tagBDSMThe Promotion Pt. 02

The Promotion Pt. 02


Mrs. Barton was already there when Andrew arrived for his shift at 9:45, wearing her usual dress-black, elegant, modest and overly formal, covering her from neck to ankles. Save for a cursory "Good evening," she ignored him, busying herself with this and that, and she seemed even more sour and frustrated than usual, which made Andrew nervous.

By late evening, when the other employees had gone home and there were no more guests milling about the lobby, Mrs. Barton approached his desk. He wasn't sure how he ought to address her, so he said nothing. She walked past the desk, then around it, to stand behind him.

"Good evening, Andrew," she said again.

"Um . . . good evening, Mrs. Barton."

"Did you follow my instructions?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton."

"Very good. Come with me."

And she walked off toward Room 106 at a fair clip, with Andrew following along behind. When they'd entered the room and locked the door, she sighed and said, "Mr. Andrew, I have had a very . . . trying day, and I'm not in the best of moods. I believe the best way for me to improve my mood would be to take it out on you in here. I intend to be very rough with you. Is that alright?"

"Yeah. Yes, Mrs. Barton, that . . . that sounds really good, actually." And, somewhat confused: "Of course it's alright. I'm here to do whatever you want, aren't I?"

Mrs. Barton rubbed her temples as though he'd just said something exceedingly stupid. "Andrew," she said, "I need to know you understand that you are not actually any of the terrible things I like to call you. We are, one might say, playing make-believe together. I will only begin a scene with you if you consent to it, and you have the power to stop that scene at any moment; to do otherwise would be rape. Do you understand?"

"Um . . . yes, Mrs. Barton."

"Good. You performed very well for me last night, Andrew; you did extremely well. You did so well that I rather forget how inexperienced you actually are. Last night, I gave you a safeword; well, I need to know that you will use that safeword if you ever feel uncomfortable. Not stopping the scene when you need to could cause severe psychological or even physical injury. Do you understand, Andrew?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton. I . . . that all makes sense."

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and growled, "That's good, because I'm about to fuck you so hard you'll forget your name. Take your clothes off."

"Y . . . yes, Mrs. Barton."

He undressed under her withering gaze, and when he dropped his pants, she laughed and said, "Oh, darling, I was hoping you'd choose the pink ones."

She stepped forward and grabbed his bottom, clad in pink silk, firmly, with both hands. She grabbed the waistband of his pink panties with one hand and moved the other back to the top of his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair, walking him across the room to the bed, pushing him down onto it, where he saw that she'd placed a bottle of lube. Before he could move, she climbed onto the bed, straddled him, and laid down on top of him, holding him there with her weight. "Would you like to know what's going to happen to you tonight, boy?" she growled.

"Y . . . yes, Mrs. Barton."

"I'm going to fuck you, Andrew. I'm going to put on one of my toys, and I'm going to pull your panties down and fuck your pretty little ass with it. I'm going to sodomize you, Andrew. I'm going to put my cock inside you and make you moan."

Andrew did moan. She kissed the back of his neck and whispered, "You want it, don't you, slut?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton. I . . . I want it."

"Tell me what you want, boy. Say it."

"I . . . I want you to . . . to sodomize me, Mrs. Barton. I wanna get fucked in the ass!"


"I wanna get fucked in the ass!"

"Of course you do; it's what you're made for. Now," and she rolled off of him, "get up on your hands and knees."

Andrew complied, and she slapped him across the bottom, hard, eliciting a yelp and a happy sigh. She slapped him again, and a third time, and cooed, "You enjoy that, don't you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton."

"Of course you do. And you look so fuckable in this position, dear. Now, let's get you ready."

He moaned in anticipation as she moved behind him, fondling his bottom, and when she was behind him she grabbed his hips and, to his surprise, pressed her face into him. She lavished his bottom with kisses as she pulled his panties down and put her mouth to his hole, which she kissed and licked, just as he'd done for her the night before. She held tight to him, digging her nails into his flesh, and she attacked him with her mouth, her tongue teasing and penetrating him. The sensation was overpowering, like nothing he'd ever felt or imagined before, and he moaned with pleasure and his legs began to shake. She moaned along with him, revelling in his touch and taste, and he felt his sex throb in time with the motions of her tongue. There seemed to be a pressure building inside of him, and he felt that, if she kept eating him for long enough, he might come. After a while his knees gave out and he sank onto the bed with a loud moan, and Mrs. Barton came up to lay beside him.

"Yes," she said, "I think you'll take it quite well."

Andrew could only moan. She laid a hand on his bottom and stroked his hole, and she cooed, "I do enjoy tasting a tight, virginal boycunt. And my goodness, Andrew, you moan like a little whore."

"I am a little whore, Mrs. Barton," he moaned, rocking back against her hand.

"Yes, you certainly are."

And she took up the bottle of lube and began rubbing it into him, and she slipped her index finger inside him, and he took it eagerly, moaning and rocking, and she added a second finger and asked, "Do you like that, little slut?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton! Oh, God, this feels so good . . ."

"You want more?"


She laughed. "Eager little whore. I can't wait to see how eagerly you take my cock."

"God, I can't wait, Mrs. Barton." He sighed happily. "I'm a little anal whore."


She slid a third finger into him. It was almost too much, stretching him more than he'd ever been before; but, unlike the night before, there was no pain at all. He found the sensation strange, but enjoyable, and he pushed back against the fingers and groaned, "Oh, God, Mrs. Barton, that's . . . that's so good!"

"You like being stretched, boy?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton!"

She pushed the fingers further into him, stretching him more, and he moaned and squirmed. "And does that feel good?" she asked. "No pain?"

"Mrs. Barton, it's . . . it's amazing! God, I'm loving this."

"I think you're ready, Andrew."

She pulled her fingers out of him and, to his surprise, laid her hand in front of his face. Instinctively, he took the fingers into his mouth and suckled them; he tasted his own bitterness and the astringent lube, and it was humiliating, and Andrew loved it when she humiliated him.

"That's a good slut," she cooed. "God, Andrew, I do love what you do with your mouth. I can't wait to see how you suck cock."

He moaned in anticipation, and she popped her fingers out of his mouth, got up, and asked, "You ready, darling?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton!"

"Good. Let me just get myself ready."

She unzipped her dress and let it fall around her ankles, and she went to her drawer and brought out a leather harness attached to a toy. It was pink, silicone, shaped just like a real phallus, and it was only about the size of Andrew's own-though it looked more than big enough to him, and he gasped at the sight of it. She smiled as she stepped into the harness and asked, "Do you like what you see, darling?"

"Mrs. Barton, it's . . . it's pretty big."

"It's no bigger around than the plug I put in you last night. And, of course, it has to be big, to stretch and ruin that tight ass of yours."

He shuddered. She laughed as she adjusted the straps and stood, legs apart, her cock erect between them. She gripped its base and barked, "Come here, boy."

"Yes, Mrs. Barton."

He got up, walked over to stand in front of her, and she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down to his knees, She bent down so that her toy was level with his mouth, and he took the head of it without being told. He did it nervously and awkwardly, but eagerly, and he found that he enjoyed the feel of it.

"That's a good slut," Mrs. Barton cooed, stroking his hair. "Yes, that's a good slut . . . I do love seeing you on your knees, Andrew, with my cock in your mouth . . . yes, that's it, you're doing well . . ."

She began panting, and she grabbed handfuls of his hair and held him, pulling his head back and pushing it back onto the toy, a bit deeper each time. Andrew let go, allowed himself to be used, and found that he enjoyed it all the more. The cock bumped the back of his throat, and he gagged, finding it hard to breathe, and he found that he quite enjoyed the sensation.

"Yes," Mrs. Barton growled, "choke on it, boy . . . Choke on my cock . . . God, you look so nice down there, Andrew, on your knees with a cock in your mouth; it suits you."

Andrew revelled in her praise, and he tried to relax his throat and take as much of her as he could.

"Oh, my little slut," she said, "you've taken so much; you're such a good little cocksucker. I look forward to seeing how you do with a real cock."

And he looked forward to that as well.

Soon she was satisfied, and she pulled him off of the toy and said, "That's enough of that. It's time, Andrew."

"Please," he panted, drooling. "Mrs. Barton, please take me. Please take my virgin ass."

She gave him a contemplative look and asked, "Andrew, are you very flexible?"

"Um . . . kind of, I think, Mrs. Barton."

"Let's see. Go lie down on the bed, face-up, and spread your legs."

"Yes, Mrs. Barton."

He did as she told him, lying down on the bed with his legs apart; he put his hands behind his knees and held them up, beginning to understand what she expected of him.

"Is that quite comfortable?" she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Barton."

"Good," she growled, walking toward him, "because I want to look you in the eyes while I deflower you."

He moaned in anticipation as she walked toward him, climbed onto the bed, slipped between his legs. She kissed him and cooed, "Do try to relax, Andrew; this will feel wonderful, I promise."

He evened his breathing, tried to relax his muscles as much as he could, and found it easier than he'd thought it would be; she'd prepared him just right, and he felt . . . open, felt ready to receive her. He closed his eyes, leaned back his head, and said, "I . . . I'm ready, Mrs. Barton. I want it."

And he sighed as she pulled his panties aside, and sighed as he felt the head of her cock pressing against him. He opened up to accept her, and he moaned; it was a tight fit, but it felt wonderful, and every inch made him long for the next one. He panted and moaned as she filled him, stretched him, and when she stopped, he groaned, "More . . . I can take more, Mrs. Barton . . ."

"There is no more," she cooed. "That's every inch of it, you insatiable little whore."

He looked up at her, and saw that she had a predatory grin across her face. "I'm inside you," she said. "Do you like my big cock, Andrew?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton. God, this . . . this feels incredible; I love it."

"Of course you do. Dear, I'm so happy I'm able to give you your first cock. Hopefully the first of many."

He moaned.

"Are you quite ready, dear?" she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Barton!"

Her hands moved to his wrists, pinning him down, and she growled, "Good. Because I am about to destroy you."

And she backed a few inches out of him, and thrust back in, and he moaned and squirmed; she did it again, faster, and asked, "And how does that feel?"

He was panting. "Oh God, that's so good, Mrs. Barton . . ."

She rode him, hard and fast, and within moments his moans turned to gasps and groans, and he squirmed, and she growled, "God, Andrew, you were made to be fucked."

"Yes!" he cried out, "Oh God, Mrs. Barton, I love this!"

"You love what? Tell me!"

"I . . . I love your cock, Mrs. Barton! I . . . I love having you inside me! I love getting fucked in the ass!"

"Whore," she barked, and spat on him. He moaned. She spat on him again and growled, "God, I love the way you moan . . . I love the way you moan when you get fucked in your tight little cunt . . .I can't wait to see how you moan on the end of a real cock."

"Please," he gasped, "oh God, yes!"

"Oh? You want that, do you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton! I want it!"

She grinned, a predatory grin. "Say it."

"I . . . Mrs. Barton, I want another man to fuck me! I want another man inside me, just like you are now . . ."

She rode him harder, and she laughed, "Oh God, I love that, Andrew. I can't wait to share you; I already have in mind a few ladies who'd love to play with you. Now I have to find a man, as well . . . God, I cannot wait to watch you get fucked . . ."

Andrew had no words. The experience was wonderful, but it was overwhelming. Two days ago he'd been a virgin, and then his boss had, in a way, bought it off of him. And now, a day after his very first sexual experience, he was wearing women's underwear and being brutally sodomized. The sensations were almost too much-Mrs. Barton's weight on top of him, the heat of her exertion, and the toy violating him, stretching him, like nothing he'd ever felt before. He loved it-it was an incredible feeling, sending waves of pleasure through his body with every thrust; it made him feel violated, humiliated, and he loved it; and it hurt, only just enough that he was aware of it, just enough to be fun. He felt full, felt pressure building inside of him, felt it grow more intense with every thrust, and he knew that if she rode him for long enough, he would come. He wanted desperately to be present with Mrs. Barton, to struggle against her hands pinning him, to join in the dirty talk, to tell her exactly how much he loved submitting to her, but he was overwhelmed. He lost control of himself, could do nothing but lie there, his legs wrapped tight around his lover, squirming and thrashing on the end of her cock, moaning and screaming his ecstacy.

"Bitch," Mrs. Barton was growling, "slut, dirty little whore! Oh, you love being fucked like a bitch, don't you? Your little cunt is mine, boy, mine to use, mine to fuck!"

He moaned and thrashed as her cock pumped in and out of him, and she released one of his hands and slapped him across the face, shouting, "Whore! Take it, whore!"

That was enough. The pressure inside him had built until he felt he would explode, and he could feel himself building to a climax, and he found his words long enough to moan, "Oh, God, Mrs. Barton, can I come? Can I please, please come?"

And, suddenly, it all stopped. He felt her cock sliding out of him, and she was laughing, and she said, "No, Andrew, you may not come."

He groaned, frustration at being denied mingling with the pleasure of being left gaping, obscenely empty. Mrs. Barton lay down next to him and wrapped her arms around him, kissed his neck, and cooed, "My God, Andrew, you are a wonder."

He was shaking, still overwhelmed, and just barely managed to moan, "Wh . . . what do you mean, Mrs. Barton?"

"You are a wonderful submissive, Andrew; I can hardly believe you've got such little experience. I never thought that you would take my strap-on so well on your first try; you take cock like a seasoned whore."

He moaned, taking almost physical pleasure from her praise, and he mumbled, "Thank you, Mrs. Barton . . ."

She put her hand on his throbbing member and began to stroke him, gently, slowly. "You're my good little slut," she cooed.

He moaned, louder, and squirmed in her arms, and she asked, "Did you like taking cock for the first time, dear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton . . . It felt so good, I . . . I love the way you fuck me."

"Good. You took it so well, Andrew; you're a very good slut, you make Mrs. Barton very happy."

He sighed happily. "Thank you, Mrs. Barton. God, I want to do this all the time."

"Oh, I plan to; your ass was made to be fucked. And I have many different toys to use, of all shapes and sizes."

"Mmmmm . . . I hope we can try some of those soon."

"Not too soon. You're still new to this, Andrew; this is something we have to ease into, or I could easily hurt you."

"Maybe I want you to hurt me."

She chuckled. "Good boy. I will remember that for later."

She stroked him faster, and moved her other hand to his chest, and pinched one of his nipples. He moaned and squirmed, thrust against her hand, and said, "Oh God, Mrs. Barton, I'm gonna come . . ."

She stopped, suddenly, and pushed him away, and barked, "No, you are not."

He squirmed on the bed, and she laughed at his helplessness and asked, "You'd give anything to have me let you come right now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton!"

"I love your desperation, Andrew. Hmm . . . you never complained of discomfort when I was inside you; I only stopped because it wasn't time for you to get off yet. Is your little cunt still hungry, dear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton. I . . . I didn't want it to stop . . . I love your cock."

"Of course. Yes, I know what we can do. Get up on your hands and knees."

"Yes, Mrs. Barton."

She got up as he positioned himself on shaking legs, and when she returned she grabbed his bottom and cooed, "Goodness, Andrew, you do look absolutely delicious in these panties."

"Th . . . thank you, Mrs. Barton."

And she sat down on the bed and showed him two things: Another toy, another buttplug, but as long as her strap-on and slightly thicker; and a wine glass.

"I'm going to be very cruel to you, Andrew," she said. "This toy, this is one of my favorites; it vibrates. I'm going to put it inside you, and-much like last time-I'm going to let you come. But, dear, I do intend to milk every drop out of you."

He moaned at her words, and said, "That . . . that sounds amazing, Mrs. Barton. But, uh, what's the wine glass for?"

"You'll find out. Now, I intend not to let you leave until you're hobbling out of here with a sore cock and a sore ass. Are you ready to start?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton."

She placed the head of the toy against his opening, and pushed, and it slid in easily; he moaned as it filled him, and he backed up hungrily against it, taking most if it himself. And she turned it on, and he almost screamed with surprise and pleasure; the vibrations excited his most sensitive spots, and he rocked back and forth faster, wishing it were bigger, wishing for more to take. Mrs. Barton gripped his cock just as she turned it to a higher setting, and he screamed his ecstacy.

"Enjoying this, are we?" she asked

"Yes," he moaned, "yes, Mrs. Barton, yes!"

She stroked him hard and fast, and let go of the vibrator, letting it sink into him up to its base. She picked up the wine glass with her free hand.

"Mrs. Barton," he moaned, almost crying, "can I come now? Can I please come?"

"Yes. Come for me, boy!"

She held the glass in front of his member, and he released into it, and as he released she stroked him faster still, and he screamed again, howling his ecstacy. She didn't slow down, and he released shot after shot until he felt empty. When he'd finished, she turned the vibrator to a higher setting and began stroking him again. It only took a few minutes before he was ready again; he begged to come, she allowed him, and the cycle repeated. His erection shrank away as she stroked his now-flaccid member, and with tears in his eyes, he moaned, "How . . . how many more, Mrs. Barton?"

"You've got more in you," she cooed. "Are you ready to stop, Andrew? We can stop if you're ready."

"No, I . . . I want to keep going."

"Two more."

He groaned, but he persevered, until Mrs. Barton milked a fourth orgasm out of him, removed the vibrator, and allowed him to collapse, shaking and nearly sobbing, onto the bed. She held him close and asked, "Was that good, darling? Are you quite alright?"

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