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Copyright 2003 by Rod Harden All rights reserved |
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Emily Stone sat at her desk glaring at the front page of the Times. The picture of a woman's breast, nipple discreetly obscured by digital pixelation, stared back at her. The headline read, "Presidential Shocker! Stone Reveals Knocker."
Travis Evans stood a few paces away. He cleared his throat and waited a moment for her to look up. "Um, Madam President? Your eight o'clock with the Joint Chiefs-" "Screw the Joint Chiefs!" Travis let silence fill the Oval Office again, and studied the woman behind the desk. Even with her face full of worry, she looked much younger than her fifty-three years. There were few visible lines on her face, and her dark hair was only tinged with gray. In fact, though he was five years her junior, people often thought she was the younger of the two. At last, she sighed and sat back. Her eyes were still fixed on the newspaper, but her focus bore through and beyond it. "The thing is, it's my own damned fault," she said. "I should never have worn that dress, let alone without a bra." Travis shook his head. "It was a set up. I've studied the video. It's obvious this Fleischer guy 'tripped' on purpose. He deliberately grabbed for your shoulder strap. And now we know he actually works for Shelby, of all people. We're still trying to find out how he got into one of our fund raisers." "I know, I know, Travis. But if I hadn't been trying to soften my image..." Abruptly, she leaned forward and pounded the desk. "Damn it! With all the problems in the world, and the only thing those jackals care about now is a bare breast. It's 2033 for God's sake!" She looked up at him, her brown eyes narrowed, her nostrils flaring. "Do you know the Post is running the photo unaltered? Did I really work all these years just to be reduced to a- a nipple?" As she stared at her Chief of Staff, her expression gradually softened. At last, she relaxed and sat back again. "So what should I do, Travis? Tell me what to do." Travis took a step forward. When he spoke, his voice was hushed but firm. "Emily," he said simply. He held her gaze, and their breathing quickened in sync. "Here's what I think..." His lips curved into a half-grin and his right eyebrow rose suggestively. "I think I should examine the evidence." Her face flushed. "Travis, I need you to be my advisor now, not my-" "Madam President, that is my advice. Seriously. I believe you need a little help putting things in perspective. Now..." He took another step forward. "Let's see what all the fuss is about." "Here? Now?" "Yes. And yes." Without taking her eyes from him, she reached across the desk and hit a button on the phone. "Peggy," she said in her official voice. "I'm not to be disturbed for any reason for the next-" She studied the look in Travis's face. "Fifteen minutes." "Yes, Madam President," came Peggy's voice over the phone's speaker. "Does that include the First Gentleman?" A momentary look of annoyance crossed Emily's face at the mention of her husband. "Yes, yes. And tell Admiral Sweet I'll be late for the Joint Chiefs meeting." "Yes, Madam President." Emily released the button. As she had spoken, Travis had stepped around the desk and stood next to her. Without a word, he took her hand and guided her to her feet. In her sensible dress shoes, she was several inches shorter than he. Her gaze fell upon his chest. "What... 'evidence' was it exactly that you wanted to examine?" she asked, smiling and sneaking glances up to his face. He returned her smile. "Was it the left or the right?" "Don't you know? It's all there in the paper." "Oh, I know, all right, but I want you to tell me, Emily." "I see... Well, it was the- the left one." "The left what?" "The left... nipple." "This one?" His right hand cupped her left breast, his fingers slowly converging toward the center. "Uh-" she gasped. "Ah, yes," he said. "My favorite." He homed in on the hardened bead and massaged it through her blouse and bra. He smiled as she closed her eyes and licked her lips. "A closer inspection will be necessary, of course," he said. "Of course."
The President's Nipple
Both pairs of hands fumbled with buttons, tugged at lycra and lace. Quickly uncovered and cradled by the tips of Travis's fingers, the russet bud rose and fell with Emily's rapid breaths.
They both stared at her naked nipple as Travis reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled copy of the unaltered photo published by the Post. He smoothed it out and held it against her chest, glancing from photo to nipple and back again. "Yup," he said, "that's the one."
"You bastard!"
"Well," he said, letting the picture fall to the floor, "at least I wasn't the slut in the slinky dress."
"Why, I should call the- Ow! That hurt."
"Oh, I'm sorry, did I squeeze it too hard?"
"Secret Service would have a field day with y-"
"Let 'em find their own nipple," he laughed. Then, leaning down, he sucked the puckered pebble into his mouth.
"Oh, god, Travis, I love it when you do that."
"Mm..."
"We don't have much time. Fuck me now."
"But I like driving you nuts like this." He kept on nibbling.
"Uh! Who's the Commander in Chief around here?"
"You are," he said, pausing to take a breath, then sucking her in again.
"So who's the- Um! Who's the boss?"
He released the nipple and stood to his full height. "Right now? That would be me."
"Oh, yes! You're right. But... don't you want to fuck your President now? Please?" she pouted, stroking his lapel.
Laughing, he turned her toward the desk. "Okay, you convinced me." As he unzipped his trousers, she hiked her skirt up and dropped her panties. She leaned across the top of the desk just in time to spread her legs and open for him.
"That feels so good, Travis."
"Always happy to serve my country, Madam President."
"You're a true patriot- Um! Oh! Yes, yes, yes!"
"Urgh."
Their bodies rocked together. Travis finished quickly and collapsed onto Emily, reaching around to finger her clit till she came. Then he stretched out his arms, pinning hers down.
"Imagine," he whispered, "if the Times had a picture of this."
"Oh, shit!" she laughed.
"How's that for perspective?"
He stood and helped her up as well. As he zipped his trousers, she pulled up her panties and straightened her skirt. She hit the button on the phone, and spoke up. "Peggy, tell the Admiral I'm on my way."
"Yes, Madam President."
Emily released the button. "Thanks, Travis. That was what I needed." With a wink, she turned toward the door.
"Uh, Madam President?"
"Yes?"
"Your, um, nipple..."
With a start, she tucked her breast back into its cup and buttoned her blouse. She clucked her tongue at the grinning Chief of Staff. "What are you staring at?" she huffed.
"Nothing, Madam President. I didn't see a thing."
The President's Nipple |