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.”


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.

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.”


“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: The Gun Show

“I’d do a check on your background,” Brock Debroux joked to Angelina as she poured the champagne.

She turned around and grinned. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were getting fresh with me.”

Brock blushed a bit and accepted the champagne flute Angelina handed to him. He lifted his glass and declared proudly, “Today was a banner day for our organization and the Senate, Angie. It’s time to celebrate, and I can’t think of a finer person to share this moment with.” Brock looked down sheepishly for one second, worried he had said too much.

It was no secret to his colleagues that he had a very large crush on Angelina, the temp they hired for a few months while his assistant was on maternity leave. Since they worked together, however, he knew to keep things strictly professional. It definitely wasn’t a confidence issue; Brock was good-looking, successful and very powerful – his father, Sonny Debroux, was the Chief Executive of the most powerful gun rights group in the country, where Brock also worked – but he knew that it would be inappropriate and downright cliché to make a pass his secretary. Plus, he was pretty sure she had a boyfriend, at least according to the many happy “selfie” pictures of her and a handsome mystery man he spotted during the frequent visits he made to her Facebook, Twitter and Instagram pages several times a day.

Angelina traced the rim of her crystal flute. “I’m proud of you for doing what you love,” she said, her velvety soft voice permeating Brock’s ears. “And I know it’s not my place to say, but I think that your policies are just… wrong.”

She cast her eyes down and furrowed her brow before shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Brock offered, even though her words did indeed hurt him. “I know we come from different political backgrounds and you’ve… kept to yourself. I appreciate that.”

Angelina suddenly looked up, a wicked grin consuming her cherry lips. “No, Brock. I don’t think you quite understand. In fact, I don’t think you know just exactly how wrong you are.”

“Pardon…” Brock started, but before he could get another word out of his mouth, Angelina shoved him roughly up against the wall, pinning him tightly with her soft, yet firm hands. Staring intensely into his eyes, her face inches away from his, Angelina placed a warm hand on his face, tracing a line from her thumb across his lips. “You’ve been flirting with me for months but haven’t made one move,” Angelina said. “And I’m starting to think that it’s because you know you can’t handle it.”

“Handle what?” Brock whispered, afraid to move under Angelina’s body that was now pressed hard into his. A million thoughts were swimming through his head. What exactly did she mean? Her conflicting opinions on gun control? This conversation? He was at a loss for words, and was doing his best to try to suppress the overwhelming warmth that was creeping down into his loins that were now showing evidence of his arousal.

“Handle me,” Angelina whispered. “I can see that you’re thinking about what I said. That’s cute. I like boys who think. But what I like better is boys who act.” She pulled her silk chemise spaghetti strap top over her head, revealing a rose-colored lace bra. Angelina then pressed her body harder into Brock’s and traced her tongue along the nape of his neck. She whispered into his ear, “So why have you never made a move on me?”

“Angelina, I… I…”

“You what,” Angelina countered. “You didn’t want to jump the gun, so to speak? Excellent. I like a little challenge. If you had thrown yourself at me on day one I might have been put off. But I like you Brock. I’ve gotten to know you, and I think you like me too. That proves my first point of why you are completely and totally wrong on your gun control policies.”

Angelina began to unbutton Brock’s dress shirt, softly kissing every bit of flesh on his chest that she slowly revealed.

“W… what do you mean?”

She looked up and said, “Mandatory waiting periods. They can be really sexy. And give people time to think about what they want…” Her hand was now creeping down to Brock’s aching bulge. “And I know what I want now.” She cradled her hand over his jeans around his stirring manhood and leaned in to kiss him. He squirmed in sheer pleasure and excitement when the flesh of her tongue grazed against his.

Angelina pulled her mouth back and Brock sputtered, “I… I agree. I mean I have desired you for so long and it just got more intense…” He leaned his head into hers to steal another kiss but Angelina stopped him.

“Shhh,” she said, her hand on his mouth. “There’s one more thing I want to bring up. Did you know this was my last day? I don’t work for you anymore. So why didn’t you ask me out to dinner like a real gentleman?”

Brock stood in awe. Was today her last day? How had he not known? He finally spoke up, “But… you have a boyfriend. I mean, that’s what I think.”

Angelina shook her head in disbelief, her hand still rubbing rhythmically along the thick hardness in his jeans. “Well, that brings me to my next point,” she said, positioning her mouth close to Brock’s ear when she whispered. “Background checks.”

Brock was so aroused she could have suggested that he quit his job, buy a guitar and go to Burning Man and he would have said yes at that point. He didn’t want her to stop what she was doing.

“But you… the guy on your Facebook page…” Brock started.

“What are you, 12? That’s my brother. And if you had done any research whatsoever, you’d know that today is my last day, but you didn’t.”

“I didn’t ” Brock exhaled. Angelina was now kissing his chest. She began to undo the button on his khakis when he stopped her and pulled her up to him. The feeling of flesh against flesh was too much to bear, but Brock knew what he had to do.


“Yes, Brock.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me? Tonight?”

Angelina stepped back, smiling. She grabbed her top from the floor and much to Brock’s dismay, put it back on.

“Well I thought you’d never ask.” Angelina picked up her purse, turned and walked out the door.

Brock slid down the wall and sat on the floor. With everything that happened today, he felt ashamed. Ashamed that deep down Angelina was right; he hadn’t really done any research into her background. He hadn’t taken the time to learn that today was her last day. And yes, the waiting period made things that much sexier. He could also see her point about the gun control laws that the Senate had valiantly voted against that same day. And although he likely wouldn’t change his views completely, she did make him think a little bit about the current legislation. Not a lot, just a bit. And that was still more than could be said about his colleagues.

All he had to figure out now was what restaurants bleeding heart liberal flower-power hippie love chicks like to go to.

Story of the Week: La Dama de Hierro

It was a day like any other when she glided up into Heaven. I’m technically not supposed to call it that – the “H” word – because this place was not “Heaven”, per se. In fact, there was neither Heaven nor Hell, which surprised me when I arrived here almost 10 years ago. Those dickish atheists didn’t have it totally right, though; there was indeed an “afterlife”, but everyone’s invited and no one judges your previous actions. To me, this was Heaven. I called it H-Town. Just chilling out with my pack as I wait for a new body. And then… she came.

I woke up that morning to the sounds of my name being called by my best friend Carlos.


I don’t remember exactly what my full name was back there, but the first people I met up in H-Town were from a small Mexican gang of former factory workers. They treated me like their brother, and affectionately gave me that nickname, “Ronito”. Well, at first they called me “Capitán Amnistía”, but that didn’t stick because some of the boys over on the east side used to say it in a derogatory way before bursting into fits of malicious giggles. It hurt my feelings, so Carlos renamed me “Ronito”. That one stuck. And that is who I was.


“Si, Carlos?” I answered, lazily rolling over in my bed.

“Hay una nueva mujer de hoy. Ella es muy agradable.”

“Ah, si – muy bien.”

I had no idea what he had just said. In fact, I had no idea what any of them said, but they were the nicest ones to me in H-Town, so I did best when I just smiled and nodded.

I put on my clothes for the day and stepped out of my room when I saw her. A beautiful, sparkling woman, standing tall and proud before me. Carlos motioned to her and explained why she was there.

“Ella dijo que ella sabe quién es usted. Quiere decir hola.”

Again, didn’t get a word, but I smiled. And nodded. She looked me straight in the eye, and my heart skipped a beat.


“They call me Ronito here.”

“Do you know what I am called?”

“What?” I could barely breathe as this angelic creature strutted slowly towards me. A warm sensation dripped from my gut down into my loins like molasses on… anything molasses is put on. I held my breath when she leaned her face in, inches from mine.

“I am called ‘yours’”, she said, placing a soft hand on my cheek.

All this time I had forgotten what it was like to feel truly alive. And at that moment, I knew – I knew I must have been close with her back there. If only I could remember anything.

“Were you my wife?”

The woman chuckled softly. She took both of my hands in hers, and looked me straight in the eye.

“I have to be honest with you, I don’t know for sure myself. I don’t remember much. All I know is that I was drawn to you.”

It was rare that women flocked to me. They usually threw themselves at Carlos. But here was this lady, this spirit… it was as if we truly understood each other.

“What is your name? Your name back home, that is. Perhaps that will jog my memory,” I offered.

She shook her head. “I don’t remember honestly, but Carlos called me ‘La Dama de Hierro’. It sounds strong and dangerous. I’ll take it.”

“I’ll take you.”

I couldn’t believe I said that, but this woman made me feel so strong. So confident. And that’s when I did something that surprised us both. I leaned in, and placed my lips on her soft, cherry blossom mouth.

The moment overtook us both and it felt as if time had stopped. Surrendering into submission, she pressed her body into my chest which deliriously engulfed her shapely frame. I ached for her with every ounce of my being. I knew that at that moment I would do anything, anything…

“Ronito,” she whispered, her hot breath against my neck.

“Yes, Dama de Hierro?”

“I need you to help me take over the east side of this town. When I got here some of the locals weren’t so nice to me. Can you help me do that?”

“Well, Dama, I’m not into violence, I’m more of an artsy…” She placed a soft finger to my lips.

“Tsk tsk,” she clucked. “I guess you aren’t interested in impressing me.” She pressed against my chest and cupped her hand over my engorged manhood. I was about to burst and she knew it. “Perhaps you could do it for me as a favor?”

“You know, I never liked those guys over on the east side. Union laborers and welfare queens all of them…” I stopped suddenly. What were those words that just came out of my mouth? They felt so natural, so real and so right. So goddamn right. “I’ll do it,” I hissed into her cheek. She nodded, satisfied, and began to unzip my trousers, caressing the large swell of my rigid flesh. Oh my God, this was happening.

“You and I will make a great team, Ronald.”

“Who is this Ronald you keep referring to?”

“I mean, Ronito.”

I nodded as she unbuttoned my shirt.

“There is one other thing,” she said, her hand now on my bare chest. “It’s the matter of your friends. Perhaps we could find more suitable company, you and it.”

“Whatever you say.”

“This will be the continuation of a beautiful friendship,” she whispered before consuming my lips with her full mouth. I may not have known what the heck was going on, or how we were going to do it, or even my own name. But I knew I’d do anything for my Dama de Hierro.

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…”


“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.



Story of the Week: H&R Cock Block

“Taxes, huh?” Xavier Shawman exclaimed as he opened up his briefcase.

Emily smiled, as if to commiserate. “Yes, taxes! This must be the busiest time of the year for you Mr. Shawman.”

Xavier held his hand up. “Please, call me Xavier. And yes, yes this is the busiest time. But that’s what you get when you become an accountant. Tax season!” Xavier laughed. Emily smiled politely.

“Well, Xavier, I’m glad you could make it. As you know my late husband’s estate was very… complicated.”

Yes, Xavier knew. Every tax man in town was clamoring to help the newly widowed Emily Fausterson. Her husband was rich. Very rich. And after Mr. Stanfeld Fausterson died at an unusually young age in a car wreck, more than accountants were knocking on the beautiful Emily Fausterson’s door. After a proper period of respectful mourning, that is.

Emily sighed and said, “I can still hardly believe Stan is gone. I suppose I’ll always feel like it just happened.”

Xavier nodded. “I know. It’s been a month. It takes some time.”

Emily bowed her head and continued, “I suppose it’s ok to feel like I should move on, right?” She tilted her piercing emerald eyes up at Xavier who tried to hide the blush that was creeping up his neck.

“Yes. Moving on, and time… taking time,” Xavier stammered as he nervously ruffled through pages on her parlor desk.

“It’s all so confusing.”

“I’m sure it is. When my mother died, I just felt so lost,” Xavier offered.

“No I mean, today. You’re here,” Emily gestured towards the stack of papers on her late husband’s desk. “But I also have another accountant who is interested in helping me out. I don’t quite know what to do.”

“Another accountant?”

A voice bellowed from down the hall.

“Why, hello Xavier.”

Xavier turned to find none other than Ron Figgston, the most famous accountant in town and Xavier’s arch rival  both professionally and romantically. The last serious relationship he was having with a woman a few months ago was going just swimmingly until Ron dove in, like a shark following the smell of fresh sweat. She left him for Ron. Then there was the time that Ron romanced Xavier’s sister Shelly… just to prove that he could. She was still picking up the pieces from that one. And then there was the time in grade school during a particularly vicious game of croquet…

“How’s the arm, champ?” Ron scoffed, laughing as he swept by Xavier and smacked his bum limb.

“So you two have met?” Emily inquired.

“Met?” Ron blurted out, “Why we’re practically brothers, right Xavier?” Ron placed a big arm firmly around Xavier’s shoulder.

Xavier felt a hot rush of blood consume his face. But he mustn’t lose his temper. Not yet…

“Right Ron!” Xavier returned the side hug, albeit awkwardly.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you guys getting along!” Emily clasped her hands together and grinned widely. “Because I don’t know what I’m going to do with two accountants. Unless you guys can prove to me that you work well together.”

“No can do amiga,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I’m a one client at a time kind of guy.” He winked at Xavier before continuing. “Looks like you’ll have to choose just one.”

Xavier swallowed, the lump in his throat growing. He must have Emily as a client! And perhaps as… a potential girlfriend. But how?

Emily piped up, “I have an idea. Why don’t you two first kiss and make up?”

Ron grinned at Xavier. “I’m game.”

Xavier nodded and said, “Me too.” As Xavier leaned in to give Ron a hug, he was shocked when Ron instead grabbed his face with his large, burly hands, and planted a soft kiss right on Xavier’s mouth. My God, Xavier thought as Ron’s lips consumed his, he now understood why all the townswomen desired him so. The man knew how to kiss. Xavier leaned his head to the side and let Ron’s mouth devour him, letting his fleshy tongue softly dance with Ron’s, ever so delicately.

“Hrm hrrrm…” Emily cleared her throat. Xavier was shocked to find her laid out on the red upholstered fainting couch, her fingers gently rubbing her love mound. She continued. “That was nice. Very nice. Now Xavier, why don’t you go ahead and let Ron do to your cock what he did with his mouth.”

Xavier was stunned. “Do you mean…”

“Absolutely!” Exclaimed Ron. And before Xavier knew it, Ron was enthusiastically on his knees, pulling Xavier’s pants down.

“Are you ok with that?” Emily asked coyly.

Surprisingly, Xavier was. And with every plunge Ron took on his plenipotentiary instrument, all Xavier could think about was what he could learn from Ron. Because while all of this was happening, Emily was bringing herself closer and closer to climax by just watching them. If that turned her on so much, maybe it was his turn to show her what he could do to Ron.

Xavier pushed Ron off of his rigid flesh, and got on his knees, now at Ron’s level. He grabbed Ron’s head and thrust his tongue deep in his mouth, to Emily’s great delight, before pushing Ron to the ground and unzipping his trousers. Ron gasped excitedly as Xavier wrapped his warm mouth on Ron’s iron-hard tumescence. Watching the two of them was too much to bear – Emily could hold back no longer and with a guttural moan she came hard, her back arched on the crushed velvet. She rolled off the couch and crawled over to the men, both of whom were too about to burst.

“Ron, Xavier, stop. Please.”

Xavier reluctantly pulled his head from Ron’s hardness, a bit of spit sliding down his chin. Ron in turn pulled himself up and demurely removed the finger he has managed to place in his asshole during their frolic.

“You both got me so excited, you made me finish too fast.” Emily sighed dramatically and continued, “And I don’t know who to hire yet, as my head is just in a tizzy.” She pulled herself back up and retired again to the couch, looking away suspensefully.

“Well,” Offered Xavier, “If you need us to come back say, tomorrow,” he glanced at Ron who nodded and continued, “I’d be… willing to show you what I’ve got.”

“And I,” Ron offered intently, “Can clear my calendar. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“May the best man win,” Xavier said, extending a hand to Ron.

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes, to find out who that is. Years, even. It might take that long.”

Emily shifted in her seat as she watched Ron and Xavier’s mutual gaze between them go on for about a minute before she interrupted the silence.

“You have until April 15th. I mean, that’s tax day so…” her voice trailed off.

Ron shot his hand up towards her, eyes still fixed on Xavier.

“Well then we may have to meet extra early tomorrow,” Ron offered. Xavier nodded.

Emily nodded too, but was pretty sure she wasn’t a part of their moment. No matter. She was still excited for tomorrow. Plus, there’s always TurboTax™.

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.”


“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: Ass(ets) Fit For A Mayor

“Whose ass were you admiring when I wasn’t there?”

Mayor Humphrey Brandville smiled as he let Mandy into his mansion. He was finishing out his 4th term as the Mayor of a very small town in Maine. The only reason they had let him have four terms was because he was the best damn Mayor Littlefork, Maine had ever seen. Plus, no one wanted to run against him. The town also had a population of 263, which complicated things when it came to finding candidates to run for political office. So there he was, the town Mayor, probably forever. He liked to call himself “The King”. His constituents thought it was a clever joke. Humphrey wasn’t joking.

“Would you like some wine?” Humphrey motioned to two crystal glasses on the mantle, already filled.

“You know what I like,” Mandy quipped as she took off her long, cheetah fur coat, a gift from “The King” himself.

Humphrey took the coat and placed it on the couch. “And you know what I like.” He started to wrap his arms around Mandy’s waist.

She stopped him with a swift move of her soft hand and spun around. “First, payment.”

Mandy was proud to be a sex worker; she was honestly the best, most respected one in town. Again, a town with a population of 263, but talent was talent. And she really was quite exquisite at her craft.

Humphrey pulled out the crisp hundred dollar bills and counted each one out until Mandy was satisfied.

“Good. Now take your clothes off and stand in the corner.”

“What?” Humphrey was a bit confused; normally he was the one who called the shots.

“You heard me. Get your fucking ass naked and stand in the corner. Or I guess that’s the way you like to talk to women you don’t even know. Is that true?”

Humphrey burst into a fit of laughter. “Oh, you must be referring to that news piece that came out about my comment to that woman on the street. Yeah, sure, I said ‘nice ass’. But I was just playing! Plus, I’m the Mayor, you know? She probably loved it.”

Mandy was unmoved. “That woman was my mom you fucking asshole.”

“Well, your mom is hot.”

Humphrey felt the white hot pain on his cheek from the quick slap of Mandy’s hand.

“What…what the fuck?”

“You are a disrespectful, power hungry ass. Take your fucking clothes off.”

Humphrey did as he was told. He was confused. Why was Mandy taking this so seriously? Why had the “ass” comment even been made newsworthy? And why, after all this humiliation, did he have a gigantic, throbbing erection?

“Now stand in the corner, face to the wall. And stay there.”

After a few silent minutes, Mandy finally told him he could turn around. She sized him up from head to toe. Humphrey stood before her, naked, scared, and still quite aroused. She motioned towards the Mayor. “Lay on my lap.”

Face down, Humphrey lay like a bad boy about to receive his punishment. Mandy swiftly lifted her hand high in the air, and landed her palm right on the Mayor’s ass, hard. He winced, but knew he had to take it.

And he took it. For what seemed like hours, Mandy spanked the Mayor until he just couldn’t bear it anymore. She heard him trying to hide his whimpering cries as she looked down at his swollen, red butt cheeks.

“Had enough?”

“Oh Mandy p…please. I’m sorry I was disrespectful to your mother. And… I was just being a dick.”

“Ok. You can get up now.”

“Oh, thank you.” The Mayor stood up, still shaking from the hard beating; still extremely aroused from the anticipation.”

“Speaking of ‘dick’,” Humphrey offered, smiling, “Maybe you can… suck mine?”

Mandy smiled wickedly. “Or maybe I tie you up to that chair, you and your giant erection, and I leave the room. When I come back, I might get on top of you with my wet pussy, and ride you until you cum hard and deep inside me. But I need some time to think about it. Deal?”

Humphrey nodded excitedly as Mandy pulled out a long scarf and tied him to the chair next to his large mahogany desk. She stood over him before continuing.

“I’m going to step out of the room now, and think about your apology. So now you’ll just have to wait for me to fuck you.”

The Mayor nodded enthusiastically. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t already burst. He had never been this hard in his life. But now, he just needed to wait. Mandy was in charge. And for the first time the Mayor like the idea of someone else telling him what to do.

He also hoped she’d be back in at least four hours, because if he still had an erection he might need medical attention, according to the warning on that commercial where the couple is windsurfing.

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.”