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.