Yes, Mr. President

I stared at the clock on the wall; it was 12:05 p.m. I couldn't believe that it was exactly one week since my second meeting with the President in the Oval Office. I also couldn't believe that I was still wearing the frilly red panties he'd given me.

I had almost thrown them out the first day. I'd worn them until I'd left the office, as well as on my bike ride home. The five-mile journey back to my apartment had been exhausting. I'd had to stop several times to pull the thong out from deep within my buns; it had just been too uncomfortable to ignore.

When I'd gotten back to my apartment, I'd had to rush past Tessa to the bathroom. I'd been worried that she would be able to tell I was hiding something. I'd yanked off the panties and stashed them in a small tin on top of the medicine cabinet - somewhere out of my much-shorter girlfriend's reach.

I'd thought about what to do that night. I'd decided to not wear them ever again. The next morning, however, I'd found myself slipping them on before I'd walked out the door for work.

The thong had driven me to a breaking point. I couldn't move without thinking about the President. Each squirming motion in my chair had made the fabric ride up between my cheeks, which in turn had made me think of him. It had been like my brain was being rewired.

It had been even worse when I'd walked. There'd simply been no way to move around normally with the silky material teasing my tender pucker. I'd never experienced anything quite like it; it had made my cock fill with blood faster than two shakes of a lamb's tail. I'd started to carry a notepad with me around the office so I could easily hide my near-constant erection.

After two days, I hadn't been able to stand it anymore - the erections, not the panties. I'd sneak away to the men's bathroom twice a day just to jerk off. Each release had at least allowed me an hour or so of being able to walk around normally before I got hard again, though I could never truly ignore that maddening sensation on my asshole.

It had all started to jumble together. Each time I would masturbate in the bathroom, I'd think about what had happened between me and the President. Even when I'd tried to push it out of my mind and think about sex with Tessa, I couldn't.

I'd waited for him to summon me. I'd constantly looked at my phone, hoping to see a text; I'd checked my email even more than was normal for a desk-duty drone. I'd even messed up a few of my intern duties, since I hadn't been able to focus on the tasks I'd been assigned.

Things with Tessa had gotten even chillier. She'd tried to initiate sex a few more times. Once had been shortly after I'd gotten home from work; I'd just jerked off an hour before. I hadn't been able get hard. I'd told her that I wasn't feeling well, but she'd hadn't believed me. Technically, at roughly noon that day, it had been over a week since we'd done it. That made it the longest drought since we'd first gone all the way with each other.

I'd done a lot of thinking. I'd questioned if I was gay and had never realized it. I'd thought about other attractive men - Chris Evans, George Clooney, Brad Pitt -- but none of them made me feel anything. While I'd admired some men's physiques, I'd never wanted to have sex with them.

I'd decided that my feelings for the President were an outlier - an aberration - in an otherwise normal, heterosexual existence. If forced to label it, I would have said that I was ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent straight; the President was the sole reason for the other point-zero-one percent.

I didn't entirely know what that meant. Thinking about jerking off together or having him blow me was exhilarating, but I wasn't able to allow myself to imagine any other things he might want us to do. I just couldn't.

The clock's hand inched forward - 12:06 p.m. I was starting to lose hope that he was ever going to contact me again.Maybe I was too reluctant when he asked me to wear the thong?I regretted not being more amenable.

I was debating whether I wanted to pop away to the bathroom to pump out a load. I'd made it through the entire morning without feeling like I was going to bust at the next hint of stimulation. To be fair, I hadn't done much walking, either.

I felt a buzzing sensation in my pocket.

I pulled out my phone while holding my breath. It was a text from the President.

[Meet me in the men's bathroom down the hall from your office in five minutes. Shut yourself into the stall furthest from the door. When someone asks if anyone is inside, tap on the stall door three times.]

My heart smacked against my ribcage. I shot to my feet, feeling a sense of urgency. I dropped off a stack of papers that an aide had requested; then I let Tina know I needed to go to lunch. I told her that a family member was going to call about something important.

I raced down the hall. The see-saw motion of the fake silk against my hole sent ripples of sexual delight through my core. By the time I entered the bathroom, I was hard and throbbing. I knew it wasn't just the fabric. It was him. He was coming, and that's why I was suddenly so close to doing the same.

There was one other person in the bathroom when I arrived. I ignored him as I went to the designated stall and locked myself inside.I made it, I thought.The President is going to see that I made it an entire week wearing this thing.I didn't need to look in a mirror; I felt the cheesy, prideful grin plastered on my face.

I listened intently. Each time the door opened, I wondered if it was him. Men trickled in and out to use the urinals. I absentmindedly tuned into the sound of them emptying their bladders as I speculated what might happen. I was hoping that he was going to suck me off again, since it had been unquestionably the best head I'd ever received.

The door opened again. The sound of rubber soles slapping against the tile floor echoed throughout the room.

"Secret Service," Tommy's gruff voice called out. "I need to clear this space. Anyone in here, please wrap things up and get a move on."

A man at the urinal finished relieving himself. It sounded like he was hurrying; he didn't even stop to wash his hands as he rushed towards the exit.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The footfalls grew louder; I knew he was getting closer to my stall. I looked down to see his shiny black dress shoes outside of the cubicle in which I was huddled.

"Is this stall occupied?" Tommy asked.

I knocked three times in slow succession. Tommy promptly walked back towards the other side of the room. The door creaked as it swung open, and then it slammed shut again.

"All clear, Mr. President."

"Thank you, Tommy. Why don't you wait in here by the entrance? Pam and Lucas are posted in the hallway, so I don't think you'll be missed."

"Whatever you like, Mr. President."

Speedier, lighter feet made their way across the floor. I peered down beneath the partition to see the President's custom-made dress shoes.

"Knock knock," he said playfully. "Anyone home? This is a panty raid."

My cheeks turned a rosy hue; nonetheless, I unlatched the door and pulled it open. The President looked incredibly dapper. He was wearing a blue-pinstripe suit that was perfectly fitted to his body. It accentuated his arms and hid the few extra pounds in his midsection. His silver hair shone under the harsh overhead lights.

"You can come on out," the President said.

I straightened up from my anxiously-crouched position and exited the cubicle. We stood roughly a foot apart from one another in the center of the room. I glanced over at Tommy. He was staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, but I knew he was still observing us. I wanted to ask the President if he could leave us, but I didn't.

"I think I already know the answer" the President began, "but I need to see it with my own two eyes."

I reached down inside of the snug waistband of my trousers. I managed to snag the piece of fabric laying on my right hip; I yanked it up. I held it there between my thumb in forefinger as proof that I'd done what he'd asked. I'd committed to the President - to us.

"I want to see more than that," he said with a chuckle. "Take it all off - everything from the waist down."

I looked over at Tommy.He really wants me to strip in front of him?I felt a lump developing in my throat.

"Don't worry about him, Tru. Tommy keeps his eyes down and mouth shut."

I carefully took off my shoes, leaving them below one of the sinks. I pulled off my pants, folded them, and placed them on the countertop next to a stack of paper towels. I was standing there while wearing only the red lacy thong and my black dress socks from the waist down.

My dress shirt was long enough so that it was covering part of my crotch. I lifted it up so the President could have a better view of the panties. He'd made it clear already that he wanted to see all of them.

"That's not going to work," he said with a huff. "Take it all off -- everything except the gift I gave you."

I took off my suit jacket; I draped it atop my folded pants. Next, I undid my tie, pulled it away from my neck, and added it to the other items. Then I nimbly unfastened each of the buttons on my shirt and stripped it from my muscular torso.

After I was naked from the waist up, I looked back down at my feet. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to remove the socks, too.

"Looks like you've been thinking about me," the President said, gazing down at my hard cock. It was pressing against that lacy fabric that was desperate to restrain it. Even with my smaller size, I was still too big erect. The top of my head was jutting out from the waistband of the panties. "What made you decide to do it?"

"I... I don't know. I guess I did it for you."

"What else are you going to do for me, Tru?"

My face got hot as my uncontrollable blushing response kicked in, yet again. I bit my lower lip and shook my head. I didn't know what to say. I thought I'd just given him what he'd asked for.

"Tommy, come over here for a minute."

I started to try to cover my crotch with my hands as he walked over. I stopped when I saw the President ever-so-slightly shake his head. I still wanted to be covered, though. It felt different being erotically exposed in front of a man who wasn't the President.

"What do you see in front of you?" the President asked him.

"A naked man in a pair of panties," Tommy replied.

"Anything else?"

Tommy scanned me from head to toe. He was smirking; I wondered what he was thinking. I knew it had to be bad. "The panties are practically sheer, Mr. President, and he has an erection."

"You've been with the Secret Service for a few years now. What else do you see?"

"He has a small penis," Tommy said, "and he's blushing. It's possible that he's blushing because he's self-conscious of his size. That's just a hypothesis."

I suddenly felt mortified and exhilarated. It was like I was a toy that the President was showing off to a friend. I was one of his belongings.

"Would you ever let me do this to you? Would you wear these frilly lace panties for a week if I asked you?"

One of Tommy's eyebrows arched towards the sky; he cocked his head in apparent confusion. He started to open his mouth, but paused; eventually, he spoke. "Respectfully, fuck no. I would not, Mr. President."

"Why not? Feel free to speak with candor."

"Because I'm not a bitch. A real man wouldn't let himself be treated that way."

In spite of the insults, I was still raging hard. The swirling shame inside of me was being bombarded by an undercurrent of lust, creating a confusing mess. It felt like I was getting even more turned on. It didn't make sense.

"Turn around and show Tommy your ass, Tru."

I hesitated. I gazed into the President's vibrant blue eyes. I knew he was serious, and I'd already gone too far to turn back.

I spun around so that my peachy behind was facing the two of them. The strip of fabric wedged itself even further between my cheeks as I changed positions. I knew that my luscious buns were on full display.

"You've said he's a 'bitch,' not a man," the President said to Tommy. "What do you think of the bitch's ass? Would you fuck it?"

What? The President is asking him if he'd fuck me?I felt myself almost start to tremble at the very idea. I told myself that he was just playing around. I'd seen him do it before. I knew that he was just messing with Tommy - with both of us.

Loyalty and commitment, I reminded myself.Those are the two things the President told me he values.I decided that he had to be testing Tommy's loyalty to him and my commitment.

Tommy let out a loud sigh. "Is there anyrealpussy around instead?" he asked.

"Do you see any?" the President replied playfully.

"Well, Mr. President, as you know, I was a marine for ten years. Did tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Let's just say that I did my fair share of taking what I could get. In the desert, a hole is a hole. That's all that matters."

"Just in the desert?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, Mr. President."

"Thank you for your honesty, Tommy. You can go back to your post by the door."

My belly was warm and tingly with excitement. At the same time, my mind was muddled. I kept hearing the word "bitch" playing on a loop in my head.I was one of the best quarterbacks in Nebraska my senior year of high school. I'mnota bitch - even if I am wearing the costume.

The President grabbed me by the shoulder; air rushed out of my lungs. He spun me around so we were both facing the large mirror positioned over the sinks. He grabbed my right ass cheek with his large mitt; it sent a shiver down my spine.

He leaned his face against my shoulder as his fingers massaged my juicy peach. My mouth was hanging open; his touch felt heavenly. Seeing the sparkle in his eyes while he pawed at me made it even better.

"Jesus Christ," the President said. "I can't resist this thing. You know, Reagan was obsessed with jelly beans. I think my new obsession is this ass."

"Lean forward," he commanded. I lowered myself over the sink just a bit, and I arched my back. The President stepped directly behind me. I could still see his reflection. He planted both hands on my globes and gripped them tight.

I wanted to moan, but I didn't. He licked his lips as he gazed down at my perky buns. He looked like he was on the verge of drooling. "I can't wait to see what that pussy looks like."

An unfamiliar sensation vibrated deep within me. I was in a state of disbelief. I'd never been talked about like that. I'd never had my ass referred to as something so vulgar - and so feminine. Then his fingers clawed deeper, and that was all it took for me to accept it as a compliment.

"Do you like when I play with your ass?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Fuck, you're making me so hard. I'd only been planning to stop by for a panty check, but this ass is too good to resist."

My breathing got shallower. His increasingly salacious words were pouring gasoline on a fire - one that was using up the oxygen that might've kept me more level-headed. The hair on my nape stood on end.

"Show me that jock pussy," the President demanded. "I want to see that straight-as-an-arrow, corn-fed, prom-king, wannabe-Republican, jock pussy. Spread your cheeks and show me."

I really needed that extra oxygen, but couldn't find it.'Jock pussy'?His demeaning words had felt like an assault. The fucked-up part was that I liked it. A girl had never talked to me like that before - had never put me in my place.

"Yes, Mr. President," I whispered.

He let go of my ass, then took a step back to get a better view. I grabbed a cheek in each hand.You can do this. I mustered up the courage.You can do this for him.I spread my buns apart, revealing with inner depths of my canyon.

"Fuck!" he gasped. "That's some Grade-A frat boy pussy. I need to see it all, though."

I felt his fingers slithering between my cheeks. I almost tumbled forward from the shock of it. He grabbed the thin strip of fabric and yanked it to the side. There was an immediate sense of relief at no longer having it press up against my tender hole.

"Pink as the inside of a conch shell. That's a world-class cunt. Works out perfectly, I'd say: a world class cunt for the leader of the free world."

I didn't know if it was the fact that my hole had been mercilessly teased for the past week, or if it was the act of putting myself on display, but I was throbbing down there. My pucker felt like it was puffed up and pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

"You're lucky I'm a patient man," the President said, releasing his grip on my thong so that it snapped back into place.

He went right back to groping me. I knew my ass would soon be covered in marks and bruises. There was no way I was going to be able to let Tessa see it until it had healed. "Rub your little clit while I touch you," he demanded between ragged breaths.

I looked over at Tommy. He was still doing that thing where he was half-watching, half-avoiding. I suddenly felt embarrassed thinking about jerking off in front of him. I didn't want to stroke the little dick he'd been so eager to berate while he took in the show.

"In front of him?" I asked.

"I can't deal with this right now. I'm horny as fuck and ready to go. Let's go into the stall if you need privacy."

The President let go of my globes, but then he grabbed me by the elbow. He nearly pushed me into the stall. His body pressed up against mine as he squeezed inside behind me, although he didn't bother to shut the door.

"I'm losing my mind here. Your ass is making me go insane, Tru. Bend over. Put your hands on the back of the toilet if you need to steady yourself."

He didn't actually give me the choice. He pushed on my back so hard that I had to grab onto the toilet's tank to keep from faceplanting into the wall behind it. His paws recommenced their assault. He was jiggling my ass up and down like it was a bowlful of Jell-O. The vibrations made their way through my groin to my cock; I felt some pre-cum ooze out of my slit.

He'd told me to touch myself, but I couldn't. The way he'd positioned me with my legs spread apart, ass jutting out, and back angled downward made it impossible. I needed both my hands to keep myself from toppling over.

The President didn't seem to care. He was chasing one fleeting sexual impulse after another. I'd heard it in the urgent, lustful tone of his voice.

I heard him unbuckling his pants; the fabric made a distinct noise as he let them fall around his ankles. I assumed he'd pushed down his underwear too, since I heard the same skin-on-skin jerking noise I had during our tryst in the Senator's office.

The President kept digging into my right bun as he stroked himself with his other hand. He was breathing heavily. I wondered how long he'd been daydreaming about jerking off while groping me again. It made me horny just thinking about him falling asleep fantasizing about it.

PTOOEY! PTOOEY!

The jerking sound became sloppy and wet. He'd made his own lube to help him enjoy the experience to the fullest extent.

"You know...uhhhhh... you know what two perfect buns need, Tru?"

I didn't answer him. I didn't think he wanted me to. Instead, I focused on letting his pleasure wash over me. Listening to his panting and frantic jerking allowed me to ride the wave with him. I felt small surge after small surge of electricity crackling across the nerve endings in my dick. Even though I wasn't touching it, it was like I was getting closer to the edge.

"Do you?" The President asked again.

"No," I moaned.

"A nice footlong nestled inside of them." The President used his hand to wrench open my right ass cheek. I felt a heavy, warm sensation as his slicked-up cock pushed its way between my juicy buns. He was incredibly girthy - too girthy.