“Come on my big cock,” I say back. “Make your fucking Daddy proud.”
“Fuck,” she gasps. I slap her ass and squeeze it. She opens her legs wider, grinds harder, faster. I fuck at her rhythm, letting her lead things.
I feel her teeth sink into my shoulder, her hands gripping the back of the couch. I slap her ass again, nice and hard.
She grinds down rougher. My cock’s buried so deep in her pussy, I don’t know where I end and she begins. She moves faster, sweat dripping down her back, as my fingers dig into the muscles.
“Oh, fuck, Daddy,” she gasps. She throws her head back before her whole body tightens.
She comes hard. I keep moving, fucking her through it, grinding against her cunt and clit. She groans, shuddering, shaking. I grab her hair and hold her in place, making her take my cock while she comes.
It’s so fucking sexy. I’ve never seen a woman orgasm with so much expression before, like it’s overtaking her completely. She’s gasping when it’s over, sweat damp in her hair.
I fuck her fast, pushing her over my shoulder. I spread her ass wide, cock slamming into her. I don’t take it easy, I don’t let up.
I’m an animal in the throes of pure bliss.
I come deep in her cunt. I can feel myself spurt into her pussy, thick ropes of it, filling her completely. I’m sweating too, I realize, as I finish and slowly come back to my senses.
She slides down and lies on my chest, my cock still inside of her. We stay like that for a while, my cock slowly softening, although I can still feel a thrum of need.
I kiss her lips gently. “Good girl,” I whisper.
She grins at me. Kisses me back.
“It’s not what the President can do for me, but what I can do for my President.”
I groan. “That was awful.”
“I know. You loved it.”
I kiss her, hold her tight.
I don’t know how long she can stay. We’ll have to get her out before the normal day starts. But right now, I love this. I don’t want this to end.
So I hold her tight and lose myself in the moment, in her breathing, in her body, in her skin against my skin. In being a normal person, at least for a little while.9MaggieI’m back at work the next day, but suddenly the whole office looks… different.
I can’t put my finger on what changed. Roger is still overworked and overstressed, running around like a manic coke fiend, even though I know he’s way too straight-laced to do coke at work.
Iris looks like her normal self and smiles when she catches me staring. “What’s the matter with you?” she asks. “Or am I just that pretty?”
“Just that pretty,” I reply, smiling, but no, that’s not it. Iris is still just Iris.
It takes me the whole day, making calls, collating data, collecting responses from our interns, before it hits me.
I feel comfortable here.
It’s strange, actually. I thought fucking the President in his own residence might make me feel a little awkward about being around government people. Nobody would understand if they found out about this relationship.
Nobody would stand by me.
And yet here I am, feeling comfortable. I should be freaking out, worried that it’ll all come crashing down at any time.
Instead, nothing. I’m at work, doing my job, like nothing happened.
I’m tempted not to look too closely at it. I’m tempted just to be happy feeling comfortable, but of course I can’t help myself.
Because I know why I feel this way. It’s obvious, when I give it a second’s thought.
I’m comfortable because the President took me into his private residence and fucked me harder and better than I’ve ever been fucked before.
And after, I fell asleep in his arms until the early morning.
Of course, I had to be rushed home by the Secret Service before any reporters could catch us, and it worked out fine. But there was a moment in there, when I was just relaxing on his body, and it felt normal.
Like he wasn’t the President. Like we were just two normal people.
It felt so good. Strangely intoxicating.
So I feel comfortable now, like it’s my own living room. Because in some weird way, it kind of is.
At least, it’s his living room, and he wants me to be a part of it.
I work for him. I do my job, and I do it to the best of my ability.
He goes overseas for five days again, and I work through the weekend, collating data about Medicare For All. It’s hard work, and I don’t have much time for anything else, but by the time I’m finished, I have what I need.
Monday rolls around. I’m tired, worn out. Roger looks at me, frowns a little. “Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod, standing, gathering my things. “Ready.”