A Princess for a President
Stressed by his job as leader of the free world, Barack Obama yearns for simpler times when he could live a life of uninhibited passion. By fate or luck, the mysterious Princess Celestia of Equestria shares his feelings of lust and longing, and the two of them engage in a secret affair full of the sex and romance that has been missing in their lives.
Part 1
“Pardon me gentlemen” says Barack, “I need to make a visit to the little boys room. That French stuff never sits well with me you know." He wanted dearly to hear the sound of friends chuckling, and the rustling of papers as they return to work. Not the ha-ha-ha's of polite toadies, and then the silence as they watch him briskly walk away. He keeps his eyes on the floor ahead of him; trying hard not to make eye-contact with the surveillance cameras lining the hallways of the plane.
Barack slips into his private suite, -not truly private of course, he spotted the hidden cameras in the light fixtures the first time he laid down on his bed- and walks into the presidential washroom, the one place he mused, a president can hang himself. With a sigh he unbuckles his belt and lets his pants drop to the floor, pulls down his underpants, sits on the toilet, and stares at the erection which he had been struggling with since he left Paris. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, losing himself in memory.
As he boarded his plane, he turned back to the crowd of young men and women for a final wave , and in the audience he saw a young Parisian women, straddling a shoulder with a sign over her head, mouthing the words written on it with pink lips “Je t'aime Monsieur President”. And he could tell she knew, he was staring straight at her, his eyes met her bright hazel, and her face was pure joy as she waved her sign wildly, her raven hair dripping onto her supple breasts, covered with a tight rainbow striped shirt, as she bounced on her friend's shoulder in her tight blue jeans, her crotch rubbing against the back of his head. Barack could feel his pants getting tighter, and he felt the light tap of the captain bringing him back to reality.
Barack looked down at his erection, his hand had been nursing it as he reminisced. Slowly he stroked in relief, closing his eyes to glimpse the Parisian girl again, and looking back down, imagining her at his feet, on her knees, looking up at him with pleading eyes and mouthing the words “Je t'aime Monsieur President”. He closed his eyes again and tilted his head up, and he felt a warm breath in his ear “let me help you with that dear” and he jolted up in his seat, and his back stiffened as he felt someone sucking at his earlobe and he whispered, “Celestia.”
***
When you get it into your head that one day you want to grow up and be president, every little thing you do is about walking that straight line to the oval office. The school you go to; will you make the right connections? The job you get; will it bankroll a campaign? The women you love, will they make a wife for a president? There was a time, Barack could come home from work, kiss Michelle, squeeze her butt tightly with both hands, carry her off to bed, strip her down as she does the same to him, kissing and necking on the bed as he softly rubs his member on her crotch. She gasps, smiling, tightens her legs around him and locks her lips on his mouth, as he pumps with all his love into her sex. He rolls over onto his back, grateful to his lover for getting on top, and taking over as he catches his breath. They stay the night, rolling in the covers, dinner getting cold, trading places and locking tightly into each other. Loving and grinding lips, pelvis, legs and tongue through the night.
But that was an age ago, now there's a chef, dinner never gets cold. Days are scheduled months in advance, no more staying up at night. And Michelle; it's a quarter past nine at the white house, and they were in bed, backs turned to each other. There was a time Michelle would have made his breakfast cold for going to sleep so early. Now his days start at six in the morning, and ends who knows when. Michelle, she's not as young as she used to be, getting tired earlier and earlier. Still pretty, in her dresses, but when they're undressing, the bulges come out. Stretch marks on her ebony skin, wrinkles where once he would run his fingers on smooth skin. Her breasts and gut hung, from two pregnancies, and her nipples, were like black knots on her chest.
He had not been as tender as he should have, and he lies in bed, wondering if he should roll over and face her, put his arm around her, maybe fondle her a little, kiss her neck, get her excited the way he used to. The weight of both of their work, had made a wedge between them. She had been a wonderful mother, a dutiful wife, a tender lover, and now, he lives with the guilt that he can't turn over and look her in the eyes before going to sleep. Thinking about days gone by, his hand slowly finds its way to his crotch, and he gently pulls out his penis, half erect.
The president's bed is made, so that the first lady tossing at night doesn't wake him up; it works both ways. Barack starts to slowly thrust his member on the bed, letting his penis rub alongside the ridges on the bedsheet. He quickens the pace, thinking of a time, when he would have Michelle's ample breasts cupped in both hands, her fingers in his mouth, and his manhood deep in her love spot. Barack, sucks on his pillow, his fingers trying to find a firm grasp on the bedsheets, as he dreams about the woman he loved, as she sleeps peacefully unaware next to him. One hand under his pillow, grasping tightly, his other hand traces the bed like it would on her body, the bedsheet a poor substitute for her skin, till he feels a soft tuft of warm silk, his fingers pass through smoothly, and it drips off his hand. The feel of the pre-cum on the tip of his penis is met with warm spit, and hot breath. “Poor baby” says a soft voice. “Let me help you with that”.
“Celestia” Barack whispers back, and buries his face deeper into his pillow.
***
Summer at the White House, it is hot and muggy. Barack sits on a bench in the garden on his day off. The girls are out getting their hair done. The summer heat, his plain white shirt, brown trousers and straw hit, a cold beer in one hand, no kids, wife or anyone else; it reminds him of his youth in the Pacific. Tanned girls in bikinis walking by, smiling as they pass. At night they sneak out, the beach littered with their underwear, and their soft skin against his, grinding hard in the summer surf. Bodies baking in the sun all day, keeping them warm at night.
Barack was dozing, his head falling back, then jerking forward as he tried to stay awake. Thinking of the old days made him want to lie down naked on the warm ground, let the dirt's heat remind him of those long summer nights. Maybe masturbate in the sun, hidden in the bushes of the White House garden without a care in the world. Barack had been watching the secret service agent out the corner of his for a while now. They were everywhere he was. And if they weren't, they had ways of knowing, hearing, and seeing what he was up to. It was a little strange, the first night, waking up the morning after Michelle had dutifully gifted him with sex, and meeting with the head of White House security. That grin on that motherfucker's face, and the look in his eye told Barack everything he didn't want to know. The sex was bad, and this asshole knew it. From now on he would know everything about him. Strutting about the White House, no ring on his wedding finger, bankrolling teenage girls on taxpayer money to suck his dick. This motherfucker isn't the president, he doesn't need a wife and kids to get his job. Barack just smiled and shook his hand; a little tempted to punch him in the balls but the feeling would have to pass. Being president meant putting up with a lot of people, even if those people might be watching your wife undress and take a shower with little cameras.
Barack's head jerked forward, the agent was gone. He's grateful for them keeping a respectful distance most of the time. Really, some of them were nice people, but to go missing altogether, that was out of character. For the first time since he took the presidency, Barack felt completely alone. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. There's something about being the most important person in the world, and sitting alone outside that makes one uneasy.
He got up, beer in hand, and walked over to where the agent was standing. Just to make sure everything was alright. Maybe invite him for a drink. Barack found him curled up on the ground, hands under his head, sleeping peacefully. He gently shook him by the shoulder, no luck, he was sleeping deep, having a good time too judging by the smile on his face.
The heat was becoming unbearable, Barack took another sip of his beer. His vision was getting a little blurry, how many drinks did he have? He couldn't remember. someone had dropped his body guard, and he was next. Why wait though? If they're this close to the president, he'd been in a van right now, tied up and gagged, or worse, on the ground waiting for the gardener to find him with a bullet in his head.
It felt good, a cool breeze was blowing through the garden, there was no one to watch over him, and he had nothing to do for the next hour or so. This would be his only chance to do something really wild in a long time. Strolling over to a row of tall sunflowers, he glances left and right and quickly pulls down his pants, then his underwear. He unbuttons his shirt, spreading it open and letting the breeze cool his bare chest. He strips off his shirt and places it on the ground. Rubbing his firm chest with one hand, and caressing his rippling abs with the other. He finishes his beer naked and lies down hidden amidst the sunflowers, enjoying the warmth of the sun baked grass underneath. One hand under his head, he slowly begins stroking his penis. Thinking of his time in Hawaii, and the fat bottom girls with the tan skin, making love on the beach. His strokes get longer, he takes the cold beer bottle and places it sideways under his balls, letting the cool condensation seep into his sack.
It might have been the beer, the heat, or something bizarre in the wind that makes grown men sleep like children in the middle of the day, and presidents masturbate in the sunflower rows, but in front of him he could see a, a white unicorn with a long shimmering mane coloured blue, green and pink. It was smaller than a horse, no taller than the average woman. On top of its head, above its horn, was a golden crown, and a golden necklace hugged its neck. Its wings were unlike any bird in the world; large round feathers in a single row. It was a strange looking beast, with a short snout, more like a large chipmunk than a horse, and very large eyes, with pink irises, and large black pupils; not on the sides of its face like a normal horse, but facing forward like a man's. It blinked once, -its long lashes fluttering; dark eyelids with black mascara- and solemnly without breaking eye contact, it bent its neck down and licked his penis. First at the tip, and then it traced its tongue down the bottom of his shaft to his balls, then back up to the tip, and then the unicorn took his throbbing penis into its mouth and began to slowly fellate Barack with its eyes closed. Still in his stupor, Barack let the unicorn to pleasure him with its mouth. His eyes rolled up into the sky, feeling the gentle sensation of the beast's soft lips rubbing against the skin of his cock, its saliva coating his shaft. The unicorn, quickened its pace, its bobbing head gently jerked his penis up and down, his balls were gently grinding against the cool beer bottle underneath them. He looked the unicorn in its eyes, and as he climaxed, the beast swallowed his cock to the base, and calmly drank his pent up semen as it pumped straight into its throat. Removing Barack's, cock from its mouth, a thin string of cum and spit hanging inbetween. The unicorn walked over to his face, nuzzled his mouth with her nose, and spoke softly.
“I know what it's like to be so powerful, and so alone, your friends and families become distant as they're caught up in political schemes. I know what it's liked to be watched day and night by your subjects, with vultures in the rafters waiting to pounce on you for every mistake you make. I know what it's like to go years without tender love, feeling the touch of naked skin against another's. Tell me you want what I want.”
“I want it.”
“I'm a princess in my own land, I've lived for thousands of years, and for the most of these years I've been a princess, and precious few of those years, I've lived as a woman. Are you going to make me a woman with that horse cock, or are you going to leave me like a virgin princess, cold in her privates till she marries.
“I'll make you a woman princess.”
“Call me Celestia.”
“Celestia...”
She kissed him on the lips, as he dozed off naked in the summer heat and fell asleep.
When the secret service found him he was fully clothed and asleep among the sunflowers. His trip to the hospital plastered headlines around the world “Obama suffers sun stroke”. They discharged him with minor heat exhaustion, he had the rest of the week off. When he got home, he went straight to the bathroom, pulled out a card he had felt in his pocket, and read “Give this a lick, and rub it on your dick. I'll be there soon anyway, ciao -Celestia.”
***
It wasn't the second or even the tenth time they had met. The bathroom was their special place. No one to interrupt, not even the spy cameras. Celestia with her magic could place the agents at their post into a daze, or replace the video feed with one from the previous day.
“I know you can stop time,” said Barack, “why do we need to always meet in these awkward situations. One night in my bed is all I'm asking.”
Celestia looked up at him, she had been nursing his dick with her mouth as he sat on the toilet.
“How droll.” She replied her horn was shining and her magic stimulated his penis like two hands jerking him off.
“I could bring any one of my royal guards, or even one of the many plebeians inhabiting your kingdom into my chambers, cast an aphrodisiac curse and let him have his way with me, wiping his memory when he was done, and letting him go having neither pleasured or been pleasured, and leaving a lonely Queen to tend her aching lust with a soulless object. I want someone to walk in, to see us. It makes me horny, sleeping with most powerful man in the world. Having him inside me, after he gives the order to send a hundred men to their death, and feeling his mouth on my sex just before he goes to speak to the world.”
As she said this, her magic was working more furiously. Barack's penis was coated with his pre-cum as the invisible hands stroked relentlessly. Celestia placed her front hooves on his shoulders and stood over him, slowly lowering herself onto his penis as her magic continued to work. But as he felt the heat of her taint on the tip of his cock, and the wet walls of her privates began to close around his penis head, he shot his seed.
“Naughty boy,” Celestia giggled. “You couldn't wait for me?”
“I've been working on it since I left Paris.”
She could feel his penis getting softer inside her, the hot cum coating the inside of her vagina, mixing with her own wetness and dripping out onto her thighs. The invisible hands were moving slower now; they fit like a tight condom, gently messaging the inside of her genitals. Slowly she started rocking her hips
“If you want,” she whispered in his ear, “maybe we could do something with that girl.”
“Out of the question.”
“I know you want it, you know she wants it, she won't even remember. A shame for those breasts to be locked away like that. Do I feel you getting a little hard now?
Barack gave a strong thrust, and Celestia bit down on his collar.
“I'm not dick deep in a French girl right now”, he said, and he fucked her hard a second time; her muffled moan rang in his ears, and he could feel her spit seeping through his shirt.
“What I want” Barack said, pulling out gently, “is this pussy right here”, and his dick pounded her again.
“Baby,” he said gently, looking down at her. Wide-eyed and nuzzled against his shirt she looked back.
“I'm getting old. All my life I wanted to be president, and now that I am, my life can't catch up. Everything I do is national security. From the food I eat, to my jogs in the morning, to the conversations with Michelle. You think the Secret Service is just going to let my wife tell me what she thinks of me, or let me tell my wife what I think of her? Psychologists working round the clock to make sure our marriage doesn't fall apart. Marketing experts making sure I don't lose image with any of my electorates. Dozens of advisers swarming me day and night. Making sure I say the right things, do the right things, and cleaning up when something goes wrong. I'm not stupid but, I'm dick deep in a magic horse right now. Even the best of us want to feel weak for a moment, do something they know is wrong. If no one finds out, and no one gets hurt, what's the harm in that? “
“Do you still love Michelle?”
“Some days, I try to think of the time we spent before the kids came. A guy can only love so much, and when you have to share your love between your wife, your kids, your friends and your work, there's a little less love to pass around. I think it was around the time Sasha was born. Each kid we had was like a little barrier between the two of us. And then my workload grew, and I got elected as President. That feeling when the polls came in, it was like having another child. Another little wall that needs a whole lot of love.”
“You didn't answer my question, do you still love your wife?”
“'Till death do us part.”
“Then why are you thinking about French girls in tight pants sucking you off in a bathroom?”
It was getting hard to think, Barack's stiff dick was still being teased by Celestia's magic, and her questions weren't getting easier.
“I love my wife, I love my kids, I love my job. I have to, millions depend on my family not falling apart, the United States depends on me not falling apart and quitting my job. It's tough. My dream of living in the white house isn't as picturesque as I wanted, but Michelle has the good sense a president's wife needs. My kids are beautiful, I'm the most powerful man in the world, I have everything going for me.”
“And yet here you are, having an affair in the bathroom of your private jet.” There was sadness in her voice. Her magic had stopped, and Barack's penis slipped out, soft as can be. The two sat on the toilet seat for a moment. Celestia with her hooves around his neck, head resting on his chest, staring off to the side. Barack with his arms hugging Celestia, stroked her soft mane.
“I don't have a family to love,” Celestia said quietly. “I have one sister, we barely talk. Things have been rough between us for hundreds of years. We try to get along, but our duties make it hard. She works when I'm asleep, and I work when she's in bed. What little time we have in between is spent on our own pursuits. Our parents passed away a very long time ago. I never married. I spent my youth studying books of all kinds, even books a princess shouldn't read. I learned that as a princess, there was some happiness I couldn't share with my subjects, in their private lives, away from the paparazzi, the lobbyists, the angry citizens. There's no return to the lives of our past.”
“Anything particular?”
“Long nights with, Ghenghis Khan, Napoleon Bonaparte, all dead and gone. Lovers come and go, I've lived for a millenia, and I have not a single friend to show for it. Only subjects who know how to nod their heads, and smile politely when I joke.”
“I know that feeling too well.”
“I sent a student to study the magic of friendship in my land, hoping for some solace. Maybe I'll introduce you two, she's a sweet little thing.”
“Your protege?”
“Maybe; every century, with every lover lost, and every friend who's passed away, it's too much to bear. I don't want to be Princess forever, I want to pass the crown, and live out my days in passion, and peace.”
“You don't seem to have trouble finding passion,” and he slowly began caressing the curves of her flank.
Celestia smiled, “sometimes it's just nice to talk to someone who understands you.” She could feel him getting harder against her belly.
“My spell won't last much longer, give me a kiss for the road lover.” Obama wrapped his hands around her head, and brought his lips to her mouth, kissing her deeply. They toyed with each others tongue, inside their mouths, between their lips, kissing passionately, and draw away with a string of saliva hanging between them. Her horn sparkled brightly as she cast her spell, but Obama's hand reached out and grasped it.
“What are you doing? I can't cast my magic with your hand on my horn.”
“How much time do we have?”
“I have no idea. Five maybe ten minutes tops.”
“That's all I need,” and Barack started running his other hand down her back, and began kissing her neck.
“Let go,” Celestia panted, she felt weak with his hand on her horn, and his mouth on her body and his fingers caressing her back.
“We'll make love tonight, but we'll get caught if we stay here.”
“Scared of a little risk?” He laid her down on the bathroom rug, necking her tenderly, one hand still on her horn, the other gently massaging between her thighs. He could feel the heat from her privates on his hand; she wanted it badly.
“My magic...” She moaned as his fingers send shudders of pleasure through her spine.
“Let go of my horn, let me cast a spell so we can't be heard outside this room.” He let go and Celestia cast a purple light that enveloped the bathroom.
“And now?”
“And now I want you to make me scream like a French slut.”
Obama plunged his cock into her snatch. She cried out in ecstasy, and wrapped her legs around him. Lips on her neck, kissing her passionately, his waist pumping like a piston; Celestia, mouth open, ah-ah-ah's of pleasure slipping from her throat; she brings herself to her lovers mouth and kisses him deep. Sound of a door opening outside, it makes her hot. She shoves him a little, they trade positions. Barack on the floor, his fingers in her mouth. Celestia on top, moaning as she humps his dick, her tail brushing his balls. She shudders in joy, again and again, soaking his penis in her love juice. There's someone walking around outside. Barack stands up, takes Celestia's chin in one hand, and strokes himself with the other. He climaxes into her waiting mouth, stroking her mane as she swallows. He hears the sound of someone knocking on the door.
“I'll take care of this,” Barack says as he pulls up his pants, and puts on his coat. Celestia nods, tired from their little romp, and curls up on the bathroom rug and falls asleep. Barack steps out of the bathroom, careful to block Celestia from view.
“Is there a problem?”
“I came to ask the same question sir. We were worried when you didn't return and no noise was coming from inside your washroom.”
“Everything's fine, just a little problem with the tap.”
“With all due respect sir, as the security chief on this jet it is my duty to follow up on- ”
“Chief, am I the president of the United States or are you the president of the United States?”
“You are sir.”
“That is correct, now please leave while I fix my shirt.”
“Yes sir.”
As the door to his private suit shuts, Barack peeks into the washroom; Celestia is gone. Tucking in his shirt, he looks straight up at the light fixtures, smiles, adjusts his tie, and goes back to his meeting.
Help
Malgon, on 10 June 2015 - 12:44 AM, said:
Duke4.net
DNF #1
Duke 3D #1
