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.