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The Secret Passenger Protocol

As we walked across the tarmac, I nervously asked the Fixer, "Well?"

"She made it sir. She's a little upset. Apparently the handling was a little rough. We'll try to do better next time."

"Thank you." He's the most trusted of my Secret Service detail. The only one I could clear for 'blueball' ops. It's best if I don't give his name. He doesn't need to be hounded for the rest of his life to confirm what he swore an oath to deny. I climb the ramp to Air Force One, barely able to remember to acknowledge the people lined along the red carpet between Marine One and the stairs. She's inside. I get so sick of hearing "Hail to the Chief" when I need her so badly. I'm so glad that frigid wife of mine, FLOTUS, decided not to accompany me on this trip. The bitch took her damned time before she made her decision and made it a tougher op to get my true love, I guess I should call her MOTPOTUS, Mistress Of The President Of The United States, aboard in secrecy again. I'm also glad that so much sound proofing was installed to keep my suite isolated. Sally's a real screamer.

I go through all the mandatory pleasantries of boarding and then quickly get past the Fixer and into my suite. The other agents all know that when the Fixer is on the job, it's their job to take down anybody who tries to get past him to get to me. This is the only place where I can have any real privacy and he is a necessary evil. I am fortunate that I was able to get my old college buddy into the Service for this.

Inside the suite I go immediately to my private closet. Only three people know the code to open this tiny room that travels to the hold where the Fixer can work without oversight among the cargo pods. Only I know the code to do what I'm about to do. Well, maybe some geeks know this code, but the Fixer knows the geeks. I enter the code and scroll through as the display shows photos of everyone else who has opened the door. I see them all. Only the same two people until I get to my photo from the previous time I opened it. The Fixer is one of them. Sally is the other. I quickly enter the code to open the door.

"It's about fuckin' time," she says. "I gotta pee." She quickly hurries into my private restroom, not even bothering to close the door, and I hear a sigh of relief as she voids her bladder. "Sorry about that Johnny. I forgot to pack my whiz kit."

"I heard you had a rough ride, Sally."

"You can say that again. I mean I know I'm just a little poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks, but no more food carts, okay? I banged around like a butterball turkey in a garbage can. I want my padded cargo pod back."

"I'll speak to the Fixer. It was a short notice thing and really important this time. I'm sure glad you made it."

"It's good to see you, too. How long do we have Johnny."

"About an hour and a half."

"Good, then we don't have to rush. Where are we going?"

"It's a West Coast tour. Five states, three days."

"Oh goody. Three or four quickies and two slowies."

I so adore this woman. She was my first fuck, and my first and perhaps only love, way back when we were both sixteen, and she's still the best. I wanted to marry her back then, but she told me that I would be President one day if I wasn't saddled with her. We kept our love secret until I went away to college. That's when she told me not to call her until I got my law degree.

What can I say? My father had money and connections. I had a fairly good brain. Eventually, I had a Harvard Law degree. I called her. She went to a community college. She took classes at night. She put in a couple of years as a paralegal. She took more classes online. She passed the bar exam in one try. It took me three. We both went into government work, me into politics and her into justice. I made it to the White House. She made it to my closet on Air Force One via the secret passenger protocol that has its roots back in another President's term. The first secret passenger was code named "Bombshell". Sally's codename is "Cialis".

For the next three days, the Fixer will be making sure Sally is well fed and has plenty of entertainment media and plenty of privacy whenever I'm not present. She won't need to spend another minute in the closet until the sweep team comes through when we get back to DC, because he will be on duty the whole time, protecting the office from us fragile men. These guys are the unsung heroes of every presidency. I sincerely hope the first woman who becomes president makes use of this protocol. It makes the job tolerable.

Sally comes out of the bathroom with not a single stitch of clothing on. Her body is the same age as mine, but she looks ten years younger. She wears no makeup, because we can't have it showing up on my collar. She wears no perfume because we can't have it clashing with my cologne. She is still the most beautiful and sexiest woman on the planet, not like that dumpy cow I'm married to. But I don't want to think about FLOTUS. It was the happiest day of my life when she told me there would be no more sex with her. I would rather pull my pud for months and have these few stolen moments with Sally than stick my dick in FLOTUS. So why am I still thinking about her?

Sally's undressing me now. She knows I have to unwind before I go out and talk to those whores in the media seats. In short order, she's sitting naked on my naked ass and massaging my back like only she knows how. I feel the tension melting away and being replaced with a sensation that is rare for me in this job. My cock begins to stir without the aid of a little blue pill. I feel her hair slowly sweep down my back as she moves her ass down to my calves and then massages my lower back and then my ass. She moves her ass off me now and massages my thighs and then my calves.

"Roll over, your highness." She can never resist a dig.

"Yes, your lowness." It is an old joke, from the time when we smoked pot together and hell yes, we both inhaled. I roll onto my back and the Official Penis Of The President is on display.

"Better than the last time, I see. It's good to have that extra time on your back to get your big head relaxed so your little head can rise." She crawls up onto me then and kisses my lips passionately, as if we were back in high school. I kiss back and it is such a relief to feel this simple human contact. I've been told that I'm the most powerful man in the world, but I often feel that I'm the loneliest, except when I'm with Sally.

Her kisses skate off my chin and land on my chest. They take a torturous route down my pecs until they get to my nipples. She licks and sucks them until she makes my cock so hard that she can't slide any further down because it is firmly blocking the way. She lifts her torso up off my abdomen and takes my hard cock into her, wetting it quickly and completely from her generous well of honey. She starts to ride me like a cowgirl and I reach up and caress her small firm breasts. I gaze at her beauty, barely registering the signs of the two past pregnancies from the children she bore while I was the Governor of our state.

Her hot wet pussy is riding me hard now and she begins to get loud. The Fixer has assured me that he has never heard a peep from inside the suite, but I have to wonder. She's riding me harder, smacking her thighs and ass down on my hips and I feel the cum gathering in my balls. Sally starts to come and I release the floodgates, painting her pussy from the inside out. We ease down slowly, savoring the aftershocks.

After I shower and dress, Sally is still naked, my cum is still drying on her. She gets out of the bed to help me tie my tie.

"I've travelled all over the country and even to several other countries and never needed a ticket or a passport or even a dollar for a cocktail."

"But you spend the whole time in this plane."

"But I spend the best part of it with my high-school sweetheart." She straightens my tie and kisses me. "Now go meet the press, Mr. President."
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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