Beyonce Knows Best

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The sexy singer visits the White House.
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It all would have seemed like quite the fairy tale setting, if it wasn't for the small army of well dressed but emotionless men, all certainly armed beneath their dark blazers. Even though the assembled Secret Service agents did a good enough job blending into the scenery, one of the world's most renowned pop princesses still got the heeby-jebbies each time she saw one of them talk into their lapel.

It was nearly a full year after Barack Obama swept into the White House and Beyonce Knowles had been invited, along with dozens of other dignitaries for a special White House New Years Eve celebration. She'd been asked to sing a couple of songs that night, an offer she couldn't refuse given the hosts along with the fact that she would be singing with Natalie Cole and Aretha Franklin.

Arriving in DC early that morning, Beyonce was privileged to take part on an extensive White House tour, with Michelle Obama and her two Daughters playing the role of guide. Even though she wasn't much of a student of history back in school, even Beyonce could feel the gravity of her surroundings as they walked from room to room.

Only once during the tour did Barack duck in to see how the women were doing, the President is a busy man as you'd expect. Beyonce politely shook his hand and naturally caught him stealing the obligatory peek at her rear end when she turned, which she made a point of ignoring in front of the First Lady.

"I have a meeting to head to..I'll see all you ladies later tonight," Barack promised then disappeared with his cadre of aides and support staff.

"Probably has a phone call from Oprah," Beyonce wanted to crack but didn't, unsure how Michelle would take the joke with her Daughters within ear shot.

The evening's festivities turned out to be one of the highlights of Beyonce's career. Sharing the stage with all those legends in such a glorious setting, she couldn't imagine a better way to spend her New Years. The Obamas couldn't have been more gracious hosts, and between the natural high she always felt after performing and the champagne that flowed freely throughout the evening, by the time Midnight rolled around, Beyonce felt like she was floating 10 feet off the ground.

By 1am, most of the invited guests had began to scatter. With her Husband, Jay-Z, occupied with a long planned holiday event out in Vegas, Beyonce had attended the White House gala alone, and quickly took the Obamas up on an offer to spend the night in one of the ornate guest rooms.

With his national security briefing scheduled for 6am the following morning, Barack kissed his Wife goodnight and said his goodbyes to all the guests that were still mingling around. Much more the night owl, and still buzzed from the energy of the evening, Michelle and Beyonce eventually found themselves the only ones left to turn out the lights. On Michelle's suggestion, it wasn't long before they retired up to the First Family's spacious den/theatre room.

Even for someone in such dynamite shape, by the time Beyonce collapsed onto one of the Obama's plush sofas, she could feel the wear and tear on her body from basically being on her feet, in four inch heels, for the past six hours. Kicking them off as Michelle claimed her spot on the opposite end of the sofa, the two ladies let out an exhausting gasp once they'd finally sat down.

There had been a million different things Beyonce intended to ask Michelle about when they got some alone time, but given the drained state they were in, and the amount of intoxicant flowing through their systems, the only thing the two women could really muster was a school girl giggle fest each time something from earlier in the night came up.

Pouring the remnants of a bottle of Cristal she'd brought up from the gala into both her and Beyonce's wine glass, Michelle made a slurred but well received toast before the two women clicked glasses and downed the rest of the bubbly.

"It's gotta be weird walking around with all those Secret Service guys at every turn?" Beyonce asked as she extended her well toned, mocha colored right calf to work out a cramp.

"It definitely was at first," Michelle replied, stifling a yawn as she settled into a comfortable spot on the sofa. "Like anything else I guess, after awhile you sort of get use to them..they sort of just disappear into the background."

Beyonce nodded, able to relate somewhat from her extensive experience with bodyguards over the years even though they were never on the same scale as what she'd encountered at the White House.

"So they just won't come barging in here to tell us its past our bedtimes?" Beyonce laughed.

"No....there two guys out in the hall...there's a couple of panic buttons in every room just in case, but otherwise its like they're not even there," Michelle replied as she reached for the remote to switch on the obnoxiously huge plasma tv.

Flipping through the options until she landed on one of the video channels, the two made small talk until coincidence of coincidences, a Beyonce video popped up on the screen.

"How do you get your ass to shake like that?" Michelle rested the side of her head on her left hand and marveled, her eyes fixed on the rapidly cutting image of Beyonce dancing on the screen.

Beyonce half laughed and yawned.

"Trick photography," she finally chuckled. "You do the takes over and over then they play with the speed of the video..its fucking exhausting work."

"All I can say is I'm jealous..I'd pull every muscle in my body if I tried swiveling my hips like that," Michelle sighed, the inebriation of the evening clear in her voice as she looked over at Beyonce sitting beside her.

"The First Lady of the United States is jealous of me," she shook her head and grinned back to Michelle in a shared moment of 'Hey..we both have it pretty damn good, don't we'.

By the time the video was over, both women looked as if they were starting to wind down. Each still clad in their glittery and stunning New Year's dresses, it appeared as if the exquisitely soft, black leather sofa was steadily sucking both of them in.

Pushing herself up from the indentation she made in the cushion, Michelle Obama teetered for several seconds on the tips of her high heels before she steadied herself enough to stand all the way up.

"Phew," she gasped, sounding like a woman who'd just scaled a mountain.

It was clear from the way the First Lady was swaying side to side that the Cristal was winning. Sensing Michelle's instability, Beyonce scuttled off the couch as well just to make sure Mrs. Obama didn't fall.

Her slim body bathed in the radiant glow of the gigantic television, Michelle stared intently at the screen as another music video started to play.

"Oh look..its one of those Beyonce wanna-bes," Michelle cracked to the real thing standing behind her, easing her hands out to each side, much the same way a novice surfer would as a wave approached, when she said it.

Sure enough the tv screen filled with one of the dozens of dime store divas out there. The young girl gyrated wildly surrounded by several scantily clad back-up dancers, only this time the First Lady of the United States was on her feet, intent on showing that cheap Beyonce knock-off on the screen how to properly shake her booty.

Looking more like a woman trying to ride out a violent aftershock instead of someone attempting to dance, Michelle Obama repeatedly swiveled and swirled her hips, raising her hands high above her head several times in the process as if she was front row at a concert.

Doing her best to restrain a hearty belly laugh, Beyonce eased up behind Michelle and put her left hand on the First Lady's waist.

"You're going to throw your back out, Michelle," she warned. "Imagine the TMZ headline...'First Lady in traction after late night romp with Beyonce'....would do wonders for my career..but maybe not your's."

Undeterred, Mrs. Obama continued to groove to the music blaring from the tv's surround sound speakers, even going so far as to bend her knees and dip her ass towards the floor. Drunk and somewhat disoriented herself, Beyonce nearly fell backwards trying to spot Michelle as she incessantly tried mimicking the freak moves of the dancers on the screen.

Sensing any attempt to talk Mrs. Obama down would be fruitless, Beyonce decided she'd give the First Lady an impromptu dance lesson, more to keep Michelle from hurting herself than anything else.

"We'll have you ready for next season's Dancing With The Stars," Beyonce laughed, easing the grip she had on Michelle's hip over to the center of her waist. Now stop watching what they're doing on tv....your eyes will always be a step slow telling your brain what to do next. Just close your eyes and absorb the music," the drunken diva coaxed.

"Its sort of like jumping on a moving train in mid song but just wait for the beat to come back around. One..two..three...four.....there you go..there you go," Beyonce sighed with relief seeing Michelle actually moving halfway in unison with the rhythm.

Shaking her head wryly seeing how far the First Lady's skirt hiked up each time she pumped her pelvis forward, Beyonce just stood back and let Michelle do her thing.

"I can't imagine what those Secret Service guys outside must be thinking hearing all this," Beyonce chided.

"Oh..don't worry..I sit in here with the music up loud all the time at night," Michelle replied, rotating her rear end out like a yo-yo with each bass thump of the song.

Beyonce was pretty sure between the bubbly in Michelle's system combined with the late hour that a minute or two of strenuous movement would probably tap the First Lady out. Hearing the song on the television beginning to wind down, Beyonce turned to find her shoes so she could gather her stuff and head to her suite for the night. The instant she turned her head however, one of Michelle's high heels snapped and she tumbled backwards in a willowy hail of arms and legs. Her head bowed and more than a little foggy, Beyonce had no chance to stop Michelle's momentum and within a second or two they came to rest in an intertwined heap on the same sofa they'd just been sitting.

Almost on cue with their joint fall, a new song started playing on the music channel, a much slower groove than the previous few.

"Those were $400 shoes," Michelle giggled and gasped, a clear touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Her back draped across Michelle's chest as she tried deciding which way was up, Beyonce focused her eyes lower and saw her skirt had become hiked all the way up to her waist during the fall. Her voluptuous, coffee colored thighs spread wide, Beyonce could see Mrs. Obama's right knee wedged between them.

Flailing her right hand out in some sort of attempt to re-balance herself, all Beyonce succeeded in was sliding down a little further on top of the plastered First Lady. Another fit of giggling ensued, this one followed by a heightened sigh of collective exhaustion.

"Think we ought to reach for the panic button..get those Secret Service agents in here to help us?" Beyonce cracked.

"Probably not the best visual for them to see if they came storming in," Michelle replied, her voice muffled beneath Beyonce's shoulders.

Beyonce nodded her head in agreement then set out to make another attempt to twist herself free, only this time Mrs. Obama didn't budge.

"Oh God..please don't tell me she's passed out," Beyonce cringed to herself, knowing full well she probably could at any moment as well.

Given the alignment of their bodies, Beyonce didn't think she could simply twist away on her own, or even reach down to rouse Mrs. Obama awake without pulling her shoulder out of socket.

"Maybe if I just roll over the edge..we'll...," she almost thought until the whole ballgame changed.

Still thinking Michelle had possibly passed out from the steady, emotionless flow of the First Lady's warm breath exhaling against the back of her neck, Beyonce prepared to fling her right leg off the sofa but the right knee Obama had wedged between her friend's thighs tightened. Trying to twist her hips off to the side once again, a bubbling wave of confusion washed down Beyonce's throat when she realized she wouldn't budge. Before Beyonce could try again, she felt the First Lady's fingers grip into the glittery material of her cocktail dress beneath her.

"...Michelle.....everything OK down there?" Beyonce whispered, but her voice wasn't audible over the sensuous rhythm rising from the TV.

Her ample rear end essentially snared by the fingers of Obama's left hand, and her thighs booted down by the First Lady's knee, Beyonce spiraled further into disarray when she looked down between her heaving cleavage and saw Michelle's right hand rise from below and drop perfectly, as if guided by the emanating heat of it's target, down on top of the lacy front panel of Beyonce's lavender panties.

Even then, the scant rational thread inside Beyonce's head told her all this had to be a mistake. Michelle was simply groggy and disoriented, blindly flailing her hand out until it randomly came to rest where it did.

Craning her neck forward, Beyonce narrowed her gaze down to her crotch and focused intently on each of Mrs. Obama's five flexing fingers. Squirming somewhat as her breath lodged in her throat, Beyonce's pupils suddenly flared when the First Lady's probing hand came to rest on the inside of her upper right thigh. Biting her lower lip as she looked helplessly on, Beyonce dug her heels into the sofa cushions as the tips of those five fingers seemingly danced in unison. Before she even realized it, Michelle's well toned arms were now closing like tentacles around her.

It wouldn't exactly have been Beyonce's first brush with Sapphic contact. There had been the normal experimentation growing up, and even the occasional romp over the years with various girls in her entourage. Being married to one of the most prominent rap moguls in the world also provided access to some rather edgy and provocative parties that would have completely altered her image if cameras had ever been allowed inside.

The last place she ever thought she'd be however was sprawled out on a sofa in a private room at the White House, being groped by the First Lady of the United States while her Husband slept just down the hall.

"I still might be able to peel myself away..save Michelle the embarrassment in the morning when she sobers.....," Beyonce thought one final time before her entire world filled with a rapturous white light.

"UUUHH......AAAHHH," the pop diva gasped the instant Mrs. Obama's intrepid fingers snaked inside her panties and quickly found a home on top of her moistened vaginal crease.

"WHAAAA....WHAAAA," she inhaled and shuddered several times, her knees flapping like butterfly wings as Michelle's five fingers softly caressed the baby smooth folds of her visibly aroused pussy.

Stunned and clearly fascinated by Michelle's ability to corkscrew her hand from below and massage it directly into the most sensitive spots of her body without being able to see, Beyonce just laid there for several breaths allowing the First Lady to continue spinning her web.

"You like that?" she heard Michelle's voice sleepily drift into her left ear.

There was no need for Beyonce to answer, the way she slowly reached down and pressed her own hand down on the back of Michelle's to help the First Lady massage her increasingly slippery cunt said it all. As if sensing her prey's submission, Michelle eased her lips up and planted a deep, soulful kiss just below Beyonce's left earlobe.

"Ohhhhh...wow," Beyonce sheepishly gushed, goosebumps quickly dotting her arms as her nipples protruded like two bullets from the front of her form fitting gown.

The soft, plush sofa straining under their intertwined weight, Michelle eased slightly to her right and kissed Beyonce along the back of her neck and shoulders as she fished her left hand free to caress the front of the younger woman's chest.

Once again, Beyonce felt the world falling away beneath her. So much of her blood rushing to her aroused genitals, her head filled with pounding dizziness as Michelle slithered like a serpent out from below. When Beyonce finally managed to re-open her eyes, suddenly she was the one laying flat on the sofa and Michelle was resting on top of her.

Swept up in a whirlwind of primal paralysis, just as Beyonce's gaze was adjusting to focus she could see Michelle's lips aiming in towards hers. Her only movements for the next several minutes were returning the First Lady's furtive kisses. Feeling the older woman's knee resting in the crook of her flaming crotch, Beyonce began rutting her pussy against Michelle's thigh until Obama's upper leg was glistening with her syrupy vaginal dew.

Pulling her lips free from Beyonce's, Michelle proceeded to criss-cross her tongue down the prone woman's throat until she could feel Beyonce's plump nipples poking out against her own modest bosom.

Resting the back of her head on the armrest, Beyonce allowed the pure bliss to flow through her as Michelle slowly descended down her body. Reaching out with both hands, Beyonce braced them to each side of Michelle's head as the First Lady began nudging up her gown.

Pushing Beyonce's garment up over the beautiful contours of her breasts before she buried her face between the singer's cleavage, Michelle swirled her tongue up and down the smooth, perfume scented valley, taking time every few swipes to suckle her lips and front teeth around the juicy nipples straining through the thin cups of Beyonce's bra.

Feeling Michelle's right hand still tucked between the trembling bracket of her thighs, Beyonce's head swayed side out side on the armrest as the First Lady greedily pawed at her fiery sex.

"Fuck..this aint her first time doing this," Beyonce hissed to herself as she humped her crotch upwards against Michelle's now soaked hand.

"UUHHH...SHIT!!!" Beyonce spat out loud several seconds later when Mrs. Obama proceeded to insert her index, middle and ring fingers into her throbbing fissure.

Her panties now stretched and tugged to the side, Beyonce could feel Michelle roughly manipulating her pussy until her arousal saturated the cushion beneath her ass.

Still, Michelle didn't say a word as she fiercely fondled the whimpering diva. Adding her pinky to the three fingers already embedded inside Beyonce, Michelle essentially began fist fucking one of the most desirable women in the world right there on the White House sofa.

Flexing her expensively crafted nails deep into Michelle's hair as jolts of electricity raced up her spine, Beyonce felt things she never knew existed. She'd had more than her share of big dicks and extravagant toys inside her over the years. Ones that made her scream and cry, ones that made her take the Lord's name in vain, even a few that kept her walking funny for days afterward, but what Michelle was doing literally felt like the Hand of God had reached inside her womb and was now oscillating over and over.

Feeling Michelle crudely tug down the cups of her bra with her free hand, Beyonce looked on in shock as her titties spilled free. The First Lady wasted no time puckered her lips around the nubs of the singer's pointed nipples, kissing and sucking them with a tenderness belying the havoc she was wreaking inside Beyonce's crotch with her buried right fist.

If the rotation of Michelle's hand inside her wasn't enough, Mrs. Obama proceeded to press her thumb straight down on the chubby nub of Beyonce's raging clitoris until she was lurching like ragdoll on the couch.

"OHHH SHIT.....MOTHER.....FUCK!!!!" Beyonce cursed up to the ornate ceiling, her long and flowing hair extensions flailing out in all directions across the armrest as she grinded her head side to side.

Michelle took a few moments to steal a glance back at Beyonce, absorbing the look of utter joy on the whimpering woman's face as Beyonce's vagina seemed to bubble and expand around her churning hand. The way it seemed Beyonce's pelvic muscles were pulling her deeper, Mrs. Obama swore she might be able to keep reaching into her lover's welcoming body until she eventually caressed Beyonce's thumping heart.

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