History Books
Donald POV- January 30th
I sit in my study, looking down at a history book I had purchased for one thing, and one thing only. I opened it to the table of contents, finding the section I'm looking for, and flipping to the first page. Immediately I'm met with a sight that makes me feel like drooling.
Abraham Lincoln, leaning against his table, a book under his elbow to make up for the smallness of the table compared to his size. The man's eyes spoke a story of exhaustion and hardship, the photo likely taken amidst his political war.
This was an exhaustion that I understood, that I felt connected with. I had been spending my recent hours trying to shape America into the same great place it used to be. My recent inauguration left me with an entire country that I had a mere four years to fix. Four years to rid women of the rights they had grown accustomed to having, to make the people like me richer and in more control than ever. Nearly two weeks in and people are already rioting. They don't know that is good for them, but I do.
I look back at the photo of Abraham Lincoln, my mind beginning to conjure up a fantasy. I'm laying on my bed, Abraham laying next to me. His voice, although more high-pitched than it is portrayed in film, is a soothing balm for my anxious soul.
He whispers sweet nothings into my ear, rubbing my thigh with a gentleness that his rough hands weren't used to giving. I put my head against his chest and his free hand tangled in my hair, forcing my head to tilt upwards. He chuckles, a smirk spreading across his lips.
“I wish you would wear less makeup, sweetheart, it's hard to see your cute blush under all that orange”
A heat pools in my stomach as I hear his voice again. I nod with a sort of obedience I'm not used to displaying, it makes me feel small and vulnerable, yet horny at the same time.
Abraham’s hand moves further up my thigh, growing more exploratory, his other hand keeping my head turned towards his face. My cheeks flushed under my foundation, and my hand moved to his wrist.
“I- I'm married…” I manage to stutter out, Abraham tugs my head back in response, revealing my throat to him. His lips move against my throat, his beard tickling the skin.
“Sleepy Joe? Don't humor me,” He speaks with dominance, his breath warm against my skin. “That man is a joke to the presidential rite. At least you are fighting for something.”
I almost speak, but his teeth sink into the base of my neck, not enough to break skin, only enough to sting. This stinging sensation was quickly soothed by his tongue tracing the outline of the bite. I let out a small whimper, taking a deep breath whilst looking up at him.
“A-Abraham I-”
“Call me Abe”
“Abe…”
The name rolls off my tongue, only proving to make me a bit hornier. I can tell Abe sees this too, as his hand moves up to my crotch. I let out a small moan as he squeezes me slightly.
“Donald!”
I'm drawn out of my daydream by Joe. I feel a bit frustrated as I hear his voice, wishing I could've completed my fantasy. His arm snakes around me, hand moving to rest upon my baby bump.
“Hello, love” Joe kisses my ear as I speak, the warmness pools in my stomach, his voice reminding me that the arousal I feel from him is greater than any dream.
“Joe? Why have you bothered me?” Joe smiles and hugs me gently.
“I'm going shopping, I just wanted to check if you had any special requests?”
“Hmmm. Could you get me some pickles?”
He chuckles and shakes his head
“You and your pickles. Alright love, I'll get you your pickles.”
He kisses my forehead and leaves the room, the warm feeling remaining as I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair.