Watching Margo Tatum spout bullshit at a rally, as broadcast live on Faux News, left me sick to my stomach.

“Those politically correct, woke bastards want to take your homes and your pride! They want our schools to teach your children to be perverts! They run pedophile rings out of pizza parlors! Is that what you want in your community?”

“NO!” the crowd roared.

“They want to take your guns and vax you with microchips so they can control you using Jewish satellites! They want to tax you so they can spend it on ‘People of Color,’ people too lazy to work for a living! Are you going to let them destroy our God-blessed America, and turn it into a socialist hell, where everyone but them is equal – equally miserable and equally poor, begging for crumbs on your knees? Are you going to let them?”

“NO! NO!”

I clicked off the TV. She was the biggest liar – and biggest cockteaser – I had ever met. And she was dangerous. She didn’t believe a word she was saying, but the more she riled up the dumb fucks who followed her, the richer and more powerful she became.

Anger was her ride, and she was riding it as far as her limitless greed would take her. Yet, I didn’t see a thing I could do about it.

In disgust, I turned to today’s mail, riffling through the envelopes, sorting and tossing most of it, then stopped. There was a large, manila envelope, handwritten with no return address.

Slitting it open, I pulled out an 8 x 10 photo, a film negative, and a handwritten note.

“Please use this well.”

I turned over the photo, and my jaw dropped. It was a sharp, color photo of a naked Margo being spit-roasted. Her eyes were wide, her lips were stretched around a large, red cock attached to a white guy whose balls she clasped in her manicured hand. At her ass was a “woman of color” wearing a huge black strap-on while another woman was pushing Margo’s head forward to force the cock further down her throat. And a Black man had a hand descending on her bright pink ass. None of the faces were clear or in the frame except Margo’s.

What would her sheeple make of their Dear Leader being porked by a party of four, including two lesbians and a Black man?

I rubbed my face, wondering who the hell the photo had come from – then wondered what the hell I was going to do with it.

I’m the editor, producer, and staff of “Nothing But the Truth,” a podcast that attempts to provide fact-based political commentary. I knew my liberal viewers would eat this up with a spoon.

I also knew it would bring a shitstorm down on me. The entire right-wing-nut commentariat would take turns using me as a piñata, and I’d become the target of gun-toting vigilantes.

But it would feel oh, so good to get even…

The calendar said today was February 2nd – Groundhog Day, with Valentine’s Day looming on the horizon.

How fucking appropriate. February 14th was the anniversary of the day that Margo had left me hanging – literally. She had mooched her way up to my hotel room, eager to be featured in my blog in the early days of her rise. Desperate for attention and coverage, she had spread herself over me – and, dork that I am, I let her.

Until I was standing there naked, prick throbbing, eager to ram it straight into the puffy, glistening pussy presented by her bent-over body, when she turned, smiled at me, and said, “I can count on your support, can’t I?”

I stood there and saw clearly that my career could go one of two ways. I could either fuck and be fucked – and become known as just another political whore, trading favors and selling out. Or I could do what I had set out to do – and give my readers nothing but The Truth and let the chips fall where they might.

So, like a dork, I stopped. “Uh…well, you can count on me to tell your story straight, if that’s what you mean.”

The pretty smile evaporated. She turned, straightened up, and glared at me. “No, I mean – I can count on your support. Can’t I, Mervin?”

I tried to talk sense to her, explaining my position, stammering, desperate to fuck this gorgeous piece of ass as she angrily threw her clothes on – but the door slam put paid to any thought she’d listen to reason.

My balls are still blue from being, um, stood up that way.

But the approaching Valentine’s Day gave me an idea. I wasn’t proud of it – but revenge was a dish irresistible…

~~~~~

A florist sold me a dozen dead roses cheap, to which I added an ornately decorated box of chocolate-covered worms. I stashed the photograph in the candy box along with a card featuring a large heart, which read inside, “Have a heart attack, CUNT!”

I signed it “Mervin” with a flourish and had a courier deliver it all to her D.C. office in a much ritzier part of the city than mine. On Valentine’s Day.

On February 14th, my phone’s marimba beat roused me from my work. I picked it off the desk, glanced at it, and smiled.

“Margo, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Stow it, asshole. How did you even know I was in Atlanta?”

I paused. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her I had nothing to do with the photo. “Oh, we have our little ways.”

“What do you want?”

“Me? Nothing but The Truth, remember?”

She snorted, “Don’t give me that shit. What do you really want?”

I shook my head. “This may surprise you, but I’m not going to use that photo.”

“The fuck you say.” She paused. “All right – I’ll let you fuck me in exchange for the photo and all the copies, okay?”

Much as I wanted to fuck the living shit out of her – she really is a gorgeous piece of ass – I was pissed that she still thought I could be bought so cheaply. I just sat there, fuming for a minute, then said, “Shove it.”

 “What the fuck? You’ve wanted to fuck me ever since I slapped your face for coming onto me.”

“You lying sack of shit. You tried to use me to advance your career, and I wouldn’t play.”

“Potato, poh-tah-toe. What do you really want for the picture?”

Breathing hard, I was tempted to hang up on her. Then I had an idea.

“Be here tomorrow. Four o’clock,” and hung up.

I stared at the screen of my phone for a moment, then started calling people.

~~~~~

When she knocked, I opened the door and swept a hand for her to enter.

“How do you know I won’t keep a copy?” I asked.

She glared at me. “You may be a jerk with a tiny penis and a woke liberal asshole, but your rep is that you’re honest. You wouldn’t screw that up.”

“You’d trust me?” I asked, disbelievingly.

She nodded.

I rocked back on my heels, surprised. “Well, in that case, I can tell you first, I didn’t take the picture, second, I got it anonymously in the mail, and third, the negative came with it.”

I cleared my throat. “I’ll give you the negative and the only other copy – if you let me and my friends have our way with you.”

She looked at me suspiciously. “What friends?”

I smiled. “Let me take your coat.”

She let me ease it from her shoulders, to find she was wearing nothing but fuck-me red heels.

I blinked, then opened the door into my living quarters and gestured her in, where Clarice, Martina, and Ibrahim were waiting. Clarice is Black. Martina was born in Mexico, and a Dreamer. Ibrahim was born in Cleveland and, improbably, was a Browns fan, but in a rented djellaba looked like he had just been swept in by a sandstorm. Margo didn’t like any of them.

Margo glared at me, then walked reluctantly into my bedroom. “They’re not gonna – snap any photos, are they?”

I put a hand over my chest. “Cross my heart, they won’t.”

She nodded, “Okay let’s get it on.”

I nodded to the trio, then had Margo bend over a bench positioned in the middle of the room, straddling it and steadying herself with her hands, with her ass sticking out over the end, tits hanging over the middle.

Clarice was tall, well-built, and wearing a gauzy blouse and white rah-rah skirt. She straddled the bench and moved towards Margo until her crotch was positioned in front of Margo’s face, then stripped off her velcroed skirt, revealing a thick, black cock and two good-sized balls.

“I didn’t tell you – Clarice is trans, and Martina is one of those lesbians you love to rant about. Oh, and Ibrahim is bi, not that it matters to you.”

Margo glared back at me. “Listen, asshole, I’ve fucked everything that moves. This – guy – here,” she said, nodding at Clarice, “is nothing special. And that guy in the bathrobe can fuck his camel for all I care – and probably does.” She turned and looked Martina over, “But that slut looks pretty tasty to me. Now, stop yakking, and let’s get fucking.”

Ibrahim pulled off the djellaba, revealing a hair-covered body and a long, thick cock already stiff and throbbing. He held it at her pussy lips, rubbing up and down, then inserted just the head into her cunt, looking up at me.

I reached in for her clit and found that not only was it standing at attention, but was the size of a fucking banana! I flicked it with my finger and she jumped, then moaned.

“Beg,” I ordered.

“What?” she turned and glared at me.

“You heard me – beg to be fucked. At both ends – cunt.”

She arched her back, lifting her face to see Clarice’s hard, purple cock being presented to her mouth. “Fuck me, girly. Shut me the fuck u…”

Smiling, Clarice slid her cock into Margo’s mouth, sinking it as far as it would go, producing a very pleasurable gagging sound with each successive shove.

Meanwhile, Ibrahim rammed deep into her cunt, and her whole body shook, her ass twitching left and right.

I told Clarice and Ibrahim, “Move together at the same time…one…two…three!” They shoved deep into her, both ends at once, with Ibrahim adding a push with his hands.

She gagged, opening her mouth around Clarice’s thick shaft, coughing. Tears started running down her cheeks, causing her mascara to run.

They moved back, staying coordinated, then both shoved forward again.

She gagged again and made a deep retching sound, tears dripping down her face now. She put one hand up as if to keep Clarice from pushing so hard, but Martina grabbed her hands and held them on the bench, giving Clarice free range to shove as hard and as deep as she wanted.

The two cocks kept going, but I noticed that Margo didn’t object, even though she was gagging and retching each time. Clarice was starting to breathe hard, and Ibrahim was banging her cunt as hard as he could, grunting with each shove. Finally, I signaled to the two fuckers to pause.

“Had enough, slut?” I asked Margo.

By now, snot was dripping from her nose and drool was running from her mouth onto the bench and overflowing onto the floor. She sniffed to try to clear her nose, paused to catch her breath, then shook her head.

“Mo-wah” she mumbled around Clarice’s cock.

“More? Oh, absolutely. But let’s change holes, shall we?”

Clarice disengaged to lay on the bed, cock pointing up and throbbing. I hauled Margo off the bench and manhandled her into cowgirl so Clarice could slide her cock deep into Margo’s cunt. I pushed Margo’s torso forward, then Ibrahim knelt over Clarice’s legs, behind Margo, found her dark star, and started to feed her veiny cock into Margo’s ass.

Margo stiffened, then uttered a groan that changed into a shriek as Ibrahim started shoving hard, pulling her hips down towards him, forcing her asshole wide.

“SHIT!” she exclaimed, “You’re fucking wrecking me!”

“We’ve hardly started, cunt.” I grabbed her hair and forced her head up. Martina knelt forward, spreading her legs wide, and pulled Margo’s face into her shaved pussy, grabbing double fistfuls of Margo’s hair.

I gave Margo’s ass a stinging slap. “Eat up, slut. Martina had better cum hard and fast, so get busy!” And I slapped her again, this time on her near-side tit.

She moaned – until Martina shoved Margo’s face back into her pussy. “Eat me. You lick me good, unh?” using her best Rita Moreno accent, which was surprising as Martina taught English at a local high school. She reached down with one hand and grabbed one of Margo’s tits between thumb and knuckle and started to squeeze – hard – to emphasize her words.

Before long, Clarice, Ibrahim, and Martina got a rhythm going. Clarice would shove up at the same time as Ibrahim, making Margo grunt and moan, then Clarice would pull Margo down again, which was Martina’s signal to pull hard on Margo’s tit, causing her to give a muffled cry.

After watching for a moment, I walked forward, unzipped, and started wanking. Margo noticed the movement and swiveled an eye to look at me. I grinned at her and started wanking faster until I exploded onto her already dripping face.

When the three of us were sated, satisfied with screwing this fucking hypocrite, I pulled her to her feet. She was shivering, her face was a wreck, covered in cum, cunt honey, running mascara, snot, and tears. Her red hair was completely awry, and there was cum running from her ass and cunt.

She swayed, wiped her nose on the back of her hand, then swallowed. “Can I have a towel?”

“Nope,” I handed her her coat, then pushed her forcefully towards the front door. She hurriedly shoved her arms in the sleeves and wrapped the coat around her. Grabbing the manilla envelope containing the photo and negative, I shoved it into her arms. “Happy fucking Valentine’s Day – cunt” and slammed the door behind her.

I had promised to give her the photo and negative, which I did, but I also very carefully said she had to let us have our way with her. And my way was videotaping the entire encounter.

After the video was leaked anonymously to social media – with all faces and voices blurred but hers – even Faux News wouldn’t touch her.

After all, no sane person wants a hypocritical fucking liar as their leader.

Right?