Trump x Chester Cheetah

Donald Trump walked into the Oval Office. He had one mission and one mission only: find the man of his dreams, the man who haunted his every night, the man he wanted more than anything.

Chester Cheetah. The beautiful orange mascot behind the Cheetos brand. His glowing fur shone with divinity and gel as he perched on the desk, slightly beneath his navel, his fur parted to show something pink and visibly barbed.

“Hello, Donald,” the cheetah purred sensuously. “Here for your standard treatment?”

The Donald felt something stir in his microscopic loins. “Yes… yes, of course,” he breathed, shifting his tiny hands so that they covered his equally tiny erection. “Standard treatment is fine.”

They weren’t all the way into the bathroom before Chester was tearing Donald’s trademark suit from his pudgy body with one massive paw, pushing him down into an empty hot tub that had had its plumbing retrofitted specifically for this purpose. Chester hung above him in a manner only describable as homoerotic. “Tell me what you need,” growled the cheetah, “and I will provide.”

“… Make me orange,” wheezed the Donald. “I cannot be the world’s first orange president if I am not truly of the color! I wish to be as beautifully orange as Cheetos™️, the most divine snack on Earth!”

“As you wish, my lord,” Chester purred. “However, you must be aware of the fact that true orange-ness never comes without a price.”

“And what is that price?” Nervousness clawed at the Donald’s chest, almost enough to compete with his arousal.

Chester smirked. “This.”

Without giving Donald the time to reconsider, Chester rammed all 10 of his furry inches into Donald’s rear entrance. “Oooh,” Chester purred. *”Someone’s* been stretching themselves.”

Donald gasped as Chester’s wang hit his good spot. “… XL… buttplug. Just… for you… my god.”

“That’s right, you orange bitch,” Chester grunted. “I’m your god. I’m your Apollo. I’m your golden boy. I’m gonna cum in your ass. The rest of you will be orange, but inside you will always be white… because of my semen.”

“… That’s… how I like it…” Donald moaned. Chester’s cat cock rammed mercilessly against his insides, his prostate flaming with every hit. He was a live ball of nerves, every inch of him *screaming* for more. He felt his microscopic pecker throb, all 2 and a half inches of it begged to be touched, craved to be fondled by the massive yet gentle paws that pinned his shoulders to the bottom of the empty bathtub. In his heart, he knew Chester would give no such release. He was a cruel and unmerciful deity and Donald was but a rodent by comparison. But that didn’t stop his body from wanting what it wanted. “… Please… fuck me…”

“What was that? My little cumslut wants to be *fucked?* He wants to be *bred?* He wants to *have my kittens?”*

Donald closed his eyes. “Fuck me! *Breed* me! I’ll have your kittens any day! I’ll birth our abominations out of my anus in a heartbeat! I’ll do anything for you, my beautiful orange Jesus! Please, share your divinity! OOOOOH GOD, I’M CUMMING! I’M CUUUUUUUUMING!” A tiny poot of cum squirted from Donald’s untouched pecker. It wasn’t even enough to wet Chester’s fur.

Chester growled. He thrusted hard for one or two more minutes before Donald felt something hot splashing against his insides. “Have my kittens, breedslut. I won’t be caring for them. Now. To make you orange.”

“… Please,” Trump wheezed. “I… I need it.”

Chester yanked his barbed cat cock from Donald’s hole, eliciting a yelp from the septagenarian. He stood up over Donald, tracing a paw over the full, uncomfortable thing beneath his navel he’d been nursing all day. It had been a challenge not to let any escape during Donald’s payment, but he had a lot of practice, and besides, he liked to fuck when he was full. It was more of a rush when his divine dignity was at stake. “Are you ready, sluts?”

“Aye aye, captain!” A grin broke across the Donald’s face.

Chester aimed his barbed furry peepee at Trump’s face. Almost immediately, a powerful jet of piss drenched the president. “Who lives in the white house and really likes pee?”

“ME ME ME ME!” Trump gurgled through what was essentially a pissboarding.

The stream continued. Chester aimed it lower. “Orange and pudgy and dumpy is he!”

“ME ME ME ME!” Trump felt his spent prick swell again.

“If being fat and slutty is something you wish, then get in this bathtub and flop like a fish!”

Donald tried his best to flop like a fish, getting all of Chester’s sweet orange juice all over him.

Chester’s stream tapered off. He allowed himself a small moan of relief. “Satisfied, whore?”

“Very,” panted Donald.

“Excellent,” said Chester.

And with that, Chester vanished in a burst of golden light. Nine months later, Trump anally birthed nine kittens. They were perfect clones of Chester in every way. Melania left him, but he was happy.

#Trump #Chester #Cheetah

What do you think?

12 Points
Upvote Downvote