Despite the late hour, she anticipated having no trouble waking the president.

“Darling?” She asked, entering his room. An agent closed the door behind her — they were so endlessly helpful and discreet — and she fumbled around for a light.

He was awake, of course; the moment he’d heard she was coming for a visit he was up and not just mentally. This was the best part of his presidency: the part devoid of his corrupt cabinet (his fault, he knew) endlessly bloviating. He welcomed this distraction. He’d replayed their last tryst countless times, and was already imagining burying his face in her pillowing breasts, and yielding to his wild desire.

“Baby doll,” he gestured her toward the bed. “Come give Jerry a kiss.”

She neglected to follow his instructions, instead slowly removing her coat to reveal a flattering pink lace slip. She left the coat on his chair, and faced him, fluffing her short hair.

“Don’t you ever tire of coitus?” She asked, her hands on her hips. “I know I’m not your only pet.”

He still wasn’t bothered to get out of bed, but he did sit up to explain. “You are daddy’s favorite, though.”

Despite her affection and willingness to play along, she inwardly winced when he called himself daddy. It would always be gross. But, sometimes foreplay was about getting a little gross.

“You just like this,” she smiled, coyly, lifting the back of her slip.

“I adore every inch of your young perfect supple body; promise me that rose will not wilt.”

“Oh never, papa; I promise never to gain more than 29 years,” she replied solemnly, his preference for young women well documented. She sat next to him on the bed, taking her time with her approach, wanting to make him wait. He reached for her, his hand traced her face and neck, and pushed aside the flimsy strap on her dress.

“I’m prepared for you already,” he admitted. “I confess I was at full attention the moment I was told you were on your way up.”

All of this only stroked her ego. She noted he wasn’t exaggerating, and his erection was clearly outlined under the sheet. She found it easily, and touched him almost mockingly.

“Be honest with me darling — have you had another today?”

He paused, “I wasn’t aware you’d be in town.”

“How do you find time to govern when you’re so busy juggling all these ladies?” She laughed, wrapping her hand around his shaft, teasing him as she peppered him with insulting questions. This was high on her list of favorite power moves.

“I have the stamina of many men. Don’t be jealous, my dear.”

“Hardly. It’s your wife who should be jealous.”

“There isn’t one iota of affection in that relationship. We keep up appearances.”

Her hand maneuvered under the sheet now, where she could properly stroke him. He closed his eyes, and leaned back against the headboard, feeling his body respond to her practiced hand.

“You don’t think she has affection for you, daddy?”

His breath caught. It was obviously intentional that she would needle him in this moment, but she’d also slipped daddy into her question which, as always, thrilled him more than Dawes’s plan for German reparations.

“I think you should swallow my cock and silence that wicked tongue of yours.”

“Ah, a return to normalcy,” she chuckled. He noticed for the first time that she’d obviously been drinking, and he applauded her for breaking the law before entering his bedroom.

“You reek of gin,” he blurted.

She shrugged, “Allow me to apologize.”

Her lips found his Warren G. Hard-on, and she wasted no time swallowing him. He found the back of her throat immediately, and she choked on him, but showed no sign of stopping. He rather liked hearing her struggle to swallow him, like his white supporters had struggled to swallow his speech for voting equality between races, and she was gagging audibly. She paused for a breath, and he pushed her back down, swelling in her mouth. Her tongue swirled the head, her pace varying between aggressively fast and achingly slow. He did not care if she turned out to be another opportunistic blackmailer like so many of his women; he’d pay handsomely for this.

“Baby,” he whispered. She looked up at him, her eyes watering.

“What do you want?”

“Come up here.”

She pulled herself up, and to his delight immediately straddled him, sliding his rod into her teapot dome. He was still seated on the bed, and he pulled her in close, kissing her gruffly as she mounted him as skillfully as he mounted anti-immigration legislation.

“Tell me I’m your favorite president,” he demanded.

She rose up, slammed back on him, taking him deeper and trying to ignore the obligatory leg workout this position entailed.

“I didn’t even vote for you,” she bit his ear to punctuate this.

“This is why we shouldn’t have given you the vote,” he sighed, lifting her as she continued to ride him.

She sped up, tiring and hoping she could finish him before her legs gave out and she was forced to admit a weakness. He buried his face in her breasts, as he’d promised to do in his last letter. She pushed aside the persistent thought that his presidency was littered with corruption, noting that his tendency toward the immoral was why bouncing on his prick was such fun. And he was loud, too, which drove her crazy, and made her giggle anytime someone called him the peace president. If she had to choose between the league of nations or his appreciatively loud moans well, she’d made her choice. She contracted around him, encouraging his release. For his part, he was giddy this girl 30 years his junior would deign to call him daddy and spoil his cock. It made him feel like he could do anything. Even fire his Director of the Veterans’ Bureau (as much as that bothered him).

He came sharply, finishing sooner than either of them expected. She didn’t mind; she didn’t trifle with older men because they had impressive stamina. Also, what else could you expect — he was from Ohio.

“You keep me young,” he sighed, kissing her glowing forehead.

“Or I’m stressing your old man body into an early grave,” she laughed, dismounting and lying next to him.

He slapped her ass. “Worth it.”


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