The year was a little into the future and there was a man in the Oval
Office who had to shag just about any person with a vagina. And, his
taste in pussy was awful and injudicious. So it was no surprise to any
red-blooded American when he or she heard about the story of the
President and the Page. I know you are dying to hear to hear it, so here
it is.

She was a cute (but not really pretty) 21 year old page who reminded him
of his wife (before she hit the wall and grew her own set of testicles).
She had been working at the White House for three whole days before she
came to his attention. President Villheim Klittoon (not a bad looking
dude himself) spotted her, and his hockey stick cock came to swift
attention, and he began to salivate.

His chief aide, noticing the Commander-in-Chief’s state of arousal, and
seeing the Object of Desire, whispered, “Sir, would you like to have
that woman tonight? I think I can arrange it.”

The President swallowed hard and whispered back, “Ah, I don’t suppose
the First Lady will be back in town till the day after tomorrow. So, ah,
yeah, why not? Sure, make the arrangements and have that cute little
doll in my bedroom by ten p.m. sharp.”

“Will do, Mr. President”, snapped the aide, and off he went. He caught
up to the Object of Desire, and taking her by the arm, he whispered into
the ear of the startled young woman. At first, her eyes opened wide in
surprise but shortly she smiled and nodded vigorously.

“Wow!” she thought, “Klitty wants ME! Wow! That sweet hunk really wants
my 21 year old bod! Super!”

At ten p.m. sharp, there was a knock at the Presidential bedroom door,
and when the Man Himself opened the door, Miss Object of Desire stood
there in all her adorable petiteness, dressed in a smart black
mini-dress, smiling up at him.

“You rang, Your Presidency?”, she asked in a sexy voice that warmed the
cockles of his balls, and brought a blush to his middle aged but
boyishly handsome face.

“Ah – yes, as a matter of fact, miss ah-ah … “

“Just call me Monique, Mr. President”, she interrupted, offering her
hand.

“Ah yes, Monique, please come in”, he responded warmly, clasping the
soft, white young hand with both of his hot middle aged ones. “Please”,
he motioned to the bed, “Have a seat.”

“Sure”, she smiled again, and promptly walked over to the bed upon which
she sat after patting it and caressing it for a few seconds.

“Damn!”, he thought, “That smile is gonna make my rocket take off long
before launch time, or lunch time, or whatever!”

Now you have to understand that Villheim Klittoon was a man who
worshipped pussy and who worshipped sex; and also, by the way, a man of
very poor discretion whose amorous proclivities had on more than one
occasion landed him in hot water with both his aging testosteroned
spouse AND several investigative committees. Yes, the poor guy had been
accused of her-ass-ment on one or two occasions. So tonight he knew damn
well that with this particular girlie, he was skating on TRES thin ice.
But, as the Banglade shi proverb goes, “AZ DOS SHMECKEL SHTEYT, FLEET
DER SEYCHEL IN GANTSEN AROYS.” Rough translation, “When the little head
takes over, the big one becomes utterly useless.” Oh boy – well on with
the tale!

Monique heaved a sigh and waited for the president to make the next
move.