The Five Minute Interview  (FF+, Beast, Scat, WS, Reluc, Voyuer,
Political/Historical)

On a lark, I posted an offer to write a story based on three
things submitted by the readers of an erotic stories Reddit, a
community on a social link sharing site, as per my post at
http://www.reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/r7dwo/what_would_you
_like_in_a_story/  This is what those perverts suggested and I
happiled complied.

It is my first erotic story in about twenty years.  Please let me
know if you like it and what else you would like to see! :)

Cheers,
Amazizama
the.real.amazizama@gmail.com


(c) 2012 by the *nom de plume* Amazizama.  Licensed through the
Attribution-ShareAlike Creative Commons license
(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/).


===============================
   The Five Minute Interview
===============================


It's been fourteen years and I've never told a soul about this
until now.  Not that it matters much; they wouldn't have believed
me and you probably won't either.  But, it's true.  I was there
and I saw it with my own eyes.  To this day, I still am awakened
at night from nightmares of it.  And, when those tight-lipped
memories bubble into my subconscious, they share as much with wet
dreams as nightmares.  But, I digress.  Let me start from the
beginning.

It was the winter of 1997 and I had just moved to D.C. with my
first husband, Lee, during that summer.  We had finished our
undergraduate degrees at Texas A&M, me with Journalism and Lee
with Pre-Law, and Lee had been admitted into Georgetown's Law
program.  The plan, ill-fated though it was, was for me to get a
job as a journalist to help pay for Lee's tuition while he
"invested in our future".

I was young, twenty-two at the time, a native Texan so
constitutionally a greenhorn about the District that I believed
my husband and I would have an easier time as an interracial
couple there than at College Station.  In all my youthful
enthusiasm I honestly thought I would easily land a job at a
major rag, maybe even the Post.  After all, I had graduated Summa
Cum Laude and was involved in all kinds of "filler" for my CV. 
It should have been a cinch.

Needless to say, I spent the first three months getting a lesson
in what the old boy network in D.C. thinks about Southerners,
especially Southern women.  By the time Lee was registering for
Winter term, we were dipping way too deeply into our savings and
I needed a job.  With dejection growing frighteningly familiar, I
tried the unthinkable to my recently emancipated mind: the
college paper.

The then-editor of The Hoya took a liking to me for all the wrong
reasons and hired me as his Assistant Copywriter, which
essentially meant that I'd do the writing that he that was
interested in but was too lazy to write himself.  Although I was
thankful to get the job, this seemed like a downgrade from life
in College Station and after a few days the editor, with his
preternatural scrutiny of my every mood and curve, picked up on
this and decided to play the friend.

"What if I told you that I've got the inside scoop on the biggest
story of next year," he said, feigning breathlessness.

"I'd say you like to tell what we call 'Tall Tales'," as I smiled
courteously and suppressed my eyes rolling.

"Oh, this is the tallest of them all, honey," he continued, "and
yet it's the genuine article, if you get the pun."

I coughed out a laugh.

His voice hushed to a whisper and he leaned uncomfortably close,
"President Clinton's errant cock has caught up with him.  The
word up the street is that he's been having an affair with a
White House intern and this isn't going Gennifer Flowers, either.
 He's made plenty of enemies and they intend to put him under a
rock for this one."

Well, now this was interesting.  If it was true, of course. 
Maybe you'll remember that a lot of folks were nodding their
heads and saying "duh" when they heard news.  It wasn't like it
was out of character for our President.

"I'm in.  What's the scoop?"

"Hon', I don't know all the details yet," as his grin broadened,
"but, that's what you're getting paid for.  What I can give you
is a damn good lead.  None other than Hillary Clinton herself is
coming to Georgetown to give a speech tomorrow and I want you to
try to find out some details about what's going on in her
personal life.  She knows about this and the coming shit-storm
for sure!"

"Wait, you want me to follow her?"

"Don't be an idiot, Sheri.  She's got Secret Service and all that
crap.  I've gotten her PR person to agree to you interviewing her
for five minutes afterwards."

"Holy shit!""

He looked happier than a Jersey bull sucked off by Dolly Parton,
"Now, look, you can't go and ask her directly about anything
because we're not supposed to know.  But, what I need you to do
is get inside her skin and see if they're worried.  This bigger
than just an article.  There are... people... who want to know. 
Anyways, it doesn't matter.  Can you interview her?  Ask her some
crap and probe how she's doing?"

"Y-Yes... of course!" I tried blustering over my embarrassment
and genuine nerves, "It's no big deal.  I minored in Psychology.
I should be able to read her like a book."

"Uh-huh," he dipped and smiled, "you just get over to the
Columbia room at fifteen of two tomorrow and make it happen.  Got
it?"

I quickly nodded and mumbled affirmatively.

"Remember, you can't let on that you know.  I've been assured
you'll have time up close with her, at least a couple minutes
worth."

  *   *   *   *

I watched the seconds hand tick upwards on the wall clock,
ticking each step of the way.  2:16.  Christ, lady, how long are
you going to be in there.

Her handlers told me that she needed to take a personal call and
would be with me as soon as she was done.  I hadn't so much as
seen her and my nervous bladder was becoming dangerously full,
though I didn't dare move an inch from my seat.  I was going to
get this story, come hell or highwater.

"...so you can meet here then?  Downstairs?  Alright, give me a
few.  Yep, OK.  Bye,"  Hillary said as she stepped out from
behind the door, looking distractedly at the ceiling as she
walked and clicking her phone shut with a decisive clack as she
fixed her gaze on me.  And, the performance began.

"So, you're Cherry?" she intoned, extending her flecked hand as
her cheeks blossomed into a convincing, many-ringed imitation of
a smile.  This was before Botox, after all.

"Yes, Ma'am, ‘Sheri'," I corrected as gently as was humanly
possible,
"I'm here from The Hoya to ask a couple questions about your
speech."

"OK, great.  Do you mind if we walk and talk?" she pretended as
she briskly stepped towards the hallway,
"I've got to meet someone in a bit and can't be late."

"Of course!" I hurriedly followed along with my Montblanc and pad
clutched in hand,
"Could you tell me about your plans for promoting SCHIP in 1998?"

"You know, we've got many things planned, um, hold on a moment,"
she turned to the two Secret Service men shadowing us and added,
"Guys, I'm going to need about thirty minutes.  RP at the
driver?"

There was a long pause as if there was an inaudible sentence and
then the two men in black said in unison,
"Yes, Ms Clinton.  Understood."

They disappeared behind us and we walked silently for what felt
like minutes when she suddenly continued,
"Anyways, if we're going to make it a reality for ten years it
will take bi-partisan support.  So, of course I will need..."

Her phone buzzed in a strange rhythmic pulse, almost like a code.

"I'm sorry, I've got to take this."

We continued walking as she turned away from me to answer.

"Uh-huh.  Yeah.  Okay.  No, I like that a lot.  Uh-huh.  Sounds
like fun.  It's got to be fast though.  Wait, could you hold on
just a second?"

Suddenly she stopped and with simulated embarrassment she turned
back to me and covered the mouthpiece of her phone.

"I'm sorry, Sheryl, but could you wait here for a moment? 
There's someone who has something for me down here.  It won't
take long.  Write some notes or something."

I was helpless to protest as she opened a nondescript brown door
and stepped through, shutting it softly behind her.  I bit my lip
and crossed my legs, my bladder directing my thoughts to where a
bathroom might be.  As I looked around, I heard a slight
squeaking sound and stared as the brown door leaked open,
spilling a faint light up from its contents.

I waited silently for a moment and, hearing the faint echo of the
First Lady talking on her phone, I edged suspiciously towards the
door.  It beckoned now, stopping a full inch open, allowing me to
see that behind it were metal stairs leading downwards.  As I
bent towards the door, my hand almost unconsciously reaching for
its handle with my heart pounding, I could almost make out what
she was saying.

"You know what it requires... I know it to will be enjoyable...
He had his fun, let's have ours..."

And, then, like a beam of light, I heard another woman's voice,
"I'm ready to begin.  We've got a wait ahead and the sooner we
start the better."

Without a clue who was down there with her, my hand, slippery
with sweat, pulled the door open ever so gently and, refusing to
let my brain think it through, I stepped stealthily into the
stairwell.  And, to this day I don't know what the hell I was
thinking.

Hillary spoke, "When Bill left here in '68 he knew big things
were in store for him, just like Barry feels over in Chicago. 
But, we can't forget what we're really about.  That clown John
Paul's time will be up soon and the families will be one again
with a new Duce at the head."

"Barry's ready for that.  I'm ready, too.  I accept the rite and
all that it entails."

Who was this other person Hillary was talking to?  I crept down
the stairs as slowly as I could until I could just begin to make
out her face.  Her strong, even manly black features balanced
mischievous feminine eyes that switch from stunning to withering
in a temperamental instant.  I'd learn several days later that
this was Michelle Obama.

Hillary cleared her throat and produced a small, yellowed book
from her coat pocket and, drawing a deep breath, began reading in
a solemn, serious voice.

"In 1430 our Endless Mother, Joan d'Arc, was accused of mating
with Dunois' donkey, among other blasphemies.  The fraudulent
church of course could not understand the ritual of Saturn and so
wanted to squash it, even though it secretly arose from their
very own pope's perverted sacredness.  This honor, this privilege
of uniting Heaven and Earth remains to the sisterhood even
today."

WHAT?!  I gasped and felt for a moment like I was going to pass
out while trying to process this unprocessable information.  Were
they pausing?  Had they heard me?  Fear numbed my panic as I
steadied myself on the railing and waited, desperately hoping
they would continue, uninterrupted.

"Sister Michelle, the Seven Starred House was come to meet with
yours today.  We have brought the Golden Ass, as has been
ordained.  Prove your submission to greater path of the Order and
in this moment wed the donkey with your gifts."

It was then that my stupefaction cleared sufficiently for me to
see that Michelle was wearing a long, light brown robe, several
shades lighter than her own chocolate tone.  The robe had a
silver fringe and lowered hood and, with me more in shock than
had I been abducted by aliens, she pulled the robe cord open and
stepped smoothly into pure nakedness as the robe fell behind her.

Her supple, muscular body stood erect, her pear-like breasts
attenuated with her gaze, which was directed at something just
out of sight.  Past the point of no return, I lowered myself
downward, scooting a couple stairs until I saw something I had
not seen since College Point, a gray Cypriot Donkey.

Hillary led the donkey to Michelle with a silver-looking rope
attached to his tack.  It was easy to see that the donkey was a
"he"; the donkey had an enormous grey and white penis longer than
its ears sticking out between his furry legs.

Now, growing up in Texas, I've seen plenty of animal cocks and
they don't just go sticking out unless there is a female animal
of their kind around or they've been specially trained to breed,
like for artificial insemination.  This donkey, with his hard
cock easily as long and thick as my whole arm had been trained
for sex and what happened next made that doubly clear.

Michelle put her forehead to the donkey's and cooed, scratching
his ears before sidling along him and kneeling, her sable hands
massaging his rear leg in circles that inched towards his cock.

"Hurry, Michelle.  There's more to the ritual and little time."

Ms Obama didn't look up at Hillary, but nodded and smoothly
stroked her hands across the beast's leg to his massive, curved
shaft.  She gripped the donkey's huge member with both her hands
together and milked it forwards towards the glans.  The donkey's
eyes blinked rapidly and Michelle, without hesitation, bent her
face towards the donkey dick, opened her mouth very wide, and
began licking and sucking on the pulsing head of his cock, still
stroking his giant root.

Hillary meanwhile removed her pantsuit and stepped into some kind
of metallic shorts with complex silver and golden patterns. 
Attached to the front of these shiny bloomers was a large but
short, tawny white cock made from what looked like ivory. 
Hillary dipped her hand into a metal bowl of oil and liberally
coated her artificial phallus.

"Let Heaven and Earth meet and the animal and divine again reign
in passionate, frothing ecstasy," she incanted as she got behind
Michelle, who was on all fours as she continued to ardently give
the donkey head and a handjob.

With an "amen" from both women, Hillary pushed the ivory cock
into Michelle's frizzy pussy and Michelle stopped sucking just
long enough to emit a moan before she returned, smiling now, to
felating the donkey.  Hillary looked down with unabashed pleasure
as she fucked her initiate, writhing in pleasure as the donkey's
slippery pre-cum began to drip from Michelle's dilated lips.

I'm not proud of what happened next.  In fact, I'm very ashamed
of it and I wish it wasn't part of the story.  But, when I
decided to tell the world about what happened, I determined then
to state the whole truth and not leave anything out.  Even the
most embarrassing parts.

I've had a lot of time to think about it and I think I was
extremely sexually repressed when this all happened.  Lee and I
hadn't fucked in weeks and growing up Southern Baptist the only
thing worse than fucking was dancing.  I'm not saying it as an
excuse, but keep in mind that I was, I think, more horny during
that winter than probably any other period of my life.  And, we
all know, Bill Clinton included, that being horny can affect
one's judgment.

Point being, I was in such shock seeing the extremely lewd acts
in front of me that I hadn't even noticed that my right hand had
strayed to between my legs and down my panties.  My knee-length
skirt was hiked carelessly to the side and my fingers pressed
hard on my pubis as I slid my fingertips up and down across my
slippery clit and sopping pussy lips.

I may have been even more surprised by the sight of my finger
fucking myself to such obscenity than the otherworldly scene in
front of me.  But, I couldn't stop.  And, even if I could, I
didn't want to.  My hand thrusted up and down between my legs and
I arched forward, beginning to cum as Hillary quickened the pace
of her fucking Michelle and both women sung their ecstatic rite.

Just as I reached my orgasmic tipping point, strong, large hands
gripped each arm and literally lifted me off the seat of the
stairs and started downstairs!  I yelled instinctively, but one
of the brutes stuffed a musky soft fabric into my mouth and I
could only procure a muffled objection.

Then, to my abject horror and yet indescribably relief, I peed
myself in front of the two woman as my captors reached the bottom
of the stairs.  My face flushed with fiery embarrassment as I
felt the hot, wet piss stream all over my legs and ass, soaking
my skirt and dripping on to my flats.

When I opened my eyes, both women and the donkey were in the same
gyrating sexual dance and the two Secret Service creeps were
holding my arms.  Hillary smiled at me and licked her lips.

"Every ritual needs a sacrament.  You look worth every penny we
paid that moronic husband of yours.  Don't worry.  We won't hurt
you,"  Hillary stated authoritatively,
"but, you'll need to play your part for this to be fun.  And,
just to erase any doubts about what you're worth, you'll be
getting a generous... kickback."

She laughed and the agent to my left roughly pulled a huge wad of
cash from his jacket, throwing it on the ground in front of me. 
Without delay, the men led me to a thick wool blanket and firmly
lowered me to it.  The one who had produced the cash now took out
a small tool, like a box cutter and in smooth, professional
movements cut my clothes from me in a matter of seconds. 
Suddenly naked laying on the bed, the Secret Service men stood up
at my sides and the women eased to a stop in their bestial sex
and stood up together.

Striding towards me, Michelle Obama soon stood over my recumbent
figure, each of her feet by a shoulder of mine.  She got to her
knees and squatted her dark pink pussy over my face, leaning
forward and balancing herself on the back of a chair.


"Lick my pussy, heathen.  Make me cum with that philistine mouth
of yours," she commanded with beguiling strength as she pulled
the gag, which turned out to be a pair of green panties, from my
mouth and lowered her steamy cunt on to me.

I had never been with another woman, but I was too far gone now
to do much else other than comply and so I raised my face to her
glistening pink pussy and licked it like I had many times wished
my own pussy to be licked.  Her pussy smelled like cantaloupe and
it was wet with her slippery horniness, which soon covered my
lips and chin as she slid her crotch back and forth over my
fluttering tongue.

As I began to suck on her large clit, I felt my legs being pushed
open and Hillary's hands traced their way from behind my knees
down to my ass cheeks.  Squeezing my buttocks and stretching my
asshole open, her hands slid from my ass to meet at my aching
pussy.  Still very slick with my piss and horniness, she slid
three fingers from her left hand into my hole as her right hand
slathered more oil on her strap-on cock.

Hillary pushed the head of the ivory cock into my tight pussy,
stretching it to a barely comfortable fullness as the top of her
pussy pushed hard onto mine with each thrust on her attached
dildo.  Michelle grabbed my hair and pushed my face hard into her
pussy as I heard motion around me.

"Oooooohhhhhhh...... YEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!"

Michelle came hard on my nearly smothered face and when I emerged
for air I saw that the two agents had positioned the donkey over
us, with his huge cock dangling right behind Michelle's ass as
the men stroked it and their own poles, which at some unseen
point they had unzipped and begun masturbating.

Hillary leaned back allowing them room as she started fucking
with deeper, longer strokes and the men's hands dripped oil on my
exposed belly as they moved the donkey's cock just a couple
inches from Michelle's asshole.  One of the men begin probing two
of his fingers in the nubile woman's butt, generously lubricating
it.

Soon all four fingers on his hand slid easily in and out of
Michelle's asshole and were replaced with the fat, oblong head of
the donkey's cock.  Michelle quickly vibrated her fingers on her
clit as the men began pushing the huge penis into her ass.

"Mmmmm.....   Oooooohhh.....   More!!"

The men continued to slide their hands up and down the donkey's
shaft and balls, allowing the donkey only to enter about five or
six inches into Michelle's yielding asshole.  The future First
Lady propelled her ass up and down on the animal's dong, matching
the rhythm of Hillary who was getting more and more vocal as she
pushed her ivory cock into me.

"Eat my pussy, you heretic!" Michelle said as she roughly pulled
my head back up to her pussy.

As if in response, Hillary announced while she thrust her cock
into me faster and faster,
"the most sacred part of the ritual now begins!  Let us mix the
profane and the sacred, the dirty and the clean, until we are one
with the gods.  Purify us with what is taboo.  Expose our souls
to the most divine truth: the mundane!"

All four of these shocking Bacchanalians then said together,
"amen", and even the donkey brayed as it came, overflowing
Michelle's lovely ass with thick squirt after squirt of donkey
cum that poured out all over my breasts, belly, and down to the
tops of our copulating pussies.  Michelle thrust her butt
outwards over me as the animal spunk spilled from her gaping
asshole and grunted, discharging a loud, wet fart from her rear.

She grunted again, and a huge squirt of donkey cum, mixed with
her fresh brown shit exploded from her asshole and onto Hillary's
breasts and face.  Hillary licked her lips and slid downwards to
lay right on top of me as Michelle moved forward.

"Mmmmmmmmm.....  Kiss me, disbeliever," Hillary Clinton ordered
as our bodies smeared the wet, slimy mess of donkey cum and shit
between us and she tongue kissed me vigorously.
I could taste the sourness of Michelle's shit in the salty glaze
of donkey cum as Hillary fucked me faster and faster.  With a
reckless abandon I've never felt before or since, our lusty,
smelly rutting mounted to a mammoth orgasm Hillary and I shared
for what seemed like minutes as my mind flooded with the most
intense pleasure I've ever dreamed of.

When I awoke, I was in a warm, clean blanket and had been cleaned
of all sign of what happened.  I never again saw or spoke to
Hillary, Michelle, or either Secret Service men, but I was given
the wad of cash and a very clear message that I would never be
believed if I tried to tell anyone so why mess up my own life
trying to mess up theirs.

I left D.C. that night, divorced Lee in a record two weeks, and
moved to Belize before Spring where I've lived ever since.  I
don't intend to mess up anyone's life by revealing this story and
I'm sure you won't believe me.  But, it certainly gives me at
least something to think about when I figure that the Monica
Lewinsky affair was probably the least scandalous thing about the
White House.  And, even when it wakes me up in the middle of the
night, I'd rather finger myself remembering that day than eat
fried chicken.




==============
Afterword
==============

Here is the post I made that started this story:

Let's play a game! :) I'd like to write this reddit an adult
story using some themes in a Madlibs/improv style. Could you tell
me:
 * A key historical figure
 * A kink that you have but are embarrassed about
 * A particular sex act or fantasy you would like written about
Not going to write about the really extreme (e.g. kids or death),
but most anything else is fair game!

The used responses:

"Michelle Obama + Hillary Clinton, Beastiality, Voyuerism"

"Shitting on her chest or mine..."

"A) Joan of Arc B) Minor submission on her part C) An
uncontrollable female orgasm"