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Daddy Gives Me a Presidential Pounding
DESCRIPTION Irena's daddy is an arrogant, womanizing billionaire...and the next President of the United States! Daniel Blunt, real estate mogul and television star, has just been elected Commander-in-Chief, but with this unprecedented victory comes a personal defeat. If he's to run the country, he has to end his affair with his beautiful daughter Irena! The two sneak off to celebrate with one final night of passion. EXCERPT I screamed at the television. I threw the remote at the cheap hotel screen and cursed their children. Joe, standing beside my sister's children, covered their ears and told me to calm down. I whirled on him (it took all my willpower not to spit in his wormy face) and drew myself up to my full, imposing height. I'd gotten my legs from my mother and my height from my father, and I knew how to use both. "You listen to me, you gutless-" Daddy silenced me with a gesture. "Joe, boys, would you give us the room?" Joe started to protest but my brothers laid their hands on his shoulders and gingerly escorted him out. Paul and Taylor, Tanya's kids, followed close behind. Then the door shut and it was just me and daddy in his private suite. He placed his hand on my bare thigh. I was wearing a $12,000 Valentino sleeveless cocktail dress. A jeweled rainbow was sewn into the translucent neckline. With his other hand, he lightly traced an emerald constellation. "You've got to control that temper, baby." I wanted to scream at him, too. I wasn't his little girl anymore. I was 30-years-old, with companies of my own and a husband worth less than a third of my annual income. But when he looked me in the eye, when he drew his index finger under my chin, none of that mattered. I'd always be his little girl. "I can't bear it," I told him, my voice near to breaking. "I can't bear to hear them talk about you that way." He stroked my cheek. "Let 'em talk, baby." I swept his hand away. "Don't 'baby' me! You have to take this seriously!" The hand on my thigh tightened its grip. The fingers felt scalding hot. "I do," he said. He pressed his body close. "I take it very seriously, princess. And they can talk all they want, cause I'm gonna win." "How do you know that?" I whispered, my body shaking. The hand was sliding up my thigh. I knew the answer. It was always the same answer, but it thrilled me to ask and he knew it. He clutched my ass under the dress. "Because it's what I want. And I always get what I want." Then he grabbed the emeralds in my $12,000 Valentino and split it apart like tissue paper. His mouth met mine in a searing kiss and he filled his hands with my breasts. He pushed me down on the bed. "Let it all out, baby," he commanded. So I screamed. I screamed at the liberal media that dared to insult our family, I screamed at his crooked opponent who said she cared about the working class, I screamed at our own party full of inept and insubordinate dinosaurs. I screamed out my rage, and daddy pulled my hair and gave me a spanking. Later that evening I'd have to wear a new dress in front of my husband. No doubt he wondered what happened to the Valentino, but he didn't say a thing. He knew his place. In private, my brothers would whisper to my father that he had to be more careful, but they'd never push too hard. They knew their places too. I was his favorite. I had always been his favorite. Daddy was the only man who could tell me what to do.