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View Full Version : Violent Monday = Satire Adult



hvysmker
September 20th, 2014, 06:14 PM
Saint Elmer was peeved, which wasn’t a very good state for the Master of Time to be in. When Elmer was out of sorts, so was time itself. He threw down his latest copy of PlayTime Magazine.




“Why do these trashy pulps keep referring to me as ‘Grandfather Time’?” he screamed at his secretary, Monday.





The day was quaking in her kinky black boots. As was every Monday throughout all of his domain, the day being the start of the work week and dreaded by many.




“You tell August. You just tell him I want storms all month over Chicago. I don’t give a darn if he’s short. He can find enough spare snowstorms to show that Hoffer guy at PlayTime not to screw with me.”




Smiling evilly, Monday grabbed a plastic bag of untested whips and hurried out the door. She had to be careful where she stepped. When her boss was angry clouds would shred under your very feet. Saint Elmer was very sensitive over his age.





Monday hated those moods but loved the results. She had enough to do as it were, getting the entire world up and ready for another week of senseless labor. At least her job gave her a chance to use her whips and paddles. They were more fun than simply kicking workers in the butt to get them out of bed and moving. Monday was considered a sick little broad -- a designation she liked and approved of.




A tall red-headed young girl dressed in black leather, Monday was physically imposing -- as days went. The day was much better looking than her nemesis, Friday. Friday being a small washed-up looking middle-aged blond Angel. That little hussy was always tired and encouraging people to take off early for a long weekend.




The rest of the week days were fairly nondescript, simply work days, passing the populace from one to the other. Saturday appeared as a frivolous fun-loving male, while Sunday was so pious it was sickening to be around her.




The months were another matter, altogether. They each had a real personality. Monday’s favorite was December, a violent character just like her.




Too bad the boss hadn’t sent her to see December instead of that shrimp, August.




***




“But ... but I only have so many storms to my name,” August whined. “I can’t use them all up on Chicago.”




Monday had found him sitting at a desk with his feet up, watching a ballgame on a portable television set. “I already loaned some to September for his hurricane season. He wants to really blast Florida this year,” August simpered.




Monday didn’t bother answering. She simply grinned and reached into her bag. It only took a few snaps of a bullwhip to set him straight. She had been expecting that part, August being a closet masochist.




After stomping on his supine body for a few minutes while he licked her boots, Monday left to see her favorite month, December, who had his office only four over from August.




“Look, you idiot. When I tell you to do something, you darn well better jump,” big burly December screamed into a telephone.




He smiled at her. “Hi Monday. Set your cute little butt down. Be with you in a minute.”




Turning back to the phone, he continued, “Don’t give me that crap, you idiot. I want thirty-one days like most of the others. You get them for me or you’re out on your butt.”




As December slammed down his phone, Monday felt butterflies fluttering in her little tummy. That was the way men should be, she thought, violent and decisive.




“Glad to see you, honey. Hey, is that a new whip? Let me see it, will you? You do it justice, baby.”




He plopped size-twelve combat boots onto the desktop, causing its surface to shudder like her stomach.




“Gimme a kiss, kid,” December demanded.




Monday couldn’t resist digging sharpened blood-red fingernails into December’s back as she hugged and kissed him, biting his tongue in the process. December laughed, wiping fresh blood from his lips. He was used to her and loving the implied violence.




“You still got it, baby.” He grabbed her by the hair, bent her head back and threw her off his desk to the floor.




Monday grinned, rising to her feet. December was her kind of a man.




***




Father Time himself was gone when Monday returned to the office, which was all right with her. Sometimes Time could be so grouchy and Monday was a fun-loving girl, loving to swing her whips while waking people up for work. She wished she could cum-e to work seven days a week, the word reminding her of December.




The girl was sitting, sharpening her fingernails with a file, when January came storming in.




“Where the hell did Father Time go? That darn June’s getting on my nerves. All that nicey’ nice stuff.”




“What’s she done now?” Monday asked, interested. “Maybe I can help?”




“I came in to work this morning and she has flowers plastered all over our office. She said I had to put up with the creepy things. That it was in her contract. I want to file a complaint,” January blustered.




Cute little Monday gave the matter some thought.




“I know what you can do. Use the same loophole. She’s a warm month. You simply pile snow all around the office. It’ll kill the flowers and drive her crazy. I know June, and she can’t stand cold.”




Monday didn’t know why God insisted on putting the two together, but He must have some reason, she figured. As for Monday, she liked to see dissent, and the snow and flowers could cause a good fight.




“Darn good idea, Monday. I owe you,” January said as he left for his cold-storage locker.




Monday thought January was even sexier than December, though without his character or good looks, of course. January was kinda dumb, but nice. She sat back with a wide grin, hoping to enjoy the fruits of her meddling.




Predictably, it didn’t take long for June to arrive, dragging Friday with her.




Monday had been sharpening her spike heels, planning on walking all over a certain lazy amateur writer at Writing Forums., when she heard whispering outside her door. It was, of course, timid June with an equally wimpy Friday. They were trying to work up enough courage to enter the lion’s -- the Time Master’s -- den. Silently, two pretty female faces peered shyly and anxiously inside.




“I – is – Time in?” Friday, slightly less timid, whispered.




Monday pretended to not hear the question, working polish into her left heel. Both her feet were on the desk, exposing long slender legs clad in black hose.




“Can we see him for a moment, do you think?” June was trying to sound forceful.




It wasn’t June's fault, really. Being kept between a wishy-washy May, and even more simpering but hot-headed July, traits of both tended to rub off on her.




“He’s not here, girls.” Monday gave them a wicked smile. “Come on in. Maybe I can help.”




The two women tippy-toed into the office, looking around with wide eyes as though expecting, maybe, ogres to pop up from behind the couch?




“Have a seat and tell me your problems,” Monday said, encouraging them and having fun.




“January. That brute ... he ... then he ... snow and ice ... cold ... he doesn’t ... mean man,” they both tried to speak at once in a jumble of words, syllables bouncing off the walls in a cacophony of gibberish.




“Calm down, girls. One at a time,” Monday advised them, sympathetically. “I can’t understand you.”




“Jan – Janu – January just piled snow up around my desk,” June told her. “It’s killing all my n – nice flo – flowers. Wh – what can I d – d – do?” June was almost in tears.




“She only wanted to pretty up the office is all.” Friday said, hugging her friend to console her and, in the process, making Monday sick to her stomach.




Some of the days had doubts about those two girls. It was a good thing Friday had a boyfriend – Tuesday – or people would talk.




“Cut it out.” Monday couldn’t take a lot of that wimpy stuff. “Why don’t you get one of those little electric heaters for your corner of the office. Put your flowers over next to it and ignore January?” It sounded good, but Monday knew it would make January angrier. He hated to be snubbed -- and a heater would make him livid.




“Th – that mig – might work,” June agreed. “I could even build a pat -- partotion’ -- wall between us. He couldn’t smell them then.”




Smiling at helpful Monday, they left.




About that time, two arguing men stormed in. It was September and October.




“ I don’t care. You can’t do it,” October was yelling. “I don’t care a whit about your plans. Time doesn’t give me enough bad days as it is. November gets all the credit."




Monday knew that November tried to keep up with December when it came to bad weather, but didn't have a chance. He should know that by now, she thought.




“What’s the trouble, guys?” Monday asked, innocently.




“September, here, wants some of my bad weather. He wants a bang-up hurricane season,” October told her. “I can’t spare any this year. November already talked Time into giving him three days of mine for this year, and I’m short enough already.” He shook his head, rolling blueish eyes as though the very idea was crazy. “And now I have to earmark most of the others for Chicago.”




“You don’t need many, you cheapskate,” September countered. “A lot of Octobers are fair. It doesn’t hurt your image at all. I need them more than you. What would the people in Georgia and Florida do without their hurricanes? They’d lose all respect for me, is what.”




The two stood face to face, arguing. Monday sat back, enjoying the sight. Finally, with the argument winding down, matters becoming boring again -- and Master Time maybe returning at any moment -- she figured it would be fun to do something.




“Hey, look! Guys. Take it easy.” She waved dainty red-painted hands at them. “I have an idea. Why don’t you do something different this year? See, September, you use up your hurricanes in the first couple of weeks and finish with sunny days. Then, right in the middle of the next month, October can slam Florida with a couple of hefty ones. It should throw everyone off balance. Everyone on earth will be cleaned up from September, feeling thankful for a return of good weather. Then 'Wham-oooo' the shit hits the fan?”




“Oh, I see,” October caught on, “kinda slip one over on Earth.”




“Sure,” Monday agreed, grinning. “They’ll appreciate you more the next time you come around.”




“And it will also give people a new respect for me,” October realized. “Not knowing when I’ll do it again.”




“And you get to keep your bad days,” Monday reminded September.




The two walked out, arm in arm. The problem solved, they were buddies again.




Instigator Monday was satisfied. She'd had a good day, with the boss still gone off somewhere to sulk. Picking up her whips and paddles, smiling as she stretched kinks out of her leather, Monday went home for some needed rest.




She expected her roommate, Wednesday, to return from earth. He was always tired and horny after his day there and, after that, she would soon have her turn at hassling the population.




Idly flicking a whip against heavenly trees and bushes, she sauntered home contentedly. There was a woman writer on earth that Monday planned on visiting. The kinky day looked forward to waking her with her with whip and shiny sharp heels. Who knows -- maybe it's you?




The End.