Inside His Beltway

This book was given to JOANNA Rączkowska on Instafreebie. www.instafreebie.com

INSIDE HIS BELTWAY A BAD BOY POLITICAL ROMANCE

VICTORIA CABOT

SINFUL SELECTIONS PUBLISHING

CONTENTS Hello From Victoria and Juliana! The Sorority of Sin Description

Barry 2. Camille 3. Barry 4. Camille 5. Camille 6. Barry 7. Camille 8. Barry 9. Camille 10. Epilogue - As Told By President… 1.

Inside His Beltway A Bad Boy Political Romance

By Victoria Cabot and Juliana Conners

Copyright 2016 by Victoria Cabot and Juliana Conners All rights reserved Kindle Edition

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only. Newsletter for Victoria: Victoria’s Secrets Mailing List for Juliana: Juliana’s Bad Boys

This book is dedicated to all the ladies in the Sorority of Sin. To all the Sinners, Bad Girls at the Bistro, Review Team. It’s also dedicated to every single man who ever said that we couldn’t stand on our own two feet as women - it feels so good to throw it back in their fucking faces. Bad Girls Rock!

HELLO FROM VICTORIA AND JULIANA!

H i ladies! If you’re like us, you’re a romance junkie. And, hopefully, you like to have fun. So, please know that we are not looking to offend anyone here with my over the top descriptions of things. We aren’t really that political. But we like making jokes. And so wanted to have some fun in a a universe of the romance novel - where you can find billionaires at the corner grocery store apparently, dragons turn into alpha males, mafia guys are hot, everybody is fucking their stepbrother, and princes routinely sweep us off our feet! So when you see hijinks, we’re really not looking to offend your concept of reality or tell you who is right and who is wrong, but just having a good time. We’re placing this at the beginning, so you know going into it that we are fun-loving kinds of gals, and we had a lot of fun in writing this - wasn’t looking to start any fights…

THAT SAID, we think you’ll like what you see inside. Maybe you want to give it a try? We’ll make it worth your while…

:) Kisses! Victoria xoxox

THE SORORITY OF SIN

H i ladies! If you’re like me, once you finish, you’re not going to want the story to end! To receive exclusive sneak peeks to ARCs (before anyone else!), bonus content not seen anywhere else, giveaways, and tons more swag, visit me and my author sorority sisters at The Sorority of Sin on Facebook!

WE’LL MAKE it worth your while… :) Kisses! Victoria and Juliana

DESCRIPTION

It’s dirty. It’s filthy. It’s obscene…it’s the race for President of the United States. Just when you thought politics couldn’t possibly get any DIRTIER… comes a novella by Victoria Cabot and Juliana Conners that peeks behind the scenes- and under the sheets- of a filthy bad boy politician and his scandalous opponent. Both are desperate to win at any cost… but will they stoop so low as to try to steal not only the election but also each other’s hearts?

1

BARRY

this election. Fuck this entire fucking election. F uck This electoral process can fucking kiss my ass. “Barry Douglas doesn’t believe in providing school lunches for poor children,” Camille says. Jesus fucking Christ - this is what debates have fucking come down to? Lying through your fucking teeth? “That’s absolutely not true,” I can’t help but cut in. “He wants to deport all car mechanics,” she continues. “That makes no sense at all,” I interject again. “And if elected, he’ll switch our currency to the Mexican peso,” she finishes and looks at me with a smug satisfaction. Fuck. I never thought I’d miss the fucking Senate. I was there for a great six years. Sometimes I wonder why I’m even running for President. It’s like a fucking race to the bottom. But then I stop myself. What the fuck am I talking about? I was fucking born for this job. I’m the youngest Senator this country has ever seen - graduating from all the right fucking schools. Yale for undergrad. Harvard for

law school. Served in fucking Afghanistan for two years. Senator by the age of fucking thirty, for Christ’s sake. I mean, sure, it helped that my Dad was the billionaire founder of Douglas Technologies - the world’s largest semiconductor maker. But I never rested on those laurels. I never kept the fucking silver spoon in my mouth. I’ve always fought and earned everything I’ve gotten. And I’m no stranger to hard work. It shows up in everything that I fucking do. In my work product and in my life. I’m a fucking rock star when it comes to my work. Whether it’s managing my father’s company when I was doing that, killing terrorists in the Middle East, or being a Senator. I ran on a platform of fighting for average people in New York State after the last Senator got caught with his hands down some stripper’s panties sitting next to Howard Stern at an underground sex club. I won with a fucking landslide - my first election and I wiped the field. Now, I’m the Senator with the highest approval ratings in any party. When it comes to my personal life, I’m a fucking King, also. Don’t get me wrong - I’m agreeing with you when I say I’m a cocky and arrogant asshole. But boy, do I have the body to pull it off. You think 6 pack abs are great? Well, I have fucking 8 pack abs. That’s right. The body of a fucking Greek god - chiseled face, classic cut jawline, broad fucking shoulders, wide, deep blue eyes and dimples that get the ladies fucking wet. But sure that gets them wet. They throw themselves at me - the rockstar fucking Senator. But what keeps them coming back is the giant fucking monster cock I have swinging from my legs. 11 fucking inches of pussy pleasing power. An eleven inch cock.

You’re probably rolling your eyes right now, aren’t you? Every bad boy you’ve ever met boasts about his cock. About his body. About how cut and ripped his muscles are. Well, listen, doll, you can roll your eyes all you want, but after one night with me, when you can’t walk, you’ll still be rolling your eyes - but that’ll be because you’ll cum just by thinking about what I’ve done to you. You’re smiling now, aren’t you? That was good, right? And I mean, listen, they come at me - I’m not denying that I’ve fucked countless girls. I’m not like some other politicians - having to brag that I can grab women by the pussy. I mean, I do brag about it, but I don’t have to. Because their pussies fucking grab me. Like ravenous venus flytraps. But I tell all of them, every single one, before we start doing anything, that I’m not looking for a wife. I’m only 30 and I’ve got a long way to go. What? You think I need to be 35 to be President? Sorry, doll, you need a civics lesson. President Austin Bain passed the Constitutional Amendment a few years ago. Married his stepsister too. It was all over the fucking news. But don’t worry, I missed it too. I was too busy fucking Miss America to bother with what was going on. God, we had a great two weeks. But then it was time for me to move on. Two weeks is the longest I go. I moved onto the Hollywood actress, what’s her name? Jezebel Rollins? That was fun for a bit, but two weeks later, I think it was the French ambassador’s wife. Oh right, that’s where you probably remember me best from, right? When Jezebel won the Oscar for Best Picture and spent her entire fucking speech talking about

how much she missed me and wanted me back and did that open air plea to America to get me to return her phone call? Yeah, that bitch liked to swallow. She used to ask me to spray her with cum all over her tits. Then she’d use her fingers to scoop it up and lick it clean. Just watching her would get me hard all over again and we’d fuck for hours on end. But yeah, not wife material. “And Senator Douglas will make sure that he completely bans the NFL if he’s elected,” my opponent goes on. God, what an angry fucking woman. Sure, she was fucking hot, but after this election season, I don’t even want to look at her, much less bang her. “I don’t even know where that accusation came from,” I say to the debate audience, throwing my hands up in the air. It’s a town hall format, so I’m standing there as she’s pacing, with her evil eyes, spouting lies about me. Every step of my entire political career, she’s dogged me. Senator Camille Rogers - the ninth bitch from hell. Whether it was running for Senate - she was the other contender. I beat her, and the next year she picked up the other Senate seat from the outgoing Senator. But once she got to Washington, she torpedoed or tried to torpedo all of the bills that I proposed. It doesn’t help that she’s a Republican and I’ve always championed Democratic causes. But fuck, give me a fucking break, lady. You don’t have to attack me like I’m trying to jump on you or anything. Sure, you’re cute, with your blonde hair, green eyes, fantastic ass, long, slender legs and tight body. And sure, if you were a little bit less of a bitch I’d like to rip that skirt off you and…

“Senator Douglas?” the moderator is asking me. Fuck. Not again. I zoned the fuck out thinking about how much I want to fuck Camille. I swear, I’m the most dominant alpha male in the country, but the 24-7 stress of this election going on for over a year is killing me. Okay, time for Plan fucking B. “I don’t think that’s the major question at hand, Bill,” I tell him and start walking towards him. I have no fucking idea what he just asked me and what the topic is, but I’m going to do what people do at these debates anyways. I’m going to fucking wing it. “What Senator Rogers hasn’t told you is the number of people that have literally died in New York City when she was mayor,” I say to the audience. “Homicides jumped and nearly 500 people were killed by crime alone, and I for one, think the Senator has some explaining to do,” I say with as much indignation as I can muster. It does the trick, somehow. The people in the crowd start nodding and Camille just rolls her eyes. “I think Senator, that you need to apologize to all those wives whose husbands were killed. To all those parents whose children will never be coming home.” “What th-” Camille starts but I cut her off. “No excuses,” I interrupt her and wag my finger. My pollster says it works well on undecided voters if I let out some of my alpha male and there’s no sense in trying to play nice in front of the cameras when half of America knows that I’m not a nice person. “I think you are just as responsible as the person pulling the trigger for all those deaths. So the bigger question is, why did you kill so many people on your watch? And how many more people are going to have to die before you realize that your policies don’t work? How many people will die if you

become President?” Camille has nothing to say. She stares at me as if I’ve just blindsided her. The audience is shocked as well. Jesus Christ, I must have really hit home pretty hard. “Senator Douglas,” the moderator, William Jefferson begins, “The question was to name something positive about your candidate.” Oh. Fuck. “You just attacked her tenure as the former Mayor of New York City - is that the only positive thing you have to say about her?” Bill continues. Christ. I recited the wrong fucking talking point. What the hell was I thinking. I look around the audience. People have their arms crossed. They’re shaking their heads. They’re angry at what they see as me being a bully. I had the chance to score some undecided voters. I may have lost some evangelical women instead. Fuck me. “Anything positive?” Bill asks again. The clock is ticking down and I don’t know what to say. I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “She’s got a nice ass,” I say into the microphone. There are gasps from all sides of the auditorium and all of a sudden people are holding their hands to their mouth. Now let me be clear that I’m not an idiot here, okay? I went to good schools that I really got into. I did well. It’s just that when I start talking, I kind of shut off my brain. I guess that’s what happens now. “I’d like to squeeze that ass with both hands, let me tell you,” I say in a deadpan, serious voice. “Then bend her over and rub my cock in between those ass cheeks. Maybe turn her around and just lick

her pussy till she screams out for me to fuck her,” I tell the audience. Remarkably, some people are nodding along as I continue. “She’s so fucking hot. I’m glad I’m in this election because I want to fuck her so badly.” I even finish in a rhetorical flourish. The moderator is silent. The audience is silent. The camera crew is silent. Camille is blushing. Hard. She can’t meet my gaze. Fuck, I don’t know what I’ve done. Is the campaign over? If so, what’s the point of being here in the first place? I extend my arm, and do a mic drop. That’s right. At a national fucking debate. Hey, at this point, anything is believable. Right? And I turn around, unplugging my other microphone and walk off stage. Let’s see if I get any bump in the polls.

2

CAMILLE

“M s. Rogers! Ms. Rogers!”

Jesus. I can’t even walk out of the university auditorium where the debate was held and towards the parking lot without being pestered by reporters. “How do you feel about Mr. Douglas’ comments?” one of the reporters demands. I freeze and squint, as cameras flash in my face. I want to answer, “I don’t know, I’m just as shocked as the rest of America is,” but I can only seem to manage to stand here with my mouth hanging open, looking stupid, afraid to say the wrong thing. My opponent just killed his year-long campaign in sixty seconds flat and I don’t want to take the focus off of that stunning display of career suicide by saying anything that could at all possibly be used against me. “How do you feel about the fact that the Senator just said he wants to defile you, during a live debate that was televised in front of the entire nation?” another reporter demands. Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me.

He really did just say that. I can’t even believe it. But he did, and he’s going to be the laughingstock of the nation not only for the rest of this election cycle but also for the rest of history. I stand up straight and close my mouth. You got this, I tell myself. I’ll just let him hang himself. I don’t have to say a word. Barry walks by me though, and winks. “How does it feel to know that the Senator wants to defile you?” he asks me. And then he saunters off towards his limo, looking smug and satisfied, as if he hadn’t just made a fool out of himself and wrecked his chances at winning the presidency. Damn, I can’t help but think, as I watch him walk away. That perfect ass, though. It sure does match the rest of his perfectly toned physique. All of which looks very nice in that expensive suit and tie. “Camille, let’s get you to the hotel,” Jen, my campaign advisor, whispers into my ear, snapping me out of my inappropriately timed admiration of my opponent. “You need to eat, and sleep.” What I need is a cold shower. As Jen and I walk towards her car, a group of students line the pathway from the auditorium to the parking lot. Somehow they’ve already assembled large wooden signs and painted slogans on them and they’re fully prepared for an impromptu protest against what had just happened. They’re displaying a lot of tried and true “Barry the Bastard Has Got to Go” signs, but I can’t help noticing some new and creative ones as well. “Your Political Opponent is Not Your Next Conquest,” “DNC Keep Your

Hands Off Me” and “Neither My Pussy Nor My Country Are Up For Grabs” are a few that impress me when they catch my eye, although Jen instructs me to keep them straight ahead and to not look at either the cameras or the protestors. I know I’m supposed to be disgusted by Barry’s comments. I’m sure my campaign strategists are working on spinning what he said to be an even bigger deal than it was— if that’s even possible, because it was a pretty big deal. They’re probably going to say he tried to kiss me right there on stage, before flashing a box of Tic Tacs like some new product placement debate ad. I know I should feel violated. But mostly I feel turned on. I’m glad that none of the reporters can tell that the answer to their— and Barry’s— question about how his comments made me feel is “really fucking wet.” I’d be as much of a laughingstock as Barry is undoubtedly going to be tomorrow. Once I’m alone in my hotel room, I sink into the jetted tub and mentally assess my performance at the debate, which is a habit I’ve gotten into ever since high school debate class and that time I won my campaign for student council president. By the time I’d gotten to college, where I was a political science major, it had become second nature. My ex, Justin, used to say I was more interested in analyzing my debate or other speaking engagement performance than I was in analyzing our sexual relationship, or lack thereof. But he and I just had never clicked in the bedroom. I’d always assumed it was me— because that’s what he’d always said— but one time I let him film us having sex and when I was watching it later I realized his style wasn’t

really anything that special. Despite my attempts to instruct him in what I wanted him to do, he couldn’t get me off with his tongue and the only way I came when we fucked was to help myself out. It should have been a warning sign that we just weren’t meant to be, but I kept ignoring the writing on the wall. He accused me of staying with him for political reasons, and I guess it was true, in a way. He had connections, and connections are everything in politics. Justin’s dad was a major player with an oil and gas company and Justin was being groomed to take the reins. Right before we graduated and I began my bid for mayor, Justin became President of the company and donated a sizeable contribution to my campaign. It was pre- Citizens United so he had to go through some loopholes to make sure I was able to have access to the money. I began to have second thoughts, thinking maybe the contribution could hurt my career rather than help it, and I begged him not to give me any more campaign donations. He accused me of refusing to accept his help and of being too much of a “feminist” to need a man. Really, I think he was just jealous of the success I was achieving and felt threatened by the power imbalance. We soon broke up and that decision was definitely for the best. He contacted me a few years later trying to spout his objections against a potential city emissions rule, but I politely let him know I couldn’t talk to him. I didn’t want it to look like he was influencing me. And I was still mad about the things he’d said long ago. The emissions rule didn’t end up passing anyway, but at least my conscience was clear because Justin had had nothing to do with the decision. My break-up with Justin

made me realize that romantic relationships just aren’t worth it. I don’t have time for them, I clearly can’t trust men and my vibrator can do everything Justin had tried to do but a whole letter better. Thinking about my vibrator— and Barry Douglas’ hot body and exciting words— nearly throws me off track. But I re-focus so that I can run through my debate assessment. Did I stay on track with my talking points? Check. Did I point out the strengths of my campaign? Check. Did I highlight the weaknesses of my opponent’s campaign? Double check. Because Barry Douglas definitely did that for me himself. I was supposed to bring attention to the fact that he’s made disgusting and insulting comments about women. But he went ahead and saved me time by saying such comments directly to me. And I can’t help but remember the way he raised his eyebrows at me as he said them. How he winked at me as he later reiterated that he wanted to defile me. Now my pussy’s dripping wet. I’m going crazy wishing he was actually here to do all the things he said he wanted to do me. Perhaps that was his plan, to throw me off track by arousing something inside me I’ve never even felt before. Raw, animal lust. The desire to be taken hard and rough by a big, powerful man who knows what he wants and how he wants it. They say he has a dick that’s even bigger than his ego. Well. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to relax a little bit. I sink further down into the bubbles and allow one of the jets with the water shooting out of it to gently

massage my pussy. I touch my breasts as I think about what it would feel like to have Barry’s hands on them. I bet he would know how to make me beg him to fuck me. My hand travels down to play with my clit. I want him to lick me up and down. I want his hands all over me and his cock inside me. I scooch closer to the jet so that the water is pounding my pussy the way I want Barry’s cock to. Oh my God. Oh yes. Now I grip the sides of the tub as I explode with the feeling of pure pleasure and ecstasy. “Barry, Barry…” I mumble under my breath, wishing that he was fucking me instead of just the water from the jet. “Camille! Camille!” At first I’m so deep in my fantasy that I think Barry is calling my name right back to me. But then I realize that the sound is coming from outside my door. What the hell? “Camille! Open up!” A female voice— distinctly Jen’s— follows the man’s voice that had just been calling my name on the other side of the door. Holy shit. I quickly soap off and then step out of the tub. “Hold on. I’m coming!” Well, not literally, anymore anyway, thanks to you guys. I wrap the thick, comfortable hotel robe around me. “I thought you said I could go to bed!” I demand of Jen, as soon as I open the door. Dan, one of our media strategists, is with her. I nod at him, trying to be polite despite my annoyance.

How I wish I could just relax in the welcoming sheets and drift off to dreamland now that I feel the perfect mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. “There’s definitely no time to sleep now,” Jen says. “Turn on the TV.” I assume she’s talking to me, but Dan already has the remote in his hand, and he flips to Channel 4. Breaking news. “Although surrounded by controversy throughout every step of his campaign, Senator Barry Douglas one upped himself today by announcing at the end of his debate with Republican presidential nominee Camille Rogers that he wants to—” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, defile me,” I say, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. “He wants to defile me. Geez. We already know that. This isn’t really news.” Mostly I’m trying to talk over the repeat footage of Barry going into every intimate detail of what he wants to do to me. I don’t want to get turned on again. And I want to mask the feeling of embarrassment that washes over me almost as strongly as my orgasm just did. I can’t believe I was just masturbating to my man whore of an opponent. “Keep watching,” Jen says, shaking her head. “Women have gathered all over the country to express their outrage against Senator Douglas and their support for the victimized Ms. Rogers…” the reporter continues, and I roll my eyes again. “Victim? Is this his spin?” I stare at the seemingly millions of posters and signs everyone is holding up as the TV camera pans over them, displaying even newer and more creative slogans, such as “I Am Not the Property of the DNC,” “I Object to Your Objectification of Me” and “Grab Yourself Because You’re

the Pussy.” I’m a little bit disgusted at myself for enjoying what Barry had said about me when I’m obviously supposed to hate it. But it also felt so damn good to just let myself explore the darker, wilder side that he somehow brings out in me. “He wants to make it look like I’m a victim and he’s the strong one or something?” I continue, trying to guess what angle Jen is claiming is so harmful. “Nope,” Jen says, with a sigh. “Keep watching.” I turn back to what the reporter is saying on TV. “But Senator Douglas struck back with an aptly timed attack ad showing that Ms. Rogers is no innocent bystander. In fact, he claims that she can’t protest being objectified, since she’s objectified herself in the past.” “What?” I scan Jen’s face, searching for clues. But the only emotion that I can decipher is disappointment. “Here’s the attack ad, in case you haven’t already seen it during the many times it’s already been played,” the reporter continues. The screen goes black. The voiceover says: “Crooked Camille is at it again. She wants you to think that Senator Douglas is painting her in a bad light. But she’s done that all by herself.” Suddenly an image of me, half naked and with bedhead and bedroom eyes, pops up on the screen. “Is that from…?” I start to ask. “Yep. Your sex tape,” Jen finishes for me. Dan looks down at the floor sheepishly. “Well, I told you about it,” I quickly rush to defend myself. Damn it. Damn Justin. This sex tape was the one mark against me. The one

possible scandal. And I’d made it this far without having it come up. I was stupid to have thought Justin was a decent enough man to keep that thing private. Apparently Justin hadn’t hesitated to screw me over. And Barry had just been waiting for the right opportunity. Which appeared to be right now. “We knew it might come up at some point,” I remind Jen, hoping she’s not too mad at me. “But leave it to Barry the Bastard to bring it up at the worst possible time,” she says. Tell me about it. I’ve worked hard to get this far. I’m within sight of becoming the first female President in the nation’s history. And it all might be ruined because of a stupid sex tape that I didn’t even enjoy making. “And it gets worse,” Jen warns me. “How can it get any worse?” I demand. But of course I soon find out. “I like it when you touch me there…” I hear myself say, on screen. “That’s where a man should touch a woman.” Oh. My. God. It was part of the sex tape with Justin, of course. I was trying to show him what to do to get me off. But not only did my instructions not work but they’re also coming back to haunt me, making it seem like I was enjoying the whole thing when really I had been trying to express that I wasn’t enjoying it at all, and letting him know how to change that. “She likes it when you touch her there,” the voiceover says. “But then she turns around and points fingers at the man who says he does the very thing she herself has said she likes men to do.” “Oh come on!” I protest, but the voiceover keeps

talking. “It’s just one more example of Camille’s crookedness. She even made this sex tape in exchange for a hefty donation to her mayoral campaign from an oil and gas mogul, who is the other participant in this tape. Those are the depths that Camille Rogers will sink to, to get what she wants. This woman will clearly do anything to win. And that’s why she should not win your confidence or your vote.” My jaw is back on the floor, even lower than it was earlier today. “Crooked Camille will not make this country tremendous again,” the ad continues. “She’ll just make it even more dishonest than it already is.” Then Barry’s face— the same one I had just been fantasizing about being in between my legs, licking my pussy— appears and his own voice says, “I’m Barry Douglas and I approve this message. Because unlike Crooked Camille, I’m not afraid to say what I want, in public as well as in private.” “Well, fuck,” I say, staring at the screen as the news reporter comes back on. “This is so not good.” “’So not good’ is probably the biggest understatement you’ve ever uttered,” Jen says, shaking her head. “And that includes the time you said you can’t believe what a mockery Barry the Bastard is going to make out of this whole election process.” I sigh and ask, “What now?” “Now we stay up all night strategizing a way out of this,” Jen says. ….instead of fantasizing a way into my sleazy opponent’s bed. Leave it to Barry to come off looking like a hero because of his sexual bragging. And to make me looking

like a whore for my own sexual history. The public will always come down harsher on a woman than a man when it comes to their sexual pasts. I know this, the market research and polling statistics know this, and eons of evolutionary psychology knows this. And Barry Douglas knows it so well that he enjoyed getting me wet and hot for him. He probably knows I went straight to the hotel to fantasize about him before getting bombarded with the news that he was hiding the sex tape up his sleeve all along, just waiting to bait me with the perfect opportunity to play it for the nation. Well, fuck him. Not literally, of course. I need brain bleach to forget I ever even thought about it. This means fucking war. A war I intend to win. And I also intend to never again confuse lust and excitement with dirty, filthy politics.

3

BARRY

“S enator Douglas?” the reporter asks me as I walk

towards my campaign plane. My plane is huge. It’s bigger and better than Camille’s plane. That’s the only thing I tell myself as I walk through the line of people nearly blocking my way to the plane. The only thing I repeat over and over so I don’t get tempted to stop and answer the reporter’s fucking questions. Because in the last 24 hours, the gloves have literally come off Camille’s campaign. “Senator Douglas, is it true that you went to the Virgin Islands on a state visit and they were considering renaming the country to just ‘The Islands’ after you left?” Now that’s a new one. Each hour brings a new attack. “He’s a monster and a deviant,” one of her surrogates says about me when he goes on Meet the Press. “He watches porn constantly. If he were to be elected, he’d elect a Secretary of Tits and Ass.” Now, I wouldn’t do anything of the sort. But who are the American people going to believe? Me or the fucking press?

It’s going to be the press, all the time, doll. Let me tell you, I found out the hard way. I mean, I’m not fucking proud of our responses to their attacks. “Senator Rogers will make every man measure their cocks if she gets elected,” I read from the TelePrompTer the next day. I nearly fell off the podium as I read this. Who wrote this garbage? “And then they’ll have to enter it into a vast Federal database so the government knows what kinds of regulations to pass on boxer brief makers.” Is this for real? Is this what my campaign had descended into? A race to the bottom for fucking sure. But the next day a new CNN-ORC poll had me increasing my lead among men of all ages and incomes by five points. So Camille came out with the next attack. “If Senator Douglas is made President, he’ll legalize having women’s breasts grabbed during job interviews,” Camille said in a speech. “I mean, we know what he wants to do to me. But imagine him doing that to you.” Wrong fucking move, Camille. Once she said those words, the women of America began fantasizing about me. And boy, did they like what they fantasized about. The campaign received a crush of emails asking if we were looking for volunteers. And I began to close the gap in women voters. “It’s obvious that both candidates are appealing and attractive,” a news analyst is commentating a few days later. “I’d say we should stop looking at favorability ratings and start basing our vote on which one we’d like to sleep with more.” “Senator Douglas wants to destroy all your cars to combat climate change,” an attack ad comes out. “Camille Rogers wants to make it mandatory for all

citizens to carry an AK-47,” we respond. “Senator Douglas will make Hustler magazine required reading in elementary schools,” they counter. “Senator Rogers should be in Hustler magazine based on her performance in her sex tape,” we say. You want to know the worst part about all this? I don’t even know how we come up with half the stuff that I supposedly say about Camille. I do know one thing I can absolutely attest to, however. That she’s still the sexiest person I know. Senator Camille Rogers is hot. God, she’s so fucking gorgeous, actually. Every night, after a long day of campaigning that’s devolved into slinging as much dirt as I can onto her - I try to go to sleep. But every night, all I can think about is Camille. That marvelous fucking ass of hers and how all I want to do is grab it, squeeze it like dough and run my cock between those ass cheeks. God, then I’d want to suck on that juicy little pussy she’s got. Fucking make her scream till she can’t scream any more. Give her a good couple orgasms. And then, once she’s nice and wet and totally blissed out, I’d stick my fat 11 inch cock inside of her and pound her all the way to the next news cycle. That’s right. You got me. I just mixed up politics with fucking. I can’t tell the difference anymore between jerking off to Camille at night and facing off against her during the day. I’m fucking serious. No other woman has ever done this to me. No other woman has ever stood up to me as long as she has. They’ve never hit back as hard. They’ve never put me on the defensive. They’ve always been so grateful that I was letting them suck my cock that they never once thought to cross me.

Camille Rogers. Fuck. She just completes me in ways I didn’t even know. I jerk back and shoot off rope after rope of hot sticky cum thinking about her that night. I think about all the fucking sinful things I want to do when I defile her. Afterwards, I’m panting, and I realize something. This shit is crazy. I could be the next President of the United States. I can’t let some woman get to me like this. Jerking off like a 14 year old virgin once the lights are out. It’s time I do something about it. It’s time I give her a call.

“GET me Camille Rogers on the phone,” I tell my aide the very first thing that morning. He looks at me like I’ve grown another fucking head. “Excuse me, Senator?” he says, making a face at me. “Camille Rogers?” “Really, I didn’t know we’re hiring deaf people nowadays,” I say back snidely. Sorry, I need to apologize to you. I’m not usually this rude, but the kid is seriously pissing me off. He looks at me like I’m asking to sell out America’s nuclear secrets to the Russians. All I want to do is fuck the Republican nominee for President of the United States. It takes a few moments and it’s during that time that my campaign manager, Lou, comes up to me. Lou’s a true-blue Democrat. Grew up in the slums of Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. He entered the local Democratic political machine early, rounding up votes from seniors and dead people. He was instrumental in the election and served as precinct captain for a fuck ton of years

before working on my Senate campaign. He’s old as shit and treats me like a son. “Barry,” he says, wheezing as he comes up to me. He’s fat. And bald. But I fucking love him. “What’s going on?” “I want to have a fucking sit down with the other side,” I tell him. He looks at me. “It’s time we stop all this fucking nonsense and talk about some of the real issues that this country is facing.” Lou looks at me with a careful eye and I match his gaze. Don’t ever think that I don’t match someone’s gaze when they stare at me. I got nothing to fucking hide. “You want to fuck that broad, don’t ya?” Lou asks me and snorts out a laugh. What the fuck. This guy is fucking good. I almost want to ask him how he knew. But instead, I just reply, “Lou, what the fuck are you talking about?” I try to bluster my way out of this one. “I have no fucking clue what you mean.” But Lou’s a good guy. He just slaps me on the back. “Give her a nice pounding for me too, will ya?” he says. “She’s a looker.” Jesus. This woman’s going to be President of the United States if I fuck up. What kind of way is that to talk about a woman? But then I think back to all the shit that I’ve said in the past. I called the guest anchor of Today, USA, Lani Kinder, a nice cocksucker. I mean, I was being honest. She sucked my cock real good back stage. I didn’t even ask for it. I was wearing my favorite Brioni suit that morning. I always like it because it fits my body like a fucking glove. Shows off my lean but muscular frame. And I guess she was feeling horny herself.

Afterwards, she tried to deny it, but couldn’t get the smile from thinking back to our encounter off her face. “Yes,” she said on a network television news interview. “I did suck the Senator’s cock. It was long, thick, and he came like a fire hose.” “I see,” the interviewer said with all the seriousness of someone on 60 Minutes. “Did you swallow?” “Yes I did,” she said. “It was great because I had skipped breakfast that day because I was running late.” Okay, so maybe that’s not the best fucking example, but the truth of the matter is that even aside from that one occurrence, I suddenly get the feeling that I’ve treated women with less respect than they’ve deserved to be treated. For every one Lani Kinder, there are at least 50 other women who bear me ill will. All of a sudden, I want to learn from those mistakes. I don’t want Camille to hate me. “We have the Senator on the line, Barry,” Lou yells from across the room. I wave and go to the nearest phone and pick up. “Senator Douglas,” Camille says, her voice calm and crisp. “I think we need to sit down, Camille,” I tell her right off the bat. No sense in beating around the bush. Unless it’s her bush. And we’re fucking. “I want to talk to you.” Is that a gasp from the other end? “What do you want to talk to me about, Senator?” she asks. “I want to talk about the issues,” I tell her. “If we can’t talk about it in public because people get bored, at least sit down and talk about the issues with me in private. This isn’t the campaign that I wanted to run.” “It’s not one that I wanted to run either,” she says her voice tight. “But you had to go there.”

“You’re the one that called me a dog-molester,” I say, thinking back to all the names her campaign has called me. “Ahem,” she says with added emphasis. “You released a sex tape of me first.” “Yeah, but I watched it first,” I say. Fuck. Why did I have to go and say that? Well, because it’s true. And I tell it like it is. I’m not one for political correctness. There’s a pause on the other end. I figure she’s rolling her eyes at me. Whatever. I have never cared if people laugh at me. Because even then, they’re still watching me. And I’m Barry fucking Douglas. Only the last hope of America becoming tremendous again. “Fine,” Camille says after a minute and I nearly fall over in surprise. It sounds quieter on her end too, as if she’s closed the door. “I’ll meet with you, on one condition.” “What’s that?” I ask. “Just you and me,” she says with conviction. “No hacks and no flunkies. And I don’t want you bringing that creep Lou that hangs around you anywhere near me. I know he’s the one that signed off on the hit job New York Times article that showed ISIS contributions to my Super PAC.” “Done,” I say. “Would you like to come over to my place?” “No, you’re going to come over to mine,” she says and I think for a moment. It’s going to be hard getting around the press, but I think I can manage. A secret clandestine meeting. Now that’s the sort of campaign I’ve wanted. “Oh, and Barry?” she asks. “Yeah?” I reply. “What did you think of it when you saw the tape?” she

asks and I can hear hesitation in her voice. “Of me.” Oh fuck. How the fuck do I answer. Fuck it. Go with the truth. “Camille, I got so hard that I came all over myself,” I say with a deadpan expression. “But your boyfriend was a total fucking loser.” “See you tonight, Barry,” she says. Is it me or did I detect a hint of a smile on her face? Way to go, Barry. Don’t fuck this up.

4

CAMILLE

B arry Douglas is due to arrive any minute. And I feel like a teenager on my first date. I really need to pull it together, but the thought of him coming to meet with me apparently makes me too discombobulated to function normally. I couldn’t decide what to wear, because this isn’t a public appearance but it’s also technically official business. I was going to throw on my trusty blue pantsuit, which I’ve been ridiculed relentlessly for wearing throughout my entire career. But it’s hard to know what else to wear as a female politician. If your skirt’s too short then you’re viewed as too slutty to be taken seriously. Too long and you’re called a prude and compared to the music censoring Tipper Gore or the War on Drugs starter Nancy Reagan. So pantsuits are always a safe bet in terms of not being judged based on where your hemline falls. But although they’re good enough for a man— in fact, they’re the only choice for a man in politics—apparently a woman who wears them is automatically deemed too boring and frumpy.

So for today I decided to take a chance on a dress I’ve only worn a few times, to fundraisers and events. In fact, there’s a picture of me making its way around the tabloids and gossip blogs right now, with a caption no doubt influenced by Barry. “Is THIS the dress Camille wore when she gave her SECRET talks to Wall Street?” No, it wasn’t what I wore. I wore my trusty blue pantsuit. But I happen to think that if Barry was behind that smear campaign, he must like this dress. So I suppose that influenced my decision to wear it today. Still, I don’t feel like I look nice enough. I know I shouldn’t care what I look like when he arrives. But I do. I have nervous energy, just waiting for him to get here. I pace around, checking my face and makeup in the mirror and then telling myself to knock it off. He’s my opponent. We’re running very nasty attack ads against each other. I need to win this campaign and fulfill my childhood dreams of becoming the first woman president. And yet all I can think about is his toned physique and those sexy eyes. What the hell has gotten into me? Am I going to ruin everything by falling for the enemy? My phone rings, but I don’t answer it. I already know it’s Jen. And I don’t want to have to listen to her naysaying. I look at the clock on my phone though, after I ignore her call. Shit, he’s late. Of course he’s late. He’s Barry Douglas. He thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants. I check my face in the mirror again. I definitely should have gotten my eyebrows waxed. Along with some other places. Shut up, I yell at myself. Get your mind out of the gutter. Now I get a text from Jen. I pick up my phone while plucking my eyebrows.

CALL ME! NOW! I ignore it. But then I get another one. CALL ME OR I QUIT. GOOD LUCK FINDING ANOTHER CAMPAIGN MANAGER AS AWESOME AS I AM TO WORK FOR A CRAZY BITCH LIKE YOU RIGHT AT THE LAST MINUTE LEADING UP TO THE ELECTION I’VE HELPED YOU KICK ASS AT BEFORE YOUR STUPID SEX TAPE SPLASHED ALL OVER THE NEWS AND IS TANKING ALL THE WORK I DID FOR YOU. Wow. Sounds like someone is even more upset than I thought. Guess I’d better call her. “What do you want?” I ask, as soon as she answers. “You know what I want,” she says. “Or what I don’t want. I don’t want you to meet with Barry Douglas right now. Or ever. It’s a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. Like, the second worst idea you’ve ever had. After that whole sex tape thing.” “Oh come on,” I tell her, plucking a stray hair I just found on my chin. How embarrassing. Good thing I found and destroyed it before Barry got here. Not that I want him that up close and personal, of course. “It’s not the first time that political candidates have gotten together to try to mend fences, reach across the aisle, and…” “Oh, now you come on, Camille,” Jen interrupts, scoffing at me. “You’re not Edward Kennedy and Orrin Hatch. You’re two of the most divisive and controversial figures to ever run for office. And the position you’re running for would put you into the White House, which doesn’t have an aisle to reach across. You have to stop thinking like a senator and start thinking like a President.” She has a point. And I’d concede that to her but she doesn’t give me a chance. She just keeps going. “Barry the Bastard is not your congressional colleague

but instead he’s your opponent for the position of President of the United States of friggin’ America. You seem to have forgotten that and everything else that makes any sense. Quite frankly, you seem to have lost your mind. At the rate you’re going, meeting with Barry Douglas is a surefire way to ruin your campaign right when you so desperately need to be focusing on…” “Hold on. Back up. What’s so controversial about me?” I ask her, slightly offended. I apply some blush to my cheeks. The blush has some sparkles in it. Not enough to make me look like a stripper, but more than I usually wear, which is none. I’m feeling like taking a walk on the wild side though. Stepping outside my comfort zone. “Well, I happen to recall a recent attack ad that aired to millions of Americans and revealed a certain sex tape…” “Oh that again,” I say, and shrug. I know it should be a big deal. I was really mad about it at first. But then Barry reached out to me with that phone call. I still can’t believe he called me. And he was clearly turned on by the tape. He even called Justin a loser. Which he was. Barry wants to smooth things over with me. I’m sure somehow we can work together to overcome all the damage we’ve each caused each other. I’ve already prepared my talking points. In between fantasizing about Barry some more. That seems to be one of my favorite past times lately. “Camille? Camille?” Jen says, through the phone. Oh yeah. I’m on the phone with Jen. “What has gotten into you, Camille? Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Nothing’s gotten into me yet, I think. But I sure want

something to… Oh my God. Maybe I have lost my mind. Down in that gutter it keeps wanting to explore, along with some other things. But I don’t have time to think about it. Because there’s a knock at the door. “Jen, I hear what you’re saying and I appreciate your advice,” I tell her. Anything to get her off the phone. “Does that mean you’re going to cancel the sit down with Barry the Bastard?” she asks. Only if he lets me sit on his face instead, I think. Oh my God. I really have become quite the pervert, just like Barry. Maybe it’s contagious. But I just can’t seem to help myself. “Gotta go, Jen,” I tell her. “And I’ll be out of pocket for about an hour or so.” “Camille!” she shouts, clearly figuring out that I’m ignoring her and meeting with Barry despite her objections. “I will come over there and stop you. Please tell me you’re not…” “Bye bye Jen,” I say, and hang up. I take one last look in the mirror before answering the door. I definitely could look worse. I decide that I’m glad for the occasion to wear a dress instead of one of my pantsuits. “Camille!” Barry says, looking me up and down, and smiling to show that he likes what he sees. He’s wearing a casual tee shirt that does a nice job of clinging to his chest and showing off his pecs. Well, shit. I feel so overdressed. He probably thinks I’m so stuck up. “Barry,” I answer, nodding and trying to look professional. “It’s nice to see you…”

I reach out my hand to shake his, but he hugs me instead. “I always hug my opponents,” he says, although it’s the first time during the campaign that he’s hugged me. He takes some Tic Tacs out of his pocket and shakes the box a little before opening it. “Well, I’ve come prepared,” he says. “How about you?” “Ummm… yes. Sit down, please sit down,” I say, although I’ve forgotten all of my talking points. “Sure, don’t mind if I do,” he says. As he walks to the chair I’ve gestured to him to sit down in, I can’t help but stare at his perfect ass. “You look great, Camille,” he says as he sits down. “I’m sorry I’m so under dressed. I was just playing tennis with Senator Bingaman and these were the only clothes I had in my Country Club car.” “Your Country Club car?” “Yeah, you know. The car that takes me to the Country Club.” “The car that takes you there. So you have other cars that take you to other places? How many cars do you need to…” I shake my head. Never mind. I need to focus on something that will actually have a bearing on the campaign. I need to be able to prove Jen wrong and show her that I will actually be able to accomplish something with this sit down. She’ll be so impressed. If I can just keep my mind on the subject at hand, I know my persuasive skills will carry me through. “Actually. On that note,” I tell Barry, trying my best to sound serious and official. But I notice that he’s staring at my legs. I cross them. “I wanted to talk to you about that

ad that mentions the cars and the environment…” “Oh Camille,” he says, smiling and winking at me like we’re on a date. “You know those ads aren’t meant to be taken seriously. Just as I know that about your ads. You know my campaign people just make me put those ads out there and I have to listen to them and let them do what they want to do. Because my campaign people are the best. I have all the best people.” “Yeah, because without them you’d be clueless,” I mutter under my breath, unable to help it. “I have all the best people and all the best ads,” he continues. “I do. I really do.” “Then why aren’t you doing better in the polls?” I ask him. “Oh come on,” he says, not looking the least bit offended. “You know I’m going to win. People might tell the polls and their friends that they’re voting for you, but secretly they’re planning to vote for me. I’m going to win by a huge landslide because of all my secret supporters.” “That’s some theory you’ve got there,” I tell him. “And I thought you were going to lose because the election is rigged?” “You got me there,” he says. “It’s a real catch twenty two all right.” I can’t believe he’s admitting I’m right about something. I decide to take this small victory and run with it. “So anyway,” I continue, “I’m trying to find a way to decrease the amount of… ugliness in our campaigns.” “Well that’s exactly why I wanted to sit down with you,” he says. “Exactly why I wanted us to get together in person.” “Good,” I nod. “Because the American people deserve better. This election is making us a laughingstock to other

countries. We’re focusing on all the wrong things. I’m glad you want to turn it all around…” “Oh, Camille,” he says, putting a hand on my leg. I freeze. I want to not like the fact that he is doing this. But I like it. A lot more than I should. Jen is going to kill me. For sure. “I didn’t mean that I want to take the ugliness out of our campaigns by talking about it all day,” he says. “You didn’t?” I ask, not removing his hand from my leg, despite my better judgment. “Of course not,” he says. “That would be boring. And I don’t do boring. I like excitement and fun. You know that.” I stare at his arm— his sculpted, toned arm— and then down at his hand on my leg. I can’t help hoping that he’ll slide it up a little further. And I have a feeling he will. It’s probably some part of his plan to make America tremendous again. “Well then, how exactly were you hoping to take the ugliness out of our campaigns?” I ask him. “It’s more the ugliness that’s in your campaign,” he says quickly. “Because nothing about my campaign is ugly. Everything is beautiful. Fantastically beautiful.” “Fine,” I say, falling for his trap and not even caring. Because I want to know where he’s going with this. Even though I already know, and I want him to do it. “How do you hope to take the ugliness out of my campaign?” “I was thinking, you know,” he says with a shrug, and with a slight tug of the hem of my dress, so that my legs are more exposed to him. “That I could fuck it out of you.”

5

CAMILLE

stand up and Barry looks at me with a moment of Iconcern flashing across his face. But I’m just teasing him. He doesn’t know that yet. “Oh. Well, let’s see if you can keep that electoral promise, Mr. Douglas,” I say, grinning at him as I hook my fingers on his belt and pull him inside the bedroom. He comes willingly, smiling as he grabs my wrists and, raising my arms in the air, pins me against the wall. “Ms. Rogers.” He says, that sweet smile of his melting me away. Staring into my eyes he leans into me, parting those full lips as he places them over my mouth. I close my eyes, savoring him, smelling him… Could a kiss ever be more perfect? He lets go of my arms, resting one hand behind my neck and the other on my hip. I pull back from his kiss and lay my forehead against his, breathing deeply as I savor the moment. I look into his eyes, losing myself in the perfect man right in front of me. There’s not other way to put it: I’ve been yearning for this moment for far too long. I kiss him eagerly, my tongue darting inside his mouth

and dancing around his as he presses me once more against the wall, both hands on my hips. I grab his shirt by the hemline and, yanking with both hands, force him to lift his arms up as I undress him. “Much better,” I grin at him, my eyes wandering over his perfect muscles. He grabs my hair by the root, tilting my head back and pressing his body against mine as he lays his mouth over my neck, nibbling at the soft skin there. I exhale loudly, my hands rubbing against his chest and feeling the rugged outline of his chiseled muscles. I grab his belt and unbuckle it, sliding it off his pants with a sweeping motion. My hands find that sweet spot under his belly and I lace my fingers around the hem of his pants, unbuttoning them as he kisses my neck. I can already feel his cock standing to attention, pushing against the opening of his pants as I undo the buttons. I open up my hand and press my palm against his thick shape, my mind burning with anticipation. “Oh, I guess the hype was real,” I whisper. I can almost feel his grin as he kisses up my neck and lays his lips against my ear. “You doubted it?” He asks, leaving no time for a reply: he slides his hands to my shoulders and pushes the straps of my dress down my arms, baring my chest. Then, running his fingers up my stomach, he makes the hike up to my bra, placing his spread fingers over my breasts, my hard nipples brushing against the fabric. He pushes the cup down, baring my right nipple, and brushes his thumb over it. I bite my lip as he does it, a moan tickling my throat. I close my eyes as I feel his fingers darting to the shoulder straps of my bra and pushing them down. I let the cups fall and he pulls me into him, unhooking the bra

and pulling it off my arms. He presses into me, his mouth on mine as I shiver, feeling my nipples brush against his warm chest, my breasts squeezed between our bodies. He grabs my ass, his long fingers feeling just perfect as they cup my cheeks, and lifts me up against the wall. I lace my legs around his back as he holds me, kissing me eagerly as his crotch presses against mine. I feel the shape of his hard cock brushing against my inner thighs over the fabric of my dress, and it is as if I have just taken a shot of adrenaline. I can feel myself growing wetter by the second, desire exerting its pull on me viciously. It’s lust and it’s passion, it’s frenzied desire. Why didn’t I do this sooner? This is something else. This is like a tidal wave, one that sweeps you out of your feet and drags you back to the ocean. It’s something wild and exciting and, at the same time, the most comforting thing in the world. In one word, it’s perfection. I run my hands through his hair, lost in his embrace. “I’ve been dreaming of this for a long, long time,” I whisper, his closeness making my body boil. He licks his lips and looks me in the eyes, his face as serious as I have ever seen it. 0 “I know,” he says offhandedly, winking at me playfully as if he’s Han fucking Solo. “Asshole.” I laugh, pinching his chest between my fingers. He pulls my back off the wall and, still carrying me, walks across the room and lies me down on the mattress. I fall gently, breathing deeply as he climbs on top of me, his movements quick and agile. He places one hand on my hip and leans into me, his face so close to mine that our noses almost brush against each other. “I’ve been waiting for this too. You can’t imagine how many times I thought of this moment,” he says, this time

leaving all playfulness out from his voice. I smile gently at him, my heart turning to mush. With both hands on his face, I reach for him and brush my lips gently against his. I don’t know why but, hearing him say it… I needed that. Badly. His fingertips brush against my belly, slowing climbing up my stomach and meeting the soft flesh of my breasts. He cups them, gently squeezing as my nipples peek between his outstretched fingers. I rest my hands over his, making him squeeze harder as I wriggle under his touch. I push my hips upwards, my crotch meeting his. Lacing my legs behind his back I reel him in, the bulge under his boxers rubbing between my thighs. God, I need that. Clawing with my hands at his back I keep thrusting with my hips, grinding against his cock desperately. His pants come down as I push on them with jerking motions, grabbing at the hem of his boxers in the process and sending it all down his legs. He kicks off his shoes and wriggles free of the rest of his clothing; the sight of his naked body makes my heart kick, punch and scream against my chest, anxiety seeping through to my blood. As if with a will of its own, my hand darts down and grabs his cock, my fingers curling around his thick shape quickly. I feel him pulse against my hand, his desire for mim palpable - is there anything better in the whole world? I start stroking him hard, my hand tracing the whole length of his member. I can’t shake off the desire to simply guide him inside me, but I’m patient - we are not going anywhere soon. Still grabbing his cock, I rest one hand on his hip and make him roll to the side; I jump on top of him, leaning in so that he can reach my breasts

with his mouth. He does it happily, wrapping his full lips around my nipple and sucking eagerly as I moan, my hand still going up and down on his cock. I pull back then, my nipple popping out of his mouth. I point his cock up and, my eyes locked on Barry’s, I lower myself, reaching for his member with my mouth. I let my tongue part my lips and brush it against his tip, covering every single inch with hungry circular movements. Opening my mouth I then wrap my lips around his glans, sucking as I slide back up. I can almost feel him shudder in anticipation as I do it over and over again. Only when he seems to expect me to carry on like that do I allow myself to go deeper, sliding his cock deep inside my mouth in one fast motion. He gasps, his hands darting to my head and grabbing at the roots of my hair. I take a moment to look into his face, my heart fluttering at the sight of him contorting in pleasure. “Someone’s enjoying this way too much…” I grin at him, a look that pleads for more lighting up his face. I go back at it, guiding his cock to my mouth and placing it right over my tongue, his scent scratching at that sweet spot in my mind. If he’s enjoying it, what can I say about me? I’m loving it so much I could go on forever. He has other plans though. Pushing my head back, he lays one hand across my hips and pushes me to the side; in a heartbeat he’s on top on me, his fingers tugging on my dress and pulling it down my legs. He slides one finger up my leg and traces the contour of my groin, going up to the hem of my thong and then back down again, brushing over my pussy. I squirm, anxious for his touch, but he takes his time, gently brushing his fingers over my pussy as I become as wet as the Pacific. Then, as if he feels I’m ready for whatever he wants to do with me, he hooks his fingers on

my thong and pushes it down my legs. Parting my knees he opens my legs and kneels between them. I run my tongue over my lips, anticipating what’s to come. He lies on the mattress, positioning his face between my thighs. Starting from the bottom he licks my pussy upwards, a shiver furiously crawling up my spine. He goes back down again, taking his time with each stroke. When he presses one finger above my clit I’m already panting, feverishly craving for him to stop the teasing. Gently he rubs my clit, my hips swaying unconsciously and matching the rhythm of his tongue. I grab his hair, feeling the slight bob of his head as he licks me, my pussy in flames as his lips suck and kiss. I lock my legs on his back, thrusting my pussy against his face as if I’m a woman possessed. I’m out of control and, judging by the way his tongue furiously licks me, he is enjoying it as much as me - if that is even possible. I keep pressing against him until I start to feel that familiar pressure, one that makes me clench my insides and brace myself for the incoming wave. I grit my teeth and let a moan escape between them as my body shakes, that electric orgasm travelling outwards from my pussy to my limbs, and finally nestling inside my mind. My skin prickles and I exhale deeply, fully knowing that Barry won’t stop there. Hell, he’s just starting. He keeps lapping at me, slowing down just enough for me to regain my strengths. He caresses my clit with his tongue, gentle and soft, knowing how sensitive it feels. But as I start moaning once more he goes back to that vicious rhythm. I bite my lip and grab at the sheets, my clit still so sensitive that each time his tongue touches

it I feel as if I have been hit by lightning. And I love it. I’m already arching my back when he slides one finger inside me, prodding and exploring carefully, my whole body twitching in pleasure. I open my legs wider as he slides one more finger inside, pulling them in and out furiously as he keeps licking my clit. I can even feel my jaw quivering, my whole body buzzing as my muscles tense up like a bowstring pulled to its maximum. “Barry…” I intone, loving the way his name rolls over my tongue. I could say it over and over again and never tire. “Barry…” I’m still saying his name when my muscles shake once more, licked by the furious flames of pleasure. I thrust my pussy against his fingers, making him bury them deep as his name turns into a scream, thick beads of sweat rolling down my forehead and plastering my hair down. He gives one gentle kiss there before sliding out his fingers, carefully climbing over me and kissing my cheek, right over the corner of my mouth. I can taste myself in his lips and I love it - I love how he wants me, I love how he can’t get enough of my body. “More…” I beg, not caring if my body still hadn’t recovered. He eases his body into me, his cock parting my labia wide as his shaft fights against my inner walls, lodging itself deep inside of me. I grab his ass cheeks, my fingers like claws, and pulled him in, forcing his cock down as far as it can go. Then I relax my hold and he goes back, only his tip inside of me. He holds his position there, teasing, and I bury my fingertips in the smooth skin of his ass. “Please…” In one swift motion he pierces me, his shaft travelling down its whole length inside of me. In and out he goes,

each coming and going driving me utterly and completely mad. “Harder!” I moan between gritted teeth, my hands forcing him up and down in a frenzy. I have Barry-fever and it’s just perfect. He keeps thrusting at me as I embrace him, my breasts pinned between our bodies. It might be a cliché, but I would give anything to remain like that. It’s more than sex - it’s closeness, it’s… It’s everything I needed. With my eyes shut close, bodies and souls as one, I come once more. My pussy tightens around his cock like a vice and still he keeps going as a sea of pleasure licks at my body. “I can’t have enough of you…” I tell him, making sure that he knows it. It’s a truth so perfect that I just can’t keep it to myself. I nibble at his earlobe as the orgasm washes back over me, my muscles twitching, tensing and relaxing all at once. I’m a hot mess and, still, I want more. I want so much more… I know I won’t be happy until my muscles ache and my legs become so weak I won’t be able to stand. I run my hand over his face and up through his hair, taking in the beautiful sight of him. I place both hands on his chest and smile at him. “Make me yours, Barry…” “If you say so,” he grins at me, a grin that tells me I’m in for a world of ecstasy. He takes his hands to my hips and makes me roll to the side, my belly down on the mattress and my back and ass turned to him. His hands run down my back and over the curve of my ass; he slides his fingers under it and, finding my pussy, slides one finger inside. I wriggle my hips, anxious for his cock. I don’t have to wait long - with his hands on my lower back, his fingers gently resting over my dimples, he

eases himself in. His body is on top of mine, rocking softly and pressing me down on the mattress. I grab a pillow and place it under my head, burying my face there as he softly goes in and out of me. He’s doing it slowly and gently, as if he has all the time in the world. And, if it’s up to me, he can have as much time as he wants to explore my body. He keeps going for I don’t know how long, each stroke of his cock slowly lowering me down into a world where time is irrelevant. For the first time in my life I come like that, pleasure drawn out of me with gentleness and care. There is no need for harshness or for him to go harder… Just slow and steady, his body on top of mine, his breath against my neck - what more do I need? I moan and whisper his name, both things sounding the same to me. My body tingles, a sense of pure bliss washing over me. “Oh, Barry…” I purr, a satisfying numbness taking hold of my limbs. Still inside of me he hooks his fingers on my hips and makes me lift my ass up as he rises, his knees firmly planted on the mattress. I rise as well, propping myself up on my elbows and thrusting my ass back, his cock as hard as it has ever been. He starts as slow as before but his pace grows steadily. Soon enough his thighs are slapping my ass, the sound of it wild and free. He rams me hard, each stroke of his forcing me to scream louder and louder. I can feel nothing but the rhythmic thrust of his cock - all of my body has become numb, pleasure coating all of my senses and leaving everything out. It isn’t sex and it isn’t making love. It’s transcendence. Pure and absolute transcendence. How else to describe it? In this moment, my whole universe is his naked body the sound he makes when he breathes out, his warm

skin brushing against mine, his long fingers on my lower back… It’s joy, bliss and rapture all rolled into one. It’s Barry. Harder and harder he goes, the ferocity of his body overpowering me and making my legs wobble. My elbows collapse and I bury my face on the pillow, biting at it hard and screaming into it as he thrusts mercilessly, his hands locking me in place as a vice. I can feel the muscles in his forearms bulging, his whole body tensing up as he holds his breath and thrusts so fast I’m almost sure I’m going to pass out. But I don’t pass out - I scream my lungs off and grab viciously at the sheets as thorns of a perfect orgasm lace my whole body, a high so perfect I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to think straight again. I’m deep into oblivion and I want to stay there and drown in sweet delight. I have never felt anything like this - it’s like a dream, surreal sensations crawling under my skin. I feel as if I’m floating, my pussy spasming around his cock in a way I didn’t know to be possible. Seeing me like that does it for him. Barry thrusts his cock as deeply as he can and I moan as he comes. His body is static and tense, all that tension inside of him slowly seeping out. I feel his cock spasm violently inside me, his warm semen gushing and coating my insides, filling me. To see, feel and hear his pleasure, knowing I’m the one responsible for it… My own orgasms seem to pale in comparison to this feeling. I hold still, breathing hard as Barry surrenders to the crashing waves that engulf us both. Only when his hands ease their grip do I lower myself on the bed, his still hard cock sliding out of me. I roll on my back, panting, and look up at the perfect man that towers over me.

“This… was perfect.” He looks back at me and, without a word, leans in to kiss me. I submit to his smooth lips, knowing that I will treasure this kiss forever. He lies by my side and I rest my head on his chest, feeling it go up and down gently. There in his arms I have everything I need. I’m home. Barry… My Barry. I know I should be thinking of my responsibilities as Republican nominee but, somehow, none of that matters right now. Whatever the consequences, I’ll deal with them.

6

BARRY

This is either the happiest, or most fucked up F uck. time in my life. Two. That’s how many months long Camille and I have been keeping this a secret from the whole fucking country. We’ve been sneaking around like a pair of teenagers whose parents won’t let them date. I mean, it’s kinda fucking fun in a way. It makes the sex so much more interesting you know? Like we’re going to get caught any minute now. Ninety-seven. That’s how many times I’ve actually had sex with Camille Rogers. And boy, let me tell you – I have never fucked a girl like that. She’s got everything a man could ever fucking want. She’s smart, sexy, classy, strong. Never mind that she’s got the body of a fucking model, with the filthy mind of a prostitute. But in public she’s got the bearing of a fucking queen. It’s intense. Like the other day. We were campaigning in Ohio. Different places. But our planes were parked in the same airfield. Well, I got Lou to divert the press long enough

that Camille was able to sneak onto my plane and into my cabin. Without even a word she got down on her knees and began unzipping my pants. In thirty seconds she was stroking my cock and licking the shaft. I was dying – it was that intense. She just looked at me with eyes smoldering with lust. “I’ve needed this cock so badly today,” she said, engulfing my tip inside of her mouth before taking it all the way. I couldn’t say anything because I needed her badly that day too. A few quick bobs and I just fucking came inside of her mouth. I watched her throat muscles work as she swallowed my entire load before giving me one last suck and then getting up. Then she did something I never thought I’d see in a woman. “Kiss me, Barry,” she commanded. Any other woman, I would have told her to get the fuck out. I don’t want to taste my own fucking cum. But I fucking kissed her. I felt my own cum in her mouth and I tasted it. It got me hard. Fast. Like no fucking refractory period or waiting time or any of that bullshit. I was like a walking Viagra commercial only for me, Camille was my Viagra. We had a nice, long, hard fuck that lasted a lot longer then and I ended up cumming on the small of her back. Oh yeah, I took her to paradise a few times too. Ate her out till she had her legs wrapped around my neck and quivered with her fucking mind-numbing orgasm. I fucked her doggie till she fucking came hard, moaning and groaning lewdly in ways that were so fucking unpresidential that it would turn fucking gay men straight. Ten. That’s how many times Lou has asked me point blank what the fuck is going on. I swear to fucking God that

man is so suspicious he makes Dick Cheney look like a little good virgin girl. I don’t know but he may even be having me followed. Of course, Lou and I go way back, but I can’t even tell him this shit. I mean, can you imagine what would happen to the fucking country if they all of a sudden found out that the Republican and Democratic nominees for President of the United States were having dirty, filthy sex? Or what would happen if they found out that I was falling in fucking love with the enemy? I mean, I got liberals on both fucking coasts that fucking hate Camille’s guts. They think she’s going to take women back to the fucking Stone Age. And I got donors who are setting up Super PACs throwing out commercials that seriously make me cringe. The other day I saw a commercial that the campaign said it had no coordination over that filmed Camille tripping and almost falling. “Is Camille Rogers suffering from osteoporosis caused by menopause?” I swear to you that’s the shit that we said. “When it’s 3 am in the White House and there’s an emergency, do you really want a President who suffers from hot flashes?” What the fuck. Give me a fucking break. I fucking hate this election, sometimes. The only thing that gets me through it is that Camille’s complaining so much about this shit too. One night, when she snuck into my condo in DC, we fucked for like 3 hours and then lay in bed talking. She went off on how fucking pissed she was about a campaign ad that she saw about me that her team put together. She showed it to me on her phone. It was a montage of shots of me from the past. First with Joanna – the supermodel as we walked down the red carpet at a gala in New York.

Joanna was wearing a tight black dress that totally showed off her tits. The next shot was me and Maria – the financial news anchor. We fucked for like two weeks and then she started following me around like a puppy wherever I went. So we had sex for another three weeks. But I had always told her this was just temporary. The next shot was me and three supermodels at the Playboy Mansion during a party. God, I had the best blowjob there. The best at least, until I met Camille. Anyways, so this ad goes on showing me with woman after woman. And then in simple black letters it says, “When it’s 3 am in the White House and there’s an emergency, do you want a President? Or a Player?” I mean, sure I was upset. But I was more upset that they were stealing our line. But Camille was more upset it seemed because of the women. “No one else fucking matters, babe,” I told her. Don’t fucking look at me like that. Because I have never said anything like that to anyone. For the first time in my life I felt it enough to mean it and say it. “I know that,” she said, but it didn’t seem that she completely believed me. One. That’s how many debates are left. One debate in one week and then two days later and the election is decided. I don’t know how we’re gonna do this. I mean, one of us is going to win. The other is going to lose. I guess if I lost, I could go back to being Senator. So could she maybe. But at this point, whoever loses is going to never be able to run for President again. There is no way the country will allow it. This election has been like a war. And it’s left everything destroyed in its wake. The American people won’t put up with something like this ever again. They’d rather stick with a third term than ever

be subjected to the verbal assaults on decency that both our campaigns have put them through. So whoever loses is never getting another shot at this again. I wonder sometimes, after Camille and I get out of the shower, or when I’m holding her close to me, what I want. I mean, she’s told me how she’s been preparing for this for her whole life. How this is the height of all her dreams and ambitions. I’d want her to have everything she ever wanted. But what do I do when giving her dream means letting go of mine? Holy fucking shit. I couldn’t just stay fucking strippers and models for two weeks, could I? I had to go fall in love with the one person who is strong enough to stand in my fucking way to greatness. Like I said, the happiest and yet the most fucked up time in my life.

7

CAMILLE

t’s been a long, hard day, and the only thing that can Imake it better is Barry’s long, hard cock. I’ve been jumping from state to state and, as the final debate approaches, I’m starting to feel the pressure. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m in a relationship of sorts with my adversary. “Barry!” I call out, as I walk into his lavish hotel room. “I’ve been waiting all day to see you. You have no idea how nice it is to just come here and relax after a stressful day of campaigning.” “Yes I do,” he says, popping a champagne bottle and pouring each of us a glass. “But I still can’t believe we’ve worked out so well. I never fuck the same woman this long. A toast, to two months of successful secret sex.” “I’m not so sure we’ve been successful at keeping it a secret,” I confess. “I keep telling my security guards to ensure that everyone knows I’m here on official campaign business and not to let anyone follow me, but I swear I’ve seen some press lurking in the shadows. And yesterday a reporter somehow got through and asked Jen for my official comment on what it’s like to sleep with the enemy.

“Yeah. I know. My campaign manager is getting fucking suspicious as well.” Then, a devilish grin on his lips, he continues. “But you should have told that reporter the truth: you love to sleep with the enemy.” “And judging by your big champagne toast you love it too… You even know the date when it all started,” I say, confidently sashaying across the room and sitting on his lap. It’s clear to me that he likes me as more than just a fuck buddy, but it’s fun to keep up the playful banter. I can tell he enjoys it as much as I do. I suppose I’ve finally met my match, both in the political arena and in the bedroom. “Look at you,” he says. “What a big change you’ve undergone since we first met. You were like a nervous kitten then. Purring up at me.” “I still purr. Purr.” It’s fun to hear the sound rolling off my tongue and into the back of my throat, where I know his cock will soon be. So I do it again. “Purrrrrrrr.” “Now you’re like a lioness. I bring out something animalistic in you.” “It must be the way you grab my pussy,” I tell him. “I grabbed your pussy and you became my pussy,” he agrees. I purr again, and then I roar. “You should use that to your advantage in the polls,” he says in a mockingly stern tone. “You know I have been, and that’s why I’ve been beating you.” “Oh come on. Those right wing conspiracy nutjob blogs always say you’re beating me in the polls.” “Just like your leftie liberal nutjob blogs always say you’re beating me in the polls. They’re both incredibly biased.”

“At least we can agree on that,” he says. “I bet we can agree on some other things,” I tell him, and soon his hand is between my legs, right where I like it. “How much political talk are we going to get done while I’m grabbing your pussy?” he asks me. “I don’t know but I can certainly multi-task,” I tell him. “I know you can. And I love that about you.” The phone on his desk rings and he picks it up angrily. I know it’s his private line, the one that only his campaign manager has access to. “What?” he snaps, as he pulls my panties to the side. I’ve taken to wearing skirt suits all the time now, for easier access. “You know I’m busy getting busy. And why isn’t Lou the one calling me?” He pushes his finger into my pussy and rubs the wetness that he finds there. But soon his smile fades. “All right. Fine.” He slams down the phone. “What’s wrong?” He’s pretty easily angered but this is the first time I’ve seen him this upset. Usually he says my magic vagina calms him down. He tells me to keep waving at him so it can always work its spell. “I’m supposed to turn on the TV,” he sighs. “What now?” Our political fights are really getting in the way of our personal life. I can’t wait for this election to be over. On TV, a redhead is talking about us. “This political season has been one of the most dramatic and contentious yet,” she’s saying. “She used to be a ten, but she’s not anymore,” Barry says, shaking his finger at the reporter. “Sadly I can’t give her more than a six these days.”

“Because you’re fucking me?” I ask him. “No, because she’s just gone down on the attractiveness scale exponentially ever since she started working for Fox News.” I laugh. “But I would have given her a seven, if I weren’t with you.” Suddenly a picture of Barry and me huddled closely together, having drinks at the lobby of this very hotel, flashes on screen and we both stop laughing. “Oh shit,” he says. “But in what may be the most interesting and unexpected political news to come out of either campaign, our sources have caught wind of a rumored love affair between the Republican and Democratic candidates.” “Bullshit,” Barry shouts at the screen. “Bull. Shit. Prove it.” “We’ve had our suspicions but we’ve hesitated to break the news since Senator Douglas is known for being litigious,” the reporter continues. “Fuck you and fuck your pathetic excuse of a news station,” Barry shouts at the screen. “I’ll sue you for this. And I’ll win. I always win.” “But we have the information confirmed by a very close friend of Senator Douglas’,” she continues, oblivious to the threats he’s hurling at her through the TV screen. “Oh my fucking God,” he says, obviously aiming his anger at someone else now. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” “Kill who?” I ask, jumping up and glaring at him. My pussy may have been dripping wet all over his fingers, but now it’s closing up shop. “I can’t believe you told

someone.” “I may have done a little bragging on the golf course,” he says, shrugging his shoulders innocently. “But it was only to Mark.” “Mark? Your big mouthed cousin? Why would you tell him? You must want all of America to know.” Jen’s going to kill me, I think, but he just smirks, as if I’m right. “However, we must add the caveat that neither campaign confirms the rumor,” the reporter continues. “See,” Barry says, smiling smugly. “I didn’t do that much damage. Both of our guys will spin it the way they want to spin it. And my guys will spin it in the way most favorable to me, which will also help you even though your guys aren’t as good. I have the best guys. They’re the best in the world.” “Well, I have a gal,” I tell him. “And she’s better than all your guys combined.” “What a feisty little lioness,” he says. “Senator Douglas’ campaign manager says that he must officially say he has no comment,” the reporter continues to drone on, “since the Senator was unable to be reached at this time, likely due to being in the process of carrying out the alleged illicit acts with his opponent, much to the chagrin and against the advice of said campaign manager.” The reporter clears her throat as someone hands her a note. “Oh. My apologies. Make that ex campaign manager. Due to the latest breaking news. Exclusive to Fox News,” she quickly adds. “What the…?!” Barry explodes. “What the hell. Get Lou on the phone. I need Lou on the phone now.” “Are you talking to me?” I ask him. “Because I don’t

take orders and I’m not an administrative assistant. I’m the next President of the United States. Especially after that little stunt that Lou pulled. And even if I wanted to connect you with him, he won’t be there. Didn’t you hear? He quit.” “Meanwhile, the campaign of former Mayor Rodgers vehemently denies the rumors. The campaign manager for Ms. Rodgers says that the mayor herself can be quoted— ooh, on tape even— as saying, ‘I would never touch that vile man with a ten foot pole if my life depended on it. He’s a pathetic, weasly, sniveling little man and the size of his— oh my, we have to censor this part out— matches those aspects of his personality.” “What?” Barry demands. But the anger in his voice is gone now. He looks at me, confusion in his eyes, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “And so the question remains as to which source— or sources— are correct,” the reporter finishes, as a confused smile spreads across her face. “Stay tuned for the latest updates and political news, only here on Fox.” “You really said those things about me?” Barry asks. I look at him, defeated. “Yes, but it was a long time ago,” I tell him. “Jen must have recorded me. She could tell I had a– weird thing for you. A crush, I guess. But I was fighting it at the time, of course. For political as well as personal reasons. I was trying to convince myself not to get involved. And she threatened to record my vehement denials of being into you, to play back to me should I ever try to change my mind in the future.” I look at him and realize what Jen was doing. “But she’s a great campaign manager. She really is all the best people I could ask for. She probably knew she

might need to have me on record saying those things, should I go against my better judgment and…” “And get mixed up with a pathetic, weasly little man like me?” he asks. “I didn’t really mean those things, Barry,” I insist. “And what about the size of my cock? Why did you say that? You hadn’t even seen it…” There’s a hint of a grin on his lips, as if he were satisfied to have me proved wrong. “I know,” I tell him. “I’m sorry. I can see— and feel— now that it’s huge. I was just going by what everyone says, about, you know.” “About my what?” He’s glaring at me, but I figure the harm has already been done. I might as well say it. He’ll lose what little respect he has for me now if I don’t. “Your… you know…” “My what?” “The size of your hands,” I finally tell him. “Oh my God, Camille,” he says, displaying his hands in front of me. “That’s bullshit, what they say. You know as well as I do that I have perfectly normal sized hands.” “Well,” I admit, shrugging. “They’re normal sized for a guy who is normal height and with a normal sized cock. But you’re a big guy with a really big cock. So on you they really are a little… um….” “A little what? Little? A little little?” “No, Barry,” I say, trying to pick the right words. “I was going to say a little disproportionate. A little out of place. That’s all.” He snorts, grinning in disbelief. “Fucking hell,” he says, “the things people say. My hands?” Before he can say anything else, my cell phone rings.

It’s Jen - I pick it, still not knowing what to make of the whole situation. “Jen, what’s going on?” I ask her, placing the cell phone on loudspeaker so that Barry can hear and be sure that I had nothing to do with it. “It worked!” Jen squeals. Oh-oh. “What worked?” “You know, you getting Barry in bed. We have some embarrassing stuff on his cousin Mark, and we forced him to confirm.” Oh, shit. Does Jen think that I approached Barry as a political maneuver? “Now we just have to spin this the right way and he’ll be done.” Oh, no. “Jen, what are you talking about? I never agreed on this!” I cry out, tears welling up in my eyes. “We’ll discuss the specifics later. I really got to go there’s a mob of journalists here!” And, like that, she’s gone. I look at Barry, disbelief in his eyes. I don’t know what to say, so I just try and hug him. But he refuses my hug. He turns his back to me and towards the vast expansive window and the amazing view of the city below. That’s it now, I realize. We’re over. I may have saved my political chances but I ruined whatever I had going with Barry. Why did Jen have to be such a good campaign manager? I should have hired someone more inept. I realize that my romantic dreams have been dashed for good when Barry lowers his head and says, “Well, Camille, you really did me in this time. Here you were just pretending to be interested in me this whole time, for your own political gain. And I fell for it all. For all your lovely words and actions and the way you tricked me by being so damn good in bed. You really did it. You

made me fall for you. You made me fucking fall in love. And now that I see what all this meant to you… Fuck, I actually believed we had something.” “You… love me?” I ask, unable to believe the words. Sure, I’d felt it. I’d felt that he loved me and that I loved him back. But I didn’t expect it to actually go anywhere. A part of me thought we were still having fun. Not breaking each other’s hearts. Sure, we’d made jokes about residing in the White House together now matter who ended up winning the Presidency. We’d tease each other about who would break the news publicly first. And part of me wished it could all come true. But I was trying to stay realistic and level headed. And competitive. And I guess in the game of love, at least, I’d won. Because he looks absolutely crushed. And then he turns away. “Just go.” “But Barry. I love you too.” I want him to turn around and realize I mean it. This wasn’t ever part of some big political trap. Despite what Jen thinks, and I never thought of anything like it… Not for one second. This wasn’t just fun and games, either. I couldn’t have predicted that I’d fall for him, and him for me. And now it’s too late. “I told you, Camille. It’s too late. We’re over. Congratulations. Your smear campaign worked against the person no one would believe could be affected by it. Me. You hurt me. Congratulations. Now just go.” I have no choice but to listen to him. I turn around to go, sure that there will be reporters outside waiting to follow me. To see the tears that have already started to form. I’d won at a game I didn’t even mean to play. And it

sure doesn’t feel like much of a victory.

8

BARRY

“P

reliminary news reports from a trove of leaked text messages today point conclusively to the fact that Camille Rogers has been sending lewd and offensive text messages to her Presidential rival, Democratic Nominee Barry Douglas,” the newscaster announces. I cringe. That shit’s been playing nonstop on endless loop for the last four days. With five days to go until the election something insane is happening. My poll numbers are coming up. And Camille is going down. Don’t fucking look at me. I thought this was the end for me. The Republicans were setting me up as some kind of predator that tried to get Camille in bed. They were saying I failed and, furious at being rejected, I leaked false news about a supposed relationship. My numbers plummeted. I was fucking done. And then it happened. Some hacker took it upon himself to find out the truth and, before I even realized what was happening, the whole internet was exploding with leaks. Just like that, her whole plan went up in flames.

But while I should be relieved, I’m fucking not. I remember the tears in her eyes as she tried to convince me that she wasn’t behind all this… What if she was saying the truth? Fuck, did I act hastily? Did I push her out of my life just because I couldn’t think straight? Fuck, fuck. But the news is going on, so I’ll let that do the talking for me. “The FBI today has announced that it will begin investigating allegations that Camille Rogers used a government server to send and receive personal texts from Barry Douglas of a sexual nature. These allegations stem from the controversy that has erupted on both sides after an affair between the two was reported last week from within their campaigns…” I turn off the television. As if this country doesn’t have anything better to discuss than who’s fucking who. I mean, it’s not like either of us cheated on anyone else. We’re both single. And people should be happy that we decided to get together. But they’re not. “Ready Senator?” Morgan, one of my aides asks me. I sigh. This is the first time since I left that I’m going to be seeing Camille. Why? Because it’s the fucking debate. That’s right. She hasn’t spoken to or texted me back since this whole fiasco started. I can understand why. I was fucking hurt. I guess I’m still a bit hurt. But now, there is something more than hurt that’s going through me. Something that makes me stop feeling sorry for myself. Something that almost lets me see clearly as to what’s going on. No. I’m not that hurt anymore. Now I’m angry. That’s right. I’m fucking pissed the fuck off. Rage is going through my body when I think about what is going on here.

I mean, it’s like Camille and I have become some sort of entertainment for 300 million Americans. Not just Americans, sorry. For the whole fucking world. I know I’m to blame. She is too. Our entire campaign operation on both sides. We’ve contributed to this erosion in the values of democracy. We’ve made it into a sideshow of sleaze. “I’m ready,” I tell the aide and, without a further word, I start walking towards the stage. My timing is impeccable because the moderator calls out my name. I look at Camille as she walks over to me in a skirt that comes up to her knees. I notice how it hugs her ass. God, I wonder if she’s wearing that pink thong I gave her. The one with the pink lace bra. Enough. I need to fucking stop. Camille basically stabbed me in the back. She deserves every fucking thing that’s happening to her right now. My mind is a fucking jumble as the moderator rattles off the rules of the debate. “First question to you, Ms. Rogers,” the moderator from News of the Times states. “This last two and half weeks has seen you surrounded by the controversy of your relationship with Senator Douglas and now allegations of impropriety using government servers. How do you respond?” Camille takes a long look at me before looking over to the moderator. This is the moment. I can see her lip quiver. Fuck, why is she getting emotional? What if she was telling me the truth? What if she didn’t mean to use me? This is where she’s going to either have to bury me or herself. She’s either going to have to tell the moderator she had an error in judgment but that she is diametrically

opposed to me and my views and will never again be associated with me. Or she’s going to have to tell the American people that she got carried away by love and ended up living a lie – basically deceiving the American people for nine weeks. Fuck. I’m glad she got the first question. “Well, Brian…” Camille begins. “Actually, Brian,” I cut in. There are some gasps from the audience and the moderator looks at me sharply. “I’d like to answer that.” “The question wasn’t addressed to you, Senator…” Brian Trask replies but I don’t let him. Remember when I told you I was getting fucking tired of this election? Well this is me snapping. “I don’t fucking care if you addressed me or not,” I say into microphone. I can hear gasps. There’s no five second delay on a presidential debate. They don’t expect wardrobe malfunctions or profanity coming from people seeking the highest office in the land. “I’m going to answer the goddamn question.” Brian Trask is silent as I glare over at Camille and then take a good long look at the cameras which are still recording. They’re not going to turn this shit off. They can’t get enough of it. They’re going to milk this circus of a process for as long as they can. For every last fucking dime. “Now Camille really has only two options to that question you posed to her,” I tell Brian, but I’m talking into the fucking cameras. “And both of those options are fucking terrible.” Again the gasps as I continue. “She can either disfavor me and lose the only happiness she’s ever known, or she can throw me under the bus and have a

shot at ascending to the highest office in the land.” “Senator Douglas…” Brian the moderator starts again but I don’t give him an opportunity to get a single fuckind word. “No, you’re going to listen to me, goddammit,” I say. “And I am going to tell you that I refuse to let you, or any other person subject someone as amazing, beautiful, and special as Camille Rogers to the sort of torture that the media revels in.” This time Brian has nothing to say and I wonder where I’m even going with this. But the words pour out. “You can’t expect to place candidates in high pressure situations, tell them to start pounding each other mercilessly in a race to the fucking bottom and then attack them the moment they show a moment of compassion and humanity towards the other person,” I say with a hint of anger. “And I refuse to participate in this spectacle of emotional pornography any further. Especially when the person across from me and the person you want me to savage is someone that I’ve fallen in love with. Someone that makes me forget about the ugliness in the world and think about the good. Someone that makes me realize that the world can be a good place – it doesn’t have to be hopeless.” There is absolute fucking silence in the hall. You can hear a pin drop in the auditorium. I have the entire fucking stage. “That’s right,” I say and then pause. “I love that woman, Camille Rogers.” You’d expect that the place would go up in an uproar. I half expect the Democratic National Party operatives to come over and carry me off stage. I mean, I might as well be throwing my Presidential hopes and dreams down the gutter.

I just don’t give a fuck anymore. “That’s right. I fucking love her,” I say to the nation. “Oh yeah, and I’ve loved having sex with her. Multiple fucking times.” Camille looks at me. Her eyes are wide. I continue. “I’ve never met a woman like her. And I refuse to bow and scrape and throw my own shit at her hoping it sticks and people get sicker of her than they are of me to be President. That’s not what being President is about. That’s not what this country is about,” I say and I can tell the mood in the room is changing. “Being President is about public service and wanting to do good for the country and people who live in it. But we’ve made it into a gross spectacle – a circus.” I’ve said enough but still I continue. “You want to know why people get lousy leaders and lousy politicians?” I ask. I wait for an answer but I realize I’m on stage. Everyone assumes I’m being rhetorical . So I answer. “Because of this fucked up system that we make our leaders go through. By the time this process is over, it’s the ugliest person that’s left standing – not the best man or woman.” I need to wrap this up. I need to get out of this arena. I’ve had enough. “So if you want to keep asking these insulting questions, then I’m going to do the only thing that I can to help the woman I love not shoot herself in the foot. I’m going to give her a third option,” I say and this time I straighten up. “I’m going to quit the fucking race.” Now this is where the pandemonium starts. I doubt there has ever been a major party Presidential nominee who has quit the fucking race. Well, now there’s me. “I hereby quit as a candidate for President of the

United States, effective immediately,” I say to Brian and then I look over at Camille. “Jobs all yours, babe.” I wait a moment watching the crowd. I can see the security folks and Secret Service get a bit antsy. They never prepared for this. But what are they going to do? I mean, I don’t think there’s going to be a riot, or anything. “I quit as well.” What the fuck? That was Camille. I look over. She’s smiling at me. I smile back at her. The crowd goes insane. Brian Trask is sputtering. He’s not sure what’s going on but he just became the first debate moderator who was so bad that he caused two Presidential candidates to quit the race rather than have him moderate the debate. I’m smiling like an idiot when I see her step away from her podium. I step away from mine and meet her in the center of the stage. I grab her hand and we walk backstage. Past the dumbfounded Press Corps. Past our campaign staff – they don’t know what to fucking say. We get into my limo and head to the hotel. 330 million Americans are probably shitting their pants right now. But in the seat next to Camille, smelling her perfume, and heading to my hotel while she reaches over and kisses me and grabs my cock, I’m about to cum in mine. Now this is the kind of race I’ve always wanted to run.

9

CAMILLE

T he moment we step inside his hotel room, I’m already burning with desire for him. And, more than desire, it’s love that courses through my veins. I don’t care about the elections anymore. I’ve made the right decision - no, we’ve made the right decision. Now, everyone in our campaigns trying to make sense of what just happened, Barry and I are all alone in his room. Or more accurately stated, I’m in his lap. We kiss, my hands going to his chest as I start to unbutton his shirt. Then, pulling back from my kiss, his eyes lock on mine. “I want to show you something,” he says, nuzzling my neck. He grabs the computer sitting on top of the bed and types something into it. “There.” It’s a list of long names. “I’ve been keeping this list since I was in high school. It’s a list of people I wanted to beat, and then whenever I beat them, I put a little checkmark by their names.” “Beat them how?” I ask, imagining a street gang fight. “Oh, you know, it could be anything really. Maybe I was playing in a tennis match against one of them.

Maybe on the golf course. And of course bigger things, like the Senate seat. But here’s one, for instance, against whom I had an oral argument in moot court in law school.” He points to a name on the list, that has a checkmark by it. “Oral argument, huh?” I tease, leaning back into his muscular, athletic chest. I can’t believe I’m here sitting in Barry Douglas’ lap. I never knew I would end up fucking — let alone falling in love with— my opponent. “I don’t think you could ever lose anything oral.” “Does my list turn you on?” He reaches one hand down my silk blouse as he scrolls down the computer screen with his other hand. “This was an opposing counsel in a big case from when I was practicing law. I beat him. Of course. The case was worth fifteen million dollars.” Fifteen million dollars is pretty sexy, I think, doing a quick calculation to figure out what his one-third contingency fee was. Five million. Not bad. He unbuttons my blouse and slips a hand down my bra. I grind up against his cock, which is growing harder by the second. “All the names in my list have checkmarks by them,” he informs me, although it’s pretty obvious from looking at the screen. “Except for yours.” He scrolls to a new page, and there’s my name sitting there, all by itself, without a checkmark next to it. “Well, look at that,” I tell him. “Yeah, you’re the last person on my list I needed to beat, and then I would have been President of the United States.” “Maybe I’m the only one who will never get a check mark then,” I tell him. “Because maybe you met your match with me.”

“My only true equal is a woman?” he asks me, a gentle smile on his lips. I wink at him mischievously. “Imagine that. But then again… I couldn’t beat you too.” “You couldn’t,” he says. “Although I was tempted to let you.” He kisses my neck. “But now that’s over. So I think we know what we need to do here,” he says. “Yes. Some celebration is in order,” I tell him. “We might have lost the White House, but we’ve won something much better…” “Yes,” he agrees with a smile. “As long I have you by my side, I don’t need anything else, Camille.” He takes off my blouse and my bra. I still have my skirt and pantyhose on, and my heels. He starts playing with my nipples, rubbing them in his hands until they’re standing at attention for him. His cock is now completely hard underneath me, as if matching my nipples. I spin around and straddle him, while he kisses my mouth and then my breasts. He puts one nipple into his mouth and sucks on it gently, while stroking the other nipple. My panties become dripping wet as I writhe around on his cock. I can feel its hard bulk through his khaki pants, and I want it so bad. He reaches a hand under my skirt and rubs my clit through my pantyhose until I’m nearly driven mad. “Take off your pants,” I say, sliding down to the floor and grabbing his penis through the pants. “You take them off. I might never be President of the United States, but I sure as hell can be your own President. You do as I say.” “Yes sir, Mr. President,” I whisper, my heart thumping faster. Oh, yes, he can preside over me for the rest of my

life. Once I obey, I ask, “And now what would you like me to do?” Before answering, he lets his eyes wander up and down my naked body, and then he grins devilishly. “I want you to fill your mouth up with my cock until you’re choking on it, and until the only thing I hear out of you is you gagging on my cum.” I’m surprised at how harsh he’s being, but in a strange way, I like it. I do as I’m told, shoving his big dick into my mouth and sucking hard. He grabs my head and holds it still while ramming his cock further into my mouth. “Don’t stop sucking until I tell you to,” he commands, even though I had no intention of stopping. I choke on his cock but I keep going, since I have no choice, until he says, “You can stop sucking now. Just for a minute.” He pulls my hair to tilt my head back, and I run my tongue up and down his shaft, and then along his balls. Then, going back up to his glans, I wrap my lips around it and suck eagerly; in a heartbeat, his whole shaft is once again inside me, my head going back and forth over his cock at a maddening pace. I can hear his rapid breathing, and that only makes me wetter. Suddenly, he pulls his cock out of my mouth. Grabbing my wrists, he pulls me up to my feet and then throws me on top of the bed. He climbs on top of me, our bodies pressed tight against each other, and holds my hands above my head. “I love you, Camille,” he starts, his eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t care about power or about my ambitions. You’re everything to me, and the world must stop for us because I love you and I want to fuck you now. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” I start to say— and I want to tell him that I love him too— but he covers my hand with his mouth. “It’s not time for talking. We’ve already done plenty of that. It’s time for fucking.” He slides my pantyhose and panties down to my heels and says, “Open your legs.” A thrill runs through me when he talks to me like that. Which is surprising, considering that I would be angry if it was anyone but him. But it is him. My political opponent whom I’ve been fucking— and loving— in secret. Or, well, not in secret anymore. I open my legs like he told me to do and, placing his hands on my knees, he pulls them further apart. He lays his lips against my neck, and then starts to kiss my body in a downward line, heading toward between my thighs. While he’s down there, he begins licking my pussy. Remembering how good it felt last time, I moan and say, “Oh my god.” “No. Say please.” “Please,” I practically beg him, raising my hips as much as I can in the small space under the desk, trying to place his lips on my clit. “Say please lick my wet pussy, Mr. President.” “Please. Please. Like my wet pussy, Mr. President.” He’s chewing on my clit, then nudging it with his tongue, and it’s driving me so crazy I can barely talk. “I’m not sure if I should finish this,” he says, grabbing my ass hard while he bites my clit, “because you didn’t finish me off like you were supposed to.” “You pulled me onto the bed” I protest, but he’s licking my pussy again. “Oh my God, that feels so good,” I moan. “I guess I’ll do you this one favor,” he says, “and then

you’ll owe me. Because that’s what politics is all about.” He rubs my clit while his tongue the rest of my pussy. And then he sucks on my clit while he fingers me. “Fuck,” I say, surprised at how loud it comes out. “Sorry,” I try to whisper. “But I’m about to cum…” “Don’t hold back,” he says. “Let the world know what you think about me. About us.” “Oh my God,” I nearly shout, sure that everyone in the building can hear us. In a way, it’s freeing that I no longer have to care about secrecy. “It feels so good. I’m cumming. I’m cumming.” I lay my head back on the floor, glad for the chance to rest. But then he’s on top of me and I’m ready for the next orgasm. Oh, I love how he gives me multiple orgasms in a row. “And now we fuck,” he says. “Whatever happens after this, at least we know that we made love, not war.” He enters me and thrusts his cock deep inside my pussy, over and over. “Cum,” he commands. “Be a good girl and cum.” He didn’t have to tell me, because by the time he’s done with his command, I’m cumming all over his cock, which is sliding in and out of me, up and down, in and out. “Oh my God, Barry,” I moan, and he covers up my mouth again and bites my neck. “I love fucking you until you moan and shout,” he says, thrusting his cock in and out of me. “I love fucking you until you cum again and again.” He bites my shoulders and my breasts as his breathing gets harder. I holds onto his shoulders as I cum again. As he grabs my nipple and then bites it hard, he starts cumming too. I can feel his cock throbbing and

pulsing. “I’m cumming along with you,” he says, with a look of pure ecstasy on his face. “I’m cumming in your wet little pussy.” He relaxes beside me on the floor, both of us holding onto each other and feeling the aftermath of the best sex we’ve ever had. “Well, we fucked up this whole election,” he tells me, holding me tight. “But I sure feel like a winner.” “That’s funny, because so do I,” I say. “So I guess that means we both win.”

10

EPILOGUE - AS TOLD BY PRESIDENT…

never works quite as you expect it to. And, L ife sometimes, that’s a good thing. After Barry and I quit the Presidential race, the whole world imploded. Reporters all around the world went completely insane, all kinds of pieces about my relationship with Barry popping up on newspapers, TV networks and what have you. From the right to the left, everyone had an opinion. Funny enough, most of those so called reporters cared more about who we were fucking than about the future of our country. Luckily, our running mates took the lead, and democracy lived to see another day. The election was postponed for a few weeks, so that the new nominees had a chance to present their platform to the voters, and it seemed that the States were on path to normalcy again. I’m not proud of it, but I’m aware that Barry and I kinda went lower than we should have. But it didn’t matter - soon enough, the whole world would forget about us, and we’d able to live together in peace. Or so I thought.

Look around - do you recognize the room I’m in? Yes, you got that right. I’m standing in the Oval Office. I’m sitting behind the Presidential desk, running my fingers over the wood, when a paper ball hits me straight in the head. I look up, finding Barry sitting behind his own desk on the other side of the room, his feet propped up on the top. “You look so sexy when you’re that focused, Madam President,” he says with a grin. I smile back at him, biting my lower lip and considering if I should just get up, climb on top of his desk and let him have me. We still haven’t inaugurated this Office properly after all. “And you look so professional, throwing paper balls and all, Mr. President,” I respond back. Madam President? Mr. President? I hear you. Let me explain. After everyday Americans reeled from the shock, they started to miss us. Perhaps they saw the light during our last debate, when we dropped all semblance of political correctness and picked love over power. A grassroots campaign suddenly sprung up, touting my relationship with Barry as a way to heal and unite America. Even though the media laughed it off and ridiculed it, the movement grew strong, urging voters to write in my name and Barry’s on the ballot. To be honest, I found the gesture endearing. After almost a year of hate-filled campaigning, it was nice to see people around all 51 states uniting for a common cause. But I never actually thought they would succeed. Election night, me and Barry were actually in my penthouse, huddled under the blankets (come on, I don’t need to tell you what we were doing) and not giving a damn about the electoral process. Life carried on, and we no longer cared about who was going to become the

most powerful person in the world. We had other things to think about - namely trying to survive another night of naked debating, if you know what I mean. So, you can imagine how surprised I was when both our cell phones start to ring and, at the same time, someone started to knock at the door. I got up from the, threw a robe over my shoulders and, opening the door, found the Secret Service anxiously waiting. “Madam President Elect,” they greeted in deference, then turning to Barry as he appeared behind me, not really sure on how to proceed. “Mister President Elect.” Now that was a surprise. We turned on the TV, fascinated as the news went on and on about the biggest electoral upset in history - for the first time ever, write-in candidates had won the popular vote. Of course, being that the people had wrote our name jointly, it was all even more shocking to the pundits. Nobody saw it coming. I still remember fondly what I saw when I went to the balcony of my penthouse and peered down - the street was filled with thousands and thousands of Americans, all of them celebrating. There’s was an atmosphere of joy, fireworks going off in the distance. A myriad of red and blue balloons suddenly flew in front of the penthouse, as if signaling a truce between the two parties. Of course, even though we won the popular vote and the electoral college, some doubts still remained about the legality of having two write-in candidates taking office. But the will of the people was overwhelming - they wanted us both to be President, and so the Congress and the Courts had no other option but to greenlight the necessary legislation. And, like that, Barry and I became the leaders of the free world. With both our parties at peace, Republicans

and Democrats finally working together, we accepted the responsibility the American people bestowed upon us. “What are you thinking about?” Barry says, standing behind me and placing his hands on my shoulders. Thinking back to that magic night, I guess I never even saw him getting up from his chair. “I still can’t believe we’re here,” I reply, turning around and facing him. He looks as dashing as ever - now more so, his Presidential aura adding a certain charm to his smile. “It’s crazy, don’t you think?” It’s our first day in the White House, after taking the Oath of Office. There’s a lot of work to be done, but that doesn’t erase the joy and amazement fluttering inside my chest. “The one thing I think to be completely crazy,” he whispers, leaning into me and laying his lips on my neck, “is the fact that I have you all for myself. Now that’s crazy.” I close my eyes, electric sparks going from his lips to my skin. “I love you, Barry. So damn much.” “I know…” He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet, a devious smile on his lips. He glances at his wristwatch, and then back to me. “And that’s why we have to hurry.” “Hurry?” I ask him, having no idea about what he’s talking about. “Yeah. The press conference starts in about five minutes.” “Press conference? But the press conference is only scheduled for later today!!” I start panicking, turning on my heels and peering at the schedule pinned down on top of my desk. As I expected, our first press conference is marked as happening three hours from now. “Oh, I had to expedite that. Trust me,” he tells me, curling his fingers around mine and leading me out of the

Oval Office. We go down the hallway, heading toward the Press Room. Staffers look at us curiously - I guess it’s still going to take a while for people to adjust to the idea of having two Presidents -, but they’re all smiling, as if they couldn’t be happier to be a part of this historic moment in our nation. “Is the room ready?” Barry asks a aide that suddenly approaches us, clutching a folder against his chest. With a nod, the young woman confirms and, in an instant, Barry is walking inside the Press Room and pulling me after him. The room is packed with journalists, and they all hush as we step behind the podio. I immediately feel hundreds of eyeballs on me. Sure, I’ve been in front of immense crowds, but that I’m President, there’s a different feel to that. I still have no idea what’s going on, but I guess I have no choice but to trust Barry. He taps the mic twice and then, that gallant smile of his showing up, he starts to speak. “Good evening, America.” Oh, crap, we are live to the world. What the hell is he doing? “As you all know, our joint Presidency has ushered in the promise of a new age for American Politics. You have our promise, America you trusted us to solve your problems, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. The American people trusted Camille and I to lead them, and we will not fail. But let me be clear: I’m just one key of the equation. The one is standing right here, next to me.” He looks at me, a soft smile on his face, and then turns back to face the journalists. “As you’re aware, Camille and I are bound by more than just politics. We are bound by something greater. But now that we’ve reached the White House, I’m afraid to say our Presidency must evolve beyond that.” What the hell is he saying? Evolve? Oh my God - is

he breaking up with me on live TV? Has he lost his mind? The whole room starts to buzz, anticipating what his next words are going to be. My heart is drumming loud, anxiety kicking in. I can already imagining him telling the world that, because we’re Presidents, we can’t remain in a relationship. Oh, God, why didn’t he tell me about this before? If being President means I can’t love him, I don’t want it! But then, Barry goes to his knees. “Camille Rodgers, you mean the world to me. I love you - will you marry me?” He asks, taking a small box out of his pocket and opening it to reveal a diamond encrusted ring. The room goes crazy. Photographers are snapping picture after picture, their flashes completely blinding me, and every single journalist is yelling question after question. I hear none of that. Tears are starting to well on my eyes. “Yes! Yes!” I cry out. Barry stands up and, resting his hands on my waist, pulls me in for a kiss. “I had to ask,” he whispers against my ear. “I couldn’t stand the thought of ever being apart from you. I intend to grow into an decrepit and total pervert old man by your side.” “I love you, Mr. President,” I say, smiling as tears run down my cheeks. “I love you too, Madam President.”