I just want Kamala to tread on my face with those sensual, presidential feet.
Oh my god, can you imagine them bound within silky stockings of the finest quality the United States treasury can buy.
Fuck, I would do anything to be her pitiful fucking cum slave. She could chain me under her desk in the Oval Office and I would suckle the nectar from her presidential rose until my stomach literally tears itself apart.
My blood and mucus and shit and cum would all mix together and soak into Oval Office's carpet, to be trodden upon by President Kamala's divinely blessed feet long after my broken corpse has been unceremoniously dumped in the Atlantic by my mocha colored queen and her Secret Service bulls.
