Chapter 2

She had probably been made to wait a day too late because, at this stage, the blow job lacked real technique. It was more of a suck the cum from my balls as quickly as possible operation. Not that having an 18-year-old deep-throating your cock is, by any stretch of the imagination, bad, it’s just that you’d like a little variety in the technique, or, maybe some ball action.

My wife was starting to cum, which got my hips starting to pump a bit. This signaled to my niece that I was getting close. She quickly wet her fingers by running them along her pussy lips (she would never, ever let go of my cock with her lips), and then pushed the tip of her longest finger inside my ass, then curling it to rub along my prostate, to coax me into a maximum release. More cum meant more satisfaction.

My wife moaned and was drenching my face, which combined with the blow job and anal stimulation sent me over the top.

I could hear my niece moaning as my hot load of cum exploded into her mouth, providing her with the life-sustaining supplement. She greedily swallowed everything, her finger rubbing inside me, trying to sweet-talk my body into giving up more semen, her tongue licking all around the head, the tip probing my opening to secure any last vestiges of the fluid.

She finally released me from her mouth and finger and lay with her head on my thigh, her warm breath teasing my now softening cock as she alternated between breathing and whispering “Thank you for the White”.

My wife moved off of my face and curled up next to me, orgasmic bliss written across her. I put my arm around her and we cuddled, our reverie only interrupted by her question, “Is tonight Sarah’s?” and me silently acknowledging her with a slight nod of my head.

Yes, I mused, tonight our eighteen-year-old daughter was on the schedule to collect my semen, the White, from me.

“Mr. President,” said Julie Sereph, my appointments secretary, “you have the Committee to Allocate Men Ethically at 10 am, and then a security briefing at 11, sir.”

I looked first at my watch, 9:45 am, then at her, and nodded, noticing some redness in her eyes. A few years ago, I would have suspected that she was crying. Now...

“Julie,” and as I paused, her head snapped up from the folders that she was busily shuffling at the side of my desk.

“Yes, Mr. President?” a look of concern forming.

“Have you been ... are you...” I softened my voice. “Your eyes seem a little red this morning.”

If I thought her eyes were red, it was nothing to the shade that her face turned, almost matching her hair color.

“I’m sorry, sir, my sister, you see, she’s visiting, and there was a mix-up in her temporary allocation form, and rather than send her home early, because I don’t get to see her very often, sir, so...” she was rambling on quite speedily now.

I raised my hand to silence her, and she stopped talking but looked nervous. She knew she had violated protocol by allowing her sister to take her turn at the White House Allocation Center on K-level, known as WHACK.

The President picked up the phone, pressed a few buttons, and was soon talking with the Director of WHACK.

“Mary? I’m going to send my secretary Julie down to see you now.” A pause. “Yes, Mary, thank you.”

Hanging up the phone, he saw tears forming in Julie’s eyes.

“No report will be filed, Julie. There will be no record of this.”

The young woman stifled an outburst, mumbled her gratitude, twice, and left the Oval Office. I tried not to think too much about what she would be doing in about ten minutes.

Doodling until my next appointment, I noticed something and smiled at the irony. Whoever worked up the name for the Committee to Allocate Men Ethically had some fun with that acronym.