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.”

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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: 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.

Story of the Week: The Debates

It wasn’t so much that I was even attracted to that little twit at first; I’ll admit it was curiosity. This boy was relentless all those weeks – calling my office, demanding to speak to my boss, my superior. Senator Linda Blackwell was one of the most powerful women in her field. I was her aide and he was nothing but a half-bit “journalist” who probably wrote for Salon or HuffPo, or one of those degenerate liberal blog rags. His recidivist behavior was pathetic at best. It started out with a series of phone calls, and escalated into actual office visits. He managed to get in because he charmed the pants off those ladies up front and presented his fancy credentials that were probably printed at home and laminated at Staples. And after weeks of resistance from my boss, she finally agreed to an interview with “independent journalist” Evan Woodhouse.

And so it was on this Tuesday that he sat across from my desk, legs crossed, looking so self satisfied as he played with his smartphone. He was probably tweeting some inane BS about “infiltrating the system” or “occupying a financial institution”. What a tool. I pretended to ignore him when I felt his eyes burn a hole into my head. He wanted to ask me a question, I just knew it. Instead I acted like I was fascinated with the email I had just received from my friend Tracy. She had just forwarded me a story about a puppy that someone had found on the street with no legs and its amazing struggle for survival. Who fucking cares, I thought, that puppy was a waste of its own existence. I giggled for a bit and unfortunately Evan took that as an invitation to say something.

“Good news?”

“What?” I snapped, tossing an icy glare in his direction.

“You… you were smiling. Just now. I was wondering if you had good news. Hope you don’t mind me asking.”

“I was laughing at a handicapped puppy,” I deadpanned.

Evan furnished me with a snarky half-grin. So he thought I was joking? I was dead serious; I hate disabled puppies.

“It’s almost as if they think they deserve love more,” Evan piped up.

Wait, I actually agreed with him.

“What did you say?”

“Well, so you have a disabled puppy and an able bodied puppy,” Evan said. “They’re both cute. Why should the disabled one get the most attention?”

“Exactly.” He had me. I was intrigued. I leaned in closer to admire his lips moving as he continued.

“But that’s why I also get socialism. We all help each other out. Both puppies are worth something in society.”

He lost me.

“Personally, I’m more of a cat guy,” Evan continued, as if I gave a damn.

I cleared my throat and focused my attention back to the computer. Evan was still staring at me. I had to admit it; I found him objectively attractive if he wasn’t such a weirdo. He looked like someone I would normally date. Broad, strong shoulders, a nice head of hair, and when he walked in I guessed he might be a little over 6 feet tall. To be honest, he looked like one of those gorgeous corn-fed marines you’d see in a YouTube video where the soldiers re-create the video to a popular song. Yes, those soldiers were hot. And creative and funny and…

“Well, are you?” Evan interrupted my delicious train of thought.

“Am I what?”

“Watching the debate tonight. The presidential debates.”

What for,” I snapped. “You see where I work. I know how I’m voting.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure though who I’m voting for.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Go on…” I motioned my hand towards him, encouraging him to lay on whatever BS he had for me.

“Well, I’m an Independent.”

“The FUCK does that mean?”

Evan chuckled. “While I think the party your senator votes with has some abhorrent views on women’s reproductive health, I am hesitant to support the other party which has questionable foreign policy techniques.”

I was so very, very confused, but I’ll admit, a touch curious. And to be fair, I agreed with him on both points.

We stared at each other inquisitively for what must have been a few seconds, but felt like hours, when my boss buzzed me.

“You can ring the young man in now,” Senator Blackwell chirped. She was always so friendly to any journalist that came to speak with her. And really, she didn’t have to see Evan Woodhouse. It’s not like he was with Fox or anything.

I stood up and brushed nonexistent wrinkles from my pencil skirt before addressing Evan.

“You can come with me now. The senator is ready for you.”

Evan stood up to grab his things. I was right about his physique. He was actually even a bit taller than I thought.

We walked together to the elevator and when the doors opened, Evan held it open for me. Interesting; most boys his age didn’t have the kind of manners my father taught me to expect from a man.

The doors closed and we stood, shoulder to shoulder, waiting to go the two flights up to the senator’s office when we felt a jolt. I instinctively grabbed Evan’s arm and he laughed.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I get a bit jumpy in elevators.”

Evan grinned at me with a comforting gaze. “I’ll ring the alarm, if it makes you feel any better.”

 

Two hours and several frantic calls with the building later, and Evan and I were still stuck in the small, stuffy elevator. I was sitting with my legs curled into my chest, and Evan was across from me, back to the wall, his long legs stretched out. His shoe was lazily grazing the edge of my left hip, as he checked his phone absentmindedly. I don’t think he realized even that little amount of contact was, for some strange reason, turning me on.

Evan looked up and said, “The building manager just texted me. Apparently the team that is on their way to help us out is stuck in traffic.”

“Damn lazy union government paid workers probably taking an extended lunch break,” I scoffed.

Evan laughed, then did something that both intimidated and excited me. He rolled onto his knees and leaned forward as he whispered in my ear, “Unions aren’t that bad. They’re the reason we have a 5 day work week, did you know that?”

I could barely breathe. I didn’t even care what nonsense he was spouting, I just wanted him to keep breathing hot into my ear.

“Go on,” I whispered.

Evan pulled his head away for a moment and shifted over slightly so he could place one arm against either side of my body. He leaned in again, closer, and said, “To be fair, I do understand how you want to eliminate inefficient spending and encourage lean government. But a lot of that can be done by decreasing military spending.”

He leaned in closer to my neck, and I involuntarily gasped as he traced his lips down to my shoulder.

“But,” I sputtered, trying to catch my breath as I felt his hands start to slowly unbutton my blouse, “If we cut military spending, how can we really be supportive of our troops?”

Evan was now caressing my bosom over my bra delicately as he lifted his lips back up to my ear.

“I served in the US Army for years. Became a First Lieutenant. And I can tell you, we don’t get nearly as much pay and respect as the contract workers, and don’t even get me started on Boeing and Halliburton’s share of the profits.” Evan’s hand was now trailing down to my skirt, underneath, over my panties…

Breathlessly I threw my head back and moaned, “No, do get started on all that…” Evan pulled his head from my ear and brushed his lips against my yielding mouth. His hand was now gently caressing my clit over my panties, and when I felt our lips touch, excitement rushed through my whole body.

Suddenly, we felt a quick jolt, and then the elevator began to move. I hastily brought my hands to my chest to fix my blouse while Evan jumped up and brushed his pants down.

We barely looked at each other a second later when the doors opened to a crowd of curious onlookers. A man in a greasy jumper holding a wrench smiled at us as we rushed out.

“All fixed,” he said, proudly.

I turned to face Evan.

“Well, here we are. Senator Blackwell’s office is right in there. I’ll… I’ll go check to see if she still has time to see you.”

As I turned, Evan placed his hand on my arm and drew me towards him.

“I know you said you weren’t interested, but… do you want to watch the debates with me tonight?”

I thought about it for a second. “Ok. But every time one of the candidate says ‘military’, you have to kiss my neck.”

“And every time one of them says Libya, Syria, Iran, Iraq or China, you kiss my neck.”

I smiled, and handed him my business card.

“There’s one more,” I said, taking on a serious tone, “Certainly there’s a word or phrase neither of them will say. But if they do, well, we may have to agree to go all the way…” I looked away dramatically.

“Let’s do two phrases,” Evan said, “Affordable contraception, and drone strikes.”

“Deal.”

I have never been been more excited for a debate.