32.

FDR_in_1933

This was the only place he ever felt like himself. His family home at Hyde Park was a close second, but here at Warm Springs in his little white house, he could truly relax. He stretched out best he could on the deck, reveling in the welcome sunlight. Guilt over taking time away from Washington, especially during a war, gnawed at him, but he did his best to suppress it. Sometimes he needed to escape the bickering about the constitutionality of Social Security (he was confident its popularity would increase with time) and enjoy the view. It was a very nice view.

“Franklin?” She called from inside. “It’s nearly time for dinner!”

“Come out here, darling,” he called back, grateful for their privacy. Reporters were rarely antagonistic toward him, but here in Warm Springs they all but let him be.

She did as he asked, joining him outside. She fussed a little, adjusting his chair and his blanket, and taking away his empty glass.

“Stop,” he directed her. “Enjoy this day with me. Sit on my lap.”

She shook her head, “You enjoy putting me in compromising positions.”

“Let me have my fun.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you know I’m going to ride you like the New Deal through Congress.”

She was unsure about the elegance of that metaphor (it would take 100 days and be declared unconstitutional?), but it pleased him. He was exceptionally proud of his record, and his endless electability.

“You flatter me.”

“Well I’m a woman with needs, Franklin, and I know what delights you. Also I confess my legs are bare because it’s not in fashion to wear nylons anymore.”

“I’m not offended.”

“Shall I take you inside, or would you rather watch the sunset?”

He considered this. His free time was so limited, but his thoughts were now consumed by the desire to have his way with her. It had been awhile since they’d been together, and he was already rock hard at her suggestion.

“I think tonight I don’t care about the sunset.”

She grinned, “Fair enough.”

She took him back into the house, and helped him into the bed. She was tender, for the moment, and began covering his face with excited kisses. He wanted her something fierce; his slacks were about ready to burst. She pulled them off, battled with his bulge, and felt a warm rush in her pearl harbor.

“God,” she gushed. “I want you.”

She met his lips again, continuing to let the anticipation build. Neither of them could contain their excitement, and she was stroking him as they kissed, which only made him more desperate to be inside her. Her clinch was begging to feel him, and he was erect in her experienced hands. She moved on top of him, straddling him, feeling him hard against her. Still, she took her time. It made them both crazy.

“You tease me,” he whispered, throbbing almost painfully.

“I like making you wait.”

“I need you.”

She hovered above him still, and he could feel how wet and ready she was. He wanted to plant himself inside her like he worked for the CCC.

“You want me, baby?” She asked, her eyes shining.

“You know I fucking do. Give me your pussy.”

“Tell me what you want. Beg for it.”

“I want to have a fireside chat with your vagina.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” she nodded, and finally guided him inside her, moaning with pleasure as he filled her up.

He invaded her like Normandy, using what strength he had to thrust into her. She marveled at his ability; though Warm Springs was always restorative. He raised her up like she was the minimum wage, and she took his cock fully. She was happy to do most of the work; like her contemporaries she was eager to prove the overlooked badassery of the fairer sex. He encouraged her to slow down, to make it last, and she gave this a real effort before resuming her pace.

“It’s just too good!” She exclaimed.

“I know, you spoil me,” he replied, out of breath. This would be a lot of activity for a man who didn’t have polio; surely he could be forgiven for not keeping up. Still, he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to relish in her welcoming foxhole, and for a moment to exist in a world where he didn’t have to think about politics or fighting a war or whether internment of Japanese Americans was a-ok. He grabbed her hips, helping her to ride him. Her breasts bounced beautifully, and he reached up to caress them. She delighted at this, and let out a squeal. He coaxed her forward so he could take one into his mouth, swirling his greedy tongue over her erect nipple. God he fucking loved this; it made him feel like a wee babe to suckle from her, and he truly loved being babied. He also really missed his mother.

“I can’t get enough of this,” he breathed, burying himself in her tits.

“They’re yours, darling; and this cock is mine.”

She slowed, and he felt himself go deeper; packing her like she was the Supreme Court. She pulled at his hair, her legs starting to tire. She wanted him to give her his federal deposit, before she was completely worn out.

“Come for me baby. Come for me like I’m your neighbor and my house is on fire.”

“I will, baby; I’m so close.”

She picked up her pace again, knowing it would push him over the edge. They been doing this for years now, longer than anyone else would ever hold the presidency, and she knew what worked for him. He came hard for her (he always did), and she dismounted, content.

“Well, there’s a lay that will live in infamy,” she laughed, falling down next to him.

Sometimes, he truly loathed her.

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