American Mother

Authors' Note: This story is based on a very interesting and intriguing post I stumbled upon online about three years ago. It was titled "Nancy The Throat Goat."

For those of you who haven't heard of it, I suggest you google it. It's a fascinating... Conspiracy? Story? Rumor?

Disclaimer: All characters are over the age of 18 and are all fictional.

***

Washington D.C, 1984

11:47 P.M.

"You know, Harry," said a smooth feminine voice. "You really should get some rest."

President Harry Bolton looked behind him to meet his mother's gaze as she stepped into the dimly lit Oval Office. "I know, Mom," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's just... there's so much going on."

Kathy strolled towards him; her eyes flickered towards the folders and papers on his son's Resolute Desk. The room smelled faintly of the leather chair he sat in, mixed with the scent of cigars. She noticed the furrowed lines of concentration on Harry's forehead and the tension in his jaw.

Moving closer to him, Kathy placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," she said, taking his hand. "Let's sit down," she offered, her voice soothing and motherly.

"Sure," he sighed.

They settled down onto one of the plush couches, and Harry leaned back with a sigh while her mother sat right beside him. The comfort of the couch seemed to momentarily melt his tension away.

The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the distant murmur of the city beyond the walls of the White House.

"I thought you were asleep," Harry said.

"I thought you were asleep. Time flies when you're reading. I saw the light turned on from one of the library's windows," Kathy replied.

He sighed before speaking. "Mom, you know there's a lot I can't tell you."

Kathy smiled knowingly. "I know how it goes, dear. Your father used to tell me the exact same thing after those long nights. I never asked him to tell me anything, but sometimes he just did... on his own accord... I guess it gave him a little peace of mind knowing he wasn't talking to a general or an advisor."

"Dad's America was way different than this one."

She nodded. "In a way, perhaps but that is not necessarily a bad thing."

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "The situation with the Soviets keeps getting worse and worse. What has been years of tension has escalated to a waiting game to see who fires the first shot and some want us to be the first ones to pull the trigger... Two days ago, an East German national by the name of Dieter Gerhardt was arrested in New York for espionage..."

"Oh, my goodness."

"And his Russian handler, a man named Leonid Korsakov, was arrested a day later. I'm only telling you this because the FBI will go public two days from now... So don't say anything until then," Harry said with a cheeky smile.

Kathy smiled. "My lips are sealed, darling."

Although that didn't even begin to scratch the surface. Then he had the Cuban troops who had taken up positions on the Island of Grenada, and a few months back, Russian MiG fighters shot down a civilian airliner, South Korean flight 007, which Harry and the rest of the international community deemed a crime against humanity from one of the members of the Axis of Evil.

The idea that a German and a Russian national could be embedded so deep in the West was unnerving. Many in America had moved past the paranoia from the McCarthy era; many didn't believe in the Red Scare, but the KGB had long settled in the fabric of their freedom-loving society.

Spies, sleepers, handlers, and double agents like that piece of shit, traitor Klaus Fuchs, who sold atomic secrets, or those fucking Jews, the Rosenbergs. The enemy was already within the very walls of their most sacred institutions, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if the US was truly strong enough to win the race against the communists.

There were rumors about how the Soviet Union was an empire in decline, but that didn't make them any less dangerous.

Harry Bolton distinguished himself as one of the youngest candidates for the presidency within the Republican Party and subsequently became one of the youngest individuals to assume office. Throughout his campaign and following his electoral success, his young age compared to his predecessors had frequently been a source of criticism and a point of contention for the opposition as well as the public.

Age is no guarantee of experience. They were the guardians of the free world; Harry had to believe that his cause was just. He was the one responsible for carrying forward the Bolton legacy just as his father and grandfather had done before him.

Kathy could see her son's turmoil play out on his face; he looked so much like her late husband. She knew that look, having been married to a man who had once sat in that very chair. Politics was like a chess game where even the most skilled grandmasters get cornered.

Kathy's smile grew wider as she reached with one perfectly manicured hand and placed it on his thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You're doing just fine, Harry," she said softly. "Remember that you can't solve the problems of the world. There is a new problem every day. It's just impossible."

"Yeah, I know. I just... I just can't help but wonder if what I'm doing is right. If my decisions are the correct ones. Sometimes I wish I could ask dad... even if it's just one question."

"Ironic," Kathy smirked. "Your father used to say the same thing about his own father as he stared out the window. Many times, he wondered what 'his old man' would've done differently."

"Maybe I'm overthinking all of this." Harry said rubbing his eyes.

"Maybe just a little bit."

"Just remember one thing, dear." she continued.

"What's that, Mom?"

"Don't let those goddamn commie bastards win," she said with a small smile playing on her lips.

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the sudden irreverence from his always proper mother, filling the Oval Office with a moment of levity.

"I'll try my best, Mom." He smiled.

"I know you will, dear."

"I've missed you mom. I'm glad you came to visit... even though we haven't seen each other that much. Sorry about that." He said with a cheeky smile.

Kathy chuckled. "Oh, honey. You don't have to apologize. I knew very well you were going to be busy. I've missed you too. If anything... I think it's better this way. We can talk just the two us."

The room grew quiet, and the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner was the only sound to break the stillness. Kathy's hand remained on Harry's thigh, and her eyes drifted down to where her hand rested, her thumb now moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

Kathy kept rubbing his thigh, her hand moving higher with each stroke. "When is Rose coming back?" she asked in a low voice.

Harry's wife and First Lady of The United States, Rose Bolton, was in Paris for an all-women's UN summit... or as Kathy used to call it, the all-bullshit UN summit because it was nothing more than a glorified tea party where a handful of elite women gathered to pat each other on the back and pretend they were going to save the world from world hunger.

"In four days, if I'm not mistaken."

"Four days is a long time for a man like you," Kathy's smile grew mischievous. "Especially with all this... tension around you."

It was then that Harry noticed how close his mother was, and his gaze flickered down to where her hand was. The sight of her delicate fingers getting closer to his crotch sent a shiver up his spine. Her expensive perfume filled his nostrils, a womanly scent that made him want to get closer to her. The stress and frustrations of the presidency were making his body react in a way it hadn't in weeks.

Kathy could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension coiled within him like a spring ready to snap. She knew that this job was taking a toll on Harry; it was inevitable. His shoulders were tense, his jaw always tense, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Her movements grew more deliberate, her strokes more intimate as she watched the fabric of Harry's pants stretch taut against his growing arousal.

"Mom..." Harry whispered as he felt her hand getting closer to his raging erection, but her gaze never wavered. The room felt smaller, and the air was thick with a tension that was no longer political.

The soft glow of the dimly painted Oval Office surrounded them with a warm embrace. Kathy's beauty shimmered like a heavenly apparition highlighting the delicate contours of her features. Despite being in her sixties, Kathy Bolton maintained a timeless beauty that made any room stop. Her honey-blonde hair remained in a sleek bob that framed her face with elegance, a reminder of her days as a Hollywood actress.

Former First Lady Kathy Bolton exuded an almost regal elegance. When she was younger, the whispers of her almost uncanny resemblance to the legendary Lana Turner followed her.

Her piercing blue eyes, once at the center of many magazines and films, could still disarm even the most powerful men, and the conservative dresses she favored, though designed to be modest, only accentuated her sinful, hourglass figure she'd maintained with meticulous care.

Kathy gave him a smile that was anything but sweet... or motherly. "You know, dear," she said in a sultry voice, "I was born in Arkansas during a VERY different time. The day before I married your father, my mother took me to her room and sat me down. She told me that a good wife does four things. The first is that she supports him no matter what. Secondly, she greets him with a smile and a warm meal. Thirdly, she shuts the fuck up because the last thing a man wants after a long day is to go home and hear his wife nagging."

Harry's eyes widened as he heard his mother say

fuck.

Her eyes searched his, looking for any objection, but she knew he wouldn't object to anything. Kathy's eyes darkened as she leaned closer to Harry, her ample breasts pressing gently on his arm. "And the last thing, Harry," she murmured, "a good wife always provides her husband with a warm, tight, welcoming place to relieve his tension."

A shiver went up Harry's spine as he felt a finger trace the length of his shaft through his pants. "Mom... shit" His mind was reeling; he was unsure of what to do or say.

Her smile never wavered. "Rose is a good woman, dear. She is a great mother. I can tell she loves you very much, and you love her as well," her blue eyes sparkled with wickedness as she lazily traced his length with her finger, "but she's always been a little... how do I say it? A little bit of a prude."

"A-A prude?"

"Mhm, you don't even have to tell me. I can see it from a mile away. Call it a woman's intuition, dear." Her hand closed around his erection, and Harry groaned. It had been months since he had felt the gentle caress of a beautiful woman; she rubbed his length down his thigh, her palm rubbing over the fabric with a smooth, practiced ease that belied her conservative exterior.

Harry's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and desire, the taboo nature of the act only serving to excite him more. He knew it was wrong, that this was not what a mother should do for her son, but he was powerless to stop her.

Harry didn't know what was happening. He thought he might've fallen asleep in his office chair, and this was some kind of twisted dream. His mother was the epitome of the southern lady, a prim and proper conservative dressed in her trademark pearls and finest dresses. Her advocacy for the "Drug user is a loser" anti-drug campaign back when she was first lady had been a cornerstone of her public image as the ideal American Woman.

Kathy's grip tightened, and she leaned closer, her hot breath against his ear. "You need this, Harry. Let mommy take care of you." Her voice was like a siren's call, warm and melodic; it sent a shiver down his spine.

His cock only got harder. "But... shit... What about Rose?"

"Oh, dear," Kathy smiled devilishly, "You said it yourself. The little fucking nun comes back in four days. We got all the time in the world."

"Oh fuck," he groaned in delight, his eyes fluttering. Despite the wrongness of it all, he pressed himself against his mother, seeking more of her touch, giving her unspoken permission. His cock growing harder and more insistent inside his dark pants.

Kathy leaned in, and with a gentle touch, she brushed her lips against his, the barest hint of a kiss. "A mother knows best, darling," she whispered.

Harry was too far gone and found himself leaning in. The wicked mother captured her son's lips for a not-so-maternal kiss. His hands found their way to the small of her back, pulling her against his strong frame. As their kiss deepened, Kathy's tongue traced her son's lip, and he found himself parting his lips to let her in.

Kathy was a widow; she hadn't felt the warmth of a man in years. Their tongues slithered against each other, a forbidden intimacy that sent jolts through Harry's body.

"Oh, darling," she breathed. "Kiss me." The unmotherly kiss grew more heated. Harry's arm, which had rested on the arm of the couch, moved to her back, pulling her even closer, feeling her curves under the dress. He felt her breasts against his chest, full and firm, which only fueled his depravity.

The line between motherly love and sexual desire had been irrevocably crossed, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't realize how much he needed this, how much he craved the touch of a woman, until that moment. It was as if all the pent-up frustration of his presidency was concentrated in his desire for his mother.

Kathy dragged her nails across his chest, leaving trails of sensations in their wake. She loved feeling his strong arms around her. His hand slid down and cupped the swell of her breast, giving it a gentle squeeze. She moaned into the kiss and arched her back, offering him more. Her nipples hardened against the lace, and she could feel the wetness between her legs growing by the second.

She quickly undid the button of her jacket, the fabric parting to reveal her ample cleavage, framed by the exquisite white lace of her expensive lingerie. The lace barely contained her generous breasts, their fullness straining against the delicate material.

Harry's eyes widened. "Holy shit," he muttered, and his throat went as dry as dust at the sight. He finally saw what his mother hid under her demure attire.

Kathy chuckled sultrily while her hand slid from his chest to his belt and gave it a gentle tug. "You like your mother's tits, dear?" she said with a wicked smile.

The sight had hypnotized him. Harry found himself leaning forwards. Kathy's hands found their way to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him towards her exposed bosom. With a deep sigh of longing, Kathy buried his face into her ample cleavage.

"Oh, darling," she sighed.

The sweet scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, and he felt his cock throb painfully in his pants. His mother's breasts were like two heavenly mounds of silk, begging to be licked.

It had been so long since she had felt a man against her, and the sudden sensation of Harry's five o'clock shadow brushing against her skin sent a shivers of excitement through Kathy.

"Just like that, honey. Lick your mother's tits," she purred softly as she arched her back, pressing her chest closer to him. She had missed the feel of a man's mouth on her, the roughness of his touch, the heat of his breath.

Kathy's hot breath grew ragged as Harry kissed, licked, and sucked her sweet flesh. She could feel her womanhood growing warmer, the fabric of her panties sticking to her skin as she rubbed her thighs together.

Kathy could see the large bulge straining against his pants. With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Let's see..." she murmured, her voice thick with lust. She began to unbuckle his belt.

The last shred of whatever hesitation Harry might have had evaporated as she reached for his belt. She felt his hands moving down her body, caressing her waist, and then sliding up to cup her breasts. The sensation was exquisite, and she couldn't help but moan as he began to knead and massage them.

The belt jingled and the zipper of his pants followed, revealing the straining erection. Kathy couldn't wait any longer; she immediately slid her hand inside her son's boxers. Her dainty fingers wrapped around his hot shaft, feeling the size and weight of it in her hand.

Her eyes widened. "Oooh, Mr. President," Kathy cooed; her movements were slow as if savoring every inch of his rigid length.

Harry groaned in delight as she began to stroke him gently. Her hand felt heavenly, soothing the ache that had been building inside him for so long. His mother's touch was surprisingly firm for such a delicate hand... the kind of grip that came from years of experience and knowing exactly what a man liked.

The power dynamics in the room had shifted in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying, and she reveled in it.

The President of the United States, one of the most powerful men in the world, was putty in her hands...for a second time. Kathy felt the adrenaline flood her body; it was a heady feeling that she hadn't felt in a long time and it fogged her mind. She knew she had him right where she wanted him, and she wasn't going to let go anytime soon.

Rose could stay in France for all she cared.

"Mom," his voice was ragged. Whatever he was going to say, Kathy silenced with a kiss. Her tongue plunged into his mouth as her hand continued working its magic. He pulled her against his larger frame as their tongues slithered against each other.

Kathy broke the kiss and stood up. She walked in front of him, her eyes never leaving his. Harry watched with bated breath and glazed eyes as his mother reached behind and began to unzip her skirt. Harry's eyes followed her every movement like they were magnetized. The skirt slithered against her thighs and pooled around her feet like a dark waterfall, revealing her lace garter belt and sheer black stockings.

The sheer black fabric of the stockings clung to Kathy's legs like a second skin, and her smile grew more salacious as she saw his reaction. She gently stepped out of the fabric puddle with a grace that belied her age.

Harry took in the sight with wide eyes. She stood in front of him in nothing more than her lingerie. In the dim light her legs looked endless, like two marble columns. His mouth felt like sandpaper as he stared... The material of her panties was almost see-through, giving a teasing peek of the neatly trimmed bush of her sex.

The black garter belt hugged her waist snuggly, and the delicate strap disappeared into the top lace of her stockings. The stockings ended in a seductive tease just above her mid-thigh, leaving the rest of her legs bare and inviting, complemented by her four-inch heels.

The contrast was sordid: the respectable blouse and conservative-looking blazer with her pearls still perfectly in place, giving a deceptively modest appearance while her bottom half revealed what lay underneath her motherly façade.

Harry's mind was flooded with images from her old movies, the way she had looked in those tight, form-fitting dresses and revealing gowns. Kathy Adler, as she was known back in the day, her beauty had once been compared to the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Maureen O'Hara, and Elizabeth Taylor.

Kathy had indeed aged like fine wine. In the glow of the dim lamp, her skin looked flawless, with the barest hint of wrinkles around her eyes that only added to her allure. Her figure was still as stunning as it had been in her Hollywood days, her hips curving into her waist, her legs endless and shapely.