Karl Rove Deals With His Impotence:
Karl Rove's leather slave is worried about his master. Down in the basement of the White House, chained across an empty keg of Ulysses Grant's favorite ale, Karl Rove's leather slave sees Rove in the corner, coked out of his mind on a special kind of blow from Uruguay cut with the powdered bones of Sunni children, and Rove's nose is bleeding as he weeps and thrashes about, unable to get a hard-on to save his life, searching for his shining steel strap-on, the one he calls "Steely Ann," tossing aside Chester Arthur's hand-crank mutton chop trimmer and Ike's collection of Philippine shrunken heads, raging at the beams about his seething need to show his leather slave he means business.

Karl Rove's leather slave would like to offer Rove some whispered words of sympathy and comfort, but it's hard to talk, you know, with a ball gag leather-strapped into your mouth. And, of course, with his hands cuffed to the cement floor, he can't even gesture over to John Tyler's cabinet, a gift from Texas slave-owners, ironically enough. But no, no, instead, he must just watch Rove destroy the basement of America's house.

Karl Rove's leather slave is sore, since Rove has beaten his ass to welts and blood streaks. It was a terrible whipping, brought on when Rove tried to desperately fuck his leather slave with a half-tumescent cock flopping uselessly around. Karl Rove's leather slave felt pity for Rove as he screamed, perhaps at his dick, perhaps just to the air, "It should be enough, goddamnit, it should be enough." And then, in a rare moment of calm, Rove took the blindfold off his leather slave and said, "These fuckers think they've got it all figured out, but I'm a fuckin' god at this shit. See, if I wanted to just blow the place up, we could have nominated Edith Jones or Janice Rogers Brown or, what's-her-name, Senora Judgey McTaco or whatever, hard core bitches who'd've made those fuckin' Democrats set the place on fire and immolate themselves in the process. But I want the slow burn. It's gonna be a long, hot August, diggin' into every toilet Roberts has ever taken a dump, and then in September, it'll all explode when those fucks Biden and Leahy try to get classified docs on Johnny G." He giggled madly, and Karl Rove's leather slave tried to make his eyes look at Rove as if his master had finally lost control. "Right when that mick bastard's puttin' out his worthless report."

Then, unfortunately, Rove caught a look at the front of yesterday's Washington Post, and it made Rove look down at his pantsless lower half and his cock, shrinking, shrinking away. With a twitch and a sneer, Rove looked right into his leather slave's face and said, "Now I'm gonna whip you till you bleed and then I'm gonna fuck you with Steely Ann." After snorting the snow off his leather slave's ass, Rove was as good as his word.

Now, Fox "News" has been turned up to full volume. The Secret Service, who have heard terrible noises and screams and motors and suction coming from the basement, knock on the door to make sure all is well. Rove screams back for them to go wipe the President's ass and leave him alone. Rove tries to jack off at Sean Hannity's face on the screen, yankin' his limp cock and squeezing his shaved balls for all he's worth, but he can't even manage a dribble.

Finally, he opens Tyler's cabinet and there, in all its glowing glory, is Steely Ann. He puts the belt around his waist and heads over to his leather slave, prancing around as if he's got the biggest dick in the capitol. "What do you think?" he asks, rhetorically, for sure, as his leather slave cannot answer. "Should I fuck you without any K-Y? Or should I grant your asshole a pardon?" Nah, Rove thinks. Better to fuck him hard and painful so that he remembers it for a long, long time.