He stood there considering the thought that now plagued his mind. To be honest, he didn't like doing this type of thing himself-- it really was much better with a woman. But Melania wasn't there right now, and it wasn't like he could go back to Stormy Daniels or something. Soon his hands found themselves beginning to unbuckle his belt. Donald was a self-made man, after all. He could certainly do this himself, too.
Before getting anything to frisky, he closed the large gold curtains to the window and began to discard his tie and dress shirt. After all, now was not the time to have another scandal to pile into his hands. The only thing he wanted on there right now was his Trump Tower Jr.
He was almost fully unclothed as he walked to the edge of his bed barefoot. He neatly folded his clothes and laid them on his treasure. The only thing left was his boxers. He quickly got rid of them and took a seat on his bed.
Donald didn't just have lube laying around... nor was it really his thing. He was more of a rough, natural kinda guy when it came to that stuff. Part of him felt stupid for even doing this and contemplated just putting his clothes back on. He had a wife, he shouldn't have to do this? This is something virgins do like Lindsey Graham. He looked towards his phone. Still, no messages.
"Fuck it," he breathed.
He just needed to get this over with. He took his hand without hesitation and got to work until he found a motion he was comfortable with. It took him no time to get hard. Unlike those lightweights like Bob Dole, Donald didn't need viagra to get him going.
He kept doing it and changed his rhythm a few different times. His mind started fantasizing about whatever the hell he wanted until he felt a familiar sensation rise in him. "Shit," he said through gritted teeth before getting his billion-dollar cum all over his hand if yaknowwhatimsayin.
