The following is an erotic fantasy featuring fresh face politician Marjorie Taylor Green of the far right Q-Anon Faction of the GOP. It in no way represents any actual events, even if to me it seems very real, in my heart. I am a big fan of you, special lady. – Based on News Reports of Her Affairs At A Gym Before Being Elected
Marjorie, my personal trainer at the Strongman Spotter Gym, was a very conservative family woman. Well respected by the community, and she was, as she was fond of saying ‘a very hard worker, and proud of it.’ I have to admit, even though she was so respectable and all around a nice lady, and married too, I kind of had a secret thing for her. I mean, was I crazy? I thought I sensed something when she would work me out. She was always lying and telling me I was the best she had ever seen. Pretty much even though I was a horrible shlub, she told me I was the strongest most perfect pinnacle of male specimen that had ever graced God’s green earth. “Really?” I sort of begged, and she said “Hmm, what?” glancing back from the overhead television from where President Trump was currently on the newscast giving a speech. “Oh, yeah,” she said, a little flustered. “You’re doing great sweety. Let’s add another 5lbs. We’ll max you out at 10lbs and that’ll be your personal record for benchpress. You’re really working up a sweat today!”
I thought she was just swell. And I followed her around like a puppy whenever I was at the gym. She seemed like a such a great leader to me, always going on about anti-semetic conspiracies and saying paying taxes was a scam. And so, I was sort of eavesdropping on her conversation when I overheard her talking to some of the beefy trainer guys… guys way out of MY league… chatting her up with lurid tales of tantric sex practices. How they could just make love in a sweaty embrace for hours and hours. Jeepers, I thought. I bet that would make her husband have a wonderful time. These guys are so great for telling her these techniques!
When she walked back into the corner area where I was crouched in the corner listening, I had to quickly wipe up the big mess I had made on the machinery. She was always emphatic that treating her equipment with respect and honoring the sacred institution that she personally was taking an interest in at that moment was very important and that anyone who corrupted the machinery should be stomped into the ground with her big shiny black boots. I cowered and said ‘Yes, M’am. Of course M’am. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Then she petted my cheek and said, “Oh I know baby. Now tell me, you weren’t listening to me talk with those big hunky men over there like a bad boy were you?” I was shocked to my bones, feeling like I had an electric car battery attached to my genitals. “Oh no! Marjorie! I would never betray your secrets!” “I hope not!” she asserted. “Besides, anyone who would say anything bad about you is automatically a liar in my book,” I said, hoping to appease her wrath.
She was halfway out of her gym top by then and I was on my knees trembling. “You’re getting good at this, slave. Now let’s see what other ‘sins’ and ‘secrets’ you’ve learned about burying, and we’ll see how deep and depraved your little whore mind can get,’ she tempted, pulling up the red strap over her shoulder of her MAGA bikini. Jugs of wicked milk sloshing with plenty.
The Haunted Typewriter 