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Message-ID: <36286asstr$1019898601@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: bigbendoone@yahoo.com (Ben Doone)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: 26 Apr 2002 18:30:18 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} My Turn (m/m b/d humiliation)
Date: Sat, 27 Apr 2002 05:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Disclaimer:  This is fiction.  Any resemblence to any persons, living or
deceased or events past or future, is purely coincidental. 

My Turn (m/m b/d humiliation)
by Ben Doone

I work with a bunch of idiots.  I'm sure that a lot of people feel the same
way, but my idiots are especially stupid.  I end up carrying a larger share
of the workload because these people are so incompetent.  One guy, Rich, is 
the pet of Tom, the CEO and, although he's incompetent, the CEO won't get 
rid of him because it would be admitting that he had made an error in 
hiring him in the first place.  The one who really makes my work harder is 
Ankit, who was hired by Rich and is Rich's pet in the same way Rich is 
Tom's pet.

I'm especially bothered by Ankit because he seems to want me to do his 
work for him.  Every time he is assigned a task, it's only a matter of 
time before he walks over to my space and asks for my help. And, he seems
to think that acting bright and cheery and palsy with everyone will make
up for his total ineptitude.

Anyway, I thought long and hard about how I could make him pay for the
misery he is causing me.  And I came up with the perfect plan.  Rohypnol 
is your friend.  My wife knows someone who knows someone who knows 
someone... you get the picture.  Of course, I had to let my wife in on the
plan -- she was quite supportive.  

The first problem was getting the drug into him. The usual drink at the
office is canned soda. But, one night we were going to be staying late so
I offered to order pizza. I mentioned that the pizza comes with a free 
2-litre bottle of soda and asked Ankit what he wanted. This brought a large
container of Diet Coke into the picture. While he went looking for a cup,
I opened it and drugged it.

While I was waiting for the drug to take effect, I went back into the lab 
and got things ready.  I got a bag of cable ties and put them on the big 
table along with some six-foot network cables, a bottle of Tabasco sauce
and some other assorted equipment.  I took my Leatherman knife out and 
set it next to my laptop, then pulled up a logfile on the screen.  I 
called Ankit into the lab to look at the log file. When he got there, I 
picked up the knife and pointed to the screen. While he was looking, I 
went behind him and put the blade to his throat.  "I will take my hand
away and you will do as I say or I will cut you.  Got it?"  He nodded in 
a jerky, nervous sort of way and I let go. I walked him over to one of the 
three empty equipment racks and used cable ties to bind his wrists and 
ankles to the top and bottom of the rack.  I reached around and opened his 
pants.

"Get your hands off of me!" he yelled.

"Shut up." I said, pulling his pants down to reveal his buttocks.  They 
wouldn't go down past his knees because of his ankles being spread.  "This
isn't about your wimpy little weenie.  This is about how you are such an
asshole idiot".  I grabbed a six-foot ethernet cable and doubled it in my 
hand.  I placed a welt across his right buttock.  "This," I said, "is for
your inability to program your way out of a wet paper bag.  And *this*", 
lashing his left buttock, "is for being Rich's pet.  *This*," back to the
right, "is for constantly interrupting me doing my work to have me do
*your* work." Back to the left.  And I continued on until I ran out of 
things to rant about. I don't even remember them all. When I was done, 
there was almost solid red on both cheeks.  During the first few, Rich 
made grunting sounds but as I got more and more into it, he started 
sobbing and cussing at me. That's when I told him about the drug and that 
tomorrow he wouldn't remember any of this.  Then I took one of the big 
screwdrivers and shoved the handle up his ass. 

"Stop it!  Take it out!" he almost whined.

I reached around and felt his prick stiffening involuntarily. "No, I'm not
going to stop. I'm going shove my big man-cock into your pansy ass.  And 
you're going to like it.  See, you're already getting hard," I said as I 
pumped the screwdriver in and out.

"No, oh God, please, no!" he wimpered, trying to clench his cheeks to keep 
me from violating him.

"Okay, I'll take it out."  I did.  I unzipped my fly and pulled my cock out.  
I spat on my hand a few times and rubbed it on my dick.  "Here, maybe you'll 
like this better," I said, as I forced my cock into his ass.  At first, I only
got the first few inches in.  He kept trying to clench his butt-cheeks to keep
me out.  "You're going to take it all, you little bitch!" I said as I rammed 
my cock in to the hilt. "Now, you're my little faggot bitch."

"No! Please! Stop! God!" I reached around and worked his dick with my hand 
while I began to pump his ass. 

"Yes, yes, yes.  You feel just like a hot little whore bitch.  You love
being my little bitch, don't you.  Say, it.  Tell me you love it."

"No, I!  No!"  

"Big Daddy fucking his little faggot bitch! My big cock in your ass.  It 
feels good, doesn't it?  Tell me it feels good!"

"No! Stop!"

"Oh yes, your ass is nice and hot. My cock is in your ass.  I know you 
love it.  I know it feels good."

"Please!  No!"

"Tell me how much you like it. I'm fucking my little faggot.  You're 
taking it all, little whore-bitch.  Tell Daddy how you like it."

"N-n-o-o o-o-h, yes, yes, YES!" and he came all over my hand.  

I held it up to his face.  "See, you *do* love it.  You do love your big
daddy to fuck your faggot ass.  Yes, yes," I moaned.  "Here it comes. 
Ahhhh!"  And I shot my load.

I withdrew my cock from his ass and walked over to the table and cleaned 
myself up.  I went back over and pulled his pants back up and fastened them.

But I wasn't done.  Not yet.  One of Ankit's other annoying traits is that 
he feels he *has* to share popcorn, chips, doughnuts, etc. whenever he has 
them.  And if you're really not interested, you need to tell him three or
four times before he quits offering.  For some reason, this just torques
me.  

I took some cable ties and my knife over to him.  "I'm turning you around.
Don't fight me."  I cut the ties on the right, then turn him and fastened 
them on the left so that he had both hands and feet on the same side, then
cut the ones from his left side and tied them on the right. When I 
finished, he was facing me.

So I picke up the bottle of Tabasco sauce and started talking to him.  
"Hey, Ankit.  I've got a nice bottle of Tabasco sauce here.  Do you 
want some?" 

"No."

"C'mon.  It's a big bottle.  There's plenty here.  Are you sure you don't
want some?"

"I don't want any."

"No, really, it's quite all right.  I don't mind sharing."

"No.  Please, no."

"That's too bad.  I'm going to share it with you anyway."

I set down the bottle and took a clothespin from the table and put it on 
his nose.  This is something I learned from my mother when my younger 
brother wouldn't take his medicine (she just pinched, but the principle 
is the same).  I held his head back and forced his mouth open.  Then I 
poured.  Since he couldn't breathe unless he swallowed, he had a couple
good gulps before I took the bottle away.  Tabasco isn't really all that 
spicy but it *is* in a vinegar base.  The vinegar exascerbates the effect
of the peppers.

The beauty of this is that, because of the peppers, it'll have a nice 
sensation coming out the other end.  

But I wasn't done.  I needed him to go to sleep so I could put him back in
his chair like nothing happened.  So next up was a couple Ambien.  And some
more Tabasco to wash it down.  Last, but not least, I put about a teaspoon 
of unsweetened cocoa powder in his mouth.  Then I put everything away and 
went back to my area.

After awhile I went to check on him and he was zonked.  I cut him down and
carried him back to his office and put him in his chair.  Then I went home
and told my wife all about it.

<Ben Doone>
bigbendoone@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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