tagCelebrities & Fan FictionHot for Hillary (Rodham Clinton)

Hot for Hillary (Rodham Clinton)


This story describes an adult male/female consensual sexual relationship. It also contains a political theme that might offend some. If any of this offends you DO NOT READ.

The following story was given to me for posting by B. Traven who does not have USENET access. It is part of a voluminous series of stories never published before that supposedly describe true case studies investigated by Dr. Traven.

Dr. Traven has many contacts - some which reportedly extend into the White House itself. I am unable to confirm many of the details in this story. I'm not completely sure that Dr. Traven is not pulling my leg, but I'll let judge for yourself.

Dr. Traven is very interested in any comments or criticisms on this story. I will be glad to forward any messages about this story to Dr. Traven, but note that it may be a while before he is able to respond since he is still on sabbatical in Mexico. I may post more of the Dr. Traven's stories, depending on Dr. Traven's wishes and reader responses.

"Hillary is both Clinton's greatest asset and greatest liability to Clinton's campaign for the White House. She is intelligent and has a successful career of her own. She is also attractive, which is a two-edged sword - with most men wanting to go to bed with her, and most women wanting to scratch her eyes out." - Time Magazine, Febuary 1992

"Well, I could have stayed home and baked cookies." - Hillary Rodham Clinton, March 1992

"It is should be the sole goal of all Republicans - indeed of all Americans of conscience - to devote their lives for the next few years toward the removal from the White House of President Clinton and her husband Bill." - Roger Ailes, April 1993, Republican campaign strategist and president, CNBC

"Hillary Rodham Clinton is a disaster to this country. She is far left of the American mainstream, and is unaccountable to anyone." - William Rusher, National Review, June 1993

"Near the top of the list [ of women that men would most like to screw ] would be the First Lady - Hillary Rodham Clinton" - Al Goldstein - Screw Magazine, March 1993

"The whole fabric of human existence is that of domination and submission." - Friedrich Nietzsche


John Peterson toweled the sweat off his forehead after coming back from his daily run. Peterson was a large muscular man almost 6' 4". He had dark hair that was cut short and always perfectly combed. He carried his large frame in a ramrod straight posture that gave him an towering, almost menacing appearance, the kind that would make men sometimes instinctly back away when he entered a room. If anyone got close enough to look into his steel-grey eyes, though, they would see no menace; they would instead see a surprising depth and a hint of sadness.

When back home in D. C. he tried to catch up on the swimming and weight-training routine at the gym. Since joining the Secret Service two years ago, however, he was rarely at home. Peterson enjoyed the travel and the feeling of power it gave him to protect the lives of officials in the name of the Secret Service. People were deferential and respectful to him as if he had the same authority and power of the official he was protecting. While on President Bush's detail in the final months of his administration, he privately imagined that he was the president. Of course he kept such silly fantasies to himself because he was very much a professional.

Since his divorce a few years ago, his career in the Secret Service had taken over an even larger part of his life. He and Becky had parted amiably after 5 years; and being childless made it easier for both of them to call it quits. She was a lawyer in a prestigious law firm in D. C. and was said to be on a fast track to becoming the firm's first female partner. Maybe he was old-fashioned, (A Neanderthal according to Becky in a heated argument), but he still envisioned the ideal home life to be one were the loving wife and children were home to greet him after a long, hard day. He realized now that he was trying to escape from the less than ideal home life with Becky by joining the Secret Service.

In college he joined the ROTC, and following graduation he was commissioned as an officer in the US Army. He enjoyed the structure of military life and had a promising career in the service. After eight years at the rank of Captain he surprised many by leaving. With a old college friend he started a security business in D. C. that did remarkably well. He met Becky at a party. She was a vibrant, fresh-faced blond who looked more like a farmer's daughter than a law student of Georgetown. They hit off immediately, and married a few months later following her graduation. Life with Becky had been wonderful at first, but they both worked long hours, and eventually drifted apart. A few years later through a friend he had learned of the Secret Service and, on a lark, filed an application. Based on his military record he had no problem being accepted. Selling his share of his growing security business to his partner had been difficult, but Peterson enjoyed the military discipline in the Secret Service that he found lacking in his life. Being away from Becky every other week had, of course, paid its toll on what was left of their marriage. He regretted that things hadn't worked out differently, but they were probably headed for an eventual split anyway, even if he had not made the choice to join the Secret Service.

He didn't have a steady relationship but he had an active sex life that was free of commitments. A handsome, fit man in his mid-thirties like himself had more than his shares of conquests. Being in the Secret Service helped in that respect too, because, unknown to most of the general public, politicians were usually trailed by groupies who were eager to fuck the brains out of the handsome Secret Service men who guarded them.


His first detail was highly-sought one among those in the Secret Service. He was assigned to guard the President of the United States himself. He enjoyed being with President Bush who treated him as a colleague rather of as a servant or as part of the wallpaper. He was saddened when President Bush lost the election. There was a gloom over the White House for weeks afterward. At Christmas time President and Mrs. Bush invited him to join them for a family Christmas dinner in the White House. It was like the home life he had always dreamed about. Later in the evening after singing Christmas carols before the crackling fire of the fireplace, the President and Mrs. Bush presented him with what is now his most prized possession - a gold Rolex watch. It was actually against Secret Service rules to accept gratuities but knew he could not give up such a wonderful gift.

Like many of the aides and Secret Service men he fought back tears when President Bush departed later in January. As a Secret Service agent he was supposed to be apolitical but he had very negative opinions both from a political and personal perspective about the usurpers that came to replace the Bushes. He was always a professional; and he when he was assigned to guard President Clinton he kept his personal feelings in check. But he was immediately repelled by the boyish impetuousness of Clinton who ordered him around like a servant. Although obviously bright, Clinton lacked any sense of personal discipline. In public he could be exceedingly charming; and it was with this charm that he managed to snake his way into public office and the beds of a long string of attractive women. Bush was a father figure to him; but Clinton, although over 10 years older than Peterson, appeared like a spoiled little kid who Peterson had to approach gingerly to keep him from throwing a tantrum.

Perhaps Clinton sensed some of his personal animosity because a few weeks later Art Green, his supervisor, called him into his office to tell Peterson he was being taken off the Clinton detail. Although the Presidental detail was the most desirable detail among Secret Service agents, he was privately relieved. He almost resigned on the spot, though, when he was told his next assignment.

"Mrs. Clinton?" his voice cracked.

"Yes. We've had a request for you to guard the First Lady."

"A request from who?", he fought to keep the emotion from his voice.

"Mrs. Clinton." Green said carefully.

He had, of course, met Mrs. Clinton while on the Presidental detail but he was surprised that she would single him out. He had secret animosity against Clinton but he didn't have any particular feelings about his wife. He knew Hillary Rodham Clinton had a successful career of her own as a lawyer - much like Becky. Unlike most First Ladies who confined themselves to re-decorating the White House he heard that she acted as kind of a co-President. Some people resented her taking on Presidential powers for herself, but after seeing her husband in action, he was sure he needed all the help he could get! She appeared cold and formal - even toward her own husband; and she smiled only in public. Privately, the other Secret Service agents referred to her as the "Ice Queen". As a man he couldn't help to notice that she was really a hot looking lady with liquid, penetrating eyes and with a hint of a really good figure under her business attire. He felt flushed with shame and fought to suppress these thoughts.

"... take it or not?" he heard Art say as Peterson snapped out of his reverie.

Guarding the First Lady was hardly a plush assignment among the SS guys but he knew he could get stuck with an assignment busting up illegal whiskey stills if he wasn't careful. "Besides ... she's a hot looking lady", he heard his mind echo.

"Yes. I'll do it." he said, trying to put some iron into his voice. And he knew he was playing with fire.


The secretary was on the phone and looked somewhat annoyed at his interruption. Still talking on the phone, she gestured for Peterson to enter the inner office. He unconsciously ran his palm through his head, smoothing down imaginary out-of-place hairs, and walked to the open door of the inner office. She was sitting at her desk and was also talking on the phone. She was immaculately dressed in a light-blue business outfit that somehow managed to look business-like and feminine at the same time. She wore sparkling earrings that set off her blond hair. He stood in doorway awkwardly, not sure if he should enter or not. She looked up at him at him and smiled while continuing to talk on the phone. Since she did not indicate for him to enter he continued to stand there awkwardly. Trying to look more casual he raised his left arm to lean against the door frame, but quickly took his arm down when he realized that he his suitcoat had opened to expose his gun in his shoulder holster.

She finally put the phone down and looked up toward him.

"And you must be ..." she said in bubbly voice.

"John Peterson, Ma'am ... Secret Service", he heard himself say in a deep voice that sounded like dialogue from a cheap Western.

"Oh, yes. John or is it Mr. Peterson?"

"John is fine, Ma'am." She actually seemed pleasant and not at all like an Ice Queen.

"And Mrs. Clinton will do fine, or even Hillary is OK. Ma'm makes me sound like an old lady."

"Yes, Ma'am ... uh, Mrs. Clinton", he felt like a idiot now and felt foolish that he had taken this assignment.

She reached into her drawer and picked out a stack of envelopes.

She looked at him and smiled.

"Now that we have the introductions out of the way, why don't you deliver these envelopes for me."

His face dropped and he felt a sudden flash of anger. He was a Secret Service agent, not a messenger boy. He had in the past volunteered to run errands for the Bushes but those were done as a personal favors. Since the Nixon administration it was understood that Secret Service agents assigned to the White House are not personal valets. They are professionals trained to protect lives. What right does this ... bitch -there he said it - have to send me on her errands.

He drew himself up to his full height and puffed up his chest.

"Mrs. Clinton, I afraid I cannot do that." he said in a flat voice.

Her mouth frowned in a pout he would have found sexy if he wasn't so angry.

"Excuse me?"

"Mrs. Clinton, I am a trained Secret Service agent assigned to protect your life. I cannot both protect your life and deliver your mail."

She paused for a minute to digest what he had said. She placed her hand under her chin, thinking.

"John, let me see if I understand what you are saying ..." she said sounding like a lawyer presenting a case in court.

"I have approximately a dozen envelopes in my hand that I am asking you to deliver. All but two of recipients are down the hall. The remaining two recipients are one floor below. An obviously fit man such as yourself should be able to deliver each of envelopes to their respective recipients within, say, 6 minutes."

She paused and looked at him. After a few moments he realized she was expecting him to respond.

"Yes." he said. His throat felt dry.

She smiled and continued.

"However, you are unable to take 6 minutes to deliver these envelopes because you are guarding my life?"

"Yes." He now felt she was understanding.

"However ... I do not see any assassins ready to kill me and the White House itself is very thoroughly guarded."

"Yes, but ..." he tried to interject.

She cut him off and continued. "Moreover, there were no Secret Service agents guarding me until you came in ...", She looked at her watch, "12 minutes ago."

He knew it was futile to say anything.

"Looking at the facts we see that I was without a Secret Service agent since 5:45am, over two hours ago, since I left my husband to come to my office."

She continued.

"So, in spite of the fact that I was without ANY Secret Service protection for at least two hours this morning, you are saying you cannot leave me unprotected for the six minutes it would take you to deliver these envelopes."

"Mrs. Clinton ..." He knew this was not going to be a good day.

"Now, I think perhaps there another motive for you refusing to help me out with a small errand." she said in an understanding tone.

"Each profession has its own standards of conduct. If anyone can understand that, I can. As a practicing attorney in the state of Arkansas I was prevented in many instances of representing clients who do business with the state - because my husband happened to be governor. This was to prevent an appearance of a conflict of interest - all because of the standards of my profession. Can you imagine? I could not practice law the same as any other attorney in that hick state of inbred hillybillies because of my husband's job. This is an absurd sexist rule that would never have applied if I were a man."

She stopped to look at him sympathetically.

"So, you're saying that in your profession you could not do me a favor - you could not help the First Lady in her official duties - because it would violate your professional standards?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Yes, Mrs. Clinton." he said relieved that the confrontation appeared to over.

"Please call me Hillary." she said sweetly.

"Yes, ... Hillary." he said in a friendly tone.

"I'm glad that we understand each other now." she said with the hint of a smirk.

"Now that we have our knickers down, and I understand your position, let me tell you what I think of it: You work for me, Peterson. You're just the hired help, here. We all have to do whatever it takes to get the job done. I've had to do that all my life fighting against sexism that permutes this society."

He was mortified.

"Peterson, you're a hired gun. A boy who never gave up his toy guns. A boy playing with his gun while the girls were relegated to playing mommy with their dolls. Professional ethics? Don't make my laugh. You don't want dirty yourself by putting your toy gun down for a moment and doing some real work."

She continued with a grin.

"You're going to do this little errand for me, or you're going to get your ass the fuck out of the White House - and the Secret Service. This is a new regime, and anyone not willing to help out will be out on their ass. And don't forget I'm the one who calls the shots here. My husband may be the one who wooed the public with his boyish smile but I am the one who is working in the trenches. Some men have problems working for women but the times that are a'changin', buster. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?", she was screaming now, and he was afraid someone else would hear.

He nodded his head mechanically and felt very small.

She continued in soft, intimate voice.

"Good. John, please deliver these envelopes for me. It would help a lot. After you're done just take the rest of the day off and cool off. Just be here bright-eyed tomorrow morning and we'll have a fresh start. I'm not really the bitch you may think I am. Let's not have any more confrontations, and everything will be alright. I'll see that everything is cleared with ..." she looked in her notebook. "Mr. Art Green"

He meekly took the envelopes from her and turned to leave.


He turned around to face her. She smiled brightly.

"Ah, yes, ... Hillary?"

"Nice watch." she said with an evil grin.

He felt a flash of white-hot anger. He turned and walked away quickly before he did something stupid. He delivered the envelopes and, then, left for the nearest bar. **

After downing a half-dozen Wild Turkey's his outlook was improved measurable. This bar had the just the right ambiance with ripped nagahyde bar stools, garish neon beer signs and a permanent cloud of smoke.

Someone sat in the stool next to him. He looked over and saw a bosomy blond who wore too much makeup.

"Hi, there." she said a voice cheery voice that sounded sickening sweet to his ears.

"Uhh, hi." he finished his shot glass and motioned to the bartender to get a refill.

The haggard-looking bartender came over with his refill.

"Get the lady one, too." Peterson said with a slight slur.

"Thanks, honey!" she said brightly. She leaned over toward him and squeezed his arm. "Are you an athlete, or something?"

"Nope, I'm not a cop, either."

"Well, you're in real good shape, if you don't mind my saying, that is." she leaned against him drinking some colorful drink containing fruit. Looking at it made him want puke.

"Can I ask you a question?" Peterson said.

"Sure, honey."

"Are you a lawyer?"

She burst out laughing.

"No, why would you ask that?"

"Then let's go fuck." He took her by the arm and they left together. **

The next day he woke up with a hangover. The events of the previous day came back to him, and his stomach sank. He debated whether to talk with Green about his run-in with Hillary, but he decided to try and stick it. Civil service regulations or not he knew someone in her position could get back at him. Besides his experience in the military taught him to obey orders even if he didn't personally go along with them. Its wasn't just the orders themselves that mattered it was the discipline that they entailed. It was the discipline that stood between him and chaos. If life taught him anything it was the need for self-discipline. If he had trouble dealing with Hillary or anyone else his self-discipline would get him through the situation.

Everything went alright that day. Maybe, he and Hillary had really started a new day as she had suggested. She was friendly as if nothing had happened and gave him no errands to do. He realized afterwards that her performance the previous day was a really a power play where she was asserting her dominance over him. When it was clear in her mind that she was dominant, she didn't need to play any more power games with him. He inwardly stewed when he realized this but he reminded himself that he was the one with self-discipline. **

Report Story

bybtraven© 9 comments/ 118077 views/ 13 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

4 Pages:123

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: