2005 Mar 21 • 4608
I find her completely naked in the bathroom with the door wide open.
"It's time!" she desperately says between forceful breaths.
I stand in shock, in awe of what I am witnessing.
She puts one leg up on the edge of the sink. Her knee perilously close to activating the cold water. The danger arouses me in ways I cannot describe.
She grunts, "It's coming!"
There is a loud thud, and then another, from the other side of the wall. Surely it's Michelle Obama trying to escape her restraints. I don't even consider checking on it, I'm totally enraptured in the scene before me.
"Fuuuck!" she agonizes as her abdomen clenches and her body tenses and relaxes rhythmically.
I feel a pang of fear. Something is wrong. It should have started by now. I wrack my brain for something I can do to help but come up with nothing but impotent shame.
Another thud. The First Lady can wait.
"You- ah! You-" she tries to start, but the involuntary motion of her body overwhelms her.
Her knee ever so slightly taps the faucet. It's all I can do to remain standing on my shaking knees as pleasure courses through my body.
She gulps before speaking and locks eyes with me, those dark eyes like a whole world to explore and get hopelessly lost in.
"You have to hit me- ah! AH! Don't... hold back!"
My legs are jello. Hit her? Now? It's a superhuman feat that I'm not flat on my face. I can't do it, but I must. I will. I won't fail her when it matters most.
I step towards her, one at a time. I can do this. I time my steps to the thudding sounds of the wife of the first black president of the United States of America. Patriotism gives me courage. Thank God for Uncle Sam.
"You little bitch, I said HIT ME!" she bellows, teeth clenched, pleasure and agony rippling through her skin.
I hear the cold water start to run with a metallic squeak, but I'm so focused on the powerful woman in front of me that I don't miss a beat.
Now I'm rock hard, and I clench my fist to match. Sweat is running down the tensed muscles on my face.
I wind up, and it's over before I know what's happening. Now my fist is sunk deep into her stomach, she's howling in rage. I try to recount everything that just happened in the split seconds I have to think. The turd left her anus like Apollo 11 heading for the moon. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin. Bravest fucking Americans on or off the planet.
That's where it went wrong. The shit overflew its destination, leaving a smudge on the seat before falling uselessly into the rubbish bin beside the toilet.
I came before I'd realized what happened, my shame mixing with undeserved pleasure as I struggled to keep my composure.
She knew from the look on my face what had transpired. I thought I'd see her break, but she was filled with determination.
"I- ah! I can do one more!"
'You're crazy!' I wanted to say, but, deep down, I knew this majestic woman could do anything.
"Hit me again!"
I wouldn't disappoint her by hesitating. Not now. Not when she's my queen and I'm her knight. The second blow leaves her gasping. Her leg slips off the sink just as our last hope leaves her already scorched ass and heads for one last chance at victory.
It moves like a blur, speed and precision defined. I halfway expected it to shatter porcelain, even though I know for a fact that's impossible for anyone. The wet slap tells me it hit home. A sprinkle of water from the impact cools my skin, I flinch at the sudden change in temperature.
The thudding has stopped. Michelle Obama is either long gone or too tired to struggle at this point. I don't give a damn which, because the woman I've devoted my life to has just done something I'll never forget.
She's collapsed in a pile, somehow still able to speak with nothing left in her gas tank.
"Put me in the tub and clean me up, you little minx."
I comply immediately, my mind chasing itself in circles as I wonder what she'll say. She sees my anxiety written all over my body.
"And... good job, brave knight."
That's all I needed to hear. I can now die knowing I'm worth something.