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Subject: {ASSM} Smokin' the Pole
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Date: Thu, 15 Jul 2010 09:10:11 -0400
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Smokin' the Pole

(mc fd md mm fm hum beast)

(Author's Note:  This is perhaps the nastiest, most vile thing I've
written under this particular nym.  You have been warned. If you're
offended by m/m, don't read.  If you're offended by offensive language
(including incredibly racist language and homophobic language), don't
read.  If you're a "process" (as opposed to "product") EMC kinda
person, this one probably isn't for you.  If you like at least one
sympathetic character in your stories, this one probably isn't for
you.  That said, for the five or six of you left (including the person
whom I wrote this for), enjoy :-)

Oh, yeah, and props to Lisa Teez for the title of the Japanese Fetish
Porno)



Dr. Joy Burris hit the red button on the remote and looked up into
camera #3.  Smiled. Tweaked her left nipple through her long white
coat..  Turned to the mirror on the far wall and pinched the right one
out of habit.  Then looked back up at camera #5 in the upper far
corner of her smallish office.

"November 4th, 3pm.  Friday.  Fun Day."  She winked, mainly to
herself.  "Final trial for RVB #12.  Totally illegal, highly
unethical, and throughoughly immoral. There are no Nobel Prize winners
at Smith, Sutton and Hughes."  Opened her coat at the waist and ran
two fingers over her bare pussy.  Waved at camera #3 with her other
hand.  "Oh, and happy fucking birthday, Ron!"  She smiled wide. Opened
her lower lips wider. "I'm sooo fucking hot just thinking about the
next hour.  You'd better fucking be good, boy."

Then she giggled, closed up her robe, and let out one more (rather
loud) "Fuck," partly to test the hidden microphones placed around the
room.  But mostly because she just liked the word, in all it's
glorious meanings...

Then she moved to her rather large couch and waited for the knock on
the door.

-------

"Hey, Doc, got a minute?"

Doctor Joy rolled her eyes playfully.  "No, but I have an hour."

"Eh, yeah, right."  Denny slid into the office and closed the door
behind him.  "I just don't know how these things work."

The Doctor walked over to a cabinet and pulled it open.  "You sit
down, I do my thing and you get your promotion."  She grabbed a couple
of rocks glasses and two small bottles of booze and placed them on a
nearby counter.

"I dunno.  I never thought hypnosis could...well..."

She turned to him and held up the bottles, one in each hand. "It's
pretty standard stuff, really.  Quitting smoking is Hypnosis #101."
She jiggled the bottles to get his attention.  "Bourbon or vodka?"

He smiled and sat down on the couch.  "Oh, c'mon now, Doc.  I thought
all Doctors offices came equipped with Scotch."

She turned her back to him and poured some bourbon into one of the
glasses.  With the other hand, she reached up and nudged a nipple
through the fabric of the robe.  "Ha!  If you work for Pfizer or
Merck, you can go to a company doctor with a fully stocked bar."  She
turned back to him, plunked a few ice cubes into the glass and ran it
under the tap for a second.  "At Smith, Sutton and Hughes, you get
bargain bourbon."

He sat back and laughed as she approached him with the glass.   As he
took it from her, he instinctively reached for the pack of Kools
inside his dress shirt pocket...

"Ehehehehe," she chastised him, a finger wagging in his general
direction as she sat down next to him on the couch. "Silly boy, no
such thing as 'one for the road' when in the doctor's office. She held
out her hand and closed one eye as she stared at him...

With a heavy sigh, he pulled the pack of cigs from his pocket and
reluctantly handed them to her.  "Damn, the things we'll do for a
stupid promotion..."  And with one motion, he threw his head back and
downed the drink in record time.

"Don't I know it," Joy whispered under her breath as she slid the cigs
into her coat pocket.  She pinched her thighs together and closed her
eyes, feeling her nipples press against the cold fabric of the
coat...dreaming things to cum...

Don't I know it.

She looked at him as he stared passively at the far wall.  Gingerly
took the empty glass from his hand as he let loose.  "It's just
fucking nuts, doc, pardon my language.  This is my fucking promotion.
Mine.  I deserve it."

"And Mr Sutton has a problem with smokers," she finished for him as
she turned her back to him to place the glass back on the counter.

He sat back on the couch.  "Yeah.  Seems like just about everyone does
these days."   Dr Joy smiled and rolled her eyes as she glanced
sideways at her purse which laid on the corner of her desk.  Waiting.

"So," she smiled and turned back towards him, "how long have you been
smoking?"

"All my life.  Well, since fifteen.  Pretty much everyone did it back
in Louisiana."

"I imagine so."  She grabbed her desk chair and wheeled it across the
room until it stood beside the couch.  "How many per day?"

He sighed.  "Two packs."

She sat down in the chair and put a hand to her chin.  "Hmm.  Must
want this promotion really badly, huh?"

"You don't know the half of it, Doc."  He turned his head towards the
office door and his face reddened.  "That fucking..."

She suddenly felt the fire down below.  "Pardon?"

"It's not important."

"That's not what your face is saying right now, Denny.  The more open
you can be, the easier I'll be able to help."

"It's just..."  He balled his fingers into fists.  "I'm sure you've
heard."

"About Johnson."   She noticed he grabbed the edge of the couch at the
mention of the name.  Her nipples throbbed.

"Yeah."  He spat it out.  "Fucking ni..."

She caught her hand before it went somewhere it shouldn't.  Yet.   She
pulled herself out of her chair and settled in next to the man on the
couch.  "It's okay, Denny.  Really." She put her right arm around
Denny and adjusted her robe with the other.  "Nothing will go outside
of this room." Lying really got her wet.  Really wet. Always had,
always would.

"No, no, I'm sorry," he swallowed.  "It's not..."

She hugged him with that right arm. "No, no, Denny, it's okay.
Really.  I grew up in the projects in Houston.  There's nothing you
can say I haven't heard a thousand times."

"Damn," he let out a sigh.  "It's so fucking hard to talk about this
stuff.  I've been here four fucking years.  Four years!"

She egged him on.  "And Ron Johnson's only been here a couple of
months, right?"

"Black bastard," he muttered as he felt the booze settle hot in the
pit of his stomach.  "I doubt he can even balance his checkbook, much
less keep the accounts straight."

Joy found herself reaching again.  Her fingers ached.  Of course Ron
couldn't balance a checkbook.  That's what she was for.  But that ten
inches was well worth the capital it took to get him into the
offices.   A girl has priorities...and it's just so damned unpractical
to take two-hour lunch breaks to drive across town...

"Fuck him," Denny finished.  "Let's just get this over with."

She stood up and adjusted her robe.  Looked at the clock on the wall.
"Yes, let's," she said with a smile.

"So, do you swing a watch or something stupid like that?" he forced a
smile and looked up at her.

She laughed.  "I suppose I could, but I'm not one for wasting time."
She walked slowly over to a metal cabinet and opened it.  "As much as
I used to get a thrill out of it when I was younger, I've found that
it just doesn't do much for me anymore."

"For you?"

She grabbed a syringe from a shelf.  "Yeah," she giggled as she turned
around, "don't you know it's all about me?"

The sight of the needle made him grimace.  "Whoa, there, Doc."

Ignoring him, she stared at the syringe.  "Used to be there was a time
when doing the whole countdown thing counted as foreplay.  But not
anymore..."  She turned her head and looked at him.  Her robe slowly
came undone on its own and he found his eyes focusing on her bare skin
as it became more and more available, inch by inch.

"But I've since found something else works better.  Much better."  She
sat down in the chair across from him and parted her legs to give him
the best view possible.  Holding the needle in one hand, she lowered
the other to rub a finger up over her hair, which was neatly shaved
into a fine, thin black strip.  "It's the anticipation, Denny.  The
preparation.  Knowing how it's going to feel.  Expecting it."

Denny felt the booze burning down below.  He was hard.  Extremely
hard.   He didn't know Doctor Joy Burris from the woman who took his
credit card number when he got gas at the local Exxon, not that it
mattered at this particular moment.  It was awkward, should be
awkward, but none of that mattered.

"I had this patient once, back when I worked for the city.  He got
absolutely high on going out every night tracking down hookers.  It
was like crack cocaine to him.  Was that woman over there in the mini-
skirt walking down to the corner store for milk, or was she trying to
catch his eye?  Was there a cop around the next corner, just waiting
to nail him?  If he pulled up to the curb, would she get in or flip
him the finger and walk away?  Kept him hard for hours.  It didn't
even fucking matter if he scored."

She leaned back slightly and ran her finger up and down her slit.
"That's the secret, Denny.  You can feel it now, can't you?  Knowing
you're being naughty.  You shouldn't be here.  I shouldn't be here.
You shouldn't be watching the company doctor getting herself off two
feet in front of your face."

There was something in her words that rang true.  Should have rang
true.  But it didn't matter.  He felt an air bubble trying desperately
to work its way up through his throat to his conscience...

"But you can't look away, can you?"

"No."  The words came, softly from his mouth.  Or was it his mouth?

"Fuck yeah," she laughed and slid two fingers inside herself.
"Exactly what I'm talkin' about." She stared into his eyes, searching
gleefully for the darkness. "Now, Denny, be a good boy and put a
finger on your nose."  Surrounding her clittie and searching for the
familiar tingle, she smiled broadly.

"For me."

He slowly raised his right hand and touched it to his nose.

She came so hard, the syringe dropped to the floor.

"Daaaaamnnnn..." she hissed, finally, and bent to her left to retrieve
the needle; but her eyes never left his.  The darkness was too
compelling, faithfull companion to the fire of the afterglow running
through her belly down through her legs which were still stretched
out, taught, her feet underneath the couch.

He looked at her, his finger still on his nose.  Struggled desperately
to speak around his four-fingered fist. "Whhaaaa?" was all he could
manage. Pathetic.

Hot.  Her toes stretched out, feeling the fire.  Put one finger to her
lips.  "Shhhhhhhhh."

She leaned forward slowly and kissed his forehead, then moved to
whisper in his ear.  "Should've asked for the vodka," she giggled.
"Not that it would've made much of a difference.  Strong and ugly to
taste, but not nearly as strong as alchohol."

Then she cocked her head and looked towards camera #5 and raised her
voice.  "Oral went well, as anticipated."  As an afterthought, she
reached out to the hand in front of his face, wrapped two fingers
around it and tried to force his finger away from his nose, but
couldn't.  "Better than well," she laughed, mainly to herself, as she
searched his eyes for signs of resistance.  "About four minutes in,
still obeying original commands."

"Denny," she said, splitting her attention between camera #3 and the
helpless man on the couch,  "I want you to keep your finger on your
nose and stretch out your left arm."   Slowly, his arm left the couch
as commanded and extended out through the air.

Joy shrugged off her robe and let if fall to the floor as she walked
back to her cabinet and took out a swab to disinfect the syringe.
"Good boy, Denny," she said, her back still to him and her voice still
audible to the microphones hidden throughout the room.  "Now, we're
going to move on to phase two.  What I want you to do is answer all of
my questions truthfully and to the best of your ability.  When doing
so, you will speak as loudly as I am speaking now, but no louder.  You
will only answer my questions and obey my commands and you will not
speak any louder than I am now.   Do you understand?"

"Yes."

She turned back towards him and took in the situation.  Now that she'd
cooled down a bit, the absolute ridiculousness of the whole scene was
hard to deny.  Denny Stevenson, Supervisor of Accounts, was sitting
blank-faced on her couch with one hand on his nose and the other
stretched out in front of him like an extra in a Romero zombie
flick.

So much for the cooling down thing.

With one eye focused on his face and the other on the needle, she
gently grabbed his arm, turned it over and stuck him.

He didn't even blink.

And she shuddered.  Thought about replacing the syringe back in the
cabinet, but didn't think her legs would make it that far.  She
plopped down in the chair across from him and ran a finger slowly
around a nipple.  The needle rolled underneath the couch.

"Denny, you can lower both of your arms now."

She remembered to start with the mundane, hoping it would keep her
aching fingers away from the fire down below, but after a few seconds
and the second question, she knew it was useless.  The monotone was
Godiva, just as tasty and not nearly as messy...

"Denny, have you ever stolen from the company?"

"Only a few office supplies."

"Have you ever divulged privileged company information?"

"No."

"Have you ever...fucked a man?"

"No."

She pulled on her nipple. Hard.  No difference in tone.  None.  No
hesitation. No change in facial expression.  She'd read his file.
Knew he'd hit on a few women from the secretarial pool in company
afterwork parties at O'Malley's across the street.  Kept his secrets.
God, this was going to be glorious.   Felt her fingers running down
across her hair...

Joy turned slightly to look at camera #1.  "Denny, I want you to look
up into that corner of the room when you answer the next few
questions.  Will you do that for me?"

"Yes," he answered, voice unwavering as he slowly turned his eyes to
follow hers.

"I want you to answer in informal, casual words, just as you would if
you were speaking to an invisible friend you've known all your life.
There are no secrets here, Denny.  No secrets.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"Denny, what do you think of Ron Johnson?"

"I don't like him."

"Why?"

"He's incompetent."

As if to spite the thermostat setting, she felt the wetness spreading
underneath her breasts.  She rubbed a finger there and brought it up
to her nose. "Is that the only reason you don't like Ron Johnson?"

"No."

"What's another reason you don't like Ron Johnson?"

"He's dating Kim."

"Kimberly Grace?"  She turned back towards the camera and rolled her
eyes.  Made a mental note to ask him who was better...

"Yes."

"Are you jealous that he's dating Kimberly?"

"Yes."

"Do you picture in your mind what Ron and Kimberly do on their dates?"

"Yes."

"Do you imagine them fucking?"

"Yes."

"Do you imagine her sucking his cock?"

"Yes."

She leaned back in her chair and looked sideways at the clock for a
moment, then turned back to look at camera #1.  "Three minutes into
blood trial.  So far, so good.  I want to try a few things before
advancing to primary phase."  Moving back to the couch, she sat beside
him.

"Denny, what do you feel when you imagine Kimberly sucking Ron's
cock?"

"Disgust."

"Is that because Ron's incompetent?"

"No."

"Besides jealousy and the fact that he's incompetent, why else do you
feel disgust when you imagine Kimberly sucking Ron's cock?"

"He's a nigger."

She drew in a breath.  "And that disgusts you?"

"Yes."

She stared into camera #3 again, and smiled broadly as she carefully
enunciated the next question.

"Does the thought of sucking Ron's nigger cock disgust you?"

"Yes."

"Does the thought of sucking Ron's nigger cock disgust you more than
anything."

"Just about anything."

With that, she got up and walked over to her robe and retrieved the
pack of cigarettes from the pocket.  Then she sat back down in the
chair.  "Denny, now I want you to look back at me."

Slowly, he turned back towards her.  She took a cigarette from the
pack and waved it in front of his nose.

"Do you remember the feeling you get when you crave a cigarette?"

"Yes."

"It's an incredibly strong feeling, isn't it?

"Yes."

She put the cigarette to her lips and pretended to inhale.  "It's one
of the strongest cravings you've ever experienced, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Listen to me, Denny.  It's not only one of the strongest cravings
you've ever experienced, it is the strongest craving you've ever
experienced.  The strongest craving you're ever likely to experience.
Is that right?"

"No."

She glanced at the clock once more.  "What craving is stronger?"

"Eating.  Drinking.  Sleeping."

Slipping a hand underneath his chin, she peered deeply into the
darkness of his eyes.  "Listen to me, Denny.  Listen closely.  Eating,
drinking and sleeping are extremely important to you.  But not as
important as cigarettes.  Smoking cigarettes are what you live for.
The craving for a cigarette is stronger than the craving to eat, drink
or sleep. Is that right."

"Yes."

"Good, good," she drew back and looked back towards camera #1.  "Just
a few more trials before moving to primary.  I'm not altogether
satisfied with...well, not totally satisfied.  I think we need to give
it a bit more time."

-------

"Denny, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

She walked over to Denny, who was now lying on the couch, his eyes
closed.  She settled in beside him.  "Denny, I want to ask you a few
more questions.  Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"What words would you use to describe Mr Sutton?"

"Nice.  Generous."

"And besides nice and generous, what else comes to mind."

"Faggot."

Joy peered back into camera #3.  Two for two, she thought to herself.
"And you don't like faggots?"

"No."

"But if Mr Sutton is a faggot, but is also nice and generous, do you
like him?"

"No."

She fought hard to suppress a laugh.  "Have you ever been fucked in
the ass?"  It was almost an afterthought, but the fire was just too
hot.

"No."

"Of course not."  She bent down over him and felt through his
trousers.  "Do you have trouble getting hard?"

"No."

"Do you have trouble reaching orgasm?"  Sure enough, RVB #12 might
kill a few brain cels, but it didn't have detrimental effect on other
important bodily functions.  Denny Silverman was hard.

"No."

"In comparison with eating, drinking and sleeping, how important is
cumming when you are hard?"

"Important."

"Yes, Denny, shooting your load is extremely important to you once you
get hard.  Achieving orgasm is more important than eating, drinking or
sleeping, but not as important as smoking a cigarette.  Do you
understand."

"Yes."

"You will do anything within your power to achieve orgasm when you get
hard.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Perrrrrfect," she growled and took him in her mouth.  The fire was
just too damned much.  Or maybe it was just thinking about the next
half hour.  In the moment, she didn't really care which it was.  A
stray thought crossed her mind when she caught camera #2 out of the
corner of her eye, but it didn't get very far.  Denny Silverman was a
tool, no doubt, but he wasn't the only one in the room...

________



"What's up, doc?"  Denny stretched his arms and sat up on the couch.
Across the room, Dr. Burris was rearranging the contents of one of her
cabinets.  "How'd...it go?"  He shook his head and slapped himself
gently across the cheek.

She smiled and closed the cabinet.  "I dunno, why don't you tell me."
She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out the pack of
Kools.  Then walked to her desk and picked up a chain with a pendant
on it.  And a butane lighter.

"What the...?"  Denny had noticed the clock on the wall.  "Forty-five
minutes?"

"Sometimes these things take time, especially with
difficult...issues."  She sat down in the chair and put one of the
cigarettes to her lips.  "And, you, Mr. Silverman, have issues."

He rubbed a thumb around a particularly sore spot on his arm.  "Well,
yeah...never said I was a saint."

"No," she chuckled as she lit up, "you definitely are not a saint."

He lifted his head to look up at her.  "Are those...mine?"

She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, exhaled, and looked him in
the eye.  "You tell me."

He closed his eyes as if he were trying his best to look through his
lids.  "I don't remember much, but I do remember you taking them from
me."

"Then I guess they aren't yours anymore," she said, as she rose from
the chair to walk back toward her desk.  "Tell me, Denny, what do you
feel when you watch me smoke?"

"I..." His eyebrows fluttered open.  "I dunno, really.  It's like..."

She sat down on her desk and crossed her legs, the edges of her robe
parting ever so slowly.  "Do you want one?"

He put his hands to his head, as if trying hard to sort and file and
read his own thoughts.  "Want one?"

"Cigarette," she said, blowing smoke towards the air-conditioning
vent.  "Do you want a cigarette?"

From ten feet across the room, she could see him shudder.  His arms
folded across his chest.  "Uh...no."  He rose slowly to his feet and
stared at her.  "No...I gotta say, doc, whatever you did, the thought
of putting one of...those...in my mouth." He trailed off and she felt
for a split second that he actually looked like he was going to throw
up.  "It's absolutely...disgusting." Yes, 'disgust' was the very word
he was searching for.  It fit perfectly.

"Well, then," she smiled broadly, "that's that."  She adjusted her
robe slightly, so that her left breast peeked out just so...and took
another long drag.  Noticed that his eyes darted quickly downward, but
only for a second.  Not even a second.  "Something wrong?"

He started to answer, then brought both hands to his belt and adjusted
himself.  "Uh...no."  His eyes fixed on the cigarette.  She stretched
her arm out a bit just as a test.

"I'm a doctor, Denny, if something went wrong, I need to know it."
She moved the cigarette back to her lips and their eyes locked.  "No
secrets."

"No secrets," he repeated.  In monotone.  Eyes still fixed on the
stick rolling between her fingers.

Her nipples hardened.  She opened her robe slightly, fully exposing
her breast.  "You're hard, aren't you Denny?  You're hard for me."
She took another drag.

"Uh...that would be...totally innappropriate, Doc."  He stuttered.
But he did not look away - from the cigarette, which she was now
sliding in and out of her lips.

She opened her robe further, exposing her mound.  "Yes...extremely
innapropriate, Denny." She took a long drag and blew the smoke
directly towards him.  "We could both get fired."  His eyes never left
the cigarette.  She ran her hand down towards her pussy.  Still, his
eyes followed the smoking little white wand as her other hand brought
it back to her lips.  "You don't want to get fired, do you Denny?"

He moved one leg toward the office door, but it was all he could
manage.  "No.

She smiled and ran her index finger across her lower lips.  "Are you
sure you don't want a cigarette?" she asked again, and held it out
towards him.  He fell backwards onto the couch even as his eyes
continued to follow the smoke.   She held her robe open as she walked
slowly towards him, watching in veiled amusement as he tried his best
to move backwards through the wall behind the couch.  "I need to know
what you're feeling, Denny."

As she approached, he brought both legs up between him and the
cigarette. Folded his arms around his knees.  He was visibly shaking
now.  His eyes watered.  His mouth watered.  Even his hardness was
leaking.

Finally she bent down in front of the couch and let the cigarette
dangle.  "I have to know what you need , Denny.  Sleep?  Food?
Water?"

Somehow he managed to close his eyes.  For a few seconds.  "Tell me
what you need."

"I know what he fucking needs."

At that moment, Denny wished he could cover his ears, but his arms
wouldn't move.

"You're late," she hissed in the general direction of the office door.

Ron Johnson leaned back against the door and took in the scene.
"Sorry, Babe, but the fucking bitch wanted to shake and shimmy,
youknowwhatImean?  Called it a birthday present."

"Yeah, right," Joy muttered and flicked the spent butt across the
room.  "Just long enough to throw everything off."  She fished another
cigarette out of her pocket as she walked over to him.

He grabbed her by the waist and glanced over at Denny, who was in a
near fetal position on the couch. "Calm babe.  It's not like that
piece looks like he's going anywhere notime soon."  He put a large
black hand on one of her breasts and squeezed.

"Yeah, I think maybe I screwed up with either the dosage or the
conditioning.  I thought he'd be stronger." She kissed him full on the
lips, then pulled back.  "And you can stop with the ghetto crap. This
isn't a porn film."

The big man smiled and glanced towards camera #3.  "All the same to
you, bitch, it's my birthday, not yours."  He kissed her so hard, she
felt her lips might bleed.  After a minute or so of his tongue, he
felt the iceberg finally melt. Just like it always did. "And I'm
feeling it now, so if Sutton don't like it one way or 'other, we're
both screwed anyway."

He fumbled for his zipper and stared at the camera in the corner of
the room. "Not like the boss ain't gettin' his own present out of
this, so, I'm gonna play this like it's my last birthday."

He stepped out of his suit pants and adjusted his boxers.  Looking
over at Denny, still curled up on the couch, he growled derisively and
peeled down the shorts. "Man, what a piece of crap."  He advanced
across the room.  "Hey, crap, you got somethin' to say to me?"

Denny just lay there.  And whimpered. But he couldn't close his eyes.
He could not close his eyes. It was like ten fishhooks were sunk
painless into each of his eyelids and held them open.  Staring.
Ahead.

At it.

Ron held it between two ebony fingers and gently flipped it inches to
the right, then inches to the left. Back to the right.  To the left.

Right.

Left.

Denny fought to close his eyes, but it was far too strong. Somewhere
back in his teens, a memory flashed. Henry was lighting up. It was a
Marboro back then. Everyone knew the red and white. Everyone smoked
one.

Except this one wasn't red. Or white.

It was black.

"C'mon, you Harvard pussy, they got these up there?"  Ron reached
behind the white man's head and grabbed a large handfull of hair. "We
got a name for what you got in your eyes now, faggot."

Denny tried to say something. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he
knew he should say something.  Anything.  But to do that, he'd have to
open his mouth.  Somehow he found the strength to turn his head to the
right, but it was like trying to rotate a rusty screw.

Ron smiled and tightened his grip on Denny's hair and pressed his
fingernails into the bone.  "Hey, babe, I think he's hungry.  The
bitch looks hungry."  The big man tilted his head slightly towards the
doctor.

Joy had become strangely uncomfortable with the sudden ad lib - but
Ronald Johnson was her sole concession to the place no one else knew
existed, the only one in thirty years that managed to reach inside her
and twist and twist until she would gladly inject herself with rat
poison if it would get him hard.

She looked up to the camera and brought the cigarette back to her
lips.  "I think," she hesitated as she exhaled, "I know exactly what
he needs."

Slowly, almost painstakingly, she strode towards the two men, but her
eyes were on the camera in the corner of the room. "I think
he's...craving something."  With the last, she drew the cigarette from
her mouth and made circles in the air with it, as if trying to attract
the attention of the man sitting uncomfortably on her couch.

"You know," Ron said, with the air of one who really might actually
make it in the porn industry, "I think you may be right." With that,
he twisted Denny's head up towards his lover, who had taken a seat
beside her patient on the couch.

Joy bent over Denny and whispered in his ear.  "What is it, Denny?"
She moved the cigarette until it was just outside his view, smiling
inside as she noted his eyes seemed to follow his ears as she spoke,
searching...

"You want something?"  With that, she made certain to move the
cigarette inches in front of his face as she brought it to her mouth,
lowering her voice to a whisper.  "Tell me what you want."

Before she could force an answer, Ron's hand pushed Denny's face away
from her.  Away from the smoking...thing. Denny's mouth opened on its
own.  Somewhere inside, he was back in high school.  He knew what he
needed.

"I..." he started.

"Yes?"  She exhaled, and he could feel the burning on the side of his
face. In his small intestine.

In his gut.  Everywhere.

All the way through his system.  "I..."

At that moment, Ron jerked Denny's head up so the white man was
looking straight into the eyes of his hated rival.   "What?  You
fucking pussy boy, answer the woman!"

Joy reached over and gently took hold of Ron's hand and stroked
Denny's hair with it.  "Oh, don't be so...brutish, Ron, it's plain as
day he just needs a little more...encouragement."  With that, she lit
her cigarette and took a drag.

And smiled when she saw what little fight was left in Denny
Silverman's eyes turn off as she exhaled.  "Now, Denny, what exactly
were you...craving?"

"Cock," he answered, flatly.

No hesitation, she noted mentally, with both his eyes firmly fixated
on her cigarette.  "Sorry,
Denny, I couldn't hear.  Could you repeat that, a bit louder, please?"

"Cock," he repeated.  "I need a cock."

Behind him she saw Ron actually start to lose it, but one sideways
glance from Joy at the camera jolted him back into character.  She
took another drag, long and deliberate, watching for any signs of life
in Denny's eyes.  "And what, exactly, do you need a cock for?"

"To smoke.  I really need a cock to smoke."

"That's silly, isn't it Denny?  You don't smoke cocks."  She brought
the Kool back to her mouth and waited to see what kind of twisted
logic his mind might make from the numerous suggestions she'd given.

"I...need..."  Clearly he was struggling with something, as was she.
It was all she could do to keep her off hand from the more sensitive
parts of her body.  So she decided to give both of them a bit of a
push.

"You don't smoke a cock, Denny, you SUCK a cock."  She took another
drag and laid back a bit on the couch, continuing to watch his eyes
follow the cigarette like a dog might follow a flashlight shone on a
wall.

"I..."  Again, he struggled to get the proper words out.  She couldn't
hold back any longer, and leaned back against the wall, slowly pulling
her robe apart.

"You SUCK a cock, Denny."  She moved her left hand down over her
pussy.  "Is that what you need?  To suck a cock?"

Denny swallowed hard.  "Yes, I guess so," he said, softly, his eyes
still aimed at the cigarette in her hands.

"Then say it for me, won't you?" she smiled seductively.  "Tell me you
need to suck a cock."

"I need...to suck a cock."

"Louder, please." She took another drag and slid a finger into
herself.

"I need to suck a cock."

"Louder, please?" she repeated as she slid another finger in.

"I need to suck a cock!"

She lifted one eye towards Ron, who was definitely not looking at her
cigarette.  He was hard as a rock, of course, and a part of her really
wanted to think it was because she was spread out on the couch with
two fingers up her cunt - but the rest of her knew better.

He was hard because he knew what was coming.  Like that patient out
trolling for hookers, just the very idea of what the two of them were
about to do to Denny Silverman was enough to put them both on the edge
and keep them there.  She could have been seventy years old and
toothless and he'd have still been hard.

She nodded towards him and then glanced towards the camera in the
corner.  On cue, Ron moved back in front of Denny and aimed his
massive member towards the white man's mouth.

"All right, you Harvard faggot, you want a cock to suck, you got a
mutherfucking COCK to suck!"

She felt her toes curl and asscheeks tighten as Denny's head moved
towards Ron's dark rod without even having to be prompted by the white
deadly smoking baton she was using to conduct this little concert -
the demise of the career of one Denny Silverman.

She turned away for a mere second to wink at camera #2 as if to record
her victory for prosperity.  "Damn, I'm good, right?" she mouthed,
silently.  Hell, she didn't even have to touch her clit to reach that
first orgasm.  All it took was the muffled slurping sounds of closet
racist Denny Silverman sucking the black dick of a man he loathed.
Fuck, she didn't even have to watch.

But, of course, there was no way in hell she wasn't going to.

"Fuck....that's it, white boy, damn, if I didn't know better, I'd
think you'd been doing this all your fucking life!"

Joy shuddered for a second time as she fought to keep her priorities
straight.  There was just so much wrong with the whole scene, and it
made it all the hotter.  She knew (as much as any woman knows) that
Ron didn't have a homobone in his entire body.  Yet here he was having
way too much fun shoving his big dick in and out of a white boy's
mouth...and on camera, no less.
And the language...

"Damn, fucker, you just love this nigger dick, doncha, faggot!  That's
it, boy, choke on it.  You know you love it, I see it in your
mutherfuckin' eyes, faggot!"

She had to marvel a bit about the strength of the drugs because it
really did look to her, even in her hot and extremely bothered state,
that Denny was, in fact, enjoying this every bit as much as he might
enjoy a smoke after going several days without one.  His eyes were
open.  His breathing not too labored.  One hand strayed to Ron's butt
and after a minute or so, the black man removed his hands from behind
Denny's head, allowing the cocksucker to set the pace.   She knew that
suggestions could only go so far and imagined that Denny had to have
been on the business end of some damn good blow jobs in his life.

Not that he'd be enjoying life on that end a whole lot for the
remainder of his miserable existence.

That thought brought her to the edge yet again.  So engaged was she
that the cigarette she'd smoked to set off the whole sordid scene
almost burnt down to her fingers before she noticed it and put it out
by smashing it against the floor. The interruption allowed her to
collect herself enough to remember the next phase.

"Ron, honey, I know you're just having sooooo much fun, but..."

"Fun" didn't really describe it accurately, she thought. He had both
hands cradling the back of his head, now, and would occcassionally
wiggle his tight black ass side to side and back away slightly as if
taunting the white man to come and get him.  And, to his credit, the
novice cocksmoker's mouth, neck and head were always right where they
needed to be, his hands gently gripping the black man's asscheeks and
moving accordingly.

"Fuck, Doc, this guy is just fucking amazing!  You can't tell me this
mutherfucker ain't ever sucked dick before."  He brought one hand down
to his balls and suddenly thrust hard into Denny's mouth.  "See! he
exclaimed just as Denny backed his head away just far enough to
continue the dance. "What the fuck did you do to him?  Hell, he's
better at this than you are!"

Joy managed a little glare, but Ron ignored it. Then she glanced over
towards the camera in the corner and he got the message.  Abruptly
backing away from the couch, Ron managed to pull his cock out of
Denny's mouth and let out a laugh when the white man actually fell off
the sofa trying to follow.

"Please," Denny whimpered, crawling on his hands and knees towards
Ron, who was now laughing so hard he had a hard time catching his
breath.   Even the doctor had to marvel at that.  She's seen
addictions before, hell, she'd caused more than her fair share in her
day, but this seemed to be bordering on insanity.  He'd only been at
it for a few minutes and already Silverman was showing signs of
someone with a lifelong habit.

She pressed her legs together and wrapped her arms around herself in
an effort to keep her mind focused on something other than her own
pleasure.  She felt no shame, no shame at all.  She knew who she was,
but there were important things she needed to do.  She threw off her
robe and reached for another cigarette...

"Damn, faggot, you must really fucking want this, don't you?"  Ron was
still backing away, holding his hardness out in front of him like a
magic wand.  "Don't you?"

Denny Silverman was down on his hands and knees a foot away from the
couch, his eyes fixated on the black man's massive cock.  "Please?"

"I didn't hear you, faggot!"  Ron waved his cock back and forth,
several feet in front of Denny's face.  "How much you want it,
faggot?"

"P...please?"  he whimpered again in response, and crawled closer to
the object of his new addiction.

Ron backed away again, until he was leaning against the counter on the
far wall of the office.  "You want this, faggot, you're gonna have to
show me how much."

Denny just kneeled there, his designer suit trousers wearing thin
against the cold tile of the office of Dr Joy Burris.  He lifted his
head up slightly, tears came to his cheeks and he struggled to make
eye contact with the face that just happened to be attached by flesh
to what he needed.
What he had to have.

Then, suddenly, with one fluid motion, Ron bent down and pulled his
drawers back up around his waist.  It was as if someone lit Denny's
hair on fire.

"NOoooo!" the white man screamed from his knees and tried to shuffle
across the floor towards
Ron's hidden cock.  "Please?!"

"Fuck that!"  Ron shouted at him as he managed to manuever around the
white man to settle on the couch next to the doctor.  "You gonna have
to beg for it, faggot!"

Denny tried to get to his feet, but found he had trouble keeping his
balance and fell to his belly on the floor a few feet away from the
couch.  "God...please...I need it."  Joy keep trying to come up with a
better word than "whimper," to describe it, but it really was all she
could come up with.  And it fit.

She reached out for Ron and pressed her lips firmly against his.
Partly because she absolutely loved the job he was doing, but mostly
to keep herself from putting her hands back into her snatch.  She'd
surely been more turned on sometime in her life, but she was hard-
pressed to remember when.

"Damn, girlfriend, you are fucking WET!"  Ron managed as he tore
himself from her.  "I think we need to do something about that."  He
glared over at Denny, who was still lying on the floor. Ron thought he
might be crying, but wasn't sure and, frankly, didn't give a damn.
"Hey, faggot, you want some more of this?" he asked, pulling his
hardness out through the fly in his boxers.

Without answering, Denny raised his head and crawled over to the
couch.  Joy noticed that his eyes seemed to light up the closer he got
to Ron's cock.  She made a mental note to put that in the formal
report because the cameras probably couldn't catch it.  Just a few
seconds before he seemed on the verge of a total breakdown, but one
sentence from Ron - and the sight of his dick - seemed to spark a
total emotional change.

This whole thing was turning out even better than she dreamed.
Assuming the second phase went as well...

"No no no, faggot," Ron snapped his cock back into his shorts as soon
as Denny got within a foot or so.  "If you want more of that, you
gotta do something for me first."  Joy again noted that Denny's
demeanor changed immediately, but she didn't have time to dwell on
it.  Laying back on the couch, she slowly spread her legs.

Ron stood up and nodded toward Joy.  "All this cocksucking got the Doc
all worked up."  He once again fished his cock out of his boxers.
"You want this, you gonna have to eat her pussy 'till I say stop."

Burris noticed that, while he listened closely to what Ron said, his
eyes never left the object of his addiction.  Whatever was at work
inside the head and body of Denny Silverman, it was incredibly
strong.  She hadn't implanted any suggestions about heterosexual sex,
but figured that this might be a nice parting gift, considering hers
might be the last cunt he'd ever see up close and personal.

Plus, she WAS all worked up.

She slid further up the couch and lifted one leg so that one foot sat
propped up against the wall and the other stretched out to tease
Denny's shoulder.  "You heard the man, Denny."   Slowly, his head
twisted around as if trying to divide its attention between Ron's cock
and the object of his new instructions.  Joy cradled her leg around
his head and shoulders as he shuffled meekly on his hands and knees
until he was inches away from her.

Behind him, Ron couldn't help but stroke himself as he watched.
"That's it, fagboy, you want some more of this big black cock, you
gotta earn it. I wanna see you dive right in and get m-e-s-s-y."

Joy did her best to suppress a giggle at Ron's hammy acting as she
felt Denny's tongue reach into her.  She decided to afford herself a
few minutes of enjoyment before continuing with the work.  Not that
Denny's skills were all that, but they really didn't need to be under
the circumstances.  All the heavy lifting had already been done.  She
brought her leg down from the sofa and wrapped it around Denny's body
and looked up at Ron's hardness as he manhandled it.

"Damn, girlfriend," she heard Ron say softly just before the next wave
thundered through her body, "I dunno how much longer I can hold out.
This is just too damned hot."  He had stopped pumping and was
massaging the head of his cock in his palm, running the foreskin back
and forth around the tip, lubricated by his early wetness...

"Spoil..sport," she somehow managed to reply between gasps.  Reaching
for the box of Kools, she fumbled through it the best she could manage
and pulled out another cigarette.  Denny had slipped a finger into her
and was pressing it against her bone, awkwardly.  She ran her left
hand roughly through his hair.

"Denny, I want you to look up at me."

Slowly, as if conflicted, he raised his head slightly, just enough so
that his eyes could see above her stomach, but not enough that his
lips left lost contact with hers. She imagined that if he had a tail,
it would be between his legs. She fought the urge to surrender again
to the primal and brought the unlit cigarette to her lips to maintain
his attention.  "Denny, I want you to unbuckle your pants and play
with yourself."

This time there was little hesitation.  Seconds later, his underwear
was down around his knees and his cock was out.  But at no time did
his mouth leave her snatch.  "Good boy," she smiled and patted him on
the head.  "Now, I want you to play with yourself as hard as you can.
I want to see you come, Denny.  You really need to come for me."

She watched with detached amusement as he stretched his ass back away
from the couch to give him more room, all the while continuing to work
at her pussy.  Moments later, he was going at his own cock furiously,
stopping only to switch hands.  She noticed sweat starting to
accumulate on his forehead.

Ron walked quietly towards her and she motioned towards a cabinet to
his left.  "Top drawer," she whispered, and found it hard to take her
eyes off his magnificent manhood as it swayed from side to side as he
sauntered across the room and retrieved something from the cabinet.

She adjusted herself on the couch and closed her eyes for a moment,
imagining what might be going through what was left of Denny's addled
mind as he desperately tried to do something he'd probably done
dozens, if not hundreds of times over the course of his life and
wondered why it wasn't happening now.  The very thought of what might
come next brought her back to the edge...

"Denny, what's wrong?" she asked, almost tauntingly as she felt his
hot, labored breaths draw away from her.  Indeed, she thought
something must have snapped somewhere inside the man, because he had
moved away from her pussy and was now devoting one-hundred percent of
his entire being - not to mention both hands - to getting himself
off.

"What's the matter, pussy boy?" Ron rumbled from somewhere behind him,
"Can't get the worthless thing to work?"

Denny had now folded his legs underneath himself and was rocking back
and forth on the floor. Sweat was pouring down his face now and mixing
with his tears.  He had lost most of his erection and was desperately
trying to get it back, but nothing was coming of it.

Dr. Burris sat up on the couch and brought the unlit cigarette up to
her lips.  "Don't you want to come for me, Denny?"  She looked down at
him and noted that he paused for a brief moment but could not seem to
bring himself to answer.  Of course she knew the answer, hell, she was
the one who supplied it.  But the microphones needed to hear it.

"Answer the lady, faggot!"  Ron bent down and grabbed hold of Denny's
hair once again, and used it to life his head up so that his eyes met
hers.  Or, more accurately, until they fixated on the thing in her
hand.  "You wanna come for the woman, or not?!"

"Y...yes..." he blurted, finally.  "M...more than anything."

Satisfied that it was loud enough, Joy Burris leaned forward to
whisper in his ear.  "But you can't, can you?"  She waved the
cigarette inches in front of his nose and watched his eyes as they
softened.  "There's only one way you can come for me, isn't there,
Denny?  We both know what it is, and we both know that you need it
desperately, but I need you to tell me, Denny.  I need you to tell me
loudly."

And with that, she leaned back on the couch again, picked up the
lighter and brought the flame close to the end of the cigarette.
Closer.  "Tell me what you need, Denny."

"I..."  It looked to her like he was trying his best to lower his head
as he struggled to reply, but couldn't, and it wasn't because Ron's
massive hand was still entangled in his hair.  She moved the lighter
around the cigarette so the flame danced around one side.

"I...need..."

Ron released his hair and slowly moved to the side of the couch, just
close enough so Denny could catch sight of his hard cock, freshly
lubed, out of the corner of his eye.  Just to move things along...
"Answer the woman, faggot!"

"God, I need you to fuck me!  Please, fuck me!"

Dr. Joy Burris laughed once, then lit the cigarette and leaned back to
watch.


_________________




"God, I need you to fuck me!  Please fuck me!"


Horace Sutton reached across the armchair for the remote, only to
remember that it had fallen off the armrest moments earlier - or just
about the time Ronald Johnson was making Denny plead to suck his cock.
He rarely managed to make it past that part, even upon dozens of
viewings.

'There are no Nobel Prize winners at Smith, Sutton and Hughes.' He
really liked that line, especially since he'd come up with it himself.
Pretty much the company in a nutshell.  He could pardon Dr Burris for
cribbing it because, well, she herself pretty much fit the
description.  It was a shame she enjoyed her job just a little TOO
much.

WIth that thought in mind, he moved Denny's head lightly to one side
so he could bend down from the chair and retrieve the remote; and in
doing so, noticed he was hard, which was generally a bother.  They'd
managed to rework the poor man's mind to a place where he wasn't
suicidal if he didn't get buggered regularly, but he was still a chore
to deal with.

Fingering the remote to switch discs, he made a mental note to send a
thank you email to Mr Yamashita in the Osaka office for taking good
care of Burris and Johnson for him and keeping him up to date.  With
their collective talents, both theatrical and sexual, the world of
fetish porn videos seemed the perfect place for them.  The latest was
some bizarre thing titled "That's Not My Vagina You Stupid Octopus and
It Hurts Too." Or something like that.  He didn't read Japanese, so he
couldn't be sure.

He settled back in the chair and switched the video on. He wasn't one
to judge these kinds of things, but for his money, Burris looked
better as a blonde.  And it was rather fitting that she should be the
ultimate test case for RVB #12 - it WAS her baby, after all.  Of
course, once he found out exactly how absolutely corruptive it was,
even a misanthrope such as himself found he had a hard time coming up
with a good reason to unleash it on an unsuspecting world.

Well, that wasn't exactly true, though that's how he sold it to the
rest of the board. When it really came down to it, he didn't exactly
care to have someone taste test everything he drank and ate before he
drank or ate it. For the rest of his time on the planet.  No amount of
money in the world was worth that kind of hassle.  The living proof of
that very real possibility was currently appearing on his wide-screen
plasma television set, desperately trying with all her mind and soul
to coerce an unexcited authropod to stick a tentacle up her ass.

So, in the end, all the samples of the drug were destroyed, the files
shredded, the hard drives wiped clean, and all the loose ends were
tied up.  Well, except for the one swallowing his re-hardening member
as if his very sanity depended upon it.  After watching the video for
the first time, he couldn't help but feel for Denny Silverman. Or what
used to be Denny Silverman.

So Horace did what any responsible corporate leader would do in the
situation.  He brought Denny home and fed him, clothed him, fucked him
(when he couldn't find anyone else to do it) and generally took care
of him. It was, after all, partly his fault.  And, for all his needs,
he WAS quite good at what he did.

An audible whimper from Denny broke Horace from his contemplation.  He
glanced back at the television and saw that his ex-employee had
somehow managed to get the octopus to rub itself against her snatch.
Ordinarily, women did nothing for him, but he found the scene
oddly...exciting.  The whole thing was just, well, for lack of a
better word - wrong.  Yet, exciting.  He put the uncomfortable thought
aside and decided it was probably simply Denny's superb oral skills.

With a motion of his wrist, he signalled he was ready.  Like an axious
puppy, Denny hopped up on the massive chair and guided himself down on
top of his master, blocking his view of the big screen, but not before
Horace noted that Burris did finally manage to get the slimy sucker
halfway into her ass and was smiling and laughing as if she just KNEW
she was the best damned octopus-fucker on the face of the planet.

"No angels at Smith, Sutton, and Hughes," he said laughing, as Denny
bounced happily on his lap.  "Nor anywhere else in the world."

---WZB---

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