The president was tired. His west coast trip was waning, and while it was exhilarating, he was starting to fantasize about returning to Washington and his quiet bedroom. Truth be told, he was ready to retire from politics altogether, let Garfield have his turn trying to end the spoils system. He’d done what he could, and no one was going to write home about his presidency.
He pushed open the door to his makeshift chambers, a well-furnished room in the bustling Esmond Hotel. To his surprise and annoyance, his room was occupied. General William Tecumseh Sherman was locked in an embrace with a young woman the president did not recognize.
Hayes sighed, loudly. When that did not receive a response he cleared his throat.
Sherman looked up; the woman’s cheeks reddened, and she reached to cover her exposed chest.
“Mr. President!” She gasped, pulling up the top of her dress. “We weren’t — well, welcome back.”
Sherman grinned, and approached the president sheepishly. “Was just entertaining one of your constituents, sir. Won’t happen again.”
Hayes frowned, well aware of the general’s proclivities. “At least not in my chambers.”
“We’re sorry,” she explained, though her tone shared Sherman’s nonchalance. “We got a little carried away.”
“Doesn’t the good general have a room of his own?”
She glanced at Sherman, then back at the president. “Honestly, it’s just not as nice. Plus, you know, the idea we could be caught… anyway, we’re sorry!” She made her way over to the president, and extended him a friendly hand. The whole situation took him aback, but he shook it. Sherman was laughing now, and pouring himself a drink.
“Have a drink with us!” She continued.
“I don’t partake.”
“Really? I thought that teetotaler talk was just for show. Well, we won’t pressure you, will we, Billy?”
Sherman saluted the president, “More for us!”
Rutherford Hayes was now looking for the most delicate way to remind this couple that it was still his room, and that he’d been looking forward to lying down. He was trying to form the words when she interrupted his thoughts by playfully tugging at his impressive beard.
“You are as handsome up close as I imagined,” she afforded him a suggestive smile. He smiled in return, cautiously, keeping his guard up in case this were some kind of trap.
Sherman, unwilling to lose her to the president without a fight (mostly he just loved a good fight), had come up behind her, and resumed his exploration of her body. Whether it was alcohol or hubris, he continued kissing her neck, and unfastening the layers of button and tie that kept her clothed. She moaned, then guided his hand to her now-exposed breasts, though her eyes did not leave the president’s.
There was something intoxicating about watching the two of them together. Neither of them showed any inhibition or shame, which fascinated him since he’d never even considered kissing his wife in company. Knowing that he was watching must be part of the allure, he realized, and he felt his body respond before he could stop it.
“Billy, I think he likes watching,” she nudged the general, who’d begun waging total war on her camisole.
Sherman looked up, met the president’s eyes. “I think he does! You don’t need to just stand there and abuse yourself — come here; she’s a good lay!”
She slapped the general, “She’s an autonomous lay, too.”
“Ouch,” he frowned. “I know that. I wouldn’t offer you to just anyone.”
“He is right that I wouldn’t turn down the president,” she beckoned him closer. “He’s also right I’m a great lay.”
Hayes drew nearer to the couple, still not wholly in possession of his movements. She met him halfway, greeting him with an impossibly friendly kiss. He matched her enthusiasm, the tiredness momentarily forgotten. She drew his hand to her slit.
“See, it’s all ready for you,” she purred, and he cautiously explored her folds. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his hand on her body, encouraging him to keep touching her. His pace quickened. He’d compromised enough during his presidency; he wasn’t going to back down here.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, delighted.
Sherman, equally excited, pressed himself against her; she waved him off without turning her attention away from the president.
“Let me take care of our president, Billy. He outranks you.”
“Rutherfraud,” Sherman muttered, but he did as she asked and retreated.
“He pretends he doesn’t love watching me spoil someone else,” she laughed, her hand grazing the president’s inseam. She acted as if she hadn’t noticed the bulge in his trousers. “Are you hard for me?”
He nodded. He was nervous, to be sure, but his desire steeled his resolve.
“Show me,” she insisted.
In general he prided himself as someone who could not be ordered around: he’d stood up to Conkling and the New York machine; he’d ended the railroad strike with aplomb. But her suggestion was a different foxhunt altogether, and he did as she wanted, releasing his gold standard. She watched him, approving and hungry. His pants, she realized, were poorly tailored, and he revealed more than she anticipated. Naturally, this drove her crazy.
“Oh, you like this?” He stroked himself for her. It wasn’t even strange that Sherman was still in the room, still watching. In fact, Hayes thought, he would like an audience as he took her. He had to be at least the first president to make another man a cuckold. Let that go down in history next to the first easter egg roll.
“Bend over for him, baby,” Sherman suggested, and it crossed Hayes’s mind finally that this was something the two of them did for fun, and he was the pawn in their sex game. When she followed Sherman’s suggestion, however, he decided being the pawn was surprisingly welcome. He ran his hands over her hips, his confidence building as he felt her ass.
“Let me feel that cock,” she begged. He wanted to be inside her, but still his inexperience betrayed him. It was Sherman, chiding him from across the room, reminding him he would forever be remembered as the impotent second place president who ended Reconstruction, Sherman who finally pushed him into action (well, and her ass; he would’ve been a real Sam Tilden to pass up that ass).
He slipped inside her easily, feeling her expand for him. She gripped the bed, excited, and pushed back against his body. He was amazed at how quickly his prudish disposition was abandoned, and he sped up, encouraged by her moans.
“Yes fuck,” she nearly screamed. “Take me, it’s yours.”
It was his. Her ass bounced as he thrust in and out, and he pushed harder. His aggression was met only with her delight, and so he kept fucking her, daring her to break. Sherman had left his chair, and was now adding to the din, encouraging Hayes to spank her, to abuse her. Hayes slapped her ass, harder than he’d intended, and she moaned his name. He spanked her again.
“You’re driving me fucking crazy,” she told him. He pulled out, ran the head of his cock along her folds, teased her body with it. She shivered, begged him to fuck her again. He obliged. He couldn’t get enough, and from her volume it was clear neither could she.
“Darling you’re getting loud,” Sherman warned her.
“He’s fucking incredible,” she shot back, and Hayes went harder and deeper, proving to himself, to her, to his general that he was more than just some injured war horse who was afraid of losing his mind.
“Take it,” he demanded, forcefully grabbing her hips and slamming back into her as hard as he could. She shrieked happily, never wanting it to end.
“Get up here,” she growled. Sherman had been waiting for her instruction and he scrambled up onto the bed. Her mouth found him, and the president coutinued railing her while she used each violent thrust as a reason to swallow Sherman. Hayes had been close to finishing before this, but now, watching her handle them both, he was pushed to the edge. He held onto her harder, buried himself inside her. She tightened around him, and continued to moan onto Sherman with each thrust.
Hayes knew he was going to explode, and he focused on her body, bouncing as she met resistance from both ends. Finally, he let himself go, and sprinted to the finish with impressive speed. He came powerfully, and he could feel how hard he’d gone, and how lost in the moment he’d been. (And oh, right, how tired he’d been).
“Are you all right, Mr. President?” She asked, finally dropping the coquettish pretense. She turned around to face him, and stroked his chin, this time gently and with concern.
“That was incredible,” he only managed to whisper, as he fell into the bed.
Sherman was grinning, still hard and wholly without shame. “You can march to her sea anytime you want.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately at the general, then turned back to Hayes. “I didn’t know you had that in you, sir. If you decide you want another go, look me up.”
Hayes, who had promised to stop at one term in office, was well aware of his limits. He was old, he realized. One more night like this would kill him.