In the Oval Office (Confession) by jungis1

In the Oval Office (Confession)

Dear Mr. Starr:

Being duly sworn and deposed, I hereby state for the Grand Jury record the following:

First, I am so sick of all the legalisms of late that I feel as though I should apologize for that opening line even though you said it has to be there.

Thank you so much for your past kindness during and after my still secret testimony before the Grand Jury. I very much appreciate your support through the more sordid parts of what I had to say. All of this has not been easy on me. My mother, whom you have of course met on a few occasions, has been supportive in her own way, but your report now has its own momentum, like a freight train on which I am the principal passenger -- along with the President.

I guess I can understand your need for even more detail if your charges indeed do lead to impeachment, and I am grateful that you are allowing me to provide them in writing rather than in front of all those people on the Grand Jury. I should tell you at this point that my mother will be editing this document so that I keep on track. Again, she has been very helpful to me during and after my encounters with the President. In fact it was my mother -- and my therapist wholeheartedly agreed -- who suggested that I refer to him only as 'the President'. It's important for me to keep that distance as I relate the details of my last encounter with him.

Despite my continued presence in the White House, I rarely got to see the President, at least until we devised the plan that I would show up at the agreed upon time to bring him 'papers.' He was always meeting with so many important people that it was difficult even for me to get him alone. Maybe it was the President's way of covering himself, but he told me to always come with a folder with even blank pages so he could state honestly, "Sure we were alone for a moment or so -- she brought some papers." It worked for a long time.

When I testified before you and the Grand Jury, I wasn't totally forthcoming. There is more to my tale, but since you didn't ask about it specifically, I didn't volunteer the information. I didn't know whether I was right or wrong, but the way the President has distanced himself from me -- and I do love him very dearly still -- has hurt me deeply. Therefore, I came to you yesterday about it.

My last sexual encounter with the President wasn't in May 1997, as I told you earlier. There was one more in June.

The President was in the hallway when I called out to him, saying I had papers for him, waving the folder like it held the Constitution in it. Looking somber, he frowned and said, "Um, bring them to the Oval Office and wait for me there."

I was wearing the outfit he really liked the most: a tight sweater and slacks, and the red lingerie that he had bought me. I sat in his chair and waited until he came in. "Hello, sugar," he said.

That was our little code. I was his sugar, and he was the Boss. I think it added to his excitement when we called each other those names. I knew the way he liked to set the scene. Given how little time we had, we both knew this had to happen without much delay.

The President sat on the edge of his desk and said to me, "Sugar, I told you that we can't do this anymore."

Well, we had been through that, and he knew that I thought our relationship was more than just my providing a service. I guessed he really felt the same way, and I was right. When I walked over to him, suggestively swaying my hips, his eyes were on my breasts.

I put my arms around him and kissed him. His lips parted immediately and I knew what would make the Boss -- the President, I mean -- happy. While he stroked my back, his hand playing with my bra straps through my sweater, I reached down and fondled his cock, finally unzipping his pants and reaching in. The President pulled my sweater up over my breasts, his squeezing hands soon replaced by his lips. He liked me to wear tight bras that pushed my breasts up, and he liked to nip and suck my nipples while he loosened my pants.

I started to go on my knees, but he held me against him. "The Boss can't resist you when you're dressed like that, sugar." He turned me around so my butt was against his cock. He rubbed my breasts, telling me how much he liked young, firm tits with stiff nipples. My slacks were around my knees, so he had an easy time putting his hand in my panties.

I was so wet and hot. I told him, "I want some of that presidential sugar, Boss."

As I went on my knees, he pulled my sweater over my head and tossed it on the chair. He leaned against the desk while I loosened his belt and tugged his trousers down. His boner was huge, the way I always remember it, and I stroked it through his underwear (for the MTV record, he was wearing jockey shorts) while I licked his inner thighs. I reached inside, pulled his cock free, and kissed it.

"Suck me, sugar," he said. "You know how I like it."

The President had told me that mine was the tightest cunt he had ever been in, that he loved the resistance it gave before he penetrated. He didn't want to have any more intercourse because of the obvious risks, so I learned to hold my lips tight so he could push past them the way he did that one time with my cunt.

"You want to fuck my tight cunt-mouth, Boss?" I looked straight up at him as he stood with his cock poised in front of my face.

He put one hand behind my head and pulled me toward him, the head of his cock now pushing hard against my lips, his other hand fondling my breasts. I was so hot, I loved him so much, and I knew I would be near him forever. It felt so good when his boner pushed into my mouth to be welcomed by my tongue. I held my head still while he pumped his hips, pushing his cock in and out of my mouth.

"Mr. President?" It was his secretary, Mrs. Currie, down the hall.

I pushed the President against his desk and took over. I sucked his cock as fast and as hard as I could, licking its length while stroking it with my hand. I stroked and sucked, my hand slippery with my saliva. The President had pulled my bra cups down so my breasts were in his hands while I tried to make him cum. His fingers tightened on my naked nipples as I brought him finally to climax.

He exploded in my mouth silently. I loved the taste of his cum and he gave me the largest load ever. I was careful to swallow it all, though I gagged at the volume. But I swallowed every drop, careful that none of his delicious cum leaked onto his clothing.

"Mr. President?" Mrs. Currie's voice was louder.

As the President pulled his pants up and buckled his belt, I ran into the bathroom to adjust my own clothing. Then I flushed the toilet and washed my hands as though I was in there answering a call of nature. When I came out, Mrs. Currie was talking to the President. I said hello to her.

"Oh, it's you," she said, with some relief. "What are you doing here?"

There I was, the person closest to the President of the United States, and his secretary had the gall to ask why I was in the Oval Office? But I knew the answer.

"I was bringing him some papers."

That's it, Mr. Starr. There is now nothing more I can offer your Grand Jury. Despite what happened and the political mess it has caused, I remain hopeful that, whatever happens, you'll know that I will always love the President. Outside of this mess, I can assure you that he has always been like a father to me.

Signed under the pains and penalties of perjury,
Chelsea Clinton

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