She saw her opportunity to get the president alone when he announced to the party he was going to get his gun. In like a “guys, you need to see the gun I used to kill all the buffalo,” way. He wasn’t threatening anyone. This was her first White House party, but she’d been well-informed of his nonstop desire to show off. As it was, she hadn’t had a moment to speak to him privately; he was always surrounded by admirers and staff and, at one moment, a badger. She watched him disappear down the hall, and impulsively made up her mind to follow him.

A hand on her arm, “Did you need something, darling?”

She remembered James, her date. Whoops. The only reason she’d gained entrance to the soiree was on his arm (and it was a nice arm, and under different circumstances she would pay him more attention), but Theodore Roosevelt was a vortex and it was hard to see anyone else when he was in the room.

“James,” she finally replied, calculating her moves gently. “I must retreat briefly to the powder room.”

He nodded, aware that female retreats to the brand new White House powder room were rarely brief.

“I’ll fetch us drinks when you return,” he smiled, and grazed her cheek with his lips. She returned his smile, waited for him to turn away, and then followed the president down the hall toward the west wing. It was not her most careful work.

She followed him down the long hall, an excited warmth creeping into her cheeks. He rounded the corner, she followed suit, assuming she was being at least a little stealthy.

“Ah!” He wheeled around suddenly, and she screamed. Instinctively he reached for her, “M’lady, excuse me! I have the instincts of a hunter; I was sure you were an assassin come to finish me off.”

She struggled to catch her breath, “No no, sir; I’m sorry I just,” she inhaled again, “I just saw an opportunity to chat with you in private.”

“Well, bully! Come into my office!”

He led her into the green-walled room, closing the door behind him. She crossed the room, to the fireplace. He followed her, but gestured to one of his chairs.

“Please, take a seat!” He was flushed, and everything he said came out with a boyish thrill. “What did you wish to speak about?”

She wasted no time. She was a girl on a mission, and she was just as adept as her president when it came to hunting what she wanted. Aggressively, she pulled him close to her, and he was so taken aback by this that he merely went along. They were kissing before his brain even realized what was happening. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to exert control even though he knew she had it. Her hands slid up the well tailored Brooks Brothers lapel, eagerly tugging at him.

“Someone wants a rough ride,” he muttered, chuckling.

She paused for a moment, “We’ve limited time and I didn’t want to waste it on pleasantries.”

Initially, she anticipated a nuanced policy discussion. But there was something intoxicating about his presence and for the moment she didn’t want to harangue him about inviting Booker T. Washington to more state dinners; she wanted him to bust a trust inside her willing body.

“Good thinking,” he whirled her around to begin freeing her from her dress. He didn’t want to damage the material, but frankly he wasn’t taking that much care.

“Careful, Teddy,” she warned, laughing. “This is a nice dress.”

“Don’t call me that,” he responded, gruffly, pushing her into the wall. He ran his hands over her body, found her warm and welcoming pussy with his practiced finger. His great white fleet was harder than negotiating peace between Russia and Japan, and his brain had shut down to make way for his baser instincts. “Speak softly and take my big stick.”

She was ready for him, and he thrust his way inside her with the same exuberance with which he signed executive orders. She screamed as his cock invaded her, and she expanded to envelop him.

She knew he’d be rough, and frankly she wanted him to treat her body like it was San Juan hill. What she didn’t expect was that there was a certain sadness in his ministrations, and a level of insecurity she was sure very few were permitted to see.  

“Is this ok?” He asked, with the same tenderness he exhibited when refusing to hunt a defenseless bear for sport.

She nodded, “It’s incredible. Don’t stop. Don’t hold back.”

He filled her completely, and expertly pounded her so hard, the portrait of Lincoln was knocked from the wall.

“You’re a menace,” she told him.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I wanted you to fuck me,” she retorted. “Not this pussy Democrat shit.”

He grunted and redoubled his efforts. Her crater lake welcomed him, and once permitted he did not hold back the aggression. He guided her to the desk, pushed her down on it, and rammed back inside her. This wasn’t exactly big game hunting, but it exhilarated him and made him feel alive. Get action, he thought, watching his bull moose slide in and out, her ass bouncing wonderfully on his desk. Well, bully.

“I want to feel your ass.”

She didn’t even flinch, “Take it.”

He hadn’t anticipated that would work so beautifully, though she’d certainly been amenable to everything so far.


She hesitated for a moment, but she was so turned on, and enjoying him so much, it only seemed fair to give him what he wanted. Why not let him expand her like he expanded the office of the president.

“I’ve never done that,” she admitted. “But I want you to have it.”

It was uncharted territory for him as well, but uncharted territory was his speciality. He slowed his pace, and carefully entered her panama canal. She moaned, loving the way it felt, and the care he took to make sure she was enjoying it too. It was extraordinarily naughty, and knowing it was taboo was the biggest thrill for her. He was trying mightily not to come; this was wonderful, tighter, and his big stick was throbbing. He pulled out of her, cautiously, then pushed back in, muckwrecking her. It was the most incredible sensation in the world, better than winning a Nobel Prize. He kept one hand on her hip for leverage, and used the other to stimulate her clit. The sensation that created while he fucked her made her whole body shudder; for a man who publicly did everything to stamp out corruption, he was joyously depraved behind closed doors.

“Baby, baby,” she moaned. “You’ve got me so close.”

He had a pretty proud legacy, but this was a high point for him. To think he’d been a sickly asthmatic kid, and now he was president of the United States, taking the ass of some woman whose name he didn’t even know. He wanted to preserve this moment like he’d preserved so much of his country, but he knew he was close and it would take very little to take him over the edge.

“Right there,” she let out a yelp, and grabbed onto the desk. “Oh fuckfuckfuck,” she continued, exhaling, as he brought her to climax and her body convulsed happily. This was the final push he needed, and he came too, giving her his full square deal. He helped her off the desk, but they were both too exhausted to stand and held on to each other for support.

“Who are you,” he asked, finally.

“I came here with your Secretary of the Interior,” she replied, amused. “Though now I guess you’re the secretary of mine.”


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