>From: wi.141@wizvax.methuen.ma.us
>Subject: The Promotion (story)
>Date: 6 Aug 91 04:18:07 GMT
>Lines: 142

Copyright 1992, The Minstrel Bi

"Damn it," said Sam.  "I *deserved* that promotion."

"I know," I said.  "I think so, too."

"It's Buckman.  He doesn't like me.  Well, I hate him, too."

"Hey, times are rough.  You have to work for jerks
sometimes, these days."

Sam and I had been friends and coworkers for a while.  We'd
been out for drinks after work a number of times before, but
usually on happier occasions than this.  I enjoyed Sam's
infectious laugh, but tonight he wasn't laughing.  I envied
him his easy way with the women, but tonight he was too
angry even to notice the one eyeing him from the bar.  I
thought about going after her myself, but I thought he
needed company.  Besides, he was the one she was staring at.
He was tall, handsome and black.  I was nothing much.

So we sat there, instead, talking and drinking.  The alcohol
only seemed to make him worse, angrier, louder.  He talked
faster, and was harder to understand.  Talking wasn't
helping him.

"You've had enough," I said.

"Enough of that fucking boss, too right."

"Enough to drink, too.  Too much, even."

"Yes, you're right."

"I'll drive you home."

"You've been drinking, too.  You've had as much as me."

"The last two were soda water."

"Ah.  What about my car, though?"

"Leave it here."

"Long drive, man."  He stood up.  He didn't look unsteady,
unless you knew him.

"That's right.  I forgot where you live.  Tell you what,
stay at my place.  You can sleep on the couch."

"Okay."

So I drove him back to my place, and gave him a big glass of
water and a vitamin tablet.  Keeps you from getting
dehydrated, which minimizes the hangover.  He started
talking about work again.

"Damn that bastard Buckman.  I'd like to strangle him."  He
picked up the water glass he'd emptied, and threw it against
the wall.  It smashed to bits, but the sound seemed to wake
him up a little, somehow.  "I'm sorry, man.  I'll clean it
up."

The breaking glass seemed to jar something loose in my head,
too.  Sam was my buddy, and he was hurting bad over this.  I
had a wild idea, and I must have been drunker than I
realized to act on it.  "No.  Stay there."  I went into my
bedroom, and looked under my bed.  I'm not completely
hopeless with women, and I've done some fairly wild things
in that bedroom.  More important just then, I thought about
the future and kept the paraphernalia.

What I wanted was a very lightweight cane, no good for
leaning on but just right for a friendly erotic spanking.
Only this wasn't going to be erotic, maybe not even
friendly.  The thing had a reasonable sting, and sounded
convincing when it connected, but didn't do much damage.
That's what I wanted.  I went back out to the kitchen and
handed it to him.  "Here," I said.  "I'll be Buckman."

"What?"

I undid my pants and let them drop, then leaned over the
back of the couch.  "Go for it, man.  Let Buckman have what
he deserves."

"Oh, man, this is crazy."  The tone of his voice didn't mean
no, it meant that he didn't understand.  That was okay.  I
didn't understand, either.

"Do it, Sammy boy."  The cane came down, a surprise, and I
flinched a little.  "Go ahead, Sam.  It's okay."  Again, and
again.

I thought about Paula, who'd given me a hundred strokes and
then kissed them all better.  She'd tied me up for that, and
said I'd enjoyed it so much she was going to give me another
hundred.

Sam hit a lot harder than Paula, though, or my memory was
fading.  If I'd been a little drunk before, I felt cold
sober now.  I hadn't been counting, and it suddenly occurred
to me that he might not stop for a while.  I didn't really
want to stop him, either, until he had it out of his system.
I tried to pretend I was being whipped by a dominant
mistress in a leather corset, and that helped divert my
attention.  "Please Mistress," I said, under my breath.
"Please stop."

But Sam didn't stop.  It went on and on in slow (but poorly
aimed) strokes until I was clenching my teeth in agony.  At
what I figure was about three hundred strokes, I felt like I
was on fire.  I was beginning to think I'd have to ask him
to stop soon, because I couldn't take much more, when
suddenly I heard a cracking noise and he stopped.  Was that
the crack in my ass finally giving way completely?  That's
what it felt like.  "I broke it," he said.  "Hey, you're
bleeding.  I'm sorry, man."

"It's okay," I said.

"You're crying, too."

"Am I?"

"Yeah.  I should have stopped sooner.  I was just so
bullshit about -- hey, you know you've got a hardon?  Are
you one of those crazy bastards that likes that kind of
shit?"

Any other time I'd have denied it, but I was tired and sore
and the words hit me somewhere deep, and I burst into tears.
Sam took a step back, and since I was too sore to sit down I
just stood there, pants around my ankles, and tried to get
it together.  "I'm sorry, Sam," I said.  "It's been a long
day."  I had to give him credit, that he hadn't run out of
the apartment.  "To answer your question, I do sometimes
enjoy being beaten -- by a woman.  I've never let a man do
that to me before.  I like being the slave, I like letting
  -- letting a woman --  Sam, I want to ask you something,
and it's okay to say no and please don't hate me because of it."

He looked very tense.  "Okay.  Ask."

"I've never done this with a man before.  But I want to be your
slave for the night.  I want you to be my master.  I've never given
a blow job, but I want to now."

"I think you're crazy.  But I do like a good blow job.  Be the first
time since high school I let a guy do me.  And I'm not going to kiss you."

"No, that's okay."

We took off our clothes, and I massaged his body and sucked his black cock.
I loved the way he grabbed my hair and forced me down on it, and the way
he talked to me:  "Go to it, cocksucker!  I do love the way you white boys
suck cock."  But he was too drunk to come before my jaw got so sore I had
to stop.

We slept together in my bed.  The next morning he asked if I was still his
slave.

"Yes, sir."

"I think I might like having a white boy for my slave," he grinned.  After
that he fucked me in the ass -- I'd never done *that*, either, not even
with a dildo, and it hurt rather a lot -- and I made him breakfast.

After that I drove him back to his car, and he went home.

Now I go to his place about once a week.  He calls me the night before
and says he needs his slave boy for the evening.  Some weeks he makes
me suck him or take him up the ass, other weeks he makes me cook and
serve dinner to a female guest.  He enjoys introducing me to them as
his "white slave boy."  Once I spilled a drink while I was serving one
of his lady friends, and he gave me fifty on the bare buttocks while she
watched.  She laughed the entire time.

But the funny thing is, I *like* it.  I really do.