#darlene danforth

you walk around the area, filled with boutiques and shops owned mainly locally, but some more high end. you walk into a louis vitton outlet, derek’s hand in yours, and you walk around. mainly window shopping until a bag catches your eye…

the most beautiful lv boulogne bag you’ve ever laid your eyes on. you try it on, and love how it looks against your body…only problem is that the price is 2,800. derek catches you staring at it and he laughs quietly to himself, seeing how enamored you are with the purse.

he looks at you with his big brown eyes and says “you want it, huh?” with a smirk on his face. you nod eagerly and stare into his eyes. he laughs and says “well you wanna know how you get what you want baby?”

“how?” you ask, eyes filled with light from the skylight in the building. his freckles stand out so well right now…he looks absolutely beautiful in this lighting.

“you gotta suck me for it baby. no such thing as a free lunch” he whispers, his hand gently moving towards your cheek. he rubs his thumb along your bottom lip as he waits for your answer

“where’s the bathroom?” you ask him. he smiles and takes your hand, leading you to the restroom. knock, making sure it was vacant. it’s a single-person public bathroom, you both enter and lock the door. derek unzips his green slacks and pulls them down to his knees. his boxer briefs are dark green and white plaid. you get on your knees and tug his boxers down below his balls, his hard cock springing out of their restraint.

you wrap your lips around his tip and lick the slit, gathering his salty precum on your tongue. the taste making you moan with your mouth full. he moans softly and grips your hair, slowly pushing your head to engulf him fully. you slowly emerge his dick into your mouth. you bob your head as his dick slides down your throat, his precum creating its own lube to glide down.

you take him fully, the sensation of your mouth staying open causing your eyes to become wet and irritated but who cares you’re sucking the presidents son off and getting a designer purse. he groans your name breathlessly and whispers words of encouragement, his hand stays on the back of your head rubbing circles along your scalp and most likely fucking up your hair.

you know you’re doing well when his dick twitches and his moans become more sloppy, as do his movements. his moans become unashamedly louder and more frequent.

“oh- oh fuck…fuck…fucking hell” he says. suddenly he comes down your throat causing you to moan from surprise. his release is salty and warm going down and you can’t help but feel your eyes roll back as the taste consumes you. as his member starts to soften you lick it clean before letting it out of your mouth.

you stand up and brush the dirt off of your pants. you meet his flushed face and fucked-out eyes and you smile, gently kissing his lips before helping his pants back up.

you wash your hands in the sink as does he, then you both walk out, hand in hand. “what purse did you want again?” he asks, completely infatuated with you.

you’re definitely getting a new purse and the best fucking head of your life tonight.

Wallace was working hard in his office to keep America from falling into complete chaos when he heard the phone ring. Not his work phone, but his Apple iPhone 16+ pro edition cell phone. (Because as the head of the CIA he was allowed access to all of the latest and greatest technology before any of the commoners.)

"Hello? Mr. Westwyld speaking." "Wallace? Oh thank GOD you answered. I need you." "Jessica? Is that you? I told you, I can't talk at work-" "Yes, yes. Work. I know. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you for keeping America safe from terrorists all day? I should give you some kind of medal of honor." "Madame president. I appreciate it, really, but I don't need thanks. Keeping you safe is all that matters to me." "Oh Wallace, that makes me so wet. I need you. Immediately. That's a presidential ORDER." "Well, I can't ignore an official order from the president herself..."

Wallace quickly and neatly packed his things and made his way to the white house, arriving in an extravagant and flashy limousine guarded by secret service agents. (Because he was so important to the safety of America.)

As soon as he stepped foot into the oval office, Jessica Danforth threw herself at him, half-clothed and already trembling with desire.

"Oh, Wallace, take me." She cried as he tried to straighten her, not able to go another second without his PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL cock.

"What? Here? With the windows wide open?"

"I don't care. Let them see. I want everyone to know you're the man I love."

"Alright, dear, as you wish..."

Wallace fucked her brains out on her own desk, uncaring of who heard or saw. The news had a field day with the scandal, but neither him nor the president cared.

Tabloids published whole articles dedicated to the sheer overwhelming size of Wallace's cock, and guinness world records wouldn't get off his tail after the fact, telegraphing him multiple times a day.

After that night, this became Wallace's new routine. American hero by day, hot fucktoy for the beautiful soon-to-be Mrs. Westwyld by night.

Oh, and Derek learned to stop whining so goddamn much or something.