Bullied by A STEM Nerd

The following story features sexually explicit material and incorporates a domination/submission dynamic between two consenting adults. You must be over 18 and legally allowed to consume this type of content in your geographic location before proceeding.

I'm a 35-year-old Arab immigrant in Canada. I work part-time as a technical writer and am pursuing a part-time online BSc in IT at a U. S. university. I have 8 years of Middle Eastern work experience as a content writer, and when AI ended my career, I decided it was time to join the technical workforce. So, I pursued an online Associate's degree from a U. S. community college, transferable through the statewide 2+2 system, along with a professional IT support certification and an A+ certification, before moving to Toronto.

Being surrounded by guys in their 20s, whether my colleagues or my roommates, has created a very special kind of yearning for me. Here's something about me: As a very sexual, submissive gay man, I have enough self-esteem to engage in humiliation kinks that are designed to target my pride directly. In fact, throughout my life in the Middle East, I constantly made Reddit posts looking to be bullied by more successful men. I didn't care about entrepreneurs, hustlers, or guys with generational wealth. I expected guys with 9-5 jobs, earning modest but ambitious salaries, often in STEM. They would compare how good they have it to how miserable I was, with emphasis on their academic degrees, and I would drown in lust and submission.

Ever since I came to Canada, I see no reason why I should keep this kink online. After all, the vast majority of guys who bullied me online, as per my request back in the day, were from North America. If I could meet with them and get bullied by them in person, the adrenaline would be off the charts.

One week, I started posting about his kink on r/dirtyr4r. It read as the following:

Title:

35 [M4M] Toronto - Total loser looking to be bullied by a successful STEM guy

Body:

35 years old, A. A. graduate, with a weak, already-automated career path. Seeking a superior STEM dude who would enjoy bullying me, comparing his academic education, success, income, and lifestyle to mine, and laughing his ass off at the difference. I'm also extremely submissive, kinky, and a total pig for male dirt. Be merciless and put your amusement first. I'm too much of a pussy to defend myself anyway.

It took multiple attempts to get a response from one account with a generated username.

- Hey, loser.

- Hello, Sir.

- Look at you already being a kiss-ass. I'm gonna have so much fun with this.

- I'm at your service, Sir. And yes, I live to brown-nose superior men like you, Sir. Please tell me how I can be your laughing stock, Sir.

- Gotta save that part for when you come to my place. But here's a hint: 25, nerd for life, UofT grad. Got my lunch money taken many times back in middle and high school, and now that fatass works at a Quiznos. I go there to grab a snack and laugh at him every other week. So yeah, I don't feel sorry for losers who wanna be told they're losers.

- Sir, you're exactly what I've been looking for, Sir. Please let me be your little bitch, Sir.

- Give me your number, faggot.

And I did, and I waited patiently until he texted me. On the phone, we exchanged names, kinks, and limits, and agreed to meet Saturday at 8 pm. He said he would send me his address.

Saturday was mostly uneventful. I studied, worked out, and wondered what the 25-year-old stranger, who was going to mop the floor with my dignity after sunset, would be like. At times, I did think I'd taken this kink way too far. I considered canceling to preserve my peace, but then I thought about how much more pathetic that would've made me look.

At 7 pm, he sent his address, and I realized that I was already out of time. He lived outside downtown, and I had to take the train to his apartment. I put on a pair of worn-out black sneakers, jeans, and a white short-sleeve button-down shirt, then left home.

At 7:55 pm, I knocked on his door, and it swung open.

The guy who opened the door stood at 5'11" and had a moderately athletic build. His face was youthful and clean-cut, with an effortlessly messy fringe and neat stubble. He wore nothing but a white essential T-shirt and a pair of gray boxers.

- You're 5 minutes early. Eager to get chewed up and spit out, huh?

- I am, Sir.

He stepped aside, revealing what looked like a gamer cave.

- Come in then, moron.

- Thank you, Sir.

His spacious studio apartment had exposed concrete walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and dark laminate flooring. Colorful LED light strips filled the room, casting deep neon purple and bright synthwave blue along the baseboards, behind his three computer monitors, and under his floating bed.

- Here's what's gonna happen. You're going to undress me, and then you're gonna keep yours on. I don't care if you feel hot or start to sweat. You keep them on.

- Understood, Sir.

He closed the door with a heavy thud. He didn't move from where he was, except for a few steps as he looked me over from head to toe, with a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

- Still dressed. I gave you an order.

- Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir.

As I moved forward, my hands shook slightly. The air in the flat was cool, and a low bass from some instrumental I couldn't place filled the room. Nearby, I could smell him: clean cotton, expensive deodorant, and natural male musk. My fingers fumbled with the bottom of his white tee.

He didn't offer any assistance. He just stood there with his arms slightly outstretched, watching me as I struggled. I pulled the shirt up over his upper body, revealing a well-defined stomach and a line of dark hair down to his boxers. When I pulled it off his head, his fringe fell into his eyes, and he shook it back, without breaking eye contact.

- Pathetic. Can't even manage to undress a man properly.

I clumsily folded the shirt and placed it on a chair on the side. His chest was smooth, broad in proportion to his build, and his nipples were small. My eyes moved down to the boxers. He noticed me staring and chuckled.

- These stay on for now. Turn around.

I turned to look at the bank of monitors. He had obviously been coding. It was a world I had only recently begun to understand. He then moved up behind me, so close that I could feel the heat coming off his skin.

- Look at that.

He pointed to the framed diploma nailed to the concrete wall next to the desk: an Honors Bachelor of Science in Data Science from the University of Toronto.

- It took four years of my life. Calculus, linear algebra, machine learning models, stochastic processes. I cried over some of the problem sets. Nowadays, I earn more in one day than you probably make in a week.

A knot formed in my stomach. The humiliation stung me in a sharp, sweet way.

- Look at your reflection in the glass.

I did as told. My face appeared pale and anxious, bordered by the glowing screens. He looked at me with pure, amused contempt.

- You're thirty-five, with an Associate's degree. A fucking A. A. What even is the point? To learn how to say "Would you like fries with that?" in proper grammar?

He laughed suddenly and sharply. His words were tangible, each one a precise, surgical cut. My eyes stung, and I blinked quickly.

- I... I would like to be as useful as you are, Sir

- Useful?

He snorted, then reached around me, his arm brushing my chest, before tapping a key on the keyboard.

- I'm not just useful. This is power. I build algorithms that contribute to the AI evolution. You merely write instructions for plugging printers into electricity. Let's not pretend that we're in the same world.

He stepped back. I heard the rustle of fabric. When I dared to glance, he was pushing down his boxers. They pooled at his feet. His cock, already half-hard, had to be at least 6", and I could tell it had 1.5" more in it. He was uncut, and the head was peeking from the foreskin. He kicked the boxers aside.

- Get on your knees.

The laminate was hard under my knees. In this position, my jeans were tight, restricting my movement. He stood over me, with his cock now at eye level with my face and growing fast. His musk became stronger.

- Have a look at it.

He loosely gripped himself and gave his penis a couple of lazy strokes.

- That's what the cock of a successful, high-achieving man looks like. The result of good genes, good health, and a life free from constant panic attacks. Don't you find yourself going soft just thinking about your rent?

A tear escaped and ran down my cheek, and I didn't wipe it off.

- I do, Sir.

- Nice. Keep crying with jealousy. I love it.

He shifted his stance and widened his legs.

- Now, get behind me and stick your nose up my asscrack. While you're down there, tell me why I'm better than you.

I moved forward on my knees, feeling the coarse floor rub against my denim. I pressed my face against the firm arch of his butt. The skin was smooth and warm. I took a deep breath, letting the strong smell fill my head. Then I pushed my nose against his hole, which contracted slightly as a result of the contact.

- Y-you're so much better than me, Sir. Y-you have a degree I can only dream of, Sir.

- Louder.

- You have a degree that I can only dream of having, Sir. You're 10 years younger than me, and you have skills that I don't know how to pronounce, Sir. You're not some obsolete content writer whose job a robot has taken over, Sir.

He chuckled above me, a deep, rumbling sound that showed how genuinely pleased he was.

- Keep going, brown-noser.

I noticed his asshole relax a bit, and the tight band of muscle gave way by just a little bit, so I inserted my nose further.

- There was a time when I made more than five thousand dollars a month, Sir. People like you made sure that never happened again, laughing all the way to the bank, Sir.

At this point, his chuckles turned into derisive laughter. The words came rushing out because they were based on a truth stronger than any fantasy. My pride was being taken apart, piece by piece, like a tidal wave overwhelming me.

- Damn right. And it feels so good.

He reached out and grabbed the back of my head, holding me firmly in place.

- You're a pathetic, old-fashioned wannabe, a bottom-feeder. You came here because you know that's all you're capable of: being my little toilet.

I whimpered, the sound vibrating against his asscrack: the praise and the degradation combined to form an electric current that ran through my core.

At that moment the pressure on my head increased.

- Stop talking.

I went stiff. Then, I could feel his asshole stretch further around my nose, and before I knew it...

PPPPPRRRRRTTTTT

A big, noisy, wet fart burst straight into my nose, which was trapped against his asshole. The vibration shook my skull as hot, thick gas filled my nostrils and attacked my sinuses. I started to gag, and my eyes watered uncontrollably.

He let go of my head and moved back, then turned to look at me. His face displayed ecstatic and wicked amusement, and his cock was standing out straight and oozing a clear drop of precum.

- That's right. Gag on my fart, faggot.

I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air, which still tasted and smelled like his fart. He turned back around.

- Now use your tongue to clean my asshole until it shines.

I jumped back in at once, without hesitation. My tongue, flat and wet, swept over his hole. It was salty, musky, and extremely male. I circled it, then pushed in, taking the tip inside.

- Fuuuuuck!

He reached for my hair and tangled his fingers in it, taking possession of me.

- Yeah, just like that. What a natural-born ass-licker! I'm sure you must have dreamed about this all week.

I increased my efforts, gulping down as I dug deeper and drank in the taste. His groans formed a constant background noise, interrupted by his hissed curses.

- That's it, fucking loser.

My jaw started to hurt, but the pain was part of the service, a sign of my submission. He suddenly pulled my head back by the hair, and I could smell his butt funk stuck on my face.

- That's enough. Now, get ready to swallow my cock.

He turned on his heel, his cock swaying at 7.5" hard. He directed it to my lips, and without delay, pushed himself in until the tip struck the back of my throat. I gagged, and my body started to convulse, but he kept me steady with an iron grip and a gaze filled with lust.

- That's your highest purpose, a warm hole for a winner's cock.

He started to fuck my face with slow, careful, and devastating strokes, forcing himself to the root with each movement until my nose ended up pressed into his pubic hair. Tears ran down my eyes. The rhythm that he established was less concerned with my pleasure or even with his own release, and more about establishing his dominance.

- You look a mess

He stopped while his cock was completely in my throat, letting me feebly gag and choke until my vision blurred.

- A Machine Learning Engineer screwing the mouth of an arts and humanities loser is just poetry.

He pulled himself all the way out, and I gasped as I drew in a breath. Before I could recover, he collected a thick lump of saliva in his mouth and spat it out, landing a blob directly on my tongue.

- Swallow.

I did, immediately.

He thrust back in, harder this time.

He would fuck my throat relentlessly for one or two minutes until I could feel the impending orgasm building from his increased pace. Then, just on the edge, he'd rip himself out.

Spit would splash against my face, sometimes landing on my shut eyelids.

- Keep your eyes open!

I'd force my scorching eyes open just as the next lump hit my cornea. I'd blink through the stinging haze and see his proud, sweat-streaked grin.

Other times, he'd drop it straight into my mouth, already open, or let it drip down my nose. Each time, he'd amuse himself with my reaction before diving in again.

Thirty minutes later, my knees were on fire, suffering a bone-deep pain. My throat was raw, like a worn-out passage. My face was a sticky mask made up of his saliva and my own tears.

His control began to fray, and his thrusts became erratic and punishingly deep.

- I'm cumming! I'm gonna fill your worthless throat!

His composure was slipping into raw need. He fucked into my face with a final urgency, then slammed home and held.

- Take it, fucking cocksucker!

The first rope of cum hit the back of my throat, and it was hot and viscous. Then another, and another. He pumped his hips, milking himself dry into my swallowing convulsions. I drank every drop, as ordered, and it tasted like a bitter, final seal of my defeat.

Finally, he pulled out. He stepped back, breathing heavily, a satisfied, cruel smile on his face. I fell forward onto my hands, coughing, dripping, and destroyed.

After a moment, I managed to push myself up, despite my legs crying out in objection. I rubbed my face on my sleeve, though it did nothing. I started moving slowly toward the door.

- Hey, where the hell do you think you're going?

I turned, and he was walking toward me with energy boosted by his climax. He reached for the collar of my button-down shirt, pulling the fabric tight around my throat.

He dragged and marched me across the studio, past the shining computers, and into a smooth, tiled bathroom. It was clean and rather impersonal. He pushed the toilet lid open.

- You think you get to leave when I have a full bladder?

He pushed me to my knees with terrible force, then forced my head down deep into the toilet bowl. The porcelain was cold against my neck, and the water in the basin was clean and blue from the sanitizing tab.

Next came the sound of a strong, continuous stream striking the water directly in front of my face. The pungent, ammonia-like odor of fresh piss was overpowering. The piss splashed against the porcelain and covered my cheeks, my hair, and my lips. He kept going, dousing me with a long, steaming, unrelenting torrent.

I closed my eyes and began to sob out loud, my cries echoing within the ceramic bowl and mixing with the forceful splashing.

Then he started to chuckle. It started soft, then grew louder. It was a breathless, happy, and deeply amused chuckle. The sound of a man who had won completely and entirely, and found infinite joy in that victory.

To conclude, he gave himself a few more shakes, sighed happily, and felt a little warm.

The whirlpool roared in my ears as it pulled him under. He held my head there a moment longer, a final, drowning punctuation.

He pulled me up by the hair. I managed to stand, wet, stinking, and broken. He looked at me calmly.

- You can wash up and leave. Don't contact me again unless I ask you to.