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From: Mat <mmtwassel@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} <ASSM> The Cause by Mat Twassel
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Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2012 04:10:02 -0400
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The Cause
by Mat Twassel
======================================================

Monique was perfect for the cause. She was young,
earnest, eager, and impressionable. She was pretty,
innocent, waifish, with the sort of big blue eyes
and long skinny legs and modest, upturned breasts
that would turn heads. And best of all, her father
was an executive at SanChem. She could and would
filch the necessary keys and procure the needed
codes and passwords.

It didn't take much to convince Monique that
SanChem was thoroughly evil.  "Think of the babies
born with one eye and two penises," they told her.
"All because their mothers munched genetically
modified crops courtesy of  SanChem's despicable
and insidious seed."

It didn't take much to convince Monique that action
was needed. "Someone's got to tell the world about
this, and who better than you?  Someone's got to
take the first step in stopping this diabolical
atrocity, and who better than you?"

Long after normal business hours, Monique used her
dad's passcard to get them through the gate and
into the garage of SanChem's executive tower.  She
punched in the elevator code. "You know what to
do?" they said as they waited for the elevator to
arrive. Monique nodded solemnly.  Just earlier
they'd prepared her with as much warm lemonade and
light beer as she could hold.

Monique entered the elevator and turned to face
them.  She smiled wanly, got into a crouch, and
lifted the short smock they'd had her wear.

"That's it," they said. "A little higher. Good. Now
pee."

"You're sure this is the best way to send the right
message?" the girl questioned.

"Yes," they said. "Now piss."

"And you're only going to show, to show... You're
not going to show my face?"

"That's right," they assured her. "Now piss,
please. The camera is running."

Dutifully, Monique urinated--a few dribbles at
first, then a stout spurting squirt, then a steady
stream.  The puddle grew beneath her feet.

"That's great," they said. "Beautiful. Keep it
coming."

Monique's waterfall continued for some seconds and
then diminished to a wee drizzle, a few last
droplets.

"Wonderful," they said. "You did great. But before
you get up, do you think you could, you know...?"

"What?" Monique gave them a questioning look.

"Shit," they said.

Monique's face registered her surprise. "You mean
go number two?"

"That's right.  It would be so perfect. It would
add so much to the statement."

"I don't think I can," Monique said.

"Could you try?"

"I don't know about this."

"Please try," they said. "It would mean so much to
the cause."

"Okay," the girl said in a small voice.

"Could you swivel around first so you're facing the
other way?"

"Why?"

"So we could see it coming out. That would make it
so much more genuine. So everyone would know it
wasn't faked."

"I don't think..." Monique started to say, but she
swiveled around so she was facing the back wall of
the elevator.

"Great," they said.  "Could you bend forward just a
bit? Great. You've got really great balance. And a
really pretty asshole."

Neither they nor the camera could see Monique's
deep blush.

"Now if you could..." they said. "It's really
important."

"I'm trying," Monique said.

The camera caught the quiver of her buttocks, the
clench and release of her anus.

"I'm sorry," Monique said. "I just can't."

"Okay," they said. "Maybe next time."  They helped
her to stand.

"Now to make the statement," they said.

"I thought that was the statement," Monique said.

"No, that was just part of it. An important part,
but not the conclusive part."

"Oh," Monique said.

"Could you push the button to your dad's floor?"

In her dad's office, using one of her dad's pens,
Monique wrote on SanChem letterhead as they
directed:

...I am so deeply ashamed of SanChem's immoral
...behaviors. I can only hope that what I've done
...will lead you to take immediate actions as
...appropriate.

...Forever your loving daughter,
...Monique

"Perfect," they said, smiling at her.

She beamed with pleasure. The injection took her by
surprise.  "What?" she said, momentarily startled.

"All part of the statement," they told her.

She nodded, her eyes swimming.

Her breathing slowed.  They pulled the smock over
her head. They removed the shoes from her feet. She
was naked. They lifted her onto the desk. They put
her hand around the syringe, and as expected it
fell to the desk and then to the floor. They
secured one end of the rope to an exposed ceiling
beam. They had her stand on a stack of heavy books.
They fitted the noose over her head and tightened
it around her neck.

"You need to stay awake a little longer," they
said, and one of them helped her balance, while
another typed her message into her dad's computer
and emailed it to everyone on his mailing list.

"It's too bad we can't put the video on YouTube,"
one of them said.

"Yes, too bad," replied another, "but maybe
someday, depending how things go."

They placed Monique's handwritten note on the desk.

"Time for us to say good-bye," they said to
Monique. "Thanks ever so much."

They let her go.

From the doorway they filmed the books sliding out
from under Monique. They filmed her dangling and
twisting.

"Would you look at that," one of them said, just
before they left the office, "the little bitch held
out on us."


======================================================
The Cause
by Mat Twassel



An illustrated version of this story is available
at <a
href="http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/twassel/www/>http://www.ass
tr.org/files/Authors/twassel/www/</a>

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