Happy New Years!

We will be taking this week off, but please tune in next week when we have a very special guest post from the titillating W. Charlton Gibson.

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Story of the Week: The War on Christmas

The War on Christmas: Rick and Annabelle Again, Again

“If I have to hear ‘Happy Holidays’ one more time, I swear to Christ someone’s gonna get a candy cane up their ass.”

Rick Belson threw his blackberry on the couch and shook his head. He had barely walked into his apartment when the phone rang – it was his bitch atheist sister wishing him holiday cheer. Where the fuck did she get off doing that at all? She didn’t believe in God and the baby Jesus, but still enjoyed her government sanctioned week off from teaching. The least she could do is thank their Savior. Rick shook his head and took off his coat.

Christmas was Rick’s favorite time of the year, but he couldn’t go home to see his family because of the blizzard that fell a few days earlier, resulting in his flight getting cancelled. Unfortunately he had also taken the week off of work from the news station where he hosted his popular evening program, so unsure of what to do with himself on this day of the Lord’s birth, he dropped by work that morning to see if anyone was also stuck in town on this Holy day. He knew exactly who he wanted to see, but she wasn’t there. Of course she wouldn’t be, Rick thought, she was likely home with her family. Feeling stupid, he went home, and that’s when his heathen sister called. Glad to finally get her off the phone, he headed towards the kitchen to pour himself a Christmas scotch.

“Happy holidays.”

A familiar voice came through the hallway – it was at that moment that Rick realized he was in such a huff over the conversation with his sister that he had forgotten to close the door to his apartment. But surely it couldn’t be…

“Annabelle?”

“I said Happy holidays. Does this mean I get a candy cane shoved in my ass now?”

She smiled coyly, leaning against the doorway, curling her flaxen hair with a finger. “I heard you talking to that person on the phone. I was in the hallway.”

“But Annabelle, how did you… shouldn’t you…”

“Shhhh…” Annabelle said as let herself in and shut the door. “Is it ok if I stay here a bit? I’m actually trying to avoid someone.”

“B…but what are you even doing in my building,” Rick stammered. “I have security!”

“I know. I came in with Bill or Bob or whatever his name is. I had a date last night and I spent the night at his place. I didn’t know you lived here too until just now.”

Rick winced when she said ‘date’. Since their first risqué encounter at his studio where she was an intern, she was all he could think about. After their second liaison in his office, well, he didn’t think it was possible to think about someone that many times in a day. But he had to admit it. Rick Belson was having… feelings for Annabelle.

Feelings. The bros in his weekend men’s group told him that feelings were natural, and should be nurtured. But feelings about a woman should be controlled and tempered. Feelings. Why, he felt like a 7th grader just thinking about her. And that brought him back to the time when no girl would ever talk to him. But here was Annabelle, again, and in his apartment no less. And Rick hadn’t the damnedest idea what to do with the fact that he was falling for her. That realization made him more nervous than John Boehner on any given day this week.

“You are welcome to stay Annabelle, um, I’m guessing date went well?”

“No, the jerk passed out while we were making out .” Annabelle plopped down on Rick’s couch and stretched her arms back. “So, you know, I slept there, but we didn’t fuck. Merry Christmas to me.”

Rick timidly sat down on the far end of the couch, unable to look her in the eye. Was he… nervous? He cleared his throat and tried his best to fill the thick silence that was intensified every time Annabelle shifted on the leather seat.

“Yes, well, I’m stuck here because of the blizzard,” Rick said. “So I guess it’s good luck for you that I was even home so… that’s my gift to you.” Rick glanced at her and smiled shakily, while Annabelle studied him up and down.

“Hm,” she muttered, screwing her face as she looked at him. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

“Why are you dating that douchebag down the hall?”

Rick was shocked by his own retort. Annabelle, however, was amused. She scooted closer to him. He could feel the excitement rising in his trousers. Oh my God, this was happening.

“Rick, I only went out with him because he asked me.”

“Of course,” Rick sighed. Annabelle leaned closer into him, the sweet scent of her skin making its way towards his nose. He finally spoke again, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” offered Annabelle, grinning.

“Why aren’t you home for Christmas?”

Annabelle leaned back, slightly disappointed that Rick hadn’t picked up on what she thought were very obvious verbal and physical clues. And now he wanted her to talk about her personal life.

“Well, fine then.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “My mom hates me, and my father passed away many years ago so it’s just me and that’s why I hate this fucking holiday. It’s the only day of the year I feel more alone than any other day, which, might surprise you, is quite often. And that’s how I ended up in this building, with that guy…” She pointed in the direction of the apartment down the hallway. “So now you think I’m pathetic or something, but yes, I don’t have a family and I don’t have a Christmas and I don’t really like talking about it.

At that moment, something happened that shocked both of them. A tear slid down Rick’s cheek.

“Annabelle, that’s the saddest thing I ever heard.”

She looked away for a second. This was a side of Rick she had never seen. Warm, caring, emotional. Annabelle turned back to him and wiped the tear away from his cheek before saying, “I don’t usually like telling my sob story. It’s so indulgent.”

“No, not about your family,” Rick began as he grabbed her hands and pulled him closer to her. “I mean, yeah, that’s terrible but… Christmas? How can you hate Christmas?”

Annabelle was simultaneously confused and amused. “I mean, it’s kind of ridiculous if you think about it.”

“Ridiculous?!?” Rick jumped up off the couch and fervently paced back and forth in front of Annabelle as he continued, “Don’t you see, this is what those other people want! To kill Christmas! And you’re letting them do it!”

Annabelle cocked her head to the side and studied Rick’s face, which was now an aggravated shade of red. She listened intently as he spoke.

“Annabelle, Christmas isn’t just about family and shopping and Santa. It’s about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ! Did you know that across the country nativity scenes in public parks are being banned by atheist groups, who, by the way, are rapidly becoming a majority in this country?”

“No they’re not even close to being a majority.”

“But they CAN BE!” Rick pointed a finger towards Annabelle’s face. “And people like YOU are going to let that happen. If there’s no Christmas, there’s no joy! There’s no community! And to be quite honest, no reason to live! It’s the MOST WONDERFUL FUCKING TIME OF THE YEAR and I won’t let you not believe, Annabelle.”

Annabelle jumped up, and threw herself into Rick’s heaving chest. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but there was something about the passion in his speech that nearly brought her to tears, her loins drenched from adoration.

She lifted her head up and said, “I want to believe, Rick.”

Then something happened that surprised the both of them. Rick deftly swept her off the floor into his arms, carried her into his bedroom and threw her on the bed.

Annabelle fell back in delight and squealed, “Oh, Rick!”

He gently placed one hand on her flushed face, steadying himself on top of the bed with the other, and whispered, “I don’t want you to do or say a single thing. I want to make you believe.” He leaned in and brushed his lips gently over Annabelle’s parted cherry mouth before delicately pressing them down into hers. When she leaned up to match his intensity he pulled back, cupped Annabelle’s face with his hands, and whispered, his breath hot against her ear, “I said I don’t want you to do anything.” Rick placed a soft kiss on her yielding neck, and traced a trail with his mouth down to her shoulders. Annabelle surrendered to every kiss, every touch.

And oh, he took his time. After what seemed like an eternity, Rick made his way down to Annabelle’s pleasure garden, consuming her with ardent adoration. She was sure she would explode at any moment, but Rick would not let that happen just yet, stopping every so often to gently trace his hand over every inch of her body, luxuriating in every squirm and delighted moan that escaped Annabelle’s lips.

Finally Rick pulled himself on top of Annabelle, their breaths heaving in unison. He savored the feeling of flesh against flesh for another glorious second before guiding himself slowly inside her, joining his body to hers. And there the two of them made love, riding the torrential and extraordinary waves of sheer ecstasy.

 

The next morning, Annabelle awoke to find her head resting on Rick’s chest, their fingers entwined. When she looked up, Rick smiled at her.

“Good morning Annabelle.”

“Well, good morning Rick,” she replied before nuzzling her lips into his neck. “I think you made me like Christmas again.”

Rick sat up, giddy. “Really?”

Annabelle pulled herself up and furnished Rick with an affectionate gaze, “You see, when I said my father died, I wasn’t being quite forthcoming. He actually died on Christmas, fifteen years ago.”

“Oh my God Annabelle, I’m so sorry.”

She nodded soberly and continued, “Me and Mom were decorating the tree, waiting for Dad to come home from work. A couple hours went by. Dad wasn’t home. So Mom called the office. No answer. Christmas Day came and went, and still nothing. So the police began a search. Four or five days went by. Neither one of us could eat or sleep. Everything was falling apart. It was snowing outside. The house was freezing, so I went to try to light up the fire. That’s when I noticed the smell. The firemen came and broke through the chimney top. And me and Mom were expecting them to pull out a dead cat or a bird. And instead they pulled out my father. He was dressed in a Santa Claus suit. He’d been climbing down the chimney… his arms loaded with presents. He was gonna surprise us. He slipped and broke his neck. He died instantly. And that’s how I found out there was no Santa Claus.”

There was a long pause as Rick tried to digest everything that Annabelle had just said. There was something oddly familiar about that story.

“Annabelle,” Rick began.

“Hmmm,” she murmured, pressing her face in his chest.

Rick caressed her back as he spoke, “I just think… I’m pretty sure that’s the story Phoebe Cates’s character tells in Gremlins.”

“Oh, is it?” Annabelle queried.

“No, like, word for word. That is the exact monologue from Gremlins. I’m positive. I’ve seen that movie about a hundred times. I have it on DVD.”

Annabelle smiled and looked back up at Rick’s concerned face. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. Yeah, I was just fucking with you.”

The two of them laughed heartily. Rick was in awe of how this woman managed to surprise him at every turn. Yes, she really was the best Christmas present he ever had received from the Lord Jesus Christ.

“I mean, Annabelle, that’d be pretty messed up.”

“Yeah. He is dead though. Brain cancer.”

“Oh…”

“Rick,” Annabelle lifted her head and looked into his soft brown eyes. “Thank you for the best Christmas I can remember.”

“You’re welcome.”

Story of the Week: Love As Deep As The OSHA

Many thanks to Director of Public Relations at Compliance and Safety  for the inspiration for this story by sending me this link! If you have a story suggestion, or would like to write your own, contact us here. See the nice email – click to enlarge!

Love As Deep As The OSHA

Love As Deep As The OSHA

James Fackler let out a deep sigh, shook his head, and looked back at the computer screen. He was reading a blog piece emailed to him about the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, or “OSHA”, as it was known in political circles.

“President Obama is often framed as a big spender, but does this narrative hold true for OSHA? It does indeed, with OSHA spending hitting record levels immediately after Obamas inauguration.  OSHA is bigger than ever before, both in terms of funding and in terms of revenue generated from fining businesses. This is great news for working class citizens but not quite as exciting for business owners.”

By God, this article was good, even though there was a grammatical error in it, which was a little disconcerting. Really, James pondered, if someone is going to write an entire page on an important issue, hit “post” and then email it around to thousands of people, it might do some good to run it through a spell and grammar check. And the error involved the misuse of the possessive form of a singular noun – the President’s name no less. No matter. James was completely on board with what this article was saying. OSHA was killing him and business owners like him with these fines. And the more frequent random inspections? Too much.

James shook his head and sipped on a paper cup of overheated coffee. He was about to ask Cassie to make him a lunch reservation with his old Harvard pal Philip when he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he huffed, barely glancing at the door as it opened.

“I hope it’s ok that I’m here without an appointment,” a soft voice murmured.

James spun around to find a young woman leaning up against the doorway, a huge, ratty trench coat wrapped around her body. She wasn’t exceptional looking – her messy brown hair was tied up in a loose bun; dark glasses adorned her face. Probably just one of those stragglers he’d seen outside his plant looking for work.

“Oh, hello,” James offered, standing up. “How may I help you?”

“May I sit?” The Woman queried, motioning towards the seat in front of James’ desk.

“Of course,” James replied as he strolled along to the front of the desk and leaned back. “What can I help you with?”

“Well, this is hard for me…”

“Please, go on.”

“My brother died a few months ago from a workplace injury at one of your plants.” The Woman bent her head down before speaking again. “Tommy Figgs, do you remember him?

James shook his head as he spoke, “Can’t say I do. I mean, there are so many employees at my plant I can’t really remember them all.”

“But… you’d remember a dead one.”

“No offense but I’m a busy man…” James was cut off by The Woman.

“Fuck..me..,” The Woman said as she jumped up.

“I… I’m sorry that came out wrong.” James jumped up and turned to grab a tissue from his desk when he felt a hand press hard on his lower back.

“I said, fuck me,” a hot voice whispered in his ear. The Woman was directly behind him. James stood, hands atop his desk, slightly bent over. Surely she was crazy! James had always considered himself to be an attractive man, but it wasn’t like women were throwing themselves at him…

Two hands grabbed his shoulders firmly and swung him around. He looked at her, this Woman, who now stood before him naked. She had released her hair from the restrictive bun, taken off the trench coat and removed her glasses. My God she was… beautiful! How could he not have noticed before?

“You can stare all you want but you have to fuck me.”

“But… what’s the…”

“I want you to know what it’s like to put a hard day’s work in under insecure working conditions. So tonight, when your factory closes, I want you to meet me in your plant. Be prepared to work overtime.”

“This is absurd! It’s the holiday season and I have a family!”

“I don’t care,” The Woman snapped. “Besides, if you don’t, I’ll take this photo straight to the media.” The Woman held her iPhone up to James’s flushed face. On the screen was a photo of him bent over his desk with The Woman naked, making a lewd gesture with a phallice she had somehow whipped out for the picture.

“You’ll never get away with this,” James hissed.

“Oh, I think I just did.” The Woman grinned mischievously and wrapped the trench coat back on, pulled her hair up and threw on the glasses. Why, she was homely again! James thought, as he curiously studied this little chameleon.

“I’ll meet you at your plant down the street at 8:00 tonight. No need for a hard hat. I hear you skimped on those this year for most of your staff. I’d hate it if we had to have something large fall on your head.”

She shut the door behind her.

James walked aimlessly through the now empty plant littered with forklifts and boxes. It was night, and he had made sure everyone went home on time. The employees were all so… grateful. One woman even gave him a hug. How odd, James thought. If that’s all it took to make his employees happy…

Suddenly, he heard a whoosh followed by a crack and before he knew it, James fell to the floor in excruciating pain. He saw blood seeping out of his pant leg. James looked up suddenly when he heard the footsteps of The Woman walking towards him. Her hair was down, her glasses off, and instead of a trench coat she wore a tight latex top and bottom. She looked hot again. But James was in pain…

“What the hell was that for,” he yelled.

“Get up,” The Woman demanded.

“But I’m bleeding!”

The Woman knelt down, whip in hand. She placed a finger under James’s chin and tilted his head up to meet hers.

“Two years ago you made Rick Hardworth work with a cut on his leg. If he had gotten medical attention, even a band-aid, they’d have to write it up in a report and it would bring down your impeccable safety record. He had to work all day with a cut leg and you will too.”

Before he knew it, The Woman wrapped the whip around his back and under his armpits, pulling him up.

“See that room over there in the corner where those steel drums are piled up in a hazardous manner that goes against several safety codes?”

“Yes,” James said. He knew exactly which room she was talking about.

“That’s where you’ll fuck me. Except I get to wear this.” The Woman whipped out a very large hard hat.

“But they’ll fall on top of me!”

“That’s how my brother got injured… the first time. You can leave once you get me off.”

James hated to admit it, but he was damn excited. He immediately shed his clothes and practically ran into the cold room, The Woman walking behind him. She sat herself up on a drum, pulled off her latex bottom and looked down at him.

“You’re hard.”

“I want to do a good job.”

“I like that work ethic.”

With that The Woman grabbed James’s waist and shoved his torso in between her legs. He gasped with exquisite pleasure as he felt the tip of his manhood touch her welcoming, warm moist lips. She thrust him towards her, harder and harder, until he felt her come on his cock. She screamed so hard with every shuddering climax that The Woman threw her head back, causing the already shaky pile of steel drums to rattle. James looked up and before he could say anything, The Woman leapt off of him as a lone drum crashed down on his torso.

“Ow!”

“Are you okay?” The Woman was standing over his naked body, sprawled on the ground, pinned by the heavy steel.

“I’m ok, I just can’t… quite get up…”

“Shhhh. Someone will be here to help you tomorrow.”

“What?” James struggled to push the drum off but it was too heavy. “I need your help!”

The Woman pulled her pants back on, and grabbed her trench coat from behind a box and slipped it on. She spoke to James as she pulled her hair back and placed glasses on her face. Dammit she wasn’t hot again. How did she do that?

“Listen, James, do you know how many workers at your plant end up in your same exact position just because your plants don’t meet OSHA guidelines?”

“I won’t complain about OSHA again, I swear!”

“Shhh…” The Woman placed a finger on James’s lips. “You’ll be fine. Someone will be here around 8am I think, and they’ll help you. That’s twelve hours from now – I told you you’d have to work overtime.”

“But… I didn’t even get to climax with you.”

The Woman turned towards the door.

“Work isn’t always fun, James.”

“Stop!”

The Woman turned back curiously.

“Can I see you again sometime?”

The Woman grinned, pivoted, and strode out of the plant.

Story of the Week: The Fiscal Cliffs

Sophia Whitcomb dashed hastily into the old barn, her tarnished petticoat falling out of the rucksack she held firmly to her chest. Cautiously she looked around the huge stables that once housed magnificent horses on this grand island. The stable was black save for the orange specs of dusk peeking in from the wooden slots. Sophia threw off the large black cape, slumped down and let out a heavy sigh. She did it, she thought. And she had actually gotten away with it.

“And, pray tell, what are you doing here young lady?”

A deep voice startled Sophia. After a few seconds she peered around the room cautiously. Sophia held her breath and hoped that whoever it was would go away. There was no way she could explain her cover, and knew she would surely risk death if she was found out.

The figure of a man emerged from the shadows and Sophia could barely make out a face. His hair was long and stringy, his torso broad and strong. From the silhouette she could see a pitchfork and what looked like a bucket.

“It’s not safe here, to be alone by yourself,” the voice brusquely hissed. The figure came closer… Sophia let out a sigh of relief. It was just Adelphi, the young stable boy.

“Adelphi, why didn’t you say it was you,” Sophia got up from the cold floor and brushed herself off.

“Miss Whitcomb?”

“Yes, yes it’s me,” Sophie blushed slightly. She realized that she was wearing nothing but a hastily tied corset and a pair of pink bloomers. Sophia reached for the cape when Adelphi stopped her with a wave of his hand.

“I understand. It helps you with the escape.”

“Escape?”

Adelphi took one more step closer and smiled.

“The soldiers they’re… everywhere. They already took your father and your beloved.”

“Trust me, Adelphi, this place is far better off without the likes of them…” Sophie bit her lip before continuing. “I mean, I will very much miss my father and… Stepen.”

“Your fiancee?”

Sophia shuddered at the word.

“Yes, fiancee, whatever you like. And yes, I’m escaping.”

“Escaping what?” Adelphi placed his hand on a shovel and furnished her with a sly smile. “You don’t think it’s better that this government is controlled by the people instead of a king?”

“No, I most certainly do not,” Sophia spat with a ceremonious toss of her head. “That is why I took all of my most prized possessions and am headed towards the Fiscal Cliffs. There’s a boat there with my people. I escaped the tower where I was being held dressed as a commoner. And now, I’m… I’m here.”

“I see.”

The fierceness in Sophia’s countenance began to wane.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you Adelphi,” Sophia begged.

Adelphi smiled and sauntered towards her. She was so beautiful; so innocent. Her noticed that chest glistened with perspiration and her bosoms heaved up and down with every harsh, nervous breath she took.

It is true that Sophia had no idea what was waiting for her over the Fiscal Cliffs. She imagined a diamond and jewel encrusted ship; her adoring maids tending to her every need. But Adelphi seemed to know something… What could he know? He was just a stable boy.

“Sophia, I’m not going to tell you not to go to the Cliffs.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Adelphi smiled. “But you do know there is no boat. Or at least, that’s what I hear around the town.”

“There IS a boat!” Sophia cried defiantly, trying to hide the flicker of doubt that was rushing through her body as Adelphi studied her carefully. “There… has to be.”

“Listen, I can’t force you to stay.” Adelphi walked closer to her, brushing her soft bosom with his hand before gently cupping her left breast. “All I’m saying I let me give you a proper goodbye.”

He leaned in towards Sophia’s yielding lips, and the two kissed. Sophia had always fantasized about this… how had he known?

“Wait Adelphi, stop… I can’t do this. I’m still a lady. I have never before been with a man.”

“I know,” said Adelphi, now trailing a line of kisses down Sophia’s neck. “That is why I will only pleasure you with my mouth.”

Sophia gasped as Adelphi picked her up swiftly and sat her next to a soft bed of hay. He draped the cape over the pile and placed her delicately on it.

“Adelphi I…”

“Sh… no talking. And try not to make any noise at all. We wouldn’t want anyone finding us.”

“But if I don’t talk what other noise would I ma… AAAAA!”

Sophia arched her back and let out a wild cry when she felt Adelphi’s calloused thumb beneath her undergarments trail the base of her clit lightly.

“Those kinds of noises.” Adelphi whispered in her ear, and continued to rub her mound. Sophia squirmed with aching, but knew she musn’t make a noise.

Adelphi kissed her mouth, her neck and down to her bosom as he effortlessly released the restrictive lace on the front of her corset. He took turns suckling on each nipple as he continued the exploration with his hands on Sophia’s lower lady-flower. He soon pulled her bloomers down and moved his head below.

All Sophia wanted to do was cry out, groan, anything! Adelphi masterfully drank her in with a mix of enthusiasm and delicate passion. Sophia couldn’t take anymore – she was about to explode.

When Adelphi felt her body convulse under him in rolling spasms of thunder, he pulled himself on top of her and clasped his hand on her mouth as she continued her gyrations under him.

“Mgrphrmph!” Sohia groaned under his coarse hand, and then went limp. Adelphi rolled her over so she could rest on his torso.

After a few minutes, Sophia lifted her dizzy head from his chest. “If you were trying to keep me from going over to the Fiscal Cliffs, it didn’t work.”

“Please Sophia, you know you are free to go.”

“Oh I will!” she said stubbornly before nuzzling her face back in his chest. “Let’s just stay here for a couple of days. You have a lot more work to do before I leave.”

“Well technically, I don’t work for you anymore,” Adelphi whispered into her golden hair which he was stroking his free hand. “But as a favor, I’ll let you stay here. If you do some work for me.”

“It’s a deal,” Sophia smiled and lay her head back on Adelphi’s chest. There was no need to go over the Fiscal Cliffs. Not today.

Story of the Week: No Labels

This week we are delighted to present a story from an anonymous guest blogger! This was written a few months ago for the awesome political erotica mash-up site, Hail to the Slash.  If you have a story suggestion or want to submit your own, contact us here.

No Labels

By: Anonymous

Just a joyless campaign. It was way too early for this shit, and it wasn’t even 5:30 a.m. Joe was spent; Geist was out today doing God knows. Did these candidates even like politics? Obama, trying to be so above it all. Romney, just, like, odd. No interest in the game. No desire to do the back-and-forth scrapping Joe craved. Where was a third party to re-energize this race? Sometimes he felt like he was talking to no one, the loneliest man at the roundtable leading the morning news of the world.

The world put a little more slump in his shoulders this 7:45 break.

As “Up the Junction” played over the tag, Joe felt a little tug at his trousers from under the desk.

“Hello.”

“Wha — ?” Years before he’d become a little reluctant to look down at what was up at his Deep South.There had always been rumors about Olbermann wearing nothing under the waist, and just… nasty. Plus this one time Katrina tried to initiate footsie with him, which he tried to play off by saying he wanted something a little more middle-of-the-spectrum, but —total kink-fest, let’s just say, so weird. And he wasn’t into it, not at all.

“You have a surprise visitor for the 8:00 hour.” It was Mike Bloomberg, Mayor Mike, Bloomberg Bloomberg, who had crawled under and made a little compact box of himself on all fours.

“Mr. Mayor?” Joe whispered.

“Yes, Joe. I wanted to get back to you about your key to the city.” He unzipped the fly.

“Freeball economy,” he observed.

“Boxer label was chafing.” Mike’s finger curled around his mushroom head, which already had precum. With a push of the finger up his nose Joe was able to cover up his surprise. Glasses adjustment. No big.

Damn. Diana, dirty Diana had taught Mike this move in the town car from the townhouse, he once told Joe. In the time it took to drive him from the stoop to the 6 she could get her mouth around him just long enough to give him a semi, a semi with which he would watch the show at City Hall. It was a little awkward for him to take care of at the office, what with the no walls, and he liked to come over to the set every once in a while to take care of business. He might be brusque, might have a lil harassment suit here or there, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have needs, needs a no-strings relationship with Joe filled in him. All issue politics, no labels.

“Just relax,” Mike said. “Join the conversation.” The piano riff on “Oliver’s Army” swirled over Joe and he let pure sensation take him to the top of the Freedom Tower. Those first few times he had tried to fantasize about others: Goth girls he’d run into at the D.I.Y. shows in college, back in ‘Bama. Ones he could talk the Smiths with. Hardbodies educated at small liberal arts colleges in Western Mass. International superstar, redhead, Matthews’ chick, before the Citibank guy. The blonde, the one everybody thought he was fucking — if they only knew about how their relaish got destroyed by somebody’s fixation with Daddy. Always felt like she was trying to rebel being with him. Made him act the bad boy. And that wasn’t a label he could live up to, not him, anyway. He needed something with no labels.

As if reading his mind, Mike elongated his tongue to hit a little more on the shaft.

“Stunningly superficial,” Mike muttered, sucking a little harder and adding a little teeth onto Joe’s cock that cut through like the voice of that other Boston Mike, Barnicle. Mike was never able to get rid of that old Boston accent, even with all his time in New York and Baltimore, and so he was unable to mimic Daddy’s Polack growl. Even so, it got Joe hot, and for the first and maybe only time in his life he wished he could replace his drawl with one of those long Bal’more “O”s.

“I mean, my God!” he yelled. He hoped to God Bill Kerins couldn’t hear him in the other room. Ever onto Joe, though, Mike just swallowed and smiled.

“Business before the bell. I’ll have my staff analyze this data set later this morning.” Man, Mike just got him. Like union contracts, collective bargaining, hello? Fiscal discipline? I mean, Friedman and Meacham were kind of with him on this one, but Mike had something else, ambition or something, no pretenses. No labels. All chemistry. Mike was street, from poor folk, just like Joe, and they shared something deep down no pundit could divine.

“Mika, tell us what’s in the morning papers,” he said, diverting his thoughts onto a ring from the Gold Coast vent. Look anywhere but under the table, Joe. Look at the tabletop. Look at the ring. It condensed; Joe’s spirits evaporated.

When Joe looked back down under the table, Mike was gone.

Big Papa

I’d like to take a second to mention another political erotica story site, Hail to the Slash! It was conceived and written by the very funny Josh Fruhlinger. Please do enjoy. And now for this week’s story…

Big Papa

“Ridiculous, just ridiculous!” James Smallwood spat under his breath as he hastily hoisted his left wrist into one of the two cold metal cuffs above his head affixed to the brick wall. With a quick snap Alyssa locked the restraint shut and did the same with James’s right hand, which he had already willingly placed in the other.

As Alyssa turned to search through her bag of tools, James, bound to the wall, spoke furiously.

“I mean, can you imagine?!? Insurance for ALL my employees working more than 30 hours a week? I know, I’ll just make them work 29 ½ hours a week, that’s what I’ll do.”

Alyssa nodded absentmindedly while fastening a pair of nipple clamps to James’s pert crimson chest buttons.

James groaned at the cold sensation of metal on his chest and continued, “The only other option is to fire a bunch of employees, and then what will they do? If their only skill is to m….” James shuddered as Alyssa tightened the leather strap that was now tied tightly around the base of his ball sack. His turgid shaft became harder at every tug of the material.

“M…mmmm….. make pizza!” he exclaimed eagerly, finishing his original thought.

Alyssa knelt down to observe her handiwork on the slave. James could hear the squeak squeak of her tight latex body suit as she shifted positions, studying him.

“Looks like you’ve got a bit of precum right down there,” she said pointing to his cock, scolding him. Alyssa put her finger on the tip of James’s swell and rubbed a healthy amount of jizz onto her finger before standing up. She faced him and placed the finger onto his trembling lip.

“What did I tell you about getting excited too soon?

“Y… you said to wait Mistress.”

“Then what’s this?”

James held his breath and before he could manage a response, Alyssa shoved her finger into his welcoming mouth.

“I want you to suck your fucking jizz right off my finger you piece of shit Pizzaboy. Go on… suck it all.”

James closed his eyes and took Alyssa’s whole finger in his mouth, tightening his suction as she pushed it further and further into his face hole.

Alyssa smiled. “Good job, Pizzaboy. Now that finger is nice and clean for your ass.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

Alyssa knelt down, picked up a soft rag, and began to methodically shine the stiletto heel of her knee length boots.

“But you see, Pizzaboy, I have another idea. It seems like you enjoy busting people’s balls, right?”

“Yes, Mistress…” James wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this.

“So I thought we’d do something a little different today. I could give Mr. Garlic Stick a break,” she said, nodding to the large white butt plug that James had so endearingly named. “Or…” Alyssa smiled coyly. “We could let him work alone today.”

Alyssa quickly whipped James’s body around and before he could steady himself, James felt the familiar wide object being shoved hard into his anus. He whimpered at the initial shock of it, and then yelped when he heard the rip of duct tape coming from behind. Alyssa placed the thick tape on his ass cheeks, fastening Mr. Garlic Stick firmly in place. She then spun him back around to face her.

“So, ball busting. I charge extra and I haven’t done it in a while.”

“I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything, Mistress.”

Alyssa thought for a second and then ripped another large piece of duct tape from the roll. She placed it over James’s mouth and he groaned in approval.

“Oh, ok. Looks like now we can properly negotiate.”

“Mmph mphrrr.”

“My son needs to go to the doctor tomorrow and that’s going to just going to hit me hard. Real hard.”

Alyssa grabbed a long leather whip from her bag and adroitly snapped it with expert precision, catching one hair from James’s chest.

“So I was thinking you can double my session price today. How about $4,000?”

She snapped her wrist again, causing the whip to lick an inch long cut on his chest. James howled beneath the duct tape.

“What? Too low? Let’s call it at $5,000 then. Sound fair?”

James, tears of pain in his eyes, grunted as he nodded.

“Excellent.” Alyssa flicked her wrist effortlessly one last time, landing a sharp blow from the tail of the whip across James’s thighs. He cried out ecstatically. This was his favorite thing… the teasing.

Alyssa placed the whip down and lifted her knee onto his chest.

“So now I’m going to shove my heels into your balls. What do you think about that? I’m going to do that, and I won’t stop until you come for me. Are you going to come for me?”

James nodded exuberantly.

Alyssa smiled and traced a red nail across his chest.

“Then you’re going to eat it all for me, swallow it like a hungry little Pizzaboy, aren’t you?”

James could barely hold his excitement any longer; he did his best not to finish right there, his aching shaft begging for release.

“Well ok then, let’s begin.”

James readied himself for his delightful punishment. Now this was money well spent.

Story Of The Week: Voter Fraud

“Hello, this is Melissa with the Voter Fraud Hotline, how may I help you?”

“Oh…” The voice on the other end of the line stuttered. “I… I’m sorry, this appears to be a wrong number. Are you sure this isn’t Pizza Palace?”

Melissa sighed and rubbed her temple with her free hand.

“No. No, this isn’t Pizza Palace. But while I have you, do you happen to know of any voter fraud…” the buzz on the other end of the line was deafening. Only two calls in the past 5 hours and both had been wrong numbers. Melissa put the receiver back into its cradle and leaned back. It was 1:00 pm on election day.

When Melissa had signed up last month, she was positive the phones would be ringing off their hooks. Even her supervisor Kristy had taken on extra volunteers, all of whom were now on a very extended lunch break. Melissa had chosen not to join the others at the Olive Garden as she was sure the calls would start rolling in any minute. She was proud to be from the great state of Ohio, and imagined that today was going to be the most exciting in her 23 years of life.

But as another hour ticked by, Melissa sat alone in the large conference room filled with tables upon tables of quiet phones. The walls were plastered with the red, white and blue signs for their candidate.

“This is the right number you know,” a deep voice startled her from around the corner. “We double checked this morning.”

It was Josh, one of the other volunteers. Melissa had just met him that morning and she liked him very much. He was about her age, and his strong physique suggested that had played sports in college. He was neatly dressed in dark pressed jeans, a blue button up shirt and a red tie. Melissa smiled at him and twirled a finger through her flaxen ringlets.

“How was the Olive Garden?” Melissa asked.

“You know, the usual,” Josh said as he leaned against the table and furnished a sly smile on Melissa. “I sure do miss the never ending basket of bread sticks, though.”

“Those are gone?”

“The current first lady changed that with her health initiative last year. The Darden corporation rolled over to her whim. Apparently people can’t control themselves so the government needs to tell them how to eat.”

Josh leaned into Melissa’s ear and whispered, “That’s why we’re trying to get the other guy in. I want to eat as many bread sticks as I can get my mouth on.”

There was something about the way he said that last part that made Melissa squirm in her crisp pantsuit. She could have sworn that Josh had been flirting with her earlier that morning. At one point she noticed him staring at her from across the room before making a mock ringing noise, picking up the phone and saying loudly, “Oh, what, this is Heaven? Yes? Yes, I hear you’re missing an angel,” before winking at Melissa and furnishing a finger gun in her direction. Sure it was cheesy, but she giggled. She liked cheesy.

“So,” Melissa said, taking a sharp breath. “I guess there is no voter fraud being reported yet.”

“That’s right, not yet,” Josh nodded. “I’m expecting to be here well into the night. I mean, most of the calls will come in after polls close, I’m assuming. Hope you have enough energy.”

Josh leaned into Melissa and touched her rosy cheek tenderly. Melissa leaned into Josh’s warm hand and bit her crimson lip.

A voice boomed out from across the room, causing Josh and Melissa to both jump back.

“Did I hear you guys just volunteer for the late shift?”

They turned around to find their supervisor Kristy striding towards them, arms folded. Her flaming red hair was in a messy bun at the top of her head, harnessed in place with a blue pen.

“Well,” she said, placing a keen eye on Melissa before shifting her curious gaze towards Josh. “I mean, we could all be here awhile.”

Melissa piped up. “Of course. Where are the others?”

“I sent them home,” Kristy said as she opened up a drawer and pulled out a box and a bottle of tequila. “It’s gonna be a long night. Anyone up for Twister?”

Three hours later, Josh, Kristy and Melissa lay laughing on the plastic Twister mat in their underwear, the partially drunk bottle of tequila between them. Somehow the game had devolved into strip Twister, and Melissa was thankful that she had the chance to admire Josh’s tight abdominals. For some reason he was still wearing his tie – a sexy touch.

“Now what?” Melissa gasped in between a giggle fit as Josh playfully tossed the Twister spinner across the room. “We should be ready in case the phone calls start coming in.”

“True,” Kristy said, her long legs draped across Josh’s chest. Josh, in turn, was stroking Kristy’s milky white thighs. Melissa wasn’t jealous… exactly. She was tipsy, and yet during the last few hours she couldn’t help but think that both Kristy and Josh had been flirting with her. It sounded crazy, but there was a point during the game when Melissa had her right hand on green and left foot on blue, she could have sworn she felt Kristy’s lips graze her right nipple while Josh’s manhood got hard against her thigh. Or maybe it was just the tequila that was making her imagination run wild.

“I have an idea,” Josh piped up.

An hour later the three were on the couch in the corner, the TV on full blast. The polls had already closed in several states and they were playing along with Josh’s creation, ‘Lamestream Media Drinking Game’.

“He said ‘swing state!” Josh howled as each of them took a swig from the bottle. Melissa was seated on Josh’s lap, his hand draped on her lady mound over her panties. Kristy was seated next to them, one hand on Josh’s thigh, the other caressing the base of Melissa’s neck. Melissa wasn’t quite sure what was happening but for some reason this felt so right…

RRING!

The three jumped at the sound of the phone lines screeching. They scrambled up from the couch, each trying to be the first to get their hands on one of the lines. Josh beat them to it and grabbed the nearest receiver as Melissa and Kristy crowded behind him.

“Voter Fraud Hotline, this is Josh. Yes. Yes, I see,” Josh nodded soberly. “Uh huh. Of course.” Josh gently put the receiver down.

“Wh… what is is?” asked Melissa breathlessly.

“It’s serious,” said Josh as he slowly started to clear papers from the desk next to him, and pushed two phones aside. “Melissa, it’s about you.”

“M… me?” Melissa stammered. “What about me?”

“Well, it turns out there’s been some voter fraud,” Josh could barely hold back a smile. “In your PANTS.”

The three of them giggled uproariously.

“Kidding guys, it was someone for Pizza Palace again,” Josh snorted. “But actually…” Josh lent a knowing gaze towards Kristy, who, in turn, had a mischievous grin on her face.

“Actually, what,” asked Melissa, cautiously eyeing the two.

“Well,” Kristy cleared her throat. “Remember when we came up with the rules for the Lamestream Media Drinking Game? We said take a shot when we heard Swing State, Poll, Election, Ohio and every time the vein on Chris Matthew’s head starts twitching… BUT if the phones ring, that means…” Kristy glanced at Josh who happily took over her thought.

“Yes, if the phone rings, we do a body shot.”

Melissa giggled nervously. “I don’t remember that rule.”

“You were in the bathroom,” Kristy quickly sputtered out.

“The… in bbbathroom…” Josh followed hastily, overlapping Kristy.

“Oh, ok,” Melissa blushed. “But… I don’t know what a body shot is.”

“It’s fine,” said Josh as he took Melissa’s hand and led her to the partially cleared desk. “Just lay down. We’ll do all the work.”

“But you’ll need to take your bra and panties off,” affirmed Kristy with a sharp nod.

Melissa shuddered with nervous excitement as Josh gently lay her body along the desk. He unclasped her bra with ease, releasing her supple bosoms. She blushed upon noticing that her flushed, pink nipples were already erect. Josh effortlessly pulled her underwear off, exposing her downy mound. Kristy stepped back towards the sofa to retrieve some lime wedges and the salt shaker as Josh poured two hearty shots of tequila into Dixie cups next to Melissa’s slim waist.

Kristy leaned into Melissa’s ear. “First, we get some juice on these,” she said referring to Melissa’s rose-tipped nipples as she gently rubbed a wedge of lime on each one. “That helps the salt stick.” Melissa gasped. Kristy then drizzled an ample amount of salt over her chest. She was right – the lime juice made the salt stay on her areolas, like glitter to glue on an arts and crafts project.

Melissa bit her lip and threw her head back when she felt Josh place one of the wedges of lime on the petal smooth center between her legs. She hoped he hadn’t noticed just how wet she was between her tender love fold. The other lime was placed in her mouth by Kristy.

“So,” began Kristy as she traced a delicate finger up and down Melissa’s belly. “This is how it works. Josh and I are going to lick the salt off of you.”

“All of it,” Josh said.

“Then,” Kristy continued. “We each do a shot of tequila, and finish by sucking the lime out of you.”

Melissa squirmed, careful to hide her excitement. “You mean frm mm…” she mumbled.

“Yes,” Josh whispered, his face in between her thighs. His hot breath on her nether-region made her shiver with delight.

Kristy and Josh looked at each other excitedly before taking each one of Melissa’s nipples in their mouths. She could taste the bitter lime rind clutched between her teeth.

They took their time gently suckling the hard tips of her bosoms until every last grain of salt had been licked from Melissa’s heaving chest. Melissa opened her eyes and watched as Josh and Kristy quickly downed their shots of tequila before turning their eyes back on her. Kristy gently pushed Melissa’s golden curls back from her sweaty face, leaned in, and squeezed on the lime in her mouth, before tossing it aside like a dog tired with its chew toy. She placed her warm lips on Melissa’s and softly plunged her tongue into her mouth.

On the other end of the table, Josh nibbled delightedly at the lime before brushing it off with his nose. His tongue then began flicking softly at Melissa’s love button, and she began to groan wildly. Kristy moved her mouth from Melissa’s and nuzzled the nape of her neck. Melissa threw her head back in reckless surrender when Kristy licked her neck up from the base of her ear down to her shoulder. Josh continued to work his tongue down below, slowly at first, then faster and faster…

Melissa squirmed and just as she opened her mouth to take a big breath, Kristy straddled her torso, pinned her arms down and covered her mouth with her lips, smothering her. Unable to breathe or move, she finally surrendered to the blinding climax that had been rising within her since she first felt their tongues on her flesh. She threw her head back and cried out as her body shuddered with each ecstatic, clenching spasm that erupted from her belly. Josh eased the rhythmic motions with his tongue until Melissa body gave out beneath them, limp, exhilarated.

The three of them lay there on the table, sweating, touching, breathing for a few minutes until they were interrupted by-

RRING!

Kristy hastily slid herself off the table and reached for the phone beside her.

“Voter Fraud Hotline, this is Kristy. Yes…”

Melissa and Josh lay still, their eyes fixed on Kristy.

“Yes, yes. Ok. Wow, ok. Thank you.” Kristy softly placed the phone back into the receiver.

“What is it,” Josh asked. “Did they catch someone voting twice? Someone without the proper ID? I’ll bet it was some liberal college kid with two addresses!”

Melissa couldn’t imagine how she could be aroused again after climaxing so hard, but something about the way Josh reacted to this potential voter fraud made her want to kiss him all over his hot, sweaty body, grab his tie and bind him to a…

Kristy’s voice cut off Melissa’s thoughts.

“That was Sandra from headquarters and we… we won’t be needed anymore tonight,” she said as she slowly turned to face them.

“The results are in.”

Story of the Week: The Would-Be-Senator and the Intern

This week we are delighted to present a story from our first guest blogger, the incredible Bitchy Waiter! You can follow his adventures in the service industry on his site, The Bitchy Waiter, and he’s kind of a big deal so we’re very excited to have him. If you have a story suggestion or want to submit your own, contact us here.

The Would-Be-Senator and the Intern

By: The Bitchy Waiter

“Hello, dear. I’m afraid I’m going to have another long night at the office. I’ll eat something on my way home but don’t wait up for me.”

“But sweetheart, this is your fourth night in a row to work late. I miss you, darling.”

“Well, running for the U.S. Senate takes a lot of hard work, Marilyn. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, sweetheart, I understand. I know it’s hard. See you in the morning. Kiss, kiss.”

“Uh huh.”

The senate hopeful turned off his cell phone and laid it on his desk. Before him, he saw a mountain of paperwork to sort through; all of it dealing with his current job as treasurer of state, but it was going to have to wait. The election was only days away and according to polls, he was not doing well. His unfortunate choice of words earlier in the week had not helped matters. He placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

“This is hard,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe too hard.”

“What’s too hard?” a deep voice asked from the adjoining office.

The politician looked up in surprise having forgotten that the office intern was still doing some filing. This particular intern came from Crossroads Bible College just across town. His name was Derrick and he was a sophomore majoring in Biblical Counseling. He was a diligent worker and wanted to work at the state capitol for a semester to see if a future in politics could be an option for him. At the very least, he thought he could eventually get a letter of recommendation from a U.S. Senator if the election went the right way. Derrick popped his head into the office.

“What’s too hard, sir? Is everything all right? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Derrick. No everything is fine, I’m just stressed out, that’s all.” The politician rolled his head around listening to his neck crack and pop. “It hasn’t been a great week for me.”

“Don’t worry about that, sir. We’ve all said things that we regret,” said Derrick. His dark wavy hair was hanging just above his green eyes and thick brows.

“Yes, but have we all said them during a political debate where thousands of people are watching?”

“Well, no, but…” Derrick’s words drifted off and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Everything will be okay. You just have to have faith.”

“I suppose so. I guess I just need to figure out a way to relieve the stress. You got any suggestions, Derrick? You must get kind of stressed out at college, what with all those exams and everything. What would you do?”

The intern licked his lips and wished he hadn’t left his Chapstick in his dorm room. “Well, you could always try meditating. Or maybe get a massage. I hear those help.”

“Hmmm, a massage might do the trick.” The politician shifted in his chair a bit and uncrossed his legs. “I hate to impose, but would you mind just giving my shoulders a light squeeze? And then maybe I could do something for you in return. Hey, didn’t you want a letter of recommendation from me?”

“Aww, gee, sir, I dunno. I have a lot of homework to do tonight,” said Derrick.

The treasurer stood up from his desk and walked towards the young man. Derrick couldn’t help but notice that his boss’s shirt was untucked and hanging in front of his pants.

“Alright then, Derrick. What if I do something for you first and then if you feel like it you can give me a massage afterwards?”

Derrick walked backwards while the would-be senator pressed forward pinning him against the oak bookcase that was full of financial binders and law books. He could feel his boss’s erection making him again think of the Chapstick he had left in his dorm room. Thirty seconds later, the middle-aged man was on his knees and unzipping the J. Crew khakis of his young intern.

“I dunno if this is a good idea, Mr. Mour-”

“Shhhh,” interrupted the now desperate man. “The only sounds I want to hear are your groans of pleasure.”

He reached into Derrick’s white Calvin Klein’s and pulled out his cock. He cupped his testicles, which were full and heavy. “You know, I went to grad school at Ball State and I can say with authority that you’ve got a great pair of low-hangers.”

Derrick, being the twenty-year old boy that he was, instantly felt his dick grow hard.

“And I’ve got a degree in geology so I know all about rock hard shafts,” continued the treasurer.

With that, he easily swallowed all eight inches of Derrick’s weighty, veiny, mushroom head dick. Derrick closed his eyes and imagined that the mouth was that of his pretty blond professor from his Building a Biblical Lifestyle class. He pushed his pelvis forward and felt his balls slapping against the stubbled chin of his submissive boss who only moments before had been talking to his wife of so many years. His pants and underwear were now in a pile around his ankles and he felt his buttocks being separated slightly by the short stubby fingers of the man he hoped would soon be writing him a letter of recommendation. Derrick forcefully pumped the eager mouth and heard the muffled moans of his boss. Letting go of all inhibitions now, Derrick pounded with reckless abandon as he felt a finger slide into the rosebud of his ass. He was completely enjoying what was happening.

“Take that big dick, bitch. You take that fucking cock until I come all down your throat. You like that? You like it that way? Yeah, you do. Suck that dick,” said Derrick.

The only response that Derrick got was a gagging sound as air tried to escape from the over-stretched mouth of his boss who had a face full of Bible College cock. Derrick could take it no more. His balls tightened up as his load prepared to force its way out. Derrick grabbed the greying head of hair that was wrapped around his manhood and pushed his body even deeper into the mouth, ready to shoot. He came with so much force that he expected to see his man juice seeping out of the corners of the mouth of this cum dumpster, but instead he watched as every last drop was savored and swallowed by his host. It was gulped down until Derrick was quivering with exhaustion. The taste sent the man back to his days on the swim team at Wynford High School when he had overnight trips with the rest of the team.

The state treasurer fell back on the floor and grabbed his own dick and pulled at it three or four times until it released its load with a dribble that was reminiscent of toothpaste coming out of its tube.

Fatigued, and a little bit ashamed, Derrick stepped aside and pulled his underwear back up, covering his still impressive meat. He looked down at his boss who was breathing heavily and trying to decide whether he should wipe his own jizz on his shirt or simply eat it. He went with the latter.

Derrick, now dressed, began to say something. “Mr. Mour-”

“Get out,” interrupted the messy pile of a man. “Get out right now.”

“But what about my letter of recommendation?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. But Derrick, this was a mistake. All of life is a gift from God and sometimes even horrible situations like this can be something that God intended to happen. But that doesn’t mean we can’t forget that it ever occurred.”

The sad pathetic excuse for a human being stood up and began tucking in his shirt and buttoning his pants.

“You will forget about this and you will tell no one. In return for your silence, I will write you a glowing letter of recommendation that will ensure you a job anywhere you want, is that understood?”

Derrick nodded his head. “Thank you, sir. And sir? You still have a little bit of my cum on your chin.”

Instantly, the elected official’s tongue darted out of his mouth and slurped up the last remaining bit of semen.

“Now go home, Derrick. You will have your letter tomorrow morning.”

Derrick left the office leaving the oily politician alone at his desk where he picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Hello, dear. I’ve decided to come home after all.”

“Oh, Dick, that’s wonderful. I’ll get your dinner ready,” replied his wife.

“It’s alright, dear. I already grabbed something and I’m completely full. I’ll be home in an hour.”

“Okay, sweetheart. See you soon. I love you.”

“Uh huh,” said Dick.

He put his phone down and raised his index finger to that area between his top lip and his nose. It held the scent of Derrick’s slightly musky, yet somehow sweet, asshole. He traced his finger over his lips before licking it clean. Dick put on his jacket, turned off the desk lamp and left the office. Tomorrow he would check the polls again and see if he was any closer to becoming a United States Senator.

Story of the Week: Binders Full of Love

Many thanks to Brooklyn Turtle for the inspiration for this story! If you have a story suggestion, or would like to write your own, contact us here.

Binders Full of Love: The Return of Rick and Annabelle

Rick Belson popped the cork on the bottle of 18 year old Macallan scotch and took a hearty whiff. It smelled magnificent. Like fine oak, lanolin and musk. A real man’s drink, Rick thought to himself, as he took a swig straight from the bottle. It was nearly 1am and surely he needed his rest, but he was just too damn excited to go home. His network had gone in for the kill that night after the final presidential debate, and as lead anchor he knew his coverage had been fair, critical, and most of all, right.

Technically the candidates had “tied” according to the other major news outlets. The big guns at the liberal networks were feebly sniffing out weak spots from his party’s candidate like a desperate hound searching for a scrap of meat in a vegan compound. But he knew who the clear winner was. It was…

“Rick.”

An all too familiar voice crooned from behind him and a pang of nerves gripped his chest. Startled by his own response, Rick composed his stature before turning around.

“Hello, Annabelle.”

It had been at least 3 weeks since their last tryst, and they had spoken not a word to each other, save for the occasional “good morning” in the hallway on his part, or a knowing nod of affirmation from her. Once, he could have sworn she grazed her hand across his crotch as they passed each other in the hallway, but he couldn’t be sure. His unique insecurity around the female kind was known only to him and his shrink, and it would certainly be inappropriate to suggest otherwise if that hadn’t indeed been the case. Human Resources already had given him a big talking to after he jokingly referred to his co-anchor’s bosom as “the real stimulus package”. That had been a bad day.

But there Annabelle was again, this time conservatively clothed in a snappy pencil skirt and crisp white buttoned up top; a Ferragamo hanging lazily from the crook of her elbow. The light from the hallway reflected the flaxen highlights in her rich auburn hair.

Annabelle strode in and shut the door behind her. Dammit with the door, Rick thought. He knew there was no way out when closed it. Metaphorically, that is. Surely he knew how to work a knob. But something happened to him when Annabelle was in that room.

“Good debate,” she purred as she stopped her walk towards him and dropped her bag on the floor. “Our guy did pretty great.”

“P…pretty great,” Rick sputtered.

“Now, the town hall one last week was intense. I hate single moms. I think all their bastard children should be held accountable for their violent use of guns.” Annabelle lifted her hand to Rick’s face and delicately stroked his finely shaven baby smooth cheek.

He exhaled as if he had been holding his breath the entire time she had been in the room. My God, did she arouse him. Both physically and intellectually. Rick was especially moved by that remark during last week’s debates as well; if his father hadn’t left their home at such a young age, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so obsessed with playing war games on the computer by himself when he was a teenager.

“Annabelle, I… I am very happy you are here but…”

“But what?” Annabelle cooed, running a delicate finger along the base of his strong jaw before continuing. “I’m in a good mood and I’d like to celebrate. Except,” Annabelle looked away, her brow furrowing deep, almost theatrically.

“Except what?”

“Well, there’s that one thing.”

Before Rick knew it, a hand flew up to his face and slapped the tender skin hard against his cheek.

“Ow! Annabelle what the…”

Annabelle stepped back and tried her best to feign mock-concern.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt? To be slapped in the face like that? Imagine what I would do to you if I had you all tied up.”

The tingling that Rick had just felt coursing through his cheek moved down to his loins as his manhood begin to swell. It was happening again.

Truth be told, Rick was hoping that after their first encounter Annabelle might be interested in seeing him again, but there was a part of him that was frightened. Frightened of her, and frightened of the feelings that were growing not just in his trousers, but in his heart.

“Annabelle, why in Zeus’s balls did you just slap me?”

“Why don’t you keep Zeus’s balls out of this and worry about your own.”

With one quick motion, Annabelle swung her hand out and grabbed Rick’s nutsack tight between her fingers. Rick gasped in pleasure and pain as Annabelle leaned in towards him and whispered, “Last week you let our guy off the hook with his ‘binders full of women’ comment.”

“Oh, that?” Rick smiled weakly, hoping to mask the excruciating pain he was in from Annabelle’s grip. Yes, he loved that moment in the second debate, and let everyone on the panel know it.

Rick gasped as he felt the hold on his balls tighten. He could barely speak.

“Y…you didn’t think that was a positive move towards w…women’s rights?”

“No, I didn’t ” Annabelle breathed harshly into his ear. “What you failed to realize is that live, on the air, you agreed with affirmative action.”

Affirmative action – how could he not have seen that? No matter; the country had a short attention span. No one cared about that anymore. It was all about foreign policy this time around.

Her hand still firmly pressed against his love spuds, Annabelle didn’t let up.

“Now, you know and I know that tonight, neither of the candidates won. I felt like I was watching a goddamn mirror game in an improv class. Pathetic.”

Rick did so hate the ‘mirroring games’ that he was forced to play in those tedious corporate team building sessions years ago when he worked in private finance. And trust falls? He shuddered at the memory.

Before he knew it, Annabelle released her grip and Rick fell to the floor. She meant business and this time, Rick wasn’t sure he could keep up. But he couldn’t deny that everything Annabelle said made him very, very aroused. She wasn’t just hot; she was smart.

Annabelle turned her back and sauntered across the room.

“So I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” Annabelle cooed as she  seductively draped her soft, milky hands up and down the curtain in his office. Rick wished his cock was that curtain.

“To celebrate?” He offered innocently.

“Get up,” Annabelle demanded.

Rick hadn’t realized that he was still on the floor in the fetal position, hands around his groin. He struggled to get to his knees, when he saw a soft hand reach out to help him. He took it.

Annabelle gently eased Rick up, and carefully walked him to the pillar on the side of his office wall. Rick was under her spell. He would let her do just about anything so long as he could make love to her the way they did that first night.

“Annabelle, you’re so beautiful.”

“I know,” she shot back cavalierly before reaching into her bag. Rick leaned against the pillar and curiously riveted his eyes on what she was doing.

With cunning calculation, Annabelle slowly pulled out a long piece of fabric and grinned mischievously at Rick.

“I thought since you didn’t really pay attention to your little gaffe about the binders last week, I’d have to teach you a lesson. About binding.”

She pushed Rick back onto the column and with one quick motion, placed his hands over his head and deftly wrapped the soft fabric around his wrists before securing them to the post. She then leaned forward and bit Rick’s lip lightly before plunging her tongue deep into his welcoming mouth.

Rick could barely contain himself as he felt his ramrod swell hard in his pants. He was now tied up and captivated in every sense of the word.

Annabelle stepped back and surveyed her prey. She grinned and trailed her fingers to the top button of her blouse, never once losing eye contact with Rick as she began to release her supple bosoms with every pop of the fasteners.

Rick watched with delightful anticipation as she threw her top to the floor, revealing a beautiful candy apple bustier. Annabelle then slowly unzipped her skirt and pushed it down. Apparently, she had neglected to put on panties that day.

He took a deep, quick breath as Annabelle knelt before him and swiftly released his hard man-child from his khakis.

Her mouth moved slowly on his virility at first, and then faster, and Rick began grinding rhythmically with every plunge, deeper and deeper. He knew he was about to burst at any moment.

Annabelle stopped suddenly, jumped up and spun his torso around so Rick’s face was now pressed into the alabaster. Before he could protest, he felt something cold and hard slap against his tight buttocks.

He struggled to turn around, but Annabelle had one hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, the other spanking him with some object…

“Dear God, Annabelle, is that my Peabody?”

“You’re… goddamn… right…it… is,” she uttered harshly between blows.

“But I won that in 2009 for my groundbreaking story about wounded veterans!”

Annabelle stopped the beating, grabbed a chunk of hair from the back of Rick’s head and leaned into his ear. “That’s when you actually reported the fucking news.”

She hit him hard with the metal. Again. And again. And soon the tingling pain on his butt cheeks became blisteringly numb. Then prickling hot. Then…

“Oh my God! Annabelle!” Rick howled as he came, his crotch thrusting against the pillar with each fervent spasm.

Annabelle calmly stepped back, took a letter opener from Rick’s desk and sliced the fabric from his hands. Rick slumped against the wall, sweaty and shaking while she demurely put her clothes back on. Rick struggled to get up but Annabelle pushed him back down.

“I’m going home now.”

“Can’t I… make love to you?”

“Maybe another time. I have to run, it’s late.”

Annabelle walked towards the door and turned around one last time.

“You really need to think about what you say on the air. But in reality,” Annabelle looked away for a moment in somber reflection before turning back to Rick. “If it weren’t for affirmative action, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I thought your dad got you this job.”

“I know, I’m just kidding. I love nepotism.”

Annabelle shut the door.

Who was this woman, Rick thought, as his eyes shifted up to the Peabody now sitting innocently on his desk. It was a good thing he was such a damn good journalist. Yes, he’d eventually break this story. He just had to figure out how.