Dan the God (Part two)
"That cant be right!" Dan cried as he slammed on the brakes of the creaky little red hatchback car that had carried us from our Midwest college town to Washington DC.
"But it IS right," I insisted, reading the reservation print outs aloud to Dan for the third time as we idled in the far right lane in front of a strangely familiar landmark. "1600 Transylvania Ave. Thats the address of the hotel that your friends booked for us. They said it was called "The George," but I dont see any signs......other than THAT one......" I trailed off, pointing to the sign identifying the Chalk House. I had to gulp and swallow because I could feel precome seeping out of my hardon due to nothing but the very proximity of that blasted man who would be living there another four years thanks in part to my treachery.
Then Dan tipped his head back and roared with laughter. "Not the George, Stroker!" he guffawed. "The GIORGE!!!" When he saw no comprehension in my bewildered face, he spelled it out for me. "Mr. Rogue and Mr. Pearl-Necklace have arranged for us to stay IN THE CHALK HOUSE!
"Oh, _f_u_c_k_........" I groaned as my _c_o_c_k_ throbbed at this provocative news like one of those coil spring door stops. HOW was I ever going to get a wink of sleep spending the weekend in the same house as that smirking, walking _c_o_c_k_ of a prezident?
"Well," beamed Dan, grinning his smuggest grin as the secret service men waved us through the gates and into a enclosed underground garage entrance. "I guess this proves my accomplishments are being given the recognition they deserve!"
I could have pointed out that it might have had something to do with ME as well, but was too nervous to care. Minutes later the rough secret service studs had ushered us into separate little brightly lit white rooms for strip searches. Dans was voluntary, and exhibitionistic, and went smoothly for everyone, except for the momentary shock when he produced his hand gun. I dont think Dan had been tackled by that many guys since his highschool football quarterback days. MY strip search, of course, was an embarrassing, tumescent nightmare. They had to pull the clothes off me as I tried to hide my rod, futile as that effort was. Then the laughter! Youd think these guys had never seen a hard _c_o_c_k_ before, and I had to endure more _s_h_i_t_ about MY "concealed weapon" than Dan did.
When I was finally released back into Dans prescence, red-faced and rumpled, I noticed that he was busy strutting under the admiring attentions of two trolls in fancy suits. They turned out to be Rogue and Pearl-Necklaced, which didnt surprise me, but their creepy personas deflated my hard on for the first moment since wed entered the beltway. They introduced themselves perfunctorily to me, but were clearly enthralled with Dan, and turned back to him instantly. Obviously the little democratic turncoat could wait.
"Lets show Dan his room, Carl," panted Richerd, and the fatter of the two nodded eargerly, and I swear, licked his fat lips. "Mr. Stroker, why dont you follow Mr. Smith of the secret service up to your room, and you can get cleaned up and dressed for the dinner. Well come get you when its time." I agreed without regret or complaint, because they made my skin crawl, and I hoped to get some......er.....privacy. I noticed Dan was sucking it all up like a big ol hoover. He thought he was king stud of the western world right at that moment, with these power hogs making such a fuss over him. It made me want to vomit. He waved goodbye in a "so long, sucker" way to me as he strutted off with his drooling admirers.
Smith barely acknowledged me, meanwhile, and spent the whole trip up the stairs and down the hall to my room talking to somebody on his headseat about paperwork. I even had to carry my own suitcase. But what a relief when he dropped me off at the Lincoln Log Bedroom, of all places, and shut the door behind me, and I found myself at last alone......with my stiff _c_o_c_k_ for the Buschman.
I dropped everything and threw myself backwards onto the huge, silk-spread Emporer sized bed, only vaguely puzzling over why I had been given such a famous, important room as I unzipped, yanked my pants and boxers down around my ankles and started jacking my aching _c_o_c_k_.
Giorge. My maddening, studly, incompetent, victorious, terrorist-_f_u_c_k_ing prezident! My worst political nightmare now become my constant wet day dream—Giorge! I was in his home! Somewhere probably only a few rooms away the big daddy of all fratboys _c_o_c_k_ and balls swung freely in monogrammed silk pajamas every night before swelling up and peeling out and working open that dull little pussy on his boring wife. What a waste, I grumbled as I pounded my rock-hard meat in hail to the chief of my traitorous, illogical heart, and I felt my man sap rising up my thick stalk for the first time in months without Dans dick up my ass. For the first time since my pavlovian brainwashing, I was being allowed to focus entirely on one man: Giorge Busch. And oh, let me tell you, Did I have it bad for that man!
"Well well," came his voice, loud and without any of the filtration I was used to through TV and radio. "I think Id better call YOU stroker"
I shot up in bed and gasped. Two feet in front of me a jet of my own hot cum was spurting straight up out of my dick and aiming for a handsome man in a nice blue suit who suddenly stepped back and put out his palms to arrest the assault of airborne semen. Huge splatters of sticky white covered his deftly wielded hands—hands that could some day be pressing doomsday buttons. I could only have been more mortified by my untimely ejaculations if they hadnt been specifically triggered by his unmistakable voice.
"B-B-but that already IS my name, mr. prezident" I said, because I didnt know what else to say to my surprise VIP visitor.
"Of course it is," he assured me, while not bothering to disguise his annoyance and displeasure both at getting spooged and for flubbing his usually disarming nickname gimmick. "Naturally I know more about you than you probably wish I did," the pseudo Texan chuckled as he held out his spunky hands palms up in front of my face. "In fact, I understand your mouth works overtime and that weve had you literally eating out of our hands for weeks and weeks now, havent we?"
I gulped at the clear implication of his mocking words, and dutifully leaned forward and began lapping every drop of my own warm ejaculate off of the outstretched hands of the leader of the free world.
"Thats a good boy," Giorge teased as he cupped first his left and then his right palm under my slurping tongue and burrowing chin until they were both licked clean of my jizm. "But youve been a bad boy all the same, jacking off in the Lincoln Log Bedroom. You should be ashamed. And you WILL be punished."
Oh god! My dick sproinged again when I sensed what lay ahead of me. Sure enough, my maddeningly hot president ordered me to my feet, took my place on the edge of the great bed and, grabbing me by the throbbing dick, pulled me across his elegantly clothed lap until my bare ass was perfectly positioned for a presidential spanking. I felt Giorges powerful thighs clamp together, trapping my dick between them. Clearly, I wasnt going anywhere until Giorge had meted out the approproiate level of punishment onto my sorry ass,.
"Please, Mr. Prezident, this is beneath your dignity to the bare ass of someone who supported your election," I pleaded, squirming and struggling. as my pulsing, trapped dick remained firmly squeezed between Giorges thights.
"Im not the poor sucker with his pants around his ankles and his bare ass in the air. So doont you worry your traitrous little democratic head over MY dignity!"," Giorge taunted me as he raised his right hand to strike.
SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!
"Yeowwwch!" I cried, even as the electric thrill of actually getting manhandled by the biggest political brat who ever lived in the Chalk House was fattening up my spent rod all over again.
SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!! SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!! SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!! SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!
"And whats this hornswaggle about YOU supporting my election?" the butchest Busch in the whole _d_a_m_n_ed family demanded of me as he reddened my liberal butt cheeks with his relentless hand. "Youve never REALLY supported me, and youre going to pay for it now!"And then he shocked me by quoting verbatim several of the choicest disses on Giorge and his prezidency that I had posted in my reporting on Dan the Mans rise to power and conquest of me and my progressive pals.
Well, how do you _f_u_c_k_ing like that, I thought to myself as I winced from the pain of his smarting blows, heres a guy who totally IGNORES a daily brief from his security advisors titled "Oddadi Been Wantin Airborne Terrorist Attack Imment" yet hes obviously read every word of my worthless spank porn scribblings,
"Incompetent, eh?" he sneered as he smacked my ass harder. "Self-centered? Delusional? Well, listen you dirty little atheistic pinko, SOMEBODYs not going to be able to sit down at the banquet tonight, and its not going to be ME!"
"Wait!" I cried, struggling over his sternly set thighs that were almost crushing my dick now, "I can explain! I didnt mean any of it! It was just a ruse to fool my left wing friends into thinking I was with them!"
"Horse_s_h_i_t_!" roared my _c_o_c_k_iest of all Kommandersin chief as he ravaged my rump with smacking, stinging smacks of his palm.
SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!! SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!! SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!! SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!
I almost swooned as I felt my crotchthrob of a prezidents ample prick begin to harden and swell up against my poor trapped naked tool through the silky thinness of his finely tailored trousers and probably silk boxers. Giorge was liking this as much as I was, by god. It couldnt have been every day that he got to pay back an enemy of his administration in quite so primal and satisfying a manner!
But within a couple of seconds while he was allowing me to catch my breath between blows and gasps, I distinctly heard some sounds coming from a nearby room that suggested that SOMEONE else was getting spanked in the Chalk house that afternoon. I jumped to the conclusion that for some reason, Dan was being punished as well, although I couldnt figure out why that would be the case.
"Is that my neighbor Dan getting spanked next door, Mr. Busch, Sir?" I gasped . "What did he do to deserve that?"
Giorge paused in his relentless spanking of my butt and burst out laughing. "No, Stroker, as a matter of fact it isnt." he assured me, winking. "But as I know full well how much you ENJOY seeing forceful men meting out righteous punishment on video screens," he chuckled, watching the effect of this on my face, "I think it might be fun to let you see what the other half of my winning ticket has been doing in the Jefferson bedroom next door every Wednesday morning since the election!"
I was puzzled. Chumley in one of the famous presidential bedrooms? Who would that psycho be spanking—his daughter for being a dyke? I didnt have to puzzle over this long, because hardly missing a beat, Giorge had reach over to his desk and flicked a switch which illuminated a bank of previously dark video monitors over in the corner of the bedroom. Three of the screens depicted empty bedrooms, but the fourth revealed a high definition image of two men that made my jaw drop and my _c_o_c_k_ spurt.
Sure enough there was Dick Chumley, looking as stern and fatherly as ever as he sat on the edge of the luxurious bed and dealt swift, descending hand spanks with a powerful looking hand. But what startled and turned me on was the baby face and bare ass of John Edmunds, who lay sprawled in an identical posture to me, across the knees of the man, who after having beaten him electorally, was now beating his ass physically.
"_c_o_c_k_y little sonofabitch lost a little bet he made with Dicky the night they debated." Giorge explained. "He gets four years of weekly, hour long spanking sessions in the Chalk House, thanks to his big mouth. Wouldntcha say his butts getting as red as his bawl baby face? "
I couldnt say anything, I was too dumbfounded. But I have to admit that the sight of the man I had such hopes would be vice president by now in such a compromised position didnt actually disturb me as much as it turned me on. It was clear to me, as a man with a similar lot in life, that John Edmunds was simply born to be spanked, and who better but Chumley to do the spanking?
SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!! SMMMMMMAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!
My reverie was broken up by new, harder smacks on my ass by Giorge. But what WAS happening with Dan, I couldnt help but wonder, since he was not the poor son of a bitch getting his ass blistered raw in the next room? As if on cue, I later thought, the phone in the Lincoln Log Bedroom rung.
"Hello!" barked Giorge, clearly annoyed by the interruption, which he filled as he spoke by rubbing the red, sore surface of my ass cheeks with his free palm in a circular motion.
"Oh." Said Giorge, his face suddenly losing its look of displeasure. "Im looking forward to meeting you, too, Soldier. I know all about your great work back in "--------" . In fact, Im muscling in on your territory as we speak," he added, smirking at my upturned look and giving my bare ass a smack for emphasis. "Its for you. Dont talk long. Ive got other plans for your lying little mouth," Giorge leered at me as he handed me the phone. I involuntarily squirted a big shot of precum and practically dropped the receiver in my excitement at this provocative innuendo.
"Dan?" I said into the receiver. "Getting serviced," he answered cleverly and smugly. I had an unpleasant sense of what the scene might look like with two such ravenous trolls locked in a room with my hunk of a neighbor, but I tried to dismiss it instantly. Dan, unfortunately insisted on grinding my face in it. "Two top advsisors of the president—and I use the term top loosely—are currently taking turns sucking on my schlong and licking out my ass. In short, these two chief architects of the Iraq war and the great doctrine of preemption as bigger _s_e_x_ pigs than YOU are, stroker, " he teased. "Though they lack your fine technique," he added. The gradually clearing mental image of the creepy Francine Fshpaw-like Rogue and the disgusting faggotrellaish Pearl-Necklace pawing and licking and sucking on my studly Dan suddenly made me sick to my stomach. I wanted to just forget it and brag to Dan about what was happening to ME, but nature had to have its way as sure as it does when gravity pulls down my pants so often. I dropped the phone, green-faced, and said "Excuse me, Mr. Prezident, " and Giorge wisely let me totter off to the Lincoln log bathroom to barf. I heard Giorge say goodbye to Dan and hang up.
"Rinse your mouth out when youre done in there Monica," Giorge called to me as I rose from the edge of the bed and started taking off his jacket and loosening his tie. He must have taken off his shoes and socks while I finished hurling my lunch, and had removed his pants sometime before I was feeling better and had dutifully sweetened my breath with the presidential bottle of Listerine I found in the medicine cabinet.
When I emerged, I was confronted by a sight I had only wet dreamed of until now. Giorge Busch coyly relaxing in the swivel leather chair of the rooms desk, his white and blue pinstriped shirt completely unbuttoned and parted to reveal his furry grey mat of chest hair and his trim, equally hairy belly. The two ends of His tie were still draped over his shoulders and he still had on his boxers, which were loose and spacious and gapped to show off the dark recesses they created along his inner thighs and his groin, which suggested an increasingly aroused _c_o_c_k_ that must have been close to bursting through the gapped fly opening. One of Giorges elbows was bent behind his head as he reclined in the chair, and the other held a red telephone receiver.
"Dan tells me you perform better when your republikan superior is talking to another man on the telephone. Is that true?" Giorge asked me, matter of factly.
I could only nod yes and stare at the view between Giorges parted thighs, drooling.
"He says youre even better if they talk republican political strategy. But I was thinking we might both enjoy a little......foreign policy.....this afternoon" Giorge grinned at me as he indicated the space of carpet in front of his chair where he was expecting me to kneel. I stumbled frantically towards him to make myself ready, burning my knees on the carpet. "Whos your favorite foreign leader?" He asked me as he pet my head and encouraged my slow advance upon his freely offered crotch. I didnt know what to answer. All I could think of was his major republikan dick, and how it would taste in my traitorous liberal mouth. "Come on," he pressed me, with a tiny bit of irritation. "Who have you seen me on TV with that you pictured me having _s_e_x_ with?"
How the hell did he know how to press my buttons like this? He was worse than DAN, for gods sake. I suddenly pictured the hard-bodied, tight, studly cool and fairly youngish foreign leader Id actually fantasized about _f_u_c_k_ing Busch—Vladimeer Soutin of Prussia. I must have said his name before I stuffed my mouth with Giorge Buschs hard _c_o_c_k_, which I had reverently fished out of his boxer fly, because Giorge was asking a secretary over the phone to connect him to Soutins office in the Gremlin.
"Vlad, you ol impaler! Hows the insurgency?" Giorge quipped as he guided my head up and down its initial ingestion of his Executive _c_o_c_k_. I could hear the forceful, irritable answer crackling through the receiver as I sucked the dick of my own nemesis president without regret and with much relish.
"You need to handle them with a firm hand," Giorge tormented his Prussian friend with useless advice, even as he forced my head farther down and his dick farther up my throat. I gagged audibly. "You hear that, Vlad?" Your enemies should be choking at your feet, like mine. Or at your dick," he added, chuckling. I devoured the dick that sprung from Giorges bush while I overheard Soutin grilling the Prez for details about who was blowing him THIS TIME, and I blushed as Giorge spared me no humiliation in the describing. Then, he added: "You work too hard, Vlad. Next time you come over well take the Jet to "------" and this little New Deal traitor can play a Prussian tune on your nice big uncut oboe."
I was mortified AND in heaven. I had the biggest dick in the free world to suck on like a pacifier, and there was nowhere I would rather have been. Little did I know that things were about to start becoming hellish for my man, Dan
END OF PART TWO