Archive-name: Control/fbygovt.txt
Archive-author: Gregory Daniel Nikolic
Archive-title: Fucked by the Government


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Copyright (c) 1993 by Gregory Daniel Nikolic. 
This story may be freely circulated via electronic media, but only within the
specific domain covered by Usenet. The author retains all other hardcopy and
electronic media rights. Duplication and transmission therein is prohibited
by law and world copyright convention.  
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     "For willful disobedience," the General intoned severely as she 
brandished the fine leather whip by her side. Then she lashed out precisely,
three times, making Michael yelp with each blow. The whip flicked out smartly
with each crack. When the General was satisfied with her efforts, she
turned to the Commander in Chief.
     "Madame President," she inclined her head slightly and proffered the
whip. The President shook her head; no, thank you. All this time a young,
pretty Congressional page was looking on without comment. The three women
stood around the submissive man without comment. "My dear?" the woman General
asked the page.    
     "Ummm, no...thanks, that is." Jenny blushed a little. She felt bad for
Michael; it had been her idea to bring him here, after all. He only wanted to
meet the president, and now look what happened. 
     Michael was bent over the President's large Oval Office desk, dress
pants down to his knees. Around him in a loose semi-circle, staring at his
reddening behind with looks of introspection, bemusement, and embarrassment
respectively were the President of the United States, her Chairwoman of the
Joint Chiefs of Staff, and a lowly Congressional page, new to Washington and
its ways -- Jenny.
     Michael looked back to see what they were doing. The General firmly
pushed his head back. "Perhaps you don't understand me, Michael. Is that so?"
     "No ma'am," he responded quickly. "No sir, I mean. I mean..."
     "You mean what?" she asked sternly, enunciating each word with slow ease.
Her faint New England accent made the words seem aristocratic. There was an
edge to her voice and a tightening of her grip on the whip, a cherished gift
from an old lover she'd met and left at West Point, twenty years earlier.
Youngest head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the first female, ushered
into the top ranks of the military along with the first woman president and
nearly a half female Senate.
     "I mean nothing," Michael answered weakly. The General gave him an
affectionate swat on the butt with the glossy handle of her whip. The young
man, barely 18, tensed then relaxed.
     The President stepped forward and placed her hands reassuringly on
Michael's wiry young shoulders. Such a burden for one so young to carry, she
thought wryly. Not unlike the burden of leadership.
     The head of the U.S. smiled slightly, considering what she had planned
for this evening. A week of unrelenting reporters and trying minor crises
had left her strained and nervous. This was a splendid idea of the General's.
     Jenny asked, "Can my friend get up from the desk now?"
     The President considered, then assented. "For now."
     Jenny helped Michael up, and made a secret, apologetic face at him while
her back was turned to the older women.   
     The President moved behind the desk to the plush chair and seated herself
delicately. "I am going to watch for a while, if you don't mind," she told
the General. The General nodded and set to work.
     "I am going to give you a series of orders. If you are slow in
responding, or tardy in your actions, I will punish you. You may, of course,
leave this office at any time. I assure you, though, that the laughter of the
Secret Service men will be the least of your troubles. For you will have 
angered the President of the United States, and -- worse still -- ME. Do you
understand?"
     "Yes ma'am."
     "Good. One other thing, you are not to refer to me as 'ma'am.' I hate
that, out of uniform." And with that, she methodically removed her 
distinguished, bemedalled Army uniform one item of clothing at a time,
dropping the last of her undergarments in a tidy pile by the leg of the
president's desk.
     Naked, she wasn't half bad looking. A little out of shape, but basically
a trim woman for her 40 plus years. Her breasts weren't large, so there wasn't
much sagging, and the lines on her face (surprisingly) were mostly laugh
lines. She dyed her hair to keep it an auburn brown. 
     "Young man, about face!" she ordered crisply. The President looked on in
amusement. Jenny stood there, not knowing what to do.
     Michael turned away from her again, as commanded.
     "Remove your clothes. Immediately." Michael obeyed.
     "Hmmmm..." the General murmured thoughtfully, naked herself, less than
a meter from an unclothed boy half her age. It was an entertaining self-image
for a woman who in her younger days prided herself on her aggressiveness
and creative thinking.  
     The General turned a speculative eye to examine Michael's naked, alert
form as he stood there under her command. Subject to her whims, as it were.
She began reciting a description of the young man in orderly fashion:
"Tallish. Slim. Light build. Hmm.. Long, slender fingers. Small rear." The
President grinned at that. Jenny was mortified, and kept her eyes off her
friend.
     "You'll do." She reached out and squeezed his cheek. He remained 
admirably still. "OK, turn around now and go down on me."
     "Errr...what?" Michael turned around slowly, questioningly.
     "You still use that phrase don't you? Or are you a tad slow, boy?"
     Michael shook his head, sending a delicious thrill down the General's
spine. The Oval Office seemed a bit warm. She imagined she could feel the 
currents of air as they circulated the room, purified, clensed and analyzed
from one of the White House's remote monitoring stations. 
     There was a long couch at the end of the room, underneath Lincoln's
portrait. She lay on it and motioned Michael over with a wagging finger. 
"Step to it."
     It seemed like he had little choice. Tentatively he leaned over and put
his head in her lap. He found her hair-rimmed delta with little difficulty
and set to work. Minutes into the proceedings, Jenny couldn't help but peek
at what Michael was doing. In a way, it was exciting watching him lap and
suck at the woman's most private regions with enthusiasm. There was no doubt
the General was gaining a lot of pleasure from it.
     Jenny watched him for a while longer. His arms were draped gently over
the woman's torso to steady himself. Midway into the proceedings the General
had locked her strong thighs about his head and urged him deeper, faster with
her straying hands.
     Michael was hard now, she noticed accidentally, and again, it was
exciting to see. She hadn't previously thought of Michael in a sexual way;
he was just a friend she'd met at one of the low level gatherings that
junior Congressmen liked to hold. He was there as a caterer's assistant,
and approached her purely as a friend. 
     Six months later, this private visit with the President was supposed
to be her favour to him, after tons of laughs and good times spent together.
They were friends. And now he had to suffer the indignity of this. She would
have never believed that the President was capable of this, this awful
behaviour.
     Michael, in the meantime, swished on. The General was making little
moaning noises in the back of her throat. Jenny hoped he could breathe with 
those tight legs about his head. Apparently he was doing just fine, judging
by the little rotating movements the General was making with her hips. 
     Finally the woman climaxed on the coach, a quiet stacatto fire of
grunting emerging from her parted mouth. Her movements slowed to a gentle
relaxation and she pushed Michael up from her. His chin was wet, his face
serious.
     "G-good," she gasped. The President was positively beaming from her
position behind the world's most important desk. 
     Michael stood up, his erection swinging loosely. 
     "Here," the General said amicably. "Let me help you with that." Still
leaning back on the coach, she took the young man's cock in her mouth with
ease. Michael hissed an intake of breath. 
     Lightly running her fingers along his shaft, she sucked him in with
slow, deep draughts. 25 years of cocksucking had given the woman a mastery
that few women Michael's age could match. From the start she was in complete
control, a wizardess at the act, dictating his pleasure on her terms. Her
mouth was firm and extremely slick, a hotbed of friction. 
     Michael discovered just how deep her throat was when she went down
on him to his balls. He groaned piteously. From the base of his cock she
made an effort to lick his adjoining testicles. She slid back up, and then
back down again quickly, dispelling the gag reflex as an illusion. Her deep
throating was controlled and elegant. Powerful. Wet. Intensely, extremely
good.
     Despite being filled with Michael's cock, there was a Cheshire smile
on the General's face as she pistoned up and down with slathering grace.
This fine young thing in her complete control. Youth was no match for
experience, she thought as she vacuum-sucked the poor boy's exerting penis.
She kept a close ear on his breathing to keep track of her progress. Ah yes,
she noted, swishing about his cockhead -- almost there.
     She pulled away with a wet pop and wrapped a calloused hand tightly
about his moistened shaft. Her jerking motions were tight and clipped, an
efficent path to ecstasy as Michael's rapid sighs soon proved.
     Out of amusement the General moved her lips over the boy's cockhead
seconds before an imminent ejaculation. There was a feeling of intense
satisfaction at the control she exerted over him, the way she guided and
directed him to an inevitable outcome, one which would prove most pleasurable
to him even as he was being purposefully manipulated.
     With a few final pulls on his shaft he began spilling his come in
strong squirts. My how age makes a difference in ejaculate distance, the
General mused with her eyes shut as she suctioned him off powerfully. 
     The boy was making noises and jamming her head down on him. She didn't
mind. It was fun vacuuming up all his jism and consuming it like a thin,
sticky sauce. Made her feel juvenile again, and the noises he was making were
certainly enjoyable. Oh! -- there came another gob. She swallowed it down
with the rest. Finally he dribbled off to an orgasm-capping ending. She gave
him a last powerful pull which shuddered him from head to toe. Delightful.
     Michael stood back weakly and leaned on the president's desk. Jenny was
past embarassment as she observed him. Well into open fascination now with
the whole proceedings. Michael looked over at the President. She gestured him
around her desk with a silent wave. He acquiesced, tingling a bit as he
moved over deep carpet.
     "Yes, Madame President?" he breathed quietly.
     "We haven't really done anything yet," she said, raising herself to her
full height. Plastic surgery kept her looking very young, as young as a
politician could afford to look and still aspire to high office. She was
perhaps 30 in appearance, maybe a mature 28. Breasts were naturally full
beneath the masking effect of her conservative suit. Her blonde hair was set
stylishly in the current fashion. She took pains to look good.
     "Could you move closer to me, Michael?" she asked, pursing her lipstick-
pink lips. High cheekbones, very subtly applied blush over good skin. A touch
of mascara, professional yet a tad sexy too. The President had been a minor
beauty contest winner in her college days at UCLA, and had kept her looks,
sharpening them into an in-charge professional demeanour. However it was her
native wit and intelligence as much as her charm and attractiveness which had
driven her this far.
     She moved to give Michael a soft kiss on the lips. She was unmarried,
but would have probably gone ahead with this liaison regardless. 
     Michael kissed well, a bit gently but that was forgivable. She nibbled
on him and slipped her tongue into his mouth like a fine gift. It glided on
in without resistance. For a while they frenched, then the President pulled
away. "On the table," she indicated.
     Michael hopped up on the desk and sat facing the President. She pushed
the chair back with her leg and lightly stroked the young man's naked body.
He was getting hard again, soon. That's the good thing about teenage boys,
she thought to herself. Always ready and raring to go. I'll have to thank
the General for softening him up for a longer ride this time.
     She hiked down her knee-high skirt but left the rest of her apparel on.
She wasn't wearing panties. With a mild effort she levered herself onto his
young body and sought his cock instinctively. Wet already from watching the
prior events, it was no problem slipping him in, and oh it felt good. 
     She moved on him like an unchained tigress. "Yumm..." she whispered
cheerfully in his ear and bore down hard. He turned his head aside; some
whistling air escaped of its own accord. Abruptly she had an idea.
     The President pulled off Michael with a twist of her mid-section. "I
want you to take me from behind," she breathed. This was exciting her. She
pushed him aside and climbed up onto the very large desk. There was easily
room enough for her to assume the hands and knees posture. Ready for entry.
God she felt wet.
     "Over here," she called behind her. Michael scampered up beside her and
needed no urging to shove deep inside without preliminaries. It was nice,
nice enough to inspire a harder, faster thrust. The President wriggled her
behind pleasantly and clenched down with her vagina. "Nice," she murmured.
"Do it again." Michael obeyed, like a good boy.
     It was incredibly arousing seeing the President on her hands and knees,
being taken from behind. She was bucking back at him, but the majority of 
the force was being applied by Michael, and with some tact and deftness too.
This surprised the General as she closely observed the doggy style sex with
not a small measure of passion and interest. Flicking her gaze to Jenny, she
saw the young lady was mesmerized too.
     The General dressed while the President and her young lover fucked on
the Oval Office desk. Then she took Jenny by the hand. The girl gave a
surprised start. The General led her, smiling, to where the two were furiously
going at it on the desk. A deskful of scattered papers provided some
cushioning for the President and Michael's knees as their ride got bumpier.
     Jenny let her hand be moved by the General to Michael's thrusting organ.
It was very hard and slick with vaginal lubrication. The juices clung like
a wet coating as his thick, engorged flesh moved in and out consistently,
speedily. Jenny kept her hand on the base and moved it lightly along the
shaft when the dick emerged from its vaginal home.
     Judging by the speed which Michael was moving against the President's
bucking rear, Jenny's light touches were hardly registering. Yet Michael kept
his eyes locked with hers as the President tossed her medium-length blonde
hair with abandon. Jenny felt a shiver looking into Michael's deep brown
eyes. A gradient of pleasure connected them, her the observer, and him the
experiencer. It felt very strange.
     She kept her hand on his cock and begin squeezing of her own accord,
watching the feelings develop and subside in Michael's eyes. Twin barrels to
his soul. She had set this up, her actions had caused this. She was no longer
certain what was right, what was wrong. Pleasure seemed to have taken
precedence here in this hallowed old room.
     Jenny moved her youthful lips beside Michael's ears, which trembled
as he thrust steadily. "I'm sorry Michael," she whispered sadly. Her hand
remained on his penis, detached from her consciousness like a
surrealistic painting from the surrounding reality. 
     Michael nodded once, brushed against her cheek with his moving face,
and orgasmed. Jenny felt it in the shaft she held, the tremors. It seemed
there wasn't much sperm left to be emptied, but the blonde on the receiving
end seemed to notice and responded with her own reactive orgasm. The two
shuddered as they pressed together, taken by the urgent motion of basest
instinct.
     It took a while for Michael to recover from this one. He moved to the
sofa and lay down in exhaustion. Jenny stroked his poor head on the sofa as
he lay there, tired. He was naked and used, and she felt very badly for
him.
     Yet there was something terribly sensual about the whole circumstances
as she stroked his damp forehead and reassured him quietly. Something 
overwhelming that she hadn't quite felt before; revealed like a curtain
yanked away from a magic trick by the unique setting she found herself in.
She didn't feel herself, her emotions were all askew and her mind felt
frazzled.
     The President and the General, all dressed, seemed to sense something
as the young pair lay on the coach. They took their leave without word,
exiting by the west doors. Alone now with Michael. She still felt badly about
the whole thing, the negativity she had caused. She kissed his face tenderly
and felt her heart resonate with him.
     "I'm sorry Michael," she whispered again. 
     He looked up at her from her lap and seemed to know what she was
feeling, what she meant. How truly sorry she was. He moved his face up
weakly to kiss her and she met him halfway, cradling his neck softly with
her arms. It was OK, it was going to be OK. 
     Without pretense the two made love, Michael on top in the standard
missionary position. It all felt brand new and wonderful, and took a long
time to explore. Jenny finished first with a gentle climax, and to his
surprise began crying quietly. Michael held her comfortingly and murmured
soft words.
     He remained in Jenny's arms until he lost track of time. Michael
disentangled only when he saw she'd slipped into an undisturbed slumber.
Dressing stealthily, he left by the same exit as the President and her
General. The Secret Service men positioned down the hallway were very
polite and discreet.
     He left the White House unobtrusively and was dropped off by an
offical car while Washington slept. All very peaceful and uneventful.
Michael entered his apartment bruised, tired, and generally worn out. He
tried to ignore the tenderness in his glans. 
     The phone rang at 2335 hours. As he picked up the phone he heard a brief
scrambling noise, then the heavy quiet of a secure line came into effect.
     "Mikhail?" a masculine voice intoned questioningly.
     "Da, eto ia. Ti byl prahv naschet nikh." Michael spoke slowly, without
emotion or accent.
     "How did it go?" the voice asked from a far distance.
     "Very smoothly."
     "Good. Next time get some useful information," the man grunted tersely.
     "No problem," Michael replied. "Das vy'danya."
     He put the receiver down slowly and went to get some rest. 

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