A Princess for a President

Barack stands outside his hotel suite; his bodyguard next to him.

“You know It'd be much easier, and less embarrassing for us to have separate rooms.”

“I'm sorry sir but my orders are clear. If it makes it any easier I can sleep on the couch.”

Barack taps the lock with a key card and opens the door. It is a homely place. Beige walls, beige carpeting, and incandescent lamps lighting the room with a yellow hue. On the opposite side is a window, with thick curtains, and two twin beds with equally thick covers and blankets. Just looking at them makes Barack a little stuffy, and he takes off his coat and places it in the closet to his left as he steps in. There's a couch in the main living area, a breakfast table, two paintings of scenery on the left and right walls, a mini-fridge between the beds, and a television set across from them. And in the centre of it all was this hulk of a man in a black suit with pitch black sunglasses. You couldn't even see where he was looking from the side. The glasses wrapped around his face and stuck there like they were suctioned to his eyes.

It's a Saturday, and Barack has the afternoon to memorize his press notes for a conference in the morning. It's not even a matter of relaxing in solitude. It's simply difficult to work, or study with someone else in the room watching everything you do. The little quirks you invent to help yourself through the task are embarrassing enough to stop you from talking to yourself, or wandering the room glossy eyed and daydreaming in with someone else around. These secret service fellows aren't the paragons of stoicism they make themselves out to be. As often as they turn their heads to spot oddities in the crowd, they equally maintain a steady line of sight at any buxom women in the audience. Their heads look straight ahead nonchalant. Their eyes behind the tinted shades; looking straight at a nice pair of tits.

Once on his way out from the White House, Barack remembered he had left something behind in his office. Before anyone could object, he had turned around and started jogging down the hall. It was only now as he reflected in his hotel room -staring out at his fellow citizens on the street moving about in their individual, unobtrusive lives- the wonderment for a man to run down the hallways of the White House. Breezing past the eyes of past presidents. They stand sternly, eternal sentinels of leaders who walk past them to work every morning, and again when they come home at night. Their gaze judging only what the subject judges upon himself. The victorious leader sees the approving countenance of those who were victorious like him before. The defeated see the glare of shame from those who sacrificed much to make this country great. But as he trotted along the corridor lined with portraits, by trick of eye, or light, or of the mind, he saw little smiles forming on the edges of their mouths and their eyes looked a little forlorn for their lost humanity. And it was only later in his hotel room, did Barack know the look in their eyes. And knew he couldn't have been the first to run down that very corridor, or walk happily and aimlessly through this mansion. Or to strip a woman down in the bedroom, and make love to her. Somethings never change, and the fraternity on this wall stretches beyond the station of the executive office. It stretches to their alma maters, the listing “American Presidents” in every encyclopedia in t he world, their roles as fathers and husbands, and their love and loss in the bedroom. If he were to walk down the very corridor thinking of Michelle, the visages of his predecessor would look individually in disappointment, or in sympathy. And while it is true that some may have chose their wives better than others, here was a dilemma they all faced. And though some strove better than others, you will not find their struggles in the histories of the world. Only a list of their country's victories and losses while they took office. The annals of historians record all but one thing, and that is the soul and humanity of these men captured in pictures and portraits.

Barack had passed the portrait of George Washington, when in a nearby room he heard two voices. He slowed to a leisurely stroll.

“I'm covering Michelle this evening.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah man. Some charity gala.”

“She wearing that red dress?”

“You fucking know it. All stretched out across her ass like a ripe tomato. I just want to get up on that you know? Just get up behind her and cup that ass; squeeze 'em with both hands.”

“Shit I don't want to hear that. You're thinking too much about it ha-ha-ha-”

Barack coughed just loud enough for them to hear. No point in ruining their fun, just letting them know there was someone outside. No need to let the Whitehouse know what you're thinking. It was strange though, he didn't even mind what they were saying. A couple of grunts wouldn't have a chance with the wife of the president. Not while he was in office anyway. Even then, why Michelle? It was only the night before he had seen her naked body. She slid out of her dress. Taught breasts clenched against her bra fell like heavy weights. Her skin bunched into layers along her torso as she bent to pull off her panties. She looked up at him in bed, wrinkles around her tired eyes. This is the side of Michelle they wouldn't see in their fantasies. She would have perky tits. Nice, round and large; just like her ass. The tight body of a twenty year old, and a dainty hairless cunt. And when you try to stick it in, it pokes through slowly. Working its way through the tightness as her sweetspot oozes, and lubes your shaft as you work your member. Her little gasps and moans tickling your ear, telling your brain to pump more blood into your dick. She gives a little howl as the penis grows bigger inside her, and pushes as far in as it can go. Then the rhythm starts and her arms tighten around his neck bringing him close, letting him feel the heat of her naked body against his. Letting her hard nipples press against his chest as she cums so perfectly.

That's Michelle, that's the girl next door, the cute girl working the cash register. All the women you fantasize about. Same body, same scenario, same movements. They're all the same women in your head. And Barack knows this. He knows about the fantasy woman, her body, her sound her taste, since he was old enough to pitch his pants. She changed so many times as he grew older and disappeared altogether when he married. No, he sees her sometimes. When he's lonely, in the bathroom separated from the world. Sometimes her skin is tan. Sometimes she speaks French. Sometimes her raven hair drips over her supple breasts and covered with a tight rainbow striped shirt.

Michelle, her tight dresses pinching her curves. She looks sexy. A man can only wish to have sex with a woman fully clothed. All the flabby bits, kept tight in the dress. The mystique of what's underneath never vanishes. Your hands are like a scanner, going over the body making a picture of what's underneath.

Maybe Cleopatra, Elizabeth, Catherine all had the lust of their servants following them where they went. Seeping into the corridors ever so gently. They would have been completely ordinary women, had they the misfortune of not being born into nobility. And then where would the admirers be? Not in dress uniforms, or elegant suits as they're carted above the commoners. Maybe the gardener or the stable hand, or the bagger at the supermarket.

Barack's thoughts rambled through his head, and he almost walked past his office door. He couldn't remember why he had come. He turned around and made his way back, and in his hotel room in the future, he was all the more glad for the jog to his office.

***

Barack turns from the window. He rubs his tired eyes with one hand.

“Do me a favour and get me a cup of coffee.”

The agent looks at Barack a little suspiciously, as if this is a ploy to get him to leave the room so that the president may leap to his death from the window.

“Come on, I need someone to fetch my luggage too. Someone reliable you know what I mean? I'll get you a nice referral at the end of it. Don't look at me like that, I'm not going anywhere. I just need to get to work and I need to stay awake to do it.”

“Don't worry sir, your luggage is on its way. I'll radio ahead and let them know to send the coffee service with it.”

His hopes of being alone struck down for the moment, Barack sighs and heads for the bathroom. Some cold water on his face should tide him until the coffee service arrives. He closes the door behind him, turns on the cold tap and refreshes himself with the cool liquid. Eyes closed, water dripping from his face, he reaches for the towels on the counter. He dries his face and looks at his tired face in the mirror and his heart jumps. He's not alone in the bathroom. In the mirror he sees a second face. A second person standing directly behind him.

“Do you like my body double?”

“Celestia...”

“He looks just like you doesn't he? Here put your forehead to his.”

Barack eyes the doppelganger wearily. It looks back at him placidly, devoid of any recognizable emotion. He waves his hand infront of it to see if it reacts.

“Don't waste time, this golem is useless unless you plant it with a personality.”

“What's the risk?”

“None at all. Look, please trust me. I spent hours in secrecy making this. Please love, do this for me.”

He nods and places his forehead against his double's. Celestia's horn glows and a purple light envelops Barack's head.

“There, that didn't hurt now did it? He should have most of your thoughts, mannerisms. He's got your head more or less, and he's definitely got most of your body.”

“You thinking about replacing me?”

“No, look at him down there.”

The double's crotch was flat. No genitalia at all.

“Magic goes a long way” Celestia whispered. “But even my magic has its limits. Clay golems and artificial thoughts only go so far. It'll live for three days before the enchantment collapses and it turns back into mud. And while it's sitting in your pants, you'll be happily away at my castle for the weekend. Won't it be wonderful?”

“Will this thing actually work?”

He surprised himself with those words and immediately regrets them. How could someone in his position even consider such a ludicrous and reckless plan?

“Of course it does. You don't trust me? It has all your memories all your thoughts and all the information in your head. Everything it needs to receive and respond to logical coherent sentences.”

“Why not slap a dildo on it and call it a day?”

“Because...”

She walks over to the double and kisses it. Its lips remain pursed; its face unflinching. She turned to Barack. He looks a little hesitant. She returns the look. They move their mouths closer to each other, pull back, waiting for the right moment. That moment when two lovers commit to kiss at the same time. Their lips match and part, their tongues slither in and out of each others mouth. Their lips touching again and again, they kiss until the sound of knocking interrupts them.

“Is everything alright in there sir.”

“Give me a moment.”

“You need to make a decision now.” Celestia whispers. She closed her eyes and nuzzles her head against his chest. He stares at the double as his hand caressed her cashmere mane. It was a perfect copy, at least from the outside..

“This isn't very fair you know that right? Rubbing up against me like that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Let me see it in action first.”

“You'll have to give it your clothes. Come we'll hide in the shower.”

Barack took off his clothes and handed them to his double. The golem had no trouble putting it on. It was like watching himself put his clothes on in a mirror. It copied his movements perfectly. Barack was beginning to feel giddy. This plan as insane as it may be, was becoming more and more viable by the second. The double buttoned up its shirt and opened the door, as Barack hid naked with Celestia in the shower.

“Is there a problem?” Said the double.

Celestia began rubbing her neck against Barack's naked theigh.

“I was worried when there were no noises coming from inside, and you were taking an abnormally long time sir. I was making su-”

“Everything's fine, just a little problem with the tap.”

Barack turned to her. His penis hung infront of her face.

“If you don't mind sir, I will have to take a lo-”

“Am I the president of the United States or are you the president of the United States agent?”

“You are sir.”

Her eyes looking up at him, his eyes looking down at hers, she began tickling his penis with her tongue.

“That is correct, now please leave while I fix my shirt.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that sir, I'll just be a moment to check the bathroom and make sure everything is fine.” The agent darts around the golem and begins to turn the door knob. Celestia jolts up, Barack grabs a bath towel, and they vanish in a flash of light.

***

Barack feels grass under him. It is soft, the softest grass he has ever felt. Smooth blades, as soft as hay. They are outside away from civilization, in the wilderness somewhere. He looks up and sees the stars and the moon. There is something different about them. They look strange. This world looks strange. The grass looks like a solid green mass, with a few blades sticking out sporadically in bunches. And yet under his bare feet, he could feel dozens of little bristles of grass. It was night, but it wasn't. There was no pitch darkness, except in the sky. The colours on the trees and the grass and the bushes could be seen as if it were day. But the bushes and trees looked strange. Like the grass the leaves on the plants looked like a single mass. But as he reached to touch the tree's green mass, he could feel the individual leaves. He plucked one and it appeared in his hand as if out of thin air, even though he felt himself holding it and plucking it from the tree.

“Do you like my world?”

“It's strange. The shapes, everything looks so simple. It's like a children's picture book, or a fairytale.”

“Here come sit in the grass with me.”

Barack sat down next to Celestia. He had wrapped the towel he grabbed during his escape around his waist.

“You never answered my question. Do you like my world?”

“I like what I'm seeing right now.” He said as he looked straight at her.

She smiled at him, her eyes half opened. Barack himself felt weary.

“I'm a little tired from my magic act. It's been a long day too you know? Preparing the golem, and then preparing for your arrival.”

“Yeah it hasn't been easier for me. Been on my feet all day. I'd probably have had to spend the rest of the afternoon studying for tomorrow's conference.”

“Don't worry. Here let me spread that towel on the ground.”

Celestia undid the towel with her mouth and threw open the folds. Barack's penis stared up at her. It was a little flaccid.

“Not to spoil the party but I'm feeling a bit tired aren't you?” He said

Celestia nodded in agreement.

“Wouldn't feel right though, going to sleep like this. Here, I stashed a picnic basket before I left.”

She lifted the basket from behind a bush with her magic and pulled a carrot from it.

“What's that for?” asked Barack.

She gestured for him to lie on his back, and slowely lowered herself on to him gently. Her head just below his chin He could smell her perfume, it smelled like lilacs. He could feel her belly rubbing against his penis, sandwiching it against his own stomach.. She draws herself up and down his body, like a cat stretching. He could feel himself getting hard. His penis grew under the warmth of her stomach as she rubs her body up and down against his. Every time she draws up to his face, she plants a kiss on his mouth. She pauses and directs the carrot into her vagina. Her magic gently pushes it in and out as she continues masturbating Barack, with her body. He could feel himself coming to climax, and she pressed down on his crotch. He came in spurts as she raised and lowered her body. Applying pressure and releasing it as cum struggles to escape. She turns over onto her back and lets Barack hold her. She toys with the carrot in her vagina. Moving it faster. Barack could hear her groaning in pleasure. Suddenly her back arches, but he pulls it back down. She turns her head to the side and he kisses her on the mouth from behind. They lay on the grass holding each other in the night. It should be cold, lying in the nude like this. But Celestia, her body is so warm, as if she had been out in the sun all day. He could lie here all night comfortable as if covered in a blanket.

“Sorry for the lazy sex.” She finally spoke.

“It's fine.”

She pulled the carrot out from inside her and tossed it to the side.

“I'll just leave that for the rabbits.” She giggled and rolled off Barack's chest. She spooned herself against him, nuzzling his face and closing her eyes.”

“Lets get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.” She kisses him on the cheek and settles in for the night. He puts his hand under her head, and she puts her front leg under his, sharing their limbs as pillows for the night in the wild.

Barack's heavy eyes close, as the stars and moon of this strange world look down on him. The warmth and gentle breathing of his lover finally lulls him to sleep.