2 comments/ 21307 views/ 1 favorites What This Country Needs By: Joe Average "Just as she was about to leave, Monica Lewinsky told President Clinton that there was 'something serious' she needed to talk to him about, something she had learned from a friend. A reporter for Newsweek, Michael Isikoff, was working on a story alleging that the president had sexually harassed a woman named Kathleen Willey outside the Oval Office in 1993 ... Clinton told her not to worry. The harassment claim was ludicrous, he told her: he would never be interested in a small-breasted woman like Kathleen Willey." Uncovering Clinton: A Reporter's Story, by Michael Isikoff The screen flickered with the image of a fresh-faced young woman dancing on an outdoor stage. She wore just a bright yellow bikini bottom, a pair of flip-flop sandals ... and a soaking wet T-shirt. She shook to the beat of the generic rock'n'roll on the videotape's soundtrack. The camera focused on her ample bosom as it bounced. The crowd roared its approval as the bouncing rate increased, and registered its enthusiasm by clapping in rhythm to the jumping titties. The camera panned the crowd as a chant rose up. "Show! Your! Tits! Show! Your! Tits! Show! Your! Tits!" "Stop the tape!" said a woman's voice. The screen froze on the face of a young man in his early twenties clapping and chanting. His face was in the process of pronouncing the "tits" part of the chant. "Right there! Senator, isn't that you?" a woman in the studio audience asked as she pointed to the studio monitor. The candidate smiled and blushed. "Yes ... yes, it is," he said haltingly. The crowd reacted. Some giggled, others gasped. The woman spoke again. "Well, Senator, as someone who wants to run this country, and be a leader for all people, including women," she said, "what do you have to say about that thing you were chanting?" "What? Show your tits?" said the senator. "I think it seems like a reasonable request ... don't you?" he said, grinning. Theme music played as the picture faded to black for a commercial break. The stage manager called, "We're back on in two minutes!" The candidate's campaign manager walked to the stage. "Johnny, I don't know if I would have said that if I were you," said the older of the two men. "Oh, Chet, who cares?" said the senator. "It's 2008. The party learned something from Clinton. People don't want to hold presidents to a higher standard. They want to think they're no better than the rest of us!" "And that's why we nominated you, Johnny," said Chet. "Even your name! You're not John Joseph Winslow ... it's just Johnny! People like that. Plus the fact that you're young, you don't have too much insider experience ... and you're kind of a ladies' man." "Thanks, Chet," cracked Jeff. "You're cute, too." "Cut it out," chided the manager. "Even knowing all that, I don't think saying that 'Show your tits' is a reasonable request is going to play with most of America." "Aw, Chet, it's not like I'm on 60 Minutes," said Johnny. "This is what the kids watch. It's where Clinton said he wears briefs and didn't inhale! It'll be fine." "Maybe you're right," said Chet, getting ready to go back to his seat. "Hey, did you get a look at the chick who asked the question?" said Johnny. "Not bad, huh?" "No, not bad at all," agreed Chet, as he eyed the young woman's shape in her clingy minidress. "I swear, there oughta be a law," said Johnny, mopping his brow. "If a girl gives a guy a hard-on, she ought to be made to do something about it for him! Don't you think? Maybe I can introduce it as a constitutional amendment," he laughed. "Hey, pal," said the senator to the stage manager. "When does this thing air?" "On our channel, next week," said the stage manager. "But since the movie studio who owns us now owns a bunch of big-city TV stations, we're feeding this live right now to them — to use excerpts on tonight's news." Johnny gave Chet a worried look. "Live?" he gulped. "Yeah ... oh, it's not being aired live," explained the stage manager. "They're just rolling tape on the entire feed in their newsrooms. They'll make it a VOSOT." "VOSOT?" asked Johnny. "Voice Over/Sound On Tape," said the stage manager. "It'll be like four seconds long. No big deal." Johnny looked down at his clip-on microphone. "And ... and these mikes are always on, aren't they?" The stage manager nodded. "Places, people! We're back in five! Four! Three! Two ...!" In a production tape room at a Washington, D.C., television station, a tape operator hastily dialed the extension of the news director. "Bob? Come down here right away. Tape room," he said feverishly. "You'll never believe what we've got Senator Winslow saying on tape." -------------------------- Chet and Johnny walked into the New York hotel suite occupied by the campaigning senator and his wife. "Guess what's on TV?" said Mrs Winslow with a cynical twist to her voice, as she poured herself another drink. "Let me guess," snorted Chet. "First two guesses don't count," said the senator's wife. "A breaking news report about your boneheaded remarks, Johnny," she said, settling into an easy chair. "What? That stuff?" said Johnny, genuinely surprised. "Are they making a big deal of it?" "Of course they are," moaned Chet, lowering his lumbering body into a couch. "Sure, you said the party learned something from Clinton. But shit like that still makes news." "Aw, go on," said the senator, positioning himself on the arm of the chair occupied by his wife. "Whenever Buffy here gives me a hard-on, she's required to do something about it!" he chuckled, slipping his hand into his wife's blouse. "Johnny, not in front of Chet," chided Buffy. But when she looked over at the balding campaign adviser, he'd fallen asleep on the couch. "See, there's nothing to worry about," whispered Johnny, now jamming both hands into Buffy's 36D bra. "Well, in that case, let's see if the matter comes up for a vote," she said, putting down her drink and reaching for his crotch. "If the voters could get a look at these," slobbered Johnny, pulling his wife's blouse off over her head, "they'd see my ideas are just good public policy!" He reached around to unfasten her bra. "You think?" asked Buffy, proud of her man's enthusiasm about her figure. "I vote yes," said Johnny, wrapping his lips around his wife's lovely nipple. Buffy reached around and pulled his head closer. She lowered one hand to Johnny's fly and rubbed. "Ohhh! This is not some kind of obligatory vote to please your constituents!" she teased. "This is a subject you feel strongly about!" Johnny mauled Buffy's tits with both hands. "Don't you like it when I feel ... strongly?" he asked. Buffy closed her eyes and enjoyed her man's mammary ministrations. "Yes, I do," she answered, "and these two constituents are very pleased," she said, lifting her breasts to her man's hungry lips. Buffy reached down and tore his pants off with one hand. Johnny looked up. He was pretty lucky to be married to this strawberry-blonde beauty with good-sized knockers. And such a healthy enthusiasm for sex! But he wondered ... those things he said on the music-channel show ... they were pretty graphic about how much he'd like to be slipping his dick to other women. Johnny wasn't sure if Buffy would be quite so liberal-minded about that. Right now, though, it didn't matter. She'd successfully removed his pants and flung them aside. They landed near the sleeping figure of the campaign manager. "Hey, careful," cautioned Johnny. "You'll wake up Chet." Buffy snickered. "He'd probably have a heart attack. That'd be a hell of a scandal, wouldn't it?" "Get on your hands and knees and let me slip it in from behind," said Johnny, scampering into place. "No! Not there" "Why?" wondered Buffy. "Because I want to see those Dolly-Partons swing to and fro in the mirror as we do it doggy," smiled Johnny as he continued to knead and pinch her swelling breasts. "Mmmmmmm," purred Buffy as she got into place. They did their best to be quiet. But the rhythmic bang-bang-bang of Johnny's pubic bone against Buffy's smooth ass cheeks was sure to wake Chet. Chet blinked. "Hey!" he shouted, shocked and turned on. He'd wanted to see Buffy naked since he joined the campaign. "What the hell is going on here?" "Oh, Chet," said Buffy as her nipples scraped the shag carpeting. "We're just testing Johnny's theory about women who give men a hard-on being legally compelled to do something about it!" she joked, speaking between bangs. "Yeah, but what about me?" demanded Chet, as he removed his gray flannel trousers. "Go on, Chet," laughed Johnny. "You haven't had a hard-on in fifteen years!" "Oh? Then what's this?" he asked, getting on his knees so that his member was at Buffy's mouth level. Johnny was speechless, and Buffy ... well, she was unable to speak. She'd been taught not to talk with her mouth full. Later, all three lay about the hotel room — naked, drained, and content. "Jesus, Johnny," sighed Buffy. "You're right. There'd be a lot less stress in the world if we all could do this all the time." "Yeah, no sexual hangups," agreed Chet. "Sex in the open, anytime, anywhere — and with anyone," added Johnny. "You know," said Buffy, thinking out loud. "Maybe you shouldn't back away from those statements you made today. Maybe you should embrace them!" Buffy sprang from the couch and headed toward a phone. "What's going on?" Johnny wanted to know. "New strategy," said Buffy, dialing furiously. "I don't think you should wait until the convention to announce your running mate." "What are you thinking?" asked Chet, fingering his cock as he searched for scrambled porn on the hotel room TV. "You'll be announcing a running mate tomorrow," said the voluptuous Buffy. "At a press conference in Las Vegas." ------------------------------ The ladies and gentlemen of the press were buzzing. They all wondered why Senator Winslow had called this press conference, and especially why he'd called it in Las Vegas. It wasn't as though it was part of his campaign itinerary. And why in a lounge? They looked around at the strobe lights, the day-glo silhouettes of well-endowed female forms on the walls, and the stage with a pole in its center. It hardly seemed the place for a presidential candidate. Seated near the podium were the senator, his attractive wife, and his campaign manager. The campaign manager stepped up to the mike. "Looks like you're all here!" said Chet, sounding pleased. "Ladies and gentlemen, the next President of the United States — Johnny Winslow!" There was a smattering of applause as the senator stepped forward. "Pencils ready? Tape rolling?" he began. "I'm going to spell something for you. Listen carefully. S-A-L-L-I DOT COM." There was some nervous male laughter. "I can see some of the men here pretending they don't know who I'm talking about," continued Senator Winslow. "Forget it. It's no use. Everyone knows who Salli Webb is. That entertainment news show on TV puts a story about her on every rating period — showing lots and lots of cleavage. She's even been on that late-night discussion show, discussing Internet freedom — showing lots and lots of cleavage. And, as both the business mind and the main attraction behind the web site known as Salli's Silicone Valley, she's the only woman ever to have her picture on the covers of both the Business Journal ... and What Knockers magazine — showing lots and lots of cleavage. Ladies and gentlemen, one of the most downloaded women on the planet, and the next Vice President of the United States ...!" Johnny paused to let the impact of that statement hit. "Miss Salli Webb!" A late 1990s funk anthem began playing over the club's P.A. system as the lights dimmed. Strobes and mirrored disco balls were activated. A follow-spot shot past the ladies and gentlemen of the press and shone on a voluptuous figure entering from the back of the house. Salli Web, clad in white high heels, a garter belt, a teeny-tiny G-string, and a brilliant rhinestone bikini top that showed lots and lots of cleavage, traipsed down the aisle. She paused to lean over and shimmy her famous breasts in the faces of every reporter gathered, male and female. She spotted a local news photographer and motioned for him to lie on the floor for a low angle shot. Then she gyrated above his head, tossing her shoulder-length blonde hair from side to side, the size of her breasts made even more monumental by the way they blocked out her cute pixie — like face from below. She shoved the boobs to one side in order to give the photog a wink. Then she swung her shapely leg over his head and strode toward the stage, the funky music following her sensual and suggestive movements. Salli climbed onto the stage and swung her busty, shapely body around the pole at the center of the stage. Johnny's campaign manager, Chet, walked to the side of the platform carrying a one-dollar bill folded in half. Salli Webb cocked her hip in his direction to invite him to tuck the tip into her skimpy g-string. The house lights came up and the model/entrepreneur hoisted her exquisite form off the stage and over to the podium. Salli Webb held up the dollar bill. "We're considering these campaign contributions!" she announced, to laughter and applause. Senator Winslow spoke. "Miss Webb would like to read a short prepared statement, and then she'll be ready for questions." Salli stood next to him and grinned, making it clear that she was staring directly at his crotch. Johnny blushed. "My fellow Americans," began the blonde web goddess, who'd be called petite if it weren't for the marvelous feats of modern cosmetic surgery that required her to wear a size 32J brassiere. "Yesterday, Johnny Winslow made two statements. One, that 'show your tits' is a reasonable request. Secondly, that any woman who gives a man a hard-on should be required to do something about it. Speaking on behalf of the ticket, we stand behind these statements! Because I like it from behind," she added, suggestively licking her lips. Audience reaction ran from gasps to laughter to the very quiet sound of hands reaching into pockets to rearrange things suddenly. "Like Lysistrata and the women of ancient Greece, we feel that sex is power," continued Salli. "And the most sexually satisfied nation will be the most powerful nation. We're here to demonstrate that in every way, and we think our message will resonate with the American people. Thank you." "Miss Webb!" shouted a male network TV reporter. "Will this policy help international relations?" "Sam, I have international relations all the time," she answered. "Yes. I will be traveling to visit many of our world leaders ... dressed more or less like this. And unlike previous vice-presidents, I won't be visiting them after they're dead, attending state funerals. These," she said, hoisting her overflowing jugs chin-high, "fifty-inchers will do more good when the guys are still alive! Well, nearly fifty inches, anyway. Part of our foreign policy will include tracking which leaders — male or female — like titties like mine." "Thank you, Miss Webb," said the reporter, sitting down. "I'll renew your membership at Salli's Silicone Valley for free, Sam," smiled Salli. "Professional courtesy. Anyone else?" "Yes," said a female magazine reporter. "My question is for Mrs Winslow. Do you approve of this?" "Approve?" said Buffy. "It was my idea! Ladies, they're going to tom-cat around. Why not let them? And if Johnny's ideas become law," she continued, "it follows that they should apply to everyone. Women who are turned on by men would be allowed to demand certain things of them, too! Don't you see?" "I do," said the reporter. "Senator? In the spirit of your wife's remarks, could I buy you a drink?" Johnny laughed. "Sorry, you're not my type." "That brings up another question," said a newspaperman. "Would this ... mandatory sexual freedom be ... well, equitable? What I mean is, will gorgeous people have more than they can handle, while the more ordinary-looking among us are still left with typing smutty URLs into our web browsers with one hand?" "We've been discussing that," said Salli, who had begun bouncing her ass against Chet's rising member. She reached behind and grabbed the campaign manager's hands while she spoke. "That's right," broke in Johnny. "Salli, in your career — what percentage of all men do you think are tit-men?" "Oh! Ninety. Easily," said Salli, curling Chet's fingers around her yummy boobs. "Precisely," said the senator. "We'll introduce a bill that makes breast augmentation part of every woman's basic health care coverage. That's all for now, ladies and gentlemen. Salli and I have to begin our campaign. Tomorrow, we're in New York City." "That's right," added Salli, "you can see Senator Winslow at Madison Square Garden. And me?" She grinned. "I'll be at Scores. 'Bye now!" Salli, Johnny, and Chet beat a hasty retreat as the ladies and gentlemen of the press compared notes, not believing what they knew they saw and heard. A newspaperman from the senator's home state approached the podium and spoke to Mrs Winslow. "Buffy?" said the young man. "You've been giving me a hard-on ever since I covered your husband's first campaign for state senator." "Really?" blushed the voluptuous wife. "These casinos are usually connected to hotels — aren't they?" The young reporter smiled and blushed back. ----------------------------- "My fellow Americans!" said the President. "I vowed that I would not eschew my duties as President to engage in re-election politicking. But Senator Winslow's latest statements, and especially his absurd choice for the second-highest office in this land, demand that I be silent no longer!" The incumbent Republican slammed his hand on his desk for emphasis. "I submit that my opponent is trying to appeal to the American male through his crotch rather than his head!" said the President. "This isn't public policy, this isn't a plan for social reform — it's a peep show! You pay with the quarter of your vote — and when that quarter runs out, a partition drops down and doesn't let you see anything until you ante up again!" "Mr President, don't say that," said the young lady who was running the President's campaign. "The religious right will want to know how you know all that." "Oh. Dana, you're right!" said the President, getting out a pencil. "I'll have to think of something else for that, and fast! I think I have to make a speech against this Winslow-Webb ticket tonight! Can I get on network TV tonight?" "Of course," answered Dana. "You're the President." "I'd better do it at eight. At nine, Jenna Jameson is going to be chatting live on the Internet." "I beg your pardon, Mr President?" said Dana. "Ummm, and I don't want to mis — that is to say, many of the very people who should hear this speech won't be watching TV!" said the President, scribbling some new lines. "I see," sighed the publicist. "Boy, the Democrats have done it this time, haven't they? Salli's Silicone Valley! salli.com," muttered Dana, who had been working for the Republican party in public relations since that year they had to convince everyone that winning the popular vote doesn't matter. "How could they think anybody would vote for someone connected with such a disreputable business?" "Especially since they took off all the free video clips," muttered the President. "What's that, sir?" asked Dana. "Oh! Nothing," said the Republican, hurriedly. "Let me rewrite that part about the partition, then I'll ask you to listen again. Good day, Dana." ------------------------------- Chet addressed a room full of volunteers. "This is going to be an interesting experiment in American politics," he began. "There can be no waiting for the polls before we take a position. We've got to go with this message of Sexual Freedom for a Stress-Free America 100%!" What This Country Needs Johnny and Salli nodded in agreement. "That means all of you," added the senator, pointing his fingers at the volunteers. "All of you have to behave according to those precepts when you're representing the campaign!" "Arguing that lots of sex will make us a strong nation?" asked a woman in her forties. "Of course," answered Chet. "Sex on demand? In public?" asked a miniskirted co-ed. "Absolutely," said Senator Winslow. "Frank appreciation for feminine beauty? Especially tits?" asked a pimply young man. Salli stood up and walked to the young man, boobs a-bouncing. She leaned over his face. "Yes." The young man said something that sounded like "Count me in." But it was hard to make out the words through the tit flesh. "Oh! And Senator?" squeaked a cute redhead. "I think the campaign should pay for boob jobs for all of us. Think of the show of strength!" "I am thinking," said Johnny with a dreamy, faraway look in his eye. "Consider it done," said Chet. A cheer rose from the group as they took to the streets. -------------------------------------- "Boss, you seen this in the paper?" said Phil 'The Ferret'. "Yeah," laughed Sammy "The Snake". "I like that Salli girl's titties. Don't you? Wonder if they'll get elected?" "I think they just might, boss," answered Phil, "and that's bad for us. And bad for the Families." "Why?" asked Sammy. "Sex for a Stress Free America sounds like fun." "But boss, why would any American guy pay for a whore when the law says women gotta put out whenever the guy wants?" pleaded Phil. "I din't think of that," admitted the boss. "And if no one pays for prostitution, there goes a big part of our business!" Phil pointed out. "You're right, this ain't good," agreed Sammy. "You get the powers that be on the phone. See what we can do to defeat this Winslow-Webb ticket. And Phil?" "Yeah, boss?" "Maybe we get further by goin' in the front door. You know, doin' it legit," suggested the boss. "Find out if there's some credible group that wants Winslow-Webb to lose. We'll help 'em." "Okay, boss," said Phil. ----------------------------------- "Council of Churches," said the receptionist. "Lissen," said a sniveling voice on the telephone. "I gotta talk to the head man." "That would be the Reverend," said the receptionist. "Who shall I say is calling?" "Just say it's Phil the Ferret," said the voice. "Mister Ferret for the Reverend. Right away, sir," said the receptionist. The phone rang on the Reverend's expensive oak desk. "Hello?" said the Reverend, a square-jawed man in his early sixties. "What can I do for you?" "It's what I can do for you, Rev," said the sniveler. "You don't want the ladies' man and the big-tit girl to win the White House, am I right?" "Yes," said the Reverend. "Who is this?" "Never mind. We don't want 'em to win, either, and we think we can help each other," said the voice. "Who are you and who do you represent?" demanded the Reverend. "The Families," said the voice, cryptically. "Well, nothing is more important to the fabric of American life than the family," said the Reverend. "How can we work together? Should we meet?" "Tonight," insisted Phil. "How about at the Titillation Topless Club?" "No, no!" shouted the Reverend. "Here, at our Church Fellowship Hall." There was an uncomfortable silence. "We'll compromise," said Phil. "Mama D'Angelo's Ristorante. Seven o'clock." "I look forward to seeing you, friend," said the Reverend. "We must defeat this rampant fornication!" "This what? Oh, the guy and the big girl! Right, right," muttered Phil. "Whatever you say, Rev." ----------------------------- "Okay, Chet," said Senator Johnny Winslow. "Give me the progress report! How is the campaign going?" "Fabulously, Senator," said the portly campaign manager. "Getting all the female volunteers boob jobs paid off! We're sending them to campus bars, just like the beer companies do." "I like that," said Johnny, nodding. "They're dressed in really tight T-shirts that have the names 'Johnny' and 'Salli' silk-screened on them in semi-circles," explained Chet. "So that one of your names encircles each nipple! Keeps the candidates top of mind!" "Brilliant," agreed Johnny. "The guys usually ask if one tit is named Johnny and the other Salli," said the manager. "Good!" said Johnny. "Where is my vice-presidential candidate, Salli Webb, today?" "Lap dancing for the editorial board of the New York Times," said Chet, checking his notes. "Should be worth an endorsement." "Excellent," said the senator. "Have her do the same for the Post and Daily News. Even USA Today." "Will do," said Chet. "Are there any of those female volunteers here this afternoon?" asked Johnny. "I think so," said Chet. "You want me to send a few in?" "In a minute," said Johnny. "But I have a thought. Let's actively recruit girls with big titties. It'll save money on the mandatory boob jobs." "Good thinking," chuckled Chet. "And natural is better, anyway," explained Johnny. "For looking, it doesn't make that much difference, but for feeling ...! Yes, send in three of the girls! And have each bring 'Johnny' and 'Salli' with them!" "Right away, Mr President," said Chet, confidently. ---------------------------- A Barry White tune played as Salli Webb did a slow and sensuous grind in the middle of the news room. "Oh, I got my boobies when I was about thirteen," she explained as she fondled them. "I mean, my original ones. But of course, they weren't big enough. My mother and sisters all had pretty big boobs. Maybe the gene pool had been drained by the time I came along! Say, don't any of you fellows want to take notes?" The editor of the Times shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Salli," he said. Salli noticed that both his hands were under his desk. "We've got tape recorders." "Oh!" she said, with a knowing smile. She peeled her tight panties off her creamy thighs. "That's why I got the boob job! As soon as I could. Saved the money I made at the strip joint for the operation." "You were dancing in a club at thirteen?" asked one of the reporters. He seemed to stifle a moan after his question. "Yeah," giggled Salli. "Don't tell, okay? Being a girl with a baby face and almost fifty inch gazombas made me pretty damn popular." "Did that make you bigger than your mom and sisters?" asked the editor. "You'd love to know, wouldn't you?" laughed Salli, wrapping those silicone fun bags around the man's head. "Maybe I'll have you guys do a photo session with me and my mom and sisters! It'd have to be a big room so there'd be room for all that tit!" "Goddamn," growled the editor, as his hidden hands worked harder. "And they'd all cluck their tongues — tsk, tsk, tsk." Salli tweaked her nipples on each tsk. Several of the editorial board members moaned. "Salli, will you ever grow tits? I guess I showed them, didn't I?" Salli offered her juicy boobs to the editor, but his hands stayed in motion under the desk. He moaned, and moaned, and moaned — and then suddenly sighed. "There!" sang Salli, tucking her titties away. "I'll look for that endorsement in tomorrow's edition. And don't forget to wash your hands before you go back to work!" -------------------------------------- "I'm glad you were able to come, Rev," said Phil the Ferret, motioning for the man of the cloth to take a seat. The Reverend, dressed in a simple suit and tie, sat down. "Thank you," he said, graciously. "Mr Ferret, I know why my organization wants to defeat these candidates and their sexually permissive ideas. But why you?" "Same as you, Rev!" laughed Phil. "Because such animal behavior is morally repugnant?" said the Reverend. "Oh. No," said Phil, motioning for a bottle of wine. "Is that your beef with 'em? We don't like it 'cause if fellas can get some tail anywhere they want it, they won't patronize the ladies of the evening. Which we are in charge of." The Reverend raised an eyebrow as Phil poured him a glass. "How could you possibly think my reasons are the same as yours?" "'Cause they'll cut into your business, just like it'll cut into ours!" said Phil. "I beg your pardon?" said the clergyman. "Well ... the more uptight and repressed people are, the more they come to church, right?" "I suppose so," agreed the Reverend. "So they'll cut into your business!" said Phil, sipping his wine. "If nobody can get any, we both keep the people comin' to us." "I never thought of that," said the Reverend, nodding. "So! We can influence the President," said Phil. "And the people. And so can you!" Two busty young women sauntered up the table in the Italian restaurant. "Would you gentlemen like any company tonight?" said a lovely blonde. "Oh, geez," said Phil, rolling his eyes. "Reverend, I apologize. I thought I might ask Heather and Lavonia here to come by to show you the kinda people that'd be outa work if Winslow and Webb win the White House!" A top-heavy blonde and mountainous breasted black woman smiled at the clergyman. "But that ain't the kinda man you are, is it?" said Phil. "You guys got that vow of celibacy, right?" The Reverend stared appreciatively at the the blonde's freckled cleavage, and at the way her friend's chocolate-colored breasts undulated with her every breath. "You've got us mixed up with the Catholics!" announced the Reverend, enthusiastically. "Protestants have no such vows. Ladies, sit down! Phil, where are your manners? Order us some champagne." ---------------------------- "Um — Senator Winslow?" A shy redhead stuck her head into the candidate's office. "Yes? Can I help you?" said the senator, standing up to greet the unexpected guest. "I think so," said the young girl as she stepped through the door. Senator Winslow drew in his breath as he looked her over. Her red hair framed a gorgeous round freckled face. Her round cheeks and dazzling smile created an image of innocence, while her fire-engine red lips hinted at a certain sexual adventurousness. She wore four-inch heels that were as red as her lips, and only boosted her height a little past its five-foot limit. She was wearing short shorts that the Hooters girls would have rejected as too tight and suggestive, and her "Johnny/Salli" T-shirt showed off a pair of breasts that Johnny guessed hadn't been F-cups for very long. He expressed his admiration with a low whistle. The redhead blushed through her freckles, and Johnny noticed a definite hardening of the nipples through that skin-tight T-shirt. "Thank you, Senator," said the girl with a nervous giggle. "No, no, call me Johnny," said the candidate as he rushed around his desk. "Sit down." "Thanks, I will," she said. Johnny stood close by. His stiffening cock was now at this burstingly sexual creature's mouth level. "Um, my name is Debby," said the girl, "and I just wanted to thank you for the breast augmentation. They're really just what I always wanted!" She squealed as she squeezed her new boobies together between her arms. "And I really believe in what you and Miss Webb are talking about. I just know the world would be a better place if we could just ... just ... well, fuck whenever we felt like it!" Johnny smiled as he took in the view down her shirt. "Like — right now?" Debby shrugged. "Maybe," she said, giggling. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" Senator Winslow kneeled in front of where the girl was sitting. "Yes, there is, Debby," he said reverently. "Right now, you are giving me such a hard-on. One that won't go away without some kind of action!" Debby stood up and reached for where the hem of her T-shirt was tucked into her tight shorts. "Well, then I guess I'll just have to do something about that! After all ... " Johnny smacked his lips as Debby's boobs bounced into the open air. " ... it's the law!" laughed the young girl as she grabbed Johnny by the back of his neck and clamped his lips to her right nipple. ---------------------- The senator's wife checked her attire before she met the limo to take her to her campaign appearance. Buffy was enjoying this new image. No longer did she need to play the role of the demure, dutiful Washington wife. No more camouflaging the natural heft and bounce of her bosom. Now the Winslow and Webb ticket demanded that Buffy flaunt her figure. She looked at the clinging pink Danskin that was molded to her 36D-cup tits. She stared at her nipples in the mirror until they poked through the fabric more prominently. She took a few tentative mincing steps in her four-inch heels, pleased to see the way her bosom jiggled with every movement. And she checked to make sure she wasn't creating a wet spot on her tight short shorts! Campaign manager Chet stuck his head in through the doorway. "Buffy? You ready?" Buffy spun around. "Goddamn!" called the portly politico. "Shit, Buffy you look good enough to eat!" Buffy moistened her full lips. "Chet, what are you trying to say?" she asked as she tossed her hips and tits from side to side. "I'm tryin' to say you're giving me such a hard-on!" he grinned. "You know the rules!" giggled Buffy as she unburdened him of his pants. She knelt in front of his rising member and put out her tongue. "Right here, baby, right here ... " Buffy yanked down the front of her top so that the shelf of her bosom was there to catch any sticky overflow. The door opened. Chet growled, "What? What the fuck is it?" Vice-Presidential candidate Salli Webb stepped inside. "Buffy?" she asked. "They're waiting ... oh-oh. Chet? What do I see?" Salli teased. "Looks like a hard-on to me," said Buffy. "And I know another pretty lady responsible," said Chet. "Oh, hell!" cursed Salli, pulling off her minidress. "Scoot over, Buffy. After all, it's the law!" --------------------------- The crowd roared as Johnny and Salli took the stage. A brass band played the old funk hit 'Do It 'Til You're Satisfied'. Senator Johnny Winslow stopped where his busty wife Buffy was seated and raised her to her feet. With one hand on her back and another blatantly grabbing her jutting ass, Johnny and Buffy tongue-kissed hungrily. Titanic-titted Salli Webb made a humorous show of being left out and strode right out to a strange man sitting in the front row. Placing one of his hands on her bottom and another on the tip of her enormous boob, Salli kissed the stranger just as passionately. The crowd roared its approval at this demonstration of their political-social platform. Both couples broke and reunited behind the podium. Finally, they explored each other! "Thank you, thank you," said Johnny Winslow, signaling the crowd to settle down. They were unwilling. Johnny couldn't see for sure, but he suspected some were following their lead, right there at the rally. "Men — do you want to look at Salli Webb's friendly ... uh, shall we say ... presence every night on the news?" A chorus of male cheers. "And do you want the right to relief whenever you need or want it from the women of America?" More cheers. "Then you know how you must vote. Salli — you show 'em a thing or two!" Applause and laughter as Salli Webb approached the podium doing a spirited shoulder-shaking shimmy. "Some people think our campaign promises only benefit the men!" shouted the stacked blonde. "But women — do you want opportunities for sexual satisfaction mandated by law?" "Yes!" screamed the women. "Do you want freedom from monogamy?" "Yes!" "And do you want bigger breasts?" "Yessss!" shrieked the women, and the men joined them. The band struck up "This Could Be The Start of Something Big". Campaign manager Chet grinned. He never would have believed it ... but he was pretty sure they had a shot. ----------------------------- Phil the Ferret ordered more pasta carbonara when he and the Reverend met again. "Let's go over it one more time, Rev," he said, twirling the pasta onto his fork. "Oh, Phil, I prefer not to know the details," said the Reverend, nervously. "Just tell me how much to make out the check." "I'm gettin' to that," said Phil, slurping in the spaghetti. "We got lists of undecided voters ... undecided male voters ... in every city. We'll send our girls to visit 'em before and after the election. Before to persuade. After to say t'ank you." "And you're sure these girls need to be paid to do this?" asked the clergyman. "Wouldn't they do it for nothing." "Rev, whattayou do for livin'? Do you give preachin' away for free?" snickered Phil. "We gotta pay 'em. We do halvsies. Our outfit will foot half the bill, and yours, the other half." "All right, all right," said the Reverend. "But it can't be traced to me in any way." "Don't worry," assured Phil. "We got ways to hide where the money came from." He shot his unlikely co-conspirator a wink. "Here you are," said the Reverend, handing over the check. "Thanks!" said Phil, wiping his chin with a red-checked napkin. "That's it?" asked the Reverend. "'Thanks'?" Phil smiled. "Nah, that ain't all," he laughed. "Go back to your hotel room. Heather and Lavonia can't wait to see you!" Phil finished his meal alone. -------------------------------- Johnny Winslow stared at the television set. Just stared. He still couldn't believe it. His campaign manager nudged him. "Johnny, snap out of it," said Chet. "You haven't blinked in half an hour." "But everyone liked what we were saying," Johnny said, as if in a trance. "Men, women ... everyone. Why didn't they vote for us?" "So we lost!" said Chet. "Hell, that's politics. Who the hell knows why?" "Do you think Buffy will ever forgive me?" said Johnny. "Making infidelity a political weapon?" "Sure, she'll forgive you," chuckled Chet. "As long as you can stand her fucking anyone she likes!" "Will she let me do the same?" wondered Johnny. "Hard to say," said Chet, making his way out of the hotel room. "Tell you what," he said, starting to unbutton his belt. "I'll ask her. I'm seeing her in a minute." "You are?" said Johnny, whirling around to face Chet for the first time during this conversation. "Yup," said Chet. "Johnny, tell me. With that to suck you off and titfuck at home — why did you run around in the first place?" Chet left the hotel room without waiting for an answer. Johnny continued to stare at the TV. "Challengers Winslow and Webb made a strong showing, especially near the end of the campaign," said the network anchor. "But the Republican incumbent knew the United States wasn't ready for federally-mandated sex in the streets. Nor were they ready for the criminalization of having small breasts." Suddenly Johnny's view of the screen was obscured. "Guess who?" said a familiar female voice. "Madame Vice President?" said Johnny, stifling a smile. He grinned broadly to see that it wasn't hands that were lifted from his eyes, but two soft, suckable breasts. "Maybe next time, Johnny," giggled Salli, holding her spectacularly structured boobs out to her running mate's mouth. "What will you do now?" asked Johnny, between nips and sucks. "The web site is doing better than ever," said Salli. "And I'm putting all those teenage volunteers of ours to work as models. I'm going to have start making up names for 'em." "Mabel Mamms, Tina Tits, Bettina Boobies ... " said Johnny, licking his lips. "Right! You've got the idea," laughed Salli. "Your favorite is going to be the first Salli Girl of the Month. The redhead." "Debby?" asked Johnny. "Debby Double Ds?" "Yeah, her," cracked the web goddess. "So I'll be fine. I'm still not sure why we lost. Do you know?" "Not a clue," said Johnny, pulling Salli's tits apart to wrap around his head. "Some powerful people with a lot of money must have had it in for us. Salli, if I put my dick in between them, will you lick it as it comes in and out?" What This Country Needs "Sure!" she smiled. "And I'll call it 'Mister President' each time!" ------------------------ "To the defeat of Winslow and Webb, and to the preservation of the world's oldest profession," said Phil the Ferret, holding his glass of chianti up high. "To stopping the Sodom and Gomorrah-ization of the United States of America," said the Reverend, clinking his glass with Phil's. "And to four more years!" said the Republican President. "And thank you, gentlemen." "Not at all!" said Phil. "Glad to help," said the Reverend. "Now, can we continue our celebration in the way you'd promised?" asked the President. "Sure!" said Phil, walking to the door. "Heather! Lavonia! Come on in, and bring fresh fruit, whipped cream, and your tits! The Leader of the Free World is waiting!"