And he’s right, it would be. A month ago, I’d have been all over that. A month ago, I’d have torn this town up with these two assholes and fucked each and every rich socialite, sorority chick, government aide, summer intern, and bartender in this whole fucking town. But now? Now I can’t even think about other girls.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Darren suddenly grows serious as he leans in. “Listen, dude, what about that fucking party you were telling us about? The one Congressman Este’s kid got you into?” His eyes light up. “Hunt, I heard that place is fucking insane!”
Yeah, it was. Hot girls, great drugs, crazy atmosphere…Oh, right, and then I fucked my new stepsister with a mask on and now I’m around her every fucking day and it's messing with my head.
Sean leans in. “How the hell did you pull off even getting in there?”
Easy. You grow up with enough rich little shitheads and children of Congressmen and Senators and doors open for you that just don’t to normal mortals.
“Eh, it’s complicated.”
“But not so complicated that you can’t get your two war buddies in, right?” Darren grins at me.
“Afraid that ship has sailed, bud. The way is shut.”
“Weak, man; super weak,” Darren says, rolling his eyes as he sips his beer. “Sounds like you got a taste of something good you don’t want to let us in on.”
Yeah, I got a taste alright, and now I just want fucking more.
Now I’ve got her on the brain bad. Now she's all I’m fucking thinking about, and not just because it's my job to do so. It’s my job to think about schedules and security threats, and escape vectors and all that shit. It’s not my job to wonder if she’s wearing a thong or not. It’s not my job to wonder if she’s still as wound up on edge from earlier as I am. And it's certainly not my job to wonder if she’s back in her big Presidential bedroom right now on her four-post bed with her legs spread and her fingers slipping into her dripping wet pussy.
Yep, definitely not my job to do that, but here I am.
What I should do is go out with these two and pick up something young, hot, and strange. And I need to fuck that girl until I can’t move anymore. I need to fuck her until any trace of Madison is fucked right out of my damn head.
Except I don’t do that. I’m in my damn prime; cocked and loaded and ready to go. And I know full well that in this town, dropping my last name, or my war record, or even my current job could get me laid six ways ’til Sunday if I chose to. Shit, dropping those has gotten me laid more times than I can count. Except what do I do?
I say goodnight to my buddies, drop some cash on the bar, and head back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I nod to the security guys, scan my card, and head back to my rooms up in the East Wing.
And once I’m there, I lock the door before I slump back against it, slip my rock hard cock out of my pants and groan as I stroke it. I growl as I lean back again the door and just fucking slide my hand up and down my cock, jerking off while thinking of the fucking girl on the other side of this damn house that just won’t get out of my head.
I close my eyes and picture her back in that room at that place, letting the straps of her little black dress slide off her shoulders before the whole thing pools at her feet. I’m picturing those perfect, full tits, and those little pink nipples that come to hard little nubs under my fingers and my tongue. I’m remembering tearing her panties off and inhaling the intoxicating scent of her pussy before sliding my tongue through her honey and tasting her until she’s pulling at my hair and writhing for me.
And I’m picturing her face, twisting so fucking beautifully in raw ecstasy when she comes for me; when she comes begging me to fill her up, scratching her nails down my back.
That’s the last thing that roars through my mind before I’m blasting my cum across the carpet, grunting as my cock erupts in my hand and Madison’s perfect body dances through my head.
I gasp as I open my eyes, panting and feeling the muscles in my chest and arm flex as I lean back against the door after I come.
Except I want more; I want a lot more. Shit, I could sit here in this room jerking off to thoughts of Madison Adams until the sun comes up, but I still wouldn’t be satiated.
I know I shouldn’t, but I just don’t care. If I was just anyone, sneaking across the White House to the Presidential family quarters would be a shitty move. Except I’m not just anyone, I think, as I tuck my cock back into my pants and turn to head back out my door. I’m the Secret fucking Service.