Screwed, Blued and Tattooed

by: spitzthecat

Category/Pairing: Josh/Donna
Written: September 20, 2002
Rating: ADULT for smut
Summary: Sex, Tequila & Body Art.

Waking up this morning, I am sure of only two things. First, we won re-election in an unexpected landslide. Second, I have a mammoth-sized hangover.

The next thing I notice is I'm in a hotel room and there is a woman, a naked woman, sleeping in my arms. Her head rests comfortably on my chest and her hand is splayed possessively over my scars.

Then I realize I'm naked.

A glance at the nightstand reveals I managed to perform at least twice last night, despite my sensitive system and the self-evident ride I took it for last night. No small feat for a man my age.

I seriously doubt this woman is the one I was referring to as my girlfriend yesterday morning. Especially since one of the few things I remember about yesterday is I broke up with Amy.

Spectacularly.

In front of witnesses.

Actually, I think she might have broken up with me.

A burning sensation on my hip just adds to the mystery of what, exactly, I did last night. If I just start with what I know happened, maybe the rest of the day will fall into place.

I know Amy and I broke up around noon...

***

"Here's your lunch." Donna blows through the conference room we're working in, dropping a styrofoam container in front of me.

Her thoughtfulness earns me a death glare from Amy at the other end of the table. Our increasingly fractious relationship is a good excuse away from imploding.

"Sure you aren't screwing her, J?" Amy asks snidely.

All work and conversation comes to a screeching halt as the room full of people turns its attention on us.

Gee, look, an implosion.

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure I haven't had sex with anybody in at least a month." I retort. Thank you, Donna, for making them burn the hamburger.

CJ is trying real hard not to laugh and Toby's eyebrows are somewhere around his hairline.

"Like they'd notice if you had."

Funny, she wasn't complaining the last time we did it. I'm pretty sure I satisfied her every sick desire.

"If you did more than lay there like a dead fish, a guy might be more interested."

"You fucking jackass, how dare you! That is the last straw! We are done!" She screeches at me before storming out. If there had been glass in the room it would have shattered.

"Well, thank God, that's over with then." I deadpan, turning back to my lunch and my poll reports.

***

The naked woman in my arms is starting to stir. Based on the color of her hair, I'm pretty sure I'm in bed with my assistant. Or else I met another blonde woman last night with fabulously pale skin.

"Josh?" She sounds as disoriented as I feel.

The naked woman in my arms is definitely Donna.

"Yeah."

"JOSH!" Donna sits bolt upright, an indecipherable look on her face.

"Yeah." I can't take my eyes from her exposed breasts. Breasts I distinctly remember suckling last night. Breasts I left a hickey on. Breasts I suddenly have the urge to leave another hickey on.

Donna grabs my chin and rips my gaze away from those beautiful breasts. "I'm up here."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to say anything other than yeah?"

I can feel my body respond to her. I want her. I need her.

"Yeah." I exhale the word, leaning in and cutting off her next statement by kissing her.

Her initial resistance fades quickly and she responds to my kiss by opening her mouth, allowing me to deepen it. My hand comes up to touch one of those breasts I'm so fascinated by. Donna's hand presses against my chest, then travels downward until she's stroking my cock.

She stops once I'm fully erect. Giving my dick a little pat on the head, her hand brushes my hip. She settles it there and pushes off to readjust her sitting position.

"URRGHHH!" I scream, the burning sensation from my hip exploding in pain, distracting me from Donna's breasts.

She pulls back the sheets to see what's wrong and starts to giggle.

"Lay back," she orders, blocking my view of my hip.

I do so warily.

"Sweet Jesus." Her giggling is worse.

"What?"

"Go look at yourself in the mirror."

The mirror is in the bathroom and I take the sheet with me, wrapping it around my waist. Grabbing a glass of water while I'm there, I finally drop the sheet to see what Donna finds so funny.

"Holy shit!"

"It's kind of cute." Donna has joined me in the bathroom. She's still naked.

"Donna, I have a tattoo of a donkey drinking tequila on my, my, my crotch and no recollection of how it go there." I continue to stare at my reflection and the artwork carefully inked on my lower body.

The donkey is standing up; it's lower legs starting on my right thigh and the front legs resting on an imaginary bar, just above my dick. It's staring down at a shot of tequila, the ears coming up almost to my navel and the tail wrapping around my right hip. The whole thing is about ten inches tall and five inches wide.

"Don't look at me. I'm your assistant, not your tattoo artist. Although, I think you're going to have to keep shaving that for it to show really well."

"Only if you're holding the razor." I tell her, pulling her to me and resume kissing of the vast expanse of alabaster skin before me.

"Josh, what do you remember about yesterday?" Donna asks, allowing me to continue the kissing.

"I remember breaking up with Amy. I remember we won. I remember Leo giving us today off. What do you remember?"

"I remember the tequila."

"There was tequila?" I stop kissing her, bits and pieces of the night before returning.

***

"We did it, Donnatella!" I wrap my arms around my assistant, momentarily struck by the urge to never let her go. I'm giddy from the champagne and the victory. And from breaking up with Amy.

She hugs me back. "We're going down to the bar."

"We, who?"

"CJ, Toby, Sam, Joey, Kenny, Bonnie, Ginger, Carol and I."

"I can go?"

"Bring your sensitive system on down."

***

"I remember we went to the bar downstairs."

Oh, no. I hope she doesn't think this was just some drunken thing. Even in my incredibly hung-over state, I know this isn't just a fling.

"Why don't we go back to bed and see if we can jog your memory?" Whatever reluctance Donna had earlier is long gone.

She takes my hand and leads me back to bed. We return to kissing and touching. A small part of my brain questions what the hell I'm doing, but it's a very small part and it isn't very loud and it's drowned out by the larger part of my brain screaming this is so very right.

Donna lies back on the pillows and I dip my head to her fabulous breasts, taking her puckered nipple between my teeth. She pushes up to offer me more, groaning and gasping her appreciation of my attentions. Just as I switch sides, the phone rings.

"Don't answer it." I mutter, but Donna reaches for the phone anyway.

"Oh, hi, Sam. Breakfast? Sure, what time? Thirty minutes? I'm not sure, I might be a little longer than that. If I see Josh, I'll tell him. Okay. See you there."

I wait for her to hang up the phone before returning to what I was doing. This time, I run my hand up her inner thigh to her squirming hips. She is hot and wet and ready. I explore her depths with my fingers first, rejoicing at the feel of her nails on my back. When I sense she's almost ready to come, I grope for the nightstand, hoping to find another condom.

I'm a little shocked when Donna grabs my hand.

"Just fuck me, Joshua."

Okay, then.

I position myself between her thighs and bury myself in her. Donna locks her ankles around my waist and raises her hips to meet me. She is tight around me; I have trouble controlling myself.

"Harder. Fuck me harder."

Those four words are the difference between Donna and Amy.

Amy didn't say a word during sex, she didn't like to look at me, she didn't take much of an active role in sex and getting her to climax required constant study of sex manuals on my part. It really was like fucking a dead fish.

Donna moans and groans and talks. Her hands are all over my chest while I'm driving myself into her. Her blue eyes are wide open; her pupils are dilated. She moves with my rhythm and she will have no problems having an orgasm. She is enjoying what we are doing. This is what sex is supposed to be. This is what making love is.

I feel myself start to come and reach down between us to Donna's clit. A flick of my finger on it and her deep-throated moans become fevered cries of passion. Her whole body twitches and spasms, her fingernails dig into my back. With one more fierce thrust, I spill into her. We finish in a sweaty pile of arms, legs and sticky fluids, neither of us with an inclination to move.

Until the phone rings again.

"Yes, Sam," Donna answers it. Near as I can figure this is her room. "Fifteen minutes. Thank you."

"We need to get in the shower, Josh."

***

"All I'm saying is you smelled like a rotted corpse," Joey signs.

We're at the bar reliving some of the funnier moments of our first four years. Most of which seem to revolve around me.

"The bachelor party turned into a tequila shooting contest after the stripper left," I admit with a grin, meeting Donna's eyes. She's standing next to me at the bar, her hand has been slowly moving down my back since we got here. Right now, it's tucked casually in the back of my trousers.

I can't keep my mind off of her and what Joey told me a couple of years ago. Somehow, leaving the relationship from hell has opened my eyes to what's been standing in front of me for years. The woman who has waited patiently for me to realize what I truly feel.

I'm in love with Donnatella Moss. And she's in love with me. A warm, comfortable kind of love we've exhibited in small ways for years.

She brings me lunch and makes derisive comments about my lovemaking; I bring her smoked moose meat and verbally decimate men who aren't good enough to date her.

Only tonight do I notice that if she's not within arms reach I look for her, anxiously seek her out. Only tonight do I notice that she does the same. From the way she's hanging onto me, I get the impression she's not going to let me escape this time. Not that my arm isn't draped around her shoulders, making sure she doesn't leave my side.

I'm not sure when we communicated this change in status to one another, but we did and I'm going to take the opportunity I've been given.

"So who won?" Kenny asks, taking a sip of some girly umbrella drink.

"I did. I was the only one left who knew an address the cab driver could take me to."

My friends roar with laughter and CJ hands me a shot glass filled with amber liquid.

"No, absolutely not. No way am I drinking that. I swore no more tequila. Ever."

"Chicken shit," Donna smirks at me.

"What is this? You tell me not to abuse my sensitive system and then berate me for not drinking a shot of tequila?" I am extremely aware of her proximity. She's not wearing any perfume tonight and I can smell her shampoo.

Donna picks up the shot glass and tosses it back, slamming the glass on the bar when she's done.

"WOO!" Sam, our speechwriter, God bless him.

"Okay, gimme one of those." I refuse to go under to a woman, unless I go down fighting.

***

Our bodies are covered in soap and shampoo. Donna has her legs wrapped around my waist again. This time her body is pressed to mine, her head draped over my shoulder, riding me towards an orgasm I didn't think I could have again so soon.

The tattoo on my groin stings every time Donna slams into it, but it's a minor annoyance in light of our current activity.

She's clawing at my back, biting my shoulder to stifle her screams as she comes around me again. My own shouts are fairly primal. It has been a long time since I've been with a woman who enjoys sex in such an uninhibited fashion. The steaming water runs down our bodies, washing away the lather.

Watching her comb her long blonde hair, I decide I could spend the whole day making love to Donna and be perfectly content. Like I'm making up for lost time or something.

"It's just breakfast, Josh. We can come back up here and pick up right where we left off," she grins at me in the mirror.

"Promise?" I can feel myself start to get aroused again. Shit, it's like I'm 14-years-old and can't think about a girl without getting a hard-on.

I can work with this.

Donna cocks her head at me while I pull a sweater over my t-shirt. "Don't make promises your body can't cash, Joshua."

The tone of her voice alone makes me want to strip my clothes off and fuck her again. Her eyes travel to the fly of my boxers where the tip of my sudden erection is peeking out.

"You might want to save that for later. He wasn't so peppy last night." Donna kisses my cheek and grabs my dick on her way out of the bathroom, giving it a couple of pumps.

"God, you remember everything, don't you?" A light bulb goes off in my still foggy brain. This could be bad.

"Yep. Including the part where you announced to the entire bar you were going to take me upstairs and fuck my brains out."

This is so bad.

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, following her into the other room. "I did?"

"You know your voice just got really squeaky there, right?"

"So when did I get the tattoo?" She's been playing with me all morning, the little sneak.

"You'll have to talk to Sam and Toby about that. They were with you. I was still at the bar."

"So, Sam knew I was here. Earlier, when you were talking to him."

"Oh, yeah." She runs her hand across my unshaven face, pressing another kiss to my lips.

***

The Senior Staff is at breakfast, along with Leo and the First Family.

"How are you feeling this morning, Josh?" CJ smirks at me when Donna and I sit down next to one another.

"I have no recollection of anything after the tequila." I announce. "If anyone would like to enlighten me as to why I thought it would be a good idea to have a tattoo of a donkey on my groin, I would certainly appreciate it."

If I've learned nothing in the past four years, I have learned to face humiliation head-on.

"I believe your exact words were it would immortalize the moment." Toby looks up from his eggs.

"Toby, the donkey is doing tequila shooters, there's even a little lime and salt shaker." I can't believe I got drunk enough to get a tattoo. I wouldn't even get my fraternity letters tattooed on my ankle when I was a pledge.

"I had to talk you out of getting something tattooed directly on your..." Sam trails off, uncomfortable even talking about my sudden need to have body art.

I think orange juice just came out the President's nose.

"Oh."

It's the only response I can come up with. I actually thought about getting a tattoo on my dick? How much did I fucking drink last night?

***

"Come on. It'll immortalize the moment!" I'm trying to drag Toby and Sam down the street to a place called Tony's Tattoo Emporium. I'm a shot down to Donna in the tequila battle, but I can't have another one for at least thirty minutes according to the asinine rules CJ set up, so I decided to go outside and get some fresh air.

"Josh, you are in no condition to get a tattoo." Toby has grabbed onto my jacket in an effort to not let me go a step further.

"I am in the perfect condition to get tattooed. You have to be drunk. It's some kind of rule. If I don't obey the rules, Donna won't let me out to play." I slip my arms out of my jacket and start back down the street.

"Josh, come on, think this through. What are you going to get?" Sam seems to think I can't stand up on my own, he keeps putting his hand around my upper arm.

"Donna's name tattooed on my dick." I have no idea where that came from. Suddenly, it's a pretty good idea. "Then when I get a boner, it'll say 'Donnatella'."

"You're not even dating Donna," Sam points out.

"Did you miss the part where she had her hand stuck down my pants? I don't need to date Donna, I'm in love with Donna."

***

"What happened last night?" Leo asks suspiciously.

"I got a tattoo?" It comes out as a question.

"Josh, tell me I'm not going to read about this in the Post."

"Which part?" CJ snorts.

"There's more?" The President's voice just got all squeaky now.

***

"Did you do it?" CJ hands me another shot the minute I walk, okay — stagger, back in the bar, Sam and Toby in tow.

"I did indeed." I salute her with the glass and toss it back.

"You actually got a tattoo?"

"Yes, yes, I did."

"Sam?"

"He wanted to get Donna's name on his dick." Sam signals the bartender for a beer.

"You didn't!"

"No, Sam pointed out it would probably say 'Don' most of the time." I spot the aforementioned Donnatella Moss on the other side of the bar.

"I'm going..." I point to myself and then to Donna.

"Go, Don Juan. She's been wondering what happened to you." CJ shoves me towards the beautiful blonde-haired woman.

Bonnie and Ginger roll their eyes at me when I sit on the stool next to Donna, my legs on either side of her. We're close enough she can lean back against my chest.

"Where did you go?" She's a bit pouty.

"Down the street to Tony's Tattoos."

"You went to a tattoo parlor, Josh?" Bonnie goes from eye rolling to head shaking in a heartbeat.

"I wanted to get Donna's name tattooed on my..."

"JOSH!"

From the way Donna just screeched, I think it's a good thing I didn't finish my sentence.

Or, you know, actually go through with that particular tattoo.

"I didn't. I got something else." Although her body heat and the alcohol I've consumed tonight are combining to stir the single most under-used, and now itchy, part of my anatomy.

"What?"

"You're going to have to get me naked to find out." I casually slide my hands from their place on Donna's hips to rest in the 'v' of her crotch.

"Is that a promise or a threat?" I'm the only person to notice she pushes herself into my hands, subtly grinding her hips.

"Tonight, Donnatella, I am going to take you upstairs and fuck your brains out."

I might have said that a little loud.

"Think you can even get it to work?" she jests back, covering the silence that blankets the bar.

I immediately stand up and take her by the hand. Leading her through the throng of co-workers, I stop us in the door of the bar. Amid the cheers and catcalls, I give in to an urge I've repressed for almost five years. I pull Donna to me and press my lips to hers.

She surprises me, as she frequently does, by opening her mouth and sticking her tongue down my throat.

The bar is filled with the drunken chant of 'get a room' when we both become aware of the outside world again.

We're half-undressed by the time we find our way to the hotel suite. A Secret Service agent finally works the keycard for me when it becomes evident I'll screw Donna against the wall in the hallway rather than fight with it anymore.

Not that I'm concentrating on the key, I'm more occupied with ravishing Donna.

We tumble into the room, stripping our clothes off as fast as we can while heading towards the bed. I stop at my overnight bag and pull a couple of condoms from the new box I bought last month. When I fumble with the plastic package, Donna grabs it from my hand.

"Lie down," she gasps, trying to catch her breath.

"Donna." I catch her hand before she can unroll the prophylactic on to my rock-hard erection.

"Josh?" Donna looks up from what she's doing.

"This isn't just a fuck." I state.

"Well, this might be, but the next time won't be," she jokes.

She doesn't say anything else for the longest heartbeat and I let go of her hand. The minute I do, she skillfully dresses my erection in the rubber. Throwing her leg over my chest, she slides down my body until I can feel her wetness brush the tip of my cock.

Her hand reaches back and guides me in. We both gasp at the sensation of filling and being filled. I press deeper into her, crying out her name as I do.

It is not lost on me that she is a talented lover, someone has taught her more than a few tricks over the years. She grinds her hips in a circle as she rides me. She pins my hands to the bed and dangles her breasts just above my mouth, forcing me to rise up to suck them. She breathes in gasps as her orgasm courses through her body. The erratic bucking of her hips sends me spinning out of control.

***

The rest of the night returns to my consciousness in a flash. Raunchy, out-of-control fucking as though we were trying to make up for the past five years. Donna did things to me I've only seen on Skinamax and I pulled tricks out of the bag I haven't used since college. We only used two condoms because neither of us was willing to stop long enough to get more out of my bag.

The rest of the table is staring at me, waiting for me to answer the President's question. I have no answer because I really have no idea how to admit I spent the night creating what will probably be the administration's first sex scandal by fucking the brains out of my assistant — repeatedly.

Dr. Bartlet raises her eyebrows at me, tilting her head, her eyes focusing on my neck all of a sudden.

"Josh, are those bite marks on your neck?"

"Yes?"

CJ grabs me by the chin, jerking my head up and inspecting the abrasions. "Definitely bite marks. Human, probably female."

"What?" I'll try the innocent routine. Although I doubt it will work, since she was in the bar when I made my little announcement and started playing tonsil hockey with Donna. Speaking of Donna, she at least looks slightly chagrined at the amount of attention we're receiving this morning.

For unknown reasons, everyone decides to drop it and the topic switches to some staffing changes and general West Wing gossip.

Some time between coffee and scrambled eggs, Donna's hand migrated from her own lap to mine. From the way Sam and Leo keep looking at me, I'll lay money my poker face hasn't improved.

Like it matters, I'm wearing a pair of blue jeans, the minute I stand up things will be obvious all on their own. Between Donna's handiwork and my presently overactive imagination, I'll be lucky to make it through breakfast.

"Josh? Josh?" The President is repeating my name.

"Huh? Sir?" I look up from my plate.

"I asked if you what your plans are for Thanksgiving."

"I, uh, I'm... I'm not sure, sir," I stutter. My brain is incapable of downshifting from sex with Donna to Thanksgiving in Connecticut.

I mean, Florida.

"Well, Abbey and I were thinking about having the Senior Staff up to Manchester. Your mother would be more than welcome."

"I'll, uh, I'll ask her, sir." Please, please, please let this end soon.

"Preoccupied, Josh?"

"Sir?"

"I just wondered if you were a bit preoccupied or perhaps not feeling well. You know, you aren't the best drinker," he waves his hand for emphasis.

"Honestly, sir," I know an opening when I hear one. "I'm sure I was supposed to put something on this tattoo this morning and sort of forgot. It's a little painful."

He nods his head for a second. "Go ahead then. I'm sure we can gossip without you."

I drop my napkin on my lap and bolt out of my chair, quickly turning so nobody can see how tight my jeans still are. Getting halfway across the room, I realize Donna didn't follow me and she's got the key card.

Which I'm incapable of operating on my own.

"Sir?" I stop and turn back around.

"Yes?"

"Can I borrow Donna? She's got the card to the room and..." I shrug, my incompetence is well documented in this area.

"Sure. You two go ahead and take tomorrow off as well. Be back in the office on Friday."

Reaching the room, we discover why our escape was so simple. Our suite is covered from top to bottom in condom bouquets and condom balloons. Packages and boxes of the damn things are everywhere. There are edible ones, female ones, glow-in-the-dark ones, and ribbed-for-her-pleasure ones.

A plastic model of the human brain is strategically positioned in the middle of the king-sized bed and surrounded by them.

The capper is a huge sign tacked about the bed with 'it's about time' spelled out in multi-colored unrolled ones.

"I hope those weren't the lubricated kind," Donna laughs from our spot in the middle of the room.

I hold up a handful. "Glow in the dark or neon purple?"

She rips open my button-fly jeans to strokes my still firm cock. "Naked."

"I can do naked." I answer, pulling her hips hard against mine, grinding my erection into her midsection.

"Promises, promises." Her voice is all low and sultry.

"What do you want me to do to you, Donna?" Mine is hoarse with anticipation. My lips seek out her earlobe.

"I want you to fuck my brains out," she teases. Her hands move from my open fly up under my sweater, raking the skin of my back.

Getting from fully-clothed in the middle of the room to buck-naked on the bed takes maybe ten seconds. I bury my head between her thighs to lick her inside and out, inhaling her scent and tasting her essence.

She writhes around me, hands in my hair, guiding me. She tells me what she likes and wants and I comply. We're still fierce with one another, passionate and searching. She comes with ease once and then twice.

The need to be inside her overwhelms me in a rush. She's on all fours, doing wondrous things to my feet. Her rear is towards me and I've been exploring her depths with my fingers.

"Donna." I need to fill her, to fuck her. Scrambling to my knees, I press my almost painful erection to her.

She arches her back and widens her knees, inviting me to drive on in. I lean over her body, my hands gripping her hips.

"Harder, Josh. Please, more."

I try to last as long as I can, knowing she enjoys the pounding of our bodies. I want her to come with me and from her cries, she seems as close as I am. My fingers find her clit, slippery with her excitement.

Her third orgasm is in concert with mine and we announce it together.

Loudly.

You can probably hear us at the White House.

My body trembles with exertion as we lie in a heap amid the packages of condoms that proclaim the acceptance of our friends and colleagues.

"Can we do this at lunch?" I finally mumble.

"In the men's room?" Donna cracks.

"Why not? It hasn't seen any action in the past four years." I quip.

"Sure, but I'm still not bringing you coffee."

"Josh?" She asks after a minute.

"Yeah?" I'm still sprawled out on top of her.

"Get up."

"Why?"

"There's a condom package poking me in the boob and you aren't helping," Donna informs me matter-of-factly.

Knocking at the door gets me up anyway. Grabbing my hastily discarded boxers, I answer it.

"Fancy finding you here."

Who let the Wicked Witch of the West out to play today?

"Yeah, I didn't have a room. Donna let me crash here." I lean casually against the doorjamb, smirking as Amy takes in the scratch and bite marks Donna left all over my torso.

"I'm sure she did."

"Do you want something?"

"I thought we could talk."

What the fuck about? Christ, The bitch dumped me and she won't go away. She's worse than Mandy.

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"Don't play me, J. You'll regret it when your name's all over the headlines for banging your little blonde secretary."

Reaching down, I scoop up a condom and toss it to her. "Go fuck yourself, Amy."

Slamming the door in her face, I swivel around and take a running leap at the bed, landing next to a still naked, but now concerned-looking Donnatella.

"Was that smart?"

I reach out and brush a stray hair from her face. "Ask me if I care?"

"Josh, be serious for a minute."

I sit up and pull her into a hug. "Donna, seriously. Sam had to talk me out of getting your name tattooed on my dick. Do you think I care what anyone thinks?"

Her body begins to shake with laughter and I release her from my grasp. "Good point. Who do you think she'll call?"

"One of those conservative Republican woman-types who'll scream bloody murder for my resignation while raining fire and brimstone on this administration for being a bunch sexist, elitist and short men."

"Short?" Donna raises her eyebrows at me.

"I needed another word."

"Your Harvard and Yale educated mind came up with short?"

"I came up with the rest despite the lack of oxygen-carrying blood in my brain." I think I did pretty damn good considering what I've been using most of the oxygen in my body for lately.

"Here," Donna tosses me something. "Use this one instead."

The fake brain hits the floor as I grab her, my fingers tickling her mercilessly. We roll around on the bed, Donna finally getting the upper by getting her fingers into the fly of my boxers.

Before I have time to protest her warm mouth encloses my cock. With little effort, I allow my body to relax and enjoy what she's doing. Her teeth lightly scrape the sensitive skin, drawing me erect again with ease. Donna devotes her attention to the head of my hard-on while one hand firmly grasps its base and the other plays with my balls.

Two thoughts pass fleetingly through my mind. The first is she's very, very good at this. The second is Amy never gave me a blow-job the entire time we were dating.

Both of those thoughts vanish when Donna takes me completely into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down, using her tongue to poke into every nook and cranny. The incredible suction she creates does me in. It's like she sucked the orgasm right out of my soul and it feels so good it hurts. I'm left unable to move or speak, just lying slackly in the middle of the bed.

Donna crawls up my body, lying mostly on top of me. Her kiss is tangy with my come when our tongues mingle again. While I would like nothing more than to roll her and give the horizontal tango another go, my body overrides my mind's desire.

"Sleep," I mumble, ceding the contest we seem to have been engaged in.

I didn't so much fuck Donna's brains out as she fucked mine out.

***

The next knock at the door is around 7 p.m. and it wakes us both up. Donna gets up to answer it this time, pulling on my Harvard t-shirt on her way. Fortunately it hangs to mid-thigh because at the door is Leo.

She lets him in and then rejoins me on the bed. At some point in my sleep, I kicked my boxers off. I'm hiding my utter nakedness under the bedding.

"Who'd the bitch call?" I ask, holding my hand out for the paper Leo's carrying.

"The Washington Post, among others," he replies, fixing us both with an appraising look. "They faxed us an advance copy. So did the New York Times and a few others. This has been the typical response."

Donna and I read the fax together.

Washington loves nothing if it doesn't love a good sex scandal and what a sex scandal this would be.

A highly placed Bartlet staff member becomes sexually involved with his much younger secretary after publicly, drunkenly, declaring his intention do something we can't print in this paper.

What a sex scandal it would be.

If the individuals involved weren't single, consenting adults who are blatantly in love with one another and if they hadn't been the model of office decorum for the past four years.

And if the person crying foul weren't the avenging ex-girlfriend who had been trying to use the staff member for her own political gain.

We do question the man's judgment.

We are compelled to ask the question why.

Why it took so long for him to come to his senses.

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