Urotsukidoji - Presidential Duties

[Nickamano]

Teaser: Picture a hot young political intern inside the White House, when something "Earth shattering" is taking place. All kinds of chaos ensues...
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Index:

• Prologue
• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Epilogue

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Title: Urotsukidoji - Presidential Duties.
Author: Nickamano
Content Warnings: This one is a bit of a slow build, with minor injections of porn dotted in throughout.
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Urotsukidoji is an old horror hentai anime from the late eighties that a lot of people no longer are aware of but it was one of the biggest selling and most controversial anime of its time and is still beloved by its fans.

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Urotsukidoji - Presidential Duties.

Prologue

The East Wing’s north-corner rear stairs was the best location for private and unobserved meetings. Everyone in history knew it, pretty much from 1902 when the stairs were added, along with the construction of the West Wing.
He had been watching Dana Holden, the President’s Personal Assistant, ever since her scent had caught in his nostrils. A familiar smell of deception and sweeter still, fear. The smell had caught his attention when he had passed one of the many meeting rooms. He had circled back and entered the adjoining room and took a look through the keyhole. There stood the First Lady herself, unquestionably the most beautiful woman in the White House’s history. She was talking animatedly with Dana Holden, not exactly a fish wife by any means. They were over by the record player, standing close to the speakers while it played some loud female-sung pop record. They were leaning in close together, talking quickly and with low and strained voices. Of course, he could hear them despite their whispers and ‘Causing a Commotion’ filling the room.
They knew. Somehow, they had discovered his secret. Or at least Dana Holden had. Obviously, the First Lady had suspected for a while but had been too afraid for her child to do or say anything. And yet, here and now, though he could hear the First Lady desperately begging, Dana Holden had decided to confront him herself, and obtain a recording of evidence that she could bring to Congress and even to the Pope, if need be.

So, he decided to play right into her hands. When he had the chance, later that day, he whispered to her that, as she knew, he had always wanted to fuck her, that she always made him hard and though they had chosen to keep their relationship purely professional, he no longer felt capable of holding back, that he had to have her.
He’d been able to smell it on her from the first of course, but she had always maintained that professional separation even though it killed her to do it. Many’s the night she had masturbated herself to sleep of a night with thoughts of him. At the time of his confession, she had flushed crimson and had made a stammered excuse before hurrying away. Though later, after supper, she had slipped him a note - to meet her at midnight at the East Wing’s north corner rear stairs.

He had caught her by surprise, careful to ensure that the both of them were safely outside of the range of the security cameras, whose substandard cones of vision struggled with the staircase’s steep positioning and the thick and tall design of its carved marble balustrades.
He had not spoken at all, instead giving her a few seconds to voice her accusations. She barely got further than a dumb accusation along the lines of - “I’ve heard things about you. I don’t know how you managed to replace him but I believe you to be a demon. A devil from hell itself.” Rather than listening or offering a response, he had simply stood there smiling, silently taking in her face and figure with a rapidly rising hunger.
Having free access to his wife was a lot of fun, and he had occasional had fun with others too whenever he could get away with it. But he always had to hold back, to maintain the pretence. He was sure his wife was more than a little suspicious of him, after all. But she obeyed his carnal demands and did her best to satiate him. Not that any of them ever could.
Maybe Dana Holden would be able to take the edge off for a day or two? He was more than happy to put her to the test.

She was short, barely topping five-feet, though her heels added another three inches. However, she had a full figure with the right kind of curviness. The kind of hourglass figure that was impossible to conceal even in sharp all-business type suits. Her straight brown bob was occasionally tossed up into a French plait, framing a baby face that defied her being closer her to her fourth decade than her third. He wasn’t sure if the Sexy Librarian look she had perfected, with the pair of thick-rimmed black eye glasses, was deliberate or incidental. But as far as he was concerned, it worked like a charm.
He had trapped her and silenced her before she could scream for help or throw him any further accusations.

And then he had stripped her, and had her - rough, fast and brutal; making full use of her body and taking all of her, searing every inch in erotically-manipulating experiences, until her mind was utterly blown.
The way she writhed and wriggled while he held her tight and yanked off her clothing a piece at a time, it was every bit the Christmas Morning fantasy. The joy of the attractive wrapping concealing what was beneath, the joy of ripping it away with barely restrained excitement to reveal the wished-for goodies within. The actual present, ready to be played with. Alive, and writhing and jiggling and already getting wet for him. The look on her face, her desperate reactions, horrified and desperate, and then shocked and disbelieving. And then came the pain of penetration, the anguish of her new reality and then - best of all - the flat-out attempt to deny as her body began to react, her juices flowing, nipples stiffening until they ached. And then moans escaping her pursed lips in spite of her self-loathing and the humiliation and shame that went with that rising horrible pleasure.
Of course, as much as it was sexually mind-bending, her experience was no doubt even more terrorising and her muted shrieks and continual full-body quivering was as much due to pain and horror as it was sexual ecstasy. He loved the sweet and sour nature of that kind of interaction.

At the same time, the breaking of her was as much fun for him as the physicality of the assault. Force-feeding a woman unwanted sexual pleasure, driving it into her quivering, gyrating, disbelieving body until she was forced to peak. Her body would lock up, limbs stretched akimbo, head thrown back, spine arched as an electric shock of pure pleasure ripped through her. And then another and another. The pleasure-pain torture ongoing, until she was launched into multiple-climax after multiple-climax. Cresting waves billowing and slamming her until all she felt, all she was aware of, all she craved was more and more and more of that erotic, physical joy. That was when, for him, the sense of power, of control, of strength joined in with the physical ecstasy her lusty body was providing.

As her body finally relaxed into a mid-bliss stupor, he had taken her into him, softening his own flesh and allowing it to run over and around her like molten wax.
Once she was fully consumed, he reformed his human disguise, picked up his discarded clothing and re-dressed. It would take a couple of days, wherein she would continue to give him all the pleasure her body could offer until he had fully absorbed her, molecules drawn into his own Makai body as saccharine-delicious sustenance.
Gathering up her clothing and her concealed tape recorder, he shredded the lot down to miniscule scraps. He pocketed those scraps, to be put into the trash when convenient, and then headed back to his bedroom where his lovely young wife awaited him.

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[Nickamano]

Chapter 1

Alina ‘Ali’ Whitmer - nineteen-year-old political science intern - could believe she was here, doing a summer internship as part of her first year at college. In the real-life fucking White House! And in the first twelve months with a brand new first-term Presidency. And what a President! The things she would learn and experience in these six weeks, the things she could tell her grandchildren!

Her political science tutor, Professor Donovan Jones, had managed to arrange it for her. He had a close contact on the inside track and in exchange for a one-night-stand he had arranged for her once in a lifetime internship.
On her first day and probably the couple of days after that, she had been walking around in a dreamlike marvel of disbelief - not only was she walking around the actual White House, the real life goddamned White House, but she was working on the staff of President Jacob-Fucking-Kennedy!
For the first ten days she had been kept to the back rooms. Observing, taking notes, asking questions as and when she was able. Learning as much as she could. She didn't see any recognisable people, no politicians or those faces you saw in the TV, not one. But still, it felt pretty good to feel like she was getting the inside track.
Still, it would have been great to have seen the new President or his stunning wife. The First Lady, Mrs Kennedy, had been better known as Heather Bach - a beloved TV actress and household name - as well as one of the most gorgeous women alive. It was practically preordained that she should marry the only son of JFK and Marilyn Monroe.

Ali had hero-worshipped Jacob Baker Kennedy since she was nine. She’d had posters of him up on her bedroom wall from when he was a normal everyday celebrity. Him going into politics had been a big part of the reason for her developing her own interest in politics in high school, and her decision to take a Major in political science at college. Even the college she got into - having been rejected by Harvard, Johns Hopkins, Baltimore, was physically as close to the centre of American politics as she could get.

Strolling into her very first Political Science class, she had caught Donovan's eye early, spotted the obvious lust in his stare and immediately plotted to use it to her advantage - flirtation, all the cleavage and as much leg on display, as often as possible. Everything to get him on her hook. Without ever giving up the goods, of course. That final step would always be there in her back pocket, in case she ran into trouble one semester.
He had been pushy too. A borderline bastard about trying to get into her panties. She had to be careful not to offer him any easy blackmail or coercion material.
Rumour had it he had already managed with one or two of the lower end girls, those who scraped in on scholarships and were constantly struggling to understand the classes and keep up with the workload. She had even caught him at it with Bethany Fellows, a hot little punk chick who had gotten in despite, or maybe due to poor parents and petty crime, the latter threatening to spiral. Donovan had casually filled Ali in on the girl, some kindly Sheriff's deputy trying to keep her out of jail had supposedly found her the scholarship with the hope of getting her back on the straight and narrow; though she’d had to give him one or two things the fella’s wife wouldn't do for him. In fact, she had been doing just that with Donovon when Ali had walked in on them one time, Bethany bent over Donovan's desk.

She had come innocently into the outer office, being one of those naturally quiet people, she found she could slip in and out of rooms without being noticed. So, she had slipped into the outer office intending to drop off an assignment, but something distracted her. There was a bit of a whimpering and groaning sound from the inner office; Donovan’s private pace that his students didn’t usually get to see. The partitioning door had a large panel of pebbled glass filling its upper half. It didn’t give much of a clue, a little pale pink amongst the brown and blue, and some movement. But the sounds were far more telling. Using her quiet movement skills, Ali had slid up to the edge of the door listening in. It was there she noticed a little missing piece at the edge of the glass, one of the little fingernail sized indentations had fallen out, giving her essentially a chest high ‘key hole’ to peer through. So, she did.

Tall and lean forty-something, Professor Donovan was banging Bethany Follows from behind over his desk. He was slamming away with rapid desk-quaking strokes, standing there fully dressed in his suede suit and sandy yellow shirt, necktie tucked into the handkerchief pocket of his sports coat. His hands tight around slender girlish hips.
Bethany was wearing her usual mostly black punk garb. Loose fitting tank top with ripped neck and oversized armholes, from Ali’s position hanging down to show her small and braless boobs. She always wore suede, denim or leather miniskirts with a bullet-belt accessory and often combined with fishnets and biker boots. Her studded leather jacket was comically hooked over the old hatstand by the venetian-blind covered office window. She wasn’t wearing too much make up, thick black Egyptian style eye shadow the outer lines stretching almost to the tips of her ears, while her dark lipstick was smeared. Her hair was in a soft mohawk, shaved at the side and back the jet-black length left long and raw but not gelled up, just left wild and limp. She was actually a pretty girl underneath it all. Her prettiness shining through, but the attire and the attitude kept her at a safe distance from making friends or, Ali supposed, getting hurt by them. She didn’t know why Bethany was taking political science while dressing like a punk rocker. The two didn’t gel at all.
She was bent over the desk, her arms stretched out, fingers curled over the opposite rim of the desk, full on white-knuckling it. And her anguish etched face was plainly revealing a profound discomfort. She half-turned her head to speak back over her shoulder at the Professor, whose face was a mask of squeezed shut eyes, drawn-back lips and gritted teeth.

“It hurts…! It hurts!”
“Shush!”
“Please… Please Professor! Hurry up and cum!”
“If you want me to hurry up, clamp down with your ass and squeeze my Johnson!”
“I can’t I… Ohhh! Ahhh! It hurts so bad, Professor!”
“Call me sir!”
“Sir…! Please!”
“Damn it, girl! I thought you had experience?! You told me you were a good fuck! You said you’d blow my mind! Put some fucking effort it to it, for Christ’s sake!”

She had sobbed through those last couple of minutes. Leaking eyes squeezed shut, obviously clenching tight with her rectum while he ploughed her. But then he was staring at the door noting their surreptitious voyeur. Somehow, he must have recognised Ali through the concealing glass, as he grinned at her and then brought a hand down on the punk chick’s pale little ass and then used the same hand to wave her into the room.
Amused by his dirty ploy, Ali quietly turned the handle and eased the door open. Standing in the doorway watching quietly as the professor noisily dumped his load up Bethany’s anal tract. The Goth girl finally spotted Ali standing there with her ‘caught you’ grin. And as soon as Donovan had let her up, she had grabbed her jacket and bolted.
It was quite the sight too, tits shuddering all over the place, shaved pussy on open display as her tight leather skirt remained hitched around her waist. Even flashing her red, palmprint laden buttocks as she shoved her way past Ali, weeping, and trying unsuccessfully to pull her skirt down over those obviously well-pummelled ass.

Ali and her tutor had sat there on opposite sides of his desk, he basking in the smells of sweat and sex, she carefully flirting, laying more hooks into him while he immersed himself in the sweet afterglow of having roughly sodomised one of his eighteen-year-old students.
He had made coffee while they had chatted - about Bethany and her background, about Ali and some of her own sexual past, and finally about her college work.
She had laid a couple of hints about internships and work experience and the like. All the while making sure he got plenty of good looks down her deep cleavage. Keeping him thinking about sex, keeping that candle lit, and filling his thoughts with ideas of him giving it to her.

And he had eventually got his way with Ali too, of course. Her techniques had worked brilliantly. He had made some phone calls and had spoken to Michaela Hadovich, a onetime contemporary of his. He had gone into education; while she had found her way into the political world proper and was currently the PA to the Secretary of Defence.
Of course, no one was under any illusions as to why she was the DoD’s PA, she was gorgeous. All the top guys had really beautiful woman as their PA’s, it was just done. The political hiring pool being practically a modelling agency, with additional skills.
Well, knew she was also beautiful, she had been told as much from the age of eleven or twelve and it had been reinforced by just about every boy and man she had met since then. She was an eighties Marilyn Monroe, and could go toe to toe with the likes of Racquel Welsh, or any number of B-movie ‘Scream Queens’ and she knew it.

She was proud that her manipulations of her tutor’s lust had gotten her something that she wanted for once. She wasn’t one of those girls, with no choice, begging him to have her in order to bail her out of a low grade or a poor exam result or getting caught cheating. A real life six-week internship in the heart of the fucking White House. How could she refuse to spread her legs for him for that particular diamond tiara.
They had done it in his car. A two-year-old silver Ford Taurus, its sizeable backseat gave them plenty of room. He made her strip off her clothes while he just unzipped his pants and levered out his already erect cock. It was only average in length but it was almost as thick around as Ali’s wrist.
She was certain she could take it inside her pussy, her last boyfriend had been well hung, but she did find herself sparing a sympathetic thought for Bethany Fellows, who had been made to take this fat meat up her ass.
She had ridden him cowgirl. His hands had been clamped to her buttocks, slapping and squeezing throughout, to make her fuck faster, like he was urging a horse to gallop. When he wasn’t growling and snapping out orders, his face was crushed against her big soft boobs. But again, he didn’t seem to have an ounce of gentleness about him. He sucked and chewed on her nipples, leaving irritating hickies and smears of saliva all over her areolae while her hardened nipples, throbbing and aching, remained sore from his nipping and biting for almost a day afterwards. Still, she kept her arms straight, elbows locked to push her boobs together around his buried face, her hands gripping his ribs while she bounced up and down on his lap.
He had cum noisily, and aggressively. And she had been able to feel the spurts like a water pistol being fired inside her clutching tunnel, as she had ground her hips. While his hands had clutched at her tensed buttocks, fingers clamping hard into the soft flesh there. His almost comical orgasmic bellowing had been muffled inside the drool slick flesh of her boobs, his face still pressed up against them.
She hadn’t cum, hadn’t even got close. He’d made her wet enough so that taking his cock inside her hadn’t been uncomfortable, but his harsh slapping of her buttocks and his rough sucking and biting of her sensitive nipples had replaced the lack of discomfort.
Of course, an anticipated ride to full on sexual ecstasy hadn’t been the expected reward anyway, a potential bonus perhaps. But no, her actual reward had appeared a week later, on desk under the window of her student digs - the official invitation letter from Michaela Hadovich with its official White House letterheaded paper and the envelope with the Presidential crest embossment.

And then, before she had known it, the weekend had been upon her and it was all packing her bags, train tickets and a journey south, finishing with a taxi from the station to her cheap hotel room in DC.

The Monday morning had been terrifying. Another taxi up to the White House, and then standing at the White House main gate, shivering in childish terror while speaking to a rifle-toting soldier. And then it had been - armed escort, security badge ID’s, introductions and sitting down to a formal induction before, at long last, meeting Michaela Hadovich in person for the first time.
That had been ten days ago. And it had taken exactly that long for her to catch sight of President Kennedy for the first time. Ten days of hoping and praying before her dream suddenly came true, at least, on the most rudimentary level. It was an experience lasting barely two seconds. Still, it was the illustrious Jacob “Call me John” Kennedy standing right there, practically within touching distance, live and unedited for the first time.

An open door, an ongoing conversation between Kennedy and his National Security Chief, Jacquie Stanley. Ali had been following Michaela along a corridor, which still all looked the same to her, when that all too familiar Californian accent, a voice she had heard almost daily from the age of nine, caught her attention. She peered to her left through the wide-open door of a room. Then she stopped and stared. And not only was the room the Oval office, but there was President Kennedy himself.
Still talking away, he turned his head and noticed her looking. And then paused to take her in, eyes roaming. Perhaps she should have felt afraid or offended, but she felt elated. The rumour of his womanising was that it was equal to that of his late father. And in that moment, she had the distinct sense that he was appraising her as a woman, the attractiveness of her features, the slender yet curvaceous beauty of her body beneath the fitted business suit. He even took the time to give her a little smile, even though his conversation hadn’t paused. However, the spell was broken when he slowly turned his attention back to Chief Stanley, even though his eyes were the last to turn away from her.
It took another shocked second before Ali realised that Michaela had just disappeared around a corner and she would have to hurry to catch up or get utterly lost and make a fool of herself. Still, she could not get the President's eyes and his ever-alluring smile out of her thoughts. He really had been undressing her with his eyes.
That night she had fingered herself to one big leg-shaker of an orgasm in her hotel room, fantasising about receiving an urgent phone call to come to the oval office, a car sent for her. And then finding Kennedy there, alone, waiting for her and all the things that he would do to her.

Of course there were huge pressures in the White House, “Leader if the Free World”, it couldn’t be any other way. However, something was going on and the mood in the White House, even to Ali - who knew less than nothing - felt as though whatever was happening wasn’t normal. Whatever was happening didn’t feel like every-day national and international political pressures.
She picked up numerous clues or impressions that she couldn’t quite pin down, the pressures felt both from inside the White House and from outside. It was about the President himself and at the same time it wasn’t. People were feeling increasingly uncomfortable but weren’t able to put their finger on why. There were even whispers that something was off with Kennedy himself, but Ali hadn't been able to narrow down what people were alleging.

She was worried about the guy. She wanted to help. Not that she would ever be allowed to get close enough to offer. Besides, what could little Ali offer him that he wasn't already getting from his advisors, his lawyers, his Secretary of State and all those guys… From his Personal PA.
Still, she allowed herself to fantasise about offering to help him de-stress, even though she didn’t know how best to go about it… “Do you have any ideas, Mr President…?”

And then one morning Kenndy’s PA, Dana Holden, was reported missing. Ali experiences a sudden blaze of White House excitement, the corridors and offices alive with nervous energy, vocal concern and whispered gossip.
No one knew where she had gotten to. No one knew even where to look. There was nothing on the camera feeds, no records of cars leaving or arriving overnight. Secret Service guys were running around, talking into their wrists. And every assistant under the sun was busy making calls, Ali included. She had been given a list of numbers along with a short script to “speak to Ms Dana Holden”. But there remained no sign of the thirty-something beauty.
Ali desperately wanted to put herself forward, to offer her own services to the President, just to help. But she knew it was silly and ridiculous. She was informed that the First Lady’s PA, Christina Kirshner, was temporarily taking on Dana Holden’s role, along with her usual duties.

Just like she had with Kennedy, Ali caught initial sight of the First Lady, along with Christina Kirshner, in the moment prior to a Secret Service agent shutting the door in her face. However, in that moment, she snagged her initial first-person hint of gossip and she found it more than a little concerning - and blatantly unbelievable. Mrs Kennedy seemed to be afraid of her husband. In the half sentence that Ali was able to catch, the First Lady let slip to her close friend and confidant that she was terrified that “John” was somehow responsible for the disappearance of Dana.
That was downright ridiculous. Surely down to stress or something - First Lady, living in the white House, never left alone, gossip about her all over the papers, paparazzi all over the place, trying to snatch photos of her son, trying to keep five-year-old Norman safe and give him a normal life – that would stress anyone out. So, stress must be the cause, not thinking straight. Maybe they'd had an argument the previous night and it had put the First Lady into a certain distrusting frame of mind.
Maybe Kennedy had been caught banging Holden. Screwing a hot PA wasn’t exactly unheard of in political circles. That close working relationship, many long nights spent together preparing for the following day, a drink or two to take the edge off and recharge the batteries, a little stress relieving quickie over a desk was the next logical step.

The following day, the missing PA was suddenly on the back burner because of some previously hinted at yet barely mentioned ‘overseas trouble’.
Again, it took a while for news of any kind to filter down far enough that Ali got to hear it. And details were none existent. But something was definitely up, something over in Japan. There was so much panicked activity that she couldn't get a handle on what it was, sometimes it sounded like a natural catastrophe, a tsunami or something though, inexplicably, it seemed like it had happened a couple of weeks earlier. Other times people were running around and shouting like it was a potentially imminent attack on actual American soil. But by the Japanese? Ali simply didn’t believe it.

The following morning, three days after having first spotted President “call me John” Kennedy, she met him again. And in that moment, everything changed for her. Forever.

Again, actually even more than yesterday, the morning in the offices were a rabid flurry of activity. Ali could almost believe that everyone around her was high was on speed, running around as if the water had been spiked. Though it felt closer to high energy than panic.

“Something’s going on. Something big.” Carol Templeton announced by way of greeting as Ali set down her purse.

She was familiar by now with this particular assistants’ office. Though everyone had been so busy that most of the introductions to the other staffers had not been retained. Faces and voices she recognised, a lot of smiles and nods but, names … only a couple had stuck. It was something she was going to have to work on - short term information retention.
The room itself almost felt like a newspaper office, and the gang of assistants had the feel of journalists, fast talking, fast typing, cigarette smoking, coffee by the gallon. The room was made up of long lines of desks rather than individual cubicles, lots of computers and typewriters and telephones, piled up ashtrays, coffee machines and platters of stale Danishes along one wall.
Carol Templeton, in these weeks in the ‘centre of the civilised world’, had been as much of an advisor and teacher to Ali as Michaela or anyone else. But she was quick and cool, not particularly funny or sociable. An ‘all business all the time’ type.

“Big? Like what?” Ali asked her.
“Don’t know exactly, South Asia, Sea of Japan. We’ve already lost contact with Okinawa base.”
“Definitely something weird is going on.” One of the men called out to no one in particular.
“Like a tidal wave or something?”

Carol offered a shake of the head, she was on hold on her phone, lighting a cigarette with her free hand.

“We’re not at war!” Ali gasped.
“Not yet….” Someone muttered as he passed behind her.
“I don’t really understand it myself. Conflicting information from different sources. But no, we’re not at war.”
“You sure about that, Templeton…?” Another of the men commented as he hurried past.

He was in such a hurry that he was spilling coffee all over the carpet as he accidentally butted his thigh into the corner of a desk. He cursed, interrupting himself.

“…An aircraft carrier and escort has already been ordered to the edge of Japanese waters.”

Ali turned to get Carol’s response but she was no longer on hold and was already throwing rapid-fire sentences into the mouthpiece.

“When did that happen?” Ali asked the man with the coffee.

He had put down his cup down and was muttering curses under his breath, rubbing at his bruised thigh.

“Few days ago... Fuck, that smarts.”
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“No. They’re keeping it hush-hush. But from what I’ve picked up its something big… Like, catastrophic.”
Ali felt her heart hammering in her chest and she felt the colour draining from her cheeks. She turned back to Carol just as she put the handset back on its cradle.

“What can I do?” Ali asked.
“Nothing for now. Just have your notepad ready, and be ready for anything. It’ll be all-go for the foreseeable, quick change-on-a-dime situations. We gotta keep on top of a fluid situation. Just stick on my heels, and keep eyes and ears wide open.”

Ali nodded, determined. But Carol was back on the phone again, answering this time. Michaela Hadovich popped her head around the door. Calling out a request for a couple of guys to type up meeting minutes from last night. Ali knew better than to volunteer, that required a certain level of authorisation that her junior intern position didn’t allow.
The guy with the bashed leg and one of the female assistants Ali had exchanged nods and smiles with, grabbed their things and headed for the door. Moving aside to let them pass, Michaela spotted Ali and frowned for a second.

“Ali, I should warn you,” Michaela said, “there’s a chance you might be sent home. If they decide you’re too junior to be here at this time.”
“Oh, okay.” Ali said, unable to hide her disappointment.
“Or they might all be too busy to give it a thought. I know that ain’t what you want to hear… Just… be prepared for anything kiddo.”

Ali gave her a smile and an enthusiastic nod. And then Michaela was gone.
For the next twenty minutes she went into lowly assistant mode, while trying to keep out of everyone’s way. She emptied overflowing ashtrays, discarded cold and abandoned coffee. And took orders for replacements. Two thirds of the time the guys were polite and thanked her, even the guys on the phone flashed her smiles. In fact, she was surprised really at how fairly she had been treated so far. She had expected numerous ‘playful’ spanks on the ass or an accidental slide of an arm against her boobs by a passerby. But these guys were all pretty good to her, respectful. Too busy for pranks and the like. There was plenty of stares into her cleavage of course but that had been a daily occurrence since her mid-teens with half the time, more than half the men struggling to speak to her face, happy to chat to her boobs. But again, that was par for the course in her experience.

All in all, Ali felt pretty good, making herself useful and not slowing anyone down with getting in the way and constant questioning. All the while keeping her ears open and her mind whirling. Whatever was happening it was serious, there was an oppressive anxious atmosphere, though it was lanced through with a kind electricity, unfocussed excitement.

Ali had done everything she could do and was hanging around by the coffee machine, out of the way but within earshot of a good number of the assistants, trying to pick up on what it was that had everyone so flummoxed. Japan. Catastrophic. Maybe a natural phenomenon. Maybe not an attack. She couldn’t imagine Japan declaring war on anyone. They had no nukes and only a small defence force with no real capability for invasion. They dare not attack China or North Korea. The last thing they would want to do was to provoke their potential enemies. Maybe they were the ones under attack? But then, why the secrecy?
The door swung open and an assistant burst in, starting across the room. He caught Ali’s eye without really seeing her or taking her in.

“Don’t know what the hell this thing is, but it sure as hell don’t read like no natural phenomenon.”

For a second, she thought he was talking to her, but it soon became clear that he was just muttering to himself as he passed her by. Still, his eyes dived into her cleavage for a second before he had his back to her. The next second, he was taking a seat at his desk.
Ali found herself following him. He looked up at her as she leaned over the corner of his desk, her boobs right in his face, a deliberate accident. And silent payment for her proffered question.
“Sorry, what did you mean ‘not a natural phenomenon’?”
“Hmm?”
His eyes were staying right where she expected. Still, he answered her question. She locked her arms, elbows pressing her boobs together in their lace-trimmed tank top that she wore beneath her jacket, locked arms adding another couple of inches to the depth of her cleavage.
“Oh, just trying to analyse data babe, only it ain’t making sense. And now there’s no information coming out of Japan. While the radio traffic from the countries around it is a real mess. Nothing making any sense.”
“But you said it wasn’t a natural phenomenon, do we even know what it might be? If not natural. It has to be something manmade, doesn’t it?”
“Just bullshit, that don’t make any sense, girl. You ever see that old Raymond Burr movie, Godz…?”

The door opened and Michaela burst in again, looking far more haggard than the last time. Even though her entry all but silenced the room - other than a telephone ringing on a desk at the back, a fax machine making its electronic music and a dot matrix printer rattling away - that initial distraction deafened Ali to whatever the assistant guy was saying into her cleavage. Seeing Michaela’s eye locking onto her, Ali straightened up quickly, pulling the creases and folds out of her jacket.

“Ali? Believe it or not, you’ve been requested. Please follow me.”
“What? Really? Great!”
“Just grab your essentials, for now.”

Ali grabbed her purse and her notepad and pen and hurried to the door, catching it just as it slid shut in the aftermath of Michaela’s departure. By the time Ali was out of the room and in the corridor, Michaela was half a dozen paces ahead of her. Forcing the girl to hurry to catch up.

“What’s going on?” She asked.
“You been asked for personally. But that might not be as good as it sounds to you. Things are happening here and I for one am not too happy about it.”

Before Ali could ask for details or clarification, Michaela was literally waving-away her own commentary.

“Don’t mind me girl, I’m just bullshitting.”
“Well… asked for by who?”
“The President. He wants a replacement for Dana. And he spotted you. It’ll pretty much be fetch-and-carry, so don’t worry about being overwhelmed by duties and responsibilities. And you be assisting Christina, but still, it’s the inner sanctum, girl.”

Ali was taken aback, she couldn’t think of what to say. It didn’t help that the corridor had just gotten busy. Men and women hurrying past, weaving in and out, sometimes getting it wrong and causing a momentary blockage for Michaela and herself. Little sheepish apologies followed, along with working around each other, and then hurrying to catch up or keep up with colleagues.
President Kennedy, the delicious Jacob Kennedy himself had personally requested her to be brought in as his replacement PA! What the hell was going on? She was still trying to think of a viable response when she realised Michaela was actually still talking to her.

“Remember hon, take in as much as you can, but zip your lips, right now no one’s gonna have the time to answer questions. Maybe later.”
“Right, gotcha.”

She knew enough geography by this time that they were heading to the Oval office. And it was complete hustle and bustle along the corridors. Snatches of conversations kept filling her attention as she hurried along in Michaela’s wake.

“Where is it now?”
“Unknown. Norad lost track. They’ve got three AWACS spread out over the south Pacific but, they’ve fucking lost it.”
“What? How in the hell can you lose something that damn big?!”
“Voice down, pal. You’re shouting out classified bullshit.”
“Yeah but, what is it? Estimated at like, three-thousand feet? How can you lose something like that?”
“That’s conservative. Like, really conservative.”

“How’s the orbit?”
“Not good. We’re talking a forty-eight-hour travel time.”
“Two full days? Damn… And docking?”
“Don’t even ask.”
“Damn.”
“Gotta go, brother. I need to make sure wireless connectivity remains viable.”

“See that blonde intern? Fuck!”
“Yeah, what the bet ‘Call me John’s’ after a piece ‘a that!”

She baulked at the last overheard comment, throwing daggers back at the two young men who had already passed her by. They were both looking back but were too focussed on her ass, cinched in her tight A-line skirt to even realise she was scowling back at them. She felt herself being pulled to the side and turned her attention back to face front in time to recognise that she was actually walking into the Oval office.

“Hawaii is the frontier. If it passes Hawaii, they’re heading for PEOC.”
“It’s on the move. Registered velocity… over three hundred fifty knots!”

The room was pretty packed. Most of them, Kennedy included, were sitting on the two couches that faced each other, framing a long, low table to the left of the centre of the room. While the Presidential desk sat in the floor-to-ceiling bay windows to the right. The President, his Chief of Staff, the National Security Secretary, to head of the DoD and all their PA’s were present. So were a couple of heavily medalled General types. There were a couple of computers and an intercom system set up on the low table between the two sets of couches.

“Just take a seat here for a moment, until you’re called for.” Michaela whispered.

Then the PA to the head of the DoD crossed the room, with a model-perfect sashay, and slid down into position on the edge of the closer of the two couches alongside her boss, crossing her long legs and readying her notepad and pen on her lap. Without looking across at her as, like everyone else he was focussed entirely on the computer monitor facing him, Jefferson Chainey idly slid a palm up and down Michaela’s skirt covered thigh, just the once. It could have been affection, but to Ali it very much implied more than that.
She glanced to her right and noted, then slid down into, the small padded wooden chair backed up against the wall. Just like Michaela, she crossed her thighs and positioned her notepad at the ready, a quick but decisive stretched back of her shoulders thrust her young bosom forward and parted the front of her buttoned-up jacket just a little more. Then she settled down to watched and listen and wait.

“For comparison, how fast are our Naval craft?” Kennedy asked.
“Average of around thirty or thirty-five knots, Mr President.” A uniformed military man said.
“Jesus…”

[Nickamano]

Chapter 2.

From her position Ali could barely make out the green on black display on the monitor. It appeared to be the clockface-like image of a radar screen, the spinning arm like a second hand, with a number of pinhead size blips. And one much larger, maybe the size of a one-cent coin.
Though she was trying to pay attention, most of what was said was going over her head, it was speeds and coordinates but she didn’t know what ‘it’ was supposed to be. An enemy plane? Maybe it was a sub. And she was looking at a sonar display.
All too soon, her mind started to wander. She wondered about Mrs Kennedy. She was probably in the First Lady’s Office over in the East Wing, or maybe upstairs with her son.

“Where is it now?”
“Mid Pacific, Mr President. Heading East.”
“Hawaii?”
“Definitely heading in that direction, Mr President.”
“We can only hope it’ll pass it by. But if it does, the next stop will be the Continental United States.”
“Maybe it’ll hit Cuba.” Someone muttered.

The talk of ‘Continental United States’ and ‘hit’ snapped Ali straight back into the Oval Office. Straightening her posture, she mentally chastised herself for losing focus. Hit Cuba? Perhaps a missile? An ICBM? Did the Japanese have ICBMs? Maybe one of their own? A malfunction or an accidental launch? Ali told herself to stop guessing and just to listen carefully.

“It’s hit Hawaii!”

There was a collective gasp. A few muttered swear words. Some of the bosses slid a reassuring arm around their white-faced PA’s. And then, barely three seconds later. The room was nothing but grim and weighty silence. Nothing but a distant sound of a telephone ringing and the ticking of the old solid gold mantle clock.
That silence, three seconds that felt like three years, was broken by one of the military men.

“All communications cut off, sir.”
“That’s it, Mr President.” Susan Coyote, Kennedy’s Chief of Staff said. “Its next stop is this Continent. You agreed…”
“Yes, yes Susan. I remember what I said. Get my wife and son ready. Everyone else, you all know your jobs. Let’s make this happen as smoothly and quickly as possible.”

Everyone involved rose in Kennedy’s wake, but Michaela was the first to sidle up to the President, she whispered into his ear and nodded in Ali’s direction. He turned his head and looked. And grinned. Michaela turned and swept away, hurrying after her boss.
The President’s Chief of Staff took hold of Kennedy’s upper arm and they completed a hurried exchange. However, Kennedy’s eyes barely left Ali’s seated figure, one of those glazed looks as though he was actually looking right through her. Still, she felt herself straightening up and then standing up and once again awkwardly pulling folds and creases out of her professional looking suit.

The President and Chief of Staff having completed their business, Susan Coyote swept across the room to get the attention of the Secretary of State while Kennedy, attention wholly on Ali, crossed the room to stand in front of her. Face to face with the President, it felt to Ali like standing in front of a shut door, tall and broad and bulky, practically rectangular. While the door itself - or really what was beyond it - held the promise of potential opportunities.

“The young intern.” Kennedy said, eyes alight as he stared down at Ali. “Miss…?”
“Whitmer, Mr President…”

Jacob Kennedy was a tall man, and toe-to-toe her eyeline would be lower sternum. This close, she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. And as she watched him, she noted unsurprisingly that he was no more immune to the hypnotism of her cleavage than any other man. Not surprising in the slightest, he had long possessed his father’s reputation as a womaniser.

“What’s you first name, Miss Whitmer?”
“Alina… Ali, Mr President.”
“Real pleasure to meet you, Ali. I have need of you. You’re to come with me.”
“Yes, Mr President.”

Her heart was fluttering like crazy and she felt like she was shaking all over, uncontrollably, her nipples instantly beginning to stiffen. She silently thanked the concealing thicker cotton of her jacket. She could even feel slick, warm movement between her vulva. She hoped her panties weren’t already getting damp.

“Stick to my heels, young lady. We’re moving quickly, so don’t get lost or left behind.”
“No sir, Mr President.”
“And Ali, I know you’re full of a million questions. And I will absolutely make time for you. But kindly hold off until I let you know.”
“Absolutely Mr President. I’m here to follow your orders. Whatever you say.”
“That’s my girl!” He grinned. “Off we go then. Stay close now.”

That infectious grin if his floored her. She’d had that face, that smile, plastered to her bedroom wall, and in her fantasies, for over a decade.

“Yes sir, Mr President.” She stammered, throwing her best smile back at him.

The thrill she felt, at “Mr President” and that it was Him, the power he had, a thought flickered into her torrid mind - only tall and handsome men, like Kennedy, should be allowed to be President.
She was terrified that the aroma of her damp pussy might be detectable. But quickly shut down the paranoia. It was foolish, she’d be the first to smell herself and she couldn’t, so that was that. Even so, the way he looked at her for that one extra half-second, staring into her eyes with that infectious smile. And hadn’t his nostrils flared a little?

The next hour was a tumult of confusing activity. She eventually managed to confirm two things; firstly, that they were being evacuated from the White House. And secondly that, by all accounts, Hawaii no longer existed. Whatever it was that had struck had completely obliterated the entire island in an instant.
To Ali that suggested a nuclear strike, with multiple warheads. What else could destroy the entire island of Hawaii in a single instant? Which meant they must be at war with someone. China or the Russians, but they had the new peace with the Russians… Had that fallen through somehow? She couldn’t wrap her brain around the snippets she was catching on to. And to make things more confusing still, were the reports that they were struggling to locate the whatever-it-is’s position. But if it was a ‘whatever-it-is’, then it couldn’t be a country or a foreign power.
She thought of The Hunt for Red October. She had read the book, a few years ago after a recommendation from her father. That had been about a rogue nuclear submarine. That could account for this situation. Russian submarines carried numerous nuclear warheads, didn’t they? Like a couple dozen? Would that be enough to destroy the whole of Hawaii? She couldn’t think about that - all those people, the devastation, the radiation. It was too horrifying, so she shut that process down before it got started.

People were packing, grabbing up things they thought they would require, generally running around in not quite organised-panic mode. Ali felt no different, she had no idea whatsoever how or when the evacuation would occur, where they would be going or for how long. She assumed no one knew. It was a fluid situation after all.
She wondered if and when she would be able to let her parents know about her own evacuation. They had the number of her hotel and they had the switchboard and department extension number here in the White House, but she had no idea where they were going or how long she would be away. And right now, it felt far too personal and selfish a question to ask.

There were three helicopters on the south lawn outside, three big ones – VH-60s she believed. They were obviously waiting for the staff chosen to be evacuated with the President. Apparently, there were two emergency locations and the heads of departments were being divided up as a security and safety factor. Some, including Ali, were joining the Kennedy’s in one location, while the others would join the Vice President and his family. She supposed the Helicopters must be Marine One, and maybe Two and Three?
Ali managed to gain enough information to confirm she was being put on the same helicopter with the President, his wife and son, along with her PA and Susan Coyote with her PA. While the second and third helicopters would take most of the department heads; the head of the DoD, the NSA chief and their respective PA’s, no doubt with a sprinkling of armed Secret Service agents in each.

Before she knew it - and she didn’t know it until they emerged from a door and were then hurrying across the south lawn toward the waiting helicopters - all of a sudden, the preparations were complete and the evacuation was fully underway.
The President has his own private window seat, with a second seat facing his and a small table between them. Mrs Kennedy took that one with her boy on her lap. Behind the President’s seat was a two-seater couch occupied by Susan Coyote and her PA. While backed up to the opposite bulkhead was a three-seater couch. Ali, Kennedy junior, who was passed across to Christina Kirshner, the First Lady’s PA all sat there. A female Secret Service agent joined them, perched on the corner of the couch pressed up close to Ali. A male Secret Service agent joined them bringing the total passenger contingent to nine. The male agent remained standing to the rear, holding onto a white leather handhold screwed into the fabric-covered bulkhead.
The décor was the expected white and cream, with wooden trim that matched the tables and Presidential blue carpets throughout.

Ali checked her watch, though she didn’t know the speed of helicopters or where they were going so there was little point in checking on the time. They would get where they were going when they got there. It was probably classified anyway.
She wanted to ask about letting her parents know that she was heading to an unknown location as part of the President’s retinue, but the helicopter was full and as the youngest person on board by at least a decade or more (ignoring five-year-old Norman), she felt embarrassed at the idea and so kept her mouth shut. There should be plenty of time for all that once they got where they were going.

She felt eyes on her. Both the Kennedy’s had their heads turned toward the couch seat where Ali was sitting. Heather Kennedy was watching her son, smiling at him and muttering gentle soothing comments and questions. The President was looking at Ali. She felt herself blushing profusely but looked back at Jacob Kennedy with a welcoming smile. A smile of his own awaited her, though his eyes were roaming her jacket and skirt-covered figure opulently. She watched him for a while, half wanting to flirt somehow, cross her legs maybe, or shift herself so her boobs moved under her jacket. Just something nice for him. De-stressful hopefully.
But then his eyes shifted over onto the Secret Service agent perched on the edge of the couch beside her. She was more precarious in her posture, one arm stretched across the back of the cushions gripping the seatback to keep her balance. Her legs, in snug, high-waisted Navy trousers were spread apart, another way to maintain her balance and Ali supposed, her combat readiness. She also wore a sportscoat style jacket that matched the deep blue of her trousers and a plain white blouse. Of course, she was supremely fit and athletic, probably Olympic level or thereabouts. So, it was expected she would have a great figure beneath her business suit. Plus, the way she was sitting her clothes pressed shear against her supple curves, perhaps more than she would like.

President Kennedy had been personally instrumental in bringing more up-coming female military into the Secret Service, and had hand-picked a number for his personal protection detail. Ali believed there to be five of them. There had been an article about it in Forbes magazine, though of course their identities had been kept secret and the few photos attached to the article were all distant telephoto lens captured images.

Someone’s phone rang, it was a wall mounted handset beside the two Kennedy’s. Heather’s attention had been on her son sitting across the other side of the aircraft, now playing quietly on the lap of Christina Kirschner, but she immediately reached for the receiver, put it to her ear and listened to the voice on the other end. She lifted her eyes and caught her husband’s attention, his eyes had returned to Ali, until he felt his wife’s attention on him. She swung the mouthpiece down beneath the smooth length of her slender throat.

“Landfall.” She reported, her voice heavy. “California.”

Kennedy nodded then reached for the phone. Heather passed it across. Ali noted how pale she looked. The President announced himself, listened. Frowned. Shook his head slightly.

“Check your accuracy, keep us updated on changes in direction. That’s quite alright, son.” He said and then put the phone back on its cradle.

He looked at his wife and then across at the others. Susan Coyote shifted in her seat and leaned out into the passageway to look back at her boss.

“Baja Peninsula.” He said. “Travelling south. At the moment.”
“Total destruction?”
“By all accounts.”
“What is it, Sir?” Ali couldn’t help herself.
“We don’t know. Something. Came out of Tokyo, Japan two weeks ago.” He said and then looked away.
“Any attempts to capture information has failed.” Susan Coyote said, taking over. “We were hoping it might be a localised phenomenon. That the Japanese would deal with it. But they haven’t and now it’s gone international.”
“We don’t even know if it’s an organic or artificial phenomenon.”
“Like a UFO maybe?” Ali asked.

Immediately she felt herself blushing, as she heard the foolishness of the words coming out of her own mouth. Coyote’s assistant took over, as his boss settled herself back into her seat, apparently holding that twisted position was uncomfortable for her.

“We have wide satellite coverage. SETI and all the international observational astral telescopes at our disposal. Not one reported a thing. We just don’t know.”
“You’ll just have to sit and wait, young lady.” Heather Kennedy said, surprisingly Ali. “There’ll be a full briefing when we get where we’re going.”
“Yes, Mrs Kennedy. I apologise ma’am, I’m still new to all this. I’m sorry ma’am.”
“No need to apologise, Young Alina.” The President said, smiling at her. “We’re all stressed and uncertain. And my lovely wife is right. I’ll be filling you all in as soon as the time it right.”
“Yessir, Mr President.” Ali gushed.
“You’re in the safest place on Earth right now, Alina.” The First Lady added, with a slightly forced smile.
“I’m sure of it, Ma’am.”

Ali practically sang her reply, giving the stunning woman her best smile. Then, before thinking about what she was doing, she leaned forward surreptitiously and whispered to the TV star and First Lady.

“By the way I’m a huge fan. Since I was a little girl.”

It broke the ice with the First Lady and she flashed Ali her first, and famous beaming smile. There were good natured titters of laughter around them.

“You’re still a little girl!” Christina Kirshner said.

Even little five-year-old Norman, sitting beside her joined in with the laughter, though he could have no idea what he was joining in with. The laughter was interrupted by a crackle from the intra-com. The pilot’s voice coming through over the speakers.

“Half an hour out, Mr President. Making good time, sir.”

<><><>

The Helicopters touched down on a private airfield and the group were transferred to a fleet of limousines. This time Ali was separated from the Kennedy’s, sharing the third car with the two Secret Service agents who were all business and didn’t give her a single opportunity to converse.
She felt as much as heard the second helicopter touching down behind her as the limousine fleet started off along a road and then between two aircraft hangars. There didn’t seemed to be anywhere else around. On the far side of the hangars, they took a ramp the lowered them into a narrow tunnel. And there was nothing but two pairs of limousine’s rear lights and the flashing-by illumination of overhead tunnel lamps, casting obtuse pools of a dull, dirty amber.
The tunnel seemed to go on and on and, though it was hard to judge accurately, she had the sense that they were continually descending. Eventually they slowed and turned a corner pulling into what looked like a rather standard underground parking garage. Ali’s limo pulled in alongside the other two. She saw a dozen other vehicles parked in random places around the parking garage. Though the limousines all pulled into what appeared to be specialised parking spaces, closest to the elevator.

She got on board, catching up to the Kennedy’s and Coyote and her PA. Little Norman, assumedly named after his grandmother, was fast asleep, cradled in his mother’s arms. No one spoke. Ali noted as the door closed that the elevator only went down, garage floor and sublevels. Which was really strange. But then, so was the rest of the journey.
A corridor, low ceilinged and narrow. Golf carts transporting them quickly from one end to the other. Then there was another door leading what was basically one of those extendable boarding tunnels you occasionally had in airports. It led them into an enclosed space, its décor not unlike the interior of Marine 1. The colour scheme was the same too, though the seats all pointed front to back like a standard passenger plane. However, they were moulded more than padded, more utilitarian. And sported impressively convoluted safety-harnesses.
The First Lady and Christina Kirschner were busy fitting little Norman into a child seat which was already strapped into the moulded utilitarian seat. Susan Coyote’s PA collected Ali and lead her to a seat to the rear, helping her into her harness.

“Actually, you might want to head rear and visit the powder room first. This is going to be a long flight.”
“I’m okay, thank you. I haven’t actually drunk anything in a couple of hours, more I guess, so I won’t need to go for a while yet.”
“If you’re sure.” He said, shrugging.
“Can I ask where we’re going?”
“PEOC, the Presidential Emergency Operations Center? The location itself is classified. You’re in for a treat though, you’ve no idea how lucky you are, seriously.”

Ali didn’t know how to respond to that. She just nodded and allowed him to lock her into the seven-point seat harness. He was very careful not to touch her boobs, even when he almost had to in order to slide the straps over her shoulders and lock them into the cylindrical centre piece. He left her to tighten the straps herself, pulling on the loose ends. With a quick nod and warm smile, he left her and returned to his seat up front alongside Coyote’s.
She looked around. The President was leaning across toward the chair alongside his, apparently whispering to his wife, though Ali couldn’t see her face. She could see two of the female Secret Service agents looking serious and watchful and yet slightly unnerved. One of them even looked a little green around the gills.
There was a bit of a clatter up front somewhere and then additional voices, talking animatedly was heard approaching. Ali craned her neck and did her best to lean out into the walkway, wincing as the straps fought her, cutting into her flesh through her clothing. She caught sight of two more Secret Service guys, one male one female, entering the pod and after paying their respects to the President, they took their seats to his left at the front of the pod. It occurred to Ali for the first time that, not only were there now two female Secret Service agents present but that they were both exceptionally beautiful women. She guessed it was probably down to Kennedy, just wanting to surround himself with beautiful women no matter what their jobs were.

A voice came over the intra-com.

“We have our full complement now, Mr President, and preflight checks have been completed. Ninety-degree elevation is about to get underway.”

Ninety-degree elevation? What was that? What was going on? She looked around, trying to catch someone’s eye But no one was looking her way. In fact, most of those she could see had their eyes closed.
And then the whole world started to slowly move, a universal rotation, lifting her upward and backward head first, making her stomach lurch. It felt like a fun-park ride, slowly being taken up to the top of the tracks, heart hammering away. Then the pause, with the exquisite anxiety of it, before the world abruptly drops out from under you. And she was sitting there, now literally shivering, waiting for her world to drop. The Intra-com kicked in again -

“T-minus three minutes.” - and then, thirty seconds later - “Engine gimble test complete.”

Ali leaned a little to her right into the walkway, she could see President Kennedy, or at least the left side of him, the side of his face, his shoulder and arm and left leg. His steel grey pants were riding up beyond his ankles revealing presidential blue socks, even featuring the Presidential crest on them. Ali had to bite down a giggle.
For a second, she wondered if he had heard her, as his head turned to the left to show off more of the side of his face, however she quickly realised that he was catching the attention of one of the female Secret Service agents seated to his left. She also realised there was a mirror positioned in the seat back facing the agent’s position, allowing her a good view of the rear of the pod.
President Kennedy, lifted his hand and made a little waving gesture to the agent.

She responded with a little nod, quickly slapped her central harness lock and freed herself from her straps. It allowed her, with some awkwardness, to lean out of her chair toward the middle of the walkway, which by now was a vertical drop. Kennedy did likewise, unlocking himself and then gripping his seat back with one hand, he leaned to the left until their heads were almost together. Leaning in another inch or two, she put her ear close to his lips.
Interested and happy with the distraction, Ali watched them both closely. This was obviously a private conversation, something security based. Sitting behind them, quite a few seats behind, Ali could neither read lips nor gauge facial expressions. Instead, she found herself assessing the woman.
She had short brown hair, soft waves that were pinned to keep them under control and away from her face. Her light brown-skinned complexion suggested perhaps a Hispanic heritage. Features were difficult to see due to the angle, but there were suggestions of full lips, quite a flat nose, and long lashes. She couldn’t see her eyes at all. Ali guessed she was probably in her thirties. Under the professional pants suit and white blouse, she had a short and compact figure, and whatever curves she might have had were tightly contained beneath her clothes. Cinched.

Ali saw a flush burst across the agent’s full cheeks. And she appeared to be staring into the President’s eyes, while he looked back at her with what Ali thought was a smirk. Still blushing, she gave POTUS a belated nod. He made some kind of dismissive gesture and she leaned back into her seat, locking herself back behind her harness. Now Ali could see her in the mirror, her warm brown eyes were lowered, the blush barely faded, looming discomfort, refusing to look at anyone else.
The Intra-com cracked to life -

“Tank pressurization underway.” - and then, at two minutes - “Engine purge complete.”
“Go for auto sequence start.” - at ninety seconds, and counting - “Go for main engine start.”

It was only in that particular moment that Ali realised where she was, or at least the first suspicions were born. Vague memories of seeing footage of rocket launches, Apollo 11, Saturn 5, the Challenger tragedy. Her stomach dropped and a wave of anxiety overcame her.

“T-minus 10… 9… 8… 7… 6…” - “All three engines up and burning.” - “2… 1… Zero. And, lift off.”

The sudden eruption of thrust and acceleration was like a wall slamming into Ali, crushing her against her seat. She couldn’t help but scream. However, within a couple of seconds there was no more air in her lungs and it was a real fight to fill them again. The violent rattling of the pod as well as the sheer dragon-roar of the solid fuel rocket engines blasting away at the same time, deafened anything except her scream, that echoed inside her own ears.

Through the violent shaking that obliterated her vision, making it useless, she noted a something red and black; a shapeless blur ahead of her at the front of the pod. More than likely on the forward bulkhead. She simply hadn’t noticed it before. She would put money on it being a digital clock or some kind of read-out display. However, there was just too much full-body shaking at the moment. She even felt her boobs shaken out of her bra, even though the slamming g-forces pinned her into the seat, whatever level those forces were, it felt outright insufferable. She wanted to lift her hand to her chest to rearrange her clothing or at least trap the front of her jacket and keep it from bellying open. However, she couldn’t manage to uncurl her white-knuckled fingers from the armrests of her chair.
The shaking seemed to go on forever, as they continued to ascend through the layers of Earth’s atmosphere towards orbit. At some point the Intra-com crackled again, a voice coming over the speaker, shaky but plainly audible -

“Second shuttle launch is go.” - and a few seconds later - “Second shuttle cleared tower.”


Finally, everything became weightless. Immediately the President was delightedly uncoupling himself from his seat and floating free. Ali watched him glance across at the female Secret Service agent and then hook himself clear of his seat, stretching out horizontally in the air. It was a strange thing to witness. Other passengers were also starting to uncouple themselves. But Ali had no intention of following their lead until she was instructed to. Where the hell were they going? Was this a new supersonic type of high-altitude flight? Was the PEOC somewhere in Alaska? Or Some US owned island out in the Pacific?

Playfully, like an overexcited child, Kennedy pushed away from his seat, positioning himself, floating over the centre aisle. He was holding onto his own headrest and that of the seat across from his, for stability. Laughing, he launched himself forward, flying through the air like Superman. It really was like watching a kid at play, Ali thought. Though it just made her love the man even more.

“Hitting the head, be right back.” He said to on one in particular.

Then he was shooting past Ali’s chair, grinning like the Cheshire cat, and giving her a little wink as he passed her by. A few seconds later, the female Secret Service agent was following him. Did he really need close protection even in here?
Ali gingerly unclipped herself from the upper half of her harness, still secured from the waist down. She leaned out and noted, with relief, that no one else was out of their seats or better still looking in her direction. She reached inside her jacket and shuffled about until her boobs were back in their bra and all felt right again, as much as they could in zero gravity.
She heard a little click and clunk behind her. Again no one ahead of her was looking toward the rear, they were either talking quietly with whoever sat closest to them or were engaged in items on their person, an open briefcase, a Filofax, careful of free-floating pens, paper clips and papers. There was another thump from behind and Ali twisted around in her chair and looked back toward the powder room. Or ‘head’? Was that the correct term while on board a plane? Probably anything but powder room. And then all thoughts of correct terminology for a toilet cubicle were thrust right out of her head.

The head cubicle was not quite shut, the standing door ajar by perhaps six or eight inches. And in the gap, Ali could see the President floating there, almost in profile. His pants were open and his erect penis was sticking out of his flies like some solid oak nightstick. It looked almost inhuman; not in appearance, though it did appear particularly massive in both length and girth even beyond her illicit teenage fantasies. However, it was the colouring that made it seem unearthly. Ali had been with men, had played with boyfriend’s penises, and at their most rampant and blood-filled they had looked ruddy brown compared to the pale or tan of the boyfriends’ Caucasian skin. President Kennedy’s erect penis appeared almost purple, like it was bruised. It also looked bloated, practically bulging and pulsing with a life of its own. The dance of veins across the foreskin looked red and blue, while the fat crown was terrifically swollen, smooth and shiny with its hardness, and the colour of beets.

Kennedy had a steadying hand on the door. A casual body movement shoved it open another few inches to reveal the attractive Secret Service agent. She was floating just above the carpeted floor, practically in a foetal position, her eyes locked on her POTUS, her anxious face in line with that shocking phallic baton. It was obvious what was about to happen, and Ali found herself wondering if this would be the first time in zero gravity.
It was pretty shocking to witness, face to face and, not wanting to be caught staring, Ali whipped her head back to gaze up toward the front of the pod. Fortunately, no one else was looking back up the walkway, no one’s attention on her or looking to see where the President had gone. Or the agent for that matter.
The noise that came from the cubicle was quiet enough but Ali, being the closest and only one seemingly aware, could hear it distinctly. A wet sounding throaty assault -

“HUUAWK!” - “HRRK! HRRRK!” - “ACK! ACK! ACK!” - “AWK! AWK! ACK!” - “AUCK! AUCK! HUUARRK!”

- was all Ali needed to have her head whip back around and almost involuntarily, lean herself out into the aisle.

The poor female agent looked supremely uncomfortable. In normal gravity she would have been on her knees, probably with her hands behind her back. But in zero gravity he had both her with her arms and legs wrapped around his legs, clinging to him with her lips encircling the Presidential penis. Of course, Kennedy his had both of his hands on her head, a handful of hair and a handful of her skull. Her mouth was wide open to take his shocking length, jaw flexed and opened to the extreme.
Her cheeks were visibly hollowing, suction pulling them inward and with a noticeable rhythm.
She worked hard on the Presidential meat while Kennedy plunged it forward and back at a shockingly rapid pace, visibly driving deep into the fist-tight tube of the poor woman’s throat.

The zero-gravity created more unexpected consequences, the agent’s slobber, squirting from her orifices, drool, tears and mucus were forming a combined halo around her lower face and Kennedy’s shaft. Some of it clung to their skin and clothes but much of it bounced in globules between them, hitting, sticking, tumbling free, bouncing off, going in all directions. Again, in normal gravity her face would be a mess, tears streaking her make up, slobber pouring down her chin and mucus dribbling from her nose. But here there was no gravity to pull all that liquid away from her face, and it hung about in a way that to Ali seemed both messy and dangerous, potentially blocking airways. Kennedy didn’t appear to care as he held her head tight, dragging her face back and forth as rapidly and far as he could, like a magician making his entire penis disappear past her lips again and again.
He pushed back on her head, angling her throat until it was stretched out straight, Kennedy pumping his full length up and down in the gripping orifice. He kept her that way until the end. More than once, minor geysers of slobber would burst up from her lip-seal in time with his thrusts and then continue their trajectory until they hit something and bounced away, or clung to a surface.

It came to an end with a pop rather than an explosion, though Ali was almost certain there was an explosion, just that it was spurted magnificently down into the depths of the agent’s over-burdened gullet. At the last, he shoved himself balls deep, so his big hairy scrotum was pressed against her chin, and ground his crotch into her face. Ali watched in mute shock as he worked his hips in little grinding circles, giving her little inch-deep thrusts while he thew his head back, the aggressive movement introducing a slow midair rotation to the two clung together bodies. In the middle of their slow-motion somersault, the President - groaning through his gritted teeth - started to shiver all over, his entire body quivering. That was the extent of his climax, at least from the outside.

In seconds he was done, softened penis relegated to his underwear, trousers zipped up. Drool stains in the fabric concealed behind the flaps of his suit’s jacket.
He emerged from the cubicle, the epitome of power and confidence, a little smirk on his flushed handsome face. As he passed, he caught Ali’s eye and tossed her a casual wink. Then he was past her chair and returning to his seat, California cool.

Curious, Ali glanced back at the cubicle. The door was still ajar but given the angle she was sure she was the only one who could see into the little room. The agent was clinging one handed to a handhold beside the sink while she vomited and spat repeatedly into the tube-like receptacle, equipped with its own suction system. Once she was apparently better, she started with the towels to soak up the stains to her clothing, all those clinging spheres of fluid.
It took ten minutes at least before she reappeared, hair in a new, wet and finger-combed style, effectively clothing rearranged and somehow not revealing any hint of what the President had just done to her. Still, she looked pale and a little sickly, her previously subtle make-up wiped clean away. Face fresh, but femininity somehow lessened. She looked barely composed.
She also appeared to be unable to look anyone in the eye, especially not Kennedy. On retaking her seat, her partner appeared to speak to her, Ali could see movement in the mirror, but she just shook her head and looked down. Just once she turned her head and glanced across at Kennedy, he just smiled back at her, making her look away quickly. Ali frowned.

[Claire]

I read the prologue so far and what I find most inriguing about it is that we don't get to know what our pov character actually is other than that he is not (completely) human, most likely. I'm not familiar with the hentai this is based on, but I suppose it will get some knowing nods from fans of the original I briefly searched for the hentai and read that it is credited for making tentacle rape popular in hentai. Since I'm neither a fan of forced orgasms nor tentacles, I'm probably not the target audience for this story, but I appreciate the eerieness of the prologue nevertheless!

Also, I think some phrases suffer from missing words or repetitions that could be avoided. But I'm not sure whether you'd like me to point those out or not.

Is this something you wrote recently or again an older story?

Also, I noticed that there were no tags at all on the story, so I took the liberty to add the mandatory tags and a few optional ones based on your description of the story and what I read about the hentai. But please, feel free to adjust those!

[Nickamano]

Thank you Claire for your interest.
Yeah, this might not be many people's cup of tea. It's no longer a well known hentai (though this is the sixth fan-fic I have written on this particular title - with two more simmering away in the background). Saying that, I don't think I can post any of my others as they feature canon characters who are hundreds of years old but pass for under-eighteens (my Avatar being one of them), which I noticed is against the site's rules.
I tried to write this particular one without lots of world building details so that people who aren't aware of the hentai can still enjoy it as a stand alone piece.

It is my most recent piece of writing - started and finished back in April.

I would be grateful for you pointing out mistakes, if for no other reason than to make the story a more enjoyable read for others.
And I apologise for the lack of tags. I still struggle at times with posting. this time I was trying to work out how to add chapter-links to the initial post and needed help with that. I guess one problem pushed the other essentials out of mind. Thank you for putting those essential tags in on my behalf.

I've decided to update this once a week (5 chapters in total I think).

[Nickamano]

Chapter 3.

The journey took forty-six long, tedious hours. The digital display on the forward bulkhead she had noticed during take-off, was indeed a clock as well as a general telemetry readout.
The security officers and PAs had to double as air hostesses. Handing out meals, taking away and securing emptied containers, making sure everyone had everything they needed. Ali was amongst them, though she didn’t seem to mind as much as the others. It gave her the opportunity to speak to some of the most powerful and famous people on the planet. She also gained a little more knowledge about exactly what the hell was happening.

PEOC, the Presidential Emergency bunker, was in fact onboard a secret satellite that was in a stable orbit circumnavigating the Earth. It was a state-of-the-art facility and even had an experimental artificial gravity enabler, offering .909g’s.
But to get there, the two space shuttles had to travel in a great arc from the surface into orbit and then through space, following the earth’s rotation until the satellite came into view. And then there would be a gruelling six-hour long deceleration, until they were matching the speed and position of the satellite. Only then could the actual docking procedure could begin.

What was happening down on earth was harder to understand. Something, something big and organic was moving around the planet destroying cities, sometimes whole islands, and everything on them, with no discernible strategy. Numerous national Air Forces and Navy’s had attempted to take the thing down but nothing seemed to work. The Japanese had been destroyed before it could pull together a big enough assault. The South Koreans had failed in their attempt, the Indians, the Australians. The Chinese had initially shown promise through sheer numbers, but their forces had been wiped out.
That had all taken place in the first ten days, but had been kept absolutely secret from the public, at least as much as possible. Of course, rumours were flying about all the time. So were sightings.
A conglomeration of European forces was enroute, but it would take a while to get into East Asian waters.

Their own US Naval forces had been taking a more careful preparatory approach amassing their entire fleet into attack waves. However, they had chosen Hawaii as their staging area. Most hadn’t been in port at the time Hawaii had been levelled, but the remaining Naval forces had abandoned the Hawaiian staging area and were making their way toward East Asian waters independently. Some reports had spoken of something in the water close to the Sea of Japan, perhaps the target, perhaps not. There were reports of tidal waves, whirlpools and other freak weather conditions that had sunk many more ships. The rest, three waves of six or seven vessels each, were still closing in on the second staging area. Still a couple of days away.

Ali was more interested in Kennedy. And being one of Space Force 1’s hand-selected passengers felt like being invited backstage by your all-time favourite band. Meeting them, getting to know them, getting to flirt with them, getting to see how they interacted with their peers and subordinates, getting to see and understand their personality, their sense of humour, the sheer presence.
And Jacob “Call me John” Kennedy really was a superstar. And he really did like to be called John too, at least by those who weren’t expected to call him Mr President.
She mostly kept her mouth shut and her eyes open. However, having so little to do - handing out meals, keeping the pod tidy all in zero gravity, it was a long and tedious journey.
She also kept her ears open, trying to keep up to date with official reports from the VP and Joint Chiefs. But there appeared to be little new happening- devastation, destruction and failure after failure to take down... the whatever-it-was.

Kennedy kept on disappearing for a few minutes at a time, at least every four or five hours with one of the Security agents, or his wife or even his wife’s PA, always into the toilet cubicle. However, he never invited Ali, and it was driving her nuts. She was jealous and confused and frustrated that she was the only one not chosen by Kennedy. Everyone was getting a turn or numerous, except the girl who wanted him the most and it wasn’t fucking fair!

They were all locked into their seats again as the shuttle finally began its final approach to the PEOC satellite. The illuminated red bulkhead display counted off a series of short burns over the course of the six-hour approach designed to achieve the correct relative position and velocity.
Finally, the display read “Soft Contact: complete” and then ten minutes later, “Hard Contact: complete” Finally, with a little whoop and round of applause, the display flashed up “Docking Procedure: complete”.
Everyone started to unbuckle themselves and collected the few belongings they had brought, mainly briefcases, ‘Portable Apple Macintochs’, Filofaxes and notebooks. They were grouped together, hanging onto seat head rests and handholds screwed into the bulkheads, waiting for the Commander and pilot to emerge from the cockpit.
The President was whispering into the ear of one of his female Secret Service agents. She looked faintly uncomfortable, and was not looking her POTUS in the eye, but was nodding in response to whatever he was whispering to her. The First Lady had their son in her arms, cradling the boy who appeared to have slept through much of the zero-g journey. She was also turned away from her husband and chatting quietly to her PA. Almost everyone else were keeping to themselves or chatting to each other in small groups. Michael Falk, Coyote’s PA tapped Ali on the shoulder, then gently grabbed her shoulder and swung her around. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to be her minder. She would have preferred Kennedy but if Falk had information to share…

“Just to let you know, miss, the airlock is up there.” He said, pointing to a hatch in the ceiling.
“Oh, yeah. I thought that’s what it might be.”
“Yeah. So, there’s a corridor beyond it and then PEOC’s own airlock at the other end.”
“Okay. So, we float straight up then go down the corridor and into the bunker.”
“Correct. Now, when you’re moving through, you’ll feel gravity start to kick in and by the time you’re in the other airlock it’ll be normal. But the process will feel a little weird, a little sickness, dizziness, discomfort in the stomach. But it’ll normalise after a couple of minutes.”
“Okay, sounds like fun.”
“It affects some more than others.” He added, shrugging. “You’ll be glad of the artificial reality though, makes all the difference, apparently.”
“I bet.”
“Just stick with me, I’ll see you through.”

“No.”

The voice snatched everyone’s attention and everyone swung around at the new speaker. It was Kennedy himself, gracious and smiling. But equally commanding.

“Thank you, Mike, but I asked Alina to be my replacement PA. So from here on in I’ll have her at my side. I’ll see her into PEOC myself.”
“Yes sir, Mr President.” Falk said.
“Thank you, Mr President.” Ali said, smiling.

Kennedy blessed her with his best smile. Holding her gaze for a second longer than expected. Though unable to avert her locked eyes, in her peripheral vision she noted the President’s hand smoothing across one taut ass cheek of the Secret Service agent he had been whispering to. His hand soothed, cupped and squeezed, simultaneously surreptitious and blatant. No one else was looking, and it felt to Ali like a deliberate choice.
The two astronauts finally floated into the pod, offering the President snappy salutes, before floating up to the ceiling hatch and opened it up with precise, practiced movements. They led the way through. Two agents following along, then the President, his wife and son, her PA and Ali. The other two agents followed and then the rest of them brought up the rear.

Falk wasn’t wrong about the dizziness, discomfort and nausea, as they floated along the corridor. Though the floating didn’t last long. As though being gently pulled to the left she found herself prone against the left side of the telescopic rectangular corridor. She carefully stood up, righting herself, putting herself onto her feet, along with everyone else and noting the pull of gravity, she continued onwards. At least the confusion about the special awareness and increasing gravity somewhat distracted her from the nausea and dizziness.
The two astronauts never ‘fell’ they just rotated themselves partway along and put their feet onto the wall and used hand holds until the gravity was enough to allow them to moon walk along. Ali tried to copy the rhythmic moon walk and found travel much simpler once she got into the rhythm. By the time they were entering to opposite airlock, it felt like walking normally. As though the last almost two days without gravity was nothing more than a distant memory.
The airlock doors opened allowing them inside. They had to wait for everyone to shuffle into the chamber, before the inner doors allowed them entry. Finally, following a further pressure equalisation delay, they were allowed into PEOC. The astronauts and agents entered first, then the President and his family. Once they had moved aside and switched on the lights, Ali got to see the interior of the bunker. And surprisingly, to all intents and purposes, it felt as though she was stepping back in the White House.

“You four are to perform a complete security check.”
“Yes, Mr President.”

As the Security agents departed into other parts of the satellite, Kennedy turned to the two astronauts next, throwing them a salute and a smile.

“You boys are on extended R&R for the duration. You’ve done me proud boys, smooth travel, perfect docking. Now you get to relax.”
“Thank you, Mr President. It’s been an honour, Sir.”
“Honour’s all mine, boys.”

He cast a quick glance toward Ali, but then turned his attention on the rest of the shuttle’s complement. Little Norman was still fast asleep. His mother slightly struggling with the sudden onset of his full weight.

“Ali, you’re with me. Everyone else get yourselves settled in. We’ll have a full staff meeting in two hours. Dismissed.”

He ignored the rabble of “Yes, Mr Presidents”, and catching Ali’s eye again led her off down a lefthand corridor. While everyone else headed right.

<><><>

Karen Lavender had once been on the Presidential detail, filled with responsibilities, timetables, geography and a hundred other things. However, now her head was filled with nothing but the pleasure and the submission to the one who would provide it. It had been terrifying at first but it soon became a drug, a thousand times better than the drive that had led her into the Secret Service, which, for the 1980’s was absolutely unheard of, but she had pushed and cajoled and begged and screamed and stomped and worked her ass off and she had made it. One of a small number of female agents handpicked by President Kennedy to be accepted into the Presidential protection detail. Kennedy had wanted to show women agents front and centre and had wrangled a bit of a cheeky fast-track system for certain agents currently engaged in the process of advancement through field work. It was really no surprise that Kennedy, the reputed womaniser, chose those five specific agents to join his personal protection detail. They were all appropriate choices, good agents with a lot of potential, they were just fast-tracked while they were still young. And each of them was a very attractive woman in her own right.

Only herself and Sam Ramirez had made it onto Space Force 1. However, the other three girls were all following along on Space Force 2, a half a day behind them.
Her master had also captured Sam Ramirez and the two women had their instructions, though they were complex and the timing would be difficult to pull off. However, the mere threat of no longer having access to that mind-breaking pleasure the master could provide made both Karen and Sam absolutely terrified, two addicts refused another fix. They would literally do anything and everything to avoid that fate.

The first thing was to keep the astronauts happy and on side, and to ensure they did not interfere. That was Sam’s job. She went straight over to their habitation quarters. It turned out to be a plush lounge room with a sunken circular couch, a fully stocked bar, a huge TV, videos, a compact disc player. Sam had shucked off her jacket and her sidearm, leaving the latter in her footlocker. Before making her way to the astronaut’s lounge, she used the down-the-sleeve technique to remove her bra, tossing on her bunk with her jacket. Prior to knocking on the door, she freed the top two buttons of her blouse, slipping her hand inside to quickly tease her nipples, pinching them until they were fully erect. Then she knocked a smart double-tap rap.

“Yeah, c’mon in!” A gruff voice called out from the other side of the door; words slightly slurred.
“Hey guys.” Sam said.
“Agent… ahh… Ramirez.”

She stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her, then turned around and took a step into the room. As she did so, she blatantly slid out of ‘professional Secret Service agent’, and into ‘sexual and sultry young woman’ right before their eyes. She knew how to do it. She knew how alluring and desirable she was. And it was nothing, just playing to her strengths. And by the stares and straightening of the relaxed posture of the two men, she knew she had ensnared them both already.

“Gotta a little proposition for you.” She went on. “There’s about to be a little bit of activity beyond these four walls. Nothing dangerous to the President or PEOC, or your good selves. And nothing you can get in trouble for. All I’m asking you to do is nothing at all. Just hang out in here and ignore whatever you might hear outside. The President needs you guys safe and healthy, after all you guys are the only ones who can fly us all back down to Earth.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about. All you need to think about is myself and agent Lavender. You see, as long as you don't try anything at all, just stay in here, keep your heads down and your ears shut, you get Lavender and myself. We’ll be fucking and sucking your brains out, as much as you can handle. Hours, days. And you can treat us however you like. All you gotta do is stay in this habitation. Eat and drink as much as you like. Fuck us as much as you like. You might even get to fuck the First Lady, if that's what you want. The President can make that happen.”
“This is kinda irregular, Ma’am.”
“Yeah, is this some kinda joke?”
“Nope, no joke. In fact, to prove it to you both, you got me right now. A full hour. Go to town, I’ll suck you, I’ll fuck you. I take it up the ass if that’s your pleasure. Do whatever you want to me boys, I’m all yours.”
“But… why?”
“Just think of me as a Presidential gift for your exemplary piloting skills. And your loyalty.”
“An hour? Here and now?”
“A whole hour, here and now. Anything you boys want. There’ll be a little intermission, then I’ll be back for more. Along with Lavender. We’ll go rounds two, three, four, five… As much hot special-agent pussy as you can handle.”

The two men exchanged a look. Excited, no longer suspicious or confused. They drained their shot glasses of dark amber liquid and then relaxed back on the circular couch, arms and legs spread wide, smiling and staring up at Sam. She had surreptitiously shifted herself into a position where the subdued wall lights cast her in an alluring ambience. Her smooth South American complexion turned to a glowing copper, the waves of her short black hair, loosely pinned at the nape of her neck, catching the amber glow of the lights to give it a warm fiery glow. Her big brown eyes reflecting that amber light with a tempting glisten.

“Ain’t looking no gift horse in the mouth.” One astronaut said, around an incessant grin.
“Go on then, Agent,” The other said, gesticulating, “how about you get to strippin’, show off that athletic bod.”
“No problem.” She said, starting on the remaining buttons of her blouse. “And, call me Sam.”

While Sam Ramirez was buying the astronauts’ loyalty. Karen got down to business herself. She had been informed about a certain serial numbered Samsonite rifle case in the small armoury in the PEOC security room. She found it and carried it straight to the satellite’s second airlock. The way was clear for her. Her two male colleagues were with the First Lady in the habitation section, which was also where Susan Coyote and her PA were. She had complete freedom in the rest of the orbital facility.
Climbing into the space suit was the hardest part. She didn’t bother to strip out of her suit. She just popped the closet style hatch outside of the airlock door and pulled out the all-in-one pressure suit. She activated the heater system in the suit and then picked up the helmet. It wasn’t a full EVA suit, more like an emergency suit, thinner, simpler and less gadget heavy. It also allowed for one person to climb into the suit and make it airtight without assistance.
Helmet finally secured, and air tanks plugged into her belt and opened up, Karen checked the time on a wall mounted digital display above the airlock, she took a steadying breath. She still had plenty of time so there was no rush.
She opened the samsonite case and pulled out the M82 Barret, checked the magazine for the black tip designated cartridges, tapped it against the bulkhead to make sure the spring wasn’t jammed, and then slotted it into the fifty-cal’s magazine well. She worked the bolt to load the first round and then checked the safety was on. Neither task was particularly easy with the gloves on but she muddled through. She hadn’t trained for this. No one had, not for this specifically. But at least the rifle did not have its trigger guard. She wouldn’t have been able to get her trigger finger in if it had. Finally, she was ready to step into the airlock.

Ali wandered around the President’s inner sanctum, silently aghast, heart hammering. It felt like she was in a dream. Not only was she in actually God-almighty space… But she was standing here alone with her childhood idol. Just the two of them.
Walking into the satellite’s Presidential suite, she had half expected an exact duplicate of the Oval Office, but it wasn’t. it was a simple lounge/office but it was styled in a strange amalgam of old fashioned classical eighteenth-century furniture, blue and gold striped wallpaper, thick burgundy carpeting featuring the Presidential Seal in the centre of the floor. And then there was a plush walnut bar, and a big antique desk. One wall was filled by the Presidential Seal, floor to ceiling and flanked either side by burgundy drapes and two free-standing Stars and Stripes flags. All that was missing was a podium, microphone and TV camera.
In the centre of the ceiling hung an actual real-life chandelier, though it was not in use. Instead, demure lamplight, that made her think of intimate romantic restaurant mood-lighting was in effect. There was a huge blue fabric plush office chair, as well as a plush leather armchair in one corner beside an old book case.
There was even a big window, though the view was covered with impenetrable floor-to-ceiling burgundy drapes. However, the whole scene was intercut with elaborate state of the art computer communications equipment. A station that appeared to have been taken straight out of a NASA mission operations or ground control room. It was strangely off putting to have an eighteenth-century side table with an antique style lamp (modern electric bulb and flex of course), while stationed alongside it was a futuristic grey plastic console phone and fax machine combo. Modern ergonomics, push buttons, speaker option, the whole nine yards. Additionally, there were a couple of discrete doors in the angular room.

Kennedy had shown her around, opening doors and letting her peak into the rooms, while keeping an intimate but not quite openly flirtatious hand pressed onto small of her back. He showed her a bathroom with a toilet and a walk-in shower. A bedroom that, while not White House proportioned put her own hotel room to shame. And a surprisingly spacious walk-in closet, at the back of which were stored the TV camera on a wheeled platform and miked up free-standing podium. Ali almost smiled at the reveal. He led her back into the office/lounge.

“Get yourself settled in, Ali. And fix us both a scotch and soda. I’m going to have a quick shower, shake off that zero-G boredom.”
“Yes Mr President.”

He had gone into his bedroom, though the door remained wide open. She watched him, still feeling like she was in the middle of a dream. He stood beside the bed, in plain sight of her and began stripping off his clothing. She was mesmerised, unable to take her eyes off him. The dark blond hair shot through the touches of silver give him a distinguished element. His smooth skin, the broad square jaw, pure enticing masculinity. She felt herself getting damp, felt the trickles - tickling, felt the tingles - incessant, insistent on her attention.
He slipped off his silk tie, unbuttoned his shirt and then peeled it off his broad shoulders. She sensed the masculinity pervading the room, expanding tenfold with the unveiling of his naked torso. He had the musculature of an Olympian, taut and prominent and powerful, surprisingly hairless. He had bent to pull off his shoes, whipping out the thin leather belt as he bent himself almost double. The trousers slid to the floor like a pool of silk. He was commando beneath, he stepped out of his trousers and turned to face her.
And then there as just that cock, flaccid but still sizeable and bulging with serpentine veins, a throbbing living organ with a life of its own, nestled in its throne of pubic hair. In that timeless moment, it was all that existed in her universe.

“Ali… Ali? Alina?”

Kennedy had to speak to her twice before she heard him and found the ability to lift her gaze from the penis to his amused eyes.

“Yes, Mr President?”
“I want you to call me ‘John’, okay?”
“Yes, sir… Yes, John.”

Despite not knowing where to look, Ali couldn’t help but smile, his offer implying acceptance and intimacy. She realised her eyes had strayed southward again. And again, it proved to be a trial to drag her gaze upward.

“Oh, one more thing.” He said, finally drawing her eyes up again. “I’m expecting a call from the VP, if the phone rings just answer it for me and give me a shout?”
“Of course, sir.”
“And find yourself something nice from the walk in. You look like you’re a similar size to Heather. Bit bustier, maybe… So, go knock yourself out. Play dress-up while you’re waiting.”
“Thank you… John.”

Lavender completed her preparations before depressurising the airlock chamber, securing herself to the left bulkhead with a carabiner on a short length of NASA quality canvass, and looping it through the rear strap mount of the rifle in case she lost her grip. And then she reached up and vented the air from the chamber. It only took a few seconds, after all, she had the pressure suit on. The doors opened and the blackness of space revealed itself, an utter void. There might have been plenty of stars but the light pollution from inside the airlock dimmed them into obscurity.
Agent Lavender lay down prone, making use of the artificial gravity. She unclipped the antimateriel rifle from her safety line and took up a sniper’s posture. Crossing her ankles and using the ‘V’ between her feet as a barrel rest. Space Force 2 was already on its final approach. The pod’s docking umbilical already extending. She was certain her master would have over-ridden the receiver apparatus on the station, that encircled the exterior of her airlock. She took up aim and she waited. And waited.
And then put a single tungsten steel-cored armour piercing round through the half inch thick, triple layered aluminium silicate glass of the space shuttle’s cockpit. The pressure wave of the penetration would have done plenty of damage. While the bullet carried on though the body of one of the two piloting astronauts and then the air rushing out of the cabin, killed the other astronaut in seconds. The shot panel of glass spiderwebbed and was blown out by the escaping atmosphere. The suddenly expelled air threw off the shuttle’s trajectory only slightly. However, with no one alive to use the thrusters to compensate, the shuttle began a slow ass-over-tip roll while the earth’s gravity slowly began to take possession once again. It was unsavable. The cabin was open to space and there was no access from the passenger pod into the cabin anyway. The shuttle would slowly be pulled back into the earth’s atmosphere and burn up or crash. Either way, the heads of the Department of Defence and National Security were dealt with, as were the remaining six Secret Service agents.
Onto phase three.

This time, Ali found herself lost in the excitement of what amount to a ‘supermarket sweep’ of the First Lady’s walk-in closet. Having seen the quality and the choices she quickly became overexcited. She stripped down to her underwear and started trying on garment after garment. She could hear the shower running and kept on finding herself picturing that body, blanketed in a mist of hot steam, a continual spray of water cascading down those mouthwatering muscles. And that cock. His nest of pubic hair capturing water droplets so they glistened like diamonds, while the trickles of water ran down that pulsing shaft. She had to literally shake herself out of the erotic reverie, instead throwing herself excitedly back into her exploration of fashion and accessory. When she found the jewellery collection, she completely lost her head.
She eventually settled on a pair of oval shaped ruby earrings, with solid gold settings and a luscious red lipstick to match.
She was going to go with pearls and bracelets as well but decided too much might take the eye away from the body beneath the jewellery and she wanted Kennedy to see her, not just what she was wearing. She picked out a presidential blue wrap-around dress that could easily double as a professional looking outfit with the correct accompaniment of concealing undergarments. But she wasn’t feeling professional at this moment, she was feeling seductive and flirtatious and sexy. She hurriedly stripped off her underwear and then wrapped the dress around her naked flesh. She hurried through the buttons that stretched from her midriff down to the tops of her thighs. Over excited, she skipped over to the full-length mirror to admire the result, impressed with her reflection, and grateful of the teenage perk of her full boobs. She was barely able to stand the wait to see John’s reaction.
And then the Telephone rang back in the office/lounge.

On her way back to the habitation wing to initiate phase three, Karen Lavender couldn’t help but take a glance into the astronauts’ lounge where Sam would still be busy.
Her assumption that they would get busy on the sunken couch rather than go to a bedroom proved correct. Peering in through the gap she had formed on opening the door a crack, Karen saw three naked bodies in the throes of a frantic spit-roast. The guys were okay to look at, slender builds, obviously fit and healthy. Afterall they were astronauts, they had to be. But they were slender rather than athletic, no hot tan or bulging toned muscles. They were both Caucasians and both could do with a bit more time in the sun.

One, a sandy blond guy had a bit of a porn moustache going on. The other one had cropped dark hair but it was receding, he also had quite a bit of body hair, mostly across his chest and down his flat stomach, spreading to a dense and wiry pubic nest, from which his ruddy and engorged cock thrust out, disappearing between Sam’s full Latina lips. Porn moustache was younger, Karen assumed, a little bulkier across the shoulders, and all but hairless, He was bent forward over Sam’s back, one arm scooped under her belly hooking the tops of her thighs. His other was across her back, forearm against the base of her spine, the hand spread across the tops of her buttocks. After a second’s examination she realised the guy had his thumb shoved up Sam’s ass hole. He was also pummelling her shapely hips like a first-time teenager, far too quick, far too selfish. He would have to be properly, though gently, educated. These two were to be kept happy and entertained after all, not put down or humiliated. They had to feel like sex gods, interested in nothing but fucking, drinking and sleeping; the latter to give them the energy for more of the former.
But no, while a million miles from the worst of the worst, these two weren’t the most impressive male specimens Karen had ever seen.

Now, Sam Ramirez on the other hand, was a delight. She had that stereotypical Latina sex-bomb thing going on. Generous bronzed flesh without blemish, other than the spank-prints applied by the two astronauts. Her hair, untied had turned into a short but wild bushy mane that bounced and whipped about with each passion-filled movement. To Karen, she would have fit in well with Raquel Welch back in prehistoric cavemen times - her shapely robust figure trussed up in menial scraps of animal skin, her large boobs never more than an inch away from bouncing free of her fur bikini.

Sam rapidly, even mindlessly, pummelled at both ends by the two men; had her arms wrapped around the thighs of the dark hairy one, while her lips engulfed his member, her throat bulging in time to Karen’s racing heartbeat as she watched the rampant threesome. Of course, his hands were locked into her wild mane, pulling her lips toward him until she was kissing his abdominals and inhaling his pubic hair. And best of all, the three of them were nonchalant in their animalistic grunts and groans. The men apparently lost to everything but their lust and this beautiful vixen who had so selflessly given herself over to their mindless demands.
Karen tore herself away from the cracked open door, closing it quietly on the rampant threesome and moved on to the First Lady’s lounge room.

She stood outside the door, listening in while Heather Kennedy convinced agents Woods and Crawford to take on the President because, according to her, he had turned into a monster over the last couple of weeks. Of course they would support her, she was one of the most beautiful celebrity women alive, she was using her femininity and her privilege to gain their sympathy and support. And it worked, barely a minute after she had pressed herself up against the wall to avoid being seen, the two Secret Service agents yanked the door open and hurried out of the room, turning away from Karen and shooting off down the corridor without a second glance.
She wasted no time in stepping into the First Lady’s lounge. Again, she quietly closed the door behind her and turned to face Christina Kirschner, the First Lady and the child Norman who were the only people left in the room. The three of them were too distracted to notice her arrival at once.

Heather Kennedy was staring absently at her son. He was happily playing with his action figures. She had been feeling almost continual butterflies of fear for young Norman for weeks now. Christina was trying to keep him entertained and distracted while Heather had spoken to agents Woods and Crawford. She definitely had taken on the hardest job. The First Lady having to convince these two Secret Service agents that her husband, their boss, had become a devil, who had to be stopped by whatever means were required.
In her eyes and she had convinced the two agents that all they had to do was to put the VP, Paul Shrader in charge. They could make up whatever story the liked about Jacob - the President is sick, there was an accident with the docking procedure and he was gravely injured. Comatose. Dead. Whatever, as long as the power was taken from him and put back into the hands of a free thinking, liberal, mentally stable and ‘good’ human being.
So, when she got the nods from the two men and they immediately left the room, she felt a great flood of relief that washed over her the low-level half-conscious terror she had been harbouring for the last two weeks almost.

Karen drew her sidearm, then rushed over and snatched up the child. Pressing the muzzle of her hollow pointed .22 against his small head. The room froze for a moment, disbelief immobilized and silenced everyone. But only for a second. Then the shock and the pleading started up.

“What are you doing?”
“Norman! Let go of… Please… Put my son down.”
“Put him down! Have you gone insane?!”
“Miss… Agent… What’s your name.?
“Please… put my son down. He’s just a little kid. Please.”
“Stop talking and listen, the both of you.” Karen snapped.
“Please… I need my boy…. Norman! Miss, please… I’m begging you don’t hurt…”
“You’re both gonna shut up and you’re gonna do as I say. And then you’ll get the boy back. Unharmed.”
“If you hurt one hair on that boy’s…”

This time she interrupted the two women by thumbing back the hammer of the Beretta 76. Heather’s face instantly blanched of all colour. While Christina went silent and actually put her hands to her gasping mouth.

“Threats? Really? Stand up both of you. Walk ahead of me. Out this room and to the left.”

They both stood up slowly. Hands raised, fear plain on their faces. Karen was as sure as she could be that they weren’t about to try anything.

“Actually, you’d best grab some blankets. The comforter and pillows from the bed maybe. Up to you, I guess.”
“Why?”
“You’re being imprisoned. And it ain’t the warmest room on the station.”

They did so. Both of them shivering in their fear. Bundling up what bedding they could get their hands on. Karen maintained a distance from them and kept a tight grip on Norman.
The boy was wriggling and crying by this time, having belatedly become aware of the fear from his mother and the woman he saw as his nanny. Karen urged them out of the room and up along the corridor. Heather kept trying to toss calming placations back at her son, assuring him everything was going to be alright.

“Why are you doing this?” Heather whimpered, but she received no reply.

They found themselves at the secondary airlock and the two women couldn’t believe they had been stopped there. At first confused, it slowly dawned on them about the airlock. They protested.
Once Karen, smiling, had cycled the inner airlock door they were begging. She literally under-armed the boy from her grasp into the open airlock chamber, He sailed through the air in shocked silence and then hit the deck with a thump. Then started bawling.
Heather and Christina instantly ran in to collect the howling boy. Karen kicked discarded pillows in after them and then cycled the inner door shut again, keeping them under the barrel of her squat pistol throughout.
That was phase three complete. The master would deal with overriding the airlock access codes. And he would deal with phase four himself, while Karen joined up with Sam and busied herself with the two astronauts. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt to back up the master, just in case, it would be good to show her devotion.

Ali sat in the plush office chair, one foot in touch with the thick carpet, swinging herself and the chair, lazily back and forth through a shallow arc. The spin was smooth and friction free and there was no annoying squeak. A Presidential chair if ever there was one.
She had answered the phone to Vice President Paul Shrader, had shockingly put him on hold while she called John from the shower. He had emerged naked and dripping water, to come straight to the phone. Again, she found herself mutely ogling his naked body. He caught her eye and mouthed “get me a robe”. The only one she could find was a thin pink silky thing, with red cuffs and edging that was probably his wife’s.
Still, assuming he was in a hurry, would be getting cold and that it was just the two of them, she grabbed it and brought it to him. He slung it on without hesitation. Giving her a little wink while he listened in to his VP update. He didn’t close up the front of the robe and he didn’t knot the red sash belt, just left it hanging free and exposing. Ali felt herself staring again, mesmerised. This time she didn’t even try to look away.

“…Yeah, Paul… We just saw it happen. Couldn’t do a fucking thing about it… No… No idea what happened. Nothing can be done back at Ground Control…? Fuck… So, they’re basically all goners? Jesus. More names to be added to the casualty list, I guess. Pretty awful way to go, too.”

Ali frowned. She hadn’t even been listening in at first. It was a private Presidential phone call, after all. But the tone and then the content drew her attention.

“Wife and kids got away okay? They all squared away in Crystal Peak? …Good, Good… And your side piece? What was her name? Atwell? …Susan, that was it… Glad to hear it. Can’t lose the fun ones can we…? So, you arranged the surveillance jet I asked for? We need to pin down location. … Yeah, good. No, that’s great. Thanks Paul. You’ll keep me apprised of new developments? …Great. Good Luck to you, Paul. Keep your head down.”

He put the phone receiver back onto its cradle and then turned, grinning across at Ali. She could see his shadowed cock beginning to twitch, beginning to thicken and fill out, inching upward allowing the lamplight to paint its own highlights. He made to step toward her, but then his attention abruptly shifted toward the door. A half second later there was a quick knock, then a heavier more insistent knocking.

“Mr President. It’s agent Woods.” The voice was loud but muffled by the thickness of the door. “I’m afraid I have to speak to you urgently, sir. It’s of the utmost importance.”
“One second, agent Woods. I’m just out of the shower.”
“Sir, I have to insist… Sir?”

Kennedy held Ali’s eye and motioned her toward the wall at her back. She backed up. At the same time, he crossed the room and circled around to the business end of his large desk. He pulled open a drawer, while with his other hand he closed up the front of his robe. Then he cleared his throat and vocalised his permission for the agent to enter.
Woods was accompanied by the other male Secret Service guy. Ali kept herself pressed to the wall, though she felt practically stuck directly between the two agents and John. She immediately realised that the two men were carrying their sidearms, lowered at a forty-five-degree angles. A polite threat. But still a threat. And against the Leader of the Free World. And according to polls this particular President was the most popular any President has ever been within his own lifetime.

“President Jacob Kennedy, I’m here to place you under arrest, Sir.”
“What?” Ali gasped.
“Stay out of this girl.” Snapped the second agent.

He was Crawford, she remembered. Shockingly he had brought his pistol up and taken three strides to his partner’s right into the centre of the room.

“With the First Lady’s testimony and given the dire state of the current circumstances, you are to be relieved of your duties immediately. Vice President Shrader will be sworn in, in your place at the earliest possible time and you will be placed under house arrest elsewhere in this facili...”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. John whipped an object out of his desk drawer, a small snub-nosed revolver.
Perhaps because it was the President, perhaps it was the location, but neither agent fired their weapon. Kennedy did. He didn’t even hesitate. Shouting a diatribe that was half lost in the deafening cracks of his gunfire, something about “treason” and “betrayal”, he squeezed the trigger three times. The first shot went low, hitting the agent in the left side of his chest toward the bottom of the ribs. Riding the uplift of the recoil, the second bullet went into the agent’s open mouth.
The third bullet winged the second agent fortunately deflecting and lodging inside the aluminium pipe of one of the flagpoles. The agent cursed, ignoring the searing pain in his right arm. Switching the pistol to his left, he and righted his aim, ready to shoot POTUS dead.

At the perfect moment, Karen Lavender appeared in the corridor behind them, sprinting into the room gun up. Ali thought she was there to back up her colleagues but it turned out she wasn’t. Karen didn’t even hesitate, reaction shooting two dumdum cut twenty-twos into the agent’s back. He staggered, took a step toward Wood’s body and then dropped, hitting the carpet alongside the other agent, the impact forcing a death rattle out of his shredded lungs.

Ali was panting heavily, her back pressed against the wall behind her. She felt queasy, lightheaded, the smell of gunpowder and blood thick in her nostrils, affecting her already flipping about stomach.
The female agent was also panting, after her, no doubt, desperate sprint. She holstered her pistol, staring over at Kennedy. The President casually slid his revolver back into the drawer of his desk.
He looked up, giving his saviour a strange look, grateful and hungry at the same time, he cast her his best smile. Ali watched her blush in response and smile back. She felt a tinge of jealousy that made her churning stomach even worse. She started thinking about going into the bathroom and throwing up. But that would mean having to pass by those two corpses.

“Have all my instructions been followed to the letter? Everyone is at their stations?”
“Yes sir.”
“Excellent. Good girl, Karen, you have done me proud. Now leave me here. Close the doors and go join Samantha, we need to keep those pilots happy, if were to make it back to the realm once this is all over. I will call you soon and reward you both properly.”
“Thank you very much, master.” Karen said, blushing deeply. “I look forward to it.”

Ali watched her leave the room, pulling the door closed behind her. And once again she was alone with President Kennedy. Still, she felt shaken up, freaked out by the gunfight. And couldn’t help but stare at the dead men, their seeping blood staining the carpet.

“Pay them no mind. I’ll have them thrown out an airlock later.”
“But… but why… why did they…?”
“One thing you never hear about in the media are all the attempted coups on the Presidency. It’s much more common that you might think. There are a lot of powerful men surrounding the big chair, and a lot of men with guns too. A bribe here, a bit of blackmail there, the odd honey trap. And you have armed agents taking their own President into custody. Before photography, where everyone knew what their president looked like, they used to use body doubles as puppets, told them what to say while the VP or a General, or Defence secretary rules the country from the shadows. Happens all the time. We have to be careful. And on full alert. Now, c’mere and let me have a look at you.”

As he spoke, standing in the middle of the room with the Presidential crest filling the negative space behind him, President Kennedy casually loosened his grip on his robe, allowing it to fall open again and reveal his naked and hairless torso beneath. All of those beautifully presented, slab-like muscles illuminated by the warm amber glow of the lamplight. His cock was already engorged, not fully hard but certainly far from flaccid. Thick and meaty and making Ali’s mouth water.
Smiling, she pushed off away from the wall, she held herself erect and slowly walked toward him, catwalk model style but in slow sensual motion.
She felt his eyes on her like spotlights, like sunbeams, heating her skin and making her feel as though she had become John’s whole universe in that one delicious moment.

“That’s one beautiful dress. Looks much better on you than on the First Lady. You definitely fill it better, my girl.”

She quivered at his use of ‘my girl’ she couldn’t hold back the smile. She felt so fucking sexy! Under his horny gaze, the mouthwatering desire and appreciation was stark on his face. It might as well have been tattooed across his furrowed brow.
The sexiness he infused into her flowed through her body, she couldn’t help it. She exuded it, like some invisible cloud that imbued desire in all who got too close. She had never felt as beautiful, or as sexy. And it was all down to him.
She could practically see a fiery glow behind his eyes. She made the mistake of glancing down and caught sight of his cock again. In that moment she felt herself become the cobra, and that dangerous shaft, straining with life and heat, with its one staring eye and the hood of its foreskin captured her utterly, she couldn’t pull her attention away. It was just so big, so delicious. It was making her mouth water. She felt mesmerised, literally incapable of looking away from it.

She stepped up to him, until they stood toe to toe, chest to ribs, craning her neck to stare up into that insurmountably handsome visage. His eyes dipped from hers and she knew he was staring hungrily into her cleavage. She felt herself blushing. Wanting nothing more than to feel his hands on her boobs. His hands moved, and her knees instantly turned to jelly with the anticipation, however he reached toward her crotch instead, working up through the buttons of the dress, up to her buckled waist belt.
As soon as he had removed the obstruction to her bare loins, he did something with his hips or maybe shuffled forward. Whatever he did, it allowed that large hot baton to slot itself into the little diamond of negative space between the tops of her thighs and her pulsing vulva. She let out a gasping moan at the sensation. It felt as though a shaft of hot iron had been inserted there. Some perverse medieval witch’s torture. But it was far from torturous.
She felt her pussy juice seeping from between her swollen lips. The drip connected them; a physical result of their mutual lust, and Ali was half surprised when she didn’t hear a reactionary hiss or rise of steam.
Still, she stared up into those blue eyes, expecting him to lean down and kiss her. A kiss she had dreamed of for a decade. His hands came up to her face, his cupped palms on her rosy cheeks. She smelled gunpowder and the sweet fruitiness scent of his shower gel, and his overt masculinity. His hands turned and slid into the curls of her blonde hair, tickling her ears, gripping more tightly.
And then he asserted pressure, an encouragement to get her to kneel. It was obvious what he was demanding, but he vocalised it anyway, even as she obediently went down onto her knees.

“You will suck me, Ali. I want you to suck me.”

She hadn’t been a slut in High School or College, not by a long shot. But she had not been any kind of prude either and she had sucked enough cock to work out a good technique that had her boyfriends climaxing in no time.
She started that way, wanting to show herself to John as someone who wanted, whole-heartedly, to give him as much pleasure as she possibly could. Firm suction and an over-active tongue were her best techniques. Maybe it wasn’t classed as expert level in knowledge or complexity, compared to a hooker or porn star, but she knew her methods brought about results.

Unfortunately, John didn’t really give her enough opportunity to prove herself. She was pursing her lips around the upper third of his shaft, flicking her tongue back and forth across the bulging underside and suckling firmly, while she bobbed her head up and down that drool coated upper third. But Kennedy was demanding more, and would not let her take the time to build up the layers of pleasure she knew how to build with her mouth.
His hands were still in her hair, but for the first minute or two it was just his fingers brushing through her tresses, fingertips massaging her scalp. But far too early he clenched her skull between his hands and took over, rapidly turning her blow job into him roughly face fucking her.

He held her skull tight and pulled her onto his shaft full on, impaling her on his cock. He pulled her deeper and deeper onto it. She spluttered and gagged, fluid filling her mouth, being forced back and forth by the plugging action of his thickness. Then bursting from her nose and breeching the seal of her lips, pouring down her chin and throat, coating her cleavage. His physicality grew animalistic, his nails digging into her scalp as he pulled her deeper still until, with a harsh squelching pop, that fat spongey mushroom forced its way into the bottleneck of her oesophagus.
Ali gagged terribly, her body desperately trying to eject the thick fleshy invader, but the President’s hands were superhuman, bear traps gripping her skull and keeping her utterly still, while his hips pressured more and more of that erection through the wide stretched ‘O’ of her lips, until his balls were halfway crushed against her chin, the pressure so much that her jaw muscles started to scream in protest.
He drew out the torture, grinding against her face, while her airway remained blocked, and overflowing saliva continued to pour from her lips. Eventually though he slid backward. Another popping reaction, as he freed himself from her throat seemed closer to a physical sensation that an audible one. But Ali only that realised afterward, she was too busy gulping down the overflow of her drool and sucking air into her lungs.
He showed her mercy for a minute or so, sliding back and forth across her tongue and keeping clear of her throat, while she obediently sucked. Ali gazed up at Kennedy with relief and gratitude. The expression of lust and pleasure all over his face and the horny fire in his eyes was all the reciprocation she required for her efforts and discomfort.
So then, brimming with desire for this man, she purposefully plunged her face forward once again, slamming his cock balls deep into her throat. He let out a surprised yet ecstatic groan, while she gleefully gulped on his meat and undulated her tongue against the thickly bulging underside, happy to sacrifice her own discomfort for his obvious pleasure.

[Nickamano]

Chapter 4.

Karen and Sam were pressed firmly together, torso to torso and lips to lips, adding a visual dimension to the four-person orgy they were now the filling of. The two astronauts were using them from behind, kneeling between their spread thighs, hands gripping their hips, thrusting cocks between gym-honed buttocks.
Karen had her hands all over Sam’s full breasts, squeezing and stroking the smooth goose-bumped flesh while she gently flicked and rolled her stiff nipples. Sam’s hands were encircling Karen’s lean lithe body tightly, holding her in a warm, sweaty embrace. The two men’s animated rampant thrusting was slamming the women’s bodies together while Sam and Karen continued to French kiss voraciously, lips locked, tongues dancing, circling and spooning.

Immediately before this, the two women had simultaneously sucked off the men, half taking a rough face fuck, half working a female-controlled blow job, sucking and licking with passion and energy until the men had noisily emptied their balls. The women had kept the collected seed in their mouths, coming together on their knees and joining lips, allowing the semen and saliva concoction to mingle and mix, snowballing from mouth to mouth back and forth. The agents, moaned and whimpered in their mutual embrace. Still, hard and unsatisfied, the men knelt behind them, spread their taut buttocks and pushed ruddy looking erections back inside the girls for yet another turn. Groaning in mindless pleasure, the two female agents kept up the free-flowing semen and saliva back and forth, as well as their frantic dancing of tongues and mouthing lips, while they got solidly fucked from behind.

Sam had the hairy guy’s cock in her ass again. He seemed to like it there, a kink maybe. It was the third time he had made use of her back door so far, and Sam was certain it wouldn’t be the last. Karen had the blond guy pounding her pussy. He was quick and almost belligerent with his hard fucking combined with a strong possessive manhandling of her body, but that’s what they were there for. It had been their instructions from their master, to give the men what they wanted and exactly how they wanted it. No matter what. And working hard to adhere to their master’s wishes, the women were having the time of their lives, happy to be fulfilling his commands, while silently looking forward to the promised reward in due course.
Even though they both understood that his reward was somewhere down the line. Perhaps even as far ahead as the following day. They had a long time to go yet and they needed these two essential but lowly guys utterly fucked out of their minds; satiated and utterly loyal to their new master, until he was ready to make use of them.
No, there was plenty more fucking and sucking to get through yet. Though Sam and Karen knew all too well that their skills and their bodies were up to the task and their eventual reward, once attended to, would be nothing less than divine.

The President had fucked Ali’s face for more drawn-out minutes of what had become sheer torture. Eventually, he had tossed her on her back onto his desk and fucked her throat some more. While rapidly pumping his hips, he casually finished unbuttoning her dress so that it was held in place, like a robe, only by her belt.
Yanking the top half wider, scooping back off her shoulders he exposed her magnificent breasts, already well lubricated by her overflow of saliva. Having squeezed, hefted and slapped the delectable and impossibly pert teenage orbs for a few seconds, pinching and pulling at her nipples, he somehow bent to suck and nibble at them.
Ali continued to shiver under his assault, gagging on him each time he invaded her throat, her eyes rolling back in her head due to his raw, passionately unconcerned attentions.
Having enjoyed his fill of gorging on her swollen nipples, he had climbed up on top of the broad desk, straddling her and sliding his big angry looking cock into her cleavage, snatching up her perky boobs in both big hands to tit fuck her.
She was sweaty, panting and moaning continually, half out of her mind with want, desire, need. She had already climaxed twice just by his aggressive touch and his obvious rampant lust for her. But the necessity to have him inside her pussy was too much for her to take. However, she couldn’t even vocalise the request. It felt demanding of her better, her President. So, she just knelt there, or lay there, taking his lust and his inflictions of pain and discomfort until he decided he was ready.

When he was finally prepared, Kennedy climbed off her, off the desk and put himself back onto his feet. Unlike Ali, who was quivering all over with fatigue and probably dehydration, the President appeared to brim an inexhaustible charge of vigour. Tossing clear the length of his robe to the back of his bare legs, he casually slid down into the plush oversized office chair, waving at her to join him. His cock was jutting, swollen and blood filled so it took on that purple-ish hue with the solid beet-red crown she had seen before. It was very much a fifth extremity, jutting up from its pubic nest, itself glistening beautifully under the lamplight, mostly with her own bodily secretions.
Ali couldn’t believe she hadn’t brought him to climax yet. His big manly balls were still full, heavy and swollen, from her perspective in desperate need and deserving of being emptied. Well, that was what she was about to do next with her tight little teenage pussy.

She had wanted to strut sexily across the carpet and tease him on her way to his lap. But the dire intensity of her own desire and that ravenous look in his eyes had her hurrying, her exposed boobs quivering enticingly in the ‘V’ of her unbuttoned neckline. Her nipples were achingly hard and appeared to have caught John’s attention, his Elvis curled mouth spread into a smile.
She straddled his thighs, leaning in to kiss him, moaning as his hands cupped and squeezed her breasts hard, almost with cruelty, before his grasp slid down her sides, around her narrow waist and then under the back of her dress to grab a hard two-handed grip of her smooth little buttocks.
They kissed, his breath surprisingly saccharine, his lips warm against hers. She teased his tongue, drawing him into her mouth but then he drove his thick organ deeper into her mouth just like he had his penis, filling and stretching the orifice, making her choke, tickling her uvula, even lapping in a swirl around the entrance to her throat. It all made her cough and groan and shiver with shock, but she didn’t pull back. She was his to enjoy after all. He was her President. He pulled back, squeezing her ass more tightly as he lifted her body up a couple of inches. Their mouths parted and she found herself staring down into his upturned face.

“Turn around, Ali. I want you the other way. Slide yourself down onto my Johnson.”
“Yes John.” She gasped.

She slid off him, and quickly flipped up the rear of her dress, showing off her perfectly rounded young ass cheeks, enjoying the little groan that he unleashed at the sight she gave him. He crossed his thighs, reaching forward and grabbing her hips in both powerful hands, helping to guide her back toward his waiting erection.

It was throbbing so much that it ached more than ever, anticipating the satin sleeve of her tight young cunt. The heat of her as, using the fingers of one hand, she held her vulva spread while the other hand gripped the root of his erection.

In fact, feeling it in her hand, barely able to contain its girth between her fingers and thumb, she marvelled that she had somehow contained its shocking proportion inside her mouth, never mind down her throat. For a moment she wondered if he had somehow grown bigger since then. He certainly felt like he had, as she felt her labia parted and spread around that searing hot head. But that couldn’t be true, could it? Sure, cocks could get harder and bloat a little when they were close to climax but not to any notable extent.

Her thought process was slammed straight out of her head as the hands gripping her hips abruptly pulled her down onto that big impaler. Her whole overheating body started to throb bewilderingly as he filled and stretched her pussy more than she had ever experienced before. Her walls felt over-stretched over-loaded, over-filled. And then he instigated the bounce of her body on his cock, silently voicing his requirement, and she lost all ability to think consciously.

Sam was taking a little break while the two astronauts took a turn at gangbanging Karen. She was sore, bruised and full of cum. Her influence on the men, via her master’s gifts, had given the guys superior stamina and enough seed to fill both girls a dozen times over. She didn’t know the how or why and she didn’t care, the feeling of that hot plentiful load being violently blasted into whichever orifice was better than anything she had experienced before.
Worth the admission price in itself.
She watched them sandwiching Karen, enjoying the rutting pleasure vicariously. The blond guy breaking in Karen’s ass doggie style while the hairy guy lay beneath her allowing the blond’s vigorous thrusts to shunt Karen’s pussy back and forth along his shaft. He had also, somehow shifted himself about beneath her so he could get a nipple into his mouth.
Meanwhile Karen’s face was a picture in itself, twisted up features, wide open mouth, drawn back lips, nostrils flared, eyes screwed up tight. The face could have been agony or ecstasy but the pronounced flush to her cheeks and neck revealed the pleasure she was experiencing.
Sam, though sore and bloated felt envious and wanted to get back into the fray. She stood up and went over to the blond guy, slid in against him and turned his head so she could kiss him.
Instantly it brought out a moan from Karen, as though Sam’s lips on his had done something to his cock that Karen was responding to. She intensified the kiss, shifting herself to allow the astronaut’s questing hand to reach around and cup one of her full breasts, thumbing the nipple so that Sam gasped into his open mouth. He thrust his tongue in deep and she locked her lips around it, devouring his deep probing kiss.

Kicking off against one of the big turned legs of the Presidential desk, the big office chair wheeled across the carpet, drawing them into a new position in the centre of the room. Once stationary, Kennedy slid his hands up Ali’s ribs and captured her boobs in his big palms, cupping the soft orbs firmly while she thrust herself up and down, using her grasp of the padded arms of the chair to aid her.
She worked herself along his erection, her shoulders already starting to protest at the weight they had to take as she lifted and lowered herself and at a pace she would not have described as leisurely. Kennedy shifted his cupping grasp of her boobs a little and used his forefingers and thumbs to snatch up her stiff nipples. He pincered them, stretched them out, rolling them like radio dials, making her gasp and whimper all the more. She noticed that her vocal response seemed to make his cock harden further inside her, pressing against her gripping tunnel walls.
All too soon though, John was jerking upward with his hips. And shockingly powerful in his exertions She found herself thrust bodily upward by a good six inches, before dropping back down onto the hot brick of his meat. His bloated head punching at her cervix each time, and snatching additional whimpering gasps out of the teen’s slender throat.

It took a few seconds for the couple no take note that the Presidential hotline was ringing. The rhythmic thrusting staggered to halt and then, before Ali even knew why, she was lifted up off his lap and his erection. And powerfully so, as though she was weightless. She couldn’t help the little moan of disappointment at the feel of his big, pussy-stretching length abandoning her, and even more so as John slid out from under her the casually plonked her back on the seat in his stead.
That was the moment her attention registered the noise of the phone console, and belatedly understanding why her pleasure had been so cruelly interrupted. She instantly felt cold and alone. She pulled the sides of the crumpled and sweat-soaked dress loosely around her, as she watched Kennedy cross the floor, pulling his robe closed as he strode over to the side table. He picked up the phone receiver.
Ali sat and listened, her body slowly cooling and calming of its recently heightened erotic heat. She forced herself to pay attention to the phone call in order to lessen the hurt that was suffusing her body by the sorrowful loss of all that sensual pleasure. It was not an easy task.
Still, it was so quiet in the room - the lack of background noise, birdsong, wind in trees, growl of passing vehicles, the intermittent blaring of car horns, shouting - it allowed her to listen into both sides of the conversation easily.

“Hello?” Kennedy said,
“Mr President.” Came the tinny reply. “The rest of our wing arrived in the target area. We are ready for the attack. Please clarify the target, Sir?”
“The City of Osaka, Japan.”
“Japan, Osaka, Sir?”
“We have located the Infernal thing’s origin there.”
“As you command, Sir. Target Osaka, Japan. Specifics, Sir? Particular location?”
“I want Osaka Castle designated as ground zero, I want that thing bombed into oblivion.”
“Roger that, Sir. Crosshairs on Osaka castle. Osaka, Japan.”
“Good luck.”
“Thank you, Mr President.”

Kennedy replaced the receiver, grinning like the Cheshire cat. The grin quickly turned into a full-on belly laugh. Ali watched him, as bewildered as she was still aroused.

“My mission is complete.” He said, though it didn’t feel aimed at Ali.
“John, what are you...?” She asked.

He didn’t answer her at once. He starred at her, holding her eyes for a moment but he really seemed to be looking through her. Then his gaze slowly dipped, taking in her throat and collar bones, her chest. She shifted herself, deliberately allowing the top of her dress to belly open, freeing her boobs for his hungry gaze. His eyes continued southward. She halfway wanted to spread her thighs for him, to hook one leg over the chair arm, to offer her still drooling and swollen pussy to his fiery gaze, but she held off.
Again, she found herself liking the idea of teasing him a little more, of not immediately giving into him, a refrain from giving him everything of her. Even though she was all his forever, and they both knew it. Instead, delaying, she left her legs crossed but idly used a caress along the top of the upper thigh to draw back the length of her unbuttoned dress, so that her entire leg from toes to hip was exposed in one long, supple, creamy display.

As though choosing to raise the stakes, Kennedy casually slid a hand down the side of his own pink robe, the motion of his smoothing hand flowing down his ribs, in at the waist and then over his hip and upper thigh, parted the fold-over united the loose belt and allowed his burgeoning penis to reemerge, thickening and lengthening before her eyes; once again highlighted by that table lamp. Keeping his gaze on her, he moved over to the drapery covered window, so strange to think of one on a space station.
Ali hadn’t really thought about it. However, she might have assumed it would be a mock-window, some large painting underneath, perhaps a view across the White House lawn or something. Yet, she wasn’t thinking of that, she was thinking about how powerful, yet graceful John had moved in those few steps from the phone to the window. How his glorious cock, rather than swaying and bobbing around as she might have expected, actually remained still, jutting forward as though it had an actual bone inside it, as though it was another limb.
Her mouth watered. She wanted him to pound her throat sore with that thing all over again. She wanted him to make use of her, to take her roughly, to bend her to his will, to dominate her. To use her in whatever way he desired.

He drew back that deep red curtain, revealing it as a real life square-shaped glass panel. A God-almighty window in space, and not one of those little thick porthole things they have on the ISS. It was at least five-foot by five-foot. And the view outside was truly breathtaking. A segment view of the earth. Clouds blanketing much of the spherical shape, sunlight reflecting off those dense white puffs of cotton candy, while the boundless cosmos filled in the background.
It took her a while, peering through and between clouds to make out the landmasses that were visible beneath. It took longer still to understand what she was seeing. Foolishly, she had assumed it would be the east coast of North America, but it wasn’t. It was entirely the opposite side of the globe. And it was inversely oriented too.
She noted the curve of China, no, that would be Russia, Siberia. She recognised the jut of the Korean peninsula. So, the banana shaped Island cluster off it would be Japan, though most of it was covered by dense grey clouds.

She remembered John mentioning Osaka, and remembered analysing maps back in High School geography, or had it been history? She remembered at least that Osaka was at the tip of an inlet on the southern coast, roughly southwest of Tokyo. Even as the thought sprang into her head, the clouds above Japan were lit up from beneath, as though by some huge fireball. White to yellow to orange bursts, the cloudscape in turmoil, roiling and then beginning to dissipate, to be replaced with dense black smoke, shot through with red. A second similar explosion close to the first appeared, and then a third, evaporating and displacing more of the cloud as roiling black smoke, touched with flame, emerged from beneath, like a poisonous mushroom breaking through its surface soil.

“There is not any ‘back’ anymore.” President Kennedy said. “He has risen and He will destroy everything.”

His words, though not obscured by his continual laughter, still made no sense to Ali, but that didn’t matter to her, because he had turned back to look back at her from across the room.
His eyes were inexplicably glowing red. She assumed it was just reflected light from those explosions over Japan. Which was when it also occurred to her, all of a sudden that those explosions must have been gigantic! To be seen from up in space like that? Surely, they had to have been nukes? Had they nuked Japan? Again?

The terrible thought didn’t last because John, smiling, had allowed the curtain to drop back, mostly concealing the view from the window. And yet his eyes were still glowing red. And not just reflected or some kind of metaphorical inner fire of passion; this was full on glowing like “Ghostbusters” SFX red.
That grin was also taking on a whole new aspect that Ali didn’t much like. Unable to look away, she felt herself shiver.
She became intimately aware of the two dead Secret Service agents lying on the carpet near the door. The female agent that had shot one them in the back and then walked away. Leaving her and the President alone. Alone. Up in space hundreds of miles above the Earth with no way to get back without his by-your-leave. She felt all the blood leave her face, her mouth felt dry and gummy, her hands shaking.

“Let's do it... one last time.” He said, still laughing.

The laughter was almost annoying for Ali, it was practically manic, not Presidential at all. However, almost at once, that mild grievance was forgotten. A flicker of light revealed something, somewhere deep in the back of his open mouth. By the time Ali had noticed it and frowned, it had filled the cavity behind his perfect teeth. A black orb, like he had a Magic 8-ball stuck in his mouth. His teeth bent forward, pressured by the glistening sphere’s advance. From then on everything Ali witnessed became utterly nightmarish. The tendons in his neck bulged and twisted, taking on an almost inhuman appearance. His eyes lost all their humanity, their life, dulling until they resembled glass doll’s eyes. His mouth opened wider, teeth tumbling from his gums, then his cheeks split apart. The Magic 8-ball thing shoved itself forward, knocking out the last of Kennedy’s teeth, and making the lips bow convexly.

Ali was rooted to her chair, sickened and horrified yet unable to voice her terror, or to flee it. She had realised what that Magic 8-ball actually was. It was an eye, a big black pupiled, grey-white irised eye, bigger than a baseball. The President’s toothless gums had been shoved out of sight, and his previously kissable lips now resembled eyelids.
His neck began to stretch out again, this time lengthening and twisting, while his head started to roll around jerking this way and that, but inexorably turning onto its side. His human eyes, those dreamy eyes she had creamed over for years, were again glowing that demonic red. His pupils and irises no longer visible at all, just the blood red glow.

She could barely drag her eyes from the twisting monstrous alterations to the President’s face, but peripherally she was noting additional changes to his body shape, movement and bulges beneath the twitching robe.
His skin began to darken, an all-over bruise, turning from tanned Caucasian to a reddish-brown hue. Though, over the next second the red-brown deepened to a pinkish-purple. By the time his skin had mottled to that purplish shade, his head had somehow managed to turn fully horizontal - from the neck up, lying on its side, from the neck down, standing upright - however misshapen and distended he appeared beneath the robe.
She realised he was also taller. The misshapen neck had lunged that side-on head up as high as the ceiling. She could almost see further movement on the carpet, in the shadows around where his feet were, movement, slithering. However, she couldn’t bring herself to look down, the revulsion she felt while his face transformed was ensnaring her whole attention.

His original eyes, still glowing red, were now little more than slits while his hair no longer bore the styled TV newscaster look. It now appeared to have lengthened, hanging limp. It had lost all colour, becoming a dull parchment-white. The head was also fully flipped over, inverted and no longer held any resemblance to the human that had once been President Kennedy.
There was a crunching pop as his nose was abruptly sucked back into his head. Leaving a black hollow in its place. Even as Ali saw it happen, the red glow of his human eyes faded, his eyelids split apart becoming one wide ragged slit. It fattened and bulged as though pushed out from within, lashes flitting free like dust. Solid white columns appeared behind the single ripped eyelid, forming rough stalactites and stalagmites. The one-time eyelid stretched wider as two huge tusk-like stalactites burst from the outer edges of that split in his skin. Ali finally realised what she was looking at, a new mouth, the white columns fangs, a wide slack maw overstuffed with rows of teeth, bursting from new gums like weeds while a thick tongue-like appendage filled the rear of the gaping cavity. Beneath that vile new mouth, rolls of flesh that had previously been his brow ridges were now a flabby bulging double chin.
Its shadow caught the ceiling, making her realise how tall it had become. But the shadow was in constant motion, things writhing and whipping around. It drew her eyes southward again just as the thing that had been her beloved President yanked open his half-ruined robe.

Large hornlike spikes curved upward from its shoulders, stretching the silky fabric of the robe to the point of breaking, the sharp looking tips already piercing its tightly woven threads. There was a hint of a tail to the rear, or maybe a cluster of flicking tentacles.
His still human, though mottled purple hands were extending beyond the robe’s sleeves, lengthening and thickening like the rest of him.
He threw the front of his robe open, revealing a new ‘torso’ that was unlike anything Ali had ever seen before. It was ghastly, folds of flesh in putrid garish colours, like some brightly hued tropical flower, the kind that enticed live prey.
The centre from the ribs down to the groin, or what had once been ribs and groin, was now a great sagging orifice, a shadowy hole, practically oval shaped, perhaps perfunctorily vaginal.
The robe finally fell away, shredded from within. Revealing the thing’s body as a pulpy bulb, like some fleshy man-size tuba, surrounded by writhing tentacles.
Maintaining the strange connection to a tropical plant, a large pistil-like appendage emerged from the depth of that hot pink hole, a pale stigma emerged from its tip, a fat hood surrounding a phallic like shaft, itself as thick as Ali’s wrist.
It pushed forward, revealing something like a dozen thick stamen surrounding it, tendrils, that writhed like squid tentacles around the fat pink central pistil. The stamen didn’t have bulbous tips instead she saw glimpses of sucker mouths, maybe even miniature tongues within, maybe even a little blinking eye inside the mouth.

She didn’t utter a scream, she wasn’t ready for what happened next, despite how obvious it should have been to her. By the time she recognised those stamen launching at her like a collection of bullwhips, they had already slammed into her, knocking her right out of her chair and onto the floor between it and the President’s desk.
There was no defence from that stamen, she had deliberately removed her underwear and there was only one button on her dress, right behind its buckled belt. She was momentarily stunned as she toppled down to the thick carpet, almost thumping her head against the hard wood of the desk. She did crack her right elbow on one of the four aluminium feet of the office chair, but it was a glancing blow. And by the time she had regained her awareness, she had stamen tentacles all over her body.

Both arms and legs were ensnared. The tentacles were warm and dry, definitely fleshy and pulsing with a life of their own. While the sheer strength in them was staggering. They coiled around her, from her calves up to the tops of her thighs. The one around her waist coiled tight, pressuring her stomach and intestines. She felt it at the backs of her thighs, and the back of her short skirt was flipped right up, baring her naked bottom.

She tried to reach back but immediately found it impossible to pull against the grip of those stamen. They let her struggle a little but she was unable to gain any more than an inch of movement before they pulled her arms right back to where they wanted her. One whipped around her throat and she expected to be choked by it, however it slid down her sternum, right between her breasts and then encircled her left boob twice, starting to squeeze. Hard. The sudden pressure infusing her breast made the breath catch in her throat, and her engorged nipple ached with forced bloated, stiffness.

By this time, she had been lifted up off the floor, completely under the control of the stamen and suspended in the middle of the room. She was dragged back into the ex-president’s personal space, on her back, legs uplifted and spread wide apart. Her already well fucked and still drooling pussy, was opened and exposed for him… or it.

That new inverted face leaned in close, looking shockingly disgusting and disturbing, like a demonic clown’s face, with that perpetual grin on the fang-toothed maw. The tongue, big as her forearm flicked out like a serpent, and attacked her uncrushed boob. It lashed in fast whipping circles, coating the whole orb in its monstrous drool. But all too soon it switched to assaulting her engorged nipple exclusively, ultra-fast flicking whips, working the stiff bud hard, flicking it every which way with its rapid tongue-tip attack.
Finally, Ali found her voice. She wailed, a breathy high-pitched warbling that held pace with the monster tongue-action on her flesh. But soon enough her pitch warbled up into desperate high scream.
However, it was as much a scream of immoral pleasure as it was the horror of being a sexual target of a no-shit monster. She felt a throbbing hot sexual desire from the feel of being ensnared, squeezed, possessed, sexually tormented.

She was dragged pussy first toward that thick pulsing pistil-thing. The phallic looking stigma emerged from its centre. She knew without a doubt what was going to happen but at the same time, she couldn’t believe it. Up close the pistil was probably about as wide around as the thickest part of her forearm. She was pulled onto it. It felt strangely spongy and yet firm, dry, but there was a slickness, and it made her flesh tingle, a not-quite-itch. It pressed against her swollen vulva, spreading them, apart, the constant tingles brought about a shocking burst of her own lubrication, which allowed her lips to spread wide safely, her tunnel mouth accepting the end of the pistil without it ripping her pussy.

Shivering all over, she felt the John Holmes proportioned stigma sliding into her slick tunnel. The pistil plugging her entrance, teasing the surrounding nerves clusters that gave her such pleasure, while the pale pink fleshy shaft drove in deep. Her tunnel walls gripped and clung to it, despite her overflowing lubrication.
She could feel every movement with complete clarity as the monster started to rape her. It was almost as though she could read its intent, picture what it was doing from a third party’s perspective.
The Pistil began to twist and throb and vibrate against the entrance of her blatantly splayed pussy, teasing and manipulating her nerves constantly, hiking up her orgasmic ascension by leaps and bounds. While the large and bloated shaft pistoned back and forth against her slick yet grasping walls; adding more and more intensity to those lustrous waves of eroticism already threatening to overwhelm her. All while the smooth blunt head of the stigma slammed against her quivering, oversensitive cervix with each and every full length thrust.

She peaked, a detonation of sexual pleasure that enveloped her. She blacked out, and there was nothing but a distant thrumming pulse, a vestige of what her body experienced, while her mind was wrapped in a soft thick blanket of divine sensual joy.

Eventually she slipped back into her body, the delightful joy and calmness that had taken her, replaced with heavy, gut wrenching, organ churning, sickening reality. However, it came in hints, belated sensations that were slow to coalesce. The positions of her restricted and spread wide limbs, the weight of her hair against her scalp, the rawness of her open mouth and sore throat, followed by the realisation that she had been shrieking continually since this had begun. The tightness gripping her in multiple places, serpentine and restricting. The pull of gravity on her body.
All those sensations sketched in, tell-tale, hint by hint, her current situation. Her position and what was still being done to her.

Her surroundings were no longer wholly familiar. The room looked the same, though there was a mistiness to it, as though some kind of fog had descended on the room or over her vision. It had a grey or green tinge to it. Other than that, within the confines of the shadows - in the corners, up in the ceiling, beneath the desk - there was something there, in those shadows, also tinted that same dull grey or green hue. They might have been structures or growths, bulges with tendrils of a secondary material, like veins and muscles. The inhuman substance almost reminded her of molten wax, or something volcanic, molten lava that had solidified. She didn’t understand any of what she was seeing. And then, all of a sudden it didn’t matter anyway, because the sexual pleasure was beginning to peak again, tearing her attention away from anything other than that. And what was being done to her.

She was still on her back, limbs spread, held up above the ground at waist height to the monster. Still being raped, a mind-bending concoction of pain and pleasure, each fuelling the other so that, loathsomely, it was still having that unwanted effect on her body and her mind; still feeding her advancing sexual ecstasy, still forcing her to want more of it, to enjoy it.
All Ali could do was take it.

She spent a moment getting herself reaccustomed with her own predicament. Her thighs were spread wider still, knees up, toes pointed up at that strange otherworldly ceiling. The stamen tentacles still encircling her whole body were pulling at her, almost as though she was being stretched on a rack, though never quite to the point of painful.
Her arms had been stretched out behind her head, stamen wrapped around her upper arms, forearms and wrists. One of them even had a grip on the hair at the back of her head. She had a fistful of stamen flesh in each hand, squeezing as though her life depended on it, but no matter what she did, if appeared to have no effect of the monster’s extremities.
A stamen wrapped around her neck and forced her jaw back, pressing the back of her skull toward her shoulders. The tentacle gripping the back of her hair pulled, helping out, keeping its sharp grip taut, and turning her view completely upside down.

She realised that her left boob was no longer suffering its own sadistic constricting attention, the stamen that had wrapped itself around the orb had let go while she had been lost in her orgasm. But they weren’t bouncing freely either, and she could feel fat fingers and broad palms covering both her boobs, pressing into the soft flesh, squeezing firmly, and presenting her with a whole new form of sweetly-cruel breast constriction.
Inside her ravaged, throbbing pussy, the stigma cock was pumping away dramatically, deep and powerful, shunting punch-thrusts that were doing indescribable things inside her. Overwhelming things.
All she could do was be that instrument of pleasure for the thing that was using her. Her constant high keening moans neither deliberate or even conscious, nothing more than a mindless expression of terrorised, unwanted joyous sensation.
All Ali could do was take it.

The stamen around her throat released her, uncoiling, letting her suck in more of that green foggy air. It went to her straight to her head, like an ice water bath. But then the uncoiled appendage slid back into her view, pointing at her like a cobra ready to strike. The pucker-mouth tip had rolled back like an uncut cock and the thing within that she thought might have been an eye now resembled a pinkish ball, smooth and flesh-like, with a hole in the middle big enough to get the tip of her pinkie into. Another demonic approximation of a human cock.
Of course it aimed at her open mouth. She frantically turned her head this way and that, to try and fend it off but, as though reading her thoughts, the orb shaped tip followed her movements with frightening precision. Choosing some arbitrary moment it suddenly launched itself at her mouth, plugging the ‘O’ of her lips, forcing her tongue flat and then sliding in deep, probing beyond her uvula, making her gag. And then it advanced onward, penetrating her throat and slithering deeper and deeper along the tight tube of her gullet. It started to frolic around inside her body, wriggling, thrusting back and forth, bulging outward to forcing her throat muscles to grasp tightly around it.

Cackling, a freakish, inhuman insane tremolo, it expressed its monstrous delight as it thrust, and squeezed and fucked her throat. And it made her cum again. And made her lose herself.

The final time she came around, drawn slowly back into her body as though waking from the most delicious erotic dream she found out that, in the interim she had been flipped over. Still held up in midair by a dozen demonic tentacles, but she had been hefted about, repositioned doggie style.
It had always been her favourite position, giving herself to her man, totally under his control, made to take his dominance and his power.
But now she was a trussed-up victim of a rape. And a multiple penetration rape at that. Her mouth was free and clear to wail and moan. But she could barely manage it. Her throat felt swollen shut, clogged and there was a saccharin sweet yet horribly acidic flavour that coated every tastebud she possessed. No doubt, the phallic stamen had dumped its load into her stomach and the residue had coated her throat on egress.
Her legs dangled, still wrapped in tight controlling tentacles, the one around her waist and lower ribs still half throttled her internal organs in its passion. Her arms were stretched out away from her body.
The stamen was once again constricting her left boob, squeezing it so hard it felt like it might pop like a balloon at any second, while the nipple felt like a hot coal with so much blood trapped inside it.
The big, unnaturally meaty hands were gripping her buttocks just as tightly as it had her boobs the last time. Worse of all though was that, even with the rapid pummelling of the stigma still slamming her pussy, she could feel something big and dense was also up her ass. It was strangely ridged like two of the things… Yes, that must be it…
She could picture it in her harried mind clear as day - it had taken two of the stamen and twisted them together into one plaited shaft. And that was currently shoved deep inside her rectum. It was all too much to take…

It let go of her sore, bruised ass with one hand, instead grasping a fistful of her skull - hair and scalp alike, all gripped by those too-fat-to-be-human fingers. It dragged her head backward, arching her spine. But she barely acknowledged this fresh torture. She just took it as she had been doing all these hours. At least, it felt like hours.
And even as Ali took it, her mind practically melting at the horrific realisation, she reached her peak. A pink bubble of utter uncomprehending sexual ecstasy once again enveloped her, whipping her mind away like a tornado, upward into that beautiful place of lovely, sweet oblivion.

A sexual heaven.

[Nickamano]

Epilogue.

Kyukei-ma enjoyed the reward of its labour. Though his Lordship was deceased these twelve rotations, Suikakujyu’s plan had worked like a charm. He had tasked Kyukei-ma with positioning himself in the place of the most powerful human on the planet and then using all of his craft to destroy the Chojin.
It had chosen the American one, because he had a hotter female mate. It had been tedious to only be allowed to make use if the female, and others he could get his phallus into, while remaining in his human disguise. But still, it had been a lot of fun too. As had using his Presidential powers to bring in more and more females. The positioning female bodyguards had been a stroke of genius. As had been picking this sweet young morsel as a replacement for his personal servant, after he had absorbed her. Her own actions, had made room for this young intern to step in. And now it was her turn to be taken and used. Eventually absorbed.
And of course, once now that the Chojin had been destroyed, they would be able to return to the new earth, an earth they would control. A new demon-realm, with two billion females to take and use for their pleasure. And perhaps even to breed. If that proved possible. It would be a lot of fun finding out.

Right at this moment the US President’s orders would be under commencement. The naval fleet’s ICBM’s had already detonated, right on target - as he had observed through the President’s eyes from this very space station. And right now, they would be sending in planes to confirm the destruction of the foetal Chojin inside the teenage human whore where he grew, all within the perceived safety of Osaka Castle. And once that success had been confirmed, President Kennedy would issue the final order - A nuclear strike upon Japan itself. To vaporise the last remaining Beast-kind and the hated Amano siblings. And any others who might stand in the way of Demon-kind’s new world order.

For now, Kyukei-ma would remain on the space station. He had three females under his control already, the two agent morsels currently keeping those essential pilots entertained, and this little morsel currently its object of pleasure. Plus, there were two others at his disposal, including his own beloved wife, the famously stunning First Lady, Heather Bach-Kennedy.
That particular vixen and honey pot, it had enjoyed plenty of times over the last two weeks, while safely disguised as her human husband. She had been thoroughly bent to its will, used for hours on end after dark, exhausted over and over again.
But its attentions had also made her frightened and then suspicious. And so Kyukei-ma had not been able to make use of her the way it had really desired.
However, that would now change. It would no longer have to hide behind a human disguise. And it would be able to unleash its full unadulterated lust on that lovely young body. And when it had exhausted her, while she recovered, there would still be Christina Kirschner too. This was going to be so much fu… …Wait a second, what was that?

The demon whipped its head around to squint through the big satellite’s Presidential window. The drapes parted enough to reveal a sliver of the precious though thickly clouded orb of the Earth. But there was something more there. Something glowing. Something approaching… fast… too fast… too big… Oh hell no!

<><><>

The Destroyer God ‘Nagumo’, having taken his final form, resembled a perverse version of an Lovecraftian ‘Old God’. Gigantic humanoid body, gigantic bat-like wings, but instead of tentacles around its mouth, it bore tucks and fangs and horns. Instead of tentacles it sported perhaps half a dozen, giant prehensile penises, one of many weapons in its arsenal. Afterall, before the Chojin could complete the process of creating a new world of harmony, the old worlds, the three realms, had to be brought down, utterly crumbled to dust. However, the Chojin, the God of Gods himself - slumbering in Osaka Castle - had been targeted, and it was the father’s job to protect his son.
And so, the Destroyer God took to the wing, breaking through the atmospheric barrier at many times the speed of sound, and careened straight into - actually through - the orbiting satellite that housed the US President’s emergency bunker.

The satellite exploded. Everything organic and inorganic, within its structure was vaporised in a microsecond, the structure itself crumbled like a sand sculpture, and was immediately dragged back into the Earth’s atmosphere where it began to burn.

By the time the last of PEOC had burned to ashes in the atmosphere, the Destroyer God had returned to Earth and devastated the last of America’s naval fleet, then set about locating its nuclear arsenal to destroy that too. Of course, nothing the humans possessed, none of its heralded technology was a threat to the Chojin, or to the Destroyer God. But it was fun. And all those thousands of nuclear missiles abruptly detonating across the continental United States made its long-term job that little bit easier.

Perhaps it should repeat the process in Russia, China, India, Australia and Europe.

The End.