Barack Obama sat at his desk in the Oval Office, fiddling with his pen and staring nervously at the pile of papers in front of him. His desk was in disarray; notices were sprawled in various piles and the photos of his family had either fallen flat or stood close to the edge, an inch away from the impending shatter of glass. He would soon be out of office, and who would the American people stupidly elect to replace him? A racist oompa-loompa? A "democrat" who stands too far to the right? The Zodiac Killer? He thought things were bad when Mitt Romney made it to the primaries, but after this, the grand ole U.S of A would look like Nazi Germany or Russia. Barack dropped the pencil from his hand, He never should have thought about Russia. It caused too many memories, too many feelings and experiences he knew were better left in the past...forgotten.
A monotonous beeping sound broke his reminiscence and his secretary spoke chipperly, "Mr. President, President Putin is here for your three o'clock meeting." Barack sighed before saying, "Let him in." He hoped that Putin would remain professional and leave their personal differences in Russia. He cleared off some room on his desk, leaving just enough space for two cups of coffee and a box of scones, a gift from British Prime Minister, David Cameron. He wondered if his wife was jealous of the pig he fucked in college. Honestly, compared to the U.K and London's racist mayor, he thought that the U.S was faring pretty well. The only thing that didn't go exactly as planned was this country's strained relationship with the commies out East. "Speaking of the Devil," he thought as the door opened and Vladimir Putin swaggered in, wearing black leather pants, a zebra-striped douchey v-neck shirt, and a gold chain holding the diamond-studded letters, "VP'.
Barack stood up in shock, not wanting to say anything that would send the U.S into a nuclear winter. They shook hands and were seated. Vladimir took a scone and began dipping it in the coffee. "Mr. Putin," he began hesitantly, doing his best to choose the right words "you're looking good." Vladimir pushed his chair back and sank into it. He shoved his coffee away from him. "No I don't. I look like a mess, Barack. I'm having a mid-life crisis," he explained, softly. Barack didn't want to press the issue any further. He didn't want to get too close to Putin...again. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," he condoled. Still, Putin was persistent. "My wife and I," he sighed, "are having problems. She says I'm not 'invested' in our marriage, and frankly, I'm not." Barack sipped his coffee stressfully and hoped he wouldn't make the conversation about him.
"Barack...I missed you".
"Putin, you can't do this," Obama protested.
"I can Barry, I have to."
"What we had is behind us," he said, standing up from his desk.
He started to make his way towards the door, but Vladimir Putin blocked his way. He pressed a hand on his chest, and even through his official suit, he could feel the chiseled chest he had gotten so well-acquainted with during those restless nights of licking Nutella off of each others' bodies.
"Here I was thinking you were an honest man. You know we can't just move on and pretend nothing ever happened. You still think of me too, and don't deny it."
"Putin...Vlad..." he tried, but he couldn't tell him that he hadn't thought of him because it would have been a lie. Still, he couldn't tell him the truth because admitting to the Russian stud that he still cared would mean admitting to himself the very same thing.
"I know what the papers are saying, Barack. I've seen the angry Michelle Obama memes. They are really dank. She knows what's up."
"No, Vladimir, she doesn't. She has no proof, and if you just let things be, she WON'T have any," he said, pushing past the red-hot commie President. Vladimir clutched his arm and pushed him close, pushing his head forward so that their lips met. Barack resisted at first, refusing Vladimir's tongue access to his mouth. Putin's tongue danced over his lover's shut lips, squeezing through to run it over his teeth. Barack glanced over to the picture of Michelle on his desk. It was so close to the edge. It was going to fall. Any day now. Sooner or later, he knew he and Michelle would call it over. There was no way their marriage would last after he left office, and every fiber of his body craved his hot Russian babe like a fat person on a diet craved the sugary sweetness of a donut. He couldn't deny that Vladimir knew how to make him quiver without laying a hand on him, how to make him bend to Putin's dominant tendencies, how to take him over the edge with greater outburst of ecstasy than Michelle had ever given him. Putin knew how to make him purr, and he knew that Barack would come back to him. Barack relented, parting his lips. Putins' tongue shoved its way into his wet, wanting mouth, battling for dominance as Barack wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Putin moaned as he felt the force awaken in his pants. Barack tasted just as he remembered, like American democracy.
He missed this so much. For ages, Michelle had touched him the way he used to and time has made him grow jealous. He was more jealous of Michelle than Donald Trump is of happy children with a full set of hair...more jealous than Sarah Palin is of Satan because she knows it should be HER who sits on the throne of Hell. He was more jealous of Michelle Obama than a mathsexual is of anyone who touches his textbook because they are in an exclusive relationship and he doesn't like how other students would fold her pages when he wasn't allowed to be rough like that #50ShadesOfAlgorithms #TheyDidntChooseTheMathLifeTheMathLifeChoseThem. But now, he could exult in this moment, having something Michelle could never have, Barack Obama pressed against the wall, his legs so weak they could barely support him from falling into Putin's strong arms, begging for more of him.
Putin started to leave a trail of kisses leading down his neck to his clavicle as he began to to slowly unbutton his shirt. Barack's hands drifted from Vladimir's neck to his back and pushed his hips closer. Vladimir finished with his shirt and helped pull it off, leaving it to fall to the floor. He bent down, running his fingers over BArack's man-nipples and muscular torso. There was no denying it- Barack and Vladimir were as straight as a circle. Barack's six-pack was tighter than the Trump's boarder control policy and it made Vladimir so horny. But before he could undo the president's belt, the door knob turned and someone walked into the room. Neither politician noticed in times and they were caught red-handed by Donald J Trump. Barack scrambled for his shirt but Vladimir, feeling all-too-pleased with himself, leaned against the wall with his leather pants dipping below his hips.
"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!" the oompa loompa demanded, "Do I have to build a wall around you two?" While Barack stammered, unable to find a respectable or believable excuse, Putin calmly explained, "Barack was just about to show me his stimulus package". Drumpf replied with an exaggerated, "It's going to be YUUUGGEEEE! It's going to wreck you like 7/11, never forget." Putin winked at the republican and slowly and seductively swaggered to Obama, hiding behind the desk. "Oh, Barry, no need to be shy. " Barack shyly emerged, holding a jar of Nutella. Putin took the Nutella from his hand, opened the jar, dipped in two fingers and let Trump lick them clean. He then dipped his fingers again, and traced the outline of a poorly drawn penis on Barack's chest. "Have a taste," the commie urged. Putin liked to take his time...he was never Russian around. Trump moved forward, and, with one glide of the tongue, cleaned half of the Nutella dick off Barack's chest. He moaned in pleasure. "Tastes like weed and rainbows and corporate bureaucracy. OH, BABY, GIVE ME THAT CORPORATE AMERICA, harder, HARDER! he cried, rubbing his face with hundred dollar bills. "This is hotter than 'global warming', he commented.
There was a rap at the window and Putin opened it to let Bill Nye the Science Guy parachute into the White House. "I TOLD YOU BITCHES GLOBAL WARMING WAS REAL!" he screamed before dropping his pants and joining the party. "My dick is like the truth of evolution-it's hard to swallow all at once."
An unheard message from the secretary said that his next appointment was here, so Sarah Palin let herself in. "That man," she bitched, pointing to Bill Nye, "is as much of a scientist as I am." Bill them proceeded to rip his own shirt open and write "SCIENCE RULZ" on his rock-hard abs with Nutella as Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump, and Barack Obama chanted, "Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!"
This spectacle was truly a sight to behold. A whole new Bible testament would have to be created to repent for this presidential orgy and this fanfiction. While they were all busy licking weed-flavored Nutella off of each others' chests and dry humping large piles of money, none of them saw Queen Elizabeth on the television screen for a video conference. "Give me back my colonies," she pleaded, knowing that the U.S is complete shit and she only wants more land because she is a part-time Queen and a full-time savage. The group all reached Nutella-induced ecstasy and went to sleep together, all huddled on the floor of the Oval Office. "I love you, Vladimir," Obama purred sleepily to his lover who held him in a protecting embrace. "I know," replied Putin, as they all settled down to sleep...until 42nd President Bill Clinton came crashing through the ceiling. "Well," he chuckled, "Looks like I missed a great party. What a shame. I created 22 million jobs and you could have had the one that's under my desk." He turned and left, deciding that it would be best to let them sleep. IN the heavens above, Prince, Alan Rickman, Leonard Nimoy and Whitney Houston wept for the fate of humanity and the corruption of our youth by presidential fanfiction.
As our story of romance, humility, and sexual frustration comes to a close, events begin to stir in the lives of our friends up North. The sexual release sent shockwaves throughout the world. Justin Trudeau, Prime Minister of Canada, bolted upright in his bed. "I sense a disturbancfe in the forc," he mutters, careful not to wake his wife. He felt the feelings the Russian bear unlocked from his chocolate twink's heart, feelings he had been denied. Feelings that he vowed to win back.