Rick hadn’t done this—not since Mitt, and Tim before him. Not since his sister got sick and the doctors couldn’t help her and Rick prayed to the Lord and promised Him that he’d stop doing the things he was doing if He made her better. Not since then and not since he vowed ‘never again’.

But Rick was sure even the Lord could understand when it came to Barack Hussein Obama and his oh my gosh yes oh—

“So tight,” Barack grunted behind him, large hands gripping his hips, sure to leave bruises later,”why are you so tight?”

‘Because it’s been forever,’ Rick wants to say, ‘because it’s been so, so long and, dammit, I need this. I deserve this. I’ve been so good.’ But all he can muster out is a yes and please and more. All he can do is whine and dig his hands into the towels under his fingers and pray to God his knees don’t give out.

And maybe Barack understands what he means, because his hips pick up speed and start slamming in harder. Rick’s whole body screams and he’s pushing back, asking for more, wanting to be filled to the brim and then some. He presses his faces into the towels beneath as a scream rips through his mouth. He can feel Barack’s hand snake underneath him and grip his member to finish him off and then that’s it. That’s it, he’s completely gone.

His knees turn to jelly and he buckles them, only to feel Barack wrap his arms around his hips and keep him up right, because he’s definitely not done. The continued thrusts makes Rick see stars behind his eyelids, and not all the good kind, but he patiently bites his lip until he can feel Barack’s hips began to stutter and hear his lips begin to spill ‘Fuckfuckfuck’.