Story of the Week: Love As Deep As The OSHA

Many thanks to Director of Public Relations at Compliance and Safety  for the inspiration for this story by sending me this link! If you have a story suggestion, or would like to write your own, contact us here. See the nice email – click to enlarge!

Love As Deep As The OSHA

Love As Deep As The OSHA

James Fackler let out a deep sigh, shook his head, and looked back at the computer screen. He was reading a blog piece emailed to him about the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, or “OSHA”, as it was known in political circles.

“President Obama is often framed as a big spender, but does this narrative hold true for OSHA? It does indeed, with OSHA spending hitting record levels immediately after Obamas inauguration.  OSHA is bigger than ever before, both in terms of funding and in terms of revenue generated from fining businesses. This is great news for working class citizens but not quite as exciting for business owners.”

By God, this article was good, even though there was a grammatical error in it, which was a little disconcerting. Really, James pondered, if someone is going to write an entire page on an important issue, hit “post” and then email it around to thousands of people, it might do some good to run it through a spell and grammar check. And the error involved the misuse of the possessive form of a singular noun – the President’s name no less. No matter. James was completely on board with what this article was saying. OSHA was killing him and business owners like him with these fines. And the more frequent random inspections? Too much.

James shook his head and sipped on a paper cup of overheated coffee. He was about to ask Cassie to make him a lunch reservation with his old Harvard pal Philip when he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he huffed, barely glancing at the door as it opened.

“I hope it’s ok that I’m here without an appointment,” a soft voice murmured.

James spun around to find a young woman leaning up against the doorway, a huge, ratty trench coat wrapped around her body. She wasn’t exceptional looking – her messy brown hair was tied up in a loose bun; dark glasses adorned her face. Probably just one of those stragglers he’d seen outside his plant looking for work.

“Oh, hello,” James offered, standing up. “How may I help you?”

“May I sit?” The Woman queried, motioning towards the seat in front of James’ desk.

“Of course,” James replied as he strolled along to the front of the desk and leaned back. “What can I help you with?”

“Well, this is hard for me…”

“Please, go on.”

“My brother died a few months ago from a workplace injury at one of your plants.” The Woman bent her head down before speaking again. “Tommy Figgs, do you remember him?

James shook his head as he spoke, “Can’t say I do. I mean, there are so many employees at my plant I can’t really remember them all.”

“But… you’d remember a dead one.”

“No offense but I’m a busy man…” James was cut off by The Woman.

“Fuck..me..,” The Woman said as she jumped up.

“I… I’m sorry that came out wrong.” James jumped up and turned to grab a tissue from his desk when he felt a hand press hard on his lower back.

“I said, fuck me,” a hot voice whispered in his ear. The Woman was directly behind him. James stood, hands atop his desk, slightly bent over. Surely she was crazy! James had always considered himself to be an attractive man, but it wasn’t like women were throwing themselves at him…

Two hands grabbed his shoulders firmly and swung him around. He looked at her, this Woman, who now stood before him naked. She had released her hair from the restrictive bun, taken off the trench coat and removed her glasses. My God she was… beautiful! How could he not have noticed before?

“You can stare all you want but you have to fuck me.”

“But… what’s the…”

“I want you to know what it’s like to put a hard day’s work in under insecure working conditions. So tonight, when your factory closes, I want you to meet me in your plant. Be prepared to work overtime.”

“This is absurd! It’s the holiday season and I have a family!”

“I don’t care,” The Woman snapped. “Besides, if you don’t, I’ll take this photo straight to the media.” The Woman held her iPhone up to James’s flushed face. On the screen was a photo of him bent over his desk with The Woman naked, making a lewd gesture with a phallice she had somehow whipped out for the picture.

“You’ll never get away with this,” James hissed.

“Oh, I think I just did.” The Woman grinned mischievously and wrapped the trench coat back on, pulled her hair up and threw on the glasses. Why, she was homely again! James thought, as he curiously studied this little chameleon.

“I’ll meet you at your plant down the street at 8:00 tonight. No need for a hard hat. I hear you skimped on those this year for most of your staff. I’d hate it if we had to have something large fall on your head.”

She shut the door behind her.

James walked aimlessly through the now empty plant littered with forklifts and boxes. It was night, and he had made sure everyone went home on time. The employees were all so… grateful. One woman even gave him a hug. How odd, James thought. If that’s all it took to make his employees happy…

Suddenly, he heard a whoosh followed by a crack and before he knew it, James fell to the floor in excruciating pain. He saw blood seeping out of his pant leg. James looked up suddenly when he heard the footsteps of The Woman walking towards him. Her hair was down, her glasses off, and instead of a trench coat she wore a tight latex top and bottom. She looked hot again. But James was in pain…

“What the hell was that for,” he yelled.

“Get up,” The Woman demanded.

“But I’m bleeding!”

The Woman knelt down, whip in hand. She placed a finger under James’s chin and tilted his head up to meet hers.

“Two years ago you made Rick Hardworth work with a cut on his leg. If he had gotten medical attention, even a band-aid, they’d have to write it up in a report and it would bring down your impeccable safety record. He had to work all day with a cut leg and you will too.”

Before he knew it, The Woman wrapped the whip around his back and under his armpits, pulling him up.

“See that room over there in the corner where those steel drums are piled up in a hazardous manner that goes against several safety codes?”

“Yes,” James said. He knew exactly which room she was talking about.

“That’s where you’ll fuck me. Except I get to wear this.” The Woman whipped out a very large hard hat.

“But they’ll fall on top of me!”

“That’s how my brother got injured… the first time. You can leave once you get me off.”

James hated to admit it, but he was damn excited. He immediately shed his clothes and practically ran into the cold room, The Woman walking behind him. She sat herself up on a drum, pulled off her latex bottom and looked down at him.

“You’re hard.”

“I want to do a good job.”

“I like that work ethic.”

With that The Woman grabbed James’s waist and shoved his torso in between her legs. He gasped with exquisite pleasure as he felt the tip of his manhood touch her welcoming, warm moist lips. She thrust him towards her, harder and harder, until he felt her come on his cock. She screamed so hard with every shuddering climax that The Woman threw her head back, causing the already shaky pile of steel drums to rattle. James looked up and before he could say anything, The Woman leapt off of him as a lone drum crashed down on his torso.

“Ow!”

“Are you okay?” The Woman was standing over his naked body, sprawled on the ground, pinned by the heavy steel.

“I’m ok, I just can’t… quite get up…”

“Shhhh. Someone will be here to help you tomorrow.”

“What?” James struggled to push the drum off but it was too heavy. “I need your help!”

The Woman pulled her pants back on, and grabbed her trench coat from behind a box and slipped it on. She spoke to James as she pulled her hair back and placed glasses on her face. Dammit she wasn’t hot again. How did she do that?

“Listen, James, do you know how many workers at your plant end up in your same exact position just because your plants don’t meet OSHA guidelines?”

“I won’t complain about OSHA again, I swear!”

“Shhh…” The Woman placed a finger on James’s lips. “You’ll be fine. Someone will be here around 8am I think, and they’ll help you. That’s twelve hours from now – I told you you’d have to work overtime.”

“But… I didn’t even get to climax with you.”

The Woman turned towards the door.

“Work isn’t always fun, James.”

“Stop!”

The Woman turned back curiously.

“Can I see you again sometime?”

The Woman grinned, pivoted, and strode out of the plant.

Story of the Week: No Labels

This week we are delighted to present a story from an anonymous guest blogger! This was written a few months ago for the awesome political erotica mash-up site, Hail to the Slash.  If you have a story suggestion or want to submit your own, contact us here.

No Labels

By: Anonymous

Just a joyless campaign. It was way too early for this shit, and it wasn’t even 5:30 a.m. Joe was spent; Geist was out today doing God knows. Did these candidates even like politics? Obama, trying to be so above it all. Romney, just, like, odd. No interest in the game. No desire to do the back-and-forth scrapping Joe craved. Where was a third party to re-energize this race? Sometimes he felt like he was talking to no one, the loneliest man at the roundtable leading the morning news of the world.

The world put a little more slump in his shoulders this 7:45 break.

As “Up the Junction” played over the tag, Joe felt a little tug at his trousers from under the desk.

“Hello.”

“Wha — ?” Years before he’d become a little reluctant to look down at what was up at his Deep South.There had always been rumors about Olbermann wearing nothing under the waist, and just… nasty. Plus this one time Katrina tried to initiate footsie with him, which he tried to play off by saying he wanted something a little more middle-of-the-spectrum, but —total kink-fest, let’s just say, so weird. And he wasn’t into it, not at all.

“You have a surprise visitor for the 8:00 hour.” It was Mike Bloomberg, Mayor Mike, Bloomberg Bloomberg, who had crawled under and made a little compact box of himself on all fours.

“Mr. Mayor?” Joe whispered.

“Yes, Joe. I wanted to get back to you about your key to the city.” He unzipped the fly.

“Freeball economy,” he observed.

“Boxer label was chafing.” Mike’s finger curled around his mushroom head, which already had precum. With a push of the finger up his nose Joe was able to cover up his surprise. Glasses adjustment. No big.

Damn. Diana, dirty Diana had taught Mike this move in the town car from the townhouse, he once told Joe. In the time it took to drive him from the stoop to the 6 she could get her mouth around him just long enough to give him a semi, a semi with which he would watch the show at City Hall. It was a little awkward for him to take care of at the office, what with the no walls, and he liked to come over to the set every once in a while to take care of business. He might be brusque, might have a lil harassment suit here or there, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have needs, needs a no-strings relationship with Joe filled in him. All issue politics, no labels.

“Just relax,” Mike said. “Join the conversation.” The piano riff on “Oliver’s Army” swirled over Joe and he let pure sensation take him to the top of the Freedom Tower. Those first few times he had tried to fantasize about others: Goth girls he’d run into at the D.I.Y. shows in college, back in ‘Bama. Ones he could talk the Smiths with. Hardbodies educated at small liberal arts colleges in Western Mass. International superstar, redhead, Matthews’ chick, before the Citibank guy. The blonde, the one everybody thought he was fucking — if they only knew about how their relaish got destroyed by somebody’s fixation with Daddy. Always felt like she was trying to rebel being with him. Made him act the bad boy. And that wasn’t a label he could live up to, not him, anyway. He needed something with no labels.

As if reading his mind, Mike elongated his tongue to hit a little more on the shaft.

“Stunningly superficial,” Mike muttered, sucking a little harder and adding a little teeth onto Joe’s cock that cut through like the voice of that other Boston Mike, Barnicle. Mike was never able to get rid of that old Boston accent, even with all his time in New York and Baltimore, and so he was unable to mimic Daddy’s Polack growl. Even so, it got Joe hot, and for the first and maybe only time in his life he wished he could replace his drawl with one of those long Bal’more “O”s.

“I mean, my God!” he yelled. He hoped to God Bill Kerins couldn’t hear him in the other room. Ever onto Joe, though, Mike just swallowed and smiled.

“Business before the bell. I’ll have my staff analyze this data set later this morning.” Man, Mike just got him. Like union contracts, collective bargaining, hello? Fiscal discipline? I mean, Friedman and Meacham were kind of with him on this one, but Mike had something else, ambition or something, no pretenses. No labels. All chemistry. Mike was street, from poor folk, just like Joe, and they shared something deep down no pundit could divine.

“Mika, tell us what’s in the morning papers,” he said, diverting his thoughts onto a ring from the Gold Coast vent. Look anywhere but under the table, Joe. Look at the tabletop. Look at the ring. It condensed; Joe’s spirits evaporated.

When Joe looked back down under the table, Mike was gone.

Big Papa

I’d like to take a second to mention another political erotica story site, Hail to the Slash! It was conceived and written by the very funny Josh Fruhlinger. Please do enjoy. And now for this week’s story…

Big Papa

“Ridiculous, just ridiculous!” James Smallwood spat under his breath as he hastily hoisted his left wrist into one of the two cold metal cuffs above his head affixed to the brick wall. With a quick snap Alyssa locked the restraint shut and did the same with James’s right hand, which he had already willingly placed in the other.

As Alyssa turned to search through her bag of tools, James, bound to the wall, spoke furiously.

“I mean, can you imagine?!? Insurance for ALL my employees working more than 30 hours a week? I know, I’ll just make them work 29 ½ hours a week, that’s what I’ll do.”

Alyssa nodded absentmindedly while fastening a pair of nipple clamps to James’s pert crimson chest buttons.

James groaned at the cold sensation of metal on his chest and continued, “The only other option is to fire a bunch of employees, and then what will they do? If their only skill is to m….” James shuddered as Alyssa tightened the leather strap that was now tied tightly around the base of his ball sack. His turgid shaft became harder at every tug of the material.

“M…mmmm….. make pizza!” he exclaimed eagerly, finishing his original thought.

Alyssa knelt down to observe her handiwork on the slave. James could hear the squeak squeak of her tight latex body suit as she shifted positions, studying him.

“Looks like you’ve got a bit of precum right down there,” she said pointing to his cock, scolding him. Alyssa put her finger on the tip of James’s swell and rubbed a healthy amount of jizz onto her finger before standing up. She faced him and placed the finger onto his trembling lip.

“What did I tell you about getting excited too soon?

“Y… you said to wait Mistress.”

“Then what’s this?”

James held his breath and before he could manage a response, Alyssa shoved her finger into his welcoming mouth.

“I want you to suck your fucking jizz right off my finger you piece of shit Pizzaboy. Go on… suck it all.”

James closed his eyes and took Alyssa’s whole finger in his mouth, tightening his suction as she pushed it further and further into his face hole.

Alyssa smiled. “Good job, Pizzaboy. Now that finger is nice and clean for your ass.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

Alyssa knelt down, picked up a soft rag, and began to methodically shine the stiletto heel of her knee length boots.

“But you see, Pizzaboy, I have another idea. It seems like you enjoy busting people’s balls, right?”

“Yes, Mistress…” James wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this.

“So I thought we’d do something a little different today. I could give Mr. Garlic Stick a break,” she said, nodding to the large white butt plug that James had so endearingly named. “Or…” Alyssa smiled coyly. “We could let him work alone today.”

Alyssa quickly whipped James’s body around and before he could steady himself, James felt the familiar wide object being shoved hard into his anus. He whimpered at the initial shock of it, and then yelped when he heard the rip of duct tape coming from behind. Alyssa placed the thick tape on his ass cheeks, fastening Mr. Garlic Stick firmly in place. She then spun him back around to face her.

“So, ball busting. I charge extra and I haven’t done it in a while.”

“I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything, Mistress.”

Alyssa thought for a second and then ripped another large piece of duct tape from the roll. She placed it over James’s mouth and he groaned in approval.

“Oh, ok. Looks like now we can properly negotiate.”

“Mmph mphrrr.”

“My son needs to go to the doctor tomorrow and that’s going to just going to hit me hard. Real hard.”

Alyssa grabbed a long leather whip from her bag and adroitly snapped it with expert precision, catching one hair from James’s chest.

“So I was thinking you can double my session price today. How about $4,000?”

She snapped her wrist again, causing the whip to lick an inch long cut on his chest. James howled beneath the duct tape.

“What? Too low? Let’s call it at $5,000 then. Sound fair?”

James, tears of pain in his eyes, grunted as he nodded.

“Excellent.” Alyssa flicked her wrist effortlessly one last time, landing a sharp blow from the tail of the whip across James’s thighs. He cried out ecstatically. This was his favorite thing… the teasing.

Alyssa placed the whip down and lifted her knee onto his chest.

“So now I’m going to shove my heels into your balls. What do you think about that? I’m going to do that, and I won’t stop until you come for me. Are you going to come for me?”

James nodded exuberantly.

Alyssa smiled and traced a red nail across his chest.

“Then you’re going to eat it all for me, swallow it like a hungry little Pizzaboy, aren’t you?”

James could barely hold his excitement any longer; he did his best not to finish right there, his aching shaft begging for release.

“Well ok then, let’s begin.”

James readied himself for his delightful punishment. Now this was money well spent.

Story of the Week: The Would-Be-Senator and the Intern

This week we are delighted to present a story from our first guest blogger, the incredible Bitchy Waiter! You can follow his adventures in the service industry on his site, The Bitchy Waiter, and he’s kind of a big deal so we’re very excited to have him. If you have a story suggestion or want to submit your own, contact us here.

The Would-Be-Senator and the Intern

By: The Bitchy Waiter

“Hello, dear. I’m afraid I’m going to have another long night at the office. I’ll eat something on my way home but don’t wait up for me.”

“But sweetheart, this is your fourth night in a row to work late. I miss you, darling.”

“Well, running for the U.S. Senate takes a lot of hard work, Marilyn. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, sweetheart, I understand. I know it’s hard. See you in the morning. Kiss, kiss.”

“Uh huh.”

The senate hopeful turned off his cell phone and laid it on his desk. Before him, he saw a mountain of paperwork to sort through; all of it dealing with his current job as treasurer of state, but it was going to have to wait. The election was only days away and according to polls, he was not doing well. His unfortunate choice of words earlier in the week had not helped matters. He placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

“This is hard,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe too hard.”

“What’s too hard?” a deep voice asked from the adjoining office.

The politician looked up in surprise having forgotten that the office intern was still doing some filing. This particular intern came from Crossroads Bible College just across town. His name was Derrick and he was a sophomore majoring in Biblical Counseling. He was a diligent worker and wanted to work at the state capitol for a semester to see if a future in politics could be an option for him. At the very least, he thought he could eventually get a letter of recommendation from a U.S. Senator if the election went the right way. Derrick popped his head into the office.

“What’s too hard, sir? Is everything all right? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Derrick. No everything is fine, I’m just stressed out, that’s all.” The politician rolled his head around listening to his neck crack and pop. “It hasn’t been a great week for me.”

“Don’t worry about that, sir. We’ve all said things that we regret,” said Derrick. His dark wavy hair was hanging just above his green eyes and thick brows.

“Yes, but have we all said them during a political debate where thousands of people are watching?”

“Well, no, but…” Derrick’s words drifted off and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Everything will be okay. You just have to have faith.”

“I suppose so. I guess I just need to figure out a way to relieve the stress. You got any suggestions, Derrick? You must get kind of stressed out at college, what with all those exams and everything. What would you do?”

The intern licked his lips and wished he hadn’t left his Chapstick in his dorm room. “Well, you could always try meditating. Or maybe get a massage. I hear those help.”

“Hmmm, a massage might do the trick.” The politician shifted in his chair a bit and uncrossed his legs. “I hate to impose, but would you mind just giving my shoulders a light squeeze? And then maybe I could do something for you in return. Hey, didn’t you want a letter of recommendation from me?”

“Aww, gee, sir, I dunno. I have a lot of homework to do tonight,” said Derrick.

The treasurer stood up from his desk and walked towards the young man. Derrick couldn’t help but notice that his boss’s shirt was untucked and hanging in front of his pants.

“Alright then, Derrick. What if I do something for you first and then if you feel like it you can give me a massage afterwards?”

Derrick walked backwards while the would-be senator pressed forward pinning him against the oak bookcase that was full of financial binders and law books. He could feel his boss’s erection making him again think of the Chapstick he had left in his dorm room. Thirty seconds later, the middle-aged man was on his knees and unzipping the J. Crew khakis of his young intern.

“I dunno if this is a good idea, Mr. Mour-”

“Shhhh,” interrupted the now desperate man. “The only sounds I want to hear are your groans of pleasure.”

He reached into Derrick’s white Calvin Klein’s and pulled out his cock. He cupped his testicles, which were full and heavy. “You know, I went to grad school at Ball State and I can say with authority that you’ve got a great pair of low-hangers.”

Derrick, being the twenty-year old boy that he was, instantly felt his dick grow hard.

“And I’ve got a degree in geology so I know all about rock hard shafts,” continued the treasurer.

With that, he easily swallowed all eight inches of Derrick’s weighty, veiny, mushroom head dick. Derrick closed his eyes and imagined that the mouth was that of his pretty blond professor from his Building a Biblical Lifestyle class. He pushed his pelvis forward and felt his balls slapping against the stubbled chin of his submissive boss who only moments before had been talking to his wife of so many years. His pants and underwear were now in a pile around his ankles and he felt his buttocks being separated slightly by the short stubby fingers of the man he hoped would soon be writing him a letter of recommendation. Derrick forcefully pumped the eager mouth and heard the muffled moans of his boss. Letting go of all inhibitions now, Derrick pounded with reckless abandon as he felt a finger slide into the rosebud of his ass. He was completely enjoying what was happening.

“Take that big dick, bitch. You take that fucking cock until I come all down your throat. You like that? You like it that way? Yeah, you do. Suck that dick,” said Derrick.

The only response that Derrick got was a gagging sound as air tried to escape from the over-stretched mouth of his boss who had a face full of Bible College cock. Derrick could take it no more. His balls tightened up as his load prepared to force its way out. Derrick grabbed the greying head of hair that was wrapped around his manhood and pushed his body even deeper into the mouth, ready to shoot. He came with so much force that he expected to see his man juice seeping out of the corners of the mouth of this cum dumpster, but instead he watched as every last drop was savored and swallowed by his host. It was gulped down until Derrick was quivering with exhaustion. The taste sent the man back to his days on the swim team at Wynford High School when he had overnight trips with the rest of the team.

The state treasurer fell back on the floor and grabbed his own dick and pulled at it three or four times until it released its load with a dribble that was reminiscent of toothpaste coming out of its tube.

Fatigued, and a little bit ashamed, Derrick stepped aside and pulled his underwear back up, covering his still impressive meat. He looked down at his boss who was breathing heavily and trying to decide whether he should wipe his own jizz on his shirt or simply eat it. He went with the latter.

Derrick, now dressed, began to say something. “Mr. Mour-”

“Get out,” interrupted the messy pile of a man. “Get out right now.”

“But what about my letter of recommendation?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. But Derrick, this was a mistake. All of life is a gift from God and sometimes even horrible situations like this can be something that God intended to happen. But that doesn’t mean we can’t forget that it ever occurred.”

The sad pathetic excuse for a human being stood up and began tucking in his shirt and buttoning his pants.

“You will forget about this and you will tell no one. In return for your silence, I will write you a glowing letter of recommendation that will ensure you a job anywhere you want, is that understood?”

Derrick nodded his head. “Thank you, sir. And sir? You still have a little bit of my cum on your chin.”

Instantly, the elected official’s tongue darted out of his mouth and slurped up the last remaining bit of semen.

“Now go home, Derrick. You will have your letter tomorrow morning.”

Derrick left the office leaving the oily politician alone at his desk where he picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Hello, dear. I’ve decided to come home after all.”

“Oh, Dick, that’s wonderful. I’ll get your dinner ready,” replied his wife.

“It’s alright, dear. I already grabbed something and I’m completely full. I’ll be home in an hour.”

“Okay, sweetheart. See you soon. I love you.”

“Uh huh,” said Dick.

He put his phone down and raised his index finger to that area between his top lip and his nose. It held the scent of Derrick’s slightly musky, yet somehow sweet, asshole. He traced his finger over his lips before licking it clean. Dick put on his jacket, turned off the desk lamp and left the office. Tomorrow he would check the polls again and see if he was any closer to becoming a United States Senator.

Story of the Week: Binders Full of Love

Many thanks to Brooklyn Turtle for the inspiration for this story! If you have a story suggestion, or would like to write your own, contact us here.

Binders Full of Love: The Return of Rick and Annabelle

Rick Belson popped the cork on the bottle of 18 year old Macallan scotch and took a hearty whiff. It smelled magnificent. Like fine oak, lanolin and musk. A real man’s drink, Rick thought to himself, as he took a swig straight from the bottle. It was nearly 1am and surely he needed his rest, but he was just too damn excited to go home. His network had gone in for the kill that night after the final presidential debate, and as lead anchor he knew his coverage had been fair, critical, and most of all, right.

Technically the candidates had “tied” according to the other major news outlets. The big guns at the liberal networks were feebly sniffing out weak spots from his party’s candidate like a desperate hound searching for a scrap of meat in a vegan compound. But he knew who the clear winner was. It was…

“Rick.”

An all too familiar voice crooned from behind him and a pang of nerves gripped his chest. Startled by his own response, Rick composed his stature before turning around.

“Hello, Annabelle.”

It had been at least 3 weeks since their last tryst, and they had spoken not a word to each other, save for the occasional “good morning” in the hallway on his part, or a knowing nod of affirmation from her. Once, he could have sworn she grazed her hand across his crotch as they passed each other in the hallway, but he couldn’t be sure. His unique insecurity around the female kind was known only to him and his shrink, and it would certainly be inappropriate to suggest otherwise if that hadn’t indeed been the case. Human Resources already had given him a big talking to after he jokingly referred to his co-anchor’s bosom as “the real stimulus package”. That had been a bad day.

But there Annabelle was again, this time conservatively clothed in a snappy pencil skirt and crisp white buttoned up top; a Ferragamo hanging lazily from the crook of her elbow. The light from the hallway reflected the flaxen highlights in her rich auburn hair.

Annabelle strode in and shut the door behind her. Dammit with the door, Rick thought. He knew there was no way out when closed it. Metaphorically, that is. Surely he knew how to work a knob. But something happened to him when Annabelle was in that room.

“Good debate,” she purred as she stopped her walk towards him and dropped her bag on the floor. “Our guy did pretty great.”

“P…pretty great,” Rick sputtered.

“Now, the town hall one last week was intense. I hate single moms. I think all their bastard children should be held accountable for their violent use of guns.” Annabelle lifted her hand to Rick’s face and delicately stroked his finely shaven baby smooth cheek.

He exhaled as if he had been holding his breath the entire time she had been in the room. My God, did she arouse him. Both physically and intellectually. Rick was especially moved by that remark during last week’s debates as well; if his father hadn’t left their home at such a young age, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so obsessed with playing war games on the computer by himself when he was a teenager.

“Annabelle, I… I am very happy you are here but…”

“But what?” Annabelle cooed, running a delicate finger along the base of his strong jaw before continuing. “I’m in a good mood and I’d like to celebrate. Except,” Annabelle looked away, her brow furrowing deep, almost theatrically.

“Except what?”

“Well, there’s that one thing.”

Before Rick knew it, a hand flew up to his face and slapped the tender skin hard against his cheek.

“Ow! Annabelle what the…”

Annabelle stepped back and tried her best to feign mock-concern.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt? To be slapped in the face like that? Imagine what I would do to you if I had you all tied up.”

The tingling that Rick had just felt coursing through his cheek moved down to his loins as his manhood begin to swell. It was happening again.

Truth be told, Rick was hoping that after their first encounter Annabelle might be interested in seeing him again, but there was a part of him that was frightened. Frightened of her, and frightened of the feelings that were growing not just in his trousers, but in his heart.

“Annabelle, why in Zeus’s balls did you just slap me?”

“Why don’t you keep Zeus’s balls out of this and worry about your own.”

With one quick motion, Annabelle swung her hand out and grabbed Rick’s nutsack tight between her fingers. Rick gasped in pleasure and pain as Annabelle leaned in towards him and whispered, “Last week you let our guy off the hook with his ‘binders full of women’ comment.”

“Oh, that?” Rick smiled weakly, hoping to mask the excruciating pain he was in from Annabelle’s grip. Yes, he loved that moment in the second debate, and let everyone on the panel know it.

Rick gasped as he felt the hold on his balls tighten. He could barely speak.

“Y…you didn’t think that was a positive move towards w…women’s rights?”

“No, I didn’t ” Annabelle breathed harshly into his ear. “What you failed to realize is that live, on the air, you agreed with affirmative action.”

Affirmative action – how could he not have seen that? No matter; the country had a short attention span. No one cared about that anymore. It was all about foreign policy this time around.

Her hand still firmly pressed against his love spuds, Annabelle didn’t let up.

“Now, you know and I know that tonight, neither of the candidates won. I felt like I was watching a goddamn mirror game in an improv class. Pathetic.”

Rick did so hate the ‘mirroring games’ that he was forced to play in those tedious corporate team building sessions years ago when he worked in private finance. And trust falls? He shuddered at the memory.

Before he knew it, Annabelle released her grip and Rick fell to the floor. She meant business and this time, Rick wasn’t sure he could keep up. But he couldn’t deny that everything Annabelle said made him very, very aroused. She wasn’t just hot; she was smart.

Annabelle turned her back and sauntered across the room.

“So I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” Annabelle cooed as she  seductively draped her soft, milky hands up and down the curtain in his office. Rick wished his cock was that curtain.

“To celebrate?” He offered innocently.

“Get up,” Annabelle demanded.

Rick hadn’t realized that he was still on the floor in the fetal position, hands around his groin. He struggled to get to his knees, when he saw a soft hand reach out to help him. He took it.

Annabelle gently eased Rick up, and carefully walked him to the pillar on the side of his office wall. Rick was under her spell. He would let her do just about anything so long as he could make love to her the way they did that first night.

“Annabelle, you’re so beautiful.”

“I know,” she shot back cavalierly before reaching into her bag. Rick leaned against the pillar and curiously riveted his eyes on what she was doing.

With cunning calculation, Annabelle slowly pulled out a long piece of fabric and grinned mischievously at Rick.

“I thought since you didn’t really pay attention to your little gaffe about the binders last week, I’d have to teach you a lesson. About binding.”

She pushed Rick back onto the column and with one quick motion, placed his hands over his head and deftly wrapped the soft fabric around his wrists before securing them to the post. She then leaned forward and bit Rick’s lip lightly before plunging her tongue deep into his welcoming mouth.

Rick could barely contain himself as he felt his ramrod swell hard in his pants. He was now tied up and captivated in every sense of the word.

Annabelle stepped back and surveyed her prey. She grinned and trailed her fingers to the top button of her blouse, never once losing eye contact with Rick as she began to release her supple bosoms with every pop of the fasteners.

Rick watched with delightful anticipation as she threw her top to the floor, revealing a beautiful candy apple bustier. Annabelle then slowly unzipped her skirt and pushed it down. Apparently, she had neglected to put on panties that day.

He took a deep, quick breath as Annabelle knelt before him and swiftly released his hard man-child from his khakis.

Her mouth moved slowly on his virility at first, and then faster, and Rick began grinding rhythmically with every plunge, deeper and deeper. He knew he was about to burst at any moment.

Annabelle stopped suddenly, jumped up and spun his torso around so Rick’s face was now pressed into the alabaster. Before he could protest, he felt something cold and hard slap against his tight buttocks.

He struggled to turn around, but Annabelle had one hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, the other spanking him with some object…

“Dear God, Annabelle, is that my Peabody?”

“You’re… goddamn… right…it… is,” she uttered harshly between blows.

“But I won that in 2009 for my groundbreaking story about wounded veterans!”

Annabelle stopped the beating, grabbed a chunk of hair from the back of Rick’s head and leaned into his ear. “That’s when you actually reported the fucking news.”

She hit him hard with the metal. Again. And again. And soon the tingling pain on his butt cheeks became blisteringly numb. Then prickling hot. Then…

“Oh my God! Annabelle!” Rick howled as he came, his crotch thrusting against the pillar with each fervent spasm.

Annabelle calmly stepped back, took a letter opener from Rick’s desk and sliced the fabric from his hands. Rick slumped against the wall, sweaty and shaking while she demurely put her clothes back on. Rick struggled to get up but Annabelle pushed him back down.

“I’m going home now.”

“Can’t I… make love to you?”

“Maybe another time. I have to run, it’s late.”

Annabelle walked towards the door and turned around one last time.

“You really need to think about what you say on the air. But in reality,” Annabelle looked away for a moment in somber reflection before turning back to Rick. “If it weren’t for affirmative action, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I thought your dad got you this job.”

“I know, I’m just kidding. I love nepotism.”

Annabelle shut the door.

Who was this woman, Rick thought, as his eyes shifted up to the Peabody now sitting innocently on his desk. It was a good thing he was such a damn good journalist. Yes, he’d eventually break this story. He just had to figure out how.

Story of the Week: The Debates

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

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

“Good news?”

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, I actually agreed with him.

“What did you say?”

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

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

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

He lost me.

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

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

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

“Am I what?”

“Watching the debate tonight. The presidential debates.”

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

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

I didn’t know what to say to that.

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

“Well, I’m an Independent.”

“The FUCK does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I get a bit jumpy in elevators.”

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on,” I whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All fixed,” he said, proudly.

I turned to face Evan.

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

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

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

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

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

I smiled, and handed him my business card.

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

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

“Deal.”

I have never been been more excited for a debate.