Trump; Alpha Dog


This one needs a bit of a foreword. Firstly, its the shittiest of all my alpha drafts. I’m really aware of that. That’s ok, because I just wanted to get this mental image out of my head and pouring bleach into my eyes wasn’t painful enough.

This is nothing other than just ridiculousness. There is no political message, no endorsement, nothing of any importance other than twelve year old boy humour. At some point I might finish it.

It all started when I heard about someone getting drunk and doing a porn parody of Trump and his bell boy, or something like that. It was like an earworm that I just couldn’t get out of my head, so I sat down today and just went for it.

The result is a shockingly bad example of writing as I think you’ll find anywhere on line. I figured I’d throw it up here for fun anyway (because I have a warped sense of humour).

As ever, all CC welcome.


Trump; Alpha Dog

“Sir,” Malory said, “its time.”

“Thank you dear,” President Trump said.

“Shall I send in Brown in?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Trump had been president for eleven days when it happened. No one had thought it possible, but it had happened. The Leftists blamed the Right, the Christians blamed the Atheists.

Trump sat in his chair, rolling his pen between his fingers. The office at Trump Towers was plush and luxurious. He’d been staying here since the attack on the White house. The seat of American Power had been cordoned off by a combination of the military and the police. It had become a no go zone. Tonight that changed.

Someone had dropped a freight car full of werewolves on the White House.

Trump wasn’t going to let other people take risks that he wasn’t willing to take. He would be going in with the kill team. His technicians had spent the last week feverishly working on a special project to help him do that.

Someone knocked on the door. He recognised the knock; it managed to be both subservient and demure.


Brown opened the door. The young man was slim, with a dancers muscles. He wore a short skirt, clinging shirt and knee high socks.

“Sir,” he said. Trump could see the moist glisten of lipstick on his mouth. His to wanted to please him. If he died tonight then perhaps this would be the last time he got to enjoy Brown’s mouth-pussy.

“Have you been good?”

Brown nodded. Trump had trained him well.

Without being asked, Brown got on his knees and reached for Trump’s belt. His hands trembled in anticipation as he pulled down the zipper and unbuckled the belt.

Trump let out a little grunt of pleasure as Brown’s cool hands wrapped around his cock. The man’s lips parted and he hungrily swallowed his masters tool.

Trump knew how much Brown wanted it. He had made the slave wait for days, denying him. Judging by the enthusiasm of Browns mouth on his member, he had been right to.

“You’re a good boy,” Trump growled. He ran his hand through Browns hair, jerking the young man down on his cock, gasping as the young man’s throat opened up.

Brown began jacking himself off. He reached down and squeezed his cock from the base to the tip. Trump liked to watch.

“You don’t get cum yet.”

Brown’s mouth opened in a gasp, and he tried to speak around the massive cock in his mouth.

“Keep sucking, slut,” Trump thrust himself deeper into his assistant. He could see Brown’s hand flying up and down his cock.

“Now, you’re being bad.” Trump pulled his cock out of Brown’s mouth and forced the young man onto his back on the floor.

Without preamble, the President thrust himself deep into Brown’s anus. Brown squealed, his mouth opening in wanton invitation that made Trump wish he had another cock to stick in there.

Trump felt his balls tingling and he picked up the pace, slamming his massive penis into the tight hole of his assistant.

Brown screamed like a woman, a thick string of drool hanging from his lips, his eyes squeezed shut, his ass muscles clamping as tight as they could around Trumps huge tool.

Trump shoved his fingers into Brown’s mouth, finger fucking the squealing fag’s throat.

“Dirty bitch.”

He knew he was close to cumming. His balls felt heavy and tight, filled with cum.

Trump stood, dragging Brown to his knees, and forced his cock into the fag’s eager mouth.

“Work it like you mean it, slut.”

His cock was throbbing and leaking precum. Brown’s eyes were huge, his mascara streaked and his lipstick smeared across his face. He looked up at Trump, his eyes filled with a submissive love.

Trump forced himself as deep as he could in Brown’s throat. He was close, so damned close. He thrust and thrust again, Brown his helpless victim. The man choked and gagged, but Trump didn’t care. He throat fucked his toy, sissy, fag-boy. His massive cock stretched Brown’s throat, the sissy fag just becoming his cum rag, his toy, his fuck toy.

His cock spazmed and his balls clenched and cum started flooding the young fag’s throat.

“Make America Great Again,” Trump yelled, his orgasm boiling up from his balls, his cum shooting down Brown’s throat.

Trump let Brown fall to the floor and staggered back to his chair. He sat there, breathing deeply. His whole body tingled.

“I trained you good,” he huffed, tucking his cock back into his trousers.

On the floor, his chest heaving, Brown whispered, “I love you, sir.”

Trump stood, wiping his hands on Brown’s skirt.

“Good for you.”


The armour slotted into place with a mechanical clank. Two technicians moved forward with electric drills, attaching the final ablative panels into place.

“You got my weapon?”

Jona Hill opened the case she carried.

“The 99Eagle, sir,” she smiled, showing Trump a gun three and a half feet long. It was matt black and must have weighed 40lbs at least.

“Under slung grenade launcher, 900RPM, concealed bayonet and telescopic laser sight.” She smiled.

Trump grinned back at her and flexed the joints of his armour. The power pack mounted on his back whirred and ticked, forming a strange harmony with the grind of his war plate.

He stood and flexed. He felt strong. His whole life had about winning. I don’t lose often. I almost never lose, in fact. He liked to keep the ratio in his favour.

“You look good, sir,” Hill said. He damn well knew he did. The armour made him a walking tank, boosting his height to over seven feet tall. The power of the fibre bundles and the artificial muscles allowed his insane levels of strength and durability.

“Are you still certain you need to go in?”

“Yes.” When somebody challenges you, fight back. Be brutal, be tough. Somebody had challenged him, filling the White House with werewolves and forcing him to flee. It had shamed him to run, his agents dying in his place.

“Sometimes you need conflict in order to come up with a solution. Through weakness, oftentimes, you can’t make the right sort of settlement, so I’m aggressive, but I also get things done, and in the end, everybody likes me,” he said.

Trump met the Secret Service Kill Squad at the end of the manufactory.

They were led by a hulking agent called Calhoon.

They saluted him. He liked that. It showed proper respect. He liked people to know he was in charge.


They burst into the White House, smashing through the domed roof with carefully timed explosives. Trump landed in a shower of masonry and glass, his armoured boots splintering the ancient floorboards under the impact.

The building rang with howls as the monstrous werewolves sprang out of the darkness, launching themselves at the Kill Squad. Each was huge, a vile amalgam of hair and fang, more simian than lupine.

They tore into the Kill Squad, blood splattering in all directions and combat armour tearing like paper.

Trump was knocked from his feet and slammed into the wall by a massive grey brute.

“Make America Great Again!” He roared, the electric pads in his armour whining into life before sending ten thousand volts through the bears and reducing it to dust.

He surged upright, firing from the hip, bullets ripping into the monsters as they gulped down the blood and bones of Kill Squad.

Trump killed the second beats, his gun unloading a monsoon of bullets into its brainpan. He pushed forwards, the combat bayonet opening up the throat of the third werewolf.

He shoulder charged the fourth, knocking it to the floor. His armour creaked and groaned, his augmented strength matching and overwhelming the supernatural of the werewolf.

Trump snapped the animals arms and head butted it, reducing its face to a red pulp. Trump slammed a huge gauntleted fist into its chest, breaking bones. The creature shrieked, its muzzle hanging onto its face by a thread of bloody gristle.

Trump stamped its head into mush.

He activated the comm bead in his ear.

“The Kill Squad’s down. Four werewolves accounted for. I’m going on.”

“Sir,” Hill’s voice crackled over the radio, “you’ll be killed.”

“Anyone who thinks my story is anywhere near over is sadly mistaken.” Trump checked his gun before stalking deeper into the gloom. He would hunt these damned creatures down and take back his home.


Trump tore his way through to the Oval Office, the blood of nine more werewolves staining his armour.

Before him, seated at the great desk that Trump had begun Brown’s training at, was a great grey shape.

It was a huge werewolf, bigger than all the others. Its mass was greater than even his own armoured form. From its massive jaws descended a thick black beard and an ancient stovepipe hat sat at a jaunty angle on its head.

“Abraham Lincoln?”

The creature snarled and stood. When it spoke, its voice was mangled by three inch long teeth.

“I have watched you, Donald,” it said. “We have all watched you, and it has been decreed that you shall be stopped.”

With a speed that was terrifying, the Lincoln-wolf dived on him. Claws like iron spikes shredded the masterwork war plate.

Trump grabbed it by the throat, chokeslamming it into the filth of its lair. He kicked it as hard as he could in the balls, making its thick, furry cock waggle.

Trump beat Lincoln’s head against the floor, bloody snot and broken teeth spraying everywhere.

“I always wanted to meet you,” Trump said through gritted teeth. “Now I get to fuck you.” Without pause, he unleashed his cock from within his armour and stuffed it deep into Lincoln’s bloody throat.

“I’m Trump,” he snarled, laughing as the wolf started to choke on his thick tool.

The beast whined and tried to bite, but Trump shoved the barrel of the gun against its head.

“This’ll be the best bone you’ve ever had,” he groaned as the monster started to play its huge tongue across his balls.

“You made America great,” Trump grabbed Lincoln by the scruff of the neck, forcing his cock deeper. “I’ll make it greater.”

The beast began to choke, thick strings of drool soaking its fur. Trump punched it again, loving the power he had over the greatest president ever. Well, second best.


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