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Well now you’re a pillar of society You don’t worry about the things that you used to be You’re a rag-trade girl, you’re the queen of porn You’re the easiest lay on the White House lawn...

The overblown strains of Keith Richards’ guitar rattled the antique paintings against their frames. Jarring, obnoxious- just the way he liked it.

Donald’s first day in the White House had been a romp. While hundreds of thousands of women gathered just a few miles away to defend their pesky ‘rights’, he had taken the weekend off, to indulge in a little known but time honored Presidential tradition.

“Mike!”

The aforementioned VP shambled into the room, clearly more than a little humiliated by his attire.

“Mike- Mike, what were you taking so long for?” The President shouted over the music. “This- this is gonna be big. It’s gonna be huge.”

“Donald...” Pence looked down at the patterned carpet. He had done a great many depraved things in his life, but never once had he found himself dressed entirely in leather.

“It’s Trump, Mike. I didn’t win the election with Donald on the ballot. Makes me sound like a duck. “

The President grinned as he took in Pence’s outfit. It was a little retro number, straight out of the 70s, complete with cross-chest straps. Apparently, it had been worn by every single Vice President since Spiro Agnew, and it was still in nearly perfect condition. Why, if Mike had a pussy... he would just reach out and grab him.

Mike cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable under the Presdent’s leer. “We should pray, Don... Trump. That our union is with the Father as well as with one another.”

Trump had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. All that religious crap again. In Donald’s mind, there were a million better ways to spend an hour than in an uncomfortable wooden chair. Hell, he couldn’t even check stocks on his phone during the service without a dirty look from some uppity man in a dress.

But then, now that he was ‘born again’...

“Heavenly God, bless our fucking, amen, alright. Mike, is that it?”

Pence gritted his teeth- oh how he wished that Lindsey Graham had picked him as a running mate instead! “Yes.”

“And Mike- you did what I tell you, with the piss, right?”

“Hold it in, yeah.”

“Good man, don’t let it go till I’ve told you.” Trump paused, to take in Pence’s shiny rubbery ass. “Now bend over.”

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Mike had to admit, the first finger felt... good. Despite accusations, he’d never had a man firmly grasp at his ass before- and Jesus forgive him he was beginning to see why those damn dirty queers liked it so much.

But the second finger, why, that was nearly as bad as giving women bodily autonomy. He was puckered and tight, an anal (born-again) virgin, and Trump’s ruddy digits were not doing his holes any favors. Bent over the President’s desk, it was all Pence could do to not cry in pain as the two fingers wiggled against his prostate.

And as quickly as the fingers had entered, they were gone. Pence turned around in confusion, only to see Donald rummaging in his pants, trying to figure out just where the hell he had misplaced his cock under mountains and mountains of orange, drooping fat.

After a few moments, Trump whipped it out, victorious. Pumped up on Viagra and overpriced whiskey, he was ready to go. The cock was as big and hard as it was ever going to be, and as he stroked it with his tiny tiny hands, he almost felt like a real, whole, human being (and not a steaming pile of horse shit).

“Mike... Mike... “ he crooned in that almost sing-song voice “I’m gonna fuck you like you fucked over Indiana."

Pence groaned, his beady eyes rolling back into his skull. Oh it was so sinful... but fuck it was hot. Pressure was building, and to top it off, he had to pee. I mean really had to pee. 6 hours of holding in the church wine could really eff up a man’s bladder.

But it was all for tradition’s sake. Wasn’t it?

In his chafing leather assless chaps (which had previously been graced by none other than Dick ‘shot a man in Reno’ Cheney), Pence leaned down to press his face onto the president’s desk.

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When I'm ridin' round the world And I'm doin' this and I'm signing that And I'm tryin' to make some girl Who tells me baby better come back later next week Cause you see I'm on losing streak

Trump stole Mike’s anal virginity like he stole the election: quick and undignified. Mike wedged up against the desk, ass high in the air. Trump right behind him, flopping and flailing to the beat of an overplayed Rolling Stones melody.

It was all perfect.

That is, until...

“Dad?”

Donald whipped his head around towards the source of the voice. Barron Trump, (poor kid), was standing in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Dad- what’r you doing?”

Trump fumbled, for once at a loss of words.

“Get out Barron. We’re... Mike and I... we’re having a meeting.”

The child cocked his head in confusion, “Doesn’t look like a meeting... Dad, why is Mr. Pence on the table?”

Mike, for his part, red faced and bloated, simply wiggled around like an errant salmon.

“Uh... Barron... tell you what...” Trump gingerly fished in his (poorly fitted) suit jacket pocket. “Here’s... here’s some money. Should be, a couple hundred thousand in there. Go... go tell yer nanny that daddy told you to go shopping, alright? Buy yourself a couple a properties or something.”

Donald extracted a wad of bills from his pocket, and carelessly tossed it at the boy.

“ Kay... I guess... ” Barron caught the money, and skeptically left the room.

“And don’t forget to evict the tenants!” Trump called after the boy. “But just the black ones- they didn’t vote for me anyways!”

Mike had stopped wiggling, and glanced up at the President in utmost concern. “Mr. President- what if he tells someone? Our careers could be ruined if this gets out!”

“Don’t worry about it, Pence!” Donald took an opportunity to send a thrust into his VP. “I’ll just tell the media the kid’s retarded or something... they’ll lap it up. Swear to God. Always works- swear to God.”

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And just like that, Trump had lightened his load, all over the backside of the Veep. Mike was still hard, and ready to release both the jizz and pee in one fatal blow.

“Mike... Mike turn around. Let it all go on my face.”

Pence stood up suddenly, his eyes wide and bulgy. “But Mr. President...”

“That’s an executive order.

Mike had no choice but to comply. Donald positioned himself right underneath, and with a couple of wily (tiny) strokes, Pence was gone. Jizz and piss spewed like a Yosemite geyser, and Mike threw his head back in pleasure.

A few seconds passed, as both POTUS and ponce enjoyed the aftershocks.

Trump was the first to move- rubbing some of the mixture into his hair, with a satisfied gurgle.

Pence looked down upon him (as he looks down upon everyone) with suspicion. “What are you..”

“Ever wonder why my hair was so yellow, Mike?”

A pause.

“Jesus, look at the mess in here, I’ll have to get Verónica to clean it up.” 

Pence let out a chuckle, as he flopped into the president’s chair. “I don’t think you pay her enough for that.”

“Four-fifty an hour is more than enough! And besides, I tell her, I tell her- Verónica, as long as you work for me, you won’t get deported. She’ll do it, Mike.”

The VP shook his head. “Maybe we should make this a regular tradition- once a month. Next time, we could consider inviting Bannon.”

“Bannon?” Trump scoffed. “No can do, he’ll want to wear that damn white dress of his the whole time. I tell him- here’s what I tell him- Bannon, it’s not any fun to wear one of those things, you can hardly see out the little eye slits. But he does it anyways- bless him.”

“Then just you and me then.”

“Sure, Mike- I’ll fit it in between angry tweets. Beautiful. God bless America.”

It’s good to be king.