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Urotsukidoji - Presidential Duties.	By : Nickamano Category: +S to Z > Urotsuki-doji Views: 94 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Neither Urotsukidoji or any related materials are owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
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Alina ‘Ali’ Whitmer - nineteen-year-old political science intern - could believe she was here, doing a summer internship as part of her first year at college. In the real-life fucking White House! And in the first twelve months with a brand new first-term Presidency. And what a President! The things she would learn and experience in these six weeks, the things she could tell her grandchildren!

Her political science tutor, Professor Donovan Jones, had managed to arrange it for her. He had a close contact on the inside track and in exchange for a one-night-stand he had arranged for her once in a lifetime internship.
On her first day and probably the couple of days after that, she had been walking around in a dreamlike marvel of disbelief - not only was she walking around the actual White House, the real life goddamned White House, but she was working on the staff of President Jacob-Fucking-Kennedy!
For the first ten days she had been kept to the back rooms. Observing, taking notes, asking questions as and when she was able. Learning as much as she could. She didn't see any recognisable people, no politicians or those faces you saw in the TV, not one. But still, it felt pretty good to feel like she was getting the inside track.
Still, it would have been great to have seen the new President or his stunning wife. The First Lady, Mrs Kennedy, had been better known as Heather Bach - a beloved TV actress and household name - as well as one of the most gorgeous women alive. It was practically preordained that she should marry the only son of JFK and Marilyn Monroe.

Ali had hero-worshipped Jacob Baker Kennedy since she was nine. She’d had posters of him up on her bedroom wall from when he was a normal everyday celebrity. Him going into politics had been a big part of the reason for her developing her own interest in politics in high school, and her decision to take a Major in political science at college. Even the college she got into - having been rejected by Harvard, Johns Hopkins, Baltimore, was physically as close to the centre of American politics as she could get.

Strolling into her very first Political Science class, she had caught Donovan's eye early, spotted the obvious lust in his stare and immediately plotted to use it to her advantage - flirtation, all the cleavage and as much leg on display, as often as possible. Everything to get him on her hook. Without ever giving up the goods, of course. That final step would always be there in her back pocket, in case she ran into trouble one semester.
He had been pushy too. A borderline bastard about trying to get into her panties. She had to be careful not to offer him any easy blackmail or coercion material.
Rumour had it he had already managed with one or two of the lower end girls, those who scraped in on scholarships and were constantly struggling to understand the classes and keep up with the workload. She had even caught him at it with Bethany Fellows, a hot little punk chick who had gotten in despite, or maybe due to poor parents and petty crime, the latter threatening to spiral. Donovan had casually filled Ali in on the girl, some kindly Sheriff's deputy trying to keep her out of jail had supposedly found her the scholarship with the hope of getting her back on the straight and narrow; though she’d had to give him one or two things the fella’s wife wouldn't do for him. In fact, she had been doing just that with Donovon when Ali had walked in on them one time, Bethany bent over Donovan's desk.

She had come innocently into the outer office, being one of those naturally quiet people, she found she could slip in and out of rooms without being noticed. So, she had slipped into the outer office intending to drop off an assignment, but something distracted her. There was a bit of a whimpering and groaning sound from the inner office; Donovan’s private pace that his students didn’t usually get to see. The partitioning door had a large panel of pebbled glass filling its upper half. It didn’t give much of a clue, a little pale pink amongst the brown and blue, and some movement. But the sounds were far more telling. Using her quiet movement skills, Ali had slid up to the edge of the door listening in. It was there she noticed a little missing piece at the edge of the glass, one of the little fingernail sized indentations had fallen out, giving her essentially a chest high ‘key hole’ to peer through. So, she did.

Tall and lean forty-something, Professor Donovan was banging Bethany Follows from behind over his desk. He was slamming away with rapid desk-quaking strokes, standing there fully dressed in his suede suit and sandy yellow shirt, necktie tucked into the handkerchief pocket of his sports coat. His hands tight around slender girlish hips.
Bethany was wearing her usual mostly black punk garb. Loose fitting tank top with ripped neck and oversized armholes, from Ali’s position hanging down to show her small and braless boobs. She always wore suede, denim or leather miniskirts with a bullet-belt accessory and often combined with fishnets and biker boots. Her studded leather jacket was comically hooked over the old hatstand by the venetian-blind covered office window. She wasn’t wearing too much make up, thick black Egyptian style eye shadow the outer lines stretching almost to the tips of her ears, while her dark lipstick was smeared. Her hair was in a soft mohawk, shaved at the side and back the jet-black length left long and raw but not gelled up, just left wild and limp. She was actually a pretty girl underneath it all. Her prettiness shining through, but the attire and the attitude kept her at a safe distance from making friends or, Ali supposed, getting hurt by them. She didn’t know why Bethany was taking political science while dressing like a punk rocker. The two didn’t gel at all.
She was bent over the desk, her arms stretched out, fingers curled over the opposite rim of the desk, full on white-knuckling it. And her anguish etched face was plainly revealing a profound discomfort. She half-turned her head to speak back over her shoulder at the Professor, whose face was a mask of squeezed shut eyes, drawn-back lips and gritted teeth.

“It hurts…! It hurts!”
“Shush!”
“Please… Please Professor! Hurry up and cum!”
“If you want me to hurry up, clamp down with your ass and squeeze my Johnson!”
“I can’t I… Ohhh! Ahhh! It hurts so bad, Professor!”
“Call me sir!”
“Sir…! Please!”
“Damn it, girl! I thought you had experience?! You told me you were a good fuck! You said you’d blow my mind! Put some fucking effort it to it, for Christ’s sake!”

She had sobbed through those last couple of minutes. Leaking eyes squeezed shut, obviously clenching tight with her rectum while he ploughed her. But then he was staring at the door noting their surreptitious voyeur. Somehow, he must have recognised Ali through the concealing glass, as he grinned at her and then brought a hand down on the punk chick’s pale little ass and then used the same hand to wave her into the room.
Amused by his dirty ploy, Ali quietly turned the handle and eased the door open. Standing in the doorway watching quietly as the professor noisily dumped his load up Bethany’s anal tract. The Goth girl finally spotted Ali standing there with her ‘caught you’ grin. And as soon as Donovan had let her up, she had grabbed her jacket and bolted.
It was quite the sight too, tits shuddering all over the place, shaved pussy on open display as her tight leather skirt remained hitched around her waist. Even flashing her red, palmprint laden buttocks as she shoved her way past Ali, weeping, and trying unsuccessfully to pull her skirt down over those obviously well-pummelled ass.

Ali and her tutor had sat there on opposite sides of his desk, he basking in the smells of sweat and sex, she carefully flirting, laying more hooks into him while he immersed himself in the sweet afterglow of having roughly sodomised one of his eighteen-year-old students.
He had made coffee while they had chatted - about Bethany and her background, about Ali and some of her own sexual past, and finally about her college work.
She had laid a couple of hints about internships and work experience and the like. All the while making sure he got plenty of good looks down her deep cleavage. Keeping him thinking about sex, keeping that candle lit, and filling his thoughts with ideas of him giving it to her.

And he had eventually got his way with Ali too, of course. Her techniques had worked brilliantly. He had made some phone calls and had spoken to Michaela Hadovich, a onetime contemporary of his. He had gone into education; while she had found her way into the political world proper and was currently the PA to the Secretary of Defence.
Of course, no one was under any illusions as to why she was the DoD’s PA, she was gorgeous. All the top guys had really beautiful woman as their PA’s, it was just done. The political hiring pool being practically a modelling agency, with additional skills.
Well, knew she was also beautiful, she had been told as much from the age of eleven or twelve and it had been reinforced by just about every boy and man she had met since then. She was an eighties Marilyn Monroe, and could go toe to toe with the likes of Racquel Welsh, or any number of B-movie ‘Scream Queens’ and she knew it.

She was proud that her manipulations of her tutor’s lust had gotten her something that she wanted for once. She wasn’t one of those girls, with no choice, begging him to have her in order to bail her out of a low grade or a poor exam result or getting caught cheating. A real life six-week internship in the heart of the fucking White House. How could she refuse to spread her legs for him for that particular diamond tiara.
They had done it in his car. A two-year-old silver Ford Taurus, its sizeable backseat gave them plenty of room. He made her strip off her clothes while he just unzipped his pants and levered out his already erect cock. It was only average in length but it was almost as thick around as Ali’s wrist.
She was certain she could take it inside her pussy, her last boyfriend had been well hung, but she did find herself sparing a sympathetic thought for Bethany Fellows, who had been made to take this fat meat up her ass.
She had ridden him cowgirl. His hands had been clamped to her buttocks, slapping and squeezing throughout, to make her fuck faster, like he was urging a horse to gallop. When he wasn’t growling and snapping out orders, his face was crushed against her big soft boobs. But again, he didn’t seem to have an ounce of gentleness about him. He sucked and chewed on her nipples, leaving irritating hickies and smears of saliva all over her areolae while her hardened nipples, throbbing and aching, remained sore from his nipping and biting for almost a day afterwards. Still, she kept her arms straight, elbows locked to push her boobs together around his buried face, her hands gripping his ribs while she bounced up and down on his lap.
He had cum noisily, and aggressively. And she had been able to feel the spurts like a water pistol being fired inside her clutching tunnel, as she had ground her hips. While his hands had clutched at her tensed buttocks, fingers clamping hard into the soft flesh there. His almost comical orgasmic bellowing had been muffled inside the drool slick flesh of her boobs, his face still pressed up against them.
She hadn’t cum, hadn’t even got close. He’d made her wet enough so that taking his cock inside her hadn’t been uncomfortable, but his harsh slapping of her buttocks and his rough sucking and biting of her sensitive nipples had replaced the lack of discomfort.
Of course, an anticipated ride to full on sexual ecstasy hadn’t been the expected reward anyway, a potential bonus perhaps. But no, her actual reward had appeared a week later, on desk under the window of her student digs - the official invitation letter from Michaela Hadovich with its official White House letterheaded paper and the envelope with the Presidential crest embossment.

And then, before she had known it, the weekend had been upon her and it was all packing her bags, train tickets and a journey south, finishing with a taxi from the station to her cheap hotel room in DC.

The Monday morning had been terrifying. Another taxi up to the White House, and then standing at the White House main gate, shivering in childish terror while speaking to a rifle-toting soldier. And then it had been - armed escort, security badge ID’s, introductions and sitting down to a formal induction before, at long last, meeting Michaela Hadovich in person for the first time.
That had been ten days ago. And it had taken exactly that long for her to catch sight of President Kennedy for the first time. Ten days of hoping and praying before her dream suddenly came true, at least, on the most rudimentary level. It was an experience lasting barely two seconds. Still, it was the illustrious Jacob “Call me John” Kennedy standing right there, practically within touching distance, live and unedited for the first time.

An open door, an ongoing conversation between Kennedy and his National Security Chief, Jacquie Stanley. Ali had been following Michaela along a corridor, which still all looked the same to her, when that all too familiar Californian accent, a voice she had heard almost daily from the age of nine, caught her attention. She peered to her left through the wide-open door of a room. Then she stopped and stared. And not only was the room the Oval office, but there was President Kennedy himself.
Still talking away, he turned his head and noticed her looking. And then paused to take her in, eyes roaming. Perhaps she should have felt afraid or offended, but she felt elated. The rumour of his womanising was that it was equal to that of his late father. And in that moment, she had the distinct sense that he was appraising her as a woman, the attractiveness of her features, the slender yet curvaceous beauty of her body beneath the fitted business suit. He even took the time to give her a little smile, even though his conversation hadn’t paused. However, the spell was broken when he slowly turned his attention back to Chief Stanley, even though his eyes were the last to turn away from her.
It took another shocked second before Ali realised that Michaela had just disappeared around a corner and she would have to hurry to catch up or get utterly lost and make a fool of herself. Still, she could not get the President's eyes and his ever-alluring smile out of her thoughts. He really had been undressing her with his eyes.
That night she had fingered herself to one big leg-shaker of an orgasm in her hotel room, fantasising about receiving an urgent phone call to come to the oval office, a car sent for her. And then finding Kennedy there, alone, waiting for her and all the things that he would do to her.

Of course there were huge pressures in the White House, “Leader if the Free World”, it couldn’t be any other way. However, something was going on and the mood in the White House, even to Ali - who knew less than nothing - felt as though whatever was happening wasn’t normal. Whatever was happening didn’t feel like every-day national and international political pressures.
She picked up numerous clues or impressions that she couldn’t quite pin down, the pressures felt both from inside the White House and from outside. It was about the President himself and at the same time it wasn’t. People were feeling increasingly uncomfortable but weren’t able to put their finger on why. There were even whispers that something was off with Kennedy himself, but Ali hadn't been able to narrow down what people were alleging.

She was worried about the guy. She wanted to help. Not that she would ever be allowed to get close enough to offer. Besides, what could little Ali offer him that he wasn't already getting from his advisors, his lawyers, his Secretary of State and all those guys… From his Personal PA.
Still, she allowed herself to fantasise about offering to help him de-stress, even though she didn’t know how best to go about it… “Do you have any ideas, Mr President…?”

And then one morning Kenndy’s PA, Dana Holden, was reported missing. Ali experiences a sudden blaze of White House excitement, the corridors and offices alive with nervous energy, vocal concern and whispered gossip.
No one knew where she had gotten to. No one knew even where to look. There was nothing on the camera feeds, no records of cars leaving or arriving overnight. Secret Service guys were running around, talking into their wrists. And every assistant under the sun was busy making calls, Ali included. She had been given a list of numbers along with a short script to “speak to Ms Dana Holden”. But there remained no sign of the thirty-something beauty.
Ali desperately wanted to put herself forward, to offer her own services to the President, just to help. But she knew it was silly and ridiculous. She was informed that the First Lady’s PA, Christina Kirshner, was temporarily taking on Dana Holden’s role, along with her usual duties.

Just like she had with Kennedy, Ali caught initial sight of the First Lady, along with Christina Kirshner, in the moment prior to a Secret Service agent shutting the door in her face. However, in that moment, she snagged her initial first-person hint of gossip and she found it more than a little concerning - and blatantly unbelievable. Mrs Kennedy seemed to be afraid of her husband. In the half sentence that Ali was able to catch, the First Lady let slip to her close friend and confidant that she was terrified that “John” was somehow responsible for the disappearance of Dana.
That was downright ridiculous. Surely down to stress or something - First Lady, living in the white House, never left alone, gossip about her all over the papers, paparazzi all over the place, trying to snatch photos of her son, trying to keep five-year-old Norman safe and give him a normal life – that would stress anyone out. So, stress must be the cause, not thinking straight. Maybe they'd had an argument the previous night and it had put the First Lady into a certain distrusting frame of mind.
Maybe Kennedy had been caught banging Holden. Screwing a hot PA wasn’t exactly unheard of in political circles. That close working relationship, many long nights spent together preparing for the following day, a drink or two to take the edge off and recharge the batteries, a little stress relieving quickie over a desk was the next logical step.

The following day, the missing PA was suddenly on the back burner because of some previously hinted at yet barely mentioned ‘overseas trouble’.
Again, it took a while for news of any kind to filter down far enough that Ali got to hear it. And details were none existent. But something was definitely up, something over in Japan. There was so much panicked activity that she couldn't get a handle on what it was, sometimes it sounded like a natural catastrophe, a tsunami or something though, inexplicably, it seemed like it had happened a couple of weeks earlier. Other times people were running around and shouting like it was a potentially imminent attack on actual American soil. But by the Japanese? Ali simply didn’t believe it.

The following morning, three days after having first spotted President “call me John” Kennedy, she met him again. And in that moment, everything changed for her. Forever.

Again, actually even more than yesterday, the morning in the offices were a rabid flurry of activity. Ali could almost believe that everyone around her was high was on speed, running around as if the water had been spiked. Though it felt closer to high energy than panic.

“Something’s going on. Something big.” Carol Templeton announced by way of greeting as Ali set down her purse.

She was familiar by now with this particular assistants’ office. Though everyone had been so busy that most of the introductions to the other staffers had not been retained. Faces and voices she recognised, a lot of smiles and nods but, names … only a couple had stuck. It was something she was going to have to work on - short term information retention.
The room itself almost felt like a newspaper office, and the gang of assistants had the feel of journalists, fast talking, fast typing, cigarette smoking, coffee by the gallon. The room was made up of long lines of desks rather than individual cubicles, lots of computers and typewriters and telephones, piled up ashtrays, coffee machines and platters of stale Danishes along one wall.
Carol Templeton, in these weeks in the ‘centre of the civilised world’, had been as much of an advisor and teacher to Ali as Michaela or anyone else. But she was quick and cool, not particularly funny or sociable. An ‘all business all the time’ type.

“Big? Like what?” Ali asked her.
“Don’t know exactly, South Asia, Sea of Japan. We’ve already lost contact with Okinawa base.”
“Definitely something weird is going on.” One of the men called out to no one in particular.
“Like a tidal wave or something?”

Carol offered a shake of the head, she was on hold on her phone, lighting a cigarette with her free hand.

“We’re not at war!” Ali gasped.
“Not yet….” Someone muttered as he passed behind her.
“I don’t really understand it myself. Conflicting information from different sources. But no, we’re not at war.”
“You sure about that, Templeton…?” Another of the men commented as he hurried past.

He was in such a hurry that he was spilling coffee all over the carpet as he accidentally butted his thigh into the corner of a desk. He cursed, interrupting himself.

“…An aircraft carrier and escort has already been ordered to the edge of Japanese waters.”

Ali turned to get Carol’s response but she was no longer on hold and was already throwing rapid-fire sentences into the mouthpiece.

“When did that happen?” Ali asked the man with the coffee.

He had put down his cup down and was muttering curses under his breath, rubbing at his bruised thigh.

“Few days ago... Fuck, that smarts.”
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“No. They’re keeping it hush-hush. But from what I’ve picked up its something big… Like, catastrophic.”
Ali felt her heart hammering in her chest and she felt the colour draining from her cheeks. She turned back to Carol just as she put the handset back on its cradle.

“What can I do?” Ali asked.
“Nothing for now. Just have your notepad ready, and be ready for anything. It’ll be all-go for the foreseeable, quick change-on-a-dime situations. We gotta keep on top of a fluid situation. Just stick on my heels, and keep eyes and ears wide open.”

Ali nodded, determined. But Carol was back on the phone again, answering this time. Michaela Hadovich popped her head around the door. Calling out a request for a couple of guys to type up meeting minutes from last night. Ali knew better than to volunteer, that required a certain level of authorisation that her junior intern position didn’t allow.
The guy with the bashed leg and one of the female assistants Ali had exchanged nods and smiles with, grabbed their things and headed for the door. Moving aside to let them pass, Michaela spotted Ali and frowned for a second.

“Ali, I should warn you,” Michaela said, “there’s a chance you might be sent home. If they decide you’re too junior to be here at this time.”
“Oh, okay.” Ali said, unable to hide her disappointment.
“Or they might all be too busy to give it a thought. I know that ain’t what you want to hear… Just… be prepared for anything kiddo.”

Ali gave her a smile and an enthusiastic nod. And then Michaela was gone.
For the next twenty minutes she went into lowly assistant mode, while trying to keep out of everyone’s way. She emptied overflowing ashtrays, discarded cold and abandoned coffee. And took orders for replacements. Two thirds of the time the guys were polite and thanked her, even the guys on the phone flashed her smiles. In fact, she was surprised really at how fairly she had been treated so far. She had expected numerous ‘playful’ spanks on the ass or an accidental slide of an arm against her boobs by a passerby. But these guys were all pretty good to her, respectful. Too busy for pranks and the like. There was plenty of stares into her cleavage of course but that had been a daily occurrence since her mid-teens with half the time, more than half the men struggling to speak to her face, happy to chat to her boobs. But again, that was par for the course in her experience.

All in all, Ali felt pretty good, making herself useful and not slowing anyone down with getting in the way and constant questioning. All the while keeping her ears open and her mind whirling. Whatever was happening it was serious, there was an oppressive anxious atmosphere, though it was lanced through with a kind electricity, unfocussed excitement.

Ali had done everything she could do and was hanging around by the coffee machine, out of the way but within earshot of a good number of the assistants, trying to pick up on what it was that had everyone so flummoxed. Japan. Catastrophic. Maybe a natural phenomenon. Maybe not an attack. She couldn’t imagine Japan declaring war on anyone. They had no nukes and only a small defence force with no real capability for invasion. They dare not attack China or North Korea. The last thing they would want to do was to provoke their potential enemies. Maybe they were the ones under attack? But then, why the secrecy?
The door swung open and an assistant burst in, starting across the room. He caught Ali’s eye without really seeing her or taking her in.

“Don’t know what the hell this thing is, but it sure as hell don’t read like no natural phenomenon.”

For a second, she thought he was talking to her, but it soon became clear that he was just muttering to himself as he passed her by. Still, his eyes dived into her cleavage for a second before he had his back to her. The next second, he was taking a seat at his desk.
Ali found herself following him. He looked up at her as she leaned over the corner of his desk, her boobs right in his face, a deliberate accident. And silent payment for her proffered question.
“Sorry, what did you mean ‘not a natural phenomenon’?”
“Hmm?”
His eyes were staying right where she expected. Still, he answered her question. She locked her arms, elbows pressing her boobs together in their lace-trimmed tank top that she wore beneath her jacket, locked arms adding another couple of inches to the depth of her cleavage.
“Oh, just trying to analyse data babe, only it ain’t making sense. And now there’s no information coming out of Japan. While the radio traffic from the countries around it is a real mess. Nothing making any sense.”
“But you said it wasn’t a natural phenomenon, do we even know what it might be? If not natural. It has to be something manmade, doesn’t it?”
“Just bullshit, that don’t make any sense, girl. You ever see that old Raymond Burr movie, Godz…?”

The door opened and Michaela burst in again, looking far more haggard than the last time. Even though her entry all but silenced the room - other than a telephone ringing on a desk at the back, a fax machine making its electronic music and a dot matrix printer rattling away - that initial distraction deafened Ali to whatever the assistant guy was saying into her cleavage. Seeing Michaela’s eye locking onto her, Ali straightened up quickly, pulling the creases and folds out of her jacket.

“Ali? Believe it or not, you’ve been requested. Please follow me.”
“What? Really? Great!”
“Just grab your essentials, for now.”

Ali grabbed her purse and her notepad and pen and hurried to the door, catching it just as it slid shut in the aftermath of Michaela’s departure. By the time Ali was out of the room and in the corridor, Michaela was half a dozen paces ahead of her. Forcing the girl to hurry to catch up.

“What’s going on?” She asked.
“You been asked for personally. But that might not be as good as it sounds to you. Things are happening here and I for one am not too happy about it.”

Before Ali could ask for details or clarification, Michaela was literally waving-away her own commentary.

“Don’t mind me girl, I’m just bullshitting.”
“Well… asked for by who?”
“The President. He wants a replacement for Dana. And he spotted you. It’ll pretty much be fetch-and-carry, so don’t worry about being overwhelmed by duties and responsibilities. And you be assisting Christina, but still, it’s the inner sanctum, girl.”

Ali was taken aback, she couldn’t think of what to say. It didn’t help that the corridor had just gotten busy. Men and women hurrying past, weaving in and out, sometimes getting it wrong and causing a momentary blockage for Michaela and herself. Little sheepish apologies followed, along with working around each other, and then hurrying to catch up or keep up with colleagues.
President Kennedy, the delicious Jacob Kennedy himself had personally requested her to be brought in as his replacement PA! What the hell was going on? She was still trying to think of a viable response when she realised Michaela was actually still talking to her.

“Remember hon, take in as much as you can, but zip your lips, right now no one’s gonna have the time to answer questions. Maybe later.”
“Right, gotcha.”

She knew enough geography by this time that they were heading to the Oval office. And it was complete hustle and bustle along the corridors. Snatches of conversations kept filling her attention as she hurried along in Michaela’s wake.

“Where is it now?”
“Unknown. Norad lost track. They’ve got three AWACS spread out over the south Pacific but, they’ve fucking lost it.”
“What? How in the hell can you lose something that damn big?!”
“Voice down, pal. You’re shouting out classified bullshit.”
“Yeah but, what is it? Estimated at like, three-thousand feet? How can you lose something like that?”
“That’s conservative. Like, really conservative.”

“How’s the orbit?”
“Not good. We’re talking a forty-eight-hour travel time.”
“Two full days? Damn… And docking?”
“Don’t even ask.”
“Damn.”
“Gotta go, brother. I need to make sure wireless connectivity remains viable.”

“See that blonde intern? Fuck!”
“Yeah, what the bet ‘Call me John’s’ after a piece ‘a that!”

She baulked at the last overheard comment, throwing daggers back at the two young men who had already passed her by. They were both looking back but were too focussed on her ass, cinched in her tight A-line skirt to even realise she was scowling back at them. She felt herself being pulled to the side and turned her attention back to face front in time to recognise that she was actually walking into the Oval office.

“Hawaii is the frontier. If it passes Hawaii, they’re heading for PEOC.”
“It’s on the move. Registered velocity… over three hundred fifty knots!”

The room was pretty packed. Most of them, Kennedy included, were sitting on the two couches that faced each other, framing a long, low table to the left of the centre of the room. While the Presidential desk sat in the floor-to-ceiling bay windows to the right. The President, his Chief of Staff, the National Security Secretary, to head of the DoD and all their PA’s were present. So were a couple of heavily medalled General types. There were a couple of computers and an intercom system set up on the low table between the two sets of couches.

“Just take a seat here for a moment, until you’re called for.” Michaela whispered.

Then the PA to the head of the DoD crossed the room, with a model-perfect sashay, and slid down into position on the edge of the closer of the two couches alongside her boss, crossing her long legs and readying her notepad and pen on her lap. Without looking across at her as, like everyone else he was focussed entirely on the computer monitor facing him, Jefferson Chainey idly slid a palm up and down Michaela’s skirt covered thigh, just the once. It could have been affection, but to Ali it very much implied more than that.
She glanced to her right and noted, then slid down into, the small padded wooden chair backed up against the wall. Just like Michaela, she crossed her thighs and positioned her notepad at the ready, a quick but decisive stretched back of her shoulders thrust her young bosom forward and parted the front of her buttoned-up jacket just a little more. Then she settled down to watched and listen and wait.

“For comparison, how fast are our Naval craft?” Kennedy asked.
“Average of around thirty or thirty-five knots, Mr President.” A uniformed military man said.
“Jesus…”
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Urotsukidoji - Presidential Duties.