Ann was thinking of him. It was the night of the big convention speech and Mitt had just delivered a rousing performance to crowd of cheering sycophants. The thought of his body beneath his ever-present tailored suit was all the sweeter after hearing the ease with which he let the lies roll over his tongue, a tongue she would put to good use later. Mitt was out celebrating with his closest associates and subordinates and he would be home soon, drunk on caviar and too much honey-spiked milk. But tonight was no normal evening that would end in their typical routine of sitting across from each other at the table reading the book of mormon, for tonight Ann was giving a forbidden gift. They would make love in a hotel suite for the first time in their long marriage.

Many thought their union was one of passionless luxury where lovemaking was reserved only for the practice of creating life, but they knew not the depths of their lust. Ann was long past her childbearing years and things had only gotten better... They had embraced as man and woman literally several times in the last few decades. But things had to be perfect to set the mood in this unfamiliar place. Mitt was never able to perform away from the security of one of his 11 mansion bedrooms, and the mere presence of light caused his frail member to retreat back to it's home deep within his graying loins. But Ann was going to combat his sexual shame with her most powerful weapon for the first time in years. She would display her fully nude form to him.

The thought of the coming union had her in stitches as she noticed she was slightly less dry than the hours before, an encouraging sign for things to come. To grab his attention and direct him toward their eventual congress Ann left a trail of crisp 100 dollar bills from the suite foyer, through the den and viewing room, past the double showers and hot tubs, down both hallways, then finally to master bedroom where she stripped to sheer nothingness and laid across the silk sheets in the candlelight. He would be back soon.

The faint sound of the keycard lock beeping betrayed Mitt's presence to her. The soles of his italian leather shoes tapped lightly across the marble tile floors as he navigated his way to his prize, stopping every few moments to stoop down and snatch up the discarded bills. Then the doorknob turned and the hallway light shot through the room.

"Dear, you must be more careful with your pocket change. Do you have any idea how many poor people I had to fire to make that?" Mitt stated absent-mindedly as he obliviously marched past the bed, removing his $3,000 jacket and placing it neatly in the closet with all the others. It was then that he turned and saw her.

"Good gracious, Ann! Have you forgotten yourself? You're laying in our bed... indecent as the day you were born!" He shouted as he averted his eyes, clearly startled and embarrassed.

"Tonight's the night, Willard." She said softly. "Now let's make the maid staff earn their meager wages tomorrow!"

Mitt finally looked up, lust in his eyes. He could hardly believe his luck. Tonight he was introduced to america by dirty harry, and now this? He hastily removed his fine garments, taking careful effort to fold them neatly at the foot of the bed before crawling up to meet her. He took a few minutes of silent time kneeling over her, but not nearly as long as normal. Ann knew better than to look up. She knew he was busy trying to make it work, and her gaze would only make him nervous and frightened. The act would commence in patient time if she waited silently.

The warmth of his pasty flesh was all around her, and the soft, rhythmic grunting noises were her only cue that Mitt was in progress. The sweet smell of honey milk was breathing onto the canvass of the bed, making her yearn to taste it second-hand. He was an animal, unlike the mild-mannered man she married so many years ago. At one point Ann thought he might be trying to pull her hair, but it turned out his had was just awkwardly propped on the softness of the mattress.

Then the sturdy effort ceased as dramatically as it had started. Mitt leaned back and wiped his forehead only to find it yielded no sweat, then whispered his apologies and retreated to the master bath. Ann redressed herself in her jammies and climbed back into bed to the sounds of muffled sobbing through the bathroom door.

It was even better than she could have wished in her wildest dreams.

Mitt let the heavy oak door close behind him, exhausted after a long day of private jets, rehearsed speech, and routine dishonesty. He had been building a public persona for years now and was just a few short months from reaping the rewards of his effort, but found that he had increasing appreciation for the few days every month that he was able to get back home to one of his beloved estates. The house smelled of pristine pinewood and sterile leather, clear hallmarks of Consuela's labor. Mitt smiled naturally for the first time in months at the thought of his mexican housekeeper working frantically in anticipation of his judging inspection of the property.

 As he poured himself a stiff glass of milk to wind down after the long campaign trail week a buzzing alerted him to a notice on his blackberry. Drinking deeply as he read the calendar event his smile stretched across his face once again as he realized that tonight was the first of a pre-arranged six agreed upon romantic encounters with Ann that they mutually scheduled during a husband/wife mediation session just two months ago. It excited him to know that somewhere in the house Ann laid in wait, fully clothed and eager to put her womanly commitment behind her.

 Mitt took off two of his jackets and cast them to the floor, knowing full well that Consuela would have them cleaned and pressed within the hour, and draped his final jacket over his forearm as he marched down several hallways to the heart of the compound. As he opened the large double doors to the master suite he was greeted by the image of his post-menopausal conquest, sitting at the opposite edge of a double-king sized bed, staring longingly out a locked reinforced glass window. She looked like an angel clad only in her delicate full-body holy undergarments.

 "Let's get this over with" She said without turning to meet his gaze "we have a lot of praying to do after, and I'm exhausted." She always knew what to say to get him nearly erect.

 He made a show of disrobing for her, and knew she appreciated the effort despite her refusal to look at him. The ritual was a formality now that she was unable to bear children, and her unwillingness to give herself over for unproductive pleasure only made the act more hot for Mitt. Getting what he wanted from a reluctant party was how he made his living, and now it was how he made his loving, too. Now down to nothing but his cotton vestments and socks, he crawled over the vast real estate of the bed as Ann rolled onto her back with legs spread wide, pulling apart the flap of cotton at her groin and exposing the pale dryness beneath. Mitt took a moment to gaze at the rare glimpse of unshaven hair that formed a halo around his target like the medieval-era haircut of a friar, and met her eyes as he pulled a partially turgid member from inside his magical underpants.

 He took his place at her ankles, kneeling with four inches of hot flesh in his hands, and used his index finger as a splint to wedge his penis in her warmth. Her disinterested grunt rang notice of his success as he fell upon her, thrusting an arrhythmic dance atop her motionless body.

 He went on for literally minutes, unsuccessfully convincing her to shift her backside to the left until a bead of sweat formed at his brow. In a moment of sheer panic at the thought of ruining his finely-sculpted hair he uttered a few passionate but quiet howls, determined to convince her that he managed to copulate with her to fruitful conclusion for the first time in many years before slumping over her and kissing at her neck until she pulled back in disgust. His now limp penis has pressed against the cotton-covered surface of her thigh, having been unknowingly dislodged at some point during the act. Mitt silently folded it back into his underwear and proceeded to the vast marble sanctuary of the restroom to wash the shame from his loins, leaving Ann to commence her repentant prayer alone.

When he returned he nodded his approval at her cooperation in the act, then retired to his own room triumphantly, encouraged by the thought of his next opportunity to attempt the act next month. One day, when he was president, she would relent and allow him to try it the

forbidden

way. Indeed, the first night they shared a bed in the White House he would get what he always wanted. Ann would be on top.

The End.