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Modern White Democrat Porn


Oval Office, The White House

June 14, 2015


The year was 2015, and President Obama’s second term was coming to its fateful close against a backdrop of sex, scandal, and madness. A year from now, the election would be upon them, and the Obama-Biden dream team had much to discuss. Every day, the pair would toil day in, day out, constantly on top of each other, their passions colliding...


Barack Obama is poised triumphantly at his desk in the Oval Office in his best summer attire, full calves on display. In saunters Joe Biden in his famous sunglasses. He pulls them down slightly to take a peek at Bama’s sexy gams and then sits down across from him.

“Joe, my man,” Obama cooes, eyeing his vice’s strong frame up and down. “What brings you in?”

Biden shrugs innocently as his cheeks flush a girlish pink. He traces his finger along Obama’s desk and gazes up at the president wantingly. “I think you know.”

The tension in the office begins to grow thiccer than a pedophilic reality star that hadn’t yet run for president. Beads of hot, forbidden sweat gather on Obama’s brow.

Biden reaches out and caresses Obama’s shoulder, tracing his bicep through his white collared shirt, his grip firm but his gaze even firmer. A timid hand reaches down toward his flyover state, no longer to be neglected. Obama sheepishly looks away while biting his Republican colored lips.

“Joe, I don’t know about this.”

“But Barry--”

“No! It’s unconstitutional.”

Biden places a finger over Obama’s moist, quivering lips. “Shhh,” Biden whispers in his ear. “Will you shut up, man?”

In the midst of their passion, the door swings open. Both heads whip around to witness the intruder: Rachel, the white female gardener and chair of the Presidential diversity coalition, a title she earned after organizing the single Guest Star of Color on Lena Dunham’s Girls.

“Oh, Rachel, it’s you,” Obama says, jumping out of Biden’s strong arms. “How much did you hear?”

“Oh, I heard plenty,” Rachel retorts, her eyes squinting in suspicion (but, like, not in a racist way).

“Rachel, uh, it’s not what you think, uh....Joe and I were just, uh, having sex.” Panicked, Obama grabs Biden’s rock-hard glutes and flips him onto the desk, tearing his old man slacks off with his teeth. In one swift motion, Obama enters him. Biden moans with pleasure at the sensation of Obama’s mighty scepter of power. All at once, his synapses are restored; he has rediscovered the cognitive abilities of his youth. Excited by the commotion, Rachel cuts her clothes off with her gardening shears (#GirlBoss) and joins in. Just as Obama is about to finish, Isaac, the Secret Service officer who had been standing in the room stoically this entire time, begins to play Hail to the Chief triumphantly from his flugelhorn.

Once again, the door to the Oval Office swings open, this time pushed by Hillary Clinton’s 10-inch elephant trunk strap-on. She marches over to Obama’s desk, now covered in that priceless substance known as the “Sasha-maker”, and rests her foot on top. From her crotch came a glowing, angelic light rivaled by none other than God’s warm embrace. “Guess you haven’t been watching my Youtube channel boys”.

Biden and Obama look at Hillary like two supple young does caught in the headlights and dumbfoundedly muster a “What?”

She continues, “I know what you’re up to, and just to let you know, you’re not getting away with it. I’ll get you, my pretties, and you’re little Bo, too!”

“The only way to cure racism in this country is with a third Obama term!” Biden proclaims. “We must prove that poor kids are Just. As. Smart. as the white kids. After all, Obama sends drone strikes to our hearts.”

“No,” Rachel interjects, gliding over to Hillary’s side. “I already solved it. Today. With my colleagues, Grayson, Tyler, and Asher at the diversity coalition.” Biden looks down at his penis in shame. “Misogyny is the only ill left,” Rachel states, turning over a portrait of a ripped Native American man wearing nothing but a loincloth.

Obama and Biden exchange disappointed glances. One by one, they grab Rachel’s gardening shears up off the floor and remove from themselves their long rods of misogyny. Satisfied, Rachel and Hillary Clinton unite their vaginas in holy cervix-mony and rocket through the roof of the White House and back to the heavens, where they would remain until it was time to Pokemon Go to the polls. On the floor of the Oval Office, the two former leaders lay holding each other as they bleed out from their dick holes. Underneath them, the winning strategies for the upcoming Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and Michigan elections slowly become drenched in a pool of bodily fluids, but high above, in the Heavens, Hillary Clinton and young Rachel have already begun to bask in their everlasting glory. ‘Cause they had this one in the bag, bitches. #Clinton2016


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