Throat Goat: Let’s Make a Deal

Throat Goat: Let's Make a Deal

Author's Note: This story is fictional and does not describe real events or any celebrities' true sexuality or personal lives. The timeline was adjusted so as to not be confused with anyone who has held office.

Clara Bell settled down on the wooden library chair, its surface unforgiving to her already tired body. Her college classes were particularly tough this semester, so exhaustion was a constant state of being. Plus, she was still annoyed at the librarian who smirked at her name when Clara checked in. She still resented the fact than her parents had given her that stupid name. Bell was fine for a last name. But Clara? And Clara Bell? What the fuck were her parents thinking when they named her? Maybe it was cute when she was four years old, but now that she was in college? Her fellow students still snickered when their professors called her name during roll.

She opened the book sitting on the table in front of her. "The 1990 Presidential Election: Jonathan Fagan", was a heavy book. Large, like an encyclopedia, but fortunately with more pictures as she flipped through its glossy pages. Images of John and Sally Fagan stared back at her, as if wondering why she opened this book.

Clara's Civics professor had assigned her students to study one of the modern era presidential candidates during their election cycle and write a ten-to-fifteen-page analysis on what actions affected the outcome. Clara powered up her laptop, formatted her document and began taking notes.

While this book wasn't an encyclopedia, it was as dry as any reference tome she'd ever read. Thank God there are pictures! she sighed. While they didn't help her with her analysis, the pictures did keep her from falling asleep. After two hours, she needed a break.

She looked across the table at Christy, her study buddy, who looked like she was struggling as well. "Hey Christy, I need to take a walk. Can you watch my stuff?"

Her buddy nodded listlessly, so Clara grabbed her purse and left for the bathroom in the promenade area, just outside the library. Once done in there, she walked over to the vending machines and bought a bottle of Coke, hoping the caffeine and sugar would help carry through for another two hours. Clara sat on a bench and pulled her phone out to check her social media accounts. She rolled her eyes and sighed, as there was nothing but boredom there as well.

She switched over to her web browser and searched for different political references, hoping for something a little more exciting for her research. After about five minutes of searching and scrolling, she found a reference to a name she hadn't seen or heard of before. Clara was a history major specializing in post-war US History, and she was intrigued. It was a book that mentioned a certain "Silver-Tongued Devil", which was certainly unique. It was no Deep Throat of the Nixon era, but she was still captivated. Clara opened the library's online catalogue and, hoping for a miracle, searched for it.

Wow... they have it!

Shoving her phone and the remaining Coke in her purse, Clara scrambled back to the library. She wanted that book!

Rather than the Political Science section, Clara was directed to the Sociology area. That seemed odd to her since the books there studied human societies, social structures, and institutions. Not where she expected to find a book whose information supposedly impacted Fagan's 1990 election as President. But there it was, a small, thin paperback with a picture of the White House on the front and a short excerpt on the back.

The Silver-Tongued Devil, unknown in Washington's polite circles, had a role to play in the selection of the nominee for President. Look inside for details of the sordid deal that built a President who held office for eight years. It's a secret that has remained a mystery to the public at large.

Clara's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She stumbled backwards, her butt striking the books on the opposite shelf snapped her to attention. If this information inside was true, how come this wasn't more well known?

It can't be true... can it?

Nevertheless, she took the book with her back to her study table and nodded at Christy, who rose to take her own break. Clara settled back down on the hard chair, sneaked another swallow of her Coke before any staff could catch her, then opened the book. It was written in a third-person point of view, as various facts about the electoral process were discussed, intermixed with details of the approaching convention in Louisiana.

In May of 1989, with the convention a month away, Howard Kush mysteriously dropped out of the race for the Presidential nomination and directed his followers to back Fagan, who was now a lock for the nomination and a face-off with then-President Timmy Barter in the fall.

Flipping forward a few pages, Clara found first-person excerpts that offered the inside scoop. As she sped through the lines, it appeared to be a story told by Sally Fagan herself. But no, Clara said to herself, that couldn't be. Would Sally have written a secret memoir? Had someone stolen her diary? Clara read on as it flipped into a first-person narrative that would shock any reader.

I blew Howard, the evil little fucker. Those Ivy League assholes were all the same, arrogant, small dicked, and quick to pull the trigger. Howard was no different than the rest.

Pathetic.

But I felt like I had to do it. Johnny needed my help and this was my forte. No one outside of his senior campaign team knew at the time, but fundraising was down and didn't look like it would improve any time soon. Kush had been more resilient and performed better in the debates than had been hoped. There was a month until the convention and then what looked to be a brutal fall campaign against the corn farmer from Iowa.

Our chances didn't look good.

I knew Kush wanted me. The cocky deviant that he was, dropped a not-so-subtle hint at the last debate when Johnny was going over his notes with his campaign manager. Apparently, my deep throat skills weren't a secret anymore. Linda Lovelace had nothing on me.

I knew what had to be done and there was no way I was going to send someone else to do my dirty work. That wasn't the work ethic we Fagan's lived by. It wasn't the principle Johnny promoted during his speeches. I had to step up. For Johnny. For my husband.

Unfortunately, I couldn't shake my own Secret Service agent. I was at least able to get him to stop at the end of the hall down from Kush's hotel suite. His left eyebrow raised at my order to "stay here". He knew something questionable was going to happen. But I didn't see any judgement in his eyes, which I was thankful for. Not that it would have stopped me.

My polite knock was answered by one of Kush's Secret Service agents, who ushered me inside without a word. I quickly looked around the suite, noting it was a little larger and more resplendent than ours. Fucker. Money wasn't a problem for his campaign. I felt a little more desperate to make this deal.

Negotiations were completed quicker than I had anticipated. Upon reflection, I realized the asshole must have already contemplated dropping out but was able to use it as an excuse to get at my mouth and throat. Well, just my mouth as his dick couldn't reach my throat.

The act itself didn't take much longer than the negotiations, and that's only because I struggled with his zipper. I wiped my lips clean with one hand as the other grabbed the edge of his desk to help support my fifty-five-year-old knees as I stood. Good thing he didn't take a long time... I wouldn't have been able to stand if I had been on my knees much longer.

But the bastard had other plans.

"No, Sally, you're not done yet," he said with a glint in his eye. He was going to get his pound of flesh from me, directly or indirectly.

"Steven, Randy, step forward."

Oh shit, I had forgotten about his burly Secret Service agents. They both smirked, having watched the show, and I quickly evaluated them as they stepped out from the shadows.

"Back down on your knees, Sally. My favorite Secret 'Service' agents need to get serviced too." With that little joke, he giggled like the twit he was.

I shook my head. "No more knees, but I'm willing to try a different position." I liked the look of the agents, so this wasn't going to be distasteful work on my part, not like Howard had been. No, these hunks would get the taste of Ivy League wimp out of my mouth. These studs were delicious in a manly way. Even with their black suits I could see healthy bodies underneath just by gauging how they filled out the stiff black material. Bulges began to form on each as I tried to keep my mouth from watering.

Bless his heart, but my Johnny couldn't take care of me anymore. I'll love him forever, but I still have my needs, dammit.

Clara set the book down, opened her laptop and began typing. After the fifth line, she stopped. There was no way she could use this material in her analysis as it wasn't a properly documented reference book. There was no way to prove that Sally Fagan wrote this. It could have been written by some sixty-year-old man for all she knew. She closed the laptop and turned her attention back to the book. Real or not, the story was too fascinating to put down.

I was still near the desk, noting how sturdy it was and made my choice. I shoved the paperwork off, clearing a spot for my body and climbed on top while Howie complained as he picked up the papers. I eased onto my back, knees up with my feet flat on the surface, leaving my head and neck hanging over the edge while I heard the sound of two zippers dropping.

I grabbed the first erect cock that loomed into view and gave it a few gentle strokes. The other cock went straight to my mouth; the crown nestled in just past my lips as I heard a groan above me. At my angle, my nose absorbed all the smells of a man, and I actually felt a tingle in my pussy. A tingle! I hadn't felt that in too many years and hummed on the cock in my mouth as it slowly pushed deeper.

I continued stroking the other fellow, I never learned which one was Steve and which one was Randy. It didn't matter. I had two hard, large cocks and I couldn't be bothered with anything else. I felt the cock in my mouth tap on my throat. Now was the time for the test. It had been a few years so I wasn't sure I could handle a thick cock down my throat anymore. But not only did I want this now, it was good practice as I could see myself helping my Presidential husband when he was in office. Negotiations could take all forms, and nothing should be left off the table in matters of National Security. I'm an American dammit. There is nothing I won't do for my country!

I slid cock 1 out of my mouth and promptly swallowed cock 2. Again, the delightful smells of a man's balls entered my nose as I inhaled deeply. I jumped a little as a hand grasped my left tit. Must have been cock 1, judging by the angle. Whatever, I certainly had no complaints about a titty massage. Cock 2 put his hand on my right tit and massaged it as well. I hummed my appreciation on his cock as it slowly pushed into my throat.

I gurgled at his intrusion, saliva rolled down my cheeks and dripped onto the floor. His thrusts were slow and gentle, perfect for me to get used to having my throat stuffed with manmeat. It was amazing! I felt magnificent as his pace increased.

I was shocked once more as I felt two thin hands grab my pantyhose and pull them down to my knees. Then my panties quickly followed. Oh... My... God... Was Mr. Blueblood actually going to lick my pussy? Did they teach that at Yale? Sure enough, I felt a trembling tongue slide over my labia and up to my clit, circling it. Okay. I'll take that action any day. But I still had two cocks to service and cum to drink.

Clara turned page after page, fascinated by this sordid story. With a little work, one could turn this into a decent erotica tale. Certainly, it was something she would be thinking about when Clara went to bed, alone again, tonight. Well, she did have her magic wand to keep her company.

I switched cocks as I felt cock 1 must me a little lonely by now, even with my warm hand stroking it. The nice thing was, cock 2 was soaked in my spit and it made for easier stroking, keeping him closer to the edge. Cock 1 quickly got up to speed as my throat muscles were already relaxed. My nipples were hard as their surprisingly adept fingers stroked and tugged the stiff buds to my delight.

Howie's tongue was an astonishing joy. It made many laps up and down, licking from my clit to my rosebud and back up again. I never would have thought he was that talented. A deviant? Yeah, I could see that. But he struck me as one of those men who only wanted head, never gave it. However, he was into it. No longer trembling, that tongue moved with purpose and I was ecstatic. Between his attentions and the feel of a cock in my hand while another was in my mouth was bringing me closer to my own edge.

I had come here thinking it was only going to be Kush getting his need taken care of. But now, with two strapping hulks taking turns on my throat and Howie painting my pussy with his tongue, it was about to be an orgasm extravaganza!

I gurgled again as more saliva was pushed out of my mouth by cock 1. His balls were rubbing across my nose, as he was that deep in my throat. I flailed my tongue at his shaft and used my throat muscles to squeeze on his spongy head. I could hear him grunt above me. Man grunts are my favorite song!

His voice strained as I felt his thick cock get even bigger, somehow finding space in my already tight throat. His fingers pinched hard on my nipple, I loved it, as his cum shot down my throat, stream after stream. I was lost my lust, as normally I try to pull a fella out a little so he can paint my tongue, but I was bewildered in that moment.

I sucked hard as he slipped free, pulling whatever semen I could from his softening rod, then swirled it around my mouth enjoying the flavor. I swallowed, then promptly turned back to cock 2. There was no gentleness this time. No going slowly. My strokes had him on his edge, so he pushed deep, balls on my face and his head lodged in my throat.

I milked that cock with my throat muscles as he just held it there. I swear I heard him whimper. Both of his hands held my head in place.

As if I was going anywhere. Ha!

He had me pinned up top and I was just about to explode down below. I just needed one more thing...

Cock 2 groaned loud and exploded. Again, shooting down my welcoming throat. I was too far gone to care. One load down, another load was dumping into me while that tongue flayed away. I saw white stars exploding on a field of blue as my orgasm rocked me hard. I hadn't come like this in years and I relished it! My body quivered on the desk as my thin thighs squeezed Howie's head.

Cock 2 slowly slid out of my mouth and again, I did my best to suck any semen clean from its surface. I lay there in a bliss I hadn't felt in far too long. Damn, having an impotent husband sucked!

I felt my panties and pantyhose roughly pulled back into place. Well, close enough. Kush had the manners to help me up and get me settled onto my feet, though my legs were still a little weak. As I rearranged my underthings, Kush acknowledged the deal was done.

"Okay, Sally. You have your deal. I'll call the media tomorrow and announce that I'm dropping out of the race."

I simply nodded and turned for the door. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a "thank you," even though he'd licked me to a wonderful orgasm. I still didn't like the little twerp. Cock 1 was there and opened the door for me, even gave me a quick kiss on my way out as I squeezed his junk through his slacks.

My Secret Service agent met me outside the suite. A friendly smirk spread across his face when he saw the condition I was in. I knew I was a mess, hair out of place, makeup streaked, dress wet in places it shouldn't be. I stood tall in front of Agent Karsten. No shame, no guilt on my face. It was something I did for Johnny. For our country and yes, even a little bit for me.

"Something you'd like to say to me, Agent Karsten?"

"No, ma'am..."

Somehow, he had found a small towel and had fetched my overcoat from the car. I hid a smile, as I decided right then I was going to reward him soon as well. But I could see the wheel turning in his head. There was something there.

"Are you sure?"

His smirk didn't waver.

"Well, ma'am... just that your reputation preceded you. And I can see from your appearance that you're still the Throat Goat."

With that, he nodded his head with respect and helped me with my coat.

Clara put the book down with trembling fingers, feeling alert and energized at what she had just read. She jumped when Christy returned and wondered what she must have looked like as she poured over this book. This felt like political intrigue. Hell, it was political intrigue. How was this story published with no fanfare? Why wasn't this in her history books?

She looked up the publisher on her phone and found that they were legit. So, Clara assumed the story was legit as well.

The actions written there should have ended the Kush Dynasty before it even started. Clara checked the year it was published. 2018, the same year Howard died and two years after Sally had passed away. So, they were safe from any scandal. After Fagan served two terms as president, Kush had also been voted into office and served his terms, with little glory or drama. So, he was able to enjoy his presidency without this particular stain impacting his image.

Somehow, despite Washington, D. C.'s insidious rumor mill, this story remained a secret until 2018 and, frankly, was still a secret to this day.

History should show that if it were not for Sally Fagan, Johnny's Throat Goat, he likely would never have been elected as the President of the United States.

How about that? Sally turned out to be an even more influential player in the political scene than Clara had previously thought. She was a woman to admire... perhaps even a woman to emulate.

Huh, Clara thought reflectively of her name. "Sally Bell"... it has a nice ring to it.

The End