Mando Bk. 03: General Badass Ch. 08

Chapter 8:    The VP Gets a Promotion

 Danny's point of view

The VP job catapulted me into a different stratosphere. I can't growl, bark orders, or threaten to castrate them and roast their balls on a spit, or such routine military threats. I am adjusting, though. The hardest adjustment is the wardrobe consultant for the white house. During my month of training she works with dressmakers in Italy and Pairs to make a wardrobe for most anticipated occasions. Oh, for the simplicity of uniforms.

However, Gino says with my clothes, jewelry and natural radiance I light up every room I enter. He's biased, but so what? Like Marion Garland, the previous VP predicted, I am a perfect fit for the position. I never imagined myself wearing power suits, going everywhere surrounded by secret service agents, and everyone standing when I enter the room.    

First, I'm a Pope, then a two-star general, then the Vice President. What next?    

***    

I've been VP for three months to this day. Jan, my executive assistant burst into the office and blurts, "Madam Vice President, The President's had a heart attack. It's on the news!"    

     I am puzzled and alarmed. "At the meeting at the UN in Switzerland"    

     "Yes Mam. Here's the news; I'll turn it up."    

A picture of President Tom Sullivan's smiling face is behind the grim-faced news anchor. Oh, no you don't, Tom. Don't die until your term is over. I don't want a desk in the oval office. Don't do that to me!    

The commentator tells the story. "This afternoon at a UN meeting in Geneva, Switzerland United States President Tom Sullivan collapsed while addressing the assembly of the United Nations.  We are waiting for an update from  the hospital."

All the feeling in my face blows a fuse. My personal night sky is coming toward me, but the stars are going out. My head drops briefly before a dim light chases away the darkness  with tenacity of one that refuses to die. I grip the desk until the swoon passes. Tom, no!"    

     The secretary panics. "Madam Vice President! Oh My God! Jan, call the doctor for the Vice President. Hurry."    

I raise my head and focus on the TV, but it's a hazy blur. Bees buzz in my ears, and the room rocks and sways. I can't think. The Physician Assistant comes in at a trot and helps me to the sofa. He props my feet up on the high, plush, well padded arm and drapes his jacket over me. "Lie still Madam Vice President, you are fine. The blood is returning to your head now and is chasing away the dizziness. Sit up when you are ready and drink some water."    

Jan turns the TV's sound back on in time for me to hear my worst fear confirmed.    

"This just in: Thomas Sullivan, President of the United States of America was pronounced Dead on Arrival at the Hospital in Geneva." That's all I hear. My mind shuts down, locks up, and searches for a bunker to hide in. I drop into a dead faint. My elevated feet send the south bound blood back north. Jan is frantically fanning me. She's both deeply worried and grief stricken, but not half as set adrift and panicked as I am.    

The Chief of Staff contacts the Chief Justice, and half an hour later Chief Justice Quinton stands in front of me in the oval office ready to administer the oath. THE OATH. Oh god. 

From Chief Hawk to Commander-in-Chief. Wake up Danny! Wake your ass up and give up this nightmare.    

Trouble is, I am not asleep. The Chief of Staff, the White house press secretary and a camera jockey are to my right and the rest of the staff witness this "Historical Moment" from the hallway.    

Chief Justice Quinton acts quickly because until I take the oath the country is without a President. "Raise your right hand General Marino  and repeat after me."    

I raise my right hand, screaming in my head, I don't want to be president! I want to be a General. Damn it Tom, get back here and stop playing possum. Get on with being president! NOW!    

The judge intones the first half of the oath: "I do solemnly affirm that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States."    

My mind is still rejecting the idea: I don't want to be President. But what can I do but take this oath! Damn, damn, and double damn. Triple damn too.    

I parrot back the first sentence: "I do solemnly affirm that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States."    

     General Vice President, Mando, Hawk, and Danny are desperate to mutiny. I shake and tremble more than a prissy sissy on a battlefield. "How about if I stay vice president and Gino takes over the presidency? He's much more qualified than I am. We'll be a husband and wife team. President and vice president; we've got the capitol sewed up. That's the ticket.    

     He continues. "And will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."    

Oh, all right, I'll take this oath, but I don't want to be the god damn president. "And will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States." Ohhhhhhh Shit! I've stepped in it now! Not just ass deep; eyebrow deep. Mother truckers and rubber duckies! How can I get out of this?    

The chief Justice is offering his hand and saying something. I snap back to the here and now, which I'd rather be now and then. "Congratulations, Madam President." My hand is too numb to feel his. I hope I'm shaking it good like a good President should. Damn it all, Chief Justice, don't congratulate me! This is a sentence, not a privilege for god's sake! Look what happened to the last guy in this office. He is dead.    

I manage a weak, "Thank you, Chief Justice." Office staff surrounds me shouting congratulations, but all I want to do is go to bed with Gino and enjoy the comfort only he can give me.    

The Press Secretary hands me an inaugural speech to read at the press conference in the press room. Secret Service Agents race the clock in high gear to clear a gaggle of reporters for the press conference.    

Am I floating in a vacuum or in a different dimension? Nothing makes sense. It's like my mind is buried in freezing snow and shot full of Novocain. I'm numb and dumb as a zombie. Secret Service agents escort me to the press room to stand in front of a wall of microphones, cameras, and people. Tom if you weren't dead I'd paddle you with a porcupine.    

I'm speeding past numb to "pissed off" for being railroaded into this position. I glance down at my script when I need to or to take a break from the staring contest between Cyclops the Camera and the Shanghaied President. Democracy my ass."    

Time to collect my wits and arrange them in imaginary rows. Here I am. Madam President. Damn that Tom Sullivan! I'm scared stiff. I couldn't stand more vertically and erect if my vertebrae are fused together or a steel rod was rammed up my ass. Fuckin A, I,m scared real stiff.    

The PR folks gave me some guidance which I follow. First, a quick pan and scan around the room, remain calm, somber, and speak in a firm voice, enunciate with clarity, maintain eye contact, and follow the script.    

     "It is with great sadness that I accept the duties and responsibilities of the office of President of the United States of America. Thomas Sullivan served his country well. I am sure the nation mourns with me. Please join me in a moment of silence in his honor."    

I let thirty seconds go by as per script.    

"In the days ahead, the overwhelming task of acclimating to the duties and schedules of this office requires a learning curve, so I ask you to tolerate my bumbling. I will reschedule meetings, and I, like you, must have time to grieve over the tragic death of a great man. It is an honor to serve as your commander-in-chief."    

My mind does a U-turn. Commander-in-Chief!! I'm still with the military! Hot damn! I just went from a two-star general to being so high up in rank I'm getting a nose bleed.    

I answer a few questions thrown at me before ducking out to find the past president's wife. We run to each other to hug, cling, and cry. I guide her back to the presidential apartment on the second floor to escape cameras and questions. We hold each other and cry in the privacy of her home. No cameras thank you very much.    

"Sally, stay in the apartment as long as you need to. No rush."    

"Oh, thank you, but I want to get away from the white house so I can mourn in private. I know I'll dissolve into tears when I see things and people important to him, and I don't want the entire world to witness it."    

I nod and pat her hand softly. "Of course not, but you shouldn't be alone. Do you have family close by, or would you like for someone to stay with you or stay with us for the night?"    

She sniffs before answering.   "Will you stay with me for a little while now? Please?"    

I stand. "Sure, I'll tell Jan to cancel all appointments and hold all calls."    

I use the wall phone near me to contact Jan. After listening to what I have to say, she replies. "Madam President, I have already cleared your calendar. Shall I request his secretary to go help Mrs. Sullivan make any calls and take care of things for her?"    

"Yes, Jan, give us ten minutes before we deal with that."    

***    

I fumble around in a hazy daze for the rest of the day learning protocol and making decisions. All I want to do is go home and rush into Gino's arms. 

Finally I do. "Oh Gino, what am I going to do?"    

"Simple: You will be the best president this country has ever had. Since when have you done anything else?" His lips curl into a soft smile.    

I sniff, blow my nose and dry my eyes. "Gino, I'm so overwhelmed. Please take me to bed and let me rock on your cock and then show me something new so I can get my mind off this disaster."    

After a warm shower, I slip into bed beside him. "Got something new and kinky for us to try, oh great love Monk?"    

"Okay, you want a real hard one but an intense humdinger?"    

"Goody, I will get a hard dick in a hard position." I fondle his manhood. "But let's not forget the rock on your cock part."    

I slide down the bed until I am facing Peter, the Prince of Pricks, and gobble him like slurping a Chinese noodle. "Now that I've sucked away a little stress I'm ready for something new."    

We kiss each other's hungry lips with rough passion and stoke each other's fires. Then I follow Gino's instructions for super sex. I lie on my back with my hands and elbows on each side of me so I can press down on the bed and put my legs in the air. "

This is exciting already, Gino,  because I don't know what we will do. "I'll be glad we do all those gymnastic type exercises, right?"    

He grins, nods, and then kneels in front of me to grip each ankle and raise them until my butt is off the floor. "Hang loose because this elevator has a couple more floors to reach." He keeps lifting my legs until my butt is almost above my head. "Grab your legs and pull them to your chest."    

Oh yeah! I am in an upside-down bicycle pose with him working the pedals. My behind and sex bowl face the ceiling.    

"I don't know if I'm a chair or a birthing stool." I stifle a giggle. I'm a living chair for him to park his butt on, but he doesn't park it. He's on his knees facing me when he straddles my butt by having a knee on each side of my legs. He leans forward and slips into me slowly by going up and down a little deeper each time. He's bouncing like a slow motion picture of a jockey on his racehorse barreling around the track to cross the finish line first.    

"President Danny, tell me when Hot Rod finds your G-spot."    

     He doesn't have to wait long. "Oh, my! There! Yay-yuh!" He presses hard against my G-spot and wiggles his hips, transforming my G-spot into a G-whiz spot. Wow! My magic spot. That's it! Bob, my Battery Operated Boyfriend is the only one that does this right. Whoa, Daddy!   Not any more!

One minute later my twat is on fire. My magic spot shoots sparks five feet into the air. He goes in and out a few times and stops with the nose of his rod pressing against that Golly G-whiz spot, and wiggles his hips almost as fast BOB. Exquisite! My yoni goes crazy. The base of his shaft opens the doors of my sex cave wider with each stroke.    

The sensations multiply until my cave turns into a roman candle shooting a myriad of colors and shapes and miniature explosives. The first spark is red hot, and the next jab is like an ice cycle. They come at lightning speed alternating between fire and ice. It's like his shaft turned into an electric eel kicking out crackling bolts at high amps, upping the power and heat each time. I'm quivering all over and all under, both inside and out.    

     I whimper and chirp between moans. "Go- go- go! Harder! Deeper! Yes!"    

Gino joins in the climax fest and locks us together. He's wiggling against my vagina walls slower and slower, pumping spurt after spurt of his love juice in me. We are two volcanoes erupting together.          Electric prods and tingling jolts lead to an incredible wave of ecstasy. It's like we're welded together by a powerful current. Love songs leave our lips in a funky harmony of moans, groans, squeals, screeches, grunts, gasps and yells, scattering rich notes from base to high C, or rather, high G.    

I cherish this moment. My mind is free of all the weight, baggage and worry dumped on me all day. President who?    

He releases my legs and eases them down to the bed.    

     "Oh, Gino! You worked while I soaked in tingling shocks of pleasure and orgasms as beautiful and as magnificent as shooting stars and Chinese fireworks. Yes! Yes! And hell yes! Know what?"    

"Uh-uh." His lips are so close I want to kiss them. I do. Yum.    

"I bet few people are limber enough or have the strength and stamina to hold that pose long enough to climax." I kiss him passionately, and we locked lips, tongues, and spirits. God, I love this man.    

His voice is sincere when he says, "Yep, we've got another goodie."   

"Know what else?" I flutter my eyelashes.    

He shakes his head while I gaze into his remarkable eyes.    

"That sensational sex drained, pushed, and pulled all the stress and strain I brought home and tossed it in the trash compactor. Got any more of those weird and wild positions with kinky gymnastic bending and folding?" I giggle. "With you doing all the work?"    

He kisses my nose, cheek, and neck. "Don't worry, I did the work in the pile driver, but I have a few that you do all the work in. Hell girl, this is your therapy."    

"Yep. It works faster and better than a pint of scotch or a joint. Gino I love you more than I knew anyone could love." I add: "That goes for Sir Lotsa Cock and his bag of balls, too."    

He pulls me into his arms for a tight squeeze. "Danny  Honey, you are the only woman I can ever love like I love you. I am so glad we got married. It is so right, and so 'us'!"    

"Em, Gino? Are you hungry for some poon tang pie? It's waiting for you all nestled between my sexy thighs keeping warm."    

He smacks his lips. "Oh yes! But let's have some chilled wine first." We share wicked grins.    

We sip wine, nibble cheese, and pop grapes like Greek gods.   When the bottle is empty we kiss, and Gino kisses his way south. He's in no hurry to get there. He's kissing, licking, nibbling, and caressing me in such a loving way I am already wet for him. I revel in the sensation of his hot breath and gentle fingers touching my skin. The way he's loving and savoring me sends my rockets flying high. I sigh. I've never been loved like he loves me. For a few hours, I forget that tomorrow I go to work in an Oval Office with a different title. THE title. "Damn you, Tom!"    

***    

The Oval Office definitely has a masculine feel to it. I love it. The walls, desk, and bookshelves are made of thick, hard mahogany. The well photographed white patriotic rug in the center seems to glow.    

By the end of the week, madam President is ready for the rubber room until the last appointment. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs enters the office followed by the five joint chiefs over each military branch. My eye size doubles and my mouth is drier than  desert sand, Gulp. "All joint Chiefs?    

We meet, greet, shake hands, and the Chairman tells his tale.    

"Madam President, General Eisenhower surrendered his five-star rank when he became president because he was no longer leading the troops. He wanted a civilian to lead civilians." He lets that sink in before continuing. It does.    

"But Madam President, no general since then understands why he did that. When he became president, he also became the Commander-in-Chief. That automatically means he's in charge of all the tropes because Commander-in-Chief is a military title." His companions nod in confirmation. "His actions puzzle us.

I don't know where he's chasing this rabbit, but military history intrigues me. "I'm tracking, General. Please continue."    

"Our generation of generals honor logic and traditions." He makes a light sweep of his hand toward the other generals and one Admiral. "Madam President, all chiefs of staff are here now as a statement of their support by taking part in the presentation we are about to make. It is the only logical step."    

I'm puzzled. "Logical step to what, General?"    

He waves me off. "I'll explain. This is the question we pondered; if the chief of staff automatically becomes a four-star general, what should the Commander-in-chief be?" He placed a royal purple jewelry case on my desk within reach. I twitch at the implication. The commander-in-chief is a higher rank than a four-star general, so what rank should he be? I gulp, and pant like a Basset Hound in the sun. I'd make any Lamaze coach proud. My eyes glue their glare at the elegant gold trimmed purple jewelry box.    

"In the box is the symbol of what the Joint Chiefs approved. Please open it in our presence."    

I snap the lid open and go stone cold. I take half a dozen more gulp and gasps and turn my stunned gaze toward the generals and back at three gold stars. Since I'm speechless, I wait for an explanation. I am so excited, and stars-in-my-eyes dazzled I'm shivering.    

The Marine General takes up the gauntlet. "General, we know about your leadership and mission planning that saved the Vice President and the President. What baffles every head of every agency and department was, not only did you anticipate the action against the terrorists; you devised a method of disarming the bomb that no one else could ever do. Hell, we thought it couldn't be done.  To date, the suicide bomber detonated the dead man switch if he was out of reach. The method used to instantly defuse the bomb was something only you and Falcon can do."    

The army General is beside him, so he takes his turn. "Madam President, we have no weapon that could cut those wires in the time you two did. Our weapons couldn't clear the holster in the time you took to complete the job." He surveyed the other generals. "That is our conclusion, am I right?"    

"Yes, General you are," the Navy admiral confirms. "The point of saying all that is this. The President should outrank his troops. But besides that, Madam President, you saved a nation and our way of life in ways we could not have done. Therefore, the other three stars should be yours whether or not you've served forty years or are in the middle of a declared war, which is the usual time the military awards the fifth star."    

He motions on his right and left to include his fellow officers. "We equate those situations with war because the result of the terrorists completing their plan could have triggered terrorist assaults in America. And my God, Madam President, the number of soldiers eliminated in Morocco is a wartime number."