Mr. President 1(3)

How can you be against that? How can you be against a President who gets shit done?

I try to discreetly exit the hotel, but with the Secret Service in tow, how discreet can you be? It's like trying to leave this place undetected with bells on my shoes.

So despite my best efforts, as soon as I exit out the back of the building, the press is all over me.

And watch. This is where it’s gonna start.

The flash of lights is everywhere and I pull a pair of dark-shaded sunglasses over my eyes, waving off reporters.

"Mr. President, is it true you're having sexual relations with a South Korean ambassador?" asks one red-faced reporter.

Another reporter jumps in, "Could I please have a moment? The people would like to know what exactly you were doing at the Sofitel Hotel. I'm guessing more than work."

I keep walking, looking straight ahead and ignore the question.

Then another reporter jumps forward, waving her arms, "Mr. President! Over here! Just one question—I—"

But Secret Service agents are all around me, and they don't let her finish. Their arms are outstretched, "Step aside," they say. "No questions. Give the President some space."#p#分页标题#e#

Just as I'm about to step inside of my limo, a scrawny reporter as thick as a licorice stick manages to weave his way through the crowd and in between the Secret Service agents. He has a microphone in his fist and he's pushing it in my face.

"How does it feel to know you're being dubbed, 'President Player'?" he asks.

President Player? Now he's gone too far. There's only so much slander I can take before I snap, and his comment is the final straw.

I feel my pulse kick into high gear. Who does this scrawny bastard think he is? I love this country, and I work hard.

Enough is enough. I have the urge to put my fist right into the middle of his face.

"Is that what you fucking think of me?" I say, feeling heat building under my shirt collar.

I reach over and try to grab hold of his coat, but two Secret Service agents hold me back. I'm trying to break free of their hold, but they urge me to stop.

"Sir, get in the car," one agent says, guiding me into the limo. "He isn't worth it."

I decide that they're right. These reporters aren't worth it, so I quickly slide into the cool, black leather seats of the limo and slam the door shut behind me.

I try to slow my breathing, as I lean into the seat, remove my glasses, and look up at the roof of the car. But there's no denying it.

I loosen the knot of my tie. As much as I try to shake this feeling, I'm frustrated.

Don't people understand how Washington, DC works?

They want results … I'm getting results.

God fucking dammit. This deal with the South Koreans will bring back at least fifty thousand good paying manufacturing jobs back to America.

But the media?

All they’re going to care about is about my 12-inch cock and who I’m sticking it into.

I look out at streets of Washington DC as my motorcade drives by.

Let me just warn you before you start, babe, that this book is designed with one specific purpose in mind.

To get you to forget your problems and make your panties wet.

More than make them wet. To make you cum.

After you finish with me, you better have that significant other or B.O.B. waiting for you. Because I can tell you that you’re gonna fucking need it.

Or…if you’re a bad girl, go ahead and flip the page and read this in public. But by the time you’re done, the person next to you will be able to smell you.

I guarantee it.

So find someplace quiet. Preferably where you can take those panties off.

And follow me for the fucking ride of your life.





2





Ashley





Give a man a gun, and he might win a battle. Give a woman a dress tight enough, and she will win a war.

And tonight … tonight I’m here to win a war.

“You look so fucking sexy, baby,” Walter Billingham says, and I can tell that he’s mentally undressing me right now, his wide eyes taking in every curve of my body. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his paunch stretching his white shirt.

“Do you think I look sexy?” I ask shyly while, at the same time, I let a devious grin light up my face. I close the distance between him and I, and throwing one arm around Walter’s neck, I sit on his lap.

“You do… You really do,” he whispers, resting one hand on my naked knee, his fingertips brushing against the hemline of my Saint Laurent dress. I know I could’ve seduced Walter even if I decided to wear a simple off the rack dress, something equally cheap and trashy, but I don’t like to underestimate men. In my line of business, that’s a fatal mistake.#p#分页标题#e#