Frank Underwood put the phone down and grinned. Claire's mother was dead. He whispered to himself, "It's about damn time." Now she could concentrate on speaking at the Convention tomorrow. It was getting late, and the office was quiet. Well, about as quiet as the White House got. He went out into the hall and stopped next to a familiar painting. He ran his hands along the frame and then reached up and carefully removed the artwork from the wall. Whatever had been behind the painting had been covered up with white paint. Frank placed his hand flat on the wall.

Hundreds of miles away, Tom Yates poured himself a glass of water and listened to the sound of the katydids outside. It was a muggy, Texas evening. He quietly walked back up the stairs of the huge house and found Claire sitting. Her face looked drained and resigned.

"Do you want me to call someone? Make arrangements?"

A tear streaked down Claire's face. A real tear, for once. Tom put his hand on Claire's. She withdrew her hand and put it on Tom's. She looked up at Tom, this laconic presence beside her. She thought about how quiet he was, yet how much he had to say in his writing. For a moment it distracted her from the mix of overwhelming sadness and relief at her mother's death. The truth was, she couldn't bear to go sleep by herself that night, in that dusty, old house filled with so many memories. It had been so long since she had been with a man, and she wanted to feel someone full of life. She wanted someone warm next to her tonight. Still holding Tom's hand, she stood up and guided him upstairs.

Frank held his hand up on the wall and thought about the handprint that he had traced there weeks ago. Frank sighed, "Why'd it have to be you?" He imagined Meechum's stoic face and smiled. It wasn't going to be the same without him. Meechum was the one person he could trust, no matter what. Well there was Doug too, I suppose. The image of Meechum's lifeless eyes flashed in his mind for a moment, which was quickly replaced with a happier memory of his friend and bodyguard. But he was more than a friend, wasn't he? He felt his pants getting tighter and it became a little more awkward to walk. He went back in his office and closed the door. He grabbed a few tissues and sat down in his chair.

A whirlwind of thoughts were floating around Tom's head as they walked upstairs. He had wanted this woman ever since he had met her. Hell, before he had met her. But she was a married woman! That might have mattered, but not this time. The fact was, she was married to a real bastard. He couldn't very well turn her down anyway, could he? Not after what had just happened to her. She pulled him into the bedroom and they embraced, kissing passionately.

"Are you sure you want to do this? With your mother downstairs?"

"She's dead, and we're alive. Let's live," replied Claire.

She began taking his clothes off. He joined in to speed up the process. Soon his pants were down around his ankles, and she had squatted down to lick the underside of his throbbing rod. He moaned in pleasure as she cupped his balls and used the other hand to lift up his shaft and give long, steady licks. He gasped when her lips wrapped around his member and began to suck him off. As her head bobbed back and forth, he reached down and ran his fingers through her short hair.

Frank sunk down in his chair, reliving one of his favorite memories. It was one he had replayed in his head countless times. It was the night he had spent with Claire and Meechum. He pictured Meechum taking off his shirt, revealing the short, black hair covering his chiseled torso. He remembered how eager he was to finally see the size of Meechum's package, and how relieved he was at the ample size of it. He thought of kissing him, feeling his prickly stubble on his face. He had given him little kisses all the way down his chest and then taken his pants off. With one hand, he stroked Meechum's dick and then began to blow him, while the other hand found its way between his wife's legs. His first two fingers slipped into the wetness.

Tom gave another lick and then moved his face away from Claire's unshaven pussy. He grabbed his member and stroked it a few times to get it hard again. He didn't have a condom with him, and he hoped she wasn't going to say anything. As Claire lay there with her legs spread invitingly, Tom lowered himself on top of her and gently penetrated her. They both gasped and began moaning in pleasure. It had been a while for Tom too, and he was worried about how long he would last. He pumped his hips back and forth slowly, kissing her deeply. After a while, he began to pick up the pace, lifting one of her legs straight up and holding her supple thigh against his chest. Soon he was pounding away, and Claire's screams filled the empty house. Outside, two secret service agents looked at each other and snickered.

Frank remembered Meechum plowing his wife from behind, while she sucked her husband's cock. They had leaned forward and kissed, with Claire underneath them. Claire had then straddled Meechum's young, rock-hard dick and rode him while blowing Frank again. This had gotten the Presidential peter as hard as it had been in years. He told Meechum to get on all fours while Frank went to the bathroom and got some lube.

"Are you okay with this Meechum?"

"Yes sir. If that's what you want."

Frank began to work the lube around Meechum's butthole, slowly inserting his index finger. Eventually he had two fingers, and then three, loosening up the sphincter. Meechum grimaced a few times, but never said a word. After a few minutes, Frank grabbed his now limp dick and had Claire quickly suck him off. He wrapped up his jimmy and then slowly began to work it into Meechum's ass. By this time, Claire had positioned herself beneath Meechum, so that he could eat her out while getting it from the President. His head was now buried in her crotch. Frank fucked away, his sack slapping against Meechum's sack.

They had been at it for almost an hour, and Tom felt like he was ready to explode. Claire was lying face down, and he was on top of her doing it from behind. The sedentary writer got a second wind, and picked up the pace for a few minutes before suddenly pulling out, cum gushing all over the small of her back. He closed his eyes, feeling the energy surge out of his penis. Claire felt the hot, sticky semen hit her skin and smiled. It felt good to be wanted, to be needed. Tom flopped down on the bed beside Claire, his arm around her. They lay there, silently, each wondering if this would ever happen again. A floor below them, at the other end of the house, Claire's mother lay dead. Calling the paramedics could wait until the morning. They drifted off to sleep, exhausted.

Frank straightened up in his chair. He looked down, there was a gob of jizz on his pants. He hadn't pulled his very expensive slacks down far enough. "Fuck!" he thought to himself, but then realized he didn't care. "I'm the goddamn President, I can do what I want." Frank zipped up and walked over to a small table with a framed photo of Meechum on it.

"I miss you, dear friend. But don't you worry, I'm not going to let you die in vain. Wherever you are, you can watch me serve another four years in this office."

Frank lined up the ring on his finger and then knocked twice on the table.