“Be strong, Anoki. No lip-quivering.”

“Ma’am, have I failed you in any way,” asked Anoki plaintively, her lower lip quivering.

“No, my pet. You must remain here. I’ll need a ‘usually reliable source within the White House,’ when I’m at MSNBC.”

“But I’m just an intern, ma’am. And my appointment only goes through the end of the semester.”

“Something will turn up for you here, I’m sure of it.”

“One last time,” asked Anoki, imploringly.

“One last time,” answered Jen, huskily. She pushed Anoki backwards onto the desk, the same sturdy oaken desk made for Eleanor Roosevelt’s private office, a smaller version of the resolute desk. Jen’s perfectly manicured fingernails expertly traced up the inside of her lover’s legs, causing Anoki to gasp.

Jen’s fingers finally reached the top of the deep green bikini-style panties which complemented Anoki’s kilt. Jen playfully traced her nails along the waistband, causing Anoki to breathe in short, punctuated breaths. She slowly leaned in to her lover’s crotch, savoring the fresh, clean smell of college girl vag, the same smell that had so enticed her boss’s corrupt idiot son. It had cost her a pretty penny to replace the panties stolen by Hunter with new old-stock from the lingerie boutique in Georgetown where “Miss Graham” also bought her delicate underthings.

Jen carefully hooked her fingernails under the waistband, preparing to pull the panties down so as to feast upon Anoki’s sweet plum.

“Oh Em Gee,” shrieked Mayor Pete, bursting in to Jen’s office, a bicycle helmet cradled under his arm.

Anoki sat up, pushing her skirt down causing it to tent over Jen’s head making her look like a plaid ghost.

“Mr. Secretary, how may I help you,” asked Jen cooly, after freeing her head from underneath her lover’s skirt.

“Well, first, some anti-nausea meds if you have any,” said the second heir-apparent bitchily.

“I’ll find some,” said Anoki, hastily exiting.

“That’s the person you want me to hire,” asked Mayor Pete?

“Yes, she is,” replied Jen. “Obviously Chasten won’t have any jealousy issues about her,” she said, forcing her voice into a neutral inflection as if she was his friend trying to help him out.

“Well, okay then,” said Mayor Pete. “And she has talents other than that?”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary, she does.”


* * * * *


Anoki walked out of the staff entrance to the West Wing, stopping at the security desk to put her small backpack on the table for inspection. Ralph waved her through.

“Good evening, Ms. Lee. See you tomorrow.”

“Good evening, Mr. Lee.” It was a little ritual she had with the tall, elderly black guard.

It was late in the afternoon and only the usual protesters and street people were lining the fence along what had been Pennsylvania Avenue but was now a barricaded sidewalk. She headed west and turned south onto 15th St, then crossed onto G St, which was a less hectic walk than New York Avenue.

She arrived at her destination, a Korean hole-in-the-wall restaurant in an alley near the Chinatown metro station. The place was sketchy af, but that kept the tourists and foodies out. The foodies who did wander in were rewarded with food dressed out with a colorless, odorless concentrate of the Reconnaissance General Bureau bioagent affectionately known as PSB, or “puke, shit, bad.” They never came back.

She was the only customer in the place, at the beginning of what was should be peak dinner hours. Her handler approached the table and told her the Gaegogi Jeongol was on special today, and very good. That was her cue to talk freely. And have some delicious dog stew, just like back home in Pyongyang.

“I am ongoingly disgusted by the decadence of the Americans,” said Anoki. Performance was an important part of operative check-in. “Someday I hope to find a Juche man and bear many children, who will be all be gymnasts and soldiers.”

“Fortunately, my new boss will be the homosexual Secretary of Transportation. Seemingly unimportant, but part of the administration inner circle. I will no longer have to submit to the desparate lickings of a older woman to obtain intelligence, but he will be harder to control without sex.”

“Is he completely homosexual?”

“Totally. He didn’t even become turgid when he walked in on us.”

“What do you have for me today?”

“They are terrified of the radicals within their own party,” said Anoki, pushing a large tan envelope with a string closure across the table. “I found a conscription plan which they intend to use to draft the antifa youth and then use them as cannon fodder. It doesn’t address the war, but I suspect it will be with our patrons, the Han.”