





Abraham Lincoln: Presidential Fuck Machine

Catherine DeVore

Copyright 2012 Catherine DeVore













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April 22, 1863

It was a balmy spring morning and the White House was abuzz with activity. I rose early, as I always did, and paced restlessly around the bedroom. Mary looked angelic in sleep, so I didn’t wake her. As I stripped my nightclothes and prepared to dress, I noticed that my cock was fully erect and ready for duty, most likely due to some dream or humour that had overtaken me in the night. My birthmark itched, as it often did at such times. At first, I considered mounting Mary and using her soft, familiar slit to relieve the pressure in my prick, but she was never very agreeable in the morning. Do not judge me too harshly, dear reader, but I must admit that, at that moment, I had an overwhelming urge to visit Martha instead.

I dressed hastily and retired to my office. Martha followed me discreetly with a tray of tea and biscuits. Her petticoats swirled beneath her crisp uniform as she struggled to keep up with my long stride. Martha was a dainty little thing and I towered over her, as I towered over most men, in fact.

“Good morning, sir!” she said gaily, lighting up the room with her smile.

“Hello, Martha,” I replied.