” called Gina. “A minute when you can please?”

Vicki grinned with pleasure at being needed and hurried attaching her signature gold ornate dangling ear rings. She carried a pair of light grey, T bone style, one inch high pumps towards the study, making sure her black shoulder bag hung on the stair post.

Gina was fondling Gruf’s head, which slobbered saliva on Gina’s hose clad knees where his head rested. The magic dog solution hadn’t surfaced … hence the Mummy call.

“Yes darling what is it?” sitting where Gruf had laid, to ease on her shoes. The dog turned to look at the mistress of the elegant Victorian town house in Dulwich, London. It was a new Boxer in that he’d escaped having his tail docked as had been the fashion in the breed for many years. His foot long tail banged on the stripped pine floor planks. Vicki noticed the pointed bulb end of Gruf’s penis showed about an inch out of his sheath … a normal occurrence, to be dealt with later.

“Ooh! You look nice Mummy … on telly? Oh yes you told me. Good luck,” chuckled Gina, resuming stroking Gruf’s head, back on her lap, ignoring the large dark wet stain from his profuse dribbles on her dark green calf length skirt.

She showed Vicki the diagram and text problem and between them they sorted it. Vicki was practical if not full of geology knowledge, said her good byes, patting an excited Gruf who thought he was going with her and left her daughter and dog in the home.

****

“That’s not a bad looking arse when she dresses like that,” tittered Vince Cambell as he and Jeremy Cobbold, although in opposite camps politically, strolled across the Westminster members foyer, behind Vicky.

“No, you’re right. Going to waste, won’t be getting much these days,” Jeremy smirked.

“Hey, chaps … mornin’” added John Pienaar, catching the drift if not the remarks of their conversation. “Not bad sometimes is she? She’s mine today, in the nicest possible way of course,” he tittered.

“You mean in the interview room with a crew?” snickered Jeremy, getting a nod and a grin while they all watched Vicki meet a BBC cameraman and a woman, as Pienaar left them to join in.

A make up lady brisked Vicki away.

“Fucking cold bitch isn’t she?” suggested Gerry the cameraman to Pienaar. “Bet her face is like her pussy, dry as a bone, these days … what … she’s 65 now… ?” he checked some notes. “Might have been a god shag in her day … maybe””

“That’s enough Gerry,” said Pienaar, knowing Gerry had a well known crudity about him and was renowned for what could be known as inappropriate actions. He did think on reflection that even these days as Gerry had so succinctly put it, he would. A cunt is a cunt.

****

Gina clumped to the library in her sensible heavy black shoes, leaving a whining Gruf as he would be a nuisance in the High Street on his lead and she trying to carry a large plastic bag full of books. Wearing her trademark thick woollen sweater on top of a tartan red and black shirt and her dowdy green skirt, she felt a bit warm in the hazy sunshine, maybe she should have worn nylon tights instead of the opaque black tights she favoured most days.

The library assistant helped her stack her returns, then she consulted him later querying a book she had reserved. He enjoyed dealing with the intelligent speccy four eyes girl. She was so bright, cheerful and always smiling yet she wore the most dowdy ugly clothing. He could see her washed out looking fair hair hung down to mid back, tied in a single pony tail. Gina had the prettiest of faces he ever saw regardless of the number of females of all ages he dealt with. It was an angelic, cherubic countenance; no make up, no jewellery at her neck or hands, compared to the unkempt teenager he had helped earlier with tats everywhere and he could virtually see everywhere, due to her wearing minimalist clothing.

While he could see every nuance of that one’s slightly chunky body, Gina gave not a hint of what he guessed was an elfin shape and size. Judging by her delicate long fingers hands and tiny wrists, surely under all that clobber there would be a heavenly nubile body. One of his pals knew her from the few years she’d spent at school before Vicki opted for home education, having seen her in the library and told him she had always been the same … dowdy gear, gorgeous face … and what else? Who knew?

****

Later – at home, mother and daughter Pryce chatted and ate a fishy risotto with a glass of Pinot Grigio from Waitrose, watching the TV interview Vicki had recorded earlier. Gina retired to bed and Vicki took Gruf for his night stroll to the park, where he roamed, pissed against several fixed things and dumped a large steamy turd on the grass, which Vicky duly collected, not minding the stench, in a small black plastic bag, depositing that in the red bins provided. Back home she relaxed in the mega size T shirt, one of the few things she retained after Chris’s exit. Gruf lounged round her bare feet, not allowed on the furniture in the lounge, licking her toes occasionally. She caught an episode of Crufts, the annual animal binge extraordinary dog show, noting a light coloured, brindle Whippet had won best in show. There had been a bit of a TV hiatus in that the cameras had lingered on its undercarriage too long and just like Gruf now, it’s penis had made a brief and unwelcome before the TV watershed timing.

Vicki shook her head and grinned, glancing down at Gruf. Why not? She mused. She shifted her along the couch lounging to slouch, full on to the Boxer, her movement alerting him. The odours wafting around under her shirt were warm and succulent … from a dog’s point of view and there was no mistaking the big canine come on. Gruf sprang to his feet and thrust his big chunky brutalist face between Vicki’s scrawny thighs.

“Hey boy, not so fast … slow down … yes I know it’s been a while, but you need practice,” Vicki murmured, ruffling his long floppy ears, petting and pacifying his eagerness. “You’ll have to be a lot more gentle when I give you a special prize … yes yes you’ve been a very good dog,” she snickered, in doggy style tones, lowering her pink Agent Provocteur French knickers. She kicked them off and let Gruf have fun.

The big Boxer lapped hungrily at Vicki’s hairy snatch. She had never being a believer in offering Chris or the odd occasional lover she’d had, a child like pudenda. She winced a couple of times as Gruf’s tongue gathered up some particularly long pubes, tugging them. She infiltrated her hands either side of his big flat snout and tried to separate her pubic forest, succeeding, then letting his searching tongue find the inner membranes of her once birthed twat. It was a very long pink piece of tissue which had no doubt tasted the arse and cunt of many a canine friend and indeed earlier that evening in the park. There had been a yappy Labradoodle trophy bitch, let down on the grass briefly but too late, by the trendy yummy mummy, a fiesty little mongrel with an old lady and a large many breed mixture belonging to a large fat man who tried to engage Vicki in conversation about … what else? The weather!

Vicki had a prominent clitoral hood which she eased aside and lurched as Gruf’s tongue found the raisin size button full of nerves beneath. Her legs kicked out at the first impact until she calmed her senses, aiming to keep her bodily reactions in control … for a short while.

Being a highly intelligent person and planner, she thought of a ruse that might assist and pushed the Boxer away. She grinned at him as she levered up from the low furniture. If looks could kill she chuckled as Gruf kicked his head to one side and licked his lips. Vicki entered Gina’s room. She guessed rightly that her studious daughter would be fast asleep now and stealthily reached the pile of clothing at the foot of her bed. She sorted through the cumbersome bundle until she reached and picked an item, then scurried back to the lounge, suddenly Gruf was alert.

Vicki resumed her couch position keeping her legs together this time. Gruf sniffed at her knees and lower, in one instance trying to budge between them until Vicki reached forward and dangled a small white crumpled cotton garment at his nose. She held it so the big Boxer would get the full impact of the sweet odours emanating from his loved one’s gusset.

“Hee hee Gruf … that’s good eh? Wait till you get the real thing … soon I promise you … no don’t … snatch you can’t chew them silly dog … Yeah that’s good eh?

Gruf tried to put his paw up on the couch and was slapped away, only to be given the tiny smidgeon of fabric to lick and sniff on the carpet, until Vicki took them away and returned them to Gina’s pile of clothing, knowing they would dry off his saliva by morning. All she had to do now was wait for the appropriate moment to chance upon.

She retired to her room, the Boxer excited and following, leaping up at her outstretched, finger snapping hand. She stripped off, grabbed a pair of Chris’s socks she purposely kept for special purposes and encased Gruf’s fore legs in them, before getting down on all fours onto the thick pile carpet. The Boxer instantly knew what to do and reared his powerful frame on her meagre meated rump, his own beafy brindle rump stabbing frantically until he gained entrance with a little help from Vick’s hand guiding, into her untended hairy cunt. His jack hammer like thrusts immediately gained full insertion and Vicki relished the experience of being thoroughly reamed up her tight relatively unused twat. Chris hadn’t been bad as a shag, as far as she could remember, compared to the fairly infrequent shaftings she got from the leader of the party when he needed a special financial report to be on his desk by first thing the following morning, recalling nights slaving away over fiscal statements and the like.

It was decision time. Should she or not? Gruf’s dribblings covered her neck and shoulders, splattering her face at times. He was panting rapidly, his rear a blur … oh fuck it, she lowered her posture slightly and felt the pain, the utter feeling of degradation, what had she come down to?

Oh Vasiliki how could you, she always chastised her original birth name at such moments. A dog’s whore, anytime he wanted to … well no it was under her control but to think she had lowered herself to this. But men … nice intelligent, thoughtful men … where were they all when she needed a good fuck. Yes I am 65 now but I have needs … OK Gina was late in life, just on the cusp of me losing the ability body wise to have her and she was the only one and a difficult pregnancy and birth, but sex was a basic right. The Boxer was still above her, panting, dribbling as always, the heat of his jism searing her vagina, his big red prick filling her physically and mentally, reaching the ultimate goal; an organism.

Her cunt clutched Gruf’s dog dick like a vice, milking his knot as he would wish for with a canine cunt round him, but Vicki had a special skill and flexed her clitoral support muscles inducing what she thought was every female’s ability.

“Oooooo … ooowwww!” she moaned quietly, fearful of waking the delightful chip of the old Vicki block slumbering innocently two rooms away. Gruf growled low and long as always, Chris agreeing her was showing his appreciation of a fuck well achieved, like David her first husband. If there was one thing Chris had achieved in their marriage was an appreciation of Vicki’s bestial sex life learned in her younger days in Athens. Learned from her grandfather Vassili Popadopulos the bestiality being entrenched in the family from the war years when men were in barracks with no women. Dogs or arseholes were the options.

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