by Alexis Angel
“No man has ever fucked you…” he repeats, disbelief spreading to his tone of voice. Then, as if remembering something, his face lights up with a grin. “Well, no man’s ever been President at 35 either, Ashley. I’m a man who likes challenges.”
“Good. Because you’ve never had a challenge like me,” I tell him and, with that, I reach for the door and open it. Before he has the time to stop me, I step onto the sidewalk and start walking toward my apartment building’s entrance.
President Player—oh, if only the press knew exactly how much the name fits him.
Washington Beat
On A Date With The President…
From the desk of Margie Preston – our intrepid and daring political reporter.
Handcuff me to the bed and spank me till I pass out, if the President of the United States and his new fiancée didn’t just wow the entire jaded Washington establishment with their ‘date night’.
I mean, if the pictures that the press took that have been going viral all over social media today haven’t melted your heart and made you believe in the power of transcendental love then either you’re dead or just a hater of democracy. I mean we had the most powerful man in the free world holding the door open for a lady. Nuzzling her on the neck during dinner. Putting his hand on the small of her back. Holding her hand as she crossed the street. Gazing into her eyes as they make plans for forever.
How is this not affecting people? How is Senator Bob Walker still out there dismissing this President as all talk when he says he’s going to clear the cave? The President can clear my cave, that’s for damn sure. And then he can park his Python in there anytime he wants, I’ll tell you what.
If you’re rolling your eyes, allow me to explain my rather unorthodox style of commentary on this one.
I’ve seen a lot of Presidents come and go. I’ve seen them come in, do their thing, pass their laws, spin the media, play up to their bases, and then leave town. Sometimes they get along well with Congress, and sometimes Congress ends up investigating them. But never in all my days have I seen a President who comes to Washington and then does everything that he said he was going to do. And enjoys himself as he does so. Let’s not kid ourselves here, folks. President Austin Bain is having the time of his life. And now that he’s engaged, it’s clear he’s having a blast. How many other Presidents actually enjoyed the job?
Contrast this to Senator Bob Walker. I have spies in his office and you know what they told me the other day? The latest rumor going around Washington is that Ashley Draper is a virgin. As in has never had sex with any man before. But they’re covering it up and not making a big deal of it. Why?
Because if the public found out, they might be more inclined to support President Bain than they are now. And polls show that the public loves Ashley Draper and Austin Bain.
See the kind of jadedness that makes people vote for those who say this city is broken?
But look how much of a non-issue the President has made it.
And that’s important, because while we might call him President Player and what not, we’re seeing the man for the first time in the company of a woman he truly loves. And it’s telling what we see. We see a good, kind, chivalrous man. And no matter the political party, you take a strong man who has all these qualities and you make him the leader of a nation, the country can’t help but to prosper.
There is hope for us yet.
Austin
I'm sitting behind my desk in the oval office with my fingers laced behind my head, but I might as well still be sitting in the cool leather seat of my limo with Ashley nuzzled by my side.
It's like a scene playing on a continual loop in my mind. A scene I can't pause or shut off.
Her words, her smell, and her gestures—everything—it all haunts me.
If I'm being honest, the fact that Ashley's still a virgin excites me, like uncharted territory just begging to be conquered. I'm a competitive person, and now I'm determined to be her first.
It's amazing, given her line of work—the amount of men she comes in contact with. Don't you think?
She's smoking hot, head to toe. Her tits are some of the most perfect pair of breasts I've ever seen … and I've seen, held, licked, and sucked on a lot of tits.
How she's managed to stay a virgin is beyond all comprehension. I can't even wrap my head around it, as hard as I try to.
Now I'm trying to focus on today's meeting, but that's proving difficult.
"Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?" Tracy asks me, and I snap back to reality.
"Good, I guess," I say, although I'm not really sure that it matters at the end of the day.
"The good news is that the press has dropped the 'President Player' angle," she replies. "They love Ashley. That's definitely a good thing."
I sigh and think to myself, of course they do. What's not to love?
"But that's the only good news I'm afraid," Tracy says, looking at me with a serious gaze. When I see that gaze, I know she means business.
"And the bad news?" I ask, bracing myself for whatever Tracy is going to throw my way. At this point, I figure it must be pretty bad.
"The bad news is Bob Walker, as usual," she says, "he's trying to block you at every turn."
"No surprise," I reply, shaking my head. If that's the worst thing she tells me today, I can live with that. That guy has always been a bastard, and a thorn in my side. "What's he doing now?" I ask, although I hardly care.
"He's trying to lobby the opposition to your new jobs bill," she says.
I scoff at her comment. "Walker doesn't have the numbers. He's just blowing a bunch of hot air, and I'm not buying it."
I pause for a second. “Besides, what kind of politician doesn’t like jobs? Give me a fucking break.”
Tracy shrugs and gives me a look.
I know that look. The truth of the matter is that politicians can now say whatever they please and then do what they please once in office. The public’ forgetfulness is something that good politician cultivate.
"I don't know, Austin," Tracy says. "I'm worried that Walker can sway just enough votes. He's owed a lot of favors. I've crunched the numbers myself."
No fucking way. Not on my watch, I think to myself.
"I'm not having it," I say, pointing a finger at no one in particular. I'm just trying to get my point across. Suddenly, I'm feeling fired up. "Walker's not getting away with this."
"What do you think we should do?" Tracy asks, her eyes skeptical and hopeful at the same time.
"I intend to make Walker look like an ass," I reply. "So here's what I need you to do."
I watch as Tracy pulls up a task app on her cell phone. I swear, she's one of the most organized people I know.
I continue, "Plan a Town Hall in Walker's home state."
"Why in his home state?" Tracy asks.
"Because I'm going to pitch the damn jobs bill directly to Walker's fucking constituency," I reply.
"You do realize that Walker's going to go ballistic," Tracy says. Her hands are on her hips, and I know she's trying to think this through from every angle.
"I'm not even remotely worried about Walker," I say, waving one hand in the air, trying to give off a casual air. "In fact, I want Ashley to accompany me."
Everyone nods in agreement, and we wrap up. The meeting ends, and each of the staff members go about their daily duties at various end of the White House.
But I ask Tracy to stay behind.
And now that we're alone, I speak to her frankly.
"I want Ashley to move into the White House," I say.
Tracy looks at me wide-eyed, and her lower jaw seems to nearly drop to the floor. "I don't know," she replies, but I can tell that's an understatement. She's thinking I've lost my fucking mind.
"You don't know what?" I ask.
"Austin, I just don't think it's a good idea. I mean having her move in is pushing it a bit, don't you think?"
"Why?" I ask. "She's my fiancée isn'
t she?"
"Fake fiancée," Tracy clarifies.
"Of course I know that," I say, almost embarrassed at the slip. "I just meant that to the public, she's my fiancée. Wouldn't it seem more real—the relationship I mean—if Ashley moved in?"
I can still see the disbelief in Tracy's eyes.
"Is this for the public," she asks, "or for you?"
"Oh come on!" I say, trying not to feel irritated. "Think about it. If she moves in, we won't have to assign a Secret Service detail to her."
Tracy glares at me, trying to decide whether or not this is a good idea.
"She can sleep in a separate wing," I say, trying to win Tracy over. "And we'll be saving taxpayers' money."
That idea seems to win her over because now Tracy is nodding in agreement.
"That does make a lot of sense," she says.
"Of course it does!" I reply. "And I don't want to give the opposition any ammunition to use against me."
"Okay, okay," she replies, raising a hand as if she's heard enough. "I see your point."
"That's the spirit," I smile, grinning from ear to ear and patting her on the shoulder. "I told you it was a good idea. And besides, those are the only kinds of ideas I have."
I'd say that's going a little too far, Mr. Cocky," she laughs. "But I'll give this one to you."
Just as I'm about to leave the office, I turn to Tracy and say, "I'll handle Ashley."
Tracy just grins.
"Sure you will."
Ashley
Yoga usually helps, but not today.
I always try to work out in the evening and, taking into account all the stress from this ‘fake fiancée’ play, I decided to go for an evening yoga class. I was hoping it’d help me get my mind off Austin, but what do you know? It didn’t work.
But what was I expecting, anyway? After what happened inside the limo, he’s been on my mind every waking minute. And, just between you and I, he’s also been inside my dreams … and they always end up being the scorching kind of dreams, if you know what I mean.
The kind that makes you sleep naked because you know the panties will be drenched when you wake up.
Stepping outside the building where I had the yoga class, I swing my gym bag over my shoulder and look at the black SUV already waiting for me. There’s one buff secret service guy waiting by the passenger door, and I can’t help but sigh heavily; having a security detail of your own isn’t as glamorous as it might seem. It’s just annoying, really. Although I appreciate what they do for me, I hate being followed around every minute of the day.
“I’ll be walking home,” I tell my secret service guy as I tie my hair into a bun.
“I strongly advise against that as--”
“It’s just a few blocks away,” I cut him short, already starting to turn my back to him. “You guys can follow me in the car.”
“Very well,” he replies apprehensively, clearly not happy with my decision but obliging all the same. I strut down the sidewalk, just another commoner blending in with the crowd. Everything’s fresh on people’s minds and, even if anyone recognizes me, they probably won’t believe it’s that Ashley from TV, the one about to become the First Lady. Supposedly.
I let my mind drift back to Austin, and to how my opinion of him is slowly changing. Did I really believe him to be such a bad guy? Because, really, he doesn’t seem that bad. I know, I know… he’s probably just a master manipulator, but if helping him somehow helps the country… I’m all for it. And, besides, whoever he is underneath his presidential facade, at least I know he’s fun. And by fun I mean... well, you probably know what I mean, don’t you?
I think back to how he handled me back in the limo, and to how he wanted more… and, really, I wanted more as well. But I’m still a virgin, and I’m not about to offer that virginity on a silver platter to Austin just because he’s the President. Okay, the fact that he seems to know what he’s doing helps, but still…
To make matters worse, soon enough I’m going to be stuck with Austin on a plane. Yeah, I know, Air Force One is supposed to be huge, but I guess I’ll be seeing enough of him during the flight to Arizona, his home state. I spent the whole day preparing for the trip, and all I could think about was the fact that I’m going to be stuck on a plane with him. God, how do I make this madness stop?
Turning onto my block, I can already see my apartment building rising in the distance. I start walking at a brisk pace, and that’s when I feel a heavy hand landing on my shoulder. I told the Secret Service to hang back, but I guess they simply couldn’t resist following me this closely. I turn around and—oh shit, this isn’t the Secret Service.
Facing me is a tall guy in a hoodie, overgrown stubble covering his cheeks and reaching down onto his neck. His eyes are bloodshot and he reeks of alcohol.
“The ring, give it to me,” he growls, his eyes falling on the hideous ring on my finger. Seriously, I’m being mugged because of this stupid tacky thing?
“Fuck off,” I growl right back at the mugger while I reach inside my purse, trying to fish my mace from the inside. But, before I can do it, the man pulls a knife from inside his jacket. Oh, shit.
I look over his shoulder, but I can’t see the Secret Service SUV anywhere. Things aren’t looking good, but I’m not giving this asshole the ring. As tacky as the ring might be, I’m not in the custom of being robbed quietly.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” I start screaming, and the mugger’s eyes widen in surprise. I half-expect him to turn on his heels and start running down the street but, instead, he pushes me against the wall next to me and brings the knife up to my neck. I feel the cold kiss of the blade against my neck and I hold my breath, my heart pumping adrenaline through my bloodstream.
I try and kick the bastard between the legs, but he just jumps back to avoid my feet, his knife still against my throat.
“Gimme the fuckin’ ring, you bitch!” he growls once more, but his voice is drowned by the sound of heavy engines coming up the road. I look over the man’s shoulder to see the presidential motorcade turning onto my block, a door in the president’s limo swinging open fast.
“The ring, bitch!” The man shouts again, but I don’t even hear what he’s saying. My eyes are focused on Austin, watching as he jumps out from the still rolling limo and starts running down the street, closing the distance between him and I.
The moment the mugger is within his reach, Austin just grabs him by the collar and yanks him back. The knife leaves my neck as Austin pulls the mugger away from me, and that happens because the bastard spins around fast and tries to stab Austin.
Sidestepping him, Austin grabs the man by the wrist and just turns it back harshly; the knife drops to the floor and, at the same time, the nauseating sound of bones breaking reaches my ears. Cocking his arm back, Austin then rams his fist into the mugger’s face, and a heartbeat later the man is laying on the ground unconscious, blood dripping down his broken nose.
“Are you okay, Ash?” Austin asks me, coming up to me and placing one hand on my face and the other on my waist. Only then do I realize that my hands are shaking.
“I—I think so,” I tell him, brushing my fingers over my neck, right on the spot where the blade was just a few seconds ago.
“Sir! Are you okay?” A small army of Secret Service agents comes up to us, and they quickly form a perimeter around Austin and I.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Austin tells them casually, waving his hand around. He jumped out of his limo so fast that the Secret Service didn’t have any time to catch up. A man of action, that much is true.
With both his hands on my shoulders, Austin lets his eyes roam up and down my body, trying to check if I’m hurt. As he’s doing it, a few cop cars park close to the presidential limo, and the police hauls the unconscious man up to his feet and then drag him inside one of the cars. The man just made an attempt on a sitting president; I guess it’s going to take a while before he’s out on the streets again.
Parking just befo
re the police cars, a few dozen vans from the local press show up in a flash. They were probably following the motorcade, and they were drawn here by the sudden stop. The Secret Service didn’t have enough time to set a big perimeter, so it doesn’t take much time before Austin and I are huddled together inside a small circle of agents in black suits, a crowd of reporters shouting questions in quick succession.
“Ashley, did you --”
“Mr. President, can you give us a comment?”
“Are you hurt?”
“Did you knock out that man, Mr. President?”
The questions are so many, and they’re coming so fast, that all I can hear is an angry buzz, almost as if the reporters have turned into a swarm of wasps. Running one hand through my hair, I take a deep breath and think of what my next words are going to be. This is an excellent opportunity to show the White House that the millions they’re paying me are well worth it.
“Thank you for your concern, everyone,” I say, raising my voice and looking at the reporters with a smile. “If it weren’t for Austin, I have no idea what might have happened. Just goes to show that he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be tough on crime,” I chuckle softly, grabbing Austin by the arm and pulling him into me. I look at him with a growing smile, hoping that some journalist will snap a picture of my loving look toward the President. Only then do I realize that I don’t need to pretend that I feel thankful toward Austin… He saved me, he protected me, and I’m truly grateful for it. Because, just like I told the reporters, I have no idea what might have happened.
“Let’s go, Ash,” Austin whispers, lacing his arm on mine and trying to guide me toward the presidential limo.
