“You say you want tariff reform, but I’ve heard that before,” she sighed, writing in her notebook. She was well aware the president was just trying to tire her out. He was far from the first man who thought it was adorable a lady even consider reporting the news. She didn’t love that patriarchal bullshit, but she did love exploiting it.
“Well, what do you want me to say?” He replied, with an amused lean back in his chair. “Every president since Washington has campaigned on tariff reform.”
“Washington didn’t campaign.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. We’re going to raise rates, reasonably, on just a few necessities and that’s going to be good for business and good for the worker. Quote me on that.”
She took it down, “I’ll believe it when it passes.”
“Would you vote for me?”
She hesitated, frowning. “Are you saying you support women’s suffrage?”
“I’m not. I’m asking you, personally.”
“I would’ve voted for Bryan.”
The president laughed, heartily, and gave her leg a friendly squeeze. She allowed his hand to linger. She’d been serious about Bryan, but this new development in touching was still welcome. She shifted toward him, making her intention clear.
“I should’ve known you’d be a Populist,” he admitted, still chuckling. “You’ll amend that when you’re married and have real assets to protect.”
“My assets are just fine,” she retorted. Then a calculated pause. “I think you’d find them to your liking.”
“I don’t imagine you’re wrong,” he agreed, his hand still insistent on her leg. “But I’ve no interest in degrading the presidency with scandal. At least not during my term.”
“Fair enough, Mr. President,” she crossed her legs, pushing aside his hand. “Anything else you’d like to add? On the record, of course.”
“I think you’ve got what you need.”
He shook his head patronizingly, “That’s the sort of statement you need to keep out of your little female rag.”
“I’m curious, sir. Does it make you feel powerful to refer to me or my work as little? Does it make you feel.. Big?”
“I was perfectly well endowed before your questions. But it helps.”
“See by my account that statement was on the record.”
She smiled, “That’s my job. I’m very good.”
“At your job?”
“You are trouble,” he studied her. “But you should come by every once in awhile, just to test me.”
There was finality in his statement, but not in his tone. She made no move to stand up.
“Just as well. I’d wear you out, at any rate.”
“Oh? Do you suppose I couldn’t keep up with whatever little sex game you’ve concocted?”
“Well, you do have a few years on me, sir.”
He stood abruptly, and she fell back in her chair. “Careful.”
She looked up at him, “Why?”
He knew he was fighting a losing battle with her. Standing over her made him feel powerful, and her teasing required he prove it. Already his body was telling him to take her, to rip open her dress like it was a trade policy with China. And if he was being honest with himself, he’d never intended more than a few feeble protests, so he could feel better about this decision later. Surely if anyone found out, they’d understand that the woman’s wiles were to blame. Who was he, but a more physically imposing man with all the social and political power?
He did not hesitate once he’d made up his mind. Like choosing to war with Spain, the president’s decision was reached only as a last resort. He was powerless.
“Did you have more to say?” She smirked, bringing him out of his thoughts.
He pulled open her dress, and bent down to meet her in the chair. They kissed gruffly, and he yanked her head back by her hair. She squealed, and fumbled with the buttons on his pants to expose his poorly concealed erection. He was harder than Carnegie steel. He straddled her and she willingly swallowed him.
“Mmm take that,” he moaned, grinding into her face. The top of her dress had fallen down and he was delighting in her nipples as if he’d never been allowed to touch breasts before. She felt a little sad for him if that had been the case.
Once it was clear she’d annexed him like he’d annexed Hawaii, she was bored. If the chase was the Spanish-American War (a splendid little thing), the rest of the sexual encounter was surely more like the war in the Philippines. For her, the thrill was all in the chase. And then in the story. She loved having something to tell her very high minded lady friends over glasses of wine, while they mused about how only poor women wore cosmetics while trying not to sound jealous. This would make a very good story, she laughed to herself, spitting on his throbbing member before swallowing it again. He was moaning, spoiled, probably in such a state that she could get him to do anything she wanted. Her version of political power would appall most, but it certainly wasn’t ineffective. He pulled away from her.
“I told you I’d wear you out,” she smiled at him.
“I’m not done with you. I want these,” he continued groping her firm bosom. She grinned, and nodded, and for good measure spit on his cock before leaning back.
He squeezed her breasts together, and rammed himself between them. She imagined this was the height of his creativity; how typical it was of the upper class male to think a tit fuck was slumming it. To be honest, it wasn’t doing very much for her, but she appreciated that he enjoyed it. Sometimes sex was just turn based gratification. In that respect, it was a lot like baseball.
“Oh fuck these are exquisite,” he exhaled, burying his gold standard again.
“Mmmm they’re all yours!” she replied, hoping she sounded interested.
He wasn’t as active in civil rights as he should’ve been, but he treated her breasts equally. She felt him pinch and caress every inch of her bust while he continued railing her. Each pinch elicited a yelp of pleasure from her, and the yelps gave him a reason to speed up his thrusting. From her position, she was able to suckle his head between thrusts, which served the dual purpose of keeping him wet and getting him closer.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he admitted, with a boyish glee.
“It’s sexy, baby!” She was hyperbolizing a little, but under the circumstances it seemed fair.
His pace quickened, and she encouraged him to finish, even if it was a little early.
He released on her chest, groaning in disbelief as he came. She was pleased with herself, naturally, but truthfully she had contributed very little to his orgasm. As long as he remembered it fondly she supposed it didn’t matter — and like any gilded age rich white man, he would.