I’ll Tap Your Wires

Rick Belson paced his office nervously. It had been at least a month since he had seen Annabelle, save for the occasional glance in the hallway, her eyes always averted. Back then they agreed that their little affair at the cable station had to be over. She was his intern after all, and he, the up and coming host of his own prime time show. But the real reason he was nervous was that Rick knew he still had strong feelings for Annabelle. Very strong feelings. And Annabelle had made it clear that she was just looking for a fling, so he had to let her go. That is, he had to agree with her when she said she needed to stop seeing him. It killed him, but he knew it was for the best. Even his friends on his monthly weekend men’s retreat agreed: this girl was bad news. Granted they said that about most women, but Rick knew, as he wept into Pedro’s arms that night among the sounds of drums and the blowing of “feelings kazoos”, that they were right. But that morning, she said that they “needed to talk.”

Rick’s heart jumped into his chest when he heard a soft knock at the door.

“Who is i… come in…” Rick sputtered.

He turned to see Annabelle, standing hesitantly in the doorway.

“Is it ok if I…” she motioned towards the burgundy leather couch.

“Of course,” Rick nodded, trying hard not to think about that time he threw her on that leather, slid her panties aside with his finger and licked her tight wet pussy until she came all over his face.

Annabelle sat down. She looked very nervous, which in turn made Rick’s heart flutter. He sat down next to her, but a few respectful feet away.

“I’ve been thinking about our last conversation,” Annabelle started before turning a flushed cheek away from Rick and towards the pillar next to his bookshelf. That pillar, Rick recalled, that Annabelle once pinned him against before unbuckling his trousers, releasing his throbbing manhood and sucking him dry, drinking in every ounce of his cum. But that was months ago…

Annabelle continued, “And I have to admit I’ve done something I probably shouldn’t do.” Annabelle dropped her head down, her face flushed. “It involves your emails.”

Emails, Rick thought? Like the ones he sent on his computer? The computer that sat on his desk – that very same desk he had once lifted Annabelle on top of, slid her tight skirt over her shapely hips, ripped her panties off with his teeth and drove his hot ramrod full into her yielding wetness, so far and deep it…

“Rick?” Annabelle queried. “Rick, are you paying attention to me?”

“Uh, yes,” Rick said, trying his best to conceal the growing fullness in his khakis.

“Well,” Annabelle said, “I am sorry, but I hacked into your emails.”

“What?”

Annabelle nodded, her face still down. “It was pretty simple, really. I just downloaded the mainframe, made a dummy site, sidelined the encryption with a simple algorithm and rebooted it into the company system. I… just needed to know.”

“Know what?”

She looked up, and he could see a tear slide down her soft cheek. “How you feel about me.”

Rick was dumbfounded. Did she like him? Like, like like him?

Annabelle reached into her soft cleavage and produced a piece of paper. She unfolded it and read, Dated June 10th from you to Stanton.”: 

Hey bro, yeah, it’s been really sad since that girl told me she didn’t want to bone anymore lol. The thing is, it wasn’t just sex. It was something else… the last time we made love I feel that we really were two souls pressed together, making one big soul that really enjoyed its own company with itself. I came thisclose to asking her out on a date, like, dinner and everything. Because while I really like to make her cum I want to know what’s going on inside her head too. I think I have feelings for her.

Annabelle folded the paper back up and looked at him.

“Rick,” she started.

“Yes, Annabelle…”

Annabelle slid closer to him on the couch and grasped his hands. “You are… a terrible writer. That whole soul thing was really weird. But I understood what you were trying to very poorly say. Plus the improper use of ‘lol’ just drives me crazy. I mean, are you actually laughing out loud? Because I have a hard time believing that. But Rick…” She placed a hand on his cheek. “I told you I couldn’t see you anymore because I have feelings for you too. I think I’m in love with you, and it was too hard.”

Rick could not believe what he was hearing. He never thought he was that bad of a writer. But as far as the truth about his feelings being out, he couldn’t be happier. He took her waist with his hands and drew her into him.

“My God, Annabelle, you have just single-highhandedly proven why we need to make all of our information public to the NSA and whoever is in a position of power. Because if it means you now know how I feel about you, I’ll give up all my personal freedom.”

“Rick,” Annabelle whispered, her lips almost reaching his. “I want to lose all freedom of privacy with you.”

Rick pressed his mouth into hers, gently at first. He leaned her down onto the couch, exploring her achingly swollen bosom as if it were the first time. She threw her head back when his kisses trailed down her neck, and to her soft stomach as Rick pulled her blouse up over her head. He deftly unhooked the clasp on her bra and threw it off her, spilling her pink tipped breasts out. He pulled himself up to tenderly suckle at each nipple, causing Annabelle to moan in pleasure. Her feline cries grew when he pushed her skirt up and licked her love mound over her wet panties until he felt her spasm beneath his tongue and fingers as she cried out his name.

He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled his pants and boxers off and lay down on top of her naked, flesh against flesh. Annabelle was still breathing heavily, her cheeks glistening with sweat, rosy lips parted. He kissed her delicately and she placed her arms around him, pulling him to her hard. He couldn’t bear it anymore, and finally thrust his rock hard shaft into her tight, wet womanhood.

And on that couch the two became one. But this time, they both knew something had changed.

As they lay there minutes later, limbs entwined, fingers tracing over each other’s flesh, Rick knew he had to say the words.

“Annabelle, I… I love you.”

“I know.”

Rick pulled his head up and looked at Annabelle who was smiling. “How?”

“I also wiretapped your phone. I heard you tell your mom.”

“Annabelle, you amaze me.”

Rick didn’t want to think of a world where the secret access of private information wasn’t a normalized thing. And he couldn’t be prouder to be in a country that agreed with him.

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Story of the Week: Hitting The Debt Ceiling

Senator Charles Bladsworth let out a deep breath, threw his handkerchief on the table and stood up to address his colleagues and staffers.

“Well fuck,” Charles muttered. “Looks like we’re no closer to figuring out this debt crap than Krugman is to explaining that trillion dollar coin to Jon Stewart.”

The room filled with a smattering of laughter. Charles continued, “I think we all know what we need. A night to relax.”

“Here here,” Chief of Staff Frank Monroe piped in. “Let’s hit the Debt Ceiling.”

A murmur of agreement filled the room as everyone shifted out of their seats and started to grab their personal belongings.

“Wait!” A lone voice broke through the cheerful buzzing. Jim Hicks knew he was just a low level staffer one week into the job, but something didn’t seem quite right. He scanned the room of faces that ranged from curious to amused. “I’m… I’m sorry everyone, but what do you mean hit the debt ceiling? I know it would make the Democrats look bad but it would make us look even worse, don’t you think?”

There was a quick pause before the room erupted into explosive laughter.

“Oh, you’re the new guy,” Senator Felicia Hearns said in between snorts. “You must not know what we’re referring to!”

Jim’s mood immediately lightened as several staffers and senators came over to pat him on the back or playfully ruffle his hair.

“No, silly!” Charles said as he walked over to a now smiling Jim. “The Debt Ceiling is a sex club down the street. It’s where we go to fuck and let off some steam. Let’s go!”

 

Minutes later Jim was in a stretch limo with all of his new colleagues. He wasn’t quite sure what to think as he watched two staffer pass ecstasy tabs around the group while an intern snorted a line of coke off a well respected senator from the East coast.

Upon reaching the club, they bypassed the velvet rope with ease, and all 20 of them were led into what looked like a VIP area. Immediately, a very attractive and busty young woman sat on his lap while two senators began dry humping in the corner. Someone handed him a glass of champagne and a ballgag.

When Jim first moved to DC, he was looking forward to making new friends, but it was all happening so fast. While he watched his boss strap himself to a sex swing as two female senators affixed nipple clamps to his bare, hairy chest, Jim silently sipped his champagne. He barely noticed that Frank had slipped his hand down Jim’s pants and was jerking him off under the mirrored table.

And as a senator from the Midwest inserted a double ended dildo into the wet, eager pussies of two high level staffers, as his cube mate, an intern, took a beating with a wooden backscratcher while blindfolded from another senator, as he climaxed inside Frank’s pruney, withered hand that had rubbed him to white-hot eruption, he couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t at all what he imagined his first week would look like.

A few hours later, Jim, now alone in the corner, was approached by who he thought was Senator Charles Bladsworth, but it was hard to tell due to the latex clown mask on the man’s face.

“Everything ok son?”

“Well, it’s just… different.”

“I know.”

Jim turned to the senator. “What do the democrats do on Friday nights to blow off steam?”

The senator lifted his mask and faced Jim. “They go to the Olive Garden.”

Jim shook his head and sighed, “Well that’s just fucking disgusting.”

Story of the Week: Vote Her Suppression

This week we are delighted to present a story from guest blogger W. Charlton Gibson! If you have a story suggestion or want to submit your own, contact us here.

Vote Her Suppression

By: W. Charlton Gibson

Lance stood in his office, staring out the window into the vast expanse of flat land and strip malls, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. He barely noticed the door across the room open and the presence of Marilyn until the sweet, powdery smell of her perfume aroused his senses.

“Daydreaming?” she asked softly with a slight Southern lilt to her speech.

“No, no. Thinking. Thinking hard about what we can do to counter this menace,” he said forcefully as he pushed the wire frames of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Lance picked up a pen with the name of his organization, the Foundation for God, Guns, Freedom and the Defense of Real America, running the full-length along its side.

He clicked the top of the pen in rapid succession. In and out. In and out. Hard and fast.

Marilyn eyed him with a sense of awe and longing, running her tongue softly along her pink lips. Her pussy was already wet with anticipation.

Lance’s dark navy suit was slumping from his broad shoulders and the red power tie with white stripes was nestling comfortably on his ample stomach. She didn’t mind. It was a sign of success, she thought, and her daddy had a similar paunch.

“You’re so tense,” she said. “Really, there shouldn’t be any worry. We’ve got our troops all lined up for election day.”

“It’s not our people I’m worried about,” he said, placing the pen on the desk and again turning to the window and the glowing signage from the Rally’s drive thru outside as dusk began to settle.

“There are so many bad people out there. Using the names of dead people to vote. The damn unions,” Lance said, turning toward Marilyn. “Did you know that there have been reports of large black man at polling stations, intimidating hard-working Americans who don’t want to vote for their liberal candidate? It’s disgusting. That’s not my America!”

Marilyn bit the side of her thin lower lip, took a deep breath, and settled into the ultra-plush, microfiber, teal couch. She loved it when Lance got angry. Despite his doughy physique, his passion about voter fraud was enough to make her swoon and get a little wet.

“Come sit down. You need to relax a little,” she said.

Lance moved slowly toward the couch, pretending he didn’t know what she wanted, pretending that he didn’t know what would happen next. He was becoming aroused.

Lance sat at the end of the couch, leaning against the end pillows, leaving just enough space to let her make the first move.

“Do you remember how we met?,” Marilyn asked.

He nodded.

“We were in Florida in 2000, examining the ballots,” she said, her tongue tracing over the part of her lip she had been biting. “Dangling chad after dangling chad.”

“The good fight!” said Lance, getting rather excited. “Fighting against a scourge tearing at our nation’s fabric.”

Marilyn smiled. “Right. I started to tire, just felt like giving up. But there you were, telling me what it meant for America. How it was my duty. You were so strong, so forceful. I just couldn’t …”

Marilyn lunged at Lance. She grabbed the shoulder pads on his suit coat as she pulled him toward her and forced him into a hard, long kiss. They breathed heavy through their noses, neither wanting to pull away, as their lips relaxed and they slowly slid their tongues back and forth together. Marilyn pulled at his tie, as her right hand made its way toward his belt buckle.

“Is the door locked?,” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes. But I don’t think we should …” His voice trailed as his cock swelled. That twang in her voice. That perfume. Voter fraud. He tried to fight it.

“I mean, I just recently separated. I’m not sure God would …”

Marilyn interrupted him. “Darling, you’re not hers anymore. The moment she yanked that lever for HIM, it was over.”

Lance was angered and aroused. He stood up, his erection visibly pushing the fabric of his wool-rayon blend trousers away from his body as he turned and faced her.

“By God, we can’t let it happen again,” he said, his voice rising. “We can’t let them steal our country.”

Marilyn’s heart pounded. She was dizzy with desire, her blood pressure rising as she fumbled with his belt buckle. He reached down and fingered her Open Hearts Collection necklace, moving slowly on to her blouse. He caressed her breasts, feeling her nipples spring to attention.

Lance undid the buttons on her blouse as he kissed the top of her head. “Such a nice girl,” he thought. “A real patriot,” as he reached around her back, struggling to undo her bra. She helped, and within moments her breasts spilled from her blouse. Lance grabbed each one with his hands, slowly massaging Marilyn’s nipples.

Marilyn pulled the gold buckle of his black leather belt open, quickly unfastened his trousers, and pulled at his zipper with great urgency.

“Slow down,” he said, worrying that it would be over a little too quickly. He thought about the Kansas City Royals.

“Come on, Lance. Tell me again where it went wrong,” Marilyn beseeched as she yanked at the waistband of his bright white briefs. She gave a tug, pulling them down to reveal his cock, standing at full attention.

“It, it …” Lance fought to find words as Marilyn plunged his rigid rod into her soft, warm mouth. “1870!,” he blurted out.

“Oh God. Oh God …”

Marilyn ran her tongue languidly up and down his shaft. “Tell me, Lance. Tell me.”

His heart pounded, his head swam as he tried to collect his thoughts. He regained momentary clarity as Marilyn softly caressed the staff of his cock and kissed the head.

“We should never have allowed them to vote,” he said, his anger swelling in perfect harmony with his engorged penis. “Then May 19, 1919. Goddamn suffrage. Another arrow in our nation’s heart.”

“Lance, please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Marilyn pleaded, temporarily pulling away from his manhood.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her head back closer to his cock. “I get so worked up. I just want what’s best for Am.. ahhhhhh…”

Marilyn rammed his cock deep into her mouth and groaned with delight. She reached down with her left hand, pushed aside her pink panties, and began to stroke her clitoris — her hand taking on the sweet, slippery nectar as she rubbed faster and faster. She stroked Lance’s cock faster and faster with her right hand.

“The women, they’re far too … too … Oh, God,” Lance cried out as he felt the cum rush through his cock and into Marilyn’s mouth. She swallowed hard.

“Emotional!” Lance blurted out as he finished his thought and his orgasm.

Marilyn pulled her hand away from her moist muff and pulled Lance down on the couch. Their hearts still racing. They lay still and silent.

Marilyn placed her head on Lance’s chest as she continued to slowly stroke his semi-erect cock. She wondered how long it would take to get him hard again.

She gently stroked him, kissed his neck, and whispered in his ear, “Tell me about the union thugs and big black men again.”

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: 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.