A Princess for a President

As Barack lies in bed, back towards his faithful wife, Celestia pleasure his erect penis with her mouth. The tip of her tongue slowly teases his manhood, and she gently traces it up and down along his slit lapping at the pre-cum. She takes the head of his penis between her lips and rinses it with spit; slowly swishing the saliva around in her mouth and over his penis. Her tongue gently probes at the edge of his foreskin. Testing the edges, looking to slip her tongue underneath. She draws away, leaving a sticky trail of drool and cum, and blows gently on his cock. She turns her head sideways, licking at the crevices under the head. Barack cannot suppress a shudder that runs through his back and thighs, and he hears Michelle rustle in her sleep behind him. Celestia's tongue gently explores the sensitive flesh under the knob. She takes his entire cock into her mouth, and slowly draws it out as her lips resist like suction against his shaft. Her tongue tickles the spot between his cock and balls, and then follows the botttom of the shaft back to the tip. She can feel his thighs quivering, and his penis jerking erratically, the semen pumping into his erection and readying to erupt. Celestia plugs Barack's hole with her tongue; his cock swells, his cum looking for a way out, squeezes through a gap in the top. She lets go and it spurts all over. Barack's cock jerks as it thrusts load after load onto the princess's face.

Celestia licks his seed from around her lips; cum drips from her chin and coats the fur on her mouth.

“Oh you poor thing,” she said crooning at his penis. “How long have you been locked up like that?” She cuddles his crotch with her muzzle.

“Let me wash up in your bathroom. Don't keep me waiting, I have something to ask you.”

She walks away with that sexy strut. Barack can see the outline of her ass in the dark, as she swings her hips when she walks; her tail brushing her legs as it moves with her swagger. Barack breathes heavily into his pillow, not wanting to wake Michelle. He was tired from his day, and now he was completely exhausted by this unscheduled visit from his mistress. He turned over on his back; his breathing calmer now. He could stay here in bed; not go to the bathroom. Stay with his wife; not carry on with this betrayal. Carry on with his life as if nothing happened. She would go away no doubt, she's a kind person, horse, call her what you will. She doesn't seem like the kind of psycho who would tie you down, rape you with needles and leave you naked in Times Square. She might be though, but so far, they have both been willing participants in these flings. Maybe she has a prince, or a king, waiting for her on the other side. She comes home late, kisses him, has dinner waiting, kisses him again and catches a waft of another woman's perfume. He never wants to stay up at night. Doesn't look her in the eyes when they make love. Goes to sleep when they finish. Never talks to her the way they used to. When they do, it's about their job or the kids. No, that's not Celestia. That's him. That's Barack. That's the Obamas.

Maybe it's not as simple. Maybe there isn't anyone waiting at home for her.

“There isn't anyone waiting at home for me either.”

He stares up at the ceiling, wondering how long this will go on. One day, he'll have to stop seeing her. One day he won't be president and life will go back to normal. The kids go off to college, leaving Michelle and him alone at home. No one spying, no one to disturb them. But will she still want to have sex?

“Will I even want it?”

What if these days are the end of their sex lives? How could he live with himself knowing that time he should be spending rekindling their romance was time spent destroying their marriage? What if things don't go back to normal once he leaves office? Celestia, she might be a thousand years old, but she makes love like a woman at the height of her life. He's had a taste of private stock, he can't go back to the shelf.

Clinton got caught trying to reconcile the dilemma Barack faces now. Thinking about him, Bill got back together with his wife. Either he's a man of impeccable honour; unafraid to come to terms with his dishonesty, or she's a vixen between the bedsheets to make him come crawling back. Or maybe he knew what Barack knows now, these might be the last days of his life to get some sweet honey from a fresh tap; not dig it out from from an old bottle.

Why have an affair, if you're happy in your marriage? Maybe it's good to have one. People get tired of each other over time. Time away could be therapeutic. It could reinvigorate their love. It could also draw them away from each other, like it has with him and Michelle. The secret service, the white house staff, they all say they work in the interest of the president. Well the president needs his dick wet from time to time. There are limits to even what the secret service will do. Bringing in a prostitute for the president's pleasure? Just mentioning it to them would be disastrous.

“No, this facade has to end somewhere at sometime. Get a hold of yourself Barack, you're the leader of the free world. This isn't a difficult decision. Do the right thing.”

He turns to Michelle; puts an arm on her shoulder. Tells her he loves her. She tells him she has to get up early. They both have to get up early. Didn't even hear what he had to say. Didn't matter, he did the right thing. He has to tell Celestia it's off. He owes her that much.

He steps out of bed in his pyjamas, his penis hanging out. Still a bit sticky; he tucks it back in and buttons up. Michelle doesn't even stir. He walks to the bathroom. The light is off; must be the magic. Can't tell if the light is on from the outside. He opens the door quietly and steps inside. Celestia is there, her horn sparkling, holding a pen and writing a note on the counter top. She had been doing her mascara as she waited. He could see it dripping down the side of her face, trailing her tears.

“What's wrong?”

She turns to look at him; talks the note away. Walks over and nuzzles his chest. He puts his arms around her, strokes her mane the way she likes it. He lets his fingers find their way behind her ears, and rubs in her favourite spot.

“I once asked Kennedy to meet me in the bathroom like I asked you just now,” she said sobbing. “He never came. I took the hint. I never heard from him again. He died a few months later.” She broke down crying as the words escaped her lips. Her tears soaked into his pyjamas leaving a black stain from her mascara. He didn't mind. The radiant warmth from her head against his chest was pleasant. He looked down, and saw her tearful face cuffed in his shirt. She looked a little cute, vulnerable as she is now.

“I didn't...I didn't think you would come back either.” She said, controlling herself for a moment, and sniffling. “Waiting here, like I have so many times before. Nobunaga, Aurelius, Catherine, to be scorned so many times, not so much even a good bye. As if they turned in their bed afterwards, and their conscience turned with them. Tell me Barack, is there something wrong with me?”

“Yes, and no.” He whispered back. “If I wasn't so sure you were standing in front of me, as you have many times in the past, I'd have thought I were insane, and anyone hearing my story would think likewise. But, even though your presence here is difficult to believe in, you are a rare creature in so much I don't think there is another out there, with the passion and the kindness you have.”

“You're sweet.” She said sniffling again. “Hannibal didn't even give me the time of day. Came at me with a sword the second he saw me. Churchill attacked me in a drunken rage with a broken bottle once. Thought I was some kind of demon come to kill him.” She laughed a little at the thought.

“I shouldn't be laughing, but it's a little funny talking about it.”

“You ever have any one come back to you without a broken bottle?”

“There was Ghandi.”

“Don't tell me you slept with Ghandi. I'll believe in a magic horse that sucks my dick, but not that.”

“No silly, we were good friends. He was a great listener, I couldn't seduce him at all. A little scrawny, but strong in the head. Flexible too, I thought that was sexy.”

“You keep up with him?”

“Yes, until the day he died. I can't say I've had many close friends in this world or my own, but he was among the closest.”

“How many worlds do you know of?”

“Many, but this one and my own are the only ones where I find anything that can hold a conversation. Though I can't say many in either want to talk with me.”

“You know we can't keep this up forever.”

“I know.”

“I came to say goodbye.”

“Okay.”

“I'm sorry, but I have a family, I can't continue like this.”

“We could still be friends. Just someone to talk to, someone who understands what it's like to be alone at the top. You don't need to tell me you love me.”

“I think I might if we keep seeing each other.”

“Please don't, you won't make it another fifty years. I couldn't bear it.”

“Friends then?”

“Yes, that will work. I've never wanted anything more.”

“You'll have to go now. I've got work in the morning. Michelle...Michelle is waiting for me in bed.”

“Goodbye.”

She leaned in for a kiss but he pulled back. She nods another goodbye while looking at the floor, and vanishes in a flash of light.

As he opens the bathroom door and reaches to turn off the light, Barack looks over at Michelle. Fast asleep, her hand tucked between her thighs. Hand between her thighs. The rustling when he was getting head. Fucking bitch said she was too tired.

Barack steps over to his dresser, picks up his wallet and pulls out the card Celestia had given him in the garden. He walks back into the bathroom and closes the door. He licks the card and puts it down his pyjama pants; rubbing it over his penis. He has to wait a moment, and suddenly there is a great flash and Celestia appears. Her nose is dribbling, her mascara stains are longer, she was crying again.

“What is it?” She said sobbing.

“I forgot to thank you for being such a good friend.”

He presses his lips against hers, her eyes widen in surprise, then close as she savours it. His hands stretch over her flank, rubbing it, then fall down the sides and fondle her nipples. She pulls away to moan, her red tear stained eyes look into his,

“Let me repay the favour.” Says Barack. She nods silently, he crouches and pulls her around. She bends her front legs and raises her flank in front of his face. Barack lifts her tail and brings his face close to her privates. He can feel the heat from her genitalia on his face. He takes a breath, it smells like peppermint.

“I'm guessing you magic horses eat more than just mints right?”

“God, you know how to ruin the moment don't you.” she replied scowling.

He started at her taint, tickling it with his tongue. He could hear her sharply inhaling whenever his tongue touched the soft flesh. He licks his way down, feints and draws his tongue up into her other hole. She gasps, as his tongue works in and out of her ass, tracing the rim of the hole and reaching in as deep as possible. He kisses it some more, then puts his lips on her flank, sucking on her meaty rump. He pulls away, and kisses her in her love spots. She yelps in delight. He kisses it some more, and even runs his nose over it, savouring the sweet smell of peppermint. Barack slides his tongue over her cootch, starting a rhythm of licking and kissing that has Celestia moaning on the floor in delight. His tongue probes her pussy, until it touches a spot that makes her squeal and pitch her neck up from the ground.

He goes to work on it with his tongue, spreading her lower lips with his hands, letting her soft satin tail drape over his head. He lathers it with kisses, gives it long licks, and puckers his lips and sucks it. Celestia's legs quiver, she doesn't bother trying to mute herself. Load moans of delight are punctured by squeals of ecstasy as she climbs to climax. She drips her minty juice on the bathroom rug. Barack laps up as much as he can, working her love spot, with his mouth. He can feel it coming, her back arches, she bends her head up and cries throatily. A gush of warm liquid sprays him in the face. Celestia collapses on the bathroom floor breathing heavily.

Barack steps over her to the sink; starts washing his face. He turns to Celestia, her eyes are half open, mascara stains running deep down her cheeks. Her chest is still heaving, her mouth still panting from her orgasm.

“You know what I need?” says Barack leaning against the counter. “I need a vacation. None of this bullshit with a hundred eyes on me, family tagging along, bodyguards tasting everything I eat. Before I became president I thought I could take a break from my work, go back to the way life was for one day before I committed to a life governed by rigid politics. Before I got too old to do the things I wanted to do. A bachelor party the night before my inauguration. Never happened. And it may never. I'll die knowing I lived the dream, but not the smaller ones.”

“I think I might be able to help you.” Celestia spoke softly and stood up.

“I wanted to ask you earlier but we never got the chance. What are you doing this week?”

“Tomorrow I hit the campaign trail.”

“People telling you what to say and do?”

“Pretty much.”

“Perfect. When will you be back?”

“I don't remember, could be weeks.”

“Where will you be this Sunday?”

“Dallas I think, JFK Memorial hotel.”

“I have a plan, if you still want that vacation.”

“Yeah, I'll have to hear it first.”

“I'll tell you on Sunday.”

She reaches in for a kiss.

“Just friends ok?” Barack tells her. She pecks him on the cheek.

“Go to bed, I've kept you up longer than I should have.” She smiles and winks at him, and vanishes in a flash of light. With a heavy head, Barack splashes himself with some more water, and walks back to bed wondering what Celestia could have in store for him. He puts her out of his mind, and falls asleep.