Hailing from the north woods of Michigan, Arthur Graham currently resides in Salt Lake City, Utah, with his wife and her cat. He writes his books alone in the dark, usually nude, surrounded by empty bottles and loaded guns. He has been known to quote Bukowski at appropriate times, which is all the time. One day, he hopes to sell enough books to supplement his drinking habit, but not so many that he’s forced to claim the income on his taxes.
The clock read 6:40 am as the radio blared to life. Could’ve been worse – ‘twas Annie Lennox singing Valerie awake this Tuesday morning:
. . . want to use you . . . some of them want to be used by you . . .
As she struggled to free herself from the morass of sweaty sheets, she was further impeded by her lump of a boyfriend, currently sprawled out over (what was supposed to be) her side of the bed. Upon finally extricating herself, she was about to head off to the toilet when Alphonse flailed his arm out, grabbing her by the wrist before she could get away.
“Call in” he mumbled, almost inaudible beneath his pillow.
. . . some of them want to abuse you . . .
“I have to go to work” she sighed, stepping into a pair of purple, polka-dot panties. “You’re such a tool . . .”
“You can be late . . .” he suggested, his tone implying something more urgent.
“Alphonse, c’mon” she said, attempting to release herself from his grip. “Besides, you’re clearly in no shape for . . .”
Suddenly he pulled her down on top of him, simultaneously sliding himself up to position his ill-groomed genitals before her beautiful face – an unjust pairing if there ever was one.
“C’mon, baby” he whined, wrestling her down further still. “Just give it a little kiss . . .”
Perhaps as a force of habit, she decided to indulge his wish, bending her head towards his vaguely tumescent cock. Despite his half-hard performance the night before, she was pleased to discover some stirrings of life this morning. He could’ve used a shower, she thought, pulling back the the hood, but at least this way she wouldn’t have to finger herself on the way to work again. As he stiffened within her warm, wet mouth, she could feel herself becoming aroused as well.
Using her free hand, she had just begun to work her panties off when he went limper than an old stalk of celery.
“Goddamnit, Alphonse . . .” she groaned, laying her weary head upon his thigh.
“. . .”
“Zzzzz . . .”
The sonofabitch had fallen sleep!
“I’m going to work now,” she declared to the lifeless tool before her, buttoning up her butterfly-patterned blouse and collecting her things from the dresser. After brushing her long, brown hair and applying some quick makeup in the bathroom mirror, she found her shoes and skirt. Her heels clicked across the kitchen tiles as she made her way out the door. Before exiting, however, she felt compelled to stop and turn around.
“My boss wants to fuck me,” she announced to whoever was listening, which was no one, as usual.
“Hrrrrrrrrnn” came Alphonse’s reply.
“Yeah…” she continued, her voice betraying interest. “He’s always threatening to do these, like, really nasty and degrading things to me . . .”
“Zzzzz . . . zzzz . . .”
“Like you care, bastard!” she hissed as the door slammed behind her – that fucking song now stuck in her head.
. . . some of them want to be abused . . .
“Good morning!” she chirped, closing the door behind her as she entered the office. Mr. Lebeau was seated behind his desk as usual, apparently in the midst of an important phone conversation. He regarded her silently as she set down his dry cleaning, an inscrutable wall of mysterious intent forming the facade of his face.
Eavesdropping on the conversation as she arranged her workspace, she pretended he was talking to her.
“About fucking time you arrived” he said, or rather he seemed to say, as he continued to stare her down.
She is visibly distraught.
“Still dating that homosexual, I take it?”
She blushes at this, and a poorly repressed giggle escapes her throat.
“Why you dirty little whore . . .”
Reaching for some files on a high shelf, she arches her back slightly, craning her head around to see if he’s watching.
“Get those fucking panties off NOW.”
She’d unconsciously begun hitching up her skirt when Mr. Lebeau abruptly stopped speaking. She comported herself as he replaced the handset in its cradle, his eyes remaining focused on her.
The spell having been broken, Valerie no longer found it so easy to imagine his mental molestations of her. Frozen in the cold beam of his gaze, her previously cheerful expression quickly gave way to one of nervous trepidation.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Lebeau?”
His stare was icy and unwavering. Breaking eye contact for just a moment, he glanced down at her empty hands before refocusing upon her mortified face.
“Oh shit,” she blurted out, blushing deeply as her own gaze fell to the floor. “I forgot your coffee again . . .”
Slowly he rose to his feet, turning to the window beside his desk for dramatic effect.
“You know I need my morning coffee,” he said dryly, squinting in the light which filtered in through the blinds.
Meanwhile, Valerie was starting to panic.
“Mr. Lebeau, I’m SO sorry . . .” she began, attempting to assuage his disappointment. “let me run out and grab some, k?”
She made to leave immediately, thinking he would appreciate her initiative. But before she could even grab her purse, he turns around to face her once again – stopping her dead in her tracks.
“How many times . . .” he began softly, striding towards her with subtle menace in his eyes, “must you be reminded?”
Stopping before her, he places a heavy hand on her shoulder, his eyes still locked upon hers.
“I . . . I’m . . .” was all she could manage.
Drawing a finger across her red lips, he leaned in close to whisper:
“On your knees, girl.”
Her strong, firm legs offered little resistance as she sank to the floor, bringing her face to face with the sizable bulge in his slacks. Reflexively she grasped for it but withdrew her hand instantly, smarting from his savage slap. He reached down and gripped her by the chin, pulling her closer to him.
“Open your mouth.”
She does as ordered. He lowers his zipper.
“Now show me how you suck it . . .”
Her lips parted in a taut circle, Valerie closes her eyes and allows her tongue to protrude slightly. She then begins rocking her head back and forth in a slow, rhythmic pantomime of impassioned oral sex.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he reminds her, stroking himself vigorously.
She opens them to the sight of his magnificent cock – a thick, bronze scepter crowned with a smooth, apple-shaped ruby. About the length and width of a chubby child’s arm, she shuddered at the thought of it piercing her liver, prompting a single pearl of pussy juice to form upon her quivering cunt.
“Up here,” he says, controlling her with his eyes. “Look at me.”
Their stares locked together in a bond of lustful certainty, he ejaculates heavily into his free hand, cupped only inches from her face. His cum is enticingly fragrant, a bit like almonds and nutmeg.
“Get up,” he tells her, cruelly cloistering his cock away in the sanctuary of his pants.
She complies as he walks away, stopping to examine his dry cleaning on the table nearby.
“Tsk . . .” he clucks with obvious disdain, holding up the semen-stained shirt. “You call this clean?”
Standing now beside him, she lays her head upon his firm shoulder, bearing witness to the mess she’s made.
“You’re going to have to take these back,” he says, smoothing her disheveled hair.
“I know . . .” she says, the remorse apparent in her voice. “I’m sorry . . .”
“Take the rest of the day off” he says, thrusting the load of laundry back into her hands, “and don’t forget my coffee tomorrow.”
Wednesday morning. Valerie is putting on her lipstick in the bathroom mirror. Alphonse is sitting in front of the computer, scrolling through an endless screen of inane Facebook postings. He is eating a bowl of cereal while completely ignoring the stunning woman behind him.
“Say hi to Lebeau for me,” he chortles over his shoulder, coughing up Captain Crunch as she walks out the door.
Mr. Lebeau is waiting when she arrives. Seated in his usual position, he is already watching the door intently as it swings open to admit her.
She saunters into the room slowly, like a naughty girl in need of nothing so much as a good, hard spanking.
The look in his eyes tells her all she needs to know.
“Sorry I forgot your coffee again,” she purrs, stopping to lean against the desk beside him, “must’ve slipped my . . .”
He seizes her before she can even finish speaking. Bending her over his lap, he yanks up her skirt with one swift movement, nearly rending the taut fabric at its seams. Pausing for a moment to appreciate her round, perfect ass, he runs his fingers along the edge of her rainbow-striped panties, marveling at the contrast between the smooth cotton fabric and the goose pimples rapidly spreading across her plump buttocks.
“Please . . .” she moans.
“Please?” he mocks her, “please WHAT?”
“Pleeeeeease, Mr. Lebeau . . .”
“I’m afraid you’re in no position to negotiate, my dear.”
“Please . . . Please, Mr. Lebeau” she cries, “give me the punishment I DESERVE!!!”
Burning tears of joy stream down her face with each brutal swat, eliciting soft whimpers and sharp gasps between each exquisite blow. Her posterior end grows hotter and wetter as well, and it isn’t long before the unrelenting impact of his palm against her pussy has brought her to the very brink. Pausing to slip a stout finger into the tight, creamy slit between her cheeks, Mr. Lebeau resumes his battery with twice renewed vigor.
Soon she is red with welts, shame, and oh-so-sweet catharsis. When she cums, it is as if there is nothing in the world besides her ass, his hand, and the knowledge that the two of them shall never part.
They sit together, smoking. Valerie is having a fair amount of trouble with the sitting part.
“What would you say to some coffee, love?” he asks her, opening up the cabinet behind his desk.
“We’ve got Kona Blend, Mundo Novo, and Sumatra.”
She leans her head upon his shoulder.