Yes, Mr. President

Author's Note(s): Hello, folks. This is the final chapter of "Yes, Mr. President." First of all, I just want to thank everyone out there who made it to the end of the series. I know that reading a smut story that is roughly the same length as "Catcher in the Rye" takes commitment. It warms my heart knowing that there are people who enjoyed the writing enough to make it through all ten chapters.

As always, I'd like to acknowledge my volunteer editor - Neuroparenthetical. He's consistently thoughtful, supportive, and diligent in how he approaches the process of offering feedback and suggestions. Thank you so much for all of your continued assistance, Neuroparenthetical.

My hole was yearningly aching - pulsing with heat. My arms were shaking as they struggled to hold me up. I dug my fingers deeper into the fabric of the navy loveseat. The ground suddenly jolted beneath my feet, like I was being taken up by a wave.

The President's left hand steadied me by pressing on my tree-trunk thigh. The index finger on his other mitt kept playing with my gape. For some reason, it felt larger than usual. I knew that was a good thing, though. It would make it easier to take him.

I tried to widen my stance, but my dress pants were still around my ankles. My shirt and suit jacket were bunched up across my upper back. I knew that he was still fully dressed standing behind me.

"This is the captain," a voice said from above me. "Please take your seats. We're about to experience some turbulence. It's going to be a bumpy ride."

I craned my head to better look around the small room. A sense of awe rushed through me. I couldn't believe that I was actually on Air Force One. On top of that, I couldn't believe that the President was playing with my fag pussy at forty thousand feet.

We were in the private suite solely reserved for the President. It was akin to a studio apartment - a full-sized bed in the corner, a small desk, a loveseat, and a television mounted to one of the walls. It had all the normal flourishes one would expect, including the Presidential seal being slapped on everything imaginable.

"You hear that, Tru?" the President asked. "It's about to be a bumpy ride. You think you're up for it?"

"Yes, Mr. President," I whimpered. "God, yes."

He began to plunge his slicked-up fingers in and out of my man cunt. I couldn't tell how many digits were inside. I could, however, feel the tingling goodness spreading through my belly as he toyed with me. Even without looking down, I knew that my dicklet was standing at attention.

I bit my lower lip as I tried to keep myself from moaning too loudly. I didn't know who was in the other part of the plane. It was odd, but I couldn't remember for some reason. I tried not to let it bother me.

I listened to the sloppy, wet sounds of the President jerking off his lubed-up horse cock as he pummeled my hole with his nimble fingers. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, I began to drool. I urgently needed it in my mouth, but I wanted it inside of my fag pussy even more.

"Ahhhhhh," I muttered as he scraped his fingertips harshly against my fag spot.

I felt his hefty, oversized rod begin to smack against my peachy ass. It kept thwacking against the mark of ownership - the tattoo of his signature - emblazoned on my right cheek. Each rhythmic smack of the drum filled me with more unbridled lust.

My eyelids fluttered. There was a strange darkness followed by a blinding light. It was like someone had shone a flashlight directly in my eyes. It nearly pulled me away from the pleasure coursing through my veins. It only lasted for a few seconds, though.

"You ready, baby?" the President asked. "You ready for me to breed that fag pussy?"

"Fuck me. Use me however you want. I'm yours."

I could sense him starting to press the tip of his soda-can-thick, ten-and-a-half-inch monster against my gape. Even though it could easily gobble up two fingers, it was not prepared for his insane girth.

I stared out the window; clouds were whizzing by in the sunny blue sky. I gritted my teeth as he began to force himself inside. My puffed-up pussy lips were tender from being abused. Oddly enough, it still felt fantastic. My body seemed to have no limits when it came to the President.

I sensed that his mammoth mushroom head was halfway inside of me. I willed myself to relax. I wanted it to feel good for him. I knew that would be the only way it'd feel good for me, too.

Suddenly, as if time had lost all meaning, I felt him fully inside of me. He was thrusting into me in a steady rhythm. I felt silky fabric against my back; I reached down and grabbed the sheets.We're... we're on the bed?I wondered.Did I pass out? How'd we get here?

I looked up to see the President over me. My legs were wrapped around him as he fucked me missionary style. I could feel the fabric of his suit jacked against my legs.Why is he still dressed?

"Ohhhhhhh," I moaned as he pummeled my fag spot. "Oh, yes. Fuck. Fuck!"

I tried to make eye contact with him, but he was just staring out into space. His expression didn't look like it normally did when he was using me - his brows were furrowed and his mouth pulled into a tight, thin line.

"That's an excellent question, Genevieve," he said. "We're hoping that this trip will help open up trade with..."

What?I frantically asked myself. I craned my head. There was a gaggle of reporters standing behind us on the other side of the room. I saw a large camera, like the one from the interview in the Vermeil Room, filming us.

"... hope it's not a complete shit show," the President said with a chuckle as he thrust deeper into my stretched-out fag cunt. "Oh, hell! This is live, isn't it? The FCC is going to be calling my Chief of Staff any minute with a fine for saying that word."

What? What the fuck is going on?I was in a haze. He rammed his thicker-than-my-wrist cock inside of me, splitting me wide open. It pushed against my walnut-shaped fag spot so hard that I thought it might crack.

"Holy shit!" I screamed. "Fuck! Fuck my man cunt! Ream me harder, Mr. President."

"You'll have to excuse this one," the President said to the reporters. "I'm still breaking him in."

"Mr. President, do you mind if we ask Mr. Randall a question?"

"Fire away," he said. "I'm about to do that myself - deep inside of his corn-fed, Nebraskan jock-boy cunt."

"Mr. Randall," the same woman asked, "how does it feel to be the President's on-call, free-use faggot?"

I looked straight into the camera. "It's everything I ever wanted," I whimpered. It was true, and I didn't feel at all embarrassed saying it. Even if my parents were watching at home, it didn't bother me at all. Public or private, it was all the same to me. I just needed the President's fat horse cock deep inside of me.

"Do you think you're ready for them, too?" she asked, nodding over to her right.

I tilted my head. My eyes went wide with shock. There stood twenty Secret Service men with their erect cocks jutting through the opening of their zippers. They were each wearing a button with a number on their lapels. Jason was at the front of the pack; he was labeled as number one.

"I'll do whatever..." I started to say before my voice cracked and disappeared. "I'll do..."

Feeling a strange, choking tightness, I reached up to touch my throat. My hole was devastatingly hot. My cock was oozing pre-cum.

"I'll do whatever the President wants," I said. My lips didn't move, but I could hear the sounds. My eyes began to flutter again as he glided against my fag spot. The darkness enveloped me for a moment; then, a blinding bright light flooded my vision.

"I'll... I'll do whatever the President wants," I mumbled groggily.

"I know you will, sweet thing," I heard a voice behind me say as a warm pair of lips planted themselves down on my upper back. "God, your cunt feels like heaven."

What? What the fuck is happening?I reached behind me. My hand grasped at naked flesh.Where am I? Where's the President? What happened to the reporter?

"Ahhhhhhhh," I moaned, feeling a cock bend the inner wall deep inside my pussy.

A jolt of pain shot through me. It was like someone had just tossed a bucket of ice water into my face. I frantically looked around the room.I'm... I'm at the White House? I'm in the President's bedroom?

"That's it, Tru," the President said from behind me. "Take a little bit more. Let me stretch out that fag pussy."

It was... it was just a dream?I wondered.It was just a dream.Not all of it had been slumberland fantasies, though. The President's throbbing cock was definitely lodged inside of my cream-filled man cunt. I could feel him slowly rocking his hips so that a few inches were sliding in and out.

"What..." I started. "What are you doing?"

"It's seven o'clock," he said. "I teased your gaped cunt for a while hoping that it'd wake you up, but you're a heavy sleeper. After a few minutes of feeling your hole pulsing against my fingers, I just couldn't wait any longer. I didn't think you'd mind."

"I... I don't," I said truthfully.

"I wasn'tasking," the President responded with a soft chuckle. "I was telling."

"Thank you for telling me, Mr. President," I whimpered as his horse cock caused a bolt of electricity to power through my fag spot.

"'Teddy.' Remember, what I told you in the Senate Office Building bathroom? 'Whenever my dick is between these cheeks, you can call me Teddy.'"

"Yes, Teddy."

On some level I knew that it was situation that anyone else would have rightfully been traumatized by - waking up getting fucked. I also knew that I would have given him permission the night before if he'd told me he wanted it to happen that way. In fact, something about him feeling so comfortable using my body like he owned it made me even more exhilarated.

He kept working his girthy cock in and out of me as we spooned. His arms were wrapped around me; one of his hands was cupping my massive left pec. In turn, I massaged his thigh with my fingertips.

I wondered how long it had taken him to get inside of me without waking me. I knew it must have been gentle and slow, because my hole was struggling with his thickness. I understood that I would have woken up screaming if he hadn't been careful.

"How's that feel?" he asked.

"Good. It feels wonderful."

I was only partially talking about taking his monster into my pussy for the first time. I was referring to many things: how it felt to be wrapped in the arms of the most powerful man on Earth; how it felt calling him "Teddy" when I knew that only a handful of other people were allowed to do it; how it felt realizing that I was a full-fledged faggot - a formerly straight boy who'd been turned out for good.

"Our first time shouldn't beallabout me," the President whispered in my ear. "We'll have more than enough of that as time goes on."

'As time goes on,'I repeated in my mind. My heart felt full - just like my newly-christened man cunt.

"Let's get you on top of me. I want us to be able to see one another."

"Yes, Mr. Pr... Teddy."

I winced as he pulled out. I still didn't know just how much of his gargantuan cock he'd been able to jam inside of me. I could tell that my hole wasn't closing though, which was a testament to his thickness.

"I want you to ride me," the President said. "It's not a race, so take all the time that you need."

He shifted himself to the center of the bed. I leered at his naked body as he reclined against the headboard. I wanted a moment to take him all in. His sliver hair was slightly disheveled; his bright blue eyes were as stunning as ever.

Scanning down, it hit me that it was my first time seeing him completely naked. He had nice pecs - not too big, but they were better than most men in their mid-fifties. There was a large tuft of silver-hued hair nestled between them. His small, bright-pink nipples looked incredibly vibrant against his pale-Irish skin.

Something about seeing his belly made my dicklet twitch. It was so unlike my six-pack. He had several small rolls - exaggerated by his body position - that were peppered with darker hair. They looked like what one expected from arealman.Real men drink enough beer and gobble enough barbeque to have a belly. They don't care. Fags abuse themselves at the gym to get washboard abs.I was starting to understand the choices I'd made, even if I hadn't been able to in the moment that I'd made them.

Of course, his bigger-than-the-Beatles cock continued to blow my mind. It was slicked up with the cum that had been deposited inside of me the night before. The large veins running its length were bulging as it worked hard to pull in enough blood. I glanced down at my own shortcoming.It's really just a fag clit, I told myself. I'd thought it in passing a few times over the prior week, but I was finally accepting it.The President has a cock. I have a clit.It was oddly freeing to realize I'd never have to worry about my size again.

His thighs were covered in a thicker black hair than the rest of his body. It reminded me of the picture I'd seen of him from when he'd been about my age. He'd had the same color of hair on his head before it had prematurely turned silver in his early forties. I reached forward to rub my hand across his soft fur.

The President grabbed the root of his cock. He squeezed it tightly; it made his rod visibly throb. Ravenous desire overtook me. I shimmied towards him on my knees. In seconds, I was positioned over him - knees on each side of his thighs and ass raised above his rigid pillar.

"You got this, Tru," he said, placing his hands on my hips.

I knew he was right.

I slowly lowered myself. My hole was closed up just enough so that I had to force him into me. I grimaced feeling the overstimulated nerve endings in my pucker malfunctioning as they struggled to accept him. I reminded myself that it wouldn't last for long.

The President nodded encouragingly as his baseball-sized mushroom head split me open. I paused with temporary exhaustion when I sensed my worn-out pussy wrapping around its widest point. I knew it would be smoother sailing once he was inside.

"That feels so tight. Massage it for me, Tru. Clench those pussy muscles."

It was the opposite of what my body wanted, but, seeing the look of pleasure on his face, it was exactly what my heart wanted. I contracted my ring; I could feel it foolishly trying to clamp down on him. Every part of me shuddered from the combination of joy and discomfort emanating from my core.

"I'm gonna teach you a trick, baby," the President said, reaching one hand up to paw at my right pec. "Contract your fag pussy as hard as you can for five seconds, then force yourself to completely relax. As you do that, let the rest of my cock head ease on inside."

I nodded. The President began rubbing his thumb on my hard nipple. I contracted my man cunt muscles with all of my might. My body started shaking; I could feel the heartbeat in his engorged cock head pounding against my flesh. I finished counting down in my mind.Three. Two. One.

I releasedallof the tension. It was like my ring had overcorrected for a few milliseconds. I was looser than I'd ever been. I seized the opportunity; I slid down his rod so that his cock popped inside. After that, the rest was easy.

"See?" the President said with a smile. "I know about more than just politics. I've been making faggots since I was your age. I still remember the first one: Harold Fletcher, the preacher's son. He wasn't half as pretty as you, though, Tru."

He took the hand that wasn't teasing my nipple and used it to quickly stroke my left cheek before dropping it back down by his side. I braced myself - one mitt on his chest and the other on the headboard. I let myself sinkallthe way down. I whimpered as his helmet smacked against my inner wall; then I moaned as his meat-stick pulsed against my fag spot.

I found a rhythm. I'd slowly raise my ass until I could feel the flared underside of his cock head pulling against my ring; after that, I'd carefully push my fag pussy down on him, making sure to enjoy every moment of him slithering inside of me.

It wasn't long before I was breathing heavily with drops of perspiration dripping down my neck. Taking his monster cock was the equivalent of an intense core workout. I could feel my abs tensing each time I slid up his shaft. My thighs burned on the way back down.

The President's right hand had continued to rub my nipple in the meantime; it hadn't taken long for it to harden up like a gum drop. He began chewing on his lower lip. I wondered if he was imagining what it tasted like. His left hand swiftly moved to my other pec; his thumb started making circular motions around my rosy mound.

A crackle of energy flowed into my body from where he was teasing me. It was one more sensation to heighten my already indescribable pleasure - another piece of kindling on the bonfire.

I began to pick up the pace. My delicate hole was learning to let go; I was barely noticing any lingering pain as I rode him. My inner wall must have gone numb. I'd feel him colliding into it, but it didn't make me wince any longer. It was equivalent to pressing the heel of one's hands into a tight thigh muscle - there was resistance, but it wasn't agonizing.

I glanced down at my newly-renamed clit. It was bright red and looked like it'd be hot to the touch. A few drops of pre-cum had slipped from its tip; they were clinging to the President's manly belly. I leaned forward just a touch, and I felt his cock thump even harder against my fag spot as I lowered myself. Another pearl of juice oozed out of me.

"OhHhhHHhhh," I moaned. "Yes. Yes."

I kept pushing his monster into the button, like beating a mallet against a gong. I had to force myself to not tremble as my sexual fuse box nearly had a power surge. I pressed my hand into his chest more firmly, like I was trying to let some of the energy escape from my skin into his.

"You're making me feel amazing, sweetie," he said. "This is just the kind of thing I need to release all of the tension I accumulate dealing with idiotic lobbyists and inept leaders of supposed global superpowers. Your fag pussy is just what I need to keep me sane. Hell, it may just keep me from launching the nukes the next time Ilya screws with me."

I knew he was being irreverent, but all it did was turn me on even more. It only confirmed what I'd been telling myself: it was my duty to serve - the President and, by proxy, the country. My great-grandfather may have fought at the Battle of the Bulge, but I was engaged in the Battle of the Bussy. I knew I'd clearly gotten the better deal out of the two of us.

"OhhHHHhHHh," I yelped, feeling the President's fingers squeeze my right nipple.

It was surprisingly enjoyable. It was the first time I'd ever had them tweaked while having sex. I'd done it to Tessa plenty of times, but she'd never returned the favor. To be fair, I'd never thought to ask her.

"Sensitive?" he asked.

I thought for a moment as he kept my nubbin squeezed between his fingertips. I really wanted to fully experience the sensation before I responded. I didn't have a word that could perfectly describe it; it was akin to the same jarring feeling I'd had as a child when static-snow would unexpectedly overpower the cartoon I'd been watching on my grandparents' television. It was somehow simultaneously soothing and disorienting.

"Yes, I think so."

The President pinched both of my nipples with greater force. I let out a gasp; I sunk all the way down onto him, again. He twisted them just the slightest bit.