Chapter 2

A few days blurred into a haze for Christine.

The Company had worked that Christina is going on a much needed vacation by herself for a few days, they collaborated with the secret service not to intervene during the contact of 4 days. The irony burned: the leader of the free world, about to be dragged through the mud in plain sight.

Rough hands yanked her out, the chain jerking her forward. The diner’s neon sign flickered ‘Joe’s Eats,’ casting red glows on the cracked pavement littered with cigarette butts and gum wads. Inside, the air stank of grease and stale coffee, a handful of patrons—truckers, locals, eyes bleary—glancing up as she was hauled through the door. Her bare feet slapped the sticky linoleum, nipples pebbling under the chill and the stares. Humiliation coiled tight in her gut, her clit pulsing with unwanted heat. She was collared, leashed, exposed, and the company’s handler shoved her toward a booth in the corner.

There sat Maya, the 8-year-old black girl from the slums, legs swinging under the table like she owned the place. Her cornrows were tight, skin a rich brown that gleamed under the harsh lights, wearing a faded tank top and shorts that hugged her skinny frame. She looked up, dark eyes narrowing with a smirk that twisted Christine’s insides. This kid—this child from the projects—was her handler, her tormentor, the one who’d piss on her dignity and make her lap it up.

‘Look what they dragged in,’ Maya drawled, voice high and mocking, laced with that street-tough edge. She leaned back, popping a piece of gum. ‘The big bad President, huh? All collared up like a lost dog. Sit your old white ass down.’

Christine’s cheeks burned as the handler unchained her just enough to slide into the booth, the vinyl seat cold against her bare thighs. The slip of her panties rode up, the wet fabric grinding her swollen folds. Eyes from nearby tables lingered—whispers starting. She was the fucking President, and here she was, half-naked in a shithole diner, pussy dripping for the degradation to come.

Maya’s gaze raked over her, lingering on the way Christine’s legs trembled. ‘They told me about you, white bitch. High and mighty, runnin’ the country, but beggin’ to be my toilet slave. Bet that fancy pussy’s been leakin’ since you signed up.’ She snapped her gum, then reached across the table, small hand shooting out. ‘Panties. Now. Gimme those nasty things. I wanna see how wet the leader of the free world gets thinkin’ ‘bout eatin’ my shit.’

Christine’s breath hitched, heart slamming. Public—right here, with strangers watching. Her fingers fumbled under the table, hooking the waistband. She lifted her ass just enough, sliding the soaked cotton down her thighs, the fabric peeling away from her slick, aching cunt with a wet smack. A string of her arousal clung to the crotch, clear and viscous. She balled them up, face flaming, and slapped them onto the table like an offering. The damp spot glistened under the light, her musky scent wafting up.

Maya snatched them, holding them high for a second, letting the diner see. Laughter erupted from a couple of tables—a burly guy in overalls hooted, ‘What the hell? That’s the Prez’s undies!’ Maya smirked wider, dangling them like a trophy, then slammed them down on the scarred Formica table, right next to a half-eaten burger. ‘Smell that? Old white slut’s been creamin’ for days. Bet you been fingerin’ that saggy hole dreamin’ of a real girl like me puttin’ you in your place.’