Then, as I felt her wetness seeping through her panties, I’d pull off her top, and smoothly remove her bra. Those two, glorious breasts would be mine, and I would worship them with my mouth.
She would moan for me, and beg for me, and only when I couldn’t resist any further would I take her. I would fuck her right her on the couch, thrusting hard and deep until-
There’s a knock at the door and it opens.
I practically shoot to my feet. “Hello?”
“Mr President, I - ah.” It’s Mr Andrews. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s no bother, I was just changing my shirt after spilling a little…” And then I see her, behind him. The intern that spilt coffee on me. The intern I’ve spent the last five minutes fantasizing about fucking the brains out of. The intern who has me half hard right now. I almost blush. “Coffee. Just a minute.”
I quickly turn, hoping neither notice the slight protrusion in my pants.
Get it together, I think, as I quickly slide on a new shirt and button it up. I need to be professional.
As I button the last button, I take a deep breath.
“Sorry about that,” I say with a smile. “Now, how can I help you?”
Out of that skirt, maybe? No, I can’t get distracted, especially not in front of Mr Andrews. I don’t need it spread around that I am getting all hot and bothered by the new intern.
“Mr President, I’d like you to meet my new intern, Veronica,” Mr Andrews says, gently nudging her forward.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, stretching out my hand for her to shake. “It’s always good to meet the bright, new faces our internship program brings in.”
She pauses for a moment, hesitant. Then she takes my hand. “Nice to meet you Mr President. I look forward to serving under you. Or rather, for your administration.”
My heart skips a beat. Serving under me? If only she knew just how much I want... no, need her under me.
I cough and frown slightly. “So, Mr Andrews, have you got the focus group feedback on that project I wanted?”
He nods. “I can get the report to you once I’m back in my office, but the general gist is that…”
As he continues to talk I struggle to pay attention. Instead, I find my eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on Veronica’s shirt.
Veronica. It’s a good name, a name I could almost imagine moaning in pleasure. Veronica.
Then I realize I’ve been staring at her breasts for the last few seconds. I quickly dart my eyes up and away. Oh god, I hope neither of them noticed. If Mr Andrews has seen me leering at his rather well-endowed intern’s breasts, I imagine he won’t be too keen on bringing her along next time.
And if she’s noticed… I wonder what she would think? I glance back at her tawny brown eyes, but she’s looking down at her feet.
What is she thinking right now? Can she feel the heat between us? Do I even want her to?
Mr Andrews finishes speaking.
“That sounds good, I look forward to the full report,” I say, barely cognizant of what I’m agreeing to. “If that’s all, I have a meeting I need to head to.”
“Have a good afternoon,” Mr Andrews says. “Come on Veronica, the tour’s not over yet.”
“Afternoon.”
I watch Veronica walk towards the door. Her heels are doing wonders for her ass, which is round and firm under the tight skirt she’s wearing.
I close my eyes, unable to watch any more.
“And Veronica,” I say, wanting one last look. She turns and looks me dead in the eye as I continue. “Welcome to the White House.”
I stare, petrified in lustful awe, as her eyes flicker. “Thank you, sir. It was nice to formally meet you.”
She leaves and I let out a breath. I didn’t even realize I was holding it, I’m that distracted. Veronica. Oh, I could tell by that look, there’s something there. If it wasn’t for this job, this responsibility, she would be mine. And somehow, whether she knows it or not, she wants the same.
Veronica
If you’d asked me before yesterday, I might have struggled to pinpoint the exact most embarrassing day of my life.
Well, maybe I would have said the time in third grade when Michael McCormac threw my clothes in the pool after swim practice. Or the time I’d ended up with a bowl haircut after trying to ‘neaten up my hair’ after school. Or the first time Trevor and I had ever slept together when I’d forgotten to shave my legs.
But I can wipe all of those clean off the slate. We have a new all-time-high record. From now on, I know with absolute surety that the most embarrassing day of my life is the day that I yelled at the President of the United States and told him he’s a pervert. And then proceeded to walk in on him without a shirt...
Oh my god.
How exactly are you meant to get dressed for your second day at the office when you spent most of your first one writhing around in shame and disappointing the Commander-in-Chief? It’s not like you can Google that one or read about it in some coffee table magazine.
In the end, I really do end up throwing out most of my professional wardrobe. Even without all of the ‘intern’ comments, the idea of getting rid of all evidence suggesting Veronica-from-yesterday exists is incredibly appealing. As soon as Mr Andrews let me go home at six-thirty - it had been a painfully long day - I headed to the mall and had myself fitted for three new White House appropriate skirt suits.
My bank account certainly hadn’t appreciated my efforts. Not on an intern’s wage. I’m barely covering rent as it is. But getting pinched and pulled in so many different directions nicely distracted me from the events of the day, so that alone might have been worth it.
It’s 6:45AM. I have to take two buses to get to the White House on time, so I should be moving.
Beep beep. Beep beep.
I glance down at my iPhone, fearing the worst. It has to be Mr Andrews, my brain says. Maybe the President has told him what you’ve done - what happened yesterday morning - and he’s calling to ensure you don’t come in this morning.
But when my brain finally processes the text on the screen, my colossal, all-consuming fear changes into a different kind of nervousness.
Trevor Randall MOBILE calling.
I bite down on my lip. Trevor. He’s a whole different problem and I don’t want to be late for my bus. But guilt paws at me with every second my phone continues to beep at me.
“Hello?” I answer tentatively, pressing my iPhone to my ear. “Trevor?”
“Veronica,” he says. He sounds wide awake, but then Trevor has always been an early riser. He works for my dad’s construction company which means he usually gets up at crazy o’clock. “I have two tickets for the big game this weekend. Are you coming home?”
There it is. This time he didn’t even bother to engage in pleasantries before asking the question. Are you coming home? I’m fairly sure that phrase haunts my dreams these days.
“Trevor,” I protest, “I only just got here-”
“Are you in or out?” His voice is hard.
“I’ve been in DC three days,” I say. “I haven’t even unpacked.” It’s true. I look around my apartment, taking in the piles and piles of cardboard moving boxes. “You need to give me time to get settled in.”