Message-ID: <442eli9704011428@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: Subject: Re: Part I, 'Bill & Hillary' From: davewl Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, companies, or events is purely coincidental. Bill & Hillary (A Short Story By Dave Wallace) Copyright 1997 Electronic Manuscript Publishing Company, Inc. Indianapolis, Indiana 46227 This is going to be a difficult story to relate. It's already started out that way with the title. My first thought was, 'The First Family' but I quickly rejected that, both because it sounded trite and because of the 'Long Playing' Record Album of that title some few decades ago. Then, it was, 'The First Couple', which simply sounded dumb. 'Mr. President' sounded like the name of an old movie, and on. 'Bill & Hillary', undoubtedly is the title of a book, a song, an opera, and a stageplay, so a prophylactic apology is offered to the writers of those works for any imposition or affront on my part. The reason that I settled upon this title is, moreover, a result of the fact that when I met them, he wasn't a president of anything. She was a Governor's wife, to be sure, but this White House experience didn't come until later. As I peeked from my vantage point, down into the crowded dining room, filled with the rich and the famous, the privileged and the powerful, to a person honored by their inclusion in yet another 'State Dinner', I found my mind drifting back to Arkansas, to those early days. I'd graduated from high school a virgin, believe it or not. Ah, you might say, she's probably a skank. Nobody would have wanted her. Forgive my immodest defense, but the school that I attended had 800 students in its graduating class. And, I'm not ashamed to aver, I was elected Homecoming Queen in my junior year and Prom Queen in my senior year. I don't say this in a spirit of braggadocio, merely to help you quickly 'meet' me. I want you to understand a bit about me but I don't want to waste a lot of words on the issue. For, the focus of this story is them. Bill and Hillary. Although, even that is inaccurate. I think that most people have had their fill of him. Jogging - golfing (and falling down steps at golfing buddies' homes) - eating fast food - commenting upon this or that - kissing this baby or speaking in front of that group - we've all had ample opportunity to see Bill. Hillary, though, is another matter. Not only has she limited the press access (especially 'post-health-care-debacle'), but, even when she appears in public, it's as if she is cloaked not only in chic, conservative dress, but is also surrounded with an unmistakable aura of 'stay the fuck away' vibes. This vibe, coupled with her 'this bitch is not one to be fucked with' vibe, causes her to be a formidable person. She's always been intimidating - at least as long as I've known her. As I stood before her in a tastefully furnished living room, eighteen years young, valedictorian of my recently graduated high school class, I was confident. I knew that my appearance was both immaculate and appealing. I'd spent a good deal of time choosing my clothing (a conservative business suit, with matching charcoal skirt and jacket, with a silk blouse beneath, white-on-white - charcoal panty hose with gray-toned shoes, no purse, briefcase deposited at my side), coifing my naturally blond, shoulder length hair, and applying a minimum of makeup. In spite of this confidence, though, I must admit that I was a bit 'whelmed' by her presence. I stood quietly in front of her, almost at a position of attention, as she scanned my brief resume and application. Even then, I didn't find it odd that she'd not offered me a seat but instead had required me to stand before her in an almost military - or imperial - manner . In time, I'd learn to stand in that manner - although in considerably different attire - for many hours on many occasions - but, I get ahead of myself. The look on her face and the concentration, moving from my application to focus on my face…my eyes, belied both a sharp intelligence and a feral intuition. I knew that this was a person that one couldn't 'bullshit'. This was somewhat unique, since I was generally able to prevaricate with parents, friends, teachers, etc., pretty much with impunity. Forgive the arrogance, but I'd found most people to be dullards, unable to see past the words put before them, written or spoken, true or false. This may sound terribly cynical at such a young age but I'd just not had the occasion to meet many people that could 'see through me'. Hillary was not only one of those people, she was the Grand Dragon, the High Priestess of those people. Although her stare was intimidating, overwhelming really, I didn't avert my gaze. I somehow knew that she'd reject me out of hand if I were to show weakness too soon. I say too soon because, with her singular personal power , she knew that I was subordinate, not only in social station, but in intellect, moreover, in willpower. It wasn't a case of defiance on my part. More a case of demonstrating to her my heartfelt (and instant) acceptance of the rules. 'Okay. You're Queen Bitch. But, I'm the Queen Bitch's 'Personal and Confidential Assistant' (the position that I was applying for) and you'd best not fuck with me', my level gaze seemed to say. 'Furthermore, the Queen Bitch wouldn't have me in this exalted, privileged position unless I was worthy. Ergo, 'you'd best treat me with the respect that is due to the Queen Bitch's Personal and Confidential Assistant', was the message implicit (I hoped) in my eyes. Of course, it was also understood in our little telepathic intercourse that she was my better. To her I deferred. With strength, accepting the superiority of her gestalt. When she spoke, it was with the cute little half-grin that I've since learned to adore. "You must understand, Allene. The position for which you are applying is one wherein your absolute loyalty is both demanded and necessary. My husband, the Governor, is a winner. I anticipate that he'll one day be the President of The United States. Already, there are some very important people - powerful people - who are more than just talking about putting him there. "As my Personal Assistant, you'll often be present in intimate situations and will hear and see things that are of the utmost confidentiality. Both here in the Governor's Mansion and, someday, if all goes well, in the White House. I absolutely must know that I can trust you implicitly." Her eyes looked deep into my own. Past my eyes, it seemed, into my very soul. As if searching for the honest answer. Not the words that may spill from my mouth, articulating my thought out response to her unspoken question . Instead, what she could 'mine' from beneath my shields. I felt as if I were standing naked before her, so convinced was I that I could hide nothing from her. As I was having this thought of being naked in front of her, I suddenly flashed on a mental picture of that reality. I was standing nude before her , my nipples hard, my legs spread apart, my hands interlaced on top of my head, and my shaven pubes at eye level with her seated reach. As I flashed on this fantasy, I felt a concomitant warming in my pussy. An instant lubrication, as my body reacted to the image sent by my brain's imagination. This warming, this wetting, was followed by a hardening of my nipples and a growing realization of my sexual arousal. I felt my face flush and saw the look of recognition that instantaneously flashed in Hillary's eyes as she instinctively read my feelings. As quickly, she broke into a radiant smile and sprang to her feet in front of me. "I know that you'll work out just perfectly, Allene." As she embraced me, our breasts mashing together, I tentatively placed my hands on her shoulders and accepted the gesture. I'd never had any sexual experience with another female in my life. I'd had a girlfriend, once, who'd suggested some mutual masturbation when I was thirteen and staying overnight at her house. It frightened me at the time, and I'd begged off. Since then, going to school, seeing girlfriends' bodies in the nude, for example, at gym class, athletic competitions and slumber parties, I'd noticed that I had an abiding appreciation for the female form but never considered that I'd feel sexual attraction to another woman. These thoughts were racing through my head as Hillary relaxed her grip on me, stepped back, looked deeply into my eyes again, and suggested, "Let me show you around. Welcome aboard." From that moment forward, I'd never looked back. It was now six years later and we'd been in Washington for over four years. How time flies. End of Part I, Bill & Hillary and, Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, companies, or events is purely coincidental. Bill & Hillary (Part II) (A Short Story By Dave Wallace) Copyright 1997 Electronic Manuscript Publishing Company, Inc. Indianapolis, Indiana 46227 As Hillary walked me through what was to become my new home, I had the feeling that we'd known each other for years. Barely old enough to be my mother, she moved with a feline grace that gave the illusion of a youthfulness that matched her physical appearance. Her body appeared to be firm, arms and legs without extra fat, tummy flat beneath her rather intense blue silk blouse, her skin tight over the cheekbones, but her cheeks lush enough to provide ample flesh for her charming dimples. I wondered if she would be the youngest first lady, if her husband was successful in his national ambitions. The mansion was aptly named. It was spacious, with high ceilings, large rooms, and ornate woodwork throughout. While the rooms were large, they were also many; however I found it odd, still, that even back then, Hillary and Bill (as I'd quickly come to think of them - her name always before his) would sleep in separate bedrooms. Hillary explained this away, saying that they both kept odd hours and found it better this way. Even more oddly, his bedroom was down the hall from Hillary's suite, whereas mine was adjoining. My bathroom was relatively spartan compared to Hillary's, hers equipped with an oversized, sunken tub, a double shower enclosure with clear glass door and multiple (four) shower jets, and an even larger Jacuzzi in one corner. Besides these bathing facilities, her bathroom had a cozy sauna with enough room for two people to lay, side-by-side; and two sinks on a long vanity, with mirrored walls all around. The bathroom was a wonderland of fluffy bath towels, stacked high on built-in shelving around the perimeter, several bowls of miniature soaps, bath oils in bottles, bath oils in multi-colored marbles, bubble bath in power and bubble bath in liquid decanters, candles on stands, and candles designed to float on the surface of the bath water. It was evident that Hillary was in the habit of indulging her comfort. As Hillary guided me through the suite, she showed me my large, walk-in closet, empty but for dozens and dozens of wooden hangers, empty shoe racks on the floor, and dozens of empty plastic boxes on the closet shelves, presumably for the storage of gloves, scarves, etc. I kept silent as Hillary explained that we'd be going shopping in the morning to get me a new wardrobe. A wardrobe, she explained, that would be fitting for the new 'Personal & Confidential Assistant' to the Governor's Wife. She said these 'titles' as if they deserved to be capitalized. My own mother having died of cancer when I was only eight years old, I'd been raised by my father, along with two younger brothers. Dad had never remarried and I'd always felt a loneliness as I'd watched my girlfriends sharing moments with their mothers over the years. That first day with Hillary, I felt that she was that missing 'older woman' in my life. I knew that, although I'd be an employee - a subordinate - I'd also like to be a close friend to her. I vowed that I'd do my best to earn that privilege. After the tour of my magnificent new home, Hillary had dismissed me with instructions to be ready when a car would pick me up at Dad's house (I'd already began thinking of my childhood home as such - somehow intuiting that I'd never return) at 7:00 AM, for the promised shopping spree. I'd had a million questions to ask but kept them to myself, not wanting to appear anxious or 'uncool' to this supremely sophisticated woman. When I'd finally left, Hillary had given me another hug, this time with a pecking kiss on the cheek and urged me to get a good night's sleep. I remember her exact words. "Sleep well tonight, young lady. For, tomorrow will begin a new adventure. A new life for you that will be full of exciting challenges. I have every confidence that you'll be up to meeting every one of those challenges." I'd fairly burst with pride as I'd driven away from the Governor's Mansion that early evening, visions of an exciting new life before me. Little did I know of how unusual, how very perverse that new life was to be. Hillary had told me to pack lightly, as we'd be shopping for a completely new wardrobe. I'd been afraid to ask her where the money would come from for such an extravagance but she had spoken with such assurance that I'd not been concerned about it. Nevertheless, I'd packed two large suitcases, along with my cosmetics bag, holding all of my makeup, etc. I'd dressed again in a business suit, this one of lighter weight material, and more comfortable for some 'power shopping'. I'd not wanted to make the car and driver wait for me, so when the long, white limousine pulled up to the curb in front of our house, I was already standing there, my suitcases at my feet. I felt like royalty, or a movie star, as the chauffeur hopped out of the limo and assisted me into the rear seat, only then hastening to place my luggage in the car's trunk. I'd ridden in a limousine before for my senior prom but this was the first time that I'd ridden in one all by myself. I knew that I wouldn't mind growing accustomed to such pampering and resolved that I would do my best not to blow this opportunity. I'd been recommended to begin with, by my High School Guidance Counselor, who had a family connection to my new boss. Since having heard about the job less than a month previously, I'd thought of nothing else. I'd often seen the Governor and his wife in the society pages of the newspaper and had always thought her to be both beautiful and regal. I didn't understand it at the time, but in retrospect I'd later concluded that I'd had a crush on Hillary for some time before I'd ever met her that fateful afternoon in the mansion's living room. This woman was to become my boss, my friend, and my lover. I would grow to have a devotion to her that knew no limits. I of course didn't realize this as I road through the state capitol's streets, on my way to the Governor's Mansion, feeling like Cinderella on the way to the Ball. I didn't realize it, but I wonder if I didn't suspect it, or 'feel' it nonetheless. End of Part II Bill & Hillary This one's coming (no pun) slowly. I'll forward further installments as they are 'birthed'. :-) dave wallace -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /