Yes, Mr President

by Jean-Luc Cheri

  “It’s ok. You don’t have to explain.” He removed his shirt from where it was hanging over the shower curtain rod and pulled it over his head.

  “Are you mad?” I asked.

  He smiled again and caressed the side of my face. “It’s just not our time yet. Someday it will be.”

  “You’re a nice guy.”

  “That’s what I hear.” He leaned in and kissed me on the forehead. “Lock the door after I leave.”

  “I will. Thanks again for what you did for me.”

  “No problem. Don’t be wandering around in the dark anymore, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He walked out of the room, down the hall, and then out the door, shutting it behind him. I went to my bed and fell on it, the tears welling up as I tried to sort out this confusing day.

  Chapter 17

  The President extended his visit with the Prime Minister, and didn’t arrive back at the White House until late Wednesday night, and I didn’t get to see him until the next day.

  I finished a small stack of letters in the morning, and decided to take them into him instead of waiting until the end of the day. He was alone when I entered the Oval Office.

  He smiled when he saw me, and my spirits lifted. All of my troubles seemed to float away when he looked at me like that.

  “Hi, Sarah. Been keeping things running around here?”

  I smiled softly. “Yes. Welcome back, Mr. President.”

  He gave me a curious look. “Everything alright?”

  I nodded and lowered my voice. “Just missed you, that’s all.”

  His voice matched mine. “I’ve missed you too, Sarah. Very much.”

  I smiled wide, but then had to hide it as his secretary entered, carrying a stack of papers. “Here are the notes you wanted for the oversight committee,” she said, setting the papers on his desk.

  The President held up one finger to her, and looked at me. “Thank you, Miss Hayes. I’ll expect the rest of the letters this afternoon.”

  “I’ll bring them to you when they’re done,” I said, and turned and left.

  The day seemed to drag, and even April noticed my restlessness at lunch. We had spent the first half of the week discussing the fabulous night of sex she’d had with Marcus, and when she pressed me for details about Jamie, I told her nothing had happened. I didn’t want to tell her about him rescuing me, because that would lead to questions about what we did afterwards. But she did look at me suspiciously when I told her I needed a break from Filibuster’s for a while.

  When we got back to work, I tried to focus on the letters, hoping it would make the time go faster until I could be alone with the President again. Finally, five o’clock rolled around, and I forced myself to wait another half hour to ensure that we were alone.

  I took the letters in and found him going over some papers. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.

  “Finally,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to us being alone all day.”

  Once again, my heart leapt. “I was feeling the same way.”

  “How was your week?”

  “Uneventful. Missed you.”

  “We’ll have to go to Camp David together sometime. It’s beautiful there. But I found myself walking through the woods wishing you were by my side instead of some British guy.”

  I laughed. “That would be wonderful.”

  He gave me a smile. “Feel like doing something tonight?” he asked.

  “Of course. What do you have in mind?”

  He pointed at the stack of papers in front of him. “I have to finish this first, but I have a surprise for you. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  I smiled. “What kind of surprise? Is it what I’ve been asking for?”

  He shook his head. “No, it isn’t that.”

  I pouted. “What is it then?”

  He gave me a grin. “You’ll see. Just be here by eight, and don’t eat, we’ll have dinner together.”

  My smile returned. “Sounds like fun. I’ll be here.”

  I went home and went through my usual routine, taking a bath and getting dressed. I wondered if he had another solarium dinner planned, or whether we were going to eat in the White House dining room. It really didn’t matter, as long as I was with him.

  I found it odd that the strangeness of him being president was wearing off. It was still there, but I was thinking of him more like a guy than the leader of the country. Of course, that was only in our private time. During business hours he was still the boss, and still the president.

  I made it back to the White House on time, and went straight to the Oval Office. The door was ajar, so I pushed it open and walked in.

  “Good evening, Mr. Pres–”

  I stopped in mid-syllable. It wasn’t him. Someone was sitting at the President’s desk, but it wasn’t the President. This guy was slightly odd looking. He wore glasses and sported a moustache and goatee, and had long hair down to his shoulders. He was wearing a black polo shirt.

  He stared at me without smiling.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you supposed to be here?”

  “Who are you?” he asked. He had a clipped British accent.

  “I work here. Who are you?”

  “I’m Reginald.”

  “Reginald, I don’t think you’re supposed to be here. I’m going to have to call the Secret Service.”

  “That would be a mistake.”

  I felt a slight chill of fear. I was alone with this guy and who knows what he was after?

  “Why would it be a mistake?”

  “Because, Sarah, you’d ruin the evening I have planned.”

  I stared at him in shock. The British accent was gone, and I realized it was President Remington’s voice coming out of this guy.

  He smiled at me.

  “Mr. President! Is that really you?”

  “In the flesh.”

  I walked closer, studying his face. It was him, hidden under all of that. If he wouldn’t have told me I would never have known.

  I began giggling.

  “What?” he said, “Do I look that bad?”

  “No, it’s just so weird to see you like this. You look so different.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going out.”

  “Out?”

  “Yes, we’re going out to dinner.”

  “Without the Secret Service?”

  “Well, having five guys standing around me wearing black suits and sunglasses would make my disguise useless.”

  “You sure this is a good idea?”

  “I’ve done it before.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like to meet people, and hear what they have to say. When I meet them as president, they sometimes tell me what they think I want to hear. When I’m like this, they tell the truth, as painful as it may be.”

  “What if someone needs to get hold of you?”

  “I have my phone. You ready to go?” He stood up, and I noticed he was wearing jeans. His shirt fit him tightly, showing off his lean, muscular physique.

  I shook my head in amazement.

  “What?” he asked again.

  “You look like one of the dorm rats from my college.”

  He grinned. “Then my disguise is successful.”

  “I’m a little overdressed for you.”

  “We can stop by your place so you can change.”

  “How are we going to get out without the Secret Service knowing?”

  “This place has a lot of secrets.” He pulled a keyring from his pocket and walked to a doorway in the wall. It matched the curve of the room, and was at the same level, so unless you looked hard it was easy to miss. He slid the key in and the door opened. A light went on in the interior.

  “After you,” he said.

  I walked through, and enjoyed his familiar hand on my back. The inner room was spare, and had a spiral staircase leading downward.

  “Hold onto the ra
iling,” he said, and we began our descent.

  At the bottom, we were at a confluence of two tunnels. One went east towards the main house, and the other went south, towards the Ellipse. They had white walls with indirect lighting from above, but it was only lit partially down each tunnel.

  “This was built by Reagan,” the President said. “He wanted a way to get to the Oval Office from the residence without going past the press corps.”

  “Where’s this one go?” I asked, pointing to the south.

  He took my hand. “I’ll show you.”

  We walked down the tunnel. The lights were on sensors, and as we moved, they lit up ahead of us, and turned off behind us.

  A few hundred feet down, we passed a spiral staircase on our right. From what I could tell, we were close to the outdoor pool, so I guessed that was a private way to get to it. We kept going. It was longer than I thought, and we walked for about three minutes until we reached another circular staircase. When we got to the top, we were in a small room with walls made of stone blocks, and barred windows on two sides.

  The President pushed open the door slightly and looked around, then reached back for my hand. Opening the door, he pulled me out, and quickly shut it again, making sure it was locked.

  I looked around. We were standing by the road on the far side of the Ellipse. The White House gleamed from the other side of the grassy park. The building we came out of looked like a small gatehouse of some sort.

  Still holding hands, we walked in the direction of my apartment.

  Chapter 18

  Back at my place, I went into my bedroom to change. Instead of waiting in the living room, he followed me in and sat in the chair beside my bed, obviously intent on watching. He set his fake glasses aside on a table.

  I pulled a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt from my dresser, and laid them on the bed. After kicking out of my shoes, I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled it off. Then I undid the button of my skirt and stepped out of it, leaving me in just my panties and bra.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

  I smiled and felt my blush rising, realizing, that despite our intimacies, this was the first time he was seeing me almost completely naked. I reached for my jeans.

  “No,” he said, “not yet.”

  I felt my heart rate increase, as I recognized the commanding tone in his voice. I had thought that we would come back here after dinner, but it was obvious he wanted something now. I placed the jeans on the bed and turned to him, awaiting his direction.

  He looked at me for a long moment, and then said, “Show me.”

  I felt a surge of excitement as I reached behind and undid the clasp of my bra. The garment loosened, and I slid the straps off my shoulders, still holding it to my breasts. I watched his eyes as I slowly slid it down, revealing myself to him.

  The desire in his gaze made my knees weak, and I had to lean against the bed for support. My pussy was already soaked, and I had to fight the urge to slip my fingers inside.

  “All of it,” he said.

  I pushed the panties down over my hips, then onto my thighs, allowing them to drop and puddle at my feet. Stepping out of them, I stood in front of him, completely exposed to his watchful eyes.

  After a long moment of appraisal, he said, “Get on the bed, on your knees, facing away from me.”

  I did as he commanded, feeling the wetness quickly seeping through me.

  “Now, bend over and place your head on the cover.”

  I leaned forwards and rested the side of my face on the bedspread. Arching my back, I presented myself to him. I wondered if he could see how wet I was.

  He was silent for a long moment, and I corkscrewed my hips slightly, trying to entice him. How wonderful it would be if he got up on the bed and shoved his cock into me in one hard stroke. Get all of this virginity stuff out of the way once and for all.

  “Touch yourself.”

  I slid my hand down the bed and then up between my legs, brushing through my soft curls to find my slick cleft. Because of the angle of my back, the outer lips were spread slightly, and I knew he could see the glistening pink folds between. The lubrication coated my fingers, and I pressed them slightly inside, sighing softly from the pleasure.

  Wanting to give him a good show, I used two fingers to spread my lips, revealing my intimate flesh to his gaze.

  Please fuck me. Fill me with that big cock. I’ve been waiting too long.

  I slid a finger to the top of my slit and found my clit, caressing it gently. I groaned from the sensation and arched my hips higher, trying to will him to come over and fuck me.

  I focused on my clit, rubbing at the small bundle of nerves. Did he just want to watch me come without joining in? If so, I could do that. My finger picked up speed and I moaned again.

  Suddenly, I felt his hands lightly rest on my ass cheeks. He had moved to the bed without me hearing.

  Yes!

  His hands held me firmer, and I could tell he was watching me – watching what I was doing to myself. This close, he couldn’t miss seeing how wet I was for him.

  “Remove your hand.”

  I moved my hand away, hoping he had undone his pants and that his cock was just inches from my entrance, poised to enter. In my mind’s eye I could see it, swollen and stiff, arching rigidly and ready to sink into me in one hard thrust. Oh god, please let it be true.

  Then I felt a light touch. Not the rounded head of his dick, but something else – something that was moving.

  Oh my god, it’s his mouth!

  He pressed his face against my pussy and kissed me there. I felt his tongue worm between my labia and I groaned loudly. His strong hands held my ass in place as his tongue worked through my crease, lapping at my sensitive tissues.

  He stiffened it and probed into my entrance, and I felt his cheeks press against my outer lips. Then his tongue was moving, touching me everywhere, sliding up and down through my moist furrow.

  I clutched at the covers and cried out loudly when the tip of his tongue flicked over my clit, sending sparks of pleasure up my spine. His thumbs moved to the sides of my pussy and spread me wider, allowing his lips and tongue free reign.

  “Ohhhhh,” I moaned, trying to press back against him, as if wanting to take him inside. He made his tongue flat and rolled it over my sensitive nub in long, slow licks, driving my ecstasy higher.

  I could feel my orgasm approaching, barreling towards me like a freight train. His expert tongue was touching places I’d never been touched before.

  “Yesss, just like that,” I whispered, “So good, baby.”

  He must have sensed my imminent climax, because he captured my clit between his lips and batted it with his tongue in quick licks. I felt my insides tightening, preparing for the explosion I knew was seconds away. His tongue was relentless, driving me over the edge.

  “Uhhhggggg!” I cried, as my body locked in spastic seizures, the pleasure pounding through me in explosive waves. His tongue continued its attack, and my orgasm churned through me, forcing me to cry out in incoherent groans. The room spun and I held on as the storm raged, and the President kept his face pressed to my intimate core.

  Finally, it was over. He kissed my pussy lightly and several shuddering aftershocks rippled through me. I slid down to lie flat, and he followed me, resting his head on my ass. After a few minutes, he moved up next to me, lying on his side and caressing my hair.

  I opened my eyes and smiled softly at him. “That felt incredible.”

  He smiled. “I could tell.”

  “I think the neighbors could too.”

  He chuckled. “I’m happy you enjoyed it.”

  “Your turn?”

  He shook his head. “Later. Let’s go eat.”

  “I’m too weak to move.”

  He leaned down and kissed me gently, and when our tongues lightly touched, I could taste myself on him. His fake beard tickled my face.

  Suddenly, his hand swatted my ass hard.

&nbs
p; “Ow! What was that for?”

  He grinned. “Just something to wake you up.”

  I smiled. “A few more of those, and I won’t let you leave.”

  He laughed and kissed me again, then rolled off the bed and stood. He had a nice lump at the front of his pants. “Get dressed, I’m hungry.”

  “You sure?” I said, nodding towards the lump. “You could take my virginity.”

  He shook his head. “I told you, that’s going to be special. I’m just waiting for the right time.”

  I sat up. “What do you have planned?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “Come on, tell me.”

  He smiled and picked up my jeans, tossing them to me. “Get dressed.”

  Chapter 19

  The restaurant was a small Italian place, a few blocks from the White House in downtown Washington. In the lobby, there was a large framed photograph of a short, bald man shaking hands with President Remington. I assumed the other man was the owner, and I thought the photo was ironic, considering the circumstances.

  The place was about half full, and I was worried that someone would recognize my date, forgetting that I hadn’t, even when he was sitting in the Oval Office. He was using his British accent and reminded me to call him Reginald, both of which made me giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You look like a Reginald. Can I call you Reggie?”

  “No, Reginald will do,” he said, sounding like someone from Monty Python, making me laugh some more.

  “Where’d you get that, anyway?”

  “Get what?”

  “The fake beard and wig.”

  “Steven Spielberg is one of my supporters, and a good friend. I asked for his help, and he sent me the wig and some of these beards from his movie studio. The beard and moustache just stick on with spirit gum.”

  “They must be stuck on very well.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because they didn’t come off when you were, um, up close and personal with me a few minutes ago.”

  He chuckled. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I should be more careful, they might fall off.”