Chapters 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.
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.
A Princess for a President
Barack opens his eyes; it is still dark. He feels the weight of Celestia as she lies ontop of him, his arms around her. The chill of the night prods the edges of body, and he he hugs her close. The warmth of her soft fur is like a sunbath on his skin. He puts a leg over her flank, and rubs it for warmth. She snorts in her sleep and nuzzles closer; her long kashmir mane rests under her like a pillow. Barack lies dozing on the grass, gently stroking Celestia's head. Suddenly he jerks his head up in alarm. A voice echos across the countryside like thunder.
“Sister!”
Celestia raises her head groggily from Barack's chest. Her eyes half closed she looks up into the sky.
“Oh goodness, where has the time gone?” She says yawning. “Close your eyes for a moment will you sweetheart?” Barack shuts his eyes. Behind his eyelids he sees a bright white flash, and then, dark red outlines mixed with black as if someone had turned on a light while his eyes were closed. He feels the lightness in his body as Celestia stands up, and a sudden warmth from all around him. He feels Celestia lick his ear gently.
“You can open your eyes now.”
He opens his eyes painfully as javelins of light poke his eyes. It was daylight! The sun had come up as his eyes were closed.
“Did you do this?”
“Yes, I command the sun to rise and set in this reality. A duty I share with my sister. That was her voice you heard earlier. I think I overslept a little.” She giggled.
“She doesn't seem as soft spoken as you.”
“There's really nothing soft about shouting across the countryside. She is really very kindhearted once you get to know her, and I think you will get to know her. I see her coming now.”
Barack could see a dark spec in the sky, growing larger as flew closer to them. A unicorn like Celestia, smaller, but with a similar face and a dark blue coat and a black crown.
“I remember the first time we met in the garden, you had long white wings. Was that the magic talking or are you like your sister?”
“Yes, let me show you.” Celestia's horn sparkles bright, and majestic wings grow from her sides.
“I can shrink them when I need to. They're a little ungainly in bed.”
Barack reaches out to touch them. Like everything in her world, her wings look like a blob of curves joined together like in a children's storybook. But when he touches them he can feel dozens of feathers rustling against his fingers.
“Mmm, rub closer to my wing joints. Yes! I like that, it feels wonderful.” She bends her head to the side and strokes her face against her shoulder, enjoying the rub like a happy dog.
“Sister!” Luna bellows again, and the ground shakes as she lands.
“You are late with your duties sister! Word comes from the Steeds of the Square Table that they invite the royal presence for tea and lunch!”
“Mmm, Loony please talk softly. My head is still a little woozy from last night.”
Luna glances at Barack sitting naked on the ground. His toned body glistens in the sun and his penis sits slumped in the grass. She turns to Celestia with an icy glare.
“You use your magic wantonly sister. I see your ways have changed little. Know this! I will serve, but not your petty amusements or your pets. I will favour you once with this elixir to restore your strength. I leave now until the night calls, but as for your companion,” Luna turned to Barack and fired a ray of shadows at his crotch. Barack could only watch in horror as his penis and scrotum shrivelled to the size of raisens.
“Wait Loon-Loon, Lulu, Looneypoo, I haven't even introduced you to my boyfriend.”
“I care not for your deviant tastes. Know that should you place the kingdom in danger, I will bring my hoof down on your activities.”
“You look adorable when you pout Lunalee. I think you've been couped up in that castle for too long. Why don't you take my place at the Square Table for lunch?”
“I-”
“Listen Lulu, I think brooding all night while everyone sleeps is not very healthy for you. I want you to share in what it means to be a princess and a ruler, and you can't be doing that perched atop your tower all night long. Take my place at the Square Table and conduct yourself like a true leader of our people sister.”
“If that is your command than that is your command. I am grateful for the opportunity, but I still worry for you sister. The royal guards will start a manhunt once they find that you are missing from your chambers.”
“I had already dismissed them from their duties for the day.”
“Nevertheless, you will have to work clandestinely or else risk controversy strolling the countryside like a harlot.”
“I will take care of myself, should anyone ask I am merely escorting the Prince of The Endless Sands on his visit to Equestria.”
“Hmph, though I do not approve of your truancy, nor of your mischief, I will overlook these transgressions for your kindness and because you are my sister.”
Celestia and Luna hug each other close with their wings. They give each other loving nuzzles, exchange goodbyes, and with a pat on her butt by Celestia, Luna lifts off majestically and flies into the horizon.
“What's the problem dear?” Celestia says turning back to Barack.
“Look at my nuts and tell me.” he says grimly. “The only thing stopping me from getting up and screaming at the world is knowing you can fix this.”
Celestia bends down and puts his raisin sized privates in her mouth. She fits them between her lips and lets her tongue run over them. Obama shudders. Even though they were shrunk, he could feel her wet tongue and saliva slither over his balls like they were normal, like a phantom appendage. He feels his scrotum convulse and his penis squirt. She pulls away and sticks out her tongue and on it is a small white droplet which she swallows.
“So about my dick?”
Celestia's horn shines and Barack is momentarily blinded. When his eyes adjust, he sees his penis back to its normal size and girth.
“I remember it being longer.”
“Oh hush, I removed the spell so it would return to normal size.”
“What's the matter with your sister? No offence but she seems like a frigid bitch.”
“She's spent the last millennium on the moon. She's a little envious of me I think. If she knew where to find us, I think she may have been watching us last night. The poor thing.
“I take it she needs a good dicking?”
“Yes. Maybe she can meet a nice boy at the party. I hope she does, but enough about Luna. Let's talk about us.”
“I take it I'm incognito as some sort of desert prince?”
“Yes, we'll get it all sorted out at the palace. I'll even let you borrow a sceptre, but first I feel we need to get you some clothes.”
“Don't all ponies walk around naked?”
“Yes and no. Retractable genitalia.”
“Only shows when you're horny?”
“And even then we have these nice tails to cover ourselves. Males have a testicle pouch on their underside. The penis slips through on command or coercion. Painful when you are trying to conceal an erection. Shrinks back in and covers itself up when you are finished.”
“That's a lot to take in all before breakfast. What's there to eat around here?”
“You can nibble some grass until we get to Ponyville.”
“I can't eat grass.”
“Why not?”
“Human's can't digest grass, only one stomach. What's Ponyville?”
“A small town about two to three hours walk from here. I can't take you back to the royal city of Canterlot just yet. It would attract too much attention. I have some business in Ponyville as well. Here taste some of this elixir Luna brought us.”
Celestia drew a gulp from the beaker and passed it to Barack. He took a sip, and though he felt invigorated as if having drunk a cup of coffee, his stomach if anything felt emptier than ever.
“I'm sorry babe, doesn't look like your potion did the trick. And I don't think being on my feet all day, skipping lunch and dinner, then having sex all night helped much either.”
“If you really want something to eat, there is a spell I know. A transfiguration spell that produces a rich creamy nectar similar to that of chocolate syrup.”
“Sounds good. If this is the backup plan what's the catch?”
“The elixir is transfigured from my excretion.”
“Is this some kind of joke? You're going to shit chocolate syrup into my mouth and it will fill me up?”
“Yes that is the gist of what I said. If you're uncomfortable with it we can proceed on our hike to Ponyville.”
“Isn't there a way to just teleport us there or call for help?”
“No, I'll reveal you when you look a little bit more presentable. I have to rule over this land, perhaps for eternity. The little criticisms and mistakes dog me for centuries. My magic has its limits as well, while I could fly us both to Ponyville, I do not know if my charms can keep us hidden for long if I am drained from the endeavour. We will sneak into Ponyville, get you clothed and return to Canterlot with as little exertion as possible.”
“No travel sex then?” Barack could hear his stomach grumble. He could feel weakness creeping to his arms and legs.
“This syrup, it's not going to revert back to its natural form in my stomach is it?.”
“No, it is a remarkable spell. No adverse side effects except the willpower required by a powerful sorceress.”
"How do you know this? Have you done it before?"
"I learned it from the manuscripts of the Venusian Herd. A cult of ponies that worshipped the body and their symbiosis with each other. They subsisted in the cold north where they could hide their sexual devience from my kingdom. They lived through transmogrifying and recycling what they could in the artic wastelands. A famous explorer, Captain James Hoof, found their bodies huddled on top of each other. The remains of a final frenzied orgy as a last effort to ward against the cold. He did not know that though. It was only later, when their manuscripts were retrived and I scryed them for magical traps, did I learn what they had done."
"And you hid it?"
"Their plans were lunacy. I do not propose to walk into the bedrooms of my subjects, but this could not be allowed to spread."
"So will it drive me insane like it did to those ponies?"
"No, you will have to trust me or we can go on. It is your decision."
"I can't tell anymore if it's the hunger, or some kind of hex, or maybe something's just loose in my head. I'll trust in your judgement, one leader to another. I can't go on for another hour without eating something.”
“Lie down on your back.”
Barack lies down on the grass and closes his eyes. Celestia positions her rear end over him. She lifts her tail and squats with her hind legs. Her horn shines brightly as do her eyes. Lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, her face is contorted in exertion. Her body shakes, and slowly from her ass hole, a drip of creamy white liquid begins to stream out. It lands in Baracks mouth, and instantly he begins to savour the warm chocolaty taste. It effortlessly slides down his throat, and into his stomach. The aroma of cocoa, mixed with a hint of cherry, and the natural minty musk of Celestia's ass flood his nose. With every gulp he feels fuller, and as suddenly as it started; it had stopped. He traces his hand around his mouth and licks the last of the syrup off his fingers. He sits up and traces his tongue around her starfish, licking up the last of the delicious syrup. Exhausted, Celestia falls forward onto the grass.
“Barack, be a dear and hand me the elixer.”
Barack picks up the beaker of elixer and brings it to Celestia's lips. She drains the contents and stands up refreshed.
“It's a remarkable potion for wizards. My sister is a genius with alchemy. I'm ashamed to admit that centuries of alchemical secrets were lost when I banished her to the moon.”
“You love your sister very much don't you?”
“If I wasn't completely sure that banishing her to the moon for a thousand years was the correct thing to do, I would sooner have banished myself in her place. Come, lets go we have a long journey ahead. I will cast an invisibility charm on us which will last until we make arrive at Carousel Boutique. Wrap that towel around yourself for now. Good. Let me cast this charm. There! That will keep us hidden from any curious pegasi who happen to fly over us. We'll be able to see each other but no one else will. Although they can still smell and hear us so do be careful where you step. Come now, Ponyville is this way. We'll be able to get a decent meal once we are there.”
***
The journey was to Ponyville was uneventful, although scenic. Celestia would stop to graze the grass and the flowers as they went along.
“The taste is rather bland before it's been cooked but it'll do for a snack.”
“The water in my domain is always fresh and clean for anyone to drink without fear.”
Barack rinsed his mouth.
“Are there any toothbrushes, towels, things like that here?”
“Yes, yes. Once we get to Ponyville we can have a hot bath and a hot meal.”
Gradually the trees gave way to dirt roads, farmlands, and bright houses.
“I feel like a rock in this town. Everything is so bright and colourful but me. All the little contours on my face, where the light reflects in a million different ways; it stands out so crudely on my face.” He whisperes to Celestia.
“You're thinking too hard.” She whispers back.
“I'm trying to keep my mind off my country. I hope I don't come back to nuclear rubble because I let a magic golem run the free world for a day.”
The sun arches to its zenith. The streets of Ponyville bustle with merchants, and ponies running errands. Barack and Celestia stay on the outskirts, nimbly stepping around the crowd until it thins out and they arrived at their destination. Carousal Boutique looks like a two story fairytale castle. It's dotted with a pink and purple diamond pattern, and has a little yellow cone with a red strip curling around it, and a red banner fluttering at the top. Celestia opens the door without breaking her illusion, Barack follows. The chime of a bell rings through the show floor, she closes the door behind her and locks it; deftly flipping the sign from open to close. Barack looks around. It is a modest show floor. A small stage shows off the latest summer dresses on pony mannequins. Clothes racks dot the floor with women's apparel. Hats, boots, blouses, pants and skirts. He hears the owner trotting out from the back. She is a white unicorn, well coifed purple mane and tail, and three diamonds on her flank for a cutie mark. Her long black eyelashes match her black eyeliner, and her blue eyeshadow match her blue eyes Only half the size of Celestia though, much like the rest of the ponies Barack had seen in town.
“Welcome to Carousel Boutique...” she starts and trails off when she sees no one there.
“Boo.” Celestia whispers in her ear. She jumps in terror. Her fright quickly turns to awe and she bows for her queen.
“Princess Celestia! What are you doing here?”
“Shh...keep your voice down my dear. No one knows we are here, and I task you to keep this secret.”
“Of course princess, you have my word that no one will know. But mind I ask why you have graced my humble shop today, and if it's no great gossip, why the secrecy?”
“It is for my friend here. When you see him you will know why.”
Celestia shines her horn and Rarity's eyes widen as Obama appears next to her in a dirty towel wrapped around his waist.
“He is a prince from a far away land. I have invited him to stay at Castle Canterlot. But on his journey I am afraid he has lost his clothes and has been forced to wear the rags you see about him.”
“Oh my a prince and a princess in my store! The wonders never cease, but come your highness we can't have you stroll about Canterlot like that can we? Let me fix something wonderful for you.”
“You have my appreciation. May I ask what your name is?”
“You certainly may, my name is Rarity.”
“And a Rarity you are. I have not seen a unicorn as dazzling as you since I met your beautiful princess.”
“Oh stop...really?”
“Rarity if you please,” Celestia cut in, “Barack and I could use a hot bath and something to eat. We are very famished.”
“Oh but of course your highness. I, Rarity, will prepare for you a meal fit for a queen.”
Celestia turns to Barack.
“Poor dear. Imagine if the King of England walked into your house and asked for lunch. That's what she's feeling right now.”
“She doesn't seem to mind.”
“Forgot to tell us the way to the bathroom. I don't blame her for being nervous. Why don't you go shower first, I'll go see what she is up to.”
They walk into the back of the store, and into Rarity's home. There was a kitchen where she was working feverishly on lunch, a work room and stairs that lead up to a bedroom and bathroom.
“I'll go see what she's up to, you go on up and see if you can find a shower.”
Barack climbs the steps, and ducks into the bathroom. Strange how ponies have doors twice as high as they are tall, and very tall ceilings as well. Barack takes off his towel and throws it in the hamper. A little remorseful for having stole the towel from the hotel. If some pain in the ass maid found out and sold the story to the press, he hates to think what his doppleganger would have to put up with. That is if he can put up with anything. Barack suddenly started to sweat. This was a bad idea coming here. The enormity of what he was doing hits him straight in the gut. This wasn't a one hour fling. He had left his country, the world even, in the hands of a mindless clay doll. He could feel the urge to empty his stomach on the floor and fights it down. He falls to his knees. He can feel his arms shaking, his vision becomes blurry.
“That witch”, he thinks. “What has that witch done to me. My entire life, I've thrown it away. I'll go down in history as a menace.” He could feel his eyes roll back. The world starts to go dark, and his arms feel like rubber as the strength in them fade away. He painfully falls to the ground and blacks out.
A Princess for a President
Barack feels his eyelids peel open. The dark shapes around him are blurry, and he reels his head back and forth trying to make sense of the world around him..
“Lie still.”
He can feel something soft under him as his head rolls back and forth in a daze. He tries to move his arms and legs but they feel bound to him by a soft and heavy cloth like a cocoon.. He tries to break free, to move freely, but the weakness in his body makes the struggles futile.
“Please hold still for a moment...Rarity please stop crying dear...don't move please just lie still for a moment...”
He can hear the far off sound of someone wailing. With all his might, he rolls his body over. The bonds begin to feel tighter. Again he rolls. Someone is telling him to stop. He could hear taps on the floor. He rolls again, and feels the soft ground give way under him and a sharp pain rushes into his arm as he comes crashing down on his side.
““I told you to lie still. Now look at what you've done.”
The shock of the fall brings his senses back to him and he can feel his strength returning as he lashes out with both arms and legs. He can feel himself overcoming the tight cloth cocoon, finally tearing it off and springing up alert with his fists clenched as his eyes adjust to the room. It is a colourful bedroom, adorned with wardrobes, mirrors, closets and drawers. The entire room is neatly ordered except for the bed he had messed, and the quilt which lay crumpled on the ground from his struggle. And by the door he saw Celestia, and he could feel the anger rising in his head and his fists aching to let loose. He strode around the bed slowly like a predator, sizing up his opponent, and readied himself to pounce on the witch, lock his fist around her horn and strangle her until she breaks the spell over him and sends him home.
“Barack..”
He does not respond. She can see the menace in his face as he walks forward.
“Rarity.” Celestia calls, the door opens and Barack hesitates for a moment. From behind the door peeks the small unicorn that had graciously accepted him into her home. A trick maybe? Another one of her golems? Another piece in the plot to ensnare him? He looks into Rarity's eyes. They are bloodshot from crying. Black streaks from her mascara stain her beautiful white face. Her lips tremble and her chest heaves heavily. She dashes into the room and throws herself at Barack's feet.
“Please,” she begs crying “please don't banish me to your sand tomb dungeons. I'll do whatever you want. I'm too young and beautiful to be locked away in a dusty pyramid.” She continued spouting apologies and pledges to redeem herself, interrupted with bursts of tearful wailing and the occasional hiccup.
“She's been like this for an hour now. Completely hysterical Could you perhaps convince her that you'll do none of those things and that this is not her fault?”
Barack fights the urge to pity the poor girl crying at his feet. He wants to continue being angry. To step right over this pathetic wretch at his feet and wrap his fingers around Celestia's throat. But the little pony, her pitiful weeps pierce his steeled anger, and hurt him in the core of his heart. He knows the feeling all too well. It is the cry of his countrymen that drove him to politics. The softness that presidents have in their heart, which shield from the onslaught of realpolitik when they take their post. The softness that carries them into their station and wins the hearts of their citizens.
There, on a visit to Alabama, Lincoln's heart is touched when he sees a black man trip in his chains. There, in his office, Roosevelt's heart burns when the message arrives; Pearl Harbour bombed. There, in front of the rubble in New York, Bush's heart is one with the sadness and fury of an assembled crowd. Here, in places unknown, Obama kneels and wraps his hands around a weeping unicorn. He whispers comforts into her ear. He feels her soft coat against his bare chest; its warmth seeping into him. She looks up into his eyes, sniffling, her tears subsiding. Her lips form a quivering smile. Barack kisses her on the forehead, and hugs her again, rubbing her side gently, he can feel her heart thumping quickly as he holds her close.
“I'm glad you two have made up but I am still wholly famished.” Celestia said smiling.
“Oh goodness I forgot all about lunch!” Rarity moaned and she started trembling again.
“Now Rarity it's no great deal. Come now, wash your face and go outside for a walk. That will freshen up your mood. Here, take this gold and see if you can bring us something to eat. Goodness we still haven't showered and it's almost sundown. Come now Rarity, you're not in any trouble my little pony, please stop worrying. Here let me wipe your face...now for a little makeup...and now you're the prettiest pony in Ponyville once again. Here let me pick a hat for you.”
Barack leans against the door and watches the two girls go about. Celestia and Rarity smile and laugh as they pick outfits and fix Rarity's hair. Celestia looks over at him. That look in her eyes. She knows that feeling. The one that makes men into presidents; ponies into princesses.
“I'll be back as quickly as possibly.”
“Take your time dear, just try not to attract any attention. Remember we're visiting secretly. Not a word to anyone about us.”
“Of course not princess, you can trust me entirely. Now if I may take my leave, princess, prince.”
Rarity bows before the two of them and trots away smiling with a lovely green bonnet on her head and a matching scarf around her neck. Celestia walks over to Barack. They both look at each other sheepishly.
“I read your mind while you were asleep.” Celestia said.
Barack didn't say anything.
“If you want, I can take you back. Or let you look back into your own world.”
“Did you put a spell on me?”
“Never. Not since the day we met, and even that was only for a moment. For our own protection.”
“Why did I pass out the way I did.”
“It might have been the magic in the...syrup I gave you.”
“It didn't turn back in my stomach did it?”
“No, at least what you threw up in Rarity's bathroom did not. Your stomach is not like ours. It can withstand a magical brew, but I think that moment when your will broke...it didn't matter what was in your stomach, something had to come out. Something ugly.”
Barack winces.
“Don't worry, I mopped it up.”
“Still reading my mind?”
“I don't need to read your mind to know that you, we both, regret putting our humble host through such trouble.”
“True enough.”
“Do you still want to go back?”
“No, not unless something is wrong. Is it? I know you've peeked into my world at least once since I passed out.”
“No problems from what I saw. Your advisers and handlers seem overly happy having you be so submissive to their instructions. They'll be rather heartbroken when you return.”
“Let them. Listen I still need to take a shower.”
“As do I. Between Rarity, you, and the mess you left in the bathroom I haven't had a chance to bathe either.”
Barack caught the scent of grass, sweat and soil from himself and Celestia.
“Together then?”
“Together.”
They walk to the bathroom. Barack holds the door open for her, and as she passes through he reaches out and strokes her butt. She wiggles it a little for his pleasure and motions him to follow her inside. The tub is large enough for two ponies to sit comfortably, but it would be a tight fit for the two of them. Celestia turns on the tap. She turns to Barack and kisses him on the lips. They stand kissing each other lovingly until the tub fills up. He runs his hands over her mouth and into her mane; stroking the crown of her head.
“I remember, when we first met,” he said tracing the creases in her hair. “You were wearing a crown and large gold necklace.”
“I keep them at home when I travel alone. They get in the way when I work up a sweat.”
“You working up a sweat now?”
“Maybe. I might need help wiping it off if I do.”
Barack looks away as Celestia uses her magic to turn around on the spot again. He lifts himself up, and onto the edge of the tub. He can feel soap suds crawling around his body as Celestia uses her magic to clean him.
“Can you feel through your magic when you touch me with it?”
“Every inch.”
Her magic works its way down his body from shoulders to feet while simultaneously massaging his scalp with shampoo. She rinses his hair, and cleans around his privates, using her magic to slip under his foreskin and wipe it clean. She feels his penis jerk as it slowly inflates at her touch..
“Getting a little hot?”
“Are you?”
“Yes, but I'm a little famished.”
“I wouldn't want to wear myself out on my first day either.”
They both stood up and rinse once more with the shower head. Celestia begins to drain the tub and Barack steps out carefully. The floor is a little wet and he reminds himself to clean it later. No need to be a greater burden on their host. He picks up some bath towels, large enough for a pony but little larger than a hand towel for a grown man. He wipes himself down and looks over at Celestia. Several towels gently rub against her as she blow drys her wet mane. Like magic her straight wet hair blooms into her usual billowing mane. Barack mops up the floor and they leave the bathroom smelling like roses.
They smell the delicious scent of soup and bread coming from the kitchen. When they enter Rarity looks up and immediately blushes and turns away.
“I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't had time to tailor an ensemble for you Prince Barack.” she stutters in embarrassment. Barack realizes he is standing stark naked and moves his hand to shield his privates.
“It's quite understandable in the circumstances Rarity...”
“Oh but a Prince like you can't be seen walking around like that. Come with me into my studio I'll have something made for you in an instant.”
Barack and Celestia follow Rarity into her work space. She flicks her magic horn deftly levitating her tape measures, pencils and notepads from around the room and begins working with the practised ease of a professional.
“I had come up with the perfect outfit as I...was walking...to the restaurant...Monsieur Prince. Sorry it's difficult to...work...and talk at the same time.” She said slowly, with a look of intense concentration. But Celestia had seen the blush on her face as she measured Barack's naked legs. His penis was still a little stiff from his bath escapade. As Rarity's face moved closer to examine the tape, her warm exhalation brushed across his penis making it twitch. Rarity pretended to ignore it, fixedly staring down the tape measure for far too long, bravely to hide her embarrassment. But Celestia had been walking around the room looking at the various fashion products. From behind he could see the distinct redness of Rarity's vagina through her fur becoming more pronounced as her arousal grows. Her tapes snap shut and fall to the ground as she finishes measuring.
“Un momente si vous plais” she said and began expertly pulling cloth and tools from around the room. Barack and Celestia wait patiently Rarity works fixedly on her task. After five minutes she turns around and a black silken vest with a golden interior glides over to Barack and slips itself on his body. Barack is amazed that the fabric is so light and soft and yet still manages to provide a degree of warmth. Even more so, the cartoonish cloth instantly materializes in fabric that looks from his world as it slips itself onto his body.
“Dimensional resonance.” He hears Celestia mutter, although she did not muse further. Rarity accepted the transformation without a hint of surprise and continued.
“I cannot lie sir, the cloth for this vest was made from scraps from an order by a Canterlot noble. But it fits beautifully don't you agree? Waste not want not as I always say.”
“It's beautiful Rarity, thank you.”
“And for your...lower parts, try this on for size.”
A pair of Arabic looking white pants, a sirwal, float over to him. He puts them on and like the vest they reconstitute themselves into recognizable material from his world.
“No shoes?”
“I'm afraid I have none that could be made in such a short time.”
“We'll have you fitted when we arrive in Canterlot. The walk through the forest does not seem to have been too taxing on your feet.”
Barack agreed though he began to feel some aches in his sole as he thought more about it.
“I could use a belt.”
“Oh a belt how could I have forgotten!” Rarity says ashamedly and franticly started searching her shop.
“Here this rope will do for now.” Celestia said, and she tied a simple brown rope around his waist with her magic.
“You look dashing.” Celestia said smiling. “Why not look at yourself in the mirror.”
Barack could not help but think he looked like a cross between a sultan and a street begger. A regular prince of thieves from Arabian Nights. Although the makeshift belt was a little “ghetto” so to speak, the silken vest and its gold lining made him look nothing less then a prince as it hangs against his rugged and toned abdomen.
“Perhaps a shirt to fit under the vest would have been more appropriate or no?” He askd.
Rarity blushes again and averts her eyes.
“Oh but I thought you would look more handsome and bold with your chest bared like a stallion.” She said embarrassedly.
“And so it does. Chin up Rarity you have done a fine job and an excellent service to the royal house of Canterlot.”
Rarity beams and bows before her Princess in gratitude.
“Now if there are to be no more interruptions” Celestia continued, “I would like to have at least something for my supper. I have missed both breakfast, lunch, brunch, tea and everything in between. I have not had a morsel to eat since yesterday night and as your Princess I now order both of you into the kitchen and to pamper me with food.” she said with a grin.
They walk to the kitchen, sit down around the breakfast table and open the bags of food Rarity had brought. Hot soup; still warm despite the wait. In our world it would be called French onion soup garnished with cheese. The bread had become a little hard but they enjoyed softening it by dipping it in their soup. Along with the bread there was steamed rice seasoned with spices. It was delicious by itself or with the side of vegetables that come with it. Rarity had brought plenty of food, unsure of how much her large guests would eat, and she found they could eat plenty having had nothing to eat all day. Even more she had brought several fruit out from the cupboards and placed water to boil for tea afterwards.
They ate silently enjoying the food and appreciating the company and pleasure of not eating alone. As they began to sip their tea and nibble on apples and the like, the princess asked Rarity a question.
“Rarity, did you by chance run into anyone as you returned with the food.”
“No, no one at all.”
“Rarity, it is treason to lie to your princess.”
“Now that you mention it Princess,” Rarity spoke, a little embarassed to have her lie so easily detected. “I did manage to run into Pinkie Pie -you remember Pinkie Pie yes? The hypochondriac with the frazzled pink mane?- Well she had stopped me asking what all the food was.”
“And your reply?”
“Well I had to lie Princess. Honest to goodness I know no one belives a liar and its awfully unladylike to have lies sprout so casually to your lips, and I apologize for lying earlier, but I told her the food was for myself, and that in Cos-Moo-Politan it had said that plump was in for the winter and a little extra weight would look ravishing on mares in Autumn clothing.”
“Do you think she believed you?”
“She certainly dropped the questions and bounced along.”
Celestia nods contemplatively.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all, you acted in the same grace and sensibility that you have shown me time and time again. However I do not think you have shaken your peruser quite so easily. Rarity, Barack and I must secretly travel to Twilight's residence tonight and spend the night there. On the morning we will travel to Canterlot. For your hospitality today Rarity, I cordially invite you to come with us on our trip.”
Rarity shrieks with delight.
"Me in Canterlot?! With the as a special guest of the princess?! Why...why..."
“I'm glad you are excited my dear but I would ask you to refrain from such outbursts again, or atleast until we are safe in Canterlot. I don't think our cover here in Ponyville will be safe for long. Leave the plates in the sink, we have to leave immediatly."
A Princess for a President
It was only a month ago Barack had been playing boardgames with his girls.
“Dad can I have a mint?”
“I don't think we have any in the house. I'll have someone get a pack for you tomorrow.”
“No it's okay. Your breath smells minty so I thought you had some on you.”
Freud once said a woman's view toward men is shaped by her relationship with her father. There are a lot of ways to disappoint your daughter, but to be caught in an affair with another woman? Why? Because your wife isn't pretty enough. Because she isn't young enough. Her breasts feel limp in your hands. Her vagina feels awkward after giving birth to your children. She doesn't want to love like the way you used to, before the children came. Children don't talk to their parents about the things they know. When their father is caught pants down, bent over a woman half his age, they know why, or they think they do, and they carry it inside themselves for the rest of their lives. And your nightmare as a father? Your daughter pants down, a man twice her age bent over her. Her name plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the world. That's not even half the humiliation that Barack would face if they knew why his breath was minty.
Kneeling on the floor, one hand stroking his dick, the other holding up Celestia's tail as he buries his face in her sweet, sticky, pussy. Her eyes closed, head against the floor she breathes heavily, her stomach heaving from the pleasure. The sweet sensation of Barack's tongue flows from her vagina, to her stomach, up her chest, through her neck, out her mouth in little pants, and into her mind. His tongue does little swirls around her clit, telling her to leak a little more love juice for him. She sucks her stomach in and arches her back. She can feel her crotch lose control and the flush of her sweet fluid spraying out. She falls on her side, legs stretched on the bathroom mat. Her back tingles, as Barack walks over her. Through half closed eyes she can see him squat in front of her. He grabs her chin not too gently, lifts her head and jerks his long cock in front of her. He gasps hard, and spurts of cum jet from his penis in drenching Celestia's face. She licks at her muzzle greedily and tongues the edges of his penis and the droplets of cum trickling out.
He traces his fingers over her flank as she flicks her tongue against his penis head. First his strokes run with her soft warm fur, downward past her privates. Curling his fingers, he runs them against the grain, slowly making his way to the base of her tail, and makes little circles around it. His index slowly trails its way down to her little asshole, presses against its tightness. He hears her thigh shift giddily, and he pushes harder, slowly twisting his finger into her buttocks. He can hear her give a sharp “ah” as his finger twists into her hole. He can feel her sphincter pulsating around his finger as he twists it back and forth. Barack holds his finger still as Celestia turns over on to her back. The feeling of her asshole twisting around his index renews his rock hard erection. Her hooves in the air as Barack gives her tight spot a few more twists with his finger; she slowly cascades her legs, spreading them open symmetrically. She thrusts her hips back and forth against the ground, her head turned, her eyes closed, her body begging for sex. Barack pulls his finger out, he holds his penis with one hand, as he holds himself over her with the other. Slowly he tickles her sphincter with the head of the shaft, then drags it over to her pussy. He pushes it in, her hips still gliding back and forth, he joins the rhythm. Slowly he lowers himself closer, moving his hips in her pussy, gently kissing her neck. Her juices lube his penis; they move their hips quicker. Celestia moans softly. Barack can feel her thighs quivering, the heat from her love hole marinating his sweaty penis in her tight pussy. He can feel himself reaching his limit, he raises himself above her, and thrusts himself to climax. With every spurt, he thrusts deep into her. Celestia breathes deeply, savouring the feeling of the warm cum swimming below her belly. She wraps all four hooves, around him, and brings him closer in embrace. They lie on the bathroom rug, sweating, listening to each other's gentle breathing. Barack's penis slowly softens, unplugging her puss, and letting trickles of warm semen drip down into her asshole and onto her tail.
Her eyes half-closed, Celestia wonders how her life could have been, had she been born a human in this world. Newly-wed, still at the height of their passions, here his cum germinates into their daughter. Every night until their child is born; relentless lovemaking until the break of dawn. No where would be safe from their unbridled passions. Their sexual imagination, exploding creatively in every room of their house. Their lovemaking intensifies as the years go on, and when their bones creak from a life of requited love, they hold hands in their old age, fingers playing like their bodies did when they were younger, and gently drifting off pleasantly with no regrets of love lost.
Lost in her daydream, she doesn't notice her barrier had weakened. A knock on the bathroom door jolts both of them.
“Daddy are you in there? You promised you would play Monopoly us while mommy was out.”
“Just a moment dear I'll be out in a moment.”
Celestia was gone. All that was left was a small wet stain on the rug, and the scent of peppermint on his breath.
Celestia had him in her world for herself. That day a month ago, she could have cast all the fertility charms known in the kingdom. Turned his fresh semen into a child, and torn her lover in two. It crossed her mind more than once but she banished the thought.. Somewhere on that bathroom rug she felt something for the first time in her ageless life. She wondered if Barack had felt it too, but she knew he had years ago with Michelle. If she had to choose between tearing her lover's heart and soul between his family and herself, she was not sure if she could do it. Why bring him here? So far away, from home, and so close to her. Where she can turn his every thoughts to her, and if need be keep him here with the temptation of pleasures beyond any in his world.
Celestia sighed heavily, clearing her mind and trotting onwards. The invisibility charm cloaking three now. The last gleaming rays of dusk grasp fruitlessly at the ground as the sun fades away, and the dark comes to blanket Ponyville. She feels a hand on her back, slowly running back and forth. Barack had heard her sigh, and she blushed. She was being selfish. All this time wondering about how she could have him for herself, not realizing how much he had sacrificed to be with her. To come all this way, to betray family, friends, and country. He cared for her in a way she could not understand, and she loved him for it. She turned her head back and nuzzled his mouth. Barack pulled away and jerked his head toward their companions.
Little Rarity had a smirk on her face, and was trying, very poorly, to hide her curious glances at the couple. She knew she was caught and blushed.
“So,” she spoke embarassedly, “are you two a couple of sorts?”
Barack looked at Celestia as she spoke.
“It's getting a late for questions like that, but it can be said that we are close companions.”
Rarity giggled, and trotted along head held high, proud to be in the entourage of two royals. She threw furtive glances at Barack and Celestia from time to time, as they walked together, his arm around her shoulders and their heads touching. There was no rush, Ponyville was at home and in bed.
They had walked for a long time, and though they wished it would last longer, soon the trio had arrived in front of a mighty tree at the edge of the town. It towered over every building, and plant, and jutting from its sides were windows, and a grand door stood at its base.
“Here we will spend the night.” said Celestia. “Tomorrow we go to Cantorlot and the royal court.” She knocked once with the knocker. A young voice from inside answered.
“Library's closed! Come back tomorrow.”
Celestia's horn started to glow, and the door burst open as if hit by a gale. Books and parchment were gusted into the air and a purple pony, the size of Rarity, came rushing out to see the commotion, and with her a small purple dragon. They take one look at the princess and quickly bow before her.
“Princess...” Twilight begins, but Celestia hushes her kindly.
“Twilight Sparkle, my dearest student, you could not have known I were coming.”
“But princess what brings you to Ponyville at this hour? And who's that tall monkey with you? And why is Rarity here?”
“Twilight I am shocked!” Rarity replied. “You speak as if I were the last person you would ever expect to see with a royal princess. And I thought we were friends!”
“I'm sorry Rarity, but you have to admit that's it a little weird that the Princess, and giant ape and one of my closest friends, suddenly blow the door to my house open, scrambling hours of dedicated cleaning and organization onto my living room in the middle of the night!.”
“Twilight how could you?! Closest friend? I thought we were more than that. Bon amis, ami par excellence, but simply closest? Why I have half a mind to take Princess Celestia and Prince Barack, oh you do know he's a prince don't you? Nevermind. I have half a mind to take both of these honoured guests back to my cottage and have them grace me and my home with their generous presence.”
“Girls, girls,” Princess Celestia cut in. “There's no need to squabble over such petty things. Come Twilight let me help you clean the mess I made.” With a flick of her horn, the papers and books sprawled around the room rearranged themselves neatly in their proper positions.
“Wow Princess! You've got to teach me that trick, that'll save me loads of time every week!” Twilight said with delight.
“Tut, tut, patience my stalwart student, soon you may even learn enough to surpass me in the magical arts. Come now, we are all very tired and have a long journey to Canterlot waiting for us tomorrow.”
“Canterlot?” Twilight asked.
“Yes Canterlot my dear Twilight, and you'll be coming with us.”
“Can I come too?” The little dragon asked.
“I'm afraid not Spike, someone will have to stay and guard the library from book thieves. Can I trust to you to be a an honorary Canterlot guard while we stay at the castle?”
“You can count on me princess!” Spike says with an enthusiastic salute.
“Now we really should be getting to bed Twilight, the day has been incredibly long and introductions will have to wa-what was that noise?”
Someone was knocking hard on the door.
“Twilight! I know you're having a party in the there!”
Celestia winced. “Spike, quickly get me a pen and a piece of paper. Twilight, Rarity, make sure all the windows and door are locked. Barack my dear, please stay away from the windows, we can't afford for you to be seen or the entire town will be flooded with parties, and parades, and who knows what other sort of nonsense that fills the head of that silly pink pony.”
Twilight and Rarity, rushed through the tree-house, latching windows and shutting balcony doors, with the flick of their magic horns. Too often in the nick of time, the latch would shut and immediately at the window there would be a flash of pink.
“Send this immediately to the castle Spike.” Celestia said, handing him a parchment with a written note. He saluted and set the paper on fire with a dazzling green flame.
“Everything secure and shut Princess!” Twilight and Rarity trotted back to the common room a little winded. “Not even an ant could crawl its way in once the library is in lock down mode. Say does anyone hear that noise?”
The distinctive noise of a motor revving cut through the stillness of the night, and soon after the sound of metal on wood could be heard.
“That lunatic has found herself a chainsaw.” Celestia groaned. The metal teeth of the chainsaw were carving a circle for Ponyville's resident party animal to make her dramatic entrance. But as the chainsaw reached its apex, the night suddenly seemed to grow pitch dark as the stars were blotted with thick clouds. Only a single piercing light shimmered from the sky and it was from the moon, glowing fiercely, and suddenly the wind picked up, gusting as if on the eve of a terrible storm. And from outside they heard the shrills of the would-be intruder.
“Bats! The bees of the night! Help me!” Her cries grew distant very quickly, and Celestia motioned everyone to step outside. There they were met with a majestic sight.
A legion of black winged stallions hovered silently in the air, their reins lassoed to a luxurious looking barge. And at the helm of the barge stood Luna, the pale moonlight glinting off her sinister black armour, coating it with a silver sheen.
“Oh Luna, you didn't have to bring the entire Canterlot army to escort us. It was only Pinkie Pie.”
“My sister, if word were to reach anyone but the most trusted of Canterlot Knights, of this shameless frolicking, then I'm afraid the royal house would crumble under the weight of the shame you will have brought upon it.”
Celestia giggled and asked everyone to climb into the spacious rooms of the barge.
“Come now, Rarity and Twilight, you may both share a room, and Barack and I will share the King's suite.”
“Twilight Sparkle, you may have the Royal Canterlot's Deluxe Princess room. I will not be tarrying with you on this journey for I have more pressing issue to address. You will fly swiftly in the cover of my night's darkness and I will greet you in the morning. Until then, fairwell and safe travels.”
Luna flew off into the night sky followed by a cadre of knights. The barge was silently lifted into the air, pulled by the remaining knights, and without so much of jerk, it flew off gently in the opposite direction toward Canterlot. Rarity and Twilight said their goodnights and went off to their rooms. Barack and Celestia entered the King's suite and immediately fell into bed side by side. Barack was all too happy to drift away into sleep without a word. The events of the last few minutes, threatened to short circuit his already stupefied brain. Celestia lay beside him, thinking how wonderful it is to simply sleep together. No sex, nothing overly romantic, just the two of them sharing a space reserved for no one else. A duty to be together, and to preserve that bond by sharing this bed. She nuzzled closer to him, and unconsciously he drew his arm around her neck, his hand a pillow for her head. Celestia hoped for every night hereafter to be as perfect as this one.
A Princess for a President
“Pardon me gentlemen” says Barack, “I need to make a visit to the little boys room. That French stuff never sits well with me you know." He wanted dearly to hear the sound of friends chuckling, and the rustling of papers as they return to work. Not the ha-ha-ha's of polite toadies, and then the silence as they watch him briskly walk away. He keeps his eyes on the floor ahead of him; trying hard not to make eye-contact with the surveillance cameras lining the hallways of the plane.
Barack slips into his private suite, -not truly private of course, he spotted the hidden cameras in the light fixtures the first time he laid down on his bed- and walks into the presidential washroom, the one place he mused, a president can hang himself. With a sigh he unbuckles his belt and lets his pants drop to the floor, pulls down his underpants, sits on the toilet, and stares at the erection which he had been struggling with since he left Paris. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, losing himself in memory.
As he boarded his plane, he turned back to the crowd of young men and women for a final wave , and in the audience he saw a young Parisian women, straddling a shoulder with a sign over her head, mouthing the words written on it with pink lips “Je t'aime Monsieur President”. And he could tell she knew, he was staring straight at her, his eyes met her bright hazel, and her face was pure joy as she waved her sign wildly, her raven hair dripping onto her supple breasts, covered with a tight rainbow striped shirt, as she bounced on her friend's shoulder in her tight blue jeans, her crotch rubbing against the back of his head. Barack could feel his pants getting tighter, and he felt the light tap of the captain bringing him back to reality.
Barack looked down at his erection, his hand had been nursing it as he reminisced. Slowly he stroked in relief, closing his eyes to glimpse the Parisian girl again, and looking back down, imagining her at his feet, on her knees, looking up at him with pleading eyes and mouthing the words “Je t'aime Monsieur President”. He closed his eyes again and tilted his head up, and he felt a warm breath in his ear “let me help you with that dear” and he jolted up in his seat, and his back stiffened as he felt someone sucking at his earlobe and he whispered, “Celestia.”
***
When you get it into your head that one day you want to grow up and be president, every little thing you do is about walking that straight line to the oval office. The school you go to; will you make the right connections? The job you get; will it bankroll a campaign? The women you love, will they make a wife for a president? There was a time, Barack could come home from work, kiss Michelle, squeeze her butt tightly with both hands, carry her off to bed, strip her down as she does the same to him, kissing and necking on the bed as he softly rubs his member on her crotch. She gasps, smiling, tightens her legs around him and locks her lips on his mouth, as he pumps with all his love into her sex. He rolls over onto his back, grateful to his lover for getting on top, and taking over as he catches his breath. They stay the night, rolling in the covers, dinner getting cold, trading places and locking tightly into each other. Loving and grinding lips, pelvis, legs and tongue through the night.
But that was an age ago, now there's a chef, dinner never gets cold. Days are scheduled months in advance, no more staying up at night. And Michelle; it's a quarter past nine at the white house, and they were in bed, backs turned to each other. There was a time Michelle would have made his breakfast cold for going to sleep so early. Now his days start at six in the morning, and ends who knows when. Michelle, she's not as young as she used to be, getting tired earlier and earlier. Still pretty, in her dresses, but when they're undressing, the bulges come out. Stretch marks on her ebony skin, wrinkles where once he would run his fingers on smooth skin. Her breasts and gut hung, from two pregnancies, and her nipples, were like black knots on her chest.
He had not been as tender as he should have, and he lies in bed, wondering if he should roll over and face her, put his arm around her, maybe fondle her a little, kiss her neck, get her excited the way he used to. The weight of both of their work, had made a wedge between them. She had been a wonderful mother, a dutiful wife, a tender lover, and now, he lives with the guilt that he can't turn over and look her in the eyes before going to sleep. Thinking about days gone by, his hand slowly finds its way to his crotch, and he gently pulls out his penis, half erect.
The president's bed is made, so that the first lady tossing at night doesn't wake him up; it works both ways. Barack starts to slowly thrust his member on the bed, letting his penis rub alongside the ridges on the bedsheet. He quickens the pace, thinking of a time, when he would have Michelle's ample breasts cupped in both hands, her fingers in his mouth, and his manhood deep in her love spot. Barack, sucks on his pillow, his fingers trying to find a firm grasp on the bedsheets, as he dreams about the woman he loved, as she sleeps peacefully unaware next to him. One hand under his pillow, grasping tightly, his other hand traces the bed like it would on her body, the bedsheet a poor substitute for her skin, till he feels a soft tuft of warm silk, his fingers pass through smoothly, and it drips off his hand. The feel of the pre-cum on the tip of his penis is met with warm spit, and hot breath. “Poor baby” says a soft voice. “Let me help you with that”.
“Celestia” Barack whispers back, and buries his face deeper into his pillow.
***
Summer at the White House, it is hot and muggy. Barack sits on a bench in the garden on his day off. The girls are out getting their hair done. The summer heat, his plain white shirt, brown trousers and straw hit, a cold beer in one hand, no kids, wife or anyone else; it reminds him of his youth in the Pacific. Tanned girls in bikinis walking by, smiling as they pass. At night they sneak out, the beach littered with their underwear, and their soft skin against his, grinding hard in the summer surf. Bodies baking in the sun all day, keeping them warm at night.
Barack was dozing, his head falling back, then jerking forward as he tried to stay awake. Thinking of the old days made him want to lie down naked on the warm ground, let the dirt's heat remind him of those long summer nights. Maybe masturbate in the sun, hidden in the bushes of the White House garden without a care in the world. Barack had been watching the secret service agent out the corner of his for a while now. They were everywhere he was. And if they weren't, they had ways of knowing, hearing, and seeing what he was up to. It was a little strange, the first night, waking up the morning after Michelle had dutifully gifted him with sex, and meeting with the head of White House security. That grin on that motherfucker's face, and the look in his eye told Barack everything he didn't want to know. The sex was bad, and this asshole knew it. From now on he would know everything about him. Strutting about the White House, no ring on his wedding finger, bankrolling teenage girls on taxpayer money to suck his dick. This motherfucker isn't the president, he doesn't need a wife and kids to get his job. Barack just smiled and shook his hand; a little tempted to punch him in the balls but the feeling would have to pass. Being president meant putting up with a lot of people, even if those people might be watching your wife undress and take a shower with little cameras.
Barack's head jerked forward, the agent was gone. He's grateful for them keeping a respectful distance most of the time. Really, some of them were nice people, but to go missing altogether, that was out of character. For the first time since he took the presidency, Barack felt completely alone. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. There's something about being the most important person in the world, and sitting alone outside that makes one uneasy.
He got up, beer in hand, and walked over to where the agent was standing. Just to make sure everything was alright. Maybe invite him for a drink. Barack found him curled up on the ground, hands under his head, sleeping peacefully. He gently shook him by the shoulder, no luck, he was sleeping deep, having a good time too judging by the smile on his face.
The heat was becoming unbearable, Barack took another sip of his beer. His vision was getting a little blurry, how many drinks did he have? He couldn't remember. someone had dropped his body guard, and he was next. Why wait though? If they're this close to the president, he'd been in a van right now, tied up and gagged, or worse, on the ground waiting for the gardener to find him with a bullet in his head.
It felt good, a cool breeze was blowing through the garden, there was no one to watch over him, and he had nothing to do for the next hour or so. This would be his only chance to do something really wild in a long time. Strolling over to a row of tall sunflowers, he glances left and right and quickly pulls down his pants, then his underwear. He unbuttons his shirt, spreading it open and letting the breeze cool his bare chest. He strips off his shirt and places it on the ground. Rubbing his firm chest with one hand, and caressing his rippling abs with the other. He finishes his beer naked and lies down hidden amidst the sunflowers, enjoying the warmth of the sun baked grass underneath. One hand under his head, he slowly begins stroking his penis. Thinking of his time in Hawaii, and the fat bottom girls with the tan skin, making love on the beach. His strokes get longer, he takes the cold beer bottle and places it sideways under his balls, letting the cool condensation seep into his sack.
It might have been the beer, the heat, or something bizarre in the wind that makes grown men sleep like children in the middle of the day, and presidents masturbate in the sunflower rows, but in front of him he could see a, a white unicorn with a long shimmering mane coloured blue, green and pink. It was smaller than a horse, no taller than the average woman. On top of its head, above its horn, was a golden crown, and a golden necklace hugged its neck. Its wings were unlike any bird in the world; large round feathers in a single row. It was a strange looking beast, with a short snout, more like a large chipmunk than a horse, and very large eyes, with pink irises, and large black pupils; not on the sides of its face like a normal horse, but facing forward like a man's. It blinked once, -its long lashes fluttering; dark eyelids with black mascara- and solemnly without breaking eye contact, it bent its neck down and licked his penis. First at the tip, and then it traced its tongue down the bottom of his shaft to his balls, then back up to the tip, and then the unicorn took his throbbing penis into its mouth and began to slowly fellate Barack with its eyes closed. Still in his stupor, Barack let the unicorn to pleasure him with its mouth. His eyes rolled up into the sky, feeling the gentle sensation of the beast's soft lips rubbing against the skin of his cock, its saliva coating his shaft. The unicorn, quickened its pace, its bobbing head gently jerked his penis up and down, his balls were gently grinding against the cool beer bottle underneath them. He looked the unicorn in its eyes, and as he climaxed, the beast swallowed his cock to the base, and calmly drank his pent up semen as it pumped straight into its throat. Removing Barack's, cock from its mouth, a thin string of cum and spit hanging inbetween. The unicorn walked over to his face, nuzzled his mouth with her nose, and spoke softly.
“I know what it's like to be so powerful, and so alone, your friends and families become distant as they're caught up in political schemes. I know what it's liked to be watched day and night by your subjects, with vultures in the rafters waiting to pounce on you for every mistake you make. I know what it's like to go years without tender love, feeling the touch of naked skin against another's. Tell me you want what I want.”
“I want it.”
“I'm a princess in my own land, I've lived for thousands of years, and for the most of these years I've been a princess, and precious few of those years, I've lived as a woman. Are you going to make me a woman with that horse cock, or are you going to leave me like a virgin princess, cold in her privates till she marries.
“I'll make you a woman princess.”
“Call me Celestia.”
“Celestia...”
She kissed him on the lips, as he dozed off naked in the summer heat and fell asleep.
When the secret service found him he was fully clothed and asleep among the sunflowers. His trip to the hospital plastered headlines around the world “Obama suffers sun stroke”. They discharged him with minor heat exhaustion, he had the rest of the week off. When he got home, he went straight to the bathroom, pulled out a card he had felt in his pocket, and read “Give this a lick, and rub it on your dick. I'll be there soon anyway, ciao -Celestia.”
***
It wasn't the second or even the tenth time they had met. The bathroom was their special place. No one to interrupt, not even the spy cameras. Celestia with her magic could place the agents at their post into a daze, or replace the video feed with one from the previous day.
“I know you can stop time,” said Barack, “why do we need to always meet in these awkward situations. One night in my bed is all I'm asking.”
Celestia looked up at him, she had been nursing his dick with her mouth as he sat on the toilet.
“How droll.” She replied her horn was shining and her magic stimulated his penis like two hands jerking him off.
“I could bring any one of my royal guards, or even one of the many plebeians inhabiting your kingdom into my chambers, cast an aphrodisiac curse and let him have his way with me, wiping his memory when he was done, and letting him go having neither pleasured or been pleasured, and leaving a lonely Queen to tend her aching lust with a soulless object. I want someone to walk in, to see us. It makes me horny, sleeping with most powerful man in the world. Having him inside me, after he gives the order to send a hundred men to their death, and feeling his mouth on my sex just before he goes to speak to the world.”
As she said this, her magic was working more furiously. Barack's penis was coated with his pre-cum as the invisible hands stroked relentlessly. Celestia placed her front hooves on his shoulders and stood over him, slowly lowering herself onto his penis as her magic continued to work. But as he felt the heat of her taint on the tip of his cock, and the wet walls of her privates began to close around his penis head, he shot his seed.
“Naughty boy,” Celestia giggled. “You couldn't wait for me?”
“I've been working on it since I left Paris.”
She could feel his penis getting softer inside her, the hot cum coating the inside of her vagina, mixing with her own wetness and dripping out onto her thighs. The invisible hands were moving slower now; they fit like a tight condom, gently messaging the inside of her genitals. Slowly she started rocking her hips
“If you want,” she whispered in his ear, “maybe we could do something with that girl.”
“Out of the question.”
“I know you want it, you know she wants it, she won't even remember. A shame for those breasts to be locked away like that. Do I feel you getting a little hard now?
Barack gave a strong thrust, and Celestia bit down on his collar.
“I'm not dick deep in a French girl right now”, he said, and he fucked her hard a second time; her muffled moan rang in his ears, and he could feel her spit seeping through his shirt.
“What I want” Barack said, pulling out gently, “is this pussy right here”, and his dick pounded her again.
“Baby,” he said gently, looking down at her. Wide-eyed and nuzzled against his shirt she looked back.
“I'm getting old. All my life I wanted to be president, and now that I am, my life can't catch up. Everything I do is national security. From the food I eat, to my jogs in the morning, to the conversations with Michelle. You think the Secret Service is just going to let my wife tell me what she thinks of me, or let me tell my wife what I think of her? Psychologists working round the clock to make sure our marriage doesn't fall apart. Marketing experts making sure I don't lose image with any of my electorates. Dozens of advisers swarming me day and night. Making sure I say the right things, do the right things, and cleaning up when something goes wrong. I'm not stupid but, I'm dick deep in a magic horse right now. Even the best of us want to feel weak for a moment, do something they know is wrong. If no one finds out, and no one gets hurt, what's the harm in that? “
“Do you still love Michelle?”
“Some days, I try to think of the time we spent before the kids came. A guy can only love so much, and when you have to share your love between your wife, your kids, your friends and your work, there's a little less love to pass around. I think it was around the time Sasha was born. Each kid we had was like a little barrier between the two of us. And then my workload grew, and I got elected as President. That feeling when the polls came in, it was like having another child. Another little wall that needs a whole lot of love.”
“You didn't answer my question, do you still love your wife?”
“'Till death do us part.”
“Then why are you thinking about French girls in tight pants sucking you off in a bathroom?”
It was getting hard to think, Barack's stiff dick was still being teased by Celestia's magic, and her questions weren't getting easier.
“I love my wife, I love my kids, I love my job. I have to, millions depend on my family not falling apart, the United States depends on me not falling apart and quitting my job. It's tough. My dream of living in the white house isn't as picturesque as I wanted, but Michelle has the good sense a president's wife needs. My kids are beautiful, I'm the most powerful man in the world, I have everything going for me.”
“And yet here you are, having an affair in the bathroom of your private jet.” There was sadness in her voice. Her magic had stopped, and Barack's penis slipped out, soft as can be. The two sat on the toilet seat for a moment. Celestia with her hooves around his neck, head resting on his chest, staring off to the side. Barack with his arms hugging Celestia, stroked her soft mane.
“I don't have a family to love,” Celestia said quietly. “I have one sister, we barely talk. Things have been rough between us for hundreds of years. We try to get along, but our duties make it hard. She works when I'm asleep, and I work when she's in bed. What little time we have in between is spent on our own pursuits. Our parents passed away a very long time ago. I never married. I spent my youth studying books of all kinds, even books a princess shouldn't read. I learned that as a princess, there was some happiness I couldn't share with my subjects, in their private lives, away from the paparazzi, the lobbyists, the angry citizens. There's no return to the lives of our past.”
“Anything particular?”
“Long nights with, Ghenghis Khan, Napoleon Bonaparte, all dead and gone. Lovers come and go, I've lived for a millenia, and I have not a single friend to show for it. Only subjects who know how to nod their heads, and smile politely when I joke.”
“I know that feeling too well.”
“I sent a student to study the magic of friendship in my land, hoping for some solace. Maybe I'll introduce you two, she's a sweet little thing.”
“Your protege?”
“Maybe; every century, with every lover lost, and every friend who's passed away, it's too much to bear. I don't want to be Princess forever, I want to pass the crown, and live out my days in passion, and peace.”
“You don't seem to have trouble finding passion,” and he slowly began caressing the curves of her flank.
Celestia smiled, “sometimes it's just nice to talk to someone who understands you.” She could feel him getting harder against her belly.
“My spell won't last much longer, give me a kiss for the road lover.” Obama wrapped his hands around her head, and brought his lips to her mouth, kissing her deeply. They toyed with each others tongue, inside their mouths, between their lips, kissing passionately, and draw away with a string of saliva hanging between them. Her horn sparkled brightly as she cast her spell, but Obama's hand reached out and grasped it.
“What are you doing? I can't cast my magic with your hand on my horn.”
“How much time do we have?”
“I have no idea. Five maybe ten minutes tops.”
“That's all I need,” and Barack started running his other hand down her back, and began kissing her neck.
“Let go,” Celestia panted, she felt weak with his hand on her horn, and his mouth on her body and his fingers caressing her back.
“We'll make love tonight, but we'll get caught if we stay here.”
“Scared of a little risk?” He laid her down on the bathroom rug, necking her tenderly, one hand still on her horn, the other gently massaging between her thighs. He could feel the heat from her privates on his hand; she wanted it badly.
“My magic...” She moaned as his fingers send shudders of pleasure through her spine.
“Let go of my horn, let me cast a spell so we can't be heard outside this room.” He let go and Celestia cast a purple light that enveloped the bathroom.
“And now?”
“And now I want you to make me scream like a French slut.”
Obama plunged his cock into her snatch. She cried out in ecstasy, and wrapped her legs around him. Lips on her neck, kissing her passionately, his waist pumping like a piston; Celestia, mouth open, ah-ah-ah's of pleasure slipping from her throat; she brings herself to her lovers mouth and kisses him deep. Sound of a door opening outside, it makes her hot. She shoves him a little, they trade positions. Barack on the floor, his fingers in her mouth. Celestia on top, moaning as she humps his dick, her tail brushing his balls. She shudders in joy, again and again, soaking his penis in her love juice. There's someone walking around outside. Barack stands up, takes Celestia's chin in one hand, and strokes himself with the other. He climaxes into her waiting mouth, stroking her mane as she swallows. He hears the sound of someone knocking on the door.
“I'll take care of this,” Barack says as he pulls up his pants, and puts on his coat. Celestia nods, tired from their little romp, and curls up on the bathroom rug and falls asleep. Barack steps out of the bathroom, careful to block Celestia from view.
“Is there a problem?”
“I came to ask the same question sir. We were worried when you didn't return and no noise was coming from inside your washroom.”
“Everything's fine, just a little problem with the tap.”
“With all due respect sir, as the security chief on this jet it is my duty to follow up on- ”
“Chief, am I the president of the United States or are you the president of the United States?”
“You are sir.”
“That is correct, now please leave while I fix my shirt.”
“Yes sir.”
As the door to his private suit shuts, Barack peeks into the washroom; Celestia is gone. Tucking in his shirt, he looks straight up at the light fixtures, smiles, adjusts his tie, and goes back to his meeting.
