CHAPTER SEVEN
Robert
I waited in the Oval Office for Bridget. Because shit, it’d been a long Saturday. Being President isn’t a forty-hour a week job. It’s fricking one hundred and forty hours a week. They try to make it nice by providing a lavish place to stay and amenities up the wazoo, but it’s backbreaking labor all the same. So despite the fact that I’d wanted to take Bridget out to a nice restaurant somewhere in D.C., here I was, waiting for her in my office.
“Anything else sir?” asked Daniel, popping his head in to do a last minute check before he left.
I waved my hand.
“Naw, go home,” I growled. “It’s Saturday night. Have a good time. Live a little.” Dan flashed me a smile before bobbling a nod and disappearing.
Good. Finally I had the place to myself, and I leaned back, stretching out my frame. Shit. Ever since I tasted Bridget, I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. That beautiful body. The hot juice that flowed in a constant river between her legs. The way she let me trash both her holes, working my huge cock into her tiny cunt and then her ass. Oh yeah, she was absolutely magnificent.
But it was more than her slutty ways. It was her playfulness and how she didn’t pretend to know things when in fact, she had no clue. I’d teased her about bump stocks and the Second Amendment, but the woman had been refreshingly honest. I don’t know, she’d said softly. I’ll have to read up on it.
And I respected that because I’m surrounded twenty-four seven by policy wonks. Most of them are genuinely well-read and intelligent, but what bothers me is that they feel like they have to know everything. And when they don’t, they start making shit up, spewing trash when a wrong decision could mean war for our country. So I hate when people assume. Wouldn’t it just be easier to say, I’m sorry, I’ll have to get back to you on that?
But people in D.C. can’t say the magic words. They can’t admit any weakness, instead dissembling right and left. So oftentimes, I’m not sure what to think. I don’t have the entire picture, and the mess of white lies makes it impossible to synthesize a reasonable answer. I hate that. Like I said, decision-making is the pits when you can’t get a bead on what’s really going on.
But this wasn’t the time to ponder HR and personnel problems. My beautiful date was coming, and I couldn’t wait to see her. Sure enough, a soft knock came from the door to my left.
“Mr. President,” sounded a soft murmur. “It’s Bridget.”
“Come,” I called, and slowly, the heavy slab opened to reveal the curvy brunette. Shit, she looked even better than last time. The brunette was dressed in a black cocktail dress that hugged her curves with just enough creaminess at the top to make my mouth water, and just short enough to start my cock hardening.
“Hi,” I rumbled. “Come in.”
She let herself into the office, slowly shutting the door behind her.
“Oh wow,” she said, looking around. “It looks just like the pictures.”
“It does,” I said with a low laugh. “In fact, they have replicas of this office down to the pens and pencils. They keep them for movies and the like. You can rent it if you need it.”
She flushed, still staring around with wondering eyes.
“Really?” she murmured, looking at the ornate crystal chandelier. “They have the Oval Office down to the last detail?”
“Absolutely,” I stated. “Every single thing is in place, you just have to assemble it.”
Bridget laughed then before sitting down, that tinkle causing my cock to jerk.
“Wow, it’s incredible,” she said. “But I guess when you’re so powerful, anything is possible.”
I got up, coming around the desk to sit on the couch across from her. Man these things were plush and I almost sank to the bottom. But the girl looked so delicious that I didn’t bother to frown, not when Bridget was so close.
“So tell me,” I said casually. “How have you been since last time?”
The brunette blushed beautifully.
“Good, thanks. It’s been a long week at work but it went faster after I knew I was going to see you again.”
Again, her honesty was refreshing because most women would play games. They’d hem and haw about being so busy with gym, work, and a million other things, when the whole time I knew they’d been obsessing about me. But Bridget was different. Truth shone from those caramel brown eyes, and I appreciated her candor.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I growled. “I’m happy to see you again too.”
She shifted a bit on the seat, her breasts bobbling slightly. My cock hardened even more. Shit, I couldn’t focus because she was so tempting but I had to. It was rude to sweep her into my arms and ravish the woman without even a little bit of conversation.
But my girl’s a dirty one because she shifted again, as if knowing her effect on me.
“But there is one thing,” she hinted with a devious smile.
I liked where this was going.
“Hmm, sweetheart?”
“Well,” she purred. “I’ve been achy since last week. It’s been real hard you know, sitting down at all. No matter how I move I just can’t get comfortable.”
My cock popped to full strength then because the little slut was telling me how much she liked it. In our two hours together, I’d dicked both her holes good, trashing her front and back all the way.
“Oh really?” I said smoothly. “And what would make it feel better?”
She fluttered her lashes at me while looking demurely at her hands.
“Well, if you kissed it, I think it would feel better,” she purred. “But it’ll take a lot of kissing.”
And with that, it was all over. In two seconds, I had her face down my lap, nude and creamy, bottom pointing upwards. But I didn’t just kiss. I lapped and stroked, making sure the beautiful brunette got hers. Because Bridget deserved every second of loving, and after five minutes of hot play, we came simultaneously again, my finger stuck in her butt as she sucked my cock.
“Mmmph,” she mewled, mouth full of jizz with her eyes wide and surprised. “Mmmph.”
Her bottom was pulsing around my digit and I pushed it in her even further.
“That’s right, little slut,” I muttered before pulling it out with an audible pop and putting it in my mouth. “Goddamn, you taste good.”
She squealed then, swallowing heavily before letting out a gasp.
“You didn’t!” she cried. “Stop! It’s so dirty back there!”
But I wasn’t having it.
“Naw, sweetheart, you’re not dirty. All of you tastes good, and these curves belong to me.”
And with that, I pulled Bridget upwards, cradling that voluptuous form in my lap. Shit, she was creamy and smelled so amazing, like female musk mixed with flowers.
She cuddled close to me, wrapping those small arms around my neck.
“Are you happy, Mr. President?” she breathed against my lips.
I took one look into those caramel depths and fell hard because the truth is that I’m a sucker for cuddling. A lot of times newspapers paint me as some domineering hard-ass whom oligarchs better not fuck with. And I am, to some extent. But beneath the tough exterior is a man who loves relaxing in the arms of a curvy woman, and Bridget was exactly what I needed.
“I am,” I rumbled sincerely. “Very happy. Are you?”
A contented sigh escaped her lips.
“I am,” she nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I wanted to ask you something.”
Her lids flew open with alarm, and I could see the pulse in her throat beating fast.
“What is it, Robert?” she whispered. “I hope I haven’t disappointed you?”
“No, not at all,” I growled, amused that she was so sensitive to my moods. “I just wanted to see if you’ve studied up on bump stocks. Following up from last week’s conversation and all.”
She blushed prettily, and for sure, I thought that the girl was going to say something about not having enough time. But instead, she nodded before opening those lips to speak.
“I have,” were her musical words. “I’m sorry I didn’t know too much about them last time, but I guess they’ve been in the news a lot recently because of the spate of shootings we’ve had? They’re basically gunstocks that are specially designed to make bump firing easier, which allows semi-automatic firearms to mimic the firing speed of fully automatic firearms.”
I nodded, impressed.
“Exactly,” I said. “So now that you know, what do you think of them sweetheart?”
She took a deep breath.
“You know, I’ve had some time to reflect, and I don’t think there’s an easy answer,” she said slowly. “Because people can modify their guns to become semi-automatic weapons, which is illegal in some states. But at the same time, it’s hard to keep on top of all the legislation. I think in New York, it’s illegal, and now in New Jersey and Florida as well? But there’s legislation in Congress right now proposing a ban on bumpstocks outright. So it’s hard to keep on top of all the changes, not to mention all the current events affecting any proposed legislation.”
I nodded, impressed, because clearly, this girl had done her homework. I liked that. She knew she was going to see me again and had read up in order to be prepared.
“But what’s your opinion?” I pressed gently. “And remember, there’s no right or wrong. I just want to hear what you think.”
She flushed, going in my lap.
“I guess you’re going to think I’m a pushover, but I think I’m against bumpstocks?” she said softly. “I mean, after the damage they did at that shooting in Las Vegas, I just don’t think that they belong in the hands of private citizens. That’s just my opinion,” she said hastily. “You don’t have to listen or anything.”
I nodded although her view was more important to me than any pollster or political aide. This was an American citizen who was voicing her thoughts and feelings, helping me understand what the average person thought. And that was more valuable to me than any pundit’s opinion or the outcome of any telephone poll.
“So based on current events, you’re against them?” I rumbled.
Bridget nodded.
“Yes. Is that okay?” she asked quietly. “I don’t know where you stand on any of this.”
I pulled her close once more, gathering the creamy curves against my chest before placing a kiss on those rosy lips.
“Again sweetheart, there are no right or wrong answers. There’s only a national discussion, of which you’re a part. Of course, you’re speaking to someone who has a powerful platform, but at the same time, your opinion matters just as much as anyone else’s. Including my own.”
Bridget flushed prettily.
“But why are you asking me?” she inquired softly. “Surely there are people working for you that are much more well-informed than me.”
I smiled before shrugging carelessly.
“Maybe, but sometimes they end up making a mountain out of a molehill. Or more accurately, they dig and dig and dig and forget where they’re trying to go. It happens, especially if you’ve been an egghead your whole life with no practical application.”
Bridget laughed softly, those huge tits jiggling against my chest.
“No one has ever called me an egghead before,” she said. “Quite the opposite in fact. I was an average student at best, a bad student at worst.”
“Really?” I asked. “But how’d you get a job as a copy editor?”
She blushed.
“Well, I was bad at school, so I had to start from the very bottom. And I mean, the very, very bottom. I used to be the Girl Friday at the Star Gazette, which is a celebrity rag in New York. You know, the woman who makes copies and brings everyone coffee. That was me for two years straight. But after a while, they realized I was good with grammar and spelling, so management let me sit on the copy desk.”
I nodded.
“Yeah, there’s nothing like some real world experience. Don’t worry honey. I started out selling popcorn and drinks at Yankee Stadium for four bucks a pop, so we both have humble beginnings. It was a tough job but I wasn’t too proud to do it.”
She pulled back, staring at me with wide eyes.
“You were the concessions guy?” she asked disbelievingly. “The one with the huge tray in front of him, with a strap around his neck selling popcorn and peanuts?”
“Yep,” I said dryly. “Except I wasn’t even a man yet. I was a boy, scrounging around to make a buck any way I could.”
She shook her head, eyes wide.
“I never would have guessed because look where you are now,” she said breathily. “You’re President Carter. Literally, the most powerful man in the world.”
I shrugged, smiling wryly.
“Yeah, but everyone has to start from somewhere, and selling concessions at Yankee Stadium was my start. Not bad for a poor boy from the Brooklyn projects,” I said wryly. “Because trust me, where I’m from, most of those guys end up dead.”
She flushed again, eyes wide.
“But how’d you get to where you are now?” she asked. “I mean, I read your wiki bio, but it didn’t say too much about overcoming obstacles and whatnot.”
I nodded.
“Oh yeah, those things are cleaned up by our PR people to make sure it’s standard corporate speak. Nothing that could damage the campaign, much less our political platform. So yeah, they kind of highlight the good parts and downplay the bad. But the truth is that I’m from a terrible neighborhood, which I understand is gentrified now. Back then, Bed-Stuy was terrible, with the sounds of gunfire at night.”
She nodded knowingly.
“I think Bedford-Stuyvesant is known for its hipster bars and cool cafes now,” were her wry words.
“Exactly,” I rumbled. “Shows how times change.”
Bridget laughed again, cuddling closer to me.
“So tell me about your boyhood in Bed-Stuy,” she invited in a soft voice, turning big eyes towards me. “I’d love to hear.”
And I cuddled her close before speaking again. Because this was a nice change. Usually, I don’t have time for this. I fuck whomever Gold Medallion sends over, and then call a car (or helicopter) so that they can be on their way. But with Bridget, it was different. It felt right to sit here with her creamy form in my lap, telling her about my childhood. It felt right to recount the good and the bad, and how sometimes I wished I’d never been elected president.
“You don’t like your position?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “But why?”
I shrugged.
“There are so many reasons,” I said. “Not having a private life, for one,” I added. “Being in the spotlight if I so much as sneeze.”
She nodded slowly.
“But surely, there’s some upside to it all?” she asked slowly. “You must like some parts at least.”
I nodded, holding her even tighter. We’d been talking for two hours now, and the time had flown.
“Sure, there are some good parts. But trust me, the charter flights and fine dining get old after you’ve been at it long enough. I’d much prefer a quiet life with my best girl, and a family to boot.”
Bridget grew silent then. I looked down at her, jiggling that curvy form a bit.
“Are you disappointed?” I asked slowly. “To hear that your Commander in Chief is more than a little disappointed with his job?”
She took a deep breath before turning wide brown eyes to me.
“No, it’s not disappointing,” she said slowly. “It’s just surprising. I mean, I guess I never thought about it from your point of view,” she said. “I just always thought that it was your life ambition to be President, and now that you’ve achieved it, there are only good things, right?”
I shook my head, entranced by her innocence.
“It wasn’t quite my life’s ambition,” I said slowly. “Well it was, but also it wasn’t. Some things are just partly chance,” I shrugged. “My party needed a candidate for a state race decades ago, and I was young and hungry back then. I ran, and I won. Then the party kept pushing me higher and higher, and before I knew it, I was here.”
She shot me an odd look.
“So it’s really the party running things, and not any specific individual,” she said slowly. “But you’re the party’s leader right?”
I nodded.
“I am, but all candidates are symbolic in some way. We represent what the party wants at a certain point in time, espousing their views and representing their needs and interests. But ultimately, it’s the party elders who are guiding our platform because in four years, I’m out,” I said wryly. “I’ll have served my two terms, and it’s sayonara after that.”
Bridget nodded, just thinking, and I loved her for that. Because the woman was clearly intelligent and interested, and that’s something she had going for her. This was no floozy, too dumb to talk with me about my career and current events. The brunette was sharp as a tack, but she was new to politics, and I appreciated that. Balance in life can be good, and after twenty years campaigning, the brunette was a fresh breath of air.
So I held her close once more, breathing in the clean scent of her hair.
“Have I turned you off?” I asked in a low voice. “Now that you’ve seen some of the inner workings of government and politics, are you completely disgusted?”
“No not at all,” she said quickly. “Just surprised. I didn’t know a lot of this, and it’s new to me. I just have to think.”
I nuzzled her neck, my cock twitching once more and bringing my baser thoughts to the fore. But at the same time, my respect for Bridget grew because once again, the girl takes her time and doesn’t pretend to know everything. She had to research and ponder, and that was okay with me. Better than rushing in headfirst and causing a nuclear disaster in the process.
So appreciating the woman that much more, I bent down and caught a nipple in my mouth, sucking the delicious pink candy. She gasped, eyes wide.
“President Carter, again?” she asked in a breathy voice.
“Again,” I confirmed. “I want you, Bridget Martin.”
And with that, we were off to the races because this brunette is the answer to my dreams. Sure, we met on Gold Medallion but hey, there are worse ways to meet these days. Besides, I’m in a very peculiar position. I can’t date without the press hounding me to the ends of the Earth, so my staff have invented a novel way to find female companionship. And with Bridget, they’d done better than good. They’d blown my expectations out of the water … and all I wanted was more time with the gorgeous brunette.