I'd Vote for that Daddy

Featuring United States Senator, John N. Kennedy

CHAPTER TWO: Finer Than a Frog's Hair

The Louisiana sun beat down like a jealous lover on the carport of the Kennedy home in Madisonville, the humid air thick enough to wring out like a dishrag. Sen. John Neely Kennedy, seventy-something but still spry in his red bandanna and workout shorts, gripped the handles of "Margaret," his beloved elliptical trainer named after the Iron Lady herself. Sweat poured down his weathered face, tracing the lines of a man who'd grown up poor in Zachary, clawed his way through Vanderbilt, UVA Law, and Oxford, and now traded barbs in the Senate. His t-shirt clung to his average, sturdy frame, flat chest, small soft belly, wiry limbs, and minimal body hair. His legs pumped steadily, the motion flexing the flat, firm-yet-softened butt beneath his shorts.

From his vantage on Margaret underneath the carport, John spotted him: a young man jogging along the quiet suburban street, shirtless, golden skin glistening under the relentless heat. The jogger was in his mid-twenties, with a runner's tight, athletic build, defined abs, strong thighs straining against loose shorts, and a mop of dark, sweat-damp hair. He went by the name of Tyler Broussard, a local grad student home for the summer, with a smooth Cajun drawl and an easy, curious smile that had turned more than a few heads in town.

John waved him over, slowing Margaret to a stop.

"Hey there, son! Come on up here outta that sun 'fore you melt like butter on a biscuit."

Tyler jogged up the driveway, breathing hard but grinning.

"Senator Kennedy? Damn, sir, didn't expect to see you out here grindin' on Margaret. Saw that video. Whole state's talkin' about her."

They chatted under the shaded carport, the conversation flowing easy like the Mississippi. John's folksy charm was in full effect, laced with that sharp wit and deadpan humor. Tyler admitted he'd always found the senator intriguing, powerful, quick with a quip, that Southern gentleman vibe hiding something hungrier. John's sharp, twinkling blue eyes behind his glasses lingered on Tyler's chest, the way his shorts rode low on his hips. The air thickened with more than humidity. A mutual spark ignited fast.

"You got that look about you, boy," John murmured, voice low and gravelly in his smooth Louisiana twang, glancing toward the house where his wife Becky was inside, likely reading or napping in the AC. "Interested in more than just politics? Or you just out here runnin' around like a free-range chicken?"

Tyler stepped closer, bold in the heat.

"Hell yeah, Senator. Been wonderin' what a man like you tastes like."

They moved deeper into the carport's shadows, behind Margaret and John's parked SUV, hearts pounding as they kept watch for neighbors or Becky stirring. John pulled Tyler in first, their mouths crashing together in a hungry kiss, sweat-slick and urgent. John's hand slid down, gripping the young man's hardening cock through his shorts, stroking it firm and slow, thumb rubbing the tip through the fabric until a damp spot formed.

"Lord have mercy," John drawled between kisses, his Louisiana upbringing coloring every word like cane syrup. "You feel mighty fine already. Get on your knees, son. Let's see if you can handle a senator's agenda. Time to put up or shut up."

Tyler dropped eagerly, yanking down John's shorts and underwear. The older man's thick cock sprang free, roughly 6.5 inches erect, straight with a broad tapered pinkish head, already leaking a clear bead in the steamy air above his heavy, low-hanging balls in their pendulous sac. Minimal body hair framed it. Tyler wrapped one hand around the base and began stroking slowly, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, smearing the precum over the head with his thumb. He leaned in and licked a long, wet stripe from the underside of the balls all the way up the shaft, tasting salt and musk.

John groaned low, one hand resting on Tyler's dark hair.

"That's it… just like that. Work that hand, boy. Feel how hard you got me already. Faster than green grass through a goose."

Tyler took him deep into his mouth, tongue swirling around the broad head, sucking with wet, sloppy enthusiasm. Saliva dripped down John's shaft as Tyler bobbed, hollowing his cheeks, one hand pumping the base while the other reached up to cup and roll the heavy balls. He pulled off with a wet pop and spat on the shaft, stroking faster now, the wet sounds loud in the humid air. Then he dove back down, taking more, gagging softly as the head nudged the back of his throat.

"Mmm, yeah. Use that tongue. Goddamn, you're good. Use that head like you mean it."

John's hips gave a gentle thrust into the warm, wet heat. Eyes darted around for onlookers. The risk made it hotter, the humid Louisiana air, the distant hum of cicadas, Margaret standing silent witness.

"You're so beautiful," John remarked, voice thick. "I can't believe this old man's dick is in a fine boy's mouth."

An overwhelming tingling sensation rushed through Tyler's body and he made an audible groan around the cock. Tyler looked down from John's eyes and into the sparse bush directly in front of him.

"That's right, explore it," Kennedy muttered as he pushed Tyler's head deeper, brushing the hair against the young man's nose. "Put your nose right in there. Take a good whiff."

Tyler inhaled deeply. The scent was musky, sweaty, dirty from the workout. Saliva flooded his mouth. He sucked furiously now, deepthroating until John's wiry legs shook. One of Tyler's hands dropped to his own shorts, shoving them down enough to free his hard cock. He stroked himself in time with the bobbing of his head, fist flying over his shaft, precum slicking the way.

They locked eyes for a few moments. Without saying anything more, John softly started pumping his dick in Tyler's mouth, letting out a huge moan.

"I knew you had it in you. Look at you, jackin' that pretty thing while you suck."

It sent a rush down Tyler's spine. He sucked harder, fist pumping faster on himself. John pulled his cock out of Tyler's mouth and tilted his hips. He plopped his heavy balls onto Tyler's face and shoved the young man's head into the soft skin.

"Lick your senator's taint, boy. Get in there good."

Tyler did without hesitation, tongue flattening and lapping at the sensitive strip of skin, making out with every crevice, nose buried against the sac. John's balls bounced lightly against his face as the senator rocked. Tyler stroked himself harder, hips jerking into his fist, the dual sensation of the musky crotch and his own hand driving him wild.

"I'm gonna cum, boy. Make this old man shoot."

Without hesitation, Tyler put Kennedy's cock back in his mouth, one hand still flying on his own dick. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked with everything he had, tongue working the underside ridge.

"Shit, boy, I'm close," John gasped in his signature drawl. "Gonna paint that pretty throat if you keep that up."

He grabbed Tyler's head and couldn't hold back anymore. He pumped a huge load into the young man's mouth, thick ropes flooding over the tongue. Cum dribbled out the sides as he thrust again, filling him even more. He slowly pulled back and gave one more intense pump, unloading the last of it. Tyler swallowed what he could, some spilling down his chin, all while still stroking himself rapidly, balls tightening.

Kennedy sat heavily on a nearby chair, breathing hard, and quickly pulled Tyler in front of him. He took the younger man's cock in his hand, gently cupping the tight balls and then stroking the shaft soft and slow at first, thumb circling the wet head. Then he leaned forward and took Tyler into his mouth. He sucked with surprising skill, soft and gentle at first, massaging with his tongue in wet, warm circles. The older man hummed around the shaft, one hand still rolling Tyler's balls.

Tyler grabbed John's silver-gray hair and started fucking into the senator's mouth. No matter how hard he shoved his cock down that throat, the older man took it and pushed his face against the crotch for more, swallowing around him. Tyler's fist had been replaced by that skilled mouth and the sensation pushed him over.

"Gonna cum, Senator," Tyler gasped.

John only sucked harder, cheeks hollowed. Tyler came hard, pulsing ropes down the senator's throat. Kennedy swallowed every drop, milking the shaft with his lips until Tyler shuddered and softened.

Kennedy stood, tucked his still-dripping cock back into his shorts, and adjusted himself. Panting, they cleaned up quick with a towel from John's workout bag, eyes scanning the street.

"Whew," John chuckled, voice returning to that familiar deadpan humor as he wiped his glasses. "That was finer than a frog's hair split four ways. Better head inside 'fore Becky wonders why I'm takin' so long on Margaret. You come jog by again sometime, hear? Don't make me wait like a cat on a fat rat."

Tyler winked, still flushed, pulling his shorts up.

"Wouldn't miss it, sir."

John retreated into the blessed AC of the house, body buzzing, a sly smile on his broad face as the door clicked shut behind him.

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Secret Hunger

The Senate grounds court still echoed with the slap of shoes and their ragged laughter as the cameras shut off. Sweat soaked through Jon Tester’s white shirt, clinging to the broad, solid frame of the Montana rancher. Thick arms corded from years of farm work, rounded belly pressing against the damp fabric, tails flipping out of his pants with every earlier jump shot and giving glimpses of that heavy midsection. Cowboy boots scuffed the pavement as he walked. Cory Booker, taller at six-three and leaner, his athletic muscular build glistening under the shirt and tie, broad shoulders rolling, firm rounded butt tight from workouts, couldn’t stop stealing glances.

Cory Booker, taller at six-three and leaner, his athletic muscular build glistening under the shirt and tie, broad shoulders rolling, firm rounded butt tight from workouts, couldn’t stop stealing glances. Tester had bumped into him hard during the game, throwing off his shots with that gritty physicality, body checking the New Jersey senator like they were still fighting Big Ag mergers instead of battling for net neutrality. Booker had always savored those accidental brushes during their legislative huddles: a firm hand on Tester’s thick shoulder, a playful shove that lingered a second too long. The urban vegan from Newark had been harboring a secret hunger for the gritty, ornery Democrat beside him for months.

“Damn, Tester, you play dirty,” Booker growled with a grin, wiping his brow as they walked back toward the quiet hallway leading to the offices. His rich baritone carried that polished New Jersey energy even through the heavy breathing. “Illegal in six states, you said? Felt like you were trying to body me off the court. That three-fingered grip of yours nearly took my arm off on the block.”

Booker’s heart hammered under the dress shirt. The playful trash-talk had always masked something deeper. He stopped them in the shadowed alcove off the corridor, voice dropping low and warm.

“Jon… I need to tell you something. All this time working together, fighting corporate consolidation in agriculture, filming these ridiculous videos, I’ve been fighting something else. I want you. Badly. Those little touches during markup sessions, the way you needle me and call me soft, it gets me hard every single time.”

Tester’s eyes widened, but a slow, knowing smirk spread across his weathered face, strong jaw working. His deep gravelly Montana drawl rumbled out plain and earthy.

“Well, hell. Didn’t expect that from Mr. Charisma. You offering what I think you are, Booker? Shit, boy, I felt those glances. Thought maybe you just hated losing.”

Booker’s dark brown eyes locked on him, sincere and hungry. He sank to his knees right there on the hard floor, the risk of discovery sharpening the thrill.

“Let me show you how much I’ve wanted this.”

He freed the rancher’s thick, veiny cut cock. It was already half-hard from the adrenaline of their game, roughly eight inches of solid meat with a slight upward curve and broad rosy head. Just the meaty build of a man who still ran the family organic farm near Big Sandy. Tester groaned low as Booker’s full lips wrapped around the broad head, the senator’s skilled mouth taking him deep with eager hunger. Booker moaned around the girth, savoring the salty taste of sweat and musk from the outdoor court, his powerful hands gripping Tester’s powerful meaty thighs. One hand drifted down to free his own thick, veiny cock, roughly seven and a half inches straight with a large head, already rock hard and leaking. He stroked himself in slow pulls, heavy balls swinging as he worked.

The Montana man didn’t hold back. He threaded the fingers of his good hand through the space where Booker’s hair would be on that shaved bald head and fucked his willing mouth with steady, deepening thrusts. Grunting with each push past those plush lips, balls slapping against Booker’s chin.

“Fuck, Cory… that mouth of yours,” Tester rasped, hips snapping faster, rounded belly bouncing lightly with the motion. “Takes cock better than any damn heifer I ever saw. You been starving for this country dick, ain’t you?”

Booker’s eyes watered but he urged him on, hollowing his cheeks, tongue swirling around the veiny shaft and probing the slit for more of that salty precum. He pumped his own cock harder, fist flying over the thick length, hips bucking into his grip while Tester used his mouth like a warm wet hole. Tester’s three-fingered left hand braced against the wall for balance, voice rough with earthy humor even in the middle of it.

“Shit fire, Booker, you keep sucking like that and I’m gonna paint your tonsils.”

Booker pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Yes, Jon. Fuck my face. Give it to me.”

Then he dove back on, taking the upward curve deep into his throat, gagging wetly around the broad head while he jerked himself faster, pre-cum slicking his fingers. Tester’s thrusts turned brutal, the solid meat of his cock pistoning in and out, heavy balls smacking Booker’s chin and lips. The rancher’s gravelly moans filled the alcove.

“Gonna come, you bastard. Take every drop.”

With a deep guttural moan, Tester came hard, flooding Booker’s throat with thick ropes of cum. Booker swallowed every drop, throat working visibly around the spurting head, his own fist flying until he erupted too, shooting thick jets across the floor between Tester’s cowboy boots. He pulled off only when Tester softened, a string of saliva and seed connecting his lips to the rosy head. Both men panted, sweat still cooling on their skin.

Tester helped Booker up with that strong callused hand and stole a rough kiss, tasting himself on the other man’s tongue.

“This ain’t a one-time thing,” he said, voice low and plain-spoken. “We find more time. Lots more. Next time I want that mouth again, then I’m burying this cock in that ass butt of yours. You hear me, Booker?”

Booker grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes bright.

“Deal, you mean, cantankerous, ornery son of a bitch. Same time next week after the Ag Committee meeting. I’ll be on my knees the second the door locks.”

They straightened their clothes, shirts still damp, ties crooked, and stepped back into the hallway like nothing had happened. The laughter from earlier still lingered in the air, now edged with something hotter and private.

Here is a list of 10 United States Senators currently in office I’d easily have sex with.

Sen. Alan Armstrong (R-OK) - Not to be confused with actor Alun Armstrong. Sen. Chris Van Hollen (D-MD) - I really need to post more of him. Sen. Eric Schmitt (R-MO) - Discovered him over a year ago. And the only reason he's not higher on my top 10, is he hasn't done enough to keep him on my mind.

Sen. Mike Rounds (R-SD) - I affectionally call him Mike Pounds and I really need to post more of him. Sen. Jack Reed (D-RI) - I love a short, silver-haired daddy. Sen. Ted Cruz (R-TX) - Yeah I know a lot you hate him. But I'm not voting for him. I just want to put a dick in him.

Sen. Tim Kaine (D-VA) - I just think he's that fun, 'dad next door' type. Tommy Tuberville (R-ALA) - He looks like he could give you a good lay. Sen. Jim Justice (R-WV) - I just want to climb Mt. Justice.

Sen. John N. Kennedy (R-LA) - Since the loss of Jon Tester, Sen. Kennedy has shot up become my favorite sitting senator… to fuck.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse (D-RI) - A long time favorite, but he hasn't done enough to keep him on my mind. Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-SC) - If Graham hadn't died, he would have been in my top 3.

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Oval Office Bargain

The Oval Office fell quiet once the aides filed out, heavy drapes drawn against the Washington night. The 1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan hung in the balance, with GOP filibuster threats and moderate nerves fraying the edges. President Joe Biden knew the votes only locked in if key Democrats like Joe Manchin, Kyrsten Sinema, and Jon Tester stood firm. After the group meeting wrapped, Tester stayed behind in his dark suit, tie loosened, the air thick with leather, old books, and the weight of unspoken leverage.

Tester spoke first in his deep, gravelly Montana drawl.

"Joe, we've danced around this long enough. You want those votes locked down, you gotta show you're serious. Ain't about policy papers. It's about trust."

He shifted his stocky six foot one frame, broad shoulders filling the suit jacket, his rounded belly straining the buttons. His friendly blue eyes sharp with prairie pragmatism.

"Back on the farm we don't half ass a deal. You want this thing to pass? Time to put skin in the game, Mr. President."

Biden stood, his six foot frame still solid despite the years, silver white hair gleaming, blue eyes carrying that familiar Uncle Joe mix of empathy and grit. He flashed the wide, toothy grin.

"Big Jon… I've been cutting deals since Scranton. Let's get this done, for God's sake."

Biden moved between Tester's spread knees and sank down, carpet soft under his joints. Slender, veiny hands worked Tester's belt open, the zipper rasping. Tester's thick, veiny eight inch cut cock sprang free, blunt rosy head already glistening with a fat bead of precum that stretched into a shiny string, heavy low hanging balls nestled in graying hair and radiating the warm, earthy musk of a man who had spent the day in tense negotiations.

"Sweet Jesus," Biden rasped, his Delaware accent soft with a hint of stutter, "you mountain boys pack heavy."

He leaned in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head before his lips stretched wide around the broad, rosy crown. His tongue swirled in slow, deliberate, hungry circles over the slit, lapping up the salty bitter precum with broad, flat licks that made the thick shaft jerk and leak more. Biden sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks to create intense, wet vacuum pressure while his tongue pressed firm along the thick underside vein, tracing every bulging ridge and pulsing throb as he bobbed deeper. Thick, bubbly strings of drool spilled from the corners of his stretched, reddened lips, coating the veined shaft in glossy layers and dripping in heavy, glistening strands onto the heavy, wrinkled sac. The wet, obscene slurping and gagging sounds filled the hushed room, gluck gluck gluck, as Biden forced more of the girthy cock into his throat.

Tester groaned low and deep, weathered right hand sliding into Biden's silver hair, guiding the rhythm while the scarred stumps of his left rested on a broad thigh, giving rough little tugs.

"That's it, Joe… slow and deep. Nice to have a president worked this hard for my vote. Use that tongue yeah, just like that, work those balls with your hand."

Biden took him to the root, throat muscles rippling and constricting in rhythmic gulps that massaged every inch of the thick shaft. His nose pressed flush into the coarse graying pubes, inhaling the strong, sweaty musk while more spit bubbled out around his lips and ran in rivulets down Tester's balls. He pulled back with a gasping, spit soaked pop, strings of saliva connecting his swollen lips to the shiny, throbbing cockhead, then dove back down, gagging wetly as the blunt head bullied past his tonsils and bulged visibly in his throat. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, but he kept sucking with sloppy devotion, tongue constantly working the underside while his hand gently rolled the heavy, pendulous balls.

"Fuckin' hell, look at you choke on it," Tester growled, voice thick with pleasure. "Deeper, Joe. Take it all. Milk it with that throat good goddamn, you're sucking the cum right out of me."

After long, filthy minutes of sloppy, throat bulging oral worship Biden's chin and neck slick with thick ropes of spit, eyes watering, lips puffy and glistening Tester pulled him up.

"Enough jaw jackin'. I want that ass."

He guided the president to straddle his lap, facing away from him. Biden kicked off his slacks and boxers, his own cut eight and a half inch cock flared mushroom head angrily flushed and dripping long, clear strings of precum bobbing free above sparse gray hair. Tester spat generously into his palm, slicking his own thick shaft with long, twisting strokes until it gleamed obscenely, then reached around and smeared more warm saliva across Biden's tight pink pucker. He circled the wrinkled rim with a thick fingertip before pushing two callused fingers inside, scissoring them slowly and deeply. The hot, velvety walls clenched and fluttered around the intrusion, sucking wetly as Tester curled his fingers to brush the sensitive prostate, drawing a shaky moan from Biden while more slick sounds filled the air.

"Jon…" Biden started, breath hitching, but he lowered himself anyway.

The blunt rosy head pressed against the slick hole, teasing the softened rim with slow, grinding circles until Biden sank down. The fat head popped past the tight ring with a loud, wet squelch, forcing Biden's inner muscles to yield in a burning stretch.

"Easy, Big Jon… Christ, you're splitting me wide open fuck, it burns so good, stretching me like that."

Biden moaned loudly as the thick shaft sank inch by throbbing inch, every bulging vein and ridge dragging against his sensitive inner walls, the slight upward curve pressing firmly and relentlessly into his prostate. When Tester's heavy balls nestled snug against his ass and the rounded belly pressed warm and solid to his back, Biden was fully impaled, hole stretched taut and puffy around the base, inner muscles rippling and gripping like a hot, silky fist.

Tester's voice rumbled with earthy satisfaction.

"Ain't no gentle fly casting, Joe. This is Montana rough. Take the whole damn plow."

His hands gripped Biden's hips, holding him down as the president adjusted to the overwhelming, burning fullness.

Biden rocked hard on Tester's lap, using those strong, thick legs for leverage. He rose until only the broad, flared head stretched his rim obscenely, then slammed back down, ass cheeks rippling and jiggling heavily on impact. Wet, filthy squelching and slapping sounds filled the room with every bounce lube, precum, and spit frothing white around the stretched hole, skin smacking skin. Tester's blunt head battered and ground against Biden's prostate relentlessly on every downward thrust, sending jolts of electric pleasure through his body while the thick shaft reamed his walls open wider with each plunge.

Tester reached around with his good right hand, rough calluses wrapping Biden's leaking cock in firm, twisting strokes, thumb smearing the steady flow of precum over the flared head.

"Feel that, Joe? Jackin' your presidential prick while I wreck this old hole. Gonna make you shoot buckets all over the desk."

Biden's moans grew louder and more broken, ass clenching rhythmically around the thick cock, inner walls rippling and sucking greedily with every lift and drop. His prostate throbbed and swelled under the constant pounding, hole stretched shiny, puffy, and gaping slightly on every upstroke. Finally his cock pulsed hard, spurting long, powerful ropes of cum across the Resolute Desk in thick jets while his ass spasmed wildly, milking Tester's shaft in tight, fluttering, rippling contractions.

Tester stood then, still buried balls deep, turning Biden and bending him firmly over the desk. Jacket shed, he gripped the older man's hips and drove in with hard, punishing strokes that made Biden's body jolt forward. Tester's rounded belly rubbed sweat slick against Biden's back as he fucked like a machine, heavy balls slapping loudly and wetly against Biden's taint with every thrust. The desk creaked under them, Biden's hole making constant, loud, squelching noises as the thick cock pistoned in and out, stretching the rim obscenely on every withdrawal before spearing deep again and grinding against the prostate.

"Shhh, Joe. Take it," Tester growled, scarred left hand reaching around to squeeze Biden's spent cock in a tight, possessive vice. He kept hammering, the burning friction and deep, relentless pounding pushing Biden into overwhelmed, gasping pleasure.

Finally Tester roared, burying to the hilt.

"Fuck here it comes!"

Thick, heavy pulses of warm cum flooded Biden's guts in powerful, ropey spurts, painting his insides white as Tester ground deep, forcing every drop past the fluttering, spasming ring. He stayed hunched over, breathing heavy like a locomotive, until his cock softened and slipped free with a wet, creamy pop. A thick, obscene gush of pearly seed immediately leaked from the gaping, puffy red hole, running in slow, viscous trails down Biden's trembling thighs and dripping onto the rug.

Tester fed his spent, cum and ass smeared cock into Biden's mouth.

"Clean your mess off me, Joe. Taste that farm boy ass and cum mix every damn drop."

Biden sucked obediently, tongue swirling the salty, musky, bitter sweet blend of seed, sweat, and his own stretched hole, lips stretched once more around the softening thickness.

They disentangled slowly. Tester clapped Biden's shoulder with his three fingered hand.

"Well, shit, Mr. President. That's one hell of a seal on the deal. You took it like a man, Joe. I'll help get it passed."

Biden straightened on shaky legs, cum still trickling, and flashed that familiar grin.

"Deal's done. Now let's go pass some goddamn history."

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

Chapter Fifteen: The Senator’s Secret Celebration

After weeks of grueling negotiations, Senator Jon Tester had finally helped seal a landmark bipartisan infrastructure deal. The tall, robust 6 foot 1 inch Montanan with his signature graying flattop and three-fingered left hand stood in the conference room alongside Senators Mitt Romney, Bill Cassidy, Rob Portman, Susan Collins, Lisa Murkowski, Joe Manchin, Kyrsten Sinema, Jeanne Shaheen, and Mark Warner. His executive assistant, 28-year-old Jack Lucas, a stocky 5 foot 10 inch young man with tousled light brown hair and bright blue eyes, had been running point on logistics the entire time. Lucas had spent the last month horny as hell, jerking off in his D.C. apartment most nights while imagining what it would feel like to finally get his mouth around his boss’s thick cock again.

When Lucas walked into the room after the final handshake, he found Tester and Mitt Romney still lingering by the long table.

“Ah, Lucas, you’ve met Romney, right?” Jon drawled, waving him over with that easy Montana grin.

“Yes, Sir,” Lucas replied, approaching.

Romney, 73 and still lean at 6 foot 2 inches, eyed the younger man with a polished smile.

“Hello, son. Call me Mitt. Jon’s been bragging about you.”

“Has he?” Lucas smirked.

“Damn right,” Jon chuckled, his voice carrying that gravelly prairie twang. “Told him you’re one hell of a cocksucker.”

Mitt laughed softly.

“He wasn’t lying, apparently.”

Jon’s three-fingered left hand rested on the table.

“Sharla’s back on the farm. Why don’t we head over to my townhouse and put this boy to work? Celebrate properly.”

The three men made their way through the quiet D.C. evening to Tester’s townhouse. Once inside the bedroom, clothes came off slowly and deliberately. Jon stripped out of his gray tweed blazer and red patterned tie, then his white dress shirt, revealing a broad, powerful chest dusted with dark hair that thinned toward his solid belly, still strong from decades of farm work. His black cowboy boots thunked to the floor. He stood in snug white briefs that did little to hide the thick bulge already forming.

Lucas shed his crisp blue suit, standing in black boxer briefs that hugged his athletic, stocky frame. His own 7-inch cock was already half-hard and twitching visibly.

Mitt folded his dark blue suit and striped tie neatly on a dresser, his lean, distinguished body emerging with salt-and-pepper chest hair, a flat stomach, and a prominent 7-inch cock already swelling in his briefs.

They stood in their underwear for a charged moment. Lucas stepped forward, bold, and moved in front of Jon, running both hands slowly over Jon’s broad chest, feeling the heat and the solid muscle. He dragged his palms down Jon’s firm waist, hooked his fingers into the waistband of the briefs, and tugged them down from the front and back at the same time. Jon’s thick 8-inch cock sprang free, veiny, heavy, already leaking a clear bead of precum from the fat head.

Lucas dropped to his knees without hesitation. He wrapped one hand around the base, feeling the girth stretch his fingers, and guided the hot shaft to his lips. He licked a slow, wet stripe up the underside, tasting the salty musk, then sealed his mouth around the fat head. Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked hard, tongue swirling around the sensitive crown while his fist stroked the lower half in a steady rhythm.

“Fuckin’ hell, boy. That mouth,” Jon rumbled, his three-fingered hand sliding into Lucas’s hair. “Suck it proper. Show Mitt what you can do.”

Lucas bobbed eagerly for a minute, taking more of the thick girth each time, saliva quickly coating the shaft and dripping down his chin. He stroked the base with his fist while his tongue swirled around the sensitive crown, then pulled off to lick and suck Jon’s heavy balls, rolling them gently in his mouth before sliding his lips back up the entire length. Jon’s hips rocked forward, fucking Lucas’s mouth in short, controlled thrusts.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas saw Mitt step closer, his own cock now fully hard and pointing straight at him. Jon pulled his cock free with a wet pop, turned Lucas’s face, and guided him onto Mitt’s shaft.

“Open up for him too,” Jon ordered.

Lucas turned immediately to Mitt. He licked around Mitt’s cockhead, tasting the different, cleaner precum, and sucked him in deep, cheeks working as he alternated between slow, deep sucks and faster bobs. His free hand reached down to grip his own throbbing 7-inch cock, stroking it in time with his mouth on Mitt. Jon watched, stroking his own spit-slick cock slowly.

“Jon wasn’t exaggerating. That throat is dangerous.”

He switched back to Jon, sucking the thicker cock with renewed hunger, taking it deeper until his nose pressed close to Jon’s pubes and he gagged lightly around the head. Spit ran down his chin and onto his stroking fist as he jerked himself faster. Then back to Mitt, sucking him wet and sloppy, tongue pressing firmly along the underside while his hand pumped his own leaking cock, precum slicking his fingers.

The men watched him work, breathing heavier. Jon’s cock twitched in Lucas’s mouth as he switched again.

“Goddamn, look at you. Just like a pro.”

Lucas moaned around whichever cock was in his mouth, the vibration making both men grunt. He deepthroated Jon until his throat tightened, then pulled back to lick and suck the heavy balls before switching to Mitt for the same treatment, tongue lapping at the sensitive skin while his fist flew over his own shaft. Saliva glistened on both senators’ cocks and on Lucas’s lips and chin. His own cock was rock hard and dripping steadily onto the floor as he edged himself, matching the pace of his oral service.

After several minutes of alternating, wet, enthusiastic sucking, Jon pulled Lucas off gently.

“Enough with the mouth for now. Get on the bed, boy. On your hands and knees.”

Lucas obeyed quickly, climbing onto the king-sized bed and positioning himself on all fours, ass raised and presented. Mitt moved behind him, slicking his fingers generously with lube. He worked two fingers into Lucas’s tight hole, scissoring and twisting to stretch him open. Lucas moaned and pushed back, his own hand reaching under to stroke his cock again as Mitt added a third finger, curling to rub firmly over his prostate. Sparks of pleasure shot through him, making his cock leak more precum onto the sheets.

“Fuck, he’s tight,” Mitt said, voice rougher now. He withdrew his fingers, slicked his 7-inch cock, and pressed the head against Lucas’s entrance. He pushed in slowly, the thick head stretching the ring of muscle. Lucas gasped at the initial burn, then groaned as it gave way to a deep, filling pressure. Inch by inch, Mitt sank in until his hips pressed flush against Lucas’s ass.

Jon gripped Lucas’s hair with his three-fingered hand and fed his thick cock back into the younger man’s mouth.

“That’s it. Take both of us. You’re our little celebration tonight.”

Mitt started with slow, deliberate thrusts, letting Lucas adjust to the girth. Each stroke dragged over his prostate, sending waves of pleasure through his body. Lucas’s hand worked his own cock faster, matching the rhythm as Mitt’s thrusts grew steadier and deeper. The wet sounds of skin meeting skin and the slick slide of cock in ass filled the room.

“Goddamn, that feels good,” Lucas panted, pushing back to meet each thrust.

Mitt gripped Lucas’s hips and picked up the pace slightly.

“You take it well, son. So tight around me.”

Mitt was thrusting, steady, deep strokes that rocked Lucas forward onto Jon’s cock. Each time Mitt bottomed out, Lucas felt the heavy balls press against him and the thick head drag over his prostate. He reached down between his own legs and jerked his 7-inch cock hard, precum dripping from the tip in long strings.

Jon watched the show, hips pumping.

“Fuckin’ beautiful. Look at you takin’ Mitt’s dick while you choke on mine. Stroke that cock faster, boy. I wanna see you leak all over my sheets.”

Mitt’s thrusts grew harder, skin slapping against Lucas’s ass.

“Jon, you’ve been keeping this ass to yourself too long. He’s milking me already.”

“Share and share alike,” Jon grunted. “Switch with me. I wanna feel that hole again.”

Mitt pulled out with a wet sound. Jon took his place immediately, his thicker 8-inch cock already slick with lube and spit. He pressed the broad head against Lucas’s now-loosened hole and pushed in with more force. Lucas cried out around Mitt’s cock as the thicker girth stretched him wider. Jon’s three-fingered hand gripped Lucas’s hip hard while his good hand smacked the firm ass cheek.

“Still tight as a virgin fence post,” Jon growled, starting to pound, setting a vigorous pace. “Gonna plow this ass proper. Ride it, Lucas. Move that ass up and down my pole.”

Lucas obeyed, rocking back to meet every thrust while Mitt fucked his throat in long, deliberate strokes. The rhythm was relentless, Jon’s powerful hips slamming forward, driving Lucas’s mouth deeper onto Mitt. He started thrusting hard and deep, powerful hips driving forward, the wet slap of his body against Lucas’s ass echoing loudly. Each vigorous stroke bottomed out, the thick cock pounding directly over Lucas’s prostate and making him leak and moan uncontrollably.

Lucas stroked his own cock frantically beneath him, the dual sensations overwhelming. Jon’s vigorous fucking rocked his whole body forward, balls slapping against him with every thrust. The older man’s grunts mixed with the filthy wet sounds of his cock plowing Lucas’s stretched hole.

“Take it, boy. Ride that cock like you were made for it,” Jon ordered, pounding harder, faster, his robust frame putting real power behind each thrust. “Gonna fuck this ass proper.”

Lucas sucked hungrily around Mitt's cock while Jon continued his relentless, vigorous assault from behind, the force of the thrusts driving Lucas’s mouth deeper onto Mitt’s shaft.

Mitt came first, groaning as he held Lucas’s head and unloaded thick ropes down his throat. Lucas swallowed greedily, tasting the salty flood, his own cock twitching in his fist.

Jon’s pace grew even more intense, hips snapping forward, the bed creaking under the force. The wet sound of his cock pounding Lucas’s well-fucked hole filling the room. Lucas’s hand flew over his own cock as the prostate stimulation built to a peak.

“Fuck. Gonna fill this ass. Take every drop, boy!”

With a final series of deep, powerful thrusts, Jon buried himself to the hilt and came hard, pulsing thick ropes of cum deep inside Lucas’s ass. The heat and fullness pushed Lucas over the edge. He moaned around Mitt’s cock and shot his load across the sheets in powerful spurts, his hole clenching rhythmically around Jon’s throbbing shaft.

They collapsed in a sweaty, panting tangle on the big bed. Jon’s three-fingered hand rested possessively on Lucas’s lower back. Mitt lay on his side, catching his breath.

“Goddamn,” Jon muttered, voice hoarse and satisfied. “Goddamn, we worked you over good, Lucas.”

Mitt chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Best way to celebrate a deal I’ve had in years.”

Lucas grinned into the pillow, still trembling from the intense release.

“Anytime, Senators. Happy to serve the team.”

They laughed together, the room heavy with the scent of sex and satisfaction.