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.”

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.”