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Fucked by the Government (MF)
by Gregory Daniel Nikolic
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Copyright (c) 1993 by Gregory Daniel Nikolic. This story may be
freely circulated via electronic media, but only within the
specific domain covered by Usenet. The author retains all other
hardcopy and electronic media rights. Duplication and transmission
therein is prohibited by law and world copyright convention.
------------------------------------------------------------------
"For willful disobedience," the General intoned severely as she
brandished the fine leather whip by her side. Then she lashed out
precisely, three times, making Michael yelp with each blow. The
whip flicked out smartly with each crack. When the General was
satisfied with her efforts, she turned to the Commander in Chief.
"Madame President," she inclined her head slightly and proffered
the whip. The President shook her head; no, thank you. All this
time a young, pretty Congressional page was looking on without
comment. The three women stood around the submissive man without
comment. "My dear?" the woman General asked the page.
"Ummm, no...thanks, that is." Jenny blushed a little. She felt bad
for Michael; it had been her idea to bring him here, after all. He
only wanted to meet the president, and now look what happened.
Michael was bent over the President's large Oval Office desk, dress
pants down to his knees. Around him in a loose semi-circle, staring
at his reddening behind with looks of introspection, bemusement,
and embarrassment respectively were the President of the United
States, her Chairwoman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and a lowly
Congressional page, new to Washington and its ways -- Jenny.
Michael looked back to see what they were doing. The General firmly
pushed his head back. "Perhaps you don't understand me, Michael. Is
that so?"
"No ma'am," he responded quickly. "No sir, I mean. I mean..."
"You mean what?" she asked sternly, enunciating each word with slow
ease.
Her faint New England accent made the words seem aristocratic.
There was an edge to her voice and a tightening of her grip on the
whip, a cherished gift from an old lover she'd met and left at West
Point, twenty years earlier. Youngest head of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff and the first female, ushered into the top ranks of the
military along with the first woman president and nearly a half
female Senate.
"I mean nothing," Michael answered weakly. The General gave him an
affectionate swat on the butt with the glossy handle of her whip.
The young man, barely 18, tensed then relaxed.
The President stepped forward and placed her hands reassuringly on
Michael's wiry young shoulders. Such a burden for one so young to
carry, she thought wryly. Not unlike the burden of leadership.
The head of the U.S. smiled slightly, considering what she had
planned for this evening. A week of unrelenting reporters and
trying minor crises had left her strained and nervous. This was a
splendid idea of the General's.
Jenny asked, "Can my friend get up from the desk now?"
The President considered, then assented. "For now."
Jenny helped Michael up, and made a secret, apologetic face at him
while
her back was turned to the older women.
The President moved behind the desk to the plush chair and seated
herself delicately. "I am going to watch for a while, if you don't
mind," she told the General. The General nodded and set to work.
"I am going to give you a series of orders. If you are slow in
responding, or tardy in your actions, I will punish you. You may,
of course, leave this office at any time. I assure you, though,
that the laughter of the Secret Service men will be the least of
your troubles. For you will have angered the President of the
United States, and -- worse still -- ME. Do you understand?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Good. One other thing, you are not to refer to me as 'ma'am.' I
hate
that, out of uniform." And with that, she methodically removed her
distinguished, bemedalled Army uniform one item of clothing at a
time, dropping the last of her undergarments in a tidy pile by the
leg of the president's desk.
Naked, she wasn't half bad looking. A little out of shape, but
basically a trim woman for her 40 plus years. Her breasts weren't
large, so there wasn't much sagging, and the lines on her face
(surprisingly) were mostly laugh lines. She dyed her hair to keep
it an auburn brown.
"Young man, about face!" she ordered crisply. The President looked
on in amusement. Jenny stood there, not knowing what to do.
Michael turned away from her again, as commanded.
"Remove your clothes. Immediately." Michael obeyed.
"Hmmmm..." the General murmured thoughtfully, naked herself, less
than
a meter from an unclothed boy half her age. It was an entertaining
self-image for a woman who in her younger days prided herself on
her aggressiveness and creative thinking.
The General turned a speculative eye to examine Michael's naked,
alert form as he stood there under her command. Subject to her
whims, as it were.
She began reciting a description of the young man in orderly
fashion:
"Tallish. Slim. Light build. Hmm.. Long, slender fingers. Small
rear." The President grinned at that. Jenny was mortified, and kept
her eyes off her friend.
"You'll do." She reached out and squeezed his cheek. He remained
admirably still. "OK, turn around now and go down on me."
"Errr...what?" Michael turned around slowly, questioningly.
"You still use that phrase don't you? Or are you a tad slow, boy?"
Michael shook his head, sending a delicious thrill down the
General's
spine. The Oval Office seemed a bit warm. She imagined she could
feel the currents of air as they circulated the room, purified,
cleansed and analyzed from one of the White House's remote
monitoring stations.
There was a long couch at the end of the room, underneath Lincoln's
portrait. She lay on it and motioned Michael over with a wagging
finger. "Step to it."
It seemed like he had little choice. Tentatively he leaned over and
put his head in her lap. He found her hair-rimmed delta with little
difficulty and set to work. Minutes into the proceedings, Jenny
couldn't help but peek at what Michael was doing. In a way, it was
exciting watching him lap and suck at the woman's most private
regions with enthusiasm. There was no doubt the General was gaining
a lot of pleasure from it.
Jenny watched him for a while longer. His arms were draped gently
over the woman's torso to steady himself. Midway into the
proceedings the General had locked her strong thighs about his head
and urged him deeper, faster with her straying hands.
Michael was hard now, she noticed accidentally, and again, it was
exciting to see. She hadn't previously thought of Michael in a
sexual way; he was just a friend she'd met at one of the low level
gatherings that junior Congressmen liked to hold. He was there as a
caterer's assistant, and approached her purely as a friend.
Six months later, this private visit with the President was
supposed to be her favor to him, after tons of laughs and good
times spent together. They were friends. And now he had to suffer
the indignity of this. She would have never believed that the
President was capable of this, this awful behavior.
Michael, in the meantime, swished on. The General was making little
moaning noises in the back of her throat. Jenny hoped he could
breathe with those tight legs about his head. Apparently he was
doing just fine, judging by the little rotating movements the
General was making with her hips.
Finally the woman climaxed on the coach, a quiet staccato fire of
grunting emerging from her parted mouth. Her movements slowed to a
gentle relaxation and she pushed Michael up from her. His chin was
wet, his face serious.
"G-good," she gasped. The President was positively beaming from her
position behind the world's most important desk.
Michael stood up, his erection swinging loosely.
"Here," the General said amicably. "Let me help you with that."
Still
leaning back on the coach, she took the young man's cock in her
mouth with ease. Michael hissed an intake of breath.
Lightly running her fingers along his shaft, she sucked him in with
slow, deep draughts. 25 years of cocksucking had given the woman a
mastery that few women Michael's age could match. From the start
she was in complete control, a wizardess at the act, dictating his
pleasure on her terms. Her mouth was firm and extremely slick, a
hotbed of friction.
Michael discovered just how deep her throat was when she went down
on him to his balls. He groaned piteously. From the base of his
cock she made an effort to lick his adjoining testicles. She slid
back up, and then back down again quickly, dispelling the gag
reflex as an illusion. Her deep throating was controlled and
elegant. Powerful. Wet. Intensely, extremely good.
Despite being filled with Michael's cock, there was a Cheshire
smile on the General's face as she pistoned up and down with
slathering grace. This fine young thing in her complete control.
Youth was no match for experience, she thought as she vacuum-sucked
the poor boy's exerting penis. She kept a close ear on his
breathing to keep track of her progress. Ah yes, she noted,
swishing about his cockhead -- almost there.
She pulled away with a wet pop and wrapped a calloused hand tightly
about his moistened shaft. Her jerking motions were tight and
clipped, an efficient path to ecstasy as Michael's rapid sighs soon
proved.
Out of amusement the General moved her lips over the boy's cockhead
seconds before an imminent ejaculation. There was a feeling of
intense satisfaction at the control she exerted over him, the way
she guided and directed him to an inevitable outcome, one which
would prove most pleasurable to him even as he was being
purposefully manipulated.
With a few final pulls on his shaft he began spilling his come in
strong squirts. My how age makes a difference in ejaculate
distance, the General mused with her eyes shut as she suctioned him
off powerfully.
The boy was making noises and jamming her head down on him. She
didn't mind. It was fun vacuuming up all his jism and consuming it
like a thin, sticky sauce. Made her feel juvenile again, and the
noises he was making were certainly enjoyable. Oh! -- there came
another gob. She swallowed it down with the rest. Finally he
dribbled off to an orgasm-capping ending. She gave him a last
powerful pull, which shuddered him from head to toe. Delightful.
Michael stood back weakly and leaned on the president's desk. Jenny
was past embarrassment as she observed him. Well into open
fascination now with the whole proceedings. Michael looked over at
the President. She gestured him around her desk with a silent wave.
He acquiesced, tingling a bit as he moved over deep carpet.
"Yes, Madame President?" he breathed quietly.
"We haven't really done anything yet," she said, raising herself to
her
full height. Plastic surgery kept her looking very young, as young
as a politician could afford to look and still aspire to high
office. She was perhaps 30 in appearance, maybe a mature 28.
Breasts were naturally full beneath the masking effect of her
conservative suit. Her blonde hair was set stylishly in the current
fashion. She took pains to look good.
"Could you move closer to me, Michael?" she asked, pursing her
lipstick-pink lips. High cheekbones, very subtly applied blush over
good skin. A touch of mascara, professional yet a tad sexy too. The
President had been a minor beauty contest winner in her college
days at UCLA, and had kept her looks, sharpening them into an in-
charge professional demeanor. However it was her native wit and
intelligence as much as her charm and attractiveness, which had
driven her this far.
She moved to give Michael a soft kiss on the lips. She was
unmarried, but would have probably gone ahead with this liaison
regardless.
Michael kissed well, a bit gently but that was forgivable. She
nibbled on him and slipped her tongue into his mouth like a fine
gift. It glided on in without resistance. For a while they
frenched, then the President pulled away. "On the table," she
indicated.
Michael hopped up on the desk and sat facing the President. She
pushed the chair back with her leg and lightly stroked the young
man's naked body. He was getting hard again, soon. That's the good
thing about teenage boys, she thought to herself. Always ready and
raring to go. I'll have to thank the General for softening him up
for a longer ride this time.
She hiked down her knee-high skirt but left the rest of her apparel
on. She wasn't wearing panties. With a mild effort she levered
herself onto his young body and sought his cock instinctively. Wet
already from watching the prior events, it was no problem slipping
him in, and oh it felt good.
She moved on him like an unchained tigress. "Yumm..." she whispered
cheerfully in his ear and bore down hard. He turned his head aside;
some whistling air escaped of its own accord. Abruptly she had an
idea.
The President pulled off Michael with a twist of her mid-section.
"I want you to take me from behind," she breathed. This was
exciting her. She pushed him aside and climbed up onto the very
large desk. There was easily room enough for her to assume the
hands and knees posture. Ready for entry. God she felt wet.
"Over here," she called behind her. Michael scampered up beside her
and needed no urging to shove deep inside without preliminaries. It
was nice, nice enough to inspire a harder, faster thrust. The
President wriggled her behind pleasantly and clenched down with her
vagina. "Nice," she murmured. "Do it again." Michael obeyed, like a
good boy.
It was incredibly arousing seeing the President on her hands and
knees, being taken from behind. She was bucking back at him, but
the majority of the force was being applied by Michael, and with
some tact and deftness too. This surprised the General as she
closely observed the doggy style sex with not a small measure of
passion and interest. Flicking her gaze to Jenny, she saw the young
lady was mesmerized too.
The General dressed while the President and her young lover fucked
on the Oval Office desk. Then she took Jenny by the hand. The girl
gave a surprised start. The General led her, smiling, to where the
two were furiously going at it on the desk. A desk full of
scattered papers provided some cushioning for the President and
Michael's knees as their ride got bumpier.
Jenny let her hand be moved by the General to Michael's thrusting
organ. It was very hard and slick with vaginal lubrication. The
juices clung like a wet coating as his thick, engorged flesh moved
in and out consistently, speedily. Jenny kept her hand on the base
and moved it lightly along the shaft when the dick emerged from its
vaginal home.
Judging by the speed, which Michael was moving against the
President's bucking rear, Jenny's light touches were hardly
registering. Yet Michael kept his eyes locked with hers as the
President tossed her medium-length blonde hair with abandon. Jenny
felt a shiver looking into Michael's deep brown eyes. A gradient of
pleasure connected them, her the observer, and him the experiencer.
It felt very strange.
She kept her hand on his cock and begin squeezing of her own
accord, watching the feelings develop and subside in Michael's
eyes. Twin barrels to his soul. She had set this up, her actions
had caused this. She was no longer certain what was right, what was
wrong. Pleasure seemed to have taken precedence here in this
hallowed old room.
Jenny moved her youthful lips beside Michael's ears, which trembled
as he thrust steadily. "I'm sorry Michael," she whispered sadly.
Her hand remained on his penis, detached from her consciousness
like a surrealistic painting from the surrounding reality.
Michael nodded once, brushed against her cheek with his moving
face, and orgasmed. Jenny felt it in the shaft she held, the
tremors. It seemed there wasn't much sperm left to be emptied, but
the blonde on the receiving end seemed to notice and responded with
her own reactive orgasm. The two shuddered as they pressed
together, taken by the urgent motion of basest instinct.
It took a while for Michael to recover from this one. He moved to
the sofa and lay down in exhaustion. Jenny stroked his poor head on
the sofa as he lay there, tired. He was naked and used, and she
felt very badly for him.
Yet there was something terribly sensual about the whole
circumstances as she stroked his damp forehead and reassured him
quietly. Something overwhelming that she hadn't quite felt before;
revealed like a curtain yanked away from a magic trick by the
unique setting she found herself in. She didn't feel herself, her
emotions were all askew and her mind felt frazzled.
The President and the General, all dressed, seemed to sense
something as the young pair lay on the coach. They took their leave
without word, exiting by the west doors. Alone now with Michael.
She still felt badly about the whole thing, the negativity she had
caused. She kissed his face tenderly and felt her heart resonate
with him.
"I'm sorry Michael," she whispered again.
He looked up at her from her lap and seemed to know what she was
feeling, what she meant. How truly sorry she was. He moved his face
up weakly to kiss her and she met him halfway, cradling his neck
softly with her arms. It was OK, it was going to be OK.
Without pretense the two made love, Michael on top in the standard
missionary position. It all felt brand new and wonderful, and took
a long time to explore. Jenny finished first with a gentle climax,
and to his surprise began crying quietly. Michael held her
comfortingly and murmured soft words.
He remained in Jenny's arms until he lost track of time. Michael
disentangled only when he saw she'd slipped into an undisturbed
slumber. Dressing stealthily, he left by the same exit as the
President and her General. The Secret Service men positioned down
the hallway were very polite and discreet.
He left the White House unobtrusively and was dropped off by an
official car while Washington slept. All very peaceful and
uneventful. Michael entered his apartment bruised, tired, and
generally worn out. He tried to ignore the tenderness in his glans.
The phone rang at 2335 hours. As he picked up the phone he heard a
brief scrambling noise, then the heavy quiet of a secure line came
into effect.
"Mikhail?" a masculine voice intoned questioningly.
"Da, eto ia. Ti byl prahv naschet nikh." Michael spoke slowly,
without
emotion or accent.
"How did it go?" the voice asked from a far distance.
"Very smoothly."
"Good. Next time get some useful information," the man grunted
tersely.
"No problem," Michael replied. "Das vy'danya."
He put the receiver down slowly and went to get some rest.