Hung Like A Gnu Ch 01

Torrents of rain spattered against the 5th floor window on the dilapidated building on 51 Franklin Street. Water ran across the pidgin-shit white of the concrete exterior. Inside, a sleeping man tossed and turned, growing angrier and angrier. The weather in Boston had been terrible lately, and it did nothing to aid his sleep. The bags under his eyes were probably full of a billion tons of lead. His fat ass slumped off the chair that was much too small for him. A knock on the door alerted him.

"Mr. Stallman?" a voice rang. It was Claire, the homely bitch he had hired to be his secretary. As far as he could tell, she had never actually done anything useful. She was always putting files into the wrong drawer, using Vim instead of Emacs, and was huffing toxic glue in her spare time. Her makeup was caked on like a donut with too much frosting on it. Her lipstick was slightly off-center, and her breasts sagged. She was without a doubt the worst secretary ever.

"Damn it, Claire, call me by my proper name!" the fat man bellowed, "It's RMS. R...M...S. How fucking hard is that to remember?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stall- I mean, RMS. I just wanted you to know that..." she began, biting her caked lip.

"Let me guess, another complaint?"

"Mackenzie Morgan is here to complain about some of the comments you made last month."

"Ah, yes. The feminazi. Show her in...but first..." RMS mused, removing his shoe. "I want you to suck on my big toe. On the left foot, Claire. The one with the open sore on it."

"Sir?"

"You haven't bothered to learn my name, after nearly five months of working here. Until you learn my name, you must eat the dead skin from my Gnome foot by suckling on it."

"But sir, there's an open sore on it! And your feet are dirty!"

"I find there is nothing dirtier than the open sore on freedom. Do you know what that sore is, Claire?"

Claire stupidly shook her head.

"It is the sore of the Open Source communities founded by the haters of Freedom. They shackle down the visionaries of the world. The only way to get rid of the Open Source sore is to eat it. So buckle down, and put that toe in your mouth."

A million thoughts were going through Claire's head. Why was she going through with this? What kind of sick monster was her employer? Her thoughts were cut short as she knelt down robotically, taking his left foot in her hands. She took in the acrid smell of his sole. It had an earthy smell like baked bread mixed with poverty. Sweat had permeated layers upon layers of skin, and small particles of a sock clung to it, basking in stench. Her lips parted, and she took his toe into her mouth.

"Lick the sore!" he commanded "Lick it!"

Claire obediently ran her tongue over the top of his big toe, working it back and forth over the scab. She could taste the dirt and sweat and sock residue. She took in the flavor of his oozing scab, a torrid mixture of metallic flavor and blood. RMS began to moan. She could tell he was already quite hard.

"Ohhh...ohhh Claire, you homely bitch." he moaned "t-take it..."

Just then, the sore burst, and the pus was thrust into her mouth. The flavor made her gag. It was not entirely salty, but was bitter and metallic. Small chunks of his skin were mixed in as well, along with the dirt and everything else. She couldn't hold it, this was too disgusting...

"You're not going to spit that out, Claire. I want you to swallow it. All of it."

Without showing any signs of protest, she complied. Her body shuddered, and she moaned softly. Tears streamed down her face, and she broke into a sob.

"That was awful!" she cried.

"Indeed it was," RMS mused "That is the sensation of our opposition. Savor it, cling to it. Perhaps now you will understand what it means to be in my servitude."

Broken, humiliated, and scarred, she nodded meekly.

"Now, show in Ms. Morgan. I'm about to get medieval on her ass."