Obama would approve of this message.


At 11 am, I laid in bed with Peyton snoozing softly beside me — around 7, I’d awoken and gone in and transferred my warm, rag doll baby to snuggle next to me.

I stretched and smiled, sunk deeper into my mattress and suddenly recalled my dream: The Neighbor’s cock buried deep inside of me, my ass in the air, him oddly perpendicular to me, and sliding his length slowly in and out. I clenched my pussy around him and he exclaimed, “Oh my god, Hy!! Do that again!” And so I did.

I worked my muscles around him like my life depended on it, and the long, slow strokes from his hips were bringing me as close to orgasm as they were him. I rocked my bottom back on him, tilting against each thrust and he groaned some more.

There was no ball-slapping, pelvis-slamming fucking like the night before. This was sensuous and concentrated.

And then I woke up before my body spilled over the edge.

I texted TN to tell him he’d fucked me good and we’d possibly created a new position.

“So Dream TN is creative?” he texted back.

“Very. It felt goooooooood,” I replied.

I laid there some more, checked into Twitter for a second, then heard a knock.

Betting it was likely him I stole to the front door clad only in panties and my Obama t-shirt — you know, the one with the ubiquitous image of him looking thoughtful and engaged.

The peephole confirmed it was him and I let him and a blast of cold air in.

“Jesus, it’s cold out there!” He shivered. The temp had dropped 30 degrees overnight.

“Do you have Peyton?”

“Yeah, I do. What’s up?”

“Oh, I wanted to see if you wanted to see a movie.”

“Yeah, I can’t, sorry. But we’re about to go to breakfast. Wanna come with?”

He stood there contemplating for a long moment. This would be the first time the three of us would do anything together. “Ummmmmm,” he looked pained as he said it. “No. No, thanks.”

I wasn’t bothered by his response, or surprised. I changed the subject quickly. “Don’t you like my outfit?” I stuck my ass out and twirled.

“Mmm. I do. I think Obama would approve this message!” He closed the distance between us and latched his mouth into my nipple, just over Obama’s right ear.

He pulled away and regarded me with a heated gaze. I thanked my lucky stars for the millionth time that my child sleeps like the dead. “I love those panties of yours. I really like the buttons, even if they’re not functional.”

“Oh, they’re functional,” I purred as I undid the top one. His eyes lit up and he motioned for me to keep going.

Halfway down I paused, shy. “I haven’t groomed all week…”

He came back to me and slid his hand down the front of my panties. “Ooh! You’re right! But I don’t care, keep going.”

I undid the remaining buttons, my panties flipped open to the sides with his paw curled around and down. One of his fingers slipped inside of me and his mouth returned to the president’s ear.

I moaned a little and hugged him closer. He stood up and pulled his hand out, sniffed his finger and made an approving sound as he headed back to the front door. We said goodbye and I closed the door.

A second later, the phone rang. It was him.


“I just want to say I’m not a dick.”


“I didn’t say no to breakfast with you and Peyton because of Peyton. I just really, really wanted to go see a movie right now. I don’t want you to think I said no because Peyton would be there.”

I smiled. This man who loves me “this much, but not that much,” certainly makes me feel loved “that much” a lot of the time. I’m certain he has no idea.

“Ok, thanks, TN. I appreciate that.”

We said our goodbyes again and hung up.

20 thoughts on “Obama would approve of this message.

  1. Pingback: I made him say, “I’m sorry.” | A Dissolute Life Means...

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