
                           Fucked by the Government

            "For  willful disobedience," the General intoned severely as
       she brandished the fine  leather  whip  by  her  side.  Then  she
       lashed  out precisely, three times, making Michael yelp with each
       blow. The whip flicked out smartly  with  each  crack.  When  the
       General  was  satisfied  with  her  efforts,  she  turned  to the
       Commander in Chief.

            "Madame President,"  she  inclined  her  head  slightly  and
       proffered  the whip. The President shook her head; no, thank you.
       All this time a young, pretty Congressional page was  looking  on
       without  comment. The three women stood around the submissive man
       without comment. "My dear?" the woman General asked the page.

            "Ummm, no...thanks, that is." Jenny blushed  a  little.  She
       felt  bad  for  Michael;  it had been her idea to bring him here,
       after all. He only wanted to meet the  president,  and  now  look
       what happened.

            Michael  was  bent  over  the  President's large Oval Office
       desk, dress pants down to  his  knees.  Around  him  in  a  loose
       semi-circle,  staring  at  his  reddening  behind  with  looks of
       introspection, bemusement, and  embarrassment  respectively  were
       the  President  of the United States, her Chairwoman of the Joint
       Chiefs  of  Staff,  and  a  lowly  Congressional  page,  new   to
       Washington and its ways -- Jenny.

            Michael  looked  back  to  see  what  they  were  doing. The
       General  firmly  pushed  his  head  back.  "Perhaps   you   don't
       understand me, Michael. Is that so?"

            "No  ma'am,"  he  responded  quickly.  "No  sir,  I  mean. I
       mean..."

            "You mean what?" she asked sternly,  enunciating  each  word
       with  slow ease. Her faint New England accent made the words seem
       aristocratic. There was an edge to her voice and a tightening  of
       her  grip  on  the whip, a cherished gift from an old lover she'd
       met and left at West Point, twenty years earlier.  Youngest  head
       of  the  Joint Chiefs of Staff and the first female, ushered into
       the top  ranks  of  the  military  along  with  the  first  woman
       president and nearly a half female Senate.

            "I  mean nothing," Michael answered weakly. The General gave
       him an affectionate swat on the butt with the  glossy  handle  of
       her whip. The young man, barely 18, tensed then relaxed.

            The   President   stepped   forward  and  placed  her  hands
       reassuringly on Michael's wiry young  shoulders.  Such  a  burden
       for  one  so  young  to  carry, she thought wryly. Not unlike the
       burden of leadership.

            The head of the U.S. smiled slightly, considering  what  she
       had planned for this evening. A week of unrelenting reporters and
       trying minor crises had left her strained and nervous. This was a
       splendid idea of the General's.

            Jenny asked, "Can my friend get up from the desk now?"

            The President considered, then assented. "For now."

            Jenny  helped Michael up, and made a secret, apologetic face
       at him while her back was turned to the older women.

            The President moved behind the desk to the plush  chair  and
       seated  herself  delicately. "I am going to watch for a while, if
       you don't mind," she told the General. The General nodded and set
       to work.

            "I am going to give you a series of orders. If you are  slow
       in  responding,  or tardy in your actions, I will punish you. You
       may, of course, leave this office at  any  time.  I  assure  you,
       though,  that  the laughter of the Secret Service men will be the
       least of your troubles. For you will have angered  the  President
       of  the  United  States,  and  --  worse  still  --  ME.  Do  you
       understand?"

            "Yes ma'am."

            "Good. One other thing, you  are  not  to  refer  to  me  as
       'ma'am.'  I  hate  that,  out  of  uniform."  And  with that, she
       methodically removed her distinguished, be-medalled Army  uniform
       one  item  of  clothing  at  a  time,  dropping  the  last of her
       undergarments in a tidy pile by the leg of the president's desk.

            Naked, she wasn't half bad looking. A little out  of  shape,
       but  basically  a  trim  woman for her 40 plus years. Her breasts
       weren't large, so there wasn't much sagging, and the lines on her
       face (surprisingly) were mostly laugh lines. She dyed her hair to
       keep it an auburn brown.

            "Young man, about face!" she ordered crisply. The  President
       looked  on  in  amusement. Jenny stood there, not knowing what to
       do.

            Michael turned away from her again, as commanded.

            "Remove your clothes. Immediately." Michael obeyed.

            "Hmmmm..."  the   General   murmured   thoughtfully,   naked
       herself,  less  than  a meter from an unclothed boy half her age.
       It was an entertaining self-image for a woman who in her  younger
       days prided herself on her aggressiveness and creative thinking.

            The  General  turned  a speculative eye to examine Michael's
       naked, alert form as he stood there under  her  command.  Subject
       to her whims, as it were. She began reciting a description of the
       young  man in orderly fashion: "Tallish. Slim. Light build. Hmm..
       Long, slender fingers. Small  rear."  The  President  grinned  at
       that. Jenny was mortified, and kept her eyes off her friend.

            "You'll  do."  She  reached  out  and squeezed his cheek. He
       remained admirably still. "OK, turn around now  and  go  down  on
       me."

            "Errr...what?" Michael turned around slowly, questioningly.

            "You  still  use  that  phrase  don't  you? Or are you a tad
       slow, boy?"

            Michael shook his head, sending a delicious thrill down  the
       General's  spine. The Oval Office seemed a bit warm. She imagined
       she could feel the currents of air as they circulated  the  room,
       purified,  cleansed  and  analyzed  from one of the White House's
       remote monitoring stations.

            There was a long couch at the end of  the  room,  underneath
       Lincoln's  portrait. She lay on it and motioned Michael over with
       a wagging finger. "Step to it."

            It seemed like he had little choice. Tentatively  he  leaned
       over  and put his head in her lap. He found her hair-rimmed delta
       with  little  difficulty  and  set  to  work.  Minutes  into  the
       proceedings,  Jenny  couldn't  help  but peek at what Michael was
       doing. In a way, it was exciting watching him lap and suck at the
       woman's most private regions with enthusiasm. There was no  doubt
       the General was gaining a lot of pleasure from it.

            Jenny  watched  him for a while longer. His arms were draped
       gently over the woman's torso to steady himself. Midway into  the
       proceedings  the  General  had locked her strong thighs about his
       head and urged him deeper, faster with her straying hands.

            Michael was hard now, she noticed accidentally,  and  again,
       it  was exciting to see. She hadn't previously thought of Michael
       in a sexual way; he was just a friend she'd met at one of the low
       level gatherings that junior Congressmen liked to  hold.  He  was
       there  as  a  caterer's assistant, and approached her purely as a
       friend.

            Six months later, this private visit with the President  was
       supposed  to  be her favour to him, after tons of laughs and good
       times spent together. They were friends. And now he had to suffer
       the indignity of this. She would have  never  believed  that  the
       President was capable of this, this awful behaviour.

            Michael,  in  the  meantime,  swished  on.  The  General was
       making little moaning noises in the back  of  her  throat.  Jenny
       hoped  he  could  breathe  with  those tight legs about his head.
       Apparently he was doing just fine, judging by the little rotating
       movements the General was making with her hips.

            Finally the woman climaxed on the coach,  a  quiet  staccato
       fire  of  grunting  emerging from her parted mouth. Her movements
       slowed to a gentle relaxation and she pushed Michael up from her.
       His chin was wet, his face serious.

            "G-good," she gasped. The President was  positively  beaming
       from her position behind the world's most important desk.

            Michael stood up, his erection swinging loosely.

            "Here,"  the  General  said  amicably. "Let me help you with
       that." Still leaning back on the coach, she took the young  man's
       cock in her mouth with ease. Michael hissed an intake of breath.

            Lightly  running her fingers along his shaft, she sucked him
       in with slow, deep draughts. 25 years of  cocksucking  had  given
       the  woman  a  mastery  that few women Michael's age could match.
       From the start she was in complete control, a  wizardess  at  the
       act,  dictating his pleasure on her terms. Her mouth was firm and
       extremely slick, a hotbed of friction.

            Michael discovered just how deep her  throat  was  when  she
       went  down  on  him  to his balls. He groaned piteously. From the
       base of his cock  she  made  an  effort  to  lick  his  adjoining
       testicles.  She  slid  back up, and then back down again quickly,
       dispelling the gag reflex as an illusion. Her deep throating  was
       controlled and elegant. Powerful. Wet. Intensely, extremely good.

            Despite  being  filled  with  Michael's  cock,  there  was a
       Cheshire smile on the General's face as she pistoned up and  down
       with  slathering  grace.  This  fine  young thing in her complete
       control. Youth was no match for experience, she  thought  as  she
       vacuum-sucked the poor boy's exerting penis. She kept a close ear
       on  his  breathing  to  keep  track  of her progress. Ah yes, she
       noted, swishing about his cockhead -- almost there.

            She pulled away with a wet pop and wrapped a calloused  hand
       tightly  about  his  moistened  shaft.  Her  jerking motions were
       tight and clipped, an efficient  path  to  ecstasy  as  Michael's
       rapid sighs soon proved.

            Out  of  amusement the General moved her lips over the boy's
       cockhead seconds before an  imminent  ejaculation.  There  was  a
       feeling  of  intense satisfaction at the control she exerted over
       him, the way  she  guided  and  directed  him  to  an  inevitable
       outcome, one which would prove most pleasurable to him even as he
       was being purposefully manipulated.

            With  a  few  final pulls on his shaft he began spilling his
       come in  strong  squirts.  My  how  age  makes  a  difference  in
       ejaculate  distance,  the General mused with her eyes shut as she
       suctioned him off powerfully.

            The boy was making noises and jamming her head down on  him.
       She  didn't  mind.  It  was  fun  vacuuming  up  all his jism and
       consuming it like a thin, sticky sauce. Made  her  feel  juvenile
       again, and the noises he was making were certainly enjoyable. Oh!
       --  there  came another gob. She swallowed it down with the rest.
       Finally he dribbled off to an orgasm-capping ending. She gave him
       a last powerful pull  which  shuddered  him  from  head  to  toe.
       Delightful.

            Michael  stood  back  weakly  and  leaned on the president's
       desk. Jenny was past embarrassment  as  she  observed  him.  Well
       into  open  fascination  now  with the whole proceedings. Michael
       looked over at the President. She gestured him  around  her  desk
       with  a  silent  wave.  He acquiesced, tingling a bit as he moved
       over deep carpet.

            "Yes, Madame President?" he breathed quietly.

            "We haven't really done anything  yet,"  she  said,  raising
       herself to her full height. Plastic surgery kept her looking very
       young,  as  young  as a politician could afford to look and still
       aspire to high office. She was perhaps 30 in appearance, maybe  a
       mature 28. Breasts were naturally full beneath the masking effect
       of  her  conservative  suit. Her blonde hair was set stylishly in
       the current fashion. She took pains to look good.

            "Could you move closer to me, Michael?" she  asked,  pursing
       her  lipstick-  pink  lips.  High cheekbones, very subtly applied
       blush over good skin. A touch of mascara, professional yet a  tad
       sexy too. The President had been a minor beauty contest winner in
       her college days at UCLA, and had kept her looks, sharpening them
       into  an  in-charge  professional  demeanour.  However it was her
       native  wit  and  intelligence  as  much   as   her   charm   and
       attractiveness which had driven her this far.

            She  moved  to give Michael a soft kiss on the lips. She was
       unmarried, but would have probably gone ahead with  this  liaison
       regardless.

            Michael  kissed  well, a bit gently but that was forgivable.
       She nibbled on him and slipped her tongue into his mouth  like  a
       fine  gift.  It glided on in without resistance. For a while they
       frenched, then the President pulled away.  "On  the  table,"  she
       indicated.

            Michael  hopped up on the desk and sat facing the President.
       She pushed the chair back with her leg and  lightly  stroked  the
       young  man's  naked body. He was getting hard again, soon. That's
       the good thing about teenage boys, she thought to herself. Always
       ready and raring to go.  I'll  have  to  thank  the  General  for
       softening him up for a longer ride this time.

            She  hiked down her knee-high skirt but left the rest of her
       apparel on. She wasn't wearing panties. With a  mild  effort  she
       levered   herself  onto  his  young  body  and  sought  his  cock
       instinctively. Wet already from watching the prior events, it was
       no problem slipping him in, and oh it felt good.

            She moved on him like an unchained  tigress.  "Yumm..."  she
       whispered  cheerfully  in  his  ear and bore down hard. He turned
       his head aside; some whistling air escaped  of  its  own  accord.
       Abruptly she had an idea.

            The  President  pulled  off  Michael  with  a  twist  of her
       mid-section. "I want you to take me from behind,"  she  breathed.
       This  was  exciting her. She pushed him aside and climbed up onto
       the very large desk. There was easily  room  enough  for  her  to
       assume the hands and knees posture. Ready for entry. God she felt
       wet.

            "Over  here,"  she  called  behind her. Michael scampered up
       beside her and needed no urging  to  shove  deep  inside  without
       preliminaries.  It  was  nice,  nice  enough to inspire a harder,
       faster thrust. The President wriggled her behind  pleasantly  and
       clenched  down  with  her  vagina.  "Nice,"  she murmured. "Do it
       again." Michael obeyed, like a good boy.

            It was incredibly  arousing  seeing  the  President  on  her
       hands  and  knees,  being taken from behind. She was bucking back
       at him, but the majority  of  the  force  was  being  applied  by
       Michael,  and with some tact and deftness too. This surprised the
       General as she closely observed the doggy style sex  with  not  a
       small  measure  of  passion  and  interest.  Flicking her gaze to
       Jenny, she saw the young lady was mesmerized too.

            The General dressed while the President and her young  lover
       fucked  on the Oval Office desk. Then she took Jenny by the hand.
       The girl gave a surprised start. The General led her, smiling, to
       where the two were furiously going at it on the desk. A  deskfull
       of  scattered  papers  provided some cushioning for the President
       and Michael's knees as their ride got bumpier.

            Jenny let her hand be moved  by  the  General  to  Michael's
       thrusting  organ.  It  was  very  hard  and  slick  with  vaginal
       lubrication. The juices clung like a wet coating  as  his  thick,
       engorged  flesh  moved  in  and out consistently, speedily. Jenny
       kept her hand on the base and moved it lightly  along  the  shaft
       when the dick emerged from its vaginal home.

            Judging  by  the  speed which Michael was moving against the
       President's bucking  rear,  Jenny's  light  touches  were  hardly
       registering.  Yet  Michael  kept his eyes locked with hers as the
       President tossed her  medium-length  blonde  hair  with  abandon.
       Jenny  felt  a  shiver  looking into Michael's deep brown eyes. A
       gradient of pleasure connected them, her the  observer,  and  him
       the experiencer. It felt very strange.

            She  kept  her  hand  on his cock and begin squeezing of her
       own  accord,  watching  the  feelings  develop  and  subside   in
       Michael's  eyes.  Twin  barrels to his soul. She had set this up,
       her actions had caused this. She was no longer certain  what  was
       right,  what  was wrong. Pleasure seemed to have taken precedence
       here in this hallowed old room.

            Jenny moved her youthful lips beside Michael's  ears,  which
       trembled   as  he  thrust  steadily.  "I'm  sorry  Michael,"  she
       whispered sadly. Her hand remained on his  penis,  detached  from
       her   consciousness   like   a  surrealistic  painting  from  the
       surrounding reality.

            Michael nodded once, brushed  against  her  cheek  with  his
       moving  face,  and orgasmed. Jenny felt it in the shaft she held,
       the tremors. It  seemed  there  wasn't  much  sperm  left  to  be
       emptied, but the blonde on the receiving end seemed to notice and
       responded with her own reactive orgasm. The two shuddered as they
       pressed together, taken by the urgent motion of basest instinct.

            It  took  a  while  for Michael to recover from this one. He
       moved to the sofa and lay down in exhaustion. Jenny  stroked  his
       poor  head  on  the sofa as he lay there, tired. He was naked and
       used, and she felt very badly for him.

            Yet there was something terribly  sensual  about  the  whole
       circumstances  as she stroked his damp forehead and reassured him
       quietly.  Something  overwhelming  that  she  hadn't  quite  felt
       before; revealed like a curtain yanked away from a magic trick by
       the unique setting she found herself in. She didn't feel herself,
       her emotions were all askew and her mind felt frazzled.

            The  President and the General, all dressed, seemed to sense
       something as the young pair lay on the  coach.  They  took  their
       leave  without  word,  exiting  by the west doors. Alone now with
       Michael.  She  still  felt  badly  about  the  whole  thing,  the
       negativity  she had caused. She kissed his face tenderly and felt
       her heart resonate with him.

            "I'm sorry Michael," she whispered again.

            He looked up at her from her lap and  seemed  to  know  what
       she  was  feeling,  what  she  meant. How truly sorry she was. He
       moved his face up weakly to kiss her and  she  met  him  halfway,
       cradling  his  neck softly with her arms. It was OK, it was going
       to be OK.

            Without pretense the two made love, Michael on  top  in  the
       standard   missionary   position.  It  all  felt  brand  new  and
       wonderful, and took a long time to explore. Jenny finished  first
       with  a  gentle climax, and to his surprise began crying quietly.
       Michael held her comfortingly and murmured soft words.

            He remained in Jenny's arms until he  lost  track  of  time.
       Michael  disentangled  only  when  he  saw  she'd slipped into an
       undisturbed slumber. Dressing stealthily, he  left  by  the  same
       exit  as  the  President  and her General. The Secret Service men
       positioned down the hallway were very polite and discreet.

            He left the White House unobtrusively and  was  dropped  off
       by  an official car while Washington slept. All very peaceful and
       uneventful. Michael entered his  apartment  bruised,  tired,  and
       generally  worn  out.  He  tried  to ignore the tenderness in his
       glans.

            The phone rang at 2335 hours. As he picked up the  phone  he
       heard  a brief scrambling noise, then the heavy quiet of a secure
       line came into effect.

            "Mikhail?" a masculine voice intoned questioningly.

            "Da, eto ia. Ti  byl  prahv  naschet  nikh."  Michael  spoke
       slowly, without emotion or accent.

            "How did it go?" the voice asked from a far distance.

            "Very smoothly."

            "Good.  Next  time  get  some  useful  information," the man
       grunted tersely.

            "No problem," Michael replied. "Das vy'danya."

            He put the receiver down slowly and went to get some rest.

