UPDATE: I Filled the MAGA Girl with Every Drop of My Agenda, and She Filled My Heart – (Pt 3 – The finale) [MF]

“I hate to tell you this, but this is gonna be the last time we hook up.” I slipped my shoes off beside her bed.

“Oh is that so, snowflake?” She adjusted her red cap, clearly surprised.

“Yea actually I’m serious,” I said without my usual sarcasm. “I met someone and I want to see where it goes, so we can’t be doing this anymore.”

It seemed weird to be scratching this depth with her. On any other day I’d make some joke about filling her up so much, she’ll need to drain her swamp twice. But it just didn’t feel right in this moment.

“Nah, I get it. We knew what this was.” She almost looked sad, but quickly masked it with a rise in her voice. “How’d y’all meet?”

“I ordered her on Wayfair, actually. She was listed as the Chelsea Bookshelf. Really good price too,” I said dryly.

“Fuck off!” She frisbee’d her hat at me, catching me just above the eye.

We hadn’t seen each other in a week. Maybe that was it, but something felt different.

“Listen, I know I’ve given you a lot of shit, and I just want you to know…when I make fun of you…I mean every last wor—-“ she lunged and punched me in the arm and we both crashed onto her bed laughing as I pinned her down. Just this brief contact was enough to remind both of us why we were here, and a familiar aggression quickly took over between us.

“Look at it on the bright side, though. At least I kept you around longer than Scaramucci,” I taunted as she undid my belt

——

I must pause to soliloquize.

Trilogy stories, much like long sex sessions, have a natural cycle to them. You’re all pent up for round one, and you blow a lot of good material…all over the place. Everyone’s satisfied and wants more. But then you’re like oh shit I don’t think I can go for a round 2 this soon. You muster a mediocre erection, throw out some cheap puns, and push through it. People show up and pay the admission price, but it’s just pleasantly forgettable. Then you think to yourself “I gotta stick this landing and make the finale worth it.” Part three’s gotta have some payoff, right?

So here I am to tell you about the time that I filled the MAGA girl with every last drop of my liberal agenda, and to my surprise, she filled me too. This one’s a little longer, but possibly worth it.

If you’re just now joining, rewind to

[part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/omu2vn/i_colluded_inside_a_maga_girl_3_times_last_night/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb) &
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/otejiq/update_i_made_the_maga_girl_cum_4_times_on_my/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb)

———-

I pulled myself off of her as she was coming down from another orgasm; and I reached for a glass of water.

“Damn, princess you just kept cumming. Was that 4 for you?”

She looked dizzy. “Nuh uh,” she panted. “At least 6, daddy”

Before she got any ideas about calling Cyber Ninjas for a recount, I nodded in agreement, gave her a sip of water and gently pulled her head toward my cock.

It did not take long for Marjorie to find her way down to her knees—-oh shit I forgot to tell y’all. I was wrong about her name. Turns out it isn’t Kellyanne, which makes so much sense now. She’s totally a Marjorie.

But things got sloppy very quickly. This was wet, sloshy, bubbles out the side of the mouth, gurgling gluck-gluck-gluck goodness. You know the sight when she’s got mascara streaking down her face like Guiliani’s hair dye? Yea, that. She was putting in work, and I was in heaven.

But as I looked down for the briefest moment, entranced by the rhythmic movement of her lips, I no longer saw MAGA Marjorie. I saw something else. I saw humanity. I saw the world. I saw all of the love and hate and unity and division that binds and separates us. I saw all of it wrapped up in those lips around my 12” shaft. Then a new feeling washed over me. Well…that was me cumming. But then after the cumming, an even stronger feeling. What was this? I couldn’t take my eyes off hers.

Then I noticed something else. Something that gave me pause. Those tears on her face. Those weren’t just blowjob tears. Those were real tears. Chemtrails of emotion streaking down her cheeks.

Thirty seconds before she even spoke a word, I knew exactly what she was going to say. Her eyes closed for much longer than a blink. Then she held my gaze as she slowly let my softening cock slip out of her mouth, cum gently rolling down her chin. Her eyes batted, causing the buildup of tears to wash down her cheek even stronger.

Almost fearfully, she choked back the words at first, but then along with the final dribble of my cum, three words tumbled out of her mouth.

“I love you,” she cried softly.

Like a punch in my stomach. She gave voice to what I was feeling too. My head was spinning. But my thoughts were clear.

I wrestled with myself for a beat. Then the dam inside me broke. I told her that much like the recent election, so too had my heart been stolen. And like Georgia and Arizona, she was the culprit in this theft. A tear streamed down my face as we both knew we were now in too deep.

“I love you too.”

“But what about your new Chelsea,” she asked, tears now flowing. “I could never come betwe—“

“Baby. Although Chelsea and I can connect over things like the existence of gravity and commonly accepted medical facts, I can’t deny that the heart wants what it wants. And I choose you. Every day, now until forever, I choose you.”

That night we didn’t fuck. We made love. Intense, passionate, lovemaking between a donkey and an elephant who, for the first time, truly saw each other without team colors.

So, we’ve moved in together. Bought a quaint little home on a creek in the suburbs. She agreed not to hang her heritage flag outside, and in turn, I promised to change my 100% green electricity plan. We dropped it down to 10% coal, 90% green and she seemed content with that.

A young paperboy delivers the news to our porch every morning. And while she seems to be getting more comfortable with this, she still occasionally refers to the child as the enemy of the people.

We have a garden in the back. Beside it, a bird feeder and a little decorative windmill. I had to assure her that the windmill will not kill all of the birds or give us cancer. I don’t think she believes me. But she loves me.

A single assault rifle rests gently under her side of the bed, keeping us safe from a tyrannical government attack every night. I don’t know that it’s necessary. But I love her.

We find little ways to compromise. Last night was my turn to pick. We watched Scrubs re-runs. I laughed. Tonight was her turn and we watched “Wake Up Sheeple: The Liberal Hunt for Adrenochrome.” I cried.
But it’s all about finding balance in life.

This week we couldn’t shop at Target. Next week looks like no Walmart. She may boycott many things, but never my love. And that’s really all I can ever ask for.

So every night before bed, I read her a Dr. Seuss book, and as we lay our heads down on our pillows (mine locally sourced sustainable goose feathers and hers from My Pillow Guy), I gently grab her hands and say the same thing each night:

“You see these hands, baby, these tremendously large hands, will always be here for you, Believe me, if you look at what’s going on—-these hands…as many have noted, are hands that will hold you for as long…

Much like our love, my sentence is designed to never end—an endless lullaby of commas, ellipses, run ons and tangential thoughts.

And before I know it, she has drifted off to sleep in my arms.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/oulfeg/update_i_filled_the_maga_girl_with_every_drop_of