UPDATE: I fucked the MAGA girl in a Trump Hotel, and frankly, I feel like I’ve reached the pinnacle (Pt 3) [MF]

If you’re new to the story, you can catch up here to learn how this all started and how we discovered a new kink:

[Pt 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/omu2vn/i_colluded_inside_a_maga_girl_3_times_last_night/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
[Pt 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=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)

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I hadn’t heard from her in almost 2 weeks. Part of me wondered if she’d had enough of our twisted dynamic. An even smaller part of me kinda missed her. I mean, not that small of a part. Approximately 23 centimeters of me missed her.

So on a boring Thursday night, the wheels in my head started turning, and I decided I’d pull out the stops and see if she was up for another night of whatever the fuck it is that she and I do.

I texted her, “Hey princess, it’s your favorite ❄️”

She responded a full 45 minutes later.

“Heyyy. Sorry…Things have been really busy.”

A second message came 5 minutes later: a pic with her hand reaching inside her panties and the note, “I was thinking about you this week 😉”

She explained something about being busy helping her brothers and uncle “lay low due to minor legal trouble regarding some overblown governmental property trespassing from January.”

Assuming this text was now already flagged by some CIA analyst bot, I decided not to inquire further.

She sent another nude, and we were back on track.

“You free this weekend?” I asked

“Yep!”

“Then come to 18001 Collins Ave at 10:00 Saturday night. Meet me at the bar downstairs. Wear the kind of dress you wear when your only intention is to be taken upstairs and fucked.”

“Mmm. Yes sir”

Saturday evening rolled around, and for the first time in my life, I approached the check-in desk of a Trump Hotel. Like Frodo before Mordor, my body trembled. It was at this moment that I first felt an internal dilemma about my PoDeg games with this girl. See, I try to avoid making too many ironic purchases so that I’m not using my dollar to support mediocre shit. However, I’ve made 2 exceptions to this in my life. The first was the decision to buy a 24-pack of Nelly’s short-lived energy drink called “Pimp Juice.” The other was tickets to see Vin Diesel in concert…singing.

I decided that just like these two occasions, fucking the MAGA girl in a Trump Hotel was ABSOLUTELY worth it. So I swiped my credit card, braced for incidentals, took my room key, and headed for the bar to wash away any questioning voices in my head.

For those of you who’ve never been inside, it’s not unlike any other hotel that’s trying to punch above its current star rating. Only difference is there is slightly more fake gold, an overuse of crimson stanchion ropes, and staff appear to be just slightly more aware of of how awful the hotel industry can be. Other than that, basically the same.

I saw her car pull up to the valet exactly as our drinks arrived. A sense of fealty and intense lust washed over her as she glanced up to see those 5 giant letters emblazoned across the building above. She pushed through the lobby doors, confidently strode through the atrium and grabbed the seat next to me. I slowly looked her up and down. Both the dress and the heels confirmed tonight’s intentions.

“A toast,” I said. “To your pilgrimage. May you always find your Mecca.”

“I love this place,” she added.

With 10 fingers splayed out in a weird pinching shape, I used both of my hands to gingerly claw my glass, raised it to hers and then took a tiny careful sip as people naturally do.

After a very handsy elevator ride and a slightly NSFW moment outside our room door, we were finally inside. My firm grip surprised her as I led her to the center of the room.

“Mmm hi daddy,” she breathed.

I dimmed the lights and set the TV to the welcome menu channel. Tonight the ambient track of our lovemaking would not be music. It would be the seductively incessant loop of MyPillow commercials and welcome messages from the former president himself.

When she caught a glimpse of the screen, I swear she bit her lip and touched herself through the fabric of her dress.

“Strip,” I instructed as I pulled a sharpie out from my pocket. She shimmied out of her dress, lust ablaze as she eyed several items around the room that were gaudily branded with those same 5 letters atop the building. When her thong hit the floor, I began to walk one slow lap around her, calculating my next move. She stood trembling in anticipation of my next touch, and I explained to her what was coming.

“Have you heard of gerrymandering?” I asked.

“I think so?” she paused. “Wasn’t he one of those old game show hosts?”

I ignored her response and traced the capped marker along her collarbone.

“I’m about to draw the boundary of your pleasure precincts. Everything inside the line will get to feel my tongue. Everything outside will not. Understand?” I said.

She didn’t understand, but I continued. I popped the cap and seductively moved the marker near her nose, allowing her to smell. The next thing she felt was…felt. The cold felt of my red sharpie beginning it’s precise path around her body. I methodically outlined her precincts where my tongue would be allowed. It was a meandering, calculated tease. Every time my line would be close to where she might want to be touched, I’d erratically jut it off in a different direction, ultimately creating the most bizarre patterns across her body.

Once I finished, I told her to lay down on her back. I climbed above her and my tongue began to explore her map. I could see her frustration building. Each time it appeared that I would be headed in a straight line toward the areas where her nerves were most densely populated — a nipple or her throbbing clit — I would divert and obey the jagged lines, leaving her wanting more.

She began to squirm.

“Baby I need more than this. This is torture,” she pleaded.

“I’m just following the lines baby.”

“Fuck you. You drew them. And they don’t make any sense. You knew what you were doing you sinister little fuc—“ She bucked and raised her hips off the bed as my tongue came dangerously close to her pussy and then redirected down her thigh.

“Are you saying I should go outside my precinct, baby? Or maybe make new lines? That seems like it might be some type of fraud, right?” I asked.

“Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t care about your damn lines. Go wherever you want. And do it as many times as you want. I don’t care. Pleasssssse!!!”

Who was I to deny her cries for election reform, so I hungrily dove face first into her wet pussy. And although she called me daddy for the next few minutes, I could tell that her eyes were lustfully fixed on the owner’s name that was gratuitously embroidered across our bedspread.

After she had cum a couple times from my tongue and Mr Pillow’s voice, I started to realize how uncomfortably hard I was. I pulled her to the edge of the bed so that she was on her back with her head hanging slightly off. Then I stood at the edge and straddled her face, guiding my cock to her lips. I had to redirect her head, because my ideology isn’t the only thing that dangles slightly left. But she found her mark, and at this angle she was able to swallow me almost immediately. I’ll admit I was impressed, but if her social media consumption was any indicator, she’s accustomed to being force fed.

We worked up to a good rhythm and 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 Rudy Guiliani’s hair dye? Yea, that. She was putting in work, and I was in heaven. One of her hands teased my balls, the other on her clit.

I grabbed her hips and pulled her to the edge of the bed. Her ankles instinctively locked behind me, and I started to slide my cock along the outside of her lips. I continued teasing her for a few strokes, and she protested as usual, lifting her hips to feel more of me.

I reached down and ran my fingers along her pussy. “This right here is your court. Understand?” I said

“Huh?…Daddy, please just let me have it.”

“Listen to me. This is your court.”

“Ok, ok. Yes daddy it’s my court.”

I grabbed my cock and slowly stroked it.
“And this right here is a liberal Justice.”

She groaned her impatience and pulled her legs tighter.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, princess?”

“Maybe. I don’t know…daddy pleeeease!”

“Listen to me. It won’t happen just once. I want you to tell me that you want me to repeatedly fill that tight little court with thrust after thrust of liberal Justices,” I explained.

She understood and moaned her approval.

“Oh god daddy, please. Fuck! Fill this court. Pack it until it can’t handle any more of your thick liberal Justice. I don’t care how many times you do it. Just keep appointing more and more. Stretch me out and make more room. Nine. Thirteen. Fifteen times. I don’t care. Pack this tight, wet little court with all you’ve got!” she cried out.

And without a single dissenting opinion, after she called me her Chief Justice, I lost control. I pumped so hard, packing her court with thrust after thrust until I was spent.

It took us both a few minutes to come back down and regain our breaths. I slowly slid my executive branch out of her, and we rolled onto our backs.

We went at it for most of that night. So many new positions. The Swamp Drainer. The Dirty Wind Turbine. The Kushner Pusher. Hotels make everyone horny, but fuck…this place had a power over her and she was down for anything while under the spell of these 4 walls. She may have been calling me daddy, but I knew her real daddy’s name was written all over this damn room.

And as the sun came up, we parted ways. No plans for our next encounter. No embrace. Just the understanding that we’d do it again next time one of us gets an itch.

I’d like to think that I’m helping turn that pussy into a breeding ground for critical thinking. Call it planting seeds while planting my seed. But if not, I don’t care really. Plus, if there’s one lesson we should all apply to this crazy world, it’s this:

If you can’t get out of it, get into it!

So get out there and start some allegorical PoDeg fucking with your closest enemy.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/p7ebqx/update_i_fucked_the_maga_girl_in_a_trump_hotel