Why can’t I get enough of that shirtless body? And that bulge in his pants. Is that really his…?
Maybe Heaven can wait…
Scandalous is a full-length standalone romance that will have your naughty bits twitching with delight. No cliffhanger. HEA guaranteed.
Lance
SLURP!
I look down at the sight of the nasty slut sucking my cock greedily and I grunt with a self-satisfied air. She’s getting into it. Her body isn’t the best, but I don’t fucking care. She’s the President’s only fucking daughter, and she’s giving me head while my bare ass is resting comfortably on the President’s chair.
That’s right. I’m sitting in the Big Chair itself. Right behind the President’s desk in the Oval Office. It’s night of course, and no one else is in here.
Here’s a history lesson for you. The President’s desk is called the Resolute Desk because it was given as a gift to the United States from the HMS Resolute from Her Royal Navy.
If Abby doesn’t have good aim, it’s also going to be called the Lance Anders splatter pad for when I cum all over it after this blowjob.
Lance Anders, that’s me, alright. And that’s probably the only reason that Secret Service hasn’t hauled me away from here, or building security hasn’t been set on me yet.
Because I’m supposed to be here.
Allow me to introduce myself if you haven’t been keeping in touch with CNN and Politico like the other Washington DC junkies that surround this place. My name is Lance Anders of the New York Anders Family. My father is Michael Anders, the billionaire scion of the media empire bearing his name—Anders Media.
Before you think what a great man my dad is though, let me just correct you real quick. It was my grandfather who built the fucking company to what it is today. Starting with newspapers, and then moving on to radio. Then magazines. Finally television and film. And toward the end of his life—the man worked till he died—the Internet.
My dad, well, he just built on it. Went into fucking politics. He says it's to protect the family business. Whatever. He just probably likes the power. I don’t remember much, when he and my mom were married - I think I was 2.
Oh right, I call him my Dad because he’s all I’ve ever known. My mom died shortly after marrying that asshole. He became my legal guardian. But we’ll talk more about how I haven’t talked to him in forever. Right now I’m fucking this bitch.
She moans again lewdly and I think I love politics. My Dad said I should go into politics too. That’s basically why I’m here as a White House Intern right after my senior year at Yale. My dad’s the Mayor of New York City, and with a few favors and a few strings pulled, he’s put his son in at a job where he can sit in the President’s chair and get a blowjob from the First fucking Daughter.
Speaking of which, I look down. Holy fucking shit! Abby is bobbing her head up and down my shaft like a fucking pro. My cock is in a world of it’s own. It’s throbbing so hard, ready to cum that it must have it’s own fucking heartbeat. Yeah, my dad definitely wouldn’t approve of this.
But you know what? He probably wouldn’t approve of a lot of things I do. Definitely doesn’t approve of the line of tattoos gracing my arms and chest that I got in college while playing football. Definitely doesn’t approve of the fucking assembly line fucking I do of the female species. Although, there’s nothing I can really do about that. The women, they seem to throw themselves at me.
And hey, can you fucking blame them? I’m 21 years old. Young, with blue eyes and dimples. A ripped fucking body. The body of a fucking Greek god. A fucking gladiator. 8-pack abs. I bench twice my weight easily. I have a body fat index of 5%.
But that’s what brings the ladies to me in the first place. First year co-eds, sorority sluts, graduate student assistants, professors, housewives, and now First Daughters. They coo with lust as I take my clothes off and kiss between their neck and their shoulder. Then they get my pants off.
And their eyes bug the fuck out.
Because they see it.
My cock.
12 fucking inches of lust muscle. Veiny, and thick as your wrist. With its head that turns an angry color of purple, and at first they’re afraid.
“Lance, I don’t know….” they say out loud with fear and trepidation in their voices. They try jerking it, but they usually need two hands. I get them off once with my fingers and tongue. And then no matter their protests, I get them to take just the tip.
I’ll probably only be able to sink in half way into them. But by then they’re clawing at my back and screaming for Jesus. They’ve blasted off and gone into orbit, their minds no longer on this level of existence my cock is so good. By the time I’m done with them, they’ve forgotten their fucking names. They’ve forgotten their boyfriends, lovers, spouses, parents, you name it.
All they know is Lance fucking Anders. All they want is Lance Anders.
I grunt savagely as Abby continues her ministrations on my cock. I need to fuck, just thinking about all these women.
“Hey, get up,” I command. She looks at me for o
ne second but them I pull her up with my arms. She squeals as I turn her over and bend her on her daddy’s desk. I lift up her skirt and yank down her panties. Fuck, I may have ripped those panties. But they were boring cotton briefs. Not really worth the loss, if you ask me.