Trump; Golden Gate

My internal train of thought seems has to been hijacked by terrorists and filled with virus bombs. The Trump sexcapades have continued and I am left with one big question; why?

Why, dear god, why am I doing this? Perhaps there is some secret part of me that enjoys writing about Trump getting the D? Maybe I’m just disturbed?

So, again, this is the shittiest of all my alpha drafts. I’m more than aware of that. I might come back to re do all the Trump stuff and make it better – not because I get strange pants feelings when I read these – just so that when folks come here they don’t just vomit all over the computer.


There is no political message, no endorsement, nothing of any importance other than twelve year old boy humour.

As ever, all CC welcome.



Trump; The Golden Gate

Trump stood on the ramparts of the Great Gate. The wind smelled of dust and Taccos. At the limit of his vision he could see the Mexican army as a grey stain on the landscape.

“Spic’s are massing for another charge, sir,” said Buck Williams, hefting his rifle. The Captain of the Texan Auxiliaries was a big man, thick with muscle and scarred from the three years of unending war.

“They’ll come at night,” Trump said. His voice was raw from hours of shouting. He’d taken over command of the garrisons training for the last month. He had worked the men as hard as he could to prepare them for the Mexican assaults.

Cooking fires burned like small jewels amid the smudged horizon. Somewhere amidst those was the Mexicans leader. His banner was driven into the ground at regular intervals among the host, the red cloth set with a stylised luchadore mask. The man had been leading the army for over the last four years. As soon as Trump had begun building the Great Wall, the spics had been rallying around this great leader of theirs.

The man had forced Trump to pour more money into the project, sending guards and rangers out into the badlands of the Mexico border, hunting down the saboteurs and insurrectionists the Mexicans had sent to plague the building works.

They called him ‘El Senior’. Trump had no idea what it meant. Some spic lingo for big hat guy or something.


The Mexicans hit the wall at half passed one in the morning. Trucks packed with elite luchadore wrestlers rammed into the gates, their passengers swarming up grappling hooks and launching themselves onto the defenders.

Trump, his powered armour buzzing like a beehive, slammed into the knot of fighters, slashing his bayonet through the throat of the first man.

“Make America Great Again!” Trump roared.

Trumps reserves tore their way through the Mexican infantry.

“Send in the werewolves,” Trump ordered.

Black blurs sped by overhead as the werewolf commandos were launched over the wall via catapults. Training the beats, and their leader, a werewolf Abraham Lincoln, had been Trumps personal effort. He had first been forced to break them individually – sodomising them and planting his potent seed deep in their dog bottoms – and once he had, the monsters had been as loyal and submissive to his will as his trained sex slaves were.

The falling werewolves ripped bloody streaks through the charging horde, each one becoming a blender of destruction as they bite and ripped and tore through the spics.


El Senior tripped Trump. His skill was so great that no matter how powerful Trumps armour was, it was useless.

“You too slow, hombre,” El Senior laughed. He swung onto Trumps back, his huge hands wrapping around the presidents neck.

“I can make America Great Again,” he laughed. “I’ll show you.”

Trump tried to fight. He screamed and thrashed and roared, his armour a useless steel lump, a cage that corralled him utterly. El Senior removed the curved plates on Trumps ass, and cut his way through the rubberised undersuit.

Trump screamed and screamed as the Mexican placed the head of his penis against his asshole. He felt it beat once, twice, three times against his tight, puckered asshole.

“It looks tight, hombre,” the spic said. His huge, dirty hands came down tight, painfully spreading the cheeks.

Trump felt heat rush through his body, and his balls began to ache with shameful pleasure. His ass was shaking in anticipation-he’d never had someone touch him down there, let alone put a hard, fat dick in between his cheeks.

Then, as El Senior pressed the throbbing head of his dick onto Trump’ little hole, Trump gasped so loudly that El Senior couldn’t help but laugh. Only his head was inside and Trump was already twitching in pleasure.

“Tell me how big I am,” he laughed thickly.

“Oh shit… you’re so big…” Trump said, as the Mexican began to push his cock further down into his ass.

“You’re really tight hombre, fuck.” He threw his head back in pleasure. “You a virgin?”


Trump let out a faint “yeah” that made El Senior’s cock throb in ego.

“Nice. This’ll be a good fuck then.” And with that, El Senior spat onto his dick, rubbing it in and letting his dick slip in more easily-it seemed impossible to get it in any other way.

As El Senior grabbed a fist full of ass in his big, beefy hands, his dick finally went all the way inside, and Trump squealed in both pain and pleasure. It felt so good to have a raging boner up his ass, hot against his own flesh and throbbing heavily. To have El Senior’ hairy groin and balls against his ass, and his thick muscled arms surrounding his small frame made him so horny. But at the same time, it was a bit uncomfortable to have such a large dick so far up his ass, and there wasn’t barely enough lubrication.

“Ugh, yeah get it all the way in!” Now Trump knew how the bottoms in gay porno felt, and why they sounded so turned on. It wasn’t like anything Trump had imagined-it was better.

“Fuck, you’re so tight! Even pussy ain’t this small…” El Senior began to push really hard on Trump, pressing his body weight against him and pushing him into the bed, making it creak. Trump felt the hotrod go further up his ass, hitting his prostate for a few moments and then reaching even further up as El Senior continued to go up inside him.

“You like that? I said, you like that, chikkita?”

Trump tried to keep his mouth shut. He was ashamed, but he loved how it felt. He was being violated, fucked like a filthy woman, like one of his trained whores. He could feel another man, a more manly man than him, deep inside him.

He wanted to feel that cock cum deep inside him.

“Tell me you like it!”

“No!” Trump would not bend, would not break. He was Trump, he was inviolate, he was…

El Senior grabbed Trump’s head, his thick dirty fingers digging into Trump’s mouth, pulling his lips open and pulling his head back. He picked up his pace, pounding his monster cock deep into Trump’s bleeding rectum, pre cum mingling with the blood.

“You love it, hombre.”

Trump couldn’t help himself sucking on the fingers in his mouth – thanking God that he was unable to simply shout out his delight at his submission.

“You’re taking this dick really good, faggot. Chicks don’t let me put it in this far…” his breath was hot against Trump’s neck.

Trump was groaning hard, squealing and screaming like a girl as El Senior’ huge cock pounded him again and again, ramming him up his asshole. The throbbing shaft shot pre-cum inside of him, and Trump could feel it inside, slushing and squirting as the huge cock head came back again for more. El Senior was so deep inside of Trump that he could feel the man’s heartbeat through his own boner, and Trump could feel El Senior’ heart beating from the tip of the cock inside him.

Then El Senior got off the bed, standing on his feet beside it and dragging Trump halfway across the messed up mattress. The bed creaked and rocked hard under both their motion as El Senior grabbed Trump’s bright white ass and slammed it against his tanned tummy, rubbing the fat globes while his tongue pressed against his cheek in pleasure.

“Call me ‘daddy’,” El Senior snarled.

“Uhhhnnn, yeah, fuck me like that, daddy” Trump barely muttered, unable to talk while breathing so hard.

El Senior stood then, dragging his conquest to his knees. Trump, automatically, started to move his lips towards El Senior’s cock, but a thick, dirty Mexican hand stopped him. He raised his cock exposing his huge hairy balls and told Trump to suck. His hand wrapped around Trump’s head and moved Trump’s mouth from one ball to the next until they were covered in saliva.

Trump felt himself loosing himself in the lustful madness of fellatio, but just at the edge of his senses he heard laughter. It wasn’t the thick dirty laughter of a Mexican, instead it was the long drawn out titter of a Connecticutian.

He looked up. El Senior was removing his mask. Instead of the weathered face of a spic there was… there was…

George W. Bush.

Trump screamed and staggered upright, the pieces of his armour falling from him. Bush continued to titter, his massive member glistening before Trump. He continued to laugh as Trump started to run.

Trump ran from Texas that night. He fled into the wilds of America, the hordes of spics tight on his heels. He buried as deep as he could, hiding from revenge, hiding from the hate, hiding from himself and the submissive lust he felt inside.


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