Author: Jack
Keywords: .
Summary: When she discovers Jenny pantiless in the whitehouse, Hillary Clinton for some reason jumps to entirely the wrong conclusion.
"And this painting, of Abraham Lincoln . . ."
Jenny’s mind drifted while the tour guide droned on about yet another painting. Somehow, this wasn’t what she had expected when she’d impulsively decided to take the White House tour. She might have been in any of the capital’s swarms of museums, instead of inside the Executive Mansion. There was no feeling of standing in the very center of American government.
Still . . . she might as well enjoy the last day of her Washington trip. It wasn’t often that she had the chance to spend a few days on sightseeing and shopping, not since she’d started working for the ad agency. But she’d wrapped up work on her latest project a few days early and had decided to reward herself by doing some things she had always wanted to do, like seeing the Botanical Gardens and taking the White House tour.
The guide was already urging the knot of tourists on toward the next room. It seemed like they were never given enough time to really look at anything before they were herded someplace else. Hurrying to keep up, Jenny bumped into a table and winced as a finely made statuette rocked unsteadily before toppling to the floor. Luckily it didn’t break, and Jenny hastily stooped to retrieve it.
As she straightened up and put the figurine back in its place, glancing furtively about to see if anyone had seen her, Jenny felt a silky, slithering movement down her inner thighs, and an unexpected draft of cool air that came up her skirt and tickled her pussy. She glanced down and blushed. Her panties . . . .
The elastic had snapped, and the lacy underwear had fallen to the floor around her feet.
"Oh, great," she muttered, crouching down to gather the offending garment up. "You’d just know something like this would happen here."
Jenny looked around again, in a quandry. The tour group had already gone on, leaving her alone in the room, but Jenny didn’t fancy trying to improvise repairs to her panties and then put them back on in a place where she might have company at any moment. Hadn’t she seen a sign pointing to a public restroom in the hall a few minutes ago? She’d try to find that, and then figure out how to catch up with the tour once she had the panties back where they belonged.
She stuffed them into her purse for the moment and started to backtrack. Jenny was feeling nervous and exposed without her underwear, even though her light summer dress came down to her knees and she was in no real danger of showing anything off. It just felt wrong, somehow, to be walking around the White House without her panties on, and the sooner she fixed the problem, the better.
Jenny came around a corner and stopped in her tracks as she confronted a small group of people walking toward her. She couldn’t believe who was in the lead . . . had to look twice, in fact, to be sure she was really seeing a face she had seen so often on TV and in the newspapers. It was one of her heroes, someone Jenny had looked up to for years . . . .
Hillary Rodham Clinton.
"Oh, wow," Jenny said. "Hillary . . . er, ah, Mrs. President . . . I mean . . ."
The First Lady had stopped and was looking at Jenny with an expression that was somewhere between curious and imperious. One of the aides behind her started toward Jenny, frowning.
As Jenny took a step back, still trying to get command of her reeling mind and wayward tongue, the strap of her purse slipped from her hand. The bag fell to the floor and popped open, and Jenny’s bright red panties spilled out onto the carpet. She blushed almost the same shade as her underwear. Of all the ways to meet a woman she admired . . . .
Hillary looked down at the panties, a look of utter distaste spreading over her features. She held up a hand to call off the aide and took a step toward Jenny herself. "So, another one," she said. "I suppose you’re the latest intern to grace my husband’s offices?" The First Lady’s voice dripped with contempt.
"No, please, let me explain . . ." Jenny retreated, but found herself backed against a wall.
"You’d think he’d learn to keep his zipper closed," Hillary went on. "You’d think he’d figure out that he can’t bring one bimbo after another in here without people finding out. But, no, even after that little bitch Monica he STILL has to screw around. Well I’ve HAD IT!"
In one sudden, unexpected motion the First Lady reached out and grabbed the front of Jenny’s dress. The spaghetti straps were no match for the violence of her grip, and tore away. The dress slid down Jenny’s torso and legs, leaving her standing in the hall wearing nothing but her stay-up stockings, shoes, and a red bandeau that matched the underpants on the floor. Jenny squealed and jumped back, her hands trying to cover her lightly fuzzed mound.
"There!" the First Lady said. "If you’re going to work here as the President’s bimbo, at least now you look the part!"
Sensing more than seeing the rest of the entourage moving up, Jenny gave in to blind panic. She turned and ran, ran from the fury of the outraged woman and her supporters. Her shapely white ass was the last sight she gave them as she fled up the corridor, hardly knowing what was happening.
Turning a corner, she nearly ran right over a uniformed Secret Service agent. "What the –?" The man was taken totally by surprise at the sight of the nearly-nude woman, and all his training and preparation deserted him for a moment. By the time he forced himself to act Jenny was already past him, and all he was able to do was grab her bandeau from behind. He tried to haul her back, but the hooks popped loose and Jenny squirmed free, leaving the guard to look down at the long strip of fabric in his hand, shaking his head.
"Damn," he said softly. He’d heard stories, of course, of some of the rumored escapades at the White House, but he was new and hadn’t really believed much of what he’d heard. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Jenny, naked to her stocking tops, yanked open a door and charged through, slamming it closed behind her. She stood there, breathing hard, looking wildly around her like an animal looking for a way to escape the baying hounds.
It was a small conference room, dominated by an oblong table and several large, high-backed chairs. She was alone, and there were a set of French doors on the other side of the room that offered a chance of getting away, though she didn’t see how she could avoid White House Security for long. Maybe it would be better, Jenny thought, biting her lip, if I just turned myself in to one of the guards and tried to explain what happened . . . .
The mental picture made her shudder. Still not thinking clearly, Jenny started for the glass doors. All she wanted right now was to get out of this place before the First Lady caught up with her and tried to humiliate her further!
She stopped as she detected movement out of the corner of her eye.
One of the chairs had been turned with its back to the door, facing toward the French doors. Now it swung toward her, and she realized someone had been sitting there all along. Someone wearing a suit, with graying hair but rather boyish features . . .
Another familiar face from the evening news.
"Well, hey," the President of the United States said, a broad grin springing to his lips. "You must be the new intern." His eyes roamed over Jenny’s naked body, taking in her blonde hair, her pretty but blushing face, her 38CC breasts. . . . "Now, look, they all say I have to be more careful, but if you REALLY want a taste of Presidential power, I guess I could oblige." His hands were starting to move toward his zipper as he spoke. Jenny opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t force out a sound.
At that moment, the door burst open and people poured in. Some were uniformed Secret Service, others well-dressed men who must have been aides, advisers, staffers. A babble of voices filled the conference room.
"Mr. President! No! It’s probably some kind of trap set by Starr!"
"Remember what we talked about, Bill! Another incident could destroy everything!"
"Hot damn, that babe’s got great tits!"
"If Hillary sees you with that bimbo, you’ll be pushing up daisies at Arlington by the end of the week!"
Panic welled up in Jenny once again, and she ran past the President, pushing open one of the glass doors to race outside.
On the White House lawn, CNN cameraman Max Sheffield was feeling bored. With his camera trained on Wolf Blitzer, he half-listened to the reporter’s live commentary on the latest developments in the Starr investigation and White House reactions to them. Sheffield had given up a shot at working with Christianne Ammanpour over in Bosnia for this gig, and he was starting to regret his choice.
Nothing really exciting ever happened in Washington.
"Although privately many acknowledge that Bill Clinton’s future is hanging perilously in the balance," Blitzer was saying, "and any further revelations could ruin his hopes for holding on to his office, word from sources close to the President is that the watchword is ‘business as usual,’ all but ignoring the latest reports that Ken Starr is closing in . . ."
A naked woman ran behind Blitzer, straight through the camera shot. Sheffield hastily swung the lens to follow her, zooming in on a shapely ass and a great pair of long white legs pumping hard as she fled.
Sheffield grinned and kept on shooting. You didn’t see things like this in Bosnia, he told himself happily