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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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From her position Ali could barely make out the green on black display on the monitor. It appeared to be the clockface-like image of a radar screen, the spinning arm like a second hand, with a number of pinhead size blips. And one much larger, maybe the size of a one-cent coin.
Though she was trying to pay attention, most of what was said was going over her head, it was speeds and coordinates but she didn’t know what ‘it’ was supposed to be. An enemy plane? Maybe it was a sub. And she was looking at a sonar display.
All too soon, her mind started to wander. She wondered about Mrs Kennedy. She was probably in the First Lady’s Office over in the East Wing, or maybe upstairs with her son.

“Where is it now?”
“Mid Pacific, Mr President. Heading East.”
“Hawaii?”
“Definitely heading in that direction, Mr President.”
“We can only hope it’ll pass it by. But if it does, the next stop will be the Continental United States.”
“Maybe it’ll hit Cuba.” Someone muttered.

The talk of ‘Continental United States’ and ‘hit’ snapped Ali straight back into the Oval Office. Straightening her posture, she mentally chastised herself for losing focus. Hit Cuba? Perhaps a missile? An ICBM? Did the Japanese have ICBMs? Maybe one of their own? A malfunction or an accidental launch? Ali told herself to stop guessing and just to listen carefully.

“It’s hit Hawaii!”

There was a collective gasp. A few muttered swear words. Some of the bosses slid a reassuring arm around their white-faced PA’s. And then, barely three seconds later. The room was nothing but grim and weighty silence. Nothing but a distant sound of a telephone ringing and the ticking of the old solid gold mantle clock.
That silence, three seconds that felt like three years, was broken by one of the military men.

“All communications cut off, sir.”
“That’s it, Mr President.” Susan Coyote, Kennedy’s Chief of Staff said. “Its next stop is this Continent. You agreed…”
“Yes, yes Susan. I remember what I said. Get my wife and son ready. Everyone else, you all know your jobs. Let’s make this happen as smoothly and quickly as possible.”

Everyone involved rose in Kennedy’s wake, but Michaela was the first to sidle up to the President, she whispered into his ear and nodded in Ali’s direction. He turned his head and looked. And grinned. Michaela turned and swept away, hurrying after her boss.
The President’s Chief of Staff took hold of Kennedy’s upper arm and they completed a hurried exchange. However, Kennedy’s eyes barely left Ali’s seated figure, one of those glazed looks as though he was actually looking right through her. Still, she felt herself straightening up and then standing up and once again awkwardly pulling folds and creases out of her professional looking suit.

The President and Chief of Staff having completed their business, Susan Coyote swept across the room to get the attention of the Secretary of State while Kennedy, attention wholly on Ali, crossed the room to stand in front of her. Face to face with the President, it felt to Ali like standing in front of a shut door, tall and broad and bulky, practically rectangular. While the door itself - or really what was beyond it - held the promise of potential opportunities.

“The young intern.” Kennedy said, eyes alight as he stared down at Ali. “Miss…?”
“Whitmer, Mr President…”

Jacob Kennedy was a tall man, and toe-to-toe her eyeline would be lower sternum. This close, she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. And as she watched him, she noted unsurprisingly that he was no more immune to the hypnotism of her cleavage than any other man. Not surprising in the slightest, he had long possessed his father’s reputation as a womaniser.

“What’s you first name, Miss Whitmer?”
“Alina… Ali, Mr President.”
“Real pleasure to meet you, Ali. I have need of you. You’re to come with me.”
“Yes, Mr President.”

Her heart was fluttering like crazy and she felt like she was shaking all over, uncontrollably, her nipples instantly beginning to stiffen. She silently thanked the concealing thicker cotton of her jacket. She could even feel slick, warm movement between her vulva. She hoped her panties weren’t already getting damp.

“Stick to my heels, young lady. We’re moving quickly, so don’t get lost or left behind.”
“No sir, Mr President.”
“And Ali, I know you’re full of a million questions. And I will absolutely make time for you. But kindly hold off until I let you know.”
“Absolutely Mr President. I’m here to follow your orders. Whatever you say.”
“That’s my girl!” He grinned. “Off we go then. Stay close now.”

That infectious grin if his floored her. She’d had that face, that smile, plastered to her bedroom wall, and in her fantasies, for over a decade.

“Yes sir, Mr President.” She stammered, throwing her best smile back at him.

The thrill she felt, at “Mr President” and that it was Him, the power he had, a thought flickered into her torrid mind - only tall and handsome men, like Kennedy, should be allowed to be President.
She was terrified that the aroma of her damp pussy might be detectable. But quickly shut down the paranoia. It was foolish, she’d be the first to smell herself and she couldn’t, so that was that. Even so, the way he looked at her for that one extra half-second, staring into her eyes with that infectious smile. And hadn’t his nostrils flared a little?

The next hour was a tumult of confusing activity. She eventually managed to confirm two things; firstly, that they were being evacuated from the White House. And secondly that, by all accounts, Hawaii no longer existed. Whatever it was that had struck had completely obliterated the entire island in an instant.
To Ali that suggested a nuclear strike, with multiple warheads. What else could destroy the entire island of Hawaii in a single instant? Which meant they must be at war with someone. China or the Russians, but they had the new peace with the Russians… Had that fallen through somehow? She couldn’t wrap her brain around the snippets she was catching on to. And to make things more confusing still, were the reports that they were struggling to locate the whatever-it-is’s position. But if it was a ‘whatever-it-is’, then it couldn’t be a country or a foreign power.
She thought of The Hunt for Red October. She had read the book, a few years ago after a recommendation from her father. That had been about a rogue nuclear submarine. That could account for this situation. Russian submarines carried numerous nuclear warheads, didn’t they? Like a couple dozen? Would that be enough to destroy the whole of Hawaii? She couldn’t think about that - all those people, the devastation, the radiation. It was too horrifying, so she shut that process down before it got started.

People were packing, grabbing up things they thought they would require, generally running around in not quite organised-panic mode. Ali felt no different, she had no idea whatsoever how or when the evacuation would occur, where they would be going or for how long. She assumed no one knew. It was a fluid situation after all.
She wondered if and when she would be able to let her parents know about her own evacuation. They had the number of her hotel and they had the switchboard and department extension number here in the White House, but she had no idea where they were going or how long she would be away. And right now, it felt far too personal and selfish a question to ask.

There were three helicopters on the south lawn outside, three big ones – VH-60s she believed. They were obviously waiting for the staff chosen to be evacuated with the President. Apparently, there were two emergency locations and the heads of departments were being divided up as a security and safety factor. Some, including Ali, were joining the Kennedy’s in one location, while the others would join the Vice President and his family. She supposed the Helicopters must be Marine One, and maybe Two and Three?
Ali managed to gain enough information to confirm she was being put on the same helicopter with the President, his wife and son, along with her PA and Susan Coyote with her PA. While the second and third helicopters would take most of the department heads; the head of the DoD, the NSA chief and their respective PA’s, no doubt with a sprinkling of armed Secret Service agents in each.

Before she knew it - and she didn’t know it until they emerged from a door and were then hurrying across the south lawn toward the waiting helicopters - all of a sudden, the preparations were complete and the evacuation was fully underway.
The President has his own private window seat, with a second seat facing his and a small table between them. Mrs Kennedy took that one with her boy on her lap. Behind the President’s seat was a two-seater couch occupied by Susan Coyote and her PA. While backed up to the opposite bulkhead was a three-seater couch. Ali, Kennedy junior, who was passed across to Christina Kirshner, the First Lady’s PA all sat there. A female Secret Service agent joined them, perched on the corner of the couch pressed up close to Ali. A male Secret Service agent joined them bringing the total passenger contingent to nine. The male agent remained standing to the rear, holding onto a white leather handhold screwed into the fabric-covered bulkhead.
The décor was the expected white and cream, with wooden trim that matched the tables and Presidential blue carpets throughout.

Ali checked her watch, though she didn’t know the speed of helicopters or where they were going so there was little point in checking on the time. They would get where they were going when they got there. It was probably classified anyway.
She wanted to ask about letting her parents know that she was heading to an unknown location as part of the President’s retinue, but the helicopter was full and as the youngest person on board by at least a decade or more (ignoring five-year-old Norman), she felt embarrassed at the idea and so kept her mouth shut. There should be plenty of time for all that once they got where they were going.

She felt eyes on her. Both the Kennedy’s had their heads turned toward the couch seat where Ali was sitting. Heather Kennedy was watching her son, smiling at him and muttering gentle soothing comments and questions. The President was looking at Ali. She felt herself blushing profusely but looked back at Jacob Kennedy with a welcoming smile. A smile of his own awaited her, though his eyes were roaming her jacket and skirt-covered figure opulently. She watched him for a while, half wanting to flirt somehow, cross her legs maybe, or shift herself so her boobs moved under her jacket. Just something nice for him. De-stressful hopefully.
But then his eyes shifted over onto the Secret Service agent perched on the edge of the couch beside her. She was more precarious in her posture, one arm stretched across the back of the cushions gripping the seatback to keep her balance. Her legs, in snug, high-waisted Navy trousers were spread apart, another way to maintain her balance and Ali supposed, her combat readiness. She also wore a sportscoat style jacket that matched the deep blue of her trousers and a plain white blouse. Of course, she was supremely fit and athletic, probably Olympic level or thereabouts. So, it was expected she would have a great figure beneath her business suit. Plus, the way she was sitting her clothes pressed shear against her supple curves, perhaps more than she would like.

President Kennedy had been personally instrumental in bringing more up-coming female military into the Secret Service, and had hand-picked a number for his personal protection detail. Ali believed there to be five of them. There had been an article about it in Forbes magazine, though of course their identities had been kept secret and the few photos attached to the article were all distant telephoto lens captured images.

Someone’s phone rang, it was a wall mounted handset beside the two Kennedy’s. Heather’s attention had been on her son sitting across the other side of the aircraft, now playing quietly on the lap of Christina Kirschner, but she immediately reached for the receiver, put it to her ear and listened to the voice on the other end. She lifted her eyes and caught her husband’s attention, his eyes had returned to Ali, until he felt his wife’s attention on him. She swung the mouthpiece down beneath the smooth length of her slender throat.

“Landfall.” She reported, her voice heavy. “California.”

Kennedy nodded then reached for the phone. Heather passed it across. Ali noted how pale she looked. The President announced himself, listened. Frowned. Shook his head slightly.

“Check your accuracy, keep us updated on changes in direction. That’s quite alright, son.” He said and then put the phone back on its cradle.

He looked at his wife and then across at the others. Susan Coyote shifted in her seat and leaned out into the passageway to look back at her boss.

“Baja Peninsula.” He said. “Travelling south. At the moment.”
“Total destruction?”
“By all accounts.”
“What is it, Sir?” Ali couldn’t help herself.
“We don’t know. Something. Came out of Tokyo, Japan two weeks ago.” He said and then looked away.
“Any attempts to capture information has failed.” Susan Coyote said, taking over. “We were hoping it might be a localised phenomenon. That the Japanese would deal with it. But they haven’t and now it’s gone international.”
“We don’t even know if it’s an organic or artificial phenomenon.”
“Like a UFO maybe?” Ali asked.

Immediately she felt herself blushing, as she heard the foolishness of the words coming out of her own mouth. Coyote’s assistant took over, as his boss settled herself back into her seat, apparently holding that twisted position was uncomfortable for her.

“We have wide satellite coverage. SETI and all the international observational astral telescopes at our disposal. Not one reported a thing. We just don’t know.”
“You’ll just have to sit and wait, young lady.” Heather Kennedy said, surprisingly Ali. “There’ll be a full briefing when we get where we’re going.”
“Yes, Mrs Kennedy. I apologise ma’am, I’m still new to all this. I’m sorry ma’am.”
“No need to apologise, Young Alina.” The President said, smiling at her. “We’re all stressed and uncertain. And my lovely wife is right. I’ll be filling you all in as soon as the time it right.”
“Yessir, Mr President.” Ali gushed.
“You’re in the safest place on Earth right now, Alina.” The First Lady added, with a slightly forced smile.
“I’m sure of it, Ma’am.”

Ali practically sang her reply, giving the stunning woman her best smile. Then, before thinking about what she was doing, she leaned forward surreptitiously and whispered to the TV star and First Lady.

“By the way I’m a huge fan. Since I was a little girl.”

It broke the ice with the First Lady and she flashed Ali her first, and famous beaming smile. There were good natured titters of laughter around them.

“You’re still a little girl!” Christina Kirshner said.

Even little five-year-old Norman, sitting beside her joined in with the laughter, though he could have no idea what he was joining in with. The laughter was interrupted by a crackle from the intra-com. The pilot’s voice coming through over the speakers.

“Half an hour out, Mr President. Making good time, sir.”

<><><>

The Helicopters touched down on a private airfield and the group were transferred to a fleet of limousines. This time Ali was separated from the Kennedy’s, sharing the third car with the two Secret Service agents who were all business and didn’t give her a single opportunity to converse.
She felt as much as heard the second helicopter touching down behind her as the limousine fleet started off along a road and then between two aircraft hangars. There didn’t seemed to be anywhere else around. On the far side of the hangars, they took a ramp the lowered them into a narrow tunnel. And there was nothing but two pairs of limousine’s rear lights and the flashing-by illumination of overhead tunnel lamps, casting obtuse pools of a dull, dirty amber.
The tunnel seemed to go on and on and, though it was hard to judge accurately, she had the sense that they were continually descending. Eventually they slowed and turned a corner pulling into what looked like a rather standard underground parking garage. Ali’s limo pulled in alongside the other two. She saw a dozen other vehicles parked in random places around the parking garage. Though the limousines all pulled into what appeared to be specialised parking spaces, closest to the elevator.

She got on board, catching up to the Kennedy’s and Coyote and her PA. Little Norman, assumedly named after his grandmother, was fast asleep, cradled in his mother’s arms. No one spoke. Ali noted as the door closed that the elevator only went down, garage floor and sublevels. Which was really strange. But then, so was the rest of the journey.
A corridor, low ceilinged and narrow. Golf carts transporting them quickly from one end to the other. Then there was another door leading what was basically one of those extendable boarding tunnels you occasionally had in airports. It led them into an enclosed space, its décor not unlike the interior of Marine 1. The colour scheme was the same too, though the seats all pointed front to back like a standard passenger plane. However, they were moulded more than padded, more utilitarian. And sported impressively convoluted safety-harnesses.
The First Lady and Christina Kirschner were busy fitting little Norman into a child seat which was already strapped into the moulded utilitarian seat. Susan Coyote’s PA collected Ali and lead her to a seat to the rear, helping her into her harness.

“Actually, you might want to head rear and visit the powder room first. This is going to be a long flight.”
“I’m okay, thank you. I haven’t actually drunk anything in a couple of hours, more I guess, so I won’t need to go for a while yet.”
“If you’re sure.” He said, shrugging.
“Can I ask where we’re going?”
“PEOC, the Presidential Emergency Operations Center? The location itself is classified. You’re in for a treat though, you’ve no idea how lucky you are, seriously.”

Ali didn’t know how to respond to that. She just nodded and allowed him to lock her into the seven-point seat harness. He was very careful not to touch her boobs, even when he almost had to in order to slide the straps over her shoulders and lock them into the cylindrical centre piece. He left her to tighten the straps herself, pulling on the loose ends. With a quick nod and warm smile, he left her and returned to his seat up front alongside Coyote’s.
She looked around. The President was leaning across toward the chair alongside his, apparently whispering to his wife, though Ali couldn’t see her face. She could see two of the female Secret Service agents looking serious and watchful and yet slightly unnerved. One of them even looked a little green around the gills.
There was a bit of a clatter up front somewhere and then additional voices, talking animatedly was heard approaching. Ali craned her neck and did her best to lean out into the walkway, wincing as the straps fought her, cutting into her flesh through her clothing. She caught sight of two more Secret Service guys, one male one female, entering the pod and after paying their respects to the President, they took their seats to his left at the front of the pod. It occurred to Ali for the first time that, not only were there now two female Secret Service agents present but that they were both exceptionally beautiful women. She guessed it was probably down to Kennedy, just wanting to surround himself with beautiful women no matter what their jobs were.

A voice came over the intra-com.

“We have our full complement now, Mr President, and preflight checks have been completed. Ninety-degree elevation is about to get underway.”

Ninety-degree elevation? What was that? What was going on? She looked around, trying to catch someone’s eye But no one was looking her way. In fact, most of those she could see had their eyes closed.
And then the whole world started to slowly move, a universal rotation, lifting her upward and backward head first, making her stomach lurch. It felt like a fun-park ride, slowly being taken up to the top of the tracks, heart hammering away. Then the pause, with the exquisite anxiety of it, before the world abruptly drops out from under you. And she was sitting there, now literally shivering, waiting for her world to drop. The Intra-com kicked in again -

“T-minus three minutes.” - and then, thirty seconds later - “Engine gimble test complete.”

Ali leaned a little to her right into the walkway, she could see President Kennedy, or at least the left side of him, the side of his face, his shoulder and arm and left leg. His steel grey pants were riding up beyond his ankles revealing presidential blue socks, even featuring the Presidential crest on them. Ali had to bite down a giggle.
For a second, she wondered if he had heard her, as his head turned to the left to show off more of the side of his face, however she quickly realised that he was catching the attention of one of the female Secret Service agents seated to his left. She also realised there was a mirror positioned in the seat back facing the agent’s position, allowing her a good view of the rear of the pod.
President Kennedy, lifted his hand and made a little waving gesture to the agent.

She responded with a little nod, quickly slapped her central harness lock and freed herself from her straps. It allowed her, with some awkwardness, to lean out of her chair toward the middle of the walkway, which by now was a vertical drop. Kennedy did likewise, unlocking himself and then gripping his seat back with one hand, he leaned to the left until their heads were almost together. Leaning in another inch or two, she put her ear close to his lips.
Interested and happy with the distraction, Ali watched them both closely. This was obviously a private conversation, something security based. Sitting behind them, quite a few seats behind, Ali could neither read lips nor gauge facial expressions. Instead, she found herself assessing the woman.
She had short brown hair, soft waves that were pinned to keep them under control and away from her face. Her light brown-skinned complexion suggested perhaps a Hispanic heritage. Features were difficult to see due to the angle, but there were suggestions of full lips, quite a flat nose, and long lashes. She couldn’t see her eyes at all. Ali guessed she was probably in her thirties. Under the professional pants suit and white blouse, she had a short and compact figure, and whatever curves she might have had were tightly contained beneath her clothes. Cinched.

Ali saw a flush burst across the agent’s full cheeks. And she appeared to be staring into the President’s eyes, while he looked back at her with what Ali thought was a smirk. Still blushing, she gave POTUS a belated nod. He made some kind of dismissive gesture and she leaned back into her seat, locking herself back behind her harness. Now Ali could see her in the mirror, her warm brown eyes were lowered, the blush barely faded, looming discomfort, refusing to look at anyone else.
The Intra-com cracked to life -

“Tank pressurization underway.” - and then, at two minutes - “Engine purge complete.”
“Go for auto sequence start.” - at ninety seconds, and counting - “Go for main engine start.”

It was only in that particular moment that Ali realised where she was, or at least the first suspicions were born. Vague memories of seeing footage of rocket launches, Apollo 11, Saturn 5, the Challenger tragedy. Her stomach dropped and a wave of anxiety overcame her.

“T-minus 10… 9… 8… 7… 6…” - “All three engines up and burning.” - “2… 1… Zero. And, lift off.”

The sudden eruption of thrust and acceleration was like a wall slamming into Ali, crushing her against her seat. She couldn’t help but scream. However, within a couple of seconds there was no more air in her lungs and it was a real fight to fill them again. The violent rattling of the pod as well as the sheer dragon-roar of the solid fuel rocket engines blasting away at the same time, deafened anything except her scream, that echoed inside her own ears.

Through the violent shaking that obliterated her vision, making it useless, she noted a something red and black; a shapeless blur ahead of her at the front of the pod. More than likely on the forward bulkhead. She simply hadn’t noticed it before. She would put money on it being a digital clock or some kind of read-out display. However, there was just too much full-body shaking at the moment. She even felt her boobs shaken out of her bra, even though the slamming g-forces pinned her into the seat, whatever level those forces were, it felt outright insufferable. She wanted to lift her hand to her chest to rearrange her clothing or at least trap the front of her jacket and keep it from bellying open. However, she couldn’t manage to uncurl her white-knuckled fingers from the armrests of her chair.
The shaking seemed to go on forever, as they continued to ascend through the layers of Earth’s atmosphere towards orbit. At some point the Intra-com crackled again, a voice coming over the speaker, shaky but plainly audible -

“Second shuttle launch is go.” - and a few seconds later - “Second shuttle cleared tower.”

Finally, everything became weightless. Immediately the President was delightedly uncoupling himself from his seat and floating free. Ali watched him glance across at the female Secret Service agent and then hook himself clear of his seat, stretching out horizontally in the air. It was a strange thing to witness. Other passengers were also starting to uncouple themselves. But Ali had no intention of following their lead until she was instructed to. Where the hell were they going? Was this a new supersonic type of high-altitude flight? Was the PEOC somewhere in Alaska? Or Some US owned island out in the Pacific?

Playfully, like an overexcited child, Kennedy pushed away from his seat, positioning himself, floating over the centre aisle. He was holding onto his own headrest and that of the seat across from his, for stability. Laughing, he launched himself forward, flying through the air like Superman. It really was like watching a kid at play, Ali thought. Though it just made her love the man even more.

“Hitting the head, be right back.” He said to on one in particular.

Then he was shooting past Ali’s chair, grinning like the Cheshire cat, and giving her a little wink as he passed her by. A few seconds later, the female Secret Service agent was following him. Did he really need close protection even in here?
Ali gingerly unclipped herself from the upper half of her harness, still secured from the waist down. She leaned out and noted, with relief, that no one else was out of their seats or better still looking in her direction. She reached inside her jacket and shuffled about until her boobs were back in their bra and all felt right again, as much as they could in zero gravity.
She heard a little click and clunk behind her. Again no one ahead of her was looking toward the rear, they were either talking quietly with whoever sat closest to them or were engaged in items on their person, an open briefcase, a Filofax, careful of free-floating pens, paper clips and papers. There was another thump from behind and Ali twisted around in her chair and looked back toward the powder room. Or ‘head’? Was that the correct term while on board a plane? Probably anything but powder room. And then all thoughts of correct terminology for a toilet cubicle were thrust right out of her head.

The head cubicle was not quite shut, the standing door ajar by perhaps six or eight inches. And in the gap, Ali could see the President floating there, almost in profile. His pants were open and his erect penis was sticking out of his flies like some solid oak nightstick. It looked almost inhuman; not in appearance, though it did appear particularly massive in both length and girth even beyond her illicit teenage fantasies. However, it was the colouring that made it seem unearthly. Ali had been with men, had played with boyfriend’s penises, and at their most rampant and blood-filled they had looked ruddy brown compared to the pale or tan of the boyfriends’ Caucasian skin. President Kennedy’s erect penis appeared almost purple, like it was bruised. It also looked bloated, practically bulging and pulsing with a life of its own. The dance of veins across the foreskin looked red and blue, while the fat crown was terrifically swollen, smooth and shiny with its hardness, and the colour of beets.

Kennedy had a steadying hand on the door. A casual body movement shoved it open another few inches to reveal the attractive Secret Service agent. She was floating just above the carpeted floor, practically in a foetal position, her eyes locked on her POTUS, her anxious face in line with that shocking phallic baton. It was obvious what was about to happen, and Ali found herself wondering if this would be the first time in zero gravity.
It was pretty shocking to witness, face to face and, not wanting to be caught staring, Ali whipped her head back to gaze up toward the front of the pod. Fortunately, no one else was looking back up the walkway, no one’s attention on her or looking to see where the President had gone. Or the agent for that matter.
The noise that came from the cubicle was quiet enough but Ali, being the closest and only one seemingly aware, could hear it distinctly. A wet sounding throaty assault -

“HUUAWK!” - “HRRK! HRRRK!” - “ACK! ACK! ACK!” - “AWK! AWK! ACK!” - “AUCK! AUCK! HUUARRK!”

- was all Ali needed to have her head whip back around and almost involuntarily, lean herself out into the aisle.

The poor female agent looked supremely uncomfortable. In normal gravity she would have been on her knees, probably with her hands behind her back. But in zero gravity he had both her with her arms and legs wrapped around his legs, clinging to him with her lips encircling the Presidential penis. Of course, Kennedy his had both of his hands on her head, a handful of hair and a handful of her skull. Her mouth was wide open to take his shocking length, jaw flexed and opened to the extreme.
Her cheeks were visibly hollowing, suction pulling them inward and with a noticeable rhythm.
She worked hard on the Presidential meat while Kennedy plunged it forward and back at a shockingly rapid pace, visibly driving deep into the fist-tight tube of the poor woman’s throat.

The zero-gravity created more unexpected consequences, the agent’s slobber, squirting from her orifices, drool, tears and mucus were forming a combined halo around her lower face and Kennedy’s shaft. Some of it clung to their skin and clothes but much of it bounced in globules between them, hitting, sticking, tumbling free, bouncing off, going in all directions. Again, in normal gravity her face would be a mess, tears streaking her make up, slobber pouring down her chin and mucus dribbling from her nose. But here there was no gravity to pull all that liquid away from her face, and it hung about in a way that to Ali seemed both messy and dangerous, potentially blocking airways. Kennedy didn’t appear to care as he held her head tight, dragging her face back and forth as rapidly and far as he could, like a magician making his entire penis disappear past her lips again and again.
He pushed back on her head, angling her throat until it was stretched out straight, Kennedy pumping his full length up and down in the gripping orifice. He kept her that way until the end. More than once, minor geysers of slobber would burst up from her lip-seal in time with his thrusts and then continue their trajectory until they hit something and bounced away, or clung to a surface.

It came to an end with a pop rather than an explosion, though Ali was almost certain there was an explosion, just that it was spurted magnificently down into the depths of the agent’s over-burdened gullet. At the last, he shoved himself balls deep, so his big hairy scrotum was pressed against her chin, and ground his crotch into her face. Ali watched in mute shock as he worked his hips in little grinding circles, giving her little inch-deep thrusts while he thew his head back, the aggressive movement introducing a slow midair rotation to the two clung together bodies. In the middle of their slow-motion somersault, the President - groaning through his gritted teeth - started to shiver all over, his entire body quivering. That was the extent of his climax, at least from the outside.

In seconds he was done, softened penis relegated to his underwear, trousers zipped up. Drool stains in the fabric concealed behind the flaps of his suit’s jacket.
He emerged from the cubicle, the epitome of power and confidence, a little smirk on his flushed handsome face. As he passed, he caught Ali’s eye and tossed her a casual wink. Then he was past her chair and returning to his seat, California cool.

Curious, Ali glanced back at the cubicle. The door was still ajar but given the angle she was sure she was the only one who could see into the little room. The agent was clinging one handed to a handhold beside the sink while she vomited and spat repeatedly into the tube-like receptacle, equipped with its own suction system. Once she was apparently better, she started with the towels to soak up the stains to her clothing, all those clinging spheres of fluid.
It took ten minutes at least before she reappeared, hair in a new, wet and finger-combed style, effectively clothing rearranged and somehow not revealing any hint of what the President had just done to her. Still, she looked pale and a little sickly, her previously subtle make-up wiped clean away. Face fresh, but femininity somehow lessened. She looked barely composed.
She also appeared to be unable to look anyone in the eye, especially not Kennedy. On retaking her seat, her partner appeared to speak to her, Ali could see movement in the mirror, but she just shook her head and looked down. Just once she turned her head and glanced across at Kennedy, he just smiled back at her, making her look away quickly. Ali frowned.
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Urotsukidoji - Presidential Duties.