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: Raise the (False) Flag

Steven had only met Lucy once or twice in person but felt as if he had known her forever. Since the moment he first laid eyes on her at the organizational meeting for the “Armed March on DC”, he knew. And she had that spark in her eyes too – he liked to call it the “Truth Spark”. Lucy wasn’t blind to what this corrupt government was up to. She wasn’t afraid to support the almighty organization Steven was a part of, an organization known as InfoWars.

He had started working for them years ago, and this group was now notorious for acts such as accusing 9/11 to be an inside job (WHICH IT WAS) and implying the Sandy Hook shootings were staged (WHICH THEY WERE) so the government could impose hefty gun restrictions on God fearing Americans (WHICH THEY DIDN’T DO BUT EVENTUALLY WILL). These government organized acts of terror were what his organization called “False Flags” because they made Americans look in the other direction while their rights were callously being taken away.

When Steven first shook the hand of Lucy Hanson, his heart skipped a beat. There was something special about her, and it wasn’t just that she was the first female to walk into the office in months. He would never forget the first thing she said to him.

“Hi, I’m Lucy.”

Just like that. But it was the way she said it that piqued Steven’s interests. They spent the rest of the day with the other three volunteers laughing, plotting, and planning out the march. But then she left, and Steven had regretted not getting her phone number.

But after two sad months, he found himself at a local coffee shop, face to face again with Lucy Hanson. She was ahead of him in line, picking out muffins. They struck up a conversation and this time, he had made sure to leave with her phone number. And since that day one week ago, they exchanged a series of flirtatious text messages that culminated in her saying what he had been thinking all along.

“I want you to talk dirty to me.”

“Ok… fuck,” he responded via text.

“No you dumbass. I want to hear your voice while I’m putting my finger in my wet pussy.”

Steven stared at the text message for about five whole minutes before he could respond. Why, he had never met a woman as sexually free as Lucy, or who had ever said ANYTHING to him like that, or who had ever been interested in him at all, for that matter. He responded in the only was he knew how.

“I’ll call you tonight ;)”

“I hate emoticons.” she wrote back.

“Sorry :(“

“Um…so call me from your home.”

“I can call you from the office – I’m working late”

“I want you to be home. That turns me on more.”

Steven paused. He was supposed to be on patrol at the office that night; there had been rumors that someone from some liberal rag organization was going to try to hack into their system, and the staff took turns watching the office. But Lucy wanted him home, and he wanted Lucy.

“I will call you from home tonight.”

No one would know.

Several tedious hours later, Steven was in his bedroom, on the phone with Lucy and my God, did she turn him on.

“This government doesn’t care about us,” she breathed, moaning in between every few words. “They are just fucking us the way I want to fuck you.”

“Y… yes” Steven could not believe this was happening.

“Where is your hand?” Lucy asked.

“On… on my cock,” He could barely get the words out.

“Yeah? Is it on your thick false flag?”

Steven did his best not to finish right there.

“Oh, yes, yes, it’s… rubbing my flag.”

“How high is your mast?” Lucy moaned.

“So hard.”

“What?”

“I mean high. So high.” Steven was rubbing his manhood slowly, trying not to burst at any moment.”

“You sliding it up your pole?” Lucy murmured.

“Up and down.”

“Keep doing that,” Lucy whispered. “Mmm. I’m so wet.”

Steven did his best to play along at this game which was so new to him. “You mean you’re lubricated with the sweet holds of freedom?”

Lucy chuckled, “Freedom from the government.”

“It’s so hard right now,” Steven stopped himself before continuing, his hand slowly rubbing the base of his ever stiffening shaft. “I mean, the way the system is. It’s so hard to fight deep, so deeply for a cause.”

“Oh Steven, I’m going to come!”

Lucy’s moans of ecstasy put Steven over the edge. He buckled under the explosion of bliss from his engorged manflesh as the two of them climaxed together.

After a few minutes of breathing into each others phones, Steven was able to speak.

“That was so hot.”

“Yes, yes it was. And now you can say you fucked a real false flag.”

“Excuse me?” Steven sat up a bit.

Lucy laughed mischievously into the phone, “Steven, I’m a mole. I was sent in to distract you from the office. Since we’ve been on the phone, my people have raided your office and hacked into your files. But really, it was fun. We should do this again sometime.”

If cellphones made an old school clicking sound like landline phones did, that’s what Steven would have heard. Lucy hung up, and he sat there stunned. Stunned for so many reasons. First, how could he have been so blind? It was his job to root out people like that and he had failed. Second, he had never felt that way about a woman before, and it had all been a lie. But most important, Steven thought, oh my God: False Flags are actually a real thing. And just that thought made him get another massive erection.

Story of the Week: A Supreme Courtship

Cindy knew it was going to be a busy week. The court was overseeing two high profile cases, and many eyes would be on her work. And boy, was this some workplace. The court was supreme, but the people on the bench – even supremer. Cindy had always wanted to be a transcriptionist ever since she could remember, and now here she was.

Cindy entered the break room to load up on caffeine before the first session when she was stopped by a very prominent court aide, Marilyn Delaney, who was on her way out.

“Big day.” Marilyn grinned as she leaned against the door.

Cindy tried to maintain her composure, but Marilyn was kind of a big deal, and barely spoke to anyone unless it was to chide them for unsatisfactory work.

“Yes, yes it is. Hope my fingers work!” Cindy giggled nervously.

Then Marilyn did something shocking. She leaned into Cindy and lazily brushed a hand down her arm before whispering, “Mine always do.”

Marilyn walked away, Cindy left breathless. Why, what could she have possibly meant? Was it as sexual as it sounded? And why was the place Marilyn had touched her still pleasantly tingling? She knew Marilyn was ‘one of those’ women who liked the company of other women, but she couldn’t be possibly attracted to Cindy , could she? Cindy wasn’t into that. Sure, she didn’t dislike lesbians, she just wished they’d keep to themselves. Any yet, Cindy hadn’t felt this was since the time Judy Lindstein kissed her at that party Junior year of college during a debaucherous game of Truth or Dare. And oh, how ironic that this should happen on the very day the court was discussing gay marriage.

After the first session took a brief break, Cindy settled down in her office to check her emails when she heard someone at the door.

“You work too hard.”

Cindy didn’t need to turn around. She knew who it was. It was the same velvety voice that had delightfully invaded her ear earlier that morning.

“Hi Marilyn,” she said without turning around.

She felt a hand behind her gently pull her hair back, as a pair of soft, warm lips kissed the nape of her neck.

“I hope this is ok,” Marilyn purred into her collar.

Cindy involuntarily threw her head back. She hadn’t been this aroused since… why, since she couldn’t remember.

She turned in her chair to face Marilyn who was smiling as she pulled a pin out of her tight bun and released soft, flaxen shoulder length curls.

“Stand up,” Marilyn ordered. Cindy obliged. Marilyn pressed her body up against Cindy’s, placed her hands on Cindy’s hips, and walked her backwards into her desk. “Sit,” she hissed. With the help of Marilyn, Cindy hopped up onto her desk. Marilyn leaned in and kissed Cindy full on the mouth, softly at first, then a bit deeper. Cindy’s eyes flew open as she felt Marilyn’s hands under her skirt.

“You’re good with your hands, Cindy. I think it’s time to show you what I’ve got.”

Cindy nodded in fervent anticipation and lay back on her desk. Marilyn continued to explore Cindy’s love cave with one hand while gently unbuttoning her blouse with the other. As Marilyn gently bit down on Cindy’s nipple, Cindy knew she was about to burst at any moment. With Marilyn’s fingers exploring her, teasing her so gently, Cindy couldn’t hold back any longer and arched her head back and cried out as she convulsed into a chain of spasms.

After a few moments Marilyn stood up, and glanced at her phone.

“We’re almost back in session. I suggest you get back.”

“Wait…” Cindy pleaded, “Can we do this again?”

Marilyn smiled. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“One… one more thing,” Cindy pleaded as she sat up and hastily buttoned her blouse. “ I’ve never really known a… um a…”

“Lesbian?”

“Yes,” Cindy blushed. “And so… you want this marriage equality thing to happen, right?”

Marilyn took a deep breath before she spoke, “Listen, just because someone is gay, it doesn’t mean they all want the same things. Do I personally want to get married? Fuck no. Ideally I’d be accepted by society whether or not I fit into hetero-normative expectations. I should be able to fuck as many hot chicks in offices and bars as I want and still be treated as a citizen with equal protection. But, as a general rights issue, this is an important step so sure, yeah.”

“I get off work at 5.”

Marilyn grinned, turned, and walked out of Cindy’s office.

Cindy took a moment to compose herself. While she had no idea what any of the stuff Marilyn said meant, it sounded so wonderful coming out of her soft lips.

Story Of The Week: America Is Becoming A Chaotic Country

This week’s Tickle The Elephant story was inspired by the Fox News Website Challenge™! This is where we go to the Fox News website and write an erotic story inspired by a headline on the front page at that moment. This week we chose Bill O’Reilly’s opinion piece, “America Is Becoming a Chaotic Country“! Seeing as how Bill O’Reilly is no stranger to penning erotica, we couldn’t be happier with our interpretation of his open letter to naughty, naughty America. Please do enjoy.

Dear America,

You dirty, filthy complicated bitch. Yeah, I can use that work. You know why? Because you’re a nasty broad, and I like you for that. You’re dangerous. Unexpected. Surprising. Unanticipated. Without warning. You’re just so damn chaotic. And you turn me on.

Look at you, all mysterious. America… America, wait, I’m trying to talk to you. You… what’s that? Oh, come over there? No, you’ll come to me; no one talks to me like that. Jesus, why do your pert nipples have to peek out of your lace chemise like that? So hard and obtrusive, like a dime pressing out of my wallet. Where was I… listen, I brought you here to this hotel room just to talk. See, you’re being chaotic. Erratic. Deviating. Haphazard. Orderless. And still, I want you to take me over to that California king size bed, strap me to the bedposts with my own boxer-briefs and this rope I found in my breast pocket, and spank me until my ass cheeks are red with this rolled up Constitution I keep on me at all times, like a bad, bad boy. I’ve been bad, America. Bad. Delinquent. Reprobate. Vile. Wrong. But you still take the cake for chaoti…

America, what are you DOING? That’s my Thesaurus! I need that for my… oh, ok. Why yes, I’ll lay flat on my back and let you bind my arms above my head. It’s weird how these clothes just came off me. Just now, by themselves.

I’d be lying to you, America, if I said that your warm, soft hand wrapped around my cock right now didn’t feel just fabulous. I wish you’d move it, instead of just holding it there, as you straddle me. Oh, please… If you won’t move your hand can I at least move my pelvis up a bit?

OUCH! That’s my fucking TV face you just slapped! Do you know how many people admire that mug? Why, if you slap it again, harder, I just MIGHT be forced to submission. Ow, again! Harder! HARDER!

You so damn chaotic, America.

If you don’t stop teasing me like that, rubbing your wet clit on the head of my cock, I’m going to be forced to lick you while you sit on my face, tenderly, with care, tender… GODDAMMIT now you see why I need my Thesaurus! Oh, oh you want to thrust your hips down onto my member, pressing my happy-man deep inside your pussy as you grind to your own rhythm? Ok. Oh, ok. Be my guest.

Oh my God, you finished right before I had a chance to come. I’m so fucking hard right now, I don’t even know what to do with myself. Why, if my hands weren’t tied… America? America, where you going?

Oh, America, why do you have to be so chaotic?

I  miss my Thesaurus.

Yours,

Bill

Story of the Week: The State of Their Union

“How the fuck am I supposed to bang all this out now,” Sylvia hissed as she threw a heap of papers onto her already cluttered desk.

She was alone, as usual, and was told to “figure it out” by her speech writing partner Hank, before he and the Senator’s aides went out for an extended lunch at Applebees. Writing the Senator’s response for tonight’s State of the Union address was daunting enough, let alone in English and Spanish, but by herself? Granted, her Spanish was decent – she had studied for several years in college back in Ohio and even spent a semester in Barcelona during her sophomore year, so she considered herself to be proficient enough. But what with the Pope resigning and North Korea’s nuclear weapons test, there was just too much to talk about. She needed some help. She needed a…

“I hear thomeone thay thomethingth about the banging…”

Sylvia’s heart jumped out of her chest when she heard the deep voice with a familiar Castilian accent. She slowly turned around, clutching at the pearls around her neck. It couldn’t be…

“Well hello, Thylvia.”

“Pablo.”

“It hath been tho long.”

Pablo. Pablo was the young busboy she had met when she was studying in Spain. They fell for each other immediately and, despite the slight age difference (she was 20, he 15), and social status (she rich, he poor), nothing mattered but the lessons he taught her in the ways of love. She remembered the last time she saw him, after she had skipped class to make love to him behind Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia Basilica, how he looked into her eyes, placed his rough hand on her sweaty face and said, “Thome day, I will find you. Do not wait for me – your body needth to be pleathed by otherth. But jutht know, I will find you. And we will make love onth again.”

And now there he was. Pablo – looking absolutely dapper in a custom tailored suit; the knot on the tie creased to perfection. His hair was shorter and carefully slicked into place, a slight stubble on his soft dark face. And oh, those piercing green eyes.

“Pablo!” Sylvia could barely contain herself as she rushed into his open arms. “You’re back!”

“Thylvia. Yeth. I am only here for a few hourth. We mutht leave after the President thpeakths. But I must have a prethiouth moment with you.”

“What are you doing here?”

Pablo pointed to a pass clipped to his chest. Sylvia studied it – he was a high level chief of staff to a Spanish diplomat. That would explain why he only had a few hours. And oh, she would make it count.

Pablo gently pushed her golden hair from her face and leaned into her soft yielding lips when Sylvia suddenly pulled back.

“The speech!”

“The thpeech can go fuck itthelf, for no thpeech can fuck you like I can.”

Sylvia melted into Pablo’s arms and took his mouth voraciously with her lips. A warm, throbbing sensation rushed down to her loins and she remembered that no other lover had made her ache this way since Pablo.

Pablo smiled and gently lay Sylvia on the couch. She began to unbutton her top when he put a finger to her mouth.

“No. You will do nothing.”

Pablo stepped back and pulled his suit coat off. She could see his broad shoulder muscles barely restrained by his perfectly fitted shirt. And he made her watch, teasing her as he stripped all the way down to nothing. Sylvia could barely contain herself and placed her hand on her wet love mound, but Pablo stopped her.

“No. I will do everything.”

He knelt over her and kissed her everywhere, inching her clothes off bit by bit until she too was naked. Sylvia was about to explode as he lowered his head between her legs and did what he did best. After only a minute, Sylvia came so hard she saw stars on the inside of her clenched eyelids, trying her best not to scream with feral abandon. Pablo was now on top of her. She was so wet… she wanted him, all of him inside her. But he made her wait.

He traced his mouth along her earlobe, down to the nape of her neck and to her shoulders, kissing her tenderly. Sylvia ran her hands along his soft, strong back, aching for him to put all of his weight on her, and melt into her body. Finally Pablo pushed himself up for a moment and gazed into Sylvia’s chestnut eyes.

“I am going to make love to you now.”

“Oh, Pablo!”

Sylvia arched her back and squealed as Pablo grabbed her hips roughly and bore down into her, thrusting with his gigantic manhood. She could feel herself about to come again as Pablo’s rhythm got faster, and with a sudden, harsh groan, his magnificent body shuddered – releasing himself into her.

They lay there in silence. The sun was beginning to set in the evening sky. Pablo finally broke the silence.

“I have to be going. But I will be back again one day.”

“Pablo, I love you.”

“I love you, Thylvia.”

Hours had passed and Sylvia sat at her desk, playing back the afternoon in her head. She had somehow managed to finish the speech, although she had absolutely no idea if it was good or not. No matter. Because from now on, when she heard the words “immigration”, “drone strikes”, “North Korea” or “Bipartisan”, she would think of Pablo.

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: 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: 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.