The First Lady

Back when power moved through marble corridors instead of hotel bedrooms, the President's schedule stayed full while her wife stayed unsatisfied. The First Lady walked those long halls half the day humming with pent-up want, tapping her foot, looking for trouble. So the Chief Executive sent his slick young personal assistant over, thinking a decent meal or some witty chat would cure the boredom. Oops. An hour later the assistant's tie lay on the floor, her own dress hit the air-conditioning vent, and they scrambled straight into the four-poster. You will have to peek through the cracked bedroom door for the rest.