Broken by the President

“Oh, Elliott! You’ve finally arrived.”

“Yep…another night on the job.” My voice reverberates in the palatial chamber.

My coworker smiles and pats me on the back before departing, leaving me alone for the night shift. This isn’t just any old custodian job though—I’m on the service staff at the White House. I’m a housekeeper for the President of the United States.

These types of jobs aren’t advertised—you need a connection to get in. Fortunately for me, my uncle works as an economic advisor to the president. He got me this role, and it’s been a great experience. I work here at night, go to college in the morning, and then sleep during the day. I’m basically nocturnal at this point, but I don’t mind. Somebody’s gotta do this job, and I take pride in it.

My footsteps echo in the cavernous hall. Polished marble floors reflect moonlight pouring in through grand floor-to-ceiling windows. Antique portraits of past presidents hang on the walls, their eyes seeming to follow me as I move. This place is a home, a workplace, and a museum. As a member of the staff, it’s important for me to blend in. I’m expected to melt into the walls, doing my work without being noticed. Each morning when the president wakes up, it’s like his house has been cleaned by magic.

Holding a feather duster, I open the door to the Oval Office. The ancient hinges emit a soft squeal, piercing the silence of the night. This is a room rich in history. As the president’s formal office, it’s here that he conducts business and makes decisions that affect the world. During the day, it’s a stately symbol of power and prestige. At night though, it’s a peaceful, ornate monument to the nation’s past.

Two cream-colored sofas and a small coffee table stand in the center of the room. At one end of the space, a heavy oaken desk is positioned ahead of soaring windows flanked by gold drapery. At the other end, portraits of past presidents hang suspended over an elegant fireplace. Marble busts of historical figures line the perimeter, set beneath elaborate plasterwork on the ceiling. Gentle moonlight pours through the windows and bathes the chamber, giving it an almost mystical aura.

I enter, leaving the lights off to admire this rare scene…but the sound of a door opening causes me to freeze.

Light bursts from above as the president flips the switch. Dressed in a set of tailored blue pajamas, he stares at me with a surprised look in his eyes.

“M-Mr. President!” I drop my duster.

“Please, you can call me Stan. No need to be so formal.” His shocked expression softens. “I didn’t expect anyone to be in here this late.”

He steps inside, allowing the light to bathe his tall, imposing figure. Beneath his pajamas, his burly physique bulges and ripples with each step. His wide shoulders and full pecs are a testament to his commitment to fitness despite the extreme demands of his job.

His face is striking and authoritative—sharp cheekbones and a square jawline accentuated by a light dusting of stubble. His dark blond hair is swept to the side, projecting an effortlessly manicured air. Thick, bushy eyebrows rest above his deep blue eyes. The wrinkles lining his face signal a long life of grit and determination. Despite his intimidating figure, he has a strange sort of charisma that’s always drawn me toward him. He’s a natural leader.

“I-I’m sorry, sir—I mean Stan.” My face flushes. “I’ll leave and let you work.”

“No, stay a while.” He sits down at his desk. “I was having trouble sleeping, and I could use some company.”

I hesitate for a moment, trying to process his words. He’s arguably the most powerful man in the world, and he wants to talk to…me? I’m just a housekeeper…a janitor.

I take unsteady steps toward one of the couches and sit down. I look at him from across the room while he leans back in his chair. It’s like I’m a young student being called to the principal’s office to be disciplined. There’s a weird vibe here.

“Um…what do you want to talk about?” I ask.

“Tell me about yourself. I like getting to know my staff.”

“Oh…well, my name is Elliott, and I just started my first semester of college. I’m studying computer science, and I want to become a video game designer.”

“That’s definitely not an industry I’m familiar with.” He lets out a deep laugh. “So, you work while going to school?”

“Yes, sir. I work here at night, then go to school in the morning. I’m a first-generation college student, and I’m paying my own tuition. My parents have never had a lot of money.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. Reminds me of myself—my parents were farmers, you know. Anything is possible with hard work and a bit of luck. I’m a testament to that.”

“Yeah, you’re an inspiration.” I glance down at the ground.

“What about your personal life? Do you have a girlfriend?”

“N-no, sir. I don’t have time to date. I’m too busy.”

“Oh, c’mon, you can always make time to get some tight, wet pussy.” His voice grows quiet, the mood in the room shifting into something tense.

“W-what?!”

“I’m the fucking president, and even I find time to go out and get my dick wet on a regular basis.”

“B-but you’re married!”

“Keep this between you and me, but my marriage was a political alliance. My wife and I have an understanding—we see others on the side, and we never ask each other questions.”

“Wow…”

“What kind of girls do you like? Big boobs? No…you strike me as an ass boy.”

“Y-yeah…I like that. I’ve never actually been with a girl though. I’m still a virgin.”

I don’t know why I tell him something so personal, but he has a bizarre sort of magnetism that makes me want to trust him. My heart is beating so fast…what’s this feeling? I’m getting a bit dizzy and lightheaded.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get to taste ass when the time is right.” A lopsided smirk forms on his lips. “Tell me how you think I’m doing as president. And be honest—I always appreciate voter feedback. You’re the ones who put me in office, after all.”

I hesitate for a moment, stunned by the abrupt change of subject.