That is just a tiny little bit of how Beth was feeling at that moment.
Suddenly, the President’s Twitter feed stood and kicked back the chair, rolling Beth back several feet and giving her a few moments to catch her breath. She was dripping with sweat, and also from the natural lubrication produced by her vagina, and she watched the President’s Twitter feed look her up and down from her petite feet up to her exposed, sloshing breasts.
Beth did the same thing to the President’s Twitter feed.
His chest had words gliding across the perfect pecs.
...DEMS…
...ELECTION…
...WALL…
...BALLOT PAPERS…
...FAKE NEWS…
Each word she read brought Beth closer to yet another orgasm.
So much confidence.
So much power.
Beth’s eyes moved down, focusing on the President’s Twitter feed’s enormous, flaccid penis. It swung from side to side, like a pendulum, gaining momentum. Beth stared at it, biting so hard on her lip she made herself groan.
Suddenly, the penis began to harden.
Beth’s eyes widened. The AI program must have interpreted her moan as a sign of want and desire. It thought that Beth wanted the President’s Twitter feed’s dick, and so began to make it hard… and juicy… and the biggest Beth had ever seen.
And she had to have it.
The President’s Twitter feed must have seen the ravenous look in Beth’s eyes because he strode forward, cocking his leg like a dog at a fire hydrant so Beth could thrust herself forward, open-mouthed and drooling, so his cock could enter her mouth and jab at the back of her throat.
His cock swelled further, growing and choking her, making her gag, happy tears forming in the corner of her mouth. This was exactly the feeling she had been seeking when she’d been fucking Trevvy—not the feeling of a sad little sausage poking at her uvula, but an enormous, glorious throat puncher filling her up and satisfying her animalistic desire.
And it was hot, too.
For the longest time, Beth had been involved in arguments with her fellow AI and robotics developers about giving the bots cocks. They were adamant the cock wasn’t needed, but Beth knew that in order for the bots to come across as empathetic, they needed to be anatomically correct. And that included making sure the cock was nice and hot.
And oh boy, at that exact moment, was Beth pleased she had stuck to her guns and demanded the bots were hung like stallions.
It was everything she’d ever wanted.
The salty taste on her tongue.
The rippling veins along the shaft.
The soft, rubbery, warm foreskin peeling back like a nicely ripened banana.
The President’s Twitter feed’s cock caught in the back of her throat and a little bit of sick rose up and made Beth gag. She pulled back her head, the cock snapping out of her mouth, stringy drool still connecting her tongue to the monster penis that stood proud and to attention before her.
There was only one place it could go now.
Beth allowed herself to slide back in the chair, raising her legs up and over her head. She was so flexible; thank god for those three years in gymnast school.
The President’s Twitter feed towered over her.
For a moment, they stared into each other's eyes.
Beth wished she knew what he was thinking.
He clearly knew what she was thinking.
Then, the President’s Twitter feed grabbed her by the pussy and rammed his dick inside, filling her up like grandma’s roast chicken dinner.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Oh, yes.
Oh, yes yes yes.
Yes.
Another orgasm, intense like a thousand exploding suns, erupted inside Beth and she groaned and screamed and her eyes rolled back so all she could see was blinding red light.
The President’s Twitter feed paused.
Beth clawed for air.
Her breasts were engorging and deflating as she panted.
She read the words across the President’s Twitter feed’s chest.
China…
Vote…
Losers…
Fake news…
Virus…
Russia…
‘Do it,’ said Beth.
‘Do what?’ asked the President’s Twitter feed.
‘Fuck me in the bum,’ said Beth.
She slid further back in the chair, pulling open her bum cheeks and showing the President’s Twitter feed her cheeky, winking little starfish. It made kissing sounds, begging him to push inside.
And that’s exactly what he did.
At first, the pain was too much. Like a big poop that struggled to come out; except it wasn’t a big poop, it was a penis, and it wasn’t coming out, it was going in.
In. And out.
But soon, the feeling changed.
And it felt good.
Beth’s asshole stretched, welcoming the President’s Twitter feed to fill her bum right up. Her screams of pain became screams of ecstasy, and she had not one, not two, but three more toe-curling orgasms all one after another.
yes.
Yes!
YES!!
It was like Beth had fallen from the earth and landed on a mattress of soft, warm cloud. Only it wasn’t; it was an AI and animatronic robotic programme she had helped to design.
And then—
SKLOOSH.
Whilst Beth had fought for the bots to include a penis, she had been dubious about giving them the ability to ejaculate. But at that moment, as the President’s Twitter feed filled her bottom with synthetic semen like a builder filling a wall crevice with insulation, she was thankful.
So, so thankful.
When he was done, the President’s Twitter feed yanked his cock from inside Beth and took a step back, staring at her like he was admiring his handiwork. And what magnificent handiwork it had been.
An immeasurable number of orgasms.
Litres of semen powerful enough to impregnate numerous killer whales.
One so-weak-at-the-knees super coder so happy she wondered if she would ever feel happiness like it again.
Beth sat forward, wiped down her chair, and typed a few commands on the keyboard.
Then, quickly and without fuss, the bot cleaned up the mess that surrounded Beth’s desk. Within five minutes it was like nothing had even happened, with the bot reset and back in his place in the animatronic robot department, no longer a humanoid version of the President's Twitter feed.
And that was that.
It was at that moment Beth began to reflect.
She was done with losers like Trevvy from next door, so monotonous and boring it made sex seem like a paint-by-numbers chore. Sex was so much more than an itch that needed to be scratched.
It was a desire from deep, deep down.
A feeling of wanting to be chased.
A feeling of wanting to be dominated.
A feeling of wanting to know what power tasted like.
Would Beth feel feelings like she had felt today, ever again?
She certainly hoped so.
And she planned on working on Sunday, just so she could find out.
About the author
Following the unexpected success of Kissing the Coronavirus, M.J. Edwards was delighted at the response from her readers, and has been inspired to continue writing stories to excite and titillate.
She currently finds herself separated from her husband and is living with her adult son, Richard. She was only allowed to take one of the ferrets with her, who is named Duncan, and who is her second favourite.
Follow her on Twitter at @MJEdwardsAuthor
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Penetrated by the President's Twitter Feed Page 2
