They could sense that something was not right. The editor had returned from his lunch with a face as black as a demon's mask at Halloween. Esbee, cowering behind the computer, had even imagined seeing smoke coming out of his ears and nostrils.
"Bad mood? Wonder what's brought it on," he whispered to his colleague Daryl. Both swiftly logged out of the MMSA, which they spent much of company time and expenses using.
Esbee's remark grated on the editor's nerve. He shot a glance at his two subordinates and scowled. He had overheard the remark. And he wasn't impressed.
"You, Esbee Toh," he growled, "in my office. Now!"
The door then slammed shut. Daryl Goe shuddered slightly but then broke out in a hideous grin.
At the same time, the editor's office boomed from within.
Mischief simultaneously began outside. Ears were pressed against the door to hear Esbee get his comeuppance and to revel in it.
Manuscripts flew in Esbee's face and over his head.
"What the hell do you call this? Reporting?" - came the editor's bellicose question.
"I thought it's pretty good," Esbee replied with a slight stammer, not because he was born with one but because he was really as inarticulate orally as he was lousy at his job; his horn-rimmed ugly spectacles hung lopsided on his nose. He fumbled at his glasses to straighten them.
"You thought," the Editor roared. "Well, that's always been your problem. You think too much. I've never read a worst piece of stinking crap since Daryl Goe's _s_h_i_t_ty music review last week. There's not an ounce of truth or original comment here .... and what language do you call this? I've never read more _s_h_i_t_ty English than Daryl's last piece of crap he called reporting. Your connectors do not exist, your lead freezes, your words are verbose jabberworky that makes for only a minute. I've warned you before. Get your act together or join the unemployment line."
The prospect of being unemployed in these recessionary times threw Esbee into a state of absurd panic. What would happen to his wife, his months-old son, his house, his goldfish! He thought nervously of a way out of being canned.
Beg for mercy, he considered. And then he was visited by what he thought was a better idea. The fag hag Keey, he said to himself, had always wanted to get under my pants. Now was the time to give him what he'd always wanted.
He undid his buckle and zipper and then dropped his pants to his ankles.
"Come on, Keey," he smiled at the tall gay editor, lifting up the tails of his shirt to expose his crotch to his superior, "you know you want this more than anything else in the world."
Keey thought for a moment. Then his greasy nose shone the sun. He grinned at the sight of the slightly bulging crotch in front of him, so inviting, so tantalizing.
"_f_u_c_k_ing asshole," the editor snarled. How he despised the upstart's smug face. He must now up his own ante.
He grabbed his underling's skinny arm and twisted it back. In a swift move, he had his underwear, smelly and yellow, yanked down to his ankles to join the rest of his pants. He grabbed his little four-inch penis beneath the estival thicket, and to his delight felt it extend some more in his palm. He then pushed the younger man towards his cluttered desk.
In another quick move he had removed the belt from his pants. He folded the belt in two and pinning Esbee down against his desk, he proceeded to whack his buttocks with it.
Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
Outside the office Daryl was roaring with laughter, falling over his colleagues, Boey and Lee, who fell over Samry and Begum.
"You're next, Goe," Keey who had heard him laughing warned. "Carrying on laughing but it'll be to your own doom!"
Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
The spanking went without the suggestion of transience and reduced the awful reporter-wannabe into a slobbering fool. Yet, surely it was all over in ten minutes. But he was also in terrible pain and tried as he might to stand up he couldn't.
He wasn't allowed to. Keey was not finished with him.
Before he knew it, he felt his asshole ploughed into and torn apart. He screamed.
Son of a bitch is raping me, he thought to himself. But the sensation was to delight him so much that he found himself not really minding in the end.
"That'll be more of this if you return mediocre work to me again," the editor threatened for the last time while he allowed Esbee Toh to stand up and pull up his pants, watching his limping dick with unfettered attention.
Esbee nodded. He was still rubbing the soreness from his ravished ass as he removed his diminutive body from the office.
The editor's voice next thundered towards the door.
"Daryl Goe! Get your in tail here at once!"
TAMAT