Donald groaned as Bernie laboured on his throbbing member. But he wanted more. He pulled Bernie up and they both undid their clothes. Bernard panted, red-faced and tired. However, his exhaustion was nothing compared to his desire to make Donald feel great again. The passionate cries that ensued that night were covered up by Fox News, blaring loudly on the TV. Interestingly, this was the first night in four years that Trump’s eyes didn’t ever focus on the screen. It was his last night in the White House, and he would be leaving soon. He turned his attention back to the balding, white-haired man sitting in front of him. “If he wasn’t a Communist, I would make him feel the best, better than any man has EVER felt before,” Donald thought. The media was long gone, and all that was left was the two of them. An uncomfortable silence had settled into the room. “My campaign was all a lie. I never thought I’d actually confess to ya. But I saw something in the way ya looked at me during the last debate.” Bernie looked into Trump’s eyes. Donald reached for Bernie’s groin, but his hands were pushed away. “First, I’m controlling your means of production,” Bernie said. Donald had once famously remarked: “If you need Viagra, you’re probably with the wrong girl.” He definitely wasn’t with the wrong girl now. Bernie’s fingers wrapped around the base of Donald’s large member. which was slowly standing to Bernie’s Pledge of Allegiance. Bernie struggled to take it all in. Those small hands were clearly compensated for elsewhere. Donald sat down on the big chair. Bernard followed, slowly lowering himself on his rod. The two men grunted as a union, struggling to make up for the class boundaries that ha kept them apart for so long. “I’ve always hated ya, Donald. When I wanted to get rid of all the millionaires and billionaires, it was so I could finally approach you without being ashamed of who I was.”