ok

- KIMI

DADDY

ik ben een mongool

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."