sex story in white house

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This story is taken from a story book read recently. Thought of sharing the juicy part of the story with guys here as it was quite stimulating.
Characters of the story:

Billie - The most beautiful First Lady of America.

Alex Razin - The Russian KGB agent who kidnapped Billie and substituted a Billie-lookalike imposter as the faked First Lady in the White House.

Andrew - The US President.

In the plot, Andrew, the US President, was cleared by doctors to have sex with his wife again.

Since the fake First Lady didn't know how the First Couple fucked in the White House, she messaged Razin to help her find out from Billie the First Lady's sexual positions & fuck-style in bed otherwise the US President would uncover the fake.

Razin plotted to get close to his captive Billie. However, Bille quietly knew of Razin's motive and agreed to have sex with him hoping to expose the impostor in bed in the White House.

Here's the excerpt of the sex part from the story:

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"In a drawer, Billie poked through her nightgowns and selected the sheer white one, the short one that would fall not quite to her knees, and she wriggled into it. She went to her closet for her flimsy lace negligee, which she had not worn since her bondage, and she pulled it on. At the wall, she turned off the overhead light, put out a standing lamp, and left on the two dim ones on either side of the bed.
The double bed.
She drew back the spread, folded it, put it aside. She considered the thin blanket, tugged it loose, and brought it back toward the bottom of the bed. She puffed up the pillow.
Satisfied with her handiwork, she retrieved her drink and finished it. About to go to the living room bar for one more refill, she saw Razin appear in the bedroom doorway. Tonight, somehow, he looked bigger, more muscular than she had remembered. He was wearing a brown sports jacket, a shirt open at the collar, beige slacks. Her eyes went from his flat black hair and bushy eyebrows to his bashed nose and thick lips. He had wide powerful shoulders and a narrow waist. She had not inspected him this closely before.
The reality of his person, overlaid on her recent decision, gave her a moment of panic. She wanted to retreat from her decision, but she knew that she must not. She needed support. One more drink.
'Hi, Alex,' she said. 'I was hoping you'd come by.'
'I wouldn't miss the chance to enjoy your company,' he said, removing his jacket and tossing it on an armchair behind him.
'Here,' she said, handing him her empty glass. 'I could do with another cognac and water. Easy on the water.'
'I'll join you,' he said, accepting her glass and disappearing into the living room.
'Oh, and Alex,' she called after him, 'put on some music — loud enough for me to hear.'

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As the music came booming in, Billie inspected the bedroom one last time, then made for the chaise longue. She stretched back on it, allowing her negligee to fall open revealing her abbreviated nightgown and part of the flesh of one thigh.
She tried not to imagine him naked. She must think only of her motivation and the end result.
He returned to the bedroom carrying two drinks. He halted to look her over. 'Very fetching,' he said. 'You are truly a beautiful woman, Billie.'
'Quite a compliment from you, Alex.'
'Too restrained,' he said, handing her the darker of the two drinks.
She lifted her glass. 'To you,' she said, 'for being such a wonderful man and for saving my life.'
'To you,' he said, touching his glass to hers, 'for enriching my life. I - I'm sorry it had to be this way.'
He lowered himself to the floor, at her feet.
'Even if it is this way,' she said, 'life doesn't have to stop, does it?'
'No, it doesn't.'
'So let's live a little. Drink up.' She could feel the strong cognac going down her throat, fanning out behind her breasts, heating her, dizzying her slightly. She looked down at him, while he drank. He seemed surprisingly young. She took another big swallow of the cognac, and kept the glass to her lips until it was empty. She set down her glass.
His eyes met hers. 'How are you?' he asked.
'Fine, never better,' she said. 'How are you?'
He finished his drink. 'Do you really want to know?'
'Of course, I do.'
He put a hand on her uncovered thigh. 'I'm insanely in love with you, Billie. I'd give anything on earth to have you.'
She took his hand. 'I've been thinking about it, too. I realize I was foolish yesterday. I want you, too. Very much. Let's not waste any more time.'
She felt almost a surge of relief. She was committed.

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He scrambled to his feet, his hand grasping her hand tightly and bringing her up off the chaise longue. He tried to embrace her, but she slipped away. 'I don't want clothes between us,' she said breathlessly. 'I want nothing between us. I want us together in bed.'
Moving toward the bed, she divested herself of the negligee, let it drop to the floor. About to do the same with the short white nightgown, she paused, and wheeled slowly to wait for him. His shirt was off, the ridged, muscular, hairy chest bare. He had already kicked aside his shoes and socks. His belt was open. The trousers came down, and he stepped out of them. He was wearing tight bulging white briefs. He bent to tug them off, and when he straightened to full height, the freed penis was rising, pointing at her. She tried to avoid looking at it, but couldn't help herself. It wasn't particularly long, but it was thick, my God it was thick. The ugly appendage was approaching her.
She whirled about from it, her back to him, and lifted her arms. 'Alex, help me off with this.'
His hands had the hem of the gown, drew it upward in one sweeping motion, over her loose blonde hair and head, and she saw it flung away. His hairy arms came under her arms, his large palms covering her breasts. She could feel him like the barrel of a pistol pressing against her soft buttocks. Heaven help me, she thought, and was momentarily afraid and nauseated.
He released her breasts. His arms scooped her up off the floor, carried her across the room, and deposited her on the bed.

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His eyes were fixed on her nakedness. She wanted to cover her vagina, her navel, her nipples, wanted to hide her nudity, wanted to start all over with her clothes on and refuse to undress, but it was too late. She tried to keep her eyes off him, determined to remain in control and remember what she had planned, the purpose of this humiliation she was trading for freedom.
She felt the mattress beside her dip, the bulk and rough flesh of reality beside her, and memory vanished. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to the stranger. Her heart thumped. It was time to begin.
Begin what? Begin how?

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Her woeful inexperience gripped and held her. She summoned every resource of secondhand knowledge — movies seen, books read, tales heard - angrily trying to perform as a woman Andrew had never seen.
She arched the top part of her naked body toward him, her shoulders back, her firm globular breasts with big pink nipples still flaccid nearer to his face, all provocatively hot and wanting. His response was instantaneous. His hands caught her breasts underneath, his mouth kissed and sucked at the first nipple, until it hardened, and then the other nipple. She groaned, groaned more loudly, and she could feel his excitement, as her knees came up. His mouth left her. He began to leave her, shifting toward her knees. She knew where he was going. Not yet, she told herself, not yet.
She grabbed for his shoulder, fingernails digging in, and pulled hard, trying to bring him back to her. 'No, don't - wait, Alex, wait!' she cried out. 'I like to do the other first. I love it. I want it.' She reached for the swollen penis, her fingers trying to encircle it, as she wormed her way from beneath him and pushed up higher against the pillow. She opened her mouth and brought it towards the penis.

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This was going to be the meanest part, the part she had debated and dreaded. Fellatio was foreign to her, something she had never performed. She had kissed Andrew there several times but he did not like it. That was why she must do it now, transmit her love of the act to the imposter. But it revolted her, the idea of taking a male appendage in the mouth, especially this gross one. It seemed dirty and demeaning. Maybe not with someone you loved. But with this rotten bastard - it had to be done, it absolutely had to.
She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and closed her lips on the distended head of his cock. She brought it deep into her mouth - it pushed at her palate, rubbed the inside of her cheek, flattened her tongue - as she tried to suppress gagging, and perspiration broke out on her brow. Incredibly, the thing was growing bigger, filling her mouth entirely, crowding against her throat. She was uncertain what to do next. Instinct told her to suck, to simulate sexual intercourse. She drew her lips back the length of it, then with a hand pushed it deep in her mouth again. Her head continued to go back and forth over the stiff shaft.

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He was making little sounds in Russian, and gurgling something in English that sounded like, 'Good, so good, good.' Now he had a hold on the back of her head and was pushing it, pulling it.
She tore at his hands, jerked her mouth free, choking, coughing, 'Now, Alex, now, please.' She was working to position her body under his, spreading her legs as wide apart as possible, imploring him, 'Put it in me - let me put it in, let me. Oh, I love it so. Fuck me, fuck me good.'

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She had the love muscle in both hands, drawing him down between her legs. She was eager to be done with it. In minutes it would be over with. But she must still perform, complete her act to perfection.
His cock strained in her hands toward her vulva, found the outer lips, and she let go. With great power he plunged into her, deep, deep into her. The soft walls of her vagina spread and stretched to accommodate him, and her inner thighs quivered. As he filled her, she realized with a small shock that a lubricant had not been needed, that her vaginal canal was hot and wet on its own.

She tried to understand her wetness, but immediately was shaken out of all thought. He was going now as if his cock was attached to a high-speed pile-driving mechanism. In and out of her, hammering faster and faster, ramming his cock inside her. She tried to hold his arms as her body trembled and her teeth rattled and her head began to be slammed against the headboard. She forced her heavy eyelids open briefly, and realized the dark face hanging over her was watching her, watching every expression and gesture, recording her behavior. Christ, she'd almost forgotten. He was doing this to report to someone else. She'd almost forgotten her plan, her program. She must perform for him in another way, impress her aggressive behavior upon him. She must make this into something he would never forget, and would remember to report.
She tried to catch her breath. 'Alex, Alex - Jesus - you're tearing me apart.'

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At first he did not answer. He continued fucking her, as her vaginal tunnel expanded. Panting, he said, 'Too hard? Want me slower?'
She dug her nails into his arms. 'No, goddammit, harder! I love it. I love you. Don't hold back. Give it to me harder!'
With painful effort she brought her legs off the bed, high in the air, hooked a leg over each of his shoulders, and locked her ankles behind his neck.
This sent him into a frenzy of jack-hammering. He had her by the ass, lifting her as he pumped wildly. She felt like he was splitting her in two and she tightened on him before her brains were knocked loose. She battled to hold on to her senses, trying to recall and retrieve something of her plan. Her plan, her plan. Deceive him, try everything she had ever heard or read. Immediately, she began to sway and buck, cling to him, ride the wild stallion, up and down with him, clawing at his chest, screeching obscenities she had never used before. A glimpse caught the crazy smile on his face, and she ripped at his flesh, screaming steadily as he impaled her against the headboard and pumped away like a madman.

She counted the seconds, the minutes, expecting him to come, but he did not come. She renewed her exertions, but her thighs and buttocks and legs felt dead. Still, she tried to drive him to a climax, rolling her ass, clamping her thighs, beating her fists at him, screaming and screaming, but he kept right on fucking her and would not come.

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Then she felt something strange inside her, something she had never felt before with a man in her, it was like an explosive force rising low inside her, a feeling unsought, unexpected, unknown, the desire to have her vagina burst open and erupt. She felt herself beginning to drown in a flood of water, with the geyser in her vagina about to shoot a mile high. Then she knew, she knew for certain. She was losing control, she was on the verge of a mammoth orgasm. She wanted to cry because she did not want it to happen the first time in intercourse with this hateful oaf. And worse, far worse, it would spoil her plan. She could not orchestrate her moves if he gained control, if her body betrayed her to the monster and gave in. Her fingers grabbed the top of the headboard behind her. She bit her lip, and begged her battered senses to take over and not let her vagina surrender.

She tried not to respond any more. She turned her head sideways on the pillow, fighting to take her mind off his glorious lovemaking. It was impossible. It was too delicious, this going under. She was seconds away from total release. One more act, she begged herself, one more uncharacteristic, un-Andrew act to give him something new to record and report. Could she make it before blowing sky high? Dropping her legs, she reached in front of her, to either side of his perpetual-motion prick, she reached under and found his low-slung, swaying balls, those huge bags going from side to side, and she clutched them and massaged them and held on as perspiration clouded her eyes.

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Whatever she had done, she had done right. For he began to bellow in Russian. His thrusts shortened, slowed, then speeded up. He squealed once, twice, merging into a long drawn-out shriek, as his movement ceased, he hung petrified above, yelling, shouting, as he came and came and came in his prolonged orgasm.
Then, as if in slow motion, he collapsed, going down like a punctured balloon.

Fascinated, she watched him roll over on the bed. She enjoyed triumph. She had averted her own climax. She had retained control. Now she must exercise control one last time with one final act left in her scenario.
She remained patient. He was resting next to her, still panting like an animal. A few minutes passed and his breathing began to sound normal. He was sitting up, grinning at her. 'It was good, Billie,' he said.
'Very good,' she breathed. 'But Alex, there's more. There's still me. Please finish it for me.' 'Finish it?'
'I'm almost there. I want to come. Please —' He was uncertain. 'What do you want me to do?' She raised her knees and parted her legs. She reached for the back of his head and urged it down toward her vagina. 'Kiss me between my legs. I'll come right away.'
'Oh, that?' he said. 'You like that?'
'Always, always —'

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He moved part way around her, lowered his head between her legs, nuzzled his nose in the mat of her pubic hair, against her thickened clitoris, and began kissing her moist vulva.
She had never had this done to her, and to her surprise it was pleasurable. She felt his tongue inside her, circling inside her, and she lifted her buttocks and began shaking her thighs and tried to suppress a moan. It was excruciating trying to hold back - why was she holding back? Not to give him any satisfaction or dominance? - to hell with that. She allowed a prolonged moan to escape her, arched her back, curled her toes, let her ass go up higher and down and up again, emitted a throaty cry, and dissolved into a full orgasm.
He sat up pleased.
Groping for words, she tried to speak, failed, and silently nodded her gratefulness.
'Thanks, Alex,' she said finally. 'It was wonderful. Now shut off that music and let me sleep.'

She turned on her side, buried her head in the pillow, eyes tight. She heard him leave the bed, go to the bathroom, return. She feigned sleep as he dressed and softly hummed.
After a while he was gone.
The moment she heard the outer door open and close, she tried to rise. With difficulty, she forced herself out of bed. Every muscle in her body was aching. She stumbled to the bathroom, soaped and washed herself. In the bedroom, she turned off the lamps, ignoring her sleeping pill, and crawled into bed. The bed was still warm from their bodies, and the musky smell of their coupling hung over it.
Erotic fragments of what had happened passed in and out of her mind.
The First Lady of the United States. Je-sus. If anyone back home ever knew.

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She suffered a wave of shame at what she had done. It made her feel unclean. And worse, she felt guilt at having enjoyed some of it. But she mollified both shame and guilt by remembering that she had engaged in this sacrifice to warn her husband, to save him and to save herself.
Razin, the bastard. All of them here, bastards. She'd fixed them good.

She smiled to herself in the darkness. She could visualize the interloper, her double, the imposter tomorrow night with her husband. She could see poor Andrew assaulted tomorrow night by a passive and tame wife gone mad - fellatio, scratching, cursing, legs around his shoulders, the whorehouse works — and in the end being encouraged to go down on her. It would be the most topsy-turvy, stunning evening of Andrew's life. She could imagine him wondering who this weird wildcat of a woman was, certainly not his own Billie, positively not his wife of seven years. Knowing him, she knew he wouldn't let it go at that. He'd find out the truth.
The other woman might be the actress, but only she herself, the genuine Billie Bradford, would know that she had pulled off the greatest act of the century.
Those bastards, the game was almost over for them. For herself, liberation loomed.
She would sleep well.

~~~ end of excerpts from "The Second Lady". Hope you enjoy it.