Condoleeza doesn't like it when I slap her ass. She says it makes her feel "cheap and vulgar like one of those video girls with no self-respect." She only wants to make love; we can't fuck or screw or knock boots or even make the beast with two backs. She doesn't care for Shakespeare.

When we finally connected after months of tiny smiles and covert glances, we were at the national convention, and I had figured her for a wild one. You know, the typical oppressed button-down Republican woman who pulls a librarian's 180 in the bedroom: hair down, knees around her neck, hanging from the figurative chandelier. I had been watching her through most of the campaigning, and I knew she was watching back.

We were both in the ladies' room during one of the campaign speeches, to powder our noses. There was just this frisson when she left the stall. I was busy applying concealer to my under-eye circles as she washed her hands. When she finished, she began to inspect her teeth in the mirror. Our eyes met slowly, and then she turned to me and bared her gums.

"Do I have anything in my teeth?" She asked me chummily as if we were in middle school together. I stepped closer to her, our breasts almost brushing up against each other.

"I don't see anything really." I love a woman with a gap in her front teeth; it puts me in mind of the Wife of Bath and the lascivious nature hidden in all women.

"I feel like there's something stuck," she murmured, raising one artfully manicured nail to her jaw. Her eyes flicked quickly over my chest. It was all the invitation I needed.

"Well, there may be a bit of pepper at your incisor." I smiled carefully, all business. "I have some floss in my suite. Do you want to come up with me and get it?" I knew I was taking a risk, but there was no way she could refuse.

"Certainly, ma'am. Lead the way."

We left the bathroom together and went down a secret hall to the elevator bank. Condoleeza nodded a cool dismissal to the agents following us. My hand hovered around the small of her back as the marble inlaid box carried us up to the top floor, taking what felt like an eternity. My blood was racing, and I could feel it color me from my lips to my clit.

After I opened the first series of doors with my keycard, Condoleeza relieved the second set of agents who'd appeared to escort us down the hallway. She jerked her head in a universal gesture to "get out," and then instructed the sun-shaded men to wait outside the foyer.

When they were gone, I didn't give her a chance to speak; I pounced. I grabbed her by the jaw and kissed her as fast as my lips would allow. My thumbs stroked her beautifully freckled cheeks as my tongue probed her all too familiar gapped teeth. She reciprocated by clutching at my waist, grinding her immaculately skirted hips against my own. We stood this way for long moments until, with shaking hands, she undid my jacket buttons, and then her own.

I pushed her down on the bed and buried my head in her breasts. I sucked her dark nipples through her silk shirt, breathing in the dulcet tones of Chanel No. Five. I burrowed my way closer to her control-top pantyhose. I hooked my fingers into the top and pulled down gently.

"Don't get a run in them," she whispered between low moans.

"I won't."

When I dove between her legs, I could taste old money. I held her thighs spread with my palms before I lifted her ass away from the bed. She thrashed a bit, squeezing her legs closer to my head.

"Be careful. My hair!"

I started to tongue her more fiercely then, working my little muscle into the pink parts of her. I was cautious not to completely damage my coif in my desire to get deeper inside her.

"Do you like that, Condi?" She was alternating between throaty murmurs and high keening sounds when I introduced two fingers to her wet folds. I worked my hand carefully, twisting in and corkscrewing out of her. She began to shake as I found my rhythm, tongue to clit and knuckle deep. Her muscles were vibrating beside my cheek, and I looked up to see her clutching at her nipples and twisting them through the wet fabric. She caught her breath, and as she started to come, she was almost crying, "Oh Laura, Laura. Oh god!" I kept my pressure against her clit steady until she finished shaking, until my chin was wet. She lay there panting until I moved up beside her, licking my lips. She curled up against me and slowly reached for my skirt.

"We don't have time right now," I shooed her away.

"But...but you didn't," she began, still breathy.

"Next time will be fine." I smiled at her. "I'm going first."

After a short rest, we got up and fixed our makeup together in the vanity. Her jacket lapels covered up the wet spots my mouth had left. My Coral Peach lipstick was half-across my cheek, but my blue suit was still immaculate. We left together, to be escorted by the Secret Service back down to the convention floor for the primary acceptance speeches. I smiled demurely the entire way, thinking of the pink smear my lipstick left across Condoleeza’s cunt. It wasn’t until later, when we had more time to be alone, after the election, after a few quiet trysts, after the first one hundred days in office, that I found out to my disappointment that she was constitutionally against spanking.

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