I can feel my pulse beating a quick rhythm in the chords of my neck. And then I bury my cock as deep as possible in her throat again and explode—rope after rope of hot cum is running down her throat and she's eagerly swallowing it. I look down and watch as her throat muscles contract, waves of pleasure coursing through me.
Then I pull my cock out, and watch as she milks the last strands of cum from my cock. She rubs the tip across her lips and licks at it eagerly.
"Dangshin-eul aju manhi johaha eyo," she purrs. "I like you."
It's a good thing I brushed up on my Korean. "I think this is going to be a good partnership," I smile.
Fuck. I love my job.
You see, I'm making the world a better place, one fuck at a time.
I may be a bad boy, but I've got a good heart. Yes, I'm rich but I was raised to value public service and charity.
I know what you're thinking. And I know what this looks like, but I'm not just in politics for the ego trip.
I care about the country … maybe too much. The media loves to portray me as some sex crazed bad boy, making waves just for the fuck of it. But they don't understand my motives. There's always a diplomatic reason behind my actions.
I look back at Jia as I prepare to leave. "Remember our deal," I say.
"I assure you," she replies, slipping her arms into a hotel robe, "I will do my best to sway the South Korean President toward a more open trade agreement with the US."
"Good," I reply, pressing my lips to hers in a final good bye. "We'll be in touch."
I reach for my clothes, and get dressed.
Another deal consummated. This one will bring back a lot of jobs back to America. Good, solid, manufacturing jobs. Back to the fucking heartland. Where politicians forgot all about the people.
See, I made my billions on Wall Street, but I was already rich.
But I realized, life isn’t just about making money and fucking women. Well, that’s good, but there’s more. I already did the Army after college. But I wanted to give back.
I could run my own charity, or I could actually help people by running for office. Because sure as hell I could see that ordinary Americans were getting shafted by the system. No one was listening to their voices.
It was time to change that.
I promised to bring back jobs to America. To make opportunities come to every American again - not just the token few or well connected.
How can you be against that? How can you be against a President who gets shit done?
I try to discreetly exit the hotel, but with the Secret Service in tow, how discreet can you be? It's like trying to leave this place undetected with bells on my shoes.
So despite my best efforts, as soon as I exit out the back of the building, the press is all over me.
And watch. This is where it’s gonna start.
The flash of lights is everywhere and I pull a pair of dark-shaded sunglasses over my eyes, waving off reporters.
"Mr. President, is it true you're having sexual relations with a South Korean ambassador?" asks one red-faced reporter.
Another reporter jumps in, "Could I please have a moment? The people would like to know what exactly you were doing at the Sofitel Hotel. I'm guessing more than work."
I keep walking, looking straight ahead and ignore the qu
estion.
Then another reporter jumps forward, waving her arms, "Mr. President! Over here! Just one question—I—"
But Secret Service agents are all around me, and they don't let her finish. Their arms are outstretched, "Step aside," they say. "No questions. Give the President some space."