“You can talk to me, if you want,” she offered, leaving a breakfast tray on his desk. “I’ve been told I’m real friendly!”
“Thanks,” he replied, quietly. It was unclear whether he meant for the food or her offer. She didn’t mind; she dealt in uncertainties.
“How are you liking South Dakota, Mr. President?”
“It’s nice,” he answered painfully, as if answering questions hurt him. Nevertheless, she persisted.
“Did I notice a raccoon in the hallway?”
She waited for him to continue, but Rebecca the raccoon would have to remain a mystery. She pushed him more:
“We’re very excited to have you staying here! I’ve been here my whole life and I know it sounds curious, but I think it’s just the most lovely place in the world. Fresh air, and a good stiff drink if you know the right people. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Golly. You are quiet; the papers haven’t lied about that!”
He frowned, well-aware he’d cultivated a reputation as a man of few words. This was how he preferred it. Usually people left him alone, and he preferred that most of all.
“It’s ok,” she continued, and now she came around to his side of the desk, and leaned against it and he noticed she smelled quite lovely and her dress was quite a bit shorter than was the fashion for respectable women. “What do you like?”
He wasn’t sure what she meant, “The food you brought looks fine.”
“Oh, darling I didn’t mean the food.”
“Then I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
She sighed. Some men really were so thick. Uninvited, she dropped onto his lap. He was stunned, his arms flailed, but he didn’t move her away.
“I’m your president,” he finally stammered, his hands having finally found her arms.
“That hasn’t escaped me, but I follow your meaning. I’ll go if you want.”
He was surprised to find he did not want that either, but he was still more caught off guard by the entire situation than he’d been by the flood in Mississippi. Unlike that, however, here he felt his presence might be useful.
“I think I,” he paused. “Stay.”
She grinned, and drew his hands to her thighs. He followed her lead, felt up her leg and under her dress, unsure of his every move.
“You don’t need many words for what I have in mind,” she ran her hand through his thinning hair. “I’ll figure you out.”
Unlike his approach to business, he was all hands with her. He moved up her body, as if thrilled to have permission to touch. He was eager, controlled, still not saying much but she was past needing to hear his voice.
He was having an out of body experience; surely he would realize later this was all a dream. He’d come to Dakota to summer, where he’d been promptly flower bombed and insulted for his efforts. He didn’t love the presidency and already dreamed of retiring quietly and leaving the whole mess to someone who wanted it more. Perhaps all of this weighing on his mind was enough to render him defenseless against her advances. Perhaps it was a poor excuse for the bulge pressing against her, but in that moment a feeble excuse was all he needed. Her lips traveled his cheek and jaw, and her tongue darted into his ear. He shivered.
She kissed him, gingerly at first and then deeper as he responded to her. He wanted to feel all of her at once, and he genuinely couldn’t remember the last time his human desires fought off his better angels. All he knew was that for the moment he escaped everything, most notably his ever-present sadness, and just focused on her.
Her hand tightened around his throat, and he continued to kiss her even as he lost his breath. His dick throbbed, and he closed his eyes encouraging her to keep charge of the situation. She wasn’t strong enough to snuff out his life completely, but the thought of death by her hand was strangely thrilling for him. God, he was sad. At least he’d made Native Americans U.S. citizens. He hoped people would remember that.
“Can we,” he whispered, and she loosened her grip. “I want you.”
“He speaks!” She left his lap, and pulled him to standing, immediately tugging at his waist. “And I’m yours!”
It was so easy, he ruminated. If only Congress had been this easy; if only he hadn’t been forced to sign that Immigration Act with its pesky exclusion of Japanese immigrants. While his brain went on safari, she’d removed his pants and freed its member, and was now stroking him roughly. To be honest it was almost too rough, but there was something wonderful about the violence she brought to this interaction. It took him back to the police strike of 1919, and the incredible humping being decisive brought him.
“How do you want me?” She was asking now, bringing him back to the room.
“I just..” he trailed off. Why were there so many questions??
“My sweet silent Cal,” she stroked his cheek, then turned to lower herself over his chair, like he’d lowered marginal tax rates. “Just take me, all right?”
He did as she directed, immediately, with no thought to anything but burying himself inside her. It was better than he’d imagined, and he instantly moaned audibly. He grabbed her hips, thrust into her again, harder.
“You feel incredible.”
“Go harder. I can take it.”
He was happy to oblige and picked up his pace, pounding her. She gripped the arms of the chair, moaning, begging him to wreck her like she was a farm subsidy. He loved watching his cock push in and out, glistening with her wetness. Her body welcomed him, and she encouraged him to explore a side he didn’t even realize he had. He was slamming into her with everything he had, using her pussy to work out every frustration of being president. Sure, he kept a mechanical horse in Washington, but that was child’s play now. This was all he wanted. He didn’t even want another term as president; he’d resign right now inside her and dedicate the rest of his life to covering her ass with his presidential seal.
“Oh my fucking god oh my god,” he screamed out, the thought of destroying her daily driving him to a premature orgasm.
She laughed, “Well sure, now you’re loud.”