Mr. President 1(42)

My lips part by instinct and my eyelids droop; next think I know we’re kissing, cum dripping down both our chins as our tongues wrestle over an ocean of cum. The manly taste of his seed climbs up from my mouth and into my brain, making me almost delirious.

“I can’t help it,” Austin whispers as he pulls back from our kiss. “I get fucking crazy whenever I’m with you,” he continues, smiling as his eyes light up with amusement. “I’ve never done this kind of stuff with anyone else, you know?” he says, and I can tell that, in a way, he’s opening up to me. He’s telling me that, amidst this wickedness, lies a kind of trust he was never capable of offering to any other woman.

Unable of providing an adequate response to his admission, I simply offer him a tender smile. Not needing an answer, he simply smiles back at me and leans in again; going straight for my nipples, he wraps his lips around my right one and uses his tongue to trace its contour, making it move in fast circles around it. He then moves to my left nipple and does the same there, his tongue cleaning my skin and drying it from the cum that coats it.

When he finally has licked all of the cum from my nipples, he slides the tip of his tongue down my body, only stopping when has his lips firmly pressed against my clit. Sucking it into his mouth, he laps at it with his tongue, drawing a long purr out of my lips.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” I tell him, running my fingers through his hair as he finally takes his mouth off of my pussy.#p#分页标题#e#

“Me too,” he simply breathes out, but I don’t need him to say anything else. His two words were truthful, and that’s all I need from him.

Moving slowly, as if his body weighs a ton, Austin then sinks down onto his seat. Bending over, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward him; I sit on his lap again and we remain like that for a long time, enjoying the silence as we both gaze out the window, the eternal valleys and ridges of the Grand Canyon coming into existence underneath us.

It’s almost ironic when you think of it; rocks are almost eternal in their insignificance, but the moments that really matter are as ephemeral as a passing breeze. Perhaps the trick is in not wanting to become a stone, but in learning how to enjoy the breeze.

As for me, I’m enjoying this breeze.

More than just that, I’m loving it.





22





Austin





The crowd is going wild. A sea of clapping hands erupts across the audience.

It feels good to come out here and accomplish what I set out to do, and it hasn't been easy. This crowd was a tough nut to crack.

"What's the biggest challenge for you, as President, when it comes to realizing this jobs bill?" one constituent asks. "Can you shed some light on that for all of us?"

"Sure, good question," I reply. "I believe the challenge will be in prioritizing the right infrastructure projects that are going to propel jobs, and the economy. And I've thought a lot about this and have worked with a lot of different infrastructure, so I believe I have a plan in place that will do just that."

"Mr. President," another man says, standing up from his seat, "And what about the private sector?" He must be in his 70s, and looks like a retired businessman.

"Another great question," I smile. "The private sector is ready to invest in these projects—all of them—right now. And who wouldn't want that?"

I hear more clapping now, and a woman stands up, a microphone clutched in her hands.

"Will these infrastructure projects really create jobs, just as your bill is proposing?" she asks.

"Yes, absolutely," I say. "But it won't be easy. History has taught us that nothing worth fighting for is ever easy. But this bill will create jobs not just for today, but for future generations as well because this infrastructure will need maintenance—long-term operation. And of course that means more jobs, for us, and for our children."

The clapping continues, and I'm on a roll.

I raise my hands to quiet the crowd and continue, ""But Bob Walker opposes this bill."

I hear some booing and hissing ripple through the audience. The energy immediately changes into something dark and brooding, like a storm cloud looming on the horizon.

"I urge each and every one of you to let Walker know how you feel! In fact, I suggest you do it now," I say, giving the audience both his direct phone number and email address. I figure now's as good a time as any. I watch as people scribble this information on scraps of paper, or input it directly into their cell phones.

Some are even dialing him in their seats, not willing to waste another minute, and the trend catches on like wildfire. Phones are starting to ring and people are calling Walker on the spot. They're flooding his phone line, and jamming his inbox.